Chapter 5 - A Families Belongings

The light barely reveals the landing and the top of the stairs, although that is not where she is looking right now. The other room upstairs, the door is ever so slightly ajar, with nothing but darkness looking back out from that entrance.

Another thump, muffled like something shaking against coarse linen, clearly originating from the room across the way. Andrew is stock still, his eyes watching every expression on Irene’s face as she peers ahead.

“What is it?” He queries under his breath.

“Honestly, I have no idea, but it seems to have stopped. Stay close, who knows if there is someone living up here.”

She begins moving toward the room, taking his umbrella in her other hand to push it open at an arm’s length. The hinges on the door must be rusted as it shifts stiffly, letting out a loud and prolonged squeal. The room beyond is mostly taken up by a four-poster bed that is covered with a large white dust sheet, obscuring anything inside of it. There is a patch of the wall that is off-colour, clearly something having been hung there previously for a long time.

“Irene.” Andrew whispers close to her ear. “Look down, old blood?” As he gestures toward dark brown stains that mark the floor surrounding the foot of the bed.

The stains do not seem to continue onto the mildewed sheets, and so the Doctor and Irene move to opposite sides of the stains slowly and reach down to lift up the skirting hiding the shadowed underneath. With a swift flick of his wrist and well-timed co-ordination from Irene, both of their heads peek under simultaneously.

The trail of stains stops abruptly before a scrap of cloth that is bundled around something, just out of arm's reach under the bed. Andrew reaches in and grips the corner of the cloth to drag it toward them, however the weight of the object seems to offer too much resistance, the cloth loosely unravelling as he tugs, and with a muffled clink, a thick piece of broken glass clatters onto the floor.

“Don’t touch it directly, Doctor. Here use this.” Irene mutters softly, handing her pry bar over.

Reaching his hand back into the darkness under the bed, he pushes the glass out with the bar. A chill of goosebumps moves across his skin from his hands up to his neck as he looks at the glass that catches the light of the lantern.

“I could’ve sworn the reflection just… I don’t know.” He stutters as he stumbles backward.

Irene swiftly flicks the piece of cloth back over the offending shard.

“It’s best you don’t look at it again.” Irene grips his chin with her fingertips to force eye contact. “You’re fine, it’ll just be a trick of the light.”

Visibly shaken, he starts nervously playing with the gem in his pocket. “Are we done in here?”

Irene nods, turning to leave the room.

“Are we not taking that piece? It seems out of place to me.”

“Yes of course, sorry it slipped my mind.” Irene’s brow is furrowed as if she’s focusing on a riddle. She, careful to not touch it directly, picks up and deposits the wrapped shard away. “I just want to check the basement; it feels like we’re still missing something here. A broken piece of glass doesn’t mean much by itself.”

“True, except for the blood and shard, it just looks like a house that was left in a hurry”

They move back to the landing, Andrew carefully brushing dust off his shoulder and cracking his back as if the hunched position in the previous room has aged him twenty years. He takes the lead down the stairs again, staring almost longingly at the front door for a moment before Irene bumps into his back, urging him ahead gently.

Turning right and then another right further down the hall, they come to a door behind the stairs, old white paint peeling off in strips from the front. With a muted rattle of the handle, Andrew turns to Irene.

“It’s locked. Time to go?”

“You’re not getting off that easy.” Rolling her eyes, she carefully pulls up her dress and kneels in front of the door, pulling a thin lever and pick from a strap on her thigh.

“Give me a minute.”

Andrew leans back against the wall, his eyes carefully tracing the surroundings, lingering on all the off-colour patches where picture frames where once hung on the walls. The silence of the building is offset by the very faint rattling of Irene unlocking the door. A minute passing here feels like an eternity, waiting for something to jump out.

“All done, Doctor.” He flinches at the sudden sound, standing up straight from his place against the wall.

“Right, let’s go ahead.”

Eking the door open toward them, he peeks in with his lantern in front, revealing the stairs below. The floor at the base of the stairs seems to carry the light of the lantern strangely, almost like it is flooded, although it is too dark to make out. Each step causes the light to move dizzyingly, until nearly halfway down the stairs when Irene grips his shoulder from behind.

“We were wrong. The family did not take their things when they left.” Irene whispers close to Andrew’s ear.

He turns back, studying closely, his eyes widening as the truth settles in. The reflection isn’t flooding. It’s all of the missing objects from the house, broken picture frames, broken glasses, mirrors, everything. Littering the floor like a carpet. The worst part is the trail in the centre that seems lightly dyed red. Someone has been walking through here, barefoot, more than once.

“Crouch low, take note of everything you see in there, then tap my hand and we will leave quickly.” Irene whispers again.

He lowers himself on the stair, his breath picking up in pace. Irene squeezes his shoulder reassuringly as it immediately stiffens up. A muffled creak echoes in the house above them, followed by another that has Irene doing a double take at Andrew anxiously. After a few tense moments, she feels a soft tap on her hand and she starts retreating up the basement stairs, when she stops. Someone is standing, just out of sight, behind the open door at the top of the stairs. So close that their toes peek out just a tiny amount, revealing the yellowed nails, and many scars that line their soles.

That feeling. Like something gripping your heart and trying to pull it down into your stomach. If there was ever an artist’s rendition of the purest fear, it was carved onto Irene’s face in this moment. Made so much worse as Andrew nudges her forward from behind. She stumbles onto the next step from the nudge, her eyes flashing back upward with dread. The toes do not seem to react. Irene turns to Andrew and points out the feet to him, which warrants a suitably terrified expression in response. She holds up three fingers and starts counting down slowly, the tension building in both of their bodies with each stifled breath. Two, Irene turns and starts getting into position to run. One.

She pushes herself up the remaining three steps loudly and as fast as she can, throwing herself into the door, a heavy impact sounding behind. Without taking a moment to look, Andrew grabs her hand as he passes by and rushes around the corner to see the front door at the end of the corridor. The closed front door.

 Without missing a beat they keep rushing, Andrew’s fingers wrapping round the cold handle of the door in panic, shaking heavily as he turns it. It opens freely, the door swinging open to the outside, revealing the empty street. They stumble out onto the cobbles, Andrew tumbling over, his knees scraping against the stone.

Through heaving breaths, they take stock of themselves and each other, clear relief across their faces. A light tapping noise echoes out, like a fingernail on glass, not from the house. It is coming from the bag held at Irene’s side. It grows faster as the moments pass, more… panicked. It’s about six taps in when they finally notice the shape of a tall, thin, barefoot man in the depths of the hall they just left. Through the open door, he stands awkwardly, facing away from them, his back and wisps of hair barely visible through the entryway.

The tapping gets louder and faster. The figure steps backward, the joints of its legs crack unnaturally as it takes this long step, toward them. They take off, sprinting down the street. Irene hikes up her dress as she sprints, and Andrew is white knuckling his scarf.