The Woman in Black (19 page)

Get back to the house and save Edward.

She drove away from the airfield, the image of Harry’s forlorn figure diminishing in the side mirror, and felt a pang of emotion for him. She didn’t like leaving him behind, or being without him. She had grown to care about him. She hoped that, once this was all over, he might stay around.

Once this was all over.

If
this was ever over.

She drove through the wind and rain, the Jeep’s wipers failing to keep pace with what the storm threw at the windscreen, and tried to calm herself,
think logically, rationally. She had to be strong when she got back to the house. Brave. There was no room for emotions, for confusion in her mind. Edward was in there, she was sure of it. And Jennet mustn’t claim him.

She left the mainland and crossed over Nine Lives Causeway, the mist rolling in from the sea, shrouding the Jeep as she went. Waves washed up to the sides of the road, crashed over on to the causeway. The tide was coming in. Eve felt that the whole world was drowning. That everything was conspiring against her, trying to stop her reaching Eel Marsh Island.

But still she drove on.

Eel Marsh House looked even more desolate and ruined than when Eve had first seen it. The vines and weeds had returned; overgrowing the gardens once more in the short time she had been away, as if they had never been cut back. The house and grounds were reverting to how Jennet wanted them, she thought.

Eve parked the Jeep before the gates, got out and pushed them open. They were heavy, rusted and old. Closed since she had last been here. They put up resistance, only opening with a screech of corroded metal on metal, and under much duress, seemingly reluctant to let her in.

Beyond the gates the house, battered by the wind and rain pelting down on it, looked like it was fighting to stay upright, not to be dragged down into the ground or claimed by the surrounding water.

There were no lights at the windows. It seemed empty.

But Eve knew better.

Taking a deep breath, then another, trying to calm her wildly beating heart, she walked up towards the front door.

Eve pushed open the huge old door. The house was dark except for narrow shafts of moonlight creeping round the corners of the blackout blinds and curtains. She stood still, listened. The only sound she could hear was rainwater, pouring in through the leaks in the house. Nothing else. No one else.

‘Edward?’

No reply. She tried the light switch, fearing the water might short it out. The bulbs came slowly, reluctantly, to life. Or half life; they fizzed and buzzed, radiating erratically, never becoming fully bright.

The struggling lights weakly illuminated the hallway. Eve gasped at what she saw. The blackness had spread. The whole house was damp and
decrepit, mould and rot feasting on the building like a cancerous, corrupting disease.

Eve couldn’t see her, but she could feel her. Jennet. Everywhere. The rot, the corruption, was just the outward manifestation, a demonstration that her hold on the house was now virtually complete.

Eve went into the children’s dormitory. The beds were as they had left them, unmade and unkempt. Except for one: Joyce’s. Her little body lay there, a sheet covering it, her gas mask on the floor where Harry had thrown it. They hadn’t known what to do with her body, so had left it to be dealt with the next day. Eve looked at it and felt sadness and helplessness begin to take her over.

No. She wouldn’t give in. Joyce’s body was a reminder of what had happened. It was also a warning not to let things go any further. Jennet must not win. Eve wasn’t going to let her.

She couldn’t look at the dead little girl any longer and turned away, leaving the room.

Back in the hallway, she called again.

‘Edward?’

Silence, but for the rain.

Doubt rose up in her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he had died at the airfield and this was all a—

Creak … crack …

Her stomach flipped; her heart skipped a beat. The sound came again.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

The same rhythmic noise that she had heard during her first night in the house. The one that had got her out of bed and down into the cellar. The one that had started all of this.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

It wasn’t coming from the cellar this time. She listened again, harder. It was coming from upstairs.

Eve felt her heart palpitating. She looked round, listened once more.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

It was definitely coming from upstairs. And, she thought with a feeling of dread, she could guess which room, too. She took a few seconds, composed herself. And began to climb the stairs.

Water ran down the walls, pooling on the stairs. The wood was in a terrible state, rotten and soaked. When she pressed her foot down, water oozed out from either side. She felt the treads warp and bend beneath her as she placed her weight on them. They seemed to shriek in pain when she touched them. She kept going, using Harry’s lighter to guide the way.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

She reached the landing, began to walk down the hallway. The wall lights were even dimmer up
here, throwing just the ghost of an illumination on to the walls, making the shadows dance with imagined horrors. The ill-lit meandering trickles of rainwater were like veins and arteries against the rotted walls.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

The sound was loudest behind the nursery door. Eve held the lighter out before her, walking towards it, fearing something would appear from the shadows before she reached it.

She stopped in front of the door. It was closed, but the noise was definitely coming from within.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

She reached for the handle, turned it. The door swung open.

Eve stood on the threshold, not daring to enter, not daring to look at what was inside, but she couldn’t just walk away. She had come too far, lost too much. It had to end. Now.

She closed her eyes.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

Tried to ignore the voice in her head that was screaming at her to run away, to turn back, the trembling in her legs and arms, the hammering of her heart.

She took a deep breath. Another.

And stepped inside the room.

The nursery was transformed.

The carpet was thick and rich, the curtains heavy and brocaded. A large, ornate wooden wardrobe dominated a corner of the room. Oil lamps on the papered walls gave out a warm, comforting glow. Against one wall was a child’s bed, and toys were strewn all over the floor. Cymbal-clashing monkeys, red-tunicked soldiers, a spinning top and a candy-striped Punch and Judy theatre.

There was no damp here, no decay.

Edward sat in the centre of the floor, playing intently. He had his back to Eve and didn’t turn as she entered. She noticed that he was dressed differently, like the boy from the photograph. Eve saw what the focus of his attention was. Mr Punch.
No longer as decayed or decrepit as the rest of the house, the puppet looked brand new, its painted-on grin viciously triumphant.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack …

The rocking chair was next to him, swinging backwards and forwards. It was the same one Eve had seen in the cellar, the one she suspected had made the noise the first night she was in the house. Like the room, it had also been restored. There was no one in it, but it didn’t stop moving.

Eve pocketed Harry’s lighter and slowly approached Edward.

‘Edward …’

He didn’t move. Didn’t turn round, didn’t look up. He gave no indication that he had heard her, just sat there playing with that leering wooden puppet.

‘Edward …’ she repeated, louder.

She extended her hand, touched him on the shoulder.

Edward turned quickly, a ferocious look in his eyes. He lashed out with Mr Punch, catching Eve in the face.

Eve staggered back, her hand to her cheek, feeling blood there. Edward had returned to his toy, his back to Eve once more. Sitting calmly, as if nothing had happened.

Creak … crack … Creak … crack
 …

Eve thought of turning round, walking out of the room, the house. But she stopped herself. No. She wouldn’t let Jennet win.

‘Edward.’

She walked back up to him. To prevent him from lashing out again, she pinned his arms down by his sides. He struggled, trying to shake himself free, squirming to be rid of her, but she wouldn’t let go. He still clung on to Mr Punch. Eve clung on to Edward.

‘Edward … we need to leave …’

She moved towards the door, the wriggling boy held firmly in her grasp.

As she reached the door, the rocking chair stopped moving.

A shudder passed through Eve. Adrenalin pumped hard round her system. Grabbing the struggling Edward as tightly as she could, she managed to run through the door just before it slammed shut.

Once outside the nursery, Eve didn’t look back. Didn’t dare to see who or what was following her. She ran for the stairs, Edward struggling in her arms, trying desperately to free himself from her grasp, make his way back to the room. His features were feral, lips drawn back over his teeth. As she ran he swiped at her face, fingers hard and curled into talons, raking her skin and
drawing blood. The pain seared across her face, but she refused to slow down or let go of the boy. He began hitting her with the Mr Punch doll. She tried to ignore it, concentrate on getting the boy out of the house.

The black mould spread out from the nursery door, the walls cracking at its touch, pursuing them down the hallway, trying to ensnare them.

The creeping darkness caught up with Eve. She glanced to her side, saw it. Pushed herself to run faster.

She reached the stairs and hurried down them as fast as she could, desperate not to lose her footing or to let go of Edward.

A high-pitched shrieking reverberated round the walls, lapped in a storm of fury. Eve ignored it, kept running.

The mould was spreading fast now, sinking into the walls as it went, forcing them to crumble, break apart. Part of the wall next to Eve fell in, showering her with plaster. She grabbed the bannister to steady herself, gasping, forcing damp dust from her mouth and eyes. As she did, she almost dropped Edward, but managed to shift her weight so that she still kept moving forward.

The front door was right ahead of her. Her spirits rose at the thought of it. All she had to do was reach the bottom of the stairs, run across the
hallway and get out. A matter of seconds. That was all.

She didn’t notice the black decay pass her, slide up the remaining stairs before her, claiming the already rotted wood. But she noticed them collapse.

Eve saw what had happened, but her momentum was too great. She couldn’t stop. She tripped and fell, landing flat on the floor. As she did so, she loosed her grip on Edward and the boy managed to break free.

‘No …’

He bolted from her, into the shadows. Eve was straight back on her feet, determined not to let him get away. She saw him run into the corner of the hallway, the inky blackness ready to enfold him, swallow him up. She threw herself at him, arms outstretched, a last, desperate move. If he evaded her grasp, she would lose him for ever.

Her hands connected. He stopped moving. Her impetus carried her onwards. She landed on top of him. Smiled. She had him.

Then the floor gave way and they fell into the darkness.

Harry put his head down, concentrated on the steering wheel, the road ahead, the rain beyond. Nothing more.

He tried to ignore the rising tide that was smashing against the wheels of the bus as he drove over the causeway. Block his ears to the screams of the drowning that he was sure he could hear being carried on the wind.

When Eve had driven away in his Jeep, he hadn’t stopped to think. Jim Rhodes’s bus was standing idling and Harry had jumped in it, driven straight off. He knew where Eve was headed. He just hoped he would be in time to help her.

The waves crashed harder against the bus, building in size and ferocity. The screams of the drowning intensified.

‘No … no …’

He tried his usual trick, hammering on the steering wheel three times. It didn’t change anything. Sweat beading his brow, hands shaking, he drove on. Determined not to give in, not to let Eve down.

And then he heard the voice.

‘
Help us, Captain … help us …
’

‘No, no, no, no …’

Harry drove even faster.

‘
Help us …
’

Harry became aware that he wasn’t alone. He risked a sideways glance. There sat the drowned airman he had seen in the fake plane. His uniform soaked and rotten, his face eaten away, one eye missing, reaching out to him.

‘
Help us …
’

Harry, heart hammering, kept his eyes on the road ahead.

He heard movement behind him, from the aisle of the bus. Someone changing seats, moving forward. Then another. And another. Slow, shuffling. Dragging as they came; heavy, waterlogged. He glanced in his rear-view mirror, became aware of shadows, lumpen, misshapen, moving about.

‘
Help us …
’

‘You’re not real,’ Harry shouted. ‘All of you … Any of you …’

‘
You killed us …
’

‘No, I didn’t! I didn’t …’ Harry screamed. The bus lurched to the left, perilously close to the edge of the water. He managed to wrestle it back on to the road just in time.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t kill you. We were hit … I tried to save you …’

Silence from the bus.

Harry kept talking, kept his eyes ahead. ‘You’re not real. You’re ghosts. I carry you everywhere I go. But you’re not real. You’re just my guilt. That’s all. Because I couldn’t save you. I tried and I … I couldn’t.’

Nothing.

‘And I’m … sorry. I’ll always be sorry. I did what I could. And I failed. And I’ll always carry that with me. I’ll always carry you with me.’

He risked a glance at his side. The ghosts had disappeared. Harry was alone.