Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story (76 page)

“They sleep in the daytime. If there were any around they would have been in the barn last night.”

She stared up at him, her eyes huge.

“They’re more scared of you than you are of them, sweet girl.”

“Wanna bet?”

The air hung musty and cold around them. A faint scratching sound filled the murky darkness like hundreds of tiny claws skittering along the foundation. Then it silenced.

“I wish I had a torch,” Andrew said, squinting into the gloom.

Hand in hand, Andrew and Emily walked deeper into the cellar with Margot and Simon behind them. The odor of rot permeated the space, and cobwebs hung everywhere like a winter frost. Old wiring above their heads hung low, causing them to stoop and duck as they made their way through the cellar.

The dankness thickened as they crept on.
Please let us not trip over some decomposing corpse,
Andrew thought. He’d welcome the rats if this kept up. A few veins of light bled through the cracks in the foundation, allowing them to walk without tripping over one another. He soon had to breathe through his mouth though, as the rank odor intensified with every step they took.

“Look,” said Simon, his voice almost thundering in the claustrophobic space. Up ahead, shelf after shelf lined the walls and were filled with dusty boxes and old rusted tins. “You think Mother Chamberlain dumped her son in a sardine can?” he conjectured, peering at the decomposing larder.

“Hardly. Watch out, there’s a nail there.” Andrew moved Emily around a loose beam and motioned to Margot and Simon to follow as they went further into the manky depths. He began to worry how structurally sound this cellar was. At any moment, would the ceiling above give way and bury them all alive?

“What else did that poem say?” Andrew asked, hoping to divert Emily’s attention from the disturbing surroundings. He pushed aside a particular nasty swatch of cobwebs under which she ducked, a few still clinging to her hair. Behind them, he could hear Margot spit out stray strands in disgust.

Emily recited it again. “‘I dwell with a strangely aching heart.’ Do you think that’s part of the clues?”

“Ugh, by the stench, it wouldn’t shock me,” muttered Simon. “One ripe ol’ juicy rottin’ heart, ripped open and oozin’—”

“You’re not helping, Simon,” Andrew chastised him. “The fact that we’re using a twentieth century poet to find the ashes of a dead body is a bit of a leap already, don’t you think?” he added dryly.

Margot snorted behind him with another
ptui
at the cobwebs.

“Maybe she knew Robert Frost?” Emily asked Andrew.

“Don’t destroy the image of my favorite poet, or I may leave you down here with the rats.”

“Rats? You said there weren’t any rats.”

“I said bats. And I’d suggest you keep walking.”

“Guys, over here.” Margot stopped in her tracks and pointed. “Holy God. Look at it.”

Up against a far wall stood a bookcase filled with what looked to be a collection of old religious statues and dusty votive candles. Dim light from the joists in the ceiling reflected in the jet-black eyes of some saint, making the skin pebble on Andrew’s arms.

“It’s like yours,” Simon said.

She glanced at him with a smirk. “This one’s better.” Then she approached the make-shift shrine and made the sign of the cross. She flashed him a look before she leaned closer and began to examine the small figurines, her fingers moving them aside like chess pieces. She reached for one and squinted at it in the darkness. “Of course,” she whispered.

“Margot?” Emily asked.

“Nick’s mother was Catholic. She wore a rosary around her neck and kept beating her breast at the séance. The only people I remember doing that other than my mother and grandmother were the nuns back at Our Lady.”

Simon stared at her in disbelief.

“Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception,” Margot clarified.

Before anyone knew what was going on, Margot had begun to shove the large figurines from the top of the bookcase. “Look,” she whispered.

Hidden behind them a painting hung on the wall. It bore the iconic picture of Jesus with his heart exposed and radiant on the outside of his body. Except that the painting had hinges on one side.

“The Sacred Heart,” Margot whispered. “The Sacred Heart of Jesus. The poem. ‘I dwell with a strangely aching heart,’ it’s a clue.” Her fingers curled underneath the painting and pulled; it protested on its decayed hinges and swung open. The sound seemed to rattle the rats that swarmed behind the wall, their nails clicking as they rushed away. Behind the door was another metal panel, and in the panel a keyhole.

“Where’s the key?” Margot asked.

“I found Nora. Nick’s all yours.” Emily turned to Andrew and withdrew the key from the pocket of his coat that she was still wearing. He stepped forward and placed it into the lock; it fit perfectly. Anticipation bubbled up inside him, and he smiled at Emily, his heart racing. He turned it, and with a grating click the panel opened.

The rectangular enclosure was about the size of a medicine cabinet. The bottom of it had crumbled away, opening into the space between the walls. Emily hung behind him, holding onto his shoulders and trying to jump up to get a better look.

“Coward,” he chided her.

“I’m not going to be the one bitten,” said Emily.

“Good point.” With a deep breath, he reached out his hand to sweep inside the cavity. “There’s something in here! It feels like metal…I think it’s a tin. I can just about reach it. Damn it!” he cursed.

“What!”

“There’s a tail in there with it. Quick, I need something to nudge it closer.”

With a wry look of triumph on her face, Margot handed him a crucifix. He poked it down into the hole until he was sure the space was empty save the small metal tin.

In a flash he reached inside and felt the velvety slime of fur against his hand as he snatched the box out. It resembled an old-fashioned gilded candy box; the face of a Gibson Girl covered in cobwebs and grit smiled back at them. It was heavy for its size, and when Emily took it from him she nearly dropped it. She looked up to Andrew and grinned.

Just then they heard it. A slow, deathly dragging. A rattle of a breath. Wheezing.

“Andrew,” Emily whispered, her smile vanishing. “It’s her.”

“Run!” he ordered and grasped her hand. The four of them tore into the blackness, dashing past the decaying walls, the sound of their footsteps echoing inside the empty cellar.

Suddenly Margot cried out in pain. Andrew wheeled around. She had tripped over a stray pile of wood. She tried to get up but faltered on her leg.

The wet seething stalked the darkness. Margot’s eyes froze in terror.

“Give him to me,” a phlegm drenched voice gurgled. “He’s mine!”

Simon scooped Margot up in his arms. “Move it!” he shouted.

Panting, they reached the stairs. Simon and Andrew heaved Margot up; she groaned in pain but somehow managed to make it to the top of the landing, where she immediately began shouting for help. Emily was next. She shoved the tin into her coat pocket and scurried up the rope, nearly crashing into a shattered beam.

“Drop it to me,” Andrew yelled, his heart catching in his throat as she swung near a row of rusty nails.

“No! She wants it!”

“Drop it, Emily,” he growled. She couldn’t hold on, not with the weight of both the coat and her satchel hung around her body.

“But—”

“Now!”

She shimmed off her satchel instead, and he snatched it. With a final shove she hauled herself up through the hole.

The dragging chill was getting closer. Andrew wrestled the satchel over his shoulder and turned around to glare at Simon. “Get the fuck up there, mate, and don’t argue with me.”

Simon hoisted himself up and reached the top of the stairs. He whirled around and grabbed hold of the rope.

“Neil! Christian! Quick, we need your help!” he cried, gripping one end of the rope as he latched his hands around the other. “Come here—wait, the stairs aren’t stable. Can you hold this rope and help me with Andrew?”

The rustling of rats grew behind Andrew. They were fleeing from something, hell bent on escaping. He knew they would flood the floor below him in seconds. He hoisted himself up the rope just as a swarm of slick bodies collided against his legs. Hand over hand he climbed, but suddenly lost his grip. The rats were jumping up his shins, biting each other in fright. He thrashed against them, his boot hitting the rotten stairs, and the sound sent the rats into hysteria. With a scream of rage, he hauled himself up the rest of the rope and threw himself into the kitchen.

Neil and Christian grappled him up to his feet.

“Andrew, we have to get out of here!” warned Emily. “Nora told me that ghosts can only manifest themselves in places where they’ve been during their life. We have to get off this farm!”

“The rental car isn’t far,” Christian cried as they all began running. “Neil, you take Emily and Andrew and Claudia in your car—it’s closer—and I’ll get everyone else. We need to keep those ashes away from her.”

Neil and Andrew reached his Range Rover first. Andrew swung open the passenger side door only to realize that Claudia and Emily had fallen a few yards behind, Claudia’s shoe having caught in the mud.

“Get in!” cried Neil. “I’ll turn it around and get them.”

Andrew slammed the door shut as the Range Rover roared to life. He swung around to make sure that they had cleared a patch of trees. Suddenly, the locks smashed shut.

“Neil, where’s the button to unlock the doors?”

He didn’t reply.

Andrew repeated his question as the car straightened out, and Neil pounded the gear into drive. The car lurched forward, heading straight for Emily and Claudia.

“Neil!” Andrew hollered. “Watch out!”

Claudia grabbed Emily and threw her out of the way. When she saw Neil she stopped short and covered her mouth in horror. She began shouting his name, and he faltered for a fraction of a second, doubling over the steering wheel as though in intense physical pain.

“Neil, what the bloody hell are you doing!”

Andrew felt a fist connect with his jaw, and he was thrown back against the window. A sharp pain lanced his face, and he felt a trickle of warm blood ooze down his cheek.

Stars and splotches of light filled his vision, then the blurred image of Neil’s face and eyes swam to the surface. Except they weren’t Neil’s eyes. They shone milky and evil and deranged. Another fist connected to his jaw and sent his head crashing against the window as the engine roared and the car careened down the hill.

30

“W
HY
A
REN’T
Y
OU
D
EAD
Y
ET
, boy?” the monster inside Neil bellowed.

The Lady in Red, Nick Chamberlain’s mother, had possessed Neil and was in control of a massive Range Rover, two and a half tons of steel capable of grinding the bodies of everyone he loved under its tires or smashing at high speed into the surrounding trees, killing them both.

Andrew attempted to move, but his face stung like hell, and his temple throbbed from crashing against the window. Somehow he managed to hoist his body around, desperate to make sure that Emily had escaped unharmed. The pain blurred his vision, but he could make out Emily and Claudia running and screaming in the wake of the car with petrified looks on their faces. The others raced to catch up to them, everyone shouting and waving their arms. Andrew’s heart plummeted to the bottom of his chest as they vanished from view; the Range Rover coursed down the hill and peeled out onto the open road.

Don’t follow us, Emily. Don’t follow us.

Neil’s hands clenched the steering wheel, sweat beading across his brow as his breaths came in shallow gasps. The Range Rover veered wildly back and forth across the road, forcing Andrew to brace his hands against the inside door panel as he fought to stay conscious.

“You should have killed her by now! What’s wrong with you?” she howled through Neil’s lips. “Why is she still alive?”

Despite the vicious screams issuing from Neil’s mouth, Andrew saw him fighting The Lady in Red, battling to take back possession of his body. But the harder he fought, the more erratic his driving became.

The ghoul’s warning from the séance blazed into Andrew’s mind: “
Don’t you know I can kill her right now if I wanted? I could infect her mind and make her crash through that window. Would you like to see that? Her body slashed by those shards of glass and broken on the street?
”

She could do the same thing to Neil. She could shred his mind to pieces, or force him to drive this car off the road and smash his body through the windscreen.

“Neil,” Andrew whispered, his head swaying as white blotches of light fired around the perimeter of his vision. “Don’t do it. Don’t fight her. She’ll hurt you. Please—don’t.”

Neil’s face contorted in anguish, and his hands clenched the steering wheel as he railed against the monster, every muscle in his body taut in pain.