‘MAYBE DEAN UNDERWOOD was right about this place.’
Ashley and Freddie sat on the bed together, his notes on the Gingerbread House Murders spread between them. The police had arrived and taken Underwood away, and the commotion had woken half the guests – much to Malory’s ire. Ashley had given a statement to the police and had watched while they put him in the car, but even so, returning to her own room had felt impossible. Aidan had offered to try and take her home, but the thought just exhausted her. Instead, she had gone back to Freddie’s room to talk over the case. It was three o’clock in the morning, and outside the icy rain had turned to snow. Despite the radiators making a racket, it was cold in the room. Ashley was wearing one of Freddie’s jumpers, which was so big on her it almost made her look like she was sitting in a woollen tent.
‘That man is out of his mind.’ Freddie sighed. ‘I told you, didn’t I, that I would keep you safe from this stuff? And a lunatic sneaks right into your room in the middle of the night. Jesus H. Christ.’
Ashley shook her head, half smiling. ‘And I’ve told you, it’s not your job to keep me safe. And in a way, maybe this was exactly what I needed to happen.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been terrified of this place for years, right? Because I thought, I don’t know, that it was cursed. That Dean Underwood would come back and finish the job. Well’ – she shrugged – ‘the very worst thing that could have happened, happened. He turned up. He targeted me. And I’m still here, while he’s back behind bars. Probably for the rest of his life. The worst happened, and I survived it.’
‘I still feel awful.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ She swatted him on the arm. ‘Listen, can I tell you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘The day job. It’s maybe ninety percent a scam. But it’s not just me – everyone down there in that hall, doing readings, contacting the dead, they’re all in on the same con.’ She took a deep breath. The urge to tell Freddie about the Heedful Ones was powerful, but would he look at her the way Penny had in the corridor? ‘But I do see things. I see what you might call ghosts. I don’t know.’
She risked a glance at him. Freddie was simply listening, no sign of judgment on his face that she could see.
‘I saw them all the time when I was a kid, and then after the fire in 2004, they went away. And I didn’t see them again until I was in that police car, looking for Robbie. Then, they were back. They’ve been back since.’ She paused. Her head felt light, either with panic or relief; she couldn’t tell which. ‘So, do you think I’m crazy?’
‘I think you’re one of the most level-headed people I’ve met,’ Freddie said.
‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘Love that phrase. And no, I’m not. History is full of people who appear to be able to see things others can’t.’
‘That’s the other thing. My grandmother could see these things too.’ Ashley laughed, a little nervously. ‘They put her in the madhouse for it. When I tried to tell Mum and Dad about the things I can see, when I was a kid, they freaked out immediately and banned me from ever mentioning it again. They don’t seem to see the irony in asking me to contact spirits for a living.’
‘Do they speak to you, these ghosts? Who are they exactly? Are they even people?’
Ashley smiled lopsidedly. ‘I wish I had good answers to those questions. They don’t speak. They don’t really communicate at all.’ She thought of the things she had seen when the Heedful Ones touched her – Dean Underwood’s brother eviscerated on the grass, Penny screaming in the dark – but telling Freddie about that seemed a step too far. ‘My grandmother thought they were family members. Ancestors. People related to her who had died years ago.’
‘Are they here now?’
Ashley glanced around the room, feeling incredibly self-conscious, her cheeks burning.
‘No. But they’re certainly around the house.’
Freddie nodded. ‘All right, let’s put aside the question of psychic abilities for the moment. There can be no doubt that you have a strong emotional connection to Red Rigg House – emotional connections don’t always have to be positive. You almost died here, Ashley. You were here when dozens of other children died.’
‘Except that I probably wasn’t,’ Ashley said quietly. ‘No one really knows where I was when the fire happened, other than not in the dormitory.’
‘My point is, it’s hardly surprising that you’re having a tough time here, is it? And the weather isn’t helping.’ He gestured to the window, where a hectic snow flurry was barrelling against the glass. ‘Take it a bit easier on yourself, is all I’m saying.’
‘That’s easier said than done,’ she said, smirking.
‘Here’ – Freddie pulled his phone out and started recording – ‘tell me precisely what it is that you feel when you see Red Rigg House, when you walk around the building. Maybe getting it all out will help.’
Ashley looked dubiously at the phone where it lay on top of the pages of notes. ‘Do you really think so?’
He shrugged. ‘Hey, if nothing else, it’ll make a great bit of atmosphere for the podcast.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad my trauma makes for good listening material.’ Ashley laughed and shook her head. ‘What do I feel here? What do I feel? There is a weight of history to this place. All the stones and all the wood have soaked up the years, making it heavier – I thought something similar the first time I came, when I was fourteen. We lived in a council flat built in the late seventies, so the idea of a house that had been around for hundreds of years was fantastical to me. This place is old, and the ground it was built on is ancient.’
She paused, and Freddie nodded.
‘This is brilliant, Ash. Keep going.’
She leaned back against the bedpost, resting her head on the wood.
‘Maybe some places are like sponges, soaking up all the time and history around them. And maybe sometimes that can go bad. A place can be corrupted, or tainted.’ She thought of what Underwood had said before her brother had burst into the room: some places are just bad. ‘When we got here today, I was surprised by how little it affected me. I was apprehensive, worried that I would freak out and ruin everything for Malory, but I passed over the threshold and didn’t die on the spot or burst into flames. So I thought everything was all right. It doesn’t feel so safe now though.’ Penny trapped in the dark, blood on her hands, her dress. ‘Not with the storm rolling down off the hill, not with the lights flickering and the temperature dropping. Right now it feels as though we’re miles and miles away from light and safety – or perhaps there is no light and safety after all. Perhaps there is nothing out there but monsters in the dark.’
She closed her eyes. As though they’d been waiting for her, images of the last few weeks clamoured to be seen: David Wagner’s angry grey face in the audience, full of hate and loathing; little Robbie Metcalfe in the undergrowth, moss eating the soft pale skin of his cheek; Katherine Sturges lying under the oak tree, discarded like a broken doll; the blood and sweet stink of the meat, with its little passenger hidden beneath, cold wax hands clawing at nothing; a hand grabbing her in the dark; and Dean Underwood, his hands around her throat.
‘Or maybe the thing that is wrong here is me. Perhaps I bring all this terrible grief with me everywhere I go. I came here in 2004, and almost everyone who came here with me died in the most terrible way, burning and screaming and suffocating, and now that I live here, in this beautiful northern place, children are dying again. Maybe it’s me that’s cursed. Maybe it’s me who has soaked up all the terrible things.’ A hot tear slid from the corner of one eye and rolled down her cheek. She didn’t move. ‘Perhaps I brought the storm with me and allowed the monsters to follow.’
‘Ashley.’
She opened her eyes and came back to herself. She was surprised to still be in the room with Freddie; somehow she had expected to open her eyes to a place that was deep underground, although she couldn’t have said why. At some point while she had been talking, he had moved the notes away and was sitting next to her. He looked very serious as he reached up to wipe away her tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should not have made you do that. And I know you were joking, but I never want to use your trauma as filler for a stupid podcast. Okay?’
‘Ah, this is embarrassing.’ Ashley put her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. ‘What a state I’m in.’
‘You look beautiful.’
This time when they kissed, there were no knocks on the door to interrupt them.
* * *
Later, Ashley woke up when it was still dark outside. Freddie was asleep beside her, his big arms wrapped around her as though she might float off without something holding her down. For a few minutes, she luxuriated in the feeling of being wrapped in that warmth, being held so tightly and securely. Here, she almost believed, nothing could possibly harm her. It was as cosy and safe as she had felt in years.
But inevitably, his body heat was too much, and after a little while, she extricated herself from him and wriggled to the far side of the bed. He made a small noise in the back of his throat and turned over, still fast asleep. Ashley slipped out of the bed and tiptoed naked over to the window.
Beyond the glass was a frozen world. For the moment, the storm appeared to have stopped, but the snow had covered a lot of ground in a handful of hours. Everywhere she looked, there was a thick blanket of white snow, crisp and otherworldly under the moonlight. Even the trees beyond the gardens were suffocated with it, and Red Rigg Fell stood like a jagged tooth against the night sky, more vital and more present than she had ever seen it. She had the persuasive idea that this was its true form, a hill so pale that it could have been made of bones, and perhaps she was the only one who had ever seen it so. The rest of the time it’s hidden, she thought, shivering in the dark. But it can see me. It can always see me, because I know what it is.
Outside on the lawn, a flock of Heedful Ones rose from the icy slopes and gathered, their smudged, distorted faces lifted up towards her.