by Pat Herbert
“Exactly!” Harry said.
“Can we go and see it now?” asked Jerry, aware of how eager the man was. Something wasn’t quite right, but it couldn’t do any harm to go and see it. Could it?
“Certainly! Barry – can you get me the keys to 57, please.”
Barry disappeared into the back of the shop, returning swiftly with a set of keys. Harry pocketed them.
“There. All set. Let’s go, young man. It’s not far from here. Shall we walk as it’s stopped raining, or would you rather we drove there?”
“Walking’s fine. Lead on”
After they’d left, Barry turned to Eve and grinned. “There goes a sucker if ever there was one.”
Eve gave him a dirty look. Jerry had made a very favourable impression on her and she didn’t like the idea of him being hoodwinked. “Shut up, Barry. Why did you mention that house? You know the stories about it as well as I do. I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to live there – well, apart from you, of course.”
“I love you too,” Barry grinned, and blew her a kiss. “Don’t you want to sell? That’s what we’re in business to do, after all.”
“I just don’t think it’s right not to tell him, that’s all. Then it’s up to him whether he buys it or not. At least he’d know.”
“Oh, come off it, Eve. We don’t want to put people off. How on earth are we supposed to make a living otherwise?”
“Do you have to?”
“Do I have to, what?”
“Make a living, arsehole.”
“Well, this is it. What d’you think?”
“I thought the photo was bad, but the real thing is much worse.”
“Yes, well that’s why I wasn’t going to bother to lie to you.”
“Let’s go in, anyway.” Jerry gritted his teeth. No way could he see himself living in this dump. It would take him a lifetime to make the place habitable. It would also cost a fortune to bring it up to scratch, even if he got away with paying under the market value. The fact that it had started to rain again didn’t help either. It made the place look like something out of a horror film. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see Norman Bates in drag looking out of an upstairs window.
Harry had trouble turning the key in the rust-jammed lock but eventually, it gave, and they were inside. The first thing that hit them was the smell. Nothing could describe it.
“Pretty strong, isn’t it?” Harry looked suitably apologetic. “Sorry about that. Must be rats or mice, I suppose.”
“Well, I hope it’s not rotting human flesh!”
Harry seemed more nervous than apologetic now. Jerry could see something was wrong. “Look,” he said, “I think it’s a waste of your and my time to go any further. This place is awful. I can’t see myself living here – ever!”
“Yes, I can understand that. Perhaps you’re right. However, let’s just see if there’s anything to make you change your mind.”
And then Jerry saw it. The thing that made him change his mind.
“Wow!”
“What?” Grimes turned round and saw Jerry staring at the ornamental fireplace in what passed for the living room.
Everywhere was dust, cobwebs, dark corners and stench, but the fireplace stood out as clean and pristine as the day it was installed. There wasn’t a speck of dust on it anywhere. The side panels depicted two Pre-Raphaelite angels blowing trumpets. The colours were so vivid they almost reflected off the opposite walls like prisms.
“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Jerry gasped. “How is it possible that there’s no dust on it when everything else is so filthy?”
Harry Grimes coughed. “Beats me,” he said, not very convincingly.
Jerry eyed him quizzically. “There’s something you’re not saying, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know what you mean. It’s as much a puzzle to me as it is to you.” Harry’s eyes were darting around the room, avoiding meeting those of his would-be client.
“There’s something about this house – something that makes the owners want to get rid of it quickly. You said yourself they’re prepared to take practically any offer I cared to make. I think the reason’s more sinister than they just need ready cash to renovate their Spanish property.”
“Look, I’m only the go-between here,” said Harry, obviously irritated now that he saw his chance of a sale slipping away. “I’m just here to sell a property. The vendors have told me they need money fast and to sell to the first buyer with a reasonable offer. What more can I say?”
“Lots, probably.” Jerry was looking at him as if trying to see into his mind. “But that fireplace intrigues me,” he said. “What d’you know about it? Does someone come in and clean it every day?”
“It’s a mystery to me,” said Harry with a shrug.
“Well, I don’t know if I’m completely out of my tree, but something is telling me to take a chance,” said Jerry, running his fingers along the mantelpiece.
“Are you telling me you’re prepared to make an offer?” Harry looked stunned.
“More fool me, but yes, I suppose I am.”
“These ornate Victorian fireplaces are all the rage,” said Harry, ramming home the advantage this piece of furniture had given him. “A few years ago, they were being snapped up by yuppies everywhere, paying a fortune for them.”
“I bet they never got hold of one quite like this, though,” said Jerry.
“Well, if you’ve seen enough, shall we head back to the office and get down to the nitty-gritty?” said Harry, hardly bothering to hide his eagerness.
“Okay by me,” said Jerry, casting a last look at the fireplace as they turned and left the room.
They stepped out into the pouring rain and wished they had driven after all.
29
Jerry began to think he must be mad. He had put in an offer on a total wreck euphemistically called a “terraced house”. It was an extremely low and insulting offer made with a vague hope the vendors would turn him down flat and save him from dithering anymore. He had changed his mind at least six or seven times on the walk back to Doggett & Finn’s, but in the end the offer had been made. Jerry had sat there while Grimes put through the call to Spain and found he was the owner of 57 Bockhampton Road when the call had ended a mere five minutes later. And that’s what bothered him. The house was his for practically nothing, but he doubted very much he had snagged a bargain.
His mind was in a turmoil as he rode the mile and a half back to his parents’ home on the number 485 bus. On the one hand, he had a house; he was a property owner. On the other, it was a house that had been empty for years, obviously unsaleable until Jerry Muggins came along. He prided himself at being handy with a hammer and chisel, but he rather thought a demolition squad would more suit his purposes now.
Still, he decided, when he was two stops away from his destination, he’d signed the contract and, barring any unforeseen problems with the solicitors at his end, the property was his and he now had to tell his parents the news. They would protest, of course, putting all sorts of obstacles in his way. But he wasn’t asking them to stump up any money, so they could go and take a jump. He was determined to lead his own life from now on. He was fed up with his mother’s constant nagging and fussing, and his dad was always on his case, at him to get his hair cut and “smarten himself up”. He was the “it’s about time you bucked your ideas up” kind of father, and Jerry had had enough of it. He knew they both meant well, but he wasn’t twelve anymore. His ghastly little brother would have to take all the flak now and serve him right.
He smiled to himself as his thoughts turned to Beth. He had met her at a friend’s party last Christmas, and they had hit it off straightaway. They had sneaked up to an unoccupied bedroom and, before they knew what was happening, they were under the bedclothes. She was a fast worker, that one, he thought smugly. But she, like him, still lived at home with her parents, so it wasn’t easy to be alone together. With t
he house now in his possession, they could enjoy each other’s company without worrying about one or the other’s parents coming in on them mid-clinch. That, alone, was worth all the aggro. He just wished his property was a bit more prepossessing. Heaven only knew what she would think of it, the state it was in at the moment. Still, all he needed to do was buy some paint and clean it up a bit. It wouldn’t look too bad, then.
Harry Grimes smiled grimly as he stamped “SOLD” in big red letters on the file he never thought he would see the back of, let alone any commission from. The sale had gone through like a dream. No hitches, no chain, no unforeseen little problems that generally held up proceedings. Exchange and completion could go ahead simultaneously. It was a dream sale.
As he put the file away, he looked across at Barry who gave him the thumbs up. “So, it’s sold at last, eh? Don’t forget you owe me some commission. After all, it was me who suggested it.”
Harry glared at him. “Okay, Barry. I’ll see you’re all right. I don’t feel right about this sale, though. He was a nice guy.”
Eve looked up in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a conscience, Harry,” she said. “I’ll see you in a new light after this. I hope we don’t all live to regret selling that house, though.”
“Why should we?” asked Barry, taking a swig at one of his endless Starbucks coffees. “We sold it in good faith. The buyer’s happy. The vendors are happy....”
“In good faith, you say?” demanded Eve crossly. “How can you say that? That poor man’s got a shock in store for him, I’m certain.”
“Come on, just because a few murders have taken place there, you think it’s haunted!” Barry countered. “This is the 21st century, doll. What century are you living in?”
“The same century as you, unfortunately. And don’t call me ‘doll’!”
Harry smiled to himself. Those two were always bickering. He found it amusing to watch them batting insults to and fro. If Eve wasn’t married, he’d bet they’d have got it together at some point. It was just as well she had a ring on her finger as she didn’t deserve to be landed with a shit like Barry. Come to think of it, he didn’t know a girl who did.
He closed the filing cabinet and locked it. 57 Bockhampton Road was off his hands at last, but somehow he didn’t think he’d heard the last of it.
“Is this it?” Beth Morrison stared around her, a look of pure disbelief on her face.
“Yep.” Jerry cleared his throat, prepared to defend his purchase tooth and nail. “Okay, it’s a bit of a dump I grant you. But think of the possibilities, Beth. I’ll spend every weekend and evening renovating it. It’ll be a palace when I’ve done.”
“You think so? Well, I hate it. Even allowing for all the dirt and the foul smell, there’s something not quite right about this place. I don’t know exactly what, I can’t put my finger on it, but....”
She stopped in mid-sentence as she entered the living room and saw the fireplace. She put her hand to her mouth as if to stop herself from screaming.
Jerry watched her reaction in amazement. “What’s wrong?” he asked. For answer, she turned and pushed past him down the hall to the front door. It was as if all the hounds of hell were after her.
“Just let’s get out of here, Jerry, please. There’s something evil in there.”
“Evil? Don’t be so melodramatic, Beth. The place is run down, I know. But what makes you say it’s evil?”
“It just is.” Beth let in a gulp of fresh air as she stepped out of the front door. “It positively reeks of something horrible. It’s haunted, Jerry. What you have just bought is a bloody haunted house.”
“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous! It’s just needs some TLC. Which I intend to give it.”
“Good for you, Jerry. It’s a pile of shit. No amount of TLC will improve it.”
“For goodness sake, Beth, just wait and see. I’ll have it ready for you in a few days. You won’t know the place.” Jerry’s optimism knew no bounds.
“I’ll believe it when I see it. Now, are you going to get rid of it or are we finished?”
“Look, Beth, this is crazy. Are you saying you’re dumping me just because you don’t like the house?”
“It’s much more than that, Jerry. Much more.”
She walked down the front path and slammed the gate after her. Jerry watched his tall, slim, pretty girlfriend (correction, ex-girlfriend) go, her long blonde hair flying in the wind as she quickly put the distance between herself and him – and his house.
“Beth!” he called after her, rather forlornly. He knew she wouldn’t turn back. Was this house just an excuse to break up with him? True, their relationship hadn’t been going anywhere lately, but that was mainly because they had nowhere to go to be together. Sitting in the back row of the pictures or necking in the park was a bit like being stuck in a Barbara Cartland novel, he’d imagine, never actually having read one of that good lady’s books. In this day and age, they needed space. Now they had it, in spades, it seemed she wasn’t satisfied with that either. Couldn’t she see the house’s potential? He had to admit, though, it was hard for him to see it either, at that moment.
Jerry sat down on the only chair he had so far managed to install in his new home. Buying bits of furniture from second hand shops was proving a slow and difficult business. Money was so tight that he could just about afford to buy paint and wallpaper. Actual furniture would have to wait.
His parents, after the initial shock of seeing their oldest son leave home had worn off, had offered him an old, rickety gate leg table and an old cast-iron bedstead. They were the ugliest bits of furniture he had ever seen, but he supposed they were better than nothing. His mum and dad had fumbled around in the attic for these pieces and brought them down to him with pride. He hadn’t had the heart to refuse them. Besides, the alternative would have been upturned crates and a sleeping bag on the filthy floor.
Now he was installed without Beth for company, he was fast regretting ever setting eyes on the place. He wanted to walk into Doggett & Finn’s and strangle Harry Grimes and that other bloke who’d suggested it in the first place. He sat on and stared at the strange fireplace, the only thing he felt was worthwhile about the whole venture.
The price of the house had been a snip but, even so, it was too much to pay for just a fireplace, ornately Victorian as it obviously was. And why was it so clean? It just didn’t make any sense. And why had Beth got so agitated when she saw it? She hadn’t liked the house, it was true, but it was only when she clapped eyes on the fireplace that she had reacted so violently.
He tried calling her mobile for the umpteenth time. Surely, she hadn’t meant that their relationship was at an end, all because of this stupid fireplace? If it meant dismantling the thing to bring her back, he would do so. It was a fine example of its type, but not worth losing Beth for.
Her phone went straight to voice mail as usual. “Hi Beth. It’s me – Jerry. Look, love, whatever’s worrying you about the house, we can sort it out. If it’s the fireplace, I’ll get rid of it. Just say the word. Just get in touch. I love you.”
He clicked off and rose to his feet. All enthusiasm for doing the house up had deserted him, and it was late, and he was tired. He climbed the stairs and lay down on the bed. The mattress his parents had given him was hard, but clean and firm. He drifted off into a fitful sleep.
He saw Beth in his dream. She was sitting by the fireplace, the poker in her hand, stirring the embers. She was smiling at him and beckoning him to join her. He came towards her and, as he did so, he saw her expression change to one of hatred and anger. He stood there while she took the red hot poker from the fire and jabbed it in his eye.
He woke up, silently screaming, bathed in sweat.
30
Jerry’s mobile shrieked. Muttering curses, he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, wondering what the time was. It was pitch-dark. He peered at the caller’s ID and suddenly his mood lifted. It
was Beth. For over three weeks he hadn’t heard a word from her and now she chose this unearthly hour of the night, or morning rather, to come back into his life. What an annoying, irritating, irrational, lovely girl she was.
He pressed the answer button. “Oh Beth, thank God you called I’ve been so....”
“Shut up, Jerry and listen.” She cut him off.
“Uh?”
“Look, I’ve been doing some digging. That house you’ve bought is all wrong. I’ve just got off the plane from Spain. I’ve been to see the previous owners, and I need to see you at once. You’ve got to get out of there. You can’t live there. Put it back on the market now. Get rid of it at any price.” With that, the phone went dead.
He tried to call her back, but it went straight to voice mail. “Uh?” was all he could manage. The time on his mobile said 2.05 am. He was whacked. Sleep overtook him before he could think anything else.
As soon as he woke the next morning, he called Beth. It went straight to voice mail.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” he muttered. “What’s the matter with her? Waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me to get out of the house and then leaving me to wonder why.”
He tried her phone several more times while he ate his meagre breakfast of toast and instant coffee, about all his primitive kitchen could stretch to. The first thing he needed was a microwave, he made a mental note to himself. Why wasn’t she answering?
Didn’t she say she’d just got off a plane from somewhere? He racked his brains. Didn’t she say she was on her way to see him? So where was she and why wasn’t she answering her stupid, bloody phone?
He tried again when he reached his office, but she just didn’t pick up. Then he called her office. He was told she hadn’t come in yet. It was almost ten o’clock, where could she be? What was going on? Jerry tried to absorb himself in the plans for a new indoor swimming pool that his firm was working on, but he couldn’t concentrate. His young colleague, Rob Faulkner, watched him with amusement.
