Perversely, the dread of something unknown made Gabe angry with himself. He wasn't a child and didn't believe in ghosts. With a muttered curse, he forced himself to whip back the duvet and go to the door. Although dressed only in T-shirt and shorts, he was already too cold to feel any worse as he padded across the wooden flooring. His spine felt rigid, as though it were gripped by an icy brace, and he rolled his shoulders to loosen it. Still he felt as if he were being observed by something in the room with him; something invisible, but nevertheless there, lurking, hiding, where it couldn't be seen.
As he reached the door he caught a whiff of something nasty mixed with the weaker scent of…? Of soap? But not a pleasant brand of soap. But the extraneous odours seemed to have nothing to do with whatever had passed by the room a moment or two ago, because the air, such as it was, was purer on the landing. The unpleasant reek was from behind him. Outside the door he paused, then saw the mist again at the top of the stairs. It lingered there, as if waiting for him. A ridiculous notion, it was true, but one he couldn't shake.
Gabe was reminded of the skittering images he and Loren had witnessed earlier that day and the description came to him again: white shadow. This thing looked as insubstantial as that.
As he took a tentative step towards the small immobile mist, it began to descend the stairway. He peered over the balustrade to follow its progress.
The landing light barely infringed upon the gloom of the grand hall below; it was like an umbrageous arena filled with deep blacks and murky greys among which anything might skulk. Yet the sinking mist was clearly visible, as though illuminated from within.
Curiosity overrode Gabe's trepidation. He headed towards the stairway, careful to tread softly as he passed the room in which his wife and daughters slept. He would have liked to have retrieved the flashlight he now kept beside the four-poster bed, but that would risk waking Eve or one of the girls and they deserved at least one night of uninterrupted sleep. Reaching the stairway, he paused again to search the space below.
His eyes had become accustomed to the poor light and he caught sight of the white shadow floating across the hall towards the cellar door.
Gabe hurried down the stairs, a hand on the banister to feel his way, his senses acutely alert, dread countered by rushing adrenaline. He stopped once again on the stairway's square turn, his feet suddenly wet. He was standing in a puddle.
Rain beat at the tall window and it was hardly surprising that water had leaked through the worn window frames. As he stood there, the sense of being observed was powerful enough to make him spin round and search the stairs and landing behind him. There was nothing there, though. At least, nothing that he could see.
Ignoring the feeling of being prey to something unseen, he descended the rest of the stairs, then made his way across the flagstone floor towards the cellar on the other side of the hall. Despite his apprehension, he felt he was meant to follow this mist, this shadow; somehow it was irresistible, as if he were being lured. And he had put reason aside for the moment, allowing himself to be drawn.
He splashed through more puddles on the flagstones, but hardly noticed them now as he moved through the darkness, the light on the landing above too feeble to provide much guidance. He was tempted to find the main light switch by the kitchen door, but if the chandelier came on it would shine through the doorway to where his family slept; he still didn't want to wake them, no point, Loren might freak.
Gabe could just make out the solid blackness that was the open cellar door and as he watched, the white shadow slipped through and disappeared down the steps. Reluctant to lose sight of it completely, he quickened his pace, bare feet now slapping on dry stone. As he went, he swung his head round as if to catch whoever was observing him unawares, but there was nobody on the stairway or on the landing above. Nobody that he could see, that is. Still the feeling of being scrutinized persisted, although he seemed to have left the smell of corruption and soap behind.
As he approached the cellar door (which he remembered having locked yet again before turning in for the night), a different smell wafted out to him. This was of dampness and mould, of cobwebs and dust. He could hear the busy rush of the river beneath the house rising from the well below. Cautiously, he peeked through the opening.
Although the darkness was complete at the bottom of the steps, he just caught sight of the lighter shadow moving into it. Gabe reached in and turned on the narrow stairway's light, a naked low-wattage bulb covered in grime. The journey down into the cellar looked uninviting, for the blackness there had hardly receded; instead it seemed to be pushing against the lowest step like a threatening tenebrous tide.
Without giving himself time for further reflection, the engineer began to descend, one hand brushing the wall as he went. He was soon on the last stair and the pitchy blackness spread out before him. Breathing in stale air, he reached round the wall on his right, fingers searching for the light switch. Found it, flicked it on.
Just in time to see the nebulous white shadow flow over the well's low circular wall and drop out of sight.
The cellar was by no means well-lit, for the naked hanging lightbulb, like the one over the steps, was dimmed by years of dust; there were corners and niches that were impenetrable. The opening to the boiler and generator room next door was a black void.
Gabe returned his attention to the well, anxious not to lose sight of the thing he'd followed. Wary of debris scattered around the cellar's floor, he went to the well's low stone wall and peered into its depths. Although he heard the endless roar of the river below—its noise was amplified by the acoustics of the circular shaft—it was like looking into a bottomless pit. Of the white shadow he had followed there was no trace: it seemed to have been absorbed into the umbra. Unconsciously, he leaned further over the lip, his shins pressing against the wall, and stared into the dense blackness below. Gabe had never before suffered from vertigo, but a sudden dizziness came upon him; it was as if the blackness was sucking him in. An iciness seemed to reach up for him, freezing his very bones, and his breath was released in vaporous clouds. He almost toppled, but caught himself just in time, and staggered backwards, away from the opening.
Gabe stood there, a foot or two away from the wall, and he inhaled a deep breath of musty air in an effort to calm himself.
He heard a noise that had nothing to do with the pounding of the river beneath the house. It was a scuffling noise and it had come from somewhere in the spacious underground chamber. Something dragging.
Gabe squinted his eyes, trying to discern anything that might be concealed by the shadows there. It was too dark, though. Someone was using the shadows as a cloak. Just as he had been certain he was being watched upstairs, he was sure that somebody lurked just out of sight.
'Someone there?' he barked with a gruffness he hardly felt.
Only the sound of rushing water came back to him.
Moving slowly, Gabe edged round the wall of the well, a path that took him closer to the source of the scuffling. There it was again! He hadn't been mistaken. Someone—an intruder—was hiding from him. Maybe they'd seen him come out onto the landing earlier and ducked through the open cellar door before he came downstairs. But then Gabe had gone straight to the cellar, so the intruder must have escaped down the steps, any noise they might have made covered by the sound of the river rising from the well.
Again! Feet scraping on concrete. From right there, inside the opening to the boiler room where the weak overhead light couldn't reach. His eyes might have been playing tricks on him, but he was sure something had moved in the darkness. Dark upon dark.