Hawthorn (7 page)

There is a huge box in the hallway. I know who it’s from instantly. Mary walks in clutching a box opener and shoots me a sour look.

I chuckle. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. At least he remembered.”

She snorts and slits the box open. I glance over her shoulder and swallow a laugh.

She sits back on her heels. “Well, if he’s going to overcompensate for screwing someone else, then who best to reap the benefits than the kids?”

“Either that or he’s trying to tell me that he’s more of a man than I am.”

“Which is blissfully true.” She tilts her head back for a kiss which I happily deliver.

We stare at the ride on electric cars which I know cost a couple of hundred each. I know because we wanted to buy them but couldn’t afford to.

Mary shuts the box and stands up. “Come on, help me hide these.”

We drag the box toward the huge cupboard under the stairs and somehow manage to shove it in amongst all the other stuff crammed in there.

“Have you spoke to him about visits?”

She nods.

“And?”

“He says he’ll have to speak to Kelly. They have winter holiday plans. Apparently, New York is the place to be.”

I snort. “Doesn’t matter, I’m sure the kids will have a fab time here. Can you imagine this place in winter, the snow and everything?”

She smiles. “I can, and I can’t wait.”

Gemma joins us in staring at the cupboard under the stairs. “What we looking at?”

Mary winds an arm around her daughter’s waist. “Just happy.”

Gemma pecks her on the cheek. “Happy enough to give me some pocket money?”

Mary laughs. “There’s twenty quid in my purse.” As Gemma rushes off, she shouts after her, “I want change!”

The village square is quieter today, as if the cooler weather has convinced people to stay indoors. I like it better this way, away from prying curious gazes. I can take my time and explore the shops. First, though, I find the bus stop and check the times. There is only one bus that comes this far and it runs three times a day only; once in the morning, once at midday and once late afternoon. The morning bus leaves at seven fifteen. Knowing my luck, I’ll only have one of the morning classes, which means I will either have to go in early each day and hang about, or ride my bike to the town three miles away.

I sigh. I can’t wait to start driving.

Timetable memorised, I head across the square to a small, interesting looking shop with colourful tapestries in the window display. The bell jingles as I enter and a young girl about my age looks up from the counter. The interior is filled with ornaments, and wind chimes hanging from the ceiling. It’s quirky and pretty, the kind of place you could spend ages exploring.

The girl is still watching me.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi.” She looks me over with assessing brown eyes. “You the Learmonth girl?”

I nod.

“Cool, what’s it like, the house?”

I shrug. “Okay.”

She winds a ribbon of brown hair around her finger. “You seen any ghosts?”

“Seriously?”

She shrugs. “They say it’s haunted, you know, the house, that old Henry and Karenhaunt the place on account of her killing herself and her baby.”

Whoa, now that is new information.

“Jen!” An older woman, probably Jen’s mum, emerges from the back of the shop. “I’m so sorry,” she says to me. “Jen was born without a tactful bone in her body.”

“It’s okay. I’d like to know more, if that’s alright?”

The woman’s lips turn down. “You don’t really want to be putting stock in local rumour and superstition.”

She speaks as if she isn’t part of the local bracket. So I ask, “Have you lived here long?”

“Five years, but if you’re not born here, or you don’t have family here, then you’ll never be local. Aside from that, it’s a good place to live, a little eccentric at times, but peaceful.”

“Well, come on then.” Jen jerks her head. “It’s almost lunch time.” She lifts the barrier leading to the back of the shop and I duck through.

We’re in a kind of small kitchen-type room. There’s a kettle, a small counter top, electric cooker, a tiny on-the-counter fridge and a table with four chairs.

I’ve been given a glass of lemonade and Jen is unwrapping a Victoria sponge.

“You like cake?” Jen asks. “You look like you like cake.”

“Jen!” her mum admonishes, but I just laugh. I’m used to this. I have a solid body. My hoody and trackies just make me look fat.

“This is all muscle.” I hold out my arm.

“Really?” She reaches out and squeezes it. “Wow, you work out?”

“I used to play hockey and football for my school.”

The tinkle of bells fills the room and her mum slips out to the front of the shop.

“So you’re a lesbian?”

I choke on my lemonade. “Seriously? Playing hockey and football does not make someone gay.”

She cocks her head. “So you’re not a lesbian?”

“No, but my mum is.”

“Maybe you could be a lesbian and you don’t know it?”

“Trust me, if I was a lesbian, then I would know.”

“But did your mum know? I mean, she had you. Did she have you with a bloke?”

“My mum’s bisexual.”

“Now that’s just greedy.”

I stare at her for a long beat and then her lips quirk and we both burst out laughing.

The cake has been eaten and the lemonade drunk and I find that I may have made a friend. Jen is funny and straightforward. I like her a lot.

“So tell me about the rumours.”

She leans forward and lowers her voice. “Well, they say that Karen Henry’s wife, murdered their newborn and then killed herself. They say she went crazy. She believed that the little people had taken her baby, and if she killed the one they had left her with they would bring back her real child. Obviously, once the baby was dead there was no coming back from it. Once she realised what a mistake she’d made, she was overcome with grief and guilt and she killed herself, threw herself into the sea off the cliffs by Learmonth House.”

“Little people?”

“You know, the fair folk, the good neighbours.”

I stare blankly at her.

She rolls her eyes. “Fairies,” she whispers. “But you don’t say that word around here. It’s considered bad luck, they say. If you say it then you summon them.”

“You believe all this stuff?”

“I don’t know. When I first moved here I thought it was kinda cool, you know? I mean, what young girl doesn’t want to believe in magic? But there really is nothing magical about it. The stuff they believe in is dark and dangerous and downright creepy. Have you seen the horseshoes above the houses, and the Rowan trees in the gardens?”

I nod.

“Yeah, well that’s all to ward them off. There are so many little superstitions. I did some research a year ago and found out that the woods by the coast are made up entirely of Hawthorn trees and bushes.” She looks at me meaningfully.

“So?”

“Hawthorn is their tree, their vessel.”

My mind jumps to the huge twisted tree with the mouth. I shudder.

She smiles. “Have I scared you?”

“Hardly. If the place was haunted or inhabited by…little people, I’m sure I would have seen or heard something by now.”

“You got any babies up at the house?”

I laugh.

“Well, in that case you should be safe.”

“You really believe in this?”

She shrugs. “There’s no smoke without fire, right?”

We lapse into silence. I can’t help but think of all the tiny little things that have happened at the house since we moved in, especially Heather’s imaginary friend and Danny’s fear. I think of the armoire and the giggles and the mirrors that paint the house and hide in wardrobes and under beds. It’s all too much of a coincidence, yet I am not ready to make such a crazy leap.

“You want to come up for dinner?” I ask.

She grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Jen’s mum says she can ride her bike up to the house, but she’ll pick her up after dinner.

The ride back up the hill passes so much faster in good company. We park the bikes on the gravel outside the house and Jen lets out a low whistle.

“Nice.”

On impulse I begin to walk toward the gate and the woods.

“Where we going?”

“I want to show you something,” I say.

“Ooo! Intriguing.”

We crunch through the woods as quickly as possible. I want her to see the tree before it gets dark.

For a moment I think I have taken a wrong turn, but then there it is, rising up like a shadowy claw.

“Now that is something.” Jen circles the tree. “Creepy, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you?” She indicates the hole.

I shake my head.

She grins. “Superstitious after all, huh?”

I open my mouth to tell her, no, that Sam stopped me, but for some reason the words won’t come. Instead, I say, “Come on, let’s get back. I think its shepherd’s pie night.”

Jen’s no nonsense forthright attitude is a big hit with mum. She even tones it down for the kids, which makes me like her even more.

We are on coffee and the kids have been excused before she brings up the ghosts.

I can tell from Mum’s and Jules’s faces that Karen’s fate is no news to them, but the rest, the little people stuff, is. Mum frowns a lot during the conversation. Jules listens with a rapt expression on her face. I can tell that Jen in enjoying the attention because her eyes are all sparkly, and she moves her hands real expressively.

“So, Gemma says there are no ghosts…”

Jules shrugs. “What can I say? It’s just an ordinary, creaky old house.”

“Can I look around?” Jen asks.

Mum and Jules exchange looks. “I don’t see why not,” mum says.

We finish our coffees and head upstairs. I don’t know why, but I take her straight to the musty room and the armoire.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s a wardrobe.”

“Yeah.”

She steps forward and pulls it open.

“Whoa!” She jumps back, hand on heart, and then laughs. “Very funny, Gemma.” She studies her reflection in the mirror, then reaches up to touch it. I step forward to look at her reflection. There is a smudge on its forehead. Looks like this mirror is dirty too, but there is no way I’m reaching in to wipe it clean.

“Looks darker in there, doesn’t it?” Jen says.

“It is the inside of a wardrobe.”

She snorts. “Okay, smarty pants. Let’s see the rest.” She turns away and I go to follow. I falter, movement catching my eye in the mirror. Jen’s reflection stares back at me. I turn to her, but she is already at the door. I slam the armoire door shut and follow her out the room.

“I think the house is haunted.” I blurt it out and it is such a relief to admit what I have been thinking all along.

“Really?” Liam asks.

“Weird stuff has been happening.” I can’t help but keep the fear out of my voice. Jen’s reflection in the mirror…it looked at me, right at me, and the smile on its face…it wasn’t Jen.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just worried.”

“There’s always a rational explanation.”

“Well, you can help me find one when you get here.”

“Can’t wait to see you…” I can hear the smile in his voice and my troubles melt away.

“Me too.”

We speak for a few more minutes then I end the call, eager for the night to be over and the sun to come up.

Pretty so pretty so lovely smells good so hungry so pretty so want it want it want it…

I bolt up in bed, a scream trapped in my throat. The room is pitch black and I’m confused because I don’t recall closing the curtains. The room feels different; deep shadows over even deeper ones, black on black and my eyes are struggling to find any light to discern any shapes. I sit there in bed, sweat cooling on my brow, my night vest stuck to me like a second skin as I wait for my heartbeat to slow, for the nightmare to completely disperse. My eyes begin to adjust a little more. I can make out the dresser sans mirror, my desk and wardrobe and the single chair by the bed. It’s okay, I’m okay. Then I see it, a black mass by the window. I stare at it, trying to figure out what it is.

It moves…

I get ready to belt out that scream, but either I’m too slow or it’s too quick because it is on me, covering me, pinching me with its sharp pointy fingers. My cries are muffled as I struggle against it. It’s like tar, fluid and black and sticky.

So good so good so very very good.

Oh god! I’m going to die! It’s going to suffocate me. I see its eyes, large and dark and bright all at the same time. It opens its mouth, showing me all its teeny tiny razor teeth.

No, not suffocate, eat. It’s going to eat me! My chest feels like it will explode and the scream finally bursts from my throat.

I bolt upright in bed, searching the moonlit room for the thing, and yelp at the sight of the figure by my bed.

“Danny? What’s wrong?” I reach for him and he climbs into my covers. He is shivering and I wrap my arms around him, my own terror forgotten.

“I’m scared, Gemma.”

“It’s okay, it was just a dream, just a dream.”

He looks up at me, his eyes shimmering pools in the moonlight. “I don’t think it was. I think it was real.”

I hold him until he falls asleep. I listen to his deep even breath. The terror is gone and the nightmare is fading. I roll onto my side, taking Danny with me and wince. My arm hurts. I raise it to the light and stare at the dark bruises that dapple it.