The Haunting Read online

  For my aunts: Ruth Willrich and Tracy May

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Emma

  Here are the first three things I learned about being in a wheelchair:

  1. You have to ask for help all the time.

  2. You actually have to ask for help ALL the time.

  3. After a little while, asking for help starts to feel like getting punched in the face.

  After the accident, when I was ten, Mum and Dad moved us halfway across the country and refused to speak to Gran. I never blamed her for what happened, and the two of us exchanged letters a few times a year. Then, when I was seventeen, Gran wrote to say she was ill. Seriously ill, dying in fact, and living in a hospice. And she wanted to see me.

  I asked Mum if we could go, but she and Gran had never been close, even before the accident. I told my parents that I wanted to see her, even if they didn’t – October half-term was about to start so I wouldn’t even miss any lessons at college.

  “You can’t go by yourself, Emma,” Mum said.

  “I’ve got the car,” I began. “I could—”

  “Absolutely not! You passed your test five days ago!”

  “Right, I passed it, I didn’t fail it!”

  “You’re not doing a six-hour drive alone. You need to get used to the car first.”

  “What’s the point of buying me a specially adapted car if I’m never going to be allowed to drive it?”

  But it was no good. I could tell that nothing I said was going to get me anywhere. So I set my alarm for early the next morning when it was still dark outside. Bailey – my lifesaver of a German Shepherd – had been my disability assistance dog for six years, and helped me get washed and dressed like normal. Then he opened the door and carried my bag out to the car. I was terrified the entire time that my parents would hear us, or that some uncanny sixth sense of Mum’s would tip her off and she’d come running down the stairs in her pyjamas, flapping her arms and shouting. I wouldn’t put it past her to lie down on the road in front of my car like some kind of lunatic. She could be a bit deranged, sometimes, when it came to my safety.

  But, with Bailey’s help, the whole thing went smoothly and, in no time at all, we were in the car. I buckled Bailey into his doggy safety belt in the passenger seat beside me, and then I was driving away with the biggest sense of achievement. We had done it, we had actually got away with it. I glanced over at Bailey and said, “Road trip time!”

  He gazed back at me with his chocolate brown eyes and wagged his tail and I knew that he approved. Bailey approved of everything that I did. If I wanted to do something, he never questioned whether I could or should, he never tried to stop me or warn me – he just helped me do it. No fuss, no doubt, no problem.

  Mum had tried to help me before Bailey came along and she never complained about it, not once, but you still feel guilty when you have to ask someone to help you a hundred times a day – whenever you drop something, or can’t reach a door, or need to tie your shoelaces, or can’t reach a counter in a shop, or can’t stand up without wobbling, or need something fetching from upstairs. Bailey knew the words for more than a hundred different objects and he just always seemed so happy whenever I asked him to fetch me something. He’d go running off to get it and then come bounding back to present it to me, tail wagging, brown eyes shining, as if we were playing some kind of game. As if I was the one doing him the favour.

  As I drove down the slip road on to the motorway, I felt a brief flicker of doubt. I’d never even driven on a motorway before. What if Mum was right and I got lost or crashed the car? What if it was weird seeing Gran again after all these years? How could it possibly not be weird?

  “Shit,” I said, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

  Maybe this trip was a colossal mistake. Colossal mistakes were kind of my speciality, after all.

  But then I felt the soft flick of a warm tongue on my wrist and turned my head to see Bailey looking at me again with that steady brown gaze, so full of trust and belief, as if it never occurred to him even for a moment that I was some helpless invalid who couldn’t do anything by themselves. In Bailey’s eyes, I was basically Superwoman.

  I breathed out and relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. “You’re right,” I said. “We can do this.”

  Chapter Two

  Emma

  After driving for about two hours, Bailey and I stopped for breakfast at a motorway service station.

  My parents had been phoning me constantly as soon as they realized I wasn’t there. I knew they would be completely freaking out and when I finally answered the phone and told Mum what I was doing, she went mad and even threatened to follow me to Cornwall herself to drag me home.

  “Mum, could you please just not make this harder than it already is? I am going to see Gran for half-term, and I’m sorry but there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  She sighed. “All right, Emma, if it really means that much to you. But you’re not going to stay at … at that place, are you?”

  She couldn’t even bring herself to say the name.

  “The Waterwitch?” I said. It occurred to me then that I hadn’t given much thought to where I was actually going to stay. “Um, I guess so. I mean, I won’t have to pay for a room there and it’s dog-friendly—”

  “Stay somewhere else, Emma,” Mum said. “Anywhere else. That inn has been nothing but bad luck for our family. Don’t worry about the cost – just use that credit card we got you.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with her about it. Going back to the Waterwitch wasn’t something I particularly wanted to do after what had happened there last time, and if Mum and Dad wanted to stump up the cash for me to stay somewhere else, then that was fine by me.

  “OK, Mum, I will. Thanks. Listen, I have to go – we’ve got a long way to drive still.”

  After hanging up, Bailey and I got out of the car and went into the services. Even though he had his green assistance dog jacket on, people wo
uld sometimes challenge me about taking him into buildings, but no one did today, and I enjoyed my breakfast in peace.

  As we were leaving, a couple of people stopped and asked if they could stroke Bailey, and he looked pleased with himself as they ran their hands down his glossy coat. Bailey adored being the centre of attention. One of the best things about having him with me was that I stopped being the freak in the wheelchair and became instead the girl with the really cool dog.

  We continued on our way, stopping again for lunch at another service station. Bailey gave a yelp as he jumped out of the car. It was only a small one, but still, the sound unsettled me. He’d been two years old when he’d come to us so he was eight now, which was getting on a bit for a German Shepherd. I’d noticed him moving stiffly recently and when Mum and I took him to the vet a month ago, she’d said that he was starting to get arthritic. She’d even suggested that it might be time to start thinking about retiring Bailey and getting a new assistance dog. As if we would ever consider packing him off to the organization who had provided him, like some piece of discarded luggage.

  “Absolutely not,” I’d said. “I don’t want another assistance dog; I want Bailey.”

  “It’s just that he might not be able to do all the things you need him to do soon,” the vet said.

  “I don’t need him to do anything other than be my friend. I don’t care if he can’t help me any more. I’ll get by – I did before. Bailey is part of our family. I won’t let him be sent away. He’d think we’d abandoned him.”

  There was no denying that he was getting older, though. It was just one of those cold little facts that could keep you awake in the middle of the night.

  We were making good time until we got stuck in the tailback from an accident further along the motorway. We ended up sitting in it for hours and it was late by the time I turned up at the hospice where Gran was living. The receptionist got a bit snooty with me about visiting hours being almost over but I said, “Almost over isn’t over, is it? I promise I won’t stay long. I just want to let her know that I’m here. Please, I’ve come a really long way.”

  She looked at Bailey and I could practically feel her trying to decide whether to kick up a fuss or not. Eventually, she said, “The dog is toilet-trained, right?”

  I stared at her. “Are you kidding? He’s a qualified disability assistance dog. He probably has a larger vocabulary than you do.”

  Way to go, Emma, I thought. Piss off the person in charge. That’ll really help the situation.

  The woman gave me a dirty look. Nobody ever expects lip from a person in a wheelchair.

  “Could you give me five minutes?” I asked. “Just to say hello?”

  Finally the receptionist called someone to take me to Gran. It felt so weird following her down the sterile halls, with their horrible smell of disinfectant mixed with pee and bleach and other things I couldn’t identify and didn’t really want to think about too much. I just couldn’t imagine Gran in a place like this. In my head she was still at the Waterwitch, with its cosy log fires and creaking wooden floors and flickering candles.

  We went into a communal living room, where several residents were sitting around in plastic armchairs, watching TV or reading a paper. I didn’t recognize Gran at first and, to my shame, the nurse had to point her out to me.

  She wasn’t the woman I remembered. This was an old, old lady, with bony wrists and an almost skeletal frame. She was sitting at a table with a book in her hand, only she wasn’t looking at the book but just staring straight ahead in this listless kind of way that made my stomach clench up in knots.

  “Visiting hours are almost over—” the nurse at my side started to say.

  “Yes, yes,” I waved her into silence. “God, it’s like being in prison or something.”

  Having come all this way, I now didn’t know quite what to say or do, and nerves were making me snappy. Suddenly, I felt totally and completely out of my depth. Bailey must have sensed it because he pressed his warm, wet nose into the palm of my hand.

  “OK, OK,” I said. I buried my fingers in the soft fur at the ruff of his neck for a moment, took a deep breath and then wheeled myself over to where Gran was sitting, my stomach filled with butterflies.

  I cleared my throat and said, “Um, hello?”

  Gran looked at me with a total lack of recognition. And why shouldn’t she? I’d been ten years old the last time she’d seen me. Seven years was a long time. For a gut-wrenching moment, I actually thought I might have to explain who I was.

  But then she noticed the wheelchair and I guess it was that she recognized first. She let out this noise somewhere between a shout and a sob. “Oh! Oh, Emma, you came! You came!”

  All at once, there were tears in her eyes and she was struggling up out of her armchair and then awkwardly leaning down to wrap her frail arms around me. God, I hated that I couldn’t stand up to hug her back – not without running the risk of falling straight back down on my bum. I was afraid to squeeze her tight like I used to, so I just put my arms around her very gently. I tried to apologize for the number of years that had gone by, while she kept thanking me over and over again for coming, as if I had done something incredible, just by showing up.

  Finally, Gran pulled back, and said, “How grown-up you are, Emma! And beautiful, too. I always knew you’d be beautiful.”

  I flushed, and tried not to squirm with embarrassment. I wasn’t beautiful. My mid-length brown hair, green eyes and average size were the definition of ordinary. Gran was just trying to compensate for the wheelchair – the great big metal elephant in the room, the monster in my head, the constant reminder of all that had gone wrong and been broken in our family.

  “Where’s your mother?” Gran asked. “Just parking the car?”

  The hope on her face was painful as she gazed around, looking for someone who was never coming. I hadn’t got round to telling her I’d passed my driving test yet and I guess it never occurred to her that I could get here by myself.

  “Gran, she … she didn’t come,” I said, hating Mum in that moment for refusing even to consider it, and hating myself for not making her come somehow. “It’s just me.”

  Gran tried to seem like she didn’t mind but I knew that she did, that she minded more than she could say. “Well,” she said, sitting back down. “Well. And this must be Bailey?”

  She reached out to stroke him and I couldn’t stop staring at how gnarled her hands were. The skin covering them was paper-thin.

  “He can load and unload the dishwasher,” I said, grateful for the fact that Bailey was there because it was easier for us to talk about him than pretty much anything else. “Only Mum won’t let him. She says it’s unhygienic.”

  “Can he really? How marvellous,” Gran said, rubbing her hand under his chin while Bailey did his best to lick her.

  “I don’t think they’ll let me stay long,” I said. “But I’ll come back as soon as I can tomorrow.”

  “Where are you sleeping tonight?” Gran asked.

  “I don’t know yet.” I glanced at my watch. “I thought I’d have time to sort that out when I arrived, but it took me longer to get here than I thought.”

  “I hope you weren’t thinking of staying at the Waterwitch,” Gran said. “Because you can’t. I closed it a couple of months ago. It’s going to be put up for sale. And I don’t want you going there, Emma.”

  Something about Gran’s tone made me curious. “Why not?” I asked.

  To my surprise, she reached out and wrapped her bony fingers tightly around my wrist. “The Waterwitch is not a suitable place for you,” she said. “It’s not a suitable place for any person.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, frowning.

  It was an old building and I thought Gran would say that there was rot, or damp, or perhaps a particularly vicious mouse problem.

  Instead, she looked right at me and said, “The Waterwitch is haunted.”

  Chapter Three

  Emma

&nb
sp; My heart sank as I stared at Gran. I could see it there in her eyes: fear. Real-life, actual fear. She honestly believed what she was saying. I could feel her fingers around my wrist trembling slightly. Perhaps her mind had started to wander. She was extremely old now, after all, and ill as well. I was such an idiot for expecting her to still be the same.

  “But, Gran,” I said gently, “you always used to say that Cornish innkeepers told ghost stories just to drum up business.”

  “Most of them probably do,” Gran replied. “Maybe all of them. I’m not so sure any more. But I do know that the Waterwitch is different. There’s a … a presence there, some malicious presence. Oh, I know how that sounds, I know. But if you’d seen what I’ve seen over the last few months, Emma, you wouldn’t doubt it for a moment.”

  “Well, what have you seen?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Gran said, waving my question away. “None of that matters any more. Just promise me you won’t set foot in the Waterwitch.”

  I could see that she was getting upset so I said, “All right, Gran, fine. I promise. Look, I wasn’t planning on staying there anyway. Do you know of anywhere nearby that takes dogs?”

  “The Seagull will have rooms,” Gran replied. “And it takes pets. It’s opposite the Waterwitch – do you remember? You’ll be OK there.”

  Just then the nurse came over, saying that visiting time was over and we would have to go.

  “Emma, would you do me a favour?” Gran said, as I was about to leave.

  “Of course – what is it?”

  “Would you drop the keys to the Waterwitch off at the estate agent? It’s the one in the high street. I promised I’d post them but, as you’re here, perhaps you wouldn’t mind? The spare got lost a while ago so we don’t want anything happening to this set.”

  I said I’d be happy to and then waited as Gran shuffled to her room to fetch them. She returned a few minutes later and pressed a ring of keys into my hand. There was one key in particular that stood out from the rest. It was a big black iron thing, cold and heavy in my hand. There was a silver witch key ring attached to it – a proper old hag, with a pointy hat, riding a broomstick. She had warts and everything.