by Robin Jarvis
The light faded outside Ben’s window and the shadows deepened in his room. The boy fell into a light, uneasy sleep which was invaded by unpleasant dreams. In them he was walking down a long, narrow corridor which seemed familiar, but he couldn’t think where he had seen it before. His feet were heavy in the dream and though his legs were moving he never got anywhere. Beads of sweat pricked Ben’s forehead as he turned over and his breath came in short gasps.
He knew there was something behind him but he could not turn his head round to look. He could feel its presence dogging his every footstep, its eyes burning into his back; he sensed the tension in the air as it prepared to spring. A howl boomed inside his head, a weird, unearthly sound that slashed the watchful night. With a hideous growl, the unseen beast bore down on him.
The boy whimpered in his sleep, trapped in a nightmare which was rapidly approaching its gruesome end. His face was screwed up in fear. ‘Go away,’ he mumbled tearfully, ‘make it go away!’
But the horror continued. The creature was snapping at his heels and with a shriek he called out, ‘Mum! Mum!’
Ben found himself sitting up in bed, drenched with sweat. The room was dark, yet he could make out the figure sitting beside him quite clearly.
‘Mum,’ he whispered.
The figure smiled at him, as any mother might do to comfort her child in the night. Ben put his arms out to embrace her but she rose and backed away. It was then that he remembered she was dead.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered how he could have mistaken this vision for something real. A thread of silver light ran around her outline, flickering like sunlight over water. His mother opened her mouth, but Ben could not hear the words she was speaking. He averted his eyes quickly when he saw the pattern on the wallpaper through the darkness, where the roof of her mouth should have been. He knew there was nothing to fear but it unnerved him and he found himself wishing she would leave. Watching his own mother mouthing dumbly like an actress in some crackly silent film was horrible.
The boy hid his eyes and waited for her to disappear—his visitors usually left if he ignored them. But when he looked up she was still there. She had moved to the end of the bed and was kneeling down with her face turned sadly towards him. She had stopped trying to talk, as if she realised that it was upsetting him. Instead, she shook her head at her son with that gentle smile on her lips which he remembered so well. That was better; Ben smiled back at her. She then inclined her head towards the door, beckoning Ben with her hands.
Puzzled, the boy clambered out of bed and shivered; his sweat had become cold and he was chilled. Stepping up to the door, he looked up at the shade of his mother and asked her with the expression in his eyes what she wanted.
The figure pointed at the doorknob. Trembling, Ben reached out a hand, slowly opened the door and peered out.
He was totally unprepared for what was on the other side and gasped in disbelief.
There, crammed on the small landing, was a multitude of ‘visitors’. They were sitting on the banisters and crowded down the stairs. Ben could only shake his head and stare; he had never seen this many together before. The ghosts of over a hundred people were there. There were young faces and old, some wearing old-fashioned costumes and others dressed in clothes more familiar to him. But they all seemed to be waiting for something. A long line of them trailed down into the hall and gathered outside the closed parlour door.
Although Ben did not understand why he saw his ‘visitors’, they sometimes seemed as real and ordinary as the rest of the world—the Rodice’s husband had been one of these. But he could tell these forms were phantoms. Some of them were transparent as glass, whilst others were just indistinct shapes made of grey mist.
As he opened the bedroom door a little wider to get a clearer view, they suddenly became aware of him and all their faces turned in his direction. For a moment Ben felt afraid and he pulled himself back into the bedroom. But his qualms disappeared as the light which flickered around the apparitions welled up and illuminated the stairwell from top to bottom with a beautiful radiance.
The blaze lit his face and he glanced up to find his mother. She was no longer at his side and it was some moments before he caught sight of her again in the hall below, motioning for him to follow.
Ben stepped on to the landing and instantly regretted it. Every soul rushed towards him. They gathered thickly round, pressing in on all sides, their eyes imploring him to help them. They wrung their hands piteously before his face, their expressions desperate with the need to communicate with the living. He never actually felt them touch him, but it was suffocating all the same and he hated it. It was like being surrounded by beggars and knowing you had nothing to give them. The pleading faces were images of sorrow and regret that burnt into him, and a claustrophobic panic began to bubble up inside. He had never experienced anything like this and it frightened him; what were these spirits doing here and what did they want? It was as if they had been dragged here against their will and were beseeching him to release them.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he wailed helplessly. ‘Stop it, stop it!’ The boy closed his eyes tight shut and struggled along the landing. He had to escape from this clamouring madness and he groped for the door to Jennet’s room. The throng of spirits parted before him like scythed corn.
There it was, the doorknob. He fumbled for a moment, opened his eyes and flung himself inside.
‘What’s up?’ asked his sister in mild surprise. She was reading one of Aunt Alice’s books in bed and had obviously not heard a thing. But once she saw how pale and frightened her brother was, she hastily put the book down and held out her arms to him.
‘Oh, Jen!’ he howled, throwing himself at her. ‘They won’t leave me alone, Jen, I can’t hear what they’re trying to say. Tell them to go away, will you? I’ve never seen so many of them before.’ He sobbed into the large T-shirt she used as a nightie and the rest of what he said was unintelligible.
Jennet stroked his hair and tried to soothe him. It was a long time since Ben had had one of his turns and she wondered that he should have one now—he seemed to be so happy here.
‘Are you… are you seeing things again, Ben?’ she ventured.
He nodded into her shoulder. ‘Mum’s here, too,’ he cried. ‘There’s so many, Jen.’
Jennet pushed him away from her and looked steadily into his eyes. For a moment all her old suspicions about his visions had flooded back, but no, he was really scared. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him calmly. ‘I’ll take a look outside and make sure there’s no one there.’
She got up and crossed to the door but Ben sprang past her and slammed himself against it violently. ‘Don’t go out!’ he begged. ‘You’ll let them in!’
Jennet was beginning to get worried; he had never been this terrified before. She wondered if she ought to go and ask Aunt Alice’s advice. Would she mind the interruption? This certainly seemed urgent enough.
‘Don’t worry, Ben,’ she said, pulling him from the door. ‘I won’t let anyone in, I promise.’
The boy backed towards the bed as she turned the knob and opened the door. She could see nothing out there—but he could. On the landing the crowd of souls raised their arms and surged forward. Ben screamed and collapsed on the bed.
Jennet was horrified. She raced down the stairs, calling for Aunt Alice at the top of her voice. Up to the parlour door she ran and, without knocking, thrust it open and charged inside.
A red light fell on her. For a moment the girl was confused by it, but as she looked around to find its infernal source, the truth of the situation she had stumbled into was revealed.
Seated at the round parlour table was the ladies’ circle: Miss Wethers, Mrs Joyster, Miss Droon, Mrs Banbury-Scott and Aunt Alice. They were all holding hands and looked extremely startled by Jennet’s entrance. She had interrupted a seance.
For a second Jennet could only stare back at them. Miss Wethers made an uncomfortable squeaking noise an
d pulled her hands away from the table to reach for a tissue.
Aunt Alice sucked her cheeks in guiltily. ‘Oh dear,’ she began, but did not know what else to say.
Jennet was speechless. She watched as Mrs Joyster tutted at her inconvenient arrival and left the table to switch on the main light. Then she leaned over the small lamp which had been fitted with a red bulb and clicked it off. ‘We’ll get no more tonight,’ she huffed disagreeably, and fixed the girl with a withering glare.
Anger quickly replaced the surprise which Jennet had at first felt. All this time Aunt Alice had deceived her! She felt cheated and used—the old woman wasn’t interested in her at all, she just wanted Ben because of his gift. Her resentment welled up until she could contain it no longer.
‘I hate you!’ she stormed. ‘You’re nothing but a load of old witches!’
She slammed the door shut and stomped upstairs to pack her things and Ben’s. They weren’t going to stay in this house any longer; she didn’t care where they went just so long as they got away.
‘Who was that?’ asked the fat Mrs Banbury-Scott, as she reached over to a plate of scones and crammed one into her gaping mouth.
‘That young lady has completely ruined the sitting,’ repeated Mrs Joyster, snorting in disgust.
Another scone disappeared into the Banbury-Scott cavern. ‘Most disagreeable child. Mmmmm… didn’t I see her outside the post office yesterday?’ She paused to give her tongue an airing as it came across a most peculiar taste. ‘What did you put in your jam, Tilly darling—catnip?’
Miss Wethers stared at the closed door unhappily. ‘Oh my,’ the mouse whined. ‘She didn’t seem very happy.’
Aunt Alice wiped her moist eyes. ‘No, she didn’t, did she?’ And the old lady covered her face in shame.
4 - The Aufwader
Jennet cradled Ben in her arms and held him tightly.
The boy mumbled under his breath and opened one bleary eye. Jennet had left the door to her room ajar and over her shoulder he could see on to the landing—it was dark and empty.
‘Good,’ he breathed with relief, ‘they’ve gone.’
‘Are you all right, Ben?’ his sister asked gently. He nodded and wiped his forehead. Jennet looked at him to make sure, then pulled her large blue bag from underneath the bed.
‘Come on,’ she said firmly. ‘We’re leaving. Go and fetch your stuff.’
Ben stared miserably at her. He had done it again; yet another chance had been ruined by his behaviour. He pouted and rubbed his eyes, for he had liked Whitby. ‘Where will we go now?’ he asked in a small voice.
‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ the girl fumed, ‘but we’re not staying here a minute longer.’
He ran into his own room and the tears started to fall. Jennet had not told him what she had seen downstairs so he assumed she was angry with him.
In the parlour Aunt Alice was shooing her guests out. ‘Hurry up,’ she cried frantically. ‘No, leave that, Edith—I’ll put it away, thank you.’
‘Adolescent histrionics,’ Mrs Joyster remarked dryly as she went into the hall and took her coat off the peg. ‘Girls like that are only seeking attention.’
‘Well I’ll make sure she receives some, then,’ Aunt Alice barked back at her.
‘Wasn’t worth leaving Eurydice and her little babies,’ grumbled the whiskered Miss Droon. ‘Did I tell you she had three of the little beauties?’
‘Achoo!’ sneezed Edith Wethers as she squeezed by.
Miss Boston shepherded them out of the front door, ignoring the protests and grumbles. She was the undisputed leader of the ladies’ circle and her authority was absolute. Mrs Banbury-Scott was not at all pleased though, as, scone in hand, she trundled out of the yard and looked for her Bentley.
Aunt Alice closed the front door and gazed uneasily up the stairs—this was going to be extremely difficult.
Jennet emptied the contents of her chest of drawers on to the bed and stuffed her clothes into the bag. Her thoughts were a jumble of confused strands. What was she to do now? Where could she and Ben go? It was all very well to run away if you had somewhere to run to but they had nowhere. The hostel was out of the question; no way would she go back there. The Rodice wouldn’t let them, anyway, the mean old crow.
‘May I come in?’ Miss Boston stood timidly on the landing with her hands clasped to her chest. She looked like a small child waiting outside the headmaster’s office.
Jennet continued her packing without looking up. ‘It’s your house,’ she muttered in a dull tone.
Aunt Alice glanced at the large bag which the girl was filling. She clutched at the door frame and asked fretfully, ‘But my dear, what are you doing? Are you going somewhere?’
‘You lied to me,’ Jennet snorted. ‘You let me think you wanted me here. How long would it have been before you involved Ben in your dodgy games?’ She threw the last of her clothes in the bag and whirled round to face the old woman. ‘I could report you, you know—tell the Sunday papers or something. They’d love this, wouldn’t they? Imagine the headlines: “Coven of Geriatric Witches Exposed”.’
Miss Boston stared at the carpet, thoroughly abashed. ‘Yes, I suppose I deserve that,’ she said meekly. ‘What I have done is unforgivable—I’m sorry.’
‘Too late for that now. You frightened Ben half to death.’
The old lady raised her eyebrows eagerly. ‘Really? Why, what did he see?’
‘You don’t stop, do you?’ Jennet gasped incredulously. ‘You just don’t care—he might have been sent round the twist and all you’re interested in is what sort of ghosts he saw!’
Aunt Alice shook her head. ‘That isn’t true,’ she denied vehemently. ‘Of course I’m concerned.’
At that moment Ben appeared. In his arms he carried a bundle of belongings and his cheeks were stained with tears. He gazed up at Miss Boston miserably. ‘Why don’t you like us any more?’ he asked in a tremulous voice. ‘I don’t want to go.’
She yelped as though wounded. ‘Oh, but I do like you, Benjamin,’ she cried, ‘and I don’t want you to leave.’
‘Give me your stuff, Ben,’ Jennet said coldly.
The boy looked from Aunt Alice to his sister, his unhappy face betraying his emotions. He was torn between love and loyalty to Jennet and reluctance to leave the one place he had felt at home since the death of his parents. Miss Boston saw his pain and decided that enough was enough.
‘Go back to bed, Benjamin,’ she told him kindly. ‘We’ll sort this out.’
Jennet glared at her and was about to speak, but Aunt Alice puffed herself up and spoke in such a forceful voice that for a moment the girl was startled into silence. ‘Let Benjamin go,’ she instructed firmly. With one hand on his shoulder she guided the boy out of the room, then closed the door and turned to his sister.
‘What right have you got—’ Jennet began.
But now it was Miss Boston’s turn to speak. ‘I have every right,’ she declared. ‘I am now legally responsible for both of you and if you think I am going to let you run off in the middle of the night, you’re not the clever girl I thought you were.’ She jutted her chins out determinedly, daring the girl to disagree.
Jennet sat down heavily on the bed and sobbed bitterly.
Aunt Alice’s expression softened and she sat next to her. ‘Let me explain. Jennet dear,’ she said gently. ‘When I was a young girl, not much older than yourself, I saw things I didn’t understand.’
‘Like Ben, you mean?’
‘Exactly so, but at the time my mama forbade me to mention them. In those days children were not spared the rod and I soon learnt to save my poor hands from the cane by ignoring what I saw.’ She stared for a moment at her palms, remembering the weals that had once marred them, then she thrust her hands under her knees. ‘A gift such as I possessed goes into decline if neglected,’ Aunt Alice resumed sadly, ‘and I neglected it for very many years.’
‘So what were you doing downstairs?’ asked Jennet,
totally unmoved.
Miss Boston heaved a great sigh. ‘I do wish you would be a little less prickly. Jennet dear. I’m afraid that what you saw downstairs was one of my attempts to regain the gift. The circle meets every month for what Mrs Banbury-Scott jokingly calls “spirits and scones”. More often than not it ends up as just a little social chit-chat—our dear departed don’t always feel inclined to come through, you know.’
‘You had a good turnout tonight though, didn’t you?’ Jennet put in. ‘Practically a full house.’
The old lady clucked uncomfortably. ‘You must believe me, child, I had already made up my mind that tonight’s little get-together would be the very last.’
‘So you say.’
‘I swear it on my life. Jennet; there will be no more meetings of the circle.’
Jennet remained wary and distrustful but she realised that there were no other options open to her. ‘All right,’ she said slowly, ‘we’ll stay—providing there are no more “spirits and scones”.’
‘There won’t be.’ The old lady brightened, confident that the situation had been resolved. ‘Well, it’s time you got some sleep now,’ she smiled, getting to her feet and crossing to the door.
Jennet did not reply.
As she left. Miss Boston hesitated. ‘Oh, and by the way,’ she added, ‘you need thirteen for a coven, and I prefer the term “wise woman”. Goodnight, dear.’
A wild and windy Monday kept most of the tourists indoors, to the irritation of the landladies and the profit of the arcade owners. The north wind blasted in off the sea and even the buildings seemed to shiver and shrink closer into the cliffs.
In the afternoon Ben went for a walk alone. Jennet was brooding in her room and he sensed the tension between her and Aunt Alice, but at least they were staying in Whitby. He stood on the church steps and leant on the handrail. Set into the wall of one of the houses below, he noticed three large ammonites, just above the lintel. Ben grinned—it was just as the story had said.
He looked up at the gulls and stretched out his arms like wings. After drawing a deep breath he squawked, mocking them as loudly as he could, and tore up the steps. When he reached the top, Ben threw himself on the grass around the gravestones and rolled over so he could see the sky.
