“Including us you mean? Well, perhaps if I tell you what I was told we might make a bit of sense out of it. I doubt it, but at least we’ll be as up-to-date on the insanity of this place as the rest of them,” Peter replied, returning to slicing his steak.
“So what exactly did they tell you, Peter? And what does it mean to us? To Jason?” Mary asked.
“Not sure what any of it has to do with anything, but it seems everyone in the village is wary of this place, especially with kids. Weird stuff on the moors, witchcraft and the like I guess. They had those spiritualist folk in here you know? Mediums. Those that talk to ghosts and spirits. Apparently, that old Izzy woman is one. And of course, there’s this Emily kid. Some girl that died or didn’t. Can’t say I could follow that stuff. Is she a ghost? I have no idea. But you did say Jason had been saying her name, right? By the time they’d all finished telling me stories, I just felt I was being taken for the idiot,” Peter finished and lay down his knife and fork on the plate. He reached for his wine glass and took a long, deep drink.
“Crikey!” Mary exclaimed. “They did do a number on you, Peter. But none of it helps us does it?”
“Nope. About the best I got out of old Izzy for sorting this mess was to find the girl. Well, as nobody has managed it in three hundred years, we might have more luck finding the rats that we don’t have. So, did you get a doctor’s appointment for Jason?” Peter sighed and slouched back into the chair, nestling the wine glass on his thigh.
“Not ‘til next week. I talked to the doctor and he said Jason was probably just under stress and should improve with some rest. But I made the appointment anyway for next week. Apart from that, I don’t know what else we can do,” Mary replied.
“So, we’ve got no further today than we were this morning. I suggest we finish dinner and the wine and call it a night. What say you, lady?” Peter shrugged.
Mary smiled suggestively at her husband as she poured them both another glass. “That, my dear, sounds like the best plan we’ve had in a while.”
Soon, they were heading upstairs to the bedroom, Peter following Mary up and admiring her silk-clad rear.
Once in the bedroom, Peter couldn’t contain himself. The frustrations of the last few days, the wine and the glow of his beautiful wife triggered him into an unbridled lust.
Peter grabbed Mary before she had reached the bed and slid off her negligee. She turned immediately to face him and noted with pleasure he was already naked in front of her. They were stood by the bedroom window, overlooking the moor and the standing stone. From the corner of her eye, Mary could see the flicker of a small fire near the tall stone. She focused her attention back to Peter who was caressing and kissing her whole body. She ached and groaned for more and he wasn’t going to disappoint. He pushed her back towards the bed and as the back of her knees hit the mattress she collapsed onto it, with Peter above her.
Peter slid himself into her and arched his back as he felt her soft silkiness envelop him. He groaned and as he began to thrust once again, heard the gentle thumping and chanting beginning quietly in rhythm with his own thrusts. Once again, the room began to fill with firelight and below him he could see Mary writhing and rising to meet his thrusts. She too was feeling her head filled with the chanting as it increased in volume and tempo. The room now was alight and alive as if they were at a bonfire surrounded by a circle of hooded people. Again, the circle disrobed and they all began to join in the highly charged orgy. Peter and Mary were drawn deeper and deeper into the rhythmic throng of bodies.
Peter lifted his head to look around the gyrating crowd. Slowly they began to fade into a blur and from the swirling mass of colour and flames, Peter saw her.
Standing at the edge of the bed, sneering at him was Emily. Her face was giving a demonic leer at him through blackened and spittle covered teeth. Her eyes glared red and dark and her skin was a pale green and putrid mess.
Peter sprang back from the bed, his desire fading fast and his anger rising as he faced the Victorian clad child across from him. She slowly faded from view, grinning at him and the sound of her mocking laugh rang in his ears.
“PETER!” Mary yelled, dragging the duvet in front of her. “What the hell!”
Peter looked down at Mary, his eyes wide in shock and confusion but before he could respond they both turned to the door as a scream came from Jason’s room.
Throwing on bathrobes, the pair rushed out of the bedroom onto the landing and into Jason’s bedroom. Jason was sat on the bed, his arms clutching himself as he screamed between groans and sobs. His body jerked and twitched as he sat and it was obvious to Peter and Mary, he was hugging himself to try and keep control.
A childish giggle came from the side of the room and as Peter and Mary spun around to look to the source they saw no one. When they turned back to Jason he was sitting, but not on the bed. He had levitated about two feet above it. His face had changed and Peter instantly recognised the face of Emily he had seen earlier overcoming his son.
As Jason raised his head to look at them he growled. Then spat and said: “Your turn father. Time for you to feel my revenge Daddy dear.”
“Revenge?” Mary gasped. “What on earth are you talking about Jason. Your father loves you more than life itself.”
Mary stepped between Peter and the bed, forcing Peter to take a step backwards into the hall.
“Then maybe he will be happy to lose that life for a bit of love,” Jason snarled as the bedroom door slammed shut heavily in Peter’s face, trapping Mary in the room.
“I don’t understand, Jason. What has your father done to you to deserve this?” Mary sobbed.
Outside, Peter banged on the door. He tried to wrench at the handle but it was solid. The old door was a solid chunk of oak, not some light panel he might smash down. He remembered downstairs in a closet in the kitchen were some old tools. He was sure there was a large sledgehammer in there. Taking a last painful look at the door separating him from his wife and child, he bolted downstairs to the kitchen. He rummaged through the small closet and there at the back was the hammer he had hoped to find. He stepped back with it and closed the closet door.
As he was about to make his way back upstairs he saw the cellar door swinging open and below he heard the evil laughter of a child. Peter made his way to the top of the cellar steps and peered down.
Down in the cellar, he could hear shuffling and giggling in the darkness. He reached to snap on the light and felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see who it was behind him, but before he could turn he felt a hard push that sent him tumbling down the stone stairs. Peter heard the cellar door slam shut before he lost consciousness.
Mary had heard the crash downstairs and turned to the door.
“Peter! Peter!” She yelled, banging on the tightly shut bedroom door. She grabbed at the handle and pulled with all her strength, but it wasn’t shifting. She turned to face Jason and snapped at him. “Open this damn door you little bastard or I’ll break every bone in your body!”
“Oh, Mother dear. Is that any way to be speaking to your baby boy? Is it? Peter is mine. He has to go first. You can follow if you like. Would you like to follow Peter, Mother dear?” Jason hissed and then burst into a bout of raging, manic laughter.
As Jason looked at Mary, she could feel herself being lifted from the ground and pinned against the door. She could feel herself being held up there by her shoulders. She kicked and screamed but couldn’t free herself from the strong, paranormal grip. Mary whimpered as she looked down from her position on the door at her gloating son floating above the bed. His body rose some more and in an instant, he was face-to-face with her.
“Ready to join me in hell, Mary? Ready to share it with that bastard Peter? I’m here waiting for you. You will be my favourite dog,” Jason snarled into Mary’s face.
“What are you? What the hell are you? Please just let my son go. I know this isn’t Jason talking. Please just let him go. Take me instead. Take Peter. But please, please
let my little boy go,” Mary whispered through her tears as she gazed in horror at the face in front of her.
“I intend to take all of you. Have no fear of that. You will be reunited, Mary. It just won’t be here. But reunited you will be,” Jason snarled.
Mary began to sob. Hanging from the door she felt any chance of escape unlikely and any chance of making this situation better impossible. Through her tears, she could see the twisted face of Jason, feeding on her sorrow and fear. She thought back to the crashing she had heard downstairs and began to cry again as she wondered what this abomination had in store for Peter.
Chapter Eleven
Peter lifted his head slowly from the cold cellar floor. The hammer had fallen with him and given him a good blow on the side of his head. He gingerly poked at where it had hit him and felt blood on his fingers. He winced as his bruised and cut head throbbed against his probing touch.
The cellar was quiet and dark. Laying down on the floor, Peter could feel the cold, stinking draft coming from under the wall. He grimaced at the smell and tried to slowly stand up. As he did, his head struck something metal and solid. It sent waves of pain flooding through his already sore head.
As he reached with his hand to whatever had struck him he felt the handle of the old Victorian pram.
“What the fuck?” He muttered to himself.
Peter slowly dragged himself upright, using the hammer as a prop to help him up. He shook his head to clear the fog and remember why he was down here. He remembered. He’d heard the noise and the giggling. He was stood at the top and he was pushed he recalled. Pushed why? He considered. Then he remembered Mary and Jason in the bedroom. Clutching the hammer, he made his way up the cellar stairs and back into the kitchen.
Peter slowly made his way upstairs to the bedrooms. He scanned around him as he moved towards Jason’s bedroom. Whatever was in the bedroom had been in the cellar. Whatever was in the cellar could be anywhere in the house. He had the hammer held in both hands ready to strike. Whatever was coming at him, he was going to get the first hit in, he tried to convince himself.
Standing outside Jason’s bedroom door, Peter lifted the large sledgehammer, ready to swing it against the lock. He had seen the boy or whatever that creature was before he had gone downstairs. He knew whatever was in there now wasn’t his son or even human. He needed to get Mary out first. He was assuming of course that Mary was still in there and still alive. He hoped for that at least. His son? Jason? He had no idea how he was going to get his son back from whatever had him in its clutches. He did know though, that he was going to get him back. Whatever it took. He was going to get his wife and his son free of this place.
Peter swung the large hammer against the door. He was a big man and strong but even he was surprised at how the hammer just glanced off the door having no effect. He was about to raise it again for a second swing when the door swung slightly ajar. Lifting the hammer into a defensive position, he pushed the door open with his foot.
Mary was laid, sprawled on the bed sobbing. Beneath her, Jason, trapped beneath his mother with tears streaming down his face.
“Daddy? Daddy?” the boy whimpered, “She tried to hurt Mummy.”
“It’s okay, son. Do you know where it went?” Peter asked as he made his way into the bedroom.
Jason shook his head and looked down at his mother. Mary was slowly raising herself up from the bed and looked at Peter.
“Peter? You’re safe? Thank god!” Mary sighed as she climbed off her son and the bed and threw herself into Peter’s arms.
“Okay, I think we have to accept something we might not want to admit,” Peter said, lowering the hammer to the floor but keeping one hand on the shaft just in case.
“This stuff isn’t rats. Whatever it is, it wants to kill us. I think that’s pretty obvious now.”
Mary touched her fingertips to Peter’s head.
“Peter, you’re hurt. What on earth did it do to you?”
“Pushed me down the cellar steps. That damn pram is down there too. I think I hit myself with the hammer when I fell. So, if we agree this stuff is more than we can handle and if we aren’t going insane, then yes, it is something we don’t understand. What the hell are we going to do about it?” Peter replied as he moved the hammer in front of the door to stop it slamming shut again.
Jason was lying on the bed and looking up at the two of them trying to follow their conversation. Mary turned to him.
“Can you tell us anything, Jason? Do you know what it wants? Has it hurt you, baby?”
“No Mummy, I don’t know. When it comes I get trapped in a dark place. I can hear it and sometimes feel it but I don’t know what it is. She said she was Emily and this was her house. She said she wanted to be my friend. She isn’t is she, Mummy?” Jason replied.
“No baby, I don’t think she is,” Mary said as she leaned down to the bed to hug her son. She turned to Peter. “Peter, I’m going to the village to find that old Izzy. She knows what’s going on here. I think she’s the only one that might have any idea what to do.”
“No, Mary. It’s late. I don’t want you out there on your own, especially at night,” Peter snapped back.
“Me turning up in the middle of the night will be a lot less frightening for the poor dear than if some huge guy turns up at her door don’t you think? I have a feeling she’ll talk to me better too. Woman to woman sort of thing. Take Jason to our bedroom or downstairs. I won’t be long,” Mary said as she pushed past him through the door and made her way to their bedroom.
Peter saw the look on her face and knew better than to argue with her. Mary had her mind made up. Not much of a plan he thought, but at least it brought someone else into the battle. He shrugged, leaned down to the bed and scooped Jason into his arms.
“Come on son, let’s go down and have a late, late supper, okay?”
Jason hugged his father tight as he carried him downstairs to the kitchen. Mary was close behind, now dressed in jeans and a sweater, she dropped her phone into her handbag that was dangling from her shoulder.
“I’ll be as quick as I can, you two. If anything starts happening, get out of the house as fast as you can. Maybe Izzy will agree to come back with me. Perhaps she can actually hold a conversation with this thing and tell it to get lost,” Mary said as she opened the door.
Peter made as if to stop her and say something but chose to sit back in the chair at the kitchen table and surrender. Maybe old Izzy did have an answer to this. If she didn’t they would be in the car and on their way to somewhere very soon. The only problem was, there no ‘somewhere’ to go to. They had pretty much burned all their bridges and this was now all they had. It had to be worth fighting for.
Mary made her way quickly down the lane to the village. She knew old Izzy didn’t live too far from the Yew Tree pub and if a light was still on there she would ask them where she lived. If it wasn’t? Well, she would bang on the door anyway until someone answered. It was a little after one o’clock in the morning. There was every chance the pub would still be open for its regulars. Mary was almost jogging when she arrived at the front door. She peered through the bottle glass windows hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, anyone. Then she tried the door - it opened.
Inside, George was wiping down tables and placing new beer mats in position. Over in a corner near the bar, two old men were sat playing dominoes. George looked up as he saw Mary and smiled.
“After a late nightcap are we, dear?” George said, smiling as he moved behind the bar.
“No, no not really, George. It’s that Izzy woman I’m looking for. Isadora? We need her help. I mean we seriously need her help,” Mary replied, lowering herself exhausted onto one of the barstools in front of George.
“Must be bloody serious to be coming out for her at this time of night. This is to do with the house, right? I hope we haven’t gone scaring you folks too much. You’ll have a drink on me, lass. You look in a state,” George replied as he settled a glass in front of Mary
, “Now will it be brandy or whisky? Or of course a port and lemon is good for settling folk’s nerves.”
“Oh okay, a whiskey please, George. That’s very kind of you. I really need to speak to Izzy though,” Mary said thankfully as George turned to reach down for a bottle of whiskey from the shelf.
George leaned over the bar to where the two old men were playing dominoes.
“Hey, Geoffrey. Got a favour to ask you old lad.”
The man stood up from the table and came over to the end of the bar to talk to George. They talked in whispers and glanced at Mary as they conferred. Eventually, the man nodded and left the pub.
George made his way back down the bar to where Mary was watching the whole episode.
“I’ve sent Geoff there to fetch her. If she’ll come that is. She knows old Geoff and I think he’ll have a better job of getting her out of her armchair than you might. Barely knows you, see?” George said.
“Thank you, George. I really appreciate it,” Mary replied, taking a sip of the whiskey.
Geoffrey returned after about ten minutes and nodded at George before going back to his domino game.
“She won’t be too long, dear. She’ll have nodded off in her armchair reading a book I imagine. Give her five minutes. Can I refill that for you?” George asked, hovering with the whiskey bottle.
“I didn’t bring any money, George. I was just hoping to see Izzy,” Mary replied.
“Don’t fret over that now. You are in need. Can’t say no to a damsel in distress can we?” George replied as he refilled her glass. He gave her a warm smile and went about his cleaning tasks.
As he was wiping down the bar, he placed a large glass of sherry at the stool next to Mary. He nodded at it and said: “Won’t get nothing out of that one unless she has a glass in her hand, right?”
The front door opened and the old lady made her entrance. She headed straight for the bar without glancing in any direction other than the awaiting glass of sherry. She took a large sip before looking warily at George and then at Mary.
Thriller: Emily Page 8
