Dream Cottage (9 page)

She ended the call and gazed at the box. Inside there was what only could be described as a haul of gold coins, a few trinkets amongst them and an old rolled up piece of cloth. A box of treasure. A treasure chest that actually contained what appeared to be something valuable and not a load of rubbish. Greta blinked a few more times.

“This is unreal,” she exclaimed. “This sort of thing only happens to other people, not me.”

She reached into the box and gently touched the surface of the coins. She inched her hand downwards and it was soon covered in a thick layer of dusty gold. She gently pulled her hand out and brushed the top of a couple of golden goblets. She shook her head in disbelief.

“This has to be a dream… gold in a box in a passageway, beneath our cottage, so bizarre…”

“Greta? Greta! Are you there?” Max’s voice was close by. She called out in return.

“In here, quick, you must see this!”

Max clambered into the room and hugged Greta tightly.

“Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself? Have you any pain?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine, just bruised and a bit battered, but I’ll survive. Look, Max. Look over there. What do you think of that?” She pointed to the box. Max took a swift glance and then another longer look. He sank to his knees and shone his torch into the box. It glowed back at him in a yellow hue, illuminating his features against the shadows of the room.

“Is this for real?” he whispered, clearly in shock.

“Well, I assume it is. But I can’t quite take it all in,” Greta replied, rubbing her arm, then her head, which had started to ache. “This sort of thing doesn’t happen to ordinary people like us, does it?”

“No, it bloody well doesn’t,” Max replied. He picked up a gold coin and peered closely at it. “It looks real enough…”

“Hey guys! We’re here! Max? Are you down there?” came the distant distinctive voice of Leo.

“Come on, not a word to your brother. We need to investigate this further before we tell anyone anything. Let’s come back tomorrow and have a proper look at it. It’s getting late now. By the time we have placated your mother and father it will be even later. This will keep until tomorrow, Greta. Besides, we need to drive back to their house, don’t we? And I’m hungry. We might have to suffer your mother’s cooking. It’s a little late for a takeaway.”

Max touched her arm, prompting their exit. Greta nodded.

“Okay, you’re right, yes, yes and okay!” she admitted and closed the lid of the box.

“Aren’t I always?” grinned Max and he led her to the waiting ladder and escape.

Greta closed her eyes. It was quite late. She had just enjoyed a long, relaxing soak in the bath and a consolable meal with Max and her parents. The thoughts of eating a takeaway had long passed and Jeanne had fussed so much over Greta’s minor wounds, she felt as hen-pecked as her father. She sighed and drifted off to sleep.

Max was still downstairs with Leo and Charles, sharing a thought-provoking nightcap. Charles swirled brandy in his crystal cut glass.

“It must have been a terrible shock to disappear headlong through a hole in the kitchen floor. Greta is so lucky not to have broken anything. If that had been me, I wouldn’t have been so lucky.” He slugged at the remnants of the glass.

“Good job she didn’t land on her head; she might have knocked some sense into it!” Leo smirked. Charles chose to ignore his comment.

“Yes, she was fortunate. No harm done. Except we have a gaping hole in the kitchen floor. I think it might be an idea to make a feature of it. Put some lights down it; place a toughened glazed lid over the top. Shame there’s no water down there,” Max contemplated out loud. His mind was, however, racing. He couldn’t stop thinking
of the wooden box and its contents. He couldn’t wait to return to Greenacres in the morning.

“I think I’ll turn in now. Got to be up early to get some more work done at the cottage. Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight, old boy. Pleasant dreams.” Charles drained his glass and held it up to the light.

“Well, I’d better round up Ardi, make tracks too,” Leo announced. “Night Dad, night Max.”

“Thanks for your help tonight, Leo. Nice one!” Max returned.

“No problem mate, but I didn’t do that much.” Leo smiled.

Max climbed the stairs and walked into their bedroom. Greta was asleep. He undressed and got into bed. He turned off the bedside lamp. He turned over towards Greta, gently touched her arm, closed his eyes and instantaneously started to snore. Greta grunted and stirred. She turned over. Suddenly, she was woken by the sound of something moving across the bedside cabinet. She opened her eyes and blinked. She reached out and felt around in the darkness for her watch. It didn’t appear to be where she had left it. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. The noise began once more, slowly, dragging across the surface, this time of the dressing table opposite the bed.

Greta was a little more awake as she flicked the duvet off her legs, placed her feet on the floor, got slowly up and flopped towards the dressing table. The moon was shining enough for her to see where she was walking. The dragging noise stopped. Greta shook her head.

“What’s going on?” she hissed into the darkness.

“Ehhh? Hmmm?” Max stirred.

“Nothing,” Greta whispered.

“What are you…” Max mumbled, “… doing?”

“Nothing!” Greta hissed once more. “Go back to sleep!”

She blinked into the darkness, her eyes finally accustomed to the dark. She gasped in horror. She could just make out the familiar shape in the moonlight. She felt her body ensconce into a cold sweat. She started to pant in fear as the severed hand moved around the perimeter of the bedroom up and down the wall, slowly and with a purpose. Greta held her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream that was brewing deep inside her stomach. She retched and gritted her teeth in panic. The bloody entrails moved across the wall in a swinging fashion. It appeared to be writing something. Greta swallowed slowly. She shook her head.

“This is not happening! I must be dreaming! This is just so weird!” she uttered.

She closed her eyes tightly and opened them again. The hand was still there. Gulping in fright, Greta hissed an address to the hand.

“What do you want? Why are you doing this?”

The hand continued on its sordid journey across the wall.

“I can’t believe I am talking to a hand? Why are you here?” Greta persisted. The hand stopped; the fingers turned in the faint moonlight. It moved away from the wall and with an outstretched bloodstained forefinger, it pointed at the wall. Greta walked over towards the wall and peered at the scrawl.

“Be careful? Be careful of what?” she hissed in puzzlement. “Why? Why should I be careful?” Greta asked.

The hand moved towards the wall once more and pointed to another bloody mark.

Greta uttered out loud the next message. “Not safe… what isn’t safe?” Greta was very concerned.

The severed hand moved towards the ceiling, aimed its fingers upward and vanished.

Greta fumbled her way back to the bed and turned the bedside light on. Max was snoring by her side. She glanced at the travel clock on the bedside cabinet. It was 2am. She ran her hand through her hair and looked around the room. There was clearly nothing there. She walked over to the wall and touched its surface. To her astonishment, there was nothing written on it.

“I must have been dreaming,” she thought. She lay back in bed and turned off the light. “Either that or I’m going mad. Where the heck is my watch?”

She lay awake for some time, terrified that something else would happen, but the room remained silent. After a frenzied, heart-pounding wait, she drifted back to sleep.

The alarm clock squealed out at 7am. Greta was already awake and dressed. She was keen to return to Greenacres to investigate the hole and the passageway. Max stirred. He was clearly oblivious to any of the strange happenings in the night. He looked comfortable and relaxed. Greta decided to make some tea and bring a cup up to him. She crept downstairs only to find her mother already dressed and bustling around in the kitchen.

“Oh darling! Good morning! How are you feeling? Are you still aching?” she cooed and held her arms out to embrace Greta.

“Yes, a bit. But nothing life threatening.” Greta walked towards the kettle. “I was going to make a pot of tea.”

“I’ll do that, my darling. You must take it easy. I’m your mother and I am here to care for you.”

Greta smiled.

“We have lots to do at Greenacres today. So we’ll have breakfast and then leave around 9ish.”

Jeanne frowned.

“Are you sure you are up to it, dear? You had a nasty shock yesterday, a rotten tumble too. I think you ought to rest up today.”

“I certainly did have a scare but I’ll be fine. I won’t do a lot. Max can do the heavy lifting. I am the project manager, don’t forget.” She laughed and winced as her side ached from bruising.

“Well, I think the father and I should come with you. After all…”

“No! That won’t be necessary, mummy. You know what will happen. The father will hurt himself somehow and we will end up going to A&E with him. He’s better off here until all the major works have been finished. Then he can come over when the house is a much safer environment. We won’t have to worry about him injuring himself.”

“Yes, well, you do have a point.” Jeanne plumped up her hair. “He can be a little OTT, shall we say. But that won’t stop him finding something to trip over.”

“And perhaps this evening, we can have dinner at the pub. What do you say?” Greta offered a consolatory olive branch. “Our treat to thank you for all you’ve done for us and repayment of a dinner.”

“That would be lovely. I’ll book a table for seven o’clock.” Jeanne was noticeably pleased to be of some help.

Jeanne poured the tea and Greta took a cup upstairs to Max who was still asleep. She gently tugged at the duvet until he opened his eyes.

“Tea, Max. Don’t let it get cold,” Greta thrust the cup near his face.

“Give me a minute to come round,” Max blinked and tried to focus on Greta’s face, which was in close proximity to his own.

“After breakfast we can get straight over to Greenacres, can’t we?” She was so excited.

Max propped the pillows behind his head so he was sitting in a more upright position.

“Yes, of course we can. But give me a minute to wake up, can’t you?”

“Please hurry up!” Greta rose from the bedside and sauntered down stairs. Max called out.

“Do you know? I had the most bizarre dream.”

Greta stood on the stairway.

“Did you? Do you remember anything about it?”

“Yes, it was really weird. I dreamt that there was a girl in our room. She wasn’t very old, in her late teens, I would say. She was wearing these really old fashioned clothes. She looked dirty; like a vagrant. She kept on saying the same old thing, over and over.”

“Really? What did she say?” Greta froze; she reached out and held tightly on to the banister.

“I can’t remember much. Something about, I don’t know… about being careful. She was really quite insistent. Then, I don’t remember anything else, except for you pulling on the duvet. Then I woke up.”

Greta’s heart was rapidly pulsing. She felt very anxious.

“That’s not like you to remember your dreams,” she nervously returned.

“No, I don’t, do I? But this seemed so realistic; like she was right beside me in this room.”

“Better not let mummy hear you say that. You know how she worries about the slightest thing. She will have kittens!”

“And that her son-in-law is possibly crazy? Must be catching in this house!” Max laughed.

“Must be.” Greta relived her own experience of the night. She decided not to say anything to Max about her
encounter. She continued back down the stairs to the kitchen. Jeanne had begun to fry rashers of streaky bacon and was slicing some wholemeal bread for toast.

“I hope you’re hungry, darling. The father is. But don’t worry, there’s plenty to go around!” She swept her hand across the work surface which was laden with sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms and baked beans.

“Yes, I’m quite hungry.” Greta sat down at the table and grabbed the morning paper.

“You’ll need to have a good breakfast inside you if you are to be at Greenacres all day. I will pack you a lunch as well, if you like?”

“You don’t need to do that, mummy. We can call into the local supermarket and buy something.”

“No! I won’t have you wasting your money on expensive frippery! You have just bought a house; one that needs a lot of money spending on it and you’ll need every penny. It is always said the first year of house purchasing is always the most difficult, financially. I am quite happy to make you some sandwiches. The price you pay for a shop bought one, you could buy at least three loaves!” Jeanne carried on frying the breakfast and cracked egg after egg into a small pan where she deftly scrambled them with a hint of pepper and splash of milk and butter. She called out to Charles.

“Charles! Breakfast is on the table… now!”

Charles obediently appeared in the doorway and smiled at Greta.

“How are you, old girl? Is it still painful?” He sat down at the table and lifted a steaming mug of coffee.

“Not too bad, a little bit achy.” Greta was scanning the paper. Her eyes were drawn to an article on page 4.
‘The Medium who lost her Star Spangles.’
She shook her head. There was another story reviewing Nonie Spangler’s latest
psychic show. It wasn’t a particularly friendly account.
‘Medium Nonie Spangler has lost her sparkle. Audience felt fleeced by her so-called psychic abilities. Many are demanding refunds for their tickets…’

“Anything interesting in the papers, love?” Charles looked over his reading glasses.

“Only an article about that spiritual medium. Sophie and I went to watch her show a few weeks ago. She has been slated by the press. She wasn’t all that bad. She certainly has had a rough time of it lately.”

“That’s the trouble with dabbling in the spirit world. Difficult to believe some things those people say. Give folk false hope. There are a lot of hoodlums out there!” Charles said as he cleared his throat.

“I’ve always been a firm believer in the after life,” interrupted Jeanne as she placed two large plates laden with fried food in front of Charles and Greta. “There has to be something other than nothing, when someone passes away. At least, that’s what I tell myself. When my mother died, it was a great comfort to know she was safe, somewhere on the other side and not in any old place, or come to think of it, nowhere…” She gazed into space, still holding a tea towel.

“How do you know that though, mummy? You’ve never mentioned anything before.” Greta was surprised at her mother’s announcement.

“Well,
I
went to one of these medium people, after my mother passed away. And he told me things that only I would know about her. I didn’t know him from Adam. Nice sort of chap. He was very comforting.”

Greta was amazed that her mother hadn’t mentioned this before.

“And what about grandpa?”

“Well, apparently he’s with her. They’re together.
That’s all I wanted to know. It helped me through my grieving process. Knowing that she wasn’t alone; that she was safe.”

“You have really surprised me, mummy. I didn’t think for one moment, you would be a believer of the after life.”

“Yes, afraid so, dear. I have always been interested in the paranormal. The father isn’t though. Quite adamant. He says he will only believe it when he has proof, don’t you dear? When you see it!”

Charles looked up from his plate of food, his mouth full, chewing soundly and beamed.

“Ummm hmmm.”