by Peppi Hilton
“Are we having a cup of tea?” a frail but sinister voice called outside the door.
Her body seemed to go into paralysis mode and she couldn’t move. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t really happening, that she was in a doze and had only thought she’d heard it. Maybe she was having a nightmare. Maybe she would wake up properly soon and breathe a sigh of relief on finding it was just a bad dream. But deep down she knew she was kidding herself in the hope that the horrible sound wouldn’t come again. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, as she continued to clutch at the pillow. She allowed only sporadic moments in which to shallowly breathe, for fear of the sound exposing her whereabouts under the bedding. She waited and waited as time seemed to stand still, and even her thoughts weren’t allowed to interrupt the silence. But she eventually relaxed her breathing once sufficient time had passed to convince her that she hadn’t heard anything after all.
But the gruesome reality came to fruition when she heard the dreaded sound again.
“Are we having a cup of tea?”
There was no mistaking it this time and all her wishful thinking and hopes of discovering it was all in her mind, brought on by a nightmare, were eliminated in that split second. The brutal truth that someone, or something, was outside her bedroom door hit her hard, and her fear was exacerbated knowing she was alone in the room with no-one to cling to and no hope of escape.
She almost shrieked out loud but as quickly as the sound tried to exhale from her quaking body she pulled it back in again, as she tried desperately to keep quiet in the hope that whatever was outside her door might go away if she remained silent.
But in those few excruciating moments, her reasoning burst into action and reminded her that it obviously knew she was there or it wouldn’t be hovering outside her door.
She crawled under the duvet and began to cry in terror, burying her face in the pillow to try to muffle her sobs. She was so petrified that even her brain seemed to have shut down.
“Are we having a cup of tea?” the voice called again, but this time it was more threatening.
But worse was to come. Within seconds, to her horror, she heard the door handle turn as the perpetrator tried to get in.
Lucy was so horrified that her reasoning seemed to have frozen, leaving her in a state of limbo as if in a trance. She lay there helpless and desperate in a state of complete shutdown. She was unable to imagine ever seeing the light of day again, because surely these were her final moments as nothing stood in the way of whatever was outside that door.
She was now wishing that she’d turned the lamps off, because she felt suddenly exposed with them on. Perhaps in the dark she wouldn’t be so obvious. She hoped against hope that Anton’s bolt was strong enough, because if not the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. She was filled with a feeling of doom as she waited for the next move but not quite sure of what to expect.
But as her thoughts began to unravel in her mind once more, she tried to come to terms with what was happening: Could it be that old woman – the voice was frail enough? Could she have been hiding all the time somewhere inside the house and Anton hadn’t seen her when he’d searched? Did he search the top floor thoroughly, and was it really just a number of empty rooms with some odds and ends lying around as he’d said? He’d told her it was uninhabitable, but maybe she’d never moved out and had continued to squat in the place. Maybe she occupied the top floor. Maybe she was the one who had moved the rocker in front of the warm range, perhaps to use whilst no-one was at home. Her head was full of maybes and was spinning with the strain of her imagination running rampant, but nothing made sense.
The fear began to subside, as compassion pushed its way through. What if she’d hit on the truth? Could it be possible that someone else was living in their home without their knowledge? It made more sense than anything else she could imagine. What if some poor old woman had been squatting in the rooms on the top floor all the time? That would explain how she’d come to see her when she first peered through the glass in the door.
Perhaps she should go and check if the old woman was there. As one compassionate human being to another, surely she could make her a cup of tea if that’s all she craved for. But if her thoughts were willing, her body certainly wasn’t. It remained huddled in a ball at the bottom of the duvet in a terrified state of suspense.
But whilst all those thoughts chased each other around in her head, she suddenly realised that everything had gone quiet. The creaking floorboards had stopped and there was no longer an eerie voice at the door. She listened intently, and as minutes ticked away there was still no sound. She finally raised her head from the duvet and looked towards the door. Nothing seemed to be happening and she was beginning to wonder if she’d imagined it after all. She remained perfectly still whilst anticipating another onslaught of eerie sounds, but after a while she was convinced that no-one was there.
She climbed out of bed and headed apprehensively towards the door. She leaned against it to see if she could hear anything but couldn’t. After taking a deep breath she gripped the door handle and slowly turned it whilst sliding the bolt. She hesitated before pulling the door open, her body shaking in dreaded anxiety.
Her entire body tensed as she stuck her head out and looked around the drab and dreary landing and down the staircase and to the hall below. There wasn’t a sound or sign of anything or anyone. Tiptoeing onto the landing and being careful to avoid the creaky boards, she ventured slowly down the stairs one by one. Her fear had not abated, but she knew she would have to check it all out if she hoped to settle down again for the night. She walked hesitantly across the hall and into the sitting room, the blood pumping through her veins like a train on a runaway track. The first thing she saw was the cushion on the floor again. It was back where it was earlier that day. A cold shiver ran through her spine as she knew it had nothing to do with her imagination, or nightmares, and this time there was no justification for how it could have happened. She couldn’t escape from the truth. Someone was playing a cat and mouse game with her, but was unwilling to come out in the open.
Fear clutched at her heart again as she had no idea what she was dealing with, but at the same time she felt angry too. What was it about the house, and what sinister force could be trying to drive her away and why? She felt completely isolated and lonely, and the sheer terror of being alone in Juniper was overwhelming. But there was one chilling fact she now knew for certain: the incidents would only occur when Anton wasn’t there.
She picked the cushion up, marched into the scullery and dropped it on the rocker once more. There was still a soft glow in the range and the burning embers continued to give out some warmth which helped to create a more pleasant atmosphere. She returned to the sitting room and threw some logs on the fire and decided to make herself a brew.
She sat down in the sitting room with her drink and it seemed to help to ease her nervousness, as somehow she didn’t feel quite so trapped downstairs as she did in her bedroom. The fire began to burn merrily and soon the room took on a cosy feel. And as she became more relaxed, Lucy began to question her own fears and dilemmas. She knew in her heart of hearts that most women, when on their own, imagine that once they go upstairs and turn out the lights, in no time at all intruders will be lurking somewhere within the walls. That was fact!
But as Anton had wisely pointed out, why on earth do women imagine they are on the verge of being murdered in their beds, or about to suffer some other gruesome encounter once they turn out the lights? And why do they believe it’s all going to happen once they lock up and retire upstairs. It may not make sense to most men, but the sad truth was: most women become fearful and imaginative in the dark – if they are alone.
Lucy leapt to her own defence in answer to the nagging fears that still clung to her. Juniper House was a big, eerie, sinister building and it was in a remote hamlet. It was also very secluded, and there was no doubt that she had experienced some rather strange encounters from the
very first time they’d clapped eyes on it. Most men would feel nervous if they were put in the same position, so regardless of what Anton thought, it wasn’t just because she was a woman.
Soon the heat from the fire began to make her feel drowsy and after a while she fell asleep. She didn’t wake up until early morning. At first she couldn’t work out why she had slept in the chair, but the memory of the previous evening soon came flooding back and she felt a cold shiver at the thought. She was stiff because she’d slept in an uncomfortable position and the house had grown cold. The fire was still in, although scarcely throwing out any heat, so she raked it and threw some wood on to bring it back to life.
She couldn’t help but think about the previous night’s incidents with some apprehension, still doubtful as to whether it was real, yet suspicious about the possibility of the old woman hiding somewhere – perhaps on the top floor. But she didn’t dare investigate because she couldn’t stand attics. She refused to venture up there even with Anton, although she had to admit that attics were not as frightening as basements. If fleeing for her life and they were the only two options, she knew full well which she’d choose to hide in, in such a dire situation; without a doubt she’d flee to the attics. But right now she wouldn’t be fleeing anywhere because hopefully her life wasn’t in danger, and she had no intention of venturing up there to find out whether or not they had a squatter. And so if that old woman was hiding upstairs, she would have to stay there at least until Anton came home. So until then it would have to remain a mystery.
As she reflected on how to tell Anton about her suspicions, she realised that she wouldn’t really relish the idea of broaching the subject with him. He would think she was a nutcase, if he didn’t think it already with what had gone on previously. But she would have to tell him about last night’s incidents, regardless of whether she was certain or not of their reality. If that old woman was a squatter in their house she needed help, and desperately, and so they couldn’t ignore it. And the more she thought about it, the more it calmed her fears, because having someone else in the house, even as a squatter, was better than her being alone – even if the thought did give her the creeps.
10
A couple of days passed without incident, by which time Lucy had finally come to the conclusion that she must have been allowing her mind to get over-imaginative. It all seemed too distant from reality as time moved on and it was easy to imagine none of it had ever happened. After all, she hadn’t actually seen anything.
She’d never taken to Juniper House from that first time they’d accidentally come across it, accentuated more by the old woman in ragged clothes who had stared back at her suspiciously from the foot of the stairs. As she’d peered through the pane of glass that day, she was horrified to think that someone lived in such squalor and even worse that they had been trespassing on her land. Anton was convinced that she’d seen her own reflection through the grimy window, which had probably become distorted due to lack of clarity. But Lucy, whilst she accepted that possibility, had always had doubts. Anton didn’t seem to understand that she hadn’t just seen a face – proving his reflection theory – she had seen a figure wearing ragged clothes, so how could he explain that? He couldn’t and nor did he want to. He had grown impatient with her insistence that it had really happened and she had enough sense to drop it when she did. His only thoughts were about buying the place and nothing would deter him.
However, it was also feasible that she’d allowed paranoia to take over from that first experience and she’d let it feed her imagination, so there was a strong likelihood of Anton being right – after all, he nearly always did end up being right about most things. He was so laid back about everything and never got wound up, and he certainly didn’t have an over-imaginative mind like she did. She’d never seen him angry – frustrated at her sometimes maybe, but never angry. He was, in her terms, cool, calm and collected and always in control. As she dwelt on his good points, of which there were many, it reiterated why she’d fallen in love with him from the very beginning. He was very meticulous about everything he did, and he never started a job without finishing it and it had to be perfect before he would call it complete. It was no wonder that she had built up the utmost confidence and trust in everything he said and did, convincing herself that he knew everything. She knew she leaned heavily on him to make all the important decisions in life, and by doing that she risked becoming a weak and fragile personality in herself, but it worked between them and she wasn’t looking for change. She felt comfortable with him around and he was her tower of strength. No wonder she missed him when he wasn’t there.
But what if this time he was wrong and the face had been real? The same old doubts still nagged and nagged – and yet, there was no other sensible conclusion without reverting back to the notion that she was hiding in the attics. Surely Anton wouldn’t find that so hard to believe! She didn’t know what to believe herself, so what chance had Anton got?
She busied herself in the house when at home and also volunteered to do extra days at work, so when Anton got home at week-end everything would be clean and tidy, and the extra money would come in useful to add to what Anton earned whilst working away. She was feeling quite pleased with how she had managed on her own, and she was sure that Anton would also be relieved that all was well.
However, it was not to be. The day before he was due to arrive home for the week-end, he had contacted her to say he wouldn’t be back after all because he had chosen to work right through in order that he could finish the following week. It meant that he might even have the job finished by the following Wednesday. Lucy was devastated and whilst it was both bad news and good news at the same time, she was feeling somewhat dejected and disappointed, although she knew it was the best decision in the long run. Luckily her job was not restricted to weekdays and so she could volunteer to work at the week-end in order to keep herself occupied, and it also meant more money for the household pot. But she was feeling very lonely. The hamlet of Judge Fields was extremely desolate in the winter. No doubt it was busier in the summer months, but it was unlikely to attract a great deal of visitors. After all, there was nothing of interest apart from the old church, which, she’d heard along the grapevine, could boast the wedding of a very famous author which took place there long ago. There was only one road out of Judge Fields and it didn’t lead to anywhere except the main road. There were several little lanes here and there, but they only led to a few scattered farms and no further, so one could only turn round and go back again. Once inside Juniper she felt closed in and isolated. There was really nowhere to go and as Anton had gone to Somerset in the camper van, any outings would have to wait until he came back; but then he would be busying himself doing jobs in the house, and so life was beginning to get tedious. It wouldn’t be so bad if the pub was open; everyone dreams of a village pub in which to socialise and be part of the community. But it was all a myth as far as she was concerned because a community in Judge Fields just didn’t exist. Everyone hid behind their curtains, and they were rarely, if ever, seen. Getting out of the house, apart from work, seemed to be a thing of the past, and if it continued for much longer she really did think she’d go mad.
Lucy’s thoughts focused on Juniper House and how it seemed to get under Anton’s skin from that very first moment. It was love at first sight – an obsession that she somehow couldn’t understand. After all, it was just a big house, nothing more and nothing less, and nothing special to add to its merit. Although no doubt it had been a palatial home to someone else in the past when life was different, but nothing remained of its history now, at least not that she could see. Yet, as Anton had said it had potential, potential to start the business she had often fantasised about. But Judge Fields wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind. Her fantasy of the tourist industry was more akin to St Ives in Cornwall, or some other idyllic place in the West Country where the climate was much milder than what they were accustomed to in the harsher North. She’d ruled out the
Lake District as that was far too expensive, and the weather could be somewhat as damp as a wet squid for a huge chunk of the year. But this dead-end place? Who on earth would come here? Anton was convinced it would attract walkers and hikers, potholers, and anyone interested in the outdoors; and he had stacks of ideas of how to take advantage of it with guide tours and other related passions of his – nearly all outdoor pursuits. His ideas were overflowing, as well as challenging, and she couldn’t keep up with them. He drew plans and wrote down every minute detail of all the concepts and designs which were in his head, and planned the outdoor activities with vigour. But Lucy didn’t fancy hikers, walkers, potholers and suchlike, tramping through her nice new home with their muddy boots and heavy equipment – that is if they ever did succeed in making it a nice new home; she had her doubts. And his plans didn’t exactly include her, oh no, she was going to be cooking, washing up, cleaning, shopping and generally being a servant to the public. Somehow her role in all of this seemed somewhat dreary and she certainly couldn’t raise any enthusiasm for it.
The more she dwelt on it all, the more she felt that she was becoming a secondary figure in his notions. First it was Anton, followed by the house, followed by his ideas, and then followed by Anton – and finally, somewhere down the line came Lucy. The balance and order of things had somehow become re-arranged and instead of being first, as she always had been when they lived in their cosy, loving, little flat, she had somewhat become last in the pecking order. And as she began to fantasize about their lives before Juniper and Judge Fields, she was jolted back to the cold, harsh reality of how life had become. Anton was changing, his obsession had moved from her to the house, and the more it drew him in, the more it pushed her out. He was becoming a stranger to her. What if the house had a presence? What if the incidents which she thought she had witnessed, and now wasn’t so sure, were deliberate by some unseen sinister force? Did the house have a past that couldn’t be exterminated for some bizarre reason? Could that kind of phenomena exist? And had it got good reason for possessing Anton without anyone suspecting? And why choose Anton? Could she be in the way of something – or someone? The landlord of the pub had told them both to leave the house alone, the old man seemed to warn them too. What was going on? Her head was aching with the turmoil because she really didn’t know the answers. But what if the house was truly haunted? She didn’t want to ponder on that scenario either as it was much too frightening to take on board, particularly as she was going to be alone in it for quite a bit longer. She was beginning to wish she’d never allowed her thoughts to venture that far, because now she had frightened the life out of herself and she was tempted to find somewhere else to stay until Anton got back. But the truth was – there wasn’t anywhere. She was stuck there whether she wanted to be or not! And she was now wishing that Anton was coming home at the week-end as first planned, so that she could have gone back with him and stayed in the camper van. No matter how hard a prospect that was, and knowing she’d have to force Anton to agree against his wishes, it would have been better than risking the plight of being in a haunted house alone. She shuddered as the reality of the whole scenario began to truly sink in, and she suddenly realised that she had inadvertently instilled a fear inside her head that couldn’t be retracted. She wanted to revert back to the scenario whereby the old lady was hiding upstairs – another real human being, not a supernatural one; but it was too late now because the alternative was floating in and out of her head and wouldn’t let go.
