The Secret of Crickley Hall

by James Herbert

  ‘Howard was on life-support and the doctors didn’t think he’d pull through. They thought his brain might have been too severely damaged, although they detected some signs of activity through their machines. They advised his parents it would be more merciful to turn off the systems keeping him alive so that he could go without more suffering. That’s when Howard’s parents contacted me on the chance I could reach him telepathically. They weren’t true believers, but they’d heard about my psychic gift and they were desperate. They came to my house and asked me – no, they begged me – to try and make contact with their son. They weren’t convinced Howard was all but brain-dead.’

  She paused and looked away from the fire as if the flames were burning her pupils.

  ‘Please go on,’ Eve urged quietly.

  ‘I agreed willingly. I have this thing about children even though I’ve never been a parent myself.’ Lili did not relate the story of the first ghost she had ever seen, Agnes, whom she’d befriended and helped to move on; how that early experience had encouraged Lili to develop her extra sensory powers.

  ‘I went to the hospital with the parents and was allowed into the intensive care unit. As soon as I saw Howard I felt he was far from death. Our minds made contact almost immediately. Inside his body was a lively, mischievous little boy, who missed his mother and father and wondered where they were and why they hadn’t come to take him home.

  ‘The mother broke down when I told her I was talking to her son, but the father, quite naturally, wanted to test me. He asked me questions that only Howard and his parents could know the answer to, and I put the questions to Howard. He thought it was a brilliant game because he was bored lying in the same place day after day with no one to talk or play with. He gave me all the answers, which I passed on to the parents. They were shocked, amazed. And so happy that even the father broke down in tears. They wouldn’t allow the hospital to stop the life-support and eventually they were proved to be right. I visited Howard every few days and talked with him telepathically. It took another two months for Howard to regain consciousness.’

  ‘He recovered?’ Eve asked in awe. If the psychic could do this, contact a boy who was nearly dead and in a coma, then surely she could reach Cam.

  ‘Completely,’ Lili replied. ‘Within another six months Howard was running around like any other healthy boy of his age. Could I have a glass of water?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?’ Eve rose to her feet.

  ‘No thank you. I had too much wine last night. Besides, I never drink alcohol when I use my psychic sense. For some reason it interferes with the process.’

  ‘Then you will help us find our son?’

  ‘I’ll try. I’m not always successful. I’m also out of practice.’

  ‘Surely it’s a gift that’s with you all the time.’

  Lili shook her head, a single movement. ‘Like any other ability, you have to keep at it. You have to develop the skill. We’ll see how it goes – just don’t expect too much.’

  Eve hurried out to the kitchen, excited, more hopeful than ever before, already convinced the psychic would succeed. She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water, eager to get back to her visitor.

  When she returned to the sitting room, Lili Peel was standing next to the round occasional table by the armchair. In her hands she held the photograph of Cam.

  41: CONTACT

  ‘This is Cameron, your missing son,’ Lili said as Eve proffered the glass of water.

  ‘Yes. We always called him Cam. That picture was taken on his fifth birthday.’

  Eve’s eyes fell upon the small silver-framed photograph of her beloved son. A rush of unbound love swept over her and, of course, with it came unrelenting anguish.

  ‘Does . . . does the picture tell you anything?’ she asked tentatively, her hopes rising because Lili was staring at the photograph so intently. To Eve’s regret the interruption seemed to break the psychic’s concentration.

  ‘Only that he was a beautiful-looking boy,’ Lili replied, her attention now on Eve. ‘D’you have anything that belonged to him, a favourite toy, an old jumper or shirt? Anything he was familiar with, or close to.’

  ‘I kept everything of his, I didn’t throw anything away. I felt it would have been wrong to, even if he’s grown out of his old clothes by now. But we left his clothes and toys behind when we came here to Devon.’

  ‘This photo will have to do, then.’ Still holding onto the silver-framed picture, she took the glass of water from Eve.

  The psychic sat down in the high-backed armchair next to the round table, keeping Cam’s photograph with her. Eve sat on the edge of the couch opposite and leaned forward anxiously.

  ‘Mrs Caleigh—’ Lili began to say.

  ‘Please call me Eve.’

  ‘Eve, I don’t want you to expect too much.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Eve said unconvincingly. Lili seemed different today, so much softer than when they first met yesterday. The hardness was gone from those green eyes, which made her even prettier. Inwardly, Eve prayed that the woman really had telepathic powers and could reach Cam with her mind. She was glad Gabe wasn’t there, because he wouldn’t have approved of this – he was too grounded to believe in such things, and that was why Eve hadn’t told him of her visit to the crafts shop in Pulvington. He might even be angry with her for going down such a path. But she had nothing to lose: she would use anything that might bring their son back.

  Lili Peel placed the glass on the table, then, holding Cam’s picture at almost arm’s length away from her, she stared at it for a full minute. Eve saw that the psychic’s forehead was furrowed with concentration and she held her breath, her own body tensing, thinking only of Cam as if that might help the psychic. Eve had to blink away the tears that threatened.

  Lili slowly drew the photograph towards herself and pressed it between her small breasts. She closed her eyes and her wrinkled brow smoothed out as though she was no longer concentrating quite so intensely. Eve could not know this, but Lili was allowing her thoughts to roam free. She had filled her consciousness with images of the boy and was now attempting to ‘tune in’ to his psyche, even though she could not yet know whether he was alive or dead.

  Her breathing became shallow, faster, and her eyelids flickered but did not open.

  Eve was alarmed, worried that the psychic might hyperventilate, but Lili’s breaths gradually became calm once more and one hand fell away to grip the arm of the chair she was sitting on. Her fingers clenched, then settled round the cushioned arm. Her breathing was deep now, the photograph against her chest rising and falling with the rhythm.

  Eve wondered if the psychic was in a trance.

  But Lili was only in a semi-trance. She was aware of the room around her, aware of Eve’s presence on the couch opposite and aware of the house itself. Again aware of the deep oppression here.

  Her head dropped forward, chin resting on her upper chest. She murmured something that Eve did not catch. Perhaps it was only a moan.

  Lili’s body became agitated, her shoulders giving little shrugs, the fingers resting on the chair’s arm twitching. Her head rolled slightly, but remained dropped. Her eyelids flickered once more, then shut completely. The disturbing pallor returned to her face.

  Eventually, her body relaxed and became very still. Her breathing was normal and, at first, Eve thought the psychic had fallen asleep; either that or she really was in a deep trance.

  Then Lili’s head slowly raised itself, her eyes remaining closed. Initially, her voice was but a whisper and Eve leaned even further forward to listen.

  ‘I can . . . sense . . . some . . . someone,’ Lili said quietly and Eve strained to hear. ‘Yes, someone . . . very young . . . a boy, a very young boy . . .’

  Eve’s heart leapt. Could the psychic have reached Cam so soon, and so easily? Was it possible? Or was it a trick? Was Lili Peel a charlatan like many so-called mediums? But then, why should she
try to deceive Eve? There had been no mention of a fee, so what would be the purpose? If Lili were genuine, Eve would gladly pay any charge she might demand; no price would be too high. Please, God, let this be real.

  Lili’s delicate lips moved again. ‘The boy . . . he’s so lost. He’s calling . . . calling for help. He wants . . . he wants somebody to find him. He’s in darkness . . . so alone . . .’

  ‘Lili,’ Eve tried, ‘ask the boy who he is. Is it Cam? Please find out.’

  ‘It . . . isn’t clear. The connection between us is weak . . .’

  ‘Ask him, Lili, please,’ Eve implored. ‘Is it my son?’

  Lili opened her eyes and turned them towards Eve and her gaze seemed to come back from somewhere distant. ‘I – I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘The voice is so faint. The . . . the contact between us isn’t strong enough. Let me keep trying. But please, Eve, you’ve got to be quiet. Don’t ask any questions, not yet.’

  ‘I’ m sorry . . . Eve pressed her lips together, determined not to distract the woman again. The psychic had reached her son, she was sure of that. But Lili’s next words stunned her.

  ‘I can’t tell if I’m in touch with his spirit or his mind. It just isn’t clear enough . . .’

  Despite her resolution, Eve had to speak out. ‘You said the boy was lost. Cam is lost to us, you know that. It has to be him.’

  Lili raised her hand to stop Eve. ‘The thoughts I’m receiving are fragile. He’s afraid.’

  ‘Of course he is! He doesn’t like where he is, he wants to be back with me, with his family, don’t you see?’ Eve could no longer stem the flow of tears. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, their grip so fierce her knuckles were white.

  ‘I can’t tell why he’s afraid,’ said Lili helplessly. ‘Nothing is right. He’s too far away.’

  Eve was desperate. ‘Please,’ she urged, ‘please . . .’

  Lili’s eyes closed again and she leaned back in the armchair. Her face was tight, drawn, the mental struggle reflected in her pained features.

  And then something changed.

  Lili’s eyes snapped open. She twisted in the chair, cowering, her arms up before her face. She groaned and her head turned from one side to the other. It was as if she were in agony.

  Eve was startled by the transformation. Lili’s mouth yawned open as if in horror and her eyes were wide, gaping up at the ceiling. Dropping the photograph of Cam, she clawed at her own neck with fevered hands.

  And Eve shivered as she felt the dark oppression that had infiltrated the room; it weighed upon her like a dense but unseen mantle. Light seemed to be forced from the room, which was now filled with onerous gloom. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to wither under the presence, the flames dying, losing any warmth.

  Lili’s arms and shoulders shivered, but Eve couldn’t tell if it was because of the room’s coldness or because the psychic was terrified. Vapour clouds were expelled from her open mouth in short gasps and Eve attempted to rise from the couch to go to her, but she found herself transfixed, frozen, unable even to lift a hand. She was temporarily paralysed.

  Meanwhile, Lili Peel’s shivers ran through her whole body, from head to toe, her shoulders shuddering against the back of the armchair. Her neck and spine arched in some sort of spasm and her lips quivered; both of her hands clutched at the ends of the armrests.

  She moaned, then cried out, ‘Go away, leave me alone! You don’t belong here any more!’

  Eve wondered at whom or what the words were directed. She and Lili were the only persons in the room, even though she could feel a potent and intimidating presence. And the smell, a malodour that stung the nostrils.

  Lili Peel appeared to be having some kind of seizure: her back remained arched and her jaw had dropped so that her mouth was gaping even more; her eyes stared but they were glazed, unseeing. She began to rise from the armchair, still gripping its arms, her stomach pushed forward, head tilted backwards as far as it could go.

  Eve felt suddenly nauseous and she fought against it, swallowing hard, breathing through her mouth rather than her nose. It hardly helped. She struggled inwardly to leave the couch, but still couldn’t rise. Her spine felt locked, and her flesh prickled. Why couldn’t she move?

  The answer came to her as a mental taunt: it was sheer terror that held her there; she was too afraid to move. All she could do was watch the psychic, whose body now writhed violently in the armchair. Despite her own fear, Eve was concerned for Lili, afraid that in her paroxysms she would hurt herself. Once more, Eve strained to move and this time she was able to raise her arms. Her trembling fingers reached out to the distressed psychic.

  But Lili abruptly collapsed in the armchair and became still. Her head sank to her chest again and her eyes closed. Every second or two an arm, or a leg, or a shoulder, twitched, but she remained slumped in the cushioned chair.

  There came a stillness to the room.

  And it became even colder.

  In the hearth the flames almost died.

  Eve’s eyes stayed fixed on Lili, who lay in the armchair as limp as a rag doll.

  And the room was dark not just because it was a late-October evening, but because something more had weakened the already fading light. Shadows grew, seemed to live.

  Opposite Eve, Lili Peel lay loosely in the armchair until her left arm twitched once, twice, then once again. Finally it fell slack against her thigh.

  Her head slowly rose from her chest and even her light green eyes looked dark in the room’s poor light. Perhaps it was because her pupils had dilated, the irises no more than thin rings round them.

  At first, Eve thought the psychic was staring at her. But then she realized that Lili’s horrified eyes were looking at something over Eve’s shoulder.

  42: DARKNESS

  Gabe pulled up behind the people-carrier that served as Merrymiddle’s school bus. Because of the narrowness of the lane, it was blocking his access to the short parking space on the right-hand side. As he waited for the bus to move on, he glanced up at the clouded evening sky. Dusk was always early this time of year, but the heavily laden clouds easily smothered any last rays the dying sun could throw out.

  Loren alighted from the left side of the bus and Gabe watched her wave goodbye to a friend as the vehicle moved away, heading downhill to the harbour village. He steered towards his parking spot and was surprised to see a small blue two-door Citroën had taken up much of the space in the short lay-by. Wondering who owned the car, and if whoever did was visiting Crickley Hall, he squeezed in behind it, a rear corner of the Range Rover protruding slightly into the roadway.

  Loren waved to him as she crossed the lane and Gabe climbed from his vehicle, retrieving the large slim portfolio that carried his design drawings and sketches from the back seat as he did so.

  ‘Hey, Slugger,’ he greeted Loren as she skipped the last steps towards him. She kissed his proffered cheek and gave him a smile that told him all had gone well at school today.

  ‘’Lo, Dad.’

  ‘You been okay?’ Her nightmare last night and her pain, imaginary or not, that came with it had been on his mind all day long.

  ‘Fine, Dad.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Honest. It was a dream, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I know the doc thought that, but you were in a pretty bad way last night.’ He threw an arm round her shoulders as they strolled to the bridge. Kids get over things so fast, he thought. Let’s see how she faces bedtime.

  ‘How was the injured party today?’ His tone was light, but he kept the smile off his face.

  Loren was happy to shake her head. Seraphina had to come to school eventually and Loren wondered if the bad feelings would continue. She hoped not, because she doubted she could punch the big girl again, and certainly not as effectively as the first time when surprise was on her side. She didn’t think she could summon up the courage or the anger to do it again. However, despite the trepidation, she was enjoying Merrymiddle; she seemed to b
e making new friends every day and Tessa had definitely become one of her best.

  The dull square shape of the house loomed up across the river and her mood changed. ‘Dad, Idon’t like Crickley Hall,’ she said, looking up at him.

  He noted that she hadn’t said ‘I don’t like it here at Crickley Hall’; she’d implied that she didn’t like the house itself. He felt the same.

  ‘S’why I left work early,’ he told her. ‘We gotta talk about this place. It’s got bad vibes.’ If someone else had said that to him just a few days ago, he would have laughed in their face. How could a house have vibes of any kind?

  ‘Are we leaving?’ Loren’s eyes searched his in the gloom.

  ‘Let’s say it’s a strong possibility. We’ll see what your ma has to say. After last night and all the trouble that morning, he felt sure that Eve would want to pack up and go as quickly as possible. And as much as he hated the idea of a mere house defeating him, he would happily do the packing.

  They crossed the bridge, the rushing waters gurgling beneath them. Loren almost slipped on the wet boards, but Gabe held her tight against him.

  ‘Why are there no lights on, Dad?’

  He followed her gaze and saw that she was right. The building ahead was in darkness, not a single window lit, despite the early-evening dusk. It gave Gabe a bad feeling.

  To reassure Loren he said: ‘Maybe Mummy joined Cally for her afternoon nap and they’ve both overslept. None of us got much sleep last night.’

  They hurried their pace, Loren moving slightly ahead of her father, passing by the front door – the family generally used the kitchen door for exit and entry now, because the front-door key was too long and cumbersome to carry comfortably. By the time Gabe turned the corner of the house, she was inserting her key into the lock. She waited for him before pushing the door open.

  From behind her, Gabe reached in and flicked on the light switch. They blinked at the sudden brightness, then both headed for the open doorway into the hall, Gabe leaving the portfolio propped up against a kitchen table leg.