Watery Grave (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) Read online

  There were four but they were all pretty much the same. Wet splotches on the pathway. One showed a long view with maybe a dozen splotches, and they were definitely spaced out as if somebody – or something – was walking along the pathway. He gave her back the phone. ‘You say they only appear when you’re here on your own?’ he said.

  ‘Well nothing happened the nights that Andrew was here.’

  Nightingale looked at his watch. It would be dark in a couple of hours. ‘How about we go and have a drink and leave Laura here alone,’ he said to Jenny. ‘She can phone us when the prints appear.’

  Jenny looked over at Laura. ‘Is that okay with you?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I don’t think anything’s going to happen until it reaches the house.’

  ‘What do you think will happen then?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Laura. ‘But it wants something, obviously. It’s as if it’s working harder and harder to get there. There has to be some point to what it’s doing.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Nightingale. ‘But let’s take it one step at a time, if you’ll forgive the pun. Let’s see if the footsteps appear tonight and then we’ll take it from there. Where can we get a drink?’

  ‘Sandacres is good. They do food but I can cook for you when you get back.’

  ‘Laura is an amazing chef,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Okay, we’ll go and have a beer and you can call us once the footprints appear. We passed the Sandacres on the way here, right?’

  ‘I know where it is, Jack,’ said Jenny. ‘And I’m pretty sure they have Corona.’

  ‘This gets better and better.’ He nodded at the Pimm’s. ‘You’d better go easy, you being the designated driver and all.’

  Jenny grinned. ‘One of the advantages of living on Sandbanks is you almost never see a policeman here. A lot of the houses use private security firms, so your chance of being breathalysed are pretty much zero.’ She held up her glass. ‘Not that I’ll be over the limit, of course.’

  ‘How does coq au vin sound?’ asked Laura. ‘I’ve got a new Jamie Oliver recipe I’m dying to try.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ said Jenny.

  Laura took them through to a large kitchen and Jenny and Nightingale sat down at a large pine table as Laura went to work preparing their meal. They polished off the Pimm’s and Laura took a bottle of Pinot Grigio out of the fridge. ‘One for the road?’ she asked.

  Jenny pulled a face. ‘If I have a glass of wine on top of the Pimm’s I really shouldn’t be driving, police checks or no police checks.’

  ‘It’s a nice walk,’ said Laura.

  ‘You’ve talked me into it,’ said Jenny.

  Nightingale and Jenny left the house at six-thirty. It was a ten minute walk to the pub and they sat at the bar, Nightingale with his Corona and Jenny drinking a glass of Pinot Grigio. It was just after eight and they were on their second round of drinks when Jenny’s phone rang. It was Laura. ‘There are footprints on the deck,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see them appear but they’re there now.’

  ‘We won’t be long,’ she said.

  She ended the call. ‘Footprints?’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Yup,’ said Jenny. She drained her glass and stood up. Her phone buzzed again to let her know she had received a message. It was a picture and she showed it to Nightingale. Half a dozen wet footprints were clearly visible on the deck.

  They walked quickly back to the house. There was a black BMW parked in front of the garage, and when they rang the bell the door was opened by a thin man with a receding hairline with what hair he had slicked back. He smiled at Jenny. ‘You must be Jenny,’ he said. ‘I’m Andrew.’ He offered his hand and she shook it. Then he flashed his smile at Nightingale. ‘And you’re Jack, the ghosthunter.’

  Nightingale took an instant dislike to the man, but he managed to force a smile as he shook the man’s hand. ‘And you’re Andrew, the estate agent.’

  ‘That’s me,’ said Andrew. ‘Come on in, Laura’s in the kitchen.’ He ushered them into the hall and closed the door. They could smell the results of Laura’s cooking, and Nightingale had to admit that it smelled good.

  ‘Wine?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘He does a bit, but it’s just his nature,’ said Jenny.

  Nightingale got the joke immediately but Andrew seemed to struggle, then he forced a laugh. ‘Oh, right, yes, good one,’ he said. ‘We’ve opened a bottle of Shiraz if that’s okay.’

  ‘Shiraz is fine,’ said Jenny. ‘Where’s Laura?’

  ‘Out on the deck,’ said Andrew, handing them glasses of wine. ‘Keeping her eye on the mysterious footprints.’

  ‘I thought they didn’t appear when you were here,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘They don’t. She phoned me once they were there.’

  ‘You live close by?’

  ‘Not too far. I’ve got a small place on the way to Bournemouth. Come on, you can see for yourself what she’s getting all worked up about.’

  ‘You don’t sound concerned,’ said Nightingale as he and Jenny followed Andrew through the sitting room and out onto the deck. Laura was sitting on a wicker sofa staring at the wooden decking. She looked up and flashed them a worried smile. She was holding a glass of red wine between both hands.

  ‘I’m not really,’ said Andrew. ‘I think it’s some sort of natural phenomena. Something to do with condensation, maybe. The change of temperature as night falls.’

  Jenny went to sit down with Laura as Nightingale walked over to the barbecue area. There were wet splotches on the steps leading up to the deck and half a dozen more crossing the deck, heading for the window.

  ‘See what I mean?’ said Andrew, lowering his voice so that Laura and Jenny couldn’t hear him. ‘I don’t think they are footprints.’

  ‘And you think condensation is responsible?’ asked Nightingale. He pointed down the path that led to the dock. ‘I don’t see how it could produce something like that.’

  ‘What’s the alternative?’ asked Andrew.

  Nightingale shrugged and didn’t answer.

  ‘Laura thinks it’s somehow Miles back from the dead,’ said Andrew eventually.

  ‘I don’t think he’s back from the dead,’ said Nightingale. ‘But maybe his spirit is still around. Maybe the spirit is trying to contact her.’

  ‘With footprints? Where’s the sense in that?’

  ‘It looks to me as if each time the spirit, or whatever it is, is getting closer to the house. As if it’s getting stronger.’

  ‘So what can we do? Can we do an exorcism or something?’

  Nightingale shrugged again. ‘There’s nothing to exorcise,’ he said. ‘It’s not a possession. If it is a spirit, we need to try to talk to it. See what it wants.’

  Laura stood up and came over to them. ‘So what do you think, Jack?’ she asked.

  ‘They do look like footprints,’ he said. ‘And it looks to me as if they will reach the window tomorrow.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Let me give it some thought.’

  ‘Hungry?’

  Nightingale grinned. ‘I could eat.’

  Laura served up the coq au vin with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed asparagus in the dining room at a table large enough to seat twelve. Laura, Jenny and Andrew drank wine but Laura had bought in bottles of Corona for Nightingale.

  He had to admit that Jenny was right, Laura was an excellent cook. Nightingale had seconds and was still able to find room for dessert, a salted caramel chocolate tart. Although Nightingale didn’t particularly like Andrew, he was good company over dinner, keeping them in near-fits of laughter with tales of his clients and customers and the near impossible task he had of keeping everyone happy. Laura and Jenny talked about their schooldays, but it was clear that everyone was avoiding the subject they most wanted to discuss – the ghostly wet footprints. It was as if there was an unspoken agreement not to talk about the subject at the dinner table. It was only after they were back in the sitting room drinking
coffee that Laura asked Nightingale what he thought they should do.

  ‘That depends on who, or what, it is,’ said Nightingale. ‘If it’s a lost spirit, then we need to find out what it wants.’

  ‘Why would it want anything?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘It seems to be making a concerted effort to reach the house,’ said Nightingale. ‘Those footsteps aren’t random. They are heading to the house, and each day they are getting closer.’

  ‘Do you think it wants to hurt me?’ asked Laura.

  ‘I don’t see that it can. It seems to be taking all its strength just to make it up the path. I hardly think it’s going to be able to do anyone any harm.’

  ‘You seem convinced that it’s a spirit, as you call it,’ said Andrew. ‘I still think it’s condensation. If that was grass out there instead of wooden planks, you wouldn’t even notice it. And why would the spirit or whatever it is, why would it start in the water?’

  ‘You know why, Andrew,’ said Laura quietly.

  Andrew threw her a look of disgust. ‘You think it’s him, don’t you? Miles?’

  ‘Well who else would it be?’ asked Laura. ‘He died in the water.’

  ‘I know that,’ snapped Andrew. ‘We all know that. You have to let him go, Laura. He’s dead. And the dead don’t come back.’

  ‘That’s not strictly speaking true,’ said Nightingale. ‘Sometimes, if they have unfinished business, they do come back.’

  ‘That’s absolute bollocks!’ said Andrew.

  ‘Andrew!’ said Laura.

  ‘I’m sorry, Laura, but I’m not going to start believing in ghosts because of a few wet patches on the deck.’ He threw up his hands. ‘This is doing my head in.’

  ‘Andrew, please,’ said Laura. ‘Don’t get upset.’

  Andrew took a deep breath, then forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry everybody,’ he said. ‘I’m just finding this very frustrating.’

  ‘Well I’m sure Jack has some ideas,’ said Jenny.

  ‘I need a cigarette,’ said Nightingale, standing up.

  ‘I’ll join you,’ said Andrew. They went out onto the deck. Nightingale offered a Marlboro to Andrew but he shook his head and took out a pack of small cigars. ‘Laura hates them,’ said Andrew. He lit one and blew smoke up at the sky. ‘Sorry about before,’ he said.

  Nightingale lit a Marlboro. ‘The supernatural can be stressful at the best of times.’

  ‘So you really believe all this? Ghosts and things that go bump in the night?’

  Nightingale shrugged. ‘Not everything can be explained,’ he said, non-committally.

  Andrew took another drag on his cigar. ‘I can’t help thinking that she’s using it as an excuse,’ he said after he’d blown smoke.

  ‘An excuse for what?’

  ‘I’ve asked Laura to marry me. Or at least get engaged until we can get Miles declared dead. That was when the bloody footprints started to appear.’

  Nightingale frowned. ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘The day after. I took her out for dinner, popped the question, she said yes, and the next day….’ He shrugged. ‘Then she started to backpedal on the engagement. It’s as if she doesn’t want to let him go.’

  ‘How long were they married for?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘Just over ten years. I don’t think she was that happy with him, truth be told. I always thought she was too good for him.’

  ‘So you knew Miles?’

  Andrew nodded. ‘I sold them this house. I became a family friend, though to be honest I always liked her more than him.’

  ‘So when Miles died, you made your move?’

  Andrew looked at him sharply. ‘It’s been six months. That’s a long time. Laura needs to move on.’

  ‘I get that, but you can see that the footprints would upset her. Especially if they are a sign from Miles.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Andrew. ‘If you ask me, she’s doing it herself.’

  ‘What?’ Nightingale’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

  ‘Maybe not consciously,’ said Andrew. ‘But subconsciously?’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘You think she’s faking the footprints to get out of marrying you? How does that make any sense? She could just turn you down, surely.’

  ‘Like I said, maybe it’s a subconscious thing. It would explain why the footprints only appear when there’s no one else here. That sounds a lot more likely than a ghost, doesn’t it?

  Nightingale didn’t answer.

  ‘Well, doesn’t it?’ pressed Andrew.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Nightingale. ‘But we can always ask someone who might know.’

  ‘Who would that be?’ asked Andrew.

  Nightingale looked around for an ashtray. There was one on the wicker table and he stabbed out his cigarette. Andrew was still staring at him. Nightingale forced a smile. ‘Miles,’ he said. He turned and walked back into the house before Andrew could reply.

  * * *

  ‘And you think this will work?’ asked Laura, looking down at the circle of cards that Nightingale had prepared. They were sitting at the dining table. Nightingale had written the letters A to Z on pieces of cards, plus the numbers one to ten and the words YES, NO, and GOODBYE. The three words were at the top of the circle facing Nightingale. In the middle of the circle was an upturned wine glass.

  ‘It’s a bloody kids game,’ said Andrew dismissively.

  ‘Do you have any candles?’ Nightingale asked Laura. ‘Blue would be best but white or yellow would do.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Laura, and she headed for the kitchen.

  Jenny was sitting at the table holding a glass of wine and watching Nightingale with an amused smile on her face. ‘I don’t know why you don’t go the whole hog and use an Ouija board,’ she said.

  ‘Because Laura doesn’t have one and I can’t be bothered driving all the way to Gosling Manor and back,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Gosling Manor?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘Jack is a man of property,’ said Jenny. ‘His father left him a country pile. Nice place but a bit spooky.’

  ‘If you ever want to sell, let me know,’ said Andrew. ‘There are always foreign buyers with more money than sense who want a place in the country.’ He took out his wallet and gave Nightingale a business card.

  ‘Andrew!’ exclaimed Laura, returning with half a dozen blue candles. ‘I’m sorry, Jack, he’s always working. Where do you want these?’

  ‘Two on the table, the rest around the room,’ said Nightingale. ‘Spirits are more restful around candles.’

  ‘Spirits,’ said Andrew scornfully.

  ‘Okay, everyone needs to be positive about this,’ said Nightingale. ‘Negativity can kill the process stone dead. Everyone has to be optimistic and be thinking good thoughts.’ He waved at a chair. ‘Sit down, Andrew. Please.’

  Laura placed two candles in glass holders on the table and lit them, then placed another four candles around the room.

  ‘Lights off, please,’ said Nightingale.

  Laura switched off the lights and took her place at the table.

  ‘Right,’ said Nightingale. ‘I know Jenny has done this before, but have you?’ he asked Andrew and Laura.

  They shook their heads. ‘What exactly are we doing?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘It’s a séance,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘It comes from the French word for seat,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Basically we allow a spirit to communicate by moving the glass to the letters, thus spelling out a message,’ said Nightingale. ‘But before we do that, we need to carry out two things – grounding and protection. Grounding is effectively earthing your own personal energy to the energy field of the earth. You all have to imagine a ball of pure white energy inside your head, then you have to visualise it moving down through your body to your feet. As it passes through you, the ball of light has to collect all your negative energy. Don’t rush it, take your time. Once the ball of energy has reached your feet, you imagine roots spr
outing from your feet into the floor and you let the energy flow through it.’

  Laura was nodding enthusiastically, but Andrew had a look of disbelief on his face.

  ‘Once the negative energy is out, you pull in positive energy, drawing it up through your feet and into your body and then up into your head. Okay?’

  Laura nodded, then looked over at Andrew. She narrowed her eyes and he nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said, but Nightingale could hear the reluctance in his voice.

  ‘Once we’ve all grounded ourselves, we need to form a psychic shield to protect ourselves,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘From what?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘Once we open ourselves up to communicating with the spirit world, it’s possible that we might be approached by a negative spirit.’

  ‘What the hell’s that?’ asked Andrew.

  ‘Not all spirits are well-meaning,’ said Nightingale. ‘But providing we set up a protective shield, they won’t be able to approach us.’

  Andrew looked at Laura. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

  Laura nodded. ‘I want to know if it’s Miles, and if it is Miles I want to know what he wants.’

  ‘I think it’s a complete waste of time, if you ask me,’ said Andrew.

  ‘Mate, you need to think positively,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Please, Andrew,’ said Laura.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Andrew.

  ‘Right, once we’ve all grounded ourselves, we need to set up a psychic protective shield. The best way to do that is to imagine a bubble in the middle of the table and then expand that bubble until it is large enough to contain us all. No matter what happens you have to keep the image of the bubble in your mind.’

  He looked around the table and they were all nodding, though Andrew clearly wasn’t impressed.

  ‘The ending is important,’ said Nightingale. ‘Once the session is over I will thank the spirit for its help and wish it well. Then I will ask that the glass is returned to the centre of the table. When it’s back in the middle we perform another grounding and only then do we take our fingers off.’