With the torch beam from his phone, Jason made his way downstairs, closely followed by Emily, through the kitchen and into the utility room. He found the fuse box, opened the lid and immediately saw the red master switch that had tripped. He flipped it back up and the lights came back on. He closed the lid.
‘It didn’t just trip by itself,’ Emily said.
‘These things are very sensitive. A bulb blowing can trip them.’
‘Or a ghost?’
Just as he smiled, it tripped again with a loud report.
As loud as a pistol shot.
The lights went out.
Right behind them they heard a hideous cackle of laughter.
Jason froze. Then he turned, shining the beam of his torch into the darkness. It lit up the washing machine, the tumble dryer and a stack of laundry awaiting ironing; then the stark terror on Emily’s face.
The laughter cackled again.
He turned the torch back on the fuse box, and again reset the tripped switch.
This time the lights stayed on. For a few seconds.
They clicked off.
Darkness.
Another cackle.
‘We can’t stay here,’ Emily said. ‘We have to get out, now.’
The same malevolent voice rang out. ‘No one ever leaves.’
Emily clutched Jason as a strong gust of wind blew through the room. The door slammed shut behind them.
A scream rang out.
A baby cried.
Another gust of wind, even stronger.
Jason pointed his torch beam at the fuse box and pushed the switch back up.
It clicked straight back down.
A child screamed, followed by another child. Screams of terror.
Then a roaring, crashing, rumbling that sounded like falling masonry.
‘Jason!’ Emily shouted in terror, clutching him.
‘It’s OK, Em.’
‘IT. IS. NOT. FUCKING. OK.’ Emily gripped him even tighter.
They stood still for some moments.
Then everything went quiet. There was a click, and the lights came back on.
Jason looked at the fuse box. The switch that had tripped and had been down was now back up.
Their eyes met. Frightened eyes, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Both trying to find something in each other’s expression. Some explanation. Some comfort.
Jason had a thought. ‘Come with me.’
He raced through to the kitchen and over to the command box. It was plugged back in. On the wall, the television was on. A loud cackle came from it. The camera cut to a petrified young couple, as an old woman, in a blue dress and yellow shoes, with a hideously wrinkled face, glided, like an apparition, towards them.
A child screamed, followed by another child.
From the TV, there was the sound of falling masonry.
The couple onscreen turned and fled.
The old woman following them cackled, ‘No one ever leaves!’
On the screen, the couple reached the front door. It would not open.
The sound of falling masonry grew louder. Louder. The petrified couple looked up and around them.
An instant later they were buried in an avalanche of rubble.
Emily looked at Jason. ‘That was the woman.’
‘The one you saw?’
Looking numb, she nodded. ‘Did she switch the command box back on? Put the plug in?’
Jason had no answer. ‘Maybe one of us did – without realizing it?’
‘Oh sure, I do things without realizing it all the time, don’t you? Come on, get real. Neither of us plugged it back in.’
‘So, the lady on the screen did?’
‘She was standing behind me. Maybe she did.’
Jason looked at his wife. She claimed she hadn’t seen the Reverend Fortinbrass. She had no memory of the police officers turning up. Nor of so much else. Was there something seriously wrong with her? Could it be a brain tumour? Making her act oddly, imagining things – and forgetting so much?
Or was it him? Was he going mad? Was he the one who was imagining things? The accident on the building site? The meeting with the Bishop?
No question, they had both seen the ghost of Caroline Harcourt. But what about everything else Emily said she had no recollection of?
Had she been messing about with the fuse box switch in the darkness? Had she plugged the command box back in?
Instantly, he dismissed that as clutching at straws. And yet, could he dismiss the idea, totally, that Emily was, somehow, very disturbed? Disturbed enough not to have noticed she was filling the freezers with cockroaches?
He really did not want to go there, but what other explanation could he come up with?
Other than the one he did not want to face.
‘Jason,’ she said quietly, calmly. ‘We can’t stay tonight.’
‘Em, look, there’s something wonky with the electrics – a power surge or something – I don’t understand electricity that well. I’ve got to get on with my painting, and you’ve tomorrow to prepare for.’
‘You really think you’re going to concentrate on painting tonight? And that I’m quietly going to beaver away in the kitchen with a harridan standing behind me? There’s nothing wonky with the electrics. It’s not the electrics. The electrics are fine. It’s this house, that’s what’s wonky. We have to get out. You know we do, you’re just in denial.’
‘Fine, and go where?’
‘Anywhere but here. My parents?’
‘I’m not going to your parents.’
‘Why on earth not?’
Because I’d rather deal with a lady in a blue dress with a shrivelled face than have to endure your father’s scorn, he wanted to say.
‘We can come back in the morning, first thing, and get on,’ she said, pleading. ‘I’m scared. I’m really scared. We’ve made a terrible mistake moving here, you know it, too.’
‘Babes, listen. I’m with the Bishop on this one. All the stress we are going through is bringing up echoes from the past – that seems to make sense to me.’ He didn’t dare tell her that, according to the Bishop’s secretary, their meeting never happened.
She stared at him. ‘You are determined to find rational explanations at any cost, aren’t you?’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You are, accept it. We’ve moved into a seriously haunted and dangerous house. One that does not want us here. You’re in denial.’
‘I’m not in denial. I’ve always had an open mind. We know there’s a dark history to this whole site. I accept that ghosts exist – we’ve both bloody seen at least one. But what I don’t accept is that they can do any harm.’
‘You didn’t see that old woman standing behind me.’
‘You didn’t see the vicar.’
She looked at him and shook her head. ‘Are we going to play some game of tit-for-tat? Come on, we’re grown-ups, this isn’t about who saw what.’
‘I’m not playing games, that’s the last thing I want to do, OK?’
‘Fine. The last thing I want to do is spend tonight here. You can if you want. I’m going, I’m out of here. I’m going to my parents.’
Jason looked at his wife. Saw her resolute expression.
And realized he, too, was more than uncomfortable about the idea of staying here alone.