The Haunting of Blackwood House (17 page)

Mara had a sudden flashback to her childhood: Miss Horowitz, caught in the throes of a seance, bellowing, “Beware the home that craves!” She shook her head. “You’re saying it wasn’t a coincidence that I bought the house my great-great-grandfather built?”

“Not at all. You inherited his gift and were naturally drawn to the same place that attracted him. You’re—how can I put this? You’re like a battery that never runs out. You’re constantly leaking a low amount of spiritual energy. When you’re frightened or stressed, you produce more. When you’re calm, less. The house, and the spirits in it, consume your energy to become stronger. That means the house’s activity will become more severe with each day you spend in it.”

Mara frowned. Erica’s theory was consistent with what she’d experienced. “Why did Victor Barlow build his house on a hotspot if he knew it was dangerous?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been dangerous at all when he found it. Spiritual hotspots aren’t inherently bad—it’s just what happens on them that dictates their state. If Victor had died a peaceful death, this would probably be a really pleasant place to live. You might have a few extra dreams or have an easier time communicating with the dead, but that’s it.”

“But because of Robert Kant—”

“Everything went to hell, yeah. A murder on a spiritual hotspot is a sure way to taint it. I didn’t get time to research this place—Neil kinda insisted on a rush job—but would you happen to know any of its history?”

Mara quickly filled her companions in on Robert’s multiple victims, his suicide, and as much as she could remember of the subsequent families. Partway through her story, the rocking chair began to creak again. They all pretended not to notice.

Damian’s face darkened as he listened. When Mara had finished, he turned to Erica and whispered something in her ear.

“Stop worrying; we’ll be fine,” Erica laughed.

That’s the sort of thing I’d say to Neil.
Fresh pain cut through Mara.
What’s he doing right now? Would he be having dinner with his mother and trying to pretend like nothing happened? How much does he hate me?
She shuffled forward and tried to bring her mind back to more immediate matters even as her heart felt as if it were being crushed. “What’s the plan? Do we need to deal with the ghosts one at a time?”

“Probably not,” Erica said. “To keep with the acupuncture analogy, the house’s energy has been blocked by a violent death. Probably either Victor’s or Robert’s though it could be one of the children, too. Following that, every other death at Blackwood has increased the energy level. There’s been a lot of bloodshed in this place. It’s built up to the point where it’s ready to explode. All it needs is an acupuncture needle to unblock the cause, and all the other spirits will dissipate with it.”

“And the acupuncture needle is…?”

“Me!” Erica looked thrilled at the idea. “I wish I could get some cameras in here. It’s going to be pretty amazing.”

Mara thought of the camera that had captured Keith and Sal’s last moments and shivered. “Stick with a low-key approach. Do you need to do anything special to unblock the energy, or does it sort of just… happen?”

“The easiest way is to hold something that belonged to the spirit and concentrate really hard on releasing it. Before we do that, though, we’ve got to find out who the main ghost actually is. I’ll need to do some meditating to work that out.” Erica glanced at the trinkets, and a guilty smile flickered over her mouth. “They’re only for show, but d’you mind if I…?”

“Go ahead.” Mara found she cared far less than she would have expected as she watched Erica distribute her talismans across the table. Damian moved around to take Mara’s seat, placed one of the candles in front of him, then took Erica’s hands to begin the session.

“This might take a while,” Damian said as his companion closed her eyes. “Make yourself a cup of tea or something. You look pale.”

Mara was feeling queasy but didn’t want to miss any of the meditation process. She leaned against the wall, imitating the pose she’d caught Neil in that afternoon, as she watched the mediums. Whereas the afternoon session had included chanting, this time the couple hummed. As far as she could see, they were keeping their promise of cutting out the theatrics.

Time stretched on. Erica’s face was completely blank at the session’s start but gradually darkened. Perspiration stood out on her forehead and began running down her cheeks. Damian remained calm but occasionally opened his eyes to check on Erica.

Mara shifted uneasily as the footsteps in the attic joined the rocking chair. Neither Damian nor Erica flinched when a door slammed.

At the ten-minute mark, Mara began pacing. At fifteen minutes, she sat on the ground and pulled her legs up under her chin. The wait seemed painfully, inordinately long, and despite having company barely five feet away, she was starting to feel isolated. Erica and Damian were wholly focussed on each other; Mara doubted they would notice if she spontaneously combusted. She ached for a companion of her own.
Neil.

She was nearly at the point of getting the suggested cup of tea when Erica opened her eyes and sucked in a lungful of air. She was shaking, but a smile spread over her face. “Oh, wow; this place is intense.”

Damian rubbed Erica’s hands as Mara quickly pulled up the third seat. “What did you see?”

“There are a bunch of spirits here—mostly women and children—but the dominant one is a man. He’s tall and thin and carries an axe. That axe is super important; it’s almost like a part of himself.”

“Robert Kant,” Mara supplied. “The axe was his signature weapon—so much so that the media called him The Chopper.”

“That’ll be our ghost, then.” Erica looked elated but exhausted. “If we can get rid of Robert, the rest of the ghosts should flow out easily. Just like unblocking a drain.”

“Most of the other murders in Blackwood were also committed with an axe,” Mara said. “Is that normal?”

“It means Robert was possessing or influencing the perpetrators,” Damian said. “Which isn’t surprising. It would be extremely unusual to see so much violent death in one house if there wasn’t a powerful spirit orchestrating it.”

“Why?” Mara asked. “What does he get out of this?”

Erica shrugged. “He’s probably just a sick puppy. Deranged and violent in life, deranged and violent in death.”

The footsteps above them finally fell silent. Mara imagined the smokelike man plunging to his death for what could have been the thousandth time.

“Now we just need something connected to Robert,” Erica said. “Preferably something he was emotionally close to and frequently carried, but I could probably make do with an object he’d held a few times if it came to it.”

Mara raised her eyebrows. “What, are you expecting me to magically produce one of Kant’s favourite keepsakes? I don’t want to disappoint, but…
no
.”

“There’s got to be something,” Erica pressed. “Did he use the cutlery here? It’d be a weak connection, but I bet I could make it work.”

“Sorry, the cutlery belonged to the last people to own this house. Six families have lived here since Robert. I really don’t know how much would be left over from his time.” Mara gazed about the room. “Could you use the house itself…?”

“You mean like touching the walls? Not really, unless you can identify a specific part of the wood that he was in frequent contact with. And it’s got to be more than just leaning on it—I need skin contact.”

“Jeeze; you’re fussy,” Mara muttered. Damian snickered. “Uh… he hung himself from the bannister. I’ve seen his ghost there a couple of times.”

Erica almost burst out of her seat. “Really? You’ve actually…? Wow—it usually takes years of practice to
see
ghosts. Not even I—though I guess the energy hotspot is helping a lot. Still… have you ever considered a career as a spirit medium?”

Mara cringed.

“Focus.” Damian tapped Erica’s arm, and she settled back into her seat.

“Oh, yeah, right. Knowing where his ghost hangs out will help us if we want to communicate with him, but it’s no good to dispel him. I’ve got to
touch
something.”

“Ugh.” Mara rubbed at her face. “Sorry, but I’ve only lived here for, like, five days. I have no idea if anything would have come from Robert’s time, let alone which items he was fond of.”

“We could ask one of the spirits,” Damian suggested.

Erica’s face lit up. “Yeah, great idea. Let’s do that.”

“What, it’s really as simple as that?” Mara glanced towards the now-still rocking chair. “We just say, ‘Hey there, Mrs Ghost, got any gossip you want to spill?’”

Damian grinned again, but Erica crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks out. “Of course it’s not that simple. As the lead ghost, Robert will probably still be quite intelligent. But the others might be nothing except a bundle of impulses—the last emotions and motives they experienced as humans, replayed every night. Still, there’s a chance they can lead us to something, or give us a hint, if they have much awareness about them. We’ll have to go about it carefully, though.”

“All right, all right.” Mara took a slow breath to calm herself. “Which ghost would you like to try first?”

“Got any suggestions? Not Robert—he probably doesn’t want to be dispelled and is just as likely to attack as help. Otherwise, the more active, the better—and they’ll be more likely to cooperate if they still had their wits at the point of death.”

The lady killed in the master bedroom was clinically insane for a year before she was killed. The woman in the rocking chair didn’t have a diagnosis, but if my dream can be trusted, she was also unhinged. That leaves…

“The spirit in the attic. He paces up and down its length before throwing himself through a gap in the roof. I can’t guarantee he was sane—it was a grief-prompted suicide—”

“Let’s try him.” Damian rose from his chair. “Do you know of anything that can summon him? Does he follow a pattern?”

“He’s already gone through his routine twice tonight, but the last few nights, he appeared between eleven and eleven thirty. He only stays for a couple of minutes, though.”

Damian checked his watch. “It’s ten to eleven now. Let’s get up there.”

Mara led them to the attic. The familiar jumble of furniture, shed cloths, and clotted shadows greeted her. She scanned the area, but it was still and quiet. Mara waited for her companions to join her then shifted her torch’s light from the furniture to the hole. “He usually completes a couple of laps before crawling through there.”

“Have you seen him?” Damian asked.

“Yeah, earlier tonight, actually, on a webcam we set up.”

“Did he seem angry or aggressive?”

Mara strained to remember. She’d been almost hysterical at the time of the encounter, and the images were faint. “No, I don’t think so. He seemed sort of blank, like he’d been driven to the point of exhaustion. The police report said he took his own life after his last child died and his wife killed herself, so my guess is he was probably in grief.”

“That’s okay,” Damian said. Mara thought he’d relaxed slightly.

“Is it important?”

“Eh…” He shrugged. “Normally a spirit’s emotional state isn’t an issue, but in a house as charged as this—well, if a ghost is angry or resentful, it might lash out at any interference—even a human one.”

Mara frowned, and her hand rose to scratch the spot on her arm where the woman in the master bedroom had grasped at her. “Ghosts can hurt us, can’t they?”

“They can if they have enough energy. And you’ve been feeding them your excess energy since you arrived.” Damian dusted off a discarded cushion and offered it to Erica, who still looked tired after the meditation. “That’s why the supernatural events become stronger each night. The spirits gain power the longer you stay here.”

“Damn,” Mara muttered. “Is there any way I can… maybe…
not
do that?”

“You could learn to control your energy with some practice. But, for tonight, I’d recommend you try to remain calm. The more frightened or anxious you become, the faster you’ll radiate energy.”

That explains why my worst nights were when I was alone. I felt safe when Neil was around.

Damian checked his watch. “Shouldn’t be long now. How’re you doing, Erica?”

“Nearly there.”

Mara started and turned to see the other woman crouched in a patch of floor she’d cleared. Erica had produced a stick of chalk and was scribbling strange shapes and runes on the wood. Mara took a half step away. “What’s this for?”

“It helps focus her energy.” Damian indicated some of the shapes. “These attempt to wear down the barrier between the human world and the spiritual realm so that she can mediate between them.” He pointed to another group. “Those ones are supposed to act as protection. And those”—he gestured towards the last group—“will enhance her power.”

Erica finished by drawing a circle around the odd collection of shapes then knelt on the cushion in its centre. “Do we have everything? I’m not—ugh, the sage!”

“Do you think you’ll need it?” Damian checked his watch. “It’s two minutes past eleven. I could run down and get it…”

For the first time, Erica looked anxious. “No, I want you here. We’ll make do without it tonight.”

“I could get it,” Mara said, and Erica swung towards her.

“Would you—? Thanks heaps. It should be on the table.”

“Be back in a minute.” Mara turned to the trapdoor. She slid down the stairs, ran along the length of the hallway, and took the steps to the ground floor two at a time. Her skin was prickling. Something big was coming, and it wouldn’t wait for long.