Haunted Page 14

  Figuring that there's nothing more for me to do here, I make my way back to my vehicle. Today isn't the day for digging into the past. Today, the whole town has to start looking toward the future.

  ***

  “Daddy, try again!”

  “Alex...”

  “You have to!”

  Realizing that she isn't going to stop until I've bobbed for another apple, I lean down and have another shot. This time I keep my face underwater for a little longer, before finally standing up straight with an apple clenched between my teeth.

  Alex giggles, as if it's the funniest thing she's ever seen.

  “Again!” she yells, clapping her hands together.

  I can't help sighing.

  “Please!”

  As I wipe water from my face, I drop the apple into my hand. Just as I'm about to tell Alex that I'll try bobbing one more time, however, I spot a familiar face in the distance, far back in the crowd.

  My blood immediately starts to run cold.

  Neil Bloom.

  And then, before I have time to react, he slips out of view.

  “Come on!” Alex squeals excitedly. “Again, Daddy! Again!”

  I keep watching the crowd, searching for another sight of Neil's face even though I know deep down that he can't be here. He's been dead for several days now, ever since he was taken away into the forest at night, but I swear I saw him staring straight at me just a moment ago.

  “Daddy!” Alex shouts, grabbing my arm. “Again!”

  “Wait,” I whisper, but there's no sign of Neil and I'm starting to think that maybe I was just hallucinating for a moment. After all, that's the only possible explanation.

  “You're doing it again,” Louisa whispers.

  I turn to her. “Doing what?”

  “Looking flustered and panicked.” She raises an eyebrow. “Like there's something on your mind.”

  “It's nothing,” I reply, taking one more look at the crowd, “I just -”

  Suddenly I stop as I see him again.

  He's already out of sight before I can react, but a moment later he reappears and I feel a sliver of ice in my chest as I realize that Neil Bloom is here, slinking about in the mid-morning sunlight as if he doesn't have a fear in the world. I watch him for a moment, convinced that he has to be a hallucination, but slowly a creeping sense of realization starts to rise through my chest. He briefly reappears and glances straight at me, and I feel a sudden weight in my chest as I realize that I'm looking at a dead man.

  A ghost.

  “Wait right here,” I tell Louisa, before hurrying off. I force my way through the crowd, trying to be polite to all the well-wishers, but up ahead Neil is already out of view.

  Ghosts aren't real.

  That's what I keep telling myself.

  At the same time, he keeps briefly popping back into view at the rear of the crowd, and each time he's looking directly at me. It's almost as if he's come to haunt the town.

  Or to haunt me.

  “Michael!” says Diane Milford, Tom's wife, as she hurries toward me with a smile. “The hero of the hour! How wonderful to -”

  “Not now!” I hiss, pushing past her with such force that I almost knock her off her feet. “Sorry.”

  I know I should go back and apologize properly, but there'll be time for that later. Right now, I have to prove to myself that I didn't just see the ghost of Neil Bloom. I pick up the pace, determined to keep searching, and finally I spot him up ahead. This time I manage to keep him in sight and get closer, but then at the last moment Lenny Johnson steps into my path.

  “Woah there, cowboy,” he says with a smile, holding his hands up. “Enjoying the festival on this fine sunny day? What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  Staring at him, I feel the answer catching in my throat.

  “He's here,” I stammer.

  He raises a skeptical eyebrow.

  “He's here!” I hiss, taking a step back. “Haven't you seen him too?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about, Michael.”

  I look past him, but now there's no sign of Neil at all.

  “Are you sure you're okay?” Lenny continues. “You're looking very peaky.”

  “I saw him,” I continue, turning back to him. “I saw Neil Bloom.”

  He sighs.

  “I did! You have to believe me!”

  “Of course I believe you,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Damn it, I told him not to come today. I told him it was too soon. Then again, I guess it's not the end of the world. He just wanted to come along and share in the town's happy day, and I made him promise to be on his best behavior.”

  “He's alive?” I ask, unable to believe what I'm hearing.

  “Sure. Unless something happened in the thirty seconds since I last saw him.”

  “You said you'd take care of him!”

  “And I did.”

  Again, I open my mouth to ask what he means, but my throat feels impossibly dry and all I can do is watch the crowd. Sure enough, a moment later Neil briefly comes into view and we make eye contact, and then he slips away once more. He seems to be loitering at the very edge, preferring to keep his distance rather than mingling.

  “I took him out into the forest after I spoke to you the other night,” Lenny continues. “Just me and him, man to man. I explained how things are gonna go from now on. I told him that I understood his urges, but that he has to get them back under control. I helped him come up with a few ways for doing that, and I told him I'd be available to talk whenever he needs me, as a kind of mentor. Don't worry, Michael, I took care of him in the best possible manner. He won't be causing any more trouble. He understands that this was his last chance.”

  He reaches out to pat my shoulder, but I instinctively pull away.

  “Mike?” he adds. “Are you okay there, buddy? Maybe you need a drink.”

  “But I thought -”

  I catch myself just in time. Despite the fury in my chest, I know I have to stay calm.

  “You thought what?” Lenny asks.

  “When you said you were going to take care of him, I thought you meant he'd be gone!”

  “Like I'd send him to live somewhere else?” he asks, as his smile grows. “Oh Michael, you can't possibly have thought I was going to take the man out of sight and kill him.”

  “He can't be walking around town like this!”

  “He's perfectly harmless now.”

  “He killed a girl!” After glancing over my shoulder to check that nobody can hear us, I turn back to Lenny. “He killed Mo Garvey,” I continue. “He did awful things to her. He can't be allowed to live in this town, not after that. If he did it once, he'll do it again.”

  “Absolutely not. You have my word on that.”

  “Lenny -”

  “He's a close friend and a business colleague,” he continues. “You're a man of the law, Michael. I find it hard to believe that you'd really advocate murder. Don't worry, Neil's under control. He's under my control, and that's not something to be sniffed at.”

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head, “that's not good enough.”

  “It's not?”

  He tries again to pat my shoulder; again, I step back.

  “Well, I guess you could go back onto those steps and make another announcement,” he mutters. “You could tell the truth and see how that goes. I'm sure people'd think it's a little funny for you to be changing your story so fast, and of course I'd have no choice but to deny any accusations you made concerning my role in your little mess. I'm sure Doc Milford and the others would back me up, so you'd be isolated pretty damn fast. It'd be your word against mine, buddy.”

  He chuckles, as if he thinks he's got me cornered.

  “The end result,” he continues, “would probably be that I'd need to start looking around for somebody else to back as sheriff. Do you think that'd be in the town's best interests, Michael? Do you think it's worth causing all that trouble, just so you can make yourself fe
el a little better? 'Cause that's what it'd be about. Your ego.”

  “Neil Bloom is dangerous!”

  “Neil Bloom is contained. You have my word on that. You were perfectly willing to do things my way earlier, Michael. Please, don't back out and change your mind now. There'd be consequences for everyone. Believe me, if Neil shows even the slightest sign that he might relapse, I'll step in and deal with the situation. But that won't happen, because he's on the mend. And believe me, he's tortured by his memories of what happened to little Mo. He might be walking free, but inside he's a wreck. He's not getting away with anything.”

  Staring at him, I realize that he's serious, that he really thinks I can let a monster walk freely in our town.

  “We're in this together,” he adds, placing a hand on my shoulder. This time, I don't even think to pull away. “You'll see, Michael. We made the right choice. Now we just have to let it play out a little, so we can see the evidence for ourselves.”

  As he says those words, however, I can still just about make out Neil Bloom in the distance, talking to some women. The sight makes me feel physically sick, and I want to rush over and drag him away, but I know that I'd end up looking like a madman. Still, I can't just let him walk around free. The man is dangerous, and I have to correct the huge mistake I've made.

  “You'd be surprised,” Lenny whispers, leaning closer to me, “how many times I've had to do things like this in Railham. And every single time, everything comes up smelling of roses. It's my job. And your job is to tell people that everything's gonna be okay. I hope you're not gonna forget that, my friend. I'd hate to have to put you straight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alex Roberts

  Today

  Holding up the piece of toilet paper, I take a closer look.

  Still nothing. I'm almost a week late now.

  ***

  My bedroom.

  I mean, my old bedroom.

  In the days since Brad and I moved back into the house, I've been so busy fixing up the master bedroom, I've managed to successfully avoid the smaller room I used when I was a little girl. I don't even know why I've been so cautious, except that I've had this gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that seems to be trying to remind me of something I don't remember. I told myself that I was too rushed to go into my old room, that I'd get around to it later, but deep down I know that I was scared. Even now, standing in the doorway and looking into the room properly for the first time, I have this inexplicable feeling of butterflies in my chest, as if some hidden or forgotten impulse is telling me to stay out.

  After all, just because I don't remember something, I can't assume the memory isn't inside me somewhere.

  Lurking.

  Waiting.

  Changing the way I think.

  Brad was right. I was a fool to think I could pick and choose what to remember from my childhood. I can no more do that, than I could keep walking past a closed door without ever going through.

  Stepping into my old bedroom now, I can't help noticing that the air feels very stuffy, so I immediately head over and open the window. I know Brad has been in and out of this room over the past few days, and he's been talking about maybe turning it into a nursery once we start a family of our own. My gut is telling me that this whole room should just be sealed and forgotten about, but I guess that's a little extreme and I should grow up. Still, it's weird to see the same wallpaper that was in here when I was a kid, and even most of the same furniture. And the same fusty smell.

  Once the open window has let some fresh air inside, I turn and look at my old bed.

  I remember this.

  I remember being in this room as a little girl. I remember my parents reading bedtime stories to me. I remember playing on the floor. I remember stealing cookies from the kitchen downstairs and bringing them up here to eat.

  I went to see a therapist once, hoping that he'd help me unlock some memories, but he tried several approaches and nothing worked. Eventually he suggested that the human mind only buries memories that might be harmful, and he told me that I probably wouldn't gain anything by dredging them back up. I remember showing him the big scar on my right arm and telling him that I at least needed to know where that came from, but he continued to insist that I should focus on the future instead.

  Eventually he persuaded me, but now I'm not so sure.

  Heading over to the bed, I look down at the old wooden frame. Just as I'm starting to wonder whether this thing can be salvaged, however, I spot movement in the corner of my eye. I turn, half-expecting to find that Brad has come to find me, but instead I realize that something seemed to move briefly in the far corner, over by the window. I stare at that spot for a moment, waiting in case I see a spider or something on the wall, but then I tell myself that I must have imagined the whole thing. I look back down at the bed and reach over to test the frame, and then a moment later I hear a very faint creak.

  I turn and look at the corner again.

  Nothing.

  That creaking sound seemed very real, however, and I can't help noticing that the floorboards in the corner look a little uneven. Although I know I shouldn't let myself even consider these things, I make my way over and then step on one of those boards.

  Sure enough, the creaking sound is exactly the same as the sound I heard a moment ago.

  I try again, just to be sure, and then I take a step back.

  This is why I shouldn't let crazy ideas take root. My heart is already pounding and it would be so easy to let a million dumb thoughts tumble through my mind. I know there's no such things as ghosts, and I'm not about to change my view on that, but at the same time I can feel a very faint nagging fear at the edge of my thoughts, as if a whole bunch of irrational garbage is trying to push through. It was probably a mistake to come into this room at all, so I turn and head back to the door, and once I'm on the landing -

  Suddenly I remember the face I saw.

  Startled, I turn and look back at the far corner of the bedroom. There's nothing there, but in my mind's eye I can remember seeing a figure in my room when I was a little girl. It must have been right before my father went nuts, and I was alone in the room, sitting on the bed when I looked up and saw...

  A girl.

  After all these years, the image is suddenly so clear in my mind.

  There was a girl in my room twenty years ago, but she was horribly disfigured. Her eyes had been gouged out, leaving what looked like blade marks carved against the bone at the edges of the empty sockets, and there was a whole lot of blood caked around her mouth. There was blood on the sides of her head, too, and she was standing in the corner of the room, watching me. I remember her clothes were torn and stained, too, and there was a strong, sweet smell in the air, something sickening that even now I can't quite place.

  I instinctively take a step back, while keeping my eyes fixed on that empty corner.

  She wasn't real.

  She can't have been real.

  I'm experiencing a false memory, or I imagined the whole thing as a kid. Still, now that I've finally remembered that moment, I can feel a tight knot forming in my chest and I'm terrified that the disfigured girl might appear again.

  The no-eyed girl.

  That's what I used to call her.

  Wincing, I feel a faint twisting sensation in my gut. The pain passes quickly enough, and I figure that maybe I'm letting the stress get to me.

  I remember rushing out of my bedroom when I was a kid and sitting on the floor outside. I remember not daring to go back in, not even when the girl disappeared, and I remember my father coming up the stairs and talking to me. Usually, when I remember any kind of interaction with that asshole, I try to push the whole thing from my mind and think about something else. This time, however, I let myself relive that moment, and I remember I told him I'd seen the girl in my room, but he seemed too busy to really care. He went in and looked around, but then he hurried to the main bedroom and a few minutes later he rushed out of th
e house again. Eventually I ended up going back into my room, even though I was terrified.

  And I saw the girl again.

  I don't remember when, or where, or how, but I'm certain I saw her at least one more time. I can't even begin to imagine how my seven-year-old mind was able to conjure up something so disgusting and foul, but I remember trying really, really hard to be brave. And then...

  I remember peeing myself.

  I remember Mom cleaning me up late one night, after I'd suddenly soiled the bed. I don't remember the circumstances, but I remember her asking what was wrong, and I know she said that it was very unusual for me. Again, this is a memory that was lost for two decades, so I can't figure out the context, but I remember she had to give me a bath at two or three in the morning, and I remember looking at the doorway and being terrified that the disfigured girl would appear again.

  “Everything's fine,” Mom told me that night. “You know that, don't you? If you've heard anything scary at school, or if you've heard people talking about scary things, you mustn't pay too much attention. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  Her words echo in my thoughts now. She didn't believe me when I told her about the girl, and I don't blame her. After twenty years of staying hidden and repressed, these memories seem to be rushing back out into my conscious mind.

  Finally, instinctively, I grab the handle and pull the door shut, before taking a step back until I bump against the wall. My mind is racing and I'm terrified that more memories might come back to me at any moment. I can already feel long-buried impressions stirring, but I think I've had enough nostalgia for one day so I turn and hurry down the stairs, determined to find Brad and distract myself. When I came back to Railham, I thought I could handle any memories that returned. Now I'm not so sure.

  Then again, even if ghosts existed, why would Mo Garvey still be haunting this town? Her killer is dead, so there's nothing more she could possibly want.

  Chapter Twenty-Six