Whisper

by Michael Bray

  Melody grinned. “That wouldn’t bother me. I love animals.”

  “Maybe not so much when they are shitting all over our floors,” Steve said, crossing his eyes and screwing up his face. Melody laughed, the sound carrying a long way in the stillness of the day.

  “Maybe we could call Donovan, see if he can get a locksmith out here?”

  As much as Steve wanted to avoid dealing with Donovan at all costs, he had to concede that it was a good idea.

  “I can try, although reception here is awful.” He waved his mobile phone at her to illustrate the point, and Melody took hers out and checked it.

  “I see what you mean, I have no reception either. It must be the trees.”

  “Probably — either that or we are so far into the boonies we just went ahead and fell off the grid.”

  “Try walking around, see if you can find a spot where you can get a few signal bars.”

  Steve did a mock-theatrical bow, jogged down the three porch steps, and began to walk around aimlessly, holding his phone out in front of him.

  “This isn’t going to be practical if I ever want a pizza,” he complained, shooting her a doe-eyed look.

  “We can get a landline installed. For now keep circling,” she winked at him.

  “Yes, mein fuhrer!” he replied in a mock German accent as he began to march around in big clumsy circles.

  Melody smiled and approached the door. She went to retrieve the key, and even though she knew it was stuck, tried to turn it anyway. The key turned smoothly without resistance, and the door clicked open. She turned to Steve, who was still marching obliviously.

  “Hey Adolf!” she called, causing him to stop mid-march. He looked towards her, and she pointed to the now open door.

  “How did you? —”

  “Seems I’m stronger than I look. Come on,” she said, heading inside. Steve followed, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

  “I must have loosened it or something…” he mumbled as he followed her inside.

  They stood in the entrance to the large circular main room. The staircase to the upper floor was directly in front of them; the kitchen opened up off a passageway to the left, and the study and dining room to the right. Dust swirled lazily in the shafts of golden sunlight filtering through the windows. Steve wrinkled his nose. The room smelled stale, like sweet wood and dry rot with a mouldering, mildewed undercurrent.

  “This place could do with a good airing,” he said, and was about to add more when his eyes fell upon the chimney breast. He walked to it slowly, running his hand across its surface.

  “What is it?” Melody asked.

  “This wall, there was a huge crack here last time we came, remember?”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive, I remember thinking how expensive it would be to repair.”

  “Maybe Donovan had it fixed?”

  Steve leaned closer and examined the wall.

  “I can’t see any sign of a recent repair; in fact, I can’t see any sign of a repair at all.”

  “You’re comparing it to your own shoddy D.I.Y skills though,” she grinned.

  Steve didn’t see the funny side, if anything he was decidedly uncomfortable.

  “I’m serious. This is like new.”

  “They probably had it done for us. We did complain about the general state of the place when we first looked around.”

  “True,” Steve replied absently, still looking for any evidence of restoration. “Well, either way, it’s done now,” he said quietly.

  He wasn’t at all satisfied with the explanation, but didn’t want to ruin the day by getting into an argument, so let it slide.

  “I suppose it’s one less thing for us to pay for,” she added, sensing his dissatisfaction.

  “Yeah, I suppose so…”

  “What is it?”

  “You don’t find this even the slightest bit odd Mel?”

  “Odd? No. Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean that there hasn’t been any work done. Come on, relax and let’s take a look around. This is a good thing. Any saving here is money we can spend elsewhere on fixing the place up.”

  He hesitated, pushing away the horrible gnawing in his stomach. Instead, he followed Melody into the kitchen. He half expected to find that the previously rusted water-pipes were also now miraculously fixed, but when he turned the tap, the same deep groan emitted from the rotten pipework, and a small trickle of slightly muddy water dribbled weakly from the taps.

  “Drink?” he asked pleasantly, trying to break the tension.

  Melody didn’t answer. She was over by what looked to be the pantry door. It was painted white and had an old fashioned latch handle. She pulled at it and, although it rocked in the frame, it wouldn’t open.

  “Steve —” she started to say, but he was already crossing the room.

  She moved aside, rubbing her hands as he grasped the handle and gave it an almighty pull. The door popped open, and a dusty breeze hit his face. The pantry was unremarkable, a narrow room with shelves built into the walls. A huge network of spider webs criss-crossed the wooden shelves, some of its residents long dead while others were alive and well, waiting like large black olives as they sat in their webs. Steve shuddered. He didn’t care for spiders. Melody grinned and nudged him aside. They had both seen what was in there and, unlike him, she had no fear of retrieving it.

  “Wow, let me take a closer look at it,” she said as she brushed the webbing aside and dragged the items out onto the kitchen floor.

  There were two things. One of them was a rocking chair. The wood was almost black with age, and sat across its seat was the second object— an old woodcutter’s axe. A few spiders disturbed by the intrusion scurried across the floor looking for a new place to set up home, but Steve barely noticed. He was looking at the chair.

  “How old do you think it is?” Melody asked, looking at Steve with bright, inquisitive eyes. He ran his hands over the wood. It was obviously old, really old, and hand-carved. Despite its age, it was still sturdy, a shining example of the difference between good-quality handmade furniture, and the flimsy flat pack stuff that you could buy in any IKEA in the world.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if it were as old as the house,” he said as he ran his fingers lightly over the surface of the seat.

  “Do you think we could clean it up and keep it?”

  No.

  He almost blurted it out before he could stop himself, and wasn’t sure why. He looked at it rationally and told himself it was just a chair that somebody in the past had tucked away and that had been long forgotten. Instead of the truth, he chose an answer that he knew she would want to hear.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s too nice to throw away,” Steve said simply, and with some effort he even managed a warm smile.

  “Come on, let’s take a look around the rest of the house,” he added.

  They explored, and the entire experience was infinitely more enjoyable without Donovan’s leering presence. They had become separated as they wandered, each finding their own way around the shell of their home.

  After spending some time looking for places to store all of his ‘man-crap’ as Melody so eloquently put it, Steve found himself upstairs. Melody was in the circular room overlooking the forest. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the room in a stunning, golden glow.

  “Just look at this view,” she said softly as he approached, standing behind her and putting his arms around her waist.

  She leaned into him, and the pair looked out of the huge windows. Despite his misgivings, Steve couldn’t deny the sheer beauty of the view. He bent and kissed her neck, and she turned to face him.

  “I think this place will be good for us. I can feel it,” she said softly.

  Steve nodded, declining to tell her that his own feelings of the place were anything but good. He pushed it aside and took her face gently in his hands.

  “We will make it perfect.”

  She looked at
him, searching for the right words to say then, unable to locate them, put her head on his shoulder and looked out of the window.

  “Do you love me?” she asked softly without looking at him.

  “Of course I do,” he replied, kissing her on the head. She pulled back and looked at him, her eyes moist with tears.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, struggling to keep her composure, “it’s just that I’m so happy, and I can’t believe how lucky we are.”

  He pulled her to him and stroked her hair, and thought that although he was still on edge, he was determined to learn how to love the quirky house. He hadn’t realised just how much it had meant to Melody, but now, as the pair stood with the warmth of the sun on their faces, he made a promise that he would do whatever it took to make sure she was happy.

  6. ISAAC

  IT WAS ALMOST DARK when Isaac had finished making the sign. Cutting down the tree had been hard work, and more than once he thought he was going to pass out, but he somehow managed to keep going. He pushed through the nagging, agonizing pain in his back and the fire in his shoulders, and the shredded, aching calluses that covered the palms of his hands. It was easier going now that the heat of the sun had faded, and the dusk had brought with it a chill which, although pleasant, would soon become uncomfortably cold. A wonderful breeze made the trees whistle and sing as it cooled his body and his thoughts turned to his employer.

  Isaac didn’t like him, hated him in fact, but forced himself to keep his temper in check, if only for the sake of his family. Since Isaac had been sent to cut down the tree, he had seen another four of his colleagues pass out due to being overworked in the heat, and had seen Jones treat them with the same indifference. He desperately wanted to do something, to stand up for himself, but he knew to do so would have terrible consequences, and with his family at the forefront of his mind, he somehow managed to keep his emotions under control.

  Although he didn’t mind working alone, especially now that the night was cool and Jones had gone home, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, and neither could he ignore the stories of the things that were said to inhabit the lands there.

  Another stiff breeze caressed his body, making him shiver. He paused to pull on his over-shirt, and then cast his weary eyes on the sign. He ran his fingers over the chiselled letters. Despite his exhaustion, it truly was a thing of beauty. He allowed himself a smile, broad and white and proud of his workmanship.

  The wind was picking up now, making the trees sway and sigh. Carefully setting aside the sign, he stood and positioned the ladder below the wooden awning and climbed carefully and slowly. Although he was only around twelve feet off the ground, still his legs trembled, and his heart raced as he positioned the heavy rope, tying it to the post and looping it back over in preparation for the mounting of the sign. The wind rushed through the trees again, and he froze, his eyes glaring into the near darkness.

  He was certain he had heard his name.

  It was just a murmur before it was snatched away by the bluster. Isaac listened, but this time when the wind came it was just that — the sound of thousands of branches moving together. He chuckled to himself—more to hear a human sound in the isolation than anything, but still he found it hard to take his eyes from the dense tree-line. With some effort, he turned and went back to work, tying off the thick rope in preparation for erecting the sign.

  Issssaaaaccccc…

  It was clearer this time, and he spun his head in the direction from which he thought that it had come. His eyes went wide as he stared into the darkness between the trees, but the natural sound of the forest around him made it hard to pinpoint.

  Deciding it was simply the oncoming night frightening him and nothing else, he turned back to finish his work as fast as he could, so he could leave as sooner. It was fully dark now and the forest was starting to come alive, its nocturnal residents setting out to hunt and feed. With trembling hands he grabbed the rope, and knotted it.

  The sound was loud and came without warning, and when it spoke his name, he could feel its hot breath in his ear, only inches from his face. He reared back and screamed, his feet kicking the ladder from under him. His head slipped through the large loop of rope as he fell and Isaac was silenced as it pulled taut around his neck. For a moment there was only silence, and then the wind came again and pushed through the trees, making the body of Isaac swing gently back and forth. He was already dead, but had he been alive, he may have heard the sound of the wind in the trees and the mocking sound of laughter.

  7. MOVING DAY

  THE DAY OF THE move brought with it all the usual chaos. They hadn’t realised just how much clutter they’d both accumulated over the last few years until it was all packed up and moved into the new house, which now resembled a maze of cardboard boxes bearing Melody’s careful handwritten script. Steve had ducked out for a much-needed break from Melody bellowing instructions to the removal men who, much to his amusement, seemed intimidated into following her every command to the letter.

  He walked away from the house, lighting a cigarette and satisfying the gnawing need for nicotine, which had been tugging at his nerve endings all morning. He walked to the river at the bottom of the garden, flowing sedately along oblivious to the chaos of moving day for the Samsons.

  There was a handy stool-sized tree stump by the edge of the water, and he sat down heavily. He felt tired, the toil of the last week or so as they’d made the final arrangements for the move beginning to wear him down.

  Following the day they’d picked up the keys, he had expected that it would be at least another month before they would be ready to make the move, giving him time to make arrangements for the repair work to be done. However, Melody had been like a woman possessed, pushing preparations through at a breakneck speed, a practice with which he wasn’t entirely comfortable. He was by nature a thinker, and liked to slowly and methodically work things out one step at a time. However, as far as Hope House went, Melody would have none of it, relying on her instincts and acting on them without questioning the consequences that may or may not happen as a result. It frustrated and impressed in equal measure, but like it or not he had to admit that it was quite a sight watching his five-foot-four wife order burly construction workers around as she oversaw the roof and plumbing repairs. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, enjoying the calm.

  He had tried to rein Melody in, to slow her down and explain to her that he felt like he was caught in a whirlwind of activity that he couldn’t control. But she’d been unable to see it from his point of view, which had led to their first real honest to god argument since they’d met. It had blown over of course, but he still felt bad about it.

  He looked towards the opposite bank of the river, into the dense trees that had twisted and slithered around each other at some indeterminate time in the past in their never-ending quest to reach for sunlight and sustenance. He noticed an anomaly, a break in the tangle of branches, and with his curiosity piqued, stood to take a closer look. He shaded his eyes against the sun, which glistened off the surface of the water and hurt his eyes. He couldn’t be sure, but there was what looked like a path winding through the trunks. Absently flicking his half-smoked cigarette into the water, he inched as close to the edge as he dared, knowing that he would be a lot less bold if the water was any deeper, as he had never learned to swim.

  The more he looked at it, the more he was sure it was a path. The ground was bare and well-trodden, the leaves and branches pushed aside. He wasn’t sure what had troubled him at first and then, as he scanned the river from left to right, it dawned on him. There seemed to be no way across to the other side in order to use the track. He frowned and double-checked the full visible length of the stream, looking for any sign of a way to cross, but saw none. Grabbing a good-sized stone from the bank, he dropped it into the water but even so, it gave no indication as to how deep it went. He wasn’t even sure why it bothered him. Maybe there had been a
bridge once, but it had since been swept away. He could imagine that after a period of heavy rainfall, the river could easily become a frothing, white torrent of power threatening to burst its banks. Indeed, he could imagine it sweeping away even the strongest of bridges with ease.

  A voice deep in his mind asked him why there were no signs of any such structure on the land, even just a few rotten and splintered timbers left safely out of reach of the surging waters, but it was a question he had no answer for. All he knew was that it bothered him—probably a lot more than something so trivial should have done. Not only because he wanted to know why the previous occupiers hadn’t had the bridge replaced (if indeed it had fallen victim to the power of Mother Nature) but he also wanted to know where the path in the woods led.

  He stepped away from the water’s edge, and sat back on the tree stump. The sky had begun to grow a glorious shade of pre-dusk purple-blue, and already the familiar constellations were beginning to appear. He tried to forget the path in the woods and turned his back on it, looking back at the house instead.

  The yellow glow from the windows was warm and inviting, and yet somehow he still felt more comfortable sitting outside on the tree stump. He wasn’t sure if that said more about him, or his bad feelings about the house, which had grown considerably despite his determination to try and like the place. He dismissed it and lit another cigarette, making a mental note to cut down his intake of the dreaded cancer sticks.

  He heard the steady rumble of the removal trucks as they made their way slowly down the rutted lane to their property, listening as everything faded to silence. It seemed that his wife had finally released the poor men from their duties. He took another drag, the orange glow of the cigarette now vibrant and bright as full night crept ever closer. Melody poked her head out of the door, waving to him and beckoning him.

  “Could you come and help me with some of the boxes?”