Kiera Hudson & The Creeping Men (12 page)

I reached the tree-lined grove that led to the gates of Bastille Hall just before midnight. I switched off my headlights, creeping forward until I could conceal my car beneath a large overhanging tree. With torch in hand, I climbed from my car. I couldn’t see Potter, but I was too afraid to switch on the torch, just in case I could be seen from the house.

Walking the grass verge instead of the gravel drive, I crept forward to the gates. They stood in the distance, black and gothic-looking, barring strangers from the house. I suspected that the gates were now also protecting the outside world from some creature that lived within the walls of Bastille Hall. I drew closer still with each careful step I took.

A hand fell upon my shoulder, and I spun around, fighting back the scream that was in my throat. Potter looked through the darkness at me.

“You nearly scared me half to death, Potter,” I hissed.

“Shhh,” he said, taking me by the arm and leading me into the nearby undergrowth. “Keep down.”

Crouching in the bushes next to Potter, he pointed into the distance. I could see a window with a light burning in it on the upper floor of the house. The light was weak, so I guessed that someone had lit a candle.

“Can you see him?” Potter whispered in my ear, so close to me that we were now shoulder to shoulder in the dark.

“See who?” I asked.

He pointed in the direction of the window again. From my hiding place I could now see the silhouette of a figure sitting in the window.

“Looks like Sir Edmund is keeping vigil again tonight,” Potter said.

“Good,” I whispered.

“Good?” Potter asked. “We need the old git to be asleep in bed if we’re gonna get inside without being seen.”

“It’s good because he suspects that whoever broke into Amanda’s room will come back tonight,” I said. “But the only difference will be that tonight we will be waiting in that room to unmask whoever it is. And besides, I’m sure Locke will be able to sneak us inside without being seen.”

Then, as planned, I saw a shadow fall across the path on the other side of the gate. “She’s coming,” I whispered, creeping out of the darkness.

Potter followed at my heels. “You better be right about this, Kiera,” he said.

“Just trust me,” I said, for that’s all I really wanted.

Within inches of the gate, I crouched low again, hidden by the shrubbery.

“Ms. Locke,” I whispered, “are you there?”

“Yes,” she said, peering around the edge of the gate. Her face was so white with dread it almost seemed to swim in a sea of darkness.

“Edmund is at his window,” Potter hissed. “He will see the gate open.”

“I’ve come to call it off,” Locke said. “He will be at that window all night. It’s no use, you’ll never get in without being seen.”

“Another way then,” Potter suggested.

“We don’t have time,” I said, knowing how far away the outer wall stretched and the walk through the woods back to the house. “I have an idea.”

“What?” both asked at once.

Taking my iPhone from my pocket, I said to Locke, “What is the house phone number?”

“Phone number?” She frowned from around the edge of the gate at me.

“What is it?” I insisted.

As she recited the number, I typed it into my phone then pressed the call button. From the darkness, I looked up, watching Sir Edmund’s silhouette in the window. I listened to the dialling tone ring over and over. Then just as I was about to give up, I saw the silhouette at the window get up and move away.

“Now!” I hissed at Locke through the gate.

Looking back at the window and seeing that Sir Edmund had moved away to answer the phone, she slipped a key from her dress pocket and slid it into the lock. With one eye still on the window, she eased open the gate just enough for me and Potter to slip through.

“Hello? Hello?” I heard Sir Edmund bark down the phone at me. “Who is calling at this hour?”

Knowing that I needed to bide us just a few more moments to get across the lawns and to the side of the house where we could no longer be seen from Sir Edmund’s window, I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Pizza delivery.”

I heard Potter snigger as he ran beside me. I slapped his arm, warning him to stay silent as we made our way across the vast lawn toward the house.

“Pizza what?” Sir Edmund blustered on the other end of the line.

“I’ve just called to confirm your order,” I said.

“Order? I haven’t ordered any pizza,” he boomed down the phone at me.

“You are Mr. Lovecraft, aren’t you?” I queried, now halfway across the lawn, avoiding the drive so as not to make any noise as we ran across the gravel.

“
Sir
Edmund Lovecraft,” he corrected me stiffly.

“You live at Bastille Hall, right?” I said, trying to keep my speech steady as I trotted alongside Potter and Ms. Locke.

“Correct!” he snapped.

“Well I’ve been told to dispatch a twelve-inch mellow mushroom and pasta kebab topping…”

“Is this some sort of a joke?” Sir Edmund bellowed in disbelief.

“No joke, sir,” I said. “They’re from our gourmet range. Is the order correct? If so I’ll get the pizzas dispatched right away. I just need to confirm your address and…”

“I don’t want any bloody pizza, gourmet or not. They sound absolutely revolting. Goodbye!” he roared, slamming down the phone just as we reached the side of the house.

Gasping for breath, the three of us pressed ourselves flat against the wall. I felt Potter’s hand fall over mine and gently squeeze my fingers. I glanced at him in the darkness. “Good job.” He winked.

“Thanks,” I smiled, letting my hand slide from his as he loosened his grip.

“This way,” Locke hushed, leading us around the side of the house.

Stooped low, we followed her, sheltered by darkness. We crept past some large rubbish bins toward a back door. Taking a ring of keys from her pocket, she handled them delicately so as not to let them rattle or jangle together. Selecting one, she slid it into the door lock. Biting her lower lip, she pushed against it. The door opened with a squeak. We froze as if caught in the glare of a spotlight. We waited. When we heard no other noise, Locke crept into the house, followed by Potter and me.

“Follow me,” she whispered, heading slowly across a large open kitchen. There was another door ahead, but this was open. We slipped through it and into a passageway. It was unlit, like the rest of the house, so I placed one hand in front of me, letting my fingers brush over the back of Potter’s jacket. It was so dark that I could barely see any more than a few inches ahead of me. We moved forward in single file until Ms. Locke led us into a vast circular hall. It was light here, as moonlight streamed through the tall French windows that lined the hallway. There was a wide staircase which disappeared up into the darkness.

Pressing one finger to her lips, Locke looked at us, then began to climb the stairs. With every creak from the tired boards beneath our feet, we would stop. Each noise seemed so hideously loud in the quiet of the house. And knowing that Sir Edmund was still awake somewhere above us only heightened my sense of anxiety and fear. He had already taken several shots at me with his gun – tonight his aim might not be so off the mark if he found us creeping about his house in the darkness.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Ms. Locke led us down another long corridor. About halfway along it, she stopped. I could hear her breathing and it sounded laboured. “This is Miss Amanda’s room,” she whispered.

“Step away from the door,” Potter said, sliding the lock pick from his jacket pocket. He felt for the lock with his fingers. “I can’t see a fucking thing.”

Taking my torch from my pocket, I switched it on. The corridor lit up, stretching our shadows out along the walls and floor. I aimed the light at the door. “Be quick,” I warned Potter. “We can’t afford to have this light on for too long.”

“I’m working on it,” he said, sliding the lock pick into the keyhole and jiggling it from side to side.

“Faster,” Ms. Locke said.

“I’m going as fast as I can, lady,” he said. “Picking a lock takes skill – precision. It can take time.”

“Time is something we don’t have,” I whispered, glancing back over my shoulder in the direction we had come.

I heard a few clicks as Potter continued to twist the pick in the lock. “Nearly there,” he breathed.

“Hurry,” Ms. Locke urged him on, wringing her thin hands together.

“You’re starting to piss me off, lady,” Potter groaned.

He yanked his wrist right then left, there was another click. “Done it,” he said with a grin. Taking the pick from the lock, he slid it back into his pocket.

Stepping forward, I closed my fist around the doorknob. “Ready?” I whispered, looking sideways at Potter.

“Always,” he whispered back.

Slowly, I pushed open the door. The three of us sneaked inside Miss Amanda’s bedroom, closing the door behind us.

I looked about the room and felt exhilarated. I surveyed the scene before me and found it almost impossible to describe how good it felt to have something new to
see
. My eyes darted left, right, up, and down as I soaked up everything the room had to offer. And it was during times like this that I often felt at my happiness. My everyday fears and anxieties drifted away as my mind went to work, making sense of what my eyes were
seeing
.

“Can you see the strips of clothing…?” Ms. Locke whispered.

“Shhh. Don’t tell me anything,” I insisted. “Just stand by the door, both of you.”

“But…” Potter started.

“Please, just let me work,” I said, spinning around and heading across the room to the window.

I gently brushed my fingers over the window ledge, bending my legs at the knees so I could inspect it. Working my fingers delicately upwards, I inspected the lock. It had been forced and broken. The curtain ties were still fastened about it. They were secure. Tilting my head to one side, I pressed my face to the window and looked out. I could see the outhouse in the distance on the other side of the lawn, near to the tree line. Then turning, I crossed the room to the bed.

“Oh, this is perfect,” I said, rubbing my hands together with delight.

“What is?” Potter whispered from the other side of the room where he watched me, as did Ms. Locke.

“Shhh!” I said without looking up.

I let my fingertips delicately dance over the torn pieces of clothes that had been placed across the bed. I picked several pieces up. I glanced back at the window, then put them down again.

Then dropping to the floor, my nose just an inch from it, I took my torch from my pocket. I shone the beam over the carpet, working my way slowly toward the wardrobe.

“Is she always like this?” I heard Locke ask Potter.

“How the fuck should I know?” Potter grumbled. “She only started working for me yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Locke gasped. “But…”

“Shhh! Please!” I said without looking up.

They fell silent again. Reaching the wardrobe, I got onto my knees. The wardrobe sat flush to the floor, there was no gap or space beneath it. Like butterfly wings, I let my fingers flutter over the large doors. With a smile, I slowly eased one of them open. Reaching deep inside with one arm, I explored blindly with my fingers, until they found what I was looking for.

Satisfied that I had enough strands of the case to know what had happened and what was very likely to happen next, I switched off my torch. I crept back across the room to where Potter and Locke waited in the shadows for me.

“Well? What did you see?” Potter whispered.

Ushering them into the darkest corner of the room, I turned to face Potter and Ms. Locke. With my voice just a whisper, I started to talk.

“Despite what you thought, Ms. Locke, when you came into this room last night, someone wasn’t trying to break into the house. They were trying to break out.”

“What? Are you sure? But who?” She rattled off all three questions with a sharp gasp.

I put one finger to my lips, begging for her to keep her voice down. Potter had his eyes on me. Watching. Listening. I knew I couldn’t afford to mess up – get my facts wrong.

“A simple inspection of the lock told me that it had been forced from the inside and not from outside,” I started to explain, my voice little more than a whisper. “There are no markings on the outside windowsill, and the creeper vines that cover that part of the house are too far from the window to act as a credible way of climbing up. And you, Ms. Locke, informed us earlier today that you saw no ladder last night. So that suggests to me that it was someone on the inside trying to get out, not someone on the outside trying to get in.”

“Okay,” Potter whispered, still sounding unconvinced. “But even if you’re right, how was this person going to jump from the window? They would need some kind of ladder getting down as much as someone climbing up.”

“The torn pieces of clothes,” I said, glancing back toward the bed. “They were going to be used to aid an escape from this room.”

“How can you be so sure?” Locke asked.

“Several pieces have already been knotted together to fashion some kind of rope,” I said. “And this person would have made their escape if you hadn’t have come into this room last night and disturbed them.”

“But as I’ve already explained, there was no one in the room last night. I would have seen them,” Ms. locked said, sounding exasperated.

“Perhaps this person had already done a runner out of the window?” Potter said.

“But I would have seen them on the lawn, as I went straight to the window and looked out,” Locke said.

“And the makeshift rope is yet to be finished,” I said.

“So where are they hiding? Where had they come from?” Locke asked. “From under the bed?”

“No,” I said with a shake of my head.

“From where then?” Potter asked.

Slowly, I raised one finger and pointed across the room toward the wardrobe. “She has been hiding in there the whole time,” I whispered.

“Who?” Locke breathed, but I suspected she already knew the answer to her own question. She just needed clarification.

“Miss Amanda Lovecraft,” I said.

“What – for the last three weeks the girl has been living in that wardrobe?” Potter asked. “Have you gone fucking mad?”

“Not
in
it,” I said, looking at the both of them. “
Beneath
it.”

“Beneath it?” Locke gasped, clapping her hands to the side of her face in shock.

“Okay, I think it’s about time we just switched the lights on and went and found out the real truth from Edmund…” Potter started.

“I am telling the truth,” I said, grabbing his arm. “I’ve seen it.”

“Seen what?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.

“There is a false floor built into that wardrobe,” I tried to explain like I hadn’t just lost my mind. “I think beneath it lies a tunnel which leads below ground to that old outhouse.”

“Are you being serious…?” Potter cut in.

“Just listen,” I said, fearing that he would just push me aside and go marching down the corridor to Sir Edmund’s room. “Just let me explain.”

“Yes, let her,” Locke said in my defence.

“Why should I listen to you?” he asked. “I don’t think you’re too tightly wrapped either.”

“Because I’m the boss around here,” she said.

“Who put you in charge?” Potter scoffed.

“Do you want to get paid or not, Mr. Potter?” Locke asked. “I’ve hired you to do a job, so I think therefore, I hold all the cards. And I say we listen to what Miss Hudson has to say on the matter.” Before Potter could object again, Locke had turned her back on him and was looking straight at me. “Now, Kiera, what about this tunnel?”

“Since you told us that Miss Amanda’s items had been moved in her room, I suspected that it was she who was moving them,” I started to explain. “I believe in a lot of things, but not ghosts I’m afraid. So discounting the idea of a ghost moving Miss Amanda’s belongings, I looked at the next obvious choice – Sir Edmund. But you stated quite clearly, Ms. Locke, that Miss Amanda’s items would still be moved when only you were in the house and Sir Edmund was away. That only left one other person – Miss Amanda herself. But for you not to have discovered her, she would have needed an extremely good hiding place. I considered the idea of the outhouse, but that didn’t seem right, as you said that was where Sir Edmund had secured this ferocious hound. Why would Sir Edmund place his daughter in such danger? These are just some of the missing strands that I spoke of. But today you mentioned the wardrobe, Ms. Locke. You said that as a child, Miss Amanda, would sometimes go missing for hours at a time only to tell you that she had been hiding in the wardrobe all along, even though you said you had searched it. It was hearing this rather strange account that I realised you had given me another of the missing strands that I needed to pull the case even tighter together. I firmly started to believe that I knew where Miss Amanda had been hiding.”

“You didn’t tell me this,” Potter said, sounding pissed off.

“Would you have believed me or just laughed my theory off?” I asked. “I needed to prove to you that I was right, and the only way of doing that was by bringing you here tonight.”

“You said there was some kind of tunnel?” Ms. Locke asked. “How can you be so sure about that?”

“Although I suspect that Miss Amanda had been hiding in the wardrobe the whole time, I knew there had to be more to it than that,” I said. “You said yourself that you had searched the wardrobe several times in the past. But it was when you told us how you watched Sir Edmund lock himself in this room, then within a matter of just a minute or two he was outside on the grounds by the outhouse, it was then I knew there must be some other way out of this room. Then it hit me,” I said, bouncing the palm of my hand off my forehead. “There must be some kind of tunnel or passage leading from this room to the outhouse. But where could such a passageway be concealed? In the same place Miss Amanda used to conceal herself as a child? As I searched the floor around the base of the wardrobe, I found tiny particles of earth which led a trail across the room to the bed and then to the window. Those tiny particles of earth I suspect came from the tunnel and fell from Miss Amanda’s feet.”

Both Miss Locke and Potter looked at me. The silence was thick and heavy.

“And what of the giant hound?” Ms. Locke eventually asked. “Where is it and why had Sir Edmund dressed it in Miss Amanda’s clothes? How do you explain that?”

I looked at Potter. He said nothing, other to fix me with a hard stare.

“Well?” Ms. Locked asked.

Swallowing hard, I whispered, “This is going to be the hardest part for you to understand – for you to believe,” I started, before I was interrupted by a creaking noise.

The three of us glanced back at the wardrobe. The door slowly swung open. Then out of the darkness crawled a frail-looking girl.