The Ghost in the Window (Haunted House Book 1)

by Ayse Hafiza

  4

  The Police

  The policewoman took off her hat as she entered the house. In her black and white uniform, she knew exactly why her male colleagues had called her to the scene.

  She was new in the job and she hadn’t been jaded with experience, which was how she still had the natural ability to be compassionate.

  She walked into the back room, which had a black and white television in the corner, it's wire aerials pointing in different directions, and in front of the television was a faded blue armchair. Only one chair even though she knew a couple lived in the house. Observing her colleagues from the window as they milled around in the overgrown garden. Staring at the walls of the gray garage, she was curious, she wanted to go inside, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t because she knew that whatever she was to see she couldn’t unsee.

  “Jane,” called out a voice she recognized. It was Barry, her boss, and unofficial boyfriend.

  “We need you to have a chat with the old dear to find out what she knows,” he said as he moved closer to her. She nodded but couldn’t take her eyes away from the garage.

  “Why would he do it?” she asked.

  “No one knows, and that’s why you need to speak to her.”

  She nodded again.

  Jane ran her hands down the seams of her black skirt and turned to face Barry, he was looking at the garage too.

  “I’ll go introduce myself and see if I can make her a cup of tea.”

  “She’s sitting in the other room.”

  Jane looked around the room, something didn’t feel right, “Is this his room?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s odd, they are a family but they have their own rooms downstairs.”

  “Based on what the neighbors said they were an odd couple,” he replied.

  He turned to look at her, she knew he risked exposing the informality between if he reached out to touch her, so she stepped back.

  “Don’t let it get to you.”

  Jane nodded and headed into the hallway. On the wall she noticed the antique mirror, it didn’t fit a house like this. With the swirls of the William Morris wallpaper and the bright red and orange circular patterns of the carpet, where did a gilt gold mirror fit? It didn’t, not at all. She looked at her reflection and practiced her reassuring smile. Then she turned and walked to the door of the front room.

  Knocking on it gently. “Mrs. Blades, can I come in?”

  Jane didn’t wait for an answer, she slowly pushed open the white varnished door and walked into the front room. There were a few police officers with her, the old woman appeared intimidated by the three big burly men standing over her in the room. Jane made a beeline for Lizzy.

  “Mrs. Blades, my name is Constable Jane Seymore. I’d like to know if anyone has asked if you would like a cup of tea?”

  Lizzy looked up at her, and all the men looked at Jane.

  The old woman shook her head.

  ‘Typical,’ thought Jane.

  “Would you like one?”

  “White, with one sugar,” nodded Lizzy.

  Jane went into the kitchen and filled up the kettle. She put it on the hob and waited for it to whistle. ‘A cup of tea fixes everything,’ Jane thought to herself, even finding your husbands corpse hanging in your garage. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine and once more she turned to look at the garage, this time from the kitchen window.

  The empty stretcher was being carried into the dark garage, and that meant the team were close to removing the body from the scene. They would have taken photos. But it was a clear case of suicide for Jane. Lizzy Blades wouldn’t have been able to kill her husband, she was a frail old woman. But it bothered Jane. I mean really why wouldn’t it, because George Blades was an old man? She would have given him at least another five to ten years at best, based on what she had heard over the police radio about him being a drinker and all. But Jane was here for one reason, and that was to learn as much as Lizzy Blades could tell her. She dropped an extra cube of sugar in, old people loved sugar, then walked with the steaming milky brown liquid back to the front room.

  This time when she came in, the men moved to one side. She looked at two superfluous constables and gestured for them to leave. She only needed one as a witness to the conversation. At least the men hadn’t tried to interview the old dear in her husband’s back room, at least they had half a brain cell.

  “Now dear, like I said, I am Constable Jane Seymore, but you can call me Jane.”

  “Thank you, Jane,” said Lizzy taking the tea.

  “Mrs. Blades, I do understand that you might not feel like talking, but I would like to understand in your own words, what exactly happened?”

  “Oh, my dear,” Lizzy said, as she made another Kleenex soggy.

  “In your own time.”

  Lizzy knew that the questions wouldn’t stop. She didn’t speak about her marriage with anyone, not even Frank who was her only child. Now a complete stranger wanted to know about her life with George. The policewoman had compassion in her eyes and a welcoming face, just the sort of nice young girl that Frank should find. Lizzy at that moment decided that she could trust her.

  “I had no clue that he was planning this, you see George is…I mean was a very private person,” said Lizzy. “You see, we lost Buster maybe a month ago, and I think that must have pushed him over the edge.”

  “Who is Buster?”

  “Our dog, well Georges dog, a golden Labrador. He was hit in a road accident, so George buried him in the garden, it was hard for him. He didn’t speak for at least two weeks after.”

  “Well, can you talk me through today?”

  “Yes dear, you see I made breakfast for him and left it on the side and then I put my coat on and went to the shops. George always leaves the housekeeping money in the kitchen. It was the same amount as usual, so I didn’t realize that he was going to. . .” her voice trailed.

  The policewoman sat with her encouraging her to sip her tea and between sips tried to get her statement.

  “When you came home from the shops, what happened?”

  “Well, I came into the kitchen and put the shopping away. I noticed the kitchen door had the key in the lock, and well, that was odd as we never leave it like that, it’s not secure. So, I stepped into the garden and saw that the garage door was open as well. Of course, I thought we might have had a burglary, so I came back inside and knocked on George’s door. There was no answer, so I went into his room. I didn’t notice the papers on his desk. When George didn’t answer, I went to investigate myself with a knife in hand, and at first when I stepped into the garage I couldn’t see a thing. It is bright outside and my eyes are weak, so I didn’t notice him straight away, but as they adjusted. . .his knees were at the same height as my eyes. . .and there he was, hanging like a dead pheasant in a butchers.”

  The police woman's head nodded up and down as she caught the details. Her pen scratched on the notepad as she wrote it all down, then she did something unusual, and lent across and held the elderly woman's hand.

  “I had no idea that he was this unhappy,” blurted Lizzy as her voice wavered.

  The policewoman gave her another reassuring smile. “Is there anything that we can do for you?”

  “Can you get in touch with Frank? He’s my son, I don’t want to be alone.”

  The young woman smiled and left Lizzy’s cool papery skinned hand as she stood and left.

  In George’s room she held the yellow slip in her hand. Checking it in the light, she wanted to find indents, she wanted to believe that Mr. George Blades had more to express to his wife. The daylight shining through the paper gave no indication of any other words. The word thanks, just thanks, no explanation, no nothing to his wife of over fifty years.

  She tutted to herself, putting it in the evidence bag.

  Maybe the old dear sobbing in the other room had been blessed by being rid of a man like that.

  Jane watched the forensic team stretcher out t
he body bag. She watched them travel along the small garden path and past the side of the house. Her thoughts went back to Lizzy in the other room and she left her work to join her.

  The cup of tea was drained, and Lizzy stood in respect as she watched the body bag loaded into the private black ambulance, the one that didn’t need a siren.

  Jane stood next to her.

  “You shouldn’t have left like this George,” said Lizzy, unaware that she had spoken aloud.

  Jane placed her hand on Lizzy’s right shoulder and pulled her a little closer toward her. The ambulance drove away, and Lizzy sat down. She looked a little better now that she’d had a cup of tea.

  “Any news on Frank?” asked Lizzy.

  “He’s on his way. Hopefully he’ll be here by six.”

  “Please don’t leave me alone.”

  It wasn’t a question, more a command. Jane nodded and left the room.

  Now the body was gone she walked out of the back door toward the garage door, Barry was still inside. She took a step in and she understood what the elderly woman meant, outside the garage the sun was bright, but inside it was completely dark. Even Jane’s eyes struggled to adjust, but when they did. She saw the exposed rafters, the fallen chair, and the ominous white cord. She looked at it, it had been knotted tightly at the top.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Barry taking her by the arm and escorting her outside.

  “I wanted to see.”

  “Don’t, none of this is stuff you can ever unsee. Its hard to get a scene like this out of your head.”

  “Stop treating me like a child,” protested Jane. As he led her onto the grass of the back garden.

  “Okay then, what’s your professional opinion?” asked Barry entertaining her.

  She hated it when he did this, flipping between her lover and then her boss.

  “It’s pretty obvious this was a loveless marriage.”

  “Is that the motive?” Barry asked.

  “You and I know the old woman did not kill her husband,” said Jane turning away. When she looked back at Barry she noticed someone in the upstairs window, she turned to look up. Lizzy stood at the window, watching over them all.

  “Look at the way the knot is tied to the rafters, there is no way he wasn’t actively trying to kill himself, he definitely wanted to do it,” she said turning back to Barry.

  “And, why?”

  “Because his dog died a month ago? It was his only friend. . .”

  “Wow, so the old man loses his dog and then decided to kill himself? Where did you get the information about the dog?” Barry asked.

  “She told me, he’s buried under the rose bush,” said Jane pointing to the bush in front of the shed.

  Barry went back into the garage to retrieve a shovel. He walked under the rose bush and started to dig away at the dirt.

  Jane moved closer out of curiosity. He dug.

  “Jane move back,” Barry commanded.

  She listened. He shoveled the dirt back until he hit at the black bag that he knew would be the maggot ridden corpse of the dog.

  “So, he was mentally unstable since the dog died,” Barry repeated, it sounded ludicrous to his ears.

  “Apparently, but you know what? I know nothing because I’m just a constable and not an investigator,” Jane said turning away.

  “Jane. . .Jane!” he called out after her.

  She was sick of his deciding what he wanted to be when it suited him, her boss or her boyfriend. She shouldn’t have got involved with him, especially when she knew he hid his wedding band in the top pocket of his suit.

  Jane sat in Mrs. Elizabeth Blades’ front room, looking up at the Artex ceiling and waited for Frank to arrive. She had promised the old woman that she would wait, her compassion obliged her to stay.

  5

  George stays home

  Frank was handsome with his sparkling blue eyes and dark brown hair. He came into the house like a whirlwind, running into the front room where Jane sat. She raised her head as he came in and their eyes connected before he turned and ran upstairs. He didn’t check the kitchen or Georges room, he knew his parents’ habits.

  Jane walked upstairs after him at a respectful distance. By giving them a moment she wanted to see if she could take her leave and go. This was personal grieving time, not the time for her to be interrupting.

  From the spindles on the staircase she could see the man hold his Mom in his arms, and rock her back and forth. He was playing parent and Jane felt something in her stir. She felt pity for them, but also compassion and something else she couldn’t define.

  Lizzy broke away from his arms and mumbled something. Frank turned and saw the constable watching them both. Jane continued forward and knocked on the door, it was superfluous she had already interrupted their reunion.

  “Mrs. Blades, now that Frank is here. . . ” her eyes flitted toward him. “I was wondering if I could take my leave?”

  “Of course, my dear,” said Lizzy as she walked toward Jane. “But do come back and see me tomorrow. I’ll probably be in a better frame of mind to have a conversation. You see it was just the shock of it all. Just a little too much for my weak heart to take.”

  Jane nodded, she wasn’t an investigator, but she felt compelled to comply.

  She glanced up at Frank, who gave her a silent nod goodbye, and she walked downstairs and let herself out. Lizzy watched as she walked away and when she was out of earshot she turned to Frank.

  “I like her,” said Lizzy.

  Frank nodded, he knew what his mom was thinking, and he didn’t like it one bit. He had been in the house for all of five minutes and already his mom was making comments about his life choices.

  He made her tea and he held her hand until the police had finally left. He hugged and cuddled his dear mom and tucked her into bed that night. He knew he was going to sleep in his father's bed.

  When the house was silent Frank made his way to the garden. Standing in the moonlight, he took out his marijuana and rolled himself a joint. He sat on the back step of the kitchen slumped against the kitchen door. He hadn’t had time to process his own emotions, but he was glad about one thing, his old dear had survived and not the old man. He took a deep pull on the joint and let his head rest back against the door. With a smile on his face as he exhaled the blue smoke, relief spread through his body allowing him to relax. His old dear had won. Frank laughed aloud as the thought made itself prevalent in his mind. His mom, his frail old mother, had managed to outlive the tyrant. The man who kept him away.

  Frank felt the burden and stress he had carried around since childhood start to ebb away. He knew his parents weren’t like other parents. His father had sacrificed the opportunity to make happy memories because all he wanted to do was spend time in the factory. Frank had seen how expendable he was in the factory, he had felt it at an early age. He had tried to make his father see, that was when he was young and wanted to have a good and meaningful relationship with his dad. But that was lost to his temper because it crumbled every value George Blades had to see himself as expendable. After that conversation, Frank knew there was no point making his father see anything from his point of view. And well, when he thought of it, his bottom still smarted from the ferocious beating that he had been subject too. No, in Franks world things would be better, now that the respectable Mr. George Blades was gone.

  As he reached the halfway point of the joint, he looked around the garden. He had wanted to come out here long before, but he couldn’t risk it with the police hanging about. He ran his hands through his thick curly black hair. That police officer was coming back tomorrow. He took a deep breath and stretched his feet out before him, watching a snail leave a glistening trail in the moonlight as he moved.

  Although Frank was glad his mom had won the battle, he did wonder at his father's state of mind. He wanted to get up and close the garage door so that it didn’t remain open all night. What if the wind blew it at night and shattered the glass inside th
e door. That wouldn’t be good. But Frank wasn’t ready to touch the same door handle that his father had earlier in the day. Frank had no intention of going inside the garage, but he shouldn’t leave the door open either.

  He dithered between closing the door to protect the glass from the elements, and the feeling that touching the door would evoke. It took a moment before he knew he was the best person to close the door.

  Stepping toward it in the moonlight, watching as it crept open wider in the gentle breeze. He took tentative steps, he didn’t want to see anything that might be there. If he did see something, then would it matter, whatever he would see could and only would be his father?

  Something Frank’s parents never knew about their son was that he was a shaman. And able to see the world of spirits and many of those who walked in it.

  He reached out his hand and touched the doorknob, it felt like ice on a summers night. That wasn’t a good sign.

  Frank faced the dark doorway of the garage as he stood in the moonlit garden, he straightened his posture and with conviction he spoke.

  “Dad? You need to pass on.”

  Then he closed the door and stepped back, not taking his eye away from the glass panel inset of the door. He could feel the chill in the air around himself. Frank’s eyes widened as the image of his father's face appeared behind the glass briefly for a second. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his eyes. It was always like that with Frank, but if his eyes were deceiving him, his instincts weren’t.

  He turned his back on his father and walked away.