The Haunting of Emily Stone (8 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Twenty-four years ago

“My name is Doctor Robert Slocombe,” he replied with a smile, reaching out to shake her hand. “I'm a researcher who focuses on -”

“Doctor?” Joyce replied with a frown. “You're a bit young to be a doctor, aren't you?”

“Well, I -”

“And handsome, too,” she added, taking a drag from her cigarette while keeping her eyes fixed on him. “I thought doctors were all stuffy old men in tweed suits? What particular part of a woman are you most qualified to examine, Doctor Slocombe?”

“There are lots of different types of doctors,” he replied, as he twisted his hand a little to get it free from her grip. “I happen to specialize in sociological anthropology, and I take a particular interest in paranormal activity. As I explained on the phone, I'm part of an informal group based at Westerson University, and we undertake studies into claims of supernatural activity. Ghosts, spirits, that sort of thing.”

“Huh.” She eyed him for a moment longer, before stepping back so he could enter the house. “And you reckon can help us, can you? 'Cause the people from the papers, they said we need proper evidence of what's going on. We've gotta kick it up a gear.”

“That's why I'm here,” he replied, stepping into the hallway and immediately noticing the strong smell of stale frying oil, mixed with cigarette smoke. The white-and-pink wallpaper was stained light brown in places, and there was no bulb in the light hanging from the ceiling. “I read your story in the
Herald
,” he continued, “and I really think it's worthy of further investigation.”

“What's in that briefcase?” she asked, pushing the door shut and then turning to him.

“Just a few items that I like to bring during my first visits.”

“So you've done stuff like this before?”

He nodded. “One of my main tasks for the group involves reaching out to potential new cases. Obviously the vast majority don't merit further investigation, but -”

Hearing footsteps nearby, he turned and saw a little girl arriving at the top of the stairs, looking down at him with a faint frown.

“You must be Emily,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Emily, get your arse down here,” Joyce said, waving at her daughter to join them. “Come on, don't be shy. This handsome young doctor has come to talk to us about what's been going on in your bedroom.” She nudged Robert's arm. “Spend a lot of time in strange bedrooms, do you?”

“I just want to talk to you,” he continued, focusing on Emily and trying to ignore her mother. “I read about your story, and -”

“It's
our
story,” Joyce said suddenly, “not just hers. We're going through this together. Isn't that right, Emily?”

The little girl nodded, although she seemed strangely reluctant.

“Come on, then!” Joyce shouted, heading through to the living room. “There's no point fannying about, is there? You want a drink of something, doctor? I've got some beer in the fridge.”

“Not for me, thanks,” he told her. “Just tea would be fine, if you have that, but there's really no -”

“Milk and sugar?”

“Just milk.”

“Sweet enough already, are you?”

Forcing a smile as Joyce headed to the kitchen, Robert turned to look back up at Emily. Having never really been around children before, he felt extremely awkward, and he wasn't sure quite to what extent he needed to dumb down his words for the girl.

“There's really nothing to be afraid of,” he said after a moment. “I'm just here to help. You... I suppose you must be quite scared of everything that's happened.”

Emily stared at him for a moment, as if she was having to concentrate hard, and finally she nodded.

“It's all science,” he added. “That's why I'm here. If these things are really happening to you, that means it's something tangible, something we can analyze and measure, and eventually explain. Don't you think that if we can do all of that, it won't be so scary anymore?”

She nodded again.

“And don't worry, there are no probes or injections. We'll start by talking, that's all, and then we'll come up with a plan from there. I have a trichtometer and some infra-red cameras, but we don't need to use those today, not if they scare you. I want to hear your version of the story, from your own mouth, without it being filtered through all the journalists who've been writing about it. Do you think you'd be willing to just sit down and talk to me, face to face?”

Slowly, and still a little cautiously, Emily began to make her way downstairs.

***

“Oh, it was awful!” Joyce shrieked, waving her hands in the air. “Like this, you know?”

Robert stared at her, trying to work out exactly what she meant as she waved her hands around. “Um -”

“Things were flying through the air,” she continued, wide-eyed with shock. “It was like magic. It's like this ghost can break the laws of nature!”

“I'm not sure that's quite true,” Robert replied, making another note on his pad. He glanced at Emily, who had been sitting quietly during her mother's long account of recent events. “Whatever's happening here, it's part of the world around us, so we can find a scientific -”

“It's not normal,” Joyce said firmly, as she lit another cigarette. “It's like a spirit from the world of the dead, breaking back through to terrorize us!” She slid some of the photos across the table. “Take a look at those if you don't believe us. The papers didn't print them all.”

“These are certainly -” Spotting an image that seemed to show Emily screaming as she was thrown through the air, he paused for a moment. There were no obvious wires, and the little girl's body seemed unnaturally arranged, as if some huge force was pushing on her torso, and he found it hard to believe that twelve-year-old could fake an expression of such absolute terror. “They're very striking,” he added finally. “I've seen photos from other cases, but never anything like this.”

“Have you ever met someone else who's had this happen to them?” Emily asked timidly.

“I've investigated a few cases,” he replied, “but they all turned out to be -” He paused, aware that he needed to be diplomatic. “Well, they -”

“Fakes?” Joyce asked. “Hoaxes? There's nothing fake about this, so don't you even start wondering, alright?” She grabbed another photo from the pile and thrust it into his hands. “Does that look fake to you?”

Looking down at the image, he saw that it showed Emily's face in close-up, with tears streaming down her cheeks. There was a bruise just to one side of her eye, too, but when he turned to look at her now, he saw that the bruise was gone. Still, there was a trace of fear in the girl's expression, and he found it hard to believe that anyone – let alone a twelve-year-old girl – could fake such stark emotion.

“Emily,” he said after a moment, “have you ever suffered any injuries as a result of what's going on in this house?”

She opened her mouth to reply.

“She's had lots of bruises,” Joyce interjected. “One cut, on her left arm, but it's healed now. That was when she banged herself against the wardrobe and there was a nail sticking out. Apart from that, nothing major.”

“And you haven't thought about just moving out?” he asked, turning to her. “I understand these events have been building since the first incident in September, and yet you're both still here?”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Joyce replied. “We can't just buy another house, you know. And this area... People aren't exactly begging to buy a place round here. My parents got it on Right to Buy.” She tapped her cigarette on the side of the ashtray. “Of course, when the money comes in from the papers, that's when we'll be able to afford a new place. That's one of the reasons we wanted you to come and see us. We need more evidence if we're gonna get a better deal from one of the big London papers. We need someone like you to say that this is real, so...”

Grabbing one of the photos, she placed it in front of him.

“If you could just do that,” she continued, “we can all be on our way.”

“I need to thoroughly investigate first,” he told her.

“Yeah, but... Do you really?”

“Our first concern needs to be Emily's safety,” he pointed out. “If she -”

“Obviously,” she replied, a little dismissively, “but after that, we need a good deal. We've got a real ghost in this house and sure, it's awful and all that, but we might as well make a decent -”

Before she could finish, there was a loud bump from one of the rooms upstairs.

Looking up at the ceiling, Robert paused for a moment, before turning to see that Joyce was watching him, almost as if she was waiting to see his reaction. He glanced over at Emily, who was now looking down at the table with a frown, as if the sudden noise had worried her.

“You wanna come upstairs and take a look?” Joyce asked. “I should warn you. I can't guarantee your safety.”

***

“Looks just like a normal little girl's room, doesn't it?” she said a few minutes later, leaning on the door-frame and watching as Robert made his way across to the window. “All the usual shit they want. Toys, books, dolls, clothes.” She sniffed. “See those yellow socks over there? Got ten pairs for a pound. Good deal, eh?”

Turning to them, Robert saw that Emily was holding back behind her mother, as if she was scared of entering the room.

“And all the activity in the house is focused on this room?” he asked.

Joyce nodded.

“Have there been any manifestations anywhere else in the house?”

“We hear stuff from other rooms,” she replied, “but no, most of it seems to be in here. It's usually when Emily's alone.”

“What's a manifestation?” Emily whispered.

“It's the ghost, dummy,” Joyce snapped at her.

“And how do you feel about all of this?” he asked, smiling at Emily. “Do you like being in your bedroom by yourself, or does it scare you?” He waited for a reply, but after a moment Emily simply stepped behind her mother, so he could no longer see her.

“She's shy,” Joyce said, rolling her eyes as she took another drag on her cigarette. “So what do you think, Doctor Slocombe? Can you help us? Are you ready to tell the papers that all the ghost stuff's real?”

“I definitely want to look into this case some more,” he replied, “and I'd like to start, if you don't mind, by talking to Emily alone for a few minutes.”

“Alone?” The suggestion seemed to concern Joyce a little. “What do you want to talk to her alone for?”

“It's standard procedure in these investigations. I want to hear the story in her own words, and I need to exclude the possibility of outside influences.”

“Are you accusing me of -”

“Absolutely not,” he replied, “never, not for one moment. I just need to hear Emily tell me what happened, just her and me. Do you think that's possible?”

***

“Tell me about the figure in this photo,” he said, as he and Emily sat alone at the kitchen table. “Is this the figure you saw in your room?”

Emily stared at the image, which showed a faint, blurry shape by the door in her bedroom. It wasn't possible to make out too many features, but the shape was clearly a figure, and dark shadows could just about be discerned on the face, where the eyes and mouth should be. After a moment, she looked down at the sticker on her wrist, which was attached to a couple of wires.

“I told you,” he continued, “that's just to measure your heart-rate. It's nothing to worry about.” Reaching over, he turned a dial on the machine, and for a moment her heart-beat could be heard.

“Is that mine?” she asked.

He nodded.

She stared open-mouthed, until he turned the dial back down.

“So you see,” he continued, “there's really nothing to be scared about. That's one of the reasons I like to study things. Once you study them and understand them, they're not scary.”

She sniffed, before looking back at the photo.

“How many times have you seen it?” he asked, still trying to get the little girl to open up. “It's quite blurry in this picture, isn't it? Have you seen it more clearly?”

“It's a her,” Emily whispered finally.

“It is?”

She nodded.

“And how do you know that?” Looking at the monitor next to his pencil and paper, he saw that Emily's heart-rate had briefly spiked before going back down.

“I've seen her face.”

“What does she look like?”

“She's...” Emily paused for a moment. “She's pretty. She's got long black hair, but she never smiles. She always seems tired.”

“And when do you see her?”

“In the dark.”

“In your room?”

She nodded.

“How does she appear?”

“You -” Again, Emily paused. “You know when your door's shut and you can see light on the edges, from out on the landing?”

“I do.”

“Some nights,” she continued, “I see something moving in front of the door, blocking out the light for a moment.”