Sker House (25 page)

“The answer's still no, I'm afraid. I don't want any old Tom, Dick or Larry traipsing around up there in a power cut, do I? Anything might happen. There's no hospital ward here, you know. Haven't got around to putting one in yet. It's on the list though, right after swimming pool and helicopter landing pad thingy. You know, to land helicopters on.”

“A heliport? Why would you want one of those?” Lucy couldn't resist a shot.

“I don't, do I?” Machen looked like he was confusing himself. He picked up his glass then, realizing it was empty, grabbed the bottle. “That's the point. I mean, the point is, no one goes upstairs.”

“What, are we under house arrest?” Dale asked. “I could write a different article about that. What's the charge?”

“How about impersonating journalists?”

“We're not impersonating anybody. We
are
journalists, we just haven't graduated yet.”

“So you're students?” Said Rolly, his tone more curious than accusatory. He turned to Machen, who was busily finishing his meal. “Is that a crime, Mach? Impersonating journalists? I mean, it's not like impersonating an FBI agent, is it?”

“If it's not already a crime, it bloody well should be.”

“It would only take a few minutes,” Dale said. He was using his most persuasive tactics; lowering his voice, maintaining eye contact, giving the impression of sincerity. “We could just try the key I found in the lock, if there is one, and see if it fits. Then the matter will be over and done with, and we'll know Lucy here isn't going nutty. Or we might find she
is
going nutty. You think me and her could be an item? I don't want to go out with her if she's mental. You wouldn't want to be responsible for that, would you?”

“They're all bloody mental, butt.” Machen said. “The stories I could tell you about my Sandra!” He took another slug of whisky. Dale's plan was working! The landlord was beginning to crumble before their very eyes. He was approaching the stage where he would do anything to be left alone, and if he kept drinking at this pace before long he would be too drunk to even notice what they did.

Lucy almost felt a pang of sympathy. But another, harder side of her quickly suppressed it. The side of her that got things done, and wasn't held back by little things like compassion. The vixen saw the wounded prey and went in for the kill. “We won't damage or steal anything, we promise. It would really mean a lot to me.” She fluttered her eyelashes, not knowing if that would work, or even what it looked like, just that it felt tickly. People always wrote about fluttering eyelashes in books, and like most girls she wasn't adverse to exploiting her feminine charms when the situation called for it.

Machen let out a defeated sigh. “Okay, have it your way. Let's go up and see. Put your little minds at rest, is it? Then maybe a man'll get some peace around here, like.”

At that moment, the door opened sending a ripple of harsh wind circulating around the bar, and Ruth entered. Everyone turned to stare, but it was Old Rolly who said what they were all thinking. “What the hell brings you back? Forget something, did you?”

“Not exactly.” Ruth answered, pulling her hood down. “Bloody car won't start, will it? I know its raining. But I was wondering if any of you kind gentlemen would care to look at it for us?”

Lucy silently thanked Ruth for calling out the 'gentlemen' and leaving her out of it. Most people automatically assumed girls didn't know anything about cars, and in Lucy's case those people would be absolutely right. She often wondered how good it must feel to be able to stand up and prove those people wrong but on nights like this, the men were welcome to the dirty car-fixing duty. She watched as Dale, Machen and Old Rolly all silently evaluated each other. The latter was too old. It would be a surprise if he could make it across the room without falling over and breaking a hip. Machen seemed like the kind of bloke who was frightened of his own shadow. That left...

“Sure, I'll pop out and take a look.” Dale said. “I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but I should check my car while I'm out there.” He patted his pocket to make sure he had the keys. “Have you phoned a garage yet?”

“Can't. The battery in my phone is dead, and so is Izzy's. We can't understand it.”

Lucy instinctively reached into her pocket to check her own phone, and saw Dale doing the same. She wasn't at all surprised to find that the battery was completely flat, and the look on Dale's face told her his device had suffered the same fate. “Did you try the land line?” he asked.

“No, didn't think of that! I'll go check,” Ruth said as she plucked a candle off a table and hurried off.

“Wouldn't worry too much. 'Appens all the time, it does,” said Machen. “Power stays off a coupla hours then comes back on and we can charge everything up off the mains. I got jump leads somewhere, and re-chargeable batteries are a God-send. Used to have a generator out the back, but that packed up the other week.”

“Didn't say that in the brochure,” said Lucy.

“What brochure?” Machen replied, in all seriousness.

“It's the storm,” explained Old Rolly. “I told you it was coming.”

“How can a storm drain a car battery?”

“A storm can do many things. And in this case it's not the cause of our problems, more of a catalyst. Now hadn't you best run along and help that poor damsel in distress?”

As Dale passed he mouthed the words
won't be long
at Lucy, who was left in no doubt as to his sincerity. He probably knew even less about cars than she did.

Chapter 27:

Shadow People

The wind blew the rain in sheets. Dale didn't bring his jacket. He contemplated running upstairs to get it, but figured that would be more trouble than what it was worth. Plus, he didn't want to make that journey alone. He would wait until they all went up together and take a quick detour to his room to get changed. Even if he did have his jacket with him, the rain would probably necessitate a change of jeans anyway.

What are you scared of?

The question hit him like a punch in the stomach. And the answer was; fucking plenty of things. The ghostly voices and hand-written messages were only a part of it. He was actually more excited about that. There was trepidation, yes. But he wasn't in fear of his safety. When was the last time somebody got physically attacked by a ghost? Whatever they were, they had undoubtedly been around longer than him. In that sense he and Lucy weren't on the brink of a discovery, but a re-connection. No, he wasn't scared of ghosts. It was something else. Something deeper, bigger. The longer he spent at Sker House the more he became convinced that this was the cause of it all. He didn't normally consider himself insecure. Quite the opposite, in fact. But the old house seemed to accentuate every negative emotion he was capable of. It was a breeding ground for mistrust and resentment, and he found himself questioning everything.

Ruth suddenly appeared behind him. “I tried the land line. That's dead, too.”

Dale should have expected as much. “Right then. Let's see what we can do with this automobile of yours.”

“Listen,” Ruth put a hand on Dale's arm to stop him. “I just wanted to thank you. I really appreciate you doing this. Izzy does, too.”

“You'd better save your thanks until later. I can check the oil and plugs and stuff for you, but that's pretty much it.”

“I know, dear. Just do your best, will you? Maybe you could give us a push to get it started?”

“If the battery's completely dead, Mrs Watkins, I don't think bump starting it will work.”

“Let's go see. Come on.” Ruth grabbed Dale by the arm and led him into the storm, holding one half of her coat over him to keep off the worst of the torrential downpour.

“Pop the boot, I'll be over in a minute!” Dale yelled over the howling wind, as he jogged over and opened his own car door. Sitting in the driver's seat, he slammed the door shut behind him. The car rocked on its wheels as a huge gust of wind hit it head-on, and the rain cascaded down the windscreen in rivulets. He turned the key in the ignition and pumped a fist in the air when the dashboard lights sprang to life. That wasn't so hard.

But his joy was short-lived as the dashboard immediately died. After that, the engine wouldn't turn over at all. He wasn't really surprised. If everything else was out of order, from torches to telephones, there was no practical reason why his Astra should be left unscathed. The idea that they were trapped in a secluded bubble in a raging storm miles from civilization didn't occur to him until later. Right then, all he could think about was how much money it would cost to get the damn car fixed. If the situation called for a visit to a local garage, it would mean spending another night at Sker. There might not even be electricity, and he and Lucy would both miss a days classes. Fantastic.

He tried starting the Astra's engine again. Still nothing. Wiping condensation off the side window with his sleeve, he looked over to see Ruth and Izzy both peering anxiously at him through the window of their little Nova as it was buffeted by the storm. He made an exaggerated shrug and showed them his palms to indicate he was stumped. The expedition was off to a cracking start. Taking a deep breath, he got out of his car and jogged over to the other vehicle. Lifting up the hood, he secured it in place and moved to the side so he was shielded slightly from the elements. He wasn't quite sure what he should be looking for, but everything in the engine seemed to be in it's place. There were no visibly loose cables or plugs, and no obvious fluid leaks. Never-the-less, he jiggled all the connections to make sure they were sound then went over to the driver's side window. Before he got there, the door flung open and Ruth stepped out. Tipping back the driver's seat, she ushered him into the back. After he got in Ruth sat back in the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and handed him a towel. One from a Sker House en suite, he noted with amusement. As he dried his face and hair he said, “The engine looks fine to me. Try turning it over now.”

Ruth did. Several times. On each turn there was a collective hopeful pause with Ruth, Izzy and Dale all willing the engine to start. But the battery was so lifeless all the willing in the world wasn't going to make a bit of difference. “Has anything like this happened before?” asked Dale.

There was a short pause, then Ruth said, “Nope. She's been a pretty good runner til now, hasn't she, Iz?” Her daughter nodded agreement.

“And what about everything else? This... situation,” Dale struggled to find the words. “With all the energy being sucked out of everything, including people and dogs, is that unusual?”

Ruth gave a humourless cackle. “There are a lot of unusual things about Sker House. You don't get used to it exactly, but you learn to take it in your stride. But this... with all the power gone, I don't know. It's a new one on me.”

Dale's mind flashed back to something Machen said when they first met, during the botched interview.

Mrs Watkins is the eyes and ears of this place.

What better time to put the theory to the test? Especially now that Mrs Watkins was indebted to him for coming out here in the rain to try and fix her car. “What kind of unusual things are you talking about?”

Ruth and Izzy glanced at each other, as if silently debating the question via some strange mother-daughter psychic bond. Eventually, it was Izzy who answered. “Shadow People, mostly.”

“Shadow People?”

“Yup,” Izzy confirmed. “Shadow People. And before you start thinking we're both mental, I'll have you know that we aren't the only people to see the things, whatever they are. Do a Google search, if ya like. You'll see. There's loads online about them.”

“I'd love to do a Google search. And I will. Just as soon as the power comes back on,” Dale pledged. “Until then, enlighten me. What the hell are Shadow People?”

This time Ruth answered on behalf of her daughter. “Things move in the shadows. When it's dark, mostly. You catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye. Usually it looks like somebody ducking through a doorway, or peeping around a corner. The shadow of a person, but no person attached to it.”

“Or sometimes you'll just see an arm or leg, or even a head or face,” interjected Izzy. “Or something that moves so quick, like, you don't know what the fuck it is. Sorry mum.”

“You're forgiven, dear. We see different things. Just shapes sometimes, movement. Like the shadows are coming to life. Then when you turn to look, there's nothing there.”

Dale was fascinated. For two people, even a mother and daughter, to be so convinced there must be some truth in what they were saying. Unless, of course, they really were both mental. Perhaps everybody in this place was mental, and he was the only sane one.

There's those negative thoughts again.

“And that,” concluded Izzy, “Is why I'm NOT staying in the place tonight. I'll walk home first.”

“Come on, love,” Ruth said. “It won't come to that. I'm sure.”

“So you've both seen these things?”

“Oh yeah,” they both agreed. “Not every day,” Ruth clarified, “But a few times a week, I would say. Usually around dusk, just as its getting dark. Did you notice how jumpy Machen was tonight?”

Dale nodded. He had noticed. And had also noticed how much Jack Daniels the landlord was getting through with dinner. “Is he always like that?”

“Pretty much. He's here all the time, see, living with them. Him and Old Rolly. He's changed since he's been here, has Machen. If you ask him, he'll probably just tell you it's just down to stress, but there's more to it than that. Why do you think his wife Sandra left?”

“I don't know,” Dale shrugged. “Why did she leave?”

“We think it was too much for her, living here with those things. Machen, he has no choice but to stay. They invested all their money in it, see. He has nowhere else to go, and he's too stubborn to leave anyways.”

“Have you ever talked about the Shadow People things with him?”

“Oh no,” Ruth shook her head firmly. “Why would we? Some things don't need to be talked about, Dale. It is Dale, isn't it?”