The Secret of Crickley Hall

thought to herself, or at least eleven. 'Is this where the children slept, d'you think?' she asked Gabe. 'Was this their dormitory when they stayed here during the war?'

'Yeah, it figures.' Gabe ran his lightbeam over the jumbled frames. 'If they'd stayed up here when the flood hit they would've survived. Makes no sense.'

'But it's so bare. Surely they'd have had their toys and other things with them.'

'It was a long time ago, hon. The place would've been cleared out.' He pointed his flashlight towards the partition door at the other end of the room. 'Unless a lot of stuff was stored away.'

He started forward, his footsteps sounding hollow in the room's emptiness.

Eve caught his arm as he went by. 'Have you forgotten why we came up here?'

'Uh?'

'The noises, the footsteps,' she reminded him. The footsteps sounded light, like children running around in bare feet.'

He hesitated. Thought for a moment. Then: 'Coulda been anything.'

'No, you know I'm right. It was children we heard. I think this house holds on to its memories.'

'Not that again. Crickley Hall isn't haunted.'

He regretted the words as soon as he'd uttered them.

'Dad?' Loren looked up at him, fear in her wide eyes.

Eve went to her. 'It's all right, Loren. We didn't mean to frighten you.' She put her arm around her daughter's shoulders.

'But you said it was haunted.' Loren was frozen; she did not move into her mother's embrace.

Eve tried to reassure her. 'No, I didn't mean that. I said the house has memories. That doesn't necessarily mean there are ghosts here.'

'I don't like ghosts, Mummy,' Cally piped up.

There was no anger in Gabe's voice, only despair. 'You're spooking 'em,' he said to Eve.

'Then you tell me what made the noise.'

And that was the problem: Gabe had no idea.

'Maybe there's something behind that wall.' He waved the flashlight at the partition and started to walk towards it through the floating dust.

'No, Daddy,' Loren pleaded.

Cally looked at her older sister and her mouth was downturned. She quickly joined Eve and Loren. The three of them stared at the far door as if something horrible might be on the other side.

'I'm just taking a look,' Gabe reassured them as he went.

'Gabe, I don't think…' Eve began to say, but stopped. What was there to be afraid of? If it was only memories that haunted the house, then there'd be nothing to fear. Yet she still felt a strong sense of foreboding.

'You stay there with the girls,' Gabe suggested over his shoulder.

Eve recognized his determination. He was cautious, she knew that, but it would take more than unaccountable noises to intimidate him. She ignored his suggestion and, gathering up her daughters, Eve reluctantly followed him through the unexplainable dust storm. The dim overhead light barely lit his head and shoulders.

Gabe halted before the plain hardwood door and examined the doorknob. There was no lock below, only a swivel latch. He pushed the latch with his finger so that it was vertical and he felt the door jolt slightly as it released from pressure. Eve and the girls silently watched as he pulled the door forward.

The utter darkness inside slunk back from the torchlight as if caught unawares.

Gabe poked his head into the opening.

'Junk,' he announced after a moment. 'Nothing but stored-away junk in here.'

He disappeared inside and Eve and the girls filled the open doorway. Eve waved her torch around, more curious than scared now, and although the lights chased shadows away, it caused others that were dense. She saw odd pieces of furniture—chairs with straight backs, boxes piled high on a table with thick rounded legs, more boxes on the littered floor; an old-fashioned two-bar electric fire; rolls of what looked like curtain material; lampshades; a figurine whose head was broken off at the neck; a small statue of Christ with a burning heart, one of its supplicating arms missing; two tall matching vases, both chipped and cracked. There was more: a round hanging clock lying flat on its back and minus a minute hand; a framed landscape painting leaning against a box, its glass cracked; a dented iron bucket; several battered cardboard suitcases with broken handles; other items covered by dirty wrinkled sheets. The partitioned room was filled with Crickley Hall's detritus, oddments of no value or use any more.

Eve moved further in, the girls, clutching each other's hand, following, afraid to be left alone outside. She could see Gabe moving things around in the gloom. The atmosphere was thick with dust and stagnation.

She heard Gabe whistle through his teeth. 'Will you look at this,' he said.

She caught up with him to see what he'd found. 'Toys,' she said almost breathlessly.

'Old toys,' he corrected her. 'Look at 'em. Some are still in their boxes. You can make out what they are under the dirt.'

It was true: the images of their contents were partially visible beneath the thick layers of dust. A train set. Snakes and ladders. A farmyard with painted wooden animals. Eve picked up a flattish box and wiped her hand across it. The box apparently contained a jigsaw; the picture was of a park, with illustrated children playing, some of them on swings, others on slides… a cartoon boy on a roundabout, yellow hair… like Cam's.

Gabe interrupted her melancholy thoughts. 'And check this out.'

His light revealed an archaic blackboard, its corners rounded, chalk markings just visible underneath the dust. It rested against the angled wall, its easel leaning against it. Crammed close to the blackboard were stacked rectangular trestle-tables, their metal legs housed beneath the flat surfaces.

Gabe went over to a large open cardboard box and dug his hand into it. He brought out a strange rubber contraption with large glass eyeholes and a stubby round nose.

'I'll be damned,' he murmured.

'A gas mask,' Eve said.

'Yeah, from the Second World War. But it's small, meant for kids. There's more in there.'

'Do you think all these things have been stored away since then?'

'Seems likely. Look at those toys. They don't make simple stuff like this these days.' He reached down for something lying at his feet and showed it to her, blowing some of the dust that dulled its brightness. 'Made of tin. Look, it's even got a key to wind up the engine.'

Slipping the flashlight under his armpit, Gabe used thumb and forefinger to wind up the old motorcar but the key stuck on the first turn. 'Must've rusted up inside,' he remarked, gazing at the machine in wonder.

Eve picked up a limp ragdoll lying on top of a carton. 'You won't find many of these around any more,' she said, turning the soft doll over in her hand, the reason for searching the attic lost to her for the moment. 'It's a golliwog. It's just not PC for children to play with anything like this these days. I had one myself when I was very young.'

'You know what's strange?' Gabe, having discarded the tin car, was crouching by a cardboard box and wiping away the covering dust with the palm of his hand. 'Look, this one's never been opened and, from what I can tell, nor have any of the others. These toys have never been played with.'

'But why? It doesn't make sense.'

'Maybe they were being kept hidden in here for Christmas. The flood took the poor kids before they got the chance to be given 'em.'

'You think that was it?'

'Only guessing. But they were out of sight behind other boxes and stuff. I moved that blackboard and easel to get to the toys. Could be that they were forgotten after the disaster and more junk was stashed in here in front of 'em so they couldn't be seen. S'way I figure it, anyhow.'

'Daddy, what's this?'

Gabe and Eve turned and searched out Cally among the shadows. She was squatting on her haunches, a podgy little hand resting on a round object standing on the floor.

'Don't touch it, Cally, it's filthy,' Eve warned her. 'Let Daddy have a look at it first.'

Gabe climbed over boxes and other neglected toys to reach his daughter.

'I think it's a top, Dad,' said Loren, who had become interested in her sister's find. 'You know, one of those