The Devil's Serenade (4 page)

“What was this boy’s name?” Aunt Charlotte asked. “Maybe I know him.”

“Um.” Maddie thought but, try as she might, she couldn’t remember it or recall if he’d even told her. “I don’t know,” she said, her eyes downcast.

“Never mind,” Aunt Charlotte said. “If you see him again, you can ask him. There are quite a few children around your age in the town. It’ll be nice if you can make friends for the summer. Your mother said she’s a bit concerned that you always seem to be on your own. You never bring any school friends home.”

Maddie looked down at her plate and concentrated on spearing a piece of carrot followed by a small chunk of meat. She raised her fork and filled her mouth. That way she didn’t have to answer her aunt. After all, mustn’t talk with your mouth full. She could feel Aunt Charlotte’s steady gaze, but kept on chewing, longer than necessary. Her aunt sighed and carried on eating. Maddie swallowed.

Maddie didn’t want to talk about her recent falling-out with Diane. Besides, her sometime friend had only been to Maddie’s house once and then all she’d done was complain about how cold it was.

“Don’t you even have central heating?” she had said, holding herself and shivering with exaggerated effect.

“Yes, of course we do,” Maddie said, feeling a strong urge to slap her. “But my mother doesn’t like it turned up too high. She says it’s unhealthy.”

“I bet it’s ’cause your parents are poor.”

“They’re
not
poor and you’re not to say things like that.”

Diane stopped shivering and sniffed. “I’ll say what I like. You can’t stop me.”

After that, Maddie vowed she would never bring anyone home again. Especially when Diane started telling all their classmates about her friend’s freezing cold house and Spartan conditions. The other children pitied her. Maddie could read it in their eyes and cried herself to sleep that night. It wouldn’t be the last time.

No doubt Diane would complain about Hargest House too if she came there. Not that Maddie would ever invite her. This was
her
special place.

It was simpler to keep the other children away. If no one came home with her, they’d have nothing to talk about. It was true that there weren’t many luxuries at home. No fancy freezers or color televisions in every room. Maddie kept pulling threads out of the battered sofa and catching her toe in that threadbare bit of the carpet in her bedroom. They couldn’t be poor though. Not
really
poor, because there was always money for her parents’ safaris, and she never went hungry, even if the food was a bit plain and basic. Not like this delicious casserole. Maddie’s mother bought the cheapest cuts of meat and there was always some gristle and chewy fat spoiling the meal. Aunt Charlotte bought only tender cuts, from the butcher up the road.

Maddie savored every mouthful. If only she could stay with Aunt Charlotte all the time. Maybe she’d become good friends with the boy she met today. If only he’d told her his name.

* * * * *

The next day, rain lashed the windows. There would be no return trip to the tentacle tree today. Instead, Kelly and her brother and sisters could have an adventure. Maddie had been saving an extra special one for just such an occasion.

She had never ventured up to the top floor. Whenever she had peered up the staircase, it always seemed darker and gloomier than any of the other floors. Today though, Kelly would lead the way on a voyage of discovery.

Maddie felt a little thrill zip up her spine as she put her foot on the first tread of the staircase.

It’s awfully dark up there.

“Don’t worry, Veronica. I’ll protect you, and Tom’s got his blunderbuss.”

Maddie had no idea what a blunderbuss was, but it had featured in one of her books and sounded quite grand and bold when it was wielded by the hero.

The top floor turned out to be much like the others. Corridors left and right with closed doors. It was silent up there and smelled faintly of dust and beeswax. With her imaginary family behind her, Maddie tried the handle of the first door she came to. It turned smoothly enough and she peered around the door. Empty.

“There’s nothing in here. Let’s try the next one.”

The third room she tried looked more promising. A long, low table lay at one end of the uncarpeted floor. At each corner, huge black candles in wrought iron holders caught Maddie’s attention.

“I’ve never seen black candles before. How strange.”

Maddie touched one of them. A sudden rush of wind blew her hair and a pungent smell like rotten eggs made her gag. Goosebumps broke out on her arms. In the far corner a dark shadow moved. Red eyes flashed. Maddie screamed and raced to the door. She tugged at the handle. It wouldn’t move. Behind her someone laughed. One massive wrench and the door opened so fast it threw her backward. She recovered her balance and dashed out into the corridor. The door slammed behind her. Maddie ran screaming down the stairs to be met by an anxious Aunt Charlotte in the hall.

“Maddie, whatever’s happened?”

Maddie clung to her aunt, sobbing. “Something on the top floor. It was horrible!”

Aunt Charlotte clutched her tightly. “What did you see? Tell me.”

Maddie choked back sobs. “A black shadow…it moved…it had red eyes…and a horrible smell.”

Aunt Charlotte steered her into the kitchen. “It’s all right, Maddie. It’s over now.”

Maddie couldn’t stop shivering. When she closed her eyes all she saw was that shadow, staring at her.

“What was it, Aunt?”

Aunt Charlotte sat her niece down on a kitchen chair and took her hands in hers. “It was nothing, Maddie. You’ve had nightmares before, haven’t you?”

Maddie nodded. “But I was asleep then, and it was nighttime.”

“Yes, but there are day-mares as well. You don’t have to be asleep for those and that’s what you’ve just had.”

“It frightened me.”

“I’m sure it did, Maddie. That top floor is never used these days, so probably just as well not to go up there again. When rooms are shut up for a long time, they can become very spooky indeed.”

Maddie stared at her aunt. “Are you sure there’s nothing nasty up there?”

Aunt Charlotte smiled and made a cross over her heart with her finger. “Promise. It was just a day-mare. You’ll stop having them as you grow older.”

Maddie wanted to believe her with all her heart. “I’ve never had one before.”

“There’s a first time for everything and those empty rooms upstairs are just the thing to set your mind racing. Now, how about a slice of my homemade ginger cake?”

Maddie loved ginger cake. Especially Aunt Charlotte’s. She nodded, wiped her eyes and blew her nose on the hankie her aunt gave her. She’d had a day-mare. Bet Diane Fraser hadn’t had one of those.

* * * * *

After dinner, Maddie dried up the dishes her aunt handed to her and placed them carefully back on their correct shelves in the cupboards. She took great care to polish the silver knives and forks and the tumblers which had held their drinking water.

Aunt Charlotte emptied the washing-up bowl and wiped down the draining board. She wrung out the dishcloth and laid it across the faucets.

“Shall we play some music and sing this evening, Maddie? Would you like that?”

Maddie, who had been feeling awkward since the unwelcome question about her schoolfriends, grinned. Her spirits shot up from the soles of her feet.

“Oh yes, please.”

Aunt Charlotte’s face lit up in a brilliant smile that made her eyes shine. She pushed a stray hair back over her ear and grasped Maddie’s hand.

“Right, come along. Let’s go.”

Maddie giggled as she and her aunt skipped out of the kitchen, across the hall and into the living room, right up to the concert grand piano. Her giggles stopped as she caught sight of the stuffed eagle in its glass dome. She flinched from the evil gaze, certain she could see nasty little imps in that fixed stare. It reminded her of a similar creature in one of the tales she had read in
The Book of Strange Stories
. It was the only one that had given her nightmares, but those were real doozies. In them she dreamed a huge owl with golden eyes was coming to get her. She could hear the beating of its massive, flapping wings as it came ever closer, claws outstretched ready to pounce and carry her off.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Maddie. I forgot you don’t like Oswald. I’ll move him right away.” Aunt Charlotte picked up the glass dome and carted the creature out of the room. The stairs creaked as her aunt ascended, no doubt to deposit her burden in one of the upstairs rooms Maddie never ventured into.

While she waited, Maddie wandered over to the bureau and picked up a black and white photograph in a silver frame—one of many that covered the surface. She peered at it closely. There was Aunt Charlotte, looking a few years younger and wearing old-fashioned clothes, with her hair all piled up. She was seated next to a small table on which lay a vase of roses and another photograph. This was of a man. Maddie tried to make out his features. He was wearing a top hat. Like the photograph she had seen of her long dead great-grandfather. The picture was so tiny it was difficult to make out much more, but Maddie’s fingers went numb and she bit her lip. She had to concentrate hard not to drop the frame as her fingers throbbed with cold.

She just managed to replace the picture back on the bureau when her aunt returned. Maddie said nothing about what had happened. Maybe she had imagined it. This was a cold house, after all.

Aunt Charlotte made straight for the piano and sat on the stool. She flicked through some sheet music.

“Now what shall we sing today?”

Maddie’s eyes lit up. “I like ‘Save Your Kisses for Me’ by Brotherhood of Man. Can you play it?” She stood at the corner of the piano facing her aunt.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s too hard. Let’s try, shall we? Do you know the words?”

Maddie nodded, her ponytail bobbing.

Aunt Charlotte played the first few notes, hesitant at first, then warming to the simple song. Maddie came in on cue, her childish voice a little off-key but making up for it by enthusiasm and volume.

Half an hour and a dozen songs later, Charlotte called a halt. “It’s past your bedtime, young lady, and your mother will have serious words with me if she comes back from Kenya and finds you with big, black circles under your eyes.”

“Oh,
please,
Aunt Charlotte. Just one more.”

“Oh… Very well. One. But don’t tell your mother.” Aunt Charlotte put her finger to her lips. “It’ll be our little secret.”

Maddie nodded. She’d already lost count of how many little secrets the two of them had accumulated that summer and she’d only been there a few days.

Aunt Charlotte began to play some chords. Deep, rumbling chords. Maddie shivered. This was unlike her aunt whose preferred music was usually light and jolly.

“This is a special song. My favorite, from a long time ago. Once upon a time I played it for someone I was very much in love with, and he loved it too. But…” Her voice tailed off and she shrugged her shoulders, as she carried on playing, picking up the melody which became more tuneful, so that Maddie could hum along with it even though it was the first time she had ever heard it.

“That’s nice. What’s it called?” Maddie asked.

“‘Serenade in Blue’.
It’s by Glenn Miller. You remember, we’ve played some of his songs.
‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ and ‘Pennsylvania 65000’.”

Maddie nodded. “I remember. I like him. Even though he is old-fashioned.”

Aunt Charlotte laughed and began to sing.

A chill shrouded Maddie and she gasped at the suddenness of it. Aunt Charlotte seemed unaware and carried on playing.

Maddie fainted.

Chapter F
our

The present

Friday. My central heating worked. I had shiny new radiators and, for the first time, two floors of Aunt Charlotte’s house felt warm and toasty. The sun shone on a bright, warm, late September morning and I decided to explore my grounds for the first time since I moved in. First on my agenda was the willow tree.

I started off by the wall of the house, where I estimated the intrusive roots must be. A gravel path ran right around the building and expanded out into a sweeping—if short—driveway, out front, where my little red Suzuki was parked. I bent down, searching for any telltale cracks near the wall of the house. Nothing. The roots hadn’t broken up the surface either. But, I thought they generally went no more than a foot or so downward, which was why they caused so many problems with roads and sidewalks—and people’s houses.

Since talking to Charlie, I had checked out a few facts. Willows were indeed deemed safe to be planted fifty feet or more away from a building. I stared across the expanse of green between me and the tree. How was it possible that its roots had grown so far down and so far along? There had to be another tree. Or the remains of one, at least. I examined every inch of grass between the house and the tree. Nothing. Nor any remains of a tree stump, although I did discover that the willow was in a direct line with where the roots were appearing.

Determined to conquer my inexplicable aversion to it, I touched the tree. The gnarled bark looked knotted in parts and, in others, wrinkled and even stripped away. The center of the massive trunk was half hollowed out, scorched and withered from the lightning strike that no one could remember even when I was a child. Thick branches curved downward, interweaving with each other, some striking upward, others merely inches off the ground; one or two lay almost flat. It was a miracle tree in some ways. With such awful damage, it really should have died, but its will to live had proved too strong for that.

Feeling confident I had overcome my irrational fear, I sat on the longest branch. It took my weight easily, not creaking or bending. It had spawned its own branches which grew horizontally, entwined with each other and disappeared into the lush undergrowth behind the tree. Indian mallow and clinging ivy grew here in profusion. Nearby, the busy river rushed along, lying low thanks to the dry weather that had persisted for some weeks. But that river could transform into a raging torrent in storm conditions when too much rainwater drained off the mountains to the east. Hargest House had never been flooded; it lay just high enough to escape. Other properties in the town had not been so fortunate, or so Aunt Charlotte had told me.

I stood and took a few paces away from the tree to look at the river. It sparkled in the sunlight, the stones on its bed protruding above the surface. Not a soul was around, even though this was the public walkway. The children would all be at school and their parents working, no doubt.

I sat back down on my branch and gazed upward at the canopy of leaves, now starting to turn autumn yellow. In the light breeze, some fluttered to the ground. Birdsong filled the air from the finches, sparrows, blue tits, and pied wagtails that frequented the area. The busy little town barely intruded on the rural surroundings. Peace and tranquility ruled here.

I placed my hands either side of me, feeling the rough bark. Breathing in the country air, I closed my eyes, to better absorb the gentle atmosphere. But, in a few minutes, my peace was shattered.

It started as a ripple that echoed through my entire body. Then it surged. I gasped, jumped up and stared down at the branch. It wasn’t moving, but I had felt it. A strong, rising energy that had coursed through the tree and shot through me like a bolt of electricity.

I don’t know how long I stared. I don’t know what I expected it to do. Move? I told myself I’d imagined it. It must be the wind, ruffling the leaves, the branches, anything. But there wasn’t
enough
wind. The leaves barely stirred.

Finally, I plucked up courage to touch the tree. The bark roughed my fingers; nothing else. Whatever I experienced had stopped. If it had ever even begun.

Once again, a shutter crashed down in my mind. I knew there was something there. Something I should remember. And whatever it was concerned not only the house but also this tree. I had to discover what it was. Even though the thought of what might lay there absolutely terrified me.

* * * * *

“I hope you don’t mind me coming round again, but I don’t have your phone number, otherwise I would have called.”

Shona smiled at me in such a way I knew she had a favor to ask. Never mind, I liked her, had some time on my hands, and needed to get to know my neighbors.

I ushered her into the living room. She gazed around, a smile lighting up her face.

“My goodness, you’ve made some improvements already. I like it.”

I smiled. I was pleased with the room too. It had been so cluttered and dated before. Now, you could actually see some of the surfaces, unfettered by so many photos and ornaments. Not that I’d removed every trace of Aunt Charlotte. I’d left some of her pieces out. The odd small vase and one or two attractive and valuable Chinese ornaments. The walls looked fresh and clean, revitalized by a couple of coats of paint. I’d changed the color scheme from dull and drab faded cream to a subtle antique gold on the walls, a warm butter shade for the ceiling, and paintwork in a color called White Chocolate—not as startling as plain white. One or two of my aunt’s favored landscapes remained on the walls, more as a memento of her than for any aesthetic reasons.

“Did you get Charlie’s brother in to do the decorating?” Shona asked. “I’ve heard he’s very good.”

“I don’t think Charlie would have done any more work for me if I’d gone to anyone else. Yes, I thought I’d try him out in here and if he did a good job, gradually get the whole house done. Well the bottom two floors anyway. I still haven’t decided on the top ones. I’m wondering about looking at some kind of conversion job. Maybe turn them into flats or something. At least they’d be lived in.”

“Sounds like a good idea. There’s a shortage of places to rent around here. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but they’re knocking that block of flats down in the High Street where the club was.”

“Really? But they can’t have been up more than a few years.”

“About five, I think. They can’t get anyone to stay long and now people are refusing to go there at all. The land belongs to a property developer who bought it for a song after the fire. It’s losing him money, so down it comes. Terrible waste.”

“But why won’t people live there? Are there structural problems?”

“Not that I know of. No, it’s people’s imaginations running riot. They say the evil spirits are still there. Residents have reported seeing a big black dog with flaming red eyes. Some say they’ve seen it in their flats. Others have said they’ve been attacked. If you ask me, some people watch too much late-night horror on TV.”

I thought back to my experience with the willow. I wanted to share it with someone, but if I told Shona about it, she’d probably think I was also watching too much late night horror.

“You said you’d heard rumors of my aunt and satanic rituals involving the willow tree.”

Her eyebrows raised a little, and my confidence sapped. Still, I’d started, so… “What exactly did you hear?”

Shona sighed. “You realize this is all a lot of overblown nonsense? These stories start, goodness knows where, and become embellished the more they are repeated. Each person adds their own little twist, so the story becomes more and more fantastic.”

“Nevertheless, I’d really like to hear what people have been saying. Maybe it will help in my dealings with them. For all I know, perhaps they think I’m a devil worshipper as well.”

Shona laughed. “Hardly.”

But there was something about her laugh that didn’t ring quite true. It disturbed me, but I hadn’t a clue why. Nevertheless, my skin prickled.

“You’re aware your aunt became reclusive in her later years?”

“So I believe. She became housebound and crippled with arthritis.”

“Yes, that would explain it. No one saw her. Well, only from a distance, if they were walking along by the river and she happened to be sitting out in her garden, or, more likely, at the bay window in this room or her bedroom. She would sit for hours, her black shawl wrapped around her, staring out, never moving. There were even rumors that she’d died and was a mummified corpse. You know, like Norman Bates’s mother in
Psycho.
”

I recoiled. “That’s pretty gruesome of them.” My neighbors tumbled in my estimation. Poor Aunt Charlotte. She really didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.

“But that’s precisely what I mean,” Shona said. “Someone behaves in a slightly eccentric fashion and the rumor mill cranks up. Anyway, her nurses and care staff came and went. She got through a fair few of them until she switched agencies. A new bunch—two for daytime and two for nighttime—appeared a year or so before she died. The tongues soon started wagging again. These new people didn’t fit in at all with the Priory St. Michael way of doing things. Her previous staff used to be seen around the town. A couple of them actually lived around here. But this lot kept themselves very much to themselves. No one even knew their names. One night, Dai Harries saw some lights down by the river. He swears to this day he hadn’t been drinking, but it was around midnight, and he says he stood on the bridge and watched these people indulging in some sort of ritual. They were dancing around the tree.” She grinned. “More likely, the whisky he’d been drinking was dancing around his stomach, putting fanciful thoughts in his head.”

I smiled. My brief encounter with Dai Harries flashed back into my mind. A short, stumpy little man with wispy gray hair and a persistent twitch. I recalled his bulbous, reddish-purple nose. Now I knew the probable reason for it. “But is that it? Nobody has reported anything else happening with the tree?”

“Oh yes, plenty of tales of similar things happening at various times of the year. One woman swore she’d seen the tree dancing. I mean, really!”

“I suppose that’s the local equivalent of the stories about the standing stones in Oxfordshire. The ones they call the Rollright Stones are supposed to dance at some time of the year. Halloween I think.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of that.” Shona broke eye contact and seemed to be looking at something behind me. I almost turned to see what had grabbed her attention, but she spoke again.

“Anyway, enough of all that nonsense, I’ve come to ask if you’ll do our local Am Dram Society a massive favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you like theater at all?”

“I don’t go very often, but I do enjoy a good play.” My mind traveled back to enjoyable nights out with Neil. We had supported our local Amateur Dramatic Societies and had also enjoyed going into the city to watch the latest musical, comedy or drama. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat in the stalls, eyes riveted on the stage.

“We’ve recently lost our rehearsal room. We were using the Baptist church hall at the top of the town, but the building is being demolished. It wasn’t really suitable anyway. Terribly damp and cold in the winter.”

“How can I help?”

“Well I was wondering…we were wondering…would you have any room for us to rehearse here? We’re amateurs, but we do work hard and take it all very seriously. We’d be no trouble.”

It might be fun. And I certainly had the space. “Why not? How many of you are there?”

“Usually between four, and ten or eleven, depending on the play of course. There’s the director, prompt and props people, so no more than, say, fifteen.”

“No problem. You could use rooms on the second floor. They’re mostly empty, so you can have free rein to set up whatever you want in terms of scenery and props. There’s a radiator on the landing, but you’ll probably need more heating in the colder months. I’ll get hold of some portable heaters. As long as you tell me when your rehearsal schedule is, I can switch them on and make sure the room’s nice and warm for you. What sort of plays do you put on?”

“Oh, comedies, mysteries. We did Neil Simon’s
Plaza Suite
last year. And
Noises Off
. Do you know it?”

I recalled a warm spring evening. Neil and I laughing as we emerged from the local cinema, arm in arm. Good times—before
she
ruined it all. An inward, silent sigh dampened my mood, but Shona was waiting for an answer and staring at me in a way that made me uncomfortable, as if she could see into my mind and read my dark thoughts. “I’ve seen the film,” I said, and the discomforting gaze morphed into a smile and a nod.

“The play’s much better. I think it missed something in the translation to the big screen. We had to put on an extra performance of our production. It was so popular.”

“Where do you perform?”

“At the Little Theatre in Rokesby Green, about four miles away. Our next production’s an Agatha Christie.
The Murder at the Vicarage.
As I live in the old vicarage, they all thought it’d be quite a hoot if I played the vicar’s wife—Griselda Clement. How could I refuse?” She laughed. “We had a read-through at my house last Tuesday, but there isn’t enough room there to set up a stage—even an imaginary one—and no one has anything larger.”

I sat back in my chair. The more I thought about this idea, the more I liked it. I’d never had the confidence myself to tread the boards but the thought of having a bunch of my neighbors trooping in and out agreed with me. Besides, it was about time I started meeting people and making friends. With my shyness, I never found that easy, but I did have my fallback coping mechanism to help me. It had been a long time since I’d needed her.

“I assume you have an interval while you’re rehearsing? I could make tea and coffee. Biscuits maybe?”

“Oh, we couldn’t impose on you for that, and I’m afraid we can’t afford to pay much rent either. These productions are a lot of fun, and a lot of hard work too, but they barely cover their costs, even though we usually have very good houses. It’s the rent of the Little Theatre, you see.”