Aftersight

by Brian Mercer

  "Have you tried switching her to a different room?"

  "Twice, but that doesn't seem to help. The disturbances only follow her."

  I took out my notebook and scribbled in it. "What's that," Lord Humphreys asked. "What's he doing?"

  "I'm takin' notes," I answered. "What's it look like?"

  "No notes! No physical evidence that can be traced back to me. If the press learns that we've spoken..."

  "Relax," I shot back. "I ain't writin' anythin' identifiable. You're safe with us, Mr. Humphreys."

  "Lord Humphreys," Tommy corrected.

  "Lord Humphreys," I began, "I was wonderin' if we could revisit this idea of not lettin' us bring any equipment into the—"

  "No, no. No equipment."

  "If you're worried about us makin' a fuss, we can keep a low profile."

  "I'm afraid I can't take that risk," Lord Humphreys said. "Besides, I just can't afford it financially." He grabbed a sheaf of papers in a file folder on his desk. "Why, look at this. These electrical bills are costing me a small fortune. This place has always been costly, but these last months the charges have gone up catastrophically. The last thing I need you chaps doing is plugging in fancy equipment and bleeding my pockets dry."

  The interview went on for another half-hour while we collected more information on the order of events and detail of the disturbances. When I was satisfied with what I'd heard, I folded my notebook and asked, "So what is it that we can do for ya', Mr., I mean, Lord Humphreys?"

  "Why, I want you to get rid of this thing. Make it stop, like you did for Laremy."

  "Course," I replied. "We'll do our best, but first we need to get to the bottom of this. Find out what we're dealin' with."

  "Do what you need to do, Mr. Allard, Mr. Banks, as long as you keep it quiet. The quicker the better. I don't have the time nor the resources for another move. Not in this real estate market. I fear we're here to stay for a while."

  ****

  I flicked my lighter open and held the flame to the end of my cigarillo, puffing on it until the end glowed. "I wanna interview the girl."

  "No chance. Lord Humphreys will never allow it."

  Tommy and I were standing on Lord Humphreys’ back stoop, our meeting with him having just drawn to a close. "Change his mind. It's important. Tell him we'll need to talk to her if we're gonna get to the bottom of this... and, we'll need to record it, too."

  "There's no chance."

  I exhaled cigar smoke and held up a digital recorder. I pressed the switch and Lord Humphreys' voice came spilling out. "It started about three months ago, sometime in early February..."

  "You didn't."

  "I did."

  "You could get in a lot of trouble for that."

  "How are we supposed to do our job if Lord Humphreys keeps takin' away our tools?"

  "If that recording got out it would be the end of Lord Humphreys' political career, to say nothing of my career. Lord Humphreys is a vindictive bugger. He'd crucify me. You, too."

  "Look, nothin' is gettin' out," I assured him. "You know I only want what's best for the girl. The interview, can you arrange it?"

  "I'll see what I can do."

  I took another drag on my cigarillo. "You heard him about the huge electric bill?"

  "Yes, I did. Classic symptom. You think something's using the power to manifest?"

  "Gotta be. You heard him say how it's gotten worse after the spirit board incident? I gotta talk to that girl!"

  Tommy started down the steps, waving for me to follow. "I'll see what I can do."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cali

  Stables, Waltham Manor

  April 24

  Sara, Becky, Nicole, and I, outfitted in our latest riding gear, mounted our horses and made our way north. This was our virgin trek out on the riding trails. It was just after eleven o'clock in the morning and dusty sunlight fell through the trees that grew on either side of the rutted path. Sara was in the lead on her black horse, Pepper, taking it slow and making soothing horse sounds, as if communicating to the animals in some secret language that only she seemed to know. It was our first outing on the Waltham estate by ourselves and I think she felt kind of responsible for us newbie riders.

  Becky and Nicole rode together in the center, laughing and pointing out interesting landmarks. Their horses, Jasper and Yorick, seemed to be old friends and liked to walk side-by-side. I took up the rear, trying to remember everything I'd learned from my riding lessons, keeping the reins tight to prevent Maestro from accelerating into a trot. He was a spirited animal, but I felt strangely comfortable with him. Growing up I'd always had a dog, but my attempts to connect with Maestro were somehow different. He was just so flipping huge! At the same time, he felt like an old friend, someone who'd watch over and take care of me if something bad went down. Someone I could trust.

  The landscape directly around Waltham Manor looked more or less like an old park, with mature trees and trimmed lawns cut through with paths, hedges, and creeks. Occasionally, statues or fountains decorated the side of the trail with plaques dedicated to Waltham family members or special teachers or students who had once attended the academy. But as we traveled farther north, the open patches of grass were interrupted by dense woods or hollows with gazebos or little outdoor theaters that made me imagine summer plays performed under the stars.

  Around noon the girls and I stopped for lunch. We dismounted where a freshly cut lawn sloped down to a large pond. A tiny island in the middle of the pond had a stately maple growing up from its center, its branches billowing out over the water like a giant umbrella. Willows, oaks, and chestnuts surrounded the pond and, on its far side, thick woods and bracken grew so bunched together that it made it impossible to explore.

  From our high vantage point, we could just make out a re-creation of a Roman temple on the pond's opposite shore, partially overgrown with trees and vines. Steps led up to a large stone patio covered with black-and-white checkered tile. Fluted columns of yellow stone supported a crumbling roof structure and an elaborate marble railing outlined steps leading down into the pond's brackish waters. In the pond itself, the tops of more columns and statues partially broke the water's surface, hinting at a lost city submerged beneath its dark surface.

  After we tied up the horses, Nicole and Becky spread out blankets and unpacked lunch from the saddlebags. The sun was high and warm overhead, but there was a cold breeze blowing from the west mixed with the briny scent of the sea. I ate lunch slightly apart from the others, sitting on my wool blanket and trying not to puke up my sandwich. Becky was getting on my flippin' nerves and I think if I sat too close I might just have to kill her. She and Nicole shared a blanket and ate lunch off the same plate. Becky was telling lame jokes and Nicole was actually laughing. Laughing! It was like Becky was flirting with her.

  I'm jealous, I realized, chomping on an apple and puckering at its tartness. This is so screwed up. I'm actually jealous of Becky and Nicole. This was just the kind of screwed up, high school drama that made me prefer hanging out with guys. But here I was, my stomach in knots, bile rising from the back of my throat. Jealous. Give me a break!

  I was losing her, I realized. Losing Nicole to Becky. It's like they'd had this sisterly thing going since they'd met, something I couldn't be a part of. Was it just that or was it something more? I looked longingly at Nicole, wanting to be with her in a way I'd never felt before. I'd never been attracted to a girl and I was pretty sure I wasn't attracted to Nicole in that way. But my heart ached when I looked at her and I felt my face flush when I thought that she might prefer Becky to me.

  When Becky pressed an olive to Nicole's lips and Nicole ate it with a giggle, my hands started shaking. For just a second I imagined propelling my fist hard into Becky's surgically enhanced nose. I'd better watch it. One of them is going to use their psychic radar and know exactly what's going on. I took a deep breath and used the meditation techniques I'd learned these past few months to try to cool off.
Deep breaths, a lot of deep breaths, but I couldn't quite settle down.

  I made eye contact with Sara just then, who'd been grazing on the last of her sandwich and watching me. I know, Sara's expression seemed to say, but I won't tell. You'll just have to sort this out for yourself.

  "I'm going to take you to the ruins next," Sara announced, breaking the spell of our gaze. "I've told you about them before. Prior to Waltham Academy, the old manor house was located on the far northern edge of the estate. It was quite grand and made mostly of stone, with turrets and battlements to give it the air of a castle. It had servants' quarters, stables, smithies, and elaborate gardens. There was a fire in the late 1700s and the whole place was destroyed. Several family members and a host of servants perished in the flames."

  "That's awful," Becky said with a grimace. "Does anyone know how the fire started?"

  "No one knows for certain," Sara answered. "Some say it was a chimney fire, and that's all well, good, and plausible. But this happened during a time when our king, King George III, was going mad. There's evidence to suggest that the Waltham family was financially supporting a faction that wanted to put the prince regent on the throne in the king's stead. Some say — and there's otherworldly information to back this up — that servants loyal to the crown discovered this and burnt the house to the ground so that the family could no longer afford such high-minded expenditures. If that's really what happened, it seems to have worked.

  "Of course, the ruins and the vicinity are said to be haunted. I know that Uncle Alex will occasionally take students to the site, either to make contact with spirits that may still be lingering there, or for students to practice using their intuition to determine what actually happened that late September night when the fire broke out."

  "I'm not sure about this," Becky said uneasily, looking at Nicole for support. "If there really is some kind of negative energy there, maybe it's not such a good idea for us to go. I mean, not with that dark spirit hanging around us."

  "Don't be such a baby," I said, taking a big bite of apple so juice dribbled from my mouth and lip ring. "We're not spending the night, just taking a look." I hurled my apple core into the woods and went to the pond to rinse my hands, catching Becky's uneasy glance at Sara and Nicole.

  The week before, we'd taken Becky's sketch of the man in black to Sir Alex, who'd examined it and questioned us about our previous encounters with him. When Sir Alex seemed satisfied that he'd learned all he could from us, he folded the sketch in half and promised that he'd look into it.

  "But Uncle Alex, what if we're in danger?" Sara pleaded. "If this old man is the one that's been haunting our room, he's been causing a great deal of mischief."

  "I have no evidence to suggest that this entity is out to do you harm," Sir Alex replied. "Until I know exactly what it's about, there's really nothing we can do but take the usual precautions and wait it out. As I said, I'll look into it." He smiled dismissively, and we'd gone back to our rooms with the idea that he wasn't going to do much of anything about it.

  After we packed up our saddlebags, we got on our horses and picked up the trail where we left off, following it on its northwesterly direction deeper into the woods. The wilderness to our left was a confusion of curving branches, leafy ferns, and thickly tangled vines. As I traced the landscape with my eyes, I could imagine fairy-like creatures dancing in the trees like fireflies. There was an ancient presence there that I could sense studying us and I wondered if we'd ever get a chance to explore it further.

  The horse path followed the winding course of a small stream as it wandered into the trees. Occasionally, the trail crossed the stream, forcing the horses through the slow-moving currents to leave a trail of wet hoof-prints in their wake. As the afternoon continued, clouds gathered overhead, darkening the broken patches of sky we glimpsed through the trees and sprinkling us with occasional flecks of rain.

  We wandered the northern part of the estate for hours, finally arriving at the old manor house just before four o'clock. By then the wind made the branches overhead bow and sway with increasingly urgent whispers. The old castle — it really did seem like a castle, with battlements showing like teeth along its rooftops — was half-covered by shadows that hollowed out its empty windows and masked its insides in darkness. Gaps in the masonry showed glimpses of the mansion's dark bowels. Four and, in places, five stories high, the ruins of the old house hinted at the Waltham family's long history of wealth and influence.

  In the centuries since people last lived there, the woods behind the house had moved in along its back three sides, as if to swallow the broken stonework and make it its own. Maple branches grew into and through its upper-story windows, and ivy and blackberry vines covered it in layers. The walls and wild growth seemed both to support and hold each other up.

  A dozen enormous elms and cottonwoods grew in the front yard. Sara dismounted and tethered her horse to a large fallen branch with leaves still green and growing. "Come on," she said and when we made no move to get down added, "Well, surely you're not afraid, are you?"

  "Hadn't we ought to head back?" Becky asked, trying to keep her horse still while she studied the darkening sky. "There's obviously a storm coming and I don't want to be caught out in it. My hair will get all wet."

  That did it. I slipped down from Maestro's saddle and tied off his reins, taking off my velvet-covered riding helmet and hanging it by its straps on the downed tree limb. "You can wait for us here, if you want." I retrieved my oversized, pink sweatshirt from my saddlebag and slipped it on over my riding jacket. "We won't be too long, I don't think."

  Becky exchanged glances with Nicole as if to say, What's her problem?

  Best to let it be, Nicole's eyes seemed to reply. Nicole dismounted, forcing Becky to follow or be left behind.

  The grey evening light was fading as we approached the ruins' battered façade. Wind shook the branches overhead with a warning hiss of leaves, as if the trees were asking for silence for those who'd once lost their lives here. Eroded old steps led to a wide arched opening, where carved wooden doors would have stood had they not been rotted away by the elements. The lacquered parquet floor that might have once gleamed in the open foyer had long ago buckled from the heat of the ancient fire and collapsed into the living quarters blow. Now only a tangle of bramble was left behind, warning us with their thorny vines about what would happen if we should take a bad step and fall into their grasp.

  Only the mansion's weathered, fire-charred bones remained, but I could imagine the home's former glory. The grand staircase rose up into nothing now. Its main landing had disappeared long ago to reveal doorways lined along the upper gallery. Walls still held where wood and plaster had failed, leaving a crumbling maze of stone, mortar, and arched passages. Here and there, ivy scaled the walls, flapping in the growing breeze, making the shadows appear to come alive.

  "Come on," I said, "there must be a way in."

  We moved cautiously around the right side of the house, where a curtain of blackberry vines climbed into the trees, leaving a dark tent full of spiderwebs and clinging tufts of tree cotton. I pushed the opening wider with a stick and slipped inside, followed by a reluctant Nicole, Sara, and Becky. We moved along the mansion's outer wall for twenty yards before a wide slash in the house's foundation opened into a dark cellar.

  We slid down onto the chamber's dirt floor. The space ahead was buried in shadow. Only the dusty grey light falling from the crack overhead allowed any light to see by. I had an obscure sense of an opening in the wall up ahead and, somewhere beyond it, tunnels flowing to the right and left. A sporadic breeze blew out of the dark hole, coughing up odors of old things rotting and decomposing in dim, damp places.

  "Does anyone have a torch?" asked Sara.

  "I do in my purse back home," Nicole answered, "Maybe I should go back and get it."

  I pulled out my flashlight and clicked it on, pointing it into each of the girls' faces. "I've got one. Come on, let's check it out. It'll be fun."
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  I pushed on through the opening in the wall, as if daring them to follow.

  "Come on, guys," Becky protested, "I don't think this is a good idea. I'm not going any farther. I'm staying right here." But Nicole and Sara followed me and, soon after, Becky, too.

  In its day, the cellar might have been a place to store wine, preserves, and root vegetables, but whatever was left of the tools and receptacles that might have survived the fire had long ago been carted away. Now it was just a wet hole smelling of mud and mold. As we pushed past arched passages and cobwebs, we could occasionally see light leaking down through the vines overhead, throwing spidery shadows across the crusty dirt floor. Twice our path was blocked by pools of water that, in the dim light, looked like they might go on forever, and once an opening in the floor seemed to plunge bottomless into the depths of the earth.

  When I stopped suddenly, Sara nearly bowled over me. We were in a long, narrow room with stone stairs leading up into a dark snarl of roots. The ruined manor house loomed large and heavy above us like something saggy and old, waiting to fall and collapse in on itself. We seemed to be beneath the castle's exact center.

  Several times I thought I'd heard something above us; heard something or maybe felt something, I wasn't quite sure. Whatever it was, I was picking it up from some place deep inside me where my five physical senses blended with another sense I didn't have a name for.

  "Quiet," I whispered. "Listen."

  At first there was nothing but the weak sigh of wind no louder than the faintest exhale. Then everything was quiet, perfectly quiet. Finally, it came through. The creak of floorboards settling, the sense of joists groaning with weight, then, all at once, the kuthump, kuthump, kuthump of heavy boots on solid plank flooring.

  "But there isn't anything to walk—" Sara said before the three of us stifled her.