Midnight is a Lonely Place

ready to go up, and – she stopped. Something had moved ahead of her, just out of candle range. It must be one of the cats. She raised her hand a little trying to throw the dim circle of light a little further from her. There it was again. Something in the shadows. But not on the floor; this was full height. Human height. ‘Who’s there?’ To her disgust her voice was shaking.

There was no reply. No sound save the slight moan of the wind under the front door. She could no longer hear the voices from the living room.

‘Who is it?’ she repeated, louder this time. She was rooted to the spot. Without going closer the weak candlelight would not reach the door; without light she was too afraid to take even one step closer. ‘Oh, shit, come on. Don’t mess about. Who is it?’

She could smell it now. The perfume. Rich, exotic, crude, with a strong overlay of wet earth. She swallowed, conscious that her hands were shaking; the candlelight had begun to tremble.

‘OK, Lady Claudia. Let’s see you.’

Somehow she forced herself to take a small step forward. Her stomach was churning, her knees wobbly. The candlelight licked across the doorway, showing another row of hooks, another huddle of raincoats and jackets. Nothing more. No ghost. No Roman lady. She took a deep breath, feeling her hands ice cold and clammy as she reached for the doorhandle and pulled it open. The small cloakroom was neat, with pale green curtains, a thick rag rug, a green towel, and soap. She wedged the candle onto the high windowsill and turning, began to unzip her trousers. It was then she looked down into the small handbasin. There was a scattering of black soil in the bottom and amongst it, throwing fat, unwieldy shadows in the candlelight, wriggled several maggots.

LVIII

Snow had settled in the dunes. The streaming moonlight cast long, colourless shadows over the sand. As the clouds drifted inexorably in from the north-east, the sky, backlit to opal and then to dull pewter, lowered closer to the land. No night birds called; only the wind in the trees behind the cottage disturbed the silence of the grave as it lay now lapped in its mantle of snow.

The young man looking down at it cast no shadow; he left no footprints. Like the woman he loved he sought revenge. No kind god had received his soul as sacrifice, for with his dying breath he had vowed to return and that vow had kept him from his love. There was no need to comb the furthest galaxies; Marcus Severus Secundus was anchored to this spot by blood. The blood of his victims. His hate had kept them apart through the centuries. The young man smiled. They had all three been released by the meddling of the girl and through her this secret charnel house would be made known to the world and his vengeance would be made sweet.

In front of him the moon was shrouded suddenly in a cloak of cloud. The darkness had returned to the land and with it came the snow. Thick, white, whirling, dissolving the shadow which was all that remained of the druid, Nion, save his need for revenge and his love.

There was a hair in her mouth. She pawed at it, screwing up her face, and opened her eyes to find a head next to hers on the pillow. Frowning, she stared at it. Sue. It was Sue, her tangled hair strewn across the pillow, fast asleep, cuddled up beside her on the floor. Alison moved her head slightly. A violent pain slammed away behind her temples, but she could see dimly in the candlelight. Candlelight? Had they been to a party? A disco somewhere? Why was she on the floor? ‘Sue!’ She shoved at the girl next to her with her elbow. ‘Sue!’ The whisper was louder this time. Somehow she managed to sit up, her head spinning. She could just see Sue’s mother asleep on the sofa. Why? Why were they all asleep by the fire in her own house? There was no one else there. The fire was burning merrily – she could feel its warmth. ‘Sue!’ Not a whisper this time, but a peremptory call.

Sue opened her eyes. ‘What?’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘I don’t know. Hours. Are you all right?’ Sue sat up and looked at her hard.

‘Of course I’m all right. Why?’

‘They said you’d gone funny.’

‘What do you mean, funny?’

‘I don’t know. All kinds of funny things are happening. Mum crashed the Range Rover, look at my bruises! And we saw your ghost. The Roman. He was horrible.’

‘You saw him?’ Alison’s eyes rounded. She sat up and hugged her knees with a shiver. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘I think so. Dad found us. He wasn’t even angry. I think he’s scared.’

There was a moment’s silence as they considered this. Sue bit her lip. ‘Mum’s asleep.’

They both looked at the sofa.

‘Where’s everyone else?’

‘I don’t know.’ There was a rising note of hysteria in Sue’s voice.

‘They can’t have gone.’

‘Of course they can’t have gone.’ Sue did not sound too sure. ‘Shall I look?’

‘No! Don’t leave me!’

Hugging one another, the two girls stared round, frightened, as on the sofa Cissy muttered in her sleep. Inside the room the silence was overwhelming. Even the fire seemed quiet, the sweet smoky smell of burning apple logs slowly giving way to the overpowering aroma of wet earth.

LIX

Greg and Patrick were peering down into the washbasin in disgust. Behind them in the dark corridor, Kate stood clutching Anne’s hand. ‘You saw her, didn’t you. Claudia.’

Anne shrugged. ‘I didn’t exactly see her…’

‘But you smelt her scent. You sensed her. You saw the earth, the maggots that drop off her everywhere she goes!’

Anne swallowed hard. ‘Let’s go back to the fire. Surely you’ve seen enough.’ The candlelight was flickering crazily on the ceiling of the small cloakroom as the two heads bent over the washbasin.

‘Yuk!’ Patrick’s one word said it all.

Greg turned with a grimace of pain, balancing on his stick. ‘You’re right. Let’s go back.’

They made their way into the candlelit living room to find Alison and Sue sitting upright in their rugs. Both girls looked dishevelled and scared.

‘Greg? What is it? What’s happening?’ Alison’s voice had taken on a strangely high timbre.

He gave her a long searching look, then he lowered himself back into his chair, wincing as he lifted his foot onto its cushion with a grimace of pain. ‘We seem to be orphans of the storm!’ he replied. Somehow he managed to keep his voice cheerful. ‘So, how are you both feeling?’

‘Lousy. I’ve got a really grotty head.’ Susie’s face was whiter than her companion’s.

‘And you, Allie?’

Alison shrugged. ‘I feel a bit spaced out. Tired. Who’s that?’ She had noticed Anne.

‘Sorry. I forgot you hadn’t been introduced,’ Kate put in quickly. ‘This is my sister, Anne. She picked a really vile weekend to come and stay with me.’ She walked over to the two girls and knelt beside them. ‘Do you want anything to eat? Diana made some soup. It’s on the stove.’

Alison shook her head vehemently. ‘I couldn’t eat anything. I feel sick.’

‘So do I.’ Sue’s whiteness had by now progressed to a shade of green. ‘In fact, can we go and sleep in your room, Allie?’

‘No!’ Patrick’s shout startled them all.

‘Why not?’ Alison stuck out her chin.

‘Well…’ Patrick floundered with a desperate look towards Kate. ‘Won’t you be warmer down here, near the