The House of a Hundred Whispers Page 10

  ‘Old Spice?’ asked Rob. ‘Are you serious? There’s a spirit in here and he’s wearing Old Spice?’

  ‘What’s so unbelievable about that?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s so naff.’

  ‘Would you have believed it more if it had been Dolce and Gabbana? Spirits often carry their smell with them to the Otherland. And it’s not only Old Spice in here. There’s other smells. But what’s most interesting is that none of them are dead smells.’

  ‘I don’t get you.’

  ‘Spirits who get into contact with me from the Otherland mostly don’t smell of nothing at all. Usually they’re too faint and distant and all I can hear is their voices, right inside the back of my brain. Now and then, though, they’re closer than that, especially the ones who have only just passed over. I can see their outlines sometimes, shimmering, and I can smell embalming fluid, or smoke. Rotten flesh, sometimes. That’s what I mean by dead smells.’

  ‘But these aren’t dead smells?’

  Ada closed her eyes again and breathed in. ‘No. And that’s what makes it so strange. There are definitely presences in this room… multiple presences. But I wouldn’t call them spirits.’

  ‘What are they then?’ asked Vicky. ‘Ghosts?’

  ‘No, they’re not ghosts neither. Ghosts are supposed to be the souls of dead people who come back to haunt us because they still had unfinished business when they died, or because they want to get their own back on folks who have done them wrong. But there’s no such thing as ghosts like that.’

  ‘So what are these – presences?’ Rob asked her. ‘We’ve heard people whispering at night, outside our bedroom door. Could that have been them?’

  ‘I don’t know, shag, to be honest with you. I’ll have to do some reading about this, and then come back and do a few tests. I have some suspicions, but I don’t want to start meddling until I know for certain what it is I’m up against. If there’s a presence here that has the strength to push you over, even though you can’t see it, then – well, I think we need to be wary.’

  Rob said, ‘Just a minute, Ada. If I’m understanding you correctly, you’re saying that these presences aren’t dead people? They’re not spirits and they’re not ghosts. So does that mean they’re alive? How can they be alive and we can’t see them?’

  ‘That’s why I need to do some looking into it,’ said Ada. ‘There’s a wizard I know in Monkscross, Francis Coade. He doesn’t call himself a wizard the same like I don’t call myself a witch. A gleaner, that’s how he describes himself, because most of his time he picks up the spiritual bits and pieces that people have left behind them when they cross over unexpected. You know, just like farmers used to let poor folks pick up the bits and pieces in the fields after a harvest was over. He knows more about this kind of thing than I do – folks appearing to be dead but not dead. Gone but not gone, if you follow me.’

  ‘I can’t say that I do. But, please, by all means get in touch with this wizard – this “gleaner”. Because Vicky thinks she heard a child crying, as well as whispers, and if there’s any chance that was Timmy—’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ada, tilting her head sympathetically and giving him a little smile. ‘I’ll try to get over to see Francis in the morning. Once I’ve talked to him, and set up one or two experiments, I promise I’ll be back to you dreckly.’

  *

  After John and Ada had left, Rob and Vicky went into the drawing room. There was still a faint smell of weed but the logs in the fire were blazing strongly and had carried most of it up the chimney. Rob could hardly complain: he had smoked joints regularly when he was at Worthing art school and at one time he and his friends had solemnly lowered more than thirty deckchairs into the boating pool, chanting all the while, in the belief that they were carrying out a solemn religious ceremony.

  ‘That was a rather gorgeous-looking witch,’ said Portia.

  ‘She calls herself a charmer, rather than a witch,’ Rob told her.

  ‘I don’t blame her,’ said Portia. ‘She is a charmer.’

  Grace gave her arm a petulant slap, but Portia blew her a kiss. ‘Don’t worry, Gracey,’ she said, and sang, ‘Nothing compares to you!’

  ‘What did she say, anyway?’ asked Grace. ‘Did she think that priest’s hole is haunted?’

  ‘Not exactly haunted, but she said that she can feel something there. Presences, that’s what she called them. She doesn’t think they’re ghosts, or spirits, or anything like that. She’s not at all sure what they are. She’s going to do some research and talk to some fellow she knows in Monkscross who’s a wizard.’

  ‘Oh my God. This gets more unbelievable by the minute.’

  There was a knock at the door and Vicky went to answer it. It was a woman member of the search and rescue team. Apart from her crimson anorak she was wearing a bulbous grey bobble hat and huge grey knitted gloves that looked like characters from Sesame Street.

  Rob came into the hallway to join them.

  ‘There’s still no sign of your Timmy, I’m afraid,’ the woman told them. ‘We’ve had over a hundred and fifty volunteers out this afternoon, plus three dogs. The dogs are usually brilliant at picking up trails, even in bad weather, but there’s nary a trace. We’ll still be searching tonight, and again tomorrow, but we have to be realistic. Wherever he is, we don’t think he’s out on the moor.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rob. ‘I can’t tell you how much we appreciate everything that you’ve been doing. You’ve been extraordinary.’

  The woman lifted one of her gloves and looked at it as if it were a faceless puppet. ‘We always say that God created the moor for its beauty and its wildlife, but He also created it to test how much we care for our fellow human beings.’

  17

  That night, the wind began to rise again, until it was whistling and shrieking through every gap in the window frames and moaning down the chimneys like a choir at a funeral.

  Rob and Vicky were both worn out, so they went to bed at ten-thirty and Vicky took a Unisom to see if she could manage to get some sleep. Rob wished he could have taken one too, but he wanted to stay alert in case there was any more whispering. He had not only closed the panel in the dado but also locked the bedroom door. If there really were any presences in the priest’s hole, dead or living, they would have to knock it down to get out.

  Grace and Portia went to bed soon after them, both slightly stoned. They knew that with Timmy still missing this wasn’t a time to be giggling, but they couldn’t help themselves. Rob could hear them stifling their laughter as they crept along the corridor to their bedroom. He forgave them. Even at its most tragic, he thought, life never stops being ludicrous. He couldn’t stop thinking about some sinister presence that smelled of that most dated of aftershaves, Old Spice.

  ‘Did you believe that witch?’ Vicky murmured, with her back turned to him.

  ‘You mean, do I believe that there are some kind of living people in that priest’s hole? People we can’t see?’

  ‘I believed her. I’m sure that I can feel them. And smell them.’

  ‘I don’t know. She could be right, but even if she is, I wonder if these “presences” have any connection to Timmy disappearing? I’m beginning to think more and more that somebody’s picked him up and driven off with him. I mean, they can’t find him on the moor and the dogs can’t pick up a scent. He’s not here in the house and he couldn’t have flown away, could he? He’s not a pisky.’

  Vicky was silent for a long time, and then she said emphatically, ‘I’m sure he’s not dead.’

  Rob didn’t answer. He had a catch in his throat and he didn’t want to sound as if he were losing hope.

  Vicky turned over and laid her hand on his. ‘You don’t think that he’s dead, do you? We’d know, wouldn’t we, if he was dead? I think we’d feel it.’

  Rob nodded, and then shook his head, but he still couldn’t draw in enough air to speak.

  They heard the front door slam. Martin and Katharine were back
from Tavistock. Martin called out, ‘Hello? Hello? Anyone at home?’ and then Rob heard him stumble against the chair in the hallway. He was obviously drunk.

  For a minute or two, Martin and Katharine banged around downstairs. Martin went into the kitchen and Katharine snapped, ‘What are you doing in there? For God’s sake, Martin, you don’t need any more to drink!’

  Rob couldn’t hear Martin’s reply, but then Katharine demanded, ‘Come to bed! God, you made such a fool of yourself! They’ll never let us back into Taylors again, ever! Come to bed!’

  Katharine’s voice rose as shrill as an opera singer’s falsetto, and she sounded almost as drunk as Martin.

  Martin came out of the kitchen and said something to Katharine. Rob couldn’t make out what it was, but it sounded like a string of expletives.

  Eventually, after almost ten minutes of arguing and pacing around, Katharine clawed her way unsteadily upstairs and tottered along the corridor to the master bedroom, bumping into the panelling all the way along. She closed the door very quietly behind her, but Rob heard a crash from inside the bedroom that sounded as if she had knocked over a bedside lamp.

  He waited, listening hard, but he didn’t hear Martin follow her up to bed. Vicky was asleep now, and breathing evenly, although every now and then her lips moved as if she were talking to somebody in a dream. He was finding it hard to keep his own eyes open, and he lay back on the pillows and switched off the lamp.

  ‘Dear God,’ he said quietly. ‘Please keep Timmy safe, wherever he is. And please let us find him tomorrow. I know I didn’t believe in you before, God, but I promise you that I believe in you now.’

  *

  He was woken up by whispering outside their bedroom door. Sharp, persistent whispering, as if the whisperer were anxious or afraid. He groped his hand across to his bedside table and picked up his watch. The luminous dial told him that it was 2:37.

  The whispering went on and on, and after a few minutes the first whisperer was joined by another, and then another. Rob lifted his head up from the pillow and strained his ears, but he was unable to make out what they were all saying.

  He didn’t want to switch on his lamp in case he woke Vicky, but the darkness inside the bedroom was total. There was no light shining under the door so the corridor must be in total darkness, too. Even if anybody was out there, would he be able to see them? If they were anything like the presence that had pushed Vicky over, or the one he had felt brushing up against him in the priest’s hole, they would be invisible.

  He took several deep breaths. Then he eased himself out of bed and shuffled as quietly as he could towards the door, his hands held out in front of him like a blind man.

  The whispering persisted, and it sounded increasingly urgent. He reached the door and pressed his ear against it. It was still difficult to make out what the whisperers were saying, but he thought he caught one of them hissing, ‘It’s no use! You know it’s no use! Not before then! And what’s going to happen, once we get out? Have you thought about that?’

  Another whisperer replied, and even though Rob couldn’t hear what he said, it sounded angry and dismissive.

  Right, he thought. I’m going to open the door and confront them, even if I can’t see them. I want to know who they are and what they want – ‘presences’ or not. And most of all I want to know if they’re hiding Timmy, or at least if they have any idea where he is.

  He put his hand on the cold brass door handle, but before he could open it he heard another whisperer, and he froze. He felt as if a thousand chilly woodlice had been poured down his back, inside his shirt. This whisperer was inside the bedroom with him, and so close that he could feel his breath against his cheek.

  ‘If I was you, mate, I’d keep meself to meself, and leave our business to us. You with me?’

  The voice was harsh, with an East London accent, and there was no mistaking that this was a warning. Rob felt as if he were being threatened from beyond the grave by one of the Kray brothers. He was so frightened that he couldn’t move, but stood with his shoulder against the door, still holding on to the ice-cold handle, staring wide-eyed into the blackness for any faint flicker of light that would show him who had entered the room and was now standing so close to him. And how had this man entered the room? He hadn’t come through the door or climbed in through the window. He couldn’t have walked through the wall.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said, quite loudly.

  There was no answer, but he could still feel that breath against his face.

  ‘I said, who are you? What are you doing in this house? You’re trespassing, do you know that?’

  After a long pause, the whisperer said, ‘Trespassing? You can’t trespass if you don’t have no choice. And you know what it says in the Lord’s Prayer. Forgive them nasty bastards what trespasses against us.’

  Vicky stirred and mumbled, ‘Rob? Rob, what’s going on?’

  Rob yanked down the door handle and tried to pull the door open, but he felt somebody throw their whole body weight against it, and it slammed shut again. He was thrown violently backwards, losing his balance and toppling sideways over the end of the bed and onto the floor. He tried to get up, but then he was kicked in the hip by what felt like a leather boot, and then a second time, even harder, just below his kneecap.

  ‘Rob!’ screamed Vicky, and switched on her lamp.

  Rob rolled over and managed to climb up onto his hands and knees, like a beaten dog. But when he lifted up his head and looked around, there was nobody else in the room – nobody that he could see, anyway. He listened, and the whispering had stopped.

  Vicky was sitting up in bed, looking terrified.

  ‘Rob, what’s happened? What on earth are you doing on the floor? Are you all right?’

  Rob climbed to his feet. He limped over to the door, opened it, and looked out into the corridor. By the light from Vicky’s bedside lamp he could see that there was nobody there.

  He closed the door and went back to sit down on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m okay, darling. But you know how somebody pushed you over? That just happened to me. And I was kicked, too. Look.’

  He lifted up his knee and it was already red and starting to swell up.

  Vicky pulled back the covers and came across the bed to sit beside him.

  ‘I heard whispering,’ he said. ‘Right outside the door, at least three people whispering by the sound of it. When I went to see who it was, somebody came right here into the room and wouldn’t let me open the door. Then he pushed me over and kicked me.’

  ‘I don’t understand. He actually came into the room? How?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I can’t think how the hell he got in and after he’d kicked me I can’t think how the hell he got out.’ He looked around the bedroom, holding his knee and wincing. ‘He could still be in here, for all we know. He could be standing right here in front of us.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that, please! Whatever it is in this house, Rob – whether it’s ghosts or spirits or demons or God knows what – we need to get out.’

  ‘But how can we, if there’s any possibility that Timmy’s still here? Supposing he’s here and he can see us and hear us but we just go and leave him behind?’

  ‘We could go and stay at one of the local hotels and come back and search for him during the day. All this whispering, it’s much too scary. And now we’ve both been pushed and you’ve been kicked. Supposing it doesn’t stop there? What if they throw us down the stairs? What if they strangle us when we’re asleep, or cut our throats? What if it was one of them who murdered your father and they come and hit us with a hammer?’

  ‘It’s scary, Vicks, I agree with you. I mean, it’s more than scary. But there has to be an explanation. Even Ada doesn’t believe in ghosts and she’s a witch. She’s coming back in the morning to do some tests to try and find out what these presences actually are. I think we should wait and see what results she comes up with before we decide what to do next.’

  ‘Rob, I can’t ge
t over you sometimes. You’re so bloody – pragmatic. You’ve just been pushed and kicked by some invisible person who couldn’t possibly have got into the room, and you’re still saying that there has to be an explanation.’

  ‘Our only son has disappeared, Vicks! There has to be some explanation for that! If he’s disappeared the same way that these – presences – have disappeared – we need to find out how they do it.’

  Vicky closed her eyes and lowered her head. ‘You’re right. I don’t want you to be right, that’s all. This house terrifies me and it confuses me and I wish we’d never come back here. I wish I’d never even heard of Allhallows Hall. All I want is to hold Timmy in my arms again.’

  Rob held her close and hugged her and kissed her hair. Then he said, ‘Listen… I’m just going to do a quick tour of the house. I don’t think I’ll find anything, but I won’t be able to go back to bed until I do.’

  ‘Oh, God. Do you have to? Supposing he’s out there, waiting for you?’

  ‘Well, this time I’ll be ready for him. Or it. Or whatever the hell he is.’

  ‘All right. But shout out if anything happens, and I’ll wake up Martin.’

  ‘I think Martin could still be downstairs. I didn’t hear him come up to bed. Mind you, I did drop off for a bit. Maybe he came up later. But he sounded like he was pissed as a newt, didn’t he?’

  ‘I know. And so aggressive.’ She paused, and took hold of his hand. ‘Sometimes I find it really hard to believe that you and he are brothers.’

  *

  Rob tugged his jeans back on and pushed his bare feet into his tan leather shoes, although he didn’t bother to tie up the laces. He went out into the corridor and switched on the light. As he had expected, there was nobody there. Nobody visible, anyway.

  He walked along to the landing, where he stopped and listened. No whispering. Only the thin persistent whistling of the wind, and the faint rattling of a door somewhere downstairs, and the low sad moaning of the chimneys. He went along to the end bedroom door, next to the stained-glass window. He tried the handle, just to make sure that it was still locked.