The Haunting of Maddy Clare (20 page)

He tried to shake me off. “No, no. Sarah, don’t you hear it?”

“No!” I cried. “And neither does Matthew! She’s somehow haunting us separately—don’t you see?” Sounds for me that the others did not hear, visions for Matthew that we could not see—Maddy somehow had the power to do it.

But it was what she was doing to Alistair, only to Alistair, that made me sick with fear. Because it was Alistair she wanted.

Alistair looked at me, and his eyes were growing vague, as if he remembered me from long ago. “Separately? That’s unheard of. What a find. I should document it.”

“No!” I pulled at him, willing to drag him bodily to the door. “Please!”

But he shook me off, though I gripped as hard as I could. I staggered back and nearly lost my balance. Matthew came forward, but he stopped, a grimace on his face, and clapped his hands to his ears. He swore furiously. “Feedback!” he shouted, as if trying to be heard over a deafening noise. He turned to see his headphones, dropped on the old crate next to the recorder, several feet away. He gripped his head harder, ground his palms into his ears. “It isn’t bloody possible!”

I stepped back, and then I was watching all of this as from a distance. The room was swirling away from me, as if it were a play, and I was lost in a susurrous, scratching sound, nearly physical in the air; I realized with the slow stupidity of terror that it was the sound of the crows on the roof overhead, moving.

Time seemed to telescope. Sounds came eerily loud or from far away. I have always wondered since, what was real in what followed and what was not; how long, exactly, passed between the moment when Matthew put his hands to his ears and the moment when Mrs. Clare came into the barn, screaming. It felt like hours upon hours, eerily still hours, as if I were in the eye of the storm, in the strange silence and red-yellow light as the destruction went on all about me.

And yet it could not have lasted more than a few moments. Despite the madness of all that was going on, Matthew would not have lagged for long.

I saw him put his hands to his ears, and then I closed my eyes. Because Maddy had come into my head; she was speaking in that sickening way of hers, somewhere inside my mind.

Well-done, little girl,
she said.

I groaned, helpless. I knew what she meant. She had set me to bring Alistair to her, and somehow, against my will, I had.

“No,” I tried to say, not knowing if I was saying it aloud or only in the terrified confines of my mind.

Yes,
said Maddy. There was a long pause, a sickening sound of dead breath, almost like a sigh. Then she said something else, though it was lost in the gurgle of her voice—something that sounded like
Beautiful, beautiful.
And something else that sounded like
Mine.

“No!” I said.

You smell like the other one now,
Maddy said.
This one I will take.

“You cannot have him!” I screamed.

I gagged; something cold had been shoved down my throat. A wave of insane, wild rage came over me. My heart bloomed in my
chest. It was as overpowering as the blast of heat from a white-hot fire that bends and bubbles the air; I opened my eyes to see the very walls of the barn bowing with it, the force of Maddy’s rage. I tried to weep.
This is what a lunatic feels like,
I thought.
This is what it is like.

I do not take orders,
Maddy hissed, her voice a pain and an itch in my head.
Not ever again.

I choked, tried to speak. “Yes.”

Do you understand, little girl?

“Yes!”

The icy mass withdrew from my throat and I gasped for breath. I was on my knees now, though I had no recollection of falling.

The rage subsided, but only faintly. I could feel myself breathing it in. It made my blood pound wildly in my veins. I began to truly feel it—anger, outrage. Part of me wanted to growl, to hit something. I wanted to scream, though not in terror this time. I tried to breathe and stay calm.
Talk to her,
I told myself.

“Please,” I said, and I still had no idea whether I spoke aloud or not. “Please don’t take him. You’ll kill him. Please.”

I like the beautiful one,
said Maddy, a note of petulance in her voice.

“Please.”

A long pause. Then her voice again, sly and pleased with herself:
You can do something for me, I think. And then we’ll see.

Everything in me revolted against making a promise to Maddy. She was terrifying, childish, and certainly devious. But what choice did I have? “Anything,” I said.

I smelled like man once, too,
she said. The rage still pulsed around me.
No beautiful ones, not for Maddy. Three of them on me.

“I don’t understand,” I said, my mind whirling. What was she asking me to do?

I screamed, but I tasted their blood,
she said, as if I had not spoken.
Each of the three. They each tasted different. I took orders, but I knew I would taste it again. Every one of them. I will do it, little girl. I will have my revenge.

I listened, no longer speaking. Horror hit my stomach like a fist.

Poor little dead girl, staring at the sky,
Maddy said in my head. She was nearly singing it. A false cheer that pulsed with hatred, that gurgled with rage.

What sky is she looking at, little girl? So dark and so green? You’ve seen it, haven’t you? I showed it to you. You’ll see it in your dreams, like I see it in mine. Poor little dead girl opens her eyes and it’s all gone, all of it, until that day she came from the barn.

Poor little dead girl. Find them. Find her, and I will give you back your beautiful one. Refuse me, and the beautiful one is mine. I can see you, little girl. I can follow you. Refuse me and I will kiss your children. They will taste so sweet.

“Oh, God,” I whispered. I felt wet tears on my face.

No gods here,
she gurgled.

There was a loud crash; I turned to see the barn door burst open, and Mrs. Clare came flying in, wild-eyed, an oil lamp held high in one hand. She whirled around, took all of us in. I saw Alistair, limp on the floor, Matthew bent over him. I saw the recorder on the crate, juddering to a start of its own accord. I saw Alistair’s camera, lifeless and broken on the ground.

Mrs. Clare saw the recorder. Her gaze flew to the corners of the barn, the ceiling, looking, looking.

“Where are you!” she screamed.

Deep in my head, Maddy moaned.

“Where are you!” Mrs. Clare screamed again, her voice breaking. “Get out! For God’s sake, Maddy. Go!”

Maddy screamed a laugh, but it was faint; the sound flew to the roof of the barn, echoing off the wooden rafters.

Mrs. Clare stumbled forward, and in that brief moment, as my mind became my own again and time came back into focus, I thought she looked utterly out of her wits. I wondered with a chill why she carried an oil lamp in daylight. And then I knew.

“No!” I cried, my voice back now. “Matthew! Alistair! Look out!”

Matthew looked up, saw Mrs. Clare with the lamp, and stood. “Mrs. Clare!”

She took a step back. “I can’t have her here anymore,” she said.

I thought of my first visit to this barn, of the vision of fire Maddy had sent me. I thought of Mrs. Clare’s calm voice as we interviewed her:
I do hope Maddy does not plan to burn down the barn.

It seemed Maddy would not burn down the barn after all.

Matthew and I both ran. But before we could reach her, Mrs. Clare smashed the burning oil lamp to the floor.

T
he fire caught quickly in the dry, dusty barn, spreading through the desiccated remnants of old straw on the floor. As it climbed the walls, Matthew and I hauled Alistair upright—his eyes were rolled back in his head, though he was awake and breathing, as if he was in some sort of trance—and carried him outside onto the grass.

We set him down and Matthew turned toward the barn again. “Where is Mrs. Clare?”

I watched as the flames appeared through the streaked windows, aware that people had started to gather. Mrs. Macready came sprinting down the path. “My lady!”

Matthew ran back to the barn. I followed, but I got only a few steps before my knees buckled under me and I fell to the ground. My legs shook uncontrollably, and the world grayed around me. I found myself shaking, nauseated, short of breath. Matthew disappeared through the door and I watched that small space of burning light for him to reappear.

Mrs. Macready ran as close to the barn as she dared, pacing like a mother cat. “My lady!” she cried again. A woman I didn’t recognize—one of the neighbors, perhaps—approached her and tried to soothe her. A clump of other strangers stood a few feet away from me, watching. I heard murmurs of “fire brigade” and “constable,” but not one of them approached me, even as I sat shaking in the grass.

I turned and crawled back over the damp ground, returning to Alistair. He lay on his back, pale and unmoving. He moaned as I gently took his head and placed it in my lap.

I looked up at the small knot of people who stood staring at me. I recognized none of them. “Will no one send for a doctor?” I cried.

A girl of about sixteen broke away from the group and came forward. “I’m next door, mum. I’ll ring Dr. Cheswick on the telephone. Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know,” I said, truthfully. “He seems swooned. Please—hurry.”

The girl ran away. I brushed Alistair’s fair hair from his forehead and soothed him. He seemed to be struggling to awaken. “Shh,” I said to him, as I turned my eyes to the barn again.

Matthew reappeared at the door, one arm about Mrs. Clare’s waist. She sagged against him as if weak, but she walked on her own powers. In Matthew’s other hand, incredibly, was the suitcase containing the sound recorder. He staggered toward Alistair and me. Mrs. Macready cut him off, taking Mrs. Clare from him, clucking in her employer’s ear. Matthew came the rest of the way to Alistair and me, stumbling, and sat in the grass.

“Someone is phoning a doctor,” I said.

He said nothing and stared down into Alistair’s face. “How is he?”

“I don’t know. Are you all right?”

“Jesus God.” Matthew pulled up his knees and ran his hands
through his hair. His face was ashen. I opened my mouth to say something else to him—I knew not what—when the firemen arrived.

The barn was burning brightly now, the walls and eaves on fire. The Waringstoke villagers were all gathered to watch, though it was becoming too hot to venture close. There was a shrill cackling, a loud flurry of wings—and we all watched as the crows on the barn roof rose up as one, in a blue-black cloud arching into the sky. Higher and higher they stretched, like the column of an army, crying their hoarse cries, until they flew away as one toward the dense, green woods.

There was a quiet hush over the small crowd as we watched the eerie sight. I felt Alistair move on my lap. He raised his head. I looked down to see he had opened his eyes and was watching the birds with feverish intensity.

“Do you hear that?” he said softly.

Matthew looked down at him. “Gellis. Are you all right?”

“Do you hear that?” Alistair said again. His eyes were unfocused, like those of a man in the grip of an illness. With uncanny speed he grabbed Matthew’s arm and held it so tight I could see Alistair’s knuckles whiten. “Planes,” he said, his eyes following the birds as they disappeared. “An air strike. We should warn the sergeant.”

A chill went down my spine. I looked at Matthew. He gazed down at Alistair in surprise; his brow lowered, and he opened his mouth as if to say something. He seemed to change his mind, and slowly a sad knowledge came into his eyes.

“I hear it,” said Matthew, softly.

“I knew it,” said Alistair. “It’s been too damned quiet. They always come back sooner or later. We need to raise the alarm.”

Matthew shook his head, and I marveled at the calm in his
deep voice. “It’s too dark, Gellis. We’re under cover here. There’s no point. They can’t see a thing.”

“You’re right.” Alistair stared up at the bright blue midmorning sky. “Hasn’t stopped them before, though. I hear it. I know I do. God, I’d have a cigarette, but you can’t light a match in this damned place—”

“No matter,” said Matthew, his voice rough. “Get some sleep.”

“You’ll wake me for my turn at sentry duty?”

“Yes.”

“You’d better.” Alistair closed his eyes.

Matthew raised his eyes to mine. He looked haggard, as if that little exchange had taken the last ounce of energy he had. “What in God’s name is happening to him?”

I bit my lip. “Maddy…wants him. I told you that. She’s done something to him.”

“That
thing
.” Matthew’s eyes blazed. “I saw it. Plain as day. But I saw you. You didn’t see her, did you?”

“No.” My stomach turned and I realized I was suffering from some sort of shock. I touched Alistair with my icy hand. “I didn’t see her. I only heard her, when she talked to me.” I took a breath and looked into Matthew’s eyes. “I understand it now. Maddy told me everything.”