The Year's Best Horror Stories 15 Part 24

First the dread-chill which ran up from her feet and threatened to paralyze her heart; then the wonderment-the suggestion of joy-and the realization she was viewing two ghosts (hateful word) in full daylight, while wide-awake and at close quarters. And it was no use trying to quell the racing heart and rub sweaty hands on the skirt of her dress, for the blend of emotions was sending some kind of current down through her nerve grid and she was laughing and crying, both at the same time, and the two children continued to watch her, the hint of a smile on their angel faces.

With one hand she wiped tears from her streaming eyes and stretched out the other toward the two apparitions, half-hoping, half-dreading to make some kind of contact, but they continued to stare at her, the smile more p.r.o.nounced, verging on derision. Then they started to drift away from her, back through the doorway, across the hall until the two shapes were nothing more than splodges of colored light on the far wall-the product of suns.h.i.+ne and gla.s.s.

Celia called out: "Come back ... come back," and as though in derisive reply, the sound of childish laughter came from above stairs.

She slept hardly at all that night, the habit of trying to look in every direction at once, which she had acquired during the daylight hours, became even more p.r.o.nounced once the sun had set. To lie in bed with the lights full on, jerking the head from side to side, straining the ears to catch every sound, became nerve-racking to say the least, particularly when fear became stronger than the desire to acquire ghost-dream-children. To Celia it seemed nothing short of ridiculous that she should dread and desire. It was a state of being that surpa.s.sed being distinctly funny and verged on insanity.

Not until the sun sent its first infant shafts of light through the window curtains, did she relax on her sweat-moist pillows and slip into an uneasy sleep. When she awoke much later in the morning, she was in time to see a small arm and shoulder disappear round the half open door and experienced the by now familiar feeling of pleasure blended with fear.

No further phenomenon manifested for the next few weeks, and such was Celia's anxiety, she often forgot to eat, wash or change her clothes. In consequence people-particularly those who did not like her-began making half-pitying, half-scornful remarks and generally conjecture why this lapse from pride-in-appearance had taken place. The vicar decided it was his duty to investigate.

"The place is in an awful mess," Celia objected.

The vicar, a tall handsome man with thick white hair, gave her a most charming smile and said: "But I've come to see you, dear lady, not your house. Please, I have walked a long way this morning and really would appreciate a cup of coffee."

This request-some might call it a command-for hospitality from a man of the cloth, could not be ignored, so Celia could do no less than stand to one side and allow the reverend gentleman to enter. He gave the living room a quick glance and had to agree the place was indeed in an awful mess, for apart from an acc.u.mulation of dust, screwed up b.a.l.l.s of writing paper lay on the floor, table, chairs and mantelpiece; one half sheet which seemed to have unrolled itself, caught his eye and he managed to decipher the words scrawled with a black ball point pen: "COME TO ME CHI"

But if the room was in an awful mess, the woman could be aptly described as a wreck of her former self. Gray hair-strangely he could not remember seeing a single gray hair on her head before today-hung in rat-tails round and over a white-lined face; heavy blue pouches drooped under watery eyes, which seemed to be in danger of running down sunken cheeks. A slight but persistent tic quivered at the right of her mouth, while there was a distinct tremor of the right hand.

This she raised and waved in the direction of a deep armchair. "Seat yourself, vicar, and I'll fetch you a cup of coffee."

The clergyman shook his head. "No, allow me to get you one. The kitchen is through there-" he in turn pointed to an open doorway-"as I remember. I used to visit this house in the days of Mrs. Fortescue."

"Really, I could not possibly allow you to ..."

"Nonsense. You are clearly unwell and I'm quite capable of waiting on myself and you. Now you seat yourself. I'll find everything."

Celia did as she was bid, but watched the vicar disappear into the kitchen with great concern, and once called out: "It's in an awful mess ... The coffee jar is on the shelf over the sink and there should be milk in the fridge ..."

He returned after a lapse of ten minutes, carrying two mugs of steaming coffee and wearing an expression of deep anxiety.

"I found the coffee, but the milk in your refrigerator seems to have gone off, but fortunately I managed to unearth a tin of condensed. In fact your supply of fresh food seems to be-well-rather in the same state as the milk. Due no doubt to the sultry weather. But I do think someone should do something about clearing out-the debris-and restocking. I do really. But first drink this coffee. I did find some biscuits, but they were distinctly soggy."

"I'm so sorry, but I've been very busy lately, I've rather let things go ..."

The vicar seated himself on the edge of the chair, and took a tentative sip from his mug of coffee. "Please, no apologies are necessary. My job is to help and understand. Miss Watson-Celia-you are without doubt sorely troubled. Trouble shared is trouble halved. Please allow me to halve your trouble, then possibly discard the remainder."

This rather puzzling offer was accompanied by such a charming smile, Celia for the first time in a long while dared to hope that a male might have the necessary ac.u.men to give sound advice and even understand what must be an unique situation. But still she hesitated.

"I'm not sure, Mr. ..."

"Rodney, Celia. Please."

"Yes, well, yes, Mr. ... Rodney. I mean I'm not sure if you'll fully understand my problem. You see ..."

"Yes, Celia?"

"The fact is this house is ... well ..."

"Rather lonely for one person?"

"No, far from it. No ... it is haunted by the ghosts of at least five children."

The Reverend Rodney emptied his coffee cup and placed it gently on a nearby low table, then took one of Celia's hands in his.

"Dear Celia, let us take one point at a time. Firstly we know that ghosts-as such-do not exist. When the body dies the soul goes straight to heaven, or-sadly-straight to the place of atonement. There can be no lingering."

Normally Celia would have accepted this dogma from a man of the cloth as literal truth, but now, having some first-hand evidence of ghosts, she was inclined to question the reverend gentleman's logic.

"But Mr ... Rodney, cannot some souls, such as children's souls, be not quite ready for such an extreme-grand place as Heaven-the other place being out of the question-and prefer to-well-stay where they were in life. Right here. It makes sense to me."

"What makes sense to us, Celia, need not make sense to the Almighty. This is the plane of sin and flesh. I need hardly point out how the two go together. Above is the world of light. Below the world of darkness. There are no age groups in eternity."

Celia took a deep breath and released a flow of words that revealed the truth as she saw it.

"But I have seen and heard the ghosts-disembodied souls of children. Here in this house-this room. First as dream figures-then as clearly as I see and hear you. And they need love. And I have so much to give, having sort of saved it up over the years. Please don't lie and tell me they don't exist."

The Reverend Rodney a.s.sumed a very grave expression and clearly thought deeply before answering. Then he cleared his throat and after regaining possession of Celia's right hand (which she displayed signs of wanting to withdraw), said in his deep attractive voice: "Dear Celia, I am not going to dismiss what you have told me as the result of a fevered, even neurotic, imagination, brought about by loneliness and frustration-for I have heard stories about this house, which up to this time I never credited as being other than complete moons.h.i.+ne. But now ..."

He paused for a while, then went on. "So far as I can gather this house-a long while ago-was inhabited by a couple called Ferguson-Jacob and Sarah Ferguson. And they did have five children-four boys and a girl. That must be admitted. There were five children. All ranging from five to thirteen years. The parents practiced what they and some of their contemporaries called the old religion. In other words the black arts, devil wors.h.i.+p-witchcraft. The children were corrupted from birth and in time-for young minds are malleable-became even more evil than their parents. No one knows how the end came about, but it is a.s.sumed that the children killed their mother, then the father ma.s.sacred them, before committing suicide himself. But there is one school of opinion that maintains it was the other way around. The children killed both parents, then themselves by some secret ritual, which ensured their souls would be withheld from torment and confined to the walls of this house. This I must disbelieve, but in view of your experience I am inclined to believe some personality residue, or manifestation of past evil, still lingers here. There can be no doubt you must leave this house at once. Leave it and never come back. It seems possible you have the kind of mind that can pick up impressions, time debris ... I don't know. But you must leave this house."

Celia gazed upon the vicar with mounting anger, all her mistrust of the opposite s.e.x revived. When he had finished speaking and given her hand a final squeeze, she remained silent for some little while, before saying in a carefully controlled voice: "First of all, vicar, I do not believe a single word of that horrid story. If there is a basis of truth in it, then the wicked parents left the poor little things to die of ill-treatment, and now their innocent souls are demanding-demanding, do you hear?-the love and protection that was never theirs in life. I intend to remain here and provide that love and protection."

"Celia ..."

"My name is Miss Watson."

"Celia, you are dreadfully mistaken. This house is bad for you. Believe me. I am convinced that is the truth. A hundred other people might be able to live here undisturbed. But not you. Come to the vicarage until ..."

"I would be obliged if you would leave now."

"You must allow me to convince you ..."

"I do not wish to be rude. Please leave now. And do not come back."

He conjured up a very wry smile. "I do hope I'm wrong and sincerely apologize if I have needlessly upset you. I should not have told you that ridiculous story, but if you can see and hear ..."

"Shut the door behind you as you go out."

"I hate ... simply hate ..."

"Pull the door sharply to or the Yale lock will not engage. I believe the wood is warped."

The slam of the front door was a prelude to an unnatural silence and the ensuing loneliness (a state she had never known before) possibly the reason for the sudden fit of crying. Her shoulders shook, tears poured down her cheeks, and it seemed as if the grief of a lifetime had suddenly found an outlet and was now smas.h.i.+ng down all the carefully erected barricades of indifference.

But the fit pa.s.sed, she wiped her eyes, gulped back one last sob and went into the sitting-room.

All five ghost children were waiting for her. The tallest one-blond hair, bright eyes, dressed in a green suit-standing by the window: the next-not so tall, auburn hair, dark eyes, in a long brown coat-to the left of the doorway. The little boy and girl she had seen before-to the left of the doorway: and another boy, of medium height, dressed in black, a long robe affair, his black eyes glittering in a rather alarming fas.h.i.+on if one looked at them too long. His black hair hung down to his shoulders.

Not one moved. Not so much as a blink or the merest movement of a finger. Motionless effigies. Three dimension shadows of what had been. Images recreated from personality debris by her brain and projected by her eyes. Maybe the vicar had instinctively pinpointed the truth of the matter, but she could not believe these five shades had anything evil in their make-up. That must be impossible.

Now to give them life and make them her own.

She called softly. "Come, children. There's nothing to fear in this house now. I will be a mother to you all. Take from me the essence you need to live again. To be always with me, awake or asleep. So I can hear your voices, your footsteps-if possible feel your hands touching me."

The little boy and girl (they might have been twins) were the first to move. The glided to her and came to rest some two feet away, heads tilted, eyes looking up into hers. But she could not detect a glimmer of intelligence. Merely the glitter that might be reflected in the eyes of some animal. Then the tallest came to her and stood behind the twins (if such they were) and looked into her eyes (or so it seemed). Then came the lad in brown who took up a position to her right; finally the one in black-all save the dead white face.

Her fearful-hopeful dream had been fulfilled. She was half surrounded by the five ghost children.

Now what to do with them?

She turned and after saying: "Follow me, children," led the way into the kitchen. At least such was her intention, but when she looked back they had not moved. All stood in the same positions, staring at the spot she had just vacated, motionless again, and she giggled.

"Silly me. They will not be hungry. Food and kitchens mean nothing to them. It is love they need."

She went back to them and bending down whispered the wonderful message. "Children, I want you to know you are mine-I am yours from now on. Do you understand? We now belong to each other. Your loneliness is over. So is mine."

The boy in black moved slightly. His eyes gleamed like sparks floating in the dark.

"Can no one-not a single one of you, give me some sign that you understand?" Celia pleaded. "Don't let that awful clergyman be right. Please."

They all vanished. Were switched off. Were no more.

Celia spent the rest of the day looking for them.

The bed had come with the house and was very wide. Celia had always slept in a three foot bed, never having had occasion to require anything larger. This might have been the reason she slept on the left side of this giant and never parted upper from lower sheet on the right. Despite-or maybe because of-the experience of that day, she slept soundly all night; sank into a deep coma of unawareness that drugged every sense, save for the one which has never been explained.

Then she awoke and lay quite still, knowing the unexpected had happened, but unwilling at that moment to open her eyes and discover what shape it had taken.

The senses returned to seventy-five percent normality, the brain expelled the fog of sleep, but still Celia kept her eyes tight closed, conjecture creating mental pictures that were without understanding.

Then hearing recorded a sound. Low childish laughter. Not far off, but near-in this room-by-or on-her bed.

The demand to know would not be denied. Celia opened her eyes.

The window curtains were drawn apart and the room was flooded with silver moonlight and revealed their slender forms in every detail. All five children were seated on her bed. The two small ones, the twins, on the spare pillows, the tall boy and he in brown way down at the foot and he in black lying on his stomach, his head turned in her direction, the black eyes now glittering with an alien intelligence.

Joy came shuffling on reluctant feet, for had they not come to her, sought her out of their own accord, and surely it was not their fault they had so white faces, or that the lad in black should have rather frightening eyes.

They had that death-beauty that rightfully belongs to some vivid nightmare that has long been forgotten by the active mind, but still can be recalled by the subconscious at that moment which separated sleep from awakening. Celia thought briefly of sleeping castles where mist formed strange shapes in ruined corridors.

She tried to sit up, but for some reason her body refused to obey the dictates of her brain, although she was permitted to turn her head from side to side, but that was hardly an a.s.set, for some of the joy seeped away every time she met the glittering-eyed gaze of the lad in black.

Then a giggle came from one or maybe all of them; a deep-throated inane giggle that had the suggestion of a squeal, and undiluted fear slid into her mind and she became as one who has encouraged the presence of half-grown tigers. Instinct warned body and mind and she succeeded in sitting up, but as freedom of movement returned to her, so, it would seem, it did to them. They all drifted off the bed and blanket and sheets went with them. Then the squealing inane giggle blending with the tearing of her nightdress, and they moved, danced, round the bed, while she called out in fear-joy ecstasy: "No, children, you must not be so naughty. Please ... please you'll hurt mummy ..."

The giggling became louder, the five moved faster until they became a whirling ma.s.s of colored mist; a scratch appeared on Celia's right shoulder and seeped a thin trail of blood down her back. Her hair stood on end and she screamed when it was tugged abruptly. Invisible fingers poked at her naked flesh, pinched and punched, while a roaring darkness threatened to engulf her. Then all movement ceased and she was left trembling on the bed, as the dreadful five congregated in the doorway. All had dead white faces now and every one giggled, ejected the inane squealing sound from between lax lips.

Celia raised herself up on to her elbows and managed to speak reproachfully with a sob-racked voice.

"You naughty-naughty children. You've hurt and frightened Mummy who only wanted to love you."

The giggling took on a higher-pitched tone and the five turned and fled over the landing and running footsteps could be heard descending the stairs.

Then for a while silence-and loneliness.

For two days Celia dismissed the minor destruction as nothing more than infantile mischief with no sinister intent. All gla.s.s jars and bottles were smashed, the refrigerator door refused to stay shut, then ceased to function. "They don't understand," she told the empty house. "If they had been reared in a loving atmosphere, they wouldn't be like this. Never mind, patience and endurance will work the miracle. It must."

But on the morning of the third day, when she distinctly saw the lad in black dart from under her right elbow and deliberately upset the frying pan in which she was cooking some sausages, thus causing a roaring flame to soar up toward the ceiling and all but set her hair alight, then she very reluctantly accepted that the children were not just mischievous, but had at least some evil propensities.

But it made not the slightest difference.

Beauty can hide any number of imperfections and love can explain away any number of crimes. In an odd sort of way it was rather exciting having to keep one's wits alert as to what trap they had set overnight. The footstool placed at the very top of the stairs, the bare patch on electric wiring, the turned on gas taps that just needed a lighted match to send her hurtling into eternity. Probably join them in that dimension they inhabited. So far as was possible she experienced surprise at their ingenuity which resulted in the topmost cellar step being transformed into a death hazard by means of spirit of salts (transported from the loo) poured on the wooden supports. Had not her nose transmitted a warning, the undermined tread would have collapsed under her right foot.

"Artful monkeys," she murmured, after successfully smothering the blast of terror that threatened to destroy beyond repair the bastion of sanity. "I wonder what they'll think of next?"

If they were capable of thought, there was little for them to think of, for from then on Celia rarely left a chair she had dragged into the hall, this being the place "her family" were most likely to materialize. She smiled indulgently when the twins removed her shoes and flung them across the room and laughed softly when the Reverend Rodney climbed in through the sitting-room window, then somehow finished up on the topmost cellar step. After the initial scream, he never bothered her again.

"I should have had children," she announced again and again. "I should have considered the possibility of having children, long ago. They are such a comfort."

In fact they gave her more than comfort. More likely satisfaction, fulfillment, a most gratifying understanding that she had not lived her solitary life in vain. For the children grew fatter, particularly the lad in black who became positively bloated. They never acquired the slightest hint of color, for all their faces retained that rather disconcerting dead-white complexion, but Celia was certain it was a healthy pallor.

For herself-well-occasionally, she became aware of her own alarming thinness, the fact that her hands were well nigh transparent and she lacked the strength to do more than stir in her chair. But presently she took little interest in such mundane matters, for the antics of her family demanded all of her time. How they ran up and down stairs, in and out of those rooms she could see from her position in the hall, chasing each other, stopping now and again to plant a burning kiss on bare flesh, a reward out of all proportion to any slight discomfort she might suffer.

And they squealed with joyful excitement. Yes, really squealed with unrestrained joy. And Celia expressed her joy with some such sound, for had she not at last managed to create a happy family?

They came in through the sitting-room window, the one the Reverend Rodney had inadvertently left open. Tall burly men in blue uniforms, followed by a more slender one in a neat gray suit.

He was the only one to be actually sick. One of the others exclaimed: "Oh, my G.o.d!" but generally speaking they were all fairly immune against being upset by the extremely unpleasant. Two made their way to the cellar steps, only to return a few minutes later, when the one with three white chevrons on his right arm, stated briefly: "The missing parson isn't missing any more. At the bottom of the steps, what's left of him. Oh, my Gawd! Look at them!"

Shouts that expressed horror, disgust and downright loathing, followed five bloated rats as they raced up the stairs.

end.