The House of a Hundred Whispers

by Graham Masterton

  ‘Grace!’ she screamed. ‘Grace, save me! Call Francis! Tell him that I’m here! Save me!’

  Jaws pushed her through the bedroom door in what felt like an explosion of millions of atoms. She found herself out in the corridor, still struggling to get free. Jaws unwound his grip on her hair and stepped back, shaking his hand as if in disgust, with a grim expression on his face.

  ‘You don’t have a clue what you’ve fucking done, do you? I told you not to talk out loud, didn’t I – let alone scream your fucking head off! Don’t you understand what you are? You’re something and nothing, but most of all you’re nothing, because you’re not sitting in that room tonight, you’re sitting in that room yesterday, and tomorrow you’ll be sitting in it the day before yesterday, and so on and so on and so on.’

  He was still whispering when Ada heard a deep rumbling sound, accompanied by a high-pitched buzzing like dozens of wasps trying to get out of a window. The floor began to vibrate, and the floorboards squeaked against each other. It felt as if Allhallows Hall were being shaken right down to its foundations. One of the oil paintings of the Wilmington family dropped off the wall next to the landing and fell flat on its face, chipping off a corner of its frame.

  The rumbling and creaking went on for nearly half a minute, and then it subsided, and the house was silent again. The door to Rob and Vicky’s bedroom opened, and Rob appeared and switched on the light. He stood there for a while, listening; and then the door to Grace and Portia’s bedroom opened, too, and Grace appeared, clutching her dressing gown around her like a survivor from an earthquake.

  Grace said, ‘Rob – you’re not going to believe this.’

  Jaws tapped Ada on the shoulder and when she turned around he beckoned to her and silently mouthed the words, ‘Come on. Time for us to go back.’

  Ada was tempted to run along the corridor to Rob and tell him, too, that she was still here, and still alive, but the huge tremor that had shaken the house had seriously frightened her. Had she set it off herself by screaming like that? And if she had, what force was it that she had disturbed? She had felt hostile vibrations in houses before, when she was holding séances. She had heard eerie whistling and malevolent humming, but nothing like this, ever.

  Jaws had warned her to keep her voice to a whisper, hadn’t he, and Thomas had said that if she spoke too loudly she would be jeopardising their lives.

  ‘We don’t want to live like this, but we don’t want to die.’

  28

  None of them could sleep for the rest of the night, except for Katharine, who was still deeply sedated with Unisom, and hadn’t stirred even when the house had started shaking. They sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee and talking quietly to each other, while the fire in the range crackled.

  Outside, a pearly-grey dawn gradually appeared behind the gnarled veteran trees that surrounded Allhallows Hall. Some of those trees were more than a hundred years old and Rob always thought they looked like elderly women with their hair sticking up in fright.

  ‘I’ll call Francis as soon as I’m pretty sure that he’s awake,’ said Rob. ‘I can’t think what else we can do. Whatever’s happening in this house, the police won’t be able to deal with it, any more than we can.’

  Portia ran her fingertips lightly and thoughtfully across her lips. ‘I had the strangest dream just before Grace woke me up. I dreamed that some man was kissing me. And I don’t mean a peck on the cheek. A proper full-on snog. But I’ve never been kissed by a man like that, not once. Not ever. Grace said she heard a man in our bedroom, but I didn’t.’

  ‘I’m sure I heard a man, as well as Ada,’ said Grace. ‘I couldn’t see him, but then I couldn’t see Ada, either. When Ada was shouting at me, it sounded like he was telling her not to. I’m not sure. He was whispering, so I couldn’t really hear what he was saying.’

  Vicky spooned more sugar into her coffee and stirred it. ‘They all sound so panicky, these whisperers. You know, as if they’re terrified of something. Perhaps if we can find out what it is, we’ll be able to set them all free. Or give them some kind of peace, anyway.’

  ‘Well, perhaps,’ said Rob. ‘But even supposing we can find a way to bring them back into the real world, what’s going to happen to them then?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We don’t have any idea how long they’ve been stuck here, do we? What if some of them have been there ever since the Wilmingtons first converted that priest’s hole into a witching room? I mean, they must have done it for a reason, mustn’t they? Maybe they had some enemy they wanted to trap. Why else would they have had it put in? And that same person could still be there now, that enemy. Or enemies, plural.’

  ‘You don’t know,’ said Portia. ‘Perhaps they didn’t have it installed to trap anybody. Perhaps one of the family was dying of pneumonia or something, and they wanted to make sure that he or she lived for ever.’

  ‘That’s a possibility, I suppose. But unlikely, don’t you think? The Wilmingtons were all fervent Catholics. They would have been quite certain that when they died they were going to Paradise – in which case, surely they wouldn’t have thought that dying would be anything to worry about. If they hadn’t been so pious, they wouldn’t have risked having a priest hole built, would they? Like John Kipling said, it was a fantastic risk in those days.’

  ‘Were they all that pious?’ Portia asked him. ‘They denied knowing that poor Jesuit they’d been hiding, didn’t they, when the priest hunters caught him. I don’t call that being very pious.’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t fancy being hung up from the ceiling and having their stomachs cut open, like Nicholas Owen.’

  ‘Oh, Rob,’ Grace protested. ‘I think we’re all feeling queasy enough as it is.’

  ‘That’s what they used to do to Catholics, though, if they refused to renounce their faith. And much worse. You ask John.’

  They were still talking when Rob’s phone rang. It was Francis.

  ‘Rob? I was going to call you last night, but then I looked at the time and realised you’d probably be asleep.’

  ‘As it happens, we had what you might call a disturbed night, and I was going to call you anyway. How’s it going with your research?’

  ‘Pretty well, on the whole. I’ve dug up some really obscure stuff about witching rooms, and about Sampford Spiney, too. I’ll come round a bit later and give you all the gory details. First of all I need to run over to Tavistock and have a chat with Father Salter. He’s the parish priest at Our Lady of the Assumption.’

  ‘Really? Is he an exorcist? I thought you didn’t believe in exorcisms.’

  ‘I don’t. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. But some exorcisms have been successful in helping people who appear to be possessed by evil spirits, even if that possession has nothing to do with Satan. There might be something in them that can help us to clear all those spooks out of Allhallows Hall.’

  ‘What time can we expect you?’

  ‘It depends what response I get from Father Salter. I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he seems quite modern in his outlook. He believes that priests should be able to marry, that kind of thing. On the one hand, that could be good. On the other hand, it might mean that he’s a bit too sceptical when it comes to “malevolent presences”. Might think it’s all too medieval, if you know what I mean. But I need to sound him out about a particular type of spiritual decontamination, and if he’s prepared to do it himself, or if he knows of some other priest who might be persuaded to.’

  ‘“Spiritual decontamination”? What’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘It’s a very specific kind of Roman Catholic ritual, and as far as I can find out it hasn’t been used since an incident in a village called Hathersage in the Peak District near Sheffield in October of nineteen forty-nine. It’s a form of exorcism, if you like, but it’s not recognised by the Vatican and it’s not the usual “begone, foul spirit, the Lord commands thee” kind of a job. No floating in the air or vomit
ing or heads turning three hundred and sixty degrees. In some ways it’s scarier than that.’

  ‘Scarier than that? What could be scarier than that?’ Rob looked across at Vicky, whose eyebrows were raised. ‘It’s okay,’ he mouthed, and gave her a quick wave of his hand.

  ‘I’ll try to get to you by midday,’ said Francis. ‘When you say you had a disturbed night…?’

  ‘More whispering. Grace heard Ada in her bedroom, not just whispering but screaming at her. And we had something that I can only describe as a mini-earthquake. The whole house shook.’

  ‘Really? Now, really? That fits in with what I’ve been researching. I think I’m beginning to understand what we could be dealing with here, although I’d rather it was something else, to be honest with you. Much rather.’

  ‘Can you give me some idea?’

  ‘Let me talk to Father Salter first. Meanwhile, I’d advise you to stay well away from that witching room, and if you do hear any more whispering – or screaming, for that matter – try to turn a deaf ear to it. If I’m right, we’re up against a force that takes a very dim view of being interfered with.’

  Francis hung up, leaving Rob staring at his phone as if he couldn’t think what it was.

  ‘That was Francis?’ asked Vicky. ‘What did he have to say that was so scary?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. He’s an atheist, but he wants to perform some sort of an exorcism. He’s going to Tavistock to see if he can persuade a priest to do it.’

  Grace was about to say something when, very indistinctly, they heard a child crying.

  ‘Shh!’ said Vicky. She stood up, went over to the kitchen door and opened it wider. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the ticking of the longcase clock, and then they heard the cry again. It sounded like a small boy – a very miserable small boy.

  ‘That’s Timmy! I’m sure that’s Timmy!’

  ‘Vicks – Francis said if we heard anything, we should ignore it.’

  ‘But why? We can’t ignore it, if it’s Timmy—’

  ‘He seems to think that we’re in some kind of danger.’

  ‘I don’t care – that’s Timmy – I’m sure that’s Timmy! Timmy! Can you hear me? Timmy! It’s Mummy!’

  Vicky ran across the hallway and started to mount the stairs. Rob followed her, and Grace and Portia came out of the kitchen, too.

  ‘Vicks!’ Rob shouted. ‘Vicks, for Christ’s sake, be careful!’

  Vicky reached the landing at the top of the stairs and Rob caught up with her. They hesitated for a moment, listening, and then they heard the boy wailing. He sounded as if he were down at the far end of the corridor, in the bedroom that led to the witching room – the same as the last time Vicky had thought she heard him, and had been so violently pushed over.

  ‘It is Timmy,’ she said, clasping Rob’s hand. ‘I know it is.’

  ‘It does sound like him, doesn’t it? Timmy! Is that you, Timmy?’

  They waited, but there was silence, punctuated only by the ticking of the longcase clock. It suddenly struck a single bong! to mark the half-hour, which made Vicky jump.

  ‘Timmy, it’s Daddy here… can you try to stay where you are? We’re coming to find you.’

  Rob started to walk slowly along the corridor, with Vicky close behind him, her left hand placed nervously on his shoulder.

  ‘Timmy? Are you still there? Say something, Timmy, even if it’s only “I’m here”!’

  They were less than a third of the way along the corridor, passing the first of the three bedroom doors, when they heard a sharp crackling sound, like somebody treading on a sheet of glass, and breaking it. The black hooded figure in the middle of the stained-glass window suddenly shot both of its arms upwards and whirled around, so that they could see its face.

  Rob stopped where he was, in utter shock. Not only had the figure of Old Dewer moved, but his face was terrifying. His eyes shone blindingly white, as intense as two halogen headlights, and his chin was stretched downwards as if he were screaming at them, except that he was totally silent. His tongue was split like a snake’s, and it was glistening grey.

  ‘Oh God!’ Vicky gasped. ‘Oh God, Rob, what’s happening? It can’t be real! It can’t be!’

  The hooded figure flapped both of his arms, and before Rob and Vicky could turn around, the five bristling black hounds that surrounded him sprang out of the window and landed on the wooden floor of the corridor with a scrabbling of claws. Their eyes, too, were shining, and their red tongues were flapping out over their teeth. They came running towards Rob and Vicky, all five of them panting hungrily.

  Rob snatched at Vicky’s sleeve and pulled her back along the corridor to the landing. They had nearly reached the top of the stairs when Vicky stumbled and fell onto her knees. One of the hounds leaped on top of her and started ripping at her sweater, and when Rob swung his arm around and hit its head, another hound sprang on him and bit right through his jacket into his elbow.

  They felt hairy and coarse, these hounds, and they were heavy, too, and smelled strongly of sulphur and wet grass and faeces. Rob punched and pushed and kicked at them, but he couldn’t stop them from snapping at his hands and tearing his jacket, and all the time their eyes were flickering and dazzling him like strobe lights.

  He kicked one of them hard in the belly and then again in the ribs, so that it toppled back against the two behind it. That gave him a split second’s respite to thrust his hands under Vicky’s armpits and heave her up off the floor. One of the hounds jumped onto his back and tried to bite the back of his neck, but he lurched himself sharply to the left and it rolled off him. With his arm tightly around Vicky’s waist, he reached the top of the stairs, and together they started to stagger down them. After three or four steps, though, they both lost their footing and tumbled, all arms and legs, down the first flight of stairs and collided with the panelling.

  Grace and Portia had come out into the hallway. ‘Rob! Vicky! What’s going on up there? What’s all that noise? Jesus, what’s happened?’

  Rob had hit his head hard against the skirting board. He blinked, stunned, and looked up towards the landing. The five hounds had gathered at the top stair, and were staring down at him and Vicky with those piercing white eyes. Their tongues were still hanging out and they were still panting as if they would have given anything to come bounding downstairs and rip their lungs out. After a few seconds, though, the light in their eyes died out, and they turned away, and Rob could hear them trotting back down the corridor.

  Grace and Portia came up the stairs and helped them onto their feet.

  ‘Your clothes are all torn! Rob – you’re bleeding! What on earth’s happened to you?’

  Vicky was so upset that she could hardly speak. Portia put her arm around her and guided her gently down to the hallway. Rob was about to follow her, but then he climbed cautiously up the stairs to the landing again, and peered down the corridor to the stained-glass window. There was enough daylight gleaming through it now for him to see that it was unbroken, and exactly as it had been before Old Dewer had turned himself around and the hounds had come chasing after them.

  Grace stood watching him. When he came back down, wordless, still frowning in disbelief, she said, ‘Rob?’

  He shook his head, but said nothing.

  ‘Come on, Rob. Tell me what happened. After everything we’ve seen in the past two days, nothing’s going to surprise me.’

  Rob followed her downstairs, glancing back just once to make sure that the hounds had stayed in the window, and weren’t coming after him.

  When they reached the hallway, he said, ‘Francis was right, Gracey. There’s something in this house that really doesn’t want to be interfered with.’

  29

  Back in the kitchen, Grace cleaned and bandaged the bites on Rob’s elbow. There were five purple teeth-marks, in a semicircle, but his tweed jacket had been thick enough to prevent the hound from biting right down to the bone.

  Portia was standing with
her back to them, looking out at the overgrown garden. ‘This house… It’s a different kind of world altogether. It’s like none of the laws of nature apply here.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Rob. He winced as Grace knotted a clean tea towel tightly around his arm. ‘I mean, how in the name of God can dogs jump out of a stained-glass window and attack us? If I hadn’t been bitten and Vicky’s sweater hadn’t been torn, I could have convinced myself that we were high on something.’

  ‘It was that Devil… that Old Dewer, or whatever they call him,’ said Vicky quietly. ‘It was him who set the dogs on us. And I thought that window was supposed to keep him away.’

  ‘With any luck, Francis has discovered what’s causing all this weirdness, and he’s found a way to get rid of it. “Spiritual decontamination”, that’s what he called it.’

  Grace stood up. ‘I’d better go and check on Katharine. She’s been sleeping for ages now.’

  She didn’t add ‘I hope she’s still there, and that she hasn’t disappeared’, but all of them thought it.

  Rob stood up too. ‘I’ll come with you. Just in case those bloody dogs come jumping out again.’

  They didn’t need to go up to Katharine’s bedroom. As they left the kitchen, she was coming downstairs, still looking a little unsteady but with her hair brushed, and wearing eye make-up, and blusher on her cheeks.

  ‘I’m starving,’ she said. ‘I feel as if I haven’t eaten in days.’

  ‘Come into the kitchen and Portia will make you a sandwich if you like,’ said Grace. ‘Or there’s some muesli if you fancy some. Or yogurt.’

  ‘Anything. What was all that noise upstairs? I thought I heard a window breaking.’

  ‘You did and you didn’t,’ Rob told her. ‘Come and sit down and I’ll tell you all about it. You haven’t heard from Martin again, have you?’

  ‘No, nothing. But those pills really knocked me out. What’s happened to your arm?’