By Graham Masterton
The House of a Hundred Whispers
Ghost Virus
THE KATIE MAGUIRE SERIES
White Bones
Broken Angels
Red Light
Taken for Dead
Blood Sisters
Buried
Living Death
Dead Girls Dancing
Dead Men Whistling
Begging to Die
The Last Drop of Blood
THE BEATRICE SCARLET SERIES
Scarlet Widow
The Coven
THE HOUSE OF A HUNDRED WHISPERS
Graham Masterton
www.headofzeus.com
First published in the UK in 2020 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Graham Masterton, 2020
The moral right of Graham Masterton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781789544237
Head of Zeus Ltd
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London EC1R 4RG
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Contents
Welcome Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Devon words interpreted
About the author
An Invitation from the Publisher
For Dawn G Harris, for her sparkling creativity
For Piotr Pocztarek, for my brilliant Polish website
For Hubert Pstrągowski, with all best wishes for a wonderful life
1
As he reached the top of the staircase, Herbert heard a door opening. He paused, one hand on the newel post, listening intently. The full moon was shining so brightly through the diamond-patterned windows that there had been no need for him to switch on the landing light.
‘Who’s there?’ he demanded. He was trying to sound authoritative, but he could feel his heart beating against his ribcage and he was breathing hard. After forty-two years he had become inured to the musty old-oak aroma of Allhallows Hall, but he could smell it strongly now, almost as if the house were sweating with anticipation.
He heard a creak of floorboards behind him and he turned around, but there was nobody there, only the dark oil portraits of the Wilmington family that hung around the landing, staring back at him balefully through four hundred years of walnut-coloured varnish.
He hadn’t intended to come back into the house, not after dark. Whenever the moon was full, he left Allhallows Hall for three days and went to stay at the Marine Hotel in Paignton. This time, though, he had forgotten to take his accounts book, and he was already two weeks late in filing his annual tax return.
He waited a full minute longer. The only sound was the wind whistling sadly down the chimneys, but he had been living on Dartmoor for so long that he was used to that constant wind, too, and he no longer found it eerie.
‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘Whoever you are, you miserable reprobate, enjoy your weekend.’
With that, he took the first step downstairs. As he did so, though, he heard footsteps running towards him. Before he could turn around again, he was hit on the bald spot on the back of his head with what felt like a hammer. He pitched forward and tumbled down the first flight of stairs, his arms and legs flailing and his accounts book flying, so that he was surrounded by a shower of bills and receipts and train tickets.
He collided with the panelling halfway down the stairs, striking the left side of his forehead against the skirting board, and jarring his shoulder. Stunned, disorientated, he tried to climb up onto his hands and knees, but he lost his balance and tilted sideways down the second flight of stairs. He fell head over heels, so that he felt and heard his spine crack. When he reached the hallway, he lay with his cheek against the threadbare Agra rug, staring at a faded yellow lotus flower. His heart bumped slower and slower.
Footsteps came slowly down the stairs from the landing, and Herbert’s receipts and invoices were kicked aside like dead leaves. A figure appeared at the top of the second flight, silhouetted against the windows. If Herbert’s neck hadn’t been broken, and he had been able to look up, he would have recognised this figure by his hair, shaved up at the sides and then gelled up into a point like a shiny shark’s fin.
The figure stood looking down at Herbert for over a minute, as if he were reluctant to go down to the hallway to check his pulse, but still wanted to be sure that he was never going to get up again.
After a while, though, he climbed back upstairs. If Herbert had still been conscious, he would have heard the squeaking of floorboards as he crossed the landing, and then the soft faraway click as he closed the bedroom door.
2
Rob was sitting in front of his computer, frowning in concentration, when the phone started to warble.
‘Vicky!’ he called out. ‘Can you answer that?’
‘I’m right in the middle of grilling Timmy’s sausages!’
‘And I’m right in the middle of a whiteboard animation! I can’t leave it, even for a second!’
Vicky didn’t answer, but the phone went on warbling and warbling, and eventually Rob heard her leave the kitchen and walk through to the hallway. She picked up the phone and he could just about make out her saying, ‘Really? I see.’ After that there was a long pause, and then she said, ‘Yes. All right. I’ll tell him.’
‘Mummy!’ wailed Timmy. ‘I’m hungry!’
‘I won’t be a moment, Timmy,’ said Vicky. She came into the dining room, which Rob was using as his studio. Rob didn’t look at her because he was drawing a woman walking a dog down a tree-lined street.
‘Who was that?’ he asked her. Then, ‘Damn.’ He had lost his concentration and smudged the
