Nightmare Abbey

by David Longhorn

  For a moment, Denny thought Gould would give an evasive answer. But then he looked past her, gazing into the distance, and began to talk.

  “When I was a boy, seven years old, most Saturdays I used to go out with a group of friends to what we called the forest. Actually, it was a small copse of trees just a few dozen yards across. But it was pretty big to us. It was about a fifteen or twenty-minute walk from the village where we lived. We used to play soldiers, climb trees, turn over stones, and see what crawled out. Anyway, on the weekend in question, some kind of mix-up must have occurred, because when I turned up, there was nobody else there. The forest was deserted. I spent some time mooching around, waiting for the gang to materialize. No dice. So I decided to go home after eating the packed lunch my mum had made. I sat down on a fallen tree and started unwrapping some sandwiches. Then – and I remember this very clearly – I became aware of the silence. It was autumn, the leaves had started to fall, but there were normally plenty of birds around, plus squirrels, other small animals. But now, there was total silence, not even a breath of wind. The sound of the grease-proof paper was really loud as I opened my little packet of sandwiches. So loud, in fact, that I stopped, worried that I would attract attention. That something would know I was there.”

  He shrugged, smiling, but Denny noticed that the smile did not reach his eyes.

  This could be good, she thought. It might even be the real deal.

  “Right after the silence hit me like a wave, I was suddenly sure I was being watched,” Gould went on. “I could feel the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. And nothing could have made me turn around and look to see who or what was behind me. Then I heard a crackling sound, like someone walking very stealthily through the leaf litter. I put my lunch back in my little satchel and got up, moving slowly.”

  “Oh my God,” breathed Denny.

  “Of course, I'd been given all the usual warnings by my parents,” Gould went on. “Don't talk to strange men, don't accept candy or get into a car … all that stuff. But I just knew, at a visceral level, that this was different. That if I turned around, it wouldn't just be a stranger's face I'd see. Or at least, not a human stranger.”

  Gould paused, and Denny – for the first time in years – found herself unable to come up with an instant question. Frankie swung round to capture Denny's hesitation, waiting for the next question.

  “So, what happened next?” she managed to ask, after missing a beat.

  Gould looked away, then back at Denny.

  “I ran. All the pent-up fear just burst out in panic. I ran like a maniac, and by the time I got home, I had a terrible stitch in my side. My mother was there, surprised to see me back so soon. Then she saw my face and realized something was wrong. But I could never really explain it to her. The silence, the watcher, that creeping sound.”

  “But you didn't actually see any evidence of the paranormal?” asked Denny, feeling the first stirrings of disappointment.

  Gould looked away again.

  “I didn't, no – I just felt a presence. But the day after my scare, a little girl who lived on the other side of the forest disappeared. She was a little younger than I was. She'd gone out gathering blackberries with friends. They were just on the edge of the forest and they noticed she had gone. Vanished into thin air, that was what the newspapers said. The police found the jar she had been using, but nothing else. Not at first.”

  “But they found something later?” Denny asked, trying to keep her voice level.

  “Weeks later, after search parties had gone over the whole area a dozen times, they found her. What was left of her. She was dead. Desiccated, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of her. The coroner returned an open verdict – that's usual when there's no obvious cause of death. To this day, there's no convincing explanation as to where she went, what happened. What took her.”

  Again, Frankie swung the camera around to capture Denny's expression.

  “Thanks for sharing that with us, Ted,” said Denny. “So that's what got you interested in the paranormal?”

  Gould shrugged.

  “I had almost forgotten it, or perhaps the trauma had induced a kind of amnesia. Then years later, it came back to haunt me. The feeling of being alone in the woods. I was working as a research physicist at Cambridge when I happened to hear about the Romola Foundation. I'd become frustrated with mainstream science, so here I am. And here we are.”

  Gould turned to look up at the front of Malpas Abbey. Denny knew, without turning to look, that Frankie was now shooting past the Englishman, focusing on the old-fashioned windows, the climbing vines, the worn brickwork.

  “I think that's a wrap,” she said. “Thanks, Ted. That was great.”

  “Glad it was okay,” said Gould, then turned to walk back inside.

  Denny and Frankie discussed the segment, agreeing that it would work with minimal editing. Then they decided to film the house and grounds, including the old abbey ruins. As they moved from one spot to the next they chatted, and inevitably the future of the show came up.

  “So Matt thinks this can revive our ratings?” asked Frankie.

  “The big question, the one you never answer – why do you keep doing this crummy job?”

  “Because I can't get another one,” said Frankie simply. “Newsflash – times are tough for everyone.”

  “No, no, no!” insisted Denny. “No way. You're a damn good camerawoman, cameraperson, whatever. You make a cheap show look classy. And you know how to edit properly, for God's sake. Why not go for it, get yourself a job with a proper outfit?”

  Frankie shook her head.

  “Guess I just love working with you guys,” she said, taking a sip from her water bottle. “It's the glamor of it all.”

  Chapter 3: Nightmare on a Sunny Afternoon

  After they had finished filming, Denny went back upstairs and switched rooms with Brie. The psychic was now dozing on a sofa in the dining room, covered by Jim's coat, and Denny didn’t want to wake her. As she moved Brie's things, she resisted the temptation to search her colleague's luggage for pills, preferring to keep an open mind. But she also resolved to ask Matt if he had found anything when she got the chance.

  “Kind of spooky, I guess,” she said to herself, standing in the middle of the big guest bedroom. “But not that bad.”

  Brie, consistently the team's most popular member with their audience, had naturally been given the best room. Denny opened the curtains wide, let what remained of the afternoon light dispel most of the gloom. There was nothing to see but old furnishings, a few faded pictures, and a dark red carpet that had seen better days.

  Matt checked the room, she told herself. He didn't see anyone, so there's nobody here.

  Despite this, she found herself holding her breath as she opened closets and drawers, only to find them empty. The en suite bathroom was far too small to furnish a hiding place. But still something bothered her, a nagging doubt. She felt she was missing something obvious about the room, no matter how closely she scrutinized its contents.

  I need to rest. Just stop thinking and sleep.

  Denny lay down on the bed without drawing the curtains around her. Predictably, despite her tiredness, sleep would not come. Instead, she found herself remembering all the strange beds she had slept in down the years. There had been dozens during the making of each season of the show. Before that, had been the life of an army brat, traveling between bases. Vague memories of her childhood fears began to form, not quite well-defined enough to grasp details.

  The dark, she thought. Everyone's scared of that when they're kids. No biggie.

  Then she sat upright, listening intently. A faint scratching, just barely audible.

  Could be rats?

  One thing about Matt she had learned. Like a lot of arrogant, men, he could sometimes overlook the obvious.

  He looked around the room, sure. But he was awfully quick about it. Did he look under the bed?

  Denny began to creep slowly tow
ards the edge of the mattress. But she had only been moving for a couple of seconds when she felt a sudden bump. One of the wooden pillars gave a creak, a furled curtain swayed. She froze. All her childhood terrors were suddenly with her again. Killer clowns, boogeymen, aliens, vampires all merged into a formless, faceless monster lurking in the dark.

  None of those are real, she thought. But there could be some jerk hiding under the bed. Some jerk in a mask, maybe.

  Denny estimated the distance to the door as no more than four yards. It was unlocked. But it was also a big, cumbersome slab of oak, with a clunky knob. Again, Denny suppressed her fears as best she could. She stood up on the mattress, crouching to avoid hiding her head in the four-poster's stiff canopy. Then she took a flying leap, landing just short of the door. She slammed a hand against the door panels, feeling a pain in her wrist as it absorbed her momentum, then grabbed the knob.

  Denny had yanked the door open and was already halfway out of the room when she risked a look behind her. There was nothing crawling out from under the bed, no childhood monster reaching out for her, no creep Matt had paid to create some cheap scares. She heaved a sigh of relief, leaned against the door frame. Then she bent down to peer under the four-poster, and saw nothing but daylight.

  “God, I am such an idiot,” she breathed.

  Then the frame of the four-poster shook again, and a pale, half-formed face appeared. Its features were incomplete, like a mask of wax in process of melting. It looked down on her from on top of the bed's broad canopy. Killer clown, movie vampire, alien – its features flowed and rippled as it tried out one horrific visage after another, apparently unable to settle on one. A hand waved lazily at her, then the creature withdrew out of sight.

  Denny rushed into the corridor, slammed the door behind her, then leaned against it. It took her a few minutes to summon the willpower to run downstairs and call for help. This time she made a point of ushering everyone into the room, hoping that if some trickery had been played Frankie or maybe Jim would spot it.

  “Nothing there now,” said Gould, standing on a chair to look on top of the canopy. “Here, take a look.”

  Denny reluctantly accepted the offer. Gould was right, she saw. But then she looked more closely and saw that there was a dent in the canopy that was roughly the size of a small person – a woman or a child. She also noted that the dust had been disturbed.

  “So there might have been something up there,” said Frankie, taking Denny's place to film the area. “Cool.”

  “Not cool,” retorted Denny. “Scared the crap out of me!”

  She gave Matt an accusing look, still unwilling to absolve him.

  “What?” he asked. “You think I'm faking all this? You got crazy ex-girlfriend syndrome, hun.”

  Gould looked from one to the other, realization dawning on his face.

  “You two have a more than professional history, I take it?”

  “Got it in one, Sherlock,” Frankie called down. “But don't worry, it never leads to social awkwardness.”

  She jumped gracefully down from the chair.

  “So, we done here?”

  ***

  Jim had prepared a basic meal for the team, arguing that pasta might induce sleep more effectively than willpower. When Denny knocked at his door Marvin protested that he had been sleeping perfectly well already, but the offer of food brought him downstairs. Gould, who had eaten earlier, decided to take a walk before sunset. After they had eaten, Jim went to check on the boiler, which was still making ominous sounds.

  The team – minus the still-sleeping Brie – was left to review the small amount of footage shot so far. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until they came to Gould's interview.

  “He's lying,” said Marvin bluntly.

  Matt chimed in with an 'Uh-huh'.

  “How do you know?” Denny demanded, stopping the recording. “He seemed totally sincere to me.”

  “Which is how a good liar sounds,” retorted Marvin, sarcastically. “Okay, so the guy may not be making it all up, but it's mostly BS. Now, I must go back to my splendid suite. If you want me, I'll be trying to get my shower to work. It looks like it was designed by Edison or one of those guys.”

  The medium got up and left the room.

  “To be fair,” said Matt, seeing Denny's annoyance, “I think he's telling the truth as best he can. But he's lying by omission – there's something else.”

  “Why?” demanded Frankie, showing signs of genuine annoyance. “He could've just said he was always interested in ghosts and stuff. Hell, that's what most people say.”

  “Why does anyone make up grandiose lies?” Matt said, with a helpless gesture. “But, like I said, this guy has a secret. If Brie was here, she'd say he's got a troubled aura, poor man.”

  “Okay, maybe Gould is not completely on the level, but what about all the other stuff that's happened?” demanded Denny. “No way was what I saw fake. Or am I a big fat liar, too?”

  “No, but you were on that boundary between sleep and wakefulness,” Matt pointed out. “In a place where someone said they saw something. Your imagination was working overtime, an exhausted brain.”

  “Oh, bullshit!”

  Denny got up and took the dirty plates over to the sink. Frankie joined her while Matt, wearing a martyred look he had long since perfected, left.

  “You wash, I'll dry,” offered Frankie. “And he's still a complete asshole, in my humble opinion. Seriously, what did you ever see in him?””

  “Looks,” admitted Denny. “I'm kind of superficial.”

  “That way lies heartbreak,” sighed Frankie. “It's character that counts.”

  “Open your eyes, girlfriend,” Denny said. “The beautiful ones can get away with anything.”

  After a few moments, Frankie asked, “So what happened? I mean, what did you see?”

  Denny gazed thoughtfully at her friend before answering.

  “Would you believe, the boogeyman?”

  Frankie raised a quizzical eyebrow, and Denny tried to explain the way so many childhood fears had merged into one bizarre form.

  “But they didn't quite work,” she added. “I mean, there were traces of all the things I was scared of as a kid. But the face kept flowing, as if it couldn't make up its mind what it wanted to be. Does that make sense?”

  Frankie shrugged, meditatively drying a plate while looking out at the sunlight garden. Finally, she spoke.

  “A shrink would say you went to sleep in a strange place, just after having a disturbing experience thanks to Brie. So your subconscious dredged up a whole lot of boogeymen, basically because everyone's subconscious is a total jerk.”

  Denny couldn't help laughing at Frankie's analysis, but felt herself agreeing with the gist of it.

  “Maybe I should talk to Brie?” she suggested, as they finished putting away the crockery. “She can't sleep all day; we need to get ready for the big opening.”

  Frankie looked dubious.

  “I reckon the big opening will be a bust,” she said. “These things always are. The bigger the buildup, the bigger the letdown. Remember that old lumber mill in Maine?”

  “Don't remind me!” replied Denny, shaking her head. “Believe me, I don't want to fall flat on my ass again. But we've got to have some gimmick for the show. 'Hey, we're spending the night in a haunted house' just won't cut it. Even if the house happens to be in England. We need to open that doorway.”

  They agreed to meet up outside the temple entrance later, then Frankie went to start setting up small cameras around the house. Activated by motion sensors, the cameras were standard equipment for the show.

  Denny took a breath and paused outside the door of the dining room, listening. There was no sound from inside. She knocked gently on the dark wood panels, but there was no response from Brie. It occurred to Denny that the psychic might have simply gone upstairs to her new bedroom, while the rest of them were elsewhere. The kitchen was in back of the house, well away from the entrance hall
.

  “Brie?” she said quietly, opening the door a couple of inches. “You in there? Is it okay if I come in?”

  There was a vague noise, somewhere between a moan and a grunt. The heavy curtains of the grand chamber had been drawn. A little light made it through chinks at the edges of the drapes. Denny crept inside, closing the door behind her, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. When she could see more clearly, Denny could make out a humped form on the sofa. Brie was evidently still asleep, covered with a tartan blanket. Denny went to stand over her colleague, unwilling to wake her.

  “Brie?” she said.

  When there was still no response Denny turned to leave.

  “What?”

  The voice was low, rasping, and Denny felt a pang of compassion for Brie. Looking closer, she saw that nothing of the woman's head showed except a few strands of fair hair.

  She's been crying, maybe lost her voice. Not good for the show.

  “Brie, I just wanted to check if you're okay?”

  “I'm okay.”

  Again, the words were at a level just above a whisper. Denny bent down so she could hear Brie clearly.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee, or maybe a sandwich?”

  “No,” came the reply.

  After hesitating a moment, Denny perched on the arm of the sofa and thought about how to discuss her own experience without alarming the other woman. They had never become friends, despite working together. Their relationship was purely work-based.

  Partly my fault, Denny thought. I focus on the job too much.

  “Brie,” she said. “I had this – thing happen. In my room. I mean, in your old room. I saw something.”

  There was no response from the huddled figure below her. Then came a slight movement of the chunk of hair.

  “What did you see?”

  Denny tried to explain, recounting her experience as she recalled it, aware that she sounded very much like a child confusing a nightmare with reality.

  “So,” she concluded, “they searched the room but nobody found anything. I guess that means there was nothing there? Right?”