Eleven New Ghost Stories (3 page)

“I knew it,” he said with
relish.

“Knew what?”

“It doesn’t like you.”

“What?”

He walked me into the living
room. “I think it reacts when you’re here.”

“What on earth are you talking
about?”

“I’m here all the time. It never
bothers me. I hear it hanging around, making its noise, but it’s
always in the background. You show up and suddenly it gets all
agitated. Starts doing its tapping loud – did you hear how sharp
and clear that was?”

“Oh come on Craig – you’re
letting your mind run away with you.”

“And it does it when I’m on the
phone to you. It’s like, when I’m on the sofa, just watching TV and
it makes its noise, does the tapping, it’s like it’s just reminding
me it’s there. You know, like it doesn’t want me to forget about
it. But I start talking to you and suddenly it’s banging its
fingers down in a mood.”

“Just stop it Craig. Seriously,
just stop it! You’re starting to freak me out.”

“But get this: haven’t you
noticed how cold it is?”

“What?”

“When you came in the flat; it’s
suddenly gone cold”.

“It was cold when I came
in.”

“It’s June – it’s 24 degrees
outside. Why would it be cold in here?”

“It’s not that cold in here,” I
lied – it was chilly. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this. Can’t
we go out somewhere, get a coffee or something?”

“Not yet, I brought you here to
help me with something.”

“With what?” I hissed.

“I want to take a look
downstairs.”

“And how are you going to do
that?”

“The backdoor isn’t locked
properly. The bolt is unlocked; I think I can wriggle the other
lock with a credit card or a scraper.”

“You want to break in!”

“I climbed out the bedroom
window last night and got down there – look.”

He took me into his bedroom.
Directly under the window was the roof of part of the flat
below.

He opened the window: “I just
climbed out and dropped down; it’s easy.”

“You just walked out onto the
roof? Are you crazy?”

“It’s perfectly safe. I remember
the estate agent telling me that the old owners wanted to build a
balcony up here, but they weren’t given planning permission.”

“That doesn’t mean the roof is
already strong enough!”

“It supported my weight
yesterday.”

“You’re so irresponsible.”

“I need you to keep a lookout
for me while I try to get the door open.”

“Absolutely not, I’m not having
anything to do with this.”

“Come on, where’s your spirit of
adventure?”

“This isn’t a game Craig. You’re
breaking into someone’s house.”

“It’s empty.”

“It’s still a crime. What if
someone catches you?”

“We’ll just say we thought we
smelt gas. Better yet, we could tell them that we’d left a tap on
and were concerned there might be water damage downstairs.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying
to do this.”

“I’d rather you help me, but I’m
doing this without you if I have to. I’d rather you were there,
that way I can know if the neighbours are coming.”

“What do you even expect to
find?”

“I don’t know. When you
investigate you have to rule out the dead-ends first.”

“You’ve read too many detective
books.”

“Are you coming?”

I thought it was stupid and
crazy, but part of me did want to give it a go because I was
curious about what was going on. And it was sort of daring breaking
into someone’s home – stupid though it was. Besides, I was afraid
he would get into more trouble, or that something bad would happen
to him. It was cold in his flat; something was not right here.

I let him walk out on the roof
first – I wasn’t going to let both our weights risk making it
break. He got to the end and carefully lowered himself down to
ground level.

“There’s a bench here you can
drop yourself on to; it’s really easy.”

With reluctance I climbed out
onto the roof, which thankfully did not groan or creak. I walked to
the edge as he suggested and lowered myself down onto a rusty
cast-iron bench. The garden was overgrown with thick grass and
weeds – no one had been here in quite some time.

It was left, around the side of
the house, to the back door. Craig was already there, trying to
force the door with a credit card. I didn’t like that the old
wooden fence panels behind him were coming loose and that there
were gaps between them where we could easily be seen.

“This is going to break my
card,” Craig said.

I looked through the gaps into
the garden next door. It was paved over, a depressing grey and
tired looking place, with a rusty bike and broken garden furniture
– but at least there was no one there.

“Hurry up,” I said.

He was trying the paint scraper
now, forcing it into the gap between the door and frame. He wiggled
it a little, then made a fist with his other hand and struck the
top of the scraper’s handle. The door opened with a loud creak.
“Get in quick,” I gasped.

I virtually pushed him inside,
slamming the door closed behind us.

What we found was a
disappointment. The kitchen and living room had an open corridor
between them, with the bathroom sitting between. Then down the
hallway were two bedrooms – Craig’s place had a much better
layout.

But there was nothing remarkable
about the place at all. It was empty, nothing on the walls or
floor, no left-behind furniture or waste. Just a clean, empty
home.

“Well, was this what you were
expecting?” I said sharply.

“There’s nothing…”

“In an unoccupied house? No
kidding.”

“No, but there’s literally
nothing. This place is spotless. There’s not a mark or… a scrape or
scuff. It all looks brand new. Look at the floor… And walls, no
marks, no wear, no dirt…”

I took a step into the kitchen –
it all looked pretty sparkling now that he mentioned it. I ran my
finger across one of the countertops. There wasn’t even any
dust.

“It’s brand new, completely
re-decorated”. It was quite warm too; not chilly like upstairs.

He waved his finger in the air.
“Something happened here.”

“Yeah, they did the place up to
sell it.”

“But it’s not on the
market.”

“How do you know? Just cos
there’s no sign outside.”

“I checked online, it’s not
listed anywhere.”

“That doesn’t mean
anything.”

“I think something happened.
Something bad; something bad enough for whoever owns the place to
want to do it over completely. To wipe the slate clean. But even
now, they’re too afraid to put it on the market. Because of what
happened.”

“You’re just making it up. You
don’t know any of that. Stop writing a story out of this. You don’t
know any of this–”

“Hey, hey, ghosts and stuff –
that’s my specialist field. Trust me; I know what I’m talking
about.”

“It’s all rubbish. You’re
talking rubbish. All this crap about it going cold and it getting
aggravated – you don’t know any of that. You’re just guessing and
making it up as you go along. You don’t know anything Craig, you
don’t know a damn thing!”

He was about to answer back
angrily – his mouth opened wide – but then we heard a loud
creak.

We both looked up to the ceiling
– there were footsteps. Short, gentle, creaking footsteps above, in
Craig’s flat.

We both looked at each other –
then we dashed to the doorway. Craig threw it open and slammed it
shut behind me. He was up on the roof at an incredible speed, more
athletic than I’d ever seen him. It took me longer to pull myself
up from the bench and scramble through the window.

He was stood in the hallway
looking around. “Nothing,” he said. “There’s no one here.”

I didn’t know what to say, I
just stood there, in his bedroom doorway, out of breath.

We listened quietly for a
moment, looking up and down the hall and across the landing.

“There has to be some logic
behind it,” he said pointing at me. “Whatever’s going on, there has
to be some logic behind it.”

Tap-t-t-t-tap tap.

It was quite loud. I couldn’t
tell where it had come from.

Tap-t-t-t-tap tap.

“Who’s there?” I said carefully.
Craig looked at me with surprise.

Tap-t-t-t-tap tap
–
louder.

Tap-t-t-t-tap tap
–
louder still.

I walked towards him. “Where’s
it coming from?” I hissed.

“I don’t know,” he said
quietly.

Tap-t-t-t-tap tap
–
becoming a thundering drumbeat.

I was trembling: “Let’s get out
of here”.

Tap-t-t-t-tap tap.

Tap-t-t-t-tap-TAP
– the
bathroom mirror leapt from the wall. It bounced off the edge of the
sink and crashed onto the bathroom tiles, smashing into pieces.

The noise stopped. Glass was all
over the floor – it hadn’t just broken, it had exploded into
pieces. Even the frame looked like it was torn apart.

Craig stepped over it, and
picked up two of the frame’s pieces – they were joined by the
picture wire used to hang it. It hadn’t snapped, and the hook was
still in the wall.

It had literally flown off its
own hook.

“We need to get out of
here.”

“It’s all right,” he whispered.
“I think it’s ok now.”

“I don’t care what you think!” I
cried. “I want to get out of here now!”

He paused for breath. “Yes, all
right” he said. He went for his keys and we made a hasty exit.

We went to a café a few streets
away, wanting to put a fair bit of distance between ourselves and
the flat. It was a Greek place that was pretending to be Italian;
we just ordered coffee, neither of us felt like eating.

“That settles it then,” he
said.

“Settles what?”

“It’s a poltergeist, not a
ghost. Ghosts are benign, this thing reacts. It can be angry and
destructive.”

He took a sip of coffee. “You’re
not on your period are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, they can react to changes
in the body, especially sexual ones.”

“I’m 31, Craig, I’m not going
through fucking puberty.”

With a line like that, it wasn’t
surprising that people started to look at us. We should’ve gone
somewhere quieter.

“What are you going to do?” I
asked him.

“I don’t know.” He was scared
now. This thing was no longer fun or extraordinary; it was a
problem. A problem he really couldn’t explain, not with all his
books and horror movie trivia.

“I think it’s best you don’t
come over any more,” he said with a slight tremble in his
voice.

“I think so too. But I’ll have
to go back over with you now because I’ve left my bloody handbag
there.”

We sat drinking for a moment or
two in silence.

“Exorcism’s probably the best
thing.”

“Moving is probably the best
thing.”

“I can’t just move. You can’t
just pull out of a mortgage.”

“You could say that the owner
concealed information about the place from you.”

“And what? Sue them for not
saying there’s a ghost living there? We’ve got to get rid of it
somehow.”

He finished his coffee. “At
least we’ve both seen it. No one can just tell me I’m crazy.”

I walked with him back to the
flat. He said he’d bring my handbag out to me, but, and I don’t
know why, I suddenly felt defiant – I would come in and get my
handbag. Whatever this thing was, I wanted to show it I was not
afraid. Though my fearlessness didn’t take me beyond the landing at
the top of stairs.

“Where’d you leave it?” he
asked.

“On the sofa I think.”

He walked into the living room.
I stood nervously waiting.

“Are you sure? I can’t see
it.”

“Definitely,” I was about to go
in there and get it myself, but I heard the floor creak behind
me.

I turned and saw it – an old
man, grey-skinned and bony, walking into the library. He was
stick-thin, bald, with liver spots and totally naked. But not just
naked, clammy, almost sticky looking – he had almost no colour at
all. Just faded, slimy and grey.

“Craig!” I screamed. Terrified
and repulsed, I still ran towards the library after it. But as you
might guess, when I got there, there was nothing. Craig thundered
across the floor after me, arriving in the library as I went around
the bookcases trying to see it.

“What was it?”

“It’s here, I saw it. It’s an
old man. A disgusting old man!”

I didn’t stay long after that. I
made him promise that he’d call someone, anyone who could help,
first thing in the morning, Monday. But I should’ve known that that
was far too sensible a thing for him to do. When I called that
evening, he excitedly told me that he’d visited his local
electronic store and bought himself a whole bunch of recording
equipment.

“Are you crazy?” I yelled.

“Look, I need proof. No one is
going to believe me if I go and tell them I’ve heard bumps in the
night and that my mirror has jumped off the wall. But if I record
something, then I can be taken seriously and, I dunno, maybe get
some proper researchers around.”

I almost slammed down the
phone.

But then I wondered if I’d been
watching too many movies too. It hadn’t really done much before,
why should it suddenly mind or care if cameras were put up in the
house? Life isn’t like Paranormal Activity – he could just leave
the house if things got bad, couldn’t he?

It was all just guesswork;
nobody really knew anything.

There seemed to be only one
thing that was certain – it didn’t like me. All the worst things
had happened when I was there. Perhaps if I just stayed away,
nothing would happen. I shuddered at the thought of it. To be
desired by a disgusting old man from beyond the grave. It made me
want to have a shower.