The Horror of the Crowford Empire

by Amy Cross

  To her relief, she saw only the backs of seats, although the flashlight was too weak to illuminate the far side of the room. She briefly considered heading back out, but deep down she knew that she had to check properly, if only for her own peace of mind. She stepped forward and let the double doors creak shut, and then she backed against the wall as she slowly turned and aimed the beam of light all around.

  So far, so good.

  She saw row after row of empty seats, and she took particular care to look toward the spot where – on her first night at the cinema – she'd spotted a woman who'd seemed not to have bought a ticket. She still hadn't quite figured out where that woman had come from or where she'd gone, although she'd told herself that there had to be a simple enough explanation. Now, for the second time, she found herself chasing a shadow, someone who shouldn't be in the cinema.

  Finally, deciding that she'd been too meek so far, she took a deep breath and prepared to sound more authoritative.

  “My name is Susan Jones,” she said firmly, taking care to raise her voice, “and I'm an employee here at the Crowford Empire, and I must demand that you vacate the premises at once.”

  She waited, certain that any miscreant would feel compelled to obey, but as the seconds ticked past she heard nothing but silence.

  Turning, she aimed the flashlight toward the back row, although the beam didn't quite reach that far.

  “Is anybody up there?” she continued. “This is your last chance before... before I call the police. Do you hear me? This silliness and nonsense has gone on for quite long enough. Now, I'm willing to give you one final opportunity to do the right thing and leave, or you'll really leave me no other option.”

  Again she waited. This time she was starting to fume at the thought of some intruder lurking in the shadows, perhaps ducked down behind a seat in the back row, perhaps giggling silently.

  “Right,” she muttered, turning and hurrying up the steps that led onto the stage directly beneath the screen. She looked out across the auditorium and saw rows of empty seats, and she felt utterly furious at the idea that she was perhaps being made to look like a fool.

  She aimed the flashlight as far as she could, and at that moment she decided that the intruder had left her with no other choice.

  “Fine,” she said loudly, “if that's how you want to play things, then I hope you enjoy explaining yourself to the police officer who'll be on his way any minute.”

  Turning, she made her way back to the steps, but at that moment she realized she could sense something cold against the nape of her neck. She turned, and to her horror she realized she could see a woman standing right behind her, bathed in darkness. Letting out a faint gasp, Susan raised the flashlight so she could see the woman's face, but a fraction of a second later her right foot slipped over the edge of the stage and she fell. She began to scream, only to bang her head against one of the seats in the front row as she landed.

  The impact knocked her out cold, and the flashlight rolled away under the seats.

  ***

  “Susan? Susan, say something. Can you hear me?”

  Opening her eyes, Susan was startled to see Harry Gough leaning over her. She blinked a couple of times, feeling particularly groggy and not quite remembering what had happened, and then she slowly began to sit up.

  “Take it easy,” Harry said. “What were you doing in here? Did you fall?”

  Looking back up at the stage, Susan began to remember the moment when she'd see the woman. She'd raised the flashlight, and the beam of light had begun to catch the woman's face, only for Susan to fall at the last moment. She tried to remember whether she'd actually seen the woman's face or not, but parts of her memory were still a little faint and when she reached up and touched the side of her head she winced as she felt a nasty bump.

  “You're lucky if you don't have a concussion,” Harry told her.

  “The lights,” she whispered, realizing that the lights in the auditorium were on now. “They weren't working before.”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Did you fix them?”

  “It was completely dark in here when I arrived,” he explained. “I was looking for you, I couldn't find you anywhere. It was only by chance that I put the lights on and came down to the front to check, otherwise I might have missed you entirely. Susan, whatever were you doing in here?”

  She turned and looked toward the far end of the room, but there was still no sign of anyone on any of the seats. Turning and looking up at the stage again, she once more thought back to the sight of the woman. Still, however, she couldn't be certain that she'd seen her face.

  “Were you alone?” Harry asked.

  She turned to him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn't see anyone, did you?” he continued, with a hint of fear in his voice.

  “Like who?”

  “That's what I'm asking you, my dear. It's a very simple question.”

  She opened her mouth to mention the woman, but then she realized that she'd also have to admit that she saw her walking straight through one of the walls. Deep down, she felt as if there was absolutely no way she could start talking about such things without seeming to have lost her mind. The figure on the stage had seemed so very real, but she knew that she'd been under a lot of pressure and she began to wonder whether she might simply have imagined the whole thing. The last thing she wanted in all the world was to make a fuss.

  “I was just looking for something,” she said cautiously.

  “And did you find it?”

  “I, uh...”

  She tried to think of an answer, and then she spotted her flashlight under one of the rows of seats. Reaching down, she grabbed hold of it and switched it off.

  “I lost this,” she lied, before looking around again in case there might be any sign of the strange woman. “That's all.”

  “And you went looking for it on the stage?”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Gough,” she replied, “it won't happen again, I promise.”

  “I'm more worried about your head,” he said, peering at the bruise on the side of her forehead. “I can't help wondering whether you ought to get that looked at.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Quarter past four.”

  “Then there's definitely no time for any of that,” she replied, getting to her feet. She felt a little woozy, but she told herself that she'd soon be fine. “I'm really sorry if I gave you a scare, Mr. Gough, but I'm perfectly alright.”

  “I think perhaps you should take the rest of the evening off.”

  “Absolutely not. I won't leave you in the lurch.”

  He sighed.

  “Fine,” he muttered, “but you've not taken one day off since you started here over a week ago, and I'm afraid that you're running yourself into the ground. You're going to have tomorrow to yourself, my dear, and I won't hear any arguments. That is an order!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following morning, Susan stood at the counter in Crowford Library and waited for her books to be stamped.

  “Reading up on the newspaper business, are you?” Mrs. Lamb asked, as she pressed the stamp against an ink pad. “Do you want to be a journalist, Susie?”

  “It's just something I'm thinking about,” Susan replied, not really wanting to get into a long discussion. “I haven't made up my mind yet.”

  “You could always see if they'll take you on as a trainee at the Crowford Gazette. They might be on the lookout for a Saturday girl, and then you could try to work your way up to becoming a reporter.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of -”

  Stopping herself just in time, Susan realized that she might sound a little full of herself if she claimed to be thinking about the newspapers in London. She knew that there was nothing wrong with working on the local paper, but at the same time she yearned to go somewhere a little less provincial. The bright lights of London beckoned, promising more excitement and potential than could ever be found
in a little town like Crowford.

  “It's just something I've been considering,” she said finally. “Among other options.”

  As Mrs. Lamb stamped the books, Susan glanced across the library, and after a moment her gaze fell upon the door to the records room. In an instant, she thought back to the sight of the strange woman who'd seemed to walk through a wall in the cinema, and to the fact that the building had a long history. Although she certainly didn't believe in ghosts, she couldn't help but wonder whether there might once have been a door in that spot.

  “Mrs. Lamb,” she said cautiously, “do you have copies of old editions of the Gazette in there?”

  “We certainly do.”

  “How far back?”

  “I'm not really sure, but at least the last fifty years. I think we have an unbroken run going back to something like the turn of the century, and then there are more and more gaps. The paper started in something like the early 1700's. We have an index, though, that's very useful if you're searching for something specific.”

  “Am I allowed to just go in there and start looking?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Lamb replied, “but why? What are you interested in finding out?”

  ***

  “Fire ripped through Crowford's music hall last night,” Susan whispered, reading from the page as she sat in the records room and examined an edition of the paper from 1936, “just weeks after the building was purchased by local businessman Mr. Eric Grace.”

  She looked at a grainy photo that appeared to show a burning building.

  “The cause of the fire has not yet been determined,” she continued, “but police officers are said to have ruled out arson, despite claims from some local residents that they spotted several figures entering the building on the night of the blaze.”

  Setting the paper down, she checked another, and she was shocked by the headline.

  “Body found in music hall ruins,” she said out loud, before starting to read the story. “The body of a local woman was unexpectedly discovered in the ruins of Crowford's old music hall. Although a formal identification is yet to be made, police believe that the discovery is likely linked to...”

  Her voice trailed off for a moment as she read the next line.

  “The discovery is likely linked to the disappearance last week of local woman Winifred Thorpe. Ms. Thorpe, a spinster who ran a grocer's shop in town, has not been seen since the night of the fire, and police were already conducting an investigation into her whereabouts. A popular woman in the local community, Ms. Thorpe was known to attend regular evenings at the music hall, although the building was closed on the night of the fire. Investigations are ongoing, and anyone with knowledge of her movements in the lead-up to the fire is asked to contact the local police station.”

  A little further down, another grainy photo showed a woman with dark hair, wearing a dark dress, standing outside a shop. Beneath that, a caption identified her as Winifred Thorpe, and Susan couldn't help but notice that she seemed a little similar – at least in outline – to the woman she'd seen a couple of times in the cinema.

  Not that she could be the same person, of course. After all, Winifred Thorpe had apparently died almost thirty years earlier.

  “Mr. Grace,” she read, “says that he's pushing on with his plans to turn the building into a state of the art cinema. Plans for the redevelopment had been posted publicly just a few days before the fire, but were set to proceed slowly after several local residents expressed their opposition to the idea of the historical music hall building being subjected to so many changes. With the fire having left the music hall in a state of substantial disrepair, Mr. Grace is expected to act quickly to get the changes approved.”

  Susan began to look through some more editions of the paper, and she quickly found another report relating to the cinema.

  “Crowford has a cinema of its own at last,” she read, “as the Crowford Empire opened its doors last night with great fanfare. Mr. George Formby visited to see the cinema for himself. Mr Eric Grace, proprietor, pronounced the opening to be the start of a new chapter for the town. While residents of Crowford have for many years had to travel to neighboring towns such as Malmeston if they wanted to see the latest release, now Crowford can offer fans of Hollywood a chance to see the finest new releases at a fair and reasonable price. Mr. Grace also promised that his renovation of the neighboring Crowford Grand Hotel would commence shortly”

  That, Susan knew, had failed to happen. For one thing, the site of the hotel was now occupied by flats.

  “Mr. Grace also took the opportunity to once again refute suggestions that there had been anything suspicious about the fire that destroyed the music hall that previously occupied the cinema's position,” she read. “He pointed to a police report that confirmed that there were no suspicious circumstances, and he also offered his condolences once again to the family of Winifred Thorpe, the local woman whose body was discovered in the ruins. He said that it would be wrong of him to speculate on her reasons for being in the building at the time of the fire, but that he suspected the blaze had been caused by some poorly maintained wires. The building's previous owner, Mr. Jonathan Archer, declined to comment when approached by this newspaper.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Susan tried to make sense of everything she'd discovered. After a moment, she saw that this edition of the paper carried the same black and white photo of Winifred Thorpe.

  Peering more closely, she tried to make out the woman's features. Although she really wasn't able to tell very much about Winifred Thorpe's appearance at all, she couldn't help but try, even as she felt a faint throbbing pain in the back of her head. Somehow the dots on the newspaper image were starting to rearrange themselves, almost as if – impossibly – the photo was starting to reveal a better look at Winifred Thorpe's true face.

  Mesmerized, Susan stared and stared, ignoring the pain even as it throbbed with greater intensity.

  Suddenly the woman's face became completely clear and she snarled as she looked out at Susan. Startled, Susan felt the pain burst through her head and she pulled back with such force that the chair toppled over and she slammed down hard onto the floor.

  The newspaper, meanwhile, fell harmlessly at her feet.

  For a few seconds, Susan was too shocked to know how to react. Staring at the paper, she told herself that the woman's face couldn't possibly have moved; after a moment, she reached up and touched the side of her head as the painful throbbing sensation continued.

  Hearing a clicking sound, she turned just as the door opened.

  “Susan?” Mrs. Lamb said cautiously. “I heard a commotion. What are you doing down there on the floor?”

  “Nothing,” Susan stammered, grabbing the newspaper and putting it back on the desk, before getting to her feet. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Lamb.”

  “There's nothing to be sorry about, but are you -”

  “I have to go!”

  Hurrying across the room, she slipped past Mrs. Lamb and made her way toward the exit.

  “I'm sorry,” she called back, “I don't feel well, I have to get out of here.”

  “What about your books?” Mrs. Lamb asked, spotting the books that Susan had checked out earlier. “Susan? Don't you want your books?”

  She waited, but Susan had already rushed outside.

  “Well,” Mrs. Lamb muttered, turning and looking at the newspapers that had been left on the desk. “Whatever are young people coming to these days?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Susan, are you going to be in there much longer? I'm bursting for a wee!”

  “I'll be out in a couple of minutes,” Susan replied as she stood at the sink, peering closely at the dark shadows under her eyes. Leaning toward the mirror, she tilted her head a little so that the light was better, but the shadows remained. If anything, they were worse than ever.

  “Mind that you are,” her mother said angrily, stomping away across the landing. “I've never known anything so ridiculous in a
ll my life.”

  Trying her best to ignore her mother's words, Susan bit her bottom lip as she tried to smooth out the patches under her eyes with a fingertip. Nothing seemed to be working, however, and she wasn't really sure how to use the kind of makeup that might conceal such obvious blemishes. She certainly didn't want to ask her mother for advice, but she was starting to think that she might have to pluck up the courage to go to Angie. After all, Angie was an expert when it came to make-up.

  “They mustn't be allowed to get away with it.”

  Startled, she pulled back from the mirror as she heard those whispered words. She turned and looked around the bathroom, but she already knew that she was alone. Still, the voice had been very clear and had seemed to come from somewhere nearby, and for a moment Susan felt as if she must be losing her mind.

  She listened, but all she heard was silence, and finally – as she turned back to the mirror – she tried to tell herself that there was no cause for concern.

  “I must be exhausted,” she muttered under her breath. “That's all it is. I'm starting to hear things.”

  She leaned toward the mirror again.

  “They have to pay.”

  “What?” Susan gasped, turning and once again looking for any sign that somebody was nearby. This time the voice had seemed even stronger, to the extent that it had almost seemed to be coming from somewhere inside her head.

  She waited.

  Nothing.

  “Who's there?” she asked cautiously, even though she felt foolish. Tense with fear, she looked first at the bath, then at the toilet, but still there was no sign of anyone. “What do you want?”

  Again she waited, and this time she felt the pain slowly returning to one side of her head. Something seemed to be throbbing beneath her skull, although after just a few seconds the sensation began to ease. Still, Susan couldn't shake a sense of deep unease, until finally she turned back to the mirror and forced herself to cast all paranoia and fear from her mind.