The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) (12 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Today

“Mum,” a voice whispered in the darkness, as a hand nudged her shoulder. “Mum, wake up.”

Opening her eyes, Sarah saw Scott silhouetted against the window.

“What's wrong?” she asked, sitting up in bed.

“We're scared.”

Looking past Scott for a moment, Sarah saw that Katie was standing a little further back. Turning, she grabbed her phone and checked the time, finding that it was a little after 3am.

“Why are you scared?” she asked, turning back to the children. “There's no reason to be scared.”

“We heard noises,” Katie whispered.

“What kind of noises?”

“In the house,” Scott said, with tension in his voice.

Turning, Sarah saw that John was sleeping soundly next to her.

“Did you lie to us earlier?” Scott asked. “Is the house haunted after all?”

“No, sweetie,” she said, pulling the duvet aside and swinging her legs down onto the carpet. “What kind of noises did you hear, exactly?”

“There was someone in the kitchen,” Scott said matter-of-factly.

“Uh-huh,” Katie added, nodding solemnly.

“I'm sure -”

“We went and checked,” Scott added, “but we couldn't see anyone. We still heard them, though.”

“You went and checked?”

He nodded. “Katie wanted to wake you up right away, but I told her we should look first, in case it was nothing.”

“Well, that was very brave of you,” she replied, getting to her feet and heading to the door, “but you should have come to wake us up first.” She leaned out into the dark hallway and saw that a light was on down in the kitchen. “Did you two turn that on?” she asked.

“To make Katie less scared,” Scott whispered, standing just behind her.

“You're the one who wanted it on,” Katie told him.

“So what exactly do you think you heard?” Sarah asked.

“I heard someone banging,” Katie continued.

“I heard a voice,” Scott added. “It was really muffled, though. It sounded like someone whispering. It didn't last long, but... It sounded like whoever it was, they were in pain.”

“Well, that...” Sarah paused for a moment. “I guess your father and I really freaked you out earlier, didn't we, talking about ghosts and stuff?” She reached down and took their hands. “Come on, let's go take a quick look and make sure there's nothing whispering down there.”

“Shouldn't we wake Dad?” Scott asked.

“Let him sleep,” she replied, leading them through the door and then down the stairs. “He had trouble nodding off earlier, so let's just take a quick look down here and then we can go back to bed, okay?” Reaching the door to the kitchen, she found the harsh electric light a little overpowering. “See? There's no-one here.”

“There was a voice earlier,” Scott said, clearly very skeptical.

“We're not making it up,” Katie added.

“I know you're not,” Sarah replied, letting go of their hands and checking to make sure the door was locked, “but if -”

Suddenly there was a faint bump from nearby. She turned and looked across the kitchen, but there was no sign of anything. A moment later, she felt the children grabbing her hands again.

“Mum,” Katie whispered, “I think it came from the basement.”

***

“Of course there's no light switch,” Sarah muttered, fumbling in the darkness at the top of the stairs that led down into the pitch-black basement. “Why would there be a light switch? That'd just be too convenient, wouldn't it?”

“Do you see anything?” Katie asked, holding the hatch open.

Staring down into the basement, Sarah squinted but still couldn't make anything out.

“Here,” Scott said suddenly, reaching through with her mobile phone. “I tried waking Dad, but he was snoring.”

“Thanks.” Bringing up the flashlight app, Sarah held the phone out and saw that the rickety wooden stairs led down to a concrete floor below. The walls looked to be made of breeze-blocks, rough and dusty. “You two stay up here, okay? I'm just going to go down and take a look to make sure there's nothing to worry about.”

“What if there's something down there?” Katie asked.

“The house was just sold. There'll be nothing down here at all.” She paused for a moment, feeling a little nervous, before keeping her head low as she made her way carefully down the creaking steps. With the phone still held out, she could see a wall of breeze blocks to one side, but to her surprise she realized that there were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and various old, damp cardboard boxes near the foot of the stairs, as if the previous owners hadn't cleaned the place out when they left.

“Do you see anything?” Scott called out from the hatch.

“Not yet, sweetie,” she replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs and shining the phone around.

The basement was much smaller than she'd imagined, and there was a distinctly bitter smell in the cold air. Taking a few steps forward, she saw that the place was a mess, with rotten boxes everywhere and old jars that in some cases had broken and leaked thick black liquid all over the floor. When she leaned down and lifted the lid on one of the boxes, she found a bunch of old books inside. Scrunching her nose up slightly, she took care not to set her bare feet on anything too gross as she made her way to the far wall, which at least seemed to have less grime caked all over its surface. She waited, but there was no hint of a sound and as she turned and looked around once again, she told herself that the bump must just have been the house settling, although she wasn't entirely sure whether that was something that really happened to houses or whether it was just something people talked about in movies.

“Cool!” Scott said suddenly, having made his way down the stairs with his sister right behind.

“Hey!” Sarah hissed, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. “Careful! There's all sorts of stuff down here, I have no idea whether it's safe.”

“This place stinks,” Scott pointed out, turning to Katie. “Don't you think so?”

She nodded.

“Whatever,” Sarah continued, “there's clearly nothing down here, okay guys? How about we go back up and get some sleep? I'm kind of cold.”

“Can we sleep down here?” Scott asked. “It'd be like camping.”

“No way. Get back up to the kitchen.”

“But -”

“Now!”

As the children headed back up the stairs, Sarah took one last look around the basement, and she couldn't help but wonder why the previous owners had left so much junk behind. The rest of the house seemed so clean and well-maintained, whereas the basement seemed not to have been touched for years. Heading to the foot of the stairs, she began to make her way up, and then finally she and the children closed the hatch, leaving the basement in darkness again.

After a moment, there was another faint bump, this time too quiet to be heard in the rest of the house.

Chapter Twenty

Twenty years ago

“Jesus Christ,” Graham muttered, swaying as he stood in the kitchen, “I'm actually drunk.” He squinted as he tried to look at his watch. “What time is it? Three? Does that say three?”

“Ten to three,” John told him as he locked the front door. “It's late. I think I'm going to bed.”

“What about your gran's port stash?” Graham asked. “Please tell me you didn't pour it all down the sink.”

“Sorry.”

“Bloody hell,” Graham muttered, looking around the kitchen, “so the whole house is dry, eh?”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I should've known. Should've picked up some beer from the corner shop. Maybe even something stronger. I can't believe that stupid club shut at two. What the hell is wrong with this town?”

“There might be an old bottle of sherry in the cabinet,” John told him.

“Then fetch it, my boy!” Graham roared, his cheeks rosy red with enthusiasm. “Go! Go! Bring me that sherry, and two glasses to go with it! You'll have some, even if I have to pour it down your throat myself!”

Smiling awkwardly, and already wondering why he'd even mentioned the sherry, John turned and headed to the front room. He could hear his father bumping about in the kitchen, and as he opened the cabinet door and reached inside, he felt the bottle of sherry at the back. Pulling it out, he saw to his relief that at least it was half empty, so he grabbed two glasses and made his way back to the kitchen.

“I really don't think I like this stuff,” he explained. “I never got why -”

Stopping suddenly in the doorway, he looked around the kitchen and saw no sign of his father. A moment later, with a sudden sense of horror, he realized that the hatch leading down to the basement had been opened, and he could hear his father drunkenly stumbling about down there.

“No!” John called out, setting the bottle and glasses on the counter before rushing to the hatch and making his way down into the dark basement below, where he almost collided with his father in the darkness.

“What the bloody hell's going on down here?” Graham asked, his beer-soaked breath filling the damp air as he pushed past John and made his way toward the far end of the basement. “Was this place always so small?”

“What do you mean?” John asked, feeling a sense of panic that he couldn't quite explain. He'd mostly stayed out of the basement since his grandmother had died, and now he was filled with a surprisingly strong level of fear. Taking his phone from his pocket, he used the screen to bring a little light to the room.

“Is this wall new?” Graham continued, running his hands over the breeze-blocks. “I swear it wasn't like this when I bought the house.”

“I think it's always been there,” John told him. “Nothing's changed. Why would it have changed?”

“Doesn't make any bloody sense,” Graham muttered, stumbling drunkenly to the other end of the wall. “This definitely seems new. I can smell the cement still.” He leaned closer to the wall to give it a sniff, only to bump his nose against the rough surface. “I know a freshly-laid wall when I find one,” he muttered. “There definitely used to be more to this basement. Someone's put this wall up in the past day or two.”

“I think she had some work done a few months ago,” John replied, still not sure why he felt so panic-stricken. All he could think about was that he had to get his father out of the basement as fast as possible, but when he grabbed his father's arm and tried to lead him back to the stairs, he realized physical force wouldn't be enough. “I don't remember exactly what it was about, but there was definitely a builder down here for a few days.”

“She didn't mention it to me,” Graham grumbled, crouching in the corner and bumping his fist against one of the breeze-blocks, which turned out to be slightly loose. “She was supposed to let me know about any work she had done on the house. After all, I'm the one who owns the damn place.” He sighed. “Then again, the old cow wasn't exactly keen to give me a call, was she?” He bumped the loose breeze-block again. “Whoever she got in to do this, it definitely wasn't anyone who knew what they were doing. Some of these aren't in place properly.”

“I don't know who did it,” John said, “but I think -”

“Bloody hell!” Graham said suddenly, pulling back slightly. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Graham paused. “Must be rats. Christ, what kind of job has she had done down here? She's obviously hired some complete amateur. Hell, aren't these the breeze-blocks that were out in the garden, behind the greenhouse? Why's she sectioned off half the effin' basement? Mad old bat.”

“I think there was a leak,” John replied.

Graham turned to him. “So she just sealed it off?”

“She got it fixed and then... Yeah, she got it sealed off.”

“A leak of what? All the pipes are on this side.”

“I don't know,” John replied, “but why don't we go up and try the sherry? I found the bottle and -”

“Can't have rats running free,” Graham continued, turning and pressing his ear against the wall. “I can hear the buggers scurrying about in there. Christ, if they get settled, they could overrun the whole bloody house, not to mention chewing through the wiring. I bought this place as an investment, but rats are gonna really scupper my plans.” Muttering something else under his breath, he started tugging on the loose block. “Let's get to those rats, eh? Bring the sherry bottle down here, boy, and I'll show you how to kill a rat with your bare hands.”

“Dad -”

“Go on. Get the bottle.”

“Dad...”

“What?” With the breeze-block already partway out of the wall, he turned to John in the darkness. “Why are you -”

Before he could finish, John brought a metal pole crashing down against the top of his father's head.

***

“Oh...” Graham muttered, opening his eyes slowly and finding himself sprawled across the sofa in the front room, with morning light streaming through the window. “What...”

He began to sit up, before feeling a splitting pain in his head. Letting out a faint gasp, he reached up and felt dried blood in his scalp, and a moment later he realized his gut was churning. He was hungover, that much was certain, but as he continued to run his fingers through his hair he felt a shallow cut that had already begun to heal.

“What the bloody hell...”

“Hey.”

Turning, Graham saw John sitting nearby in one of the armchairs with a faint smile.

“What happened?” Graham asked, looking around the room with a frown.

“Are you okay?” John replied. “I almost called an ambulance, but then you started snoring so I just dragged you through here and figured you needed to sleep it off.”

“Sleep what off?” Graham muttered, wincing at the pain in his head. “How much did I drink last night, exactly?”

“Don't you remember?”

Graham paused, before shaking his head. “I remember going to that pub, and we had a few beers, then we went to that rubbish little club and then we came back here and...” He paused again, waiting for a few more memories to surface through the fog that was filling his thoughts. “It gets a bit hazy after that,” he added, before spotting the empty bottle of sherry nearby on the carpet. “Did we drink that?”

“
You
did,” John told him. “I had a sip, but I didn't really like it. You drank half a bottle.”

“Oh Christ,” Graham continued, putting his head in his hands for a moment. “I don't even like the damn stuff most of the time.”

“And then you fell down the stairs,” John added.

Graham turned to him. “I
what
?”

“Only from halfway. You were heading up to the bathroom, and then I heard you cry out, and then there was a loud bump and I found you at the bottom. I think you hit your head on the corner of the table in the hallway. There was some blood but, like I said, it didn't seem too bad. You were pretty lucky.”

“I don't remember any of that,” Graham muttered, struggling to his feet and swaying slightly. “Still, my stomach feels like...” He paused, as if he was on the verge of throwing up. “It's been a while since I've managed to get quite so wasted. You might not be much of a drinker, John, but you're a hell of a wing-man when it comes to these things.” He frowned. “It feels like my stomach is upside down.”

“So you really don't remember anything from after we got back to the house last night?” John asked.

Graham shook his head.

“Nothing at all?”

“I always get blackouts when I mix drinks,” Graham muttered, stumbling toward the door. Checking his watch, he sighed. “Christ, I have to leave for the airport in a few hours.”

“That's a shame,” John replied calmly. “You won't have time to do very much at all, will you?”

“I need to shower,” Graham replied, stopping for a moment, “and I need to...” He paused, before wincing slightly. “Oh God, I think I'm gonna hurl!”

John sat and listened as his father raced upstairs, and then he heard the sound of loud, painful vomiting in the bathroom. Although he knew he should go and ask if there was anything he could do to help, he could only think about the fact that he'd managed to get his father out of the basement. He couldn't remember why he'd been so worried about the wall down there, and he felt as if his thoughts didn't quite make sense, but he figured he could work that out later. For now, he felt calm again, as if everything was back to normal.

Upstairs, his father was still throwing up after all the sherry that had literally been poured down his throat the night before.