THE SIXTH GUEST: Chapter Six - Part One

THE VISITOR

Henry came awake in the upstairs front room of Beltane Boarding house with such sudden urgency that his heartbeat racked up audibly in his ear canal, perspiration breaking out on his forehead and amongst the curly white hair on his chest.

It was dark in the room but he had the undeniable sense that he wasn’t alone, that the bedroom door had come open. Before he even looked that way his eyes went to the computer screen, checking it was blank, but his bedroom door was closed and there was no sign that anyone had really entered.

It was early still; too early for bed by most sensible reckoning, although he hadn’t planned to sleep straight through and was still dressed, lying on top of the covers. Contrary to this, perhaps it didn’t matter when he slept. He was retired. He could do what he wanted. Except that route of thought probably led to a drifting disconnection from society. It was better to follow normal patterns if he didn’t want to slowly become senile.

The room was completely empty; no sign even of his late wife, Lillian, but he did get a vague sense of her perfume; of her whispering voice. He scratched the back of his head with both hands then squidged to the edge of the bed. It was best to get up, stay awake until a normal time, perhaps go downstairs and interact with the other people in the house. That was the reason he moved in here after all: to have company. There wasn’t any noise coming from the rest of the house though. Perhaps no one was in.

Or was there? That panic he’d felt on waking... that made him think someone had come into his room... Nobody had but there was still a chance he’d heard something in his sleep to jerk him awake. He cracked open his bedroom door and peeked round the doorframe. The lights were off downstairs and up. He couldn’t hear sign of movement or voice. He tutted to himself and went to close it but hesitated before wood clunked against wood. Because he had heard something down there... Like a tap of metal on metal; a sound he knew. He could imagine making the sound himself, gently pushing the front door to so that it bodged up against the frame but not hard enough to snap closed. He could easily have been mistaken – it wasn’t loud – but he didn’t think so. That meant somebody was in fact in.

He wondered if he should call out but decided not to: it was Boscombe after all. There could have been any kind of intruder down there. He was about to shut his door and push the bolt into place but he didn’t. He crept out onto the landing and peeped over the balustrade down to the foot of the stairs. No light. No sign of anything.

Then he heard a floorboard creak, a very definite sound that his flagging hearing placed approximately at the lounge door, near the foot of the stairs. Suddenly his body flapped into the same state it had been in when he woke up: pulse jerking like a Springer Spaniel on its lead. He took his hands off the balustrade so that he wouldn’t feel the quivering in his fingers.

But he scolded himself. Clare’s dog would be in. It would have been that that made the noise. Except she tended to leave Ralph in the garden when she went out. And that didn’t explain the door. If anything it made the door more of an issue. If Ralph got free out onto the road it could lead to all sorts of trouble. Henry decided to pop down and check.

When he got to the top of the stairs he wished he’d flicked the light switch outside his room but he couldn’t be bothered to backtrack. He could see the base of the front door from the top step and it was ajar, as he’d thought. He risked a quiet, “Hello?”

There was no answer.

He took one step down the stairs then stopped and gave a quick glance over the banister, down into the hallway leading back toward the kitchen. It was empty. The entire hallway was empty and there was no sound. He took one more step down then shook his head and tramped back up and along the landing to his room. He flicked on the upstairs light and popped back inside, returning with the walking stick he’d received as a present and never used.

He brandished it round to the top of the stairs. Now that the light was on the sinister air in the house was gone. It was just the house. The downstairs light switch was at the foot of the stairs but that didn’t matter. He could see perfectly well. With only a little worry in his heart, Henry started down, only slowing and gripping his stick more tightly as he neared the bottom.

When he hit the last step he heard a definite floorboard creak that came from the lounge and froze again. The light was off in there. The door was half closed. He couldn’t see in far enough to spot anyone.

He started to say “Hello” again but had to clear his throat before he could get it out.

There was no answer.

He looked up the stairs, wondering if making his way back up there as quickly as possible wasn’t the best thing to do. It obviously was. He’d have to be an idiot to proceed. He glanced at the front door. It was still ajar.

It was dangerous to go any further. Rush back upstairs. Lock himself in his room. Call the police and Clare. Don’t come out.

Henry stepped down into the hallway and walked across to the lounge door. His mind was screaming at him to go back; to turn around and sprint (if his body still could) up those stairs; or even run outside the front and flee up the street!

He put his hand on the stripped wood of the lounge door and gently pushed it back. It made no sound. Now that it was opening he felt the presence of someone in there. The voices telling him to run became quiet, his mind stilling. Whoever was in there was waiting for him. They were waiting for everyone.

He pushed the door fully open and walked inside.