Thoomp!
There it was again.
Roger finally conceded defeat. He slipped from the sheets and pressed his ear tightly against the panelled oak wall. He listened ??.
and waited ???and listened???
When it became impossible to tell which was coldest, his ear to the wall or his bare feet on the floor, he cursed silently under his breath and clambered back into the four poster bed, burying his head beneath the covers in search of warmth. Tippi was curled up alongside him, out like a log and grit-grinding her teeth, a habit, once quirky, that had lately become an irritant.
They had arrived here at the house earlier this evening and been greeted by a sinister and uncommunicative Boris Karloff clone, which at the time seemed perfectly fitting. But creating a ghostly atmosphere of mystery was one thing. Sleeping in a draughty old barn of a house that lacked both electricity and any form of heating in the bedrooms, was quite another. And now, as if that wasn?t bad enough, sporadic ?bumps in the night? were not only keeping him awake, they were driving him mad.
Roger could stand it no longer, he just had to track the noise down.
It had all started so well for Roger and Tippi.
Winning this prize of an overnight stay in a haunted house courtesy of ?MovieBuff Monthly?, presented Roger with an opportunity that he couldn?t possibly refuse. Tippi, also a ?film-noir? nut, was equally excited at the prospect.
They?d talked of nothing else for weeks.
The journey had taken less time than had been anticipated despite the dreadful weather and recalcitrant sat-nav, and at first sighting the house was as perfect as an Alfred Hitchcock film set.
Definitely not ?Bates Motel?, but quintessentially ?Rebecca?s Manderley?.
A ?Mrs. Danvers? there was not ???.. only a Boris look-alike.
Entering over a slippery old single track wooden bridge, all but submerged beneath the rain swollen river, they had driven through eagle crested wrought iron gates, past the imposing lodge, and up the crunching weed infested gravel drive to the main residence, a turreted and ivy covered 18th century stone built Manor house.
In bright sunlight the house would have appeared sombre and forbidding.
On this rain sodden November evening, under black clouds and driving rain, it looked positively sinister.
?Wow-ee, what a creepy pile!? breathed Tippi, clicking away with her mobile phone/camera.
Roger breathed a sigh of relief ???she liked it!
At first glance it was everything that a haunted house should be.
Damp, dark, and brooding. Menacing and overbearing.
They sat together in the car drinking in the atmosphere, until the torrential rain eased into a steady drizzle.
?Let me have the envelope darling, and I?ll see what we have to do now we?re here? said Roger.
?Envelope? I haven?t got it, I thought you had it? replied Tippi, looking away from the sun-flap mirror in which she had been patching up her make-up ????.?I?m your guest, remember!?
?I asked you! ???.. I said to pick up the envelope while I loaded the case?, Roger complained, ?It had the key, the instructions ?..how to get here and what to do when we arrived?.
?Not guilty?, said Tippi snapping shut her handbag, ? just get out and bang the door, there must be someone here?.
Knowing better than to argue, Roger left the car and headed for the entrance.
In the shelter of the doorway, Roger brushed the raindrops from his head and shoulders and studied the door. It looked as if it hadn?t been opened in years. He banged twice with no response before eventually finding a bell pull half hidden in the rain-dripping ivy clad walls. An over-vigorous tug on the ring handle brought an old soggy bird?s nest tumbling from the ivy and onto his head.
?Sod it? he cursed, brushing the debris from his hair and shoulders.
A chattering in the ivy drew his eyes upwards and a murder of bedraggled crows, sheltering from the rain up under the eaves, returned his gaze with beady glistening eyes.
Roger was brought back to earth by a slight creak as a rusty iron grill opened and baleful human eyes studied him from inside the door.
Before Roger could speak, the grill slammed shut.
Three sliding bolts later, and the heavy door opened, revealing a hollow cheeked old man, his parchment pale face highlighted by an oil lamp held high above his head in a trembling claw-like hand
Roger was fast becoming caught up in the atmospheric aura of his surroundings and silently applauded the apparition before him, but somehow it was all becoming just that little bit too real for comfort.
? Good evening thurr? said the old man in a lisping monotone, ?are you expected??
?Yes, my name?s Thornhill, we?re here to stay for the night, I won the
film ????..?.
Roger?s voice tailed off as the old man turned silently and shuffled slowly across the flagstone floor of the hall and set the lamp down on a table before facing Roger impassively.
?You may come in?, he said quietly.
They had arrived ???..
Action! Camera! Roll ?em!
After unloading the bags, Roger and Tippi were shown to their room where they unpacked. They gave the shower a miss, primarily because there wasn?t one, changed clothes, and later made their way to down to dinner, past gilded suits of black armour and a miscellany of longcase clocks (all stopped at midnight), and finally down the wide ornate oak staircase. A skittish Tippi gave a passable impersonation of Scarlett O?Hara traipsing on the stairs, which Roger embellished with ?Frankly my dear, I don?t give a damn?.
Surprisingly, the dining room was pleasantly lit by candle light and warmed by a large log fire, although most of the heat was absorbed by the dampness of the furniture. The dank velvet upholstery was as cosy as a cold moist blanket.
However, the meal was adequate, though luke-warm, and the wine drinkable. The old man waited on table and said virtually nothing throughout the meal. Roger endeavoured to engage him in conversation once or twice but received nothing in return.
Without a shadow of a doubt, dinner disappointed.
After forty minutes of dismal dining, Roger and Tippi finally tired of forcing small talk in such inhospitable surroundings and retired to bed.
Once in the bedroom they quickly realised that the only place they were likely to find any warmth was between the covers and forty minutes of lustful frenzied activity later, the pleasantly glowing pair fell into a fitful sleep.
Now, four hours later, Roger was wide awake.
He shook Tippi gently until she woke ??.?Tippi, Tippi, wake up a minute?.
?What is it??.. God, what time is it? mumbled a sleepy Tippi.
?I?m just going to find out where that thumping is coming from? said Roger quietly.
?What thumping, I can?t hear any thumping ?..go to sleep for god-sake ???I?ll be glad to leave this damned place ??turn over and go to sleep?. Tippi buried her head in the pillow and groaned.
Roger slipped from the bed, into his shoes, and wrapped himself in the counterpane that had been lying over a chair beside the bed.
He lit the oil lamp and made for the door ???
?I won?t be long? he said, over his shoulder.
Seconds later he was outside in the long corridor.
It was all of ten minutes before the next ?thoomp?.
Ten freezing minutes that tested Rogers?s resolve to it?s limits.
As best as he could gauge, it came from down the corridor to the left, and
gathering his counterpane around him, he headed off into the gloom.
The flickering light of the lamp bounced off the halberds and helmets of shadowy armoured figures, and the eyes of the portraits properly followed him as he made his way past one, two, three doors, before stopping outside the fourth and perching himself on a cold oak chest.
He shivered and waited.
?THUMP?, there it was again.
This time nearer and more distinct and it was coming from the next room on the left. Approaching, he could see that the door was slightly ajar ????..and moving to-and-fro.
?THUMP?,
This time there was no doubt. It came from inside the room, and in time with the slight movement of the door.
He knocked discreetly on the door and peered into the room.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, a double-flash of lightning through the casements illuminated the scene.
It was a room similar to that he had so recently left, dominated by a huge four poster bed and sparsely furnished. But the curtains at the window, heavy though they were, billowed in the draught from open casements rocking a chair backwards and forwards against the panelling ?? ?Thump!?.
The rain, now torrential, lay in pools on the floor, blown in by the wind.
He pushed the heavy door fully open and walked over to the windows.
The rumble of thunder in the wake of the lightning rattled the glass and caused him to jump, and his counterpane dropped away as he frantically juggled the lamp which all but slipped from his hands. The icy blast from the window cut through his body like a knife, and shivering uncontrollably he placed the flickering oil lamp down on a chest at the foot of the bed before closing the windows firmly and fastened the catches.
Standing in half an inch of teeth-chattering cold water, and wet from the rain that had blown onto him though the window, he was beginning to wish that he?d never heard of ?Moviebuff Monthly? or their damned prize.
The more so when he picked up the soggy counterpane from the floor where it had been siphoning up the icy rain water.
He groaned and sat back onto the bed as a second flash of lightning streamed from the windows and ricocheted around the room.
?Roger?, a soft whispered voice came from the doorway.
He froze, metaphorically and literally, before turning slowly in the direction of the voice.
He winced once again as the windows rattled to the rumbling thunder.
Another more agitated scream from the door, neither soft nor a whisper.
?ROGER!! Whatever is it? What?s HAPPENING!?
Framed in the doorway holding a flickering candle, was a frantic Tippi, hair awry, wide eyed with terror, and draped in a blanket.
Roger ran quickly to her side and wrapped his arms around her.
?It?s nothing darling, just an open window and some thunder?.
He held her close and wrapped the blanket around them both and they clung together. He kissed her tenderly.
?There, it?ll be fine now?, soothed Roger, ?I?ve closed the window, sorted the noise, and we can get back into bed?.
He turned and moved across the room ???..
?I?ll get the lamp and be with you?.
?ROGER!? Tippi said fearfully and deliberately, ?what?s that all over the back of your pyjamas?.
Roger wiped his hand across his seat where he had sat on the bed.
?Oh that! It?s where I wrapped myself in the wet counterpane after it had got soaked on the floor?, he mumbled, irked to be reminded of his discomfort.
?But it?s r-red?, Tippi?s voice shook slightly as she spoke.
Roger looked at his hand. Not only was it red, it was sticky.
?Good God! It looks like ????.? the word froze on his lips.
?BLOOD!? screamed Tippi. ?It?s blood, what have you done!?
?I haven?t done any thing? said Roger indignantly, ?only sat on this damned bed?.
Lamp in hand, he held it high over his head. The damned bed was occupied! Something or someone lay under the covers.
Covers that were saturated in blood.
?ROGER!?
Tippi screamed again as yet more lightning shafted across the room, followed almost instantaneously by long drawn out reverberating thunder.
His nerves now at breaking point, Roger?s grip on the lamp loosened and this time all the juggling in the world was not going to stop it escaping his grasp. The glass shattered as it landed on the bed.
At first, Roger thought that the lamp had extinguished itself in the sheets, but slowly and almost imperceptibly, a blue flame spread across the bed.
?R-O-G-E-R!?
Once again a shrill shriek from the doorway.
Grabbing the flaming bedcover, Roger bundled it up and threw it into the corner. The fire spread to the curtains.
But Roger?s eyes were still fixed on the horror in the bed.
The flames now illuminating the room danced upon two mutilated and bloodstained bodies sprawled grotesquely across the bed. Throats gaping, the bloodied heads were all but separated from the bodies.
In the doorway Tippi was screaming repeatedly, and dancing on the spot like a terrified child. She cannoned into the door in her frenzy, and it slammed shut, revealing the bulging-eyed lifeless body of the old man suspended from a hook behind the door, the rigid torso swinging slowly from side to side, a rope around the neck buried deep in flesh.
A hysterical Tippi collapsed to the floor and lay on her back, her legs twitching violently.
Roger was rooted to the spot in shock, and when he finally galvanised himself into action the flames at his back were licking the ceiling. Staggering to the door he threw it open. The hook snapped from the door and the old man?s body fell across the unconscious, but still twitching Tippi, pinning her to the ground.
Roger rolled the rigid body to one side, and lifted Tippi over his shoulder. Staggering back down the corridor to their room, he flung her limp body onto the bed and inexplicably started packing clothes into a case.
A clap of thunder, and the roar from the fire in the blazing room, brought him quickly to his senses, and throwing the case to one side he settled for two topcoats, Tippi?s handbag, and the car keys. Balancing her once again over his shoulder he tottered unsteadily to the top of the staircase, missed the top step in the dark and both he and Tippi tumbled headlong down the oak staircase, both landing unconscious in a heap in the hallway.
Their lives were saved when a flaming banister landed across Roger?s leg and the searing pain brought him back to consciousness. By now the top floor was an inferno.
He realised quickly when trying to move, that his left wrist was dangling uselessly and was broken, but using his one good arm he managed to get to his feet and drag Tippi to the doorway. How he got from there to the car outside he would never know, but eight minutes later, a moaning semi-conscious Tippi, now unaccountably clutching her handbag, was on the back seat of the car, and Roger was fumbling with the keys at the wheel. A spectacular shower of sparks heralded the collapse of the roof and the car was showered with glass as the ground floor windows shattered.
Roger said a silent prayer as the engine spluttered into life, and struggling to drive with only one hand and barely conscious, he weaved slowly away from the inferno and down the drive.
Later he was to vaguely recollect passing the lodge and the entrance gates, but had absolutely no memory of losing control of the car and ending up half on the bridge and half in the swollen river.
It was here that the couple were found the following morning by the editor of ?Moviebuff? when he arrived for their prearranged interview.
Emergency services and hospitalisation followed.
Late the following day, Roger and Tippi met together with the self same editor and the magazine?s legal representative in the day room of the private hospital where they had been treated at the expense of a worried magazine proprietor.
?How are you both today? enquired features editor Sam Loomis solicitously, ?are you sure that you are up to telling us what happened??
Roger squeezed a pale Tippi?s hand,
?Are you OK with this darling? he asked.
Tippi, nodded wanly as she settled back into her chair.
Roger relayed what had happened and the editor recorded every word.
With his tale finishing with their car on the bridge, Roger wound up ?..
??..and you know the rest better than we do, I remember nothing else until we woke in the hospital?.
Roger took a long drink of water from the glass at his side.
Loomis and the solicitor looked blankly at each other. The legal man frowned and motioned to the door with his eyes.
?Would you mind if we left you together for a while, there are things we feel we should discuss before we talk to you further? said Loomis quietly.
?No, that?s fine? replied Roger, ?Anyway, I think it?s time for tea, we?ll be here when you want us?.
Forty minutes later the quartet reassembled again in the day room.
The mood had changed, the solicitor took control and started formally.
?Mr. Thornhill, we have a problem with your story and I am obliged to inform you of our legal position?.
Roger sensed a distinct coolness.
?We agree that you were at the estate at our invitation. You were to stay in the Lodge?.
?The Lodge??, said a querulous Roger.
?Lodge? the solicitor repeated.
?You see, the Manor House where you claim to have stayed overnight, is an abandoned ruin. It was destroyed by fire in 1856, the scene of an horrific murder, and remains a ruin to this day ???????.?.
Tippi frantically rummaged in her handbag, took out her mobile and manipulated the touch screen ???
? Nonsense, this is a photo that I took outside the house when we arrived? she said firmly, handing it to the editor.
The phone was passed around without comment until it was back with Tippi.
Roger looked ready to throw up as Tippi stared at the image.
It was undoubtedly Roger????.beside the dilapidated ruins of a derelict house!
Tippi started twitching uncontrollably!
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