MAGDALENA'S GHOST: THE HAUNTING OF THE HOUSE IN GALLOWS LANE (5 page)

Anton and Lucy had eaten in the van, tidied up, explored the hamlet, and wandered around the caravan park whilst waiting for seven ‘clock to come so they could return to the pub and give the keys back to the old man. There wasn’t a great deal to do to while away their time, as there was very little in the hamlet of interest and due to the time of year it was pretty dead. The weather was miserable, it had been constantly drizzling for most of the afternoon, and Lucy was feeling peeved that they had missed out on their planned day because of what appeared to be an old and decrepit empty house.  They had returned to the van to read, but Anton was edgy and couldn’t settle.

“Could we still not set off to our village after we’ve given the keys back?” Lucy asked hopefully.

“I had thought about it, but we couldn’t take the planned route as it will be too dark and it’s a road we don’t know. We could go back and pick up the road which we normally take. We’ll arrive there late, but we should still be able to pull in. Everything will be closed no doubt.”

“The pub will be open.”

“Yes I suppose we can always spend an hour in there and then have an early night. We can set off early to walk in the morning.”

But Lucy knew his enthusiasm had somewhat wilted and she knew it was all due to Juniper House. She knew him well and it was obvious that his mind was permanently on that property. He had continually checked his watch, but only because he couldn’t wait to get back to the old man to ask him more questions. She sighed, knowing full well that they would end up staying the night in the hamlet so he could explore again the next day. But whilst the house was drawing him in, she felt it was pushing her out.

Her mind continually focused on the old woman she’d seen when peering through the glass. They had stared at each other, albeit for only a few seconds. She was old and her clothes very ragged and she looked pretty feeble; but her face had an aged beauty about it, and although her eyes seemed younger than her years they were full of sadness. Her hair was white and reminded Lucy of freshly fallen snow, and there was a gentle elegance about her despite the rags which were hanging from her frail body. It’s quite amazing how much detail the mind takes in within such a short space of time, and how much the memory retains. But the vision had remained with her, and left her with a feeling about it that she couldn’t explain. That was the reason she had been so adamant about her existence.

She would much prefer to get out of there and away from it all. The house was unfriendly and uninviting, and whilst it was seemingly empty Lucy had felt a presence when she was inside it as if someone still lived there. Maybe she was being foolish, it was probably just an atmosphere about the house that had got under her skin, but it was deep enough for her to feel scarred already. She had begun to dwell on her relationship with Anton, how it all seemed too perfect, how perfectly matched they were, and how perfectly well they got on. But nothing remains perfect forever, she knew that, and deep down she also knew that eventually it would have to change, just like relationships do; but she didn’t want that change just yet. Changes take place gradually over time – perhaps many, many years, and then they change into something stronger, deeper, and lasting. It was too soon for those changes yet, far too soon.

“It’s seven o‘clock – dead on!” Anton jumped up, interrupting her thoughts with a vengeance.

“But if the pub only opens at seven o’clock, surely the old man won’t be hanging around waiting outside the door?”

“I bet he will be,” replied Anton with an abundance of delight. “Do you want to stay here and read your book? You don’t need to worry about getting cold and wet out there, I can go on my own whilst you stay here nice and comfy.”

“It’s cold in here,” she snapped. “And I don’t intend to sit in it on my own. Anyway, if you go in there by yourself, you may never come out until they shut.” She jumped up off her seat and grabbed her coat.

“Aw, alright then, I thought I’d just check,” he said downheartedly. He actually sounded disappointed, which didn’t do much for Lucy’s feelings.

They both walked round to the pub which took about five minutes, although if Anton had gone alone it wouldn’t have taken so long due to his long stride – as he repeatedly told her as she lagged behind. Lucy was grumping all the way there, after all he’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want her with him. She’d never seen him like this before – if they were on their way to the local pub back home, she’d be convinced he’d got another woman!

Out of breath and feeling a bit bedraggled, Lucy trailed behind him for the last few metres. The pub was shut and that made her feel even more exasperated. Luckily there was a stone porch which they could stand in out of the rain – which they had to do for twenty minutes in the cold.

The door finally opened and the familiar face of the barman appeared.

“You’re at the early doors aren’t you?” he grumbled.

“I’ve come to return the keys.” Anton jangled them before his eyes with a mischievous grin on his face.

The barman grunted and went back inside.

“He obviously doesn’t like customers,” Anton whispered to Lucy as he led her into the pub.

“That’s probably because he’s not used to having any. I don’t see why he couldn’t have taken the keys from you yesterday, so he could’ve given them to the old man instead of us hanging around,” Lucy complained. But then she was niggled by a troubling afterthought. “What if the old man doesn’t come in?” she blurted.

“I never thought of that,” Anton said, his face beaming.

“But you can’t seriously think of holding onto the keys – can you?” Lucy had stopped in her tracks and was now glaring at him. She was beginning to think the real Anton had been taken over by someone else. What on earth had got into him?

“Well we can’t stay here forever. We have to go home sometime. If the barman won’t take responsibility for the keys, and the old man doesn’t come back to-night, there isn’t much choice but to hang onto them – unless you’ve got any bright ideas!”

“Now listen to me, if that old man doesn’t appear by eight o’clock, I insist you leave those keys on the bar regardless of what that barman says – and we just go. It’s as simple as that!”

Lucy’s chin was tilted upwards as she raised her voice to him. But he just looked down at her and frowned.

“Don’t give me that puppy-dog look either,” she ordered, before finally gasping in frustration at him. “Anton you’re impossible!”

She shook her head in defeat as she followed behind him.

Once inside the pub Anton ordered two lagers at the bar, after ushering Lucy to a seat near the fire.

“What time does he come in, you said he came in at seven o’clock?” Anton asked the barman, knowing full well that he’d had no intentions of opening at seven.

“I don’t have control over his time.”

The barman didn’t sound much pleased as he slid the two glasses of lager across the counter and took the money from Anton.

“Well tell me where he lives and I’ll go and drop them off.”

“Can’t do that,” he said.

“Why can’t you?”

“Because I have no right to disclose a customer’s address, after all, you wouldn’t like me to give your address to any Tom, Dick or Harry now would you?”

“But I’m not any Tom, Dick or Harry.  After all, he gave me the keys and he’ll want them back. If I disappear with them, surely he’d be more annoyed at you for not telling me where he lives?”

But Anton was being ignored and he was feeling tetchy.

“How come he has the keys anyway? Does he own it?” Anton had never thought of that before. But his question still didn’t prompt an answer. There was something fishy about the whole thing.

“I don’t get involved in that old place, and if you take my advice you won’t either. Leave it alone,” he growled. “No good will come of it, mark my words.”

Anton picked up the drinks and sat down beside Lucy, who was sitting taking it all in.

He remained quiet as he sipped at his drink and they both sat in silence. Lucy was the first to speak, but only in a whisper: “I don’t know what’s going on around here, but I think we should leave and go home. I don’t like this place, I don’t like this hamlet and I certainly don’t like that house.”

Anton never spoke, he was deep in thought. Lucy looked at him and decided to drink her lager and keep quiet. She wished they’d never chosen to try out the new route. If they had gone their normal way they would never have known about that house, and they wouldn’t be stuck here like two prunes. It had been such a miserable week-end up to now, the first bad one they’d had since buying the van and Lucy was feeling downhearted.

“We’ll just leave the keys and go when we’ve had our drink. He can’t do a thing about it,” Lucy whispered again in an attempt to break the silence. But it didn’t do any good, as Anton seemed to be in a world of his own.

A few minutes later the old man appeared at the bar and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.

“There he is – the old man’s just come in,” Lucy exclaimed, giving him a sharp nudge in the ribs to jolt him back to reality.

Anton perked up immediately and a big smile spread across his face.

“I’ll just pop over and give him the keys,” he said with gusto. He took his lager with him, his face still beaming.

Lucy rolled her eyes as she sighed deeply.
Thank God something’s wakened him
. She pinned her ears back and listened carefully to their conversation, as she heard Anton offer to pay for the old man’s beer.

Anton dropped the keys on the bar and sipped at his lager. He waited awhile before saying anything as he didn’t want the old man to clam up again. He chose his moment carefully.

“I’m really interested in that old house. I want to buy it and do it up. I can do the work myself and I know I can bring it back to the home it must have once been. It needs a lot of loving care and attention, and I know I can give it that. It shouldn’t be left in that state, it’s going to deteriorate badly over each winter and then it will crumble. It must belong to someone and you know who it is, otherwise you wouldn’t have the keys.”

The old man picked up his glass and took a long drink before placing it back on the counter slowly. He seemed to be deep in thought after the young man’s words and he was considering them carefully. He liked him, his freshness, his enthusiasm, his innocence. He’d been like that once.

Anton didn’t pressure him, but waited patiently whilst keeping him company with his drinking. He couldn’t help wondering who the old man was. He didn’t even know his name. What connection did he have with the house? What did he know? And why did he have the keys? There were so many questions to be asked, but now wasn’t the right time. He couldn’t judge his age, his worn-out-face was partially hidden by his unshaven growth and long white hair which had long since thinned out on top. But he was old, Anton was convinced of that. His stature was bent and twisted with time and his fingers knobbly at the knuckles. His clothes were very dated, as if worn and never changed. He didn’t look as if he was long for this world, and his expression was one of remorse, tiredness and weariness. His eyes were faded and almost void of colour, and there was a certain air of sadness about him. Maybe he was a fugitive who had found this reclusive hamlet in which to spend his remaining years – or months – without being found. Or maybe he’d just had a hard life. Anton’s imagination grew rampant as he waited for some response.

“It belongs to the authorities,” he finally said in a low, gruff voice.

His answer came out of the blue and Anton was taken aback as he almost choked on the drink he had just tried to swallow.

The old man pulled a crushed sheet of paper out of his pocket and slid it to him. “That’s who you need to contact,” he said bluntly. He slid the keys back to Anton too.

“Am I supposed to keep the keys?” Anton asked in surprise.

“You need to be keeping an eye on it if you intend to buy it. The authorities aren’t interested in it they’re only interested in the money. They’ll be glad of anything you offer them. Money, always money, that’s all anyone’s interested in these days. They’ll be glad to see it go, you mark my words.”

Anton was speechless and didn’t know what to say. He picked up the keys and thanked him, but just as he lifted his glass to go and re-join Lucy near the fire, the old man spoke again but bitterly this time.

“They took the house to pay for the fees.”

Anton put his glass back down and faced the old man. He was simply staring into his beer looking forlorn and soulful.

“Fees, what fees?” he asked, determined to get to the bottom of it.

Once again he patiently waited to see if the old man would answer or remain silent.

“For the madhouse, what do you think?”

Anton was taken aback. He wanted to know more but was hesitant to push his luck, so he waited and ordered him another beer. The man didn’t offer any objection but took it willingly as usual. Anton leaned on the bar casually and sipped at his drink, hoping the old man would unburden his soul. It was clear that he was becoming distressed as he’d been relating the snippets of information to him, so he didn’t want to push him any further and upset him needlessly. He waited patiently, happy to keep the old man company whilst Lucy sat in front of the fire relaxing and enjoying the heat – but with all ears listening.