The Darkest Veil

by Catherine Cavendish

  I went to bed early that night. Tired from my exertions and relieved the fierce wind had died down, I began to drift off. From far away, I thought I heard tapping at the window. Only the rain…

  Chapter Four

  “Alice!”

  The familiar voice broke into my dreams.

  “Alice!”

  I woke up. “Suzie?” I opened my eyes, as my alarm went off. The start of another working week.

  I reached over and depressed the ringer. The irritating clanging stopped. I rubbed my eyes. My head felt full of cotton wool and my mouth was parched.

  In the kitchen, I filled the kettle, plugged it into the wall socket and switched it on before splashing cold water over my face. It helped a little but I still felt befuddled. A mug of coffee later, my brain decided to join me in the conscious world.

  Vicky was leaving as I came down the stairs. She held the door open for me, politely, returned my cheerful, “Good morning,” in a grudging monotone, and we walked in awkward silence to the bus stop.

  The bus was already three-quarters full and I felt a wave of relief that there would be no chance of us being able to sit together. If there had, I felt almost sure she would have sat somewhere else. The guilty shroud descended once more.

  For days, I racked my brain but couldn’t understand why I had grabbed the chance to rent Suzie’s flat. Granted, it was much bigger and better than my old room, but when I thought of how Suzie had left, of the séance and the strange noises she had heard there, I couldn’t understand why I would put myself in her position. It was hardly surprising Diana and Vicky were mad at me. If the positions were reversed, I would feel angry, too.

  Every night, when I switched off my bedside lamp, I burrowed deep under the covers, fearful of hearing the slightest noise. Rain battered the window on Wednesday and I shot up in bed, my heart pounding until I realized what had caused the noise. I settled back down again, only to leap out of bed when a sudden loud gust of wind whistled and the house creaked.

  My lamp stayed on that night.

  Thursday night. The storm had long passed and all had become still and calm. I put down my book and switched off the lamp. I pulled the covers over my head and listened to the sound of my breathing.

  A sudden noise. Scratching. At the window. I held my breath. It stopped.

  I exhaled.

  BANG! Something heavy landed on the roof. A sound of slithering. Something sliding down the slates.

  I threw back the covers and snapped the lamp on.

  I listened.

  Nothing.

  The seconds ticked by. Still nothing.

  I debated whether I should get back in bed.

  But I had to find out.

  The room had grown chilly. I grabbed my dressing gown and wrapped it around me. At the window, I hesitated. If I pulled back the curtains now, what would I see? I could hear a few cars traveling up and down the main road a few yards away. Through the curtains, the amber streetlights shone as usual. I told myself it was okay. Everything would be fine. Just an empty street in the middle of the night.

  I ran my dry tongue around parched lips. I took one curtain in each hand and tugged them aside.

  Nothing but the neon-lit dark sky greeted me. If I opened the window, I could look up and see anything that might be hanging off the roof.

  Oh yes, and supposing I did see something—or someone—then what would I do? I made to close the curtains.

  The raven came from nowhere.

  I screamed. It opened its vicious beak and gave a raucous caw that penetrated the glass. Its vivid yellow eyes blinked at me. I screamed again and tugged the curtains closed. I backed away, clutching my chest. A lump had formed in my throat and a heavy weight pressed down on me. No one came running up the stairs. Maybe my cry hadn’t been as loud as I thought.

  Still the bird pecked. I willed it to stop the infernal tap, tap, tapping. I clapped my hands to my ears, threw myself onto my bed and buried myself under the covers. It didn’t help. The noise of the pecking bird sounded as loud as ever.

  Then it stopped, but sleep would never come that night. Although I told myself it was only a bird, it didn’t help to calm me. It may have been a bird, but something didn’t seem right about it.

  By the end of the week, Diana and Vicky seemed to have come round a little. We were at least holding short conversations, even exchanging the odd laugh, but things weren’t back to normal. It would take time for them to forgive me. They had known Suzie a lot longer than I had.

  There were still only the three of us in the house.

  “Has Mr. Copeland brought anyone round?” I asked as I joined Diana and Vicky in their shared kitchen.

  Diana stirred a sauce. “I haven’t seen anyone. He picked up the rent as usual though, so he’s definitely been here.”

  Vicky took a sip of her tea. “He’ll get new people soon enough. Two bedsits empty in the same house? Unheard of in his vocabulary.”

  “Still no word from Suzie,” I said.

  “I know,” Diana said. “I wondered if we should report her as a missing person.”

  “Does she have any family?” I asked.

  “Her mother lives in a council flat in Hunslet I think,” Vicky said, but I’ve no idea the address. I don’t even know her surname. Baxter was Suzie’s married name.”

  “Maybe we should hang on a bit longer,” I said. “I mean, apart from her dress in the cellar which, by the way, showed no signs of violence, we’ve nothing to go on. We can’t give the police any real information, and they’ll say she’s a thirty-year-old mature woman capable of making her own decisions who, for some reason best known to herself, has decided to disappear.”

  “You’ve been watching too many episodes of Z Cars,” Vicky said.

  Diana finished stirring her sauce and moved the pan off the hob. “She’s right, though. My uncle used to be a policeman. I can’t remember how many thousand people go missing every year, but there’s very little the police can do. They’ll tell us that she’ll come back when she’s ready. It would be different if we had evidence of foul play but, as you say, the dress was clean, neatly folded and bore no trace of damage.”

  “So we wait then,” I said.

  Diana sighed. “’Fraid so. And we’d better prepare ourselves that she may never come back. We might never have the answers to our questions.”

  As we seemed to be getting on better, I decided to tell them about my weird experience the previous night. They listened. Diana spoke first.

  “You say this bird had yellow eyes?”

  “Yes. Vivid yellow.”

  “Definitely a raven?”

  “I’m as sure as I can be. I have seen ravens before. We used to have a nesting pair in our garden.”

  “Ravens don’t have yellow eyes. They have gray-blue ones.”

  “That’s what was wrong. I knew there had to be something.”

  “How do you mean?” Vicky asked.

  “It’s been bothering me all day. It definitely had yellow eyes. I’m sure it was a raven and yet, you’re right, Diana. The eyes were all wrong.”

  Vicky exchanged glances with Diana. “Shall we tell her?”

  “Probably best.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s seen that bird,” Vicky said. “Suzie did, too. A few months before you moved in. Only the once as far as I’m aware, but that started it. She described what she saw exactly as you did. From the heavy thump on the roof, right through to the bird appearing from nowhere at the window. In her case, she screamed blue murder. Had the whole house up.”

  “I screamed. No one came.”

  “Sorry,” Diana said. “I never heard you or I would have come up. Seriously.”

  Vicky stroked my arm. “I didn’t either. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. But it’s strange Suzie and I experienced the same thing. It’s not an everyday occurrence, after all.”

  “I’d have been terrified,” Vicky said. “Esp
ecially a raven. They’re the subject of so much folklore. Real harbingers of doom. Or they can be.”

  “But yellow eyes?” I had no answer for that and neither did they.

  A month drifted by, with no more unexplained manifestations at home. At work, my job became increasingly tedious. As a female, I was apparently deemed to be the best person to do the lion’s—or should that be lioness’s?—share of the filing. Although the bank liked to call itself an equal opportunity employer, in reality, the female staff had anything but parity. I suppose they felt it wasn’t worth their while training us too much. After all, weren’t we all destined to get married, have children and leave? My male colleagues were pretty much unanimous on that one.

  At home, we had become almost resigned to Suzie’s disappearance. Almost, but not quite. It still didn’t add up. The timing of it, the fact she hadn’t told any of us of her intentions…

  Two new girls moved into the vacant bedsits and within three weeks had left to get a flat together. Mr. Copeland had vacancies once again.

  I had settled into my new flat and, as I wasn’t hearing any more strange noises or being startled by yellow-eyed ravens, I enjoyed having the top floor to myself, as well as the extra cupboard space.

  Another week had drawn to a close. Vicky, Diana and I pretty much fully reconciled, had been out to the Yarby for a drink and the clock showed eleven-thirty when I clambered into bed and switched off my bedside lamp. I lay in the dark, thinking about nothing in particular.

  Above my head, a shower of stones rattled down the roof. Hail? I switched my lamp on and sped over to the window. Something tapped insistently on the glass. I instantly thought of the raven. I hung back and tried to make out if there was a shadow on the other side of the curtains. The tapping stopped. No sound of the bird’s raucous cry. I took hold of the curtains and yanked them open. Nothing there. I peered through the window. The night appeared fine. No sign of a hailstorm, rain or anything else that could have made those noises. No one in the street below either.

  After a few moments, I took a deep, calming breath, pulled the curtains shut and turned back to my bed.

  A low groan echoed through the room. The floorboards creaked. Fear trickled up my back like slow-moving tendrils of ice.

  I stood rigid, unable to move. My heart pounded. More stones rattled down the roof.

  I heard a whimper and realized it came from me. Then a gentle whooshing sound. I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified of what I might see if I opened them.

  “Alice…” The voice whispered to me. Unfamiliar. Male. “Alice…”

  Something brushed my arm. My whimper became a scream. I couldn’t stop.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Someone banged on my locked door.

  “Alice! It’s Diana. Let me in.”

  I forced my eyes open. Nothing there. I spun around. Nothing in the room.

  “Alice!”

  I raced to the door and wrenched it open, almost falling into Diana’s arms. Vicky had joined her. I let the two of them half-carry me back into my room and sit me on the bed. With the light on, everything seemed perfectly normal.

  “God, you’re shaking all over.” Diana rubbed my hand. “You’re not cold. What on Earth happened?”

  I shook my head. “Haven’t a clue. I heard noises… I felt something… Someone whispered my name.” How could I explain the inexplicable?

  Diana and Vicky exchanged glances. “It’s happening again. Suzie experienced the same thing. It’s this bloody house.”

  “I must have imagined it,” I said. “It can’t have been real.”

  “I doubt you did,” Vicky said. “Bit too much of a coincidence that both you and Suzie should experience the same thing.”

  “Could that have been what drove her away? Not the arrears—or that weird piece of paper?” I asked.

  “Quite possibly,” Diana said. “Do you want a cup of tea or a glass of water?”

  “No, I’m fine. Honestly.” I didn’t feel it. I don’t think they believed me anyway. I pasted a smile on my face. “You both get back to bed.”

  I had no sleep that night and phoned in sick the next morning. Vicky and Diana checked on me before they went to work, and once the door closed, I was alone in the house, aware of every creak and shift of timbers.

  By lunchtime, fed up of my own company and sick of jumping at every noise, I grabbed my purse, donned a raincoat and flat shoes and opened my door.

  I got as far as the front door before a noise stopped me. From the kitchen. The sound of a woman wailing. Goose bumps rose on my arms. I turned back, took a tentative step forward, then another and another. I ran into the kitchen and, before I could stop myself, unlocked the cellar door.

  The musty air hit me. Cold. Clammy.

  “Suzie!” I’m not sure why I called her name.

  A scream tore at my eardrums. Without thinking, I snapped the light switch on and charged down the stairs. The door slammed behind me. I spun around, suddenly aware of what I had done. I raced up the stairs again and turned the handle. It wouldn’t open. Someone had locked the door from the outside.

  I banged on it, yelling to be released. Nothing.

  At the bottom of the stairs, a shadow moved. I clung to the banister. “Who’s down there?”

  This time, the shadows didn’t move. The atmosphere grew darker and heavier. Once again, I banged at the door and turned the handle. Mercifully, it opened and I staggered into the kitchen. I slammed and locked the door.

  The wailing began again. The sound of a tormented woman. I clapped my hands to my ears.

  “Make it stop. Make it stop.” I kept repeating it like a mantra. Over and over. The wailing grew louder. It came closer. Someone coming up the stairs. Soon they would be at the top.

  Almost there.

  I stared at the door handle as it slowly turned. Backwards and forwards. Rattling the lock and the door. They would break through any minute.

  “Please God, no.”

  The wailing and rattling stopped. I raced out of the kitchen and out the front door. No way would I return until I could be sure someone else had come home.

  “I’m going to look for another flat,” I told Diana and Vicky that evening. “This place has really got to me.”

  By their expressions, neither of them was surprised at my decision. Diana spoke first. “Why don’t we rent a house together? We get on well enough.”

  It made sense and would probably be cheaper than our current situation. Vicky and I agreed. At the weekend, we would go through the property pages and start our search.

  Knowing I wouldn’t be there much longer lifted my spirits. I could breathe without feeling a crushing weight on my chest. Soon I would have a new home and, with any luck, a better job.

  Diana and Vicky came to my room that evening.

  “I’ve been to the library today,” Vicky said. “I thought it might help to learn a bit about the history of this house. I found out something quite interesting.”

  “You’re going to love this,” Diana said, as she lit a cigarette.

  Vicky took a notebook out of her purse and flipped a couple of sheets before she found her place. “The house itself was built in 1896, along with the others in Yarborough Drive. It was originally sold to a Josiah Underwood, formerly of Preston. He moved in, accompanied by Jessica Underwood, Martin Templar, Zechariah Short, Steven Lane, Tabitha Waterhouse, Elizabeth Jordan… the list goes on. All different surnames apart from Josiah and Jessica. All adults. Thirteen people in total.”

  “That must have been a tight squeeze,” I said.

  “Yes, but don’t you get it? There were thirteen of them,” Vicky said.

  I looked blankly. Diana blew out a cloud of smoke. “That’s the number you need for a witches’ coven… and don’t you remember, at the séance? ‘We are the thirteen. We are one?’”

  “There’s more,” Vicky said. “This group appear to have lived in this house for around five years. Then, by 1902, the inhabitants changed a bit.
There were still thirteen but, apart from Josiah and Jessica Underwood, all the other names had changed.”

  “So eleven had moved out and eleven more had taken their place.”

  “I decided Josiah and Jessica might be interesting subjects to follow. Ten years later, they were still living here and there had been at least two more complete changes of co-inhabitants. Then, in 1917, the house was declared as empty.”

  “That would be during the First World War,” I said. “Couldn’t it have been bombed or something?”

  “No. Just empty—and it remained that way, until Dennis Copeland bought it in 1960. It must have been derelict by then.”

  She had me hooked. I needed more. “Did you manage to find out what happened to Josiah and Jessica?”

  “A little. I need to go back tomorrow. I only had my lunch hour. Just before I left, I did find an odd little piece in the Yorkshire Gazette dated the third of November 1909. I copied it down.” She flicked over the page of her notepad and read from it. “‘In court today, Mr. Josiah Underwood of Four Yarborough Drive, Chapel Allerton pleaded not guilty to crimes related to the use of witchcraft and sorcery in order to extract money fraudulently from a Miss Emma White. When asked if he was a witch, Mr. Underwood replied. “What a preposterous notion. There is no such thing.” The case against him was dismissed.’”

  “Well, in the immortal words of Mandy Rice-Davies, he would say that, wouldn’t he?” Diana said.

  “Have you seen a picture of this man?” I asked. Vicky shook her head. “I’ve booked tomorrow off as a day’s leave so I’ll try and track one down but I’m not too hopeful. I had a very helpful librarian, though, so we’ll see.”

  Helpful she might have been, but even the diligent librarian couldn’t find what apparently didn’t exist. The following day, Vicky had scribbled more notes in her book and shared her results. “Something peculiar does seem to have been going on here. There were a number of complaints reported in the paper over the years. Neighbors complained about strange smells, loud chanting at all hours of the night, even men and women dancing naked around a bonfire in the back yard at midnight. Josiah Underwood was bound over in 1904 and fined for similar misdemeanors—described as ‘lascivious and lewd behavior likely to cause a breach of the peace’—in 1911. I tried following the other names but, apart from Jessica, who had been charged and convicted with him, each of them seems to have dropped off the face of the planet after they moved out of here. Not that this tells us anything other than they didn’t get themselves reported in the newspaper. I tried the register of deaths but, without any further information to go on, I could have been there until the middle of next year.”