by Amy Cross
***
Her body lay on the cold ground, completely motionless. In fact, it wasn't just Constance who remained still. The entire town was dead, with all its inhabitants having now fled or died. Even the wildlife had left, preferring not to see the horrors as they unfolded. And now that it had no more minds to enter, the third voice blew away with the wind, heading in the direction of the next town along.
Several days later, after only the occasional gust had disturbed the streets, a siren began to edge closer. Just one police car, at least for now. Once they discovered what had happened, there would surely be more. And once again, they would arrive too late to do anything.
The Ghost of Terry Willow
One
“But apart from that, you had a good time tonight?”
“The theater was fun,” I reply with a smile, as Gary drives us down another ramp, toward the car park's ground floor. “It was just that noisy pub that we went to. You know what I'm like around crowds.”
“Sure.”
I know what he wants to ask, and I appreciate that he's too tactful to bring it up. Still, as we finally reach the exit and he winds his window down to pay at the machine, I figure it's probably best to get 'it' out of the way. I open my mouth to say something, but suddenly there's another rumble of thunder in the distance, and I realize the storm is only getting worse.
“Sounds like God's moving his furniture,” Gary says with a grin. “That's what we always reckoned when we were kids, anyway.”
“Tonight was a great distraction,” I tell him. “Thank you for taking me out on Dad's birthday.”
“Was today his birthday? I must have forgotten.”
I can't help smiling. “It was very sweet of you.”
He slides his ticket into the machine, and then he swipes his credit card. “It's better than sitting around at home, right?” he says after a moment, still leaning out the window as he waits for the machine to start working. “I knew your mind would be on him if we stayed in. And my mind would have been on him, too. It's hard to believe only six months have passed since he...”
His voice trails off.
“Since he died,” I say, finishing the sentence for him. “It's okay. You can say that word.”
“What's wrong with this thing?” he mutters, pulling his card out and then sliding it back in. “Please don't tell me it's not working.”
“The card or the machine?”
“The bloody machine,” he says with a sigh. “It's like it won't read my card.”
Checking my watch, I see that it's almost midnight. I glance over my shoulder, looking back into the deserted car park, and there's no sign of anyone else around. I guess we're the last people to leave tonight. The last thing I want is to leave the car overnight and take a taxi home, but as Gary continues to grapple with the machine I can't help thinking that there must be some kind of fault. I guess the Briggenham Road multi-story car park isn't the most up-to-date and well-maintained place in the world.
“I have a number for a taxi firm,” I tell him. “Maybe I should just -”
“Hang on!”
I open my purse and start rummaging for my phone. “You're not going to be able to fix it,” I point out with a sigh. “I guess we're going to have to come back for the car in the morning. Or rather, I am. You've got an early shift tomorrow, remember?”
“Just wait a sec!”
He's still trying to get the damn thing working, even though I know he doesn't stand a chance. Pulling my phone out, I bring up the number for Able Cars. Just as I'm about to call, however, I spot movement in the distance, and I realize a man with a flashlight is heading this way. For a moment, he's silhouetted against the torrential rain, and he takes a moment to shake his arms a little as he comes into the building.
“Gary,” I say, nudging my husband's arm. “I think the cavalry's here.”
Sure enough, the man turns out to be wearing a uniform, and as he gets closer I see a friendly smile on his face.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he slides a key into the machine and gives it a turn, before turning to look over at the barrier. He's soaking wet from the storm. “This bloody thing's been acting up all evening. Seems like the whole goddamn mechanism's managed to get itself gummed up.”
He fiddles with the machine for a moment longer, while cursing under his breath.
“Do you know how long it'll take?” Gary asks.
“Hold on.”
For the next couple of minutes, Gary and I sit in silence, waiting while the man works on the gate. Ahead of us, the barrier remains resolutely in place, and finally Gary and I exchange a worried glance.
“I'm sorry, folks,” the guy mutters finally, taking a step back. “I don't think I know how to fix it.”
“Is there someone else here who might?”
He shakes his head. “Repairs and maintenance are outsourced these days to a private company. I'd lose my job if I so much as loosened a screw. Not like the old days, when you could just give the thing a good kick to get it running again.”
“So how do we get out?” Gary asks. “There's another exit, right?”
“Not that you can use. The whole place is in a bit of a state right now, this was supposed to be the one working exit. The maintenance company promised.”
“You're joking,” Gary replies, before turning to me. “This has to be a joke!”
“When can someone come out and fix it?” I ask, leaning past my husband and looking out the window, meeting the man's gaze. “Is it possible to get it done tonight?”
He sighs as he checks his watch.
“I'm not sure about that,” he mutters finally. “The main tech guy is due first thing in the morning, but until then, I'm afraid your car's stuck.”
“Seriously?” Gary asks. “We have to leave our car here overnight?”
“You can probably claim the money back for a taxi,” the guy replies. “I mean, I guess so. I don't know how, but I feel like you should be able to. Again, not my department. Customer relations was outsourced a while back to a company from Prague. Or was it Potsdam?”
As Gary and I get out of the car and I bring up the taxi number again, I feel the cold night air rippling against my dress. All I want is to get home and go to bed, but I guess we're in for a slightly longer adventure first. Looking past the barrier, I see rain crashing down outside, and it's clear that we'll be drenched in seconds if we go out there. The guy continues to work on the gate as I talk to someone at the taxi office, and finally – after another twenty minutes' wait – a car arrives to take us home.
“Sorry again, guys,” the man mutters as we get into the taxi. “This whole building's been on the fritz lately. If it's not one thing, it's another. I feel sorry for the poor sod who has to come in tomorrow morning and try to get it all working.”
“Yeah, well, thanks,” Gary replies, pulling the taxi's door shut. “For nothing,” he adds, under his breath.
“I'm sure he did his best,” I point out.
“Whatever. We're still leaving our car behind and heading home in a bloody taxi, aren't we?”
Glancing over my shoulder as we drive away, I can still just about see the old man making his way into the building's dark interior. Rain is falling harder than ever, and I think I heard another rumble of thunder a moment ago. I guess that storm is going to last all night. I can't shake the feeling that tonight is starting to feel very 'off', but I guess it's natural that I feel that way.
“Let's get you home,” Gary continues. “I think we could manage one more glass of wine before we hit the hay. Right?”
“Sure,” I murmur, watching the old man until he's out of sight, and then turning to look at the road ahead. For a moment, I feel strangely discombobulated, as if something's gnawing at the back of my mind. I guess tonight has just been weird, seeing as it's Dad's first birthday since he died, but Gary has done a great job of taking my mind off the sadness.
And now it's time to go home and get on with life. Easy peasy.
>
Two
“I'll get the wine,” Gary announces as he hits the light-switch. “You find some glasses.”
After shutting the front door, I set my purse down and then I wander through to the dark kitchen. I switch the lights on, and then I head to the cupboard. The drive home in the taxi was long and mostly silent, and I have to admit that I've been thinking about Dad a little more than I expected. It's six months since he died, and before that he was in hospital for four weeks. I'm a grown woman, so I really shouldn't be letting myself get so down. It's just...
I miss him.
I really, really miss him.
Hearing a bump from the front room, I turn and look toward the door.
“Gary?” I call out. “Are you okay in there?”
I wait, but there's no reply. A moment later there's another rumble of thunder, and I can hear rain lashing against the window.
“Gary?”
“I'm fine!” he shouts. “Sorry, I just knocked the foot-stool over. Nothing to worry about. Just me being clumsy!”
Forcing a smile, I grab two wine glasses and then head through to join him. To be honest, I really don't feel like drinking, but I guess it might be good to unwind a little before bed. I'm worried I might struggle to sleep, or that I'll end up dreaming about Dad. Still, Gary's been great to me tonight and it wouldn't be fair of me to let him know I still feel down, so by the time I reach the front room I've got a smile on my face. For him.
“A 2014 Shiraz,” he mutters, checking the label. “Shouldn't be too bad.”
“You pour,” I tell him, setting the glasses down. “I just need the little girls' room.”
With that, I head through to the hallway and then up the stairs. By the time I reach the bathroom, I still haven't managed to shake the feeling that something isn't quite right, but I guess to some extent that's only natural. Once I've finished what I came up here to do, I wash my hands and take a moment to check my make-up, and then I head back out onto the landing. It's a little after midnight now, which means it's officially no longer Dad's birthday. It's the day after, and that means I should be able to put the whole thing out of my mind a little.
Life has to go on.
In the distance, thunder rumbles again.
Although I feel exhausted, I figure I have to go downstairs and keep Gary company for at least one glass of wine, so I start making my way toward the stairs. After just a couple of paces, however, I stop as I hear a faint bumping sound coming from one of the bedrooms.
Turning, I look toward the room that Dad used during his final months, after he came to live with us.
I wait, and a moment later there's another bump.
A window, maybe, flapping in the wind.
I can hear Gary downstairs, so I know he can't have caused the bump. As I step closer to Dad's old room, however, I hear the sound a couple more times, and it's becoming increasingly obvious that someone's in there. I know I should run down and fetch Gary, in case there's a burglar, but the last thing I want is to overreact and end up getting laughed at again. Gary always delights in telling our friends about my little misadventures, and I'm sick of being the target of so many jokes. Stepping toward the door, I tell myself I can take a quick look, and that I can easily turn and run if I see anyone.
I take a deep breath, before gently pushing the door open.
I look into the dark room.
There's a man on the bed.
I let out a gasp as I step back, but all I can see so far is the man's silhouette against the streaming, rain-soaked window. I should run, but my whole body seems frozen for a moment, and slowly I start to realize that the shape of the man's head looks strangely familiar. In fact, I think I recognize the wisps of unruly hair standing up to attention and the hunch of his back, although I know I must be wrong.
It can't be him.
Still, I take a cautious step closer, until I'm in the doorway. My heart is pounding and I'm worried I might be in the throes of an emotional collapse, but the dark figure remains perfectly still. He's very hunched, sitting on the side of the bed and looking down at his knees, and I can't help noticing that his posture seems very familiar. Dad used to sit the same way after he moved here, mainly when he was feeling down, and I remember all the times I used to go into the room and keep him company before he spent his final days in the hospital. Sometimes I was able to cheer him up, other times he just stayed down for a few hours, but I always tried. I did my best.
My heart is pounding, but I know one thing for sure.
This isn't him.
He's gone.
I must be hallucinating.
“Who...” I stammer, but the words dry up.
There's no-one here.
It's a trick of the light. Has to be.
Reaching past the door-frame, I fumble for the light-switch. Part of me just wants to step back and shut the door, but I know I'd never be able to rest if I didn't figure out what's causing this strange moment. It takes a few seconds before I locate the switch, and then I pause for a moment before turning it on.
The light flickers to light above the bed.
I feel my heart leap in my chest.
It is him.
Dad's here.
Dad's back.
I blink, half expecting him to disappear, but it's really him.
For a moment, all I can do is stand and stare. He looks exactly how he looked in his final weeks, when the chemotherapy had really pulverized his core, and he's even wearing the same clothes he was wearing when he...
I feel a shudder pass through my chest.
The same clothes he wore when the ambulance took him away.
He's looking down at his trembling hands, but after a moment he starts blinking quickly, and then his eyes settle again as he slowly turns and looks at me. He looks so sad, so haunted.
Shaking my head, I back out of the room.
“No,” I whisper, bumping against the wall and then hurrying to the stairs. “No, please...”
I stumble down to the hallway, and then I head through to the front room, where Gary is waiting with two glasses of red wine. He's examining the track-listing on the back of a U2 CD, and as I step over to him he glances at me.
“Hey, honey, I was thinking -”
He hesitates.
“Annie?” he says after a moment. “Are you okay? You look pale as hell.”
I open my mouth to tell him what I just saw, but I can't get the words out. He'll think I'm crazy, he'll make me go to see a psychiatrist. He might even have me committed. For a few seconds, all I can do is stare at him, until a distant rumble of thunder somehow wakes me from my shock and I turn to look back through to the hallway.
“You're not scared of the storm, are you?” Gary asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Come on, you know I'll keep you safe.”
“The bedroom,” I stammer, turning back to him. “The back bedroom.”
“What about it?”
I can't tell him.
I just can't.
“Would you...” I take a deep breath. “If I ask you to do something for me,” I manage to say finally, “would you just... Would you just do it without making me tell you why? Without asking any questions?”
“Huh?”
Another rumble of thunder.
“Please, Gary! This is important!”
“Is it some kind of game?” he asks, with a faint smile. “Are you getting frisky?”
“I want you to go and look in Dad's room!”
He hesitates. Clearly that's not what he expected me to say.
“Just go and look,” I continue. “The light's on. Please, go up there and look in the room.”
“Why?”
“Just do it!”
“There's not another leak in the roof, is there?”
“Just do it, Gary!” I hiss, grabbing his arm and pulling him across the room. Once we reach the hallway, I stop at the foot of the stairs and look up toward the landing.
Already, this feel completely in
sane. Still, I can't go up there, not until Gary has double-checked that the coast is clear.
“For the love of God,” I stammer, as I feel my heart beating faster and faster, “just go upstairs and look in Dad's old room, and tell me what you see. Or what you...”
My voice trails off.
“Just go and look.”
“Alright,” he mutters, stepping past me and making his way up the stairs, “but I warned you about this last time. You're gonna have to learn to deal with spiders, honey. If you don't wanna get too close to them, just grab the hoover and use the tube attachment. Suck 'em into the bag and let 'em suffocate in the dust.”
“It's not a spider,” I whisper.
“Then -”
“Just go and look!”
He sighs as he reaches the top of the stairs, and a moment later he disappears around the corner.
Holding my breath, I wait for him to come back and tell me that there's nothing in there. To tell me everything's okay. As the seconds tick past, I start to feel a tingling sensation on the back of my neck, and finally I start to wonder what's taking so long. All he has to do is look in the room, see that there's nothing, and come back to make fun of me for being so scared. I desperately need him to put my mind at rest, but after a couple of minutes I can't help feeling like maybe he's planning some kind of prank. He should be back by now.
“Gary?” I say cautiously, hoping for a reply.
Silence.
“Gary?”
I take a step forward, figuring I should go up and check on him, but I just can't bring myself to take the risk. I need him to come down and tell me I was imagining the whole thing. I need him to make me see that everything is okay.
Instead, he seems to be taking his time.
“Gary?” I whisper. “Gary, please...”
I wait.
Silence.
And then, suddenly, I hear stumbling footsteps.
A moment later, Gary backs into view, as if he's keeping his eyes fixed on the door that leads into Dad's old room. And when he turns to look down at me, I see that not only has all the color drained from his face, but his eyes are wide with shock.
