Page 30 of Murder Most Haunted

To lighten the mood, Rona had suggested they distract themselves with a sing-song.

Although she felt no emotional connection with music, Midge could appreciate the construction of the notes and the orchestration behind it all.

That said, she had been known to enjoy a simple line dance – which required only the movement of her bottom half and no sports bra.

However, Rona’s back catalogue consisted of far more rhythmic bottom-slapping and swearing than Midge was accustomed to and so, after a while, she found her mind wandering to their dead host. Had he really not recognized her yesterday?

And if he had, why hadn’t he said something?

Although, given the circumstances of their last conversation thirty years ago, she wasn’t all that surprised.

A sudden laugh from Rona brought her back to the room.

Still feeling no desire to join in, Midge contemplated the piles of tarot cards in front of her.

Unnoticed by the others, she leaned forward and lifted the top card of the third pile. It was another devil, similar to that which the doctor had first turned over. Frowning, Midge quickly turned over the top card of the last remaining pile.

The seven of swords.

She tapped the top of her cane thoughtfully, holding the two sets of identical cards in her hands.

So, the top cards of each pile would have been a devil, seven of swords, a devil and another seven of swords – leaving the drawer incapable of any other combination. The chances of that happening were 1 in 33,875. Not as low as winning the lottery, but enough to bear closer investigation.

By now, the fire had gone out in the room which was still only dimly lit for the tarot, making it hard to see.

She took the four cards and pulled herself up, making her way over to the French windows, where the curtains had been drawn.

To the right of the window in the corner was a tall standing lamp with a velvet shade with embroidered edging.

Stepping over to it, she held the cards up to the light to examine them more closely.

There was an almost imperceptible dark mark in the corner of the first one.

She was just about to hold the next card up when the room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

‘Calm down, Rona!’ said Harold, trying to make himself heard above Rona’s screams.

Midge had instinctively dropped the cards and grabbed at her cane as soon as the lights went out.

The low glow of the smoking embers silhouetted the tarot card table and the vague bulk of a sofa.

She could hear Gloria breathing heavily nearby while Rona stood somewhere in front of them inhaling and exhaling in a way that reminded Midge of a giant bellows.

‘It’s OK, everyone,’ shouted Noah, who had moved around to the other side of the chaise longue, startling Midge. ‘We’re experiencing a paranormal intervention.’ The excitement gave his voice a shrill edge.

‘We’re experiencing a power cut, you idiot,’ snapped the doctor. ‘We’ll just have to get to the fuse box. Anyone remember where it is?’

‘It’s under the stairs,’ said Harold. ‘Jesus Christ!’ There was a terrible thudding noise of something soft connecting with something hard. ‘Who put that chair there?’

‘I can feel a chill!’ said Noah. If anyone had asked Midge, she would have pointed out that it was coming from the decrepit French windows behind her, the draught from which had been bothering her all afternoon.

But no one did. She tried to step out from behind the lamp but her cane caught on something, causing her to stumble slightly.

Frowning, she reached down to see what it was.

Feeling her way to the bottom of the cane, her fingers closed on a piece of string that draped along the floor behind the curtain and continued upwards along the back to the door handles.

Midge gently tugged on the end. To her surprise, the curtain flew back in a dramatic flourish, pulling the door open as it did.

She released the string, and the curtain dropped back into place.

Surely this was how Rendell had managed to produce the effect during last night’s séance?

But he had been sitting down, at the table at the time, across the vast room.

This string could only have been activated by an accomplice, one who was closer to the mechanism.

She was stopped from investigating any further by something barging against her, shoving her backwards and releasing her grip on the string.

Before she could regain her balance, the shape had moved outside.

Rona was sobbing quietly some way across the room. There was a rattling noise from the door that led into the hallway. ‘I can’t turn the handle!’ she moaned. ‘The door’s stuck.’

‘Don’t be daft, you just need to get a bit of force behind it. Ow!’

‘Stop moving around, Harold. Has anyone got a torch?’

‘Only on my phone,’ said a voice that sounded like Noah’s.

Rona started to cry louder.

‘It’s stuck fast, like it’s locked or something,’ complained Harold, now banging on the door.

‘It’s psychokinetic door manipulation! Oh my God – two events in one day! In your face, Gustav Vlad!’

‘Who the hell is that?’

‘He runs the Phantom Files monthly podcast. My competitor, you could call him. Can you believe his real name is George Ryland? Should be called the Phoney Files.’

From the sounds of it, everyone was now jostling with each other to pull on the handle. ‘This is useless,’ cried Harold. ‘We’ll just have to wait until that woman realizes we’re shut in and opens it from the other side.’

Midge frowned into the darkness, inhaling deeply as her nose filled with the smell of woodsmoke.

‘Who?’ asked Noah.

‘You know, the fat one, what’s her name . . . Marge? Isn’t she in the kitchen?’

Midge held her breath, becoming very still.

‘Oh yes,’ exclaimed Rona, in relief. ‘Midge will get us out.’

Midge sighed. Being once more overlooked created rather a dilemma for her. Announcing her presence now would prove dreadfully awkward for everyone, wouldn’t it? Far better to make her escape while still unnoticed and save the others from any further humiliation.

‘What if something happens to her, though?’ Rona suddenly announced, hysterically. ‘The tarot card? Remember? What if she’s been murdered or decapitated by the ghost?’

‘Well, we’re a bit buggered, then,’ said Harold. ‘Someone will have to go out in the snow and hope one of the doors is unlocked.’

‘Being decapitated by a ghost is being murdered by one,’ said Noah. ‘And you shouldn’t always assume that ghosts are psychopathic murderers, you know. It’s racial profiling, when you think about it.’

‘Get this bloody door open now!’

Turning around, Midge contemplated the window, covered again entirely by its heavy curtains. Using the end of her cane to avoid any more potential obstructions, she made her way slowly back towards the glass, the noise of her steps covered by the arguing from the others.

The bottom of the cane connected softly with the bottom of the French window. Moving her hand out, she felt with her fingers until they grazed against the handle. Clutching it, she pushed the window to open it wider, the bite of the wintry late-evening air immediately cooling her flushed cheeks.

Silently, she stepped out into the night, gently closed the door and made her way around the side of the house, feeling with her hand along the rough outer wall, while her cane swept forwards and backwards, identifying any rogue stones in the snow until she had reached the main entrance.

The entire house was in blackout, forcing the early stars into a persistent brightness above the roof.

She pushed against the front door, mercifully unlocked, and walked into the hall, carefully reaching out for the panels, guided by the noises coming from the drawing room.

‘Midge!’ Rona was shouting. ‘We’re stuck in the drawing room. Can you come and let us out?’

When she reached the doorway, she put her hand on the handle and turned. It immediately twisted and the door opened with a slight click, revealing the shadows of the others behind it.

‘Is that you, Midge?’ exclaimed Harold. ‘There’s a power cut, the door’s jammed.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ Rona threw her arms around Midge, accidentally cuffing her ear in the dark. ‘We thought something dreadful had happened.’

‘See, I told you so,’ said the doctor, appearing beside her. ‘No need for everyone to panic.’

‘These old houses are all the same,’ said Harold, pushing past Midge. ‘Nothing works and everything’s stiff.’

An apt description of you, too, thought Midge. ‘Odd that the door could be opened from one side and not the other, though,’ she said to no one in particular.

‘I told you, it was the White Lady,’ said Noah.

‘Now, let’s get these lights back on,’ said Harold. ‘I’ll go and check the fuse . . .’ He paused for a moment, the whites of his eyes visible in the darkness of the hall. ‘Unless anyone wants to come with me.’

‘It’s a sign,’ muttered Rona, who was now painfully clasping Midge’s hand. She could feel the shaking through her clothes. ‘We’ve got to stick together, especially you, Midge. Remember the tarot.’

‘It’s just a stupid card, Rona,’ said Noah.

‘NO!’ Rona was getting breathless. ‘No one go anywhere.’

‘We can’t all stand here in the dark for ever,’ pointed out Midge, and besides, her hand was starting to hurt.

‘It’s a surge in the EMF,’ said Noah.

‘Great, you can come with me, then,’ said Harold.

‘Please!’ pleaded Rona.

‘Come on,’ said Midge, patting her awkwardly. ‘Look, we’ll all go together, OK?’

‘Hold on to each other,’ said Harold as they made their way along the central hall. ‘I’m fairly sure the fuse box is under the stairs.’

Following in single file, they walked behind Harold as he guided them back under the staircase, coming to an abrupt stop near a cupboard door.

‘Open the door,’ he instructed Noah. With the door open, Harold reached inside and felt along the wall for the fuse box, complaining about the absence of a torch in the cupboard.

‘Got it,’ he said, running his fingers along the switches.

‘Here it is, hold on!’ With a click, the lights suddenly burst on, and Harold reappeared like a mole from its hole, blinking against the unexpected brightness.

‘Did you check for ectoplasm?’ asked Noah, anxiously.

‘No, I sodding well did not check for ectoplasm,’ replied Harold.

‘Why not?’ asked Noah.

‘Because the last I heard, ghosts don’t disconnect fuses.’