Dark Choir Read online

  He detached the syringe and pulled her top down covering her stomach. “Thing is, she’ll be hurt if I don’t go through with it. Maybe we’ll settle down afterwards. Perhaps people always feel like this for each other and then they calm down and just function. I don’t believe in falling in love, Linds. That’s a load of bullshit. I think people just sort of get on. Right now, me and Bev aren’t even doing that.”

  He took the syringe through to the kitchen then returned to continue his one-sided discussion with her. “She’s going to go nuts when I tell her I’m not going to the funeral. I can’t stand setting foot in that place again. I can’t pretend to mourn her. I can’t pretend to…ah, I don’t know. Why can’t life just be simple?”

  The time was approaching midnight. He’d changed her and hoisted her into the bed and put on her nightlight. Dan sat in the living room going through Diane’s paperwork when he heard it.

  Beyond the window, in the night, the drone seemed to fill the sky.

  “What the fuck?”

  Dan stood up. He looked to Lindsey who was fast asleep, unbothered by the sound. This was the same sound he’d heard on his way home from the pub. Now that he was sober, he could hear it, study it. He went to the kitchen and exited the house by the side door heading for the lawn where he’d stood earlier and trashed his phone.

  The drone, a continuous vibrato of near human voices spread out across the night sky. The sound was constant, unaffected by wind or air conditions. Cutting above the drone, he could hear screams, cries and what sounded like attempts at harmony which failed, degenerating into an atonal wail.

  “What the hell is that?”

  He felt the drone dragging his mind down. It was dark, abysmal. He could feel fear prickle his senses as if the sounds were a threat or a warning. Again, he remembered Karl’s story about the singing in the concert hall at St. Vincent’s. The sound was coming from that way.

  “Screw this,” he said to himself, turning back to the house. Dan glanced at the window and saw movement in Lindsey’s bedroom. The roughly human shape stood over her, hands on the rail of her bed, face angled down to regard her. Dan froze. I’m here for your sister.

  The head swiveled round and Dan found himself staring into two pitch black eyes. Lindsey’s nightlight illuminated his purple cloak and white flesh. Bald head gleamed in the shifting light. The man from the bridge. He was here. He was standing over Lindsey.

  “No!” Dan dashed to the house and hit the side door full on. It burst inwards, almost flying from its hinges. Screaming her name, he burst into the hallway.

  The door to her room was closed. He grabbed the handle and yanked. Beyond the doorway he heard a voice.

  “…vengeance is yours, sayith the Lord…”

  “Get away from her. Get away from her you fucker!” he yelled.

  “…lame shall walk, blind shall see…”

  The voice was clear, without accent. The sentences were being pronounced. He was in there. In there with her sister. The night nutter, the bald lunatic. He’d got in. He’d got in.

  “…Shall bury them together…one alive, one dead…”

  The door flew open and Dan was ready to confront the intruder. He stopped, looked around. Dan had heard his voice. Heard him say those things. He’d gone. The window was closed and the room was empty.

  Seventeen

  Dan heard the car pull up the drive about nine o’clock. He burst out of the front door and nearly ran into the oncoming vehicle. Beverly ground to a halt a few yards from the house. Frowning, she wound down the driver side window.

  “Dan? What’s going on?”

  “Call the police. On your phone. Call the police.”

  She got out. “What’s happened? You look like shit, Dan.”

  “We had an intruder.” He spoke in rushed sentences. “Fucker got in through the side door while I was out. I tried to ring on the land line, but it was out of order. Bev, just get on your phone and call the police, now.”

  “Don’t shout at me. I’ve had a very long journey.” She angrily got the phone out and he snatched it from her. Dan dialed the emergency number 999 and explained the situation. The operator asked numerous questions and finished by promising to get an officer up as soon as possible. He handed the phone back to her.

  “Who was it? A burglar?” she asked.

  “Some nutter who’s been hanging around.” He looked to the house uneasily, as if the intruder might return.

  “So, are you going to get my suitcase and carry it in or shall we stay out here all morning?”

  Snapping out of his reverie, he said, “Sure” quietly and fetched the suitcase from the boot.

  “This is a fabulous house,” she said on entering the vestibule. “How much are houses worth up this part of the country?”

  He ushered her into the living room. She scanned the interior. “It’s all a bit…well…faded. I bet it’s a bugger to heat. Is your sister here or is she in the home?”

  “She’s here. I would have gone to the farm up the road and used their phone, but I couldn’t leave Lindsey in case he came back.”

  “What about your mobile?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “So, what exactly happened?”

  He gave her a brief summary of the incident, leaving out the parts where he’d seen the stranger before at the bridge then in the trees.

  “I bet the police know him. So, can I meet Lindsey then?”

  “Sure. I’ve got to get her washed and dressed in a bit.”

  Bev followed Dan through to the hall. “Hasn’t she got a nurse or something?”

  “She had to go and see her dad.”

  “Leaving you to look after her? I wonder what your mother was paying her for.”

  “Don’t start,” he snapped.

  “Don’t start what?”

  They entered the room. Lindsey looked at the newcomer, mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

  Beverly bent over the bed, proffered her hand for Lindsey to shake. “Hello, Lindsey. My name’s Beverly. Pleased to meet you. How are you?”

  “She can’t shake hands,” Dan explained in a tone that suggested Bev should have known. “And she can’t speak.”

  Slowly, she stood up straight. “Well thank you for that, Daniel.” Her voice was loaded with sarcasm. “Thank you for making me look stupid in front of your sister. Thank you very much.”

  She hadn’t been here two minutes and Dan could feel an argument beginning to form. He let it slide.

  “She doesn’t care, do you, you big gobshite, eh, eh?” He tickled Lindsey’s sides, the only thing guaranteed to make her laugh.

  Beverly looked up at the wall above the bed. The letters were a foot high and written in thin, scrawled letters.

  “Did she write that?” Bev pointed to the single word on the wall. Dan froze. He rubbed the lettering and black came off on his fingers. The words appeared to have been burnt on. This was the same word written on the wall in the concert hall at St. Vincent’s. The same word written in the white powder on Karl’s ghost hunt.

  “No,” he said frowning. “She can’t write.”

  “So the intruder did this. Burnt this onto the wall. What does it mean? Choir?”

  A disinterested policeman turned up and took a statement. Frowned uncertainly when he saw the word burnt into the wall then left with a promise to “look into it.”

  Beverly went through the cupboards, tutting at the sparse foodstuffs in the fridge and complaining that “this Alison must be spending the money somewhere else.”

  “Lindsey’s food comes in a syringe and goes into her stomach through a tube called a PEG. She doesn’t eat,” he snapped.

  “A what?” she asked. “Oh, but still. You could have got something nice in. We’ll have to go shopping today.”

  “I can’t leave Lindsey. We could take her, but I let Alison take the adapted car.”

  “On a jolly and using the company vehicle? I d
idn’t spend five years in human resources without knowing when someone’s taking the piss.” She sat down. “I’ve brought your suit for the funeral and some other clothes. Your work, Clipstone, will give you another two weeks paid, but after that…”

  He sat back in the chair. He had to tell her. The funeral was in two days’ time. He couldn’t leave it any longer.

  “I’m not going to the funeral.”

  She blinked. “You’re not going to your own mother’s funeral?” She looked to the floor then looked up sharply, the kitchen light gleaming off her wide forehead and hair pulled back into a tight pony tail. “That’s shocking. I’m actually shocked. I knew you never got on but this takes it to another level. You know what, Daniel, I’m not going to even ask why. I know why.”

  “You know nothing,” he said darkly. She didn’t even hear him.

  “This adolescent grudge has got to stop. You can’t carry it on now.”

  “You don’t know what’s gone on here.”

  “Try me.”

  There was one thing worse than rowing and that was talking about your feelings to her, he’d found. She fancied herself as a counsellor but spent more time talking about herself than listening. Until she thought you would get upset, that was. She knew she had success when the tears began to flow. He would never shed tears for her over this, ever.

  Outside the crunching of tyres over gravel and the sound of a car engine broke the silence. Dan leapt to his feet.

  “Alison’s back,” he said almost breaking into a grin. Her timing was immaculate. She’d saved him again.

  CHOIR

  Alison stared at the scorched wall like a clued-in detective. She scrutinised the room mentally, assessing it. Dan could tell.

  “So what does it mean?” Dan said.

  “It means nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “What possible motivation could there be for this man, whoever he is, to wait outside until you were out. Enter here and burn this into the wall and leave? What we’re seeing here is not the actions of a rational man. As for the things he was saying, what was it?”

  “Vengeance is yours. Something about burying someone together.”

  “That also makes no sense. Which makes me think that someone with some mental health problems came here and did this.”

  “Someone who escaped from Berrymoor?” Dan suggested. “This was written on the wall of the concert hall at St. Vincent’s. That’s a stone’s throw from Berrymoor.”

  “People don’t really escape from Berrymoor as such. If the regulations of his section were relaxed and he was allowed out, he could have come here in the time he was allowed out of the unit and done this. Or it might be someone who isn’t in Berrymoor. Someone who is developing a mental health problem and targeted this place, acting on their delusion.”

  “What’s Berrymoor?” asked Bev.

  “The mental health facility a few miles away,” Alison briefly explained to them as she looked back at the room. “What puzzles me is how he got out.”

  “Through the window,” Dan stated, as if it were obvious.

  “That window hasn’t moved for years. It’s painted shut.”

  “Let me try,” Beverly burst forwards and tried to lift the tall sash window. “She’s right. It won’t move.”

  “Also, that is written above the bed. How did he get up there? Levitate?”

  “I guess he stood on the bed,” said Dan.

  “No muddy footprints. They’re all over the kitchen floor when you came in but there’s nothing on the bed. In fact, no muddy footprints at all. You didn’t just get drunk and do this yourself, did you, Dan?”

  “That explains it. I look a load of drugs after you went out.” He laughed. Alison’s mere presence was making him feel better already.

  “Well if this nutter is hanging around we need to be extra vigilant and have the locks changed,” suggested Beverly.

  “The only weak spots would be these windows. I can arrange to have security lights fitted, if Mr. Hepworth thinks it’s worth it.”

  “Of course it’s worth it. This house is a major investment,” snapped Beverly. “There’s also Dan’s sister’s safety to think of,” she added hastily.

  “Listen. Why don’t you two go through to the lounge and I’ll make a pot of tea,” Alison suggested.

  Beverly was clearly irked by Alison’s presence. When they’d joked Dan noticed she’d really pulled a face.

  The couple sat down in the living room, an awkward silence between them, and Alison brought in a tray laden with cups, saucers, and a tea pot. Before Alison could even sit down Beverly began quizzing her. The first few questions had been polite enough, but then she began asking how many hours she worked, was there a contact? How much did a live-in caregiver usually earn? How much was she getting paid? Was she trained? Where did she train? Beverly’s hostility barely masked with her smile. Alison hid her disdain very well and answered all the questions with her usual grasp of knowledge. Not once did Alison show any sign of irritation and eventually Beverly ran out of questions.

  Alison sat down and asked Beverly about her life, what she did for a living, how big was her family? They finished her tea and Beverly commented about the area.

  “Matlock is a lovely town. So’s Bakewell,” said Alison. “There’s a lovely tea shop, Furrels, out by the emporium. Mr. Hepworth knows where it is, I’m sure.”

  Sadly, Alison had gone back to her clinical, professional self and even called him Mr. Hepworth again.

  “Perhaps my fiancé would like to take me out for a cream tea this afternoon?” suggested Bev.

  He shrugged. “I need a sleep first. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

  They sat drinking tea and eating a variety of cakes in the tea room of the old ironworks. Beverly didn’t complain about the tea or the cake. Usually, she found something to pick at, but today she was obviously having an off day. She asked him what he’d been doing since arriving here. Dan made out that he’d been tirelessly sorting out Diane’s old things. He’d not mentioned the nights in the pub.

  “I still don’t trust that Alison,” said Bev. “She gets paid a lot less than other full-time caregivers. Below the minimum wage, in fact.”

  “Things are cheaper up here.”

  “Not much cheaper. She’s not stupid. In fact, she really knows her stuff. I took a look at Lindsey’s…what do you call them…care plans? Anyway, I looked at the care plans in her notes folder and Alison did all of them.”

  “She’s just what Lindsey needs.”

  “So why work for a pittance in some old house for a woman who you describe as being a difficult, religious nutter? You know what I think?”

  “No, but I know you’re going to tell me.”

  “That she’s on some kind of scam. She works for a vulnerable old woman, looking after her daughter, hoping for a stake in the inheritance. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find out that your mother has left the house to her after all and not to you.”

  He nearly choked on the sponge cake he was eating. He still hadn’t told her about Widdowson and the house.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk before it gets dark.”

  They left the café and followed the path behind the old mill, a red brick relic with a tall, defunct chimney, and took the path towards Scarsdale. Thrusting above a line of trees, the clock tower of St. Vincent’s silhouetted against the dark blue winter sky. The lights of Berrymoor winked through the trees. To the south, the new estate crawled down the hill towards the motorway, snaking through countryside like a large serpent made of streetlights and brick.

  In the valley directly below, the shape of a large, granite house met them. The grim edifice looked to be roughly half the size of a stately home. A dozen dark, tall windows stared out and the house was crowned with a stone balcony punctuated around the edge with statues, roughly man-shaped but hard to pick out the detail from this distance. The roof was a
chaos of spires, chimneys, and peaking eaves. Two pillars framed the square wooden door but, even from this distance, Dan could see the old place had a faded glory. The stone was crawling with ice. Lichen dotted the walls and moss encroached across the roof tiles.

  “What is it?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “No one lives there, obviously. There’s no lights and no cars parked at the front. I bet it looks amazing inside.” Bev shook her head. “It’s a tragedy. Someone should make something of it.”

  Her arm encircled his waist. He tensed, but she didn’t notice. “I’ve been thinking. I know you’re stressed about the wedding. Mainly about money.”

  And the idea of spending the rest of my life with you, he thought.

  “If we get a good price for One Farm Road, and we should, that will pay for the wedding and we’ll have enough to put a deposit down on a flat.”

  He had to tell her. This couldn’t go on. He pulled her arm away.

  “What?” she said, face creased with anger and confusion.

  “I didn’t get the house. She didn’t leave it to me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She left it to the church. She left it to Widdowson.”

  “Who’s Widdowson?”

  “The pastor of the chapel she used to go to. He’s a real bastard.”

  “She can’t do this. She can’t just leave everything to some stranger. I’m sure there’s some loophole…”

  “It was her house, Beverly. She can do what she likes with it.”

  “So now we’re back to square one. Cutting down on the wedding, no money for a deposit on a flat. This is your fault, you know.”

  “What?” He felt his anger beginning to burn.

  “Yep. If you’d made up with her while she was still alive, this wouldn’t be happening now. We would be quids in and on the property ladder. But no, your pig-headed arrogance won the day, as usual, and you refused to speak to her, even send her a Christmas card. And where has your arrogance got you? Eh? If only you could have just said sorry, put it all behind you.”