The Patchwork House Page 6

  And that’s when I realized.

  I’d checked the room at eye level, but not above my head.

  I snatched my phone up and stabbed at the on button. The light glared in my face again, casting the room in a dull, blue pallour. I didn’t turn on the phone’s flashlight again, I just used its regular illumination to see by.

  And then I looked up.

  In the centre of the ceiling was a chandelier that wasn’t terribly opulent, but was in good condition. I knew this because I’d seen it in daylight. Right now I couldn’t see it at all.

  The centre of the ceiling, right above my head, was black.

  Quickly I turned on the phone’s flashlight and aimed it upwards.

  The blackness swallowed the beam. It was like anti-light. The lit circle shone on the ceiling around the edges of something black where the chandelier should be. Something that shouldn’t be there. Something that would not reveal itself no matter what angle I shone the light.

  And then it moved. Very very slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. I found myself reaching over to Beth, trying to shake her awake.

  And then it turned.

  I’m sure it looked at me.

  It had no eyes, no shape, no form, but it was looking at me. I knew it. I felt it in the core of my soul. It was watching me. It knew me.

  It hated me.

  And then it fell from the ceiling, like it had let go. It fell right towards me. For a brief second, I saw something form in the centre of the black mass as it dropped.

  I screamed and dropped my phone. My arms flew up to protect my head.

  But there was nothing. Nothing touched me.

  I picked up the phone again, shaking. I aimed it upwards, hardly daring to look.

  There was the chandelier. No blackness, no inexplicable shadow.

  But it was in here, with me, with us.

  I used the light from the phone to find the lamp. I turned the valve and it hissed into life, filling the room with warm, comforting light.

  The others didn’t stir.

  I got out of the sleeping bag and searched the whole room. I looked beneath the table and under the chairs, even in the fireplace. My eyes kept returning to the ceiling, wondering just what the hell I’d seen.

  Finally, satisfied that the four of us were alone in here, I got back into the sleeping bag.

  This time I left the lamp on.

  But I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep. My mind just kept on replaying what I’d seen on the ceiling, over and over.

  I don’t know how long I lay there. I was damn glad I’d left the lamp on though. I didn’t have to stare into the darkness imagining what was sitting there ready to pounce at me.

  It was then I heard footsteps.

  It was background noise that wasn’t there before; quiet enough so that I couldn’t be sure what I was hearing but loud enough to be sure it wasn’t just something natural. It was a creaking, like floorboards bowing under someone’s body weight. I’d heard that rhythmic creaking before. I’d heard it whenever anyone had descended the stairs earlier that evening.

  Someone was coming down the stairs right now.

  I glanced at my sleeping companions. All present and accounted for. I hoped I’d fallen asleep without realizing it and one of them had left the room. But no. Neither was I dreaming. My flesh crawled. The more I listened, the more certain I was that somebody was almost gingerly descending.

  The footsteps went quiet. I froze in place, sitting up in my sleeping bag. I strained to hear. Why had the sound ceased?

  Oh God, more footsteps, but not descending the stairs now. They were crossing the hall.

  They were coming closer.

  I climbed out and stood up, looking around for some kind of weapon. The fireplace didn’t have a poker or I would have snatched it up. Not that it would do me any good, but an iron bar in my hands might have lent me some courage.

  “Guys, wake up!” I hissed. They didn’t even stir. I didn’t dare speak louder. I didn’t want to let anything outside know we were in here.

  But it knew.

  The footsteps grew louder now, unmistakable. And then they stopped, right outside the door.

  Silence.

  Just the regular breathing of my companions, and the hiss of the lamp.

  Half of my brain wanted to throw open the door and confront whatever was out there. The other half, the half that won, wanted that door to stay shut until dawn, when I would jump in the car and leave this place and never come back. I had to wake the others but I couldn’t move. I just stared at the door, standing like I was ready to run—though there was nowhere to run to.

  Now I was aware of another noise. It was coming from the door. It was a scratching noise, like someone was running their nails down the outside of the door. I’d had enough.

  “Wake the fuck up,” I shouted.

  Beth sat bolt upright. Derek and Chloe stirred.

  “Wake up,” I screamed. I didn’t care what might hear me; I just didn’t want to be facing this alone.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Beth asked, climbing out of the sleeping bag. She rubbed at her eyes and blinked at me. “Are you okay?”

  “There’s something outside the door. It’s trying to get in.”

  “What time is it?” That was Derek. He was fumbling for his phone so he could answer his own question.

  “Derek? What’s going on?” Chloe asked.

  Beth got up and linked her arm through mine.

  “What’s the matter? What did you hear?”

  “I heard footsteps coming down the stairs,” I replied, aware that I sounded like a raving madman. “And then they crossed the hallway and stopped. I wanted to open the door and see who was there, but there was this scratching noise, like nails on the wood.”

  Was I losing my mind? We all listened intently but there was no sound coming from the other side.

  Derek went over to the door.

  “Do you want me to open it?” he asked, his hand grasping the handle.

  “No,” I cried. “Yes! God, no.”

  I think he was laughing at me inside, though he kept a straight face. Instead of opening the door, he put his head against the wood and listened.

  “What can you hear?” asked Beth.

  He held up a hand for silence. Impatiently we waited for his verdict.

  “There’s nothing out there,” Derek said at last. “I’m going to open the door.”

  I took a step backwards. Beth gazed at me in concern.

  “Perhaps best not to,” she said to Derek.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “If it’s a ghost I want to see it. That’s why you invited us here, right Jim? For a spot of jolly ghost hunting? Well let’s go hunt the damn thing. It can’t harm us, so let’s go harm it.”

  “Derek, it moved a bookcase,” Beth reminded him.

  “It’s trying to scare us. It wants us to leave. If it’s the grandfather of the last owner then it’s pissed that the house isn’t in the family anymore. So let’s make it angry, let’s get it fired up some more and then we can take its picture. We’ll post it on every website and tweet it and put it on Facebook until it goes viral, and every wannabe ghost hunter in the world is going to descend on this place and your dad can charge a fortune to let them stay in a genuine haunted house.”

  Beth was shaking her head. “I don’t think we should make it mad.”

  “It’s not trying to get us to leave,” I said. I don’t know how I knew that, but I got the strong impression it was just flexing its muscles, and if it wanted us out it would have picked us up and hurled us through the window by now.

  “Of course it wants us to leave! This isn’t our house. The family has lived here for decades and now you think this ghost is just going to sit there and let the place fall into the hands of investors or some dumb footballer?”

  “Keep your voice down, please,” Chloe said, taking his arm.

  But Derek’s rant was over. The wind had gone out of his sails somewhat. Pe
rhaps the ghost—there was no doubt in my mind any more—was just trying to drive a wedge between us. It wouldn’t be hard, given the inexplicable frostiness Derek had shown towards me from the moment he arrived.

  “I’m going to take a look.”

  Derek crossed to his sleeping bag and picked up his phone and his torch. He switched the torch on and selected something on his phone, likely the camera. Then he crossed back to the door.

  “Derek, love, I think we should probably keep the door closed,” Chloe said.

  “No, I’m going to take a look. And if there’s nothing there then I’m going to get the camera from the landing. If it came down the stairs like Jim says it did, then it must have passed the camera and there must be a shot of it.”

  “I’ll come with you then,” said Chloe. She didn’t sound very brave, but she obviously didn’t want to let him out of her sight.

  “Let’s all go,” I said.

  “I’m not going,” said Beth.

  “You want to stay here alone?”

  “No, you’re going to stay here with me!”

  “Chloe and I will go,” Derek said. He handed his torch to Chloe and had her stand a few feet from the door, shining the light towards him. Then he put his hand on the door handle again, and held his camera ready. Before he opened it, he put his ear against the door one last time to see if he could hear anything.

  We waited in silence.

  Bang.

  The door shook with the force of the blow. Derek staggered backwards and fell to the floor. Chloe screamed. I think I screamed too.

  “What the fuck was that?” Beth breathed.

  Derek stared at the door in shock, his bravado evaporated. Chloe went to him and helped him up, holding him tight. Beth’s hand found mine and squeezed it.

  We stayed like that for some time, just staring at the wood-panelled door in shock.

  Eventually, Beth spoke up.

  “This is ridiculous. We can’t stand here all night.”

  And to everyone else’s surprise, she grabbed the lamp, moved over to the door, turned the knob and opened it.

  It was so dark beyond it was difficult to see if there was anything out there or not. As Beth stepped out into the hallway, I wanted desperately to go with her, to keep her safe. But I couldn’t move. I felt like the worst boyfriend in the world. What if something took her? She was brave enough to go out there; I should be by her side!

  “There’s nothing out here,” she said.

  Derek grabbed the spare lamp and turned it on so that we’d still have light in the room. Then he took the torch back from Chloe and joined Beth outside the door. Chloe seemed as terrified as me, but she managed to move to the doorway even if she refused to pass through it.

  “Look, over there at the bottom of the stairs,” Beth said, and moved out of my line of sight.

  Derek followed. “What the hell?”

  Finally my curiousity won out over my cowardice. I gently pushed past Chloe and stepped into the hall. As I did so, I clicked on my torch. There was enough light coming from the lamp and Derek’s light, but I felt more secure with my own torch in my hand somehow. If nothing else, I could use it as a weapon.

  Beth and Derek were at the bottom of the stairs, down on their knees, sorting through a pile of… books.

  “How did they get there?” I asked redundantly.

  There were about a dozen of them. Beth had organized most of them into a neat pile.

  “Did it throw them down?” Chloe asked. She had joined us now, unwilling to be left in the drawing room alone.

  Beth nodded. “Yeah, they were scattered over the bottom few steps.”

  “Maybe it’s trying to tell us something,” Chloe suggested. None of us wanted to acknowledge that we were now calling whatever this phenomenon was an ‘it’.

  I bent down and took the first book off the pile. “These are just botany books. Check the rest of them.”

  Derek sorted through a couple while Beth worked through her pile.

  “This one’s about bird watching,” Beth said, handing it back to me. “This one is Moby Dick.”

  “Here’s a cookbook,” said Derek, “and Dracula of all things.”

  “I don’t get what this is supposed to mean,” said Beth.

  I handed the book back to her. “I don’t think it’s supposed to mean anything. I think whatever it is just grabbed some books and threw them down the stairs at us.”

  “I’ve seen more threatening spirits,” Derek said.

  I shook my head. “Don’t forget the bang on the door, and the bookcase. Old Percy’s granddad sure is a strong bugger.”

  “Jim, what’s this?”

  Beth was holding a book open in one hand and a photograph in the other. Clearly she’d just taken the picture from within the pages of the novel. I picked up the lamp and brought it closer. When I saw what it was, I gasped.

  It was a picture of a pretty blonde woman, in her twenties, with large blue eyes and a radiant smile. I’d not seen her photo in so long; it was a shock to see it here.

  “I know her,” Beth said. “I’ve seen her photo in your old photo album. I’ve seen this photo!”

  “Who is she?” Chloe asked, peering over my shoulder.

  “Her name is Anna,” I replied. “I used to date her, years ago.”

  “So what’s her photo doing here?” Derek asked.

  “Yeah that’s what I’d like to know.” Beth was staring daggers at me.

  I gaped at her. “Okay, sure, that makes sense. I bring a picture of my ex-girlfriend on my weekend away with you, and I stash it in a book when I get here just for kicks. That sounds likely.”

  “How else did it get here?”

  “I remember her,” Derek said. “Where is she now?”

  “As far as I know she’s in Australia,” I replied.

  “And she’s here tonight!” Derek announced, turning and waving his arms dramatically. Clearly he was enjoying my discomfort.

  Nobody laughed at Derek’s joke. I continued, “And no, I don’t carry her photo around with me.”

  Beth wasn’t convinced. “Maybe you brought it by mistake and tried to get rid of it by sticking it in a book before I saw it.”

  I had no idea how the photo had got there. A disturbing thought arrived in my head.

  “Maybe the ghost, or whatever it is, maybe it brought it here.”

  “How convenient,” said Beth icily.

  “Well it’s a bit of a coincidence isn’t it? I hide this photo in the same book that gets thrown down the stairs.”

  Beth just stared at me. Then she tore the photo in half and returned to the drawing room. We all followed her, closing the door and switching off all but one of the lamps. Then we sat around the table again, quietly listening to see if anything weird was going to happen. Beth wouldn’t even look at me.

  “Tell us about these ghosts then,” Derek asked, probably just to change the subject. “Three of them right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Arthur the groundskeeper was telling us about them. There’s a boy with a drum, a woman who smells of lavender and the ghost of Percy’s grandfather.”

  “Who’s Percy?” Chloe asked.

  “The guy who owned this place before he died and my dad bought it.”

  “So which one is throwing books at us and shifting furniture?”

  “I think we can discount the little boy with the tin drum,” I said. “Unless he’s been working out.” I laughed gently, trying to break the tension a little, but nobody so much as smiled. “So that leaves Percy’s granddad and the lavender lady.”

  “Can we rule her out?” Derek asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “I didn’t smell any lavender. Did you guys?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “So that leaves Percy’s granddad,” said Chloe.

  “Arthur did say he tends to make a racket at night,” I told them.

  “He must be really pissed at us,” Beth said while she looked at me, making it clear
that the ghost wasn’t the only one who was mad.

  Derek nodded. “So it’s the old man then. Any reports of him moving furniture?”

  I shrugged. “No idea. Arthur only talked about him briefly, just said he’s noisy.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Percy’s granddad? Well he must have, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “We could ask him,” Beth suggested.

  “Or maybe the books give a clue to his name,” Derek suggested.

  “I think that’s a stretch,” I said.

  “Feel free to come up with a better suggestion,” Derek snapped.

  All of us sat quietly for a moment.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re so pissed off at me?” I asked him after a time. I knew why Beth was mad, however unfairly, but the cause of Derek’s ire was a mystery.

  “Drop it, Jim,” he said, in a warning tone.

  “Maybe I won’t. Maybe you’re going to tell me what’s up with you.”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t think I owe you anything. You don’t need anything from me so just drop it, okay?”

  I put up my hands and backed off. “No problem, Derek. I’ll leave you be.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Well there was no doubt about it now: he really didn’t like me and me alone. So now the only person here who could tolerate me was Chloe.

  We sat in silence for a short while and then Chloe said something.

  “What if it’s not one of the three known ghosts,” she suggested quietly. “What if it’s a newcomer? What if it’s Percy himself? How long ago did he die?”

  “A month,” Beth said.

  “Well there you go then, maybe it’s the ghost of Percy.”

  “He was an old man when he died,” I said. “How’s he going to lift a bookcase?”

  “He’s a fucking ghost, Jim,” Derek said. “Who the hell knows what he’s capable of?”

  I ignored his abrasive attitude and went with the positive. By calling it a ghost, Derek was admitting that I wasn’t crazy. I was sure he’d try to find some kind of explanation for the bang on the door and the books on the stairs. But no, he was seemingly as convinced as I was. And he hadn’t seen the thing on the ceiling.