Neighbours
Neighbours
by
Therese Rea
HCBN 101-011-0014
This e-book is published by
Hiddencave
Southampton, UK
www.hiddencave.com
info@hiddencave.com
Published by Hiddencave UK 2001
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2001 by Therese Rea
trea@netaccess.co.nz
NEIGHBOURS
‘Looks like some new neighbours have moved into No 11.’ Monica dropped three teabags in the teapot as she spoke.
Ron yawned and rubbed his eyes. He had just completed an eight- hour night shift at the local radio station. ‘ About time too,’ he said,’ must’ve been empty for over a year now.’
‘Easily that, dear.’ Monica nodded her greying head as she held the teapot aloft. ‘Wonder what they’re like…I think I’ll make a batch of scones and take them over.’
Ron warned. ‘Don’t get too friendly, Mon…remember the last lot with their brawls and wild parties.’
Monica shuddered. ‘And the murder! How could I forget that? I still have nightmares about it but that shouldn’t stop me from being neighbourly.’
The cheese scones rose to perfection as Monica’s scones usually did. She carried her neighbourly gift across the street and knocked several times on the front door. She tried the back door. There was still no reply. ‘Strange,’ she thought,’ it’s a wonder I didn’t see them go out this morning.’ She took the scones home. All that day, she looked for signs of life at No 11 but neither saw nor heard anyone.
‘Perhaps they didn’t stay,’ she said to Ron as he was leaving for work that night.
‘Forget about them,’ he advised ‘if anyone has moved in we’ll get to know them soon enough.’
It was good advice but Monica didn’t take it. She kept listening for sounds and checking for lights until she went to bed about half past ten. She had just dozed off when she awoke to voices and doors slamming across the street at No 11. Someone began playing a piano. At first, the music was soft and relaxing but then the volume increased until it was almost deafening. From her bedroom window, she could see a faint glow of light, rather like that of a candle. ‘They can’t have put the power on yet’ she thought.
The party, for that is what Monica assumed it to be, went on for an hour. Then the music stopped abruptly. There were shrieks and yells and doors slamming. Then there was silence. Monica jumped out of bed and peered through the window, but, although she stayed there for what seemed ages, she saw no one leave the house. Puzzled, she nervously returned to bed but not to sleep.
The following two nights it happened again. There was no sign of any occupancy but at exactly eleven o’clock the partying began and finished at exactly midnight. Red-eyed and haggard, Monica was frightened to go to sleep and only relaxed when Ron came home from work.
On the fifth night, Monica could stand it no longer. As soon as the revelling began, she ran across to No 11 sand rapped on the front door. No one answered but there was a sudden, eerie silence. Filled with fear, she rushed home, slamming the door behind here. The partying re-commenced. It ended at twelve ten that night – ten minutes later than normal. When Ron arrived home, Monica was sitting at her bedroom window, staring across the street. She had been there all night and Ron couldn’t persuade her to move.
‘I have to see them, Ron,’ she said wearily,’ I have to know.’
Finally, Ron wrapped a rug about her and prepared his own breakfast. He took her a cup of tea and toast. She sipped a little of the tea. Ron went to bed but was unable to sleep so eventually pulled a chair up and sat beside her. Together they gazed across the street at No 11.
‘You worn out from lack of sleep, dear, Ron said in a worried voice. ‘Let me make an appointment with Dr Bennett. I could get some time off and we could go away for a few days...it would take your mind off this. He hesitated before adding, ‘you must know there isn’t anyone there, Mon. I don’t understand about these things but sometimes the mind can play funny tricks on us.’
‘I don’t need a doctor,’ Monica snapped. ‘You think I’m going mad, don’t you? I’m not. I know what I heard and I’m going to sit here until I see them. They must come out sometime.’
Ron did ring their doctor who arrived in the early afternoon. Their family physician for many years, he was shocked at Monica’s appearance. ‘Come into the kitchen and we’ll have a chat, Monica,’ he said gently but she refused to budge from the window. It was only after Ron offered to sit there in her place, she agreed. Dr Bennett spoke casually for a while, asking after members of her family who were scattered throughout the country. Then he said slowly, as if reluctant to bring up the subject.
‘You know Monica, sometimes the subconscious mind does strange things and gets out of control. Women of your age especially, tend to get odd feelings and…’
‘You’re as bad as Ron, Doctor,’ she accused resentfully, ‘you think I’m going mad too but I know what I heard.’
‘Of course you are not going mad, it’s more to do with hormones, my dear, not mental illness.’
Monica was not convinced. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, the doctor said,’ I’; give Inspector West a ring and ask him to send a constable to check the old house.
She agreed. It would prove that she knew what she was talking about. Constable Alleck arrived about four thirty. He was young, fresh from the Police College and seemed to think his assignment was good for a laugh.
‘I’ve come to inspect your funny noises,’ he said with a grin.
Ron said hastily.’ It’s that old place across the street. I’ll come with you.’
‘I’m coming too, Monica insisted and they could not dissuade here.
The young policeman knocked at both the front and back doors. There was no reply so he climbed in through an unlatched window and opened the front door. Together the three entered the lounge. During the past few days, Monica had pictured it full of busy, noisy people but, clinging tightly to Ron’s hand, she was not prepared for what she saw.
The room had obviously had not been used for a very long time. Chairs were placed in a haphazard manner around a piano as though the previous occupants had left them there after a singsong. Dust lay thick on the furniture and it was difficult to distinguish the black from the white keys on the piano. Soot from the chimney covered the hearth and the carpet in front of it. The curtains half hung against the windowpane as if someone had used them for a swing.
Monica was shocked. Coldness gripped her and she began to tremble. Ron moved closer and put his arms about her and she could feel the love and compassion flowing from him. Constable Alleck could scarcely contain his amusement.
.
‘Well madam…you can see for yourself…there’s no one here. Unless it is haunted! Perhaps it was ghosts you heard.’
Monica looked at him blankly, unable to speak. He chuckled as he continued.
‘I’m a certified ghost buster…got a certificate to prove it. Would you like me to get rid of them for you?’ He called out in a squeaky, changing voice. ‘Depart from here you ghastly ghosts or I’ll put you on a charge.’
What followed was unbelievably terrifying. The chairs slid backward with a scraping sound. The piano, played by unseen hands, reached a crescendo before the lid slammed down. There were shrieks and screams and whishing sounds and the air itself seemed to swirl around them. Doors slammed and then – a deathly silence.
Constable Alleck turned a pale shade of green. Like a child seeking it’ his mother, he clutched Monica to him in a vice like grip. Pushed aside by the policeman, Ron stood stature-like, unable to move. The eerie silence was penetrated by the half-screams, half-sobs of Constable Alleck.
Monic
a was surprisingly calm. With a strength she did not know she possessed, she withdrew herself from the policeman’s clutch, and, putting her arm around the shivering man, led him out the front door. Lovingly, she did the same for her husband.
Returning to the lounge, Monica stood in the centre of the room. ‘ I was right, wasn’t I? You are neighbours of a sort.’
A slight rustling of the dilapidated curtains assured her that her unseen hosts agreed. With a smile of satisfaction, she left the room to join and comfort Ron. There was no sign of Constable Alleck or his car.
Therese Rea, Neighbours
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