Chapter Thirty-Four
THIRTY-FOUR
I walk into the house with a strange sense of foreboding hanging over me. There is a pressure at the back of my skull as if something is pinching the nerves there. I peer into the sitting room as I kick off my shoes, heart pounding with the exertion of running all the way from the green. Sam is sitting on the sofa with the curtains drawn. There is a frame of video frozen on the television, warped by lines of static. I hesitate. I want to go and find the envelope but something in Sam’s demeanor gives me pause. Even though I can’t see his face, I can tell from the slope of his shoulders, the way his head hangs slightly, hair scraped back from his temples, that something is wrong.
“Sam?” That feeling increases as I step inside the sitting room and glance around. It’s gloomy, full of dust motes and a pall of thick cigarette smoke, but it’s tidier than I’ve seen it in days. Sam’s blankets and pillows have been cleared away and his suitcase is sat neatly in the corner, sunglasses and car keys on top.
“Sam?”
“Why did you do it, Mina?”
His voice is trembling. I stare at him in genuine confusion.
“I don’t know what you m—” That’s when I see what he is holding in his hands. A flash of yellow stitching, the gleam of a silver buckle. It’s the little shoe we found in the fireplace, the one he reached for, saying “Maggie had those.” “Sam, where did you get that?”
He looks down at it with mild surprise, as if he has forgotten he is holding it.
“Tanner’s Row, Mina.”
“You went up there on your own? You should’ve waited for me!”
“I can’t trust you.”
I throw my hands up in frustration.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you what’s going on, shall I?” Sam’s eyes are suddenly slitted in anger, voice filled with a quiet, furious heat. “You went into Mary’s bedroom, even though Bert asked you not to. You did it not once but twice! Twice! He said you were questioning her. Harassing her. She was eighty years old for fuck’s sake, Mina. She was sick and you knew that and you went up there anyway.”
“I just wanted to check on her. Because of the knocking on the w—”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. The SOS,” Sam spits, shaking his head. “I told you to ignore it, but you had to go and see for yourself. If you’d just asked Bert he would have told you.”
My voice is high with confusion, heart punching my chest.
“Told me what?”
“That since Mary’s stroke a few years back her mind’s not been right. Sometimes she thinks there’s still a war on. More than once she’s accused him of trying to kill her. He told me all this and he would’ve explained it to you, too, if you’d only asked him.”
I open my mouth to respond and snap it closed again. As far as I know Sam never actually met Mary so he can only take Bert’s word for how sick she was. He has no idea how vulnerable she was at the end. I could tell Sam about the marks on the wall and her bloodied, gory eye but if I start contradicting Bert now I’ll only infuriate Sam more so instead I ask, “When did you see Bert?”
“Today. He came over and spoke with Lisa and Paul. They’ve asked us to leave, Mina.”
“What?” My knees feel suddenly weak. That sense of dread swells and clings. “Why?”
“They said you can’t be trusted.” Sam wipes his nose along his arm and I realize he is crying. “I was so close, Mina.”
“Sam, there’ll be other opportunities. You said yourself ghost stories these days are ten a penny.”
He looks at me in genuine confusion, face crumpled with disappointment. “I meant Maggie, Mina. I was so close to contacting her, and now you’ve ripped it away from me.”
Pain radiates from him like heat from an oven. He hugs the grubby shoe against his chest, so small in his big hands. I stand very still, head down. Thinking.
“Okay. Okay, listen, Sam—I’ll speak to them. I’ll speak to Bert. I’ll make it right, okay?”
Sam isn’t listening. He is shaking his head, still talking. “Bert said if we go quietly he won’t ask for an inquest.”
“An inquest into what?”
Mary’s eye, muddied with blood. The claw marks on her neck. I swallow dryly.
“You weren’t meant to be in her bedroom, Mina. Bert told you not to go in.”
I stare at Sam, jaw fused with shock. I want to speak but the words won’t come. Black spots dance in front of my eyes.
“They want us out by four. I’m already packed. You should make a start.”
“Sam, you can’t possibly think I had anything to do with Mary’s death.”
He looks up at me and I’m frightened by the lack of feeling in his gaze. I lower myself in the armchair beside him, reaching for his hands. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“I wasn’t even in the bedroom when she died. I was—” I stammer, suddenly feeling sick. What can I tell him? That I was poking around in the basement instead? It might absolve me of suspicion in Mary’s death but Sam and I will still be asked to leave. There is a buzzing in my ears like a soft electrical charge, a static I feel all over. I wasn’t even meant to be in the house last night, only Alice. I remain silent for so long that Sam sighs and picks up the remote control, pressing Play. The video jerks into life, so sudden and so loud that I jump, turning toward the television.
It is footage from Sam’s video camera, the image grainy, laced with static. The ambient noise is a sound like rushing water, slightly muffled. The camera has been positioned in the center of the room directly between Alice’s and Tamsin’s beds. The focus is on the dark arch of the fireplace and the red-bricked chimney breast but to the right, seated on the edge of her bed, Alice is visible in profile. She glances at the camera warily, tucking the waves of her hair behind her ears before turning back to the object on her lap.
“When did you film this, Sam?”
“Early this morning. I went to Tanner’s Row first thing and when I got back I found Alice in the kitchen. What happened last night really scared her, Mina. She swears on her mother’s life that she doesn’t know where that hagstone came from—that she’s never seen it before, let alone tried to swallow it. She doesn’t remember standing outside your door, only that she dreamed she’d been watching herself sleep and that something liquid and black had slid out of the chimney and into her open mouth. She only fully woke up when I grabbed her.”
“Good thing you did. You probably saved her life.”
“Yup, and that’s why she agreed to try to contact Maggie for me again.” He points to the screen. “She said even though her ribs hurt and her throat is sore, it’s better than being dead like the others.”
“What others?”
Sam gives me a look and I know instantly he is talking about Vicky, Simon, and Mary. Still though, it’s a strange thing for Alice to acknowledge and I file it away, turning back to the screen as Sam keeps talking.
“Alice said the witch wouldn’t show herself if I was there so I gave her the shoe and set the camera running. It’s about twenty minutes of footage, give or take. She sits like this for nearly fifteen minutes with nothing happening. I’ve watched this over six times now and I still can’t figure out how she does it.”
“Does what?”
“Keep watching, Mina.”
Sweat dampens the collar of my T-shirt and gathers in the folds of my stomach. I watch the screen carefully, my pulse climbing. My saliva dries up, sticking my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Sam presses the remote control again and a little green bar appears in the lower left corner as he increases the volume. There is a low, static hiss. Alice is swaying a little, her head moving like a snake about to strike. I glance at Sam. He is chewing his thumbnail nervously and I feel my pulse spike again, the friction of fear shooting up my arms and beneath the thin skin of my neck.
A fine scrim of dust begins trickling from the chimney space. The tape crackles. I see Alice flex her toes like a dancer, as if she is stiff from sitting for so long. Briefly, a dark, blurred object appears on the lens like a smudge. It obscures the room a second or two before darting away. I look at Sam, eyebrows raised.
“A wasp landed on the lens. I asked Alice about it. There were a few flying around when I went in afterward.”
My eye keeps trailing back to the soot pattering into the grate. For a moment it looks as though the hollow of the fireplace is filled with a blackness so rich it has become a living thing, a bloated shadow grasping for the light. I blink, wiping sweat from beneath my eyes. I feel nauseous. Acid rises in my throat. The tape must be corrupted, I tell myself, plucking at the hem of my shirt, it has to be, because that darkness appears to be swelling and bulging as though it is pushing through a membrane.
“Why is she still sitting there?” I hear my voice, plaintive. “Can’t she see it? Why doesn’t she move ?”
Sam doesn’t respond and after a moment I see why. Alice’s face is turning slowly toward the camera, only it isn’t Alice’s face anymore, it has—changed, somehow. Her eyes droop as if her face is wax left to soften in the sun. I almost scream when I see her smile, the corners of her lips pulled desperately upward as if by fishhooks. Her skin is oily and yellowy-white, eyes stunned-looking, witless. Rattling teeth in an empty, eyeless head, I think hysterically, and the darkness filling the hearth looks about to burst like a blackened, rotting fruit and there is a sound then, a noise on the tape like the whumph of ignition and the footage abruptly ends.
I realize I am digging my nails into the fabric of the chair, hands hooked into claws. I force myself to breathe, taking in big gulps of air as I turn to look at Sam with wide, wondering eyes.
“Did you see that? Did you see her change? Holy shit, Sam!”
Sam lights a cigarette, tipping his head back to blow smoke at the ceiling. I’m fidgety, feeling as though someone has put firecrackers under my chair. I keep seeing the way that Alice turned her head, the absent, mindless look in her eyes, as if all sense were knocked out of her. It’s chilling.
“Did that look like a fit to you, Mina? Some sort of seizure, maybe?”
“No. No, it didn’t, although without more footage it’s hard to say one way or the other.”
“I can rewind it. Freeze-frame.”
“No,” I say immediately, with real feeling. The idea of looking at that face static on the screen, flesh sagging and somehow wet-looking, makes my stomach hurt. “But I need to speak to Alice. Where is she? Is she okay? What did she say when you asked her what happened? We should be writing all this down.”
“You can’t talk to her, Mina.” His voice is flat, eyes dark and almost pained. “They won’t let you, remember?”
“But we’re so close, Sam!”
Sam sighs and rubs at his temples. He looks frustrated and tired and strung out and I don’t blame him. I stare at him, thinking. I need to put this right.
I hear voices behind the kitchen door as I enter the hallway. The low rumble of a man speaking, the clink of coffee cups. I hesitate as I raise my fist to knock, tapping lightly, but loud enough to be heard, and push the door open as Lisa’s voice calls out, “Come in!”
It’s Bert I see first, standing at the sink. He is clean shaven but looks tired, with pouches beneath his bloodshot eyes, a slight tremor in the hand holding his cup. He glances at me with his chin lifted, face flat and without affect, giving nothing away. Paul is leaning against the fridge with his arms folded, hands tucked beneath his armpits. It’s a shock to see him after a night working on the killing floor—his mouth chiseled into a hard, straight line, face gray and gaunt. His eyes are dark, hard glints of metal. Iron nails in wood. Lisa sits smoking at the table with her hair scraped back from a face which is taut and shiny. Her gaze flickers coldly as she looks me up and down. Beside her is Alice, her features mostly hidden beneath the long curtains of her hair. I experience a sensation then, like I am floating out of my body, as I remember the way her flesh distorted in the video, becoming rubbery and soft. For a moment no one speaks. The open door stirs the smoke hanging in the still air. I catch that scent again, of iron and minerals and thick, clotted blood.
“Mina.” Bert’s voice is hoarse and dry. “I thought you’d be packing by now. Long drive home.”
“I just wanted to explain.” I hear my voice creeping up an octave. It’s nerves. I don’t like the feeling in this room or the jolt of anxiety in my chest. “My intention was never to upset you, Bert, and I shouldn’t have gone into your bedroom without permission. I hope you understand that I did so only out of concern for Mary.”
Paul grunts indistinctly but when I look at him he glances away. Bert smiles, however, speaking gently.
“Be that as it may, Mina, the damage is done. Trust is delicate, and easily broken, after all. How can you ask this family to trust you with their daughter when you can’t even be trusted to follow instructions?”
“I never meant for any of this to happen, Bert. I was just trying to help.”
“Yet Alice is still suffering and I find myself a widower. Three people have died since your arrival, Mina. I think you’ve helped enough.”
Bert’s voice is wary as he sets down his cup.
“With all due respect, Bert, Mary was very sick.”
“Yes, she was, wasn’t she? But with her new medication the doctor said he thought there were a few more good years in her at least. She wasn’t ready to die, certainly not yet.”
“She was asking for help, Bert. She was tapping on the wall.”
I can feel tears breaching my eyelids, making my vision shimmer. I try to blink them away as Bert continues. “The only help my wife required was peace and rest, as I believe I told you more than once. I failed in my duty to her, but I don’t intend to fail in my duty to Alice.”
“Oh? What duty is that?” There is a tremor in my voice and Bert smiles as he hears it.
“We need to break the spell.” Lisa’s voice is hard and cold. It shocks me, how different she sounds to the woman who stood in the bathroom last night, saying “I just want to save my daughter, Mina.”
“A Riddance, Mina.” Bert is moving to the table, behind Alice’s chair. I think suddenly of the gravelly voice on Sam’s Dictaphone, the writing outside on the pavement. GoodRiddance. GoodRiddance. GoodRiddance.
“Are you joking?”
“Mina,” Paul says warningly, but I ignore him. I laugh bluntly.
“A ‘Riddance’ is just more superstition! You might as well cover her in leeches. I came here to offer you proper answers, empirical support. All right, well, you wanted my opinion so here it is—Alice would benefit from some observations and assessments outside of this house. My concern is that she’s being overly influenced by her surroundings and the people in it.”
“The Riddance is a tradition, Mina,” Bert tells me, quietly. “It’s important we follow the old custom. It’s expected.”
I stare around the room in dumb silence. Alice is still wearing the crumpled T-shirt— POBODY’S NERFECT! —and now a tear draws a line down her cheek, followed quickly by another. Her voice is husky and pained.
“I don’t know how to make her stop, Mina.”
“Who? Make who stop, Alice?”
“The witch,” Bert says pleasantly, as if he is talking about the weather. “That’s who she means. She’s spread in Alice like a bad seed and we have to rip her out at the root.”
I wince at how violent the words seem, how brutal.
“There are a lot of Riddance girls in this town,” Bert continues, his hands settling on Alice’s upper arms and working their way up to her fleshy shoulders. “Although they are mostly women now, of course. Lots of girls who needed help to find their way out of the dark.”
“A ‘Riddance girl’? What is that, like a May Queen? Does she get to wear a crown?”
I’m bristling with anger and a sense of keen injustice, sharpened by seeing that tear rolling down Alice’s face. Bert’s gentle, restrained tone makes it worse, makes me want to hit the table with my fist.
“Riddances have been performed here a long time.” Bert’s hand squeezes Alice’s shoulders gently. I feel a wave of something—disgust, fear—that I quickly swallow down. “I’ve seen it described as ‘a noisy ritual to cast out devils.’”
Daemonia eicere, I think to myself. Printed on the handle of that needlelike instrument. The Device.
“But Alice doesn’t need a ritual, Bert. She needs real help. Practical help. Therapy, maybe something on prescription to get some sleep. Am I going mad? Why are you all even considering this?”
“Think of it as a cauterization.” Bert’s voice is heavy, his thick fingers brushing Alice just beneath her collarbone. “Sealing a wound so the infection can’t spread.”
“Alice?” I say, hearing the urgency in my voice, the alarm. Why are they all being so normal about this? “Alice, is this something you want to do?”
She stares at me.
“I don’t want to end up in St. Lawrence’s, Mina. I don’t want to be mad.”
“You’re not, I promise you, you’re not.” I hold her gaze with my own. “Alice, if you want, I can get you away from here. Somewhere safe. There are places, you know. For children having problems with their families or their schools or even in their own heads. Places where you can be alone and get better.”
“She’ll follow me,” Alice whispers, her eyes swiveling in their sockets, “and I’m so tired of fighting her.”
“Alice, I can help you. That’s why I came here.”
“No, you didn’t,” she says simply. “You came here because of Eddie. Because he died and you didn’t.”
That cracking sound again, that rift in the ice—only it’s not in the ice, it’s in me, somewhere where the blood flows thick and dark and sluggish, where secrets stagnate and grow long, fibrous roots. Bad seeds. I feel my face grow hot.
“Alice, my brother died because he got sick.”
“He died because of you.” Her face is pale. “You put your brother in the ground.”
I stutter in shock, turning my gaze to Paul who looks away from me quickly, eyes dark and miserable. I feel suddenly panicky, like the walls are closing in. I think of Alice turning toward the camera and the darkness in the grate, the eyes swiveling in the brickwork. Sam, holding that grimy shoe like a drowning man. I look beseechingly at Lisa, palms held outward, tears coming finally, frustrated, hot, guilty.
“Lisa, please. Let me make this right. We just need a few more days.”
“What you need is to stay away from my daughter, Mina Ellis.” Lisa sucks on her cigarette and I see how angry she is, vibrating with it almost. She doesn’t seem mousy and downtrodden anymore. Her jaw is stiff and her mouth so sharp I’m surprised her lips aren’t bleeding. “An’ you need to get away from this town. No more. Just leave us be.”