The Haunting of Blackwood House (11 page)

“Jeeze,” Neil said.

“There’s nothing wrong with the house.” Mara was starting to feel attacked as though the criticisms levelled at Blackwood applied to her personally. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a pleasant two weeks there, Chris, but everything you’ve told me is explainable.
Of course
you were all on edge after a fortnight of disturbed sleep and a crying baby. And Paul—you said he was only six, right? Kids often do stupid, bizarre things. If you’re trying to imply he was possessed or—”

“I never said he was,” Chris said.

Neil leaned close. “Mara, calm down.”

“Okay.” Mara inhaled deeply and tried to force her voice back to its previous subdued volume. “Sorry. But I really do think your experiences were a combination of bad luck, a stressful situation, and group hysteria. No offense.”

“None taken.” Chris exhaled a plume of smoke and gave Mara a searching look. “I get the impression you don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I’d put more stock in the tooth fairy being real.”

“I never believed in them when I was a kid,” Chris said, turning to gaze over the drop-off to the blue lake below. “And truthfully, I have no clue what I believe now. But, for those two weeks I was inside Blackwood, every shred of my being knew that ghosts were real. I wouldn’t return there for all the money in the world.”

“
For those two weeks, I knew ghosts were real
,” Mara mimicked around a mouthful of the burger Neil had bought her before leaving the eatery. “Could she even hear herself?”

“Hmm.” Neil kept his eyes on the road. The hardness hadn’t faded from around his mouth.

“Clearly,
something
weird was happening to them—but it wasn’t supernatural. They were strung out and stressed and went into it with preconceived notions of the house being
tainted
by previous deaths. I mean, how ridiculous is that?”

Neil glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Did you know about them?”

“The other deaths? No. And I don’t want to. As Chris so elegantly showed us, becoming obsessed with a supposedly grisly history can only build up ideas about what your own experience should be like.”

“Hmm.”

Mara watched Neil’s face. Her rants weren’t producing the usual smiles and chuckles. She pulled a chip out of the bag and held it towards him. “Here.”

He opened his mouth, and Mara slipped it inside. She was relieved to see his face soften as he chewed it.

“Don’t let Chris worry you, okay?” She took a chip for herself and turned her attention back to the road. “It’s been twenty years since she was in Blackwood. People naturally embellish stories over time—plus, a lot of it came second-hand from her parents.”

“What about the scratches on the door? And the rocking chair she says they threw out?”

A wicked grin spread over Mara’s face. “Well, I guess Blackwood could be home to ghosts who also happen to be interior decorators.
No, darling, we simply
must
have a rocking chair by the fire; otherwise, the house’s feng shui will be
completely
thrown off! Oh, and look how precious these bloody handprints are when coupled with the sinister wall writing! We simply
have
to add more!
”

Neil finally laughed though he shook his head at the same time. “C’mon, Mara; don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“What? You can’t seriously think Chris is right.”

“I…” He hesitated. “I want to keep an open mind.”

Mara felt hot frustration bloom in her chest but squashed it.
Calm down. He’s anxious. Let him process this at his own pace.

“Anyway,” Neil continued quickly, “we’ll get your surveillance equipment set up. At the very least, that should be a solution for the footsteps if they happen again.”

It was midafternoon by the time they arrived back at Blackwood. While Neil installed the webcam and generator, Mara moved through the house to reassure herself that the night-time visitor hadn’t returned during her absence. The strip of shirt was still tied around the attic trapdoor’s lock, and the rooms seemed untouched. She stopped to examine the prints on the walls of the recreation room and pressed her hand over one to measure the size. It didn’t match exactly—her hand seemed slightly larger—but the marks were smudged and overlapping, making it hard to get an accurate comparison.

“Come and have a look,” Neil called from her bedroom. Mara jogged up the stairs and found he’d set up their makeshift surveillance centre on top of the bureau.

“Sweet.” She bent to look at the setup. The laptop connected to a series of extension cords that ran out the window and down the side of the building to the generator Neil had installed in the backyard. A USB cord snaked out of the room, down the hallway, and up the stairs to the attic. The laptop showed a hazy, low-contrast image of the attic.

“It’s bad quality right now because the lighting is inconsistent,” Neil said, indicating the shafts of light coming through the holes. “Its night vision isn’t great, either, but it’ll be good enough to see anyone who’s up there.”

“I’m not expecting them to be back tonight,” Mara said, thinking about the indent in the grass. “But better safe than sorry.”

“Right. Now, if there’s nothing else I can help you with, I’ll go and fix that hole I abandoned yesterday.”

Mara pecked Neil’s cheek and watched him leave. She then took one final look at the laptop screen, on which the cluttered furniture and decaying boxes seemed to blend into each other, before turning to follow Neil downstairs.

She’d been procrastinating because she knew it would be a slow, labour-intensive task, but it was time to clear out the kitchen drawers and clean what she could. As she plucked dead insects off the cutlery, she marvelled at how different it felt to know the person who had owned them. She’d had no scruples about adopting the furniture before, but the more intimate knowledge of the family that had purchased, used, and enjoyed the knives she was polishing made her feel vaguely squeamish.
Relax. It’s no different than second-hand. And you’ve owned a lot of second-hand stuff over the last few years.

She could hear Neil whistling between the whine of the circular saw and the drill. It was a comforting sort of noise and made her feel less alone. The daylight gradually turned to grey tones as the sun dipped behind the trees. The light was affecting Mara’s eyes, so she set aside the still-to-be-cleaned plates and shelved the washed ones in the freshly scrubbed cupboard. Neil appeared in the doorway.

“Well, your dining room is officially whole,” he said as Mara wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. “And I got partway through the rotten patch in the foyer, too. I can finish it off tomorrow.”

“Heading home now? Say hi to your mum for me.”

“Don’t worry; I’m coming back. I’ll have dinner with Mum and make sure she’s settled then spend the night with you.”

Mara frowned.
The talk with Chris really unsettled him. But this is my house, and they’re my house’s quirks. I can’t rely on Neil; I’ve got to figure this stuff out for myself.
“As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m pretty well set up here. I’ll call you if there’s any sign of trouble, okay?”

“Mara—”

“No, come on. I’ve got to draw a line somewhere. You already skipped work today because of me. I don’t want to suck up any more of your time.”

“Well,
thank goodness
I skipped work, or my girl would be doing an impression of a Popsicle by now.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Mara grumbled. “And I’m putting my foot down. My house, my rules. I’ll see you tomorrow,
after
you’re finished at work, okay?”

Neil sighed and dipped his head to rest it against Mara’s. “Is there anything I can say to change your mind? Anything at all?”

“Nope.”

“All right, fine. See you tomorrow, beautiful.” He kissed her softly, his hand lingering on the back of her neck, then left to collect his equipment.

The anxious prickles started to develop not long after Neil closed the door. Mara rubbed them off her arms as she moved to the dining room window to watch his car disappear around the bend.
That was the right choice. You can’t become too dependent on him… or let him become too dependent on you. It’s your house, after all.

“My house,” Mara repeated as she turned back to the building. “My
home
.”

A door slammed.

Mara glared at the ceiling then snatched Neil’s flashlight off the dining room table. “Not tonight.” She began circling through the building and checking its problem areas. “Tonight’s going to be peaceful and enjoyable.” She wedged the rocking chair even more firmly into its corner and made sure that the basement door was shut. Then she jogged up the stairs to work her way through the second-floor rooms.

As she stood on the landing, the master-bedroom door drew open with a tenebrous moan almost as though it were inviting her inside. Mara glowered at it then slipped into the room.

The twilight filtering through the window was strong enough to show the scratches without Mara’s torch. She approached the door and ran her fingers down the markings.
Probably made with a knife by the same hooligan who thought it would be funny to graffiti my room.

The door, nudged by a breeze Mara couldn’t feel, ground forward. She knocked it back to the wall, pressed the footstool against it to hold it in place, then returned to the hallway. She checked that all of the other doors were secure in their latches and retied the length of cloth around the attic’s trapdoor. She made the knot tight so there’d be no way to undo it without snapping it, then returned to her bedroom.

As twilight slipped into night, the webcam’s image became grainier, and Mara had more difficulty in discerning where one piece of furniture ended and another began.
Maybe Neil was right. Maybe I should have splurged on a more expensive model.

She pulled her alarm clock out of her box of possessions and checked the time. It was a little before six. The last two days, the footsteps hadn’t started until after eleven.
I had hardly any sleep last night. I should catch a few hours while I can. I’ll get some dinner when I wake up.

Mara set the alarm for ten thirty then slid into her sleeping bag and closed her eyes. She was drifting in the place between sleep and wakefulness when she thought she heard the faint, slow groan of the master-bedroom door gliding closed.

The red-haired woman cradled her child tenderly as she rocked him. She was middle-aged and plump with a sweet, matronly face. Mara imagined she would be the sort of woman who might spend the afternoon cooking treats for her family then have friends around for tea and to go over the latest gossip in delighted whispers.

The rocking chair’s struts creaked as the woman bounced her feet against the floor. She was murmuring a lullaby to the child. Mara didn’t recognise the tune, and she thought the words might be in a different language. The woman’s hair was such a vivid red that it suggested she could have come from Ireland or a Nordic country.

That wasn’t the only red on her. Blood drenched the front of her dress. It was smeared over her hands and up to her elbows in the same way that Mara imagined flour might get all over her from an afternoon of baking. Drops had sprayed across one half of her face and dribbled down to her chin.

Mara turned and saw the husband lying face down in front of the fire. The blue rug under him was turning purple from the blood that drained from his wounds. An axe sat embedded between his shoulder blades.

“Hush, my darling, hush. It’s all right now.” The woman, cooing to her son, shifted him in her arms. The child’s head lolled backwards. Mara saw its eyes, wide and empty in death, before his mother curled her hand through his hair and pressed him back against herself. “Hush, sweet one.” The woman closed her eyes, tilted her head towards the ceiling, and kicked against the floor. The rocking chair’s struts groaned as it rolled.

Mara jolted awake, gasping and shivering. She clutched at the sleeping bag behind her, half hoping that she might find Neil there, and was crushed that it was empty.

She pressed her hands over her face and tried to slow her breathing. A creak—almost like a leftover phantom from her dream—reverberated from the ground floor. Mara’s heart jumped.
Damn it!

Mara crept out of the sleeping bag and turned her torch on. The alarm clock said the time was a little after ten, and patches of moonlight, filtered through the trees, painted strange designs on the floor. She went to the laptop and shook the mouse to bring it out of hibernation. The webcam still showed the attic. Its night vision had turned on though it didn’t help much: she could make out the walls and one big cabinet, but the rest of the screen was a jumble of indistinct shapes. She watched it for a moment, but there was no movement. The creaking downstairs repeated.

What’s causing it? The rocking chair can’t be moving, and I checked that the basement door was closed. What else? Is there a person downstairs?

Mara moved out of her room. She turned her torch on the trapdoor at the end of the hallway and was relieved that the barely visible strip of white cloth was still intact.

The creak was so subtle that it almost felt like a part of the house, as though the building itself were breathing around her. It seemed to have a different timbre to the familiar rocking-chair sounds.

Mara crept down the stairs, her torch’s light flickering over the walls and furniture without finding any signs of movement. She stopped when she reached the foyer and waited for the noise to guide her on which direction to take. The house was quiet for a moment, then the creak repeated behind her. It felt close. Mara turned towards the dining room and edged inside. Her light shimmered on the polished-wood table and Neil’s spare tool chest, which he’d left propped neatly against one wall.
I shouldn’t have sent him away. I could really do with company right now.

No, don’t be stupid. You’re letting the darkness get to you again. There’s nothing to be frightened of; it’s just an old house making the sort of noises an old house makes. The sound could even be wood flexing in the cooling air—

Again, the creak came from behind Mara. She twisted to face the foyer, and her light glanced over a dark shape hanging below the stairs.

Mara’s body moved against her will. She stumbled backwards, half choking in her attempt to draw breath and scream at the same time. Her light jittered over the ceiling and walls for a beat before she could redirect it towards the space below the staircase.

It was empty. Mara crept forward, her heart a frantic, pounding tempo in her ears, to skim the light over the foyer.

I imagined it. My torch must have caught a patch of shadow. There’s no one here, and certainly no one hung from the stairs.

A faint rumble made her turn towards the door. A vehicle was coming up the driveway. Mara pressed a shaking hand over her mouth to muffle her breathing.
It’s the intruder; he’s come back.

She turned her torch off, crossed to the front door, and opened it a crack. Moonlight made the white pebble path glow through the weeds. The rumble gradually grew closer until a car came around the bend.

Mara recognised the silver people mover and slumped against the wall, breathing freely.
Neil. Thank goodness. There’s something about night in this place that makes my imagination go wild.

Neil’s car ground to a halt and powered down. Mara watched him carefully as he got out of the car. His face was set in hard angles, and a frown was fixed over his eyes. It suddenly struck her as odd that he would come back so late in the evening. She turned her torch on and hurried out to meet him halfway. “Neil!”

He moved to her with long, quick paces, reaching out for her as he did. “Thank mercy—are you okay? Has anything happened?”

The questions startled her. She took his hand and found his fingers were cold. “I’m fine. Is something wrong? Did anything—” An idea came to her, accompanied by a fresh wave of fear. “Oh my goodness—Pam—has something happened to your mother—”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Neil pulled her closer and leaned his head against hers, kissing her hair tenderly. His voice was strained. “You need to get out of this house, Mara.”

She blinked. “What? Why?”

“I spent this evening researching. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to know about its history, but I couldn’t—” He shook his head again, as though the memories were hurting him. “It’s really bad, Mara. You can’t stay here.”

Mara’s worry was being swallowed by irritation. She took a step back from Neil. “What are you talking about? It’s a good house. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

He let her move away but didn’t drop her hand. “There’s something horribly, fundamentally wrong with Blackwood. Please—come and stay with me. Or I’ll buy you a place of your own if you want. But you have to get out of here.
Tonight
.”

The irritation had become fully formed anger. “I like it here. I’m not moving. And if you think for a single second I would live in a house you’d bought me—”

Neil dropped her hand. His voice had taken on a sharp edge. “Why not? What’s wrong with that? No, don’t make that face—I want to know. Why won’t you let me buy you things? Why won’t you let me help? It makes me feel like crap to be rejected all the time.”

Mara couldn’t have erased her glare even if she’d wanted to. “Yeah, I bet you’d love that, huh? To have me reliant on you. Living in
your
house. Spending
your
money. Trapped—”

“Trapped! Seriously? Is that what you think I’m trying to do?”

“Oh, maybe not intentionally, but that’s what would happen.
My house, my rules
. Do you know how many times I heard that from my parents? I’m not about to put myself in that sort of situation again. I don’t want to
owe
anyone. As soon as you owe people, they have power over you. They can
hurt
you.”

Neil made a faint choking noise. “I would never hurt you, Mara.
Never
. Don’t you know that?”

“Oh yeah?” She waved her arm towards the building behind her. “What’s happening right now? You’re trying to dictate my life! You want to take Blackwood away from me. My home! Imagine what would have happened if I’d let you give me a loan like you wanted to. ‘Well, Mara, this house is technically mine, so now I’m selling it.’ But look at this:
I
own Blackwood.
I
get to decide whether I stay or not. No one else. Just me.
And I’m staying
.”

Neil sucked in a breath. She’d never seen him as angry as he was then. His face was blanched white, and his hands, clenched at his sides, shook.

Mara was suddenly, sickeningly aware of how vulnerable she was. The nearest town was hours away. She didn’t have the means to contact the outside world. And there were no neighbours to hear her scream.
If he wanted to, he could kill me. It wouldn’t take much; he’s strong enough that one or two solid punches would do it.

Then Neil closed his eyes and relaxed his hands. When he spoke, his voice was low and careful. “I never meant to hurt you, Mara. But I’m starting to understand I might have unintentionally. All I want—the only thing I’ve ever wanted—is to make sure you’re safe and healthy and happy.” He sighed, and the motion seemed to deflate him a little. “I come from a family where gifts are signs of love. I didn’t realise they might have a different meaning to you… that they could make you feel at a disadvantage.”

Instead of speaking, Mara wrapped her arms across her chest. The anger had drained from Neil’s eyes. In its place were anxiety and regret, and the emotions cut through her own fury more effectively than any apology he could offer.

“You’re strong—far stronger than I am.” He kept his eyes fixed on the ground between them. “And insanely smart, and capable. I agree—I have no right to decide any part of your life. I was trying to keep you safe. But you’re capable of making your own decisions.”

Mara held her hands out to Neil and was gratified to see the unhappy expression dissolve. He stretched his arms wide, and Mara dropped the torch and snuggled into the hug. His arms enveloped her, and his breath was hot on the top of her head as he kissed her hair. He was shaking.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she mumbled. “And sorry for saying those things about you. I know you didn’t want to hurt me.”

“I love you, Mara,” he whispered. “So damn much.”

She couldn’t reply but squeezed him tighter. He rocked her as he stroked her back. “I’m not going to try to insist on anything else. Of course it’s your choice whether you stay or not. But would you let me tell you about what I found?”

“Ha. If it made you race down here in such a panic, it’s bound to be interesting. Sure.”

“Want to look it over in my car? It’s heated.”

“There’s also a heater in my room.”

Neil hesitated. Mara could feel him raising his head to glance at Blackwood, and his hands held her a little tighter. Then he nodded. “Sure.”