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.
33: FIFTH NIGHT
It had been a good day for Loren.
Now she was tucked up in bed reading her new Philip Pullman, Cally fast asleep in the bed next to her. Loren laid the book down on her lap for a moment and smiled to herself.
The news was all around school. The new girl had bopped Seraphina Blaney on the nose. Loren had become something of a celebrity, because nobody in their year, all eleven- and twelve-year-olds, had ever had the courage to stand up to the bully before, and certainly no one had ever punched her! A lot of the girls had chatted to Loren today, plying her with questions about the incident on the bus, which Tessa Windle had duly reported to her classmates, who had spread the word so that by the end of breaktime most years knew about it. At lunch, some of the older girls and boys even said 'Hi' to Loren. In truth, she had been nervous of coming in to school today, because she'd had a whole night to think about what she had done. What if Seraphina intended to get her own back? What if she were waiting for Loren on the bus when it picked her up on the way to Merrybridge? Loren wasn't kidding herself that it was anything more than a lucky punch yesterday; Seraphina would be well over her shock by now and might be looking for revenge. Loren wasn't sure she had the nerve to do the same thing again.
Fortunately, something good had happened: Seraphina hadn't turned up for school that morning. Loren had been so relieved that she'd felt light-headed for most of the day. Perhaps she'd broken the big girl's nose. If so, would her parents complain to Mr Horkins, the headmaster, or go straight to Crickley Hall and make a fuss? Even worse, they might have gone to the police and made a complaint. Loren had half-expected a policeman to turn up at school to arrest her! As the day went by though, nothing had happened and Loren's nerves had begun to settle. Everyone had been so nice to her, with Tessa being particularly friendly, and Loren thought she might start to like Merrymiddle.
Yawning, Loren closed her book, first marking her page with a Post-it, then putting it aside on the bedside cabinet. Eyelids already drooping, she reached up and switched off the lamp Dad had put there, and lay flat on her back. She pulled the duvet up over her chin and around her ears, and stared at the ceiling, the only illumination coming through the half-open door from the dull landing light.
Her weary eyes remained open for a short while as she wondered why she always felt so tired in the evenings nowadays. She even woke up tired, but was okay once she got to school and mixed with the other pupils. And she'd be fine for the rest of the day; it was only when she got home that she began to feel worn out.
It was this house. This house made her tired, with its chill and its draughts, and its weirdness. Just thinking about how tired she was caused her to yawn once more.
Rain lightly struck the window. She liked hearing the rain when she was all snuggled up in a warm bed. Why was Crickley Hall always cold despite the radiators and the fires Dad lit in different rooms?
Loren turned onto her side and shut her eyes. She could hear Cally's gentle snores.
As she fell asleep she was thinking of Chester. She hoped he wasn't out in the rain somewhere. She hoped someone had found him and taken him into their nice warm home. Don't worry about Chester, Dad had said. He's a smart cookie, he'll have found somewhere cosy… Loren slept.
•
It was long past midnight when Loren stirred. Someone was tugging at the duvet.
'Cally… stop it…' she muttered in her sleep.
But the tugging continued. Through a half-conscious haze she realized that someone was pulling the duvet off her. Still not quite awake, she tried to draw the bedcover back over her shoulder, but it resisted. Loren suddenly became aware of being very cold, and this rapidly brought her to her senses.
The duvet resumed its slide off her body, pausing and moving in stages. Loren felt a prickling at the back of her neck, as if the cold were causing goosebumps. The hair on her head stiffened.
She was awake, eyes open wide. The room was dark save for the muted light coming through the doorway. She could just make out Cally's small shape in the bed opposite.
Loren became aware of an odd smell. It was like… it was like detergent, something Mummy might use cleaning the house. Or was it just strong soap? If it was, it was like no other soap she'd smelled before. It was so strong…