Nightmare Abbey

by David Longhorn

  “Could go somewhere else,” came the croaky response. “Big house.”

  It was a simple point, but one that Denny had not really considered. If what she had seen was a living entity – as opposed to an apparition – it could indeed have left the bedroom and gone into hiding elsewhere. There were dozens of empty rooms in Malpas Abbey. The weird being could be in any one of them, or in the attic.

  “Good point, yeah,” she breathed, not feeling very grateful to Brie for the worrying notion. Then, remembering what her colleague had been through, she went on, “Oh, I nearly forgot! Will you be able to take part? In the doorway sequence? Because we can only do it once.”

  Another pause, and Denny was about to repeat her question when the tress of hair moved again.

  “I'll be there.”

  “Okay,” said Denny, trying to sound bright and positive. “Looking forward to it. Remember, if you need anything, just holler.”

  She reached down to pat Brie's shoulder, but when her fingers brushed the woolen blanket, the body underneath jerked. Denny snatched her hand back.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  As she left the dining room, she recalled how into hugs Brie had always been, sometimes to the point of annoyance.

  Now she can't bear to be touched, thought Denny. Whatever it was, it shook her up very badly.

  ***

  “All I'm saying is, if you're doing this, stop it.”

  Matt McKay stood, arms crossed, blocking Ted Gould's way out of the walled herb garden. The Englishman held out his hands in a placatory gesture.

  “I'm not doing anything, Matt,” Gould insisted. “I couldn't concoct an apparition of the sort those young ladies said they saw, even if I wanted to.”

  Matt looked skeptical.

  “I don't like people on my team getting terrified, especially if it's happening off camera,” he said. “And you and Jim – you've had plenty of time to prepare a few little tricks, right?

  “Interesting that you would be happier if your people were terrified on camera,” commented Gould. “But we're not here to scare anyone. We're here to conduct an investigation. Jim is as honest as the day is long, incidentally. That's why he was chosen to help out. He's reliable. Now, if you'll excuse me–”

  Gould tried to step around Matt, but the younger man blocked his way back into the house.

  “An investigation?” said Matt. “One your fancy foundation could easily have done without our help. So what's the real motive, here? Why us?”

  Gould sighed.

  “Because, despite whatever you may think, I believe that your team contains at least one genuine psychic. Someone who can somehow connect with–”

  “With what?” Matt demanded. “Why do you never just spit it out and say ghosts, the afterlife, spirits of the dead? Isn't that what you're all about?”

  Gould shook his head, then pointed down at the rich growth of weeds around them.

  “No, Matt, that's not what I'm about. It's not death I'm interested in … it's life. Life as real in its way as any of those wild plants. A form of life that, like a weed, takes root where it can in our world. But not life as we know it.”

  Genuinely puzzled, Matt could only stare as Gould stepped around him.

  “Do you mean aliens?” asked Matt, belatedly.

  “Oh no,” Gould replied. “If only it were that simple. But we are talking about beings from another world, if that's any help.”

  Matt was left staring at the door as it closed behind the Englishman.

  ***

  Despite her earlier scare, Denny managed to get a couple of hours sleep in the big master bedroom. She was woken by her cell phone's alarm just as the September sun was nearing the horizon, turning the sky myriad shades of red, orange, and gold.

  This really is a beautiful place, she thought, as she freshened up. Guess I'm lucky to be a part of this – whatever it is. Adventure? Yeah, let's call it an adventure.

  When she went downstairs, the others had already assembled in the main hall, apart from Frankie and Matt, who were setting up the shot outside the sealed doorway. Denny was pleased to see that Brie was looking much better. The color had returned to her face, and she was chatting happily with Jim. Gould, now wearing a bulging backpack, was exchanging banter with Marvin. The two seemed to have hit it off, surprising Denny.

  “Hi!” Denny said, approaching Brie and Jim. To Brie she added, “So, did you finally manage to get some sleep?”

  “Yes,” the medium replied with a smile. Denny was pleased to hear that Brie's voice showed no sign of hoarseness. “It was okay in your old room. Cozy. And I didn't really feel comfortable on that couch.”

  “Aw, sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed you,” Denny said. “But hey, you bounced back, good for you!”

  Brie looked puzzled at that remark. Denny was about to say that Brie had seemed pretty washed out when they had talked earlier. But Gould interrupted, clapping his hands.

  “Are we ready to go, team?”

  As they followed the Englishman Brie asked, “Did you disturb me? I really don't recall. As soon as I got into a proper bed I was out like a light, believe me!”

  “No, I meant when we talked downstairs,” Denny explained, but the puzzlement on the other woman's face left her floundering. “In the dining room?”

  Maybe she was half asleep and just forgot our conversation, Denny thought as Brie continued to look vacant. Then a more worrying thought struck her. Maybe it's the pills. Best not push it.

  “So, Jim,” Denny said, changing the subject. “Our handyman ready to work up a sweat? Gonna take your shirt off, give us gals a thrill?”

  “Oh God, don't,” replied Jim in mock anguish. “If this goes wrong I'm going to be a prize berk.”

  “Berk? Is that a British curse word?” asked Denny, saying with a joshing tone. “Should I avoid it if I get to meet royalty one day?”

  “Erm, well, it's a bit naughty, but nothing compared to what some of them say, allegedly–” Jim began, clearly unwilling to explain.

  “Can we get on, people? Time's wasting,” shouted Matt as the group rounded a corner. They walked past the peculiar graffiti on the wall. Denny noticed that Brie did not look up at the words, hurrying ahead with her gaze fixed on the floor in front of her.

  “I'm ready to go, guys,” Denny said. Frankie, wearing huge noise-canceling headphones, swung the camera around and gave Denny a thumbs up.

  “Ready when you are,” Matt said from behind Frankie.

  Like we need a director, Denny thought.

  “Well, this is it,” she said to the camera. “For the first time in decades someone is going to enter the secret temple of Lord George Blaisdell. What will we find inside? Evidence of Satanic rituals? Who knows! That's all part of the fun. But guys, if there's a sacrificial dagger, it's mine. I called it.”

  Denny stepped back, then raising her voice a little, said, “Take it away, Jim!”

  Jim hefted the sledgehammer, and Denny realized that it was an awkward tool to swing in the narrow corridor. Fortunately, Jim managed to take a proper swing and hit the bricked-up doorway dead center. There was a loud crash, echoing through the house, and an eruption of dust. A couple of bricks had been knocked out. Everyone else retreated, covering their mouths, as the Englishman took a second swing. This time a dozen bricks gave way, and a dark hole, big enough for a man to squeeze through, appeared in the doorway.

  Jim stepped back and they waited for the dust to settle. Then Frankie moved forward, shining her camera light into the gaping void.

  “What can you see?” asked Denny.

  “A whole lot of doodly squat,” replied Frankie, cheerfully. Then she put a hand to her headphones. “Whoa! Got a lot of feedback, there. Probably not a ghost, though.”

  “Okay, guys,” said Denny, “pick up your flashlights. Jim, if you'd do the honors.”

  “My pleasure,” replied Jim, and stepped forward again to knock away the remaining brickwork. When the dust had cleared a second tim
e, Frankie stepped back into the aperture to get first shots of the interior. The others picked up flashlights, provided by Gould, and prepared to enter.

  As usual, Denny led the way. She picked her way over the small heap of rubble. She was standing at the top of a flight of stairs that led down into a circular chamber about thirty feet across. The stone roof was low, no more than eight feet high. Her flashlight was just powerful enough to show that the walls were decorated with murals of some kind. She could also see a bulky object in the middle of the room.

  “I think we found the altar that naughty old lord used, guys,” she said over her shoulder. “Looks pretty creepy.”

  Denny went down the stairs, making her way carefully. Frankie followed, then the rest, the beams of flashlights flickering over walls and the floor. There were a few scraps of debris on the stairs. Denny bent down to pick up an old, yellowed sheet of newsprint. It was dated 1919.

  “Hey guys,” she said, holding the front page up for the camera, “apparently the US government's going to outlaw alcohol. You think that may have some unexpected consequences?”

  This produced a ripple of slightly nervous laughter. The group descended to the chamber floor, then stood hesitantly around the base of the stone stairway. Nobody seemed to want to venture into the middle of the room. Denny decided to take the initiative and went to examine the murals on the circular wall.

  It only took her a few moments to realize that they couldn't show the acts depicted by Blaisdell's artist. The violence might have been acceptable on TV, but the explicit sexual acts certainly were not. She found herself struggling, in the poor light, to imagine just how some of the debauchery depicted could have been achieved in real life. Then, when she saw a particularly horrific scene, she found herself hoping they had never been tried.

  “Whoa,” Denny breathed, “those old-time aristocrats were something else. Gonna have to blur out a lot of this stuff, Frankie.”

  “What is all this junk?” asked Marvin, who had gone in the opposite direction to Denny. He crouched down, rummaged through a small heap of cardboard boxes, then held up a rectangular object. “Hey, look! I found a camera! Kind of dusty, but it's neat.”

  “You found an antique,” put in Frankie. “That thing runs on clockwork. It's an old cine camera, sixteen millimeter, looks like. My grandpa had one, they're cool.”

  There was a brief discussion as to whether the camera had film in it. After examining it, Frankie pronounced that it did and Gould offered to get it processed if possible. He made a big deal of the Romola Foundation's 'excellent facilities'.

  That would make a nice extra, thought Denny. Assuming the film shows anything interesting. And not just close-ups of those murals. Or a crazy guy murdering two other guys and arranging their body parts around the place.

  “Ted?” Denny asked, focusing on the audience. “The last time this place was opened some real bad things happened, right?”

  Gould nodded.

  “They bricked it up again after the incident,” he said. “Though whether that worked is a moot point. After all, two of us had paranormal experiences before we broke through.”

  “Yeah, if the altar is the source of whatever goes on here, bricking it up clearly doesn't work,” said Marvin, gazing at the lump of stone with obvious distaste. “What a comforting thought!”

  “Hey,” Brie put in, pointing. “What are you up to, Ted? That's not a camera?”

  The Englishman had produced a small box from his backpack. Attached to it by a cable was a plastic tube, which he began to wave around in front of him.

  “It's just a basic Geiger counter,” explained Gould, with a smile at the others' obvious puzzlement. “You've seen 'em in the movies. Well, in real life they're much the same. Point at things, wait for the clicking noise. If it makes a very loud sound, step away from the object.”

  The Englishman frowned, then, and jabbed at a button on the control box.

  “Well, it should be making a slight clicking noise, except that today it doesn't seem to be working. Odd. It was fine when I tested it earlier. And this chamber is lined and floored with stone, which always has some trace levels of radioactive isotopes.”

  Frankie made a sad trombone sound. Denny, suppressing a giggle, asked Gould why radiation was an issue in any case.

  “It's basic science to take as many measurements as possible, get plenty of data,” he replied, waving the detector back and forth. “When the Victorians started looking into the paranormal, they were quick to use photography. It makes sense to employ more advanced detection equipment now that we have it, yes?”

  “Maybe,” chipped in Marvin, “but I can't imagine a ghost being radioactive – or are you seeking the spirit of Robert Oppenheimer?”

  Gould gave a thin smile and set off back up the flight of stairs. Near the top, he stopped, held up the Geiger counter, and then operated a control. A series of clicks came from the gadget.

  “Getting anything, Ted?” asked Denny.

  “Yes, it started working,” he said, and began to walk down into the cellar again. Then he stopped, frowning. “But now the damn thing's not registering at all.”

  “Piece of junk,” remarked Frankie, “you should get a refund.”

  Gould nodded absently, peering at the device's controls.

  “Or,” he said, “there really is no background radiation at all in this chamber.”

  “Hey, that's a good thing, right?” said Denny. “I mean, 'cause radiation's generally a bad thing?”

  “But it is a universal thing,” said Frankie. “It's everywhere on earth, or under it, right?”

  Gould said nothing, but began to walk around the room, still frowning at his gadget. Frankie, meanwhile, moved forward and began to film the supposed altar. Examining the stone more closely, Denny could see that it had been carved quite elaborately at some remote time. The images had almost worn away over the centuries, but she could still make out the rudimentary forms.

  “Faces,” she said. “This thing's covered in weird faces.”

  Behind her, someone was trying to stifle a scream.

  “What is it, Brie?” asked Jim.

  “Footprints!” Brie said, as Frankie swung round to focus on her. Brie was pointing at the floor, and Denny could make out some tracks in the dust. “These footprints aren't ours!”

  “Do ghosts usually wear Nikes?” asked Denny.

  She was hunkered down next to the supposed ghostly footprints, which seemed to go all the way round the altar stone.

  “Those tracks do look awful familiar,” Frankie said. “And there's no way they were made back in 1919.”

  Denny stood up, turning to face the others.

  “So either it's ghosts with questionable fashion sense, or somebody here is messing with us.”

  Brie and Marvin looked startled, while Gould and Jim looked shifty. Matt, Denny noticed, was trying to move out of camera shot behind the bulk of Marvin.

  “So three of us were here first,” Denny went on. “Preparing the ground, so to speak. Am I right, guys? What do you say, Ted?”

  Gould folded his arms, trying to look unabashed.

  “Yes, we did enter this chamber a few days ago,” he said. “Just to make sure there was something here. It would have been embarrassing if it had been empty, after all.”

  Then Jim took a breath and spoke.

  “We faked it,” he said. “I knocked that wall down a couple of days ago. We had a look around, then I rebuilt it.”

  “It was part of our arrangement,” put in Matt quickly. He looked around at his team defiantly. “Like Ted says, we had to be sure there was something to find! We couldn't come all this way for an empty cellar and a house that may be haunted.”

  “You jerks,” said Frankie. “So that was all faked?”

  Jim nodded.

  “It's easy to dirty up the mortar,” he explained. “In the poor light it looked like it hadn't been disturbed for years.”

  “But in fact,” Gould said slowly, “
there was a gap of around two hours when nobody was nearby and that doorway was open.”

  “Plenty of time for a whole army of little spooks to sneak out,” remarked Marvin, with deceptive mildness. “Good job, guys.”

  “Frankie,” said Matt, “please stop filming.”

  “Sure thing boss!” Frankie's tone was fake-cheery.

  “I'm sorry,” said Brie, heading for the stairs. “I just can't go on with this – it's too much! I signed up for an entertainment show. All this fraud, on top of what I experienced. I quit! I need Jim to drive me back to town, whatever it's called.”

  “You're contracted to appear in the show,” Matt pointed out, trying to head her off. “I sympathize, I really do. But a deal's a deal. Maybe you could just, you know, take another little rest? See how you feel later on?”

  Crappy behavior, even for you, Denny thought. You're not taking this place seriously enough.

  The team followed Brie up out of the cellar. The psychic was still demanding to leave and stay in a hotel or B&B in Chester. In the past, when Brie had had a bad reaction to a location, Denny and Frankie worked to talk her down. Now neither of them even tried.

  “I'm sorry,” repeated Brie. “It's just those faces on that altar reminded me of the thing I saw – the proportions were wrong, it looked inhuman. And this whole place, it's evil. I can sense it. And something else. Can't any of you feel it?”

  “We've all seen the murals, honey,” Marvin said, in his usual supercilious tone. “Clearly we are not in Disney World.”

  Brie shot him a hurt look, at which Marvin rolled his eyes.

  “That's not what I meant!” Brie snapped. “I get this crawling sensation, like you get when someone's looking at you from behind. It's always there. Something's paying attention.”

  “It's only Jim looking at your ass,” Marvin muttered. Denny quickly intervened to try and head off any pointless bickering.

  “Maybe you could tell us what scared you when you were upstairs?” she asked Brie, gesturing at Frankie to get a medium close-up. “If you feel capable, that is. Talking about it some more might help. ”