The Ghost House (11 page)

Emma didn’t mind being in the Abbey museum after it was closed. The tombstones and selection of gargoyles on display around the room would give the average person nightmares but she was used to it. She had been coming here since she was six with her gran, who worked here taking money and giving guided tours to anyone who was interested way before they got the audio taped ones. Emma had grown up around here. She knew every nook and cranny of the ruins. In all the years she had been coming here not one thing had happened that scared her enough to make her not want to come back. Granted it could get eerie, especially on foggy nights when the swirling mist made it easy to imagine a parade of ghostly monks passing through the old iron gates, chanting in Latin, but it had never actually happened. The other women who worked here wouldn’t stay past dusk, locking up and leaving before sunset. It’s like her gran always said, ‘It’s not the dead that can harm you, it’s the living you have to watch out for.’ So Emma found herself working the late shift and locking up most evenings. It was great because her computer had packed in and she couldn’t afford to get it fixed. After she cashed up and quickly cleaned around she had the place to herself and, thanks to the newly installed coffee machine, a constant supply of fresh coffee. It helped her no end with her college work and her grades were excellent.

She checked the clock in the corner of the computer monitor: two minutes to eight. Damian was always late. If she told him to turn up for seven-thirty he would be here for eight. It was the one thing she really disliked about him. He should arrive at any minute, fingers crossed. She turned the computer off, checked the doors and windows were all secure then made her way to the front door to wait.

He had left his car in the small car park at the front of the museum; his was now the only car left. He was raging inside and he didn’t know how to stop. It was burning so hot inside that his chest was actually hurting. A light turned on in the museum and he stepped to one side so whoever it was couldn’t see him. He was curious to know who would still be in there at this time of night, especially with it being so dark outside. A young woman carrying some files came into view. A terrible thought began to run through his mind: she looked a lot like Jenna, only slightly older.

He began fumbling with the dog lead as she came outside. She didn’t check the car park just turned to lock the door, unaware of him until he spoke. ‘Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but I’ve lost my dog. You haven’t seen him around here have you?’

‘No, I haven’t, sorry.’

He could sense her discomfort at being caught off guard. ‘I was walking him in the woods and he ran off after a rabbit or something. That was two hours ago and I’ve been looking ever since. I daren’t go home without him. My wife will kill me.’

‘I’ve been working out in the back office so I haven’t seen anything.’

He turned to get into his car and sensed her body relax. ‘OK, thanks. Do you need a lift anywhere? You don’t want to be hanging around here on your own in the dark. You never know who’s out there.’ He didn’t expect her to say yes but he could tell by the look on her face she was giving it some thought.

‘Thank you but my boyfriend is supposed to be picking me up. He’s always late though.’

The clouds opened and heavy drops of rain began to fall. He smiled to himself.
Come on, you little beauty, you know you want to
. He got into the car and put the window down.

‘Are you sure? It’s not a problem, honestly. I can’t go home yet anyway not without the dog; my wife prefers it to me.’

The rain was torrential, soaking through her clothes and college books: all her work was going to be ruined. She was turning into a sodden mess, she dashed towards the car.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

He smiled at her as she got into the car and slammed the door too hard, making him flinch.

‘Oops, sorry, I’m used to my boyfriend’s heap of junk.’

‘It’s fine don’t worry about it.’

She reached over to grab her seat belt and her phone slid from her wet grasp, falling to the floor. She bent down, struggling to find it. He reached out, grabbing a handful of her long dark brown hair. She screeched with shock. Before she could scream again his hand wrapped itself tightly into her hair, dragging her head back before he pushed it forward with such force that her head slammed against the dashboard, dazing her. She reached up for his hands, scratching at them but he held fast and slammed her head again and again until she was unconscious. When she stopped fighting his hand reached under his seat for the knife that he’d tucked under there away from his mother’s prying eyes. He pulled her head back to expose her throat and he sliced her neck from ear to ear, a spray of blood coating him and the windscreen.

He pulled her head forward to try and slow it down. Part of him hadn’t wanted to do it but he’d had no choice. If he let her go she would be able to describe him and his car to the police. The blood pumping from the open wound was warm and sticky and he watched mesmerised as the life bled from her.

In the distance through the tree’s he saw the beam of a car’s headlights and the fear of being caught broke him from his trance. He pushed her down as far as he could into the footwell of the car and rubbed his blood-soaked hand in her hair and on her coat. Then he started the engine and drove in the opposite direction to the lights: he had to get away from here.

His hands were still slick with blood and the strong coppery smell filled the car. He wiped them along the front of his trousers so he could grip the steering wheel better. That was another pair he would have to get rid of. His stomach began to churn; the smell in such an enclosed space was making him feel ill. He drove until he reached the playing fields on Rating Lane then parked his car along the lover’s lane, which was deserted, taking some tissues from the glove compartment he rubbed the specks of blood off the windscreen. The stench was awful, if the police pulled him now that would be it: game over. His hand reached out and caressed the blood-soaked hair of the dead girl.
Think, you idiot, think
.

Two bottles of wine and almost the whole of Lost Boys and Annie was struggling to stay awake. She dragged herself away from Will’s arms, which were wrapped tight around her. She needed to lock up.

He was fast asleep and looked so peaceful: there were no bad dreams for him. In the kitchen she grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. She couldn’t find her scarf so she looked under the table to see if it had fallen to the floor and remembered the straw. She let Tess out of the back door, who quickly squatted and then came back inside. It had been raining heavy so she bent to wipe her paws with an old towel.

‘How come you manage to walk through every puddle, Tess?’ Annie shivered, something strange was going on. Surely no one had been into the house, Tess would have barked. She locked the door, relieved that she had Will for company.

He shuffled into the kitchen. ‘Sorry, I’m terrible company.’ He looked even more gorgeous all bleary eyed and with ruffled hair.

‘I’m just locking up. Is there anything you need?’

‘Only you. You’re not going to leave me all alone on that big old sofa are you? We could put another film on. I promise to be a good boy.’

Annie preferred the thought of him being a bad boy but the thought of cuddling up to him was even better. She knew it was far too soon to even contemplate starting another relationship but she craved affection and would hopefully get some sleep safe in his arms.

He took hold of her hand and led her back to the sofa where he’d fashioned a bed out of the duvet and pillows. Annie watched as he took off his pants to reveal a pair of lime green and black Calvin Kleins®. She sighed, how was she supposed to lie next to him all night and keep her hands to herself? Not wanting him to feel underdressed she went upstairs and put on her wonder woman pyjamas. But she felt self-conscious. If the sight of her in these shorts didn’t send him running for the door she might just be onto a winner. It still niggled away at her why he was here but she wasn’t about to start interrogating him now. He held up the duvet and patted the space next to him and she climbed in, her heart racing. This was bizarre even for her but she wasn’t complaining. Will’s breathing slowed and got louder as he fell asleep, she closed her eyes and it wasn’t long before she joined him.

It took every ounce of strength to manhandle the woman from the car. He decided to dump her body down by the dock near to the old paper mills. They were due to be demolished any time and the businesses that used to run from there had all relocated. He also knew there were no CCTV cameras in the area. There wasn’t much point because all that was left was piles of rubble and crumbling buildings.

The blood made it hard to grip her properly and the stench was making him gag. He would have liked to have put her in the cellar with Jenna, an unexpected addition to his collection, but if he could barely carry her three hundred feet he wouldn’t be able to carry her a mile uphill through woodland. He removed her clothes, knowing full well, along with the rest of the world, the basics in forensic science. The real challenge was getting her positioned. He didn’t want to leave her lying on the floor as if she had just been abandoned; he wanted her sitting up on display. He placed her in a boarded up doorway but her head kept flopping to one side. Taking the scarf he had stolen earlier that evening he inhaled one last time, memorising the smell. Then he wrapped it around the girl’s neck several times until it covered the dreadful, gaping wound. He wished he could be there to see the face of the person who unwrapped it. He attached the material to a rusted nail that was sticking out of the frame; it didn’t look very sturdy but it worked. Hopefully rigor mortis would set in soon enough and then she wouldn’t need her head holding up. He wondered why he had wanted to cover the wound on her neck when her forehead was grazed and dinted: it felt like the right thing to do if there was right thing in these situations.

Getting into his car he took one last look around to make sure there was no one lurking. His hands were trembling so much he could barely grip the steering wheel and his stomach lurched every time he breathed in. If he was lucky his mother would still be at the church giving him enough time to sort out the car and shower. Putting the windows down to hide the blood on them and let some fresh air inside, he drove home at the correct speeds, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He reached his house without passing a police car and drove straight into the garage. He shut the door and didn’t turn on the light: none of the nosey neighbours could see in.

Stripping off his clothes until he was standing in his boxers he pulled a black plastic bin liner from the drawer and stuffed all his clothes into it. He would dump them behind the bins at the back of the druggie flats in the town centre. He began to clean the car, bleaching and scrubbing everything in sight. Tomorrow he would take it down to the Polish car wash and get it power washed on the outside as well, just in case any blood had got underneath: you could never be too sure.

He muttered to himself, ‘This is all your fault, why did you make me so angry that I couldn’t control the rage. I hope to God I haven’t ruined everything?’ He finished cleaning and turned the light off then went upstairs to have a quick shower. Just as he was towelling himself dry he heard the taxi with his mother in pull up outside. Perfect timing. He dashed downstairs to put her cup of milk into the microwave and waited for it to beep. He slowly mixed the cocoa powder into the scalding milk and stirred again careful not to crack the delicate porcelain cup. Then he took a deep breath to prepare himself for the interrogation that would begin in less than sixty seconds.

She walked in through the front door and locked it behind her. She came straight to the kitchen where she looked him up and down.

‘Why is your car in the garage and what are you doing lounging around in your dressing gown? Are you ill?’

He envisioned taking the dog chain and choking her with it until her vicious tongue protruded from her mouth, all swollen and black. How nice it would be to permanently silence her. He knew that he would one of these days; it was just a matter of when.

She walked into the living room and sat on the sofa, turning on the television. She found a repeat of CSI and settled down to watch it. He placed the cup of cocoa next to her on the small oak table then whispered ‘goodnight’ and turned to go upstairs. He knew she was staring at him, he could feel her eyes burning into his back and he knew she was wondering what was going on. He had a feeling she was beginning to feel a little bit scared of her wishy-washy son but there was no way she would admit it to anyone. She was a tough old bird, he’d give her that.

Will’s phone began vibrating in his trouser pocket against the wooden floorboards. Annie stirred but his eyes sprung wide open: it had to be work. He was used to calls like this: no one else would ring him at five-thirty in the morning. Extracting himself from Annie’s legs he got off the sofa and picked up his trousers, tiptoeing into the kitchen. He fumbled to get the phone out of his pocket, finally grabbing hold of it.

‘Hello, Will Ashworth speaking.’

Annie woke up and listened to the string of whispered swear words which came from the kitchen. Her stomach formed a tight knot; this wasn’t good. He walked back in.

‘Have they found that poor girl?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No another girl has gone missing. She was last seen at work in the Abbey museum last night. I have to go.’ He bent down, kissing her on the lips. Then he slipped on his shoes and jacket and headed for the door.

‘Wait, you need a key to get out of the gates.’ She followed him into the kitchen and grabbed the spare key off the hook, throwing the pink, fluffy key ring at him.

‘Thanks, for a minute I thought you were going to beg me to stay.’

She laughed and shrugged, closing the door behind him. She went back to the duvet, which was still warm, and Tess pattered in and took over watching her from where Will had left off.