Authors: Phil Chard
“OK let’s do it.” Juliet said, resigned to being his puppet once more.
Joe put the car into first gear.
Chapter IV
“The press release won’t be complete until 9 p.m.”
Charles Houghton grimaced. He’d have to stay, check it over and then sign it off. He made a quick mental calculation; he’d probably be back home for 11 p.m. There was no choice, a delay would cost too much. He nodded at Miles Dixon, the lanky platinum-blonde intern.
Now to phone Emily. Ever since the ‘Incident’ four days ago, he’d been careful to get home before darkness set in. There had been no further ‘Incidents’ since, but Emily was still on edge and fragile.
He mentally prepared his dialogue for the forthcoming scene and then punched her cell phone number into his phone.
She answered quickly. “Charles, thank God you called! I swear I’ve heard more noises! When will you be back?”
Damn!
The rehearsed dialogue had been a waste of time; his strategy had been ripped apart by events. “Emily, come on, are you sure it wasn’t your imagination?”
Emily let rip with a diatribe so ear-piercing that Charles had to remove the phone from his ear.
He waited for a pause in her outburst. “Emily, listen to me―If you’re scared, call a cab; go to the Red Lion Hotel. Have a couple of drinks there and when I’m finished here, I’ll pick you up directly―”
“Charles! I’m scared! Come home!
Now!
”
“I’ll be done for 10... 10.30 latest. Listen, if I could come now, I would, but delaying it―” he was about to blurt out the monetary penalties for any delay, but considered that this would be a tactical bungle, “―it’s just not an option―”
Emily had hung-up.
*
In a pique of anger, Emily threw her cell phone against the wall. When it collided, like a firework at its zenith, it split into three pieces, all rebounding in different directions. Her anger turned to panic; she scooped the pieces up and tried to knit them back together. Her actions were hindered by hands that were suddenly shaking.
With the cell phone re-assembled, she hit the
On
button. Nothing happened.
She tried it again.
And again.
And again.
Nothing.
No lights.
No power.
She then uncoupled the different elements of the cell phone and knitted them back together again. When she hit the
On
button, the result was the same.
She tried again.
Then again.
Then again.
...but it was still lifeless.
Tears were close, but anger made them withdraw. Her fists pounded the ground in frustration. They had no landline fitted; her cell phone was her only means of communication. Her fist was still pounding the ground. And now her knuckles hurt. Her anger quickly found another focus - Charles. Her dream husband had shown where his priorities lay, and she’d been told to queue.
Damn him!
He thought she’d imagined it all! Well she hadn’t!
Suddenly she was thirsty. Which of Charles’s expensive bottles of wine would she use to quench it?
After half a bottle of Rune Valley, Emily’s mood softened. A Broadway musical of melancholy memories started to play in her head. Act One starred Emily and Charles when they first met and the early days. Their hearts were all aflutter, a sudden shower of romance, whirlwind passion... he’d never laughed at her dream of becoming a writer, only encouraged her, even told her not to think about getting a job until she’d given it a real go.
She felt angry at herself. Had she imagined those noises? Had she...?
Clink―Clink―Clink
She didn’t believe that she’d heard the noise at first. Thought it was just a memory replay.
Clink―Clink―Clink
There was no mistaking it the second time. It was not imaginary.
Clink―Clink―Clink
She knew it was the drink, but she wasn’t scared.
Clink―Clink―Clink
She calmly poured another drink and hurled it down her throat.
Clink―Clink―Clink
She walked to the stairs.
Clink―Clink―Clink
Yes – the noise was from upstairs. It would be the same room.
Clink―Clink―Clink
She suddenly had a need to confront whatever this was...
Clink―Clink―Clink
...she wasn’t scared and she wanted
it
to know.
Clink―Clink―Clink
She climbed the stairs.
Clink――Clink――Clink
A change of tone. Again. Like last time.
Clink――Clink――Clink
Whatever this was, she had to confront it.
Clink――Clink――Clink
At the top of the stairs, her ears sought the origin of the noise.
Clink――Clink――Clink
As expected, it was the same room as before.
Clink―――Clink―――Clink
She approached.
Clink―――Clink―――Clink
She reached the door and stood motionless outside it.
ClinkClinkClinkClinkClink
ClinkClinkClinkClinkClink
It was incessant.
ClinkClinkClinkClinkClink
ClinkClinkClinkClinkClink
ClinkClinkClinkClinkClink
ClinkClinkClinkClinkClink
Her hand turned the handle and she threw the door open.
Clink
The noises suddenly stopped.
She stood at the doorway looking in at an empty room.
Her eye caught sight of a metal pipe on the floor. The window was open, a breeze whistling into the room. The cold reached her, her body responding with goose-pimples.
She walked―her footsteps delicate and precise―into the room.
She saw nothing unusual. Just the metal pipe on the floor of a room needing work. Just an open window letting in the cold. Her eyes were roaming. Still nothing. She felt emboldened, like she’d won this contest, shown bravery, defeated a cowardly... what? A
thing
.
The regiment of goose-bumps on her arm increased in number. Still eagle-eyed but with less caution in her steps, she made for the window and closed it.
SLAM
.
She turned quickly. The door behind her had closed with force.
Immediately she felt her heart beating with ferocity and her breathing became frantic. She remained frozen to the spot for what felt like minutes, her eyes zigzagging around, looking for activity that never came. An odd sensation came over her. She could almost feel a presence in the room with her, but couldn’t see one. The presence was near her...
One foot went forward.
Pause.
Then another step.
Pause.
She was heading for the door. Another step, another step, then a frantic step and she ran towards it.
She made it, her hand reached for the handle...
It never made it…
A presence… it felt like an arm that was not visible, w
rapped around her neck, wrestling her to the ground. Once there her head registered blows... one, two, three, four... as if she were being kicked by an invisible force. She felt something... it felt like a hand... again invisible and unseen... it was groping around at her body. She was tussling with it, this unseen force. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would stop playing ball. Something was tugging at her clothes, another invisible hand, she fought with it and then the blows returned.
One to the left side of her head. Her mouth spat blood onto the floor. Another blow came on the other side of her face. The pain was incredible. When the last blow came, it was like being in a room where the lights had suddenly been turned out. Consciousness was gone in an instant.
Chapter V
The intercom buzzed, buzzed, buzzed. An impatient finger was pressing it incessantly.
With a towel covering her, Juliet ran from the bathroom to the living room and pressed the button on the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“We spoke earlier Miss Spiers.”
She recognised his voice from their earlier phone call and buzzed him up to the flat. She didn’t have a lot of time, so changed into slacks and a long bathrobe before heading to the front door. He’d made it up the stairs and was stood waiting patiently for her. He smiled and nodded at her, then held out a perfectly clean hand that she guessed had only ever gestured others to do work.
“Charles Houghton.”
His clothes looked tailored and his appearance was spotless. Sharp black shoes reflected light from the hallway. He had short cropped hair and a face that looked airbrushed into perfection, not a hint of stubble, no lines and no wrinkles. His other hand held onto a bulging brown envelope.
Juliet shook the proffered hand. Despite beaming with manifest cordiality, his grip was excessive.
Juliet stood aside. “Come on in.”
He obeyed, walking past her into the flat as his inquisitive eyes roamed around his surroundings critically.
“Take a seat.”
He did, his eyes still wandering and appraising. He would be making her an offer, and he was taking in as much information as he could to understand where he should pitch it. She instantly didn’t like him, and decided that his demeanour had already pushed the price up.
She wandered into the kitchen, which, in her small flat was still just a couple of yards away from him. Both could still see the other.
“I must say,” Charles began, “you came highly recommended.”
Juliet was filling a bowl with breakfast flakes. His eyes studied her now. She was pretty diminutive: five-foot-three, young... 18-25 he’d guess. Not what he was expecting at all.
This was the Necromancer?
Juliet returned to the living room and sat on the arm of a chair, chomping on her breakfast, happy to sully his impression of her further.
“How did you hear about me?” she asked between mouthfuls.
“Word of mouth... grapevine... the usual sources.”
“A-ha.” Another mouthful. “Tell me about your spook.”
Charles held up the brown envelope, strutted his way over to Juliet and passed it to her. She put the bowl aside and opened up the brown envelope. It contained pictures: the first a grandiose looking manor house.
“That’s the house.” Charles commented. “My house.” he added, as if she were a simpleton who would not be able to deduce this.
Juliet nodded, put the photo to the back and stared at the next one on top of the pile. A woman with honey blonde hair was flashing a high wattage smile for the camera. She had her arm around Charles.
“My wife.” Charles declared. “We’ve barely been married two months.”
Juliet nodded, went to the next photograph. The same woman was in a hospital bed; both eyes were puffed up, the left side of her face nearly black with bruises. Juliet retrieved the previous photograph from the back. The
should-be
photograph of the man’s wife. She then looked at the
is-now
version. She looked like a pretty doll that’d been held too long over a flame. The rest of the photographs showed the beaten-up doll from various angles. Juliet put the photographs back in the brown package. She felt pretty angry at what she had seen, but kept her emotions in check and handed the brown package to Charles without saying a word.
“I don’t know what...” Charles began, “...what it is that’s at the house.”
Juliet remained silent. It was strategic, a lesson learnt from Joe. She was gaining a psychological advantage and needed to keep it. It would need to be him that moved the conversation forward.
“Have you ever seen... anything like this?”
Silence.
Her behaviour was irritating him. His cool demeanour was evaporating; he shook his head in her direction, held up his hands in exasperation.
“Hello?!”
Juliet stared at him for a time, then broke her silence. “How much are you going to offer me to get rid of it?”
Her directness struck him like an arrow. He sat back, becoming enveloped in comfort by the padded armchair which engulfed him. His eyes couldn’t help but wander around the room in a second wave of appraisal.
“I was thinking...”
Juliet nodded.
“A thousand.” He nodded his head. “I think that’s a good price.”
Juliet laughed. “How much is your very nice home worth?”
Charles was taken aback by the intrusive question.
“One million? One and a half? More?”
A reply never came. Indignant facial expressions were his only riposte.
Juliet continued. “No, your house is worth nothing like that, because it’s infected. Let’s say you wanted to sell it; it may as well have a collapsing roof. These things get out. Urban legend and all that. You need this resolving quickly Charles. Benedictions and holy water won’t work.”
She noted a faint nod of his head. Evidently he had tried this option and it had failed.
“Take it your wife won’t be going back to the property until you can assure her that it’s gone? That’s going to put an awful strain on the marriage Charles.”
“Alright, alright...” Charles held up his hands in surrender. “You win! Why don’t we just turn this around? Tell me what your price is.”
Juliet sucked her gums, pretending to muse on a figure that she’d already decided on. She sat back and stared directly into his eyes. “Ten thousand.”
It was enough to pay back Joe everything she owed him with plenty left over. She’d bought and sold souls for so long, now she wanted to buy back her own.
Charles took a moment to digest her valuation. He then laughed so hard his diaphragm shook. Juliet remained stony faced. He stared at her, waiting for her to paw the air and tell him it was a joke. The gesture never came.
Charles stopped laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
Juliet threw in another moody silence, before sighing with gusto. She sprang up, walked to the front door, opened it and gestured at Charles to walk through it.
Charles didn’t take her up on the offer. “Hey, come on, ten thousand?”