The Secret of Crickley Hall

'I came here, Mr and Mrs Caleigh, because I seek out so-called "ghosts" for a living.' He smiled at Gabe's pained expression. 'You might be relieved to hear,' Pyke went on, 'that rarely, if ever, do I find them.'

Gabe shook his head. 'I don't get it.'

'No. Well, as it happens I don't believe in hauntings either and eight times out of ten I find my disbelief is vindicated. There are no such things as ghosts and, if you'll allow me, I'm confident I'll prove to you that this house isn't haunted.'

'So you're one of those guys who investigate spooky places.'

'I'm a psychic investigator, or a parapsychologist, if you like, and I do investigate houses and buildings where it's claimed—usually mistakenly—that they're haunted by supernatural forces—apparitions, phantom voices or poltergeists.'

'Poltergeists?'

'Mischievous demon spirits.'

'Yeah, I know what they are. I just don't give 'em much credence.'

'Good, then we agree.' But again, Pyke took in Gabe's doubtful expression.

'Let's take poltergeists as an example then,' the self-pronounced psychic investigator resumed. 'Such activity involves objects flying across rooms, doors opening and closing, furniture movement, knocking sounds, even smells—there are a whole range of incidents that can startle or terrify the poor victim. But the fact is, they are often instigated by the kinetic mind energy of pubescent girls, whose emotional and hormonal state is undergoing profound changes. Or they can be caused by individuals who are in high-stress situations.'

'Are you telling us that what has happened here is all in our minds?' Eve's voice was cautious, yet challenging.

'No, I'm only giving you an example of what might be the cause of paranormal activities.'

'You're thinking of Loren,' Gabe guessed.

'Not necessarily, although her age could suggest it's her. But you or your wife might equally be the epicentre of such activity. That is, if either one of you is deeply anxious or distressed at this time. Perhaps you both are.'

Once more, Gabe and Eve glanced at each other.

Yes,' said Eve, regarding Pyke again. 'Yes, there's much more going on here that isn't mentioned in the newspaper.'

'Then why don't we make ourselves comfortable and discuss precisely what has been happening?' Pyke turned first to Gabe and then to Eve, and the warmth of his smile was persuasive.

•

'Sometimes,' Pyke was explaining, 'energies, especially if they're traumatic or violent, can be absorbed into the very fabric of a building itself, as if the stone and timbers act like a tape recorder, to be released as images or sounds, or both, at some later date.'

The three of them were in Crickley Hall's sitting room, Gabe and Eve together on the couch, the psychic investigator in the high-backed armchair, his cane resting between his legs. Gabe had not yet laid a fire, so the room was chilly and dank.

'It's these type of events that seem to register mostly, because the energy released at the time is extremely potent. It's when those occurrences are subsequently replayed as images and sounds that they're taken for supernatural encounters.'

Eve had related some of the unusual incidents that had happened in Crickley Hall that past week and Pyke had listened attentively, making sympathetic noises here and there, a nod of his head occasionally. Sometimes he gave a benign smile, other times a deep frown.

'Now, this house,' he continued, 'is old and full of draughts—although I'd rather call them air currents. They're certainly evident in this room. The building itself is situated in a deep-sided gorge through which winds and breezes are channelled. A sudden fierce gust could easily have caught the swing outside, frightening your youngest daughter and consequently knocking you to the ground. Now, you tell me there's a well to an underground river in the basement area, from which I imagine all manner of air currents rise, and on occasion they probably bring vapour mists with them. Mists that you have misguidedly thought to be apparitions.'

Eve looked doubtful, but it was Gabe who protested, even though in truth he was prepared to believe in the investigator's theories. 'They were scooting all over the place, following each other.'

'Vapours driven by rampant but localized winds. In your own mind you might view them as having purpose or direction, but the reality is that they were merely carried along on the air currents.'

'The banging from inside the closet?'

'All manner of causes. Wind, hot waterpipes, bats, rodents, vibrations…'

'But the cupboard door moved; it rattled in its frame,' asserted Eve, 'as if something inside was pushing against it. And when we opened the door, the cupboard was empty, there was no living thing in there.'

'If it were a rodent it would have disappeared through whatever opening it had used for entry. Or it may well have been vibrations from internal piping.'

'Well, there are hot and cold waterpipes running through the closet…' Gabe said uncertainly but willing to be convinced.

'When a person is in shock or frightened, it's all too easy for their own imagination to exaggerate what is really happening.' Pyke leaned forward, his large hands resting over the curved top of his cane. 'Take the cellar door as an example. You claim you always lock it, yet it constantly appears to unlock itself. The lock is obviously faulty, or the frame is slightly warped, probably both, so the locking bolt works itself loose with the continual pressures of the draughts coming from the well below being funnelled up the stairway.'

Plausible, thought Gabe. Just.

'Puddles on the floor? I think perhaps water either seeps up from minute cracks in the cement between the flagstones, or there are slow, tiny leaks in the roof and ceiling.'

'But the puddles disappear,' said Eve, sceptically.

'Obviously not through evaporation, but perhaps the water sinks back into the same cracks that caused them. Those cracks are so fine that they can't be seen unless examined closely. The same applies to those created by leaks in the ceiling—they merely drain away. Puddles on the staircase could be formed by cracks in the ceiling directly above or by rainwater driven in through small gaps in the large window. They would disappear through splits in the stairboards.'

'But I saw children in outdated clothes dancing in the hall,' Eve insisted, her hands clasped tightly over her knees.

'Yes, that's interesting.' Pyke settled back in the armchair again, his voice and his manner somehow calming. 'Tell me, what had you been occupied with just before you had this vision? Sleeping, perhaps?'

'No, it was mid-morning and I was wide awake.' She thought back. 'Yes, I'd been in the kitchen looking at the spinning top.'

'Spinning top?'

Eve hesitated. 'We found an old-fashioned spinning top in the attic among the other toys. It looked like it had never been used. I oiled it and got it spinning.'

'You spun it?'

'Yes. It was stiff at first, but I soon had it turning.'

'These toys spin very fast, don't they?'

'Very fast. The colours merge into a kind of whiteness as it makes a high-pitched humming noise.'

'What's the pattern or design? They're usually very colourful.'

'It's a picture that goes all the way around. Of—of children holding hands and dancing in a circle.' She knew what Pyke was about to suggest.

'And the figures blended, became a white blur…?' Pyke prompted.

'Yes.'

'You watched it spin. I suppose it might have some kind of hypnotic effect if you stare at it too long and too hard. Revolving patterns at certain speeds can induce trance-like states. Is that what happened to you, Mrs Caleigh?'

'I—I don't think so. I'm not sure.'

'I suggest that's precisely what happened; and when you went out into the hall, the vision of dancing children became a reality to you. You were still in a semi-trance, you were in a waking dream.'