Resurrectionists (43 page)

“What?” Comprehension eluded her.

The bedroom door opened a crack. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but it sounds like there’s somebody knocking at the door.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“The back door.”

Maisie cast the covers back and climbed out of bed.

“What time is it?”

“It’s just after one. The cat’s in the laundry and she’s all agitated, and I swear I heard someone knocking at –”

“Tabby’s in the laundry?”

“Yeah.”

A chill crept into her stomach. But no, she wasn’t to worry. The spell was active, they were safe. She flicked on the light and pulled on her robe, joined Cathy in the hallway. Firelight glowed in the lounge room.

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait here.” She crept quietly down the hallway to the laundry. Tabby was sitting on the washing machine watching out the window, her head moving quickly this way and that as though she was looking for something. Maisie edged up to the window. Nothing under the tree. Nothing near the rosebushes. She turned around, relieved. Cathy must have been dreaming.

“Maisie?” her friend called from the other end of the hall.

“I think you must have –”

Three sharp knocks at the laundry door. Maisie jumped, couldn’t help letting out a little cry of surprise. She turned to the door and stared at it, wished she could see through it.

“Who’s there?” she called, trying to sound braver than she was.

No answer.

Cathy had edged down the hallway and was

standing near the entrance to the laundry. “Who is it?”

“Either really rude visitors or really polite ghosts,”

Maisie replied, not taking her eyes off the door.

“Shall we open it?” Cathy asked in a breathy voice.

“Hell, no. No way.”

“Then put your ear to the door. Maybe you’ll hear something.”

Maisie leaned close to the door, tentatively put her ear against it. The knocking came again, sending her two embarrassed steps into Cathy’s arms. They clutched each other’s forearms.

“Who is it?” Cathy called this time.

In response, a hideous hissing noise. Cathy let out a short, sharp shriek, ran out of the laundry. Tabby jumped, tail bushy, off the washing machine and raced away to hide. Maisie backed up the hall, found them both in the kitchen taking comfort in the electric light.

“What the hell is it?” Cathy asked. All the colour had drained from her face, and she was desperately clutching the edge of the sink as though it could anchor her to a more predictable reality.

“Don’t worry, we’re safe,” Maisie said, realising that she didn’t sound as confident as she should. “I put a protection spell over the cottage. As long as we don’t open any doors or windows, it can’t get in.”

“Get in? Why does it want to get in?”

Why indeed? She suspected that these Wraiths were capable of causing more than just fear. “I don’t know. But don’t worry. It can’t get in.” Then why were her hands trembling? She locked them inside one another to still them.

“Didn’t you say you saw two of them the other night?”

“It doesn’t matter if there are two or two dozen. The house is protected. We’re safe as long as we stay inside.”

Cathy clenched her jaw as though she were trying to stop herself from crying. At that moment, the lights flickered and went out. With a desperate leap Cathy launched herself from the sink into Maisie’s arms. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Maisie held on to her thin body. “I’m scared too.”

“I didn’t believe you about . . . about bad spirits.”

Another knock. Both of them flinched. Tabby was gone, probably under the bed. Maisie was starting to think it wouldn’t be such a bad place to wait this out. At the same instant, movement caught her eye in the kitchen window. She glanced up to see a dark shape on the other side of the glass.

“Christ!” she shrieked.

As quick as it had appeared it was gone. Again, she’d had the impression of seeing dirty bone among the shadows under its hood, and the thought awoke fresh terror in her heart.

“What? What?” Cathy said, looking desperately around.

“I thought I saw something. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom. There are no windows there.”

“Was it at the window? Was it looking in? I can’t bear this.” Cathy was almost in tears. “Can’t we call the police?”

“This is Solgreve, population three hundred and twelve. The police constable doesn’t answer the phone at this time of night.”

“Then let’s get out of here. Let’s run and get help.”

“We are
not
leaving the house.” Maisie gave Cathy a little shove. “Come on. Bathroom.”

They went to the bathroom and shut the door behind them. Cathy perched nervously on the edge of the toilet seat, Maisie shifted from one foot to the other near the door.

“What now?” Cathy asked.

“We wait.”

“For what?”

“For it to stop.”

Cathy ran her hand through her hair and groaned softly. All was silent for a few moments. Maisie tried not to think about what those faces must look like beneath the hoods. She tried to compose herself.
I’m
safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.

“What’s that?” Cathy said suddenly.

“I can’t hear anything.”

“It sounds like something scratching.”

Maisie strained her ears. She could hear it, too: an awful rasping of something sharp on glass. “It’s scratching at the window,” she said.

Then, a quick, scuttling sound up the side of the house. Maisie would not allow herself to picture how that sound was being made.

Cathy’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

Finally, she swallowed hard and managed to say,

“There’s two of them.”

“I think you’re right.” Because she could still hear the scratching on glass, and now she could hear light, dreadful footsteps on the roof.

“What’s it doing on the roof?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maisie, you said it could only get in through an open door or window.”

“Yes.”

Cathy gulped. “The chimney . . . the chimney is . . .”

Maisie’s stomach turned to water. Cathy was right: the chimney was an opening in the roof, though only a small one. Could it get in? Could it turn itself to vapour and slide down the flue? She opened the bathroom door a crack and leaned an ear out. The scratching at the window had stopped. Now she could hear a quick, hard, rasping noise from the lounge room. From the chimney.

“Please no, please no,” she said under her breath. Every corporeal instinct she possessed was screaming at her to run from the house, even though she knew it was the worst thing she could possibly do. The rasping noise continued, slower now, almost methodical. Maisie felt as though her skin was alive with wild, wild fear. Finally, it stopped, and the footsteps thudded lightly back across the roof then stopped. All was quiet. The moments ticked by silently, slowly. It had tried to get in the chimney and failed. Before she could allow herself a gasp of relief, she heard a slither, a light thump. She looked down, saw her feet, enclosed in their stupid woolly socks, rooted to the floorboards.

She turned, saw that Cathy was also looking at the floor. “Did that come from down –” Before Cathy could finish the question, an uproar of banging and grating started below them. Cathy screamed, and the thing, whatever it was, screamed back, a nightmare sound. They both sprang from the bathroom and ran up the hall to the lounge where the floor was carpeted. Maisie could hear the presence dragging itself along below the floorboards then stop. Cathy leaped up onto a chair and stood there. The front of her nightdress was wet with urine and she clutched it between her hands, crying like a tiny child. The screaming had stopped, but now there was a wet, breathing noise coming from below them.

“Make it stop, make it stop!” Cathy howled.

“I don’t know how.”

Dark movement on the periphery of her vision, in the crack where the drapes didn’t quite meet. Cathy turned to the window and screamed. The shape was gone an instant later. Maisie fumbled with the curtains, pulled them closed and pinned them there with the back of a chair.

“We’re going to die,” Cathy gasped.

“We’re not going to die. If they could get in, they would be in by now.”

“Did you see it? Did you see it?”

“Only briefly.”

“It had no face . . . it had no –”

Bang.
A huge echoing thump on the side of the house.

“That’s it!” Cathy shrieked. “That’s it, I’m going home.” She marched towards the door but Maisie caught her round the wrist. In the dark, Cathy’s eyes looked black with fear.

“No!” Maisie cried. “Are you fucking mad? You can’t leave the house while they’re out there. That’s what they want.”

Maisie noticed that beneath her hands Cathy seemed to have turned to rubber. As though her thin bones had melted with fear. Her pale face seemed tiny and so terribly afraid. She began to sob. “But they’ll get in, they’ll kill us.”

“They
can’t
get in.” Maisie tried to recall how confident she had felt the night she cast the protection spell. It made her angry that her faith had been so easily undermined. She took a step away from Cathy and shouted, “Hear that? You can’t get in. The house is protected so leave us alone.”

More footsteps on the roof. Thumping, loud

breathing, outside. And, awful sound, something like a croak of anger, a gasp of diabolical indignation. Maisie almost lost her nerve, but pounded all her fear down low inside. “I’m not leaving!” she called. “I’m not going fucking anywhere, so leave me alone.”

Cathy hiccoughed a pathetic little sob. Maisie encircled her in her arms. Her friend clung to her. She smelled like pee, but Maisie hung on tight. They stood like that for what seemed an age. Then the awful breathing stopped. A light slither from beneath the hall told Maisie that they were withdrawing. The lights flicked back on. Maisie tensed, waiting for more noises from some other part of the house. Minutes ticked past. Cathy’s breathing grew more regular. Tentatively, Maisie drew away from Cathy and looked around. She could barely resist smiling with self-pleasure. The Wraiths had gone.

“I think it’s over.”

Cathy turned her tear-stained face up. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Of course.”

When Maisie next opened her eyes it was morning. Pale daylight glimmered through open curtains, and Cathy wasn’t next to her. She sat up with a start. “Cathy?”

In a moment, Cathy stood in the doorway. She was fully dressed, overcoat, gloves, scarf, and held her small suitcase in her left hand. “Sorry, Maisie. I’m not staying.”

Maisie rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s nine-thirty. The bus goes through in fifteen minutes.”

“But Cathy . . .”

“Last night you asked me if I was mad. I’d like to ask you the same thing. You can’t stay here. For heaven’s sake, Maisie, an evil presence tried to get into the house. God knows what its intentions are.”

“It can’t get in.”

Cathy put down her case and came to perch on the end of the bed. “Come with me.”

“I’m not coming with you.”

“Why would you want to stay here?”

Because it’s close to Sacha, because I still don’t
know what happened to my grandmother, because
there’s a third piece of the diary around here
somewhere, because I desperately don’t want to stay in
York with Cathy who is part of my old life
. But she didn’t say any of these things. Instead she said, “I think my grandmother has me under a spell.”

“Last chance. I’m about to leave.”

“Do you want me to walk you to the bus stop?”

Cathy leaned over and hugged her. The kind of hug you might give someone if you thought you may never see them again. “Please take care. And you can come stay with me any time.” She stood, picked up her case again. “I’m going. Think about what you’re doing, Maisie. Your family, your boyfriend, your life back home in Australia – they’re real. They’re what matters. All this stuff here is mystery and excitement and the supernatural, but it’s not your real life.”

Maisie didn’t answer. She heard the front door close behind Cathy then got up to go to the phone. Nobody was home at Sacha’s. He must be at work. She looked up bakeries in Whitby in the phone book, tried two before she got the right one.

“Hi, I’m looking for Sacha Lupus.”

“Just a second.” In the background she could hear trays clattering, someone whistling loudly, the electronic beeping of a cash register. Sacha’s work. A whole life that he lived when she wasn’t around.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sacha, it’s Maisie. I’m so sorry to call you at work, but I’m a little desperate.”

“What’s the matter?” She could hear no concern in his voice, but he was notoriously inept on the phone. She had learned that by now.

She quickly explained what had happened the previous night, and how she was certain the protection spell had kept her safe. “Cathy’s freaked out and gone back to York, and I don’t know what to do. Should I get out of here?”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No,” Maisie said emphatically. “I know it sounds ridiculous but I don’t. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go to York and hang out with Cathy. I still don’t know how Sybill died and I know that the cottage is safe.”

“Then don’t leave. I’m not working this weekend. Do you want me to come and stay?”

“Would you?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, if you want,” he said. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning. Will you be scared tonight by yourself?”

“Maybe. But I’ve got Tabby for company.”

“I have to go, Maisie. I’m supposed to be serving customers.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’d rather talk to you than serve customers, but a man’s got to earn a living.”

She laughed, vain, pleased with herself.

“Maisie, you haven’t tried the most obvious way to find out how Sybill died,” he said quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“Dream it. That’s where your Gift is evident. Dream how she died. I’d hate to think we did all that work in London for nothing.”

The idea hadn’t occurred to her. Or maybe it had, but she had rejected the notion before it made it into full consciousness because it terrified her. Every time she had started to dream about the wood she had woken herself up, or tried to escape from it somehow.