Thirteen Chairs (15 page)

M
r Osterley blinks once, slowly. Then he meets Jack’s eyes with his impassive, unreadable gaze, just for a moment before he bows toward the ailing flame of his candle, blows it out, and his face dissolves into the thick black.

Jack is alone now in a fragile pool of wavering light, staring out into the boundless dark as if he is floating in space. The others must still be out there, but his candle’s weak glow cannot reach them.

Not long left for that flame now. Not long left for that last glimmer of light. Not long until the end of all this, whatever that might turn out to be.

He takes in a measured breath, holds it for a second.

He is scared, of course. But he is ready now. He doesn’t know everything that he is going to say, but at least he knows how he will begin.

‘I’m not dead,’ he says. ‘Is that all right?’

I
’ve been dreading this. I didn’t have a story to tell you, you see, not when I came in, at least. So I’ve been sitting here this whole time wondering what I could say when it was my turn. I was trying to think if there was anything I’d ever read or seen on the telly that I could use, but I knew that’d be no good. And besides, I’m rubbish at telling other people’s stories like that. I always get it all wrong and tell it in the wrong order and miss out a bit near the beginning that you really need to know for the end to make sense. Things like that. So I knew that that was no good. And I still didn’t know what to say until just now.

Right just now I realized what I would have to say.

You see, there’s this house. It’s not very far from where I live, but it’s not on the way to the shops or the swimming pool or any of my friends’ houses, so I never used to go past it very often. But I’ve noticed it whenever I have gone by. It’s bigger and older than any of the other houses around here, and it seems as if it’s been empty for a long while. And that’s a bit odd, I suppose, but I never really thought about it much.

And then, a while ago, somebody – I don’t remember who – told me it was haunted. Actually, hang on, that’s not quite true. What they said was that it was haunted,
but only for one night each year: that there was this one night, the same date each year, when ghosts came to the house. They made it sound like it was a club or something.

Of course, I didn’t believe them. I knew there was no such thing as ghosts. I thought they were joking, so I took no notice. Only, well, I suppose I must have taken some notice, mustn’t I? Because I remembered it. And I kept thinking about it whenever I went by. And after that I did find myself going past more often. Not deliberately, you understand; it’s just that I started going to a couple of places that were in the area, and it was the natural route to take. More or less. Just coincidence. And as I was passing by anyway, I did sometimes take a glance at the house, and I thought: Well, it doesn’t
look
like a haunted house, not really. Not like they do in films and on the telly. It was just a house. Oh, and it’s got a TV aerial, which doesn’t seem right for a haunted house somehow, does it? You don’t think of ghosts sitting around watching the telly.

‘
Shh! Stop rattling your chains! I’m trying to watch
EastEnders!’

Anyway …

I decided it wasn’t haunted, obviously; it was just empty. But I still kept looking at it when I went by. And now sometimes I went by even when I didn’t need to. And I wanted to ask whoever it was who’d said it was haunted why they’d said that. Whether it was a joke or if it was something they’d been told by somebody else.
But I just couldn’t remember who it had been. Anyway, I told myself it was all just silly. There was no reason to think it was haunted, not really. There wasn’t really anything especially interesting about it at all, so I told myself I’d stop looking, that I’d avoid going down that road completely.

So that’s what I did. And it worked. I forgot all about the stupid unhaunted house.

Until tonight.

I don’t know why I’m here.

I just wandered down the road without really thinking about it, and the point where I realized I was walking entirely the wrong way and stopped in my tracks was when I was right outside the house. And that’s when I saw the light.

Just a thin line of light at one window, where the curtains weren’t quite closed properly. And not a steady light. It was flickering, so I thought it must be either candles or a fire. So I wondered who was in there. And there was a gap in the fence that I thought I could just about get through.

So I did. And I’m not brave. Or stupid, actually. Not usually, anyway. But I went through the hole in the fence, and I thought I could hear voices, maybe, when I was under the window. And then I felt a bit foolish because what was I going to do then? I wasn’t going to knock on the door. I wasn’t going to throw a brick through the window and climb in. But while I thought about it I walked round to the back of the house in
case anyone looked out of the window and saw me. And the back door was open.

I told myself I should just go home. I still don’t know why I didn’t. But I didn’t. I went in, and I crept through to the foot of the stairs in the dark. Oh, and every time the floorboards creaked I stopped and listened and thought about running away again. But I wanted to know what was going on. I suppose I wanted just to prove to myself that there was a sensible explanation, that the house wasn’t haunted.

So I went up the stairs. It was really dark going up there, so that was scary. And the stairs were creakier than the floorboards downstairs, so that made it even scarier. But once I was up on the landing there was a bit more light, because there was half a moon shining through a window at the end of the hallway. And it was easy enough to see which door I was after because, of course, there was a little line of light under it: the same flickering light as I’d seen at the window. So I went over to it and listened. And there
were
voices, but I couldn’t really make out any words, even when I pressed my ear against the door.

And that really frustrated me. I still didn’t think it was ghosts in the room, obviously. But I wanted to see for myself, to prove it, to prove wrong the person – who I still couldn’t even remember who it was – who’d made up the ridiculous story in the first place. And then, oh yes, the door handle was really cold! I hadn’t even realized I’d been reaching for it, so I nearly
squealed with surprise at the shock of it being so cold. Then I just stood there very still, for ages and ages, with my hand on the door handle, telling myself what a stupid idea it would be to go in, what a stupid idea it was even to be there in the first place. I told myself to go home. I told myself over and over.

Then I turned the handle, and I went in.

I came in.

I came in and saw you all. And you weren’t ghosts, so that was a relief. Only it wasn’t, because of course I’d already known that anyway. No such thing. And it also wasn’t a relief because if you weren’t ghosts, then that just meant I was in a room in a deserted house with twelve total strangers who might all be serial killers for all I know.

No offence.

And I still didn’t know why I was here. And I didn’t know why you were here. But I wanted to find out, so I took a seat, and kept myself ready to make a run for it if I needed to, and I watched and I listened.

And you started telling your stories.

They frightened me. I mean, they frightened me even more than I was already frightened. And they frightened me not just because they were scary stories but because I believed them. I believed them because I could tell that
you
believed them. No, not just believed them; you knew that they
were
true. You
knew
it. And I suppose at some point I realized why.

Because there
are
such things as ghosts after all,
aren’t there? But the odd thing is, when I realized, when I finally admitted to myself that you are all … that you’re … ghosts, that you’re all dead – that I was in a room full of dead people – when I realized
that
, it didn’t actually make me any more scared, I don’t think. But it did make me wonder again why you’re here. Why would ghosts tell each other ghost stories?

But I worked it out. At least, I think I worked it out.

Here’s what I think …

This is the house where the ghosts meet. To tell stories. To tell
ghost
stories. You come to tell your stories, and you try to scare each other. And you all hope that you’ll
be
scared. You hope to feel afraid. And alive. Because that’s kind of when you feel
most
alive, isn’t it? When you’re afraid. That’s a thrill when you’re alive, isn’t it? So I suppose, maybe, it’s even more of a thrill when you’re dead. To be reminded of life when your own life is over. To remember what it’s like to feel your heart beating fast in your chest.

And, well, I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I can scare you with a story. But maybe I can help you remember what it’s like. Life. Because my heart is beating now. You don’t notice it most of the time, of course – you’re concentrating on other things and your heart’s just quietly going about its business, not making a fuss. But now that I’m scared, now that I’m properly scared, I can feel it racing and rattling inside me. And my breath … I’ve been trying not to let it
show, but it’s been feeling like the most complicated thing in the world just to breathe. It’s so difficult. How have I managed it for so long without thinking about it?

But oh, the air! The air is so delicious! I am terrified, and I can barely make my lungs work, but … I am tasting every breath, and it’s amazing. Sweet, beautiful air. This room is full of breath and I’m drinking it down.

And this feeling now, it’s like … what is it like? It’s like …

Oh, I know. On holiday with my parents at the seaside and walking along the path at the top of the cliffs, and there was a butterfly … well, there were loads of butterflies, mostly those red ones – I can’t remember what they’re called. But this was a different one, a blue one like I hadn’t seen before, and it just flitted past my head as I was walking along behind Mum and Dad. I only just glimpsed it; it was just this blue blur out of the corner of my eye, and it disappeared down into the gorse and the grass at the side of the path. And I just wanted a closer look at it, so I went after it, off the path, head down looking for it.

And I couldn’t see it, and I couldn’t see it …

And then all of a sudden there it is, right in front of me, bright summer sun on its wings, and I bend down and look at it close up, really close, and the light picks out every detail. I look at it really close and it’s so beautiful and so strange, and its wings look so fragile
and precious, and its head looks like something from another planet, and its body is all sort of hairy. And it’s just amazing, and I’m leaning in even closer to see more, and it’s like I’m in sort of a trance. It’s like nothing else exists, just this tiny, delicate, brilliant, weird, beautiful thing.

Then all of a sudden it flaps its wings and takes off straight into my face, and I go ‘Ah!’ and I jump up and step back, but my foot hits a root or something and I lose my balance and start to tip over backwards. So then I put my other foot back to steady myself.

But only the front of it lands on anything.

My toe is on the cliff but there’s nothing under my heel. And I’m right on the edge of the cliff. And I’m still off balance.

And I gasp in some air and it feels like it fills up my whole body. Like suddenly every bit of me is all tense and tight and tingling. Like my whole body is holding my breath. Then I put my weight forward, take half a step and spin myself around and stand there, toes right up against the edge, and I look down.

A long, long way down. And rocks at the bottom. And there’s this wheezing noise as I pull in even more breath. I feel like a balloon blown up as far as it can go, only just not bursting – my chest is straining trying to hold it in. And just for a second, I feel what it would be like.

I feel the fall, down to the rocks, the rush of air, feel myself hurtling and twisting down, feel this rushing, rattling,
buzzing feeling inside of me, like a swarm of bees. Feel the wind rushing up over me. I feel my body screaming. And it’s all just too much and my legs start to go all wobbly, and I know, I just know, that I’m going to faint. I’m going to tip forward, and
really
fall. I’m going to fall. I’m going to fall from a great height, incredibly fast, onto rocks.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

And even when I’ve taken two steps back and I’m perfectly safe and everything is fine, and I’ve checked that my parents didn’t see me and aren’t going to tell me off for being so stupid, even then I’m still full of that feeling. That fear. That thrill. And I think I could have died. I could have died, but I didn’t. And I am the most alive I have ever been.

And I feel the beating of my heart.

And I taste my breath.

Do you remember? Can you remember what that’s like? I think you probably can.

I hope so.