Dark Choir Read online

  “Well done, Dan,” Alison said, patting his arm.

  He watched her drive away and went back inside. Beverly waited at the foot of the stairs.

  “Has she gone?”

  “Who, Alison or Lindsey?”

  “Alison.”

  “Yes. She’s taking Linds to Willow House.”

  “We need to talk.” Bev’s face was earnest and almost regretful in its expression. For one hopeful moment, Dan thought Bev was about to end their relationship.

  “Okay.” He went through to the kitchen and made a coffee for himself and a tea for her then sat down.

  “Dan, you never told me you’d been abused as a child.”

  Oh shit, she was about to go into counsellor mode.

  “It’s not something you talk about, generally.”

  “You’ve buried it for all these years and now, after Diane’s death, it surfaces. Why don’t you tell me about it? Talk about it now.”

  “What?”

  “You need to air your feelings. You do what all men do. Just cover over your feelings with beer and football.” She reached over and touched his hand. “When did the abuse start?”

  He looked at her with incomprehension which turned to incredulity. After a very long minute, he spoke.

  “Are you really doing this?” he said. “You really want me to dig up the past and relay to you what my mother did to me? Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”

  “I hear your pain. You can’t keep this buried.”

  “Yes, I can. I buried this years ago. That’s what you do with shit. You bury it and it stays under the earth. You build a patio over it and forget it’s there.”

  “You need closure.”

  “Listen, Beverly. This is how it works. The situation is like a prison. One day the door opens and you walk out. You walk far away from the prison and get on with your life. You don’t go back to the prison and sit in the cell to remember how shitty it was in there. The truth is, Beverly, you get off on all this touchy-feely bullshit. I’ve seen you do it with your friends. One of them gets dumped or has a death in a family and you’re straight on the phone to them. They offload onto you, and then you tell me and your other friends about it.”

  “I’m…”

  “You’re not Sigmund Freud, Beverly. You’re a fucking legal secretary. I’m not going to recount what Diane and Widdowson did to me just so you can use it like some emotional pornography. No fucking way.”

  Fury bulged in her facial muscles creating a mask of brutal recrimination. “How dare you.”

  “It’s true,” he said flatly, arms crossed.

  She shot to her feet. “Right. That’s the thanks I get for trying to sort you out. You can stay here on your own in this creepy house. And don’t think I haven’t noticed what’s going on between you and that nurse.” Beverly stormed out. “Fucking unreal. This is fucking unreal,” she snarled as she went upstairs.

  She packed faster than he’d ever known her to pack and stormed back downstairs. He stood on the steps of the house and watched her load the suitcase into her car.

  “You need to have a good hard think about yourself.” With a scowl, those were her departing words. She tore off down the driveway and accelerated down the road.

  He waited.

  In their time together, she’d done this before. She’d driven or walked off but always came back. After an hour he knew she really wasn’t coming back.

  Dan spent the afternoon entrenched in a mixture of guilt and regret. He knew he’d been right in what he’d said. His recounting the events of his childhood would be more for her benefit than his. If he did need closure then his rant in the church was closure enough.

  He lay on the sofa as the clock ticked and dusk wound down the day. He wished Alison were here. He wished Alison were here all the time. Beverly had noticed he and Alison had a bond. In reality, Alison probably just liked him as a friend and nothing more. That thought really depressed him.

  He made himself some beans on toast and looked at the time. It was 7 o’clock. He couldn’t face an evening alone so put on his boots and coat and headed out into Scarsdale. He should really pick up the Morris from the car park but knew full well he’d spend the evening in the pub. He left the house and didn’t bother locking the door. Why should he? It wasn’t his house and if baldy decided to visit, he didn’t need a key. Chomping at the bit for a beer, he set out.

  Beverly stopped at Watford Gap services. She stared at the coffee she nursed as the sun set over the motorway. Travelers came and went but Beverly stayed for over an hour, her mind in turmoil.

  She couldn’t lose Dan. She was in danger of losing him. They argued a lot, but didn’t all couples argue? His mother, his abuser, had died. He was bound to be tetchy. He’d refused her help in counselling him through it and shut down his emotions, like he always did. Maybe it hadn’t been the right time? Perhaps he needed time to let the dust from the funeral settle?

  That Widdowson man gave her the creeps. Dan had cited him as implicit in the abuse. There could be a legal challenge there to his rights to the house. If it could be proved that Diane Hepworth had signed the house over to Widdowson under duress then they might have a case. According to Dan there was only one solicitor in Scarsdale, a doddery old man whose grasp of the legal system was probably parochial to say the least. Her father knew some very good legal experts who could overturn this bloody scam in a day.

  The other threat was that nurse. She shared a house with Dan. All she had to do was to go into his room one night, flash those big tits, and he’d be signing the rest of inheritance over to her. She was not to be trusted. She was far too clever and definitely up to something. Beverly had a nose for a scammer.

  She had to fight for Dan. She couldn’t let him slip through her fingers. Her mum and dad had paid for the wedding dress already and the invites were going out next week.

  She rang the house land line and there was no answer. He’d smashed his own phone. The abused often have anger management issues, she’d read somewhere.

  She had no option but to drive back up to Scarsdale. With renewed vigor, Beverly left the table where she’d been brooding and hit the road again.

  She drove back up the motorway, the way she’d come, heading north once more. A light rain blew down from the darkened clouds above, and she turned off into the darkness of the countryside. Endless dual carriageways led her to the Derbyshire hills, and she followed the road signs to Belper. From there her headlights cut through the darkness, her full beam casting a glare on the weather-beaten road signs abandoned to the night.

  Scarsdale was a sad little town. A rail station, one or two pubs, and a plethora of fast food outlets. The town, she’d noticed when she’d first come here, was hemmed in by oppressive hills. She’d hoped it might be prettier, like some of those Cotswolds towns. Stow-on-the-Wold or Chipping Norton. It definitely wasn’t

  The street to One Farm Road lay empty. The single track cut through the steep hills and felt like the end of the world to her. She recalled first arriving here and finding Dan freaking out that someone had been in the house. Beverly felt vulnerable driving alone. She needed to get to Dan and quickly.

  She saw the single porch light that hung above the outside door of One Farm Road, its light winking through the branches of stunted trees. Slowing, she pulled into the driveway. When Bev got out, the wind was blowing across the hills, moving the clouds above the place. A noise within the wind stopped her. Listening, Beverly thought she made out human voices. Singing perhaps? She became acutely aware of how isolated this house really was. The nearest other human habitation was the farm up the road that must have been at least a mile away. The strange sound continued, borne with the wind across the hills before suddenly ceasing, only the moan of the wind now audible.

  Putting it down to imagination, she sprinted to the front porch and didn’t knock but opened the unlocked front door.

  The house was in darkness. The cobweb-
ringed porch bulb was the only light on and cast a shadow from behind across the vestibule floor. Bev fought for the light switch which she was sure was to the right. The darkness beyond stared back, black, oppressive, and she needed it gone. She cursed when she couldn’t find the switch. Something creaked out there in the hallway, and Bev was suddenly seized with the very real suspicion that someone watched her from within. Not Dan, someone else. Bev felt in a wider arc for the switch, fear causing her to sweep across the wall recklessly.

  Her hand brushed the bulky, plastic circular switch and light flooded the hallway.

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Where was Dan? Had he gone out? She went further into the house and switched on the kitchen light. These light switches were ancient bulky, circular appendages from the middle of the last century. The whole place would probably need rewiring, she reflected grimly.

  Dan clearly wasn’t here or he’d have heard her car approaching and would have been waiting at the door. Beverly didn’t relish waiting in this house alone for him to return from wherever he’d gone. In this house full of memories, bad ones. It gave her the creeps. All of his mother’s affects were still here. Bible verses in crochet hung from the walls, ancient ornaments and a clock that ticked far too loudly.

  She stood at the bottom of the stairs and called his name. Ahead, she could see the bent angle of the hoist in Lindsey’s room. The bed had the cot sides up. Bev grimaced. She really didn’t like the whole disabled thing. It made her queasy. Obviously, she’d never say anything to Dan, but she’d been shocked at how disabled his sister was. She even needed to be turned in bed. She must have a horrible life. If Bev were like that, she’d just want someone to put a pillow over her face and end it all.

  A thump from upstairs drew her gaze to the ceiling. Dan had gone to sleep after their argument and had only just woken up. That’s why the door was unlocked. He was always falling asleep in the afternoon when he stayed over at hers. That’s why all the lights were out. The bugger’d obviously went to sleep in the afternoon and had only just woken up. She jogged upstairs and stood on the landing.

  “Dan.” No answer. “Dan?”

  Whoever was in the room, Bev could hear them moving around. She couldn’t see a light switch anywhere in the hallway. The room she’d heard the noise in was Diane’s room.

  At the end of the corridor, the door swung inwards with a predictable creak. In the gloom, somebody stood there, but it wasn’t Dan. The pale figure had one shoulder slumped much lower than the other. The limbs were twisted into unnatural angles and the feet faced inwards, bent towards each other by inverted knees. Black eyes fixed on her and her jaw fell open.

  “Alison? Is that you?”

  As it lurched forwards, she emitted a scream like pigs being slaughtered. Claw-like hands reached out and she covered the landing at amazing speed, feet thumping across floorboards like a drum beat. Beverly screamed and fell backwards down the stairs, falling awkwardly until she hit the bottom.

  The prospect of stairs slowed the creature but it hopped down, clutching the bannister with both hands, squealing.

  Beverly got a better look as it rapidly descended. The eyes were glistening, malevolent. Stagnant black pupils glaring hate, circled by violet rings. Matted black hair tangled around the uneven shoulders, thick dark hair around the pubis just below hanging breasts. One thing was clear as the creature hit the landing, it wanted to harm Beverly.

  Beverly scrambled to her feet and bolted out of the hallway, out the front door, and leapt the steps to the car. The creature was in the corridor now, turning on its unsteady legs to pursue, bare feet slapping floor tiles.

  Beverly wrenched open the car door and threw herself into the driver’s seat. Thank God the car started on the first try. The headlights lit to reveal the pursuer in all its horrific glory.

  Twisted arms extended at unnatural angles, the face obscured now by matted waist-length hair. The attacker’s shoulders heaved with effort to bellow out a screech that tore through the night, the same porcine whine that must have torn her vocal cords, mouth hanging wide and dark to emit the wail of rage.

  Bev had been terrified before but had shut away the fear in the need to get away. Now Bev took in the impossibility of this enraged monster. Naked, feet together, and howling.

  “Oh my God. No!”

  Even when Bev pulled away, she could still see it in the rearview mirror, arms flailing, screaming its outrage.

  Twenty-One

  News had already spread of Dan’s speech at the funeral. A couple of people congratulated him and agreed that Widdowson was an evil bastard. He found Mooey and Karl in their usual place at the pool table. Billy was working the taxis tonight. Mooey immediately brought up the events at the funeral. He offered his condolences by stating that his mother had always been a fucking weirdo and he was well shot of her.

  When Mooey went off for a much needed piss Dan found himself alone at the bar with Karl.

  “Did you hear about my break-in over the weekend, Karl?”

  “No. Where?”

  “One Farm Road. You know the bald bloke in the robe?”

  “The ghost. Yeah.”

  “Whatever. He came into the house on Saturday night. Actually entered my sister’s room.” Dan gave brief description of the events. “And the weird thing was what he wrote on the wall. He somehow burnt it into the paintwork.”

  “What did he write on the wall?”

  “Choir.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  “Last week I went up the asylum with Alison. We went into the concert hall where you heard the singing and guess what was written on the wall? Yep. The same thing. It’s getting personal now. I want to know who this guy is.”

  “Well, you’re not the only one. Do you know Jason Hereford?”

  “Wasn’t he a year below us in school?”

  “No. He was a teacher. He’s deputy head at the school now. My sister’s kid is there and she was in his class. He rolled down the blackboard. You know those old roller blackboards they had? He rolled it down and someone had written ‘choir’ in shit on the blackboard. None of the kids owned up to it. Few days before that someone broke into this bloke’s house, Dennis Gillits, up at the new estate, and wrote the same thing in shit but the best one, and this was in the local paper, was a visit to a woman in New Scarsdale. Did you see it?”

  “I don’t read the local paper really, Karl.”

  “This one happened to Jackie O’Shea. You know Jackie? Big mouth. Worked up at St. Brendan’s. Used to drink in here until she got barred for punching that gypsy lad and starting that fight. She got back to her flat one night. Someone had killed the dog and written ‘choir’ in the poor mutt’s blood on her wall.”

  “Jackie O’Shea was Lindsey’s caregiver when I was a kid. Horrible woman.”

  “Cops reckon it’s a gang thing. I think there’s something else going on.”

  “Like some occult group?” Dan put his pint down on the bar, frowning.

  “No. Something supernatural.”

  “Bollocks.” Dan took a swig of his pint.

  “You weren’t there that night up at St. Vincent’s. The ghost hunt. I’ve heard that same sound, the singing, about three or four times now. Every time it was coming from St. Vincent’s.”

  “And what’s your point?”

  “Right, Dennis Gillits and Jason Hereford worked at the old hospital. So this has happened to three of them who worked up there.”

  “But I’ve never worked up there.” Dan took a thoughtful sip of his pint. “Maybe it was meant for Alison. She worked there. She knew her way around the asylum when she took me around.”

  Mooey returned from the toilet. “The asylum. I’ve got bad memories of that place.”

  “Really?” Karl moved closer, interested in hearing Mooey’s story.

  “You know that out house by the entrance. I went up there one night with Teresa Evans.”

 
“Yeah, and?” said Karl.

  “I was about fifteen.” He took a long hard slurp from his pint. “We went in there alone. Then…”

  “What?”

  “Well, I fingered her and she wouldn’t suck me off. It was horrible. Another pint, lads?”

  Dan laughed and Karl looked genuinely disappointed.

  At the end of the night Dan didn’t fancy walking across the footbridge again, so he rang for a taxi. Billy arrived and took him home, navigating the lanes in the dark.

  “I heard about the funeral,” Billy opened up the conversation.

  “Yeah, well…”

  “He won’t like it. This student went along once. Got asked up to the stage to speak. He came out with all this comedy funny stuff pretending he was possessed. Next week he got up on stage and apologised. Widdowson said it was the fear of God that made him do it. Obviously, Widdowson had put the squeeze in him.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That you better watch it.”

  “I’m going back home in a couple of days, and I’ll never see this place again. Besides, there isn’t anything else Widdowson can do to frighten me.”

  “He isn’t beyond targeting your sister.”

  “Same goes for her. He had her down at that chapel every week for years driving demons out of her. I was just a kid.”

  “He could still get Gould to visit.”

  “Gould and I had words a long time ago. You remember?”

  The taxi arrived at the house. Looking away from Dan, Billy echoed his words. “I remember.”

  Dan looked to the house frowning. “Shit. The front door’s wide open.”

  Billy and Dan got out and rushed to the house. On entering, they saw one of the vases smashed in the hallway. One of the spindles on the stairs was broken.

  “Looks like someone had a fight,” said Billy.

  “Yeah. On the stairs.”

  Dan grabbed a poker from the fireplace. They searched the house. Nothing was missing and there was nobody there. At the front door, Dan saw the print from a trainer shoe. It looked relatively fresh. Beverly had left similar prints around the house when she’d been here. It was possible she’d come back to try and reconcile their relationship but had left or been chased out.