House of Malice

FOURTEEN

‘I’m sorry, Mike. I really am. There’s just no way I can make it down there.’

‘It’s a damn shame, Todd, but I understand. You do sound pretty rough. You know what’s good for the flu? Hot whisky, lots of honey in it, and lemon juice. Come to think of it, probably doesn’t do much real good, but the whisky perks you up a bit.’

‘I’ll give it a try.’

‘You do that, mate. Take it easy, okay?’

‘Thanks, Mike,’ Todd said, and hung up the phone. He felt bad about letting down his client, even worse for lying to the guy. Mike’s small advertising agency in Cornwall had given him a lot of business over the years, and now he was leaving them in the lurch to find someone else at very short notice.

But nothing could be done about it, Todd thought. He was just too damned upset to focus on anything right now. He didn’t want to be around people. Only her.

Mandy. Mandy. He kept thinking of her. Couldn’t tear his thoughts away, not for a second. All he could do was mope about the house, trying to think of what to say to her, wondering when he’d see her again, wishing they hadn’t fought, wishing he hadn’t run off like that.

He had to talk to her. Had to see her.

Grabbing his car keys and shrugging on his jacket, he closed his front door and walked the few yards down the quiet, amber-lit village street to where he’d parked the Volvo. It was dark, and getting misty again. He got into the car and twisted the key in the ignition.

Nothing. Dead battery. He swore and thumped the steering wheel in frustration. This wasn’t going to stop him. It was only half a mile from the edge of Fairwood to Summer Cottage. He’d walk it.

By the time he reached the lane leading to her house, the mist had thickened so much that someone unsure of their bearings would easily have got lost out here. Approaching the gate he saw through the trees that the place was all in darkness. Her car wasn’t there, either. He wondered where she’d gone. Hoped she was all right.

Now he wasn’t sure what to do. Should he just go home, maybe pay a visit to the pub and drown his sorrows in beer? Or he could hang about here until she returned, but it could be hours. That was when he remembered the key in his pocket. He felt for it, closed his fingers on the rough black iron and pulled it out.

Okay, he thought, what I need to do is let myself in, write her a note to tell her I’m sorry I said those things and that I want to see her again really soon. When she comes back from wherever she’s gone, maybe she’ll call me.

He turned the key in the lion’s-head lock and the door swung open, gaping wide to invite him into the blackness of the entrance hall. He stepped inside and groped for the light switch. The lights flickered on, faded for a moment and then flickered back on. Bad connection somewhere, he thought. He’d investigate the problem, but not now.

He wiped his muddy feet on the mat, then walked up the passage to Mandy’s writing study, knowing he’d find some paper there on which to write a note. Taking a sheet of A4 from the fresh sheaf in the printer and a pen from the little jar on her desk, he paused to think of the best way to express his feelings. This could sound so lame if he didn’t get it right.

It was while he paused that he heard the giggle. He turned to look out of the study doorway. It had come from further down the passage.

‘Mandy?’ he called out.

There it was again. Laughter, female laughter, soft but perfectly distinct.

He replaced the pen in the jar and loaded the blank paper back into the printer, then left the study and headed down the passage in the direction of the sound. He passed the dining room door on his left, then the kitchen door. Both rooms were dark.

‘Mandy?’ he called again. He halted a moment to flick on one of the Bakelite switches he admired so much. Another light came on, illuminating the empty passage ahead for just an instant or two before it flickered, died, came dimly back on again. Definitely something wrong with the electrics, he decided. So much for the period charm of old houses.

He’d gone a few more yards down the passage when the lights died altogether. Plunged into darkness, he stopped. ‘Well, we saw that coming,’ he muttered. Didn’t Mandy keep a torch somewhere? Yes, but he’d never find it.

He stumbled on, feeling his way. Found another switch and waggled it. Nope. Dead. Mandy must be somewhere at the back of the house, the utility room or the laundry room, probably hunting about looking for a torch or a candle to light. He hoped he wouldn’t scare her half to death, appearing in the dark in the middle of a bloody power cut. ‘Mandy,’ he called in a strong voice, to alert her of his presence. ‘It’s me, Todd. Where are you?’

When he saw the glimmering glow up ahead his first thought was that she must have lit a candle. It wasn’t, though. It was almost like some kind of floating, strangely phosphorescent mist that grew inexplicably thicker as he made his way deeper into the passage. The peculiar, sickly greenish-yellow light seemed to be more intense further along, beyond the point where the passage curved out of sight.

He called her name again.

This time, as if in reply, came another sound. It wasn’t the female laughter he’d heard before. It was a snickering cackle. It wasn’t far away.

Todd felt his flesh turn a little colder. ‘Stop messing around, Mandy,’ he called out, and heard the nervous tremor in his own voice.

He followed the bend in the passage, the strange, intensifying glow ahead somehow leading him on. Through it, he saw a door. He remembered what Mandy had told him and the chill in his body became a shudder.

So the cottage had a cellar, after all. He’d been so willing to disbelieve her; scepticism was a luxury he no longer possessed.

He was suddenly terribly afraid. Gripped by a panicked desire to turn and run, he realised that he couldn’t. He was being drawn to the cellar door.

Now he was standing at its threshold. He reached out with a quaking hand, but before he could touch it the door swung open, and he found himself looking down a twisting stone stairway.

Something like cobwebs brushed his face. The eerie light shone intensely from down there. Unable to stop himself, he began to head downwards into the cellar. His footsteps echoed off the craggy stone walls that surrounded him.

The door closed behind him with a reverberating thud.

And when he saw what was coming towards him from below, his mouth opened for a scream that never found voice.