Stephen Read online

  I hear the landlord coming down the stairs now. It is time to set down my pen for the last time. This tale is over.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Are you off, then?”

  Startled, I turn and see that the landlord has come through from the back room. I have been preparing to set out for the walk to Grangehurst, and I had hoped I would leave without saying goodbye. I spoke to the landlord only briefly earlier, after he came down for the morning, but I had to leave the notebook with him. Now, however, I see that he is holding the notebook in his hands, and I cannot help but observe a curious expression in his eyes.

  He cannot have read the thing, not in just half an hour or so, yet...

  I should have sealed the envelope. Why did I not?

  “I have a long walk ahead,” I tell him. “Best to set off early.”

  He nods, before looking down at the notebook. He seems nervous, a little awkward, and after a moment he looks at me again.

  “I skimmed through this,” he explains. “I didn't have time to read it all, obviously, but I think I read enough. I know I shouldn't have, I know I should've just sealed it and set it aside to post later, but I wanted to see what had kept you busy all through the night. Some of the things you've written about, in this account of your time at Grangehurst... Well, it's not natural. It's not right.”

  “I know.”

  “It's filth!”

  “I know that.”

  “It can't be true.”

  “Every word is honest.”

  “And the chapter with the baby, near the end, where you -”

  “I know!” I say firmly. “You don't have to tell me that you're offended, or that you think it vile. I already know. I feel the same, but -”

  “Then why did you set it down?”

  “Because it's the truth!”

  “What's that got to do with anything? Some things don't need to be told. Some things are best left forgotten.”

  “I want to leave a record of what happened,” I explain. “If you don't feel you can post the book to my solicitor for me, then perhaps I should take it and find someone else who will help. After all, I shouldn't want to feel that I am troubling you in any way.”

  He hesitates, before shaking his head.

  “No,” he mutters. “I'll post it for you.”

  “You won't burn it or anything like that, will you?”

  “I'm not a liar, Mrs. Mallin. If I tell you I'll send it off, I'll send it off. If I was the kind of person who'd just throw it into the rubbish after you're gone, why would I bother saying otherwise?” He sighs again. “Maybe people in London are more used to this kind of thing,” he adds, holding the notebook up. “I'm a simple man, and I know tastes differ out here compared to the big cities. I'll post it off today. I want it out of my house.”

  “It's only the truth,” I reply, before making the sign of the cross on my chest. “The Lord knows that I held that all inside myself for so very long. People might not believe me, but at least I made a record.”

  “And all of that went on at that house?”

  “It did. I swear on my own life.”

  “Huh.” He looks down at the book again, before setting it on the counter and making his way behind the bar. “There are things in the world,” he continues, “that I don't need or want to know about. Bad things. Monstrous things. If you ask me, they should be covered up and denied any publicity. It does no good to start spreading that kind of muck around. Don't mention stuff like that, and hopefully it'll just die off.” He glances at the book again, and then at me. “I thought you were a respectable lady, Mrs. Mallin, not a...”

  His voice trails off, and finally he sighs yet again as he takes a cloth and starts cleaning the bar.

  Supposing that it would do no good to try defending myself, I turn and head toward the door.

  “There's one thing you could explain to me, though,” the barman calls after me suddenly.

  Stopping, I glance back at him.

  “It's why you're going back there today,” he continues, and now I think I can see a hint of fear in his eyes. “I mean, after forty years, why would anyone want to go back to a place like that? And don't say it's out of idle curiosity, because I'm not buying that explanation for one moment. I just can't fathom your reasoning.”

  “If you read the last chapter of the book,” I reply, “I quite clearly state that -”

  “I don't believe that, either,” he adds, cutting me off. “No offense, Mrs. Mallin, but I don't believe any of your explanations about why you're doing what you're doing. I can just about understand why you didn't call the police forty years ago, on account of you wanting the whole thing settled. I can also understand, to some extent, why you felt the need to write down your account of what happened. What I don't understand, because you still haven't explained it to my satisfaction, is why you've come here now and why you're intending to go back to that house. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't make any sense.”

  “I am exercising my curiosity,” I reply.

  “That doesn't cut it, I'm afraid.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There must be another reason.”

  Tiring of this line of questioning, I realize that there's no point dawdling any further.

  “I do not have to explain myself to you,” I point out. “I do not have to explain myself to anyone.”

  “Says the woman who just wrote an entire book explaining her life.”

  “You really are being insufferable,” I say with a sigh. “I wrote down my account of Grangehurst so that I would leave some trace of the story behind, in case I...”

  My voice trails off for a moment.

  “In case you don't make it back?” he asks. “If there's been no sign of you by sundown, I'll have someone go out there to check you're alright.”

  “That won't be necessary,” I explain, trying to hide my concern at the idea. “Once I am finished at Grangehurst, I shall be departing directly for London. I shall not be passing through Bumpsford again.”

  He holds the notebook out.

  “Then perhaps, M'am, you'd like to deliver this to your solicitor yourself. By hand, once you're back.”

  “I would prefer you to post it,” I tell him. “Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going. Thank for your hospitality, you have been most kind.”

  “I just -”

  “Most kind indeed!” I say firmly, before opening the door and stepping outside. I close the door carefully, to make sure that I am not followed, and then I set out along the street.

  The sky ahead is gray, hinting at rain, and I pull my shawl tight around my shoulders. As I reach the next corner I glance over my shoulder, just to make sure that the landlord is not coming after me. Fortunately he seems to have got the message, and I do believe him when he says he'll post the notebook to Mr. Graver in London. And Mr. Graver, in turn, will know to set the notebook into a vault, where I have specified that it must remain for a period of not less than one hundred years.

  Reaching the edge of town, I set out along the road that leads to Grangehurst. Last time I passed this way, I was an innocent young girl. Now I am a wise and sagacious woman, and I am finally ready to go back. For curiosity's sake only, of course. I have no other motive.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The heavy iron gate creaks as I push it open. My arms are aching and I am exhausted from the walk out here, but my heart is pounding now that I can see Grangehurst again. Struggling to get the gate open, I finally manage to step through, and then I take a moment to look out across the vast, overgrown garden.

  It looks as if nobody has been here for years.

  Perhaps not even since I left.

  Grangehurst stands before me, magnificent and huge against the cold sky. In truth I am no writer and my descriptions of this house have done it no justice at all. Indeed, perhaps over the years I began to forget the sheer size and power of the place. As I make my way along the overgrown path that leads through the garden, I stare up
at the windows of the house and I feel a sense of genuine awe. Grangehurst is without doubt the most impressive construction I have ever seen, and I cannot help thinking that a place like this should never be left empty and abandoned. I doubt anybody could conceive of the grandeur of this house, unless they had seen it for themselves.

  Finally I stop when I get close to the house. Somewhere around here was the rutted crack that allowed me, as I left forty years ago, to see the horrific sight of Hannah Treadwell's body. I take a moment to look around, in case I might yet see her corpse or – more likely – a pathetic huddle of bones. In truth, however, too much time has passed since that moment and it would be utterly impossible for Hannah to still be visible. I have no doubt that she is still down there somewhere, buried deep beneath the heavy mud. Perhaps I should feel some sympathy for her, but I cannot feel anything except hatred for the woman who murdered poor little Stephen.

  May Hannah Treadwell rot in Hell.

  Making my way up the stone steps, I finally reach the front door. My heart sinks, however, as I see that the window nearby is still broken. Would Severine not have fixed that, if she had remained here all these years?

  A shudder passes through my chest as I realize that after all this time, I have finally returned.

  How many times did I dream of this moment, all while pretending to be thinking nothing of Grangehurst at all? How many brief moments did I take, how many daydreams did I refuse to admit even to myself? It is almost as if, since the night I first crawled out through the window, some force has been trying to get me back here. And if I am honest with myself, that force comes not from without but from within. I have come back because I want to come back.

  I have come back because of her.

  I have to see Severine Brooks again. I have to know what happened to her. I have to look into her eyes – whether she is alive or dead – and show her that I returned. Deep down, I want desperately to know what would have happened to me if I had remained here. What would she have done to me? How would I have responded? Would I have continued to fight, or would I have eventually surrendered to whatever she wanted? Whereas before I used to deny these thoughts, now I feel them blossom through every fiber of my being. I have never felt so alive. Perhaps with Severine, I would no longer have needed to imagine the discipline's cut. Perhaps I would have found other ways to feel that feeling.

  No.

  Why am I thinking such awful things?

  None of that is true. I am here purely to satisfy my curiosity, to see what fate befell Mrs. Brooks after I left.

  I really must control myself.

  Turning the handle, I find that the door is locked. Still, after all these years. I step over to the broken window, and I realize that I shall have to somehow clamber through. Although my hips are stiff and my body is sore, I start gently maneuvering myself. It takes several minutes, and I am sure that I make for a most ungainly sight, but finally I am able to get through the window, and for the first time in forty years I set foot once more in Grangehurst.

  Oh, what if I had never left?

  What if I had stayed with Severine?

  Who would I be now?

  No.

  I must stop that immediately. Mother Superior always told me to stay in control of my thoughts, and she was right.

  I am here solely to see what happened after I departed.

  As I stand here in the hallway, I can already tell that the house is cold and silent and dead. And when I turn and look over toward the study, I let out a faint gasp as I see that the body of Doctor Elliot Brooks is still in the chair behind the desk.

  Making my way over to take a closer look, I stop in front of the desk and see that most of the meat on Doctor Brooks' body has rotted away. Some persists, however, and I can only assume that the coldness of the climate here has allowed his corpse to retain more of its original features than one might expect. As for why wild animals have not come to consume the carcass, I suppose they were warned off by some sense of the house's nature. Indeed, although some of Doctor Brooks' bones have fallen to the floor, the bulk of the man remains intact. For instance, I can see the teeth in his lower jaw, and at the back of his neck there are even some surviving wisps of hair.

  It is exceedingly strange to see Doctor Brooks again, but he is not my reason for coming back to Grangehurst.

  Turning, I make my way out once again to the hallway. For a moment I wonder where Severine might be, but when I look at the main staircase I somehow understand immediately that she will be in the nursery. And as I start walking up toward the landing, I feel a growing sense of anticipation in my chest. Until this moment I never admitted to myself how much I wanted to come back, how desperately I long to see Severine again so that she might unlock the feelings that she first stirred all those years ago. By the time I get to the top of the stairs, I am filled with both a sense of elation that I am back and a sense of sorrow that I ran away in the first place. Oh, why did she not take me when I lay helpless on the ground?

  “We both know you don't really want to leave. You're just trying to escape because you think that's what you're supposed to do.”

  She was wrong. Of course she was wrong.

  The door to the nursery is straight ahead, and it is slightly ajar.

  “Are you here?” I whisper.

  Silence.

  “Are you here?” I ask again, a little louder this time. Certainly loud enough for somebody to hear my voice. “It's me. It's Beryl. Severine, answer me, are you still here?”

  I wait, with my eyes fixed on the door to the nursery, but I hear no reply.

  With tears starting to run down my face, I walk slowly toward the nursery door and reach out for the handle. I can somehow tell that I will find Severine in here, but I do not know what state she will be in. The anticipation is almost too much, and my heart is pounding harder than at any point since I was last in this house, yet I let my hand rest on the door for several seconds as I try to find the courage to look in the nursery.

  Finally, however, I tell myself that I must see, so I push the door open all the way.

  And I see her.

  On a chair by the window, Severine's rotten body rests with one hand on its belly. As was the case with Doctor Brooks, Severine's corpse is surprisingly intact, with enough meat to hold most of her bones together, and certainly with more than enough for me to be in no doubt that this is truly her. I believe I can even see Stephen's bones on the floor, as if they eventually fell from Severine as she decomposed.

  Poor Stephen. His remains are scarcely much larger than the remains of a gull one might find dead on the beach. Without him, I would never have come to Grangehurst, and I would never have met his wonderful, beautiful mother. Yet I stare at him for only a moment before looking back toward Severine's dead face and seeing that her mouth is hanging slightly open.

  Yet the strangest thing is this:

  Although I see Severine's corpse on the chair, I also see Severine herself standing next to the corpse. She is exactly as I remember her, and she is smiling as she stares back at me.

  It's her.

  It's really her.

  “Severine,” I whisper, before taking a step forward. “It's me, it's -”

  And then she is gone.

  All that's left is the body in the chair.

  “No, wait,” I stammer, filled with panic. “Severine, it's me! It's Beryl! I'm so sorry I left! I should never have run away, I should have stayed with you forever! Please, you have to forgive me!”

  I wait, but she does not come back.

  “Please,” I continue, trying to stay calm as I take a step forward, “I came back. I came back for you, Severine. I know it took me a long time, but I came back, please don't leave me again. I -”

  I stop mid-sentence as I hear something moving behind me. Something that bumped against the door.

  I freeze for a moment, and then slowly I start to turn.

  Suddenly Severine – young and beautiful again – lunges at me. Her mo
uth is wide open, and she clamps her lips against mine as she places her hands on my shoulders. And I feel her icy embrace as she starts forcing me down toward the floor, and as she screams death into my mouth.

  FROM THE FAIRFAX AND BURRINGHAM GAZETTE

  October 21st 2017 – Funerals were held on Thursday for the five people whose bodies were recovered earlier this year at Grangehurst House.

  Elliot Brooks, Hannah Brooks (nee Treadwell), Severine Brooks, Beryl Mallin (nee Seaton) and Stephen Brooks were interred at St. Margaret's Church in Bumpsford. A previously announced service in July was postponed at the last minute after investigators requested fresh DNA tests.

  Separately, police gave more information about how the five bodies were discovered. Earlier this year, a document was discovered in the vaults of a solicitor's office in London. Although police sources will not confirm the precise nature of this document, it is believed to have contained some form of confession written by Beryl Mallin shortly before she went to Grangehurst for the final time. The document is dated from 1939.

  Similarly, there was no comment on rumors that the bodies of Severine and Beryl Mallin were found in an embrace in one of the upstairs rooms. The recovered document is believed to be being reviewed by experts from several laboratories around the country, and also by figures at a number of leading universities.

  In a separate development, contractors working at the house have reported numerous strange occurrences at the site. Grangehurst is in the process of being transformed into a luxury hotel, but several workmen claim to have heard whispering voices in some of the rooms. A nightwatchman is also said to have seen two ghostly female figures at the window of the nursery. The nightwatchman is said to have been so unnerved, he quit his job on the spot. A spokesman for the developers, however, says that such stories are “far-fetched” and that the new Grangehurst Luxury Hotel and Spa is on course to welcome its first guests in January.