Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller

by Mark White

  Sam shook his head in denial but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. ‘I’m not sure what I saw,’ he said, his thoughts turning to the dark figure he’d seen by his father’s grave and on the passenger bridge of York train station. And what about Lucy? Had he really seen his sister on that bridge too? What had she said to him? You have to run away, Sam. He’s coming to get you.

  ‘Oh, I think you know perfectly well what you saw,’ Gracie said, her tone now serious and matter-of-fact. ‘Perhaps not who you saw, or even what they looked like, but you can’t convince me that you didn’t see something. I’ve done this long enough to know when someone is trying to hide the truth from me.’

  Sam jumped to his feet and began pacing the kitchen floor like a caged animal. ‘So what if I did see something?’ he snapped. ‘What then, eh? It’s not as if I can do anything about it, can I? Here I am, on the verge of losing my mind, and all you’re doing is making things worse.’

  ‘You must call your mother,’ Gracie said, ignoring his theatrical display. ‘You need to find out how your father used to dress. What have you got to lose? I know this must be difficult for you, but believe me; your situation is not going to improve by itself. By not facing up to this spirit, you’re only making it easier it for him.’

  ‘Easier for who?’ Sam erupted, having finally had enough of the conversation. ‘Easier for my father…is that who you mean? Do you honestly expect me to believe that my father – who incidentally has been dead for thirty fucking years – has suddenly decided to rise from the grave and pay his son a visit? Are you trying to drive me insane? If you are, you’re doing a pretty good job!’

  ‘I’m leaving now,’ she said, standing up and heading for the hallway, ‘but I can’t go without telling you this. From what I’ve seen, and from what you’ve told me today, I happen to believe that this spirit is your father. At the moment, he’s toying with us by not revealing himself, but believe me, Sam; this man wants to be seen. It won’t be long before he tires of playing games, and that’s what I’m worried about. Until you’re ready to accept this, I fear that you’re not only putting yourself in danger, but those close to you as well.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said, calling after her as she reached the front door. ‘Just…just answer me one question, will you?’

  Gracie stopped and turned to face him.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but if this…this spirit you’ve seen is really who you think it is, then why is he here? Why would he come back?’

  Gracie stared directly at him. ‘Whoever this spirit is, he’s not at peace,’ she said, fastening the top button on her overcoat and pulling on her hat. ‘He’s angry and bitter about something. You want to know my theory?’

  Sam nodded weakly.

  ‘This spirit believes he’s suffered some kind of gross injustice for something that happened to him while he was alive, so he’s come back from the dead to seek revenge. And if he is your father, then we need to act quickly to stop him. Call your mother, Sam. Find out what he used to wear. We need to sort this out. With everything that’s happened to you over the past few days, I would suggest that time is not on our side.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘I think we should start looking around for someone else to care for Max after school.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why on earth would you say something like that?’

  ‘Have you seen Gracie lately? She’s getting old, Sarah. I think that looking after Max is beginning to take its toll on her. You know it was never going to last forever. It’s probably best for everyone concerned, don’t you think?’

  ‘No, as of a matter-of-fact I don’t. Gracie still seems spritely enough to me, and you know how much Max adores her. Honestly, Sam, what’s gotten into you? I think all this free time on your hands is making you dream up problems that aren’t there.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Sam muttered.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.’

  ‘I tell you what,’ Sarah said, joining her husband on the sofa. ‘Max is off to France tomorrow: if you still feel the same when he gets back, then we’ll sit down and talk about it together as a family, okay? I understand your concern, but Gracie has been a godsend to that boy, so I don’t think we should be too hasty in moving on. Besides, if she really is as tired as you say, then a week without him might do her the world of good.’

  ‘Oh, shit! I forgot all about his ski trip. He didn’t even mention it to me when he came home today. Sometimes I think that boy lives on a different planet.’

  ‘It’s called puberty.’

  ‘Hmm. He must be excited, though?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s really looking forward to it.’

  ‘It’ll be strange not having him around. The house will feel empty without him.’

  ‘Better get used to it,’ she said, leaning over to kiss his neck. ‘It won’t be long before he’s all grown up and it’s just the two of us again.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he replied, enjoying the feel of her lips on his skin.

  ‘Shall we go to bed?’ she asked, conscious that the last time they’d come close to being intimate had ended in disaster.

  Sam sighed. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready yet,’ he said, images of Sarah and Tom in bed together still raw and fresh in his mind.

  ‘I understand,’ she said, blowing gently into his ear. ‘I realise it’s going to take time.’

  ‘No.’ He turned to kiss her. ‘I can’t dwell on the past forever.’

  ‘We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. We can just snuggle up together if you’d prefer. I don’t want to rush you, Sam. I just want to let you know that I’m here for you when you’re ready.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sam said, standing up and inviting her to follow him by holding out his hand. ‘But I want to try. If we’ve any chance of staying together, we’re going to have to try and put what happened behind us. We…I…need to move on.’

  ‘I love you,’ she said, taking his hand.

  Sam smiled but didn’t reciprocate. His mind was still dwelling on the bizarre conversation with Gracie about his father, not to mention the news about Stephen Gilchrist’s suicide.

  Although he would miss having Max around for the next few days, he was thankful for the chance to have a little space to clear his head. He was grateful for something else, too: Max going away meant there would be no need to see or speak to Gracie and have her fill his head with supernatural bullshit and crazy theories about his father. Maybe the old dear was suffering from dementia; after all, she was nearly eighty years old.

  Either way, as he’d said to Sarah, it was time to put the past behind him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The following morning, Sam accompanied Max to school on foot, helping him lug his heavy bags for the half-mile journey and lamenting the day he sold his car. By the time they arrived, several of Max’s friends were already climbing aboard the bus that would take them on the long journey to the French Alps. Whilst the thought of being cooped up for the better part of two days on a hot bus with a bunch of sweaty school-kids was hardly Sam’s idea of fun, as soon as Max saw his friends, he broke into an excited grin and ran towards them, leaving Sam to fulfil his duties as unpaid pack-horse.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted, trudging towards the bus. ‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your old dad?’ He didn’t mind playing second fiddle to Max’s friends - he would have been exactly the same at his age - not that there were such luxuries as French ski trips back in his day. An overnight stay in a soaking wet tent with the Durham Scout group was about as exotic as it ever got for him.

  ‘Sorry, dad,’ Max said, climbing down from the steps and running back to him.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s good to see you so happy.’ He helped the driver load Max’s bags into the luggage compartment, before taking his son aside and giving him a hug. ‘Here,’ he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a plain, brown envelope. ‘
There’s a little extra spending money in there. Don’t tell your mother, okay?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Max said, stuffing the envelope into his jacket pocket.

  ‘You’re welcome. Just don’t go spending it on beer and cigarettes.’

  ‘Dad! You know I’m not into any of that.’

  ‘I know. I’m only joking. All the same, look after yourself, do you hear? And do as the teachers say. And don’t do anything dangerous; I don’t want you coming home with your leg in a cast.’

  ‘Chill out, will you? I’ll be fine, I promise.’

  ‘I know, but it’s my job to be overprotective. You’re my favourite son, you know that?’

  ‘I’m your only son.’

  ‘True, but you’re still my favourite.’

  ‘In that case, you’re my favourite dad.’

  ‘I should hope so too! Now go on, get yourself on that bus. And Max?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Shut up, will you? My friends will hear.’

  ‘Sorry. But I do, okay?’

  ‘Me too.’ Max smiled and gave his father one final hug before sprinting off and joining his friends. Dads were important, but they weren’t nearly as much fun as friends.

  Ten minutes later, the roll count was complete and the doors closed. Sam stood and waved with the other parents as the bus pulled away, saddened at the thought that saying goodbye to his son would soon become an increasingly frequent occurrence. The cycle of life, he thought, smiling as Max pulled a funny face at him through the window.

  When the bus was no longer in view, he turned and began walking home. It was a clear day, unseasonably warm, so he decided to take a detour through the park and enjoy the refreshing air. He was just about to walk through the tall, wrought-iron gates that marked the park’s entrance, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Stepping aside to allow a woman and her oversized pram to squeeze past him, he retrieved the phone and checked the display. Number withheld, it read.

  Who the hell can that be? he thought, considering whether or not to take the call. Probably just Sarah calling from work to make sure Max made it in time. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Who’s calling?’

  ‘Come now, Sam, you haven’t been away that long. It’s Charles Holdsworth.’

  Sam’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the name. ‘Charl…I mean, Mr Holdsworth?’

  ‘I can hear birds. Where are you?’

  ‘Erm…Friar Park. I’ve just dropped my son off at school.’

  ‘Well, it’s certainly a nice day for a stroll.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘I bet you’re wondering why I’m calling you.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I understand that Tom Jackson came to see you the other evening.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I also understand that he asked you to come back to Chapman’s.’

  ‘He did, yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Would you like to come back?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘May I ask why not?’

  ‘Why should I come back? Tom told me he had to go begging on hands and knees to convince you lot that I was worth taking back. I’m not desperate, you know. There are plenty of other design firms out there.’

  ‘He said what?’

  ‘He said it was the Board’s decision to let me go in the first place. Cutting the creative staff to concentrate more on sales. Isn’t that the plan?’

  ‘Nonsense. Did he really tell you that?’

  ‘Why would I make it up? He said that my skills as a copywriter had become surplus to requirements.’

  ‘Did he now?’ asked Holdsworth, the penny dropping.

  ‘So it’s not true? It wasn’t the Board’s decision to fire me?’

  ‘I’m afraid Tom has been spinning you a line.’

  ‘I guessed that from when he came to see me the other night. But he did say that-’

  ‘Never mind what he said. Listen to what I have to say. Tom didn’t consult anyone about letting you go, especially not me. I guarantee that it was entirely his decision. You know that I’ve always valued your work; I take great pride in the calibre of my design team. Creative output is the main reason why Chapman’s is so revered in the industry. Without people like you, we might as well shut up shop and go home. Anyway, when I found out that he’d fired you, I immediately hauled him into my office and ordered him to fetch you back before you went and found yourself another job. You haven’t, have you? Found yourself another job, I mean.’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘Good. So you’ll come back to Chapman’s?’

  ‘Look, Mr Holdsworth. From the way Tom lied to you – and to me – you’ve probably guessed that there’s something going on between us.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you. But what I can say is that the only thing Tom Jackson is interested in is himself. The man’s a liar and a devious back-stabber. He takes all of the credit and none of the blame. Ask anyone. Even if I was able to set aside my personal differences with him – and I can’t do that – you need to know that his self-serving behaviour is a serious threat to Chapman’s. His actions are jeopardising the firm, Mr Holdsworth. God knows what he might do if he’s not brought back in line.’

  There was a pause at the other end of the line while Holdsworth considered what Sam had told him. By the time he was ready to talk again, he had returned to his level-headed, confident self. ‘Look, Sam, it’s not like me to make snap decisions,’ he said, ‘but based on what you’ve told me, I want to make you an offer.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Sam said, surprised at the boldness of his reply.

  ‘If you come back to Chapman’s, I’ll deal with Tom Jackson.’

  ‘What, you’ll move him to another department? I’m sorry Mr Holdsworth, but I don’t want to be anywhere near h-’

  ‘You’re not listening to me,’ Holdsworth interjected. ‘I said I’ll deal with him.’

  ‘You mean you’ll fire him?’

  ‘Let me put it this way: if you agree to be at your desk for nine o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll see to it that Tom Jackson is no longer an employee of Chapman’s Design Agency.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘However,’ Holdsworth said, sensing Sam’s interest, ‘for that to happen, I need your answer now. And if you do decide to come back, I’ll need you to promise me that this conversation stays between us. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Well, what’s it going to be?’

  ‘I won’t have to see Tom again?’

  ‘You have my word.’

  ‘In that case,’ Sam said, imagining the look on Tom’s face as Holdsworth fired him, ‘we have a deal. Tomorrow morning?’

  ‘9.00am.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good man!’ Holdsworth said, his enthusiasm ringing in Sam’s ear. ‘You’ve made the right decision.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I know so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to a meeting.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Holdsworth. This means a lot to me.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, Sam,’ Holdsworth said, hanging up the phone.

  If Sam had been of a less self-conscious disposition, he would have jumped up in the air and screamed with joy. In one foul swoop he had traded places with the man who’d almost destroyed his life; an exquisite reversal of fortune resulting from a single five minute phone-call. It was good to have his old job back – if nothing else, his dwindling bank balance could use a boost – but it was the sweet sense of justice that most thrilled him. He’d always regarded Tom as the golden boy with a one-way ticket to the top, so it was so refreshing to discover he wasn’t the only one who could see he was little more than a shallow opportunist.

  With a spring in his step, he made his way along the footpath that circled the small lake i
n the middle of the park, waving at a group of old men who were expertly navigating their assorted fleet of radio-controlled model ships and boats from the comfort of their fold-up chairs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy: Max was safely on his travels, he had his job back, Tom Jackson was in deep shit; and to top it all off, last night he and Sarah had made love for the first time in months, and not just any old love. The soreness from his fading bruises had all but vanished when they’d been together in bed. Although he was still spooked by Stephen Gilchrist’s suicide and his conversation with Gracie, finally there was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

  Up ahead was a narrow path leading off to the right that dissected a row of cherry trees which, in the spring-time, were renowned locally for the lush, scented blossom that covered their branches. There was no blossom now, of course, only bare branches that stretched from twisted trunks like gnarled, bony fingers. Sam decided to take the path anyway; there was a bench tucked away at the far end of the cherry trees that was guaranteed to be free at this time of year. He didn’t want to return to his empty house just yet. It was such a lovely morning that it would be a shame to spend it indoors.

  As he made his way through the trees, a dark, solitary cloud drifted in front of the sun. The park, which only moments earlier had been filled with colour and the sound of old men laughing and talking as they played with their boats, was plunged into dismal shades of grey. A stiff breeze swept through the trees, combining with the darkness to make Sam feel very much alone. There were plenty of other people in the park, but from where he stood he could neither see nor hear them. Not wishing the change in weather to dampen his mood, he pressed on in the direction of the bench, confident that the sun would reappear any moment and return the park to its former glory. Unfortunately for Sam the cloud had other plans, and by the time he reached the bench and sat down, he was beginning to wonder whether returning to his warm house might not be the preferable option after all.