Turning to Patrick, she decided to sow the seeds of her revenge plan. “Mum is working on Saturday and Dad will be away all weekend so I’ve got to look after you. Bet you’re too scared to come and investigate Willow Dene. Lizzie and I are going to see if there’s really a crying ghost child.”
Patrick didn’t answer right away. Katy could see that he was torn between a desire to see inside the mysterious old house and a fear of what they might encounter if they did.
“OK, count me in. I’m not scared. It’s just an old house . . . Nothing to be worried about.”
Katy hid her smile and the rest of the journey passed in silence as she thought about the coming Saturday and their planned trip to the mysterious House That Cried.
* * * *
Saturday morning arrived and Katy waited excitedly for Lizzie so they could discuss tactics. They had to execute the plan perfectly to give Patrick the fright of his life. At exactly ten o’clock, the doorbell rang and Katy rushed to answer it. The girls grinned at each other and then bounded up the stairs, two at a time, to Katy’s bedroom.
“Is it safe to talk?” whispered Lizzie.
“Yeah, Patrick’s downstairs glued to the TV and Mum has already gone to work.”
Giggling, Lizzie pulled her phone out of her bag and said, “Listen to this – I downloaded it last night.”
The phone emitted the eerie sound of a young child crying and desperately calling for its mummy; the chilling sound sent goosebumps up and down Katy’s neck.
“That’s horrible – but perfect. He’ll be terrified when he hears it. We should be able to creep in the front gate, then get in by the side door. It’s hidden by some overgrown bushes so no one will see us.”
“I’m still not sure,” said Lizzie. “You don’t think it’s a bit mean, do you?”
“No!” exclaimed Katy indignantly. “He deserves this. Let’s scare him on the way there by telling spooky stories.”
“OK, if you’re sure,” replied Lizzie, sounding a bit doubtful. “We’d better get going or we’ll miss the bus.”
Everything went according to plan to begin with. They managed to get through the gate and up the path to the side entrance of the house without being noticed.
As they reached the door, Katy suddenly felt nervous; what if they were caught? What would happen to them? Would the owner understand a harmless practical joke on an annoying little brother? She took a deep breath, pushed the door with her shoulder and turned the door handle at the same time. The door slid silently open. The silence pressed in around them as they nervously stepped inside.
It felt as if they had been transported back in time, the real world fading like a distant memory. Inside, the house looked as if time had stood still. The calendar on the wall in front of them was open to May 1942, and the 15th was circled in red.
“Weird,” said Katy, “that’s today’s date. May 15th. I wonder why it’s been circled.”
Lizzie took a step backwards. “That’s a bit strange, us being here on the day marked on the calendar. Do you think it’s an omen? That dark forces have brought us here?” She gave a nervous giggle and reached out to grab hold of Katy’s arm.
The trio slowly took in their surroundings. They were in the living room of Willow Dene. It looked like a set from one of the old films Katy liked to watch if she was off sick from school.
Facing a large open fireplace stood a faded, well-worn, brown, velvet couch with two matching armchairs. Each had a cream, lacy square of material across the back where your head would rest. Next to the fire stood a coal scuttle. The fire had been laid, ready to light. There was even a box of matches on the hearth. On the mantelpiece sat a large clock, ticking loudly, and next to it stood a pair of white china dogs. In the corner of the room stood an enormous wooden cabinet with big knobs on it.
“I know what that is,” said Lizzie, walking over to the huge piece of furniture and running her hand over the smooth dark wood. “It’s a radiogram. People used to listen to the radio and play records with them. Do you think it still works?”
Patrick finally spoke up in a quivering voice, “Have you noticed that everything is really clean and polished? Apart from the fact that it’s in a time warp, it looks as if someone still lives here. I think we should go.”
He looked at his watch, then put it to his ear. “That’s weird. My watch says six o’clock; it said the right time a minute ago. What time do you make it?”
Both Katy and Lizzie looked down at their watches, then at each other in surprise, both saying in unison, “Six o’clock.”
Right on cue, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed. Startled by the noise, they all looked over to the fireplace.
“What’s going on?” breathed Katy, softly.
“I don’t believe it,” said Lizzie, sounding nervous.
They looked again at their own watches and then at the clock on the mantelpiece. All four now read exactly six o’clock.
“This place is really starting to scare me,” said Katy. “Let’s have a quick look round and then get out of here.”
Shivering, Lizzie nodded in agreement whilst hugging herself and rubbing her arms vigorously.
“What’s happened now?” she said. “It’s freezing. It was nice and warm a minute ago.”
Before anyone had a chance to reply, they all stopped dead in their tracks as they heard a door slam loudly. The three of them looked at one another, open-mouthed in fright.
“What was –” Katy started to say, when an eerie noise silenced her: quiet at first and hard to make out but gradually getting louder and louder. It seemed to be coming from upstairs. Katy could hear the sound of a weeping child, quickly followed by desperate cries for mummy. For what seemed like an eternity, all three stood frozen to the spot, hearts pounding, barely able to breathe. Then, suddenly, as if released from a spell, they turned and ran outside, slamming the door shut behind them.
They didn’t stop running until they reached the end of the street and the shelter of the bus stop. Patrick had moved beyond terrified. His face had turned a sickly shade of white and he could hardly speak as he visibly shook from head to foot.
“What just happened?” gasped Lizzie, trying to catch her breath.
Katy shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. “I have no idea. But I’d better get Patrick home. He doesn’t look too well.”
Katy hailed an oncoming bus and with one last worried look at her friend she jumped on board, dragging an ashen-faced Patrick behind her.
Once they arrived home, Patrick refused to discuss the incident, putting on a brave face and retreating to the front room to watch TV.
Katy left Patrick and snuck off to ring Lizzie. “Brilliant. You even had me fooled for a minute or two! I wasn’t expecting you to play the crying child when you did. Awesome acting too, by the way. You looked totally terrified! The door slamming when it did was great timing.”
A deathly silence followed at the other end of the phone. Then, finally, Lizzie spoke in a strange, small voice. “Stop it Katy, you’re scaring me. You know I didn’t make the crying sound. My phone went dead. I couldn’t get it to work. Stop messing about. I thought it was you!”
For a moment, Katy felt sick with fear. Had it really been the ghost? Or was someone playing a trick on them? She took a deep breath and decided there and then that they had to go back to Willow Dene and find out for sure.
Chapter 2
History Mystery
The following week flew by, as May half term approached. Both Katy and Lizzie reluctantly decided to put all thoughts of Willow Dene aside for the next few days. Their exams were coming up and Katy felt the pressure mounting. They agreed to go back and investigate as soon as possible. Katy still felt a little scared. At night, lying in bed, she relived the experience over and over. The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end and her heart beat faster as she remembered the door slamming and the haunting cries of the child. In the morning, she woke up tired and found it harder than ever to concentrate in clas
s, her every waking minute consumed by thoughts of her dream and the crying child.
Finally, the moment Katy had been longing for arrived. The last lesson of the last day of school: History, with Mr Oakley. They spent the lesson preparing questions for their project on the Home Front, which was due in after the holiday.
“When shall we start our interviews?” asked Katy.
“Mum thinks Sunday afternoon, just after lunch, would be best. She reckons people will be relaxing in their gardens with time to talk,” answered Lizzie.
“OK. We’ll start with some general questions about rationing and evacuees, then move onto questions about Willow Dene.”
The bell rang and the class cheered – finally the holidays had arrived.
“At last,” sighed Lizzie, “I thought we’d never break up.”
“I know,” grinned Katy, “a full week off. Mum said the heatwave is meant to last all next week, too.”
“Brilliant! Once we’ve started on our project, let’s go to the lido and sunbathe and swim all day.”
“Definitely,” Katy agreed. “I need a break – every morning I wake up feeling exhausted. My dream is getting worse, not better.”
As the girls walked to the bus stop, they finalised the plans for their project.
“Remember, we’re meeting on Sunday at the bus stop at two o’clock. Don’t forget your dad’s video camera for filming the interviews. Are you sure we can borrow it?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine but Patrick better be careful with it. Is he still doing the filming for us?”
“Yeah, my mum will be at work and Dad has to go away again so I’ve got to bring him with me,” replied Katy.
Katy wasn’t sure she had forgiven Patrick just yet but realised he would be useful to have around. He seemed to have a way with older people. They liked him and that would be useful if they were going to get some good interviews.
“I hope we find out some more about Willow Dene. I can’t stop thinking about what happened there,” said Katy.
“Someone’s bound to know,” answered Lizzie, breezily, “and before you start, there’s no such thing as ghosts. So stop worrying about it, silly!”
“I suppose you’re right,” mumbled Katy, secretly not so sure.
* * * *
Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny. Katy had suffered another fitful night’s sleep. Her dream had now become so vivid, that when she awoke it was hard to distinguish it from reality. Sitting up in bed, Katy felt a stab of pain in her leg and reached down to rub it. She felt both puzzled and alarmed to see nasty, red grazes all down her left shin and arm. Katy had absolutely no recollection as to where or when she had hurt herself. Neither injury was there when she went to sleep the previous night. Starting to panic, she noticed that the deep graze in her leg even appeared to have bits of gravel in it and her sheet was marked with flecks of dried blood where she must have rubbed against it in her sleep. What was going on? Could it be possible that her dream was somehow real? It certainly felt that way. Leaning over and trying to not to touch her sore arm on the bed, she picked up her glass of water from the bedside table. Katy took a long drink, desperate to sooth her parched and scratchy throat and rid it of the lingering taste of smoke. Cuts on her arm and leg and tasting smoke in the morning – there was something seriously wrong here. Feeling dazed and confused, Katy climbed gingerly out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, limping slightly.
“What’s the matter, Katy?” asked her mum, appearing out of nowhere at the top of the stairs.
Katy had no idea what was going on – how was she going to explain where the cuts had come from? Not wanting to worry her mum before she knew what was happening, she muttered, “It’s nothing,” and tried to move past her.
“Come here, let me look,” insisted her mum, grabbing Katy by the sore arm and making her cry out loud in pain. “How on earth did you do this?” she asked in concern.
Katy blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “I fell off my bike.” As she spoke, she realised she was describing her dream but not reality.
“You need to be more careful,” her mum cautioned. “There’s some antiseptic cream in the bathroom cabinet, make sure you give it a good clean.”
“Yes, Mum,” Katy moaned in reply.
“Don’t forget I’ve got work today so you need to take Patrick with you when you go out.”
“Yeah, I know, he’s going to do the filming for us,” replied Katy.
“Good. Make sure you’re back for tea at five and don’t get into any trouble.”
* * * *
Katy and Patrick got the bus to meet Lizzie. Patrick rang the bell, they stumbled down the stairs from the top deck and hopped off to find Lizzie waiting patiently for them. She gave Katy a big smile and Patrick a friendly thump.
“Come on, you two, thought you’d never get here. Got the questions, Katy?”
Feeling pleased with herself, Katy pulled out a folder with the questions typed up. “How professional am I?” she said, giving Lizzie her questions with a flourish.
“Have you got the video camera?” asked Patrick, eager to get his hands on it.
“Yeah, here it is,” said Lizzie, taking it out of her bag. “Be careful with it or my dad will kill me.”
“Come on then, let’s get started,” said Katy, striding off purposefully ahead of the others, already halfway up someone’s drive.
They spent the next hour knocking on doors and getting the low-down on life during the war. Some of it was quite interesting, especially the stuff about nettle soup and dried eggs. It sounded horrible but, funnily enough, people seemed to remember those days fondly. Most had moved to Knutsburry long after the war and so had no knowledge of Willow Dene except to say it had always been empty and what a shame that was as it was such a pretty family house.
“Right that’s it, I give up,” moaned Katy grumpily, sitting down on the pavement and flinging her notepad aside. “No one seems to know anything about Willow Dene. It’s hopeless!”
“Why don’t we try number 32?” asked Patrick, attempting to sound brave.
Katy and Lizzie both stared at him, momentarily speechless.
“Are you mad?” asked Lizzie, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You do know who lives there, don’t you?” asked Katy.
“Yeah,” answered Patrick, “just some weird old lady. It’s not like she’s a real witch,” he smirked. “Unless, of course, you two actually believe in witches?”
Katy and Lizzie looked at each other uncertainly. Local children feared the old woman who lived at number 32. They hurried past her house, too scared to walk slowly in case she magically appeared and cast some unspeakable spell on them. Sinister myths had sprung up surrounding this shadowy, rarely seen figure and were now woven into the fabric of local folklore.
“What do you think?” asked Lizzie, twisting her hair around her finger nervously. “Isn’t she meant to be connected to Willow Dene in some way?”
“I’ve never seen her,” said Katy. “They say when Willow Dene was abandoned she went mad and disappeared into her house, only coming out under the cover of night.”
Patrick rolled his eyes in ridicule and laughed. “You two are such big babies! If you really want to find out about Willow Dene, I reckon she’s just the person you need to speak to. Are you coming or not?”
Reluctantly, Katy and Lizzie followed him up the drive to number 32. Patrick picked up the heavy brass knocker and banged firmly on the door twice, then quickly retreated behind the girls. Not a sound could be heard.
“No one’s in,” sighed Katy in relief. “Look, all the curtains are shut. Let’s go.”
“Wait a minute, look there,” instructed Lizzie, pointing to an upstairs bedroom window.
Katy looked up, just in time to see a pair of dark eyes peering out from behind the curtain. Summoning up all her courage, she knocked one more time. All three waited with bated breath to see what would happen next. Footsteps could be heard a
pproaching the door, followed by the sound of the latch being lifted, then finally the door began to creak open and a small, dark, bent figure came into view.
Lizzie gave a shrill scream, jumping backwards into a startled Katy, who then, spooked by Lizzie, also screamed, clutching onto her in terror.
“How can I help you, children?” asked a gentle voice.
Katy turned back to the dark figure. There, on the doorstep, stood a tiny, old lady, stooped and twisted with age. She wore an old fashioned, sombre black dress, as if she were in mourning for those long dead. It was easy to see why she had a reputation for being a witch.
Undaunted, Patrick spoke up. “Hello. We’re doing a project on life during the Second World War for school and we’re interviewing locals about their experiences.”
“We wondered if you could help us?” asked Lizzie, smiling nervously and looking embarrassed by her scream.
“Did you live here during the War?” asked Katy, taking out her questionnaire.
The years seemed to melt away on the old woman’s face, as she broke into an unexpectedly warm smile. “I’m Hillary and yes I’ve lived here all my life. I can remember the War being declared. Lovely sunny afternoon it was too. Just like today.”
She proceeded to tell them all sorts of interesting stories about rationing and the blackout.
“Can you tell us anything about Willow Dene,” asked Katy, innocently. “Do you know why it was abandoned? Or anything about the rumours of the crying child?”
Storm clouds seemed to gather overhead and the air turned cold as Hillary’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of such profound sadness that Katy had to look away. Hillary visibly shrank backwards, whispered a hoarse goodbye and swiftly shut the door.
Katy Parker and the House that Cried Page 2
