The Drowning Pool

by Syd Moore

  My heavy head felt the lounger and I closed my eyes. The storm had cleared the air and the temperature wasn’t yet unbearable. ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘Not really?’ I registered the interest in her voice. ‘Is that a maybe?’

  My friend would have liked me to be with someone. Not because she saw it as the natural order of things, Martha had a thoroughly post-feminist outlook in that respect, but because she sensed it would make me more comfortable – happy, even. ‘I’m sorry to report that it’s a “no”.’

  ‘Well, Deano’s invited a few of his friends from work and two of them are single.’

  I let out a sigh, which Martha either didn’t hear or chose not to acknowledge.

  A nearby neighbour powered up a hedge-trimmer. The buzz reinforced the atmosphere of cosy suburbia.

  ‘I’m not saying you should come and get off with them or anything. But I’d like to introduce you. One of them, Ben, I’ve met before. He’s really nice. Cool. He’s in a band.’ She sent me a sidelong glance. ‘I think you’d get on well.’

  I took a sip of coffee. ‘You know I’m not looking for anyone, right?’

  ‘But it’d do you good to have a bit of male company from time to time.’

  ‘I do keep male company at work. And I have Alfie.’

  Martha playfully slapped my arm. ‘You know what I mean. You’re still an attractive woman. I just think that sometimes you need to remind yourself of that.’ She angled her body towards me. ‘There’s more to life than work and home, you know.’

  I kept my eyes closed but my lips curled as I spoke. ‘Don’t I just know it.’

  ‘Do you?’ I was sure that behind those huge shades her eyes had narrowed.

  ‘I …’

  A loud crash from the kitchen cut me off. It was followed swiftly by a shriek.

  ‘Bugger. You all right, boys?’ Martha got to her feet but kept my gaze. ‘Let me sort them out. Just hold that thought.’ And she dashed into the house.

  But the moment had gone. When she returned we made small talk until Alfie had finished lunch. Then we left.

  The atmosphere at home was lighter than it had been first thing. Alfie and I sat in the garden for some of the afternoon. He didn’t seem to want to go into the house either. It was as though he could sense something wasn’t right.

  Later we made pizzas and then ate them in the flower-boat.

  ‘Are zombies real?’ he asked, brushing away some crumbs from his lap. The question seemed to come out of nowhere.

  ‘Why do you ask, honey?’ I kept my tone even.

  ‘Oliver, at nursery, says they are.’

  I smiled. ‘No, they’re not real. They’re just stories people make up to frighten themselves.’

  He took this on board with a nod. ‘I know ghosts are real.’

  My heartbeat went up a notch. ‘Oh yeah?’ I accompanied it with a smile and a sniff. Keep it light, Sarah, I urged myself.

  ‘Grandma says there’s the God and the Jesus and the Holy Ghost. But I’ve never seen him.’

  ‘You’ve never seen who?’ I was tense but intrigued.

  ‘I saw Jesus at Christmas. He was a doll. In a cot. Kirsty was his mum, Mary. She did a wee wee in her pants.’

  Ah yes, the nursery nativity. Mary had appeared in an appropriate headdress on top, yet cords and t-shirt below. ‘Poor Kirsty.’

  He ignored me and continued. ‘God came down at Easter and told us not to eat all our eggs at once.’

  That rang a bell with something Mum had said. An appearance of the bishop at her local church. There’d been an Easter service for kids and she’d insisted on taking Alfie along.

  He giggled. ‘He was wearing a dress!’

  ‘Oh yes. That was a bishop, Alfs. That wasn’t God.’

  ‘He was God. He had a beard. He said “by the word of God, the Lord.” My son raised his hands up to the heavens. It was a gesture I could see a clergyman making at the summing up of prayers. ‘Like a Jedi. And the Dark Lord. Shwoom, shwoom.’ Then he swished an imaginary lightsaber at me. ‘But I ain’t seen the ghost.’

  I could have cut in here and had a conversation but he was off, tumbling out of the hammock and making like Lord Vader in pantomime: ‘Don’t eat your eggs. We will. Oh no you won’t.’ Swish.

  The rose bush quivered.

  Later, after I had put him down I took my place in front of the computer and Skyped Marie.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Her face was expectant. Today she had on a tight white t-shirt which emphasized her well-toned shoulders and arms. Her skin was taut and golden. If I didn’t know better I would have said she was Californian born and bred.

  It took me ten minutes to fill her in on the latest developments. She sat there quietly, nodding from time to time. Finally she sat back and looked me squarely in the face, or as squarely as one can when talking through a computer monitor.

  ‘Shit,’ she said slowly, drawing out the vowel, in that lazy way Americans do. ‘That’s grim. Sounds like some night. So you had a dream of an older woman, then you had a manifestation then another dream? Is that right?’

  I shook my head. ‘The first was a dream. Definitely. It was the same woman but older. Sad. Resigned. There was a sense of something else. Like she was trying to send me a message. Something to do with someone coming back. A man.’

  ‘Any ideas who he is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or who she is?’

  ‘Actually yes. I’m not sure whether it was a manifestation. It might have been another dream.’ I rubbed my brow. I was finding it all quite hard to explain in solid terms. ‘I can’t really tell. It was vivid like it was really happening but when I woke up there was no sign that I had been moving around the room. I thought I had spilt some bottles on the dressing table when the, the …’ I was struggling to find words to describe it, ‘horrible thing scared me, but when I saw them this morning they hadn’t been touched. But the ghost kind of pulled me into a dream, and a scene. They weren’t nice. But, at least now I think that I know who she is.’ I clicked my tongue and looked out over the garden thinking – I was stupid for not seeing it before.

  ‘So, who is she?’ An overtone of excitement sent her voice whistling over the line.

  ‘Sarah Grey, the sea-witch.’ There, I’d said it.

  Marie shifted visibly. ‘A sea-witch?’

  I relayed the legend as I knew it, with both of the possible endings – first the three axe wounds then the headless body in the ducking pond.

  ‘That’s when I first heard them. The night that we went up across the fields to Hadleigh Castle. I was with my friends. We started telling ghost stories then Sarah Grey came up. We talked about her for a bit then moved on to other stuff.’

  ‘Aha!’ Marie sounded pleased with herself. ‘Sounds like you created some kind of séance. And before you say it, you don’t have to do it on purpose. Castles, rocks, mountains, sacred sites all have a very different kind of energy. These are places where time shifts, creating portals almost. Every so often time folds back on itself. Words, rhythms, stories echo through them across the centuries. If you start going down certain paths you start waking ghosts. Sometimes you set in motion things you have no idea about. I think perhaps the stories that you told each other by the fire combined with where you were must have stirred up something. And though you didn’t realize it, one of you, or you yourself, Sarah, brought her through.’

  ‘We didn’t – I didn’t – do it on purpose.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Marie frowned. ‘But you have her name. You live in the area she did. People take different paths all the time but the thing with paths is that they converge. When you retrace some of those paths you evoke the ghosts of the people that have walked them before. That night at the castle, you, her namesake, must have walked the same path; you talked about her, there in the shadow of the ancient place, your coven of friends evoked her by name, feeding her energy, sending her strength. And now she’s here and you’ve got to deal with her.’


  ‘Hang on,’ I held up my hand to the screen. ‘We’re not a coven.’

  ‘The point is you know who she is now. She’s obviously not at rest and she’s chosen you to help her resolve whatever it is that’s keeping her here. Something is still tying her to the living.’

  I looked out of the French doors. A couple of rose petals had blown across the decking.

  ‘When she appeared in the second dream or manifestation, it was really frightening.’

  Marie bit her cheek and thought a moment before replying. ‘I doubt if she’s aware of what she looks like to your eyes. The way she has shown herself to you means something. You have to work out what it is. Hey, you OK?’

  I was thinking about the blood oozing from the apparition’s head wound. It occurred to me that her knees looked like they might have been tied together too. I shuddered.

  ‘I wasn’t good this morning but I’m holding it together now. As the day has moved on I’ve calmed down a bit. For Alfie.’

  ‘Well, that’s great,’ she nodded. ‘You’re doing really well, Sarah. Honestly. Hang on in there.’ Safe in California Marie smiled and crossed her legs.

  ‘So now you know,’ I said slowly, coming to my point. ‘Can you get rid of her?’

  Marie looked surprised. ‘Get rid of her?’

  ‘Perform an exorcism or something like that.’

  Marie was taken aback. ‘That’s like an eviction or banishment. Do you really want to do that? Have you no empathy for the poor soul?’

  ‘No,’ I said, banging the table with my fist, suddenly angry. ‘This poor soul is haunting me! Do you know what that’s like? It’s terrifying, Marie. I can’t bear it.’

  Marie sat back and bit her tongue. ‘I can appreciate the way you feel, Sarah …’

  ‘Can you really? Sometimes I think I’m going mad. I can’t sit in my own home without jumping. Now I can’t even go to sleep without freaking out either. I don’t want this, Marie. I want it to go away.’

  I felt like crying but I didn’t. Instead I sniffed and wiped my nose on the sleeve of the cotton cardigan I was wearing.

  ‘I think it’s more about you helping her move on, Sarah,’ Marie spoke slowly as if measuring each word before she chose to articulate it. ‘I don’t think an exorcism would be very easy. Or even work. It’s used a lot in films, that’s true. But it’s a Roman Catholic tradition that requires faith in the Roman Catholic catechism. Don’t be offended, but you don’t strike me as the overtly religious type.’

  I was still glowering. ‘I don’t?’

  ‘I imagine that if you were, you might have consulted with your local priest rather than me.’

  I snorted, which sounded dismissive. That wasn’t how I felt. I guess I was more dumbfounded then. I knew what she meant. I just didn’t like it. I wanted her to sort me out and get rid of all this insanity.

  For a few seconds we sat in our own distant pools of silence.

  Eventually Marie spoke. ‘Look, Sarah, I think you know this deep inside you, but for the moment you’re freaked out and in denial – but there is undoubtedly a connection between you and Sarah Grey.’

  ‘We share a surname, that’s it.’

  ‘You’ve told me that you’re both widows. And you both live or lived in Leigh. Maybe it doesn’t actually matter what the connection is, but if you want to make this go away you’re going to have to work out why she’s focusing on you and what she wants.’

  I leant on my elbow and scratched my nose slowly. She was right. I did know it. When I spoke my voice cracked. ‘What do you think I need to do then? I mean, how can I possibly find that out? Please don’t ask me to speak to her again.’

  ‘You know,’ Marie said in a softer voice now, ‘I know the “witch” tag sounds alarming but most of the women accused of witchcraft or labelled as witches were either ugly, or poor and scary looking. Their poverty meant that they existed outside of society. They were the ones that had the label “witch” projected onto them. Very few of them chose it themselves. Of course there were some who meddled with herbs, but that’s hardly dark and sinister is it? You said this woman, Sarah Grey, lived in the nineteenth century? Well, that century saw orthodox medicine rise in popular regard while using herbs to heal became suspect and went into a decline.’

  ‘No,’ I shook my head sadly. ‘It wasn’t just that she worked with herbal cures. I’ve dreamt about her when she was young and when she was old. People thought she was a witch. It had something to do with the Drowning Pool. I saw the scene. She was running away from that awful man. He wanted to take something from her. I don’t know what it was. But he was nasty. He slapped her. That’s why she went into the Drowning Pool. But she didn’t drown. She was rescued. I think, by her father. But anyway it didn’t matter to the crowd that looked on. The water wouldn’t take her so she was seen as a witch. The townspeople turned on her after that. Everyone did.’

  It seemed too much for Marie to take in. But she said, ‘OK.’

  After a long minute, during which Marie stared at a spot behind my head and squinted, she said softly, ‘Let me tune in now and try to pick something up. There’s a vibe I’ve been getting but it’s just not clear. Can you sit back and relax while I try?’

  ‘OK. But how can you do that over there? Don’t you need something to hold on to? Something from the person?’

  Marie sort of clucked. ‘You’ve been watching too much TV. It’s a matter of what you believe. If you think you need a personal possession to tune in, then you won’t be able to do it without one. Personally, I think you and I have developed a relationship of sorts so that’s what I’m going to concentrate on – our communication. Then I’ll focus on you and your dealings with Sarah Grey. OK?’

  I assented and waited for several moments while Marie sat there, eyes closed, arms outstretched, in what I guessed was some kind of meditative trance. She was curious to watch, her brow creasing slightly and her nose wrinkling. As the minutes passed anxiety started to creep across me.

  Suddenly Marie clapped her hands together, threading her fingers into a knot.

  ‘It seems to me,’ she said at last, ‘that Sarah Grey probably wants you to solve the mystery of her death. She’s sending you clues by appearing with a gash in her head, through you dreaming of her life,’ she was speaking quickly, her eyes alert and urgent. ‘It’s got to be about the legend. You’ve got two endings and neither of them works out well for her. There’s violence in both stories. Violence always leaves a rupture, like ripples in time. You need to help her rest in peace by finding out what happened to her. In reality. You need to get beyond the myth.’

  Marie watched my face, waiting for a reaction.

  Electronic static filtered through the computer speakers. In the distance seagulls cried. Outside the clouds had turned from pink to lilac to grey.

  I think I knew this was what I’d have to do even before Marie said it. But I wasn’t ready to hear it, and suddenly I found that I was angry. Angry with Marie for suggesting it, with Sarah for haunting me and with myself for not being someone else. ‘Well, how the hell do I do that?’

  Marie smiled. ‘Simple. If you can’t find out any more on the internet, you need a local historian.’

  Chapter Nine

  The conversation with Marie had been pretty sobering. Inside it was obvious to me that this thing wasn’t going to go away without some serious investigation of Sarah’s story. That’s not to say I wanted things that way.

  I spent a lot of time thinking – why me? Was it really just my name that connected us so strongly? Or something else. The place where I lived? All of it? Or none of it?

  I wasn’t the kind of person who got off on weird stuff like this. I’d moved to Leigh to get away from all the excitement.

  As the summer holidays drew closer I thought of planning an escape somewhere to shrug off this cloak of supernatural doom. But on Thursday morning my appointment with the neurologist arrived. It was scheduled for ten days hence. I realized that Alfi
e and I shouldn’t plan to go away. Just in case.

  On the Friday I finally handed my course review in to the boss. Taking the sheaf of papers from me he scanned them and tutted. He’d slunk back inside his granite persona. Straight off he spotted a spelling mistake. No ‘Thanks, Sarah, well done.’ Just ‘Tsk, tsk. There’s only two e’s in ProAchieve.’

  ‘Really?’ I tried to camouflage my irritation by yawning. It got him going.

  ‘Come on, Sarah. The course reviews are important. You mustn’t be slapdash.’ He was sitting behind his desk looking flustered and angry and upset and disappointed and worried. All at the same time.

  I didn’t get it and frowned, then decided on a neutral smile instead. He sighed and shuffled through the pages then he gave me another look with those killer eyes. They must have made a whole gaggle of girls swoon when he was younger. But I couldn’t read what he was trying to infer.

  I broke through the silence that was creeping between us and making me feel a tad jittery. ‘So, can I go? It’s my last day and I’d like to get off early, if there’s nothing else?’

  His eyebrows rose. He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it and asked if I was going for a drink after work. I said no and scuttled out of his office, wishing him a happy holiday as I closed the door.

  A swift half wouldn’t have gone amiss but Margaret and Keith, Josh’s parents, were due to visit on Saturday and the house was in need of some industrial cleaning. What with everything, I’d let things slip a bit.

  It had been a while since we’d seen them. Alfie adored them both. Margaret spoilt him rotten and Keith, his only granddad and a former naval officer, loved to get down and play rough and tumble. Alfie wouldn’t shut up about Granddad coming and was very excited at the prospect of presents. Although he needed a good night’s sleep he resisted my efforts for an age. I finally got online that evening about ten o’clock. Fatigue was clawing at my resolve by then but I knew I should have a stab at finding something out about Sarah Grey, having put it off all week.