She lay back against the pillows, eyes wide open. What a thing it was, to be so tired you couldn’t read or concentrate on anything, yet not being able to sleep either - your mind constantly chattering, on alert for something it couldn’t identify but was, at some level, innately aware of.
Moonlight spread over the room in a creamy layer, bright as daylight. The old flocked paper had peeled in places and a tidemark of rising damp stained the walls. She made a mental note to tackle this room next after decorating Molly’s.
Somewhere in the house one of the old floorboards creaked loudly, and the pipes banged, followed by a prolonged juddering. It was just the wood constricting after the heat of the day, she reassured herself, and there’d been hot water running so of course the pipes would make a noise. Even so, her heart was fair racing along.
The old couple at the far end had gone to Bridlington for a fortnight, which meant she was the only occupant out here until Callum came back at goodness knew what time. Mentally she patrolled the house again. Yes, she had locked the front door, bolted the back, closed all the windows…except this one because once again, although there was a chill at night now, inside it was close and airless.
God, she needed to sleep. What was it gnawing away at her – this thing of worry inside? Sandi? Noel? Perhaps it was simply the fact she was pregnant at forty-four? Or maybe it was Toby and what he’d told her the other night? No, not that – it was obvious he’d suffer trauma after all he’d seen – totally understandable. But once he’d got the reports all tied up he would move onto other things and recover. He was young and smart, would put it behind him. So what was nagging her then? Noel was drinking but he’d promised to get help, to go and see Harry. Not Noel. Alice? No, Judy was watching Alice. Sandi, then? Was it Sandi?
Talk about paranoia. Sandi had thirty years of competency behind her. Originally a ward sister she now worked for an agency on short-term contracts, in both general and psychiatric nursing. Sandi was, at a guess, in her mid-fifties, with wild, woolly grey hair, which she kept in a short mop of curls that flopped over one eye; had protruding teeth; and a pinched, yoga-toned body with tree-root veins creeping up her arms to prove it. She also possessed a sharp tongue. Nothing though, to elicit concern. She had the place running like clockwork, was always on time and definitely took no nonsense. Old school, was Sandi. Bit odd Ruby didn’t like her, but then it took Ruby ages to trust anyone. No, it couldn’t be that.
There was just this feeling of being watched that she couldn’t shake; of a presence willing her to acknowledge it – so real it was almost touchable. If she stared long enough into the empty air she’d see it…something…it would come…
The bedroom was brilliantly lit, the moon now in the centre of the window, beaming into the dressing table mirror. After the other night she’d moved the cheval mirror to the spare room to avoid a repeat performance. No, this was all perfectly normal and there was nothing to be afraid of. There were no shadows in the mirror and everything was exactly as it should be. The wardrobe door was locked with a key and the coat hangers were not rattling of their own accord. It was fine – all absolutely and totally fine.
But what if a voice called her name? Or shouted in her ear? Or something horrible materialised in front of her? They watched you while you slept – it was happening to all of them – external, and proven like Toby said…not madness at all… but real…real…real…
Silently she cited the Lord’s Prayer. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven…’ and ended with a plea for relief from the paralysing fear. Still her eyes were wide open as yet again the mental process of assessing every tiny thing that might be keeping her awake began; until as night progressed, the shadows shifted and lengthened, and the lights in the dressing table mirror were extinguished, sleep finally came.
Moments later her eyes snapped open.
There had been a breath in her face.
With her heart banging hard she scrambled for the lamp, knocking over the clock as she pressed the switch. Nothing happened. She pressed it again. Checked the socket beneath it. Hell!
Panicking, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The room was totally dark, the sky now awash with a galaxy of stars. She touched her cheek, almost crying with the fear of it. It was no use, all the lights were going on.
On her way out of the bedroom she flicked on the main light, silently thanking God it worked, and padded across the landing to the bathroom. It had been a bad dream, it really had. All her fears piling in the moment she lost consciousness.
She used the toilet and began to wash her hands, glancing into the mirror at the eye bags she now had. All this nightmare business was no good for beauty sleep that was for sure: maybe a decent eye cream? She rinsed off the soap, and still thinking about eye creams inadvertently looked into the mirror again.
Fuck!
A woman was standing directly behind her.
She stared aghast. Eyeball to eyeball. Blinked and stared again.
The woman vanished.
Half-crying, half-screaming, Becky shot onto the landing and switched the light on there as well, then with the whole of the upstairs lit up like a football stadium, turned the dressing room mirror round to face the wall and leapt into bed.
Molly lurched and she stroked and soothed the child inside her.
She must not convey her fears to the child…it was a night terror, part of a dream...No it isn’t…she’s watching you…waiting for you to accept her… It isn’t real… it’s real…
“Fuck! Fuck!”
Wide-awake in the full glare of electric light she made yet another recce of the bedroom, checking everything was the same as it had been before: wardrobe, chair, dressing table and mirror, stool, lamp, clock, book, jewellery box, chest of drawers…over and over and over. There was no way anyone could have got in. Once more she mentally checked every window, door, lock and bolt in the house. No one is in. The incident in the bathroom had been a nightmare, she’d been half asleep, still in a sub-conscious world – her obsessions with the bloody mirror and all the images she’d stupidly gone and looked at replaying like a stuck video. It was a fear demon eating away at her sanity again. Spirits could only travel through the dark, that’s what Celeste had said. So if all the lights were on she would be just fine and dandy.
She stared into the brightly lit bedroom, listening for the slightest sound, shuddering as cooler air now circulated behind her neck.
This was bonkers, crazy. Shivering and bone tired she recited the Lord’s Prayer out loud this time. “Please take away my fear. Please keep me safe in my mind.”
Whimpering, she hugged herself. If only Callum was here and not away so damn much. She had to have sleep, there was work tomorrow. She mustn’t replay what had been in that mirror, mustn’t…to do that would be to re-conjure those bulbous eye whites in that skeletal, mottled face. Do not, she told herself look at her again even in your mind’s eye or she will climb inside.
This is no dream – it’s real.
Think of other things…think, think, think, for Christ’s sake.
After an hour, with chattering teeth and dizzy with tiredness, she slid tentatively under the covers and pulled them over her head.
What if something tugs at the sheets, though? Or strokes my hair? No, no, stop the thoughts…stop them…stop them now. Or whispers in my ear? Taps my shoulder…Oh, God…I have to stop these thoughts. I’m going to go mad…
In desperation she threw back the covers and rummaged in the top drawer for an anti-histamine tablet, which usually did the trick of knocking her for six in about half an hour; then pulled the blankets back over her head, curled into a tight ball and deliberately decorated the entire cottage in her imagination.
The hours must have passed, albeit in a half-awake, half asleep kind of way, because the phone ringing jolted her awake and the birds were twittering. For a moment, disorientated, she struggled to recall where she was. The mists of early dawn had crept into the room like silent ghosts and
on the bedside cabinet her mobile was furiously vibrating. Stretching out a hand she picked it up. It was four in the morning.
“Toby?” it sounded as if he was crying. “Toby, what on earth is it?”
“Becky, something’s badly wrong with Amy and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”
She gripped the handset, barely registering what he was saying.
It was misty in the room.
Misty with no lights on.
She had never switched them off.
***
Chapter Sixteen
Drummersgate
Noel was coming off the night shift when Becky walked onto the ward next morning.
“Jesus wept, Becky, you look like shit.”
“Ah thanks, aren’t you lovely?”
He preceded her into the office for the handover meeting, holding open the door. “Can’t you sleep? Do you think you should be working? We can get Sandi to take over now if you want.”
“No! No, I’m fine. Sorry, that sounded snappy. I need a coffee, that’s all. So for the love of God would you please put the kettle on?”
“Well, you don’t look fine.”
“Nor do you. In fact you look like the walking dead – a zombie fresh from the crypt…no, wait…a vampire ready for its coffin–”
“Alright, I get the picture.” Noel switched on the kettle, keeping his back to her, praying she hadn’t caught a whiff of the whisky on his breath. Thank God for Red Bull and spearmint gum, not to mention the uppers bought outside a club the other night. Dodgy ground, really seriously, sackably dodgy. “You know I’ve always struggled with nights,” he said. “I’ve never been able to sleep in the day. Anyway, that means I can’t be a vampire, can I?”
She smiled, taking the mug of steaming coffee from him. “Thanks. Yeah, that’s something I’m not going to miss for sure – bloody night shifts.”
She took a sip, watching him slump into a chair by the desk. “You’re still drinking, aren’t you? You can’t get past me you know? Are things no better?”
He looked up, bleary eyed, his face grey. “What? I just had one before I came in last night–”
“One? Who are you kidding? I’m going to have to open a window – fumes are coming off you so strongly if I had a match we’d all combust. Noel, if this was anybody else I’d be on the phone right now but I’ve known you a long time and you’re one of the best nurses I’ve ever worked with, not to mention my closest friend. For goodness’ sake, get yourself home and not on that suicide bike either. Call a taxi and get gone. Are you on tonight?”
“No.”
“Good. Right then – go now before anyone else sees you, or worse still gets a whiff. You need help and you mustn’t come back until you’ve got it. I’m saying this as your best friend.”
One of the buzzers was sounding on the ward and she fixed him with one of her notorious stares. “Noel, I owe you my life, and it’s because I understand exactly what you’re going through that I know you need to go and see Harry. Now. Today. Because it’s my guess there’s no doctor on earth who can help you with what you’ve got – and believe me it will get worse and it won’t go away. If it’s any consolation, and by that I mean you’re not losing your mind, there are things happening to me too.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Like?”
“No time, I’ll fill you in later. That old baggage, Brent, will be in soon for a ward inspection and she can’t see you like this. Go on now, please.” She bustled him out of the door and once in the corridor, locked it behind them. “I’ll get agency staff to cover – now go.”
He watched her scurrying towards the buzzing light, shame washing through him. With Becky off soon on maternity leave, this ward would need him, or Sandi would be left in charge…and there was something about that woman…he ran his hands through the lank strands of his hair and tied it back with an elastic band before turning on his heels for the stairs.
“Will you ring a taxi for me, mate?” he shouted to the security guard. “I’ll be ten minutes – just getting changed.”
***
There was no point going home to try and sleep – it never came – and if it did it was fitful. The taxi trundled over moorland still blanketed in an early morning haze. He ought to be powering across here on his bike not sitting in the back of a cab feeling sick and empty with a throbbing head. He must look awful too – sunken-eyed with days of stubble. Becky was right, he had to get this sorted.
“Drop me in Doncaster, will you, mate?” he shouted to the driver. “Wellbeck Road.”
The driver nodded, obviously not one of life’s talkers. Well, good. Noel leaned back and closed his eyes. Harry had said to drop in anytime, but it had been eight months, nearly nine, since they’d last seen each other. Pray to God he would still be at the same address.
He must have dozed because when his head lolled onto his shoulder, it was to jolt him into a world of too bright colours and too loud voices. Someone was shouting, “Eleven pound fifty, pal!” A stream of cool air wafted onto his face and he blinked repeatedly, momentarily confused. A ruddy-faced man with a beer belly and a grey beard was standing with the door open, holding his hand out for money. “I’m stopping ’ere for breakfast.”
“Oh, right, yeah, sorry.” Reaching down into his pockets for cash he almost fell out of the car, and for a good few seconds afterwards, stood in the street trying to recall where the hell he was. God, yeah, Harry…
Cars were fizzling past, the chilly air a mix of exhaust fumes and fried food. As he walked he rubbed his face to force colour into his skin, and chewed a fresh roll of gum. He really had no right turning up like this first thing in the morning, or at any time without so much as a phone call, but if he didn’t go with this now, he never would. Oh dear God… The nerves quivered inside his stomach. Will Harry understand? Will he be able to help me? Why did I let this get so bad?
Desperation drove him on and ten minutes later he was standing outside the address Harry had given him, ringing the bell before he could change his mind.
The terrace was the only one not occupied by students by the look of it, with the curtains open and an absence of weeds and piled-up rubbish at the front. Sturdily built houses lined either side of the street: handsome Victorian terraces with sash windows and high ceilings that would make comfortable family homes if they weren’t on a busy thoroughfare jammed with parked cars, book-ended with fast food outlets and noisy at night with thumping music.
A strange choice for a man like Harry. Noel looked around as he waited on the top step. Well, it was near the church, he supposed, so at least it was convenient. Or maybe just temporary? Anyway, no one was in so he might as well just go now, thank you…
Harry swung the door open still holding a towel and a toothbrush. “Good grief. Noel, isn’t it? Long-time no see… Come in, come in…How are you?”
“Hi, Harry! I’m so sorry to just turn up like this.”
“Not at all, not at all.” He gestured towards his state of undress. “Look, just go through to the kitchen, will you? Pop the kettle on and make yourself at home – I’ll be with you in two ticks.”
“Sure, no worries. Thank you.”
Funny that. Harry hadn’t missed a beat.
After filling the kettle he waited as instructed, while the other man clambered about upstairs. The back garden stretched out in a long, narrow strip of grass, droplets of dew sparkling in the early morning brightness, and at the end of the lawn lay a small orchard, windfalls scattered around the apple trees just waiting for kids to scale the fence and grab them. Pity they didn’t, it seemed a waste.
“Now then,” said Harry, striding into the kitchen. “I need breakfast, I don’t know about you? Ah good, you’ve boiled the kettle.”
Noel nodded, suddenly famished. “Thanks, that’d be great – only if it’s no trouble, though?”
“Not at all.” Harry set about pouring juice, frying bacon and eggs, microwaving waffles and making coffee. “I never know when I’m go
ing to eat next, so I start the day well,” he said, rummaging for cutlery and plates.
Harry, it seemed, was an expert at multi-tasking and in a whirl of admirable domesticity plonked an English breakfast in front of him in no time. “Get stuck in, you look like you need it.”
God, did he ever? It was like he hadn’t eaten properly in months, hadn’t nourished himself, taken care of his health, his body or his happiness. The sorrow welled up inside as he finished and pushed his plate away. He could have cried.
Harry was watching him. “Better?”
“Guess I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”
“Have some more toast. Help yourself. Then in your own time tell me what’s been happening to you, Noel. I’m going to need all of it, I’m afraid.”
Signs of life began to stir around them - a radio was flicked on in the adjoining terrace, someone dropped a leaflet through the front door, and a car door banged in the street.
Still Noel stared into his coffee, not knowing where to start. “Harry, I…I…just don’t feel well,” he stuttered. “I’m drinking. I can’t sleep. I get night terrors like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve tried to block it out. I’ve done everything I can think of but it’s getting a whole lot worse.”
“And drink isn’t the answer, is it? In fact, isn’t it making it worse?”
Noel looked out of the window. “I can’t go on like this.”
“No, of course you can’t.”
His eyes burned with tiredness. Squeezing them shut so he didn’t have to see his shame reflected in the other man’s face, the truth burst out. “I know it’s just fear talking, Harry, I do know that it can’t be real, but there’s nothing I can do to stop these bloody nightmares coming, except to stay awake. I go to bars – gay bars in Leeds – I’ve even taken coke just to keep me upright. And turned up for work straight after. Claire and one or two of the others have noticed I smell of booze, I can see it in their eyes–”
Magda: A Darkly Disturbing Occult Horror Trilogy - Book 3 Page 11
