The Haunting of Highdown Hall (11 page)

When she was sure the green-eyed monster had retreated far enough inside her, she closed her hand around the handle of the door and pushed.

***

Motioning for everyone to stand in a circle, Ruby said, “Let’s tune in first and see if we can make a connection.”

Theo, Ness and Corinna nodded. Cash, however, couldn’t resist looking around him, his eyes wide with awe. Ruby didn’t blame him. It wasn’t everyday you found yourself in the inner sanctum of a world-famous movie star.

Once they were all in a circle, she took a deep breath.

“Cynthia, it’s me again, Ruby. I came to visit you recently, as did Theo, standing to my right. Do you remember us? Today I’ve brought along my other colleagues as well.”

Gesturing to each of them in turn, she continued, “This is Ness, Corinna and Cash. As I said to you before, we are here only with the intention of helping you.”

There was no response.

“Cynthia,” continued Ruby, injecting firmness into her voice. “I know you’re here, in this room, and I know you’re frightened. You don’t understand what has happened to you. But we can help you understand. You have passed Cynthia – your spirit left your physical body the night of your party, Christmas Eve, 1958. You left the party sometime after ten o’clock and went upstairs to your bedroom. Could it be possible you were experiencing the start of chest pains and wanted to be alone? Whilst in your bedroom you suffered a fatal heart attack. It was sudden and it was unexpected, leaving you confused, disorientated and, of course, very frightened. I understand how attached you are to this house, that you feel safe here, but it’s time to leave, to return to the light, which is your true home.”

Still nothing.

Ruby nodded to Ness, who took it as a signal to start lighting smudge sticks. Handing one to Corinna and one to Cash, she motioned for them to go to the corners of the room and start waving the smoke around. Normally a cleansing was performed
after
the spirit had successfully passed, but because of Cynthia’s reluctance to show herself, they would start now. Ness lit her own smudge stick and started to walk clockwise around the room. Later she would open doors and closets to cleanse every inch of those spaces too. The floor-to-ceiling windows, Mr Kierney had told her previously, were sealed shut so they couldn’t open them, which was a shame. Not only did an open window or door offer the spirit a physical exit, the air in Cynthia’s room could do with freshening up, it was stale.

Theo tried next to establish a connection with Cynthia.

“Cynthia, it’s Theo. I’ve seen all your films. Do you remember me saying so? I admired you greatly; you were an amazing actress – and the most beautiful of your generation.”

A flicker in the darkness. Clever Theo, appealing to the spirit’s vanity – evidently still intact, even on the other side.

“
The Phoenix
was my favourite, you were remarkable in it. I think it was everybody’s favourite to be honest. But
Intruders, Translation
and
The Fledgling
were superb too, and, of course,
The Elitists,
with John Sterling, what a handsome couple you made.”

It was the mention of John that emboldened Cynthia. She came rushing forward.

John! Where is he?

“Cynthia,” said Ruby, seizing the moment, “John isn’t with us. He passed in 1969, peacefully I’m told. The night that you passed, John was the one who found you. He was with you as you passed. He’s in the light now, waiting to be reunited with you.”

As Ruby was speaking, Ness beckoned for Corinna and Cash to come and join the circle once more.

“Join hands,” she whispered, expecting action stations now that the ‘news’ had been imparted.

At first though there was nothing. All was still again. Ruby wondered if they had ‘lost’ Cynthia, if she had retreated back into the shadows. And then there came a scream, a scream that ripped through her body as a tornado might rip through a mid-American town, through Theo too, and Ness, both of their bodies shuddering with the impact. It was so intense; Ruby was sure Corinna and Cash must have felt it on some level too.

The energy that was Cynthia started to gain momentum. Overhead, the chandelier swayed as though caught in a strong gust of air. At the window, the heavy curtains fluttered as though they were not made of velvet but of some much lighter material.

“Cash, I think you’d better leave...” started Theo.

“It’s okay,” he insisted. “I’m fine.”

As if to reinforce this fact, his hand tightened around Ruby’s.

Theo looked uncomfortable. She glanced at Ruby, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

“It’s your call,” said Theo finally. “But stand firm and remember there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Cynthia,” Theo spoke again, “I implore you, please remain calm,” but Ruby knew her words would fall on deaf ears. The truth, instead of setting Cynthia free, had only served to enrage her.

The bed started shaking next, almost imperceptibly at first but the movements quickly became violent, the sheer weight of it clearly no obstacle. The dressing table started to shake too, its various contents and mirror rattling.

“Imagine white light!” Theo had to shout to make herself heard above the din. “All of you, as strongly as you can, and I don’t want any chinks in it either. Imagine a solid blanket of white light surrounding you, impenetrable as steel.”

As everyone did her bidding, Theo re-addressed Cynthia as loudly as she could.

“Cynthia, I want you to focus on my voice. I know you can hear me. There’s a light shining in the distance, look at it, go to it, there are people who know you and love you in the light, who are waiting for you. Go towards the light, Cynthia. Go home.”

This is my home!

The doors to her walk-in wardrobe suddenly burst open. At the same time, Ruby felt Cash jump beside her. Darkness from within began to seep out like ink spilled on blotting paper, edging its way forwards.

“Stand firm!” shouted Ruby, echoing what Theo had said earlier.

She knew well enough what Cynthia was doing. She was trying to manifest, hoping perhaps to frighten the living into leaving and never coming back. It was rare for a spirit to manifest. An actual sighting was usually nothing more than a hollow image replaying on the airwaves, like a DVD stuck on repeat play. Because Cynthia was grounded, however, because her soul was still very much present, her manifestation would be considerably more substantial, perhaps even visible to the non-psychics amongst them, to Cash and Corinna.

Quickly, Ruby envisioned the last scene from
The Phoenix,
the one in which Gayle declared that she would rise again from the ashes, reclaim her life once more, her Titian-curls wreathing wildly around her tear-stained but determined face. Taking this vision she bathed it in pure white light, the light of love, yet still the crashing and banging around her continued, the dark mass drew closer. She stole a glance at Cash. She should never have brought him along. It was irresponsible of her. This experience must be terrifying for him, he’d be scarred forever. But to her surprise, he looked far from terrified. His face was smooth; his brow distinctly unfurrowed. He was witnessing one of the most dramatic cleansings the team had ever encountered as a collective, and yet he remained cool and calm throughout, doing exactly as he was told to do: project white light.

With a final ear-splitting scream, the energy around them imploded. Cynthia hadn’t been able to manifest after all. She would be quiet for some time now, depleted.

“Corinna,” whispered Ruby urgently, “scatter eucalyptus drops. I’ll place crystals all around. Rose quartz I think, to help promote love and peace. Ness, the bells.”

“Bells?” whispered Cash, his eyes open once more.

“Yes, bells,” Ruby whispered back. “Sound is a frequency; we use it to break up lower frequencies, to dispel any negativity that may still be lingering.”

“Oh, right,’ Cash nodded. “And she’s gone has she, Cynthia?”

“No, she hasn’t gone. She’s still here and she’s still angry.”

“So, what do we do?” asked Cash, his use of the word ‘we’ not lost on Ruby.

“Remember I said to Mr Kierney if this doesn’t work we go deeper. Well, we do just that, we go deeper.”

“Deeper? How do you mean?”

“I’ll explain when we’re out of here.”

***

Cynthia huddled in the shadows, exhausted, drifting in and out of consciousness. Dead? She wasn’t dead! But if not, what was she? This existence she endured, it could not be called living. A heart attack, the young woman had said, the one who called herself Ruby, the girl who looked no better than a street urchin. She’d had a heart attack the night of her party? Insane! She had just turned thirty-one; there was nothing wrong with her heart. She was perfect, both inside and out. And John had found her, held her as she took her dying breath? If that were true, she would have remembered. Instead, all she knew was the thrill of the evening, the love and admiration in everyone’s eyes. But wait – there
was
something else. She
had
removed herself from the crowd, but only for a few moments surely? A flame of memory lit up the darkness, but just as quickly it fizzled out. Everything was black again. If it were true, if she
had
left the party, for what purpose had she done so? Not for sex; that would come later. A select few invited into her sanctuary until the break of day.

Was John responsible for her death? He had a temper; she knew that, he blamed his Irish origins for it. Before sailing to America, his mother had lived in Carrickfergus, a small village on the north shore of Belfast Lough. Often he compared Cynthia to her.

“You’ve got hair as red as hers,” he would say.

“Got a thing for red heads have you?”

“Don’t.” He hated it when she was crude. He saw her as something pure, how wrong he had been.

When had they last rowed? Cynthia tried to remember. Not long before the party. He had flown over to visit her in between shooting his latest movie. Yes, that was it. Just two or three weeks before, she was sure of it. He was angry again because she had refused yet another proposal.

“But why, Cynthia? Why won’t you marry me? Give me one good reason.”

They had been in bed at the time; he had just ravaged her, bringing her to climax time and time again as only John could. Effortlessly.

Sitting up, the silk sheets slipping down to reveal his strong, muscular body and those gorgeous shoulders, smooth and golden in colour, he had let his head fall into his hands.

“You love me, I know you do.”

How did he know? She had never told him so.

“Cynthia,” he had turned to her then, his voice beseeching. “Why won’t you marry me?”

Again, she hadn’t answered. Instead, she had slipped from the bed, intending to make her way to the bathroom, to shower. She had only taken a few steps when he was by her side again, naked also, grabbing at her wrists. Encircling them with his hands.

“God, Cynthia, you’re infuriating.”

She knew she was. She also knew he found her attitude towards him arousing. That was something John Sterling had liked – the chase. Too easily women fell at his feet.

He was beginning to stir again; she could feel him pressing against her thigh.

Lowering her eyes, deliberately demure, she had smiled at him, fully expecting to be thrown back onto the bed, to be ravaged all over again. To hell with her shower.

He had looked into her eyes – she remembered it clearly – holding her with his gaze as firmly as he held her wrists. Her breath had caught in her throat. Any minute now, his lips would be on hers, his tongue exploring deep inside her, first her mouth and then more sensitive, secret places. She braced herself, waiting. But he had surprised her. He had thrown her from him as though she were poison itself.

“John... !” she had started. No, she would not beg. She would never beg again.

John had grabbed at his clothes, torn off him hours ago and thrown to the floor.

“I can’t do this anymore!” he had muttered under his breath.

Fury had ignited in her; she remembered that too, another black mood rapidly descending.

“Can’t do
what
anymore?” She grabbed at his wrist now.

How easily he had flung her off.

“I can’t share you, Cynthia. I
won’t
share you.”

“In that you have no choice.”

“I do.” His voice had been low, a growl. “I can walk out of this room right now and never return. I can leave you, Cynthia, to become a parody of yourself, which is what you’ll be if you don’t stop doing what you’re doing, believing in the hype that surrounds you. Commit to me, Cynthia, without me...”

She hadn’t let him finish.

“Without you I’m nothing? Is that what you’re trying to say? Don’t make me laugh! I belong to no man, do you hear me, John, no man. Least of all you. Without me,
you
are nothing.
I
am the world’s darling,
I
am the one they adore, you are pale in comparison.”