“What the f…” he cried. Rubbing his hands together, he added, “You might want to think about changing your shoes. They generate serious static energy.” He laughed. I flushed red.
“Your shoes are fine, practical. Look…urgh.” Joab ruffled his hair in a display of frustration. He scanned my body from my hair to my feet. An expression that I couldn’t comprehend flashed across his face. I looked away. To say I felt intimidated by Joab’s presence was a massive understatement. If I could have recoiled into my body and turned inside out, I would have, just to stop him looking at me.
“I am Joab. I…”
“Yes, you already said.” I shrugged, barely able to breathe.
“So, what do you like about cleaning?” Joab beamed in a contrived, overly friendly way.
I scoured my brain for a good answer in case the question was part of the interview process. “I, um, I like the, the satisfaction of seeing a dirty room become clean.” My colour became an inhuman purple as I cringed at my terrible response.
“Yeah, guess cleaning gives a sense of pride…” Joab’s voice trailed off.
“Mmm,” I agreed.
A silent void filled the room, too heavy to ignore. I grappled with the notion of small talk and thought better of it, waiting for the most appropriate opportunity to leave. I lifted my line of vision to his, and our eyes met. The intensity of his gaze unnerved me. He was searching for something in me, and his eyes appeared to sparkle with memories.
He looked around eighteen but held his body squarely and without shame, unlike the awkward boys at school who stooped or twisted their bodies to avoid scrutiny, and constantly bounced or drummed their knees in class. His presence was oddly old, like someone who already knew their place in the world. In that instant, when our vision locked, we were undoubtedly connected as if he projected his soul into mine. I felt breathless and gasped. I stumbled back, mumbling excuses. Then Annie bustled her way back into the room. She glanced at me and then sharply at Joab. The connection snapped and I was free. “Shall we continue?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nice to meet you.” Joab grinned.
“Yes. Thanks.” I flushed. “Bye.”
Next, Annie and I headed down to the basement. She was talking but I wasn’t listening. My mind was replaying that strange moment with Joab.
“To the left, there was a wine cellar and next to that the herb room. Adjacent was the utility room.”
“Sorry. What did you say?” I hoped it wasn’t obvious, but I hadn’t listened to a word Annie said.
“Joab has that effect on girls. Honestly he might be incredibly hot, but he can be a terrible bore.” Annie laughed.
Before I could defend myself, I was ushered in to small room.
“Everything you need for cleaning is in here.”
I bent under the doorway as I entered the cleaning cupboard. Suddenly I felt hot as an intense pressure on my chest made me choke.
“Are you OK? Shall I get you some water?” Annie asked.
Gasping for air, I nodded frantically. Annie led me through to a chair in the herb room. She plucked a little rosemary from a drying rack and wafted it under my nose. The sweet, woody herb calmed my breathing immediately, and the air felt fresh. I was able to breathe comfortably again. Annie looked worried. I smiled at her gratefully. “I am fine. I think I may have inhaled some dust. Was that rosemary?”
“Yes, its scent is a stimulant and helps clear the airways.”
She handed me a glass of water and glanced at my revealed necklace. “That’s pretty,” Annie commented, reaching for it. I instinctively winced, and she withdrew her hand. “Is it amber? What are the words engraved on it?”
I nodded, still struggling to speak. “I don’t know what it says; it’s in a language I don’t recognise.” I quickly tucked the stone into my shirt. The necklace was the only clue to my past and was precious to me. “I feel fine now. Shall we continue the tour? I can’t wait to see the rest of the house.” I lied, as in truth, the house was intimidating and all I wanted to do was get out. Although unable to shake off the feeling I had been there before, my curiosity outweighed my fear.
Annie glanced at her watch. “Gosh, we’d better get on. I didn’t realise how long I had kept you. Here is my mobile number. Any problems call me. If not you can start on Saturday. Shall we say 8am to 4.30pm, then 10am to 4pm on Sundays, and if you can manage an hour or two either before or after school until the holidays? Over the summer, we will look at increasing your hours to full time. Here is a key. I will be away for a while, so let yourself in. I will leave some instructions.”
I was a little confused. Annie pretty much offered me the job on the spot but hardly asked anything about my CV or experience. She showed me to the door and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I was stiff and awkward, unaccustomed to any level of intimacy with strangers.
CHAPTER 4
Saturday arrived. I made my way to Hunter’s Moon. The house seemed more imposing than my first visit. A copper sky hung heavy above the smudged white sun which was losing a battle with the billowing rain clouds. The windows on the red house reflected the thundery sky. The oak trees curled protectively over the roof as if guarding against unwanted intruders.
My newly cut key was stiff in the lock, but eventually, the heavy door opened. As I turned to close the door, several crows gathered around the doorstep. Their accusing stares sent shivers down my spine. I clapped my hands and whistled the best I could. They refused to budge. “Shoo,” I said assertively. The largest crow cocked its head, squawked and flew away with its minions.
The welcoming glow of the summer sun that had bathed the kitchen on my first visit was now faded, leaving the house cold and dark. I flicked on the light, but it did little to ease the gloom. The silence was oppressive, and every creak and gurgle of the old house made my heart jump. Although my cleaning gear was stacked in the kitchen, Annie left instructions for me to store it in the basement.
My tension was soothed a little by the music I was listening to through my headphones. I scrubbed the tiles on the hall floor on my hands and knees, wiped the skirting boards then strained to reach elaborate plaster cornices. My eyes were red and weeping with the dust which seemed to enter every crevice of my face and caused me to wheeze.
In the library, I vacuumed the rugs then set to work on the shelves. The urge to touch the beautifully bound books was irresistible. I traced the leather-bound spines and the embossed writing and gently withdrew a wine-coloured book from the shelf. All edges of the pages were finished with metallic gold. There was an inscription dated 1885. The book was filled with beautiful paintings of plants and flowers and their healing properties. I laid it back on the desk and returned to the bookshelf and discovered other books describing moon cycles, Egyptology, stars and astrology.
My fingertips prickled as they reached for a shabby black spine. It was cracked and splitting, unlike the others. There was no writing to indicate its contents. Gently, I touched the book. I gasped. The spine felt hot. The book tumbled onto the floor as if it were throwing itself towards me. I scooped it up and examined the cover. Book of Shadows, Joe Mason, 1940. The book was still tingling in my hands as I slowly opened it. A small faded cutting from a newspaper floated towards the rug. I stooped and picked it up. A group of people stared from the yellowed page.
Before I could study the photograph, something brushed past me and I shivered. Fast whispers accelerated my already pacing heart, which hammered over the music in my ears. I slipped the book into my bag and spun round. There was nothing.
Cautiously, I removed my headphones, scrutinising the silence. I jumped as a swift, blurred image swept across the mirror that hung over the fireplace and vanished. I advanced tentatively towards the glass expecting to see my face and puffy red eyes gazing back with their usual emptiness.
I peered into the mirror. My eyes looked different from their usual hazel. They were a more vivid green. I moved closer and rested my hands on the shining surface. Warmth
radiated through my fingers and up my arm. A wave of electric power gripped my body. I thought I saw my reflection’s lips move independently from my own. The energy shooting up my arms intensified before propelling me away and then releasing me. I screeched and stared at my trembling hands then back to the glass. For a moment I thought I could see white palms pressed against the inside of the mirror. I blinked, and they were gone. Alert with fear, I scanned the room. “What the hell was that?” I gasped, daring to wonder if the house was haunted. Was there a ghost in the mirror? My pulse raced, and the blood had drained from face.
I mustered the courage to return to the mirror. Hesitantly, I touched the glass. This time, it was cool. My shallow breaths misted the glass slightly to reveal a strange symbol, like two capital roman style ‘I’s next to each other. It resembled a mark I recognised—maybe an astrological symbol? I breathed on the glass again to enhance the mark; it stood out for a few seconds and disappeared. Suddenly there was a crash in the kitchen, and shaking, I lifted the heavy book I had been dusting, wielding it above my head as a weapon and edged to the kitchen. The mop lay on its side, and the dirty water was spilt across the clean floor. Leading away from the puddle of water were paw prints. Crouching under the table was a large ginger cat. Finally, I could exhale.
The cat rubbed its warm body against my leg. I crouched down to stroke his smooth fur. “Hey, we are twins,” I said to the cat, “two ‘gingers’ together in this scary house.” He purred in response and then seemed to look past me for a moment before emitting a screech and flying out of the room. My heart was hammering again. I dared to turn around. “Nothing there, stupid cat,” I said, relieved but not wholly convinced I was alone.
The long, exhausting day of cleaning finally came to an end. The house felt even colder as the evening drew in. I shivered, then picked up the mop and bucket and filled it with all the cleaning products and dust cloths. I nervously headed for the cellar. I turned on the light with my elbow. It took a while for the energy saving bulb to illuminate the exposed bricks.
I expected it to be cold, but the further I descended, the warmer I felt. The skin on my neck and chest was clammy. My breathing became shallow and quick as the warmth in the air started to smother me. The urgent need for oxygen was sending waves of panic through me. My eyes were gritty with dust and sweat that was forming on my forehead.
I reached the cleaning cupboard door, opened it and slipped inside. It was just as hot; I coughed, gasping for breath. The door swung shut behind me, blocking the dim light from the hallway. I desperately searched the walls, gliding my hands over the bricks and frantically searching for the light switch. The walls of the pitch-black room were closing in on me. I was completely disorientated. Where was the door? Thick air crushed my chest; then I found it. I skimmed my hands down the smooth surface as systematically as my panic would allow until I found the handle. “Ouch…” I recoiled from the burning metal. Jumping back, I tripped over the bucket and scrambled to recover. I covered my hands with a couple of dusting cloths and tried the handle again. I levered it up and down, but the door wouldn’t open.
“Please….c’mon,” I begged. I slammed my back against it, coughing and panting. Hit by a heavy wave of tiredness, I slid down the door and slumped onto the floor. Suddenly the room lit up; my eyes sprang open. I may have been delirious, but I could have sworn I heard a voice—“Get up…GET UP…GET OUT”—then my head hit the floor, and my mind flipped into a mashed up dream world of pictures and sounds.
Angelic voices were singing. There was a drumbeat. I was watching a clearing in a wood. It was dark but little candles twinkled in the branches. Bodies dressed in white gowns span and twirled around me. The singing grew louder. The people held hands and began to chant. A shard of white light shot into the night sky. The circles of people turned faster like cogs. The chanting grew louder and louder. My ears pounded as the sounds echoed around my head. The chants turned to agonised screams. People fell to the ground. My body was being dragged away. The cries grew quieter until there was deathly silence. Darkness engulfed me.
I awoke with a sharp intake of breath. It took a few moments to realise where I was. What happened? What had I just witnessed? My eyes darted around the room for a second. Shakily, I stood and tried the handle of the door again. This time it flew open and Joab appeared.
“Are you OK? What happened?” he said.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe, and the door wouldn’t open,” I stammered, then stumbled up the stairs into the kitchen. Fresh air cascaded over me. I lay on the kitchen floor for a moment letting the delicious oxygen flow through my body. Joab crouched down next to me and urged me to sit up and drink some water from a glass he was holding out to me. I took a sip. I stood unsteadily. What the hell was going on? Was I being haunted? The cellar, the mirror? It was too much.
Joab grabbed a chair for me, urging me to sit.
“I should go.” I looked towards the door, mustering the energy to move.
“Have some tea first. I can’t let you drive until I know you feel better.”
“OK,” I said reluctantly, too traumatised to argue. I avoided eye contact and gratefully drank the hot sweet tea.
“Thanks. I feel better now,” I lied. I felt terrible, but I really wanted to go home.
I felt Joab studying my face and my long arms, which I folded defensively across my frame. His eyes darted back to my face.
“Have we met before somewhere?” he asked.
I shrugged. “No…I don’t go out much. I’m not local.” I prayed he wouldn’t pursue his questioning, because I was exhausted, scared and wanted to go home.
“Where are you from?” He was obviously not going to give up.
I chewed my lip nervously and looked longingly towards the door.
“Oh. I come from a small town, a few hours from here. I never really went anywhere, and everyone knew each other,” I lied again. “Hey, thanks for the tea, but I am really tired. I have a banging headache and I have to go. I have some college work to do.”
“Do you feel OK to drive?”
“Yes, I am fine.” I gathered my things. A million questions travelled through my mind. Had we met before? What happened in the cellar? I felt strange, jumbled. Fragmented pictures uploaded into my brain, and I was supposed to rearrange them like a jigsaw. I needed to clear my head before I went home.
“I think I might go for a walk before I drive home, get some air.”
“Yes, good idea. Shall I show you where to go?” Joab’s phone rang. “I need to get this.”
Relieved by the distraction, I said, “OK, see you next week.” I made my exit before Joab could stop me.
Once outside, I filled my lungs with air which was sweet with the smell of summer rain. As I breathed deeply, I felt some of the tension leave my body.
It was a beautiful summer’s evening. Droplets of rain clung like tiny crystal balls to the roses surrounding the gates. The clouds had cleared and the birds sang. I decided to explore the village. My mind was relentlessly scanning and rescanning the strange occurrences in the house. I was processing and calculating the puzzling images, sounds. Was someone trying to tell me something? What was I supposed to solve?
I passed the Old Post Office, a whitewashed thatched cottage where a small wire-haired dog growled through a heavily chained five-bar gate. I continued along the road, which narrowed, and the tarmac became gravel. Brambles clung to the hedgerows flaunting tight clutches of new blackberries and rose hips.
The dream of the shard of light happened for real—how did I know that?
I turned the corner to see a larger house built with the same small orange bricks as Hunter’s Moon. It had a large white-framed Victorian-style porch plastered with posters for a brass band concert, a flower show, an open garden and a harvest supper at the church barn.
I followed the track towards the small church. Small gravestones nestled like crooked teeth amongst soft green mowed grass. I sat on a bench and thought about Joab. Ho
w come I’d seen him before? Was he from my old life? The one I couldn’t remember? I wondered how old he really was. He looked the same age as me but acted much older. He was a partner in the business, which was weird for an eighteen-year-old. I guessed he must be at least twenty-one or two. I tried to shake him out of my head by continuing my walk.
I clambered over a rickety wooden stile onto a narrow path opposite the church. It wound through elder trees and more brambles, which nicked at my ankles. Through an opening I was greeted by a beautiful view over rolling wheat fields and woodland towards a valley. The metal kissing gate clanked open, and I followed a lane down a hill. It appeared to lead me to the edge of the village, past a pub, which was devoid of life except for a scarecrow that seemed to wink at me. It had a lion’s mane made from an old mop and a hand-stitched grin. Beneath the scarecrow’s colourful face was a hand-painted sign which read: “Mandy Lion: keeping the good in the village and the evil out.” I winced at the creepiness of the declaration. I couldn’t help but wonder if Mandy Lion had failed. Had evil weaved its way into the village and festered in the walls of Hunter’s Moon?
The main road ahead looked familiar. Following it, I found myself back on the village High Street. I approached my car which looked uncomfortable and out of place in the splendour of the surroundings. The oak trees in the grounds shuddered and released croaking crows. They swooped over the house, and I flinched as one flew past me as I unlocked my car.
I glanced back to the house. I could see two figures talking in the kitchen. The door swung open and slammed shut. A sandy-haired young man in a shabby wax jacket, a checked shirt and jeans tucked into well-used workman-style boots stormed past, glancing momentarily at me with a hurried, insincere smile. He strode purposefully down the road in the direction of the house with the Victorian porch. Then to my astonishment, he stopped and turned to look at me again, confused. Then he shook his head, turned and left.
CHAPTER 5
The Haunting of Violet Gray Page 2
