The Curse of Wetherley House Page 23

  She sighs.

  “If we don't get to work,” I continue, “we might have to stay another night in that grotty pub. You don't want that, do you? If we get on, we might even make it to a Radisson or a Hilton by nightfall.”

  “Can I just tell you one thing?” she asks.

  “I'd rather -”

  “She was horribly abused by her mother. She became a monster.”

  I can't help sighing. Taking the pamphlet, I take a quick look and see that it's just some kind of home-brewed concoction, complete with lousy clip art. Figuring that I need to make a point, I rip it in half and then rip the pieces again, before letting the whole mess fall to the ground.

  “Maybe you should have stayed at the pub today,” I continue. “You need to rest, and clearly Wetherley House isn't very good for your state of mind.”

  “I need to be here,” she replies, taking her Polaroid camera from the seat and standing next to me, then holding the camera up to take a picture of us together. “Say cheese, honey.”

  Before I have a chance, she takes a photo and I'm briefly blinded by the flash. The camera immediately starts whirring and then spits out a small white piece of card.

  “Cute,” I tell Louisa as she starts wafting the card in the air, trying to get the image to develop faster, “but I think for the job today, you need to use the digital camera. It might be less expensive.”

  “Just having some fun,” she tells me, swapping cameras and then starting to make her way toward the house. “You remember fun, Johnny, don't you? It's what we used to have before real life got in the way.” She stops, staring at the front door, and for a moment she seems transfixed by the sight of the place. “I think you need to sell Wetherley House as quickly as possible,” she adds finally, turning to me. “Get rid of it. There's something about this place that I just don't like. Get it out of your family. And I should warn you. If I spot even one more maggot, I'm gonna scream like a bitch.”

  ***

  “There's a funny smell in some of the rooms,” she says a short while later, as she comes through to the kitchen. The floorboards creek under her feet. “Do you know what I mean? Kind of fusty and... I don't know, exactly. Wrong.”

  “I found this,” I reply, turning and showing her the purse I just discovered on top of the fridge.

  “Whose is it?”

  Opening the purse, I show her Hannah's various bank and ID cards.

  “Why would she have left those behind?” Louisa asks, coming over to join me next to the sink.

  “She wouldn't,” I point out, feeling a flutter of concern. “I haven't found anything of Katie's yet, but if Hannah left all her stuff here, what's she been doing for the past week?”

  “Are you worried? Do you think we should call the police?”

  I hesitate for a moment, looking at the purse, before setting it down.

  “Not yet,” I say finally. “I think something's going on, but I still wouldn't put it past my sisters to be staging this for my benefit and I refuse to fall for their little stunt. Maybe Hannah wants me to get worried, so she can make some kind of point about the importance of family.”

  “She wouldn't go this far, surely?”

  “She might, if she got a real bee in her bonnet.” I pause again, trying to figure out exactly what kind of bullshit Hannah and Katie are trying to pull here. At least Louisa has an excuse for acting strangely, since she's full of pregnancy hormones, but my sisters are just being childish and immature. “The best thing to do,” I continue finally, “is just to take plenty of photos for the estate agent, to give him an idea of what he's dealing with, and then we'll get the hell out of here. If my dumb-ass sisters want to play games, that's their business, but you and I have actually got a life to live.”

  “Is Hannah really this nuts, though?” she asks. “I know she can be difficult, but I never had her down as someone who'd pull this kind of stunt. If anything, she's the opposite. She's always so serious.”

  “Just get on with taking photos,” I reply. “You know, it wouldn't surprise me if my sisters and those crazy locals have teamed up to lower the price-tag on Wetherley House.” I pause for a moment, as the idea starts making sense. “In fact, that actually -”

  “Jesus Christ!” Louisa shouts suddenly, grabbing my arm and stepping back as she stares in shock at the window.

  Turning, I see that there are three figures in the distance, just beyond the line of trees that marks the start of the forest. Squinting, I realize with a flash of relief that it's just three little girls wearing whitish-pink dresses, although to be fair their appearance is more than a little disconcerting. They look like they've straight straight out of a history book.

  “Bloody hell,” Louisa continues, a little breathless as she steps closer to the window, “those little assholes almost made me jump out of my skin! What are they doing here?”

  “Probably just kids from the town,” I mutter, already heading to the back door. “I'll tell them to scram.”

  As I unlock the door, I hear the sound of the Polaroid camera. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Louisa has taken a photo of the girls through the window.

  “Well, they do look pretty weird,” she points out, setting the card and the camera down and then getting back to work with her digital camera, taking pictures of the fittings in the kitchen. “Don't be too mean, honey. They're just children. You should probably tell them to stay off the property, though. You never know what's around, and you don't want to be liable if one of them slips and gets injured. If their parents smell money, they'll probably go crazy. You know what country people are like.”

  Heading out onto the lawn, I look toward the trees, but now there's no sign of the girls. I shield my eyes from the sun as I look all around, but now the little brats seem to have vanished, and I can only assume they must have headed back the way they came. I hesitate a moment longer, just in case they show up again, but fortunately they really seem to have disappeared. Still, the mere sight of the three little freaks was enough to give me the willies, and I can't help hoping that they steer well clear of the house from now on.

  Once I'm back in the kitchen, I find that Louisa has headed upstairs, and I can hear her bumping about in one of the bedrooms as she takes more photos. Just as I'm about to go and join her, I spot the fully-developed Polaroid on the counter and I wander over to take a look. When I pick the photo up, however, I find that something seems to have gone wrong with the image. The girls' bodies are clear enough, but their heads are so blurred that they're barely visible at all.

  “Huh,” I mutter, setting the picture down before heading through to find Louisa.

  Johnny

  “So what do you think?” I ask several hours later, as we stand in one of the bedrooms and look at the panels I've pulled from the wall. Darkness has begun to fall outside, and the lack of electricity in the house means the place is becoming gloomy as hell. “Are we done here?”

  “At least we won't have to come back tomorrow,” Louisa points out, before wincing as she places a hand on her belly.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Just a few pains,” she mutters. “Mustn't grumble. It's nothing I can't -”

  Before she can finish, there's a loud bumping sound from out on the landing, and a moment later the door slams shut. Startled, I stare at the door for a moment before turning to Louisa and seeing that she too looks a little concerned. Of course, her fear just reminds me that this whole situation is ridiculous, and I sigh as I force myself to relax.

  “Just the wind,” I tell her as I head across the room and reach out to open the door. Before I can grab the handle, however, I realize I can hear another sound coming from the landing, as if something is moving on the other side of the door. I pause, listening to a series of slow, shuffling clicking sounds that seem to be edging closer.

  “I need to sit down,” Louisa says, sounding a little breathless as she eases herself onto the stool I brought up earlier. “Are you okay?”

  Withou
t answering, I continue to listen to the creaks and clicks until they stops right outside this room. I know the idea is absurd, but for a moment I genuinely feel as if there's someone just on the other side of the door, just a few inches away. And then, as if to add to that sensation, I realize that something seems to have started scratching against the door's wood.

  “Johnny?” Louisa continues. “Do you mind if we get going? I'm not feeling one hundred per cent right now.”

  I can't tell he about this. She'll freak and overreact.

  “Johnny?”

  I reach for the handle, but my heart is pounding and I can't shake the feeling that someone's out on the landing. I keep telling myself to get a grip, and reminding myself that I'm not paranoid like my wife or sentimental like my sisters, but at the same time I can't quite bring myself to open this door. It's almost as if a kind of faint fear is rippling up through my chest, spreading hundreds of little fingers through my body in an attempt to warn me that no matter what else happens, I mustn't let myself see the face that's staring at me from the door's other side.

  “Get a grip,” I mutter to myself, even as I feel cold sweat on my brow. “Just get a goddamn grip.”

  “Johnny?”

  I try to grab the handle again, but I feel more certain than ever now that someone is waiting for me. And then, just as I think that I might be able to find the necessary strength, I spot something moving near my feet. Looking down, I see that a couple of maggots are wriggling through the gap at the bottom of the door.

  “Johnny? Honey?”

  “Stop!” I hiss, pressing my shoe against the maggots and squashing them into the floorboards, only for another to immediately wriggle into view.

  “Johnny, sweetheart, please, I need help.”

  “Wait,” I whisper, watching as a couple maggots appear.

  I can hear someone breathing on the other side of the door.

  Leaning closer, I press my ear against the wood, and now I'm more certain than ever that someone is taking slow, regular breaths just a few inches away.

  “Johnny!” Louisa shouts. “For God's sake, help me!”

  “Wait!” I hiss, trying to hear the breathing more clearly. I don't know why or how, but deep down I'm absolutely certain that the person on the other side of the door is a woman. Each breath she takes seems to draw me closer, but at the same time I can't quite bring myself to turn the handle and open the door.

  “Johnny, the baby's coming!”

  Suddenly feeling a hand on my arm, I turn and find that Louisa has struggled over to me. She starts to fall, but I manage to grab her arms and hold her up before supporting her as we struggle to the bed in the corner. Lowering her down, I look back across the room and see that there are patches of clear liquid on the bare wooden boards, and then I turn back to Louisa just as she lets out a low, pained groan.

  “It's too soon!” she hisses, leaning back on the bed. “We have to get to a hospital!”

  “I'll call an ambulance,” I reply, fumbling for my phone but then seeing that I have no signal. I try to call 999 anyway, but the call won't connect. “It's okay,” I continue, tossing the phone aside as I try to figure out what to do next. “I'll drive you! Can you make it to the car?”

  “Do I have any bloody choice? I'm not giving birth in this dump! Just -”

  Suddenly she lets out another pained groan.

  “Hurry!” she gasps. “I need an epidural!”

  Helping her up, I support her weight as we make our way to the door. At first I don't even think about the sounds I heard a moment ago, although I remember just in time as I pull the door open. To my immense relief, there's no sign of anyone out on the landing, so I lead Louisa slowly toward the stairs, while struggling to keep her from collapsing. We practiced for this moment, we even rehearsed the drive to the hospital, but somehow we never prepared for her to go into labor in a haunted house in the goddamn countryside.

  “You just have to get to the car,” I tell her. “Everything'll be fine.”

  “Hurry!”

  By the time we get to the top of the stairs, I'm starting to worry that she'll never be able to make it as far as the hallway, let alone the car. We take each step slowly and carefully, and Louisa lets out a series of agonized groans as we make our way down toward the hall. I can barely support her properly, but I know we have to get to a hospital as fast as possible. The baby's not due for at least two weeks, and I don't have a clue what to do if it starts coming here at the house. Maybe I should have gone to those classes after all.

  “Not much further now!” I gasp. “Just -”

  Before I can finish, the step under my left foot shatters and my leg drops through. Stumbling, I grab the railing and try to hold myself up, but I let out a cry of pain as I feel a sharp section of rotten wood rip straight through my ankle and lower leg. Louisa has to support herself for a moment as I try to pull my leg free, but the wood is pinning me in place and even the slightest movement is enough to send a searing pain through my foot.

  I try again, but I think the wood has torn all the way through to the bone.

  “What's wrong?” Louisa asks, her voice tense with pain. “Johnny, are you okay?”

  “Just give me a moment!” I hiss, trying to push through the pain as I turn slightly, hoping that I'll be able to somehow unhook myself. I can feel blood running down my leg, and my foot is dangling in the void beneath the stairs, having broken through to the basement steps.

  “Johnny, hurry!” Louisa groans, before stumbling forward and starting to inch down toward the hallway. “I can't give birth here! Jesus Christ, I need a hospital!”

  “I'm coming!”

  I try yet again to twist my leg free, before realizing that there's no way I can avoid the pain. I hesitate for a moment, trying to gear myself up for the inevitable agony, and then I start counting to three under my breath.

  Suddenly a hand grips my ankle from below. I freeze as I realize that icy fingers are reaching up from beneath the stairs – from the basement steps below – and are now holding me tight. As the fingers tighten their grip, I panic and pull back, tearing my leg free from the hole and slumping against the steps. I can see dark patches of blood glistening in the fabric of my torn trouser leg, and after a moment I look at the hole in the broken step.

  I can't see a hand down there now, but I know what I felt.

  “Johnny, quick!” Louisa yells from the hallway. “I can't have my baby in this hellhole! I need drugs!”

  I take a moment to check my damaged leg, and when I pull the fabric of my trousers aside I find that there's a thick, deep gash running almost all the way up to my knee. Figuring that I'll have time to worry about that later, however, I haul myself up and start limping down the stairs, determined to get to my wife.

  “I can't believe this is happening,” she stammers as she starts to unlock the front door. After a moment, she turns to me. “Johnny, we can't -”

  Suddenly she freezes, staring at me with an expression of pure horror.

  “I'm okay!” I hiss, limping down another step but having to stop to get my breath back. I can feel more blood running from the wound on my left leg and I'm starting to get a little light-headed, but I have to hold myself together so I can drive to the hospital. “Just give me a moment. Just -”

  “Don't turn around!” Louisa shouts, stumbling back against the door. “Johnny, get over here!”

  “What is it?” I ask. “Honey -”

  Before I can get another word out, I realize I can hear breaths over my shoulder. I start to turn, before feeling a sudden rush of cold air against the back of my neck.

  “Don't look!” Louisa hisses through gritted teeth, as she reaches out to me with a trembling hand. “Get over here now!”

  “What -”

  “Run!” she screams, her voice trembling with fear. She's not looking directly at me. Instead, she's looking at something that's right behind me, and tears are starting to fill her eyes. “For the love of God, Johnny, move!”
>
  I flinch slightly as I feel the cold air moving across the back of my neck. I want to reach out and take Louise's outstretched hand, but at the same time I feel completely frozen to the spot, as if I can't move from the foot of the stairs, and a moment later I feel two ice-cold hands touching my head, one on either side of my face.

  “No no no no no,” Louisa whimpers, dropping down to her knees as she stares at me with tear-filled eyes. “Johnny, please...”

  “Johnny what?” I ask, as the cold hands grip me tighter and start burning into my flesh. “Louisa, what's happening to me?”

  “No, please,” she sobs, still holding one trembling hand toward me. “Johnny, sweetheart, come to me! Please, just come here...”

  I try to step forward, but now the icy hands on my head are holding me in place. It's as if the freezing fingers are somehow reaching deep into my body, chilling every bone and leaving me unable to move. I clench my teeth and try again, before letting out a faint groan as I find that the effort is too much. No matter how much I try to pull away, my bones seem frozen in place and all I can manage is to push my muscles futilely.

  “Louisa,” I gasp, “get out of here. Whatever it is, get out of here with the baby...”

  “Johnny!” she screams. “No!”

  “Get out of here!” I shout. “Whatever this thing is, don't let it -”

  Suddenly my head is twisted round with such force that I feel a sickening crunch as my neck snaps. The very last thing I see, as my head is turned until it faces backward, is a pair of dark, rotten dead eyes staring at me from a leathery face.

  It's my sister Katie, and she's smiling.

  Hannah

  I can hear a baby crying.

  Opening my eyes in the dark, I stare straight ahead into the void and listen to the far-off sound of a newborn baby. I don't know exactly where the sound is coming from, but the child seems to be screaming as if he or she is in agony. I instinctively try to step forward, before suddenly realizing that in fact I'm flat on my back. My next instinct is to reach up, but my hands quickly bump against some kind of rough rocky surface that's just a couple of inches above my face. I push, but the surface – whatever it is – feels very firm and secure.