The Haunting of Highdown Hall (5 page)

“Well, that’s
your
sixth sense – an ability to tune into the unseen world around you. And you do have it, Cash, even you.”

“Hmmm,” said Cash, tongue-in-cheek now. “I’m psychic after all!”

Ruby returned his smile, noting as she did so how white and even his teeth were. She liked good teeth in a man. And a good set of strong, wide shoulders. Just like his.

“Another drink?” he asked after a while.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she teased.

“Maybe...” he batted right back. “Another rum and coke?”

“Okay,” Ruby capitulated, the relaxing effects of the first two drinks kicking in. “But this will have to be my last, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Here, my shout.”

“No, you can pay next time.”

Next time,
thought Ruby as Cash returned to the bar.
How come he’s so sure there’s going to be a next time?
Annoyingly, her intuition remained silent.

Returning with the drinks and settling himself in beside her once more, Cash asked, “So why do you do it? This job you do. Why spend a lifetime dealing with the dead?”

“Because they need help; every bit as much as the living. Because... it’s my duty.”

“Your duty? How come?”

“Look,” said Ruby, picking her drink up then placing it back down without taking a sip. “The spirit world is not full of crazed ghouls, it’s populated by those who were once human, ordinary people like you and me, who have found themselves caught between this world and whatever lies beyond. They can’t move on, for so many reasons – perhaps their death was sudden, unexpected, perhaps they can’t bear to leave a loved one behind, a child perhaps; very often a child. But they have to. Their time on earth is over. The next adventure calls. If I can help them on their way, then it’s my duty to do so.”

“That necklace you’re wearing, it’s nice. What stone is it?”

Her hand reaching up to touch her throat, she was surprised at how swiftly he had changed the subject. Had her talk of other-worldly matters finally unsettled him?

“Erm... its obsidian,” she replied after a few moments.

“Unusual,” he said, still eyeing the purply black stone in its solid silver setting.

“It’s...” she hesitated and then, thinking
Sod it,
she continued. “It’s one of several stones used to protect against negative energy. It can come in handy sometimes.”

Cash was grinning now, quite openly, definite amusement in his eyes.

“What?” Ruby said, unsure whether to be offended by his reaction or to laugh along with him.

“Nothing,” he replied, breaking eye contact to finish his pint. “So, you need a website do you?”

“I do, yes.” Ruby finished her drink too.

“I’ll strike a deal with you then.”

“A deal? What...?”

“I’ll design and build a website for you if you let me accompany you on one of your... surveys.”

Surveys? Not a haunting?
He was learning the lingo at least. But no, she couldn’t possibly take him to a survey, what would Theo say? She was about to protest when he started again.

“I promise I won’t be a nuisance or anything. I’ll just observe. I could, I don’t know, hold a crystal or something. Please, I’m really interested.”

Please
? It was nice he had added that at least. Tired as well as lightheaded, she sensed he’d be difficult to turn down. And, in a way, she was flattered. No one had ever asked her if they could come along as politely as that. And she might even get a website out of it.

“Okay,” she said at last. “Not tomorrow though, Wednesday. I’m going to visit a large house up country a bit, near Framfield. It’s presided over by the movie star who used to live there, apparently. One of my team has already surveyed it; I’m going along to get a ‘feel’ for the case myself before deciding on a course of action. You can come with me if you like.”

“It’s lucky that December’s a quiet month for me, I’ll rearrange my work so I can join you, I’d hate to miss out,” he answered, smiling at her – a rather spine tingling smile, she had to admit.

After giving him the address of her office and telling him to meet her there at nine sharp on Wednesday morning, she stood up, swaying she was sure as she bent to collect her coat. Forcing herself to get a grip, she squeezed round the side of the table furthest from him, saying goodbye as she did so.

“See you Wednesday!” he called after her, his rich, deep voice sending shivers down her spine once more.

Chapter Three

The next morning, as she twisted her long brown hair into a neat chignon and pulled some tendrils down to frame her face on either side, Ruby could not believe what she had done. She blamed that third rum and coke entirely for clouding her judgement, for making her think it was okay to allow a non-psychic, an almost complete stranger, to accompany her on a survey – and one that might draw public attention too. But Cash had been persuasive, she’d give him that, dangling the carrot of a website in front of her nose. He certainly knew how to tempt a girl.

Slicking mascara onto her already long enough lashes, she wondered what harm it could do, him tagging along. None really, she supposed, it was a survey, nothing more. He’d get an insight into what she did and hopefully she’d get something more concrete from him.

And she had to admit, Cash was nice – very nice. It had been a long time since she’d met someone as nice, a member of the opposite sex that is. Aside from a few awkward moments at the start, they had got on well. She couldn’t deny it; it felt good to think she’d be seeing him again. But she hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about her. As attractive as he was, she wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend. The last serious relationship she’d had, a couple of years ago, hadn’t ended too well. Although she always tried to keep her professional and personal lives separate, sometimes they overlapped; she couldn’t help it, particularly if she had to deal with an emotionally traumatised spirit. Cases like these not only drained her, they upset her too. Although initially they had got on well, Adam had always found her job hard to come to terms with and certainly never wanted to deal with any fallout from it. He had preferred to ignore it, brush it under the carpet, and would get annoyed with her if she even so much as hinted to any of his friends what she did. She’d always suspected that he was embarrassed by her, though Adam had never admitted it. After a while, she’d grown tired of his attitude – she had nothing to be embarrassed of – and they’d spilt up. It was easier to be alone.

Applying lipstick, a plum shade, only slightly darker than her natural lip colour, Ruby checked her appearance before heading, once again, to Brookbridge. Dressed in boots, smart jeans and a fitted v-necked sage green jumper that leant warmth to her skin tone and hazel eyes, she decided she looked just the right side of ‘smart’ – not office-type ‘smart’ but casual ‘smart’ – a look carefully cultivated over the years to put her clients at ease. She was sure most of them expected some raging ‘New Age’ hippie to turn up, complete with flowing skirts and tie-dye bandana. She could see the relief in their eyes when she arrived and they saw that she was not some nut job after all; that she was, in fact, just like them.

Grabbing her navy three-quarter length coat off the hook beside her and shrugging it on, she left her ground floor flat, the lower half of a Victorian house in De Montfort Road, set one street back from the main thoroughfare through town. Almost immediately outside was parked her dark blue Ford Focus. Not a glamorous car, by any stretch of the imagination, but a reliable one and, more importantly, cheap to fix when it broke down, which to its credit and her relief, it hardly ever did.

Brookbridge was thirty minutes from Lewes: a pleasant drive, down a succession of country roads, some narrower than others, flanked either side with green fields and trees, many of them bare, having shed their leaves as autumn deepened into winter. Passing through the tiny village of Cromer, which had given the old asylum its name, Ruby turned left onto another country road, a road that eventually led to Heathfield if she continued along it. Instead, she turned off at the estate, bypassing a billboard which proudly informed anyone interested that highly desirable houses were still available to buy, with 2, 3, 4 or 5 bedrooms to choose from.
Highly desirable?
It was not how she’d describe them, and not just because of their former residents. The estate looked hastily thrown up, profit being the obvious motive. Windows and doors in cheap white plastic – no character whatsoever, just a series of bland boxes built side by side. What’s more, old asylum buildings still lay dotted around the estate’s fringes. They were boarded up now, except for the odd gap where local kids had torn down the chipboard panels looking for cheap thrills – and no doubt sometimes getting more than they’d bargained for. And there were usually billboards outside these buildings too – this time advertising the site’s development potential. Future work at least, mused Ruby, and it wasn’t the developers she was thinking of. Beside the estate lay extensive woodland, part of what was known as the ancient Forest of Anderida during the Roman occupation of Britain. Cool and leafy, Ruby had been for a walk there once but the atmosphere was oppressive; nothing to do with the Romans, more the pain of the asylum inmates reaching far and wide.

Turning into Rowan Drive and noting some of the residents had already placed heavily decorated Christmas trees strategically in their windows, Ruby parked neatly in front of No.13. She was standing on the pavement, admiring No.15’s Christmas tree, the lights switched on despite it being daytime, a warm red and green glow reaching tantalisingly outwards, when a woman with dyed-blonde hair scraped mercilessly back into a ponytail came rushing at her, shouting, “At last! At last!”

Grabbing hold of Ruby’s arm, the woman, her client Ruby presumed, practically dragged her up the garden path and into her house.

Shivering dramatically as she closed the door, Sarah Atkins spoke hurriedly.

“I don’t know what’s in this house, but I
hate
being alone here. Not that I ever am – alone that is – he watches me, everywhere I go. In the shower or when I’m getting undressed, that’s when I sense him the strongest, the bloody pervert. I used to love horror movies I did, the scarier the better. You know them
Hellraiser
films,
Saw
, that sort of thing. He’s put me right off them!”

Ruby could tell as soon as she entered the house that there was no spiritual presence whatsoever and she was surprised. On this estate, calls to Psychic Surveys were normally well founded. So many of the people incarcerated at the Cromer Asylum had ended their pitiful lives on this ground and, on passing, had found themselves trapped between two planes: unable to believe that only love waited for them from hereon in, they were still reeling from the pain and terror that dominated their former existence. In dealing with them, she, Theo or Ness would often call upon spirit guides to come forth, to encourage them home – the battle-scarred, as she often thought of Cromer’s former inmates, limping onwards, bloodied and bowed by the horrors and confusion of mental illness and the surprising many who had chosen to abuse rather than help them. The atmosphere at No.13, however, was unusually light and unencumbered.

“So, what or who do you think it is?” Mrs Atkins continued. “A former inmate or something? A schizo, perhaps? A mass murderer?”

Blimey,
thought Ruby,
she really has watched too many horror films.

Finishing the tea that had been offered to her, Ruby said, “I really can’t say Mrs Atkins, at least not right now. I need to do a walk-through first, if that’s okay, examine every room in the house, see if I can sense something.”

“Oh, you’ll be able to sense it alright,” Mrs Atkins declared, “he’s relentless!”

It didn’t take long to do the walk-through, Mrs Atkins’s house was one of the smaller ones on the estate; two bedrooms only, the second bedroom a guest room, plainly furnished, so no evidence of children either. Walking into the main bedroom next, Ruby winced. Not so plainly furnished, it resembled a tart’s boudoir: three walls painted deep red, plus a wallpapered feature wall; its flocked monochrome pattern a somewhat stark contrast. A pair of black fluffy handcuffs had been left brazenly on the dressing table alongside a packet of condoms – the ribbed variety, for extra sensation apparently. As Mrs Atkins shivered downstairs, Ruby shivered upstairs at the thought of the antics that went on in here.

Returning to the kitchen, Ruby calmly met Mrs Atkins’s almost gleeful eyes. “I can sense no presence in your home at all, Mrs Atkins. You are not being haunted.”

“Rubbish!” the woman screeched, as though she’d been expecting Ruby to say such a thing all along. “I feel him everywhere, I’m telling you. Do it again.”

Normally, Ruby would do everything she could to appease a client: burn sage sticks in every room, recommend the use of crystals and the regular burning of candles or oils – eucalyptus, pine, lavender, all meant to cleanse and purify. Windows too, she would tell them, open them regularly; let the stale air out and fresh air in, keep the energy in the house moving. But she didn’t like Mrs Atkins’s attitude, it was no better than those who had failed the emotionally disturbed all those years ago.