The girl informed Lili that she was called Agnes and that she had died in this same room from something they called diphtheria a long time ago, and ever since she'd been dead, she hadn't known where she was supposed to go. Her death had been sudden after only four days of the illness and she had risen from her proper body to see her mother wailing on her knees beside the bed as her father stood stiffly by with just one teardrop running down his cheek. Agnes had been confused and frightened for a long while afterwards and she had not dared to leave the house for fear of becoming lost. She had gradually come to accept her condition and, although no longer afraid, she still preferred to keep within the walls of the only home she had ever known.
Eventually, her parents went away and other families lived there for long intervals at a time. But none had ever noticed her, even though she had done her best to make them aware. Lili was the only person Agnes had been able to talk to and be seen by, and she was pleased finally to have a companion.
Lili's parents had often heard her talking to an invisible friend in her room and they questioned their daughter about it. In her innocence, Lili had told the truth. Her mother and father, however, assumed the girl wearing old-fashioned clothing was inside Lili's own head, a figment of her lively imagination, and had left it at that, believing she would soon grow out of it. After all, lots of little children had imaginary friends, didn't they?
For at least six weeks the ghost of the Victorian girl continued to appear to Lili, always when she was by herself and in the same upstairs room. They played and giggled together, enjoying each other's company, although Lili sometimes became frustrated because Agnes could never catch a ball, or use a skipping rope, or pick up a toy. Apart from that, they got along fine.
It was only when Lili told her spectral friend about a place called Heaven that there came about a subtle change in Agnes. Lili's daddy had told her this was where the angels lived and where good people who had died went to. Agnes's image began to falter; she was not so clearly defined any more. Still they continued to play together, until one day, soon after she had learned about Heaven, Agnes declared she had two important questions to ask Lili: 'Shouldn't I be in Heaven too? Am I a bad person?'
Lili had readily assured Agnes that she was a good person, otherwise Lili wouldn't have liked her. And yes, probably she should go up to Heaven, although Lili would miss her terribly.
The Victorian girl came back to Lili only once more after that and Lili could barely see her, so transparent had Agnes become. She told Lili that she kept hearing someone calling her and that she could feel herself slipping away. She implored Lili not to be sorrowful if she left because Agnes would always remember her. She said she had the same sort of feeling when Father used to tell her that they were all going on a journey; she felt happy because she knew they would travel to somewhere that was different and exciting, but sorry because she always hated leaving her lovely home. So she felt happy and sad at the same time. But she wasn't afraid any more, not since Lili had told her about Heaven.
The voice she heard calling her had become very strong, though oddly never loud, and she felt a presence, as if someone were waiting for her in the same house but in another room.
At first, Lili had asked Agnes not to leave, because they were friends and she would be lonely without her. But soon she realized that Agnes wanted with all her heart to go to the place she felt sure was Heaven. Even that young, Lili knew it would be selfish of her to beg Agnes to stay and she truly wanted what was best for her friend.
The apparition of the young girl from another era dimmed even more before Lili's eyes, and then something wonderful happened.
A tiny, brilliantly radiant light, round and no bigger than a marble, entered the room through the closed door. Swiftly the remnants of Agnes's fading form became nothing but a radiant light too. The little brightly glowing ball of light that was now Agnes hovered in front of Lili for a few seconds, and then it glided towards the other light; they joined, fused together, became incandescent. For a brief moment their shine was dazzling, lighting up the whole room with their effulgence and causing Lili to blink. When her eyes opened again, the coalescent glow was gone. And curiously, although Lili would miss Agnes, she felt nothing but joy for her.
Lili Peel had never forgotten that first experience of the supernatural. Certainly, she had seen other ghosts since then, but nothing compared to the beautiful fusion she had witnessed, or the deep sense of calming peace she had felt that day. She would never forget her friend Agnes.
Over the years, Lili's extrasensory capabilities revealed themselves and developed, much to her parents' amazement and concern. How she had acquired such a gift was a mystery to them for, to their knowledge, nobody in their families' history had ever possessed these kinds of powers.
One night at the age of twelve she had burst into the kitchen in floods of tears, alarming her mother and father, who were having a late-night snack. Through her sobs she managed to tell them that Uncle Peter, who was abroad at the time, had just died. Nothing could console her—certainly not common sense—but in the early hours of the following morning her father received a phone call from South Africa informing him that his brother had been killed in a car accident the previous night.
At thirteen, Lili had a talent for finding lost or forgotten household articles and for knowing the exact location of neighbourhood dogs and cats that had strayed from their homes. By fifteen, she had the weird ability to discover facts about a person merely by touching or holding inanimate objects associated with them. When she was seventeen and attending art college, she had become adept at telepathy, psychometry and clairvoyancy, and her reputation as a psychic had grown. Soon she was giving 'readings' not only for friends and family, but also for perfect strangers who had heard of her reputation.
She did not often communicate with the deceased, but when she did, the results could sometimes be startling. Because the bereaved took comfort in such sessions, Lili continued with them, but limited her sittings to just once a week, for they also left her totally drained afterwards. However, if distraught parents begged her to contact their recently demised son or daughter, she would invariably oblige. Because of Agnes, Lili could never refuse to help where a spirit-child was involved.
But all that was long before the incident. It was before she was frightened of what she might conjure when calling on the dead.
•
Crickley Hall. A tomb of a place. A mausoleum. Unwelcoming, somehow hostile.
It may have just been the chill of her sitting room, but Lili gave a little shiver. Driven raindrops tapped on the window behind her like a thousand fingernails.
Again she asked herself why Eve Caleigh had come to her for help. Why now when Lili was still struggling to make herself immune from the past? It had been eighteen months since the incident and still she had not recovered, had not been able to close her mind to it. Why wouldn't the woman understand that Lili no longer wanted to use her psychic powers? Why had she persisted so? And why did she have to tell her of the child spirits trapped inside Crickley Hall? For that was what they were—trapped souls that could not move on. All ghosts that lingered in places they had known when alive were just souls that had lost their way, or were tied to the earthly plane by incompleteness, or by some traumatic experience, that left them shocked, even in death.
But Eve Caleigh was only interested in finding her missing son, a boy who had been gone for a whole year. Why did she believe her son was alive when there was no evidence to prove it? No sightings, no ransom notes, and from what Lili could gather, no suspects either. Yet she maintained that he was trying to communicate with her in some telepathic way. Could that really be so? It was not unusual for many mothers to have a special intuition where their children were concerned, there was nothing too peculiar about that. But then, even if the boy were still alive, could Lili find him?
Perhaps if she had an article of his clothing, or a favourite toy, something—anything—he was familiar with. No! Stop it! It would be plain stupid of her to deliberately start using her extrasensory abilities again. Often it couldn't be controlled, sometimes thoughts just entered her mind, feelings arrived unbidden, but now she knew there could be danger in just that. Opening herself to the spirit world could leave her vulnerable and she had vowed never to let that happen again. Not after last time.
Yet there were still the other children to consider, the orphans Eve Caleigh said had drowned in Crickley Hall all those years ago. It was no wonder that the old house exuded such a negative aura, such a dreadful gloom. It was obvious to Lili that the children were bound to the house by something awful that had happened to them there. That is, of course, if what Eve Caleigh had told her was true. Not that she would have lied—what would be the point?—but if she was still so distressed over the loss of her son—overwrought and close to hysteria, it seemed to Lili—then what might be going on in her imagination?
But… Lili bit into the corner of her lower lip. But alive or dead, there was a child involved. And just maybe other children too, young orphans who, according to Eve Caleigh, were haunting the house. Something must be preventing them from passing over. Something about Crickley Hall was stopping them from resting in peace.
When she had paused to look at the big house across the river two years ago she had sensed a conflict within its solid walls, for something seemed to reach out and touch her, something indefinable that called without voice but whose beckoning left her shaking with fear. She had watched Crickley Hall—yes, watched it as if it would suddenly disclose the dark secrets she knew it held—and the tension that gripped her stayed with her for days.
Now Eve Caleigh wanted her to go back there, to return to a place that had made her tremble. But could she deny the woman her help? And if she did help her, would Lili be inviting back the horror that had manifested during her last séance? The psychic never wanted that to happen again.