Only Darkness (9 page)

Just before nine, as she shut down the computer, Sarah Peterson noticed the man in the blue overalls – again! She’d stayed on at college to finish her essay before the deadline. Tomorrow evening was Adam’s party, so she was going to have to work an extra shift at the pub this weekend. Tony, the landlord, had been a bit funny with her when she’d asked for Friday evening off, and she felt guilty about letting him down.

The man in the blue overalls – she frowned, thinking. She’d
seen him twice before, when she’d been looking for Debbie. She hadn’t wanted Debbie to know she was waiting for her, so she’d been keeping in the background, and each time, he’d been there. She’d hardly noticed him at first, and then – when there was nobody around, apart from her – suddenly he’d been there. He made her feel – wrong, uneasy.

And now … there he was again. She stayed at the screen of her computer, peering over the top. He was going across to the old fire door. He turned and Sarah ducked behind her screen. She looked round the room. She was the last student. There was just the receptionist tidying up at the desk. Sarah moved round her table, and headed towards the door the man had just gone through. She was going to see what he was up to, just peek round the door, when the receptionist’s voice interrupted her, making her jump guiltily. ‘What are you doing? It’s after nine. You’ll have to leave now, the caretakers will be locking up soon.’

Nine o’clock came and went. The class meandered out, discussing the evening, asking Debbie questions, checking on the requirements of the work. Once again, it was late when she came out, and the caretakers were locking up. She hurried to the staff room and then realized that she didn’t have her briefcase. Where was it? Could it wait till tomorrow? Oh God, it had her purse and her keys in. Then she had a sudden picture,
oh, no
… of her putting the case down near the bottom of the spiral stairs.

She rushed back to the main entrance where Les was shuffling around with a window pole. ‘Les!’

‘What do you want, love?’

‘I’ve left something upstairs, I’ll be a few minutes, OK?’

‘Don’t worry. We’ve not finished on top floor yet.’

‘Right. Great. I’ll just get it.’ She ran upstairs, and pushed open the doors of the IT suite. The room was unlit, silent and empty. She turned on the light at the far end, and crossed through the pools of shadow to the fire door. It opened, and she peered into the darkness uneasily. She tried the light switch, but the light wasn’t working. She had a feeling she’d turned it off at the bottom of the stairs earlier in the evening.
Oh, well. There was enough light from the open door. She nerved herself, then went cautiously down the stairs.

The bottom of the stairs were in darkness. There was a strange smell down there she hadn’t noticed earlier, stale and fetid. She groped around the wall for the light switch, but when she found it, it didn’t work. Her bag would be over by the wall. She felt her way across, was reaching to find it, when a sudden draught swirled round her and the door two landings up closed with a crash.

Debbie was plunged into complete darkness. At first she was just surprised, then her heart began to hammer, and she was terrified. She tried to run back up the stairs, but tripped and fell on the first step, scraping her shin on the stone. The sudden pain brought tears to her eyes, and she stopped, breathing deeply, calming herself. The smell seemed to be stronger now.

It’s OK, it’s OK, the wind blew the door shut. You can open it again. Don’t be frightened by your own stupid ghost stories.

She climbed the stairs more slowly now, a faint light from the grimed-up window helping her to see a little. There was no light on the landing, but she reached out for the door, feeling over it for a handle. None. Of course, it was for getting out, not getting in. She pushed against it, but it wouldn’t budge. She was trapped. Les knew where she was – no, he just knew she’d gone upstairs. He might not even realize she hadn’t come down again and left. She felt her mouth go dry and her heart begin to beat fast again.

Stop it, calm down. Bottom line is you spend the night on these steps.

She took a deep breath, and called. Nothing. Her voice had a muffled sound that made her remember how thick the door was. She yelled again, and banged on the door. Still nothing. She could try going up the staircase and calling there. If Les was on the top floor, he might hear her. Then she realized. She could unbolt the bottom door, get out that way. She was just feeling with her foot for the first step of the flight down, when she froze.

Down below her, in the dark, down below her where there was nothing but the locked door, she heard a sound.
‘Hello?’ Her whisper echoed round the stairwell. There was only silence, then she heard it again, a faint scraping noise. She kept quite still, staring into the dark until colours danced in front of her eyes. She felt cold. Another sound like,
please not,
like a footstep down in the darkness below her. She was suddenly convinced that something, no, someone, was coming quietly but deliberately up the steps towards her. The blood pounded in her ears and she made a dive for the next flight, falling again but not feeling the pain this time.

Not up. There’s no way out!

Now she couldn’t mistake it. There were footsteps on the stairs below her and that awful smell was in her nostrils. She pounded on the door, shouting to drown the sound more than anything else. She wanted to shut her eyes, bury her head, just wait until it was over. There was no one to hear her. She didn’t know if she was afraid of the supernatural or the real. She felt a gust of cold air blow over her and knew that whatever was coming towards her meant her harm.

Then the door to the IT suite opened and she fell through it against the person who had opened it, grabbing on to him, trying to press her head into him, to hide herself from the thing on the stairs.

‘Deborah! Come on, Deborah, it’s OK, you’re all right, I heard you, you’re OK.’ It was Rob Neave holding her, trying to calm her down.

‘Oh, God, Rob, there’s someone down there, I heard someone down there!’ He pushed her away from him at once and went to the door.

‘I can’t see anything. Are you sure …’

‘Rob, I know, I heard it, please believe me.’ It was important, very important that he believed her. He had a torch attached to his belt and he went through the door, shining its inadequate light in front of him. Debbie followed. He shone it up and down the stairwell, but there was nothing there. He went down the steps into the darkness, as Debbie watched the light of his torch. He said something more to himself than her, then came up again more quickly, carrying her briefcase. His expression was unreadable.

‘There’s no one there now,’ he said, and made a quick
gesture to silence her protest, ‘but I think someone was. The door at the bottom – the bolts are drawn.’ Debbie’s legs began to tremble so much she thought she was going to fall over. He said something she couldn’t catch, his voice sounding impatient, but he put his arms round her until the shaking stopped. She pressed her face into him, breathing in the warm smell of him, the cotton of his shirt, his skin. ‘OK?’ he asked. She nodded and he let her go, steadying her with his hands on her arms. ‘Right, I’ve locked the door. Do you want to tell anyone? The police?’ She shook her head. He looked at her. He seemed watchful, tense.

‘It was probably nothing, my imagination, I don’t know, I just don’t want any more …’ She heard tears coming into her voice and stopped. He slipped his arms round her again and pulled her face against him. ‘It’s OK, Deborah, you’re OK.’ He seemed more aware of how frightened she had been and was gentler now, stroking her hair, soothing, saying, ‘It’s OK … it’s OK,’ until she felt herself relax.

She straightened up and wiped her face with her hands, pushed the loosened combs back into her hair, feeling dishevelled and confused. She swallowed and found her voice. ‘I think I’ve missed my train.’ That wasn’t what she meant to say. ‘I mean … thanks for …’

‘Don’t worry about that. I can take you back.’ He was looking at her, concerned. ‘You need a drink.’ He hesitated as though he was thinking something through. ‘I should put in a report about this.’ He looked at Debbie again. ‘It’ll keep. Whoever it was will be miles away by now. Have you got your things?’

Debbie gestured to her briefcase. Her mac was squashed into the top. ‘Yes,’ she said. Then, ‘Rob? That drink? I don’t think I could face the Grindstone …’ The pub could be crowded and noisy this late, she knew.

‘No. I know somewhere quieter.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘Come on.’

He drove her to a pub by the river. It was small, shabby and run down, but quiet. She didn’t want to talk at first and sat quietly letting the drink unwind her. He seemed to know how she was feeling and wandered easily through a range of topics
that didn’t require much response from her, and gradually she felt herself relaxing. The events of earlier began to fade from her mind and when she found herself laughing at something he said she decided she had recovered. She owed him a drink from their visit to the Grindstone, and he’d already bought a round, so she asked him if he wanted another. He checked his watch. ‘Do you need to be home at any particular time?’

‘No.’ She pictured the black windows of her house. ‘There’s only the cat waiting.’ Then she thought again about the black windows, and the empty passageway leading to the back of her house and it came racing back into her mind – the dark stairs, the sound of footsteps, quiet but clear in the shadows below her, the way she had been trapped. The warmth seemed to drain out of her and her hand shook as she took a quick swallow of her drink. She looked up and met his eyes. He didn’t look away, but lifted his hand towards her and, after a moment of hesitation ran his fingers down her face and round the back of her neck, twining them in the tendrils of hair that hung there. Debbie’s face felt warm and she had trouble finding the rhythm of her breathing. ‘You don’t have to be on your own,’ he said. He leaned forward and touched his mouth lightly against hers, giving her time to draw back, if she wanted to. ‘You can come back with me.’

Friday morning, Debbie sat at her desk staring at nothing, trying to let the thoughts in her head settle into some rational focus. She had already been on the receiving end of Louise’s waspishness for forgetting the marks list she’d promised to bring in at the end of the week. She’d found her keys slung carelessly on her desk. She must have left them there last night. Debbie thought that if she’d known the keys were still on her desk she might not have gone down the long staircase in search of her briefcase. She could have managed without her purse until this morning. Maybe it would have been better. This morning … Louise was asking her something and she brought her attention back. ‘What? Sorry?’

‘I
said,
have you got the Al’s first set of essay marks? I also said, “Do you want to borrow a million pounds?” Either way I didn’t get through.’ Louise’s voice was sharp.

‘Sorry.’ Debbie shook her head to clear it, knowing she wasn’t responding properly. Louise gave her a look and returned to her notes.

Last night …

His flat was just across the road. He didn’t say anything as he let her in, ushering her into the small room – narrow bed against one wall, shelves with books and some sound equipment, a chair, cushions on the floor, gas fire turned low. He switched on a table lamp, poured her a glass of whisky and put some music on – beautiful, melodic music that was surprisingly joyful. He wasn’t, she realized, someone she associated with joy. There wasn’t any need to say anything then. He watched her as she swallowed the whisky nervously. She looked at him, but he didn’t look away, kept his eyes on hers, watching.

He came over to where she was standing, and took the glass out of her hand. He unbuttoned her blouse and she let it slide down her arms to the floor. She unfastened her skirt, and let it fall round her feet, slid off her shoes and stockings. He put his hands round her waist and kissed her open mouth. She could taste the whisky on his tongue. The rough cloth of his shirt and the cord of his trousers pressed against her skin. She could feel his erection. He ran his hands down her back, hooking his fingers in the top of her pants and pushing them down. She let them drop to the floor, stepped out of them and kicked them away.

He lifted her on to the bed, and undressed in the shadowed light, watching her all the time. She felt a nervous excitement in her stomach, the beat of her pulse in her throat. He lay down beside her, putting his hands behind her head to release her hair from the pins and combs that held it. It tumbled down round her face and over her shoulders. He was confident, knowing, and she relinquished control to him. He was unhurried as if they had all the time there was. She lost herself. He could see it in her face and whispered, ‘Come on, Debs, that’s right, that’s good.’ He put his arms round her, stroking her, prolonging the moment.

Later, he got them more whisky, and they leaned back against the pillows, listening to music. Debbie drifted into
a doze against his shoulder. Later still, they stood under the shower together, and he laughed as the water ran down her face and into her mouth. He gave her a dressing gown and towelled her hair in front of the fire, letting it stream through his fingers as it dried. He pushed her down on to the cushions, his hands finding the knot in the dressing gown cord.

After, he said, ‘Do you want to stay? I can still take you home if you want.’

‘I want to stay.’ They drank more whisky, then she felt hungry so he got them some bread and cheese.

‘I didn’t cater for a guest,’ he said.