Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (17 page)

‘It wasn’t until I was ten
that my mother told me the truth about what happened that night,’ Sam said, trying
hard to compose himself. ‘Lucy had apparently got up in the night to go to the
toilet, which was the last room at the end of the hall. To get there, she
needed to pass by my parent’s bedroom door. In the darkness, she must have
tripped over and fell against their door, because she ended up falling into the
room. The door banged against the wall, and the next thing my mother knew, dad
woke up in a drunken stupor and lost his mind. In his alcohol-riddled state, he
probably though that somebody had broken into the house and was trying to rob
us, because apparently he leapt from the bed and chased Lucy screaming and shouting
down the hallway. She fell down the stairs and he fell down after her, and that
was how mum and me found them. It all happened so quickly; by the time we knew
what was going on, Lucy was dead. She’d broken her neck in the fall. One of the
neighbours must have called the police, because they arrived not long after and
took dad away. He protested his innocence, but when the police asked mum for
her side of the story, she screamed at them that dad was responsible and that
she hoped he would rot in hell. I’ll never forget the look on his face as they
led him away: he turned to mum and called her a lying fucking bitch, before
telling her that if she didn’t tell the truth he would strangle the life out of
her. That was the last time he spoke to either of us. Apart from Lucy’s
funeral, it was also the last time I ever saw him.’

‘What happened to him?’
Gracie asked. ‘Did he go to prison?’

‘You’d think so,
wouldn’t you? That’s certainly what the police wanted. They tried to charge him
with involuntary manslaughter, but the prosecutors were having none of it.
Somehow dad managed to convince them that it wasn’t his fault Lucy had fallen
down the stairs; that she’d most likely been sleepwalking and had tripped.
Naturally, mum tried to tell them the truth, but they wouldn’t listen. They
said there was a clear lack of evidence. The best they could do was grant a
restraining order preventing him from coming within two streets of our house
until he’d completed a government-sponsored alcohol addiction course and
convinced a panel of experts that he was committed to becoming sober.’

‘Did he?’

‘Did he hell. Sure, he
attended the course during the day, only to hit the bars again at night. He
wasn’t ready to be sober; as if chasing your six year old daughter to her death
wasn’t a good enough reason to ditch the bottle.’

‘Did he adhere to the
restraining order?’

‘Yes, but more through
good luck than good management. He was dead within a month.’

‘How come?’

‘After Lucy’s death,
word quickly spread as to what had
really
gone on that night. You know
how it is in a small town; it’s impossible to keep anything secret for long.
One night – two or three weeks after Lucy’s funeral – dad was staggering out of
a bar when a group of men from town set about him. By the time they’d finished
with him, he’d been beaten so badly that he was practically unrecognisable. He
was dead long before an ambulance was on the scene.’

‘Did the police catch
whoever was responsible?’

‘No, and if you want my
honest opinion, I don’t think they tried very hard. Apparently there were no
witnesses and nobody was prepared to testify. After what he did to
Lucy…well…there wasn’t a soul in town willing to fight his corner. Everyone
agreed he had it coming. And then, in spite of numerous calls for them to
change their minds, the authorities stupidly decided to bury him in a pauper’s
grave in Saint Cuthbert’s Church; in the same cemetery where Lucy now sleeps. Talk
about rubbing salt into the wound.’

‘I’m sorry, Sam,’
Gracie said, placing her hand on his. ‘I can’t imagine how awful it must have
been for you and your mother.’

‘It was. Still is,
sometimes. I don’t think either mum or I will ever get over it. They say time
is a great healer, but I’ll never forget what happened that night, and I’ll
never forgive that bastard for what he did to my sister. I hope he’s burning in
hell as we speak.’

‘Can you remember what
he looked like? How he dressed?’

‘You’re asking me if he
used to own a grey suit and brown fedora.’

‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

Sam shrugged. ‘I
remember very little about him. We never really bothered with photos; I’m not
sure we even had a camera. Anyway, after Lucy passed away, mum took everything
that had anything to do with him into the back yard and set fire to them. My
memories of him are very vague now, thank God.’

‘You must be able to
remember
something
?’

‘I remember he was tall
and thin. Back then, if you were six feet tall you were practically a giant. As
to his clothes…no…my mind’s completely blank. Being a miner, he always seemed
to be dirty and greasy, but that’s all I can recall. I certainly can’t remember
seeing him in a grey suit and brown hat.’

‘Will your mother
know?’

‘Perhaps, but-’

‘It’s crucial we find
out, Sam. I know you’re sceptical, but the fact remains that a man who I’m
convinced has something to do with you and your son keeps visiting me and
threatening that something bad is about to happen. You might not believe in
what I do, but trust me, Sam, I’m not making any of this up. And I know that
you’ve seen him too.’

Sam shook his head in
denial but couldn’t bring himself to look at her. ‘I’m not sure what I saw,’ he
said, his thoughts turning to the dark figure he’d seen by his father’s grave
and on the passenger bridge of York train station. And what about Lucy? Had he
really seen his sister on that bridge too? What had she said to him?
You
have to run away, Sam. He’s coming to get you
.

‘Oh, I think you know
perfectly well what you saw,’ Gracie said, her tone now serious and
matter-of-fact. ‘Perhaps not
who
you saw, or even what they looked like,
but you can’t convince me that you didn’t see
something
. I’ve done this
long enough to know when someone is trying to hide the truth from me.’

Sam jumped to his feet
and began pacing the kitchen floor like a caged animal. ‘So what if I
did
see something?’ he snapped. ‘What then, eh? It’s not as if I can do anything
about it, can I? Here I am, on the verge of losing my mind, and all you’re
doing is making things worse.’

‘You must call your
mother,’ Gracie said, ignoring his theatrical display. ‘You need to find out
how your father used to dress. What have you got to lose? I know this must be
difficult for you, but believe me; your situation is not going to improve by itself.
By not facing up to this spirit, you’re only making it easier it for him.’

‘Easier for who?’ Sam
erupted, having finally had enough of the conversation. ‘Easier for my
father…is that who you mean? Do you honestly expect me to believe that my
father – who incidentally has been dead for thirty fucking years – has suddenly
decided to rise from the grave and pay his son a visit? Are you trying to drive
me insane? If you are, you’re doing a pretty good job!’

‘I’m leaving now,’ she said,
standing up and heading for the hallway, ‘but I can’t go without telling you
this. From what I’ve seen, and from what you’ve told me today, I happen to
believe that this spirit is your father. At the moment, he’s toying with us by
not revealing himself, but believe me, Sam; this man
wants
to be seen. It
won’t be long before he tires of playing games, and that’s what I’m worried
about. Until you’re ready to accept this, I fear that you’re not only putting
yourself in danger, but those close to you as well.’

‘Wait,’ he said,
calling after her as she reached the front door. ‘Just…just answer me one
question, will you?’

Gracie stopped and turned
to face him.

‘I can’t believe I’m
asking you this, but if this…this spirit you’ve seen is really who you think it
is, then why is he here? Why would he come back?’

Gracie stared directly
at him. ‘Whoever this spirit is, he’s not at peace,’ she said, fastening the
top button on her overcoat and pulling on her hat. ‘He’s angry and bitter about
something. You want to know my theory?’

Sam nodded weakly.

‘This spirit believes
he’s suffered some kind of gross injustice for something that happened to him
while he was alive, so he’s come back from the dead to seek revenge. And if he
is
your father, then we need to act quickly to stop him. Call your mother, Sam.
Find out what he used to wear. We need to sort this out. With everything that’s
happened to you over the past few days, I would suggest that time is not on our
side.’

‘I
think we should start looking around for someone else to care for Max after school.’

‘What do you mean? Why on
earth would you say something like that?’

‘Have you seen Gracie
lately? She’s getting old, Sarah. I think that looking after Max is beginning
to take its toll on her. You know it was never going to last forever. It’s
probably best for everyone concerned, don’t you think?’

‘No, as of a
matter-of-fact I don’t. Gracie still seems spritely enough to me, and you know
how much Max adores her. Honestly, Sam, what’s gotten into you? I think all
this free time on your hands is making you dream up problems that aren’t
there.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Sam
muttered.

‘Sorry?’

‘Huh? Oh, nothing. Just
thinking out loud.’

‘I tell you what,’
Sarah said, joining her husband on the sofa. ‘Max is off to France tomorrow: if
you still feel the same when he gets back, then we’ll sit down  and talk about
it together as a family, okay? I understand your concern, but Gracie has been a
godsend to that boy, so I don’t think we should be too hasty in moving on.
Besides, if she really is as tired as you say, then a week without him might do
her the world of good.’

‘Oh, shit! I forgot all
about his ski trip. He didn’t even mention it to me when he came home today.
Sometimes I think that boy lives on a different planet.’

‘It’s called puberty.’

‘Hmm. He must be
excited, though?’

‘Yeah, he’s really
looking forward to it.’

‘It’ll be strange not
having him around. The house will feel empty without him.’

‘Better get used to
it,’ she said, leaning over to kiss his neck. ‘It won’t be long before he’s all
grown up and it’s just the two of us again.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid
of,’ he replied, enjoying the feel of her lips on his skin.

‘Shall we go to bed?’
she asked, conscious that the last time they’d come close to being intimate had
ended in disaster.

Sam sighed. ‘I’m not
sure I’m ready yet,’ he said, images of Sarah and Tom in bed together still raw
and fresh in his mind.

‘I understand,’ she
said, blowing gently into his ear. ‘I realise it’s going to take time.’

‘No.’ He turned to kiss
her. ‘I can’t dwell on the past forever.’

‘We don’t have to do
anything if you don’t want to. We can just snuggle up together if you’d prefer.
I don’t want to rush you, Sam. I just want to let you know that I’m here for
you when you’re ready.’

‘Thanks,’ Sam said,
standing up and inviting her to follow him by holding out his hand. ‘But I want
to try. If we’ve any chance of staying together, we’re going to have to try and
put what happened behind us. We…I…need to move on.’

‘I love you,’ she said,
taking his hand.

Sam smiled but didn’t reciprocate.
His mind was still dwelling on the bizarre conversation with Gracie about his
father, not to mention the news about Stephen Gilchrist’s suicide.

Although he would miss
having Max around for the next few days, he was thankful for the chance to have
a little space to clear his head. He was grateful for something else, too:  Max
going away meant there would be no need to see or speak to Gracie and have her
fill his head with supernatural bullshit and crazy theories about his father.
Maybe the old dear was suffering from dementia; after all, she was nearly
eighty years old.

Either way, as he’d
said to Sarah, it was time to put the past behind him.

The
following morning, Sam accompanied Max to school on foot, helping him lug his
heavy bags for the half-mile journey and lamenting the day he sold his car. By
the time they arrived, several of Max’s friends were already climbing aboard
the bus that would take them on the long journey to the French Alps. Whilst the
thought of being cooped up for the better part of two days on a hot bus with a bunch
of sweaty school-kids was hardly Sam’s idea of fun, as soon as Max saw his
friends, he broke into an excited grin and ran towards them, leaving Sam to
fulfil his duties as unpaid pack-horse.

‘Hey!’ he shouted, trudging
towards the bus. ‘Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your old dad?’ He didn’t
mind playing second fiddle to Max’s friends - he would have been exactly the same
at his age - not that there were such luxuries as French ski trips back in his
day. An overnight stay in a soaking wet tent with the Durham Scout group was about
as exotic as it ever got for him.

‘Sorry, dad,’ Max said,
climbing down from the steps and running back to him.

‘Don’t worry about it. It’s
good to see you so happy.’ He helped the driver load Max’s bags into the
luggage compartment, before taking his son aside and giving him a hug. ‘Here,’
he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a plain, brown envelope.
‘There’s a little extra spending money in there. Don’t tell your mother, okay?’

‘Thanks,’ Max said,
stuffing the envelope into his jacket pocket.

‘You’re welcome. Just
don’t go spending it on beer and cigarettes.’

‘Dad! You know I’m not
into any of that.’

‘I know. I’m only joking.
All the same, look after yourself, do you hear? And do as the teachers say. And
don’t do anything dangerous; I don’t want you coming home with your leg in a
cast.’

‘Chill out, will you?
I’ll be fine, I promise.’

‘I know, but it’s my
job to be overprotective. You’re my favourite son, you know that?’

‘I’m your only son.’

‘True, but you’re still
my favourite.’

‘In that case, you’re
my favourite dad.’

‘I should hope so too!
Now go on, get yourself on that bus. And Max?’

‘What?’

‘I love you.’

‘Shut up, will you? My
friends will hear.’

‘Sorry. But I do,
okay?’

‘Me too.’ Max smiled
and gave his father one final hug before sprinting off and joining his friends.
Dads were important, but they weren’t nearly as much fun as friends.

Ten
minutes later, the roll count was complete and the doors closed. Sam stood and
waved with the other parents as the bus pulled away, saddened at the thought
that saying goodbye to his son would soon become an increasingly frequent
occurrence.
The cycle of life
, he thought, smiling as Max pulled a funny
face at him through the window.

 When the bus was no
longer in view, he turned and began walking home. It was a clear day,
unseasonably warm, so he decided to take a detour through the park and enjoy the
refreshing air. He was just about to walk through the tall, wrought-iron gates
that marked the park’s entrance, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Stepping
aside to allow a woman and her oversized pram to squeeze past him, he retrieved
the phone and checked the display.
Number withheld
, it read.

Who the hell can that
be
?
he thought, considering whether or not to take the call.
Probably just Sarah
calling from work to make sure Max made it in time
. ‘Hello?’

‘Good morning.’

‘Who’s calling?’

‘Come now, Sam, you
haven’t been away that long. It’s Charles Holdsworth.’

Sam’s heart skipped a
beat as he heard the name. ‘Charl…I mean, Mr Holdsworth?’

‘I can hear birds.
Where are you?’

‘Erm…Friar Park. I’ve
just dropped my son off at school.’

‘Well, it’s certainly a
nice day for a stroll.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I bet you’re wondering
why I’m calling you.’

‘You could say that.’

‘I understand that Tom
Jackson came to see you the other evening.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I also understand that
he asked you to come back to Chapman’s.’

‘He did, yes.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Would you like to come
back?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘May I ask why not?’

‘Why should I come back?
Tom told me he had to go begging on hands and knees to convince you lot that I
was worth taking back. I’m not desperate, you know. There are plenty of other
design firms out there.’

‘He said
what
?’

‘He said it was the
Board’s decision to let me go in the first place. Cutting the creative staff to
concentrate more on sales. Isn’t that the plan?’

‘Nonsense. Did he
really tell you that?’

‘Why would I make it
up? He said that my skills as a copywriter had become surplus to requirements.’

‘Did he now?’ asked Holdsworth,
the penny dropping.

‘So it’s not true? It
wasn’t the Board’s decision to fire me?’

‘I’m afraid Tom has
been spinning you a line.’

‘I guessed that from
when he came to see me the other night. But he did say that-’

‘Never mind what
he
said. Listen to what
I
have to say. Tom didn’t consult anyone about
letting you go, especially not me. I guarantee that it was entirely his
decision. You know that I’ve always valued your work; I take great pride in the
calibre of my design team. Creative output is the main reason why Chapman’s is
so revered in the industry. Without people like you, we might as well shut up
shop and go home. Anyway, when I found out that he’d fired you, I immediately hauled
him into my office and ordered him to fetch you back before you went and found
yourself another job. You haven’t, have you? Found yourself another job, I
mean.’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘Good. So you’ll come
back to Chapman’s?’

‘Look, Mr Holdsworth.
From the way Tom lied to you – and to me – you’ve probably guessed that there’s
something going on between us.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t
tell you. But what I can say is that the only thing Tom Jackson is interested
in is himself. The man’s a liar and a devious back-stabber. He takes all of the
credit and none of the blame. Ask anyone. Even if I was able to set aside my
personal differences with him – and I can’t do that – you need to know that his
self-serving behaviour is a serious threat to Chapman’s. His actions are
jeopardising the firm, Mr Holdsworth. God knows what he might do if he’s not
brought back in line.’

There was a pause at
the other end of the line while Holdsworth considered what Sam had told him. By
the time he was ready to talk again, he had returned to his level-headed,
confident self. ‘Look, Sam, it’s not like me to make snap decisions,’ he said,
‘but based on what you’ve told me, I want to make you an offer.’

‘I’m listening,’ Sam
said, surprised at the boldness of his reply.

‘If you come back to
Chapman’s, I’ll deal with Tom Jackson.’

‘What, you’ll move him
to another department? I’m sorry Mr Holdsworth, but I don’t want to be anywhere
near h-’

‘You’re not listening
to me,’ Holdsworth interjected. ‘I said I’ll deal with him.’

‘You mean you’ll fire
him?’

‘Let me put it this way:
if you agree to be at your desk for nine o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll see to
it that Tom Jackson is no longer an employee of Chapman’s Design Agency.’

‘Really?’

‘However,’ Holdsworth
said, sensing Sam’s interest, ‘for that to happen, I need your answer now. And
if you do decide to come back, I’ll need you to promise me that this
conversation stays between us. Is that clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Well, what’s it
going to be?’

‘I won’t have to see
Tom again?’

‘You have my word.’

‘In that case,’ Sam
said, imagining the look on Tom’s face as Holdsworth fired him, ‘we have a
deal. Tomorrow morning?’

‘9.00am.’

‘I’ll be there.’

‘Good man!’ Holdsworth
said, his enthusiasm ringing in Sam’s ear. ‘You’ve made the right decision.’

‘I hope so.’

‘I
know
so. Now,
if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to a meeting.’

‘Thank you, Mr Holdsworth.
This means a lot to me.’

‘See you tomorrow,
Sam,’ Holdsworth said, hanging up the phone.

If
Sam had been of a less self-conscious disposition, he would have jumped up in
the air and screamed with joy. In one foul swoop he had traded places with the
man who’d almost destroyed his life; an exquisite reversal of fortune resulting
from a single five minute phone-call. It was good to have his old job back – if
nothing else, his dwindling bank balance could use a boost – but it was the
sweet sense of justice that most thrilled him. He’d always regarded Tom as the
golden boy with a one-way ticket to the top, so it was so refreshing to discover
he wasn’t the only one who could see he was little more than a shallow
opportunist.

With a spring in his
step, he made his way along the footpath that circled the small lake in the
middle of the park, waving at a group of old men who were expertly navigating
their assorted fleet of radio-controlled model ships and boats from the comfort
of their fold-up chairs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy:
Max was safely on his travels, he had his job back, Tom Jackson was in deep
shit; and to top it all off, last night he and Sarah had made love for the
first time in months, and not just any old love. The soreness from his fading
bruises had all but vanished when they’d been together in bed. Although he was
still spooked by Stephen Gilchrist’s suicide and his conversation with Gracie, finally
there was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

Up ahead was a narrow
path leading off to the right that dissected a row of cherry trees which, in
the spring-time, were renowned locally for the lush, scented blossom that
covered their branches. There was no blossom now, of course, only bare branches
that stretched from twisted trunks like gnarled, bony fingers. Sam decided to
take the path anyway; there was a bench tucked away at the far end of the
cherry trees that was guaranteed to be free at this time of year. He didn’t want
to return to his empty house just yet. It was such a lovely morning that it
would be a shame to spend it indoors.

As he made his way through
the trees, a dark, solitary cloud drifted in front of the sun. The park, which
only moments earlier had been filled with colour and the sound of old men
laughing and talking as they played with their boats, was plunged into dismal
shades of grey. A stiff breeze swept through the trees, combining with the
darkness to make Sam feel very much alone. There were plenty of other people in
the park, but from where he stood he could neither see nor hear them. Not
wishing the change in weather to dampen his mood, he pressed on in the
direction of the bench, confident that the sun would reappear any moment and
return the park to its former glory. Unfortunately for Sam the cloud had other plans,
and by the time he reached the bench and sat down, he was beginning to wonder
whether returning to his warm house might not be the preferable option after all.

Deciding to wait a
while longer, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, deciding to
tell Sarah the good news about his job. Scrolling through the contacts section,
he found her name and pressed
call
. Hearing the sound of ringing, he
leaned back against the bench and looked up.

He dropped the phone
around half a second after hearing his wife’s voice, pieces of plastic flying
everywhere as it smashed against the bench’s concrete base. He paid it no
attention. His focus was reserved solely for the boy who was hanging by a rope from
one of the branches of a cherry tree not more than ten feet away from where he
was sitting. Sam recognised the boy immediately. There could be no mistaking
him.

It was Stephen
Gilchrist.

Had the bench not been
properly secured, there was no doubt that Sam would have jerked back hard
enough to have tipped it over backwards. His next instinct was to jump to his
feet and run, but his legs weren’t having any of it. The only body-part that he
was vaguely capable of moving was his mouth, which fell open as he gasped in abject
terror at the scene playing out in front of him.

The rope from which
Stephen hung was wrapped tightly around his neck, so tightly that part of it
had sliced into his skin and submerged into his flesh. His head drooped at an
unnatural angle against his chest, mercifully preventing Sam from seeing his
face. He appeared to be dressed in pyjamas and a pair of slippers, making him look
so much younger than the drug-fuelled thug from the train. Even though he
couldn’t see his entire face, Sam could tell it was Stephen from his shaven
head and the Celtic ring on the little finger of his right hand. The wind
continued to blow, causing the boy to gently swing back and forth; the limb of
the cherry tree creaking under the weight of its unfamiliar load.