Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror (3 page)

Then a flock of jackdaws croaked by, and Joseph was fascinated to find himself almost level with them. As they passed, Joseph looked up and saw something he had not noticed before.

Above him the tree died away, ending in a jagged stump, as if it had once been even taller, and in this highest part of the tree, embedded in the bark, were dozens and dozens of small metal objects.

Joseph stood up, his curiosity completely overpowering any fear he may have felt at the tremendous height. He stared in amazement at the treasure trove before him.

Hammered into the bark were crosses of silver and gold, bracelets distorted by the effort of forcing them into the wood, coins, rings and pendants from necklaces, brooches and buckles. Even Joseph could see that many, if not most, of these items were of great antiquity and must be valuable.

A gold brooch caught Joseph's eye. He reached out and grabbed it, giving it a tentative tug. It shifted a little. It had certainly been hammered in with quite some force, but with a bit of persuasion it would come free.

As he began to work it loose, he thought he heard a noise at the base of the tree and stopped. There were so many branches between him and the ground that he could not see anything but small patches of grass showing through gaps in the leaves.

He thought of shouting hello but did not want to alert anyone to his presence. If his mother caught him up here he would never hear the end of it and, after all, if he could not see them, they could not see him. He returned to prising the brooch free, and after a few seconds he had it in the palm of his hand.

This time there could be no doubt. Joseph distinctly heard a low moan, as if some kind of animal were at the foot of the tree, but no kind of animal he recognised - unless a bear had escaped from a nearby zoo.

Then it occurred to him it might be Jess; she might be badly hurt and moaning with the exertion of having dragged herself back.

'Jess!' he called. 'Is that you, girl?'

But it was not Jess. Whatever was making the noise was no longer at the foot of the tree, but had begun to climb it. He could hear the sound of something thudding into the bark and then dragging itself up, as if a soldier were scaling the tree using grappling hooks. He saw with mounting nervousness that the branches below him were shaking as whatever it was approached.

Joseph wondered if it was old Mr Farlow trying to frighten him, but even as he clung to this feeble straw of hope the thing swished into view. He could not make out any features on the black shadow that was climbing faster and faster towards him, save for the huge curved claws that it used to grip the bark.

The scream that Joseph made flew across the open pasture and crashed through garden wall and house wall and shattered the chattering peace of his mother's coffee morning. His mother instinctively ran towards the pasture, with her friends in tow. They found Joseph's body at the base of the tree, together with the branch he had been sitting on.

Joseph had a number of deep scratches on his legs and back, caused, they supposed, by the fall, and curiously his precious watch was missing and no amount of searching beneath the tree would uncover it.

'Elm's will drop their branches without warning,. ' said Mr Farlow, shaking his head when he heard the news. 'I did warn the boy not to climb.'

But Joseph's father decided to take vengeance on the tree he blamed for his son's death and demanded that Mr Farlow find someone who would cut the tree down. The old man shook his head.

'Not I, sir,.' he said. 'And if I were you, I'd leave the tree be.'

There was something in the way the old man said the words that seemed to end the discussion and no tree surgeon was ever phoned. Instead, it was estate agents who were contacted and the house was put on the market once more.

They moved before the house was sold. Joseph's mother could not sleep there. The rustling of the great tree played on her nerves. Mr Farlow was kept on by them to maintain the grounds until a buyer was found.

At the very top of the tree, light would occasionally twinkle as it played across the dented back of a watch embedded in the highest reaches of its ancient trunk.

'More tea, Edgar?' said my uncle, lurching forward rather alarmingly.

'Yes, please,.' I said.

My throat did feel somewhat dry. I was finding it difficult to shake off the thought of being trapped at the top of that great tree with some nameless horror climbing inexorably closer and closer. My imagination had been horribly effective in its rendering of those murderous claws.

Uncle Montague refilled my cup and his own. He placed his saucer on his knee with one hand and lifted the cup to his lips with the other. When he had taken a sip, he put the cup and saucer back on the tray and got to his feet.

'Perhaps I should not be telling you such tales, Edgar,.' he said, walking to the window and peering out. 'I do not wish to give you nightmares.'

'That is quite all right, Uncle,.' I said. 'I promise you, I was not so very frightened.'

'Really?' said Uncle Montague, turning round with a crooked grin. 'My tale was not frightening enough for you?'

'No, Uncle,.' I said, putting my cup down with a rattle. 'That is to say, I mean . . .'

'Calm yourself, Edgar,.' said Uncle Montague, turning back to the window. 'I was teasing you a little. Forgive me.'

'Of course,.' I said with a smile. 'I realise that.'

Uncle Montague chuckled to himself but said nothing more. He seemed lost in a kind of reverie, gazing out through the windows to the garden.

I looked about me. The dancing fire flames were producing a not especially pleasant illusion of animation among the objects around the room and the shadows they cast. The shadow under my uncle's chair seemed particularly to have a life of its own and gave the unsettling impression that something was squatting beneath it, twitching and ready to dash out like a great spider across the room.

Though I knew, of course, that it could not be, the framed prints and paintings, the objects on the mantelpiece and on the cabinets, the books and the furniture - they all seemed to be trembling in anticipation, as if alive.

Uncle Montague turned and picked something up from the top of a cabinet nearby. The 'movement' of the contents of the study seemed to come to a sudden halt. When he turned back to face me I could just make out it was a tiny doll with a china head and fabric body.

My uncle walked over and handed me the doll with a degree of seriousness utterly at odds with the object, although I could see that it was made with unusual care. Still, it seemed an odd sort of thing for my uncle to have in his house. I felt a little foolish holding it and thought of the ribbing I would get at school should anyone there have seen me.

'Have you ever been to a seance, Edgar?' asked my uncle - a seemingly wild divergence from the doll he had so gravely placed in my hands. He sat slowly down in his chair.

'No, sir,.' I replied.

'But you are aware of such things?'

'Yes, sir,.' I said. 'People try to contact their departed loved ones. There are, I believe, those who claim to be able to allow spirits to speak through them.'

'Mediums,.' said Uncle Montague, sitting down once more.

'Mediums, yes,.' I added.

'You said "claim", Edgar,.' said Uncle Montague.

'You are sceptical, then?'

'I have heard tell that there are those who say they have such powers, but who are fakers and conjurors, Uncle. I do not think it possible to speak to the dead.'

Uncle Montague smiled and nodded, tapping the ends of his fingers together and sinking back into the shadows.

'There was a time I would have shared your view,.' he said, looking back to the window. I followed his gaze and thought I heard running footsteps outside on the gravel path by the window. Surely, I thought, the village boys would not dare to enter my uncle's garden.

My uncle had either not heard the noise or was untroubled by it, because he leaned towards me, smiling.

'I have a story on that subject that may interest you, Edgar,.' he said. 'Perhaps it will change your opinion.'

'Really, Uncle?.' I said, still feeling a little self-conscious holding the tiny doll. 'Please tell it, then, sir.'

'Very well, Edgar,.' he said. 'Very well.'

Harriet edged backwards towards the door as her mother began to speak. It was dark at the outer edges of the room, though it was only two in the afternoon. The heavy velvet drapes at the window blocked the light of day. The only illumination in the room was a lamp in the centre of an oval table, around which were seated eight women, whose expectant faces were lit by its greenish glow.

'Is there anyone there?' asked Harriet's mother in the odd trapped-in-a-well voice she reserved for these occasions, a voice that her clientele seemed to find haunting, but which Harriet always found faintly ridiculous.

'Are there any among the spirit world who wish to come forward and contact their loved ones here today?'

Actually, the truth was Maud was not Harriet's mother at all - and that was not the only lie they told, not by a long way. For one thing, Lyons was not Maud's real name; it was Briggs. They took the name Lyons at Harriet's suggestion - Harriet's own name was Foster - because it sounded more sophisticated.

They told people they were mother and daughter because it made them feel at ease. They had just enough of a familial resemblance to make it work, but in any case, as con-artists they knew that in the main, people simply accepted whatever you told them, provided it was credible.

Harriet and Maud had met in a workhouse on the Kilburn Road. They got the idea for the con when one of the other women told them about a seance she had seen her mistress host, when she had been a parlour maid. The maid had stolen from the guests and been caught and kicked out - hence her presence in the workhouse - but Harriet had seen straightaway that there was money to be made, if gone about in the right way.

They refined this piece of opportunism by taking control of the seance themselves. They advertised in one of the better ladies' magazines and presented themselves as experienced medium and doting daughter.

Spiritualism was all the rage and they found their gullible clientele needed very little convincing. It was Maud's job to commune with the spirits of the departed and while the ladies (and sometimes gentlemen) were busy listening to her wails and mutterings, Harriet would raid the coats and bags, taking small but valuable items that would not be readily missed.

If a pair of earrings or a silver snuff box was discovered missing a week later, the devout mother and daughter who helped contact their dear-departed loved ones would hardly be suspected of involvement. And even if they were, they would be long gone.

They had already decided that they should leave London for pastures new. Maud knew some people in Manchester. There was a lot of money up north. Another week or two and they would have changed their names and be buying their tickets at Euston station.

Harriet backed through the door and out into the hall just as she had done in so many houses over the last months. She blinked into the relative brightness once she was out of the gloomy drawing room. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the stained glass above the front door and making a jewelled light on the walls.

Maud's voice seeped through the wall, tremulous and plaintive. Harriet smiled to herself and made her way back down the hall and up the stairs. The servants had been given the afternoon off at their suggestion, but she was careful as always not to enter the room above the seance in case a squeaking floorboard might alert one of the group.

She opened a door and peered in, ready to make her excuses about being lost if it was occupied. But there was no one in the room, which evidently belonged to children - girls, judging by the amount of lace and the enormous doll's house. It was certainly of no interest to Harriet, who quickly closed the door and moved on.

None
of the rooms proved very interesting in fact. Mrs Barnard clearly did not trust her servants and had locked away anything of any value. Although Harriet had managed to lift a few interesting items and a little cash from the bags and coats of the women at the seance, it was hardly a memorable haul.

As she returned downstairs, she saw two doors to her left that she hadn't noticed before and wondered if there might be anything worth investigating in them. She turned the handle of the left-hand door. Just as she did so, a voice behind her made her jump.

'I shouldn't go in there if I were you.'

Harriet turned to see a girl standing behind her, a little younger than herself. She was dressed in expensive, if rather old-fashioned, clothes.

'Hello there,.' said Harriet with her most winning smile. 'What's your name, then?'

'Olivia.'

'Olivia?' said Harriet. 'That's a pretty name. Well, I'm sorry, Olivia. I'm afraid I was lost.'

'Lost?' said the girl with a little snort. Harriet did not much like her tone.

'Yes,.' said Harriet. 'But the door was locked. I see now I came the wrong way.'

'The door is not locked, miss,.' said Olivia, stepping closer in a way that Harriet found unaccountably threatening. 'It is blocked. We call it the Un-Door.'

'The Un-Door?' said Harriet.

Olivia nodded, smiling even more. 'That's what we call it,.' she said. 'Because it's a door, but it's not a door. Do you see?'

'Well, if the door is blocked, Olivia, why tell me I shouldn't enter?' asked Harriet, trying to retain her temper. 'I could hardly go through a door that is blocked now, could I?'

Olivia carried on smiling but made no reply.

Harriet scowled.

'Anyway,.' said Harriet, turning away. 'I must get on.' She walked towards the drawing room, in which the seance was taking place. She turned back as she opened the door, but the girl was gone.

Harriet re-entered the seance just as silently as she had left. She took a few seconds to adjust her eyes to the gloom and when she did so she could see Maud, staring ahead in a trance. Harriet had to admit it: Maud really did look the part.

Harriet glanced around the table - it was the usual mixture of the curious and the desperate: sad widows in their black clothes and jet jewellery, bored wives looking for a thrill. She stifled a yawn. Suddenly, Maud began to scream

'Please!' she shouted. 'Maud! For God's sake!

Help me! Help me!'

The voice was so wild it made the whole room gasp and Harriet was as taken aback as anyone else - especially to hear Maud using her own name. Harriet was momentarily rooted to the spot.

'Help me!' Maud screamed. 'For God's sake! Help me! Maud! Maud!'

Harriet pushed forward and grabbed Maud and tried to calm her down. Had Harriet not known Maud was a charlatan she would have said that she was possessed; her whole body seemed to be in spasm as if she had been struck by lightning.

'Goodness,.' said an excited voice to her left. 'Is Mrs Lyons all right?'

'Quite well,.' said Harriet brusquely, and indeed Maud did seem to be coming out of it. She blinked up at Harriet.

'Does anyone know a Maud?' said Mrs Barnard, looking round the table.

'What's that?' said Maud, startled at hearing her own name.

'That's right, Mother,.' said Harriet, frowning at her. 'You were saying the name Maud just now.'

Maud stared back, confused.

'I think perhaps Mother has overtired herself,. ' said Harriet. 'Perhaps we should end it there.'

There was a groan of disappointment from the assembled ladies, but Mrs Barnard said that, of course, Mrs Lyons must not exhaust herself and that perhaps she ought to take a turn in the garden.

Harriet agreed and took Maud outside as the guests collected their things and began to leave, with Mrs Barnard thanking each of the ladies in turn. Harriet took Maud by the arm and led her away to a more secluded part of the garden.

'What the devil were you playing at in there?' hissed Harriet. 'You were using your own name, your real name! You trying to get us put away, you silly wench?'

'Don't you talk to me like that,.' said Maud, still trying to shake off her wooziness. 'Or I'll . . .'

'Or you'll what?' whispered Harriet. 'You think I'm scared of you? Don't make me laugh. What were you up to?'

Maud shook off Harriet's grip and took a deep breath.

'I don't know,.' said Maud sleepily. 'I don't remember. It was as if the voice was coming from somewhere else. 'Ere, you don't think I can really, you know . . . ?'

Harriet laughed. 'What? Really hear the bleeding dead? Are you on the gin again?'

Maud made no reply. She had a strange bemused look on her face and Harriet began to wonder if she was having some kind of seizure.

'Are you all right, Maud?' she asked, more annoyed than concerned.

'I don't know,.' said Maud, turning to Harriet. 'I don't know.'

Harriet saw Mrs Barnard coming and nudged Maud in the ribs.

'Mrs Lyons, I must thank you once again,.' said Mrs Barnard, walking towards them. 'The ladies all agreed that it was quite the most illuminating session we have had. Particularly when you were host to that poor creature at the end. Do you have any idea who she might be? We are all baffled.'

Harriet raised an eyebrow.

'No,.' said Maud uncomfortably. 'I am afraid I do not.'

'It may have been a wandering spirit calling out for help,.' suggested Harriet.

'Oh dear,.' said Mrs Barnard, squeezing her hands together. 'Do you think so? The poor thing.' She shook her head sadly, her eyes closed as if in prayer. Harriet rolled her eyes at Maud, but Maud seemed to be staring off into the distance. The next moment she staggered sideways into Harriet's arms.

'Goodness,.' said Mrs Barnard. 'I think Mrs Lyons is feeling faint. Won't you please come back inside?'

'No, no,.' said Maud. 'I am sure I shall be quite well.'

'I must insist,.' said Mrs Barnard. 'Perhaps a glass of sherry . . .'

'Yes,.' said Maud, brightening at the thought of a drink. 'It is rather early, but perhaps just this once - for medicinal reasons.'

'What is the matter with you?' hissed Harriet as they followed Mrs Barnard back inside. 'You were supposed to keep her outside.'

'I don't feel quite right,.' said Maud pitifully. 'Honest, I don't.'

'You ain't right in the head if you ask me,.' said Harriet, suddenly smiling sweetly as she saw Mrs Barnard looking back towards them.

Mrs Barnard ushered them through the front door.

'Please go on in, Mrs Lyons,.' she said. 'Sit yourself down and I shall fetch us some sherry. I would send for a doctor but the servants will not be back for an hour or so.'

'That won't be necessary,.' said Maud, going for the nearest door handle.

'Not that one, Mother,.' said Harriet. 'That door's blocked.'

'Blocked?' said Maud.

'Yes,.' replied Harriet. 'The Un-Door they call it, I believe.'

Mrs Barnard stared at her in amazement. 'Now how would you know a thing like that?'

Harriet shifted uncomfortably, realising she had made a slip letting on that she had looked around the house while the seance had been in progress.
Never lie more than you have to
, she told herself.
The
truth always sounds more convincing
.

'Your daughter told me,.' Harriet said, in control once more.

'My daughter?' said Mrs Barnard, looking puzzled.

'Olivia,.' said Harriet with a smile.

'Olivia?' said Mrs Barnard. 'You met Olivia?'

'Well, I had stepped out for a little air,.' continued Harriet breezily. 'And I thought I might find a glass of water. I was trying the door handle when . . .'

'Olivia,.' prompted Mrs Barnard.

'When Olivia appeared and told me that the door did not lead anywhere and told me that you called it the Un-Door.'

'The Under?' repeated Maud, becoming increasingly confused.

'The Un-
door
, Mrs Lyons,.' said Mrs Barnard. 'And Olivia told you that? How clever of her. Please come this way.'

Mrs Barnard took them through to the room in which the seance had been held. The curtains were pulled back and daylight chased away all the atmosphere Maud and Harriet had painstakingly created for the benefit of the ladies. It had returned to being a rather ordinary, stuffy drawing room. Mrs Barnard opened one of the French windows to let in some air, then went over to the drinks cabinet and poured three glasses of sherry.