Half Life (2 page)

“
I bet you did,
”
smiles Sally. 
“
But do you know the full story behind this place?
”

“
You mentioned something about the man who built this house, Thomas Galbraith was it?
”

My eyes narrow at the mention of my name.

Sally nods eagerly, clearly excited about relating my sorry tale. 
“
He belonged to a very wealthy family and built this place when he inherited his fortune.  He was an architect and he designed it himself.
”

“
He had excellent taste.
”

I can
’
t help but smile at the praise.

“
He was very successful,
”
continues Sally. 
“
Then his life was tragically cut short when he fell from the balcony leading off the master bedroom.  It was a very nasty end because back then there were a set of wrought iron spikes beneath it  They
‘
ve been removed now.
”

I close my eyes as I
’
m rocked on my feet at the memory of those spikes rushing up to meet me.  I open my eyes and push the memory aside, forcing myself to concentrate on their words.

“
Nasty,
”
grimaces the woman with the sad eyes.

“
Very.  On top of that no one knows how it happened.  He was alone in the house so he wasn
’
t pushed, he
’
d just married the love of his life and his career was flourishing, neither did he have any money troubles so there was no reason for him to kill himself.  The inquest at the time ruled he must have had a dizzy spell or something and fallen.  The family wanted it wrapped up quickly so no one could talk about suicide.
”

I scowl at the painted woman.  What a lot of rot.

“
Anyway,
”
she continues,
“
it
’
s rumoured that with his last breath he swore to avenge himself on anyone who bought the house and to haunt them to their dying day,
”
she ends with relish.

I laugh and shake my head.

Her friend appears unmoved. 
“
I thought you said he was alone here when he died.  So how could anyone know what his last words were?
”

Sally looks flummoxed. 
“
Errm
…”

“
And I think someone who
’
d just landed on a set of metal spikes would be too busy being dead or in agony to bother cursing someone he didn
’
t even know.
”

“
Alright, that
’
s just the legend,
”
she pouts.

“
You don
’
t half talk a load of crap sometimes Sally,
”
she smiles fondly.

I soften towards this trespasser.  At last someone with a brain in their head.

“
Okay forget about the curse,
”
says Sally. 
“
But this place is definitely haunted.
”

“
Yeah, alright,
”
she scoffs.

“
I know you don
’
t believe in that sort of thing but the last six owners have been frightened off.
”

“
Then they were idiots.
”

I smile and nod in agreement.

“
Most of them were professionals too,
”
continues Sally, undaunted. 
“
One was even a respected surgeon and certainly not the sort of man to succumb to superstition.  He said he could hear footsteps slowly walking up the stairs at night.  Then they would stop outside the master bedroom and there would a be a knock on the door.  When the door was opened there would be no one there.
”

“
This is an old house full of creaks and groans.  They all probably let their imaginations run away with them.
”

“
Then how do you explain the vicious prods and hair pulling and a man
’
s voice telling them to get out?
”

“
Hysteria.
”

“
Oh please,
”
huffs Sally. 
“
If you don
’
t believe me then take a look at this,
”
she says, pulling a pile of newspaper cuttings and photographs from her reticule and dumping them in the trespasser
’
s lap. 

The first photograph was of myself, taken barely a year before I died.  It
’
s very dull and dour and I despise it.  I was always tall and slender but this photograph makes me look positively gaunt.  The poor lighting in the photographer
’
s studio turned my thick sandy coloured hair grey and excellent bone structure and prominent cheekbones into a death
’
s head.  I wonder if it was a sign of things to come.

“
Is this Thomas?
”

“
It is,
”
replies Sally.

“
Cute.  I wouldn
’
t mind being haunted by him.
”

I haven
’
t blushed in a hundred and thirty one years but now I feel my cheeks heat.

“
You know I don
’
t believe in all this rubbish,
”
says the trespasser. 
“
I believe in cold hard facts, things you can see and touch, not ghostly architects.
”

“
But these are facts, they
’
ve been printed in a newspaper,
”
says Sally, pointing to one of the clippings.

“
Oh yes,
”
says the trespasser derisively, picking up the paper to read. 
“
Miss Marguerita Swirls says Briar House is haunted by the restless poltergeist of a man tormented by his untimely mysterious death and pining for his lost love.  That
’
s a real gem of investigative journalism, asking the local loony about a haunted house.
”

“
Marguerita is not a loony, in fact she
’
s a very gifted psychic who says Thomas Galbraith is still here.
”

The trespasser
’
s eyes fill with a delightful mischief. 
“
Let
’
s call him then shall we?  Thomas?  Thomas Galbraith, are you here?
”

Sally looks horrified. 
“
Stop that right now.  It
’
s dangerous.
”

I scowl again.  Why wont the stupid woman say her name?

The trespasser laughs. 
“
No it
’
s not because there
’
s only the two of us here Sally.
”

“
You shouldn
’
t play with dark forces.
”

The trespasser saw she
’
d upset her friend. 
“
I
’
m sorry but I really don
’
t believe in any of this.  I
’
m happy here, I like this house.  Let
’
s just leave it at that.
”

Sally smiles.
“
Okay.
”

“
Another brew?
”

“
Please.
”

While the trespasser collects the mugs and heads back into the kitchen I feel a rising anger towards Sally.  Why can
’
t she call her friend by her name? 

“
Say her name,
”
I snap impatiently. 
“
Say her name.
”

In my anger I knock a small wooden cat off a shelf and it lands on the hardwood floor with a bang.  Sally
’
s reaction is extreme to say the least.

“
Kate,
”
she screams. 
“
Kate.
”

“
At last,
”
I sigh.  Not a flower at all but something soft and feminine and no nonsense, like Kate herself.

“
What is it?
”
says Kate, racing into the room.

Sally frantically gestures at the cat on the floor. 
“
That just flew off the shelf of its own accord.  See, I told you.
”

Kate picks up the offending item and frowns.  She is stood so close to me that I could reach out and touch her.  I admit I
’
m tempted.  I raise my arm but she moves away to study the shelf the cat had fallen from. 

“
The shelf
’
s probably not level,
”
says Kate, replacing the object. 
“
It must have slid off.  I
’
ve got a spirit level, or would you find that too scary?
”
she grins.

“
I can
’
t believe you
’
re not taking this seriously,
”
says Sally, gathering up her things.

“
Where are you going?
”

“
Away from here.
”

“
Sally, calm down.
”

“
I
’
ll be calm when I
’
m out of this house, it freaks me out.
”
  As she pulls the door open she pauses in the doorway. 
“
You
’
ll see I
’
m right, one day.
”

Then she leaves, slamming the door shut behind her and I
’
m glad the monstrous woman has gone.  Kate sighs and shakes her head before picking up her cup of tea and heading upstairs.  I follow then hastily retreat back downstairs when she starts stripping off for a bath.  Its been a long time since I
’
ve seen a beautiful woman naked but I refuse to become a peeping Tom, so to speak.  I pause.  Is she beautiful?  I haven
’
t thought of anyone this way since I died but yes, I suppose she is.

I wait in the sitting room until she returns downstairs wrapped in a robe and hair loose and damp.  After making herself another cup of tea she curls back up on the sofa.  Now her friend has left all her bravado has disappeared.  She looks so melancholy again I decide I
’
ll begin my campaign to drive her out tomorrow.

I occupy myself by strolling through the house, examining the new furniture.  There isn
’
t much of it, just the bare essentials, as though she
’
d been in a hurry to leave her old life behind.  Or perhaps she doesn
’
t want to be reminded of it. 

Then I see it, the most hideous monstrosity it has ever been my misfortune to clap eyes on.  A great twisted lump of metal on a stand, spindly limbs sticking out of each side, from which dangle little silver spangles.  I have no idea what it is but it offends me.

  My sympathy evaporates in an instant.  Kate
’
s had enough peace.  It starts tonight.

Rather than fall asleep on the couch Kate actually retires to bed and I wait until she
’
s sound asleep before beginning.  Slowly I stomp up the stairs, my footsteps loud on the oak staircase.  Then I silently glide back to the bottom and repeat the process.  Just as I reach the top the door to the master bedroom opens a crack and Kate
’
s worried white face peers out.  Of course she can
’
t see me although I
’
m stood just a few feet from her.  In her hand I notice one of those tiny telephones that people seem to carry with them everywhere these days.  Her logical rational mind probably thinks I
’
m an intruder and she
’
s got it ready to call the police.  I push the flicker of guilt aside and glide back down to the bottom again.  She remains at the door, waiting to see if the noise will occur again and when it doesn
’
t she shuts it and I hear the turn of the key in the lock.