The Haunted Pages

Chapter 7

Mr. Spencer appeared stressed, a thin film of sweat glistening across his forehead, a nervous tic playing in the corner of his eye. Daniel watched him constantly fiddle with his wad of papers, flicking through them one sheet at a time, pausing every two or three pages to lick a finger, like a bank-teller. Daniel wondered if he"d lost something; Spencer looked like one of those irritating types who had to know every item was in its right place. Nothing else would do. Fastidious. A sure way to a nervous breakdown, Daniel thought, hiding a smile behind his hand.

At last, Spencer gave a faint cry of relief and looked up, face beaming, spectacles, perched on the end of his nose, now firmly pushed back. “Sorry about that, just checking everything is in order.”

Dad muttered something and crossed his legs. Daniel suspected his dad wasn"t pleased to be having this interview, which he probably viewed as a waste of time.

“So,” Mr. Spencer took up the first paper, “I won"t bore you with all the finer details, but the school has been in contact with me, concerning Daniel.”

“Thought they might,” said Dad. “I"ve decided – well, to be honest, we"ve both decided. Daniel won"t be going there.”

“Yes, that"s what Mr. Bell told me in his e-mail. The school is quite put out, Mr. Stone.”

“Well, they would be, wouldn"t they? After all, they"re losing out to the tune of … how many euros was it?” Dad screwed up his eyes and looked across to Daniel.

The solicitor coughed. “I don"t think that"s really the issue, Mr. Stone. The issue is your mother"s wishes. She was insistent, Mr. Stone. She wanted Daniel to have an excellent education, to prepare him for University – and beyond.”

“Yes, I understand all that,” Dad leaned forward. “But you"ve also got to understand, Mr. Spencer, that, in my opinion, a happy child learns best. I don"t believe Daniel would have been happy there.”

my opinion“Well, you can"t really make a judgment about that on the strength of one visit, Mr. Stone.”

“I know my own son, Mr. Spencer. And in this I am certain. Trust me.”

Clearly Spencer wasn"t convinced. He peered at Dad over the rim of his spectacles. Daniel had the urge to step in, say something, anything that would underline what his dad had said, but he didn"t. Dad had said everything already. Spencer simply shook his head, and Daniel could see his irritation in the way he quickly sifted through his papers. “Very well. They will still claim an administration fee.”

“Thought they might.”

“The question is, what are we to do? I must be convinced that your mother"s–”

“Yes, you"ve said all that, Mr. Spencer, but you needn"t worry. I know someone, a private tutor with excellent references. If you wish to see them, I can send them to you.”

“A private tutor …” Mr. Spencer chewed his bottom lip, considering the proposal carefully. “Yes, I would like to see his qualifications, certainly. It is a "he," I presume?”

“Last time I spoke to him, yes.”

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. He sighed and stared across the table at father and son, letting Dad"s sarcasm go. He took a breath and launched upon a detailed explanation of the other aspects of the property for which Dad was now responsible. Daniel listened to Spencer"s long-winded description of the gardener"s duties, the weekly and monthly costs of running the household, the living-quarters set aside for the staff, the upkeep of the boathouse and the fishing licenses of the lake. The list was endless. Daniel drifted off to sleep as the flat monotone of the solicitor droned on and on.

Daniel didn"t know for how long he had slept, but when his dad shook him by the shoulder, it only seemed like five minutes. In actual fact, the clock on the far wall showed almost eleven o"clock. Had he been asleep for two and a half hours?

“Sorry, Dad,” he groaned, his voice thick with sleep. “Couldn"t keep awake. Sorry.”

“Mmm …” Dad didn"t look convinced. “Anyway, our Mr. Spencer has gone to bed. It"s too late for him to make his way back to his hotel, so I said he could stay here. He"s in the room next to yours.”

“Oh, joy.” Daniel stretched. “I"m going to go up. I"m so tired.” He stood up, yawning, “See you tomorrow.”

soBefore he took two uncertain steps, Dad"s voice called him back, “Dan … you are okay about all this, aren"t you? This idea of a private tutor, the house. You"re happy?”

Daniel gave a forced grin, “Dad, you"d know about it if I wasn"t.”

The silence hung in the air. Dad smiled at last, went to the desk and pulled open the top drawer. He glanced through his notes again then, satisfied, went over to the corner where there stood another, much smaller desk, a work-station with a computer, switched on and waiting. Dad agitated the mouse and the screen flickered into life. He quickly selected the Internet connection and began to compose an e-mail. Daniel eased himself forward, craning to see what Dad was typing. It was only brief, but its message was quite emphatic: “Get here as soon as you can!”" Then Dad clicked the send tab and off it went, into the ether.

Upstairs, in the little en-suite, Daniel clunked his toothbrush into the glass and padded back into his room. He stood there, staring down at the unmade bed, now feeling wide awake After his boredom-induced nap, he wasn"t in the least bit tired, even the memory of Simpson"s awful monotone droning on and on not enough to induce sleep. He needed something to take his mind off things and calm him down. Not only the solicitor, but also what occurred earlier, the confrontation with Müller, everything ran around in his head. The women, Martha and Maria, had simply dismissed his questions about the noises, neither giving his ideas much weight. Perhaps the explanation lay with something very innocent, very normal. But Müller"s reaction, hostile to the point of rudeness, and the effect it had on the women was something else. If it was so dreadful for Daniel to be there, surely they would have told him, not waited for the manservant to arrive and scold him to the point of embarrassment?

Sick of trying to fathom everything out, he dipped down and pulled out the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet, fishing out the games console from within. He loaded up a game and flopped down on his bed. At every pause, or change of level, he would glance towards the empty fireplace, wondering when, if at all, the strange noises would resume.

Engrossed, he gawped when he checked his watch. “Two o"clock!” he cried out, a little twinge of guilt running through him for having stayed up for so long. Nevertheless, he gave a smug little grin of self-satisfaction; he had, after all, completed level 10.

Putting his console on the floor, he turned over and switched off his light. He closed his eyes and tried to settle, but within a few seconds his mind ran around it all again, filled with a barrage of images and sounds. Some were of the game, others a confusion of maids and menservants, voices and growls. Soon, a new image loomed large in his head. Maria. Her lovely face, those huge, doe-eyes, warm, honey-coloured skin, lips full, made to kiss – he sat up with a groan, pressing his hands against his face, rubbing his cheeks and eyes in an effort to get her out of his head. It didn"t work, she was still there. He could see her face, with those eyes ready to swallow him up whole, and that luscious mouth …

The faintest rumble, low and distant, seeped from deep within the fire grate.

Daniel froze, fingers still pressed in his eyes, and then it came again, the sound of an animal, but tiny. He held his breath, listening.

There, it came again. Small at first, as if it were testing anyone"s reaction, but developing into a louder, more deliberate growl, as if trying to gain his, or someone else"s attention.

Mindful not to make too much noise or make any sudden movement, Daniel swung his legs over the bed and peered through the darkness towards the fireplace. More certain than ever the noise emanated from there, he watched and waited. A long, protracted silence followed.

Nothing.

With great care, his heart racing, Daniel reached out and switched on his light. The shadows fled and he sat, blinking, trying to keep his breathing steady and even. He half expected to hear the desperate movement of the animal scurrying back up the chimneystack, but there was no sound, not even a creak of old floorboards, only the distant, steady ticking of the clock in the main hall downstairs.

Blowing out his breath quietly and evenly, he slipped from the bed and got down on his knees. He waited before shuffling forwards towards the grate. He titled his head to the side, trying to focus in on any noise at all, perhaps the sound of breathing. The growl had a distinctly hollow tone, the tiniest of echoes accompanying it, so perhaps it emanated from deep below, in an old cellar or perhaps even a cave. Daniel strained to listen; and then it came again, a snarl, sudden and sharp. He jumped, but not enough to repeat the clunking of his head on the fireplace rim this time. He swallowed hard and heard, beneath the growls, something else. Definitely voices, human voices. He listened again, to make absolutely sure. One voice. Eager, intense, insistent, as if the owner of the voice was giving orders. “Bitte, bitte!”

OneBitte, bitte!Daniel rocked back on his heels and ran a shaking hand through his hair. No imagination this time, no dream. All real. His eyes grew moist as a new thought began to take hold – they had lied to him. Martha, Maria. Both of them. But why?

Suddenly, a voice broke through his thoughts, as clear as if speaking right in his very room, “ Bitte, sitzen. Zurück.” Followed by a much sharper, even louder, “Hinlegen! Bitte!”

Bitte, sitzen. ZurückHinlegen! Bitte!A prolonged, high-pitched scream erupted from deep inside the chimney. Daniel recoiled quickly, throwing up his hands, fearing he was about to be overwhelmed by the thing erupting from out of the blackness of the chimney. A second, blood-curdling scream pierced the early morning air. Seized by panic, he scrambled to his feet and, disorientated with fear and confusion, stumbled backwards onto his bed. He rolled over, pulling the bedclothes over his head, trembling with the terror. The first scream had been animal, or something unimagined, but he knew for certain the second belonged to a human.