The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Today

“I'm so glad you could meet me at such short notice,” Sarah said with a smile as the waitress set some coffee cups between them. “It probably seems completely crazy that I'd contact you out of the blue like this.”

“It's not crazy,” Deborah Watkins replied, her eyes red from lack of sleep. As she reached down and picked up her cup, her hands were shaking. “I'm not even that surprised. I just... I guess I hoped that it ended when we moved out of that place.”

“Like I told you on the phone,” Sarah continued, “my husband and I aren't remotely upset or annoyed about anything. We're certainly not going to try to contest the sale, that's the farthest thing from our minds, it's just that we're interested in learning about your experiences while you were living in the house on Everley Street.” She paused, waiting for an answer, but the other woman seemed lost in thought. “I understand that you and your husband lived there for only a couple of years before you sold up again?”

Deborah nodded.

“And after that, you only moved across town?”

“With Daisy,” Deborah replied, turning and reaching over to the pram next to the table. She brushed her fingers against the child's hand, although Daisy didn't acknowledge the contact at all. Instead, the little girl seemed focused on Sarah, staring at her with unsettling blankness. For a child who was less than a year old, Daisy seemed preternaturally calm, apparently happy to just sit in her pram and not react to the world around her. A few minutes earlier, the waitress had dropped a tray of glasses; everyone in the cafe had been startled, but Daisy hadn't even blinked.

“She's beautiful,” Sarah said with a smile.

Deborah shook her head.

“She is,” Sarah continued. “She has such lovely blonde hair already.”

“She's not right,” Deborah whispered, with tears in her eyes, as she ran her fingers against the child's hands, as if she was still hoping that her daughter would look at her. “She hasn't been right since we left that house.”

“The house on Everley Street?”

“I don't know if...” Turning to Sarah, Deborah paused for a moment. “I thought it'd be okay once we left. She was screaming so much, but I thought that once we got her out of there, it'd all somehow settle down. I know you probably think it was wrong of us to sell the place without mentioning any of the crazy things that had happened, but we were desperate. I mean, when your daughter's in some kind of pain, you'll do anything to get her out of there.”

“I get it,” Sarah replied, “I just... Can you tell me exactly what happened to you while you were living there? You said Daisy was screaming a lot.”

“It was fine at first,” Deborah explained, her voice trembling with fear. “We moved in, it was our first house and we were newly married, looking to start a family. Then when I became pregnant, we started to notice odd things happening. Little bumps, you know? Vibrations. Sometimes the glass in the kitchen window would start trembling slightly for no reason, and there'd be these faint whispers, and I started to feel ill at ease all the time, like I was never alone. We didn't believe in ghosts, neither of us did, but by the time Daisy was born we'd both started to wonder if maybe there was something...”

Her voice trailed off again.

“Something in the house with you?” Sarah asked.

“Please don't think we're crazy,” Deborah whimpered, clearly struggling to keep from breaking down. “If it hadn't been for Daisy, we'd have stuck it out and laughed it all off, but after she was born... Everything was okay at the hospital, she seemed like the perfect baby, but once we got her home, she just didn't seem normal. Mike thought I was just suffering from depression after the birth, I mean he
said
he didn't think that, but I knew that's what was going through his mind. But after a few weeks, he started to notice it too. Daisy was strangely blank most of the time, and then other times she'd scream and scream.”

Looking over at the child again, Sarah couldn't help but notice that she seemed to be staring.

“We took her to the doctor so many times,” Deborah continued. “We're good parents, I swear, but they couldn't find anything wrong. Night after night, though, she was crying more and more, screaming... We tried having her in with us, but still she'd just scream in the middle of the night, and eventually it started happening during the day as well. Like she was in pain, but still we took her to the doctor almost every day and they couldn't find anything. I could see the look in their eyes, they thought we were paranoid, but I started thinking maybe it was...”

Sarah waited for her to finish. “Maybe it was what?”

“Maybe the pain wasn't physical,” Deborah replied, leaning over and kissing her blank-faced, unresponsive daughter on the forehead. “Maybe it was emotional. Maybe she was sensing or seeing or hearing something that Mike and I weren't aware of.”

“That sounds a little hard to believe,” Sarah pointed out. “She's just a child.”

“I know,” Deborah continued, turning to her, “and Mike thought the same thing. He started accusing me of
wanting
Daisy to be sick, like he thought that I had some kind of mental illness. He'd hate it if he found out that I'd come to meet you today, he'd think it was part of it all, but I thought you deserved to know the truth. Finally, the night we left, that was when it all became too much and Daisy's screams... She wouldn't stop. She was screaming so much, she was turning blue and suffocating, she wasn't even drawing breath. I honestly believe that if we'd stayed in that house another few minutes, she'd have screamed herself to death.”

“So you left?”

“In the middle of the night.”

“Your husband finally accepted that it was really happening?”

“He had no choice. We put the house on the market the next day, and we decided we'd take a hit on it if we had to. We couldn't afford to lose money, but we also couldn't afford to stay. We saved up for so long to buy our first house, and now we're back to living at my mother's, but...” She paused again. “Please don't think we're bad people, but we decided not to mention any of the strange things that had happened. We needed a quick sale, we couldn't afford for it to take too long, and besides, we honestly thought there was a chance it wouldn't happen to anyone else.” She took a deep breath. “Is that why you got in touch? Has something else happened there?”

Sarah paused. “Tell me about the basement.”

Deborah shook her head, but it was clear that the mere mention of that word had brought fresh tears to her eyes. After a moment, she let out a brief, uncontrolled sob that left her a little breathless, as if she was on the verge of breaking down.

“I'm sorry,” Sarah continued, “maybe we should -”

“No,” Deborah stammered, finding more strength from somewhere, “please. Go on.”

“The way you left the basement, it was almost like you were too scared to go down there.”

She nodded.

Sarah paused. “Can you... tell me
why
you were scared to go down there?”

“That's where it lives.”

“Where what lives?”

“The evil. I don't know.” Leaning forward, Deborah put her head in her hands for a moment. “If I tell you what I think, you'll laugh at me.”

“I won't,” Sarah replied. “I swear.”

“I think something's down there,” Deborah continued, looking at her again. “I don't know what, I don't know why, but I think something lives in that basement, and I think it's probably been living there for a very long time, and I think that somehow, for some reason, Daisy was more aware of it than the rest of us. Maybe it's because she's a child, but it seemed to get into her head and cause her pain. I think it extends through the whole house, but I'm certain it's rooted in that basement. One time, I had Daisy in my arms when I went down there to fetch something, and she cried so much and she actually tried to scratch my face, as if she was panicking.” Another pause. “Have you been down there?”

Sarah nodded.

“Have you felt its presence?”

“I... No, I can't really say that I've felt anything in particular. It's kind of cold and spooky, but I certainly haven't felt anything that fits with what you've described.”

“Do you have children?”

“They're at home with my husband right now.”

“Get them out of there,” Deborah said firmly. “Please, don't let the same thing happen to them.”

Looking over at Daisy again, Sarah felt a chill at the sight of the baby's cold, dispassionate eyes. “Have you tried different doctors?” she asked finally, turning back to Deborah. “I know people in London who might be able to help, it's always worth getting someone to try again. If money's a problem, my husband and I can help.”

Deborah shook her head.

“You can't give up on her,” Sarah said firmly. “You have to try everything. There might be something simple that can be done to help her.”

“Are you rich?” Deborah asked.

Sarah paused. “I... No, I mean, we're comfortable. My husband's a writer and I'm an estate lawyer.”

“So you could afford to lose the house.”

“What do you mean?”

“Burn it to the ground,” Deborah replied. “Get the bricks taken away and pulverized, and make sure the basement is ripped out, then salt the earth and don't let another house get built there. We'd have done it ourselves, but we couldn't afford to take the hit. I still thought about doing it, but Mike said we had to be practical. I think he's still not quite convinced about what happened, but...” She reached across the table and took hold of Sarah's hands. “I don't know what's living in the basement, and I don't need to know. All that matters is getting rid of it.”

“I -”

Before she could finish, Sarah spotted an angry-looking man storming past the window, headed for the door, and she immediately knew that it must be Deborah's husband.

“Promise me,” Deborah hissed, as tears ran down her cheeks. “Burn that place and -”

“What the hell are you doing to my wife?” the man shouted, slamming the door open and hurrying to the table. Grabbing Deborah by the arm, he pulled her roughly up from her seat.

“Mike,” she stammered, “it's okay -”

“What are you,” Mike continued, glaring menacingly at Sarah, “some kind of psychic? A journalist? Keep the hell away from us or I swear to God I'll make you pay!”

“I'm none of those things,” Sarah replied, shocked by his fury, “I just -”

“I don't care!” he shouted, pushing her back against the wall. The cafe's few other customers were staring in shock, and the waitress had a phone in her hand, as if she was considering calling the police. “This family has been through enough and I won't have anyone starting it all up again!”

“She's the new owner of the house,” Deborah told him, trying to pull her husband back. “Mike, please, I was just trying to warn her!”

“You own that place now?” Mike asked breathlessly.

Sarah nodded.

“Then God help you,” he replied, taking a step back before angrily grabbing the pram and starting to wheel it toward the door. “If you want my advice, you'll steer clear of the place. Don't even think about taking legal action, though. I've spoken to lawyers, I know we didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing you can do, it's your house now.”

“I'm sorry,” Deborah sobbed, following her husband to the door. She turned back to Sarah. “Protect your family. Whatever else happens, whatever anyone says to you, protect your family or -”

Before she could finish, Mike grabbed her by the arm and pulled her outside. Stunned, Sarah stood and watched as he marched Deborah and Daisy toward the car park. Finally, she reached into her pocket and took out her phone, quickly bringing up John's number.

“What's up?” he said as soon as he answered. “You on your way back yet?”

“Sure,” she replied cautiously, “but... Is everything okay?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, as if the question had unsettled him. “Why, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, as she saw Mike driving Deborah and Daisy away. “Nothing,” she said again, “I just... I'll be back soon. I need to talk to you about something important.”

***

“Great,” he muttered as he set his phone back onto the window ledge. Turning, he looked across the garden, and for a moment he couldn't help thinking back to the greenhouse that had once stood a few meters away, filled with his grandmother's prize fuchsias. The greenhouse was long gone now, of course, and apart from its basic dimensions the garden was pretty much unrecognizable.

“John?” a voice called out suddenly, from the other side of the fence. “John Myers, is that you?”

He barely had time to recognize the voice before he saw an old man's face popping up over the fence with a smile. It had been twenty years since John had last seen that face, but nevertheless he knew it immediately.

“Mr. Shepherd,” he said with a polite smile, making his way over to the fence and reaching up so he could shake the man's hand. “I was going to knock on your door later and see how you're doing.”

“I heard voices,” Mr. Shepherd replied, “and I couldn't believe it when I realized it was you. How long's it been? Ten, fifteen years?”