‘Great,’ Jason said, grimly.
Jason walked across, took the book and studied the entry himself, conscious that Emily was watching him closely. As he read, he was thinking back to his conversation on Sunday with horrible Albert Fears.
‘Thirty-nine, are you? Birthday anytime soon?’
‘Are you going to bring me a present?’
The smirk on the old man’s face. ‘Dunno if I’ll need to. No one in the big house ever lived beyond forty.’ He’d raised his tankard. ‘Good health, you and your pretty wife. Long life – eh?’
But Jason was also thinking back to something much more recent. To the recording he had made during this past night, of Emily talking in her sleep. He pulled out his phone and played it, turning the volume up.
A male voice began to recite names.
‘Oliver, Caro, Jade, Johnny, Rowena, Felix, Daisy, Harry, Brangwyn, Matilda, Evelyne.’
She looked at him, bewildered. ‘What’s this?’
‘Recognize any of the names?’
She listened as the playback continued. ‘Brangwyn, Matilda, Evelyne.’
‘Who’s talking, Jason? Whose voice is that?’
He paused the playback. ‘That was two thirty-three this morning. You were talking in your sleep, except it wasn’t your voice.’
‘That is not me,’ she retorted. ‘Absolutely no way is that my voice.’
‘It was you talking.’
‘What do you mean?’
He turned the screen to face her and played it again.
She stared, mesmerized, watching the replay of herself reciting these names. It was dark and fuzzy, but unmistakeably her speaking, she could see her lips moving.
But it was a stranger’s voice coming out.
A male.
Watching it creeped her out. She looked back down at the pages of the book. ‘Sir Brangwyn de Glossope, Matilda Warre-Spence, Evelyne Tyler? I never heard those names before in my life, until I read them just now. Jason, I didn’t know them last night. No way.’ She began shaking. ‘How?’ she blurted. ‘I – I – oh God, how? How did they get into my head? I must have been having a dream – a nightmare. How did I say those names? What was going on? Was someone speaking through me?’
He grabbed a pen and the kitchen notepad, then started the recording from the top, stopping and starting after each name, in turn, writing them down.
When it had finished, he said, ‘Recognize any of the other names?’
Looking shocked, she pointed at the book. ‘Some of them are here. Brangwyn; Matilda; Evelyne.’ She hesitated. ‘Caro – that’s short for Caroline. Caroline Harcourt?’
‘Could be.’
‘What about the others?’
He debated whether to say anything. Should he hold back what he had discovered in the graveyard the day before? It would only freak her out even more. And yet, to say nothing would be dishonest. They’d always promised to tell each other the truth. So that they could deal with problems together.
He shrugged. ‘The others are all names on graves in the churchyard, down in the village.’ He showed her the photographs he’d taken.
Very deeply shocked, she said, ‘I read them all out in my sleep?’
‘You did.’
She blanched. ‘I’m reciting the names of dead people I don’t know, in my sleep? Why? What’s that about? Why didn’t you tell Beavis and Butthead, while they were here?’
‘Because . . .’ He was trying to think straight. Why hadn’t he told them? He realized the answer. ‘Because I hadn’t read this book. OK?’
‘No, not OK. When I was reciting these names, I hadn’t read the book either. So how did I know them? Tell me, how? Who put them into my head?’
‘Honestly, Em, I don’t know. Look, it’s damned weird, really creepy and I have no explanation other than maybe somewhere, sometime, you had read the history of this place and forgotten all about it.’
‘That’s a bit lame.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t google it ever?’
‘No, but I damned well will now,’ she said.
‘I’ve found out a little about the names already – I know how the families died – but I’ll have a trawl of the net and see what more I can dig up.’ He walked around behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘You and I are positive people, right?’
Hesitantly, she said, ‘Yes – meaning?’
‘OK, we’ve had all kinds of weird shit since we moved in. Now we’ve had the place exorcised – delivered – or whatever they call it. We agree it feels lighter.’
‘It did until I read that damned book.’
‘Our ghost has gone. We both saw her go. Let’s take the positive out of all of this. It does feel better, right?’
Reluctantly, Emily nodded.
‘I’ll re-do the paintings. We’re going to enjoy Christmas in our gorgeous home. We’re going to forget about all the shit that’s happened; it’s in the past, we’ve dealt with it now, end of.’
‘End of,’ she echoed, flatly. ‘Let’s hope so.’
‘We’ve God on our side. He’s just a phone call away.’ He tapped the business card printed with the name Reverend Gordon Orlebar that the Minister of Deliverance had left on the table.
Emily smiled, reached up and entwined her fingers through his. ‘It’s all pretty ridiculous, isn’t it, considering neither of us are believers?’
‘It is.’ He nuzzled her ear and whispered, ‘Just in case it’s of interest, I’m suddenly feeling very horny.’
She looked up at him. ‘Well, Mr Danes, we may just have to do something about that.’
‘Sort of now?’ he suggested.
‘Now is very good.’
He followed his wife upstairs to the bedroom. They were barely through the door before she started tearing at his clothes. Like a woman possessed, he thought, tearing back at hers. Possessed in a very nice way.
After, as they lay curled up together and drifting into sleep, Jason heard his phone vibrate.
He rolled over and looked at the screen.
J D 1 9 2
E A D 1 9 2
And suddenly he was wide awake, his mind spinning. JD Jason Danes. EAD. Emily’s middle name was Anne. Emily Anne Danes?
The display cleared.
He sat up. Why Emily? Why was her name there? What was 192?
Who are you? What do you want?
He lay in the darkness, fear washing through him.
Why us? Why the hell us?