Sker House (20 page)

Still... The tree looked climbable. Dozens of brittle-looking branches jutted out of the trunk, some ends splintered to expose flesh turned grey by the elements. Yet the upper reaches of the tree were in full spring mode. Lush green branches, resplendent with bright leaves, canopied over her head. That proved the tree was still healthy and strong, at least. If she was extra careful, surely she would be able to scale high enough to peek over the top of the wall. Without any more pause for thought, she started climbing.

Three or four feet off the ground now, and still going. An unforeseen problem was that as she ascended, the tree the branches became thinner and more flexible. There weren't many hand and foot holes she trusted.

Come on girl, you can do it! Don't quit now!

She manoeuvred herself adjacent to the wall. Just a little higher...

The moment she reached the summit, a lot of things happened at once. Afterwards, she would spend a long time dissecting events and their relevance. The thing she remembered most profoundly was the sun as it broke through the dark clouds, bathing her with angled rays of warmth and light. The moment was so dazzling it seemed to come from a divine source. Lucy stopped for a split second to savour the experience, lifting her face to the heavens to feel the full effect. But even as she basked in the spontaneous sun shower, she looked down over the wall, and into...

The garden. The
secret
garden.

Though her eyes had precious little time to drink in the sight, and when she recalled it later she could never be sure how much of what she saw in her mind's eye was real and how much blank space had been filled in by her imagination, what she did see would stay with her forever.

The centrepiece was an ornate little pond, surrounded by a rock garden and a beautiful little marble fountain. A path led to the pond from the little locked gate, lined by ranks of flowers of all different sizes, varieties and colours, and a little wooden bench had been placed in one corner in the shade of a willow tree. In addition to the flowers, various other plants were on display, every one of them lush and well-nourished, though Lucy couldn't identify any of them. Botany was never her strong point. Skirting the perimeter were immaculately maintained hedges, trimmed into shapes which her mind would later twist into various animals. A rabbit, a miniature giraffe, maybe a lion. The garden was bursting with life and vitality, providing a welcome contrast to the bleak countryside around it like an oasis in a desert.

Unbeknownst to her, the secret garden would haunt both her dreams and her nightmares. It became a place she could retreat when the world got too much, and on those occasions the garden was always sunny and warm, the gate hanging wide open to receive her, negating the need to climb petrified trees just to get a look. It was safe, serene.

But how different the same place can be. Sometimes, she found herself in the
other
secret garden. This time it was dark and cold. Things slithered and writhed in the shadows, and something hidden in the far corner made a low, guttural growl. In this version, Lucy would walk up the path toward the little pond, where she would stop and stare deep into the murky black water, hypnotized by its soft lapping sound. Then she would notice something beneath the ripples, something white and translucent. Curious, she would lean in closer. Then the hand would break the surface. Paralysed with terror she could only watch as it extended into a bloated, fish belly-white arm, reaching for her.

On some fundamental level she understood the message the nightmare was trying to convey. The secret garden was a place between worlds, of equal light and dark, where anything is possible. Your wildest dreams, or your darkest nightmares. But that level of understanding came later. Right then, at the moment of discovery, all Lucy felt was wonder. She couldn't believe her eyes. How could a garden like this, so lush and healthy, exist unnoticed in the middle of a wasteland?

She was reaching around to unhook her camera when the third thing happened. Something touched her. It felt more like an animal than a person. Or a bird, fluttering its wings against her upper thigh. In that moment, whatever illusion she was under shattered, she instantly lost her grip on the branch, and then she was falling. The journey to the topsoil took a very long time. Had she really been that high?

Then she hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, and the wind was pushed out of her with a loud
oosh!
There was a sharp pain in her side, and the world went grey around the edges.

She had no idea how long she was unconscious. Or even if she was. There was the sensation of drifting on clouds, although that could have been because that was all she could see from where she lay. It was the weird fluttering against her leg that brought her back to reality. She could feel it, like leathery wings beating against her leg. When she tried to move her head to investigate, the pain hit like a blinding flash. She had landed on her face, as ungainly and unladylike as you could get. Her jaw throbbed, she could feel the left side of her face swelling, and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Her tongue flicked around, checking for new cavities or chipped teeth. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any. She touched a finger to her nose and it came away bloody.

Great, gonna look like the Elephant Man in the morning.

It was proving a day of new experiences. The first time she had climbed a tree, the first time she had fallen off one, and the first time she had given herself a nose bleed. Struggling to her feet she hunched over, holding her ribs with trembling arms. There seemed to be less pain that way. When she stood up, the world swam in and out of focus a couple of times before finally settling on a slightly skewed, off-kilter view. She saw Sker House roughly where it was supposed to be, and made an unsteady beeline for it, the secret garden already behind her.

But still that damn annoying
thing
on her leg!

She swatted at it impatiently, and felt something hard and bulky. It was moving, vibrating urgently. Her phone! Of course! There was no animal. She fished the device out of her pocket, pressed RECEIVE, and in her best telephone manner said, “Hello?”

“Lucy!” It was Dale. “Where have you been? I've been calling you for ages. Kept going to voicemail.”

“Sorry, didn't hear it,” Lucy replied, the fog beginning to clear.

“I thought you'd... never mind. Is everything okay? You sound half asleep.”

“I'm okay,” she slurred. “I fell off a tree.”

“What were you doing up a fucking tree?”

“I found a garden. I think it's the secret one Machen was talking about. But the gate was locked. I couldn't get in, so I had to climb a tree.”

“And that's when you fell?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I don't think so.”

“Maybe you should come in for a check-up.”

“I was just on my way. How did the EVP experiment go?”

“Status unknown. I haven't played the recording back yet. Thought I'd wait for you so you can offer some expert analysis.”

“Very gentlemanly of you. And probably wise. So why did you call?”

“Just to see where you were, and if we needed to send out another search party?”

“Nope. Not at all. Be there soon.”

“Well, okay. If you get lost or something, call me.”

“Lost? Dale, I can see Sker from here. I won't be long.”

Not wanting anyone to see her dishevelled state, when she arrived back at Sker House Lucy elected to use the side entrance. Her route took her past a tiny enclosed patch of land adjacent to the house being tended to by the woman she had seen earlier. The side entrance was open. She was about to sneak up the stairs to their room, when something made her stop. Raised voices. Raised voices always commanded attention, that was why people raised their voices in the first place, wasn't it? It was two men. Dale?

Lucy stopped and listened. No, not Dale. Both talkers had strong Welsh accents, whereas Dale's had become less pronounced since he'd been away. Besides, she would recognize his voice anywhere. Then it must be Machen and... Old Rolly? She couldn't remember hearing the old man talk before, but while one sounded like the landlord, the other was deeper and more weathered. They appeared to be midway through a heated discussion.

“Sandra understood the way things are around here,” the older man was saying, an accusatory note ringing in his voice.

“That's why she bloody left!” came the terse reply.

They must be talking about Machen's absent wife.
So he didn't murder her and bury her in the garden, after all!
The fact that she felt more relief than disappointment told Lucy that her moral compass still pointed in the right direction, and hadn't been totally distorted by almost three years of journalism training. Not too much, anyway.

She put an ear to the door.

“Listen to yourself, will you? You're like a big kid. Its always somebody else's fault, isn't it? Don't forget you're the one she was married to, nobody else.”

“How can I forget it? I love that woman!” Machen's voice trembled with emotion. “It was all that rubbish you told her about this place that did it. Got her believing all sorts of stuff, you did. By the end, she was like a different person.”

The two men were in full throttle now, and didn't sound a million miles away from firing pistols at dawn. “Maybe you were the one that changed, not her. I only told her what she needed to know. Don't you think people should understand the dangers of living in Sker?”

Dangers? Did he say
dangers
of living in Sker? Lucy swallowed hard. The voices were now hushed as if, mindful of being heard, both men were making an effort to contain themselves.

“There's no danger here. I wouldn't stay if there was, would I? And I certainly wouldn't bring my wife here.”

“You just can't see it. You're judgement has been clouded by the lure of the almighty dollar, just like every other owner Sker's had.”

“And you've been driven senile by old age, mun! What makes you such an expert, anyway?”

“My family has been here or hereabouts for generations.”

“And you think that gives you the right to have a say in what goes on? It doesn't work like that. Don't forget that the only reason you're tolerated around here is because you're a paying customer.”

“See! It all comes back to money with you.”

“I have to make a living, same as everyone else. And what have you ever done for Sker? I didn't see you step up to save it when the place was going to ruin.”

“As you said, I'm a paying customer. I do my bit. My family has done more for Sker than you are ever likely to do.”

“But I brought it back to life!” Machen was almost shouting. “This is my dream, not yours. Your dream is something else, and you're welcome to it. Without me, Sker House would still be a crumbling wreck.”

“Maybe that's how it should have stayed. Kicked a hornets nest, you have. Some things are better left alone. One day you'll see that. I just hope it won't be too late. Sker has suffered enough tragedy.”

After that, the conversation petered out. Or carried on at a more respectable volume that Lucy couldn't hear. She continued on her journey.

When she arrived at their room, she found the door open and Dale sitting on the edge of the bed holding his Dictaphone. “There you are,” he said. “Oh my God! You look like you've just fought for the heavyweight title.” Catching her glare he quickly corrected himself, “Sorry, I mean featherweight title, or pubeweight title, whichever's the lightest. You know, 'cos you're so slim and everything...”

“Good boy. Is there such a thing as a pubeweight title?”

“I don't know. But if there isn't, there should be. And you'd probably win it. So what happened?”

“I told you, I fell off a tree. I'm fine, really.” Before Dale could object she made for the en suite bathroom and hurriedly shut the door behind her.

“What were you saying about finding a secret garden?”

“I'll tell you about it later,” Lucy answered. Already her recollection of events had become hazy and she was beginning to wonder if she had knocked herself unconscious and dreamed the whole thing. On seeing her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she was relieved to find that she wasn't too badly beaten up. There was a little graze on her chin, and maybe the beginning of a bruise high on her right cheekbone. Some blood from her nose had run down to her lip and been smeared everywhere, making her condition look far more serious then it actually was. She cleaned herself up as best she could using water and cotton swabs and tied her hair into a ponytail. As she studied her reflection in the mirror, it began to cloud over, misting up like a car windscreen on a frosty morning.

Strange, while the hot water tap was running there was no condensation, but now...

A part of her mind cried,
it's the misty stuff from the photographs!

Whatever it was, the greyness encroached from all sides until it perfectly framed Lucy's face in the centre of the glass. Then, the first tendril of mist crawled across her cheek, closely followed by another, this one thicker and faster than its predecessor, and then another. The wispy forms twisted and contorted into one big swirling mass and her features melted away into nothing. Lucy was transfixed by what was unfolding before her. She couldn't tear her eyes away, and as much as she squinted and peered into the grey swirls, she could no longer see herself.

Then how do you know you're still here?

Of course I'm still here, where else would I be? You can't simply vanish into thin air before your
own
eyes.

Then the greyness slowly began to disperse. Amidst the thinning grey swirls she could make out the outline of a head, framed just as before. But...

What's wrong with this picture?

The face in the mirror looking back didn't belong to her. It was someone else.

There were similarities. They were both girls, and around the same age. But this face was narrower than hers, the features sharp and well-defined, and the eyes smaller and darker with dark bags beneath them. This new face was pale, drawn and haggard. A mask of tragedy. As Lucy struggled to comprehend what she was seeing, she stared at the person in the mirror. The sad, defeated eyes seemed to call to her, implore her.