“We can’t give up that easily.” I shook my head and journeyed into what was once a grand living room a long time ago.
The ceilings were high, and the room seemed to stretch on for miles. Old sconces lined the walls from an era long forgotten. One of them had snapped and was hanging by nothing more than a snippet of metal. The wallpaper over the fireplace had wilted—whether under heat or age, I couldn’t be sure—and now lay on a heap on top of the old mantelpiece.
I moved through the living room, picking around the broken sofa and shards of glass, towards the doorway at the back. The door, now old and decaying, still swung on its hinges, but it announced our passage with a creak that echoed through the room. I winced but kept on going. There was nobody here but us. And the dead.
I found myself in the kitchen. It had been stripped bare and left untouched for a long time. This would’ve once been a bustling place filled with cooks and waiters as parties went on. Now, rubbish was piled everywhere. Some of it had sat there for so long it was nothing more than mulch.
A leak in the roof, possibly from one of the bathrooms, had stained the ceiling, and the water had dripped down the walls, leaving a sodden mess. Mould was growing, and the floor was beginning to rot.
“Don’t go over there.” I pointed in the general direction, making sure Olivia wouldn’t stumble on it and break a leg.
Luckily, the leak had been on the outside wall of the house, and there’d be no basement there.
I kept close to the wall as I moved, Olivia still close behind, until I came to another door. I took a deep breath, then grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. I was hit with a cold blast of air as I stared at a sloping ceiling leading into darkness beyond. We’d found the basement.
“Peyton,” Olivia whispered, her hands curled into fists, clinging to my side. “I don’t want to go down there.”
“Me neither.”
“Let’s leave.”
I bit my lip as I stared into the basement. It felt worse down there and I hadn’t yet crossed the threshold. It was more than the darkness. It felt . . . evil. I wanted to get out of there, haul arse and go to some nice place where we’d be safe. But safety wasn’t a characteristic of the job, and we certainly wouldn’t get paid to sit on our backsides in the office. If I wanted Soul Seekers to work, I had to do what I was paid to do—hunt ghosts.
“I have to go down there.” I stepped forward.
Olivia’s grip tightened. “Peyton.”
I turned slowly, unhooking her fingers from the spot in my side where she clung for dear life. Her face was pale and eyes wide. I saw the faintest traces of perspiration pooling on her forehead and knew this was too much for her.
She had already done so much for me. I couldn’t ask any more.
“Olivia.” I grasped her hand and squeezed.
Her fingers were cold, palm numb.
“You stay here.”
“But—”
I shook my head. “Listen. It’s okay. You’ve done enough. This is my gig. This is what I need to do. You don’t.”
“I’m as much a part of this as you.”
“You’re right. We’re partners in this, but there are times when we have to admit that we have our limitations. There are plenty of things you do that I can’t. Soul Seekers needs both of us to run, but you don’t need to scare yourself half to death to be able to do it.”
“I can’t let you go down there alone.” Her eyes glistened.
“You’re not letting me, I’m going. My mind is made up. You’re staying here.”
“But—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer. You either stay here or head back outside and wait at the car. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, then you can panic. But let’s face it, there’s nothing down there.”
“Except maybe a ghost.”
“Listen.” I paused as I thought back to the conversation I had with Jake about my ability to see ghosts.
“Quitting the drink wasn’t easy, especially when the dead came back. Every day I wanted to drink so bad. You were the only thing that kept me going then. And now I’ve come to accept that this is part of who I am. This is what I do, and this is why I’m here. I have to go down there and figure out what’s going on.”
Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “If I’m not back soon, come looking or send help. But you wait here.”
“Peyton?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
I nodded and gave her hand a final squeeze, then turned towards the darkness. I took a deep breath as I crossed the threshold. There was no switch on the wall that I could see, so I grabbed my handy torch and turned it on, the powerful beam lighting the path down the concrete steps.
With each step I descended, the grey light from the doorway grew weaker until it petered out, and the only thing that lit my way was the torch held steady. The cold penetrated my clothing, and the deeper I moved beneath the house, the more my skin prickled. The whole place reeked of damp and decay, but it didn’t bother me. Living in a home above a funeral parlour meant I’d become accustomed to the smell of death, which lingered here.
Finally, I reached the bottom and paused for a moment to get my bearings. A long corridor stretched left to right, and as I swung my torch beam, I saw nothing but concrete walls and floor. Straight ahead of me was a third corridor, and the only difference was a rust stain on the floor where water had dripped from a broken pipe.
I hadn’t counted on being in a basement with multiple choices. Something told me the whole underground was like a rabbit warren, and I suddenly wished I’d brought some string.
I swung left and began to move down the corridor, boots whispering on the concrete, torch light the only thing separating me from darkness. I mentally conducted a checklist to see whether I’d packed spare batteries. To be down there in the dark would be tantamount to hell.
I kept walking the length of the corridor, and found it turned sharp right. I swung around the corner, certain not to leave myself exposed. I wasn’t sure what I’d find down there, but as my torch landed on a huge room, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Old wooden shelves lined the walls covered with layers of grime and cobwebs. The grooves set into each of the old partitions told me exactly what I’d stumbled upon: the old wine cellar. The shelves had been emptied, whether by the previous owners or the vagrants, I wasn’t sure. Broken glass was littered across the room, the green sheen reflecting in my torch beam.
Was this where he’d been found? I filtered the light along the floor, but there was no indication that anything had been disturbed. Then again, it was hard to tell in a place like this. The destruction could’ve been done at any time.
The wine cellar was a dead end, and without being able to ascertain anything else from the room, I turned and headed back along the corridor. I came to the crossroads and this time continued straight on. The corridor completed the same course, going straight with nothing more than concrete walls and floor. This one took a sharp left. I turned with it and ended up in another large room, this one emptier than the last. A few scraps of clothing, discarded tins, and a sleeping bag remained. Nothing more.
I sighed. That left corridor number three. And if I found nothing there, I was clueless as to my next move.
I moved back to the crossroads at the bottom of the stairs. For a second, I paused and glanced up the steep incline. I couldn’t even see the door. Swallowing, I shrugged it off. I was fine. Olivia was up there, and if anything happened, I knew she’d come running, fear or not.
I started down the third corridor. This one was a little narrower, walls closing in on me as if I was being hemmed into the house. I kept my eyes dead ahead and the torch light steady. I had to keep my wits about me, and giving in to panic as I delved deeper into darkness wasn’t going to help.
I stepped over the stagnant puddle of water, the stink rising to me for a second before it passed.
As I
advanced down the narrow passageway, the ceiling only inches above my head, my breathing quieted, chest burning as I tried to make myself small and silent. I knew it was stupid. There was nobody in that house except me and Olivia, but it didn’t stop me from reacting that way. If anything else was down there, it already knew we were there and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I continued to proceed the length of the passage. It felt like it would never end. The first paths I’d taken had bent around a corner and led into a room. This one went on and on, and it felt like I was walking into the bowels of the house. It seemed darker and tighter, like with each step the walls were closing in on me millimetre by millimetre, threatening to squeeze the life out of me.
It stopped abruptly, ending in a door that seemed to appear out of nowhere as my torch illuminated it. I swallowed as I walked up to it, staring at the old wooden frame, the coloured stain long since faded. A tarnished handle set to the left, with no lock.
I reached out, hand trembling as it rested on the cool metal. I steeled myself and gripped the handle, wrapping my fingers around it, then pulled down. The catch gave with some force, and the door swung into the darkness beyond.
I was hit with a sudden urge to run as I was barrelled with a string of abusive curse words. They raged in my mind, bouncing off every corner of my skull until I backed away. I hurried back up the corridor without looking back, only stopping when I reached the puddle of water. I stared at it for a minute, at my reflection rippling in the murky water. My face looked ghastly, hair spilled over my shoulders.
Finally, I willed myself to turn around. The door yawned open into the pitch black of the room. Before opening it, I had no idea what I would find behind that door. Now I knew one thing at least—I’d found his final resting place. I had no doubt that this was where the young man had been found, and possibly where he’d met his demise. He’d been hidden down there for years, voice unheard and body decaying.
Although I was extremely sensitive to the voices of the dead, even those who can’t hear them can often sense the darkness. Perhaps that’s why his body had remained undiscovered for so long.
He knew I was here. He knew I could hear him, and he was determined to tell me his story. I had to face this. This is why I had come here. For answers. They lay in that doorway, and he was ready to talk.
I inched forward and the light trembled in my grip. My legs felt like they were slogging through knee-deep mud. Everything in my body told me to turn around and walk away from the constant murmurings inside that room, but I had to keep going. He needed someone to understand.
Every step felt like I was taking myself into the centre of the earth. The chilling cold wrapped itself around me, seeped through my clothing and into my skin.
Soon, I was at the door, staring into the rectangle of darkness. Swallowing hard, I lifted the torch as high as I dared until it pierced the room. I saw a concrete wall on the other side, so at least I knew it wasn’t an immeasurable size. After summoning the courage, I forced myself to continue until I crossed the threshold.
I was in the room and felt the oppression weighing heavy and thick around me like a blanket that muffled everything. But it didn’t muffle him. I still heard his voice in my mind. He rattled off cuss words at a rate of knots, and they became so jumbled that nothing made sense.
“Whoa!” I spoke aloud, holding my hands up. My voice echoed, tiny and quiet.
The voice in my mind quieted, and I imagined he was there, head cocked to the side, waiting for my next move.
“I’m here to listen. Please stop shouting.” I swung the torch around as if I was going to catch sight of the person talking to me. Instead, I saw four blank walls.
There was no indication what the room had been used for or why a body may’ve been found in it. The light showed nothing obvious on the floor, so now, if he wanted his story heard, it was all down to him.
Sorry.
The voice was quiet and remorseful as it reverberated around my mind. I almost smiled. We were getting somewhere. But I was still in the basement of an old house, with an angry ghost. I had to keep my wits about me.
“Who are you?”
Lucas Grange.
The name wasn’t familiar, but I was willing to bet that if I took that to the police, the body would finally be identified.
“Lucas, tell me what happened.”
For a moment, everything was quiet.
Then he spoke. Why should I tell you? You’re just like the rest of them. Nobody listened.
“I can hear you now, and I’m here to listen.”
He killed me.
“Who?”
The man who owned this house. A sigh. I worked here in the gardens. I was overseen by a man called George Donaldson. Good man but tough. Or so I thought.
“What do you mean?”
He worked us hard, and the place looked beautiful in all seasons. There was only one time of year when we were allowed inside the house, and that was at Christmas.
“You were invited into the house?”
Yes. I was here with the others. George and Ben. A few of the women from the kitchen were there. And Rosemary.
“Who was Rosemary?”
His daughter. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. If I could’ve married her then and there, I would have.
“What happened?”
He caught me looking at her as she came down the stairs. I couldn’t help it. She was just . . . beyond beautiful. As soon as I clapped eyes on her, I was being hauled out of there, down the stairs, and into the basement.
“Then?”
He brought me in here. Whipped me like a dog. The voice rose in tempo as the anger filtered through. Beat me to within an inch of my life. And then he strangled me. He watched as the life left my body. The whole time he just stared at me like I was filth, like he had a right to do that to me because of wandering eyes. And then he left me there and returned to the party. He murdered me for looking at his daughter and then left me there like nothing had happened. Like my life meant nothing.
Everything went quiet as I processed the words. He was murdered in this room, and his body left to rot.
“Lucas?” I sensed his attention as if he was looking at me, but he remained silent. “The man who killed you is dead.”
I know that, he snapped. I may be dead, but I’m not stupid. I’ve been in here a long time. I thought I was going mad.
“You did?” I muttered.
You’re not the only one who hears the voices of the dead.
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
Laughter. It peeled across the walls, and for a second, I was taken back to the film when the bedroom walls vibrated.
You think it’s me, don’t you?
“What do you know?”
I know that he’s plaguing this house.
“How?”
I know because I killed him and his voice is in my head.
My mind reeled. This whole time I’d been on a mission to find the ghost of the man murdered in the house, body left for decades, to make him stop what he was doing, only to find that it wasn’t him. Lucas wasn’t the one perpetrating the crimes. He wasn’t the one who had gotten to Karen and Rick. He wasn’t the one who was coming out of the cinema screen as a black shadowy figure, scaring the life out of audiences and ruining business for Roman. It was someone else.
“Who is he? Tell me,” I demanded, words harsher than I intended.
The man who owned this house. I killed him not long after he murdered me. I pushed him down the stairs. And now he won’t leave.
“He’s the one causing all this?”
That and more. Just wait. The worst is yet to come.
“What do you mean?”
For now, he’s just doing it for kicks, but I know what he’s thinking.
“Tell me,” I commanded, swinging the light around the room.
Talking to the voices in my head was hard for two reasons. I was still trying to convince myself I was no
rmal and sane. And I couldn’t see the ones I was talking to, couldn’t read their expressions or understand their body language.
He wants revenge. He wants to rid the world of happiness.
“Tell me how to stop him.”
You’re making a lot of demands.
I resisted the urge to sigh and instead took a deep breath, holding it in my lungs for a few seconds before releasing it. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to, it’s just . . . I can’t let him do this. I have to stop it before it’s too late. He’s still hurting people. That couple he killed, people at the cinema.”
The cinema?
“When Rick and Karen were filming, his spirit somehow corrupted the footage. Now when it’s played, his spirit can escape into the auditorium.”
There was silence for a few moments.
I can help.
“You can?”
But first I want something from you.
“What?”
Bring Rosemary here.
“Rosemary? His daughter?” I frowned. The article said there’d been nobody left to take the house.
Yes. Until I talk to her, I tell you nothing.
“Lucas, wait. Tell me, and I swear I’ll bring her.”
Silence. Shit.
“Lucas!” I shouted, voice echoing off the walls and down the narrow hallway.
There was no answer, and now I knew the stakes. I had to find Rosemary and bring her here. Otherwise, none of this would stop.
In fact, it would only get worse.
“So remind me why I’m trawling through the internet, looking for anyone called Rosemary Donaldson.” Olivia glanced up from her phone and stared at me from beneath rectangular lenses.
For a second, I was transported back to school, the naughty girl talking in class. Or rather, the naughty girl sipping vodka from a flask, in the library.
“Lucas says he’ll help, but not until we take her there.”
After spending half an hour in the basement and returning frozen and somewhat shaken, to find that Olivia had stood guard the entire time, I told her the full story. She was as confused as I was that the daughter of the man who’d owned the house was still alive and hadn’t taken it over. Perhaps there was more than one mystery to this tale.
Shadows At Starlight Page 6
