The Apparition Phase
Page 28
I expected Polly to subtly and slyly move the conversation around to events at Yarlings, but, after a couple of hours, when an appropriate lull arose in the chatter, she simply turned to Sally and addressed her directly.
‘Sally, why is Graham organising fake séances?’
Everyone fell silent, apart from Seb, who burst out laughing. Sally looked as if she’d been slapped.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Oh, come on. Enough is enough. Whatever’s happening here, we know we’re not being told the truth.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Sally. Her tone was unsure.
‘This “experiment” we’re all here to do. I’m no clearer on its purpose now than I was at the start.’
‘Its purpose is simple,’ Sally said guilelessly. ‘To make contact with the ghost of a man who once inhabited this house—’
‘Ah, but that’s just it,’ said Polly. ‘We only have your word there ever was a Tobias Salt.’
Sally looked stunned. Polly smiled sardonically and carried on. ‘We haven’t been able to find any mention of him anywhere. You’d think that such a dramatic story would be more widely known.’
‘Graham explained that!’ said Sally. I felt terrible for her. I wanted Polly to go easy on her, but she kept talking.
‘Yes, he did, didn’t he? He said he’d found the story of Tobias Salt in the parish records. Very convenient. Only, I checked the parish records, Sally.’
‘How?’ Sally looked as if she might cry. I desperately wanted to put my hand on her shoulder, but I didn’t dare. And Polly pushed on, just as relentlessly as Hattie Wells had.
‘Never mind how, Sally. I checked them.’
‘And?’
‘Nobody by the name of Tobias Salt ever lived here, Sally. Not ever.’
‘Wow,’ said Seb, round a belch. ‘And I was afraid the evening might be dull.’
‘The records could be wrong, though, surely?’ Neil said.
‘Not that wrong,’ said Juliet. ‘Sally, what’s going on?’
‘Tobias Salt is real,’ Sally insisted. ‘I don’t know what the parish records say, or any other records for that matter. But Tobias Salt is real.’
‘Because he’s contacting us at the séances?’ said Neil. ‘That doesn’t follow.’
Sally fell silent.
‘If there’s no ghost,’ said Neil, ‘then why are we here?’
‘Why indeed?’ said Polly. ‘My guess is that the experiment is actually on us, to gauge our levels of fear, or the degree to which we’ll convince ourselves there’s a real ghost in this house.’
Sally shook her head slowly. ‘No. That’s not it.’
‘What, then?’
‘Yeah,’ said Seb. ‘We have a right to know what’s going on here. Especially if it’s all rubbish.’
‘Tobias Salt is real,’ Sally repeated, not looking at any of us.
‘Well then,’ said Polly, smiling. ‘Prove it!’
‘How?’
Polly smiled, again.
Tobias’s room was always palpably colder than the rest of the house, with a heavy, damp chill that came straight from the fens. Dark clouds had already begun to clot in the evening sky where the daylight died; it looked as if the hot day would end in thunder. The first few raindrops already streaked the window panes. Neil drew the curtains on the dreary dusk and turned the tape recorder on. The useless electromagnetic field detector was also activated, the needles flickering their usual vapid hello.
We took our places around the table, moving Graham’s empty chair against the wall. No candles were lit, and Polly insisted the lights be kept on. Sally’s voice, for the benefit of the tape recorder, began the ritual.
‘Evening of Wednesday, the twelfth of June. Special session convened to answer various – doubts – expressed by the participants, over the validity of phenomena experienced thus far. Present: Tim Smith, Sebastian Stourton, Neil Audle, Polly Rook and Juliet Fields-Ray. And myself.’
‘Are we absolutely sure we want to do this?’ Juliet asked.
‘Yes,’ said Neil, very definitely. ‘If we’re being tricked or conned, I want to know how.’ To my surprise, Seb nodded in agreement.
Sally continued. ‘Session will be conducted via planchette as before, with everybody—’
‘No.’ Polly put her hand on Sally’s. ‘If we just do what we’ve been doing all along, that will prove nothing.’
‘So what do you propose?’
Polly spoke clearly for the benefit of the tape recorder. ‘OK, so for this session, the planchette will be used, but just by you, Sally. Is that OK?’
‘No!’ Her discomfort and reluctance were very real. Again, I wanted to put my arm round her, protect her.
‘Sally.’ Polly clasped Sally’s hands ‘It’s the only way you can convince us, now, that something real is taking place here.’
Sally bit her lip. ‘I’d really rather not.’
‘That way, we’ll see whether you’re manufacturing phenomena, or if they’re –you know. Real.’
‘Can’t we wait until Graham returns?’
Polly shook her head. ‘We have to do this now.’
Sally nodded. With quiet ceremony, she placed her hands on the planchette.
‘All right.’ She smiled a small, tight-lipped smile and closed her eyes. After a couple of seconds, she opened them again, and addressed the planchette at her fingertips.
‘Mr Salt? Are you there?’
The planchette didn’t move.
‘Mr Salt,’ said Polly. ‘Are you with us?’
Nothing.
‘He’s not normally this shy, is he?’ muttered Seb.
‘Mr Salt?’
Again, the planchette remained resolutely still.
A minute or so passed. The minute felt very long to me. God only knew how long it felt for Sally. I was on the verge of calling a halt on the whole thing, when Polly spoke.
‘I don’t think—’ she said.
And then, under Sally’s hands, the planchette jerked violently to the right. Sally gasped.
‘Stop that!’ said Juliet, alarmed.
‘I’m not doing anything.’ Sally spoke through gritted teeth.
‘Mr Salt?’ Polly said carefully. ‘Is that you?’
The swooping movement of the planchette was confident, bold, almost triumphant.
YES
I AM HERE
IAM
THROUGH
‘What do you mean, through?’ Polly asked. We watched in silent wonder as the planchette moved jerkily across the page. Sally stared at her fingertips.
HERE
FULY
‘A full manifestation?’ I said. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
OH YES
GLORIOS
ADVENTUM GLORIAE
IN SPITE
‘All right,’ Juliet said. ‘I think we’ve seen enough. You can stop this.’
‘No,’ Sally said, terror in her voice now. ‘I can’t.’ Under her whitened fingertips, the planchette ground out more words.
A KNIGT MOVE
AL YOUR HISTORYS
UNDON
I AM THE HERE NOW
The lights, incredibly, flickered and lowered, then returned to full power.
‘Jesus!’ Seb gasped. In that moment, I felt terror. This was different to any other session we had had. The atmosphere felt charged, all at once, pregnant with seething, malign possibility. I remembered the day after Abi had vanished, when I had imagined I had sensed – something – observing me in the empty attic. No – it had been more than mere observation. It had been … what? Scrutinising? Evaluating? Sally stared down at her hands on the planchette as if she were holding a venomous snake.
‘Have you spoken to us before?’ asked Polly.
OH
YES
‘When?’
I WAS NOT
NOW AM
Again, I thought of the invocation Abi had written, so very long ago. I don’t exist, she had wri
tten. Yet here I am. Maybe there was a chance, I thought. Maybe there was the merest, slightest chance, and I had to take it.
‘Abi?’ I asked, before I could stop myself. The juddering planchette replied with almost indecent haste.
NO
BUT NOW
ALWAYS
ALWAYS WITH YOU
HERE
‘Can we stop now?’ said Juliet, her voice breaking a little. ‘Please?’
‘What, then?’ I said. ‘Show us. Show us what you are.’
NEVER
‘Tell us, Mr Salt,’ said Polly, her face white. ‘Tell us what you are.’
OH NO
FUNNY FACE
SWEET FUNNY FACE
‘Jesus!’ gasped Polly, with genuine anger. ‘Stop that! Stop saying that!’
Juliet stared at Polly, wide-eyed. ‘What does that mean? Does that mean something to you? Like the other day, when—’
Polly said nothing. She looked sick. The planchette skittered across the paper like a horseshoe crab, trailing gibberish.
‘Is this enough?’ Sally cried bitterly. ‘Is this enough? Please!’
The carriage clock on the mantel jumped and rattled.
‘Bloody hellfire,’ said Seb. ‘Did you see that?’
Above us, along the length of the corridor that connected all the bedrooms, we heard something sprint, madly, as a toddler might. We all looked up at the ceiling. When we looked down again, Sally’s head was drooping and her whole body sagged as if hypnotised. She was muttering something to herself. Seb, seated next to her, glanced urgently at us, silently asking, What shall I do? Shall I touch her? What shall I do?
Sally’s head lolled upright. Her fingertips whitened on the planchette, and, with a fierce energy, it shot across the board, slashing words into being.
TIME NOW TIM AND AGAIN TO SHOW YOU ITS TIME
RIP AND RENDE MAKE KNOWNE WHAT BARELY IS AT ALL
THEN OUT TO OUTSIDE STOPTO STOP IN FEAR
WHER A WINDEMILL CHOPS THE SKY SINCE TIME BORROWED
AND BLOODIE HANDS
MISLEADE
MISLEADE
‘Slow down,’ said Polly. ‘We don’t understand.’
The planchette see-sawed back and forth. Sally let out a low moan of distress.
‘Enough,’ I said. Sally moaned again. The planchette scampered across the paper, malicious and gleeful. I wanted to tear Sally’s hands away from it, but in that moment, I discovered, I was afraid to touch them.
HAHAH AHAAH HAHAHA
AND OUTE TO OUTE TO WHER STRIPPED BARE AS A TREE IN WYNTER
YOU WIL I WILL
SHOW YOU
RUIN
BUT FIRST
FIRST—
The planchette slashed a long, deliberate dash along the page. Then, in large, precise letters, like a threat:
BUSYNESS
And then the lights fizzed and went out entirely, and we were in the dark.
I heard the others exclaim and shout, heard chairs move and scrape, heard a crash as one fell over.
‘Sally!’ I shouted.
‘Shush!’ said Polly loudly. ‘Listen!’
Outside, in the long corridor that ran through the ground floor, there were footsteps. Heavy, creaking steps, pacing without hurry but with definite and deliberate intent.
Someone – Seb, I think – found the door and opened it. Meagre twilight flooded in, and we all made our way gratefully towards it. I heard the hallway light switch click repeatedly.
‘Electricity’s gone,’ said Seb. ‘Shit!’
‘What’s that?’ said Juliet.
‘What – oh God!’
A fluttering luminescence dancing through the blue twilight, coming from the corridor, moving with something that could only be described as purpose. Silently, we stared ahead of us as the light danced and intensified. Then – a torch beam, shining at us, as we threw arms and fingers up to shield our stinging eyes. And behind the torch, a voice.
‘What on earth is going on?’ said Graham.
43
‘Graham,’ sobbed Sally. ‘Graham!’
‘What’s happening?’ Graham sounded almost angry. ‘Why is the electricity off?’
Sally practically fell into his arms as she burst out crying. ‘He’s here! Oh, God help us, he’s here. We brought him here. He made the lights go out and he— he—’
‘We heard – something – running around upstairs,’ said Polly. She looked over at me. Her face was chalk-white.
‘Good God,’ said Graham, transferring his torch to his right hand, the better to put an awkward arm around Sally’s shoulders. ‘I heard that too. I thought it was one of you.’
‘Wait, why didn’t we hear you come in?’ said Neil. ‘Or see you, for that matter? Your headlights would cut across the entire front lawn.’
‘I turned them off,’ said Graham. ‘I saw all the lights were off, apart from a glimmer of light in this room, and surmised you had initiated a session. I didn’t want to interrupt things, so I cut my headlights and drove in slowly.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Neil.
‘You’re not seriously suggesting I did all this? That I shut off the electricity? You’re not really suggesting that? At this point?’ Graham shook his head gravely. ‘Whatever you heard or saw here wasn’t me. I came in, heard you in Tobias’s room, heard the footsteps, and then the lights went out. Now I’m going to find the fuse box and get the lights back on. You lot stay here.’
Far above us, the roof thrummed under what was now a heavy rainstorm. Sally sank down limply to the floor of the darkened hallway, and I sat next to her, putting my arm round her. I was annoyed with myself that I hadn’t thought to comfort her sooner; that it had fallen to Graham, of all people, to have the presence of mind to wonder how she might feel in all of this.
Further along the corridor, a small flame appeared as Seb flicked open his Zippo lighter. I could discern Polly, Neil and Juliet hovering uncertainly nearby. There was barely any light to see by, but I got the impression that Sally was staring – at everyone else, or the wall, or just the darkness – and thinking.
‘I’m – sorry,’ I said eventually. ‘That seemed – unnecessary.’ I couldn’t think what else to say.
‘He’s here,’ said Sally quietly, not looking at me. ‘He’s here.’
A clatter of angry footsteps headed towards us out of the darkness. I saw the torch beam flash in agitation.
‘Which one of you did this? Was it you, Tim?’ I had seen Graham irate before, and I had seen him irked and upset. But I had never seen him enraged. And here he was, absolutely apoplectic, so much so that I felt even his useless electromagnetic field detector might have picked up on it. He looked, by the light of the torch, almost like a different person.
‘What?’ I said. ‘What did I do?’
‘You know damn well!’ shouted Graham.
‘Did what?’ I said. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Come and see,’ Graham said. ‘If you really had nothing to do with it. Follow me.’
In a crocodile, like children on a school trip, we followed the flickering light of Graham’s torch through the corridor. Graham stopped outside his study and held the torch up.
The door was broken, sagging inwards from the middle. A crack ran down the dark woodwork, exposing the yellow wood beneath. It ran from the top all the way down to the lock mechanism, which had erupted from the wood.
Beyond the smashed door, the room was chaotic. Folders and paperwork had been torn apart, shaken, thrown. A heavy typewriter lay face down on the floor, like a gigantic beetle. The desk it had sat on had been upended and thrust against the wall. The shelves had been cleared, as if someone had reached an arm into them and swept all the books and papers out in fury.
‘You see?’ said Graham. ‘This is terrible, wanton destruction. The fuse box has been smashed too.’
‘What, so we’re stuck in the dark?’ said Juliet.
Graham nodded gravely. ‘For the time being, yes.’
‘Who?’ I said.
‘I think we know,’ said Sally quietly.
We all turned to look at her.
‘We’ve had writing on the walls. How is this any different?’
‘No,’ said Neil firmly, shaking his head. ‘No!’
‘Look,’ said Polly. ‘On the shelf there.’
We looked.
‘Those folders are the only things left untouched,’ she said. ‘T, S, P, N, J. Our initials. Good God. From the séance yesterday.’
We stared for a long, cold moment at the files on the shelf.
‘Why do you have files on all of us?’ said Juliet quietly.
‘Graham and I had to research you all for suitability,’ said Sally. ‘The experiment is almost over, and then we’ll be able to tell you everything about what we’re doing here. And we will, I promise.’
‘Who’s the other P?’ said Polly.
‘What do you mean?’ said Seb, peering at the shelves. ‘Oh, yeah.’
I saw it too. Set slightly aside from the others was another folder, marked with the letter ‘P’.
‘Please!’ said Graham. ‘It’s unfortunate that this has happened, but I don’t want it to compromise all we’ve achieved here. Please tell me you’ll just leave this room and its contents alone, until the weekend, when the experiment is done.’
One by one, we agreed.
‘Thank you,’ said Graham. ‘Now, first things first, we need to get the lights back on, then we can have a proper, adult conversation about where we are here. Sally, come and help.’
Seb, Juliet, Neil, Polly and I fumbled our way to the Great Hall, and across its moonlit vastness, to sink down into the three-piece suite gathered loosely in front of the fireplace. Seb fetched the candles from Tobias’s room and set them along the hearth. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, listening to the worsening rain outside hurl itself against the window panes.
‘What now?’ I said.
‘I have no idea,’ said Neil.
‘I do,’ said Seb cheerfully. ‘Tim, is there any of your whisky left?’
‘A little bit, yeah.’ There was about a third of a bottle left from my first evening here.