The Haunting of Henderson Close Read online

  Hannah looked back at the group. “Did anyone else see anything?”

  Much head-shaking and a general chorus of, “No.”

  Lindy’s face drained again and her lips quivered. “What’s happening to me? This has never happened at home.”

  “We live in Kansas,” her husband said, as if that explained everything.

  Hannah nodded. “It is very atmospheric down here. And I’m sure the same can be said for the pub in York. I’ve had some strange experiences there I couldn’t explain either.”

  This seemed to help Lindy. She visibly exhaled. “Have you seen anything down here?”

  Hannah would dearly have loved to share her earlier experience with the group, who now seemed to be hanging on her every word, but she knew better. Her experience was so far-fetched it could well land her in trouble with the cynical Ailsa. Retelling well-documented ghost stories was one thing. Frightening the lives out of a group already affected by the behavior of one of their number was an entirely different matter. “Bad for business,” she would say.

  “Let’s just say that if these walls could talk, I’m sure they would keep us all entertained for hours.” The group laughed and the tension broke. Hannah turned her attention to Lindy. “Do you feel able to continue now?”

  The woman attempted a smile. “Oh yes, I’m feeling much better now. Probably…a trick of the light.” Lindy held Hannah’s gaze a few seconds too long, clearly willing her to agree with her. Hannah nodded.

  * * *

  Mairead choked on her mug of tea. “Scarecrow? What on earth would a scarecrow be doing in Henderson Close? There are no fields anywhere near.”

  “I know,” Hannah said, and sipped her coffee. “She was having difficulty describing what she’d seen, but she was adamant it wasn’t human.”

  “Well, that’s a new one on me, and, on top of your…I don’t know what to call it.”

  “Time slip? That’s what it felt like.”

  “Whatever you choose to call it, the activity seems to be heating up down there since you arrived. You’re not a psychic or a medium or whatever, are you?”

  Hannah smiled. “Not that I’m aware of. I grew up in Salisbury surrounded by stone circles and pretty much the whole of English history scattered around the countryside, but never once did I experience anything out of the ordinary. Then I move up here and…bang!”

  “Why did you come to Edinburgh anyway? It’s such a long way from your home.”

  Hannah sighed. “Long story. The short version is my marriage ended, and my daughter graduated from London University and promptly decided to emigrate to Australia. Salisbury is a small city and it was hard to escape some bad memories, so I decided I needed a fresh start. I’d been to Edinburgh a couple of times before I was married and loved it. I came here for the festival when I was a drama student. When I saw this job advertised, I knew I had to go for it. I don’t know quite what I would have done if they’d turned me down. I’d sort of committed myself to staying here as soon as I got the interview. Looking back now, I suppose I took one hell of a gamble. I’m only glad it worked out.”

  “Well, it may not be a West End role, but it is a lot of fun. Most of the time anyway.” Mairead rolled her eyes.

  “Oh that. No, that’s just one of those weird things that happens. It already doesn’t seem real. As if I dreamed it.”

  “And is that what that woman did? Dream up a scarecrow?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Haven’t the faintest. Maybe she did it to get attention. Who knows?”

  “I saw the group leave. They all seemed to have enjoyed it. They spent well in the gift shop so Ailsa was pleased.”

  Hannah grinned. “Maybe Lindy from Kansas did us a favor then.”

  “They all had their photos taken down there and purchased them.”

  “Probably hoping something ghostly would come out on the flash.”

  Hannah glanced up at the clock in the staff room. “Time to go. Let’s see what this next tour brings.”

  * * *

  But none of the remaining tours produced anything other than the usual gasps, chatter, some lively interaction with a small party of Australians and sore feet from all that standing and walking around on uneven terrain.

  Hannah arrived home, longing to relax her aching feet and legs in a lovely hot, scented bath. She unlocked her front door and the aroma hit her. The unmistakable smell of lavender wafted under her nose, reminding her of her grandmother’s house. Gran had used a lavender-scented beeswax for her special furniture.

  But I don’t.

  Hannah put down her purse on the hall table and made her way into the small living room. The smell seemed to be at its strongest here, but she was at a loss to know where it had come from. Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck, prickling her.

  In the kitchen there was no trace of the scent. Neither was there in the bedroom or bathroom. The windows were all tight shut.

  Hannah returned to the living room and glanced outside. No visible window boxes. Nothing to indicate the presence of any lavender blossom. Anyway, it was the wrong time of year.

  She shook her head and retraced her steps to the bathroom. Five minutes later she sank into a bourbon vanilla-scented bath, which wrapped her in its luxurious, velvety embrace. Hannah leaned back and closed her eyes. All thoughts of Henderson Close and inexplicable scents faded into the background.

  She let her mind drift back. Salisbury. The city of her childhood, with its peaceful cathedral close. All through the years she was growing up, she spent hours sitting on the grass, chatting to friends, watching the endless parades of tourists craning their necks up at the tallest spire in Europe. She had loved that place. Yet it had become impossible for her to stay there.

  “You’re the reason your marriage broke up and my Roger went off the rails with that woman.”

  Hannah could see her now. Violet Lockwood at full volume, like some overblown Brünnhilde, stabbing her finger into Hannah’s shoulder, her eyes wild.

  “He left me, remember?” Hannah had said, fighting to control her temper, forcing her voice to stay calm and quiet. She mustn’t let this woman get to her. “Roger left me for her. It was as much of a shock to me as to you. More so in fact, since I was his wife.”

  “Oh you always were so superior.”

  Hannah hated the sneering tone. Her mother-in-law had never come to terms with her little boy leaving home. In her eyes, Hannah had snatched him away and turned him against her. All rubbish, of course, and Violet’s own husband had left her because, according to Roger, she was so clingy and needy, he felt smothered. But Violet wasn’t finished with Hannah yet.

  “You drove your own daughter away to the other end of the world, and now you’ve made sure I never see Roger again. You’re nothing but a selfish, heartless little bitch.”

  Despite her resolve, Hannah snapped. “Don’t be so ridiculous. Jenna is doing very well for herself. She has a brilliant job and she’s happy. As for Roger…he only lives in London. Not exactly the far side of the universe. You can go and see him whenever you like.”

  Violet shook her head. “If it wasn’t for you, he would be a couple of miles away and I really could see him whenever I wanted. As it is, their flat’s too small and I would have to stay at a hotel.”

  Well done, Roger. It had to be deliberate. In truth the flat was probably plenty big enough to accommodate his mother for a couple of nights, but his opinion of his mother pretty much mirrored his father’s. All through their married life, there had been the last-minute, late-night phone calls. A lightbulb had blown. A drain was blocked with leaves. The gardener couldn’t come for a week and the lawn needed mowing – that was her favorite for a sunny early Sunday morning. And when Roger was away, it had been Hannah who had turned out at all hours to do her mother-in-law’s bidding. Not that Violet would ever acknowledge that, or even thank her.
>
  Hannah sat up in her bath. Damn the woman. Even from four hundred miles away she managed to invade her thoughts and raise her blood pressure.

  Her relaxing bath time ruined, Hannah reluctantly pulled out the plug.

  * * *

  The next day was Hannah’s day off. Lucky, she thought as four a.m. saw her once again standing by her living room window, clutching a mug of tea and contemplating the street below. The smell of lavender had disappeared as inexplicably as it had arrived. Yet another mystery to add to the growing collection.

  Autumn had well and truly settled in. The silent street glistened from an earlier shower of rain. Hannah shivered at the sight of it. It definitely felt colder tonight. She took a deep swig of her tea, started to turn away and stopped. She peered out into the semi-darkness illuminated imperfectly by streetlamps. No she hadn’t imagined it. There it was again. Down below, a shadow moved.

  Hannah held her breath. Something didn’t feel right about that shadow. It lacked substance, even if that didn’t make any sense. She waited. Her heart pounded.

  The shadow moved again. Lightning quick. Caught for the briefest of instants in the glow of a lit shop window. But it was enough. Hannah barely noticed the crash of her mug as she dropped it. The figure stopped. As if it had heard. It raised its head, directly up at Hannah.

  A woman in late Victorian dress. Not just any woman. In a split second, Hannah recognized her.

  The ghost from Henderson Close.

  Who vanished. Like a snuffed-out candle.

  Hannah staggered backward and sank onto the couch.

  Chapter Three

  Summer 1979

  The young boy swung his legs on the low-hanging branch of the old sycamore. He squinted through the bright sunlight at the girl in the dirty white dress. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

  The girl said nothing. She clung to the ancient rag doll in her arms.

  “My name’s Dougie, but I hate it. One day I’m going to change it. Maybe I’ll be called Rob Roy or William Wallace. I’m ten years old. What’s your name?”

  “Isobel.”

  His mother always said Dougie could hear a pin drop but he had to strain to hear this tiny voice. “How old are you and where do you live?”

  The little girl looked over her shoulder and shook her head.

  “Why are you in our garden? Do you live in one of the other flats? I’ve never seen you before and we’ve been here over a week now.”

  Still no reply. Dougie was getting a bit fed up with his uncommunicative new companion. He wasn’t particularly interested in girls anyway, especially if they couldn’t even be bothered to talk to him. Maybe she was a bit simple.

  “I don’t live here,” she said eventually, again in that small voice.

  “Are you visiting someone? We haven’t had any visitors yet. My grandma lives in Glasgow and my cousins all live in Dunfermline. Where do your parents live?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and once again.…

  “Why do you keep looking over your shoulder like that? Have you run away from home?”

  “I have to go now.”

  “Oh, all right then. Will you come back?”

  She shook her head again. “But I will see you again. One day.”

  Dougie pushed himself off the branch, overbalanced and tripped over. When he righted himself, the girl had gone.

  That’s the way it is with girls.

  * * *

  “And she disappeared? What, in a puff of smoke or something?” His new friend, Alec, chewed on a long grass stem while the two boys sat in the tree.

  “Well, not exactly. I mean, I didn’t see a puff of smoke or anything, but it was odd. She appeared out of nowhere when I wasn’t looking and she left the same way.”

  “No one like that lives around here. We’re the only kids in this house and then there are four more in the houses next to ours. There are a couple of girls further along the street but they’re older than the one you saw. I reckon she’d run away from home and then decided to go back again.”

  “My dad said girls are always changing their minds.”

  “Mine too. He said it’s their pre…prerog…something.”

  “When we say something, we stick to it.”

  “Yeah.”

  The boys sat in silence for a few moments. Then Alec spoke. “Have you met old McDonald yet?”

  “The landlord? Once.” Dougie shuddered at the memory of the tall, thin man with the piercing stare who looked as if he would like to carve him up into small pieces and eat him.

  “He hates kids. Boys especially.”

  “Don’t know why he lets his flats to families if he feels like that.”

  Alec jumped down from the tree. “Mum says he wouldn’t get a person living on their own to pay the rent he charges, and old people are too feeble to climb the stairs. So he’s stuck with us.”

  “He told me off on the day we moved in. He said I was too noisy. He said if I didn’t keep quiet he would call the police and have me taken away.”

  “He’s always saying that. Don’t worry. He can’t do it.”

  “He said my parents wouldn’t be able to stop him because it was his house.”

  “Did you tell your parents?”

  Dougie shook his head. “He told me if I told anyone, he’d find out and definitely make it happen.”

  “You’ve just told me.”

  “You’re not a grown up. You won’t say anything.”

  “True.”

  A window rattled open. “Dougie? Come in for your tea now.”

  Dougie waved at her. “That’s Mum. I’ll have to go. See you tomorrow.”

  “Let’s go out on our bikes.”

  Dougie grinned. “That’ll be fun. Old McDonald can’t complain if we make a noise then, can he?”

  He looked up to see his mother closing the kitchen window on the first floor of the building where they lived. Alec followed him into the house.

  In a shaded corner of the garden, behind a rhododendron, Isobel watched them go.

  Chapter Four

  Mairead trod carefully over the loose stones as the street dipped steeply downward. She clung to the handrail. It creaked, juddered and a whole section of it split off from its wall mounts. With a cry, she let go and watched it clatter to the ground.

  She froze. Surely someone must have heard. The handrail rolled to rest by the wall on the opposite side of the deserted, abandoned street. Only the sound of her breathing and the rushing of blood in her veins disturbed the heavy silence.

  A strand of hair slipped over her eyes and she pushed it back over her ear. Her cap had gone. Where had she left it? She couldn’t remember.

  “Kirsten…Kirsten.…” The call was no more than a whisper, but her jaw clenched and she pulled her shawl tighter around her. Shawl? But she didn’t wear one. So why…?

  “Kirsten…Kirsten.…” The voice was closer. Much closer. Behind her.

  Mairead spun around, peered into the gloom. No one there.

  “Kirsten.…”

  She could feel breath on her ear, tickling her hair.

  Something brushed her shoulder. Slowly, she dared to look. A black, clawed hand gripped her. Its filthy broken fingernails dug into her skin, ripping, tearing. Rivulets of blood poured from the wounds and streamed down her arms. The taste of copper filled her mouth from her bitten lip.

  Mairead unclenched her jaw and screamed.

  * * *

  It took a few seconds to realize where she was. Home. In bed. Safe.

  That nightmare. The same one she had dreamed for years. It always went the same way and left her feeling.…

  Mairead burst into tears, smothering her mouth with her shaking hands. Her lip hurt. She really had bitten it this time. She grabbed her pillow and stifled her sobs w
ith it. Her widowed mother slept in the next room and Mairead mustn’t wake her. The walls were so thin and she wasn’t well.

  Mairead took deep, gasping breaths, fighting to control herself. Slowly her sobs abated and her tears stopped flowing. She took a ragged breath and dried her eyes on a tissue. Her clock gleamed its green light. Five a.m. She had lain awake until at least two, and then that horrible nightmare.… From past experience, she knew she wouldn’t sleep again tonight.

  * * *

  At work, Mairead splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror of the ladies’ washroom. Her eyes – red-rimmed and puffy from too little sleep and too many tears. Sometimes she felt she was slipping from reality. There were days when she wasn’t even sure where she lived and worked. She always remembered in time, but the uncertainty was growing day by day and, with it, her anxiety that there might really be something wrong with her. And now, that dream was back.…

  Kirsten. Where had that name sprung from? She had always wondered that. She had never known anyone called Kirsten, not even at school. At least, not that she could remember.

  Mairead dried her face and hands on a paper towel she then tossed into the waste bin. She forced herself to straighten her cap, paste a smile on her face and get ready for her first group.

  Her new friend, Hannah, eyed her curiously as Mairead wandered into the gift shop.

  “You OK?”

  “Oh aye. Just had a bad night, that’s all. Insomnia. I get it sometimes.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I’ve had it for the past few nights. I think I’m starting to hallucinate. A couple of nights ago, I would have sworn I saw our resident ghost in the street outside my flat.”

  “Really?”

  “Only for a second and, as I say, I was tired. It was very late. You know the sort of thing.”

  No point in Hannah trying so hard to convince herself. Mairead didn’t believe her either.