He takes a deep breath, and hauls himself back onto the grass. His eyes dart around the area, stare into the watchful darkness. There’s nobody about that he can see.
Panting, he sits on the damp grass, trying to catch his breath, rubbing wet hands on his jacket. Suddenly, a string of lights break free from the patio, one end spiralling in the wind, casting light across the trees – the other end still attached to the building. A flash of yellow streaks through the air; carried fifteen feet off the ground, towards the cliff edge. It twists and turns, floating like a phantom. Leon rises to his feet, his heart thumping as he takes off back towards the house, the wind buffeting him from every side. He’s never felt so scared.
Alice
For the last ten minutes, Christine has waffled and bungled her way through the tour, but apart from Lori, who, complaining of a headache, went to her room almost immediately, everyone, even Mitch, has been far too polite to leave the struggling woman, whose short hair now stands on end due to constant run-throughs with her anxious fingers.
As they make their way along an upper floor, an area narrower than the floor below, Alice’s legs weaken. She stops, leans against the wall, a heavy feeling of foreboding pressing down on her.
Faith darts back. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, just a bit dizzy.’ But it’s far from true. A feeling of claustrophobia as they got higher and higher into the house has consumed her, taken her breath away.
Christine and Mitch turn the corner at the end of the hallway, seeming oblivious to her wobble, but Faith stays, concern in her eyes. ‘Take my arm,’ she says.
Alice pulls away from the safety of the wall, and links her arm through Faith’s. They carry on, following Christine, despite her father’s voice inside Alice’s head shouting for her to turn back.
‘I think this must be a photo of Felix’s children,’ Christine is saying when Alice and Faith catch up.
Alice takes in the black and white study of a boy and girl. The girl is taller, bigger built than the skinny boy – but they look to be around eight or nine. They are standing, hand in hand, faces pale and solemn. Could the boy be her father?
Another staircase leads to a further floor. Alice grips Faith’s arm. ‘The attic room’s up there,’ she whispers, hearing her voice tremble.
‘That’s right,’ Christine says, her eyes widening behind her glasses. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Kind of obvious, wouldn’t you say?’ Mitch rolls his eyes. ‘It’s at the top of the house. Duh!’
But he’s wrong. Alice knows because she’s been in the attic room. She knows she has. It’s painted muddy brown. The carpet is grass green. Outside inside. Her heart picks up speed, her throat dries. She doesn’t want to go up there, where two brass dogs guard.
‘You’re in for a creepy treat with this room,’ Christine is saying, taking a brass key from her cardigan pocket, and making her way up the stairs. And now Faith is following, pulling Alice with her, and she can see the red door, the door of her nightmares. Mitch is behind Alice, and Alice’s pulse is racing, her legs trembling. What is this feeling? Fear?
‘This room has been left exactly as it was when Mr Patterson bought the house,’ Christine reads from the clipboard. She pushes the key into the lock of the red door. ‘When I first saw it – well I’m not going to lie, it gave me chills,’ she goes on, turning the key, and easing the door open. She reaches in as if searching for the light switch. ‘I can’t wait for you to see it.’
Chapter 17
1981
Verity
Penny and Rowan Campbell were OK. They were in their mid-forties, with no children of their own, but a lot of love to give. In fact, six months after leaving Flynn House, Verity and Hugh’s life was almost bearable, even veering towards normal.
They lived in the couple’s five-bed detached house in Bristol – an alien experience at first. Penny and Rowan could sometimes foster up to six children at a time, and some were quite rowdy. Mealtimes were chaotic, and Verity would hold Hugh’s hand under the table, while the other children bombarded them with questions: So, your dad disappeared? So, you lived on an island? Is it true your dad was on the stage in London? He was a magician? On the TV? Bloody hell, that’s amazing!
Felix still hadn’t been found, and Verity was glad of that. But she understood enough to know his house and money weren’t coming to her and Hugh any time soon. It would be tied up for seven years at least, the solicitor had told her, ‘or until Felix turns up.’
Going to school for the first time had taken its toll on Hugh at first, but Verity coped well. She had the strength of character that other children feared. She protected Hugh, like she had done all her life. It was clear to teachers that both children were intelligent beyond their years, but Verity was less focused, with a sudden desire to paint, always using Hugh as her model.
‘Do you think they are a bit too close?’ Verity heard Penny say to Rowan one evening. She had left her room to grab a drink from the kitchen, and been about to enter when she heard their hushed voices. ‘She’s always painting pictures of him, Rowan. I just find it all a bit … well … I don’t know exactly.’
‘They’ve had a weird upbringing, love,’ Rowan said over the sound of clanking plates and glasses. And through the crack in the door, Verity could see them washing up. ‘They’re bound to be close. Need each other, even now. Give the kids time.’
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Penny dashed her fair hair from her face, her round cheeks flushed as she swirled a glass around in the bubbles. ‘They’re nice enough kids, they really are. I’m probably over-reacting.’
‘And he’s so polite.’
She looked at her husband. ‘Yes! Scarily so at times – he doesn’t seem to have any, I don’t know, strength. It’s as though he’s had the life sucked out of him, poor lamb.’
‘His father knocked it out of him from what I can make out. Felix Flynn was an evil man.’
Penny nodded. ‘I still think Verity smothers the boy; he doesn’t seem to be able to escape her to become his own person.’
‘Maybe I’ll take him out at the weekend without her. We could kick a ball about. Perhaps go for a burger.’ Rowan loved his sport and watched a lot of football on the TV.
‘He doesn’t look like a footballer to me.’ Penny laughed. She laughed about Hugh. ‘But it’s a good idea. I’ll try to keep Verity occupied.’
‘Well, there’s no harm in trying, is there?’
‘No. It will do him good to get away from his sister for a bit.’
*
It was midnight when Verity and Hugh left the house, their bags packed.
‘I don’t get why we’re leaving,’ Hugh said, as they crept down the path. ‘I like Penny and Rowan. I like it here.’
‘We can’t stay. They’re going to try and separate us, Hugh,’ she whispered. ‘You wouldn’t want that, would you?’
‘No … but.’ He looked over his shoulder as they padded down the road. ‘Where are we going, Verity? They were so kind to us.’
She grabbed his hand. Pulled him along. ‘I’ll work something out, Hugh. I always do.’
Chapter 18
Halloween Weekend 2019
Alice
‘Alice! Alice! Christine!’ It’s Leon, his panicked voice growing louder, echoing through the hotel, the closer he gets.
Christine’s eyes dart to the hallway below. She pulls her arm from within the attic room, and without turning on the light, snaps the door closed, and locks it.
Alice is relieved she hasn’t got to face whatever’s inside, for now at least, but her stomach knots. She’s worried about Leon.
He appears at the foot of the eight-stepped, narrow staircase, bends over breathless, eyes staring up at them, wide and watery. His clothes are muddy and soaked, his jacket dotted with blood.
‘Oh, God, Leon,’ Alice cries.
‘What happened?’ Christine says, as they move together down the staircase towards him, and congregate on the l
ower landing.
‘Leon?’ Alice puts her arms around him, can feel his heart pounding, his erratic breathing. His forehead shimmers with sweat; his hands are scratched and bleeding.
‘I almost fell from the cliff.’ His voice is raspy. ‘I think the wind pushed me—’
‘You think?’ Alice says.
‘Yes … it’s strong out there.’ He lowers his head. ‘Is anyone else here?’ he asks Christine. ‘Anyone else in the building, on the island?’
‘Mr Patterson’s at the cottage, and Gabriela is in the bar, and there’s Lori, of course, and Dane and Savannah Winslow, but I think they’re in their rooms.’ She’s talking too fast, her cheeks pink. ‘Other than that, it’s just us chickens.’
Leon shakes his head, looking at each of them in turn. ‘I saw something out there. I don’t know, it was ghostlike, somehow.’
Mitch guffaws, the sound inappropriately loud. ‘What? You’re kidding me, right?’
Leon shakes his head, and takes a breath, clearly narked at being doubted. ‘I definitely saw something. Something yellow.’
‘Ghosts aren’t yellow, are they?’ Faith says.
‘There’s no such thing as ghosts, Faith.’ Mitch slaps his hand on his forehead, shakes his head. ‘Sometimes you can be so stupid.’
Alice attempts to meet Faith’s eye, but her friend seems unfazed by Mitch. Her self-worth must be so low to put up with him, and Alice is angry with herself for not seeing that before. Too wrapped up in her own sadness after her father died to see her friend might need her. She will make it up to Faith. She will get her away from this idiot.
‘I didn’t say it was a ghost,’ Leon says. ‘I don’t know what it was, but I definitely saw something out there.’ A pause. ‘Maybe we should check it out.’
‘Wait, I’ll grab Shaggy and Scooby,’ Mitch says with a laugh, ‘and I’ll be right with you.’
‘Stop it, please, Mitch,’ Alice says, as Leon wipes his face with the back of his hand. ‘Can’t you see he’s had an awful experience out there?’
‘Well that’s as may be, but it ain’t no ghost.’
‘I agree, but Leon’s seen something. Someone needs to go out there with him and put his mind at rest.’
‘Well don’t look at me, Alice.’ Mitch splays his hands and widens his eyes.
‘Why not? It can be a real-life live-action role-play.’ Alice says, fed up with biting her tongue where this moron is concerned. ‘It may even make you feel like a real man.’
‘Don’t take the piss,’ Mitch snaps. ‘I mean what do you actually do with your life, eh? Faith says you’ve been stuck in your daddy’s house for months doing sod all since he died.’
‘Enough!’ Leon yells, glaring at Mitch.
‘I didn’t say it like that, Alice,’ Faith says, her eyes darting from Mitch to Alice. ‘I said I was worried about you, is all.’
‘It’s fine,’ Alice says. But it’s far from it. She’s beginning to dislike Mitch with a passion.
‘Whatever I saw out there,’ Leon says, running his hand over his chin, ‘seemed to disappear over the cliff.’
‘We should go out there,’ Alice says. ‘I’ll come with you.’ She moves away from everyone. ‘I’ll grab my coat from our room.’
‘Thanks,’ Leon says. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in reception.’
As she heads away, Mitch gives a little cough and says, ‘Well as the only bloke with any balls around here, I guess I’d better come too.’
*
Alice closes the door behind her, and places her handbag on the bedside table. She leans against the door for a few moments, eyes closed, wishing she were back in her bedroom at Butterfly Cottage, looking out over Whitby.
She takes a deep breath. Leon’s odd experience, on top of the fact the hotel is evoking a strange kind of déjà vu, hasn’t helped. But she mustn’t let it get under her skin, play with her mind – she needs to keep calm. Not knowing about her past, her father’s past, has been a stumbling block all her life, and this place holds the secrets – she knows it does.
She flicks on the light, notices the window is open, and moves across the room to close it. She turns, about to grab her coat.
‘Christ!’ she cries, leaping backwards. Perched on one of the pillows is a ventriloquist’s doll. Its black, oily hair is combed back from its painted face; a red bow tie is attached to a black shirt. It looks familiar somehow. And there’s something else that sends a shiver down her spine – the puppet has no feet.
Leon
Christine supplied Leon with a couple of heavy-duty torches, and disappeared into the kitchen, Faith headed into the bar – needing a drink. He’s alone in reception, keen to get outside and discover what he saw, adrenaline masking his fear and exhaustion.
His eyes travel over the endless black and white photographs of Felix Flynn. The display says a fair bit about Felix the celebrity. He was clearly talented, a popular act, but it says little about the man behind that persona. Leon peers closer, into the man’s dark, emotionless eyes. Christine said he disappeared years ago, and Leon works out that if he is still alive, he would be in his late seventies, early eighties, perhaps.
In the corridor that leads to the front exit, the lounge door stands open – the mesmerising, creepy John Carpenter theme tune of the Seventies’ Halloween film escaping the room, making him shudder. Leon saw the film a long time ago. Michael Myers, the memorable, chilling killer, had given him no end of sleepless nights as a teenager. He walks over to the door, glances in the room at the forty-inch TV surrounded by empty sofas and chairs, and slams the door closed. He’s freaked out enough right now, without a horror film making things worse.
He pads over to the pink sofa, perches on the edge, waiting, the streak of yellow floating in the wind playing on his mind. Get a grip, Leon.
Fast-paced footsteps carry above his head, and Alice appears at the top of the curving staircase, her Parka draped over her arm, eyes wide, face pale.
‘Hey.’ He rises, as she dashes down the stairs and into his arms. She’s shaking, her heart beating fast against his chest. ‘What’s happened? Are you OK?’
Before she can speak, Mitch appears, and thumps down the staircase two at a time in heavy, battered black boots, while zipping his lime-green waterproof up to his neck. He lifts the hood over his hair, now tied in a stumpy ponytail.
‘What’s up with her?’ he says to Leon, as though Alice is invisible. ‘If she’s got the wobbles, it might be best if she stays behind with the rest of the girlies.’
‘I’m fine.’ Alice pulls away from Leon, and glares at Mitch, who shrugs, the fabric of his jacket squeaking as he lifts his shoulders. ‘In fact, we should go. Now!’
Alice
Alice pulls on her coat, as she leads the way to the main exit and out into the darkness, pushing thoughts of the strange puppet from her mind. She will tell Leon, but now’s not a good time.
Leon flicks on one of the torches, hands one to Alice who does the same. ‘Let’s go to the garden first. That’s where I first saw the … well whatever it was.’ He makes his way to the front of the house. Alice and Mitch follow.
Once there, Leon points his torch towards the fence. ‘That’s where I went over.’
‘Oh, Leon,’ Alice says, taking hold of his arm. ‘You could have … are you sure you’re OK?’
He nods. ‘Yeah, but let’s keep away from the edge. The fence is flattened in parts and it’s a sheer drop.’ He glances towards the tall trees swaying, moaning in the wind, and shudders.
‘Let’s take a look,’ Mitch says, stepping out across the lawn.
‘What part of stay away from the edge do you not understand, Mitch?’
He stops and turns back to Leon and Alice, a gust of wind catching inside his hood, making it appear like a bright green balloon at the back of his head. ‘Fine,’ he says.
‘We should head down to the sea,’ Alice says. ‘Whatever it was, it will be down there somewhere.’
They leave the
garden, and make their way down the hill, wind bashing against them, stinging rain coating their faces as they head towards the jetty, where pumpkins are scattered, smashed by the wind.
‘Where’s the boat?’ Alice says, her eyes widening.
‘Yeah, I noticed that earlier.’ Leon casts his torch across the choppy sea. The boat they’d come in on is further out now, a child’s toy on the horizon.
‘It must have come free in the wind,’ Mitch says, and laughs. ‘Looks like we’re stuck here until midday tomorrow.’
Alice stares at Mitch for a moment, wondering why he finds everything so amusing. She moves her gaze to Leon, who looks up towards the hotel. Aims his torch.
‘There’s the flattened wire fencing where I fell.’ He lowers the torch. ‘Whatever went over the cliff will be round this bend,’ he cries over the wind.
‘Hang on.’ Mitch hurries towards a shed. He drags open the door, and disappears inside, returning with three boat oars. ‘If there’s a ghost out there, we need to be armed.’
‘You can’t kill a ghost,’ Leon says.
Alice wraps her arms around herself. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’
A memory flashes in. She’s playing on a swing in a garden she doesn’t recognise – it’s not Whitby, not Seafield Island. Her father watches, smiling from an upstairs window. A woman stares from the foot of the sweeping garden, too far away to see clearly. Suddenly her father appears at the back door, pulls her from the swing.
‘Who is that?’ she cries, looking over her shoulder as he pulls her inside the house, but the figure has gone.
‘You imagined it, Alice,’ he says. ‘Nobody knows where we live.’
The memory dissolves, leaving way for the noise of the sea crashing against the rocks loud in her ears.
‘Fine, if you don’t want one.’ Mitch goes to throw two of the oars to the ground, his face barely visible in the folds of his hood.
‘I never said that.’ Leon takes two from him, hands one to Alice. ‘They’ll help us walk on the rocks; it’s bound to be slippery out there.’ He sets off, the rain heavier now, soaking through his jacket, dripping off his hair.
The Island House Page 10
