White Silence Page 8

  His colour was rippling with excitement. ‘Do you want to waste more time discussing whose fault everything is, or do you want to hear what I’ve found out?’

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘Nurses,’ he said complacently. ‘Offer them a chocolate biscuit with their tea and they’ll tell you anything.’

  ‘So what did they tell you?’

  ‘Long story short – legend says there’s a ghost which appears whenever someone is about to die. Comes to claim them, so to speak.’

  I shivered, remembering that poor doomed man dragging that thing around with him. Dead already and he just didn’t know it. ‘Do we have any details?’

  ‘A whole biscuit tin’s worth. Although it wasn’t really needed. Everyone is full of it. They all have theories of course, and there was a lot of argument and disagreements, but the gist seems to be that during World War Two, this building was used as a hospital and convalescent home. At some point, it was bombed. Casualties weren’t high – the main damage was to the area where the kitchens are now – but everyone says say there was a nursing sister trapped in the burning building. They said, piling on the narrative excitement, that her screams could be heard from miles away. The firefighters and every available person tried their utmost, but they couldn’t get to her. She had a terrible death. She burned from the legs up. They could see her trying to beat out the flames with her hands, and all the time she was screaming, “Don’t let me burn. Don’t let me burn.” It wasn’t their fault – they did what they could but it just wasn’t enough. Now, the legend says, she appears, to claim others out of a spirit of revenge because they didn’t save her.’

  I shivered, remembering that dreadful dead thing clasping Mr Johnson’s ankle. The sound of bones being dragged across the floor.

  ‘Has Sorensen sent for you yet?’ he said, getting up.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He will.’

  Of course he would. I’d rather given myself away by running to the reception desk. Try as I would, though, I couldn’t regret it. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if I’d done nothing. The result would have been the same, but at least I had tried.

  I was sitting in the gardens, actually on the very seat from where I’d watched Ted look for fish in the ornamental pool. The day was chilly, but the surrounding yew hedges made it a bit of a sun trap. I sat quietly, enjoying the winter sunshine. Atlas still held the world on his shoulders, but today, the fountains were silent.

  ‘Good afternoon, Elizabeth. May I join you for a moment?’

  I sighed, opened my eyes and squinted up at Dr Sorensen. ‘I really would rather you didn’t, but since you seem impervious to polite hints, I don’t see any way of stopping you.’

  ‘I understand you had some conversation with Mr Johnson before he died.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, the reception staff said …’

  ‘I had a conversation with the receptionist before Mr Johnson died.’

  ‘Yes, in his report he describes you as being quite agitated.’

  ‘Really? How easily alarmed he must be. Poor boy. He’s not going to do well here, is he?’

  ‘Do you deny speaking to him?’

  ‘Who? Johnson or the receptionist.’

  He sighed. ‘Perhaps you could just tell me what happened.’

  ‘Mr Johnson was sitting quite close to me. I had some concerns about him which I reported to your staff. Later, Mr Johnson died.’

  ‘May I ask what caused you this concern?’

  ‘He seemed depressed.’

  ‘Can you describe the way in which this depression manifested itself?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It was just an impression.’

  ‘Just an impression,’ he repeated. ‘And yet no words were spoken.’ I watched his nasty sour milk colour curl towards me and shifted my position away from him.

  ‘Isn’t eighty per cent of communication supposed to be non-verbal? I’m surprised none of your staff picked up on it. Isn’t the importance of body language included in their training? The truth is that Mr Johnson was displaying clear signs of distress, a patient reported her concerns to a member of staff, and despite all that, he still died on your watch. A pretty poor performance, Sorensen. And it’s not as if this place is cheap, either.’

  He cast me a very unloving look.

  I surged on. ‘I really don’t feel the level of care here is quite what I would like to be accustomed to, and surely your people have had more than enough time to ransack my home. Kindly organise my discharge from this establishment immediately.’

  He sat back on the bench and regarded me with some hostility. ‘I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to leave this establishment, if I were you, Mrs Cage. If you don’t respond to … treatment … here, there is every possibility of you being transferred to some other sort of establishment. The sort of establishment in which you will be only too eager to cooperate.’

  I snorted, but only because I couldn’t think of anything to say. This was a legitimate threat. I could see it. It struck me suddenly that yes, there probably were many, many places worse than this one and I didn’t want to end up in even one of them.

  ‘You should take some time to think about the alternatives, Elizabeth.’

  I resumed my gaze out over the pool. ‘I don’t think I can be bothered.’

  He still didn’t move.

  Without looking at him, I said, ‘That will be all, Sorensen.’

  He waited a moment longer and then got up and left.

  I watched him walk away.

  ‘“That will be all, Sorensen.”?’ said a voice behind the hedge. ‘What sort of a death wish do you have?’

  I shrugged. ‘He wasn’t going to go away.’

  ‘We need to get you out of here. Preferably before he murders you in justifiable exasperation.’

  ‘How can he get away with this? I’m being held here against my will. I need to contact the authorities.’

  There was a sigh from behind the hedge. ‘Haven’t you grasped it yet, Cage. We are the authorities.’

  Chapter Nine

  Dinner that evening was very subdued. No one sat with anyone else. Even the crossword puzzlers kept to themselves. No formal announcement had been made about Mr Johnson, but these things always get about and everyone knew something had happened. A heavy silence hung over the room. The only sound was the chink of cutlery on crockery, or the doors swinging as the serving staff went in and out. No one ate very much.

  I kept my eyes firmly on my book, not even looking around the room for Michael Jones. Excusing myself as soon as possible, I made my way back to my room. In my absence, someone had, as usual, pulled the curtains and turned back the bed. A long bath and an early night suddenly seemed a very good idea.

  I tossed my book onto the bed and pushed open the bathroom door. I was immersed in the preliminaries for using the loo when a voice spoke behind the shower curtain.

  ‘Good evening, Cage.’

  I shrieked and jumped a mile. I’m certain my feet left the ground. I reassembled myself as quickly as possible and wrenched the curtain back with such vigour that some of it came off the rings.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Jones. What the hell are you doing in my bath?’

  ‘You scared me,’ he said reproachfully. ‘I thought you were the housekeeping staff.’

  ‘Get out of my bath.’

  ‘All right. Keep your hair on. It’s not as if I saw anything …’

  I marched back into my bedroom and turned to face him. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see you. Although, as I say it, I can see you might be getting the wrong idea.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, you know, “see you” – in this case meaning to talk to you, rather than “see you” – meaning literally to see you as you undressed, and …’

  That wasn’t what I’d meant and he knew it.

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘No,’ he said calmly, helping himself
to my fruit. ‘No dessert,’ he said, waving an apple around. ‘I skipped a course so I could be sure of getting to your room first.’

  ‘Why?’

  He picked up the armchair with no effort at all and carried it into the bathroom.

  ‘To keep an eye on things.’

  ‘Why?’

  He sighed. ‘You said it saw you. That whatever it was turned its head and looked at you. It knows you, Cage.’

  I felt suddenly very cold. I hadn’t thought of that, but he was right. It knew me. ‘Do you think it will come back?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘In that case, I’m spending the night here. I’m almost certain you won’t allow me to join you in bed …’ he paused hopefully. I maintained a discouraging silence. ‘… so that just leaves the armchair, which, in its previous position, was visible from the window in the door. I’m sure you don’t want me ruining your reputation by being spotted during bed-checks, so I’m moving it into the bathroom. A simple yet effective solution to our dilemma.’

  It was becoming apparent I wasn’t going to get a long hot bath and an early night. ‘You can fix the shower curtain while you’re in there.’

  I could hear him grumbling to himself as he snapped the rings back into place.

  I did eventually consent to getting into bed, albeit fully clothed and with my shoes only an arm’s reach away.

  Jones manoeuvred his armchair into what he claimed was the optimum position – in the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom, ignoring all my protests. He did make some remarks about both of us exercising increased bladder control during the night, but these I ignored, because I could see he was genuinely anxious. His lighter, golden patch was a little larger today, which was good news, but occasionally, a nasty red colour swirled unpleasantly. Like blood in water.

  There was a lot of tossing and turning, but eventually we both settled down and silence fell. I’d pulled the curtains back and although there was no moon, enough light came in through the windows to identify the outlines of furniture and doors. Jones left the bathroom light off because a member of staff would certainly investigate someone supposedly in the bathroom all night long.

  Silence fell. Somewhere outside, a long way off, a dog barked. The house creaked. We waited in the darkness.

  It came on so slowly that at first, I didn’t notice. I lay on my back, watching the darkness swirl with colours only I could see, when I swear the bed moved. Just slightly and then, slowly, very slowly, my cover began to slide off the bottom of the bed. Without thinking, I seized it and tried to pull it up again.

  Something pulled back.

  The shock caused the world to swim away from me. Just as it had before. I swallowed down the sudden nausea, but I couldn’t do anything about the overwhelming cold that left my skin feeling stretched and tight.

  It’s everyone’s nightmare. It’s the reason why, as a child, I would never stick any part of my body out from under the covers. Because of whatever lurked underneath the bed. Something that was always awake and always waiting for an unwary child to hang a leg or an arm over the side. Waiting to seize that child, drag it down to the nightmare realms under the bed, and devour it. My monster was called The Red James. I thought I’d grown out of that particular fantasy, and now I was discovering I’d been wrong.

  Whatever was pulling the covers off me was very, very strong. I abandoned the tug-of-war and sat up, hissing, ‘Jones.’

  I half suspected he was asleep – or even that he might have returned to his own bed, the silence from the dark bathroom was so complete, but I was wrong. The response came immediately.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s here.’

  A torch beam stabbed through the darkness, alighting first on me – I blinked in the sudden brightness – and then on the bed.

  There she was – if it was a her – at the foot of my bed, sightless eyes fixed on me, pulling herself towards me. Two hands that were really nothing more than burned bones had each seized a handful of duvet which was slowly being dragged off the bed. Whether she was trying to pull herself up onto the bed, or whether she was pulling off the covers to make it easier to get to me was unclear. I only knew that tonight she’d come for me. I’d seen her. She’d seen me. And now she’d come for me. My skin felt cold and oily. Another wave of sickness rolled over me.

  I scrambled to the very top of the bed, drawing my legs up underneath me.

  Something grabbed my arm and I shrieked.

  ‘Shut up,’ he hissed, ‘or we’ll have them all in here. Get off the bed, you idiot. Stand in the middle of the room where you have room to move. Where is she?’

  ‘Can’t you see?’

  ‘No. That’s why I’m asking you.’

  ‘At the foot of the bed.’

  I scrambled off the bed and stood where directed, ramming my feet into my shoes. ‘Give me the torch.’

  As soon as I moved, the thing that was more skull than head turned in my direction. Without a sound, she relinquished her hold on the covers, lowered herself back to the floor, and began to drag herself towards me. Slowly, but inexorably. The thought flashed through my head. There is no escape. She knows me. However long it takes, she will catch me. She will never stop and I can’t keep moving for ever.

  ‘You have to tell me where she is,’ said Jones. ‘I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know where she is. Talk to me, Cage.’

  ‘About six or seven feet away, heading towards me, but very slowly. Almost inching her way along.’

  ‘Stay in the middle of the room. Don’t let her get between you and the door. Describe her.

  I took a deep breath, telling myself I couldn’t really smell burning flesh. It was all in my mind.

  ‘Only blackened bones for legs. Nothing below the knee. Twisted body. Bone showing through. Her skin is black and red. Tattered rags of clothing burned into her flesh. Hands like claws. She’s reaching for me.’

  I moved to my left, pushing Jones with me.

  At once, the creature dropped her arm. Inch by painful inch, she began to change direction. Towards our new position. When she was more or less pointing the right way, she lifted her pitifully burned face and looked directly at me. Just as she had done the previous night.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Jones.

  ‘She’s stopped.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said in exasperation. ‘Perhaps it hurts her to move. At the moment, she’s just looking at me.’

  ‘Do we have a clear path to the door?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘In this case, as in so many others, Cage, the journey is more important than the destination.’

  He began to nudge me towards the door.

  The creature made no attempt to follow. In fact, it let its head hang down in what I would have called a moment of despair. Even as I turned away, she looked up and at the same time, raised an arm in what could have been a gesture almost of appeal.

  ‘Wait,’ I said, pulling my arm free from Jones.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Has it gone?’

  ‘No. I think she wants something.’

  ‘Yes. You.’

  I looked down at the creature, still illuminated by Jones’s torch. She lifted her arm again. And now I really could smell the charcoal smell of burned flesh. I would never eat a barbecue again.

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  She made a tiny movement. As if she could do no more. As if she was saying, ‘Please.’

  I didn’t want to die. I was young. I had a whole life ahead of me. I didn’t want to be touched by that … thing … and die.

  I said again, ‘What do you want?’

  Again she reached out her hand to me.

  ‘I know that if you touch me then I will die. I know that you come in the night and any
one you touch is dead by morning. I don’t want to die.’

  ‘Cage, what are you doing?’

  ‘Can you nod your head?’

  She nodded her head. I had an impression of appeal.

  ‘Ask it why it’s here.’

  ‘Do you mean me harm?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Have you come to kill me?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Do you mean harm to anyone tonight?’

  Nothing.

  I had a sudden thought. ‘Have you ever meant anyone harm?’

  Nothing.

  There was no point in asking what she wanted; she couldn’t tell me.

  ‘Do you want something from me?’

  A tiny dip of her head.

  ‘Can I do something to help you?’

  Again, a tiny dip.

  ‘What?’

  She lifted her hand to me.

  ‘You want to touch me?’

  A nod.

  ‘Will it hurt me?’

  Nothing.

  ‘What about him?’ I nodded towards Jones.

  ‘What about me?’ said Jones, drawing back slightly.

  Nothing.

  ‘Will you hurt him?’

  Nothing.

  ‘If you touch him, will he die?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Ask it …’

  ‘Ask her,’ I said angrily.

  ‘Ask her … if she touches me, will I see her?’

  A very good question. One I should have asked myself.

  I didn’t need to. She was already nodding.

  ‘Yes, you will.’

  ‘So why didn’t Johnson see her?’

  ‘I don’t know and she can’t say.’

  That wasn’t quite true. I think that was the moment when I had a faint glimmer of her true purpose, but there was no time to stop and think.

  Jones was uneasy. I didn’t blame him. ‘What do you think, Cage? Do we risk it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said doubtfully. ‘I really don’t. Somehow, she’s not so frightening now. I don’t think she means to harm us.’

  ‘Are you sure this isn’t wishful thinking on your part? I tell you now, if I’m dead in the morning then you and I will be having words.’

  ‘I’m going to take that as a go-ahead.’

  There was a sound outside the door.