The Secret of Crickley Hall

by James Herbert

  But Eve had other ideas: she didn’t want her daughters included in this conversation.

  ‘Loren, haven’t you got homework to do? And Cally, why don’t you do some painting in the kitchen? Loren will help you set it up.’

  ‘Oh let them stay,’ said Pyke, the remainder of the biscuit poised only inches away from his mouth. ‘They should be part of this. Besides, our conversation might allay some of Loren’s concerns. And the little one, well, much of what we say will go over her head.’

  You might be surprised at what Cally understands, Gabe thought, but he said nothing. Loren was smiling at Pyke gratefully, pleased to be respected for the sensible girl she was.

  Gabe was curious, but not only about hauntings and their rationale.

  ‘Mr Pyke . . .’ he began.

  ‘Ask me anything you like,’ said Pyke and popped the rest of the biscuit into his mouth.

  ‘I was just wondering how you got into this business.’ Gabe was not ready to trust the investigator completely. He was cautious because Gordon Pyke had arrived unannounced and unexpected, and they had allowed him in because of his kindness to Loren. But they knew zilch about him and there was a chance he could be another nut like the psychic, Lili Peel, even though outwardly he seemed sane enough.

  ‘A perfectly reasonable question,’ said Pyke cheerfully as he flicked crumbs from his fingers. ‘To you ghost-hunting must seem a singularly odd occupation, but for me it’s a splendidly unique calling and one, I discovered, that I’m particularly adept at, although investigating psychic phenomena is a passion that came to me late in life. Oh, I had a cursory interest in the paranormal, but my profession took up most of my time. I was a librarian in London, you see. That was a while ago and eventually I left the grime and the clamour of the city to follow a more sedate life as a librarian in Barnstaple.’

  Gabe had heard of the town, which was quite a distance from Hollow Bay. So the man wasn’t a local.

  Pyke paused to sip some tea. Cally was thoroughly bored by now.

  ‘Mummy,’ she said plaintively, ‘can I play in my room?’

  ‘Yes, of course, dear,’ Eve replied. ‘Just in your room though – you’re not to go up to the attic.’

  ‘No, Mummy.’ Cally trotted to the door and they heard her small steps clattering across the flagstones of the hall.

  ‘You have exemplary children,’ remarked Pyke.

  ‘Thank you.’ Eve was growing impatient. She had already guessed Pyke’s purpose in coming to Crickley Hall, but she wasn’t sure if she was willing to agree to it. No matter how the investigator sought to explain the bizarre events of the past week, she knew he was fundamentally wrong: Crickley Hall was haunted by ghosts. The problem was that Gabe, ever the pragmatist, seemed to be going along with Pyke’s rationalizations.

  Pyke placed the cup and saucer on the occasional table next to the armchair. ‘As a librarian, I found I had lots of time to indulge myself in outside interests. Study of the preternatural became more than just a hobby with me and I soon realized that to become a psychic investigator was not difficult if one had the, uh, aptitude for such work. I found that I had.

  ‘I began to devote my weekends to visiting alleged haunted sites and more often than not I was able to prove that most disturbances were caused by physical aberrations and not by spirits of the dead. I could do this using only the minimum tools of the ghost-hunting trade, if I may call it a trade. Early successes led to more consultation requests, which kept me very busy, so I was pleased to reach retirement age and devote all my time to researches and practical experiences.’

  Pyke was retired, thought Gabe, at least sixty-five, obviously older if he left his job some time ago. He looked in fine shape.

  ‘Is this how you find your work?’ There was no hostility in Eve’s question, but Gabe detected some cynicism. ‘You read a wild newspaper story and then just turn up on the subject’s doorstep?’

  ‘Well, sometimes, yes,’ Pyke admitted. ‘I even use a cuttings agency to send me any snippets about hauntings or such. Usually I would find a phone number and ring the prospective client first. If they’re not interested, fine; but more often than not, they’re only too anxious to get to the bottom of the problem. I also place small ads in the local papers. You’d be surprised how many people believe their houses are haunted.’

  ‘Eight times out of ten,’ said Eve. ‘Earlier you said two out of ten hauntings are unaccountable.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I take your point, Mrs Caleigh, and you’re absolutely right to make it. But in certain cases all the factors cannot be known and sometimes the psychological state of the person or persons involved is not immediately evident. So yes, of course, not all the mysteries can be solved. But that doesn’t necessarily mean unnatural elements are at play.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure.’

  ‘No, I can’t be sure every time. Some mysteries will always remain so, despite our best efforts to understand them. Sometimes, perhaps, a glimmer is all we’re allowed.’

  There was a silence between them for a moment or two, then abruptly Eve said: ‘Mr Pyke, thank you for your kindness to Loren, but I’m afraid we aren’t in need of your services.’

  ‘Wait a minute, hon,’ blurted Gabe. ‘Having Mr Pyke look into things can’t do any harm.’ Truthfully, Gabe hoped Pyke would bring a little sanity into the house.

  ‘I can assure you, my investigation will not be disruptive. My equipment would be minimal to begin with – a couple of cameras, one with infrared capability, a tape recorder, thermometers, talcum powder and synthetic thread. We can move on to other appliances – sound scanners, magnetometers, thermal heat scanners, and other pieces – only if necessary for a more sophisticated type of investigation. From what you’ve already told me, I’m fairly sure that won’t be the case.’

  Eve was shaking her head, but Gabe pressed on.

  ‘And you’re certain you can come up with answers?’

  ‘I’ll do my best for you, that’s all I can promise. I could make a start tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Gabe—’ Eve started to say, but Gabe cut her off.

  ‘How much is your fee, Mr Pyke?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t charge anything. Any expenses, obviously, but they won’t amount to much. You see, I don’t do this for financial gain. With my pension and what’s left from a modest property inheritance when I was much younger, I’m moderately comfortable financially and have never had the need to charge for my services. The only thing I’d require from you is permission to write a paper on my findings, which I might submit to the London Society for Psychical Research at some later date. They’re always interested in the fieldwork of independent investigators like myself. And I would ask you to stay in one part of the house once I’ve set up my equipment. As that will be at night-time, you’ll probably be in your bedrooms anyway.’

  ‘You want to do this at night?’

  ‘Fewer natural disturbances then. People walking about, children playing, visitors – all the usual daytime matters. Besides, that’s when most of the incidents have occurred, haven’t they?’

  ‘Gabe, I don’t want this,’ Eve said earnestly.

  But Gabe was undaunted. ‘Eve, either we let Mr Pyke do his stuff, or we move out of this place at the weekend. Maybe if we find the causes of these things happening here we can fix ’em.’

  Eve was about to object again, but she saw the resolution on her husband’s face. Once Gabe was set on something, there was no changing his mind. Besides, the investigator might find that Crickley Hall was haunted.

  And in her heart, that was what she hoped.

  48: ICE

  The bath was long enough for Eve to stretch full length, her legs straight, only her head and neck above the waterline. It was almost relaxing lying there cocooned and snug in the warm water, her face wet with light perspiration; only her troubled thoughts kept her from dozing.

  Tomorrow evening Gordon Pyke would come to the house and set up his equipment, then would keep a lonely vigi
l through the night while she and her family slept. She wondered if anything more would happen when the place was under observation, something mystical that would prove his investigation pointless. Would the hours pass by peacefully, the spirits choosing not to reveal themselves, not by sound, nor by apparition? Would Pyke’s apparatus show that the disturbances had perfectly natural causes? Perhaps the man was right – she had imagined the dancing children because her mind was susceptible to images prompted by a simple kiddies’ toy, the colourful spinning top. She was aware of how emotionally vulnerable she’d become, worn down by grief and fading hope, but surely she had truly seen them, and surely she had not imagined that dark, evil presence last Sunday, and again yesterday when Lili Peel had also sensed it?

  She closed her eyes against the starkness of the bathroom with its black and white tiles and plain bowled light overhead. Rain pittered on the frosted window and curls of steam rose from the water in which she tried to relax. The warmth felt good against her skin and her thoughts wandered.

  Eve was tired – she always felt tired nowadays, but this week had been particularly stressful. Good idea, Gabe, getting us all away from London so that we wouldn’t be at home with its memories on the anniversary of Cam’s disappearance. She gave a bitter smile. As if it would make any difference, as if it would hurt any less. But Gabe meant well.

  She wiped the flannel across her face, water mixing with the perspiration. It was good not to be cold for a change, the house was always so chilly. Full of draughts, Pyke had said – or air currents, as he would have it. He was a tall, big-boned man, but he seemed trustworthy. A gentle not-quite giant, with a good-natured countenance and a comforting smile. Eve hoped she hadn’t been too rude to him, but she knew Lili Peel would be of more help to her. Eve was sure the psychic would reach Cam eventually; it would just take a little time and the right conditions. Hadn’t she herself felt him close by?

  Keeping her eyes closed, she sank lower into the bath, water covering her chin, almost reaching her bottom lip. So warm, so comfortable. Eve began to drift . . .

  Mustn’t fall asleep. So tired, though, so wearied by events. And by sorrow. Briefly, she wondered if they would ever find Chester again. Lost dog, lost son. The girls were still upset. Over Cam. Over Chester. One loss too many. Sleepy. Very sleepy . . .

  Because her eyes were closed and she was half asleep, Eve didn’t at first notice the light above flicker, then dim, then burn out.

  But she felt the change in temperature that followed almost instantly. It roused her with a start.

  The water she bathed in was suddenly chilled – no, it was cold and fast becoming freezing. It was as if it were congealing into ice.

  Then, there in the absolute darkness, she heard its sound – ice crackling as it merged on the water’s surface.

  She lifted her leaden arms and her numbed hands came in contact with the thin icy layer. She pushed against it, but already it was firm and wouldn’t break.

  Her face, just above the waterline, felt the frigidity of the room itself. Her hair stiffened and crackled with ice particles and the cold beneath seemed to press on her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. She tried to call out, but drew in frosted air that constricted her throat. This could not be happening, it was beyond all reason! How could a bath full of heated water freeze over within seconds? It was insane!

  The coldness about her body seemed heavy, hardened, and it clamped her limbs, making it almost impossible to move them. And each time she tried to suck in air so that she could scream for help, it was as though a rod of ice had rushed into her throat to stifle any sound. Instead of raising her hands, she pushed them against the bottom of the bath, using her heels too, hoping to break through the glacial surface with her shoulders, but she kept slipping on the porcelain, kept slithering on its slickness.

  Desperately, she sharply brought up one knee, the foot of the other leg pressed hard against the end of the bath. She heard the ice crack, sensed it give a little, felt the impact on her knee. But the effort caused her head to sink further down into the water, which rushed up her nose and surged into her open mouth. She panicked even more and threw her body around, writhing in the icy thickness, kicking up with both knees now, one after the other, cracking, then breaking the frozen sheet. Her head and shoulders were completely underwater and her back pressed against the bath’s solid bottom.

  She was frantic, she was terrified. She did not want to drown.

  With a massive effort, she lifted her torso, her forehead breaking through the thin layer of ice that was already forming over the opening where her head had been only moments before. She gulped in a huge breath, not caring that it froze her mouth and throat and invaded her lungs like an arctic breeze, just desperate to take in air so that she wouldn’t die.

  She opened her eyes to the darkness and that was when vice-like fingers clamped the top of her head and pushed her down again. She went under, not understanding, just fighting for her life, tossing herself around, squirming and wriggling, refusing to be still despite the cold, tight embrace of the water, twisting so that the iron hand that held her could not get a firm grip. Eve burst through the surface ice, this time further down in the bath, one leg over the side, the other one bent, her foot pushing against the slippery porcelain.

  Blinking to clear her eyes, Eve perceived rather than saw the dark figure looming over her and this time she did scream, for it was an instinctive, animal cry that was not forced but came from sheer terror.

  The piercing sound echoed round the tiled bathroom. Now two stunningly gelid hands grasped her, one in her hair, the other on her shoulder. They forced her down once more, but she struggled so much, the ice breaking up completely around her, that they could not keep her under. She heaved herself upwards, screamed again, and the bathroom door crashed open, dismal light from the landing pushing back the reluctant darkness.

  Gabe rushed in and grabbed Eve, hauling her out of the bath, hugging her naked shuddering body close. He tried to calm her, squeezing her tight, hushing her sobs with quietly spoken words.

  ‘It’s all right, Eve, you’re safe, I’m here.’

  He quickly scanned the room and although it was shadowed, he could tell there was no one else in there.

  But he smelt the thick cloying stink of strong soap mixed with decay and excrement.

  49: COMFORT

  ‘But I felt the water, Eve, and it wasn’t cold. Tepid maybe, but for sure not icy like you say.’

  ‘You have to believe me.’

  ‘Maybe the light burning out like that scared you and you thought—’

  ‘I didn’t imagine what happened, Gabe. The light went off—’

  ‘It was just the bulb. I checked. None of the other lights failed.’

  ‘When the light went off the bathwater froze. Just suddenly froze! I was caught in it. Then someone – something – started to push me under. It was trying to drown me! A hand was on my head, it pushed me down. I didn’t imagine it!’

  ‘Okay, hon. I’m just trying to make sense of it all.’ He didn’t say anything about the noxious smell. At a stretch it might only have been the bathroom’s ancient drains. He had to face it, though: he was looking for plausible reasons for the weird things going on in this house. ‘I suppose really I don’t want to believe in ghosts,’ he admitted.

  ‘How can you ignore everything that’s gone on since the day we moved in?’

  He was silent. Eve was right. He himself had witnessed the strange little glowing lights hovering round Cally while she played in her room; he, too, had heard the scuttling of small feet coming from the attic, and he had been there when the closet door had almost burst its hinges with the banging coming from inside.

  Finally, he said: ‘You’re right, there’s something wrong with this place, something bad here. Chester knew straightaway. S’why he hit the road.’

  They were in their bedroom, both sitting on the edge of the bed, Eve with her bathrobe wrapped around her. Mercifully, and perhaps oddl
y, her screams had not awoken their daughters; they had slept on, the sleep of the innocents. The house was taking their energy.

  Gabe slumped, bent over his knees, his hands clasped together. ‘I’m beat,’ he said. ‘We’ve had enough. We gotta pull out, quit.’

  ‘But there’s something good here, too.’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘I’ve sensed it. So has Lili.’

  ‘We can’t go through all that again. Look, if you’re right, if Cam did make some kind of contact with you, he can do it wherever you are.’ He thought she was deluding herself, but now wasn’t the time to voice that opinion. Eve was in a fragile state, she was too strung out.

  She leaned into him, one arm crossing to his shoulder. Gabe slipped his own arm round her waist.

  ‘All right, Gabe, we’ll leave.’

  He let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘But only after Lili Peel comes here again.’

  ‘Eve . . .’

  ‘Just one more time. We can also let Mr Pyke carry out his investigation, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem much point if we’re leaving.’

  ‘As you said earlier, his investigation can do no harm. Besides, I’m interested in what he might find.’

  ‘You just wanna see me proved wrong, is all.’ He said it lightly.

  ‘No, I want you to be satisfied.’

  ‘You gonna be okay tonight?’

  ‘I’ll take a sleeping pill. I feel exhausted, but I doubt I’d sleep otherwise.’ The house was sapping her strength too.

  She softly kissed his cheek, aware of his confusion, confident of his love. Her lips lingered.

  ‘I was so frightened, Gabe.’

  ‘I know. That’s why we have to go.’

  Yes, she thought, they should leave Crickley Hall.