The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1)

by P. A. Fielding

  “How about we all ask one question each, going round the circle,” suggested Steven, “and you go first, Matthew.” Matthew thought for a moment, his heart starting to beat faster.

  “What do you want us to do?” The room was silent. The friends looked around the room. Nothing happened.

  “Why are you in my house?” questioned Zoe.

  “Why did you hit my boyfriend?” asked Vana.

  Still nothing happened; no sounds were heard. It was Steven’s turn. “If you’ve not got any real reason to stay, then why don’t you please just leave?”

  “Steven! You shouldn’t have said that,” said Vana. She gently nudged him on the arm. “Whatever,” replied Steven, tersely, “it’s all I could think of. Hey, is anyone else feeling a draught in here?” They all agreed that the temperature had dropped a little.

  “Right,” said Steven, “let’s stop the recording and see if we’ve caught anything.” He picked up the phone, saved the recording, and pressed the play button. They all listened intently to the recording; the questions were picked up clearly, but there were no answers – until, all of a sudden, after Vana’s question, they heard something. “Hey – what was that?” asked Vana. “Shsh, sounded like breathing,” whispered Steven. He stopped the recording.

  “Let’s listen to the questions again before we chat about it,” said Matthew. Steven switched the recording on for a second time and, after the final question, they heard a croaky voice:

  REVENGE

  “What the heck was that? Did you all hear it?”

  “Vana, be quiet a minute! Steven, rewind it, and I’ll check the video.” They all gathered closer to the phone as Steven replayed the recording.

  One word – REVENGE – was heard.

  Zoe sat silently, looking at the others. They checked the video recording, but it was blank. Vana could see that Zoe was upset by the creepy voice and the heavy breathing, and put her arm around her friend. “Come on, Zoe. It’s OK.”

  Matthew looked at each of them in turn. “Shall we carry on?”

  “No, mate,” replied Steven, sharply, “we’ve done what we said we’d do. I think we should stop.”

  His friend stood up. “Oh, come on; just a few more questions won’t hurt. I want some answers.” He started to pace around the room. “Come on; show yourself; you’re a coward – a fucking coward. Why did you fucking hit me? Come on, have another go then, you useless COCKSUCKER!”

  Unbeknown to Matthew, his hair started to stand on end, as if a ghostly hand was teasing it up. He continued his diatribe. “Come on, you fucking coward. Show yourself.” His hair continued to rise. “Stop it, Matthew,” screamed Vana. “You’re provoking it!”

  Matthew didn’t listen; to his dismay, he found he was lifted two feet off the ground and flung across the attic. He hit the chest with a thud as he landed. The friends were terrified.

  “Shit! What the fuck just happened?” shouted Steven; he ran towards his friend. “Matthew, Matthew, are you alright, babe?” screamed Vana. She rushed over to where he lay, dazed and shaken. Zoe was consumed with anxiety; she could see that Matthew had a cut on his forehead and his eyes were closed. Vana hugged him, fiercely. Nothing. She then slapped his face several times. “Wake up! Wake up you idiot!” Matthew took a deep breath, and finally opened his eyes. “What happened? What was that? Please tell me you got it on film?”

  “Matthew, you are a right noob! That’s what you get when you mess with something you know nothing about,” said Vana, relieved that Matthew had come round. “What came over you?” asked Vana, as she continued to hug him. “I don’t know, really. I felt so hot, and full of rage, and the next thing I was flying through the air.”

  “We need professional help, here,” said Steven, as he offered Matthew his hand to get up from the floor.

  “Now, can we please leave this alone? I can’t handle any more. Please?” pleaded a tearful Zoe. She couldn’t help thinking that they had opened up a can of worms, and she could not wait to get out of the attic. Just then she felt a strong blast of cold air across the back of her neck. She turned towards the door, and screamed.

  The ghostly figures of Hagatha and Charder materialised in front of the friends, blocking their exit. “So, it wasn’t Ellwood,” whispered Vana as she recognised them from Ellwood’s journal. “It was the travellers.” Hagatha pointed at the girls. “You’ve got something that belongs to me,” she hissed. “I want it back.” The two lads pushed their way in front of the girls. “You’ll have to get past us, first,” said Matthew, defiantly.

  Charder pointed at the lads and, to their horror, they found themselves pushed back across the room and pinned forcefully to the wall. “You leave them alone,” yelled Matthew, “you fucking harm them, and I’ll...”

  With one movement of his finger, Charder sealed the lads’ mouths shut. Their eyes bulged with panic. The girls were terrified, and cowered back in fright. The old man turned towards the girls, who suddenly found themselves forced to the ground. Invisible hands dragged them, by their ankles, across the floor. They screamed in pain.

  The lads watched on, in horror, and tried to shout out – but, to no avail. Charder pointed at them once more, and their eyes were stuck tightly closed. They struggled to release themselves, desperate to know what was happening to the girls.

  “Please,” screamed Zoe, “please stop; leave them alone!”

  “Matthew!” yelled Vana, as tears coursed down her face. Her fingers gripped into the grooves in the floorboards, her nails held, briefly, before they snapped under the pressure. She looked backwards and stared at the travellers. “What do you want from us?”

  “Ellwood! Please help us,” cried Zoe, as the door opened wide. The last thing the lads heard was the girls screaming; then the attic door slammed shut. “Please save us, Ellwood,” the girls screamed over and over again as they bumped down the attic steps. Matthew, the instigator, lay on the ground, virtually paralysed and with a cut eye. All he could do was to listen to the distant screams of his girlfriend. The travellers had rendered him and his best mate useless. What would happen next?

  26: The dreamers

  1

  The two girls, cut and bruised, found themselves at the bottom of the stairs. The atmosphere had changed. “I think they’ve gone,” whispered Vana, nervously. She looked around the landing. “Ellwood must have heard our pleas and helped us,” replied Zoe, who was badly shaken by the ordeal. She felt for Vana’s hand. “What are we going to do?”

  “It’ll be OK, babe,” reassured Vana, acting more bravely than she felt, “but we need to help the guys. You wait here.”

  “No, no! Please don’t leave me. Please,” panicked Zoe. “It’s alright, hun. Come on, we’ll do it together. We’ll be OK. They’ve gone now.”

  Hand in hand, with hearts beating furiously, the girls walked tentatively up the dark stairs. They reached the attic door, stopped, and both took deep breaths. Vana reached for the handle. As she tried to turn it, nothing happened. “Shit! It’s effin’ locked,” she said, pushing the door as hard as she could.

  The lads were still forced against the wall, and could do nothing to help the girls. Matthew tried shouting, but his mouth was still firmly stuck. “Lads, if you can hear us – we’re fine,” shouted Vana. “We’re just working on a rescue plan – we’ll have you out in no time.”

  “How are we going to do that, Vana?” asked Zoe, “and what about their faces?”

  “Hun, there has to be a way to stop the travellers, right?”

  “How? It’s all fucked up.”

  “I’ll think of something; just give me a minute.” Vana put her arm around a distressed Zoe, and nuzzled her tangled hair. “Please don’t cry, babe. We’ll sort it out.” Just then they became aware of orbs dancing around and a bright light appeared on the top stair. The girls froze in terror, and tried to shrink away from the light. They watched, horrified, as a ghostly figure started to manifest. It was Ellwood. He stood in front of them, and smiled. “Plea
se don’t be afraid, my dears. I will not harm you.”

  Ellwood stood there, smartly dressed in black; he approached the girls and gently placed his hands on their heads.

  2

  The fire was burning fiercely when Ellwood arrived at Charles’s house in Foulis Terrace, Kensington. The firemen were fighting hard to control the blaze, but their efforts were being hampered somewhat by a crowd of people who had gathered outside the building. “Get back! Get back! Give the men room,” shouted a policeman as re-inforcements began to arrive. Eventually the firefighters got the inferno under control, but ultimately the building was reduced to ruins which were covered by thick, black smoke.

  Ellwood watched from the shadows. He saw the bodies of Charles and his staff being brought out, one by one, and laid on the ground. The former butler was distressed – he had now lost everyone he cared for. He thought he had ended the curse by selling the painting – how wrong he was.

  3

  Ellwood walked around inside the ruins, searching for the canvas. As he approached the former stairwell, water dripped from the beams above. He had last seen the picture at the foot of the stairs, but where the heck was it now? He carefully sieved through the rubble and found the remains of The Rattler. The frame was badly charred, and the painting blackened by smoke. He carefully rubbed away some of the soot and revealed, to his surprise, the colourful image of young William. He stood and gazed thoughtfully at the picture. Emotion overcame him and tears welled in his eyes. He found some burnt rags, picked up the work of art, gently wrapped it up, and walked out of what was left of the building. He turned and took a final look at the exterior, and started to walk purposefully through the cold, dark, quiet streets of Chelsea.

  Ellwood arrived back at the guesthouse; all was quiet as he walked up the stairs to the second floor. A door to one of the bedrooms was slightly ajar. He pushed it open, noticing the smell of cleaning products, and walked in. The door gently closed behind him. The floorboards creaked as he walked around the room looking for a safe place to hide the painting.

  The room was sparsely furnished – with a cast-iron-framed bed and a single wardrobe. A small rug covered the wooden floorboards. The man crouched down and searched for any floorboards which appeared to be loose. He found what he was looking for underneath the bed and, taking out his pocketknife, lifted some of the boards. Suddenly he became aware of someone walking around downstairs. He quickly hid the painting in the space under the bed, replaced the floorboards, and went back out onto the landing just as the lady who owned the guesthouse came up the stairs. “Mr Ellwood, what are you doing wandering around at this time of night?”

  “Sorry if I woke you. I cannot sleep. I’m afraid Charles was killed in a house fire tonight.”

  “How awful,” she replied. “The poor family have had a run of bad luck of late.”

  They said their goodnights, and Ellwood walked up the stairs to his bedroom in the attic. He removed his outer garments, and sat down on the bed, staring thoughtfully out of the window. The distressed man walked over to the chest and took out a pencil and a journal. He sat down on the bed and began to write:

  My name is Sydney Ellwood, and this is my story...

  The former butler went on to record the events that had destroyed his life.

  4

  Tears coursed down his face as he recalled the incidents, but he knew he had to document all the information in order to stop the curse once and for all. Sometime later, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He had approached a local traveller for help in lifting the curse placed on the painting by Hagatha. It had cost him the family silver, but that was a small price to pay to stop the curse.

  Remembering Hagatha’s words– With the power of the sun, Ellwood knew that the curse was activated by sunlight. Under the floorboards would be the perfect, dark, hiding place for the painting. He put the traveller’s instructions in the back of the journal, tied the book up with string, and placed it under the floorboards beneath the chest.

  With the newspaper hidden in the basement, the picture under the bed on the second floor, and the journal stashed beneath the chest, Ellwood knew that he had done all he could to stop the travellers and their curse.

  27: Bring it to an end

  1

  The girls stretched, languidly, and opened their eyes. “What time is it? God I ache.” muttered Zoe, standing up and looking around her. “Shit! I remember now,” cried Vana. She looked up the stairs into the darkness. “The lads!” The girls raced up the stairs towards the attic. They tried the door, but it was still firmly shut tight. “We’re alright. Are you OK?” asked Zoe. No response. “We’ll be back,” shouted Vana, “we just need to figure out how to open the door.”

  “Vana, we need to finish what Ellwood started first,” said Zoe, positively. “We need to break the curse. It was so strange,” she continued, “Ellwood told me what had happened to the painting. He had hidden it...”

  “Under the bed. I know,” replied Vana. “Were we dreaming? How could that happen? The same dream?”

  “It’s just another thing we can’t explain. Now, we need to find it,” said Zoe.

  2

  The girls went down the stairs and into Zoe’s bedroom. All felt calm and peaceful. They walked around the room, listening for creaking floorboards. “Here – by the bed!” said Zoe, suddenly full of energy. “These seem to be loose.” Zoe was on her hands and knees and was just about to lift the boards when Vana stopped her.

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “Before we lift the boards, we need to know what will happen if the package is there and it comes into the light.”

  “OK,” replied Zoe, “get the journal. It’s on the dressing table.” Vana carefully opened the old book, and started to look for the traveller’s instructions. “Right. Got it,” she said. She carefully opened up the fragile piece of paper and quickly read the contents. She frowned.

  “What?” said Zoe, impatiently.

  “We can’t look at it. We’ve got to keep the thing wrapped up, and take it outside to burn under the stars.”

  “And that’s it? The end of the curse?”

  “So it says. Simple, huh?”

  “Let’s not count our chickens.” Zoe removed the floorboards and there was the package, wrapped in a rag, just as Ellwood had left it. She took a deep breath and gently lifted it from its home for the past hundred years. “It’s so dusty,” said Zoe, blowing away the dark powder.

  “SPIDER!”

  “Really, Vana? After what’s just happened, you’re still scared of this little fella?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  3

  As the girls walked down the stairs Vana said, “Hang on. I just want to go into the kitchen. We need to get something to help it burn. Have you got any olive oil?”

  “Good idea. There’s a bottle in the cupboard. We could use sugar as well. Oh, and can you get the mop bucket and some matches?”

  Vana put the oil and sugar into a bowl and stirred the mixture vigorously. As they walked out into the cold, dark night, the moon shone brightly and illuminated the garden where the trees were swaying gently. The girls felt very nervous, and wondered if they were doing the right thing.

  “Where do you want to do this, Zoe?”

  “Right here on the patio will be fine.”

  “Are you sure you want to burn it?”

  “Let’s get it over and done with. We need to get back to the lads.” Vana put the iron bucket in the middle of the patio flags and Zoe placed the painting into it. The oil and sugar mix was poured over the rags. Vana looked at Zoe, who was now visibly shaking. “What does it say we have to do?” whispered Zoe. “Once it’s burning, we just have to say that we commend this curse to smoke.”

  “And you’re sure that’s it?”

  “Yep. Let’s burn the bitch!”

  Zoe struck a match, dropped it into the bucket, and the rags started to burn. Vana quickly took out her phone and
began to film the fire. As the portrait became more visible, the girls could again see the likeness of the little boy to James. Once the fire took hold of the painting, the girls started to chant We commend this curse to smoke over and over again until there was nothing more than ash left in the bucket. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air. “Vana, do you think it’s worked?” asked a timid Zoe.

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” answered her friend, “come on.”

  The girls went back indoors, making sure that the fire was well and truly out, and locked the door behind them. The atmosphere felt very calm and peaceful. They ran up the stairs, shouting to the lads as they went. There was still no response from within the attic. Vana grabbed at the doorknob and pushed the door. It opened easily. The lads were still in the same place as before, rocking backwards and forwards. “Matthew!” screamed Vana, “are you alright?”

  Matthew gazed up at her, child-like. “What the fuckin’ hell happened?” he slurred. Steven appeared to be stoned. “That was seriously good shit! Got any more?”

  “Don’t you guys remember anything?” asked Vana. “What? I didn’t miss out on sex, did I?” replied Matthew dozily. “Are you being serious?” replied Vana, as she sat on the floor next to her boyfriend. “Are you both OK?” asked Zoe. The lads were like zombies.

  “They’re acting a bit weird,” whispered Vana to Zoe.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, they think they’ve been on drugs all night!” said Vana, rolling her eyes.

  “That’s probably a good thing, I guess!”

  “Let’s get some coffee into them.”

  “Yeah, probably best if they don’t sleep just yet.”

  The girls helped the lads up off the floor and they slowly made their way down to the kitchen where Zoe made coffee. “Is it too late for a donner kebab?” asked Steven, “I’m starving.”