The Case of the Haunted Cot Page 9

  Miller hung up before he heard anymore, before he started to believe Price might have a point. Without hesitation, Miller walked straight back into the living room and sat down opposite Sophie. She gave him a weak but hopeful smile.

  ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ he asked.

  Sophie nodded, and for just a second Miller thought he saw what Price meant. In that second, buried beneath those tired but beautiful eyes, he thought he saw a woman in danger of losing herself and everything she had left.

  ***

  ***

  Price sped along at ridiculous miles-an-hour, determined to get to the flat before eight. He was sure he could make it, just, providing he wasn’t pulled over. Dammit, why didn’t that closed-minded, fictional-book-worshipping moron just listen to him? Price had thought at one point that he could see potential in Miller. Intelligence and an open-enough mind that he was at least willing to consider the scientific solutions. But like so many of them, he’d taken the easy route. Rather than give Sophie Fullwood a hard truth, he’d chosen to play to her delusions, and she’d be the one to suffer for it.

  ‘Come on!’ Price shouted at nobody in particular.

  Was he speaking to the car, thinking that might speed up at his command? Did he just engage in a superstitious act? Sometimes he really was thoroughly ashamed of being human. Whatever — he’d have to chastise himself for illogical outbursts later — right now he needed to concentrate. Deciding it was worth the risk, Price’s eyes darted between the road and his phone as he called Miller again. Nothing; Miller must have turned his phone off.

  The car’s clock read seven forty-seven. Price smashed his palm against the steering wheel several times, telling himself that the gesture was merely an emotional outburst due to high-stress circumstances, and in no way did he think or feel that it would help any part of the situation. Then he did it again, adding a few short but pointless words.

  When he eventually arrived, Price didn’t waste any time with another clock-check. If there was time, good, if there wasn’t, what could he do about it? Either way he’d be sprinting up those stairs in a few seconds.

  I’m not so sure about that. His subconscious, often one step ahead of the rest of him, had picked up on something, but he didn’t have time to unbury it now.

  He didn’t have to wait long to find out what it was. The front door was locked, of course, and the only things that could open it were a key or — significantly harder to find — somebody that wanted him inside. And this time he probably couldn’t get away with waiting around for somebody else to enter the building. Besides, it would be harder without his clipboard.

  Think. His brain told him for some reason. Think! Think? A pointless redundant thought; he was always thinking, forever bouncing things around in his mind. Think?! He’d spent his whole life thinking. What he needed here was an action, albeit a clever one formulated with a thought.

  Being careful to avoid the Fullwoods’ number — they certainly wouldn’t let him in — Price pressed a random buzzer. There was a short gap before the intercom burst into life.

  ‘Hello?’ said a confused voice.

  ‘Hiya, it’s me,’ said Price, muffling his voice by placing a hand over his mouth.

  ‘What? Who is this?’

  ‘Never mind wrong buzzer,’ Price said normally.

  Damn, she’d not been expecting anybody. Well somebody must be. Price pressed another. And, when he got no answer, he tried a third.

  ‘Hello?’ said a male voice, noticeably less confused than the previous resident.

  ‘Hiya, it’s me.’

  ‘Hey mate, come on up.’

  A different buzzer sounded. Price pushed through the door and pounced his way up the stairs.

  Seconds later Price was on the floor where the Fullwoods lived. He stopped to look at their door, and almost barged in, but he knew his suspicions wouldn’t be enough. Instead, Price knocked on the door opposite theirs, where he could hear the muffled sounds of the occupant’s TV.

  ***

  ***

  ‘Spirits, if you are there, please let yourself be known.’

  Miller waited. Sophie waited. The static hissed, with nothing underneath it from what Miller could tell. He watched Sophie; her ears might be more attuned to picking up the slightest hints of Tia’s voice. Her expression was the same one of fearful anticipation. Miller took that to mean she couldn’t hear anything either.

  The silence demanded that he say something. Sophie needed him to say something. All he could think to say was the same thing again, and that was the last thing he wanted to say.

  ‘Spirits,’ Miller started again, this time pausing for a second. ‘If you are there, if you can hear me, please let yourself be known.’

  Miller listened closely to the static. It was difficult to tell how carefully Sophie was listening, but she looked as though she was close to giving up. No reply seemed like a good thing to Miller, but the lack of a resolution would only leave Sophie worse off.

  Wait, was that something? Beneath the static, something changed. Was it her? It wasn’t crying, but there was definitely something there. Miller was trying to work it out when he saw Sophie’s face. She heard it too, but she clearly wasn’t as uncertain. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and Miller could feel her hands trembling in his.

  Stop.

  He knew that wasn’t an option, not for either of them.

  ‘Tia?’ he asked the noise, his voice trembling. ‘Tia, is that you?’

  ***

  ***

  It took longer than Price would have liked for the young man to answer the door. He’d probably been hoping Price would give up and leave. When he was finally there, staring at Price questioningly, Price noted the large black bags under his eyes, and the vacant I-don’t-know-who-you-are-and-I-don’t-care expression.

  ‘Hi,’ said Price, ‘you’re depressed.’

  ‘What …?’

  ‘Because your girlfriend left you?’ Price said, hopeful.

  The man leaned forward and checked up and down the hallway, as if searching for hidden cameras.

  ‘Did Jess put you up to this?’ he asked. ‘Whatever man, I’m not in the mood.’

  The young man went to close the door. Price stuck up his hand in a stop gesture, and that was enough for now. The young man halted and stared at Price, his face saying get to the point.

  ‘Come on, handsome young man like you in on a Saturday night? You have to be depressed. And that’s ignoring the other symptoms.’

  Now the young man’s bottom lip curled in and Price could see his teeth. Stop screwing with him and get to the point before you get your own teeth knocked in.

  ‘Please let me speak,’ said Price. ‘If I’m right, you could help save somebody’s life.’

  There was a small pause, made awkward by the young man’s suspicions.

  ‘Well, sanity, maybe. Life sounded more dramatic.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ the young man asked, in a way that suggested the words were heavy and speaking them took a great deal of effort.

  Price nodded to himself as he thought carefully through his next words, planning them out for the most dramatic impact.

  ‘You’re depressed because your girlfriend dumped you during an important time in your life. You’re in on a Saturday night because … you’re babysitting.’

  The young man’s eyes turned wide with shock, although they didn’t lose any of their anger.

  ‘I don’t care about the specifics,’ Price said, ‘but you’ve ended up babysitting on a Saturday night while your ex hits the town. And it’s not the first time. She really likes her Saturday nights out, doesn’t she? And the occasional weekday evening?’

  The young man’s breathing had drastically slowed, and now Price could feel each exhale on his face.

  ‘It’s made you resent that baby,’ Price said, then backed off instinctively when the young man took a step towards him, anger now intensified. ‘No I don’t blame you, I would too.
But this leads to you doing two very important things.’

  ‘I’ve heard enough of this shit.’

  The young man began to close the door. Acting quickly and without forethought, Price stuck his foot in the way, trying to keep his cool when the edge of the door smashed into his kneecap. A girlie screech would ruin the drama of this whole moment.

  ‘Please, wait,’ Price said. ‘I can pay you for your time.’

  And at the mention of money, a good portion of the young man’s hate dissipated. Price really needed to start thinking of some more creative ways of getting what he needed. If he carried on bribing like he had in the last week, he’d be bankrupt before the end of the month.

  ‘It made you do two very important things,’ Price repeated, while pulling out his wallet. ‘One: you used cheap old equipment — why waste money on anything new? And two: you left the baby alone to cry herself to sleep. At bedtime — say, around eight? — can’t believe I missed that.’

  The young man’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘How did you …?’

  From within the flat, finally loud enough to overcome the TV in the young man’s living room, rose the crying of a baby girl. Price smiled, wishing he had somebody around to tell I told you so. Instead, Price pulled out a wad of cash, hardly paying attention to how much he was handing over.

  ‘Please let me into your flat. I promise I won’t go anywhere near your baby. You can watch me the whole time, and hold the biggest knife you’ve got if it makes you feel safer.’

  ***

  ***

  ‘Tia?’ Miller said.

  There was no longer any doubt: it was crying. And Sophie, although unable to speak through her own sobs, made it clear that she believed it was Tia.

  ‘Tia, your mother’s here, we’re all here for you.’

  The crying didn’t let up. Sophie was trying to say something, but not quite managing to get it out. Not that Miller needed her too; there was only one possible thing on her mind right now. Help her.

  ‘I am speaking to any other spirits present,’ Miller said, louder than before. ‘If there is somebody there with Tia, please let yourself be known.’

  They both listened carefully for any other sounds. But with so much already coming out of the radio, with the static and the crying, Miller wasn’t sure if he would even notice another noise.

  He had to keep trying.

  ***

  ***

  Price would have liked to think he instantly recognised the girl’s crying. In actuality, all babies sounded more or less the same to him. So while he didn’t recognise the baby from the tape, he was still certain she was the same one. Mainly because she was the only baby in the building. The young man — he’d given Price his name but Price had instantly discarded the information as irrelevant — followed Price into the bedroom. He wasn’t turning his back on Price for a second. And, most worryingly, he had taken Price’s advice of holding the largest knife he could find. He held it at his side, pointed directly at Price the entire time.

  ‘So this woman … she thinks she’s heard ghosts because of me?’ the young man said.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Price replied, smiling.

  The baby monitor sat on the top of the changing unit, next to the cot. The baby herself — again, her name might have been mentioned — lay in the cot wriggling and crying, her face bright red. The cry was loud, but Price felt she could go louder, and soon would. The young man stayed at the door of the bedroom, as if blocking the escape route.

  ‘I was told I should leave her to cry herself to sleep,’ the young man said defensively. ‘At least when I know there’s nothing wrong with her.’

  Price took a few more steps into the room, watching the baby girl while morosely shaking his head. He wasn’t interested in whether the young man had actually done anything wrong, but he did enjoy the immense amount of guilt caused by his fake judgement.

  ‘I changed her nappy. And she’s had plenty to eat.’

  ‘Not interested,’ Price said.

  As he was protesting, the young man’s voice was getting louder. Price wanted to make sure it wouldn’t get loud enough for Miller and the Fullwoods to hear through the radio.

  ‘What matters is I have all the answers I need,’ Price said. ‘Everything else she’s experienced can be attributed to —’

  Something had distracted Price on the other side of the room. Next to the cot was the young man’s own bed, and at its side was a bedside table. On top of that bedside table was a pack of ibuprofen. In and of itself, this was far from strange, but it sparked a memory from a few days ago, making a few other, seemingly small, things click together.

  ‘You been getting headaches?’ Price asked, pointing to the pack.

  ‘Yeah, loads. Need to get my eyes tested.’

  ‘It’s not your eyes,’ Price said, his voice distant and trailing off. ‘It’s me being stupid! It’s the old man.’

  The young man cocked his head at Price as if he’d lost his mind. Price paid no attention.

  ‘I need to make a phone call. You may want to take your daughter somewhere else.’

  ‘What, why?’

  ‘You can listen to me or the police,’ said Price, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Calmly and confidently, Price pressed just three digits then call.

  ***

  ***

  ‘Tia! Oh God, Tia, please listen to me,’ Sophie pleaded. ‘It’s OK. I’ll help you. I’ll find a way to help you. Whoever’s got Tia, whoever’s there, please let her go. Please help her. Let me speak to her.’

  Miller didn’t know what to do. He was beginning to feel the rise of panic in himself, so how was he meant to help Sophie? She was practically screaming now, and Miller was concerned this would make things worse. If something had Tia, there was little chance that it was anything other than malicious, and malicious entities didn’t respond well to threats. Miller had to find a way to control this situation, and fast.

  Or maybe not. The crying quietened, like somebody was soothing the baby, until, just seconds later, they couldn’t hear Tia at all. Miller looked at Sophie, shocked that her threat tactics had an effect. Sophie appeared equally shocked.

  Now, talk to him now.

  If ever there was a time to talk to this entity, it was now. Miller gripped Sophie’s hands harder, and she gripped his back in response, neither wanting to risk the connection by speaking out loud to each other.

  ‘To the being that is there with Tia,’ Miller said. ‘We ask that you speak to us. What is your name?’

  ***

  ***

  Price gave it a couple of minutes before re-entering the young man’s flat. There was no need to rush, not now he had his answers and, best of all, could prove them. He went back in only when he was confident that the timing would fit.

  The young man stood where Price had left him, by the bedroom door. Only now he was clutching the baby and looking confused and trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his fear. Between his feet on the floor, where he’d dropped it, lay the kitchen knife. The baby was calming down, and had almost completely stopped crying. She stared at Price, with wide, curious, suspicious, blue eyes. Chances were Miller was no longer able to hear her.

  Perfect. Even the faint whiff of baby-piss Price got as he walked past them couldn’t bring him down. He smiled to himself — a thoroughly self-satisfied, earned smile. Strutting up to the baby monitor, Price placed his phone down next to it. Having already set this up beforehand, all Price had to do now — and he truly savoured the moment — was press play on the screen.

  ***

  ***

  Sophie’s grip was impossibly strong, and was getting stronger every second they waited. That Tia had stopped crying was a good sign, but whatever was — or had been — there, didn’t seem interested in talking.

  ‘Please, whoever you are,’ said Sophie, ‘just tell us what you want. I’ll do anything.’

  Sophie’s head jolted upwards. She stared in confusion at the radio. Realising som
ething was changing, Miller tried to focus his hearing on what lay behind the static. It wasn’t a voice, more a new noise. But, like the voice, it was getting louder. Sophie’s mouth had dropped open and she was staring at Miller in wide-eyed bewilderment. Whatever this was, it was new. And it was definitely separate to the static, its tones clearer and melodic.

  Ah.

  A new possibility occurred to Miller, and as he listened with it in mind, he could make out the noise more clearly.

  Music.

  It’s just interference, Miller heard Price’s voice say. Well just because this bit was interference, didn’t mean everything else was.

  The disappointment Miller read in Sophie’s face suggested she’d realised the same thing.

  ‘We’ll get them back,’ Miller said. ‘Maybe we should change frequencies.’

  ‘But she was here. She might come back.’

  ‘I don’t …’

  Miller trailed off as, for an instance, the song became a little clearer, and Miller recognised it.

  Blue Oyster Cult.

  Don’t Fear the Reaper.

  Price.

  ***

  ***

  Price danced out of the flat, slowing only to ask the young man to bring the phone with him when he leaves the block later. The young man agreed, although telling Price that he didn’t intend to leave any time soon. Price didn’t worry; he wouldn’t have much choice in the matter. As he entered the hallway, Price could hear the thundering of the paramedics as they ran up the stairs to the flat directly below the Fullwoods’.

  Should be just enough time.

  ***

  ***

  Everything was quiet. Far too quiet. Keith could still hear the distant hiss of the static, but nothing else. He wiped away the last of the tears he’d shed when he’d been able to hear Tia’s — no, somebody’s — crying. But it had gone now, and quickly, and Keith couldn’t hear Sophie or Miller. Had they been successful? Already? It seemed unlikely. Keith wasn’t even sure what would constitute a success.

  Trembling, Keith stood up from the bed, tried not to look at the empty cot pressed up against the wall, and exited the bedroom. He walked through the hallway and entered the kitchen. Somebody had turned down the radio. He could hear Sophie talking.