The Secret of Crickley Hall

•

Now it was October again. Late October. But it was the present. Not quite the same day as when the Devil's Cleave had become a huge conduit for the wind as well as a giant gutter for the swollen river and rainwater from the moors, but close enough.

Gordon Pyke sheltered from the storm in the metal cocoon of his car, reliving his life and anticipating the final closure from the years of torment.

Enough of memories, he mentally snapped at himself. Time to deal with the present. It was as if all the years since leaving Crickley Hall as a twelve-year-old boy had been leading up to this point, as if he had been directed—driven—back to this ugly old house. Tonight was perfect. It wasn't quite the same date, the day and the week were different, but that was okay, it didn't matter because everything else was right. Tonight he would free himself.

Fierce rain assaulted his face and shoulders when he pushed open the Mondeo's door. He climbed out awkwardly, gritting his teeth as he cricked his knee. The wind nearly tore the hat from his head, but he clamped a big hand down on it in time to save it. With both hands he gripped the narrow brim and secured the hat firmly. Reaching back into the car he drew out his sturdy hardwood walking stick, then pulled open the rear door and dragged out a huge worn leather suitcase. It was heavy, but he was a large man and still strong.

He straightened, paused for a moment to look across the foaming river at Crickley Hall, then made his way to the bridge.

65: THE DRIVE BACK

Wind-driven rain lashed at the Range Rover's windows and bodywork, and Gabe took the bend in the road cautiously. The roadway was so narrow that another skid might take him into a ditch on one side, or into the trees on the other, despite the vehicle's stability control. Nothing was foreseeable on such a vile night.

It was just as well he had slowed down because the road dipped just beyond the curve and rainwater had created a mini-lake across its surface. Even the ditch on the left was not enough to carry the water away. Normally, he would have changed down to a low gear and driven steadily through the flood, confident that the 4x4 had the height and power to pass through it, but his headlights lit up another vehicle ahead which had become immobilized in the middle of the road.

Two heads turned round to look at him through the other car's rear window, their anxious faces lit up by the Range Rover's strong lights, and he saw it was a young man and girl trapped in their Ford Fiesta. They looked too young to be married, nothing more than teenagers. Maybe this was their first date, Gabe thought, and the guy had made a jerk of himself trying to take the flood too fast or too slow, the Fiesta in the wrong gear.

Gabe thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. All he wanted to do was to get back to Eve and the girls, to be there with them in their mutual grief. He didn't need this.

The driver's door of the Fiesta opened and the young man stepped out into the water, which came almost up to his knees. He splashed towards Gabe, desperation on his face. Gabe pressed a button and his side window slid down. Ignoring the rain that battered his face, he stuck his head out, an elbow resting on the sill. Despite the weather, the kid approaching him wore only a Kaiser Chiefs T-shirt over baggy trousers. Tree branches were waving with the force of the wind and ripples coursed across the newly made lake that concealed the roadway; the Range Rover shuddered with each fresh gust.

We got stuck!' the other driver, who was, as he had thought, no more than a teenager, shouted out pointlessly when he got as far as the Range Rover's bonnet.

'Yeah, looks like you did,' Gabe called back. He was impatient to get on his way.

The drenched kid came up to the side window and Gabe couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The teenager's long hair was now plastered to his scalp and the soggy T-shirt stuck to his skinny chest.

'The car just stopped halfway through,' he bellowed mournfully into Gabe's ear. 'We didn't realize the puddle was so deep.'

Puddle? The way ahead was concealed by a mini-lake.

'Can you help us?' the kid pleaded hopefully.

'I can get you out of it,' Gabe shouted back, 'but I don't know how well your engine's taken it. You may not get it started till it's dried out again. You've probably sucked up water through the exhaust.'

The drenched kid looked forlorn, rainwater dripping off his nose. 'We need to get to the next village. My girlfriend lives there.'

'How far?'

''Bout five miles.'

Good, Gabe thought. He wouldn't have to go out of his way if he gave the couple a lift. 'Look, I haven't got a tow rope, but if you put your car in neutral, I can push it out from behind. When we're out of the flood, steer towards the side of the road. You can leave it there and I'll take you to your friend's place, then you can get a garage to collect your car. Doubt you'll get anyone out tonight, though, not in this weather.'

They both jumped when they heard a sharp crack from across the road. A stout branch of a nearby tree snapped off and dangled by sinews over the road.

'Let's get to it,' shouted Gabe.

'Thanks, man. I owe you.'

The young guy splashed back to his own car and through its rear window Gabe could see him explaining the situation to his girlfriend. Still lit up by the Range Rover's headlights, the girl turned and waved back a thank-you.

Gabe engaged first gear. 'Okay, let's see what we can do,' he murmured to himself and set the 4x4 in motion.

66: GHOST-HUNTER

The wind blew the front door wide open and rain flew in with it when Eve answered the croaky doorbell.

The tall figure of a man stood on the doorstep, a walking stick in one hand, a very big suitcase set on the ground by his right leg. Lightning flared behind him so that his face and body were momentarily in silhouette. The boom of thunder quickly followed and Eve almost recoiled from the sound.

She was still in an emotional daze from news of her son's death, although outwardly, and for the sake of her daughters, she appeared calm and collected. She waited for the other person to speak.

'Mrs Caleigh?' the big man queried even though he knew full well who she was. 'Gordon Pyke. We met yesterday.' He was puzzled by the lack of expression on her face, but nevertheless he smiled warmly.

'Mr Pyke,' she said at last.

A cold draught wrapped itself round her body and rain spat at her through the doorway.

'Yes,' he confirmed again. 'You and your husband agreed that I should come back tonight to make tests.'

'Tests? I'm sorry…'

'May I come in? I'm afraid the storm is rather fierce.'

Eve stepped aside as he hoisted the suitcase and came into the house. She was too confused—and her senses were too blunted—to object.

'You do remember, Mrs Caleigh?' Pyke took off his little hat and smacked rain from it against his thigh. He rested the brown leather suitcase on the stone-flagged floor.

Eve shut the front door, exerting pressure as the wind fought to keep it open. Although they could hear the gale outside and the rain lashing the high window, it became comparatively quiet inside the grand hall.

'Yes, of course,' she said distractedly in answer to his question. 'But I didn't expect you…' Her words trailed off.

'Oh yes, that was the arrangement. Your husband was rather keen that I help you with your problem.'

'Problem?'

'The suspected haunting. I'm here to look into the matter. There are no ghosts here, I can assure you of that.' Pyke was sticking to the line he'd used on Gabe Caleigh, that of a pragmatic sceptic. 'Even better,' he added, 'I'll prove it to you.'

His natural smile was disarming. He indicated the dripping suitcase. 'If I could just set up my equipment? I promise I won't get in anybody's way.' He beamed his kind eyes on her and the smile beneath his small, grey-streaked beard was warm, charming. Somehow, understanding. She caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath. 'We need to agree on what rooms can be off-limits to you and your family once I've prepared them. I'll have cameras and sound-recorders in them, you see. And instruments for measuring movement and pressure change. Also, don't be surprised if you find talcum powder sprinkled on the floor or furniture. It's for possible footprints and handprints. Quite easy to vacuum up afterwards.'

'I'm sorry, it's not…' Eve was going to say, it's not convenient, but the word was hardly apt for the circumstances. 'We've—we've had very bad news today,' she finished lamely.

'Oh, my dear Mrs Caleigh, I'm so sorry.' His sympathy sounded perfectly genuine. 'Is there anything I can do?'

She shook her head dispiritedly. 'No. Thank you. It's my little boy. I told you yesterday that he'd been missing for a long time and today we learned that—that he's gone for ever. He's dead.'

'Dear God. That's dreadful.' One of Pyke's big hands reached out and rested on Eve's shoulder for a moment, its pressure light. 'Would you like to talk to me about your son?'

He wondered why her eyes were not puffy from crying. She seemed to be taking her loss surprisingly well. But then her tone of voice suggested that her mind was in another place. It was not that unusual for the shock of sudden tragedy or bereavement to numb a person's feelings, dull their senses, so that they appear detached and withdrawn rather than mortified.

'That's very kind of you,' she replied solemnly, 'but no, I've spent most of the evening talking to my daughters about Cam—that's my son's name—and now they, we, need time to grieve.'

'How are your daughters taking it?' Pyke oozed concern.

'Loren's terribly upset—that's the older one you helped yesterday.'

He nodded.

'And Cally,' Eve continued. 'Well, she cried a bit, but she's too young to understand…' Her voice trailed away again.

'How old is Loren? She's twelve, I think you told me.'

'Yes, just twelve. She's with Cally in their bedroom now, trying to deal with it. She's putting on a brave face for me, I think.'

'Is your husband not at home?' Pyke already knew Mr Caleigh wasn't, but there was no harm in checking.

'Gabe's still in London. He had to identify the body. I hope he's all right.'

Excellent, thought Pyke. 'You know, yesterday he was very keen for me to carry out an investigation into the unaccountable disturbances in this house. Despite your mutual grief, I'm sure he would have wanted me to carry on. If I'm successful—which I know I shall be—in providing proof to you that Crickley Hall is not haunted by ghosts, it will be one less thing for you to concern yourself with.'

Eve thought of telling Pyke about last night, how she had nearly drowned in the bath, strong hands seeming to push her down, submerge her in the water whose surface had turned to ice, but did not have the energy to explain the inexplicable. Pyke was on a fool's errand—she, herself, had witnessed too many weird things in this house for there to be rational explanations—but she was too weary, too played out, to try and convince him.

He was still babbling on, but she barely took in a word he was saying. She didn't even consider him insensitive, so sincere did he appear to be.

'I promise you'll hardly know I'm here. I'd start at the top of the house, the attic room from where you said you heard running feet, then I'd be interested in examining the cellar, which may be the root cause of some extraneous noises you've been hearing. The well, the underground river, damaged or worn foundations and all that. Do you have decent architect's plans of Crickley Hall, by the way? No? They might have helped me, but never mind.'

Eve's will had been wearied by grief. She cast her eyes downwards as if deliberating, while in truth all she was thinking about was her dead son. Her thoughts were interrupted by a small voice from the stairway.

'What does the man want, Mummy?'

Cally had a frown on her podgy face as she stood hand in hand with Loren on the square landing at the turn of the stairs. She was in her pink pyjamas, while her big sister was wearing a light-blue nightie that hung down to her bare ankles.

'This is Mr Pyke,' Eve told her patiently; she had hoped Cally would be fast asleep by now. 'He's come to see about all those strange noises we've been hearing. He wants to make it all right.'

'Good,' proclaimed Cally. 'I hate the noises because there's no one there. I like the lights though.'

Pyke didn't know what lights the little girl was referring to. But his attention was on Loren. His smile contained both delight and sympathy, his kindly eyes the secret of the trick.

'Hello, Mr Pyke.' Loren managed to raise a smile. Her face was blotchy from dried tears and her eyelids were red-rimmed. Her shoulders were slightly hunched forward, another outward sign of her anguish. She looked very vulnerable.

Eve quietly called across the hall to her youngest daughter. 'Cally, you need to be in bed sleeping.'

'I'm too sad to sleep, Mummy. Is the man going to make the noises go away?' She rubbed an eye with a knuckle.

Eve turned back to Pyke. 'I'm not sure—' Again she was interrupted.

'Mrs Caleigh. Eve. Your husband was quite definite.'

'But not right now, not tonight.'

'I'm afraid I'm going away in a few days,' he lied. 'Tonight is the only time I'll be available. I promise I'll have answers for you by tomorrow morning. I won't even have to stay here overnight if you don't want me to, although that would be preferable. I only have to arrange my paraphernalia, a camera here, a sound-recorder there, a length of cotton across a doorway somewhere else. All I require is a couple of hours or so. You can go up to your bed without worrying about me—I can let myself out and come back early in the morning if you'd rather I didn't stay.' Yes, it would make everything easier if they were sleeping; that was the original plan anyway.

'Normally,' he went on without giving Eve a chance to speak, 'I would sit in a chair somewhere in the house, the hall itself or perhaps the attic room, so I could keep an eye on things, check my equipment every now and again. I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't do something to help you and your family at such a sad time.'

His compassionate smile broadened, but not quite into a grin.

'Besides, I've driven a long way this evening and through the worst weather I've ever known.' (Which wasn't exactly true because he and Magda had braved a similar storm all those years ago.) 'It would be a shame if it were a wasted effort.'

Eve felt her will sink, and it was already at a low ebb. Pyke was persuasive, he had a sincere manner; but it wasn't his entreaties that were wearing her down, it was because nothing else mattered to her right now. She could tell that Loren was taken with Gordon Pyke despite her obvious emotional pain over Cam. Perhaps she saw him as the granddad she had never had? Perhaps if Loren accompanied the ghost-hunter as he set out his tools of the trade and explained each one's purpose she might be diverted from her sorrow for a short while. For the first time ever, Eve abdicated from parental responsibility to pass it on to her eldest daughter.

'What do you think, Loren? Should we let Mr Pyke go ahead and flush out bats in the roof or mice in the cupboards?' She chose not to mention ghosts. 'You were there yesterday when we spoke about it.'

Loren had led Cally down to the bottom of the stairs. The nice, tall Mr Pyke was smiling encouragingly and she could almost feel him willing her to say yes.

'Dad wants Mr Pyke to do it, doesn't he?' she said to her mother.

'Circumstances have changed,' Eve replied, struggling to keep bitterness from her voice.

Loren's face clouded over for a moment and her thoughts skirted elsewhere; she was still shocked by her brother's death even though she had been expecting the worst for months.

'You told Cally and me we have to try and carry on as before—before Cam got lost.' There was something like anger in her tone, but it wasn't directed at her mother.

Eve gave in. She looked up into the investigator's gentle eyes and spoke resignedly. 'Very well, Mr Pyke. Put your equipment wherever you think it might be useful. Loren will show you the cupboard on the landing where most of the noises have come from, while I get Cally back to bed. Then she'll take you up to the dormitory—sorry, it's now just an attic as you called it.'

'I'm anxious to examine the cellar where the well is.'

'Yes, of course. I'll take you down there myself when you've finished upstairs. You might want to put some kind of contraption on the cellar door—as I told you, it just won't stay shut.'

'Certainly. I'll use a spring balance and measure the amount of force it takes to open it. It's probably due to strong draughts. And you won't enter the rooms I've sealed?'

'As long as we know which ones they are.'

'I'll site my movement-triggered cameras and tape recorders, but won't set them 'til you're all out of the way in your beds.'

'I'd rather you didn't stay the night.'

'That's fine. I'll leave late and return first thing tomorrow morning. As long as you keep clear of my little, er, traps, there'll be no problem.'

'I hate to turn you out on a night like this…'

'Perhaps the storm will have broken by the time I'm done here.' Besides, now he didn't have to wait until the husband was asleep. 'I'm sure I'll be all right.'

He lifted his suitcase and looked towards Loren again. 'So lead on, young lady; I'm entirely in your hands.' How true, he thought, oh so very true.

Loren produced a wan but polite smile. Cally only scowled at the man when her big sister dropped her hand.

67: INTO THE STORM

Lili drove cautiously, slowly, her nose only inches away from the windscreen. The Citroën's wiper blades did their best, but the rain seemed to be hurling itself at the glass, making visibility extremely poor. Several times she had almost resolved to turn back and go home, for some of the minor roads were flooded with pond-like puddles and each time she went through one she worried that the car might stall and leave her stranded. Yet she kept going, driving steadily, determined to reach Crickley Hall that night. That crucial night. She could still hear echoes of the children's calls in the deeper caverns of her mind, too distant to catch their words, but knowing—sensing—her help was needed.

She ducked her head instinctively every time there was a lightning flash followed by a thunderclap. Lili had never realized that thunder and lightning could continue for such a long time; the thunderclouds had remained localized and that puzzled her, for surely the high winds should have moved them on?

Another car was ahead of her and its brakelights were constantly winking on and off as if the driver were being even more cautious than Lili. Maybe it was a good thing. She needed to keep her speed down and, anyway, following another vehicle made things easier for her. Let them make the mistakes.

The car in front, however, soon turned off onto a side road, leaving Lili to fend for herself. Suddenly blinded by blazing headlights coming at her from the opposite direction, she pulled up sharply, thankful there was nothing behind. Three cars went by, all of them on full beam, the second one dazzling the first's rearview mirror, the third dazzling the second's, a dangerous way to be driving, especially on such a treacherous night.

More lightning, more thunder. A good night for hauntings, she half joked to herself. If anything, she discovered, it was more hazardous travelling along main roads than down country lanes, for the high hedges of the latter offered some protection from the battering wind, even though the branches of some trees bowed perilously close to the Citroën's windscreen and roof.

Coming to a crossroads, she could just make out the signpost, one of its four arms pointing directly ahead to Hollow Bay. She checked left to right, and left to right again, squinting into the storm for headlights approaching in either direction. The road was eerily empty of traffic now; but then, what kind of fool would be out on a night like this? She gunned the engine and shot towards the relative safety of the opposite lane, a mighty burst of wind rocking the small car halfway across. Her hands gripped the steering wheel firmly, keeping the car on course, and then she was in the narrow lane, this section of it at least protected by tall, grassy banks. Hollow Bay was now no more than a couple of miles away, she reassured herself. Not far. Just difficult with all this wind and rain. No going back now, Lili told herself. Despite the heavy dread she felt. Besides, it was that dread that was drawing her to Crickley Hall. She was needed. By the children. She was sure.

After another nightmarish mile, Lili reached the turn-off for the harbour village and was mercifully aware that it wasn't too far to the house from this point. Wind whistled round the vehicle and rain pummelled it ceaselessly. Thinner trees waved and bushes shook wildly. Lili anxiously rubbed the steam of her breath from the glass in front of her with the sleeve of her coat; she had to keep leaning over the steering wheel to get even closer to the windscreen just to see the roadway ahead as shooting rain pounded the road's surface like exploding bullets. The psychic bit into her lower lip and her knuckles were white on the wheel.

Then it happened.

Lightning forked its jagged way down from the turbulent skies to strike an elm tree on Lili's left. Sparks flew out from it and a small fire flared. With a sharp grinding sound the trunk began to split. Her scream was muted by the thunder that quickly followed as the tree started to fall towards her, and it might have been fright or reflex that made her stamp on the accelerator. Branches that were still in leaf scraped against the car's rear window as the tree toppled with a mighty, juddering crash and Lily only stopped the Citroën when she knew it was well clear.

The psychic twisted round to look back and all she could see through the rain was a thick mass of branches and leaves completely covering the road. She let out a shuddering breath as she turned and rested her forehead on the top of the steering wheel.

Oh God, that was close, she thought. Oh dear God, that was very close. Her whole body was trembling, especially her neck and shoulders which, paradoxically, also felt taut.

She took a few moments to calm herself before starting the car again. Trembling still, she drove onwards to Crickley Hall.

•

There was a vehicle parked in the short bay area, but it wasn't Gabe Caleigh's. Lili knew he drove a Range Rover and this was another make entirely, a Ford of some kind. The rain was beating down so hard and the night was so dark—except when lightning strobed; then everything became a dramatic silvery-grey—she couldn't even tell its colour. The Range Rover was not to be seen and she briefly wondered if the Caleigh family had left the house. But then she saw the dull glow of a lighted window across the river. She parked close behind the Ford and her headlights revealed it to be a Mondeo, dark red in colour. A shallow spray haloed its roof as rain bounced off the metal.

As soon as Lili got out of her car she was drenched, her blonde hair darkened and flattened to her scalp. She wished she had brought an umbrella along—her mind had been too preoccupied when she had dashed from the flat—but then dismissed the idea: it would easily have blown away in this gale. Leaning forward, shoulders hunched almost to her ears and holding her coat closed with one hand, she made her way to the bridge.

Pausing before stepping on to it, Lili looked over at Crickley Hall. There were lights on in most of the windows, she now saw, upstairs and down; she thought she even saw a glow coming from the small attic windows. Holding onto the handrail, the psychic put one tentative ankle-booted foot onto the bridge and stopped. She could feel the wooden structure shaking beneath her.

Dark though the night was, she could see the white spume of the hurtling, swollen river. The wild waters were only inches below the foot planks of the bridge, and spray misted over the boards so that they were dangerously slippery. She gripped the handrail more tightly.

Lightning zigzagged from the sky and in its argent illumination the river looked terrifying, as if about to burst its banks. Broken tree branches, twigs and loose shrubbery cluttered against the rail on the other side, and the rail she held onto quivered in her grip.

With great trepidation, she placed her other foot on the bridge. It seemed even more shaky now that she had both feet on the walkway, even more unstable. Sliding her hand along the soaked rail, Lili warily moved further on, the wind whipping rain against her exposed face, her boots slipping on the bridge's slick surface. Halfway across she felt the whole structure shift, as if the raging water underneath might carry it away. The bridge only moved an inch or so, but nevertheless it was enough to make her panic.

The psychic ran the rest of the way, her feet skidding on the boards, only her hand on the rail saving her from falling. Just before she reached the end, the bridge lurched again as if to break free of its supports, and the movement, slight though it was, sent Lili staggering forwards so that she crashed to her knees onto the pathway.

She hurt her hands taking her weight, and her knees would have been grazed had she not been wearing a coat and skirt that covered them. Picking herself up and grimacing at the sharp sting in both hands, Lili hurried towards the house, crouching against the rain. Something caught her shoulder, a hard knock as if someone had punched her, and she wheeled round, expecting to be attacked. She saw movement in the darkness of the night, something small and rectangular falling away from her. The swing was lit up by another flash of lightning and it was coming back towards her at speed. But this time she was able to step backwards off the path so that it missed her. She sensed its heaviness as the wooden seat reached its highest point a foot or so above her head.

Although the psychic knew its motion was caused by the gale-force wind, she could not help but feel that the swing had hit her deliberately, conspiring somehow with the lightning-felled tree and the unstable bridge to keep her away from Crickley Hall.

Chiding herself for being melodramatic and almost letting her imagination run away with her, Lili continued her difficult journey to the house.

She got to the big front door and pressed hard on the bell button by its side. The storm was too loud for her to hear anything from inside and she pushed the bell once again, then banged on the wood with the heel of her fist.

'Eve!' she called out. 'It's Lili Peel. Please come to the door!'

Certain it wouldn't work but trying it anyway, she turned the old painted-black doorknob and was surprised when the wind blew the door inwards.

•

Her matted hair flat against her head, its ends dripping raindrops onto the floor, Lili entered Crickley Hall. The wind blustered in behind her, bringing rain with it. She quickly pushed the front door shut, fighting the wind to do so.

With the door closed and the noise of the storm muffled, the psychic turned to face the grand hall again. She had half expected to be overwhelmed by invisible presences like the first time she had arrived here, but there was nothing—she sensed no overwrought spirits, nor anything bad oppressing the atmosphere. The vast, stone-flagged room that felt like some self-aggrandizing billionaire's mausoleum was devoid of unearthly energies. But there were puddles of water, some as big as pools, scattered around the floor. Lili regarded them curiously, then movement caught her eye.

'Lili?' she heard a surprised voice say.

Looking up, the psychic saw Eve Caleigh peering down at her from the hall's balcony. She had obviously emerged from a room along the landing. Lili heard Eve draw in a sharp breath when she saw the puddles that lay around the ground floor. Eve quickly went to the stairs and hurried down them, her face showing concern. She avoided the water as she came towards Lili.

'It must be the rain,' Eve said quietly, as if to herself rather than to the psychic.

Lili saw the usual aura of sadness round Eve, but now its greyness was deeper and more lifeless.

'Sony, Lili,' Eve apologized as she drew near. 'I heard the doorbell, but I was settling Cally into her bed. I'm hoping she'll drift off to sleep soon.'

Lili looked at the other woman with pity. 'Eve… your son. I'm so sorry.'

Eve stammered. 'You—you know? You sensed that?'

'He's at rest now. Nothing more can ever harm him.'

She thought that Eve might crumble, might break down in tears, but the bereaved mother was strong and regained her composure. Lili was relieved.

'What brought you here tonight?' Eve asked detachedly. 'The weather…'

'I couldn't let the storm prevent me from coming. It's important that I'm here. I think you'll need me.'

'I don't understand.' Eve gave a small shake of her head.

'I can feel it now. The house felt empty a few moments ago, but now I sense something coming through, as if they've been waiting for me.'

'The children?' Eve stared intently into Lili's green eyes. 'I felt something impending all morning, but I thought it was because of Cam.'

'No. I told you, your little boy is at peace. What's going to happen tonight is nothing to do with him.'

That's why you came here? The children brought you here?'

'They called me. I had to come.'

A week ago, she might have thought the psychic's words were self-delusional, but everything had changed for Eve now. Eve believed Crickley Hall was being haunted by the ghosts of children who had once lived in the house. But they were not alone; there was a darker entity here also. Eve herself sensed this.

Her question was in earnest. 'Why do you think they've called you, Lili? There has to be a reason, doesn't there? The hauntings must have a purpose.'

But in answer, the psychic merely closed her eyes and mentally reached out to the orphans who had died in Crickley Hall. Nothing happened. She could not visualize them. Yet the first time she had entered the house she had almost been overwhelmed by a great pressure, an emotional barrage that had made her feel faint. She knew there was contact between herself and the spirits here—she sensed their unhappiness, their pleadings—but they had not come through clearly. Something or someone was holding them back. Something or someone they feared. And now she could sense it herself.

Lili's eyes snapped open as if she had been physically stunned. Whatever it was, it was feeding off the psychic energy of the house's occupants, including her own. She could feel strength draining from her.

'It's more powerful than them,' she murmured, more to herself than Eve.

Eve touched her arm. 'Lili, are you all right?'

But the psychic looked puzzled rather than weakened.

'There's something very wrong.' Lili looked around, her eyes wide. She looked at the cellar door, which was ajar; she looked up at the L-shaped landing, which was empty. She looked at the broad, imposing staircase and she shuddered.

'Sometimes stairways act like a vortex for spirits,' she told Eve. 'It's because there's so much energy there with people using it all the time, and the spirits are drawn to that energy. There's something there but I can't tell what it is.'

Lightning flashed outside the tall window over the stairs, blanching each separate pane of glass. Thunder seemed to roll along the roof itself.

'Eve!' Lili suddenly said, making the other woman start. 'D'you have anything that belonged to the children? The children who died here, I mean. Anything that might have been left behind years ago.'

Eve shook her head and was about to say no, when she remembered the items Gabe had found hidden behind the landing cupboard. The Punishment Book, the thin, supple cane—the photograph of the Cribbens with the children!

'Wait here,' she told the psychic and dashed into the kitchen, leaving Lili alone in the cavernous hall.

Lili took a moment to study the pools that spread across the floor. There were no drips from the high ceiling that she could see, and how could the water seep through the floor if there was a cellar below? Maybe there was a layer of earth or a cavity between floor and cellar ceiling that rainwater could have soaked into from underneath the property's solid walls.

Eve hurried back from the kitchen clutching a photograph in one hand and a child's colourful toy, an old-fashioned spinning top, in the other. She showed Lili the spinning top first.

'It's a toy Gabe and I found in a locked storeroom next to the children's dormitory. There was a lot of stuff in there—more toys and school things. All the toys were old but looked new. We think they'd never been used.' Eve eyed the spinning top nervously. 'Once we'd wiped off the dust, it came up like this. When I was alone last Monday, I spun it and saw the ghosts of the children.'

'You mean you saw their images in the top?' Lili pointed to the graphics printed on the spinning top's metal shell.

'No. I saw real children here, in the hall. Except they weren't real, they were ghosts. They were dancing in a circle. But Mr Pyke suggested that watching the top spinning—listening to the humming noise it made as it spun fast, seeing the colours turn to white—might have caused me to hallucinate.'

'Who's Mr Pyke?' Lili asked, curious.

'He came yesterday. He calls himself a ghost-hunter, a psychic investigator, and he convinced Gabe he could prove the house wasn't haunted. He's here now, upstairs in the old dormitory arranging his equipment. Loren is with him.'

Eve realized that Pyke and her daughter had been gone a long time. Mr Pyke may have been charming, but what did they know about him? She began to grow anxious.

The psychic took the toy from Eve and inspected it.

'Maybe the children did play with it before it was taken away and put in the storeroom.' Lili lightly ran her fingers over the top's brightly coloured surface. 'I can feel a connection with them.'

'And here's a photograph Gabe found. It was hidden behind a false wall in a cupboard upstairs.' Eve proffered the old black-and-white picture.

Lili placed the spinning top on the floor at her feet and accepted the photograph. She felt her heart leap when she held it in her hands, for at last she could see the children who had come to Crickley Hall as evacuees, she could know what they looked like.

She examined each face in turn, beginning with the back row, frowning once, then moving on. She came to a pretty young woman whom Lili assumed was one of the teachers; there was something infinitely sad in her countenance.

In the middle of the front row of smaller children and seated on chairs were a man and woman of similar features to each other. They both looked hard, mean, and they seemed to regard the camera with hostile suspicion. A disturbing flutter ran through Lili and she quickly looked away.

But her eyes returned to the one child—although he looked more than a child and was certainly older than the others—that she had frowned at before. The boy was grinning, the only person in the photograph to do so, but his eyes did not match the grin. They were sly, mad eyes. Lili sensed it.

She swayed unsteadily and Eve thought the psychic was about to faint again. But Lili caught herself.

Pointing at the grinning boy in the photograph, she said: 'D'you know anything about him?'

'As a matter of fact, I do,' Eve replied. 'The gardener here has worked for different owners of Crickley Hall for ever, it seems. Percy was even here when the evacuees came down from London to stay. He told us about that particular boy and it was nothing good. The other children didn't like him, but apparently he was a favourite of the Cribbens. I think his name was Maurice. Maurice something-or-other. Stannard? No, it was Stafford. Maurice Stafford.'

'I sense bad things about him.' Lili frowned again and this time it was more deeply, more concentrated. 'There's something wrong with him. I think he was very wicked.'

'He was just a boy,' Eve said. 'He was too young to be wicked.'

'This one was born that way. It wasn't something he learned. There's some kind of connection between him and the two adults at the front. You called them the Cribbens—husband and wife?'

'Brother and sister.'

'Yes, the likeness is obvious. This boy, Maurice Stafford, he learned evil from those two. I can feel it so strongly. Oh God—' the photograph shook in the psychic's hands—'it's becoming clearer. He did the children great harm.'

She closed her eyes.

'They're trying to tell me, the children are trying to speak to me. They're here. Eve, the children are still in this house. They've never left it.'

Her eyes opened.

'Can't you sense them?' she asked Eve.

And Eve could sense something. No, she could hear something. A susurration of whispers. Growing in volume, filling the corners of the hall. She gasped when the colourful top on the floor began to turn slowly.

The sounds were of young voices, all whispering words she could not understand because one overlaid the other, all mixed together so that they were incoherent. But she knew they were frightened voices. The clamour rose, but still only in whispers, and the top spun faster. Eve looked at Lili, confused and mystified.

'They're trying so hard,' said Lili as she gazed in wonder around the vast room. 'But there's something preventing them.' She gave a shiver. 'There's another entity here, but it won't come forward. Not yet.'

The psychic stared down at the spinning top whose colours were beginning to blend, to become murky, and then to become a white blur. A humming sound came from it that was neither musical nor harsh, but which ascended to a steady thrum. And the whisperings now sounded like the soft flurry of distant birds on the wing.

But then a voice, a real voice, a man's voice, interrupted everything, even though it was just a murmuring coming from the landing above.

The spinning top began to wobble as it slowed down and its humming grew deeper in tone. Colours appeared on its tin surface once again and the dancing figures started to become clearer. Suddenly, the toy lurched, faltered, then fell onto its side to roll away in an arc, coming to a stop behind Eve. The whisperings ceased.

Lili inclined her head, searching for the source of the new voices. Loren came into view from a doorway along the landing, followed by a tall man, and it was his voice they could hear. The girl kept looking round at the man, as if taking in every word he said.

The couple paused and through the balcony's railings, Lili saw Loren pull open a cupboard door. The man's voice was strong and clear enough to be understood from below.

'We'll come back to it after I've had a word with your mother about the attic. I shouldn't like anything to be disturbed up there now I've set up.'

'That's Gordon Pyke,' Eve told Lili. 'He's the investigator.' Then, as if she had only just noticed: 'Lili, what happened to those sounds? The whisperings.'

The psychic continued to look up at the two people on the landing, who were now making their way to the stairs.

'Lili?''

The psychic dropped her eyes to find Eve staring at her. 'They've gone. Something disturbed them. I think they were frightened away.'

'It was the children, wasn't it? The orphans who drowned in this place all those years ago.'

'Yes. Yes, I believe—I'm sure—it was.'

Pyke and Loren were descending the stairs and Lili saw that the man, who had a small goatee beard, was very tall. Something—an intuition—seemed to click in her mind as she watched him, but the thought hadn't yet made itself apparent. Pyke had left something at the top of the stairs; it was a large suitcase.

Leaving the stairs, the so-called 'ghost-hunter' walked round the puddles with Loren. 'You appear to have been flooded,' he remarked needlessly as he looked around the hall. He craned his neck to peer up at the ceiling. 'Don't worry, I'll find its root cause and then we'll be able to stop it happening again.'

Something about the man was bothering Lili as he and Loren came towards them. As Pyke approached, she gazed intently into his eyes.

The sensing hit her like a physical blow, almost taking her breath away.

Oh my God! she thought. Then, urgently and aloud: 'It's him, Eve! He was the boy in the photograph. The one you called Maurice Stafford.'

68: OBSTRUCTION

Gabe brought the Range Rover to a sliding halt, the bonnet nodding at the leafy fallen tree one foot away.

Hell! This can't be happening!

Travelling too fast, he had almost smashed into the obstacle that sprawled across the country lane, seeing it only just in time to slam on the brakes. He thanked the Lord for quick reactions and EBA—Emergency Brake Assist. Electronic traction control had helped also, preventing the vehicle from going into a skid.

The Range Rover's full-beam headlights lit up the blockage and Gabe quickly surveyed it. Lightning stammered and illuminated the scene even more and from where he was sitting he could see that the toppled tree filled the full width of the lane, its branches having crushed the tall hedges on the right, its split trunk creating a solid barrier on his left. Gabe slumped back in his seat in momentary despair and uttered a sound that fully formed would have been a curse. Thunder roared.

Without further hesitation, he pushed open the driver's door and stepped out into the storm. His eyes narrowed against the driving rain as he pulled up the collar of his reefer jacket and tucked one lapel beneath the other to protect his neck. Closing the door with a thud, he moved towards the high barrier of branches, the vehicle's head-lights helping him assess the damage ahead. He walked to both sides of the lane and found no way round the obstruction. At least, not in the Range Rover.

He was about to climb the grass verge where the shattered tree stump still smouldered, the fire caused by the lightning strike extinguished by the wind-blown rain, when he was distracted by a single light approaching down the lane behind him. As the light drew closer it shone directly into his eyes, dazzling them so he was forced to raise a hand in front of his face.

The voice fought to be heard over the storm. 'Mr Caleigh? Is that you?'

Gabe blinked and was able to make out a dark figure behind the torchbeam as it was lowered a little.

He raised his own voice. 'Who's there?'

The torch was dropped even further so that its beam pointed at the ground. By the reflected glare of the Range Rover's headlights he recognized the approaching figure. The man with the torch wore a storm coat with the hood up over a flat cap.

'Percy? That you?'

'Yers, Mr Caleigh,' came the shouted response. 'It's Percy Judd. Had an accident, has yer?'

Gabe could barely comprehend the old gardener's words over the noise of the gale and pounding rain, but he caught the name all right. He waited for Percy Judd to get closer before speaking again.

'What the hell you doing out on a night like this, Percy?'

The gardener leaned close to Gabe's ear.

'Goin' to the same place as you, Mr Caleigh. Makin' my way to Crickley Hall.'

Gabe jerked his head away in surprise. 'Right now? Why?'

Percy seemed reluctant to explain. He could hardly tell his employer that it was the incessant whining and then howling of a dog had brought him out of his home this stormy night. That and his own very real sense of unease. 'Worried about the weather, sir,' he only half lied, again talking directly into Gabe's ear. 'It's flood weather, Mr Caleigh, jus' like las' time, them who remembers tell me.'

'I thought it couldn't happen again.'

'Nothin' can stop the waters pourin' off the moors, not when it's been rainin' fer weeks an' the storm's this fierce. It's the build-up, y'see. All the precautions can only limit the damage, can't stop the floodin' itself.'

Great, Gabe thought to himself. Something else to worry about.

'I tried phonin' the house,' Percy went on, 'but the lines must be down. Couldn't get nothin', jus' a dead line.'

As lightning flashed again, Gabe pointed at the fallen elm. He waited for the thunder to roll away before attempting to speak to the old man again. Percy stood there unbowed by the wind and rain, his back straight, rainwater dribbling from the peak of his flat cap which protruded from the hood.

'Road's blocked all the way across,' Gabe told him. 'Can't get round it in the car.'

Percy quickly appraised the situation. 'Then we'll have to walk round it, sir. Not too far to Crickley Hall from here; we'll make it all right.'

'You still wanna' go there? You don't have to, you know—I can take care of things myself.' He was only thinking of the old man's stamina. It was still a long way to Crickley Hall no matter what Percy said.

'No, I wants to go with yer. Set my mind at rest, like.' He seemed resolute.

Gabe clamped Percy's upper arm. 'Okay. I appreciate it. Let's find a way past the goddamn tree.'

He leaned into the Range Rover and switched off the engine and lights, but turned on the hazard lights to warn any approaching vehicles on that side of the lane. Together, bending into the gale, Gabe and Percy headed towards the charred tree stump on the grass verge. Without the car, it was going to be one hell of a journey, thought Gabe.

69: ESCAPE

Never had Eve seen a personality change so fast. One moment Pyke was striding towards her and Lili, bringing Loren with him, his limp hardly evident as he avoided the puddles, only friendly curiosity in his eyes (he had been regarding the psychic), the next his face was screwed up into a snarl, nothing but fury now blazing from those same but frighteningly different eyes.

His slight limp was no impediment as he marched towards Lili, raising his thick stick over his head as he came.

Lili took a step backwards and lifted her arms to defend herself from the blow that surely would follow. Loren froze, her complexion paling, her mouth open in consternation.

'Don't—' Eve began to say, but Lili screamed, drowning the next words, the sound shrilling through the great hall.

Pyke—Maurice Stafford? Lili had said he was Maurice Stafford!—barely paused, the walking stick quivering at the end of its backward arc, about to come crashing down. His face was a mask of sheer hatred and wrath, as if the exposure had revealed his true nature.

Lili kept her arms high to protect herself, her terrified scream reaching its peak.

All the lights flickered. They went out.

•

Shocked, and with Lili's scream ringing in her ears, Eve reached out for Loren in the darkness. Just before the lights went off she had seen Pyke's walking stick begin its descent, then heard it strike something—she knew it was Lili, for the scream turned into a howl of pain. Footsteps clacked on the stone floor, but Eve could see nothing until the lightning flashed outside and the grand hall was illuminated by a stark silver-white coruscation that came through the tall window over the stairs.

In the sequence of still-lifes caused by the lightning's strobing, Eve saw that Lili was retreating to the front door, was pulling it open, was rushing out, was a black silhouette against the flashing light that spilled through the portal.

•

Lili had already began to duck and hold up her arms to protect her head when all the lights flickered then died, only the absorbing thickness of her coat sleeves preventing serious damage to her right forearm when the stout cane struck. Her scream turned into a painful cry.

Horror had gripped her the moment the man once known as Maurice Stafford had come striding purposefully towards her, the walking stick held aloft as a weapon, his face rendered ugly by its expression. She managed to recover enough to turn and run.

Lightning lit up the hall as her panic drove her to the front door, her boots clacking on the flagstones, her right arm numbed by the blow and hanging down by her side, her left hand stretched before her. When her hand touched wood, her fingers scrabbled for the doorknob; she found it, twisted it, pulled the nail-studded door open and escaped into the storm-filled night.

Almost blinded by the fierce stuttering light, she ran across the rain-sodden lawn, mortal dread of what she had left inside the house (and it was not only the limping man that caused this dread, for she had sensed other terrors lurking within those solid walls) driving her on. The wind seemed to contest her progress and she had to lean into it, her left hand raised palm outwards to keep the rain out of her eyes. Thunder boomed as the soft wet earth sucked at her boots with each stumbling stride and she cringed under its power.

She failed to see the heavy, black seat of the swing as it hurtled towards her from the darkness. It struck her right temple, stunning her so badly that she fell.

Lili lay there in the close-cropped grass with rain hammering at her outstretched body, the fingers of one hand curling into the muddy soil. She tried to lift her head, but it took too much effort.

Lili passed out.

70: EPICENTRE

Eve reached into the darkness for Loren, but could barely see her own hand in front of her.

'Loren!' she hissed, but there was no response.

The lights of the black iron chandelier high overhead suddenly came on, dimly at first, then seeming to catch, growing brighter. They dimmed again, as did all the other lights around Crickley Hall that were switched on. Brighter once more, then waning to a lacklustre but steady glow that threw shadows and created gloomy recesses around the hall and landing.

Eve realized what had happened. Somewhere in the Hollow Bay area power lines had been struck by lightning or blown down by the gale—either way, electricity to homes in the locale, and probably the whole of the harbour village too, was out. Crickley Hall's generator, the generator that Gabe had fixed and serviced only last Sunday, had kicked in and was now the power source for the house. The light was weak, barely adequate in fact, but it was better than total blackout.

She saw the tall man—Pyke, Stafford, whatever his real name was!—standing by the front door which he had just slammed shut.

He looked at Loren, who was standing frightened and disorientated a few feet away from her mother, then at Eve.

'Your friend won't get far,' Pyke said in an unexcited, almost friendly, way. 'Not on a night like this. And even if she does manage to find help—which I doubt very much; those people who've chosen to stay in the area will be locked inside their homes with barricades round their doors and windows—well, by then it will be too late.'

Too late for what? Eve asked herself. She had stepped towards Loren and held out her hand again for her daughter to take. Loren's hand was cold and shaking in her own.

'Do you feel it, Eve?' Pyke asked, his glittering eyes seeking out every corner of the vast room and even searching the high beamed ceiling. 'The hall is the epicentre of the psychic activity. The spirits are gathering here, their vigour is almost palpable.'

Pyke was blocking the front door. His coat and hat, which he had discarded earlier, were hanging on the rack by the door, but it was obvious he was not going to put them on and leave. Eve began to back away and Loren kept in step with her, regardless of the puddles they trod through. If they made a break for the kitchen to escape by its outer door, Pyke would cut them off in a few strides. He held his walking stick like a weapon.

Eve had never been so afraid. Oh, she had suffered more than just fear since Cam had gone missing, but this was different. She knew that this was a dangerous situation and her fear was for herself and Loren—and Cally upstairs, of course—for the man at the door exuded menace. She had thought him so kindly, so mannerly, and now his eyes seemed to gleam with malice.

Loren was squeezing her hand so tightly that it hurt. Eve fought to keep the nervousness from her voice.

'What do you want from us, Mr Pyke?' She had put the question mildly, her tone even, as if she might be enquiring of a grocer the price of tomatoes. Somehow she had to humour this man, get him to respond in a non-hostile way.

'Dear woman, it's what the house wants from me that's the problem.'

He moved away from the door, taking two steps towards them. Eve and Loren backed off even more, matching him step for step, their direction taking them towards the stairway.

'I don't understand, Mr Pyke.' Humour him, humour him, Eve told herself. Why had he hurt Lili Peel? Just because she'd recognized who he was? But now they, she and Loren, knew his true identity, so what would he do to them? And why did their knowing he was Maurice Stafford matter? What had Stafford done and, my God, why wasn't he dead, drowned like the other evacuees?

Her heel kicked the first step and she and Loren came to a halt.

She prompted Pyke, who had not stopped advancing. 'How can a house want something from you?'

'By now, you're fully aware that Crickley Hall is possessed, Eve.'

Oh so friendly; his voice was so matter-of-fact and soothing. It was his eyes, those once so engaging eyes, that were deranged.

'You told us there were no such things as ghosts,' Eve said as she took the step with Loren, both of them moving backwards, their eyes never leaving Pyke's.

'No, I said in many cases there are perfectly natural explanations for what might be considered supernatural episodes or so-called manifestations. But—and I freely admit, they are in the minority—there sometimes are genuine hauntings that cannot be rationalized.'

'The children—their spirits—they really are here?' Moving as steadily as possible, Eve took the second step. Loren rose with her.

'Of course they are!'

Eve flinched at Pyke's anger.

'Can't you feel their presence, woman? Can't you see they're all around us? My God, they're almost visible.'

And as Pyke said the words, Eve thought she saw something flit among the shadows of the room. Small, insubstantial shapes. Lighter shades of darkness.

'But they aren't alone.' Pyke sounded perfectly reasonable once more as he limped towards Eve and Loren, now leaning heavily on his cane. 'Their guardian is with them. Augustus Cribben. You might say he was Maurice Stafford's lord and master.'

Mother and daughter had discreetly risen another step.

'Wasn't Augustus Cribben in charge here during the last world war?' Eve ventured warily. She wanted to keep Pyke distracted for the moment, afraid of the harm she was sure he meant to do them. She could see the insanity dancing in his eyes. 'He was the children's custodian and teacher, wasn't he?'

Her mouth was dry and she fought the urge to turn and run with Loren, to get to the bedroom where Cally slept and lock the door. Was there a key in the lock? Eve couldn't remember.

Pyke limped to a halt, his brown brogues in a puddle. His cane took some of his weight. 'Augustus Cribben was more than that: he was a god to his sister and me; we revered him. But the other evacuees? Well, they were just afraid of him.'

They were on the third step now; a few more and they would be on the little square landing at the turn of the stairs. That was when they'd make a break for it, Eve decided. She kept her voice steady, even though she wanted to scream and flee.

'The children were afraid because he was cruel to them. Wasn't that it?'

'Who told you that?' Anger shared the insanity of his gaze and it made him even more frightening. 'I suppose it was that old busybody, Percy Judd. Oh yes, I know he still keeps his job here as gardener and maintenance man. But he was always an outsider who liked to poke his nose into other people's affairs. He was a rather stupid individual then and I'm sure the passing years have added nothing to his intellectual powers. Hah! He probably still wonders whatever became of his sweetheart Miss High-and-mighty Nancy Linnet. Well, Magda and I attended to her.'

Eve dared to ask. 'You—you got rid of her?'

'No need to be coy, Eve.' The comity was back in his manner. 'She was a busybody too. We had to kill her, had no other choice really. We disposed of her body down the well.'

They could no longer wait until they reached the turn in the stairs: Eve jerked her daughter's hand and they both spun round as one and climbed as fast as they could.

But Gordon Pyke was surprisingly swift for a man of his size and age—the thought occurred to Eve as she ran that he must be in his seventies!—and he sprang forward and adroitly caught Eve's ankle with the hook of his walking stick. He yanked hard and she fell heavily against the next set of stairs, bringing Loren down with her. Eve grabbed at a rail as they slithered back down.

'Mummy!' Loren screeched, and Eve quickly put an arm round her as they sprawled there.

'It's all right, baby, it's all right.' Eve looked at Pyke, who had calmly sat down on the small landing, his right foot resting at an angle on the first step down, his left on the one below that. He laid his walking stick down behind him, its hooked end pointing at Eve. Lightning from outside lit up one side of his face as he looked their way and Eve thought his grin was the most evil grimace she had ever seen.

He waited as thunder split the air and rolled away into the distance. When it was quiet again he spoke. 'Please don't worry yourself, Eve. It isn't you I want.'

In the poor, generator-powered light she saw his grin slip to a smile and his eyes had lost that manic gleam she was so afraid of. He seemed his old charming self again. But Eve drew up her left leg so that her foot was out of reach.

•

Stretched out on the rain-sodden lawn, Lili murmured something that was not quite a word. The fingers of one of her hands had clenched, digging shallow grooves in the soil.

It wasn't exactly a dream she was having, it was more of an extrasensory perception that conveyed itself as if it were a dream.

Thoughts, sights, came to her. She began to see what had happened to the evacuees at Crickley Hall in the month of October sixty-three years ago.

•

'The little Jewish boy was the first of the children to go. You might say he was the cause of all their deaths. And the young teacher; she was partially to blame.'

Gordon Pyke had leant back against the rail so that he faced Eve and Loren on the stairs. His walking stick was close to hand should mother and daughter attempt to escape up the stairs again.

'Augustus and Magda Cribben hated the Jews, blamed them for the whole of World War Two, in fact,' Pyke sniggered. 'They thought Hitler had got it about right—exterminate all Jews, with their global intrigues and secret cabals. I honestly believe the Cribbens hoped the Germans would win the war.'

He gave a wry shake of his head and his thoughts lingered for a few moments.

Then: 'Now what was the boy's name? He was the youngest of the children. Oh yes, Stefan. Stefan Rosenberg. No, Stefan Rosenbaum, that was it. See how well I remember? It's as if it was yesterday. God, how angry Augustus was when he found out the authorities had foisted a Jew on him. And how the boy suffered because of it.'

Eve shivered and pulled Loren closer. Her daughter was trembling and seemed afraid to make a sound.

Pyke continued in his mild-mannered way. 'Our guardian made a discovery about the boy one day. I should mention that Augustus was very ill at the time. He'd always suffered severe headaches, according to his sister, Magda, but a head injury during the Blitz had caused more and, apparently, irrevocable damage to his brain. At least, that was Magda's opinion.

'Augustus was going through one of his bad spells when the headaches were almost paralysing, and Stefan Rosenbaum had done something wrong—I forget precisely what it was; I think he'd wet his bed, something like that—and Augustus was about to punish him. In a rage, Augustus made the boy drop his trousers—this time the misdemeanour was serious enough to warrant a caning on bare flesh. When Stefan did so, Augustus saw that he hadn't been circumcised. All Jewish males had to be circumcised, Augustus screamed. Magda pleaded with her brother, but this was the beginning of the madness…'

•

Lili's murmur became a groan. There were scenes being played out inside her head, like a dream but not a dream: it was a psychic vision. The event was in the past and it was shocking.

A little boy. A little boy with dark hair and large frightened eyes. He is in the grip of a man who seems familiar to Lili. The man is wicked. And insane.

He's shaking the little boy, screaming at him, and the boy is wailing in terror, which only makes the man more angry and the shaking more violent. There are other children around, but they are frightened too and so they run away to hide, to hide from the man whom Lili now recognizes from the old black-and-white photograph, the children's guardian, the man Eve had called Augustus Cribben. He is picking up the howling boy whose trousers are bunched around his ankles. The man is taking the boy into a room where there are tables and benches set out like a schoolroom. He lays the boy on the main desk, the teacher's desk, and tells the woman—the woman must be Magda Cribben, Lili realizes—to hold the boy there and wait.

Augustus Cribben soon returns and Lili cries out in her semi-conscious trance, for in his hand he holds a gleaming cutthroat razor, no doubt the very one he uses himself for shaving.

Magda Cribben brings up a hand to her throat and she pleads with her brother not to do this, that the authorities will find out if anything happens to the boy. But her brother is undeterred: he reaches for the boy's tiny penis.

To one side stands a tall boy, one of the orphans yet not one of them. There is an excited glint in his eyes.

Cribben calls for him to help pin the dark-haired boy down and Maurice Stafford eagerly comes forward. He leans his strong upper body on the younger boy's legs so that they are trapped, and his hand presses down on the little boy's chest, holding him flat on his back against the table.

Augustus slashes with the razor.

But the cut is too hasty, too imprecise, too deep, and the blood spurts from the little boy's penis…

•

'Stefan bled and bled,' Pyke went on and Eve felt nauseous. How could a man do that to a child? 'But Augustus didn't care. He tossed the severed flesh into the wastepaper bin and left the room as though anything else that happened was nothing to do with him.'

Pyke stretched his left leg and forcefully rubbed his thigh as if to encourage circulation.

'Magda did her best to save the boy, but the bleeding just wouldn't stop. In his pain, Augustus had cut away too much of the penis itself, not just the foreskin.'

He sighed as though there were some regret over what had occurred, but Eve was soon to realize it wasn't because of the harm done to poor young Stefan.

'All that followed was because of the Jewish boy.' Pyke scowled with resentment, as if events might have turned out otherwise but for the bodged 'operation'. 'Magda ordered me to bring towels, and then more towels, but nothing could staunch that bleeding. The boy was draining of colour before our eyes because of blood loss. Naturally, taking him to a hospital or calling a doctor wasn't an option; how could we have explained the injury? No doubt Augustus would have been imprisoned for what he had done and Magda too, probably, for being an accomplice. I didn't care for my own chances either: they had special places for naughty boys in those days. All the other children would have ganged up on me, they would have told the police what a bad person I'd been. They never liked me.'

Eve could hardly believe what she was hearing. Pyke was now wallowing in self-pity. But while he was preoccupied she took a sly glance up the stairway behind her. If she and Loren could only reach Cally's bedroom there might be a chance to barricade themselves in…

Light in the vast room dipped and she wondered if the generator in the basement could take the strain of running all the electrics in Crickley Hall. Perhaps Gabe hadn't done such a good job on it after all, and if the lights went out once more, it might give them another opportunity to get away from Pyke. But then the lights came up again, although their glow was weaker than before.

In the darker regions of the hall there seemed to be a slight movement, lighter shadows shifting inside the darker shadows again. The air was heavy, oppressive, the kind of heaviness that usually came before an electrical storm. The fine hairs on Eve's arms bristled and there was an uncomfortable creeping sensation along her spine, the arctic breath of ungovernable fear. Oddly, although the source of light came from high above—the iron chandelier and the landing light—it was much darker round the ceiling, as if a blackness were hanging there, a kind of murky fog that was pressing down on the room below.

Pyke appeared not to have noticed, or if he did, he was ignoring it. Rain rattled the tall window.

He began to speak again, revisiting a past that was obviously important to him. 'Magda knew we couldn't save the boy, although by God, she did try. Stefan was fading away fast and she realized what we had to do. We had used the well to get rid of the teacher's body before; we could use it again.'

Despite her terror, Eve was aghast. Magda Cribben and Pyke—or Maurice Stafford as he was then—had murdered Nancy Linnet and thrown her corpse into the well, knowing that it would probably be swept out to sea by the subterranean river. Then they had decided to do the same with Stefan.

'Magda said that we would tell the authorities that Stefan Rosenbaum had wandered down the cellar alone—which was strictly out of bounds for the children, of course—and had accidentally fallen into the well. The wall round the well is very low so it could easily happen. In all likelihood, his body would never be recovered and none of the other children had witnessed what Augustus had done to the boy, although they must have heard the screams. Magda was sure they'd be too scared to speak out.'

My God, thought Eve, was Pyke insane even then, as a boy? All three of them—the brother and sister and Maurice Stafford—must have been crazy to imagine they would get away with such a crime.

Pyke flexed his knee to loosen the joint. 'So that's what we did. We dropped Stefan's body down the well. To be perfectly frank with you, I wasn't sure he'd bled to death by then. I don't think Magda was sure either.'

The revelation seemed to numb both Eve's body and her mind. She had to stop this madman getting his hands on her daughters.

Pyke gave a laboured shake of his head as if chiding himself for something. 'We had underestimated the interest that had been aroused in the disappearance of the teacher, though. She had been gone several weeks and could not be traced, despite the efforts of the education authorities to find her. We had assumed she wouldn't be missed, not with the kind of disruption a war brought to the country.'

He studied Eve, then Loren, with half-hooded eyes. 'The very day after we rid ourselves of Stefan Rosenbaum, we received notice that government inspectors were to visit Crickley Hall. Oh, it might well have been a routine call, something the inspectors were apt to do from time to time, but Magda thought not. She thought suspicions had been kindled by Nancy Linnet's abrupt departure.'

His gaze was momentarily on Loren, although his mind seemed elsewhere.

'Magda was in a state of panic,' Pyke continued, 'while Augustus was merely outraged that the authorities should even presume to inspect his province. The stress only made his pain worse and the usual method of relieving some of it had no effect whatsoever. In fact, it hadn't worked for some days, which was why Augustus finally lost all reason.'

The lightning and thunder came again and it was as though those elements were chained to the house itself; the storm just did not seem to be moving on.

Pyke changed position on the landing, sitting on its lip, thick wrists resting on his knees, head turned to take in Eve and Loren. His back was to the cane, which lay across the landing.

'Are you growing tired of my reminisces, Eve? It gets more interesting, I assure you.'

Tentatively, she said: 'My husband will be home soon.' It was a feeble warning.

Pyke responded almost cheerfully. 'No, you told me he'd gone off to London. Even if he were on his way back, he'd have stopped somewhere to avoid the worst of the storm. Nobody sane travels in this sort of weather.'

'What would you know of sanity?' She spat the words in spite of herself.

'Ah, aggression. That's quite understandable. You don't know why I'm here yet?'

'You were supposed to be proving there are no ghosts in this house.'

'I lied. Unfortunately—especially for me—there are such things as ghosts. To my regret, I've been haunted for most of my life. I'll explain it all to you, I promise.'

There was that affable and concerned person again. Pyke was like an emotional chameleon, changing so fast it was difficult to keep up with him.

Eve fought to control herself when she said: 'I want to know the real reason you came here tonight and why you attacked Lili Peel.'

'Lili Peel. So that's her name, is it? Well, I'm afraid your friend was interfering where she shouldn't. How did she know my original name?'

'She's psychic'

'She must be very good to pick up on it like that.'

'I showed her an old photograph of the Cribbens and the children—the evacuees—who were here in 1943. You were among them.' Eve was still waiting for the right moment to dash up the stairs with Loren.

'I see. But does that mean you knew my name then?'

'Our gardener pointed you out the other day when Gabe found the picture.'

'I remember the time it was taken; all the other children were so glum.'

'They had good reason to be.'

'Yes. Where is the photograph now?'

Eve indicated the hall. 'Down there, near the spinning top.'

'Dear Lord, I even remember that toy. It was one of the few items we were allowed to play with and that was only when the local vicar called in for afternoon tea. The Reverend Rossbridger, if I remember correctly. He thought well of Augustus Cribben—another disciplinarian, you see. He and Augustus were two of a kind in some ways. And of course, both strong believers in the Almighty.'

Eve thought that Pyke might go back down to the hall to retrieve the photograph, but either he was too canny or he'd already lost interest in it. He seemed to be growing restless, one foot tapping on a lower step. Loren's breaths were coming in quick shallow gasps.

'How did the children come to drown in Crickley Hall?' Eve was still playing for time, a distraction, something that would give them a chance to make a break for it. Unaware that the phone lines were down, Eve prayed for the phone across the hall to ring, anything that would draw his attention for a second or two. He had a bad leg, he'd have difficulty chasing them (although he had moved remarkably quickly when he had attacked Lili). She was taken aback by his answer to her question.

'None of the children drowned,' he said. They were all dead before the floodwaters broke.'

Eve stared. Her fear of him reached new heights. 'But everybody said that's how they died,' she managed to say.

'Oh, everybody said it, but that doesn't necessarily make it so. I'm sure there were those in the community who had their suspicions. And those who found the bodies—the police and a few members of the rescue services—must have realized the truth. Possibly Reverend Rossbridger was informed that the children had been murdered and the blame had to lie with Augustus Cribben, who also died that night.

'I only discovered he died of a broken neck and multiple piercings to his body when I searched back through old newspaper stories of that time. I've visited his grave in the church cemetery down the hill and, disappointingly, his marker is quite humble. It's also situated in a very neglected part of the graveyard. Yes, I'm certain the authorities were aware that Augustus killed the children in his care with his bare hands. The marks on the children's necks could hardly have gone unnoticed.'

Appalled, and further shocked, Eve could only react by saying, 'But you—he didn't kill you. How…?'

'I told you I would explain.' Pyke was finding it a relief finally to share his secrets with someone who was neither dumb nor mad like Magda. 'There was a terrible storm that night of the flood, much like this one tonight, which makes it all the more apposite. No thunder and lightning that night, though, just heavy rainfall. None of the children were sleeping…'

71: CAUGHT

Lili groaned and tried to lift her head again, but it was no use: it sank back to the drenched earth.

It was almost cosy lying there. She hardly felt the rain that battered her, even where it drummed on her head and neck; she could not feel the cold at all. No, she was snug, dozing in and out of consciousness, half dreaming, but aware those half-dreams were more like revelations.

Lightning exposed the brown, churning river nearby, its level reaching the top of the banks. Woodland detritus, that which hadn't entangled behind the short wooden bridge—the unstable wooden bridge—was swept along by the current and carried down to the harbour estuary where the twin rivers, the Bay River and the underground Low River, met.

Lili felt rather than saw the hugeness of the room she was in, a room whose only lighting was from strategically placed oil lamps so that shadows hung like dark drapes around its walls.

There is movement, a sound followed by a warning whisper as small figures appear from a doorway on the landing above the hall.

Nine children make their quiet way towards the broad staircase at the end of the L-shaped landing, shoes in their hands, stockinged feet almost silent on the wooden boards. They stop and hold their breaths whenever a floorboard creaks and move on only when there is no reaction to the noise. The older children hold the hands of the younger ones. No one must speak, Susan Trainer has told them all, and no one must cough, sneeze or make a noise of any kind, especially when they passed by certain closed doors behind which their guardians would be sleeping.

Down the stairs they come, in twos, with the eldest, Susan, leading the way, unable to prevent a cracked stairboard creaking here and there even if the children's soft feet tread as lightly as possible. They are all dressed apart from their outdoor coats, which hang in a row on the rack beside the big front door. They will put them on, along with their shoes, before leaving the house.

They steal into the great hall, all of them shivering with trepidation and cold, following their leader, who is as scared as any of them but does her best not to show it. She dreads to think of the consequences if they are caught.

Despite the terrible storm outside, tonight she will take the children away from Crickley Hall. They can no longer stay in the house: it's too dangerous. Mr Cribben has done something bad to little Stefan, something horrible, and the children haven't seen their friend since. Susan is afraid Mr Cribben might do bad things to the rest of them, for he seems to have lost his mind; there is no telling what he might do now. They will make their way down to the village and knock on the door of the first house that has a light in its window. They will beg to be taken in and Susan will tell everything—their cruel treatment at Crickley Hall, the punishments, their meagre rations, the missing boy.

Lili Peel, lying prone on the ground more than six decades later, witnessed this as if she were a ghost herself, hovering close to the terrified orphans, hearing their thoughts, sensing their emotions. But unable to help. Unable to intervene in any way. Her heart reached out to them, for she already knew their bid for freedom would fail.

They are almost halfway across the hall, heading for the coat rack and the locked and bolted front door, when it happens …

•

Pyke smiled as he related the story, but there was no humour in his eyes. The expression in them, Eve observed, ranged from lunacy to kindness, then to an emotionless vacuity, which was how they were at present. Dead eyes. Deadly eyes.

'You see, I had overheard Susan Trainer's plan to escape the night before,' he said. 'I'd just left Magda's room—she was so worried about her brother, who had taken to his bed all that day because of his illness. The pain in his head was so bad he could barely think, and daylight—any bright light—made his agony even worse, so much so that he could hardly see.'

Pyke changed position, resting his back against the railings once more so that he could face Eve and Loren.

'I sat on the stairway just beneath the hatchway into the dormitory and I listened to the whisperings, heard Susan scheme to escape Crickley Hall. She was aware that Augustus was demented with pain by now and that she and the other children were in danger. She intended to sneak out of the house with them the very next night. Susan knew the front-door key was kept on a hook in the kitchen and she would fetch it while the others were putting on their coats and shoes.'

Pyke gave a short snigger as he remembered his own cleverness.

'Oh, it was a fine escape plan. They would leave the house, closing the door behind them. Every child in turn had to promise to be silent when they left the dormitory; the smaller ones were made to promise twice.

'Once outside they would go down to the village, avoiding the vicarage because they were aware of Reverend Rossbridger's friendship with the Cribbens. They didn't trust him and Susan was sure they'd get no sympathy from him. In Hollow Bay they would find someone to take them in and as soon as their story was known, the police would be called and the Cribbens taken off to prison.'

The snigger was followed by a throaty chuckle, but the mood quickly passed.

'The children had forgotten I liked to spy on them. Yes, I gained valuable bits of information when I listened to them out of sight on the stairs, titbits that earned me rewards from the Cribbens. That particular night I crept back down to Magda's room and told her what I'd overheard. Augustus was too ill to be informed right then, but she revealed the children's plan to him the very next day. Unfortunately, she failed to realize just how ill he was. His mind had snapped, although it wasn't evident at that time.

'Augustus kept to his room that fateful day. But when night-time came…'

•

Lili, a silent witness, watched the orphans lift their coats from the rack, the bigger children reaching for those belonging to the younger ones and handing them down. She allowed her mind to follow Susan…

… who is tiptoeing towards the kitchen. The kitchen door is closed and the girl gently turns its handle, pausing for a moment as the door creaks. A bunch of keys is hanging from a hook just inside and the long front-door key is among them.

Afraid to open the door any wider, Susan reaches in and her trembling hand runs up the wall searching for the large keyring. The keys jingle as her fingers brush against them and she quickly stops the sound by pressing them against the wall. She feels the long one with the palm of her hand and, although frightened, she allows herself a small smile. Slowly she lifts it.

And that is when cold, hard fingers reach round her wrist to paralyse her for a moment

Susan cannot help but shriek. She pulls her arm back and so powerful is her fright that it is wrenched free from the grip round her wrist. The kitchen door is pulled wide open and there in the darkness stands the naked figure of Augustus Cribben. He is without clothes because he has been flagellating his own body for most of the evening. The fresh marks on his pale flesh are still livid.

All the children scream in terror. Dropping their shoes and their feet slapping against the stone floor, they disperse in all directions. Three of them scurry into the classroom and conceal themselves beneath the tables. One more shuts himself in the cupboard beneath the stairs, while another chooses a storage closet set in a wall to conceal herself in. Three others, one of whom is barely six years old, flee up the stairs and hide in the landing cupboard where brooms, brushes and an iron bucket are kept. They pull the door closed after them and crouch on the floor as far back as they can go, pressing into the black-painted wall behind them. They clutch each other tightly and shiver in the darkness. They wait.

Lili felt their horror and she stirred on the wet bed of grass and mud. She moaned in protest, but the vision continued. Like the children, she cannot escape.

The naked man holds a long thin stick whose end is split into wicked slivers that spread the pain when struck against flesh. This is his own personal cane, the one he keeps in his room for himself alone, the other cane, defiled by the sinners he had used it on, temporarily hidden by his sister because the school inspectors are soon to visit. His gnarled left hand grabs the girl's wrist again, for shock has frozen her to the spot, unable to run away. She now squirms and tries to pull away from him, kicking out at her captor, her stockinged feet having little effect. The keys fall from her grasp and skid across the floor.

Cribben handles Susan roughly and she is crying with terror and desperation. He lays into her with the cane, her thin cotton dress offering no protection at all, and she screams.

Two figures appear looking over the balcony down into the great hall. Magda Cribben and Maurice Stafford have left the bedroom where they have patiently waited for much of the night, ready to leap into action and help Augustus deal with the would-be absconders. Their eyes widen in alarm as they see the naked guardian drop the cane and grab Susan Trainer by the throat.

Her cries cease immediately as her throat is squeezed and her windpipe crushed. Her feet pummel the floor for a few seconds and her once-pretty eyes bulge as if pushed from behind. Her tongue protrudes from her yawning mouth, her face begins to turn a purplish red, her young body stiffens as she is lifted by her neck. Urine spatters the flagstones beneath her, while her hands feebly pull at the naked man's wrists. Finally, her hands fall away and she goes limp. Susan is dead.

'Augustus! No!' The anguished wail is from Magda, who leans over the balcony to beseech her brother. Maurice is too dismayed to move.

Cribben bends to pick up his punishment cane and he strikes it hard against his own body as he advances across the hall towards the cupboard beneath the stairs. There are long welts and red stripes all over his body, and old scars where self-inflicted wounds had run deep.

Cribben reaches the cupboard and yanks the door open. There is a screech from inside and he leans in to drag out six-year-old Wilfred Wilton, who tries to resist but is no match for his guardian's manic strength. Once again, the cane is dropped to the floor and Cribben's powerful hands reach round the boy's throat. Wilfred is murdered in silence.

Hand to her breast, Magda wails, 'Oh dear Lord, what can we do, what can we do?'

Her brother picks up the stick and strides towards the closet located in the hall's oak panelling. As he walks he continues to beat his own body.

Swish-thwack! is the sound it makes. Swish-thwack! almost a single emanation.

The wind outside blows rain against the tall window in a sudden fierce burst, but nothing distracts the man with the cane. He stops in front of the cupboard, opens its door, stretches inside to pull out seven-year-old Marigold Welch by the hair. Her screams are cut off as he strangles her, Cribben's rage making it no effort at all. He lets her lifeless body fall to the floor and slowly looks towards the classroom.

'No, Augustus!' Magda implores him and she runs towards the top of the stairs. 'You mustn't do this! They'll lock you away! Or they'll hang you. Augustus, they will hang you!'

But of course, it is already too late.

Maurice follows her, his long gangly legs making it easy for him to catch up, even though she is running. They descend the stairs together, dread in their hearts…

•

'But by the time we got down there,' Pyke told Eve as coolly as if he were commenting on a slow game of cricket, 'Augustus was at the classroom doorway.'

Loren was now perfectly still in her mother's arms and Eve worried that she might be in shock. As for Eve herself, she was completely unnerved as Pyke recounted his horrific tale. She could have wept for the poor innocents who had been forced from their hiding places to be brutally killed, but she knew she mustn't break down, she had to be ready when the chance to flee came.

'Magda stood in front of her brother, blocking his way, begging him to stop. When I tried to help her, pulling on his arm, trying to divert him from the classroom, he turned and looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. Then he started lashing out at me with his stick. I fell to the floor and curled up there so he couldn't hurt me too much. I'll admit, I became hysterical, in fear for my own life, and it was only when Magda fell across me that he held back. It was as if he suddenly remembered the other children, because he stared through the classroom doorway. Perhaps one of them screamed or scraped a chair, distracting him from me.

'He left us lying there, both of us weeping with pain and despair. But before he went in, I saw his face, and I've never forgotten it. It was full of hatred and anger—no, wrath would be the better word. He was possessed by it. Nothing would stop him murdering every one of those children. I knew it, Magda knew it. But what we feared most was that he would turn on us once all the others had been dealt with. It was in his eyes, a madness, when he stared at us both.'

Pyke fingered the end of his walking stick, but did not pick it up.

'Magda knew there was no going back now. We might have been able to account for the teacher's absence and we could cover up Stefan's death by saying he'd broken the strict rules and gone down to the cellar on his own the only time the cellar door had been left unlocked, but how could we explain the deaths of all the other orphans? No, we were in an impossible situation.

'Magda's face became grim, more stony than I'd ever known it to be. We had to leave the house, she told me. Leave the charnel house before we ourselves became victims. We had to get far away from Crickley Hall. I think by that time she had cracked like her brother. Oh, you wouldn't know it to look at her, but there was a distance in her manner, as if mentally she had already left Crickley Hall.

'We didn't even stop to put on coats; we fled the house as we were. The keys were lying on the floor just outside the kitchen and Magda picked them up and unlocked the front door. We didn't care about the storm, we just wanted to get away from the carnage. I had no idea where we were going, or what we were to do: I went with her and once outside she never spoke another word. Of course, I didn't realize it at the time, but she was in shock, terrified of her own brother, knowing that they would both be in terrible trouble. Something inside her closed down that night and apparently she has remained in that state 'til this day. We stumbled through the storm for most of the night, fortunately missing the flood that created even more havoc.'

He shook his head at the thought.

'And while we fled, Augustus Cribben's rampage continued…'

•

The grooves that Lili's tense fingers had dug in the soft earth had grown deeper so that only the second knuckles of her hand were visible. She remained physically snug in her semi-conscious condition, as if cocooned from the rain, but her mind was in panic as Cribben went on with the killings…

Three of the orphans are concealed beneath the tables that are used as desks in the makeshift classroom. Gloomy light from the hall spills through the open doorway and they silently pray they will not be discovered in the shadows under the tables. They listen to the familiar sound— swish-thwack! it goes, swish-thwack!—and it is growing louder as the guardian draws close.

Cribben pauses on the threshold and he knows where the children are hiding.

Swish-thwack!

The swift sharp pain on his bare thigh is exquisite, but it fails to subdue the burning agony inside his head. He feels his brain must explode into molten fragments.

Oh Lord, he silently beseeches, relieve me of this cruel burden! Take away this penance and I will serve you all my days!

He sways, almost staggers, and his eyes are shut tight against the suffering. One hand presses his brow in the vain hope of absorbing the worst of it. Augustus Cribben forces his eyes open again and even the feeble light from the oil lamps hurts them. Almost overwhelmed but driven by pain, he squints into the shadows and finds the small crouching figures hiding under the tables.

It's these worthless children who should and would be punished. They had tried to sneak away from Crickley Hall, no doubt to spin their lies and accusations of maltreatment to anyone who would listen. How he despises these wretched ingrates and sinners. He will not allow them to spread their falsehoods. No, tonight they must pay for their treachery. Tonight their iniquitous souls will be offered up to the Lord before they can be corrupted irredeemably. Only then could a benevolent God grant them His forgiveness.

Like a lightning bolt from a troubled sky, a fresh excruciating pain sears his brain and he howls his confusion and distress. The children! They were why he was being punished! He must find them all and give them up to the Lord before their corruption was complete.

Swish-thwack!

He moves into the classroom and the orphans cower, try to make themselves even smaller. But the tables are swept aside and they are exposed. Cribben grabs the nearest child, seven-year-old Mavis Borrington, and it is easier to twist and snap her neck than choke her. While he throttles nine-year-old Eugene Smith, the third child scuttles into a corner and buries his face in his hands, his body curled up into a tight ball. Seven-year-old Arnold Brown becomes perfectly still as if by not moving he will not be noticed. But he is mistaken.

First, Cribben flogs the screaming boy's back with the cane, and when his victim tries to crawl away, Cribben stands over him. The guardian leans over Arnold and cups his strong hands beneath the evacuee's chin. Cribben jerks the boy's head backwards and relishes the sound of small bones breaking.

There are still three more to account for. He looks about him, but there is no one else—no one living—in the room. He is breathing heavily with the exertion, but there is a gleam in his black eyes that indicates a spiteful lunacy.

He leaves the room and continues the search.

Swish-thwack!

He makes his way upstairs…

72: FEAR

Pyke was now standing on the small square landing beneath the tall window, the torchère behind him; sitting had proved too uncomfortable, his knee was aching. He contemplated Eve and Loren, who still lay sprawled on the stairs, the frightened girl comforted in her mother's arms.

'I returned to London on my own, you know.' He appeared to be boasting, as though he had achieved something heroic and grand. 'A mere lad of twelve years. And I survived, even though there was a war on; or perhaps it was because of the war that I went unnoticed for some time. Eventually I found a home and was adopted by a well-meaning but simple couple who had no—'

Eve had had enough. Scared and disturbed as she was by Pyke's gruesome story, and without knowing how much more she—and Loren—could take, she interrupted him. But she kept her voice falsely mild because she did not want to antagonize him.

'Mr Pyke, I asked you before: what do you want from us?'

'Ah, I can tell I'm boring you. But decent exposition takes time. Besides, it's almost a relief to unburden myself of the knowledge I've carried around with me for decades. The only other person to hear it is completely batty. Magda Cribben neither speaks nor responds to anything put to her; she doesn't even indicate that she understands what's being said. So you see, it's good to share the secret of what happened in Crickley Hall all those years ago with you.'

Fear and uncertainty were beginning to turn into a rising anger and Eve knew she had to control it. After learning that Cam really was dead she had felt almost doped, somehow remote from everything around her. She hadn't become hysterical as might have been expected; she hadn't even wept. She had spent the rest of the day in a listless and detached state, her exhaustion almost overwhelming. That was why she had allowed this man into her home tonight, her will softened by tiredness.

But now she was alert, adrenaline rushing through her system like a whirlwind. She had to stay calm though, for Loren's sake and her own. Eve had to watch her tone so that it revealed no hostility, nothing to arouse this lunatic's ire.

'We can't help you,' she said. 'Whatever it is you want from us, we can't help.' She was emboldened by his reaction—or lack of reaction. 'Please, can't you just collect your equipment and leave? We trusted you.'

'Yes, you did. You did trust me.' He smiled. 'That was your mistake, though.'

'Mistake? I don't understand…'

'You invited me into your home. That was a huge mistake. But meeting your daughter, Loren, outside confirmed what was meant to be. I knew her destiny immediately.'

Eve stiffened, any calmness she might have had swiftly vanishing. She tensed her body, ready to pull Loren to her feet.

He seemed to read her thoughts. 'Let me finish, Eve. Let me explain why this has to happen.'

Pyke rested both hands on the back of his walking stick.

'My life after Crickley Hall would have been fine except for two intrusions. If I told you that both literally drove me mad for a time, I'm sure you'd believe me. You would, wouldn't you?'

Eve was careful. Yes, she could see the madness in his eyes. He was as crazy as his guardian, Augustus Cribben. He was as demented as Magda Cribben. Perhaps Pyke had caught it from the brother and sister like some virulent kind of disease. Or perhaps it had been their mutual insanity that had once united all three of them.

'Sometimes a culmination of events can induce a breakdown,' she ventured tentatively, nervously. Instinct, and the incident with Lili, told her he was a very dangerous man.

He seemed to be looking into the distance but in fact his gaze was inwards. When he spoke it was almost to himself.

'I think I could tolerate the dreams, although they wearied me. But the hauntings… the hauntings are more than I can bear.'

'You told us yesterday you didn't believe in ghosts,' Eve said, genuinely surprised.

'Yes, yes,' Pyke replied impatiently, his attention having returned. 'You said that before and I told you I lied.'

Eve was ready to kick out with her feet if he came close. But Pyke hadn't done with talking.

'I suppose I could live with the dreams even though they came night after night, relentless in their consistency, always the children accusing me of betraying them.'

He banged his walking stick against the floor.

'But I could bear that! I could live with the dreams if only Augustus would stop torturing me, if only he would leave me alone.'

Eve gasped. He was truly insane. And yet… and yet hadn't she felt a presence in this house, something foul, something vile? The ghost of Augustus Cribben? Perhaps she was becoming a little unhinged herself. But a question nagged at her: why should meeting Loren mean so much to him? It confirmed what was meant to be, he had said. What was meant to be? What was Loren's destiny? Already scared, a terrible dread began to rise from deep inside her.

'The hauntings began soon after I returned to London. At least I heard the sound of his cane thrashing against flesh—I knew that sound. Oh yes, I had come to know it well—then his spirit would manifest itself. Even in spirit he would raise that cane against me and I felt its pain as if it were real, even though I'd never physically been struck by it.'

Eve remembered the other night when Loren had screamed in bed, claiming someone had beaten her.

Pyke visibly shuddered. 'Sometimes his image was weak, as if he were slowly losing power. The smell was always there, though, the whiff of strong carbolic soap which he always used to cleanse himself, but mixed with an aroma of what might be described as rotting corpses. At other times the apparitions are strong, as clear to me as you are now, and that's when he seems to sap my energy, leaving me weak and afraid. Sometimes he's completely black and that's when I fear him most.'

Pyke cast his eyes downwards as though studying the end of his walking stick; but his thoughts were elsewhere again, perhaps reliving the hauntings.

'It took me many years to realize the reason for his visits.' Pyke's voice was low. 'Augustus wanted something from me, but still I didn't know what it was.'

•

Lili wanted to escape the slaughter, was desperate to wake from the brutal scenes of remorseless, pitiless violence. But her mind was held captive to the horror and she was compelled to watch…

… There are only three children left alive in the house and they huddle in the sable darkness of the cupboard on the landing. Brenda Prosser, aged ten years, and her younger brother Gerald, aged eight years, and Patience Frost, who is only six years old, clutch each other tightly, the youngest girl in the middle. Patience has wet her knickers.

They have heard the screams echo round the great hall, all of them abruptly cut short. A long silence follows as their guardian searches other rooms downstairs for them. Then the dreaded sound comes to the three survivors, faint at first, but growing louder by the moment.

Swish-thwack!

It's coming closer. Up the stairs.

Swish-thwack!

The children cling together, shivering as one. Gerald's teeth are chattering and his sister claps a hand over his mouth. They mustn't make any noise at all. Gerald and Patience are crying and Brenda's eyes are wide and startled, for she cannot comprehend what is happening to them.

Swish-thwack!

Growing louder.

Swish-thwack!

Almost one sound.

Swish-thwack!

Pausing a few moments as though the wielder of the stick is looking into doors along the landing.

Lili now sees and hears everything through the eyes and ears of one of the children hidden in the darkness…

… Footsteps approach, softly because the predator wears no shoes, coming closer, the children afraid to breathe, every few seconds the cane making the sharp thwacking sound they know so well The light footsteps stop.

He is outside the cupboard door.

All three shriek as the door suddenly swings open. They dig their heels into the floorboards as they try to push themselves as far back into the cupboard as possible. Gerald is now wailing and Brenda is shouting, 'Get away! Get away!' They hunch their shoulders and press their foreheads against their bent knees, and they refuse to see the naked man who is leaning through the open door, the long, thin stick with the splayed end in his hand.

One by one Cribben draws them out and one by one he murders them. He strangles the boy and snaps the neck of the little girl. Brenda is last, and he grabs her ankle and yanks hard so that she slides out onto the landing. This girl's struggling body is held off the floor by her neck, as was Susan Trainer's only minutes before, and her feet kick out at him uselessly. But he doesn't feel the blows; nothing could detract from the pain inside his head. He squeezes, tighter and tighter, and Brenda's frightened, despairing eyes almost pop out of their sockets with the pressure, and her tongue, its tip trapped by her lower teeth, curls over to bulge from her mouth.

Like her young friend Susan, Brenda involuntarily urinates, and its stream spatters Cribben's legs and feet. He takes no notice. His only purpose is to extinguish the lives of these disloyal and ill-behaved miscreants who had been given into his care. Nothing else matters.

… And in her psychic vision, the unconscious Lili Peel was held aloft and was slowly being strangled. Her own legs jerked in the mud and grass on which she lay, and her eyeballs pushed against their lids, her tongue began to emerge from her mouth, as if she herself suffered the young girl's imminent death. She started to panic, needing air, the hands that squeezed her neck so strong and relentless. But as life passed from the last child, so Lili escaped her corpse. Still senseless yet still 'sensing', Lili's vision continued…

Cribben allows the child's lifeless body to fall on the floor. He retrieves the punishment cane that is lying on the landing. He stands still. Something is not quite right, but the torturous pounding inside his head will not allow clear thought. Has he dealt with all the children? He isn't sure, he cannot think.

It suddenly comes to him, though. Eleven evacuees had been sent to Crickley Hall, but despite his blinding pain he knows he has despatched only nine. Then he remembers Stefan Rosenbaum—the Jew!—has already been accounted for. That meant one was missing.

Where was the eleventh child?

Cribben resumes his search…

And Lili lost the psychic nightmare, although not for long.

73: INSANITY

Eve drew up her legs, resting the flat of her foot on the small square landing at the turn of the staircase, ready to use the leverage to push herself up. She still didn't know Pyke's intentions, but there was no doubt that they were bad as far as she and Loren were concerned. And every instinct as a mother told her they would be particularly bad for Loren. As he talked, Pyke kept looking at her daughter, showing more interest in her than Eve. If she could keep him talking, they might get a chance to escape. Or Lili might possibly get back with help.

He looked up at the window as stuttering lightning bleached all its glass white again. He waited for the thunder to die away before he spoke.

'So what did Augustus Cribben want from me?' The question was put mildly enough and Eve was aware that it was rhetorical. 'What caused him to reach out from his grave to me? If I were psychic I might have known long ago. If Augustus's spectre were stronger, he might have been able to communicate his needs to me.'

Pyke's smile was bitter.

'It was only comparatively recently that I found the answer,' he said. 'God only knows why I hadn't done it long ago—at least I would have the reason for the hauntings that have affected my state of mind all these years.'

Let him talk, Eve advised herself. Pretend interest and let him ramble. She exerted pressure on Loren's shoulder to warn her she was going to make a move soon, and was reassured when her daughter pressed a hand against Eve's back as if to say she would be ready. Pyke's lengthy narrative had allowed Loren to get over her initial panic, although she was still rigid with fear.

Eve continued to force herself to be polite and rational. 'Why does there have to be an explanation for Augustus Cribben to haunt you? Doesn't that sort of thing just happen?'

'No, dear woman, it does not just "happen",' he chided her. 'There are always reasons for hauntings. Some people may bear a grudge when they pass over and their spirit returns for revenge. Or the deaths might have been so traumatic that the spirit does not even realize he or she is dead. Sometimes there is some unfinished business or other left behind that has to be resolved. The last of these applies to Augustus Cribben.'

Pyke frowned as though the thought disturbed him more than he could say.

'You see, Eve, Augustus had eleven evacuees in his charge here at Crickley Hall.' He emphasized the number again. 'Eleven children. That last night he'd punished only nine, all slain by his own hands. He knew the Jewish boy, Stefan, had died earlier, his body despatched by myself and Magda, but it still meant only ten children—his children—were dead. So where was the final one, the eleventh child?'

He had posed the question as though expecting an answer from Eve. When she didn't respond he seemed disappointed. Pyke continued.

'Of course, I was the eleventh evacuee in his care. Maurice Stafford, my name then, was the missing child. Augustus wasn't aware I'd run away with Magda, with me in fear for my life and Magda in fear for her future. Who knows? He was so uncontrolled he might even have killed his own sister.'

Pyke breathed out a long sigh of resignation. 'Augustus wanted to claim all the children. That was his right, they had been given to him.'

Eve discreetly rose on an elbow, very slowly so that Pyke would not notice. An awful suspicion was beginning to dawn on her.

'I only understood this,' he went on, 'when I went through the journals of that period in a public library. October 1943. The Hollow Bay flood made all the front pages, even though there was a war going on. After all, sixty-eight people were drowned or crushed to death in the disaster and the village was almost destroyed. Even more poignantly, so the newspapers pointed out, eleven of those who died that night were orphans who had been evacuated from London for their own safety. Eleven children who were in the care of Augustus Cribben.'

Pyke nodded to himself. 'There was the answer for me, laid out in stark black and white print on the front page of the national dailies. Such tragic irony. Children sent to the safety of the country because London in wartime was too dangerous.

'Two of the evacuees' bodies were never recovered and it was assumed they had been swept out to sea by the river that runs beneath the house. After all, the rest of the orphans' bodies had been discovered in the cellar where there was a well to the underground river, so the assumption was natural enough. No one knew that Stefan's body had been dumped in the well on another day, and I, of course, had absconded to London.'

Eve and Loren were almost sitting erect on the stairway by now and Eve's dread was deepening. She forced herself to speak normally. 'I still don't understand what this has to do with us.' She said this despite her suspicion.

He took a sudden step towards them and stamped his walking stick on the bare boards of the small landing. Both of them flinched.

'Don't you see?' he said excitedly. 'Isn't it clear to you after all I've said? The eleventh child doesn't have to be me: it can be another child!'

The shock, her suspicion now voiced, caused Eve to collapse back on the stairs. Loren squeezed her mother's arm in a tight vice.

Pyke leaned towards them, sinister, threatening, yet his voice still pleasant. 'When I read the local rag's story of a haunting at Crickley Hall, two trespassing children claiming they had seen the ghost of a naked man in the house, I knew the ghost of Augustus Cribben had returned to Crickley Hall—perhaps it had never gone away! The newspaper story said a family was renting the house, a husband and wife with two daughters, one of them twelve years old, exactly my own age when I stayed here in 1943. It couldn't have been more perfect!'

The insanity in Pyke's eyes was dangerously bright.

'His plaguing of me had become more intense of late, more powerful, and now I understood why. The conditions had become so appropriate!'

'Mummy—' Loren began to say, but Pyke's zealous babble cut her off.

'Loren can substitute for me, don't you see? I was his favourite, but I know he'll accept another child in my place. I'm sure he will approve my sacrifice to him. Augustus will have his eleventh child and I'll finally be free.'

Eve could not help herself. 'You're completely mad. This whole thing is crazy. The police will find you. Lili will tell them you were here and attacked her. They'll lock you away for life.'

He actually chuckled. 'Would that really matter, if I was free of the hauntings? Perhaps even the dreams will stop when everything's resolved.' His face became artful. 'I'm prepared to take the consequences—after all, what's wrong with being pampered in an asylum for the next few years, because they will say I'm mad, won't they? I'll play the same game I think Magda Cribben has played all these years.'

He straightened and smiled as if pleased with himself. He took a step back and leaned against the landing railing behind him.

'You know I expected your husband to be here tonight,' he said. 'I had intended to get his permission to stay overnight to monitor the equipment I was going to set up around the house. When I was sure everyone was asleep I was going to steal Loren away from her bed and take her down to the cellar. When it was done, I was going to leave quietly.'

'They wouldn't put you in a psychiatric institute,' Eve said coldly. 'No, you'll rot in prison.'

'I don't think so.'

'I won't let you take my child!' Eve shouted at him defiantly but more scared than she had ever been in her life, more scared even than the day Cam went missing, if that were possible (perhaps because then she had hope).

His reply was so twisted in logic and so affably put that a violent shudder ran through her.

He said: 'But, Eve, I only want one of your daughters.'

That was when she had no doubt at all that this man was seriously crazy, and all the more dangerous: he couldn't be reasoned with.

Lightning blazed against the window and thunder cracked almost immediately afterwards, momentarily diverting his attention.

'Run, Loren, run!' Eve shouted and they both jumped to their feet, Eve pushing at her daughter's back to hurry her up the stairs.

But although surprised by their sudden break, Pyke's reaction was swift. Even before the thunder had rumbled away he had turned his sturdy walking stick upside down so that its curved handle was pointing away from him as he leaned forward. He hooked Eve's ankle with it and her own impetus brought her crashing down, jarring her chest and one elbow against the edges of the stairs.

'Do you want pain, Eve? Because I can give you pain,' Pyke bellowed.

Loren's scream bounced off the walls, ceiling and flag-stoned floor. The girl stopped climbing and reached back for her mother, tugging at her arm to help her rise again.

'Leave me!' Eve cried at her. 'Just run, get away!'

But Loren refused to leave her mother behind. She slipped a hand under Eve's shoulder and desperately tried to lift her.

The walking stick descended fast and struck Eve's back so that she sprawled on the stairs once more.

She half turned and kicked out, her foot hitting Pyke full in the stomach. He nearly toppled backwards, but somehow managed to regain his balance. Only slightly winded, he raised the heavy stick again.

Eve pulled herself free of Loren's clutching hands, turning all the way to defend herself. It was too late, though: the walking stick came down and hit her on the side of her head. She fell back and in a daze she heard Loren's frightened cry and then another, smaller voice, Cally's voice, yelling from the top of the stairs.

'Leave my mummy alone!'

Eve turned onto her stomach and tried to raise herself on hands and knee, but she was struck across the back of her shoulders next and everything went black.

•

The 'vision' swam back into Lili's head. She had lost it for a while as her other senses, the normal ones, began to resurface, leading her slowly towards consciousness. There was no choice but to accept the returning images…

The guardian who is called Augustus Cribben, still naked, his pale flesh scored with striped wounds and old scars, is collecting the small corpses that are scattered around the house.

He carries the children's bodies to the head of the cellar stairs, then bundles them down, their still warm bodies rolling over and over until there is a lifeless pile of them at the bottom. The roar of coursing water rises from the well and fills the chamber with its sound, for the river below is in tumult.

Susan Trainer is the last child to be gathered up and this one he drags across the flagstone floor because he has grown tired with all the killing and carrying, and the fiery demons inside his head refuse to give him peace. His mad eyes are bloodshot with the pain.

Cribben shuffles the corpse onto the top step, then pushes it over with his foot so that it tumbles down to join its companions in death.

He presses both hands against his temples as if to squeeze out the agony, but there is no relief

Shambling to the centre of the hall, he picks up the stick he had left lying there while he completed his body-disposal tasks. He shouts out as he flails his own flesh with it, not as a penance but as a distraction from the fiercer pain inside his skull.

After a short while, Cribben lumbers to the hall's broad stairway and climbs to the small landing. Rain gusts against the glass of the tall window with awesome force and the howling wind rattles the wood. He turns round to face the hall, the brutal studded cane held aloft as he stretches out his arms in adoration of Christ. He has discharged his duty.

He has offered up the souls of the children to his God. And found absolution for his own tortured soul.

Lili's 'vision' finally faded completely and she stirred on the drenched earth.

74: THE BRIDGE

Lightning lit up the house across the river and Gabe, who had been unable to make out the dark building through the heavy sheets of rain, took a moment to absorb the sight of it. Yeah, he thought drily, it even looks like a haunted house, especially on a night like this.

The lightning stuttered and died, and as thunder shook the skies almost directly overhead, Crickley Hall all but disappeared into the murk once more. There didn't seem to be any lights on—no, if he looked hard, Gabe could just detect faint glows in some windows. But they were very dim and that wasn't because of the rain. He wondered if power from the main grid had failed and the house's generator had kicked in; if the machine wasn't running at full capacity it might account for the weak lighting.

Gabe leaned in close to his companion. 'You okay, Perce?' He had to shout to be heard over the storm.

'I'm all right, Mr Caleigh,' Percy yelled back. 'But I don't like the look of that river.'

He was right. They were standing in the roadway, the bridge and river only a few yards away. By the bright but rain-limited beam of Percy's torch Gabe could see the ferocious white spume that reared and tossed on the roiling water, whose level was almost up to the top of the river-banks. It didn't look like the swollen river would be contained for much longer.

The engineer had noticed the two cars in the short parking bay and he thought he had seen the small two-door Citroën before. The other vehicle, a dark-red Mondeo, he didn't recognize. Who the hell would be visiting on a night like this?

Gabe and Percy hadn't said much to one another as they had battled the storm, but the old gardener's concern over Crickley Hall had the American worried. The house had survived the previous flood, hadn't it? So Eve only had to get herself and the girls upstairs and trust in the building's solid, thick walls to withstand any floodwaters. Although power lines were vulnerable in this kind of weather, Gabe was also concerned that Percy hadn't been able to reach Eve by phone. He didn't like the idea of Crickley Hall being totally cut off.

The gardener directed the torchbeam towards the bridge ahead of them.

'I don't like the looks of that, either,' he declared, and Gabe nodded. Nor did he.

Natural debris—branches, a small tree, shrubbery and no doubt dead animals—was piling up on one side of the bridge, and the structure itself was visibly unsteady, shaking as if about to break free of the concrete bases on both riverbanks. Crossing it was going to be a risk.

'Percy, we gotta get over the bridge right now, before it goes,' Gabe shouted into the gardener's hood-covered ear. 'But, look, maybe you don't. No point in both of us chancing it.'

'I'll come along with yer, Mr Caleigh. We'll hafta' be quick though.'

Gabe didn't argue: there was no time. Soon the bridge was going to break away under the strain. He clamped his hand around the old man's upper arm. 'Let's go, then!'

Percy led the way, shining the torch down at the ground before them as they went. Gabe had never felt so wet in all his life: his reefer coat felt twice as heavy as normal and his hair was plastered to his scalp. Although his coat collar was up, rainwater still managed to soak his neck; his jeans were now a darker shade of blue and even the socks beneath his boots felt damp. They plodded over the muddy patch in front of the bridge and paused to make a closer assessment of the wooden structure's condition.

Percy stood to one side so that he could examine the thick stanchions supporting the bridge.

'One of 'em uprights has come away,' he informed the engineer. 'The whole blamed thing's gonna' tear free afore long, but that were why it were built this way, so's it don't act like a dam.'

'That's helpful, Perce. Shall we get across now?'

Gabe placed a tentative foot on the sodden slippery boards. The bridge shook under him.

'Got an idea, Perce. Let's just run for it.'

Percy clapped him on the back and without another word they raced towards the other side of the bridge.

They almost made it together, but the surface was too slick with spray and slime. Percy's feet skidded from under him and he went down with a bone-rattling thud.

Gabe, who had made it all the way before his companion had fallen, turned back for him and as he reached down to haul Percy to his feet, the whole bridge lurched. The deck tilted and the engineer went down on one knee. Percy began to slide towards the left-hand rail and might have slipped through the struts had not Gabe grabbed him. Unbalanced himself, Gabe managed to clutch the limb of a tree that was poking through the struts on the right-hand rail. It jerked forward a little, then held firm, and Gabe was able to draw Percy towards him using the branch for leverage.

The bridge continued to lurch and tilt, and it was obvious to both men that the weakened structure was going to break away at any second.

'On your feet, Percy!' Gabe yelled, one hand under the gardener's shoulder. Letting go of the branch with his left, he now grasped the top of the rail.

The other man rose shakily, using Gabe for support. A sharp judder, then another lurch. Something—a hefty tree branch probably—smashed against the engineer's curled fingers, but he ignored the pain, well aware that if he should let go, he and Percy would slide off the bridge into the water below, for the rail on the other side had broken, leaving a gaping hole just inches above the turbulent river.

He yanked Percy up all the way and shouted: 'Keep hold of my arm and work your way along it to the other bank!'

Percy didn't bother to reply: he followed Gabe's instructions. First he clung to the engineer's taut upper arm, moving along the elbow and then the wrist, his boots threatening to skid from under him with every step he took. When he reached Gabe's upraised fist holding the rail, he lunged for the right-hand rail and clung to it. He had stuffed the torch into one of his storm coat's huge pockets, so he had both hands free.

The bridge was now leaning perilously at one end, the nearest to the lane, and it began to sway with water splashing over its planks.

Percy quickly stumbled and slid his way towards the path, and finally he reached it. Even though he was out of breath and his arms and legs were shaking with the effort, he brought out the torch again and pointed it at Gabe, who was still struggling to pull himself along the rail, his feet constantly slipping on the wet boards. The incline was becoming more and more acute so that it was almost impossible for the engineer's boots to gain purchase, but he battled on, slowly drawing closer and closer to the bridge's end. Then, just as he was about to grab Percy's outstretched hand, the structure lurched once more, violently this time, and Gabe thought he would be swept away with it. He hadn't counted on the old gardener's tenacity, though.

Percy dropped the torch onto the ground and leaned forward as far as he could from the very edge of the path. He clasped Gabe's coat with both hands and, with surprising strength for a man of his age, pulled the engineer off the bridge.

There was a loud ear-splitting cracking as the bridge behind Gabe collapsed. The broken structure was instantly carried away by the rising river and all the detritus that had been banked up behind it followed.

Gabe bent over, hands on his knees, and fought to suck in lost breath. By the time he straightened, Percy had the torch back in his hand and was shining its light at him.

'Th-thanks, Percy,' he stammered, then realized his gardener wouldn't have heard him over the storm. 'Much obliged,' he said, louder this time.

'Yer did right by me, Mr Caleigh,' Percy growled loudly. 'A favour for a favour.'

Gabe saw evidence of a faint smile on the old man's face.

As one, they turned to look at the house, both of them breathing heavily. Lightning flared and its thunder boomed.

'Did yer see the same as me?' Percy was looking at Gabe for affirmation. 'The lightnin' lit it up, over there near the tree.' He aimed the beam at something—no, someone, Gabe realized—stretched flat out on the lawn close to the big oak tree.

They hurried towards the prone figure and for one heart-freezing moment Gabe thought it might be Eve lying there in the rain. It was certainly a woman—he could see slim fashion-booted legs beneath the hem of her coat. But Eve didn't have a coat of that light colour: she favoured darker tones for overcoats. As they drew near, he noticed the coat sleeves were pulled up slightly and the woman wore bracelets on both wrists—no, not bracelets: wristbands, coloured wristbands. He was beginning to understand who she was before they reached her. He had thought the small car in the lane's parking area was familiar, because it was the same one that had been parked there when he returned from work on Wednesday; it belonged to the psychic, Lili Peel. But by the torchlight he saw this person's hair was dark, whereas the psychic's had been light blonde, so maybe he was mistaken, this was someone else.

He had almost reached her when Percy, who was slightly behind him, shouted something and pulled him back by the elbow. A dark object swished past Gabe's head, missing him by inches. It rose higher, then paused in the air as if held by the wind. As it swung back, Percy's torchlight caught it and Gabe saw it was the swing that was suspended from a lower branch of the oak.

As they watched, one of its rusty chains snapped, spoiling the swing's momentum. The edge of the loose seat was now low enough to be snagged by the ground, the broken part of the chain acting as an anchor. The swing dangled there, stirred by the wind but unable to rise any more.

'Thanks again, Perce.' Gabe realized that the swing might well have brained him had it connected with his head. He wondered if that was what had happened to the unconscious woman lying at their feet.

She was moving slightly, lifting her head and shoulders off the ground. Gabe dropped down on both knees beside her while Percy kept the light on her face. She groaned and her head bowed as if she were going to rest it on the grass again.

Gently, he touched her shoulder.

'What happened to you?' he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the gale.

She turned her face towards him and was blinded by the light. She raised a shaking hand to shield her eyes.

'Who—who are you?' she asked so quietly Gabe hardly caught the words.

He saw that it was Lili Peel. Her hair was dark because it was rain-soaked and flattened against her scalp and face. He inched closer.

'It's Gabe Caleigh, Lili. Eve's husband, remember?'

As if relieved, she closed her eyes for a second or two. When she opened them again they were wide with shock.

'I ran away,' she managed to say, and Gabe had to move even closer to understand. Their faces were only inches apart. 'I left them there in the house. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I was afraid. I thought he was going to kill me.'

She attempted to sit up, but it was too soon. She rocked forward and looked as if she were about to pass out again. Gabe quickly helped her to turn round, his arm lifting her at the back. Lili wiped her damp face with the flat of her hand and mud was smeared over her cheeks and nose.

Gabe kept his arm around her, supporting her, and Percy played the light on them both.

'Who was going to kill you, Lili?' Gabe urged. 'Has anything happened to my wife and daughters? Quickly, you gotta tell me.'

He was about to leave her there and get into the house fast, but she gripped his wrist.

'Oh God, I know what happened to the children,' she said breathlessly, ignoring his question. 'He murdered them all. The evacuees who came here during the war.'

Percy, only just able to hear her even though he bent near on one knee, said: 'Who murdered them, miss?'

Lili looked from one man to the other, the torch held low so its glare would not blind her again.

'The—the guardian—he killed them,' she stammered. 'The man called Augustus Cribben. I recognized him from the photograph Eve showed me. He killed them all except for the one who ran away.'

Percy was confounded, wondering how this woman—this girl, really—could know the children's fate when it was so long ago.

'He—he strangled them,' Lili went on, her eyes staring into the rain. 'He broke the necks of the smaller ones. I sensed it. I saw him do it.'

Gabe glanced at Percy. 'Lili's supposed to be psychic,' he hurriedly explained. He suddenly remembered the other car, the Mondeo parked in front of her Citroën. 'Is someone else in the house?' he asked urgently. 'Is someone threatening my family?'

'Yes!' she exclaimed, looking directly into Gabe's eyes. 'The boy named Maurice Stafford. I mean the man—the man who now calls himself Pyke. Oh God, you've got to help them before it's too late. He's going to harm them, I'm sure—'

But Gabe was already sprinting towards Crickley Hall.

75: THE SACRIFICE

The front door was shut but unlocked.

Gabe burst through, sending the heavy nail-studded door crashing back against the wall. Rain gusted in with the wind behind him as he came to a startled, skidding halt.

A great darkness, like a black fog, spread across the ceiling, wispy grey tendrils of it drifting down from the mass. It almost covered the iron chandelier, dimming its already weak lights so that the whole room was gloomy with shadows. With it, or from it, there came a foul fetid smell, an odour like raw sewage, that clogged the nose and throat. He nearly retched with the stench. A different kind of coldness settled over his body like a tight silk shroud.

A shrill cry from Cally brought him back to his senses. She was standing next to her mother halfway up the hall's broad staircase. Eve was sitting on a stair, a hand up to her lowered head, Cally's arm round her shoulders. Dark liquid oozed through Eve's fingers, blood from a cut in her head.

'Daddy, the nasty man hit Mummy!' Cally's face was screwed up as if she were about to break into tears.

He ran across the hall, splashing through large puddles without questioning how or why they were there, his only thoughts for his wife and daughter. Loren's absence had not hit him yet. He bounded up the stairs.

Eve heard him coming and looked down at him. The panic on her face shook him.

She extended her bloodied hand as if to ward him off. 'No!' she screeched. 'Loren, help Loren!'

Gabe dropped to his knees on a lower step so that his face was level with hers. 'Eve, what is it? Where is Loren?'

'He's taken her to the cellar! The well!'

He took her by the shoulders. 'Who has? What're you talking about, Eve?'

'Pyke! He came back. He's mad, Gabe! He's going to kill her!'

Gabe was confused, astonished. But he did not waste another moment. He hurtled back down the stairs, taking two at a time and leaping the last few into the hall. All kinds of dreads ran with him. Loren! Pyke! Why the hell would Pyke—no time to think, he was at the open cellar door.

He went through, hardly slowing, descending the creaky cellar steps in a rush, his hands brushing the rough walls on either side for balance, almost stumbling near the bottom but catching himself before he could fall.

Emerging into the cavernous basement room, he took it all in in an instant: the roaring of the underground river whose sound was amplified by the circular wall of the shaft and then further enhanced by the cellar's stone walls, the dank earthy smell of the poorly lit chamber—the two figures, Pyke and Loren, standing by the lip of the old well.

Loren was struggling, her back to Pyke, his big hand round her neck, pushing her head and shoulders forward so that she was forced to look into the deep well. She was crying hysterically.

With no interest in conversation—reasons why, warnings, pleadings, humouring the bastard—and barely breaking stride, Gabe launched himself at the man threatening his daughter.

Although Pyke had heard the footsteps coming down the stairs, he had not expected such a swift reaction, and he involuntarily pulled away in surprise, bringing the girl back from the edge with him. He attempted to raise the walking stick he held in his other hand to meet the attack, but the engineer was hurtling in to him before he had a chance to use it.

All three of them went to the floor, Pyke uttering a cry at the impact, but Gabe rolled over in the dirt and dust, coming up on one knee to face his adversary again. Loren was lying on one side, a hand grasping the edge of the low wall; her hysteria had abruptly stopped.

As Pyke started to rise, Gabe threw a punch at him and the tall man staggered away, sprawling backwards onto the floor again. Gabe quickly moved towards Loren, who still lay on her side next to the well. He bent over her and pulled her to a sitting position.

'Are you okay, baby?' he asked over the noise of the underground river.

She looked back at him with bright scared eyes, her cheeks smeared with tear-streaked grime. She must have fought Pyke all the way, he thought. Loren flung herself against him and sobbed on his shoulder.

'It's all right,' he reassured her, not sure if she heard him, 'nobody's gonna' hurt you.'

Suddenly, he felt her stiffen, her hands gripping him.

'Dad!' she screamed.

Over her father's shoulder, she had seen Pyke getting to his feet.

Gabe whirled, but he was at a disadvantage, on his knees, one arm still round Loren.

The thick walking stick came down heavily and he just managed to get his left arm up to block the blow. The stunningly sharp pain paralysed his arm right up to the shoulder and he gasped at the shock of it. Ignoring his numbed arm he forced himself to his feet.

Pyke faced him, the walking stick wielded before him like a sword, keeping Gabe at bay. There was sheer malice in his narrowed eyes and the engineer wondered how he had ever thought those same eyes were kindly. Gabe's injured arm hung uselessly by his side and Pyke realized his own advantage.

Gordon Pyke was a big man and, despite his years, he still had a big man's strength. He was also swift, and when he drove at Gabe's lower belly with the walking stick the engineer was not quick enough to avoid the unexpected move.

Gabe doubled over, the wind taken out of him. He felt as though he had been kicked in the gut by a horse. He stayed on his feet, hands clutched to his stomach, but he was vulnerable.

Raising the stick high over his head, Pyke brought it down with all his might and it splintered and broke in half against Gabe's half-turned back and left shoulder.

Gabe staggered with the blow, but he refused to go down. He tried to straighten up to be ready for another assault and only just managed to dodge the next strike. But he was dazed and he reeled backwards, unbalanced, then fell to the floor to sprawl helplessly in the dust.

Loren screamed again and tried to go to her father, but Pyke, the remainder of the broken walking stick still in his hand, stood in her way. He held it like a knife, its jagged, splintered end pointed towards the ceiling. She gazed up at the tall, bearded man and he was smiling queerly, his sharp eyes blazing into hers. She tried to duck away so that she could get round him to her father who lay on his back on the other side of the well. But Pyke, who certainly was both quick and strong for a man in his seventies, easily caught her, grabbing her arm and dragging her back to the edge of the deep, dark pit.

Below, the loud turgid river surged upwards and around the well's stone wall, creating a spinning, black-centred vortex that rose and fell with changing pressures.

'Please let me go!' Loren pleaded, but Pyke merely took pleasure in her panic and pushed her closer to the low circular wall.

'Pyke!'

The big man took time to look across the dingy chamber at Gabe, who had risen on one elbow, pain evident on his creased features.

Although the lighting was feeble, Gabe could see the gleam in Pyke's eyes skittering between insanity and excitement.

'If you harm her I'll kill you,' Gabe said in a low growl. A fine warning to give, but the engineer knew he was helpless to stop Pyke. The pain across his back and shoulder was now excruciating and his left arm was useless for the moment.

'Don't think of this as a sacrifice,' Pyke returned. 'Think of it more as a demand accommodated.'

Gabe didn't know what the hell the man was talking about, or if he'd heard him right, and he didn't care. He had to do something and he had to do it fast. But what? Even if he got to his feet and rushed Pyke there would be no time to save Loren. The lunatic only had to give her a small shove and she would be gone.

He shifted his position slightly, getting ready to charge Pyke anyway, and his elbow nudged something that scraped metallically against the stone floor. In desperation, he glanced down and saw that the object by his elbow was the same length of thin but heavy iron, a small round hole at its centre, he had casually tossed aside when Cally had called him from the top of the stairs five days ago. In a flash and quite incongruously, given the circumstances, it came to him that the metal bar was the blade of the old Flymo hover-mower he had seen leaning against a wall in the garden shed. Someone—probably Percy—had brought it down to sharpen its edges, then discarded it.

Pyke was pushing Loren closer and closer to the edge of the well, while she did her best to resist, screaming and digging her bare heels into the floor, the struggle hopeless against the big man's superior strength.

In the blink of an eye, Gabe was on one knee, his body crouched forward, the heavy blade in his right hand, held in his fingers by one end. He skimmed it through the air and it spun like a boomerang. He had aimed high for fear of hitting Loren and his aim was true.

It seemed to take an impossibly long time but it struck Pyke squarely on the forehead, sending him toppling backwards, his grip on Loren released.

Unfortunately, she was leaning too far over the opening and she teetered on the brink, her arms flailing the air to prevent herself from falling.

But it was no use. She began to drop.

76: DESPERATION

Those brief but vital moments of trying to save herself were just enough for Gabe to spring forward like a runner off starting blocks and dive towards Loren.

With a heart-piercing scream she fell, her arms outstretched, the whirlpool below eager to receive her. Even as he landed on the low wall encircling the well, Gabe was reaching out to grasp her wrist as she went. Unfortunately, he had to use his left arm, the fingers of the right wrapping themselves over the top of the wall for support, and the agonizing wrench almost forced him to let go of his daughter. But he hung on, taking her weight with his numbed arm and injured shoulder, straddled face down on the wall, half his body hanging over the edge, only his right knee pressing into the outer stonework and his right hand clenched hard against the top of it keeping him there.

Loren dangled perilously, her bare legs kicking air. The small desperate cries she uttered were lost in the cacophony made by the rushing water. The deep centre of the whirlpool rose as if to meet her halfway, but fell back again when river currents below the surface shifted. Panic-stricken though she was, Loren tried to help her father by swinging round and reaching for the wrist of the hand that held her own. Her fingers tightened around it and Gabe grunted with approval: his hold on her was more secure.

Yet her weight was beginning to drag him off the wall. 'Try… to get… a foothold,' he urged with gasping breaths.

She must have heard him, for she raised her legs and searched for a jutting stone or a shallow indent with her feet, but her toes kept slipping off the slimy, mossy stonework of the well's interior wall.

Gabe was strong, but the balance was all wrong; he couldn't get enough leverage to pull her up. Even so, at any other time, he would have scooped his daughter out of the well with ease—her weight would have meant nothing to him—but now his arm was numb from shoulder to fingertips and there was little power in it. It was all he could do to maintain the grip.

Time and again, he attempted to draw her up, but whenever he brought her closer to him, his strength failed and she was lowered again. A thousand red-hot needles seemed to prick his shoulder with each effort and the stone he sprawled upon pressed hard against his cheek and chest. Gritting his teeth, his body tensed, he tried to lift Loren once more, his numbed arm trembling with the exertion, more than half his body now drawn into the opening. When she reached up with her free hand and managed to clutch at his shoulder, the added pain there was almost unbearable. Her fingers slipped away and she hung over the void, her teeth biting into her lower lip so that she wouldn't scream. She looked up and saw the desperation in her father's eyes and she was even more afraid, if that were possible.

Her weight was gradually and inexorably dragging Gabe over the brink, no matter how hard he resisted with his other hand and knee pushing against the outside of the circular wall.

'Don't let me go, Daddy!' she cried up at him, pleading with wide terrified eyes.

'Never,' he grunted in a strained low murmur, more to himself than his daughter. He would not let her go. Even if it meant falling in with her, he would not let go of Loren.

There was a sudden distraction. He became aware of movement in the cellar and he raised his head an inch or two, quivering with the effort. As he had feared, the dark shape of Pyke was rising over the opposite side of the well.

His back to Gabe, the big man bowed his head into his hands and rocked slightly. Then he straightened and slowly turned around.

There was a gash on his forehead where the blade had hit him—Gabe had been aiming for his throat—and Pyke raised a hand to it and examined the blood on his fingertips. He regarded Gabe with a cold, furious glare.

'You shouldn't have done that,' he said as if chiding a naughty child, his anger completely contained.

Gabe barely heard his words over the commotion of the underground river, so mildly were they spoken.

'Now you will be included,' Pyke added. 'And your wife, and your other brat.'

'You're crazy!' Gabe spat out. His body shifted a fraction of an inch across the wall and he fought desperately against Loren's pull.

'Naturally that will be my plea,' Pyke replied tartly, pleased with himself. 'Put away for a few years, playing the game with psychiatrists and various busybodies, then, when they realize I've miraculously recovered my sanity, they will have to let me go. Care in the community is the worst I can expect.'

'They'll never let you out You'll rot inside an asylum for ever, Pyke!'

'We'll see,' he said brusquely, the matter closed as far as he was concerned.

Gabe laid his cheek back on the wall, relieving the strain to his neck for a moment. Help me, God, he prayed silently and guiltily, and without hope because the only time he'd ever asked God for help was when Cam went missing. Just give me one chance now.

He looked down at Loren, desperate for an idea, anything to cancel the maniac and get her out of the well. She stared up at him, quietened now, just hanging there. Beneath her, the water swirled and spumed, hungry to take her. Hungry to take them both.

Raising his head once more, he saw that Pyke was bending over, reaching for something. Metal clanked against the concrete floor and Gabe knew that the big man was picking up the blade he had thrown at him. With his walking stick broken, Pyke needed another weapon.

Pyke straightened and he was smiling. A cruel smile. A satisfied smile. He tapped the metal bar against the palm of his hand and his smile corrupted to a sneer. A little unsteady because of the wound to his forehead, he took a step towards the well where the engineer lay defenceless.

But Pyke suddenly halted. He turned his head to one side, as if listening.

Gabe had heard nothing over the sound of the subterranean river.

Now Pyke was turning all the way round as though something had caught his attention.

Gabe turned his head a little more to see what was engaging Pyke's interest.

It was barely visible, but something stood in the black entrance to the boiler room.

It was watching them.

77: FROM THE DARK

It was strangely compelling, its mere presence in the doorway enough to render Pyke immobile. Yet it was in shadow, an unknowable and unclear adumbration. It might have been a figure.

Gabe shivered, a reaction so strong that it shook his whole body in spite of the weight he bore and the awkwardness of his position.

Pyke dropped the heavy blade and stood transfixed. He gave out a small moan.

They both stared at the dark, undefined shape in the opening of the boiler room.

It seemed like minutes, but it could only have been seconds before the thing moved. With great deliberation, as if each footstep were considered, it came forward unsteadily from the doorway, and although emerging into the dismal light, it seemed to carry the shadows with it so that it was still difficult to determine. But as it drew nearer—nearer to Pyke—it appeared to take on a definite form.

Still determinedly keeping hold of Loren, Gabe realized it was the slight figure of a woman or girl, for it wore a faded skirt that ended just above the ankles. Sodden leather shoes whose metal buckles were brown with rust and corrosion were on her feet. Her gait was awkward and slow, for the right foot dragged behind so that it scuffed and scraped the stone floor. Each dull thud of a footstep was followed by the dragging of the damaged leg, the sound muted yet somehow clear over the amalgam of other sounds.

Water dripped from its—her—bedraggled clothes.

Her head and narrow drooped shoulders remained in shadow, outside the dim circle of light cast by the overhead lightbulb, but the ends of tangled and matted hair could be seen hanging stiffly against her chest. Over a soaked tattered blouse, she wore a colour-drained shawl that hung over her shoulders to wrap loosely round her elbows. One hand was grey, almost white, and it was bloated, as if it had been a long time in water. The other hand was different: it was clutched tight against her chest and it was inverted, the fingers turned inwards, like twisted claws, and so thin they looked skeletal; the wrist was also misshapen, the flesh withered and creased, disappearing beneath a ragged sleeve, suggesting the deformity included the rest of the forearm.

The shadowy figure steadily advanced on Pyke, whose stillness continued; he seemed stricken by the sight of her. But as she drew near he took a faltering step backwards. For some reason, he glanced at Gabe, perhaps to reassure himself that the other man was seeing the same as he. Pyke suddenly looked every day of his seventy-five years.

The world around Gabe seemed to recede, and with it the cacophony of noises—the constant churning of the swollen river below, the muffled rumble of the storm above, the heavy pounding of feet descending the cellar steps—all these diminished to a background susurration as he stared at the hideous walking corpse that came towards Pyke.

Who took another uncertain step backwards.

But the thing that had once been a living being moved closer, closer until there was only a short space between it and the tall man.

And her face and shoulders came into the light.

Pyke screamed—an unnaturally high sound for a man of his size—as he looked into the grey, bloated face before him.

The swollen flesh was corrupted in parts, the lips gone as if eaten away by tiny parasites, so that long, gumless teeth were exposed in a frightening rictus grin. The temple and cheekbone on one side looked as if they had been crushed by something heavy and hard, and the top of her head was grotesquely dented as if the skull beneath her hair had caved in. The eyes were lidless as if the thin layers of shielding skin had also been nibbled away, and they peered hugely from the skull and what was left of the puffy and ruptured flesh of the face. They gaped lifelessly at Pyke, who again stepped backwards in shock.

He was too near the edge of the well and his calves bumped against the circular wall. He stumbled, he tried to save himself, but it was no use. Pyke fell and his scream echoed round the solid walls of the well.

Gabe could not help but watch as the big man plunged into the whirlpool below, Pyke's hopeless cry suddenly cut off as he was swallowed up by the spinning water.

His head and shoulders appeared again as he was spun by the fierce current and Gabe winced at the horror in Pyke's insane eyes. Big hands scrabbled at the stone wall but, as Loren had already found, its surface was too slippery to hold on to and the drowning man screeched one last time as he was drawn inescapably into the vortex.

The last thing seen of Pyke was a hand reaching out from the maelstrom as if grabbing for life itself. Then he was gone.

All sound around Gabe suddenly returned and, over the liquid roar of the river, he heard his daughter calling to him.

'Daddy! Please! Oh please!'

He pulled with every ounce of strength he had left. But the effort almost sent him over the edge. Just when he thought he'd lost the battle and was going to fall with his daughter into the well, another arm reached past his shoulder and took hold of Loren's free hand.

Suddenly her weight was as nothing and together the two men lifted Loren out of the well with one strong heave.

Father and daughter rolled off the low wall and dropped exhaustedly onto the cellar floor. But Gabe soon pushed himself up on an elbow and searched behind him. And saw that the creature that had intimidated Pyke to his death was no longer there.

'Did you see her, Mr Caleigh?' Percy asked earnestly as he knelt beside the engineer. There was an elated shine to his faded eyes. 'Did you see her, my beautiful Nancy?'

78: THE LIGHTS

The engineer made no comment. If Percy's ghost was different to his, then so be it. Who knew how the supernatural presented itself to different people? The old gardener saw what he wanted to see, memory ruling his vision. None of that mattered though, Pyke was dead, drowned, and Loren was safe. Hell, they were all safe from the lunatic.

Gabe had to wonder at himself. He had accepted that he, the sceptic, the unbeliever, had just seen a ghost, a ghost that had sent Pyke to his certain death, an apparition that had vanished when the deed was done. It was incredible to Gabe, but he had undeniably witnessed everything with his own eyes. Now there was no doubt that Crickley Hall really was haunted.

He helped Loren to her feet and hugged her tight. She had run out of sobs, but she was still shaking.

'Percy,' he said, looking round at the gardener, 'thanks. I'd have lost her if it wasn't for you. I owe you again.'

Percy stood there catching his breath, a glow still in his moist eyes. He gazed round the cellar as if he might catch sight of his lost love once more; or at least, sight of her ghost.

Gabe interrupted his search. 'We oughta get back upstairs to Eve. She didn't look so good.'

The old man nodded once, the noise from the well drowning the deep sigh he gave.

The engineer picked up his daughter and bit into his lower lip at the stab of pain in his shoulder. Loren wrapped her thin legs round his waist and he carried her to the stairs; he began to climb them with weary effort, glad to be leaving the dank and dingy basement.

With one last lingering look towards the black portal to the boiler room, Percy followed.

•

On the hall's wide staircase, Lili tended Eve as best she could, while Cally fussed over her mother, patting her shoulder, anxiety causing her little lower lip to tremble. The psychic dabbed a folded handkerchief on Eve's head wound, staunching the small flow of blood.

'It's not too bad,' she told Eve. There's not much blood now, but I think you'll have a sore head for a while.'

There was a dull, throbbing ache in Lili's own head, the consequence of being knocked out by the swing earlier (or maybe the results of the nightmarish visions that followed as she lay unconscious on the ground, she thought). She took the bloodied handkerchief away from Eve's head to examine the injury and was relieved to find the bleeding appeared to have stopped completely.

The hall was growing darker and Lili peered up at the ceiling, frowning at what she saw. She had been aware of it as soon as she entered the house with the old man when they had come after Gabe Caleigh: a slowly swelling darkness hung over the hall, a smoke-like substance from which dusky wisps descended like tendrils, the blackness sinking after them, deepening gradually so that soon the hanging lights of the iron chandelier were consumed. The smell, though, the fetid stink of corruption and bodily waste, seemed to permeate the hall, as did the extreme chill.

Eve tried to rise from the stair she rested on, but Lili pressed down on her shoulders to keep her there.

'I won't lose her, I won't lose her,' Eve repeated as she tried to resist the psychic's efforts.

'Loren will be all right,' Lili assured her quietly but firmly. 'The other man went down to help Gabe. Everything will be okay, you'll see.' But the psychic was more concerned than she let on. The person who now called himself Pyke was very strong. And fast. He had attacked Lili so quickly she'd barely had time to duck away from the blow. She hoped Gabe Caleigh was as capable as he looked.

Cally was the first to see the three figures emerge from the cellar and she shouted excitedly, 'Daddy, it's Daddy! He's got Loren!'

Eve moaned with relief, swaying so that Lili had to hold her steady.

•

The first thing Gabe noticed as he carried Loren from the cellar was that the great expanse of darkness overhead had deepened and become even denser than before. It had swallowed up the hall's upper reaches, almost smothering the chandelier and landing lights so that it was difficult to see across the vast room. Nevertheless, he could just make out Eve, Cally and Lili Peel on the stairs.

He was assailed by the stench that ruined the air, but he ignored it in his haste to reach Eve. As he splashed through puddles, Loren in his arms but looking round towards her mother, lightning flashed outside and washed the hall with its stark silver-white brilliance. The thunder that followed was like the boom of close cannon fire. He had never known a thunderstorm go on so long.

With Percy behind him, Gabe mounted the stairs and settled Loren in Eve's arms. Mother and daughter clung to one another, and their tears mingled on each other's cheeks. Gabe knelt beside them and squinted through the gloom at the blood smeared across his wife's forehead. She opened her eyes and they shone mistily with an emotional mix of joy, relief, fear and gratitude. He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

Lili interrupted. 'What happened to Pyke?' Her expression was anxious as she twisted the blood-soiled handkerchief in her fingers. Even in the encroaching gloom, Gabe could see her face was deathly pale.

'He's gone,' he replied, looking up from his wife.

Now there was alarm in the psychic's eyes.

'Pyke fell into the well that's down there,' Gabe added. 'It was an accident.' This wasn't the time to give her the full story.

'He's dead?' It was said in disbelief.

'I goddamn hope so,' he replied bitterly. Then: 'Yeah, he's dead. It's over.'

But his sense of smell picked up another odour amidst the concoction of foul stenches that polluted the atmosphere, one that was oddly familiar: a harsh aroma of strong soap. He noticed that Lili was looking past him, staring at something lower down on the staircase.

'Oh no,' she said in a low, quavering voice.

79: THE FLOOD

Despite the noise of the storm, the howl of the wind and the beating of rain on the tall windows, and as quietly as the words were spoken, each one of them looked up at Lili, who was on a higher step, then followed the direction of her stare with their own eyes.

It had no definite form to begin with—it was stronger than a mist, yet of no particular substance—but it evolved quickly, forming a definite shape as they watched in total silence. Within moments it had taken on the configuration of a man. A naked man, who held a slender stick in one hand. A man whose pallid body was cross-hatched with livid red stripes and blood spots over old weals and scars. A man with white hair that was shaved above the ears and whose black penetrating eyes glared back at them from dark shadows beneath a high, prominent brow.

He stood on the small, lower landing and Percy, who was a few steps below the others, voiced his name.

'Augustus Cribben,' he said in dismayed awe.

As if to dramatize the announcement, lightning strobed through the window over the stairs and the naked figure on the landing lost substance again, became translucent, nothing more than a vague apparition through which the landing rail and the torchère with its empty vase could be clearly seen. But when the searing light flickered away and thunder filled the air, it took on bulk once more, became a seemingly solid entity.

Gabe heard Loren give out a little shriek and Eve froze in his arms. Cally gripped his injured shoulder tightly, but the pain did not distract him. Percy took a stumbling step up, moving away from the pale spectre.

'Oh dear God…' Gabe heard Lili say from behind.

He half rose from the stair he'd been kneeling on, his body tensed as if he might throw himself at the bleeding and scarred phantom below.

As they watched, the ghost of Cribben raised the cane and whacked it against his own bare leg. Swish-thwack! was the sound it made. Those dark eyes focused on Loren.

Then Cribben moved forward as if to climb the stairs, eyes never leaving his prey.

Cally screamed, a frail cry over the storm, and Eve gathered Loren up and began to push her further up the stairs. Eve shivered as she went with her daughter, her head turned as if afraid to let the monster below out of her sight. The wound to her head was forgotten; everything was sharp again, in focus, the dizziness gone. It was all only too real.

In front of Gabe, Percy stopped climbing and stood his ground: Cribben was not going to get past him. Gabe, too, had resolved not to let the threat pass by; he clenched his fists, even though he wondered what the hell he could do to something that had no real body. Yet it looked so solid, so convincing, that he could not help but assume it had the power to physically harm a person. He swore under his breath.

But as the darkness above swelled and sank lower, rendering the lights to dim, useless glows, the hall becoming as night, Lili pointed upwards and cried out, 'Look! Look into it! Can you see them?'

Gabe glanced up and noticed lighter shadows moving within the murky black fog-like mass, shapeless forms that flitted and weaved in the greater darkness. There were many of them and they conspired to dive down into the thinner lower layers as if to burst through, but they swerved and soared again each time they came close. Until one finally broke away, seeming to use a wispy tendril that dropped from the core as a conduit, and it was quickly followed by another and another, emerging as white shadows that swooped towards the ghost on the stairs.

They swirled round Cribben as if to harass him, and soon they were joined by more white shadows, whirling round and round so that he appeared cocooned in them. He tried to beat them off with his punishment cane, but they deftly avoided it, then resumed their torment. Cribben's mouth opened in a defiant roar, his features deranged, but no sound emanated from him. The whirling white shadows began to condense, almost as if they were solidifying, and soon they had shrunk into small, glowing orbs, the lights Gabe had come upon in Cally's room days go. He tried to count them as they continued to beleaguer Cribben, but they were too fast and mingled too much.

They swarmed round Cribben like angry bees round a rambler who had disturbed their hive, darting to and fro, touching his phantom skin as though to sting, while he—it—swiped uselessly at them with the cane, silently screaming his annoyance. And then they were gone.

Gabe gaped. The tiny balls of light had shimmered once, then disappeared, leaving the ghost alone on the small landing. Cribben dropped the cane and brought his gnarled hands up to his temples as if in terrible pain. Did ghosts feel pain? Or was it the memory of pain? Gabe had no idea.

Lifting up his arms and turning his face towards the ceiling, Cribben stood with his eyes closed and his mouth open wide, the tendons in his neck stretched and visible, as though real, his spine arched in his apparent agony. Fresh blood pulsed from the self-inflicted wounds, weals appearing, opening up and immediately festering, while scars reddened and seemed ready to burst.

Gabe felt a sudden trembling at his feet. He looked down and the staircase beneath him was shaking. They all became conscious of a deep rumbling and Percy put out a hand to the wall to steady himself. The wall was vibrating. For a few moments they forgot about the vision on the landing below.

The rumbling grew into a steady roar and the whole building seemed to be shivering, even though its construction was of thick solid stone. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, falling through the thinning fog that had all but concealed the chandelier's lights. An earthquake, Gabe told himself, and he reached back for Eve's hand. Cally skipped down a couple of steps and threw her arms round his leg, while Loren buried her face into her mother's chest. The noise was becoming unbearable, frightening, rising to a crescendo, and the house was shaking as though an invisible force was running through its structure.

On the square landing Cribben continued to rage.

With a tremendous crash, the floodwaters smashed through the tall window, sending glass shrapnel slicing into the phantom before it. Gabe toppled backwards onto Eve and Loren with the shock, taking Cally with him, but he saw Cribben engulfed by the deluge and swept away, only his bloody hands appearing above the torrent of water. The ghost was slammed against the opposite wall as if it were human and Gabe thought, if the body had been real, then almost every bone would have been shattered such was the impact.

It was only Lili who understood that this was how Augustus Cribben had originally died, that this was a replay of his very last moments, and that unless his spirit passed over and ceased to haunt Crickley Hall, he would never rest in peace.

Still more water poured through the open front door to join with the main body of floodwater and surge around the grand hall, sweeping away furniture, bursting through into other rooms, lapping at the stairs, channelling down the cellar steps and flowing into the well, where it joined forces with the underground river to rage down to the sea bay. Soon, the whole cellar and boiler room next door were completely flooded.

Gabe groaned when the lights dimmed even more, then failed as the generator below was overwhelmed. Fortunately, Cally was still clinging to his leg and he could feel Eve and Loren's forms beneath him; he roughly hauled them to their feet.

Lightning brightened the hall again and he saw the floodwater was rising fast, its turbulent level already washing over the stairs just below where they all cowered.

'Come on!' he yelled over the roll of thunder. 'The house is solid, but we gotta get higher. No way of telling how far the flood's gonna reach, but we should be okay on the top landing. If we have to, we can go all the way up to the dorm.'

Light dazzled them as Percy switched on the powerful torch that had been tucked away again in a pocket of his storm coat. He turned its beam towards the swelling waters and they saw something bright carried through the doorway to the cellar: it was the spinning top and it quickly disappeared from view, riding the current like a rubber raft.

Percy yelled at Gabe, pointing the torch in the engineer's direction: 'The floodwater will funnel into the well! It shouldn't rise much more than this!'

'Maybe! But well be safer if we move up!' Gabe called back.

Percy showed the way ahead and they began to climb the trembling stairs. Before stepping onto the gallery landing Gabe, with Cally carried in his right arm, snatched a quick look over the stair rail into the hall. There wasn't a lot to see in the darkness, but he noticed that the tiny lambent orbs were back.

They skimmed above the surface of the rough swirling water like excited fireflies, exuberant with energy.

He counted nine of them.

80: SATURDAY

The river was unbelievably calm that morning, fast flowing still, but no longer swollen or threatening. The air smelt strongly of damp earth, and natural debris lay scattered everywhere: shrubbery, bushes, leaves, twigs and tree branches, even stones and sizeable rocks. Here and there, and particularly on the lower slopes of the gorge, whole trees had been uprooted. Two yellow Sea King rescue helicopters passed low over Crickley Hall, heading towards the bay, the sky above them a near-perfect blue with only a few puffball clouds floating in its expanse. A wide pre-constructed metal bridge spanned the river in place of the wooden bridge that had been swept away. Various vehicles, including an olive-green military lorry and two police cars, one unmarked, cluttered the nearby lane. (Pyke's Mondeo and Lili Peel's Citroën had been carried off down the hill by floodwater some time during the night and were now floating in the bay along with other wrecks and overturned fishing boats.) Parked on Crickley Hall's muddy front lawn were an ambulance with its rear doors open, a police van and a Land Rover 90.

Loren and Cally were glad to be outside in the sunshine and had watched the comings and going of policemen and various rescue team personnel with interest. The most exciting were the police divers, but the girls had not been allowed to follow them into the house. If their mood was a little subdued it was because Cam's death had been confirmed and only partly due to the dramatic events of last night, which so far seemed to have had no harmful effect on either of them (nevertheless, Loren, in particular, would be closely watched over the next few weeks for any delayed reaction to the ordeal she had been put through). They had managed to catch some sleep, at first in their parents' arms on the landing overlooking the flooded hall, then later in their own beds while Gabe and Eve kept guard outside their room with Lili and Percy.

A group of men, Gabe Caleigh among them, had gathered by the big oak tree where a broken swing hung forlornly from a branch, one end of the seat resting on the damp grass, its rusty severed chain curled on the ground like an iron snake.

Gabe was speaking to the yellow-jacketed man on his left, the deputy chief of the emergency services, Tom Halliway. 'Thanks for all the attention. I'm sure you gotta lot to do in the village.'

'Not as much as we expected,' Halliway replied. 'Hollow Bay got off comparatively lightly because of the flood precautions taken over the years. Plenty of cars swept away and overturned, several properties seriously damaged, but overall there's been no great harm done to the village. The main thing is, there's been no loss of life as far as we can tell. Sorry, didn't mean to disregard your friend.'

'Pyke? No, he wasn't a friend. Barely knew him. He turned up two days ago calling himself a psychic investigator, looking for ghosts.'

The uniformed policeman to his right, Chief Superintendent Derek Pargeter, remarked: 'Because he'd seen the article in the Dispatch this week, you told me earlier.'

'Uh-huh. The guy had read the crazy story about Crickley Hall being haunted, said he wanted to disprove it—or prove it, I'm not sure which now. So we let him go ahead with his investigation.'

'Last night.' It was a statement, not a question.

'Yeah. Last night. He was setting up his equipment when the flood hit. Poor guy never stood a chance. He was swept down into the cellar.'

The thin-faced policeman nodded gravely. 'Poor man. Wouldn't have stood a chance because of the well there.' He jerked his head towards the house. 'The divers should have completed their search by now, but I doubt they've had any luck in finding the body; it would have been carried out to the bay by the underground river—the force would have been incredible. The coastguard and sea rescue helicopters will keep a lookout for Mr Pyke's body, but the currents along this coast can be unpredictable.'

Gabe looked down at the ground and said nothing. He and his family, with Lili Peel and Percy Judd, had spent the night huddled together on the landing, ready to move to the upper floor should the water rise to a threatening level. Once Loren and Cally had fallen asleep and been put into their beds, the group had discussed everything that had happened in the past week as well as the whole story of the evacuees and their horrific deaths. Lili had spoken of the vision or 'insight' she'd had while lying semi-conscious on the lawn after having been hit by the windblown swing—if it had been windblown, that is—and Eve had wept at the children's fate. But they all agreed that the true story of all that had gone on should be kept to themselves. Who would believe the truth anyway? As far as anyone else was concerned, Gordon Pyke had been unlucky, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was Gabe who had put the question: 'Who could've guessed the authorities had hushed up the real causes of the evacuees' deaths all those years ago?' The question rhetorical, he had gone on: 'As Percy told Eve the other day, the lid was kept on it because if the fact was ever known that the kids' bodies had strangulation bruisings round their throats, a couple of them with broken necks, then no caring parent would ever let their child be evacuated. Then, was it in the public interest to know in time of war? What about the morale of the country? Yknow, all that stuff. Besides, their only suspect was already dead—he'd paid for his crimes, so no point in dragging it all out into the open. The cane strokes and scars on Cribben's naked body—ignoring the fresh cuts from flying glass—must've got the authorities and police thinking something was not quite right about the guy. The only possible witness they had—maybe she was a suspect too, at first—was Cribben's sister, Magda, and she wasn't saying anything any more.

'I guess the vicar at the time—Rossbridger?—knew the truth of it, because he had Cribben's body buried in a neglected part of the graveyard and well away from the evacuees' graves. Rossbridger would've kept the secret outa self-interest—it might've damaged his reputation.'

Gabe's surmise had given them all something to think about during the hellish long night.

Halliway interrupted Gabe's thoughts. 'Not much more we can do here, Mr Caleigh. The last of the floodwater has been pumped from the cellar—most of it had already drained into the well anyway.'

'Thanks for what you've done,' Gabe said gratefully, shaking Halliway's hand.

The stocky deputy chief merely nodded and walked to his mud-caked Land Rover, where he was joined by two other members of his team. Before climbing in, he turned and called back to Gabe.

'Your vehicle's more or less where you left it last night. We just moved it to the side of the road when we cleared the fallen tree. Good thing you left the keys in the ignition.'

'Right. I'll go get it later. We're moving out today.'

As the Land Rover backed across the bridge, a policeman in wet Wellington boots came hurrying out of the house. Gabe hadn't noticed him before but he now recognized PC Kenrick, who had called on them earlier in the week after the two local kids had got a fright in Crickley Hall.

The policeman went straight up to the chief superintendent.

'The divers have brought up two bodies, sir,' he said breathlessly.

'What? Two?'

'Sir. And neither one was an adult male.'

Gabe looked at Kenrick in surprise.

'One is a small boy,' the young policeman went on, 'and the other is what's left of a woman—they could tell it was a woman by the hair. The paramedics will be bringing out the bodies in a moment.'

'In bodybags, I hope,' said his superior officer. 'What condition are the bodies in? I presume they've been down there for a long time unless you, Mr Caleigh, haven't been entirely frank with me and more than one person lost their life last night.'

He eyed Gabe suspiciously.

'No, just Pyke. Those other bodies have been there a long time,' said Gabe. 'Since 1943, I guess you'll find. I think they're what's left of a young boy and a female teacher who disappeared back then.'

'Good Lord. You're serious?'

The engineer nodded. 'They both went missing around that time.'

'No, that can't be right, sir.' Kenrick was addressing his superior. 'The woman maybe—apparently she was caught up in a niche in the rocks of the riverbed and she'd rotted. She's almost a skeleton.'

So, Gabe thought, Nancy Linnet revealed herself to Pyke—and himself, of course—in what was probably the worst stage of her decomposition. She meant to terrify her murderer.

'And the boy?' Pargeter asked the constable, irritated that he had to prompt. 'What's the condition of the boy's corpse, Kenrick?'

That's just it, sir. The boy. He's hardly been touched. His body hasn't rotted at all.'

'Don't be foolish, man, there has to be some decomposition or bloating even if the body has only been there a short time.'

'His skin is like pure-white marble. Oh, and so is his hair. Totally white. He's only wearing a jumper and one sock, and they're stiff, like rotted cardboard, colours almost washed out of them by the water, which suggests the body has been down there a long time. But the paramedics don't think he drowned: they're saying he might have bled to death.'

The chief superintendent was astounded. Gabe was thoughtful.

The young policeman continued: 'The boy had been mutilated, sir. Around the genital area. It looks like an injury that was never treated. The divers found him on a small shelf, almost a fissure in the rockface. He was wedged inside it above the water level. Even over the past few days when the river's been swollen and fast flowing, it still wasn't able to dislodge the body.'

He stopped to draw in a breath.

'The divers say it's like an icebox down there and it's almost as if the body was hermetically sealed, that's the only way they can explain it.'

'Are you sure it's not just in a state of rigor mortis?'

'No, sir, this is different.'

'But that means the body would have had to be insulated.'

'I know, sir. That's what they reckon. Like I said, the boy's corpse resembles white marble, too hard even for rigor mortis. The flesh can't even be squeezed. It's like a statue. It's unnatural, sir.'

'You're telling me,' agreed the chief superintendent. He scratched the morning stubble under his jaw; it had already been a long day and it wasn't noon yet. 'The pathologist might be able to throw some light on it. And there's no sign of this man, this Gordon Pyke?'

'The safety lines the divers were attached to limited their search a bit, but they had a good look around the area close to the well bottom. The body of the boy and what was left of the woman were all they found.'

Gabe was thinking of Stefan Rosenbaum: had the young Jewish boy, still alive when he had been dropped into the well, managed to drag himself from the river into a cavity in the rockface, to die there alone and in utter darkness? It was too gruesome to contemplate.

The two police divers emerged from the house at that point, the tops of their rubber suits peeled down to the waist, diving equipment in their muscled arms. Both men looked pale, their expressions grim, as they made their way to their vehicle. Behind them came the paramedics carrying a body-bag on a stretcher gurney. Because of the plastic bag's size and shape, Gabe knew it contained the remains of Nancy Linnet.

•

Inside Crickley Hall, Eve quietly wept, while Lili Peel avoided looking at the bodybag that contained the small preserved body of Stefan Rosenbaum. They had witnessed the condition of both bodies when the paramedics brought them up from the cellar to be bagged and put on stretchers. Nancy Linnet was no more than a skeleton dressed in faded rags, but the boy was in an almost perfect state, although his skin and hair were bleached pure white.

To Eve, he had looked beautiful, the hair that fell over his forehead still full, although colourless, his features reposed as if in sleep. Instantly, she knew it was Stefan's presence she had felt last Sunday when she had dozed in the sitting room. It hadn't been Cameron who had come to her and soothed her brow, calmed her fears, but this little boy, Stefan. Or, that is, his ghost.

She wept not just because of sadness, but also because she now knew for certain that death wasn't the end. Lili had told her that most spirits passed over as easily as walking through an unlocked door; it was only the troubled spirits who lingered in this world, those spirits who needed some resolve to their past life, whether by revenge, atonement or conclusion. Eve desperately wanted to believe her. So she did.

The paramedics returned to collect the second bodybag and, as they gently placed it on the stretcher, Eve wondered if the boy's soul could now rest in peace or would forever be lost in Crickley Hall. There seemed to be no way of knowing for sure.

•

Chief Superintendent Pargeter had departed and PC Kenrick was trudging across the metal bridge to his patrol car parked in the lane. He stepped to one side to let the police divers' van pass, then went on his way.

Gabe was about to go back into the house when a sound made him stop and look towards the bridge. The girls had also stopped dead in their tracks and they looked in the same direction as their father. The sound that had caught their attention was a dog's excited bark, one that was so familiar to them all.

Percy Judd had left Crickley Hall earlier that morning after an uncomfortable and cold night on the landing with the others, checking on the water level in the hall every few minutes or so until they were sure it wasn't going to come anywhere near the top of the stairs, none of them, apart from Loren and Cally, catching a minute's sleep. By late morning the next day, the temporary bridge having been put in place, he was looking all of his eighty-one years and Gabe, when the danger had passed, had tried to persuade him to take a nap in his and Eve's empty bed, but Percy had declined, saying he'd 'gotta bit of business to tend to at home'. Now he was back and restraining a dog that was desperate to cross the bridge and get to the girls.

'Chester!'

Both Loren and Cally had screeched the name together. Chester finally broke loose from Percy's grip and, trailing the leash behind, raced towards them as they raced towards him. They met at the end of the bridge, Chester throwing himself at them, knocking Cally over (although she didn't seem to mind, she was giggling at the pet's antics so much). His tail wagging furiously, Chester slobbered all over the sisters, barking happily between licks.

Gabe whistled and Chester was off like a shot, tearing across the grass to reach his master, his barks becoming short gasps of joy. So eager and so intoxicated with delight was Chester that he almost bowled Gabe over too. The engineer could not help but chuckle as he tried to calm the dog down and avoid Chester's slavering tongue at the same time. When Gabe finally declared, 'Enough, enough,' and stood, the dog ran back to the girls to be fussed over again. Meanwhile, Percy was crossing the lawn towards him.

'What's the story, Perce?' Gabe called out, frowning his bewilderment but happy to have Chester returned.

'Sorry, Mr Caleigh,' apologized the old gardener when he was still a few steps away. 'I couldn't tell yer afore 'cause yer'da wanted him back.'

The engineer shook his head, still puzzled. 'I don't get it.'

Chester was rolling in the grass now, wheezing in pleasure at the fuss being made by the girls.

Slightly out of breath, Percy stood before the engineer, his face flushed a little more red than usual. 'All the pets run away from Crickley Hall. Any new tenant who brings a dog or cat with 'em to the house soon loses 'em. None of 'em settle here. I found your dog, ol' Chester there, wandering up the road the day he ran away. Looked like a drowned rat, he did, all soaked an' sorry fer hisself, so I took him home with me. Intended to keep him with me until you folks decided to move out. I knew it wouldn't be long; never is. I did it because it were best fer the animal, hope yer'll understand that, Mr Caleigh.'

Gabe grinned. 'Sure I understand, Percy. You did the right thing. Chester was miserable here.'

'No, he were scared, that's the truth of it. Some animals sense things that most people can't. It were the dog's howling and whining that made me come to the Hall las' night. I knew it were because something were wrong here. Oh, I sensed things was not right days ago, but it were Chester that decided me.'

'We'd have been in real trouble if you hadn't shown up.' Gabe stuck out a hand and Percy shook it.

'That's all right then,' the old gardener said, his face creasing into a smile. He took on a look of concern. 'How's the missus now? She all right?'

'You mean her head? The paramedics treated the whack she took—it wasn't too serious, they said. Still wanted her to have it checked out at the hospital, though, but Eve, well, she plain refused to go. Gotta nasty bump though, right where Pyke hit her with his walking stick. Some bruises on her legs too, but yeah, she is okay.'

Gabe glanced towards the house, its front door open wide. 'Come with me and see for yourself,' he invited Percy.

Percy looked at Crickley Hall with some trepidation and Gabe thought he was going to decline on his offer. But then the mood passed and the old man's face relaxed.

'I'll do that, Mr Caleigh. I'll come inside with yer. The badness is gone, I jus' know it.'

Together, they walked to the front door.

81: ENDING

Gabe saw that his wife had been weeping when he and Percy entered the house. She and the psychic were standing a few yards from the front door and Lili had her hand on Eve's shoulder, as if offering comfort. He splashed towards Eve through the thin remaining puddles and took her in his arms; she leaned into him and he held onto her.

'You saw the bodies?' he asked in a gentle voice.

Eve nodded against his shoulder. 'The boy,' she murmured. 'He was so beautiful.'

Lili spoke. 'He was the reason the others were held here. They couldn't—or wouldn't—pass over without him. Their power was limited, blocked by Cribben's, but they gave you signs—the sounds from inside the landing cupboard, the cellar door that wouldn't stay shut, the sounds of scattering feet from above in the dormitory—all those things to make you aware of their presence and their history in this place. You saw them almost in reality, Eve, when the spinning top had somehow taken your mind to a different level of consciousness. Your youngest daughter saw them easily, usually as little lights, because her mind is still fresh and open to them. Mostly, though, they drew spiritual energy from Loren, which is why she's felt so tired inside the house. Pyke knew she was the key to the hauntings.'

'Is that why he tried to kill her?' Eve asked numbly.

'No. It was as he said himself: Loren was the sacrifice, the one to take his place.'

Eve drew in a sharp breath, thinking how close it had been. If Gabe hadn't…

'You see,' Lili went on, 'the children gave you signs, whereas the spirit of Augustus Cribben gave you warnings. He didn't want you to interfere because he stood between Stefan and the other spirits. He refused to let go, he wanted power over all the evacuees. He considered they belonged to him in life and also in death. Ultimately, he was mad, and so was his spirit.'

Eve gave a shiver and raised her head. 'Is that possible?' she asked of Lili. 'Can a person carry insanity into the next life?'

'Some psychics assume many ghosts are either disturbed or distressed—why else would they choose to haunt the living?'

'When we talked last night,' Gabe said, 'you told us that you knew Gordon Pyke was the kid in the photograph, this Maurice Stafford, as soon as you laid eyes on him: I don't understand—Pyke was an old man, nothing like the boy.'

'There was something about Maurice that never changed. The thumbprint was the same.'

Gabe shook his head, not understanding.

'I'm sorry, it's difficult to explain—you have to be psychic yourself to understand. Let's just say that, like a thumbprint, everybody's aura is individual and although it can vary through life, depending on illnesses and emotional states, its essence remains identifiably the same. Psychics can pick up on that singularity.'

Lili solely addressed Eve. 'When you showed me the photograph of the evacuees I was immediately drawn to Maurice Stafford. A peculiar evil emanated from his image and when I saw that evil personified coming towards me… well, I panicked. I'm so sorry I ran away, Eve. It was the shock…'

'He tried to kill you, Lili. Of course I don't blame you for running. What else could you have done?'

'Something braver?'

Eve smiled. 'You did the right thing. Just by coming to us yesterday, you did the right thing. I know how reluctant you were to get involved in spiritualism again. You're probably even more reluctant after last night.'

'No. I'm not afraid any more. For almost two years I've dreaded the return of a certain spirit who wished me harm and I vowed never to use my psychic ability again because of it. Now I realize I can't turn it on and off like a tap. But this particular spirit didn't show last night when it would have had the perfect time to hurt me; now I'm sure it's finally gone, it's passed over peacefully. It's something I sense rather than can claim.'

Lili's smile took in all of them and even though there was dirt on her face and her clothes were dishevelled, her green eyes sparkled and her smile was radiant. Bright sunlight shone through the broken window over the stairs and it created a golden-halo effect around her tousled yellow hair.

She had stopped speaking and, without turning her head, her eyes looked to one side as if she were listening to something the others couldn't hear.

Then she said, a quiver in her voice, 'Oh God, they're stronger than ever.'

Gabe, Eve and Percy eyed her in surprise, and Eve with some trepidation. The hall was bright with sunlight, the shadows of the night vanquished along with the group's fear. Yet all was not quite right; there was a tension in the air compounded by a coldness that stiffened them.

'They're back,' said Lili, simply, turning to point towards the broad staircase.

They followed her direction and Eve gasped as she clung to Gabe's arm. Percy stood rigid, his lipless mouth open, his weary eyes squinting.

'Lord mercy…' he uttered.

Nine small figures were standing on the stairs, one to a step, all of them looking over the banister at the people below. Five girls, four boys, their apparitions clear, defined, as if they were of real flesh and blood. Four of the girls wore dark brown berets, the last one hatless but her hair was in two pigtails tied by tiny pink ribbons; only two of the boys wore caps. They were all dressed in outdoor clothes—overcoats and jackets—and each one carried a cardboard gas-mask box, the string across their chest. They looked as though they were going on a journey.

The nine visions were perfectly still and perfectly silent. They continued to stare.

Gabe made to take a step forward, but Eve kept her grip on his arm, holding him there. He regarded her quizzically, but her eyes were on the children and her half-smile puzzled him.

'Eve…?' he ventured.

'Wait, Gabe,' she responded softly without taking her attention off the children. 'Wait and see.' She knew something was about to happen.

Lili closed her eyes and she was smiling too. 'The children have come for them,' she said breathlessly.

Percy suddenly felt weak, as if his energy were draining away. He staggered slightly, but steadied himself through sheer force of will.

The oldest girl, the one Eve thought must be Susan Trainer, shifted her gaze from the four people to the open cellar doorway. The battered door hung by one hinge against the wall.

Lili spun round when the rest of the children looked across the hall at the dark open doorway, and she stared at it too. Her hand went to her throat as she waited.

Gabe heard the noise on the cellar steps, footfalls that were distinct over the low background rush of the river that ran beneath the house. He glanced at Eve when the grip on his arm tightened and he saw that her eyes were shining from some inner joy, while he felt nothing but apprehension. Surely nothing more could happen? He felt what was now a familiar cold prickling sensation at the back of his neck.

The footsteps grew louder. Something moved in the shadow of the cellar doorway.

'It's all right,' he heard Lili say softly and he wasn't sure who she was addressing.

They emerged from the cellar together, the young woman leading the boy by the hand.

The group of people watched in awe and stunned silence. Percy gave a little moan, a kind of whimper. Eve pressed even closer to Gabe. Lili held both hands up to her cheeks.

'Nancy…' the old gardener said under his breath.

She wasn't very tall, but her form was slim, compact. Her hair hung in shiny copper ringlets round her pale pretty face. Her clothes were no longer bedraggled, her long skirt no longer faded; the buckles on her shoes now shone with reflected light, and dark stockings covered her ankles. She still wore the woollen shawl round her shoulders, but her right hand and arm were no longer withered and twisted but smooth and as pallid as the rest of her skin. She was smiling and the fine shallow mist of her aura was luminous in its radiance.

She held the boy's hand in her own once-deformed hand, and he came shyly into the hall with her, his wide dark eyes looking about him, taking in the room and its puddle flagstone floor, flitting over the watching people so that they knew he was aware of their presence. The colour in his hair had returned and it fell darkly over his smooth forehead. Stefan and the young teacher moved across the hall and, although their hollow footsteps could be heard, the shallow pools of water they walked through went undisturbed.

Gabe felt Percy brush by him as if the old man wanted—needed—to confront the ghost of his lost sweetheart, but it was Lili who held him back.

'It's Nancy—' he began to say, but Lili gently stayed his words.

'You can't communicate with her, Percy,' she told him. 'Please don't interfere with what's happening.'

He looked uncertainly at the psychic, then back at the two figures crossing the hall. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened moistly. 'She's so… she looks so…' he tried to say. 'Nancy looks so lovely, as she always did.'

Lili turned to Eve, who appeared absorbed by the phantom boy. The psychic sensed Eve's thoughts.

'Your little boy has passed on, Eve,' she said quietly but firmly. 'Cam isn't in our world any more, not even in spirit, like these children.'

Eve seemed dismayed. 'How do you know?' It was almost a protest.

'Because they're telling me so.' Lili indicated the spirit children on the stairs.