Something from the Nightside

NINE — A House on Blaiston Street

Blaiston Street butts onto the back end of nowhere. Shabby houses on a shabby street, where all the street-lights have been smashed, because the inhabitants feel more at home in the dark. Perhaps so they won't have to see how far they've fallen. I could practically feel the rats running for cover as I led Joanna down the street, but otherwise it was almost unnaturally still and quiet. Litter was piled everywhere in great festering heaps, and every inch of the dirty stone walls was covered in obscene graffiti. The whole place stank of decay — material, emotional and spiritual. All down the street, windows were missing, patched up with cardboard or paper or nothing at all.

Filth everywhere, from animals marking their territory, or from people who just didn't care any more. The houses were two rows of ancient tenements, neglected and despised, that would probably have fallen down if they hadn't been propping each other up.

Maybe Walker was right. A good bomb here could do millions of pounds of civic improvements.

And yet… something was wrong here. More than usually wrong. The street was strangely empty deserted, abandoned. There were no homeless huddled in doorways, or under sagging fire-escapes. No beggars or muggers, no desperate souls looking to buy or sell; not even a single pale face peering from a window. Blaiston Street usually seethed with life like maggots in an open wound. I could hear the sounds of traffic and people from adjoining streets, but the sound was muted, strangely far away, as though from another world.

"Where the hell is everybody?" said Joanna quietly.

"Good question," I said. "And I don't think we're going to like the answer, when we find it. I'd like to think everyone just ran away, but… I'm beginning to suspect they weren't that lucky. I don't think anyone here got out alive. Something bad happened here. And it's still happening."

Joanna looked around her, and shuddered. "What in sweet Jesus' name could have summoned Cathy to a place like this?"

"Let's find out," I said, and calling up my gift I opened my private eye again. My gift was getting weaker, and so was I, but I was so close now it was just strong enough to show me Cathy's ghost prancing down the street, lit up from within by her own blazing emotions. I'd never seen anyone look so happy. She came to one particular house, that looked no different from any of the others, and stopped before it, studying it with solemn, child-wide eyes. The door opened slowly before her, and she ran up the stone steps and disappeared into the darkness beyond the door, smiling widely all the time, as though she was going to the best party in all the world. The door closed behind her, and that was that. I'd come to the end of the trail. For whatever reason, she'd never left that house again. I took Joanna by the hand and replayed the ghost so she could see it too.

"We've found her!" said Joanna, her hand clamping down on mine so hard it hurt. "She's here!"

"She was here," I said, pulling my hand free. "Let me check the house out before we go any further, see what my gift can tell us about the house's past and present occupants."

We walked right up to the house, and stopped at the foot of the dirty stone steps that led up to the paint-peeling door. Old bricks and mortar, smeared windows, and no signs of life anywhere. The door looked flimsy enough. I didn't think it could keep me out if I decided I wanted in, but this was the Nightside, so you never knew… I raised my gift and concentrated on the house, and despite myself I made a sudden, startled sound. There was no house before me. No history, no emotions, no memories, not even a simple sense of presence. As far as my gift was concerned, I was standing before a vacant lot. There was no house here, and never had been.

I grabbed Joanna's hand again, so she could see what I wasn't seeing, and she jumped too.

"I don't understand. Where did the house go?"

"It didn't go anywhere," I said. "As far as I can tell, there's never been any kind of house here."

I let go her hand and dropped my gift, and there was the house again, right in front of me. Large as life and twice as ugly.

"Is it another ghost?" said Joanna. "Like the café?"

"No. I'd recognise that. This is solid. It has a physical presence. We saw Cathy go into it. Something here… is playing games with us. Disguising its true nature."

"Something inside the house?"

"Presumably. Which means the only way we're going to get any answers is to force our way in, and see for ourselves. A house… that isn't just a house. I wonder what it is?"

"I don't give a damn what it is," Joanna said hotly. "All that matters is finding my Cathy, and getting her the hell out of here."

I grabbed her by the arm to stop her from charging up the steps. Her face was flushed with emotion at coming so close to the end of the chase, and her arm trembled under my hand. She looked at me angrily as I stopped her, and I made myself speak calmly and soothingly.

"We can't help Cathy by plunging headlong into traps. I don't believe in charging blindly into strange situations."

"Just as well I'm here then, isn't it?" said Suzie Shooter.

I looked round sharply, and there she was in the street behind me; Shotgun Suzie, smiling just a little smugly, the stock of her holstered pump-action shotgun peering at me over her leather-clad shoulder. I gave her my best glare.

"First Walker, and now you. I can remember when people weren't able to sneak up on me all the time."

"Getting old, Taylor," said Suzie. "Getting soft. Found anything for me to shoot yet?"

"Maybe," I said. I gestured at the house before us. "Our runaway is in there. Only my gift says there's something decidedly unnatural about this place."

Suzie sniffed. "Doesn't look like much. Let's do it. I'll lead the way, if you're worried."

"Not this time, Suzie," I said. "I have a really bad feeling about this house."

"You're always having bad feelings."

"And I'm usually right."

"True."

I made my way slowly up the stone steps. There still wasn't anyone around, but I could feel the pressure of watching eyes. Suzie moved in beside me like I'd never been away, like she belonged there, her shotgun already in her hands. Joanna brought up the rear, looking a little upset at being pushed into the background by Suzie's presence. The sound of our feet on the stone steps seemed unusually loud and carrying, but it didn't matter. Whatever was waiting for us inside the house that wasn't just a house, it knew we were there. I stopped before the door. There was no bell. No knocker or letter-box, either. I rapped on the door with my fist, and the wood seemed to give slightly under each blow, as though it was rotten. The sound of my knocking was eerily soft, muffled. There was no response from within.

"Want me to blow the lock out?" said Suzie.

I tried the door-handle, and it turned easily in my grasp. The discoloured metal of the door-knob was unpleasantly warm and moist to the touch. I rubbed my hand roughly on the side of my coat, and pushed the door open with the tip of my shoe. It fell back easily. Inside, there was only an impenetrable darkness, and not a sound anywhere. Joanna pushed in beside me, staring eagerly into the dark. She opened her mouth as though to call out to Cathy, but I stopped her. She glared at me again. There was an urgency in her now. I could feel it. Suzie produced a flashlight from some hidden pocket, turned it on and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks, and played the bright beam back and forth across the hallway before me. Hardly anything showed outside the beam, but the hall seemed long and wide and empty. I moved slowly forward, and Joanna and Suzie came with me. Once we were safely inside, the door closed behind us of its own volition, and none of us were a bit surprised.