Angel Manor (Lucifer Falls Book 1) (30 page)

Just outside the small village to the east of Lucifer Falls, Freya found a spot where her mobile phone could pick up reception. She cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier instead of relying on payphones. A little recess in the underbrush allowed her to park her car safely to the side of the road, and she opened the driver’s door to let her legs dangle out of the side. Her fingers trembled as she dialled the number on the piece of paper. The phone rang a few times before a female voice, with the slightest hint of a French accent, answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss, or Mrs, Florifera?”

“Speaking, dear. I’m a Miss, but you can call me Marie-Claire. How can I help you?”

“My friend Bambi called you a few weeks ago?”

“About the house on Lucifer Falls?” The voice sounded eager now. “Yes, I remember.”

“I… would like you and your people to come and have a look at it. It’s haunted, and… and… we need an expert.”

“I see. What did you have in mind? An exorcism?”

“Um… if that’s what’s needed. I don’t know what needs to be done. But there are spirits here and they’re stuck. I just need help.”

“Yes, Bambi told me that when we spoke. She wasn’t sure about the ghosts, but you seem pretty convinced?”

Freya wanted to blurt out that Bam was dead, and that she was afraid the house might have something to do with it, but she worried that if she said this, the woman would change her mind and not come.

“Yes, I’m very sure Angel Manor is haunted. Not a doubt in my mind.” Freya wondered if she sounded convinced or perhaps a little insecure because of the way her voice shook. “Can you help?”

“Of course. I can be there by tomorrow morning if you’d like. Would that be okay with you?”

“Yes, Miss. I appreciate it. Bam… Bam didn’t tell me about payment. How much do you charge?”

The woman on the other end of the phone laughed, her voice pleasant and warm.

“Keep your money, but I would like to use the pictures I take and the story of Angel Manor for a book I’ll be writing. If that’s okay with you? I don’t have to use your real name. I can change that much.”

“I don’t mind. But please, just come and help.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow around noon, dear. I’m looking forward to it. We hoped you would call, you know.”

“Thank you.” Freya said, brushing away a single tear. “I’ll make sure we’ll have some tea ready.”

The woman on the other end of the line laughed again, her voice as clear as a glass bell, and Freya felt deeply stupid for her comment.

“Can… can I ask you something?” Freya squeezed the phone, the sharp edges digging into the palm of her hand.

“Of course.”

Freya cleared her throat. “Have you ever heard about ghosts being dangerous? Have ghosts ever killed anyone?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment.

“That’s a tricky question. But if you mean can spirits cause physical damage, then you don’t have to worry. I’ve not come across any evidence that spirits are able to harm people. However, they can manipulate their surroundings. And they can influence the mood, and sometimes even the minds of the living, so they aren’t completely harmless either.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled before she spoke. “But having them in the house… it’s not dangerous? I don’t have to evacuate everyone?”

“No, I think you should be fine. The spirits will most likely try to reach out to the living, though. So it will be good to help them pass on. But even malevolent spirits tend to just be mischievous at best, though I wouldn’t recommend anyone being exposed for a long period of time. The dead aren’t the same as they were when they were alive.”

Freya thought of Bam. “Thank you, that’s a bit of a relief.”

“No problem, dear. Listen, I have to run off now, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye!” The voice transformed into a dial tone and Freya’s thumb found the black button to put the phone into sleep mode. She leaned back, a deep breath escaping from her lungs through her lips, and let the tears flow.

***

Oliver woke up around noon. His head throbbed as if he had been on a three-day drinking binge, his forehead was hot and clammy, and he was pretty sure his temperature was raised. The more solid Anne was becoming, the more his body seemed to suffer from her touches. In the mornings, he felt so drained, and every muscle in his body ached, but her caresses, though cold and painful, were filled with lust and promise. She filled a void that Oliver had never even known he had. She was the perfection he sought. No living girl could compare to his spirit woman, and Oliver loved giving himself to her, and to the house.

The doorbell rang, the deep sound vibrating through the whole house, and Oliver slipped on his bathrobe and slippers. He walked to the door with slow, sluggish movements and opened it. A man stood in the driveway, inspecting the row of angels. When he spotted Oliver, he waved and took the stone stairs two steps at a time.

“Mr Formynder?”

“Jardin, my name is Jardin.
Miss
Formynder isn’t here right now.”

“My name is Harry McDougal, I’m here to install yer phone lines.” He was a middle-aged fellow with a thick beard which could have used a trim. Faded brown corduroy trousers clung to his thin legs, and his large belly was clad in a too-tight white t-shirt. A red plaid shirt hung open and loose, matching his red cap. In his right hand, he carried a square black case with a red sticker on the top.

“Come in, Mr McDougal. Would you like a cup of coffee?” Oliver waved his hand to welcome the man in.

“Aye, black please, two sugars,” the man replied with a toothy grin, and Oliver almost grimaced at the sight of the yellow teeth, but he managed to keep his face pleasant.

“Coming right up.”

“As far as I know, this house has had a phone line before, right? We got a signal, but it just seemed rather outdated.” McDougal put his thumbs through the loops of his trousers and hoisted them up as he spoke, then rocked back and forth on the soles of his feet like a cowboy.

“Yes, I believe so.”

“I’ll have to see about ye’re master socket. It would be helpful if ye could show me ye’re junction box, then I can have a look to see what we’re dealing with here.” The man nodded. “I should be done in a jiffy, I should think.”

“But first… a cup of coffee.” Oliver forced a sickly smile.

“Aye, first coffee. Are ye okay, lad? Ye’re looking a little peaky.”

“I’m fine, thank you. A bit of flu,” Oliver lied. He led the man to the kitchen and offered him a chair.

“I was very excited when I got this job. This house is a bit of a legend ye know?” McDougal accepted the coffee cup and put his thin lips to the rim, his moustache spilling over the top.

“Oh?” Oliver tried to sound interested, but he wasn’t feeling it. He didn’t care what people said.

“Oh, aye. Most people think this place is haunted.”

“Do you think it’s haunted?”

“Nae, I’m not the sort who believes in ghosties. But might tell me mates down at the pub that I saw a monster or two. For a bit of a laugh, ye know?”

“Delightful.” Oliver smiled weakly.

They sat in silence across from each other for several minutes, drinking their coffees, the other man becoming gradually more uncomfortable with the silence. He fiddled with his coffee cup, and his nostril twitched with some sort of a nervous tic. He glanced around the kitchen as if he was looking for something to talk about, and several times he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he pushed his empty coffee cup away and looked at his hands.

Oliver sipped slowly, amused by the man’s discomfort. Then, when his coffee was finished, he turned to the man and said: “If you’ll follow me.”

The chair made a loud scraping noise across the tiles when McDougal got to his feet, and Oliver winced, his head still throbbing. He waved impatiently at the man to come along and led him to the junction box just off the main hall.

“There you go. I hope you don’t mind if I leave you to it?”

“That’s nae problem at all, lad.” McDougal gave Oliver a thumbs-up, put his black case down on the floor and opened it with two determined clicks. Oliver stalked off, desperate to find an aspirin for his headache.

***

Hungry
. It wasn’t a word she heard exactly, nor was it the feeling she had in her stomach when she was alive… the house whispered it to her somehow. Bam knew she was hungry for life; she craved pain and blood. Every fibre of her wanted to kill, wanted to torment. The presence of the new living soul in the house was too overwhelming for her to ignore. The house wanted her to have this, wanted her to taste the feeling of blood on her lips, to feel the sensation of heat again, to consume life. Bam closed her eyes and concentrated on the man… he was near the entrance.

***

As Harry suspected, the router was terribly out of date. He grabbed his newer model and applied it with professional skill, rubbing his hands together in admiration when he was done. “Do you think the phones will work now?” A female voice with an American accent asked.

He turned to see a young woman standing behind him. She was short, and a little weird looking according to Harry’s taste. She had blonde hair with pink streaks in it, and Harry decided that if she were his daughter, he would make her wash that crap out. He did notice she had a very nice chest, and he felt like a dirty old man for admiring a girl so young.

“Phone should work fine. Let me test it first though.” He took out his receiver and plugged it into the junction box. To his great satisfaction, he heard a dial tone. “See, there ye go. Connected to the rest of the world now. I’m not sure if ye can get Internet up here though. Ye’ll have to talk to the company about that. I just do phones.”

“Is that all?”

“Aye, it’s that simple. Now it’s up to the main office to give ye a phone number and get ye connected, but that should take only a few minutes, and they do that from a distance. I’m done here.”

“Would you mind looking at the other junction box too?”

“What do ye mean?” Harry scratched under his red cap, his nails scraping across his balding scalp. “There’s only one junction box.”

“No, I’m sure there’s another one in the South Wing.” The girl put her hands in her pockets and brought her shoulders almost up to her ears.

“Are ye sure?”

“Yes, I live here. I think I would know these things. Didn’t Oliver tell you?”

“Nae. But… it’s highly unlikely that—”

“Can you at least just look at it?”

“Aye, lead the way.” Harry shook his head, convinced that the girl was wrong, but he had a few minutes to kill and his curiosity was piqued.

The South Wing, as the girl had called it, was in worse shape than the main hall, and Harry hoped it would be safe to walk here without a hard hat. There were large lumps of concrete on the cracked marble floors, which must have come from somewhere. He eyed the walls, but they looked solid enough, and the ceiling, although very high up, didn’t look too damaged. It was a nice house, though, and with a bit of love and care it would fix up great. But as it was, it suited the ghost stories that were told about it. All it lacked were large paintings with stern, old-fashioned characters looking down on him.

“Down here.” The girl opened a large metal door, and she waved for him to go down first. “You’ll find the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. It’s a rope. You can’t miss it.”

“All right.” He shrugged and walked down the stone stairs. Harry didn’t mind the dark, given how often he had dealt with it in his career, but there was something about this basement that gave him the creeps. For one, the temperature was too low.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded far away. “I belong to Angel Manor now, and I must obey. I never meant to hurt you.” Before McDougal reached the end of the stairs, the girl closed the door with a heavy bang.

Harry swore.

***

Bam leaned against the door. Phantom tears ran down her cheeks; she was torn between who she was as a living person and who the house wanted her to be. It would be so easy to just give in, to merge with the others and feed. Bam knew she would be more fulfilled, but if she did, she would lose all sense of freedom and all sense of self.

She had no qualms about killing, not now… not when she knew what death truly was. The fear that the living had for the afterlife was unnecessary and a little ridiculous. Death was in many ways like life… it simply was, and no amount of thought would change it. And like life, death forced you to choose a path. Bam was ready to choose, and she knew her aim would be freedom. If the house wanted living souls, it could have them. But she would not feast along.

***

“Open the door, lass. It’s very dark in here,” Harry called to the closed door. There was no reply, and he considered heading back up the stairs, but the work had to be done and it was only a few more steps to the light switch. He stepped onto the solid ground and grabbed into the air to find the rope. After several failed attempts, his fingers finally clutched around something and he pulled. The weak yellow light turned on, and Harry found himself staring at a group of naked women.

“Is this some kind of joke?” He almost laughed, the situation was so absurd. “My wife won’t appreciate this, ladies.” Harry stared at an attractive blonde woman with small perky breasts. In her hand, she held what looked like a rusty sickle. Nerves surged through his body, there was something about the colour of the women’s skin and the way their eyes looked that he found truly unnerving. He averted his eyes, hoping to make the situation less awkward.

“Look at me, Harry,” a sultry voice said, and Harry stared into the pale eyes of the blonde.

“How did you know my name?”

She brought the tip of the sickle to the corner of her mouth and licked her lips. With slow determination she pushed the metal through her cheek. Harry groaned.

“We know you, Harry.” Black blood ran past her chin, and she stepped forward. “You are one of us now.”

She sliced the blade across his chest, cutting through his shirt and the skin underneath as if she were slicing through butter. Harry cried out in pain.