by Jody Medland
They took Malcolm to his bedroom, where Amanda used her key for door number 1. It was the only child’s room on the ground floor and situated directly opposite Christian’s bedroom. Margaret then led Amanda back up the stairs to the first floor where she learnt that room 2 was occupied by Reuben and Georgina, who were the only children that shared, room 3 belonged to Gordon and room 4 belonged to David, who she had yet to meet. There was nothing really special about the rooms except for the fact the quality of the décor seemed to decrease the further up the house they travelled. Amanda found this fascinating as she had long harboured an interest in the Victorian era, where this would be common practice among wealthy families. Back then, the rich would stay in well-decorated rooms towards the ground floor of the house and the servants would often be confined to small, makeshift rooms further up and towards the attic. Amanda wondered if the reason the children’s rooms were so poorly decorated was a clue towards their destructive nature – a theory supported by Margaret as she turned and faced Amanda at the end of the hall.
‘And this is number 5,’ Margaret said, stopping outside the door and looking Amanda directly in the eyes. ‘This is Ellie’s room. Now don’t be scared and try not to get too upset by her behaviour,’ she added, rather ominously.
‘Why? What’s wrong with—’
Margaret shot Amanda a look that reminded her to rephrase the question.
‘Sorry! I mean… what’s her condition?’ asked Amanda.
‘She’s deeply depressed. Suicidal. And she can be very aggressive,’ Margaret informed her.
‘Suicidal? How old is she?’
‘Fourteen,’ Margaret replied. ‘Now, because she don’t know you, she may attack you, but it’s only because she’s scared. If she does, don’t panic! We’ll just have to restrain her for a few seconds and she’ll calm down. Alright?’
It wasn’t alright at all, but Amanda fought hard not to look as overwhelmed as she felt, watching anxiously as Margaret took the lead and inserted a key into the lock.
Clunk!
Cautiously, they both entered the room, which was almost completely bare except for a bed and a large wooden wardrobe.
‘Ellie?’ called Margaret, softly.
She flicked the light switch but the specialised plastic light that clung to the centre of the ceiling sparked and faded.
A very small window was positioned high up on the far wall, providing the only source of brightness and ventilation. At first glance, it was as though squatters had broken in and taken residence in an old empty building. Visibility was low and Amanda had to squint, forcing her eyes to adjust. When she could see more clearly, she noticed that the walls were padded with cushions. She couldn’t resist pressing her hand against the material, a spongy padding that was about three inches thick at the centre of each panel.
‘Ellie?’ Margaret repeated, patiently, as she moved around the room in search of the youngster.
There was still no answer.
‘Where are you, my lovely?’ she continued, in a gentle tone that insinuated they were playing a game. ‘Under the bed?’
Amanda watched closely as Margaret approached the mattress and shaped to crouch under it.
‘There’s someone I want you to meet,’ she said, struggling to lower herself to her knees before exploring the darkness under the bed for what seemed like an eternity.
There was a sudden Thump! as Ellie Sullivan burst out of the wardrobe and ran at Amanda, screaming at the top of her lungs as she rapidly approached her. When their bodies came together, the impact was fierce and Ellie lashed out in a ferocious rage.
‘Ellie! Stop it!’ yelled Margaret, as she fought her way back to her feet and grabbed a hold of the young girl’s flailing arms.
It didn’t stop her. Instead, Ellie started to kick out at Amanda, who stood dumbstruck as she was hit by a barrage of blows.
‘Grab her feet!’ instructed Margaret.
It took a moment for the words to register, but eventually Amanda managed to get a good grip of the girl and together, she and Margaret struggled towards the bed. Ellie’s pulsating body made the task incredibly difficult. Eventually they pinned her down but her level of fight increased as she squirmed, spat and screamed hysterically at the women. The struggle was such that Amanda wondered if they could be heard in the room beneath.
Thump!
Bang!
Thrwack!
Ellie hissed viciously, like a powerful snake that turned every which way in an attempt to break free. The look in her eyes was frightening and Amanda wondered what she would be capable of should she manage to elude their grip.
‘Calm down, my lovely. Calm down. She’s not gonna hurt you,’ insisted Margaret.
Whether the words acted as some kind of reassurance, or whether the girl had simply fought herself to exhaustion, Ellie’s struggle weakened to a series of sporadic jolts.
‘She works for us now. She’s gonna live with us,’ Margaret informed Ellie, gently brushing her hand over the girl’s sweat-drenched brow.
Slowly but surely, Ellie calmed. Amanda took a moment to catch her breath and noticed that the youngster’s arms were covered in cuts and scratches. Some of the markings were permanent scars caused from deep and nasty wounds. It was certainly a sight worthy of Amanda’s concern.
When Margaret was satisfied it was safe enough to leave her, she led Amanda back out into the hallway and routinely locked the door. Amanda was quiet. The shock of being attacked had shaken her more than she would have guessed. The girl was so young! That’s what got to her most.
How can someone so young be so unhappy?
Sensing Amanda’s hazy state of mind, Margaret didn’t push for conversation. Instead, she offered a consoling smile, as if to say everything would be okay, before heading back towards the staircase. Suddenly, Amanda snapped out of her daze, looking over her shoulder towards the hallway that continued around the corner from Ellie’s room, fading into darkness as though it had been forgotten.
‘What’s around here?’ she asked, stepping towards a better vantage point before Margaret could reply.
Amanda saw that it led to a dark and narrow staircase, at the top of which stood a small but heavy door.
‘Oh! We don’t need to worry about that,’ insisted Margaret, continuing to inch towards the stairs.
Something, however, kept Amanda’s attention on the door. She didn’t know why, but she had an inexplicable urge to know what was inside. Every other part of the house had either been shown to Amanda, or at very least had its contents and its purpose explained, but not the attic. Amanda looked at her keys: five keys for the five bedrooms that slept six children. There was no key for this small, intriguing door that had a large and robust lock attached to the outside, as though it were guarding some great hidden secret. Wishing to keep her insatiable curiosity under wraps, Amanda placed her keys in her pocket and followed Margaret, slinking down the stairs behind her, but she was determined to come back and explore the secret room at the first possible chance she got.
*External grounds, the Prince Care Home – 1972
*Internal blueprint, the Prince Care Home – 1972
CHAPTER SIX
Lights Out
Saturday 12th February, 1972
In front of the soft glow of the open fire, Gordon, Reuben and Georgina lay fast asleep on the large, comfy sofa. Malcolm sat before a nearby window and simply stared out into space. Margaret looked to Walter and indicated he was to take Malcolm to bed. She then looked at Amanda and nodded towards Gordon. Margaret herself tended to Reuben, lifting his light frame over her shoulder before nudging Georgina, who stirred with a light groan. Together, they manoeuvred around the room in well-synchronised silence.
Gordon was of a very slight build and therefore easy enough to carry. Amanda opened his bedroom door and entered the room, into which the soft blue moonlight shone. The sky outside was dark and stormy and the wind was picking up. Amanda placed Gordon delicately into bed, pulled his blanket
over him and swept his hair gently across his forehead. She watched him for a moment and became lost in quiet emotion. Never had she been very maternal, yet there she was, finding genuine comfort in the child’s well-being and swooning at the sight of his peaceful sleep. Before she had a chance to analyse where her inner warmth had stemmed from, Gordon stirred.
‘Lights out. Eight o’clock,’ he instructed.
She couldn’t help but chuckle at the boy’s manner. He was so deeply humorous and sweet.
‘It’s alright. It’s not eight just yet, Gord,’ she informed him.
‘Oh!’ he said, unsure of what to make of the information.
‘You look tired,’ she said, softly.
‘Yah. Tired. I’m definitely a little tired. Lights out, eight o’clock.’
She smiled before shaping to leave.
‘Where’s Elijah?’ asked Gordon.
Amanda looked back at him, wondering if he was caught in a dream, but he seemed quite awake and was looking expectantly towards the window.
‘Who’s Elijah?’
‘The dog. He’s the dog.’
‘You have a dog?’ Amanda questioned.
‘Yah!’
‘How come I haven’t seen him, Gord?’
‘He comes to my window every night. He comes to help me sleep,’ the boy claimed.
Amanda instinctively walked over to the window and absorbed the view. His room was only two along from hers, so offered a similar perspective of the land, but this time she observed in greater detail. A drainpipe ran down the house nearby and a strip of wooden slatted fencing held some shrubbery in place against the wall. Although it would be dangerous, a person might be able to climb to Gordon’s window using these for assistance, but a dog? Impossible!
‘The dog comes to your window?’
‘Yah! I can’t sleep without him,’ he told her.
‘We’re upstairs, Gord,’ said Amanda, curious as to whether this would affect his certainty.
‘Yah!’ he said, without a second thought.
Amanda took a moment to choose her words.
‘So… what does it look like? Your dog?’ she coaxed.
‘Like this,’ replied Walter, making Amanda’s heart skip a beat as he ghosted into the room carrying a small teddy bear.
‘Vivid imagination, this one!’ he continued as he handed the cuddly toy to Gordon.
‘Yah. The dog comes to my room. I can’t sleep without him,’ he muttered, taking the bear before rolling onto his side.
Some leads were promising. Most were not. Amanda placed the notion of Gordon having a dog firmly in the latter category, although the toy he held was a bear, not a dog, and she’d be suprised if somebody as particular as him didn’t know the difference.
‘Goodnight Gord,’ she said with affection, before leaving the room with Walter.
*
In the company of a large glass of milk and a burning lantern, Amanda sat manically scribbling notes into her notepad.
I am yet to witness any questionable means of discipline, but several unorthodox procedures are in place, was one statement.
I was deeply concerned by the marks on Ellie’s arms, yet her frighteningly aggressive nature gives me no reason to suspect they weren’t self-inflicted, was another.
Ever since she had discovered the graveyard, her opinion as to whether or not its inclusion within the grounds was ethical had changed more often than the direction of the wind.
The graveyard poses many questions. I need to explore Christian’s background as an undertaker, was the final summary of her conflict, but with the issue firmly lodged in her mind, she walked towards her window and looked outside. She could see the swing, the washing line and a section of the outhouse down the bottom of the garden but the flowery archway she desired was situated on the other side of the house. Still, the view appeared creepy enough at night, especially with the wind giving artificial movement to everything in sight. Goosebumps spread over her skin as she thought about the bodies that lay under the yard. It was terrifying but engaging at the same time – enough to lead her outside, at least.
The grass crunched beneath Amanda’s feet as she made her way through the flowery archway and towards the headstones. She held a lantern close in one hand and grasped her Dictaphone tightly in the other. The rusty squeaking of the swing carried through the yard, sending an eerie chill down her spine.
Once in the graveyard, she studied the headstone directly next to Stanley’s.
LYDIA PRINCE
TO A WONDERFUL WIFE AND DAUGHTER
MAY YOU BE AT PEACE WITH THE ANGELS
1934–1960
Amanda pulled the Dictaphone to her lips.
‘I questioned Margaret about Christian’s wife, but said she didn’t feel comfortable talking about it. Didn’t feel comfortable? What an odd expression,’ she reflected.
She ran her hand over the headstone.
‘The headstones are old, yet look as good as new. They’re detailed in their design and have—’
Amanda stopped immediately as she heard the front door to the house shut. She edged back towards the archway where she could watch in secret as Christian – again dressed in his hunting gear – rummaged around in the boot of his jeep before closing the door with care. He climbed into the driver’s seat and, somewhat peculiarly, released the handbrake so the vehicle rolled quietly down the hill. Not until he was near the gate at the bottom did he start the engine and turn on the headlights, which pierced through the dark fields ahead of his jeep. It was 1:20am.
‘I know you’re not hunting for crows now!’ said Amanda, under her breath.
As Amanda stepped back towards the house she ducked into the shadows when she noticed Karen peering out of her bedroom window, watching Christian’s jeep closely as it disappeared into the distance. Seeming agitated, Karen yanked the curtains shut.
What are you up to? Amanda pondered.
Amanda’s belief that something unsavoury was happening increased with every passing minute. Suddenly, her mind was ablaze with questions and conspiracy theories. She knew she should rest and start afresh in the morning, but she was running out of time, for it was already the early hours of Sunday morning – the day she’d promised Tony she would make her excuses and leave. She already knew this would not be possible. Not until she’d discovered what the homeowners were up to.
With great caution, she walked through the main hallway on the ground floor of the home, her lantern guiding her through the darkness. She feared that Karen would exit her room and catch her wandering around, but Amanda was in a super vigilant state and couldn’t detect any movement or sound. Therefore, she crept up the staircase to the first floor, controlling her breathing and making painstaking efforts not to allow the boards to creak beneath her feet. She reached the top of the stairs and stopped for a moment. If anybody caught her there, she would have plausible deniability as she was right outside her bedroom and could claim she needed to visit the lavatory. However, every step she took further down the hallway would make her proximity more difficult to explain, and the staircase that she wanted to explore was right opposite Walter and Karen’s bedroom. Should they come out and see her there, Amanda would not be able to deny the fact she was snooping. She took one small step. Then another. She gulped as her eyes darted between Karen’s bedroom door and the impossible darkness that seeped from around the corner. Not even a window, tinted through apparent neglect, effected the darkness that stalked the attic door. It was as though it belonged to another world.
Amanda found it funny how people could be so afraid of the dark, as though somewhere within it was the chance of being confronted by their greatest nightmares. Her breaths became heavy as she crept along, feeling anxious that her every move could be heard. She had made it half way down the hallway and was listening intently for any movement coming from Karen’s room, but it remained silent. This was her chance. She was ready. She glanced around the hallway one last time to make sure she was alone, but she w
asn’t alone, for right at the end of the hallway, peering through the window and staring directly at her was a vicious snarling animalistic being, and it was angry.
Amanda’s lantern dropped to the floor and smashed on the ground as, for the third time during her short stay, she screamed.
In the midst of the darkness, precisely as she feared, she had met something from a nightmare.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Left Behind
Thursday 10th – Sunday 13th February, 1972
Telling Amanda he loved her had not gone according to plan.
Tony sank the remnants of a second bottle of red wine, deciding that was probably enough for the evening. He rinsed out his glass in his new state-of-the-art kitchen. Bright green and orange tiles surrounded him – purposefully chosen colours selected in the belief their vibrancy would help keep him in good spirits.
On that particular day, it wasn’t working.
He stumbled around his dimly lit house, casting his eye over all the things that lay around him. For the previous two years he’d allocated a quarter of his salary to improving the home. He’d bought the perfect leather chair to help him work at the desk in his study, a bespoke modern bookshelf was filled with his favourite works of fiction, the entire easterly wall of his house was made up of glass, a well-researched collection of foreign plants added something exotic to every room and inspirational pieces of modern art were strategically placed around the home to keep him mentally stimulated at all times. He’d even recently painted a rather striking two-tone stripe that lay horizontally across the middle of every supporting wall in the house. One stripe was chocolate brown and the other bright orange. Bright orange – the colour of the Dutch football kit – was his favourite colour. You could tell this immediately by visiting his home and stepping into his garage where the most recent of his extravagant purchases – a Volkswagen Beetle – sat safely polished, waiting keenly to be used.
