The Devil's Serenade (9 page)

The way he described it made it sound like a willful act. His blanched face and open-mouthed expression told me that’s exactly how it had felt.

“Let’s get you up to the kitchen,” I said. “See how bad it is. I have a first-aid kit up there.”

It proved to be a superficial wound, deep enough to bleed profusely for a few minutes, but didn’t seem to have penetrated anything major. Terry ran it under the cold faucet until the blood stopped. I wrapped his arm in a clean tea towel before dressing it. His hands were shaking.

He glanced up at the clock. “I’ll have to go, Mrs. Chambers. I really must get to that other job. See what the surveyor says when you get one. But, as far as I’m concerned, unless I hear anything to the contrary from anyone in the association, my advice would be to leave well alone.”

I thanked him, told him to send me the bill, which he said wasn’t necessary, and saw him out. I felt sure he never wanted to hear another word about my cellar, or the tree. When Terry Watson left, he was terrified.

Chapter
Eight

I can’t explain why I went back down to the cellar that day. Part of me wanted only to run away, as fast and as far as my legs would take me. Part of me screamed at my stubborn other self to leave that house. No more shillyshallying. Abandon it and throw away the key. After all, I had no ties anywhere these days. True I’d had some friends from my pre-inheritance days, but it was amazing how many of them had turned out to be less than friends, more like acquaintances. When I told them of my “good fortune”, some expressions changed from delight to greed. People I had known for years, and even trusted, were ringing me up, coming to see me, working the conversation around to telling me about some lost cause of theirs, some hardship they had never thought to share with me before. All cost money. I gave willingly at first until I realized that once the money landed in their bank accounts, they drifted off, with barely a “thank you”. We no longer had anything in common. So much for friendship.

When my last so-called friend joined their ranks, my disillusion with people hit rock bottom. She already had my change of address, but I didn’t inform any of the others. When I left my old life, I left it for good. Only Neil seemed to have followed me and he’d probably asked her for my address. Hopefully that one visit would be his last here, so now I could end my previous life altogether. As I thought about it, I realized I had no regrets about that.

I stood at the top of the cellar steps and stared down. A strange, tugging sensation drew me to place my foot on the first step. My rational side screamed at me to stop. It carried on screaming, louder and louder with each descending step.

The brick walls seemed to close in on me. My sandaled feet echoed on the wooden treads. The hollowness of the sound felt unnatural, as if I had entered some vaulted stone chamber, not this flat-ceilinged cellar.

At the bottom, the earthy, woody smell assaulted me, stronger than before. I had to go there. I had to go up to the tree roots. I didn’t know why.

They seemed bunched up even tighter than a few minutes earlier. One or two long, thin tentacles stretched out across the uneven dirt floor. I crept up to the wall at the farthest reach of the root span, where Terry and I had taken the photographs.

My fingers prickled and tingled. I rubbed my hands together, but I had to see the bricks behind the roots; that strange, vein-like construction I had glimpsed when the camera flashed. The warning voice in my head reached fever pitch, but the compulsion to find out what lay there proved far stronger. I stretched out my fingers. They trembled. I stretched them farther. I touched a clump of roots and licked dry lips. The roots rustled in my hand. I swallowed my revulsion as they squirmed like rough maggots, tickling my palm. Gently, I drew them away from the wall, but I couldn’t see clearly. Too much shadow. I cursed my stupidity in not bringing the flashlight. I could go back and get it from the stairs where it lay but I knew if I let go now, I probably wouldn’t have the courage to try again. I would have to make do.

I moved in closer. There were the bricks—red, rough, and covered in a threadwork pattern of dark brown strands. I touched them, followed their trail up and down the wall. Some seemed to end, achieving no purpose. Others grew broader and thickened out into the roots I held in one hand. Every time I saw them, they had reconfigured themselves.

Something rough and sinewy gripped my hand and I cried out. I shook my fingers and the roots fell away. They settled back against the wall, as they had done before. The warning voice sounded in my head again. It was as if they deliberately arranged themselves. As if some sentient life was choreographing them.

Oh, for pity’s sake!

I shivered. It had grown colder, probably because the time was getting late. I moved away and turned my back on the roots. As I reached the stairs, a chill breeze behind me ruffled my hair. I spun around. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse. Something tall, dark, arms outstretched at right angles to its body.

A memory stirred.

What had Neil said he’d seen?

A scarecrow.

* * * * *

After Monday, my senses were finely tuned to any sign of pity or ridicule, however well concealed. But the drama group was charming, as before. They greeted me with warm friendliness and behaved as if nothing had happened. Only Shona showed any sign of concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked, as she arrived, alone.

I took her coat. “I’m fine. Really.” If I said it enough, maybe I’d convince myself. “I still can’t explain the girl Cynthia says she saw, but apart from that, I think I’m getting somewhere.”
Really?
Who was I kidding?

Shona smiled. Did she believe me? She put her hand on my arm and our eyes met. Why had I never noticed before? She had such clear green eyes. Like emeralds. Hypnotizing. “Well that’s good news,” she said. “Have you moved back in yet?”

“Yes. Today.”

Why had I said that? I still had a night’s booking at the hotel. Earlier today I had made my mind up to leave this house. The trip to the cellar had changed something. Even with the strange apparition I had thought I’d seen, the rational side of me had been quashed. Inexplicably, I experienced an overwhelming urge to stay. At least for now.

I made tea and added my last packets of chocolate digestives and gypsy creams to a plate. Another rehearsal tomorrow. I’d have to go shopping.

Upstairs, Shona was in full swing as Griselda Clement. I didn’t want to disrupt the flow so I hung around outside the rehearsal room, listening for a moment when the director paused the proceedings. I set the tray down on a table. The corridor was quiet, still and dark as the landing light only illuminated the first few feet. Farther along, a bulb was out and I made a mental note to replace it in the morning. Beyond that, the corridor was shrouded and shadowy.

Something dashed across my peripheral vision and a giggle sounded from close by. I peered into the darkness. Nothing. Another giggle. Behind me this time. I turned. Another bulb had burned out and I could see little in the gloom. Down the corridor a door opened, a shaft of light flashed across the floor in front of it. The door closed. The light vanished. And so had she. Veronica. For a split second I had seen her clearly—blonde plaits, yellow dress, happy smile.

And she had seen me.

My heart thumped. My mouth dried. I heard chatter from the other side of the door. The cast had taken their break. Without a word, I opened the door, picked up the tray, and took it inside.

“Oh, lovely,” said Shona, handing out the biscuits. “Gypsy creams. My favorites.”

The plate emptied in seconds. My hand shook a little as I poured the tea.

Shona whispered to me. “Are you all right, Maddie? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking though.”

She didn’t look convinced. And another look passed over her face. A strange look I couldn’t fathom. As if somehow I couldn’t be “fine”. Another symptom of my paranoia no doubt. Actually I amazed myself at how calm I felt. And at how I closed the door and left the drama group happily munching and sipping, while I walked steadily down the corridor to the door that had opened a few minutes earlier. I touched the handle and nearly lost my nerve.

I leaned against it, my ear pressed close, straining to pick up any sound, however slight. Nothing. I stepped back and turned the handle, meeting a little resistance at first. Had it been stiff like this before? I pushed harder and it opened, with a creak. Inky darkness met me. I reached for the light switch and pressed it. One dim bulb in the center of the large room did little to illuminate it, but I recognized it instantly. The white sheets, shrouding old, discarded furniture, boxes, pictures.

My nerve deserted me and I backed out of the room, switching the light off and closing the door. A second after I turned away, I heard that giggle again. Veronica’s giggle. I looked down at the floor. Light from a much brighter source than the dim bulb was seeping out from the room into the corridor. I struggled to keep calm as I stared at it. The light went off.

I half ran to the stairs. My resolve to stay in the house had evaporated in an instant. I couldn’t stay here tonight. I wouldn’t get a minute’s sleep, and I needed my wits about me. I would stay at the hotel and regain my sanity. Everything would look far clearer in the morning. For one thing, I could get Charlie to come over and fix more lighting in that room, and I’d get some local man-with-a-van to come and clear it out.

As for the cellar. I’d leave that alone. After all, it wasn’t doing anyone any harm. If anything, those roots were strengthening the foundation. Somehow.

* * * * *

I lay back against the plump, pristine pillows in my hotel room and poured a miniature of scotch I’d found in the mini-bar into a glass I retrieved from the bathroom. I sipped it while, on TV, an old film played.
The Haunting
.

I usually loved horror films, especially the old ones. I’d lost count of how many times I’d seen this one, but always enjoyed its scary twists and turns, the sudden shocks and hidden demons. But somehow it scared me more that night. And not in that delicious, hide behind the pillow kind of way.

I flicked the remote and found an old romantic musical. Ginger Rogers proving that she really did do everything Fred Astaire did—backward.

My mind wandered back to Hargest House. So much was wrong there. And what bothered me most was my reaction this evening. I’d been compelled to go down to that cellar, when any sane person would have kept the door locked, at least until the surveyor had added his—or her—opinion to Terry’s. But even more inexplicable was my decision to investigate
that
room. In the dark. After I’d seen…well, whatever it was I’d seen. Maybe, being on my own too much, my imagination had started to play tricks on me. That was pretty much the only explanation I currently had for the apparent manifestation of my childhood imaginary family. It almost worked too, except I hadn’t been the only one to see one of them.

Then there were all the stories about Aunt Charlotte. I racked my brain for memories of her. Most seemed to come from my pre-teen days, with flashes from later years and still nothing from the last year. Aunt Charlotte laughing. Singing with her around that piano. Picnics in the grounds; a red and white checked tablecloth spread out under the tree. The tentacle tree. When I was small enough, I used to climb into its semi-circular hollow. Flashes of conversation came back to me. My eight-year-old self asking question after question.

“When did the lightning strike, Aunt Charlotte?”

“Many years ago, dear. Before Mr. Hargest built this house. Before anyone who is alive today was born.”

“Is it as old as Priory St. Michael?”

“Well now, Priory St. Michael is at least a thousand years old. But I think it may be. Or even older.”

“Will it be here all my life? ’Til I’m your age?”

Her rich laughter rang out. “I expect so, Maddie. Even when you reach my great age, this tree will still be standing. It’s a very special tree.”

“It’s the tentacle tree. Does it mind me calling it that?”

More laughter. Indulgent this time. “I’m sure it doesn’t mind at all.”

“Why do you talk to it?”

My eyes shot open. I’d forgotten that. Aunt Charlotte used to talk to the tree. I had seen her—head pressed close up to it, hands outstretched along the branches. I’d never heard what she’d said; her words were whispered, hurried, indecipherable; maybe not even in English. I closed my eyes again and tried to recapture that sunny day, the picnic, her response. But the moment had passed. The memory faded. Somehow I knew I had to remember. The Aunt Charlotte I knew at that time had been different, eccentric even, but she never went in for general tree hugging, or talking to any of the plants in her garden. Not in my hearing anyway. Unless I had forgotten. No. It was
that
tree. I had seen her
Book of Shadows
. Willows were important to her and there was something about
that
willow in particular. It was as entwined into Aunt Charlotte’s life as its roots were to the house.

Now her house belonged to me. After so many years’ estrangement, she could have left it to anyone and no one would have blamed her. Her will had been dated only last year. A simple single sheet of paper the solicitor had read out to me while I sat, unable to believe what I heard.

To my niece, Madeleine Chambers (née Johnson), I leave my entire estate, including the house and grounds known as Hargest House. She will remember.

Remember what, Aunt Charlotte? And why is it so important that I do?

Chapter
Nine

The chill in the rehearsal room hit me at the door. The cast would certainly need those heaters tonight. I rubbed my hands together, pulled my cardigan tighter around my body and flicked the switches on, turning the dials up to maximum.

I hurried out of the freezing room and shut the door behind me. In the distance, the doorbell rang. It should have been the house clearance man with a van. It wasn’t.

“Hello, Maddie.”

“Charlie. I wasn’t expecting you ’til tomorrow.”

He grinned and came into the hall. “I finished my last job early, so I thought I’d see if I could make a start now.”

“That would be great. I have a man coming to clear all the rubbish out of there, but I’m sure you’ll manage to keep out of each other’s way.”

The smile faded for a second. “You’re throwing all your aunt’s stuff out?”

“It’s only old junk. Broken furniture, that sort of thing. I haven’t a clue why it’s in there, to be honest. All the other rooms on that floor and the one above are pretty much empty, but that one’s a general dumping ground.”

The smile returned. “Well, we all need one of those, don’t we? Mine’s my cellar, but yours is already occupied, isn’t it? Thought any more about that tree?”

I followed him up the stairs. “I’ll get a surveyor in at some stage. But the arborist seems to think the roots aren’t a threat to the foundation.”

“Think you’ll keep the old place after all?”

We had arrived on the second floor. I hesitated. Had I mentioned my thoughts on selling the house to Charlie? I didn’t think so. Maybe he’d read something into my attitude at some stage. Perhaps Shona had told him. Every day found me more confused about what I did want to do. I was frustrated with myself. From being a decisive person, I had turned into a woman who changed her mind every day, and I had no idea why. It felt almost as if my mind wasn’t entirely my own anymore. For now, it seemed, I was staying here—but tomorrow could paint a whole different picture.

“I don’t know, Charlie. Some days I think I will, and some days I want to sell.”

“You should stay here. This house suits you.”

“What? You mean old and decrepit?” I laughed.

“No. More dark and mysterious.” He laughed too.

I had a question that had been bugging me. One of many in my current confused state of mind. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Charlie. Why is your brother Pete so afraid of this floor? He refused to even come up here when I asked him to quote for decorating.”

Charlie looked down at his boots. “Pete can be a complete prat at times. I mean, he’s my brother and all, but when he gets superstitious, I lose patience with him.”

“I’ve heard the rumors about satanic rituals in this house. I can’t believe my aunt would have anything to do with such nonsense.”

He met my gaze. “I would never go so far as to say it was nonsense. Too many bizarre things have happened in this town. But Pete is an idiot for turning work down. The old man’s long gone and buried and Miss Grant isn’t… Oh, I’m sorry, Maddie. I shouldn’t pass comment on your aunt.”

“By ‘the old man’, I assume you mean Nathaniel Hargest? Nasty piece of work by all accounts.”

“Did your aunt ever mention him to you?”

I shook my head. “Only a little, in passing. He died before I started coming here anyway.”

“Memories are long in a small town where people have lived for generations. Stories get passed down, and embellished along the way.”

“That’s what Shona said. What is it you were going to say about my aunt?” I hoped my smile would encourage him to be candid. It didn’t.

“Oh nothing. Just that she isn’t with us anymore either.”

I stared at him, but nothing else was forthcoming. He’d broken eye contact and the silence was becoming awkward.

We moved on and passed the open door of the rehearsal room. I pulled it shut and remembered. I had closed it earlier, but I couldn’t have latched it properly. I gave the handle an extra tug and pushed back on it. It held firm.

“I’m trying to warm that room up. The drama group is here tonight.”

“Do you want me to install a couple of radiators in there? If you carry on using those convectors your electricity bills are going to soar.”

I thought for a moment. “Yes, please. I think that would be a good idea after all. It’ll save a lot of messing about too.”

“I’ll get onto it tomorrow.” He opened the door of the junk room. Oddly this one wasn’t as cold as the previous room. It smelled fusty. Damp. I hadn’t noticed that before. And there was another smell I couldn’t put my finger on.

We agreed where the new light fixtures should go. “I’ll leave you to it,” I said to Charlie. “Give me a shout when you want a coffee or tea.”

The doorbell rang again and a couple of minutes later, the house clearance man followed me up the stairs. I introduced him to Charlie, who was clearing a space for himself at the far end of the room. The sheets he had removed revealed antique chests of drawers, wardrobes and chairs, even an old rocking horse.

“This is Harry, Charlie. He’s come to clear all this mess out of your way.”

I went back down the stairs, with housework on my mind. The living room needed a really good dusting. Fifteen minutes later, I was polishing Aunt Charlotte’s fine, old mahogany table.

Rapid footsteps thudded down the stairs, into the hall. I dashed out, to see Harry looking as if the devil himself was chasing him. He glanced at me and made for the front door, with nothing in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Chambers.”

I followed him out to his van. “Whatever’s the matter?”

He was already climbing into the driver’s seat. “That room.” He shook his head as if he was trying to rid himself of the memory. “There’s something in there. Haven’t you seen it? Them?”

Panic reared up inside me. “What are you talking about? Charlie’s up there. Just Charlie.” Who was I trying to convince? Harry or me?

Harry stared at me, slammed his door shut and started up his engine, crunching the gears. His window was open and I grabbed it. “Please, tell me. What did you see up there that scared you so much?”

He hesitated, stared at me for a second as if about to say something. But nothing came. He shook his head and looked away. The van began to move and I dropped my hands. He gave me one last look. Surprisingly, I read pity in his eyes. His tires squealed. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. First Terry, now Harry. Both had been scared witless by something in my house. Charlie was still up there. Maybe he could tell me what had scared the poor man.

He climbed down off his ladder. “I’m as baffled as you are,” he said, as he selected a smaller screwdriver. “Pleasant enough chap. Don’t think he’s local, is he?”

“He’s from Rokesby Green. I found him online.”

Charlie nodded. “He’d made a start, as you can see.” He pointed to a tidy pile of old and threadbare curtains, next to some furniture which had been reduced to firewood, ready for transportation downstairs.

“He was smashing away there with his hammer and then he suddenly stopped and backed away. I asked him what was wrong and he didn’t say a word. He just pointed at the cupboard over there.”

I glanced over at the recently unveiled tall wardrobe. Maybe Charlie’s presence gave me courage but, without thinking, I marched over to it and flung the doors open.

Empty. Nothing but a bad smell. Like rotten eggs. Sulfur. I covered my nose and slammed the doors shut, “Oh God, that’s awful. That’s what I could smell in here earlier. What’s caused that?”

Charlie shrugged. “It
is
nasty, isn’t it? I’m afraid I haven’t a clue.”

“Well I’m going to have to find out and get rid of it.” I examined the outside of the wardrobe. Still the foul stench polluted the air, though not as strong now the doors were shut again. It was like any other, ugly, freestanding piece of early twentieth century bedroom furniture. Dark wood of indeterminate origin, standing a few inches off the floor on four, solid rectangular feet. It towered a good couple of feet above me.

“I can’t understand how that smell could have got in there,” I said, as I peered at one side of the wardrobe. It stood a good six inches from the wall. “Maybe Aunt Charlotte kept something in there that went bad and the smell lingered. I suppose if no one’s opened it in a long time, it’s possible.”

“That’s probably it,” Charlie said, climbing his ladder again. “Anyway, the smell’s almost gone now.”

“Or maybe we’ve grown used to it.”

He gave a quick smile. Gone almost before it had begun.

“
You
haven’t seen anything…odd, have you?”

“Not a thing. Apart from that chap’s behavior. That was definitely strange.”

“Thanks, Charlie. I’ll let you get on.”

As I passed the rehearsal room door I closed it and went back to my dusting. A wafting aroma of cigarette smoke drifted past my nose. I stopped polishing, heard a masculine cough behind me and turned. On the edge of my vision, something moved so fast I couldn’t be sure I’d seen it. But somehow I knew I had. And something told me I recognized it—however impossible it might seem. Tom.

My hands trembled so much I dropped the duster. My mouth dried up so I could barely swallow.

Charlie was in the house. I wasn’t alone. I must remember that. And later, the drama group would be coming. The house would be filled with noise. Laughter. Chatter. Normality.

In the kitchen, I poured a glass of water and stared out of the window. The willow tree had shed almost all its leaves, and it was naked. Vulnerable.

A sudden whining of rusty hinges made me jump and I turned to see the cellar door swinging open.

Whispers. Coming from down below. I had nowhere to run, except outside. And then where? I must get past the door. Back into the hall.

I set the glass down on the draining board and forced one reluctant foot in front of the other, moving silently. The door was a few feet away to my left, half open. The whispering grew louder, the closer I came. Childish whispers, and a couple of older ones, their words indistinct. In a few seconds, I would pass them. I readied myself. I put my hand to the door and flung it with all my strength. It slammed shut, the noise echoing through the hall. I ran to the stairs and sat down on them, hugging myself and rocking back and forth, trembling.

I’d heard one clear word. A name. The name they would use for me if they were real.

Kelly
.

* * * * *

Shona followed me out of the rehearsal room as the cast enjoyed their break. I was halfway down the stairs when she spoke. “Let’s go and have a little chat in the living room. They don’t need me for the rest of the rehearsal. I can see something’s wrong and I want to help. Will you let me?”

I looked into her clear green eyes. Here, surely, was a woman I could trust.

“Yes, please. I need to tell someone. You see, I think, somehow, they’ve come alive.”

She recoiled as if I’d slapped her, but recovered herself. There was no going back. I told her everything, ending with, “I’m certifiably crazy, aren’t I?”

Shona had listened patiently throughout. Now she sat back and raised her eyes. “What’s that famous expression of Sherlock Holmes? ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,
however improbable
, must be the truth’? Perhaps that applies here. We know there was no one but you and us cast members that night, so no one could have directed Cynthia to the bathroom, but she is adamant that someone did. More than that, she is positive that the description she gave was an accurate one. She’s mentioned it more than once since. You say it fits this imaginary sister of yours and that you have seen the younger one—Veronica— more than once?”

I nodded. “And then there’s the cigarette smoke.”

“But you’ve not actually seen the boy—Tom?”

“I’m not sure. I thought I saw something earlier tonight. In here.”

“Maddie, in my life I’ve seen and heard all sorts of things. Believe me, your story isn’t half as strange as some. A few of the people who’ve left those flats in the High Street told me the most extraordinary tales.”

“The black dog? I think I may have seen it a few days ago when I went up the High Street, shopping.”

“And did it have blazing red eyes?”

“No, but it looked like no breed of dog I’ve ever seen. And it was big. I mean, we’re talking St. Bernard proportions here but with some features I’ve never seen before. The eyes were piercing, not doleful as so many dogs’ are. And its haunches…the muscles were bulging.” I shuddered at the memory. “I was on the other side of the street to it. It stared at me. Even when I’d passed it, I knew it was watching me.”

She smiled and gazed into the distance. “I must be the only one in Priory St. Michael not to have seen it. Now why would that be, do you think? Who’s to say? Only the dog, presumably and he’s not talking.” She laughed, in a vain attempt to lift my mood I was sure.

“I think what I’m saying, Maddie, is that I have learned enough in my time to keep an open mind about anything that cannot be readily explained. You’ve had some scares, but has anything actually threatened you?”

I didn’t answer straightaway. I thought over all the strange events, half-sightings, the whispering from the cellar, the doors that seemed to open by themselves, those damn roots. Shona was right. Despite everything, nothing had threatened me.

“No. Frightened me half to death though. And scared the life out of my ex-husband, a tree surgeon and a house clearance man.” I managed a light laugh.

“Your ex-husband?”

Of course, I hadn’t told Shona about Neil’s uninvited, nocturnal visit. I didn’t want to get into a long conversation about it now either.

“Oh, he turned up, wanting to get back with me—or my money, more like. I sent him away, but not before he’d allegedly had a close encounter with something he couldn’t explain. The trouble with Neil is I never know when to believe him or not. Mostly I’ve learned to treat everything he says as suspect. Honesty was never one of his strengths.” I managed a light laugh. “But I have to confess, this time he did seem genuinely upset.”

“I think we have to be open to the possibility that you and he really did see and hear those things. The question remains why?”