Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (27 page)

Slipping
the phone into his pocket, Sam rose unsteadily to his feet and continued his
journey to Gracie’s house, stopping en route at the pharmacy for a box of
painkillers and a bottle of water. As a result of his conversation with his
mother, he had quickened his pace, desperate to tell Gracie that which she
already knew.

As he turned the corner
into Chaytor Avenue, he paused and removed two Paracetemol from their box,
swilling them down with a glug of water. He knew they wouldn’t be strong enough
to have any effect, but something –
anything
– had to be better than
nothing. After a moment’s contemplation, he removed a further pill and
swallowed it, and then another; indifferent to the dosage guidelines written on
the box. Thirty seconds later, he was standing outside the gate to number
thirty-nine, praying that Gracie was home.

Taking a deep breath,
he walked the few steps to her front door and rang the doorbell. When nobody
answered he rang it again, leaving his finger on the buzzer a little longer
this time. Still nothing. ‘Shit!’ he said, scanning either side of him to make
sure nobody heard his outburst. Sensing it was futile, he rang the bell for a
third and final time, before removing Max’s key from his pocket and inserting
it in the lock. He had never been inside Gracie’s house alone - she had given
Max the key so that he could let himself into the house after school – so to
come here by himself just didn’t feel right. Nevertheless, he had no choice but
to go in and wait for her to return. He needed to speak to her, and besides, he
was so exhausted by the journey that he couldn’t go home without first sitting
down and resting his legs. Satisfied with his rationale, he turned the key and
pushed open the door, only to be met by the sight of Gracie lying spread-eagled
on the hallway floor at the foot of the stairs, grinning unnaturally up at him
like a devilish gargoyle.

Sam instinctively cried
out and backed away, the heel of his right foot striking against an uneven
paving stone, sending him tumbling to the ground. As he fell, he had a vision
of a disfigured Gracie emerging from behind the door and coming for him,
crawling towards him with outstretched arms; that unholy grimace never leaving
her face as finally she reached him and climbed over him, clawing at his eyes
with blackened, jagged fingernails. Fearing the worst, he raised his head and
stared into the house, relieved to find that his imagination had once again
been playing cruel tricks on him. However, the fact remained that she was lying
unconscious in the hallway: from where Sam lay, he could see an arm poking out
from behind the door. He didn’t know whether or not she was dead, but she was
certainly not moving.

Coming to his senses,
he reached for his phone and called emergency services. ‘I need an ambulance,’
he said, moaning in pain as he hauled himself back to his feet. ‘Chaytor
Avenue, West Finchley. Number thirty-nine. There’s an old woman – Mrs Gracie
Walton – I came to visit her and…and…she looks like she’s fallen down the
stairs. She’s not moving.’ He paused as the telephone operator began asking him
questions. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been inside the house.’ Another
pause. ‘Yes, I’ll wait with her until someone arrives. Come as quickly as you
can. I’m not sure, but I think she might be dead.’

Ending the call, he
coughed up and swallowed the bile that had collected in his throat and edged
towards the front door. The rational side of his brain told him there was
nothing to worry about – that as sad as it might be, all that had happened was
that an old woman had fallen down the stairs and died as a result of the
accident. However, given everything that had happened over the course of the
previous week, he could perhaps be forgiven for heeding the irrational side of
his brain, which filled his mind with thoughts of a more sinister, supernatural
nature. However, as much as he didn’t want to, the emergency services operator
had asked him to stay with her. Considering everything that Gracie had done
over the years for Max, the least Sam could do was be brave enough to overcome
his fear and go inside to be with her.

As the two sides of his
brain struggled with one another to win the argument, his phone rang, snapping
him back to the present.

‘Hello?’

‘Sam, it’s me.’

‘Sarah?’

‘I’m just checking to
make sure you’re ok. Where are you?’

‘I’m standing outside
Gracie’s house. You’re not going to believe this.’

‘Believe what?’

‘There’s been an
accident. I think Gracie has fallen down the stairs.’

‘Oh my God. How is
she?’

‘I don’t know. I think
she’s dead.’

‘What? Say that again.’

‘I’ve called for an
ambulance,’ he said. ‘I’m to stay with her until they arrive. I can’t believe
this, Sarah. What the fuck is going on?’

‘I’m coming over,’
Sarah said. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Go upstairs and pack
some of her things in a bag.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s going to
hospital, right? So she’ll need a nightie, dressing gown…stuff like that.
You’ll need to have it ready for when the ambulance arrives.’

‘But she’s dead, for
Christ’s sake!’

‘You’re not a doctor so
you don’t know that. Go on, do as I say before the ambulance gets there. I’m
leaving now. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Stay
strong,’ she said, ending the call.

What the fuck I am
supposed to do now?
Sam thought, returning his phone to his
jacket pocket. He didn’t want to put a single foot inside the house, let alone
go upstairs and pack an overnight bag. ‘Get a grip, Railton,’ he said, taking a
series of measured breaths to counter his nerves. ‘You can do this.’ Looking up
at the sky as if seeking inspiration, he took a deep breath and stepped inside
the house.

The first thing his
eyes were drawn to was Gracie’s face, which wore the exact same expression that
it had done when he’d first opened the door and found her lying there. It was
as if she was wide awake and had just heard a funny joke: her eyes were open
and her lips curved as if smiling. On closer inspection, however, it was
obvious that there was no life behind those eyes. Furthermore, the unnatural
way her head was tilted back suggested that her neck had been broken in the
fall. Sam’s thoughts immediately went to Lucy and the similar way that she had
died that night, prompting his eyes to fill with tears that spilled down his
cheeks as he remembered seeing her lying in a crumpled heap; their father
standing between them on the stairs. And then he remembered the ambulance, and
what Sarah had instructed him to do. Wincing as yet another bolt of pain shot
through his head, he braced himself and stepped over Gracie’s body and onto the
stairs; praying that she didn’t suddenly wake up and lash out to grab his ankle
as he passed her. Without looking back, he slowly climbed the stairs, pausing
half way up to catch his breath.

Being a small terraced
house, it didn’t take him long to locate her bedroom, the door of which was
wide open as if she had left in a hurry.
Perhaps the front doorbell rang
when she was putting away some clothes
, Sam thought, noticing the basket of
ironing on her bed.  His eyes then found the envelope that she’d placed on top
of one of the pillows, and for some inexplicable reason he sensed immediately
that whatever was inside that envelope had been written for him. Even though
every bone in his body was warning him to ignore it and concentrate instead on
packing an overnight bag, he felt himself being pulled across the room towards
it. There was no use trying to fight it: no matter what his instincts told him,
he had to open that envelope.

Arriving at the bed,
his suspicions as to the intended recipient were confirmed. Written on the
envelope were the words:
For the attention of Sam Railton.
Against his
better judgement, he ran his finger under the seal like a blunt knife and
pulled out the letter.

Dear Sam,

If you are reading this
note, then I’m afraid there is every possibility that I am in grave
danger…possibly worse. However, whereas my fate is already sealed, it might not
be too late for you and your family. But you must listen to me…you must follow
my advice.

I’m sure you know this
already, but the man haunting you is your father. He’s angry, Sam; he believes
he was betrayed all those years ago by yourself and your mother. He is
convinced that his premature death was entirely your fault, so the reason he’s
here is to seek revenge for what happened. You and I both know that his motive
is misguided, but that’s of no concern to him. He’s been dead a long time, and
I imagine that thirty years in Hell has made him somewhat bitter and twisted.
He’s chosen to come now because he senses that you’re vulnerable, he feels that
you’re weak. Whatever happened between you and Sarah has hurt you so much that
it’s allowed him to force his way into your life again.

He’s come for you, Sam.
He wants you to join him in death. The problem is, it’s not only you he wants. The
boy on the train, your friend Tom, those people you worked with: he’s behind
everything…and there will be others too. Sarah, Max…I can’t say for certain,
but what I do know is that he’s using you to get to them. The headaches you’ve
been experiencing, the stomach pains, the strange visions: they’re not natural;
they’re your father. He’s inside you, Sam. He’s using you as a conduit – a host
- to get to the others, a physical earthly presence that allows his spirit to
survive and wreak havoc, and when he’s had his fill of killing those around
you, he’ll turn his attention on you. The problem is, I think he’s enjoying his
work. I don’t think he has any plans to return to Hell just yet. I suppose what
I’m trying to tell you is that I fear there will be others, Sam. Maybe lots of
others.

One glimmer of hope is
that he can only get to those other people through you. In most cases, with
those who don’t possess the gift, spirits aren’t able to have physical contact
with the living without a conduit. Without you, he won’t have the power to hurt
them. I realise that this places a heavy burden on your shoulders, but I’m
afraid it’s the truth.

So what can you do to
stop him? You have to send him back, but the problem is I’m not entirely sure
how to go about it. You can kill yourself so that he’s no longer able to live
inside you, but of course I wouldn’t advocate that. You could see a priest and
pray for help, but I know your faith is weak so I’m not sure how useful that
would be. Aside from that, I have one other suggestion which might work. You
need to go away for a while; disappear somewhere where nobody you know will be
able to find you. I don’t mean forever – well, I hope not – but perhaps by
going away, your father might grow tired of you and leave of his own accord. I
know it’s a longshot, Sam, but at least it means that Sarah and Max will be
safe. He won’t be able to hurt them if you’re not near them. You can protect
them, but not if you see them when he’s inside you.

I have to go now. I’m
so sorry for how you must be feeling as you read this. I only hope that God
gives you the strength and wisdom to see this through without anyone else being
hurt. Especially Max.

I pray that I will see
you all again someday. Until then…stay strong.

Gracie

Unable to take his eyes
away from the piece of paper in his hands, he slumped down onto the bed and
read it again. And again. He would have probably read it a fourth time, had he
not been interrupted by the approaching wail of the ambulance’s siren as it weaved
its way through parked cars and pulled up outside the house. Hearing the sound
of voices outside, Sam rose to his feet and began searching for an overnight
bag as per Sarah’s instructions, only to realise the futility of the task.
Gracie wasn’t going to wake up, so why go through the motions? She was dead,
and even though Sam wasn’t directly responsible, it was pretty clear from the
contents of the letter that he was guilty by association. Guilty by association
with the ghost of his own father, who – if Gracie was right – was at that
precise moment residing inside his very own body.

The pattern was so
blindingly obvious, why hadn’t he realised sooner what was going on? It had all
started that day on the passenger bridge at York station: the feeling of
something unnatural entering inside him as he knelt on the concrete floor. The
searing headaches had followed almost immediately, to the point where he’d felt
as if his head was about to explode. And then, at the police station, the exact
moment that Stephen Gilchrist had looked up at him, he’d felt an immediate
release of pressure as the pain flowed out of him. He’d been so relieved to be
free of the headaches that he’d hardly noticed Stephen collapsing to the floor.
The next thing he knew, Sergeant Calloway had called to inform him that the
poor kid had only gone and killed himself. As tragic as that was, however, Sam
could perhaps be forgiven for not having made the connection between his own
illness and Stephen’s subsequent suicide.

But then the same thing
had happened again in the park a day or two later: one minute Sam had been
admiring the cherry blossom and thinking that maybe the world wasn’t such a bad
place after all, and the next minute he was staring at Stephen Gilchrist as he
hung from a branch, only this time it was his father’s face that he saw. Once
again, excruciating headaches soon followed, only to completely vanish during
the fight with Tom outside the offices of Chapman’s Design Agency. Surprise
surprise, who was the next person to kill himself? Tom Jackson, but not before
he had pulled a gun on Charles Holdsworth and Gabrielle Williams.