Page 16 of We Live Here Now

15

Emily

“This is very kind.” The vicar, pouring from a bottle of red wine, smiles thankfully at Freddie as he puts a plate and knife down so he can have some of the cheese board. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Thank you for saving me from a flat battery,” Mark says. “Left the headlights on to unload the car and was too keen to get warm to remember to turn them off.”

“We’re having a belated Christmas for Emily,” Iso says, her face still flushed. “She’s been in the hospital.”

“And it’s nice to have surprise visitors at Christmas.” I steer the chat quickly away from having to go through the story of my accident.

“We were doing a Ouija board,” Russell says, “when you knocked. You scared the crap out of us.”

“Russ.” Cat fires him a look and he shrugs— What? —although he knows exactly what. But if he was hoping to shock or offend Paul, then he’s failed because in fact the vicar looks delighted.

“Oh really?”

“It was getting very creepy when you arrived.” Cat passes him the Stilton. “I don’t know whether it was Iso or Emily or both who were moving the planchette, but they definitely freaked me out.”

We’d all shrieked like an axe murderer was in the house when the candles blew out at the same time as Paul banged on the door. The shrieks quickly turned to laughter as we hurriedly switched on the lights and hid the board, but it was still an odd coincidence. Did a draft blow the candles out? Was it a sign of something ? Now that the lights are back on, it’s hard to be sure exactly what did happen.

“It wasn’t me,” Iso repeats, although now that the lights are on I do have to wonder. It would be a very Iso thing to do. “And it was creepy or interesting, depending on your perspective.”

“Whichever way, it was probably a good time to stop,” Mark says. “Childish, really.”

“Emily thinks the house is haunted.” Iso ignores Mark and turns to the vicar. “She’s got a feeling. And—no surprise—the board agreed.”

“It wasn’t me, Iso.”

“The two people who believe in the supernatural are in charge of the planchette and it moved. Hardly a surprise.” Freddie’s still annoyed. He’s never liked any of this stuff. “I think they were both playing with us.”

I shrug. I’m not going to fight with Freddie in front of a guest, and I don’t want the vicar thinking I’m crazy. Maybe I did do it. Maybe Iso did. I rub my fingertips together. I can still feel the drag of the planchette under them. My head’s throbbing slightly, and I wish we’d never gotten the board out at all.

“I suppose if anywhere was to be full of restless spirits, then Larkin Lodge is probably a likely candidate. Given where it stands.”

“What do you mean?” I sit up straighter, ignoring the awful pain in my leg that tells me I’m late for my painkillers.

“Don’t tell me this house was built on an old Indian burial site,” Russell says.

“Or a Pet Sematary ,” Freddie adds, the two exchanging a smile.

“A crossroads,” Paul says. “It’s built on a crossroads.” He sees our confused faces and leans his arms on the table, as if about to impart a secret or tell a ghost story himself. “Ah, I take it you don’t know what crossroads were used for?”

We shake our heads, and while Iso’s eyes glitter with excitement, I’m not sure I actually want to know.

“Well, it was an unpleasant practice and stopped nearly two hundred years ago but harkens back to when suicide was deemed a crime against both God and oneself. Those who took their own lives couldn’t be buried on consecrated ground.” He takes a sip of wine before continuing. “They were laid face down and staked through the chest to the earth. Sometimes their heads would be cut off and placed between their legs. It was supposed to tether their spirits to the earth and leave the damned souls unsure of which path to take to leave. Stuck on a crossroads for all eternity. A barbaric way to treat people.”

He sits back and drinks more wine, letting that sink in. “I’m sure the ground must have been blessed since then.” Paul smiles reassuringly at us. “Several times over, as there’s been a house here in one form or another for at least three hundred years.”

“And no juicy murders?” Mark asks. “No victim who could be Emily’s ghost?”

“Not so far as I know.” Paul smiles kindly at me. “And as much as I am a believer in the Holy Spirit, I’m less a believer in trapped souls. I have faith that we’re claimed by one side or another after death and no one is forgotten. But if you’d like, I could bless the house again.”

“We’re not believers, I’m afraid,” Freddie says. “Your prayers would fall on stony ground.”

His attempt to use the Bible for humor makes me cringe. Freddie’s never been as funny as he thinks he is.

“Well, if you change your mind, you can find me at either the church or my house. It’s only a corner cut across the moor.”

“I’m sure it’s just an old house making noises,” I say, as if I’m taking the potential haunting in as lighthearted a manner as everyone else.

“And I’m sure you’re right.” Paul squeezes my hand with his papery dry one and smiles around the table. “Now, thank you for your wonderful hospitality but I must get home. Have a lovely evening.”

Cat goes with Freddie to see the vicar out, Russell pours more wine, and Iso gives me a half smile, and I know that even if I ask her again, she’ll deny she was moving the planchette. But it must have been her if it wasn’t me. That’s the logical truth of the matter, whatever I feel.

I’m suddenly exhausted, my leg and my hips throbbing and my headache getting worse. I can barely keep my eyes open. As I pick up some empty pudding plates to help clear up, the thought echoes in my head. What other explanation could there be?