by Cat Knight
“Even if there is something – a ghost – in this house, how can it harm Josh when he is miles away?”
Elizabeth raised the mug to her lips with a shaking hand. It was a reasonable point and she wanted to believe it.
“And you know he is okay. Nothing has happened to him since he’s been away, has it? Nothing to cause any alarm?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not that he’s told me about, anyway.”
“You see! And if anything did want to harm him, surely it would have done so already? You have all been living here for years, no?”
It was the same thing Elizabeth had told herself time after time. But it still didn’t answer the question: why was all this happening now?
Sophia was intent on examining her fingernails and Elizabeth wondered what was coming next. “We need to find out what is going on here, Elizabeth. I want you to hear me out. I have a suggestion…”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elizabeth watched from the front door as the beige coloured people carrier pulled up. Sophia was already walking to the vehicle, shaking the hand of the driver as he emerged. He didn’t look like a tabloid journalist but then, what had she expected? A tatty waterproof and a flat cap? This man wore dark jeans and a t-shirt with a jumper over the top, casual but expensive-looking. Evidently there was more money than she might have imagined in being what Sophia had called “a specialist in tales of paranormal activity”.
Getting out of the rear of the vehicle was a second man – she guessed from the bag slung across his broad shoulders he was the cameraman.
Standing a little way apart, and a woman gazing up at the house with a dreamy expression. She was wearing a long, floaty skirt and some kind of turban on her head. Elizabeth repressed a groan: clearly, this was the medium.
The first man had seen her and with a smile he advanced on the house. He reached her with hand outstretched. “Jay. Jay Gillespie, Mrs Peters. May I call you Elizabeth?”
She nodded but he was already turning to the others.
“This is my cameraman, Marcus, and this…” he waved forward the woman in the turban, “Is Mystic Marjorie.”
Elizabeth raised an involuntary eyebrow as the woman grasped her hand. “Just Marjorie will do. I’m sure we’re going to be great friends.”
I’m really not sure we are. Elizabeth looked away, but Sophia caught her eye. “Jay and his team have successfully investigated scores of cases like yours, Elizabeth. Really, you are in safe hands.”
“Of course.” She said, stepping back to let them in. “Perhaps we can have coffee first and you can tell me how this all works.”
They sat around the kitchen table as Jay set out his stall. His patter sounded rehearsed to Elizabeth but then, why not? Sophia had said they’d done this kind of thing before.
They certainly had plenty of equipment – infra red video cameras, thermometers and recording devices so sensitive, according to Jay, “That if a mouse farts, they’ll capture it.”
“Lovely,” replied Elizabeth.
Later, when Jay had finished asking her about what he called the “disturbances” and Marjorie had clasped her hand again and assured her she would “bring peace to this house”. Elizabeth left them to set up their equipment and escaped to her study.
A moment afterwards Sophia stuck her head around the door.
“I know he’s crass,” she said, “But really, he knows what he’s doing.” Elizabeth nodded and she smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them. You just stay here and get on with that bestseller.”
The head withdrew and Elizabeth was left alone. At least, she told herself, there was no need for the radio today; the noise they were making was enough to scare any ghost back to the other side.
She opened her laptop. Now, where was she?
An hour later she ventured out to get a glass of water. A faint murmur of voices came from the kitchen and something about their hushed tones made her pause outside and listen.
“I was surprised to get your call.” It was Jay. “I didn’t think you believed in this kind of thing. What was it you called my last piece? ‘Pulp fiction for the credulous.’”
“But of course, that’s what it is.” Elizabeth frowned. What the hell was Sophia playing at? “Still, that is no reason not to let you in on this. Elizabeth believes the ghost is real. I expect you to do – whatever it is you do – and set her mind at rest.”
“And what do you believe, Sophia?”
“The timing is no coincidence. Her son leaves home, she misses him, no? She is alone. She wants attention…”
Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face, her nails digging into the palms of her hands.
“…I’m not saying it is, how you would say, calculated. It could be an invention of her subconscious mind. I say only that it is not real.”
“So, what’s in this for you?”
“I wish only to help my friend.” A pause, then, “And of course, many women struggle to adjust when their children leave home. They call it ‘empty nest syndrome.’”
Jay laughs. “And you’re going to write about it.”
Elizabeth heard the smile in Sophia’s voice. “And I’m going to write about it.”
Chapter Six
Elizabeth stood outside the kitchen door, shaking in humiliation and rage. She should go in there, order the lot of them to leave right now. How dare Sophia use her like this, pretending she believed her when all the time she was planning to write some insulting article about how deluded she was?
From down the hallway a telephone rang.
For a moment she stood there, unable to move; but the sound of footsteps crossing the kitchen had her turning and striding down the hall. She snatched the phone from its stand.
“Hello?”
“Elizabeth.” It was Daniel – and he only ever used her full name when she was in trouble. “What the hell have you been doing?”
Her mind raced. Had he somehow found out about Jay and Marjorie? She played for time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Harassing our son.”
“Harassing him?” Her hand tightened on the receiver. “Daniel, I just rang him to check he was alright.”
“Like you’ve done every single day since he got there. That’s right, isn’t it?” His sigh carried down the line. “He said you woke him up. He has to sleep, Elizabeth. You’re going to interfere with his studies.”
She began to argue, but her throat tightened with tears. Perhaps Daniel heard the choke in her voice, because when he spoke again his tone was gentle. “Look, I know this has been hard on you, but you can’t carry on like this. Why don’t we get away somewhere this weekend? Get a change of scene.”
The thought of being away from the house was intoxicating. “I’d like that.”
“Let’s do it then. Book something extravagant and we’ll treat ourselves – just you and me.” He paused, then, “I love you, Lizzie.”
“I love you too.” Elizabeth put down the phone and returned to the study, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. Her anger at Sophia had evaporated. It was time to be truthful with herself.
If the house were really haunted, why had the ghost only appeared now? Why was Elizabeth the only person to have seen or heard her? Why did she appear as a woman her own age, weeping at a window? And why was she fixated on Josh? Wasn’t Sophia’s explanation really the most likely one? It was obviously what Daniel was thinking too: that Elizabeth had been dreading her son leaving for university and was now inventing some vague danger to get him to return.
What was it Sophia had said?
That she might be doing it subconsciously.
She couldn’t discount that possibility.
And what was more likely, after all? That her mind had responded to a traumatic change by seeking a way to reverse it, or that the ghost of a Victorian woman was haunting her home?
And now she had Jay and Marcus and Mystic Marjorie to contend with. Well, she had brought it on
herself. She would let them go through with whatever experiments they had planned and then send them on their way.
A weekend with Daniel was just what she needed; she’d book a city break, somewhere with lights and people, a place where she could clear her mind of all this nonsense.
Then she’d come home and everything would get back to normal.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Elizabeth?” Sophia crouched at the side of the chair where Elizabeth sat, her hands placed on the surface of the round table as Jay had instructed.
“It’s fine, really. I just want to get it over with.”
Directly across from her, Marjorie sat with her eyes closed. To one side, Marcus stood behind a tripod, fiddling with the settings of a camera. He nodded to Jay, who cleared his throat.
“Right, we’re all set. Take your places everyone.”
Sophia took the seat on Elizabeth’s left while Marcus took the one on her right. On his other side sat Marjorie, with Jay completing the circle between Marjorie and Sophia.
Elizabeth glanced up at the drawing room window. It was dark outside and someone had drawn the curtains.
She was certain by now that she’d imagined the woman in the blue dress, but still… it was relief there’d be no more reflections in the glass that night.
She had expected Marjorie to take charge of proceedings once everyone had sat down, but it was Jay who continued to speak. “As you know, we’re here to investigate the mysterious case of the Lady in Blue.” Somehow, he managed to enunciate the capital letters. “Mystic Marjorie will commune with the spirit and ask her why she has not been able to move to the next plane.”
Elizabeth fought a sudden urge to giggle. She supposed it must be nerves. Jay glanced at her sharply and she lowered her eyes to the table.
“Marcus,” he continued, “The lights, if you please.” Marcus reached out with a remote control and a set of lights on a tall stand next to the fireplace dimmed, painting shadows on the faces of those around the table. Beside her, Elizabeth felt Sophia shiver.
“I would ask you now to take the hands of those next to you to form a circle. Whatever happens, do not break the circle until you are instructed to do so.” Jay looked around at them sternly and Elizabeth had the sudden strong impression that this was all an act, a piece of theatre. Well, what had she expected after all?
He turned to his left. “Marjorie, over to you.”
Slowly, Marjorie raised her head. She had done her make-up, Elizabeth noted, and dark lines of eyeliner gave her a cat-like appearance. She began to speak, but Elizabeth was only half-listening. “Is there a spirit here who wishes to speak to us?”
It was hot in the room – wasn’t it supposed to get cold when there were ghosts around? Elizabeth wanted to lift the neck of her t-shirt away from her skin, but her hands were held by Sophia and Marcus. If only she had something cool to spray herself with…
“Are you there, Blue Lady?” Marjorie intoned.
The scent of lavender wafted through her senses. Some-one was wearing it, she could smell it. Maybe it was that woman over there by the window. She was coming towards her now.
“Elizabeth, are you alright?”
Sophia was looking at her anxiously, but she was too hot to answer. Her brain had turned fuzzy.
“Elizabeth? What’s wrong?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but the voice that came out wasn’t her own. “Where is my son?” it said, “What have you done with my son?”
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth stood at the door, watching as the people carrier pulled away, Sophia’s car following close behind. For seasoned ghost hunters, they’d been remarkably keen to leave after the “Blue Lady” had spoken. Even Sophia, all thought of a story forgotten, had clutched Elizabeth’s arm at the door and begged her to leave with them.
None of them had understood that it was impossible for her now to go. None of them knew what was so clear to Elizabeth: the Blue Lady wasn’t a threat. She was just a mother frightened for her son.
She supposed she should have been terrified by what had happened to her: feeling another mind inside her own, hearing another voice from her lips. Instead it had been almost a relief, for she was sure now she understood what was happening.
The ghost was confused; she thought that Josh was her own son. The terror that had been Elizabeth’s constant companion was an echo of the Blue Lady’s fear. It wasn’t Josh who was in danger; it was some other boy, long ago.
And she knew now what she had to do.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The vicarage was an old, stone cottage, square-fronted and covered with ivy. Elizabeth had driven past it many times on the way into town, but this was the first time she’d stood at its front door. She reached out and tugged the old-fashioned bell pull, and a reassuring tinkle echoed inside the house.
A moment later the door was opened by a motherly woman with grey hair and smiling eyes. “Mrs Peters, isn’t it? Do come in. Ralph is waiting for you in the study.”
She followed the woman along a short corridor where a smell of beeswax and roses mingled pleasantly. A door opened up on the left and the woman stood back and nodded for her to enter.
“Ah, Mrs Peters.” The vicar got to his feet. He was tall and thin, perhaps no more than forty; younger than she had expected. “Can I offer you something, tea perhaps?”
“No, thank you. And please, it’s Elizabeth.”
“Well, Elizabeth then.” He sat back down and gestured to an armchair opposite. “Please take a seat.”
“Reverend Matthews…”
“Oh no, we can’t have that! All my parishioners call me Ralph.”
Elizabeth smiled, though the information didn’t please her. Was he really a serious man, she wondered? Would he take her seriously? But he looked kind, and surely that was a start. She said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t very clear what I wanted when I rang.”
She waited, but he didn’t contradict her. “You see it’s the kind of thing I wanted to talk to you about in person.”
He was looking at her with interest now. “Go on.”
Throughout the drive to the vicarage she’d tried to rehearse what to say, but nothing had seemed right.
Now she took a breath and said, “My house is haunted. I need you to perform an exorcism.”
He leaned back and slapped his thigh in mirth. “Very good!”
“Reverend Matthews – Ralph. I’m quite serious.” He stopped laughing and fidgeted uncomfortably.
“Yes, yes. I can see that you are. But what makes you think that, that – er…”
“That my house is haunted? I’ve seen the ghost and spoken to her.” She spoke through me. But no, that would mean telling him about the séance, and she didn’t think that was the kind of thing of which a vicar would approve.
He shifted again on his seat. “Really…” He looked lost. Then, “You live at the house on the cliff, don’t you? Seaview.”
She nodded eagerly. “Have you heard anything about it? Have there been stories – before now, I mean?”
“Ha! Well, there are always stories about old houses…”
“Then you have heard something? Tell me, please.”
He sighed and clasped his hands around his knee. “I really don’t think that would be helpful, Mrs Peters.” His tone told her it wasn’t worth asking him again to call her Elizabeth. “Your husband works in London during the week, I believe?”
Elizabeth frowned and he held up his hand. “I wouldn’t call it gossip, Mrs Peters, just the interest of a small town.”
He inspected her over his glasses. “And your son, Josh isn’t it? He’s just left for university?”
“That’s right.” Her lips tightened. She knew where this was going.
“It must be difficult, I understand, living on your own much of the time, and without neighbours nearby.”
“That has nothing to do with it…”
“Have you thought about volunteering? Mrs W
illiams always welcomes people helping with the church flowers.”
Elizabeth got to her feet. “I need an exorcism. Will you help me or not?”
He sighed. “Really, Mrs Peters, this isn’t a film, you know. It’s that kind of hocus-pocus that gives the Church a bad name.” He stood and wiped his hands on his trousers. “The best advice I can give you is to pray on the matter. And do think about what I’ve said. There’s no shame in finding it challenging to cope on your own.”
Elizabeth smiled stiffly. “Thank you. I’ll show myself out.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elizabeth put down the phone in satisfaction, Daniel had been pleased that she’d booked a hotel in York for the weekend.
He hadn’t argued when she’d suggested it would be easiest for him to drive straight there. “There’s no point,” she’d said, “In you coming all this way only to turn around and drive half-way across country again.”
“What time will you be there?”
She kept her tone light. “I thought I might come up first thing tomorrow. I’m finally getting into my flow and I want to finish this chapter.”
He laughed. “Far be it for me to come between the writer and her muse! Fair enough, but get up early and we can have brunch together.”
So now she had the house to herself until tomorrow. Somehow, she was certain that would give her all the time she needed.
Up in the bedroom she searched her wardrobe for something suitable. No blue dresses of the correct shade, but there on a hanger was a long duck blue skirt. She pulled it on and then exchanged her t-shirt for a white blouse with a high collar and ruffles down the front; she’d kept meaning to give to the charity shop but hadn’t got around to it.
In the bathroom mirror she pulled her dark hair off her face and secured it in a bun at the nape of her neck.
She stared at her reflection, and for a moment the tiredness in her face shocked her. There were shadows under her eyes and her cheeks were hollow. Yes, she looked like her. But there was something missing. What was it?
She opened the bathroom cabinet and took out a glass bottle, lifting out the stopper and dabbing the contents to her wrists. The lavender water was cool against her skin.
