The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) (7 page)

“Right now?” He paused with a faint, mischievous smile. “Right now, I'm at a meeting of a small sci-fi and horror book club, talking about my life and work with some fans. Discussing my personal beliefs, a little of my life story here and there, some jokes and observations. It's very relaxed.”

“Ha ha,” she said flatly. “And let me guess, you rode there on a unicorn, huh? Seriously? You, at some kind of social event? Pull the other one, John, it's got bells on. If you're going to lie, at least be plausible.”

“I can be social.”

“No, honey, you can't. I love you, you know that, but you really aren't a sociable best. Not voluntarily, anyway. You have many magnificent qualities, but that's not one of them.”

“I can fake it, though.”

“No, you can't.”

“I faked it at that book launch the other night.”

“Nope.”

“I did!”

“Sorry, honey. Everyone could tell how much you hated it.” She sighed. “Okay, have your little secret. I just wanted to say goodnight, and that the kids and I miss you, and that every second you're away is another favor that you owe me. The kids are officially on holiday now, and they seem to have more energy than ever. We're supposed to split parenting duties right down the middle, remember? Please don't make me nag.”

“I'll be back tomorrow,” he replied, as he spotted Gary in the doorway. “Hold on, Sarah. I think someone wants my attention.”

“Mr. Myers,” Gary said, “we were wondering -”

He stopped as John held his phone up, allowing his wife to hear.

“Go on,” John said with a smile.

“Well... We were wondering if, before you go tonight, you could talk to us a little more about the inspiration for your writing, particularly in terms of the difference between supernatural horror and horror that's grounded in the way people are just totally cruel to each other. Torture and body horror, that kind of thing. It's like, you know, we're such big fans and this is such a rare opportunity, and talking to you has been so cool.”

John moved the phone closer to his face. “That's fine, Gary,” he said with a grin, imagining Sarah's reaction. “I'd be happy to do that. Tell Hannah and the others that I'll be through in just a moment to continue our fascinating discussion.”

As Gary headed back to the main room, John put the phone to the side of his face.

There was nothing but silence on the other end.

“I have to go,” he said after a moment, “the others are waiting for me. It's been a really interesting book club and I think everyone's learning a lot.”

He waited for a reply, but he could almost hear Sarah's jaw hitting the ground on the other end.

“Honey?” he said. “Are you still there?”

“Okay,” she said finally, with a hint of caution in her voice, “who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”

Chapter Ten

Twenty years ago

“Hey,” Alison said with a smile, as soon as John opened the door. She was wearing a cream sweater with a big ladybird on the front. “Long time, stranger.”

Startled, he stared at her for a moment. He'd spent the morning tidying the house, lost in his own thoughts... or at least that was what he told himself. For a moment, he felt as if maybe there was something he'd forgotten, as if his mind had divided into two completely separate halves, but that sensation passed quickly enough. Instead, he focused on the surprise of seeing Alison standing in front of him. After all, she was one of his few friends, or at least she had been, back when he still
had
friends, back in his school days.

“Are you gonna invite me in?” she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow, “or do I have to force my way through the door? Which, to be fair, wouldn't be so easy after my recent op.” She looked down at his foot. “Are you limping?”

“Oh, it's nothing,” he replied. “I just hurt my toe when...” Pausing, he realized he didn't remember how he'd hurt it. “It's nothing. Come in.”

***

“Wow,” she said a few minutes later, looking out the window and watching the fuchsia plants for a moment before turning back to him, “John, I'm so sorry. I had no idea.”

“It was a few days ago now,” he replied, well aware that he was being stiff and formal but unable to find a way to relax, “so... I mean, it's over, I guess. It's all sorted.”

“And you're here alone?”

“It's not so bad.”

“Sure, but...” She paused, clearly concerned. “You're in this house all by yourself?”

“I'm not worried about ghosts, if that's what you mean.”

“No, but still, it doesn't seem...” She paused again. “Well, it just seems kind of morbid, that's all. What about your father?”

“He's coming for the funeral.”

“Oh, that's nice of him,” she said sarcastically. “Still gunning for that father of the year award, I take it.”

“I don't need him here.” He winced a little as he felt his toe hurting again. The nail felt loose, so he figured he'd have to rip it off later. The strange thing was, he couldn't quite remember how he'd hurt it in the first place.

“No, but you need someone. Jesus, it's a complete coincidence that I just happened to drop by today, and now I find you all alone in the house where you found a dead body just a few days ago. I mean, I know your grandmother wasn't exactly... I don't want to say bad things about dead people, but I know what it was like for you, living with her. Still, this must have been a huge shock.”

“I -”

Before he could finish, she stepped closer and put her arms around him, giving him a tight hug that momentarily pressed their bodies together. Her fingers pressed against the back of his t-shirt, rubbing against the burn marks from his grandmother's cigarettes, but not enough for him to flinch. Instead, he put his arms around her in return, even though he felt uncomfortable being so close.

“Don't squeeze me too tight,” she told him. “I'm still scarred. I've only been out of hospital for a month.”

“How did it go?”

“Fine, can't you tell? I'm stiff as a board, can't bend at all. Turns out, screwing a metal pole into my back
did
help with the scoliosis.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Taking a step back, she turned and suddenly hoisted her shirt up, exposing the thick, fresh scar that ran all the way up her back, with stitches still holding the edges of flesh together. “A two-foot titanium pole,” she explained, “has literally been screwed to my spine. Remember last time you saw me, when I was all curled over like an old toenail. And now look at me, I've got the posture of a queen. Go on, touch it.”

“I...” Staring at her stitches, he felt a shiver pass through his body. “No, I'm fine.”

“Touch it,” she said again. “I'll be totally offended if you don't.”

Realizing that had couldn't argue, he reached out and let his fingers brush against the stitches. For a moment, he was tempted to pull on them, to unravel her back and open the scar up to see her spine, but a few seconds later he was distracted as one of his fingers nudged her bare, cold flesh.

“Everyone's mega impressed,” she continued, pulling her t-shirt down and turning to him, before pausing as she stared into his eyes. “You're not okay, John.”

“I'm not?”

“You can't
possibly
be okay,” she continued. “No-one could be okay in your situation. You don't have to believe in ghosts to find the whole thing freaky. What have you been doing the past few days?”

“Cleaning,” he said cautiously. “Tidying.”

“And your Dad still sends money?”

“It's his house,” John pointed out. “He bought it for Gran and me to live in after my mother died, remember? He sends money to my account each month for living expenses. He's doing well out there, money isn't a problem.”

“But you're not
living
, are you?” she replied. “Not really. I mean, hell, I can't even walk without pain, and I probably get about more than you do.” Stepping past him, she looked around the room for a moment before turning to him again. “There's a ghost in this house.”

“There is?”

She nodded.

“How...” He paused. “How can you tell?”

“It's obvious.”

“It is?”

She turned to him. “There's a ghost in this house and its name is John Myers.”

He sighed. “I'm not -”

“Let's get out of here.”

He frowned.

“Have you even left the house in the past few days?” she continued. “I don't mean for groceries, forget that, have you actually gone out anywhere? I know since we finished school you've been kind of spending a lot of time in your own company, developing your reputation as a hermit. Be honest, have you done
anything
recently? Do you even bother to keep up with the few people who're still knocking about in this dull old town?”

He paused. “You're... Actually, you're kind of the first person I've seen since... Well, since it all happened. Apart from the guy who works in the petrol station where I buy food, but I think he's starting to think I'm weird, since I kind of go in there every night now. I like to go late when there's less chance of anyone else being there.”

“Sounds mentally and emotionally healthy,” she replied, taking his hand and starting to lead him to the door. “Come on, it's my duty as your friend to get you out of here and remind you that the rest of the world exists. Just don't mock the way I walk. It's better than before when I was all curled up, right?”

***

“So university is kind of slightly soul-destroying,” she said a little while later as they walked along the windy promenade, with a strong breeze blowing in from the sea. “The only way to get by is to drink heavily, and I mean
heavily
. Turns out, I have some kind of limit that keeps me from getting blind drunk, so I usually don't last the whole night. Not that it's not fun, though. You should totally apply and go next year 'cause, you know, it'd better than withering away like you're doing now.”

“Sure.”

“Maybe you could even come to Peterborough. Oh my God, that would be so cool, we could be housemates!”

“Sure. Maybe.”

“Does that mean you might actually do it?” she asked. “I know you said you were taking a gap year, but you're blatantly not planning to do anything fun. When people take a gap year, they usually go traveling or they take a job for experience, something like that. They don't just sit around the house doing nothing.” She waited for a reply. “You'll be fine, you know. Uni isn't that terrifying. You'll make friends once you get out into the world.”

“I have friends.”

“You
had
friends. At school. And how many of them do you still see?”

“Not many.”

“Only the ones who really make an effort. Which probably means just me.”

He allowed himself a faint smile. “The important ones, then.”

“And let me guess. That old witch told you there's no point trying to make more friends, didn't she?”

“She just said I should be realistic about my personality. I'm just not very outgoing.”

“Rubbish.”

“She had a point.”

“It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Once you start believing it, it becomes true. Fortunately, the reverse is also true. Stop believing in it, it stops becoming true.”

“Maybe.”

“So what are you going to do now?” She nudged his arm playfully. “Come on, dude, you're free! I know how your grandmother held you back, so what's the plan for the first day of the rest of your life?”

“In general?” He paused, genuinely stumped by the question. “I don't know.”

“Sit around in that house, listening to bumps in the night, rotting away?”

He shook his head.

“I'm scared that's exactly what you'll do,” she told him. “I remember a few years ago, you were full of ambition about becoming some big writer, and then slowly she...” She paused. “You mustn't let your grandmother ruin things for you. I know she said some pretty cruel things to you, I feel like she chipped away at your soul until there's pretty much nothing left. I mean, it's too bad you didn't rebel and fight back, but none of that matters now. You don't have an ounce of confidence, do you?”

“It wasn't that bad,” he replied. “I can't blame her.”

“She was wrong, you know. You totally
can
be a writer, you can be anything you want. You just need to find your voice, and you need to get out and actually meet people.” She nudged his arm again. “I believe in you.”

“It's just a pipe-dream. It's not realistic or -”

Hurrying a couple of steps ahead, she stopped, then she turned to face him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Not another word of that,” she said firmly, albeit with a faint smile. “Jonathan Myers, you are damn well not going to let a vindictive old bitch drag you down, especially now she's out of your life. And yes, I'm aware that I just broke my own rule about nice things and dead people, but I don't care. The truth is coming. Are you ready for it?”

“Alison -”

“Your grandmother was a horrible, horrible woman. She was a mean, cruel, vindictive old bitch who tried to ruin your life for reasons that, frankly, we don't even need to try to understand anymore, because she's gone. And to be honest, when you told me she'd keeled over earlier, my first thought was that it's about time. You have your whole life ahead of you, John, and that's a good thing. You have to live it.”

“I will.”

“Uh-huh, and pigs might fly.” She stared at him for a moment, before letting go of his shoulders and starting to walk again. “Well, I'm not going to give up on you, you idiot. I'm going to badger you for as long as it takes, and then I'll badger you some more. I care about you, you bloody idiot, and I won't let you fade away like some kind of ghost.”