The Darkest Veil Read online

  THE DARKEST VEIL

  By Catherine Cavendish

  A Macabre Ink Production

  Macabre Ink is an imprint of Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Smashwords edition published at Smashwords by Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition Copyright © 2019 Catherine Cavendish

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Cat first started writing when someone thrust a pencil into her hand. Unfortunately as she could neither read nor write properly at the time, none of her stories actually made much sense. However as she grew up, they gradually began to take form and, at the tender age of nine or ten, she sold her dolls’ house, and various other toys to buy her first typewriter. She hasn’t stopped bashing away at the keys ever since, although her keyboard of choice now belongs to her laptop.

  The need to earn a living led to a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance but Cat is now the full-time author of a number of supernatural, ghostly, haunted house and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. For Crossroad Press these include: The Devil’s Serenade, Miss Abigail’s Room, The Second Wife, Dark Avenging Angel, The Devil Inside Her, The Demons of Cambian Street and Cold Revenge. She lives in Southport, in the U.K. with her longsuffering husband, and a black cat, who has never forgotten that her species was once worshiped in Egypt.

  When not slaving over a hot computer, Cat enjoys wandering around Neolithic stone circles and visiting old haunted houses.

  You can connect with her here:

  www.catherinecavendish.com

  https://www.facebook.com/CatherineCavendishWriter/

  www.goodreads.com/author/show/4961171.Catherine_Cavendish

  https://twitter.com/Cat_Cavendish

  DISCOVER CROSSROAD PRESS

  Visit the Crossroad site for information about all available products and its authors

  Check out our blog

  Subscribe to our Newsletter for information about new releases, promotions, and to receive a free eBook

  Find and follow us on Facebook

  We hope you enjoy this eBook and will seek out other books published by Crossroad Press. We strive to make our eBooks as free of errors as possible, but on occasion some make it into the final product. If you spot any problems, please contact us at [email protected] and notify us of what you found. We’ll make the necessary corrections and republish the book. We’ll also ensure you get the updated version of the eBook.

  If you have a moment, the author would appreciate you taking the time to leave a review for this book at the retailer’s site where you purchased it.

  Thank you for your assistance and your support of the authors published by Crossroad Press.

  Dedication

  For Colin, without whom…

  and in memory of Susan Roebuck—writer, artist, friend. Lost to us too soon

  Acknowledgments

  Julia Kavan, writer and indispensable reader of my early drafts. Thank you as always.

  The ‘Two Davids’—David Dodd and David Niall Wilson. Thank you for being great publishers. I love working with you guys.

  And to you, reading this story. Thank you. I hope you enjoy this tale, which has an element of ‘confessions of a misspent youth’ in it. Suffice it to say, don’t mess with Ouijas, you may end up with more than you bargained for…

  ‘When death’s darkest veil draws over you, then shall shadows weep’.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Afterword

  Chapter One

  The moment I stepped across the battered and unloved threshold, the house welcomed me. It led me in, wrapped me in a cocoon of softness and told me I had come home.

  My name is Alice Lorrimer and in September 1972, I had recently left my English High School with a clutch of half-decent exam results and an unshakeable belief that, like all eighteen-year-olds, I could change the world simply by being in it. How I would accomplish that, as a humble bank clerk, wasn’t yet clear to me.

  I had unpacked my few belongings and made up my bed when a smart rap on my door heralded the arrival of a pixie of a woman who looked a few years older than me. She wore her bleached blonde hair short, sported a broad grin, and held a lit cigarette between her fingers.

  “Hello, new girl, I’m Suzie. I live in number five upstairs.” The broad Leeds accent was embellished with the gravelly throatiness of the chain-smoker.

  “Hi, I’m Alice,” I said. I gauged my housemate to be in her late twenties. Thirty maybe, but no more. She scanned the room, grinning broadly as she saw the clutch of novels on the mantelpiece, which doubled as a temporary bookshelf.

  “You like the Angelique books, too,” Suzie said. “Imagine being her. All those adventures and handsome men lusting after her. All I’ve ever done is a string of dead-end jobs and divorced a bastard of a husband.” She laughed, the raucousness ending in a cough. “God, I must quit these cigs.”

  She pointed the offending “cig” at me and I handed her the ashtray I had laid on the small dining table. Suzie mashed her cigarette up and handed the receptacle and its massacred contents back to me. I set it down again.

  “I’ve only just moved to Leeds,” I said. “I’m from York.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’ll find a bit of a difference here, love. Leeds is much more modern—and a hell of a lot noisier. Better nightlife here, too.”

  Apparently forgetting her earlier resolve to quit, Suzie reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a slightly battered box of Embassy Regal. She offered me one, but I shook my head. I only ever smoked menthol.

  Suzie lit up, inhaled and blew out a cloud of acrid smoke. “So what do you think of the house then?”

  “I’ve really not seen it properly yet, but the bathroom and kitchen seem okay. Is there a cleaning rota?”

  Suzie let out a hoarse belly laugh. “Cleaning? That kitchen’s lucky if someone remembers to empty the waste bin. That’s why I live in number five. I’ve got my own kitchen. I can keep my germs to myself and not pick up anyone else’s. Can’t stand congealed grease and dirty cookers.” She wrinkled her nose. “As for the bathroom…at least people seem to keep that relatively tidy. I shove a load of bleach down the toilet once a week, so anything you can do to help will be appreciated.”

  “Okay.”

  Suzie took another drag of her cigarette. “Anyway, I’d better let you get sorted. If you need anything, knock on my door.”

  “Thanks, Suzie.”

  She put her hand on the doorknob, then hesitated. “A piece of advice. This house is a bit…well…different.”

  “Different?”

  “Yes. It…” I waited as she searched for the words. To my surprise, she advanced towards me. Instinctively I took a step back. “It’s okay, Alice. I didn’t mean to startle you. I don’t want to talk too loudly, that’s all.”

  She glanced behind her. I followed her gaze, but saw nothing. She flicked the ash of her cigarette into the ashtray and took a deep breath. “When you go
t here this afternoon, did you feel anything?”

  “I don’t quite follow…”

  “Did you feel like you were being drawn into the house?”

  I searched my memory. “I did feel the house had a welcoming atmosphere. Sort of warm and homely.”

  “Like it wrapped you up in a blanket?”

  That described my impression perfectly. It had felt like someone had wrapped me in the softest fleece. Comforting. Protective. I hadn’t thought much to it then, but now Suzie had mentioned it…

  Suzie smiled. “Oh, don’t mind me. I don’t mean anything by it. Be aware, that’s all. Things happen here sometimes.”

  “What sort of things?”

  Suzie opened her mouth to speak, shook her head and said nothing. She stared down at her hands. Her knuckles were white from clenching—a gesture at odds with the smile which seemed pasted on her face as she looked back up at me and our eyes met.

  “Ignore me,” she said. “Too much imagination. My mam always warned me it would get me into trouble. Nice to meet you, Alice.”

  Suzie crossed the room and shut the door behind her before I could respond.

  That night, as I lay in bed, the orange glow of the streetlights cast deep fingers of shadow across the room. I mulled over what Suzie had said. How she had seemed almost scared to speak about the house. But why? Maybe simply winding up the new girl. Yes, that would be the most likely explanation. I turned over and fell asleep.

  “Come and join us, Alice,” Suzie said. “We’re all going down the Yarby for a couple of halves.”

  Suzie leaned against a large cupboard in the kitchen the other four of us shared. The mixed smells of yesterday’s tinned curry, vinegar from someone’s fish and chips, and the usual sour smell from the sink meant I was always glad to get out of there. Saturday tomorrow and I had already resolved to buy a big bottle of bleach and some rubber gloves.

  Vicky and Diana, two of my other housemates, were also there. Only the quiet little mouse, Anita, in number four was missing. I had barely exchanged two words with her as she scurried up to her bedsit.

  I pulled a face. “I don’t get paid ’til next week and I’m broke.”

  Vicky tossed back her unruly auburn curls. “We’re all in the same boat,” she said. “That’s what the cupboard’s for.” She pulled open the tall doors of a large, solid cupboard I hadn’t yet investigated. Shelf upon shelf jam-packed with bottles that had contained beer, cider, lemonade. All had one thing in common--returning them to the shop meant getting money back.

  Vicky started handing bottles to Diana and Suzie who had a collection of large plastic sacks to pile them into. “We do this every couple of months,” she said. “We usually get enough to buy at least one round of drinks, sometimes more.”

  “Great idea.” I took a bottle off Vicky and added it to the others. “But I feel guilty. I haven’t contributed to this.”

  “Ah, but you will,” Diana said, tucking a strand of her short black hair behind her ears. “By next month you’ll have added your fair share to the cupboard. Each of us has had a free ride the first time.”

  We piled the bottles into the sacks. A wave of happiness filled me. I felt accepted by these girls and, as a naturally shy person who found it difficult to make new friends, this boosted my confidence. In my new life, I could be whoever I chose to be. They knew nothing of me before this week. I could mold myself into an entirely new character if I wanted. I didn’t have to be shy Alice anymore. I could be gregarious, outgoing Alice. I smiled and carried on helping my new friends until we had emptied the cupboard. We carried a sack in each hand and clanked our way over to the Off License.

  The shopkeeper greeted the girls like an old friend.

  “Off to the pub, I see.” He smiled.

  Suzie hoisted her bags up on the counter. “Hello, Mr. Dent. Yes, just dropping off the empties. This is Alice, by the way. She moved in this month.”

  Mr. Dent held out his hand and I shook it. He looked to be in his fifties, with graying hair slicked back and shiny with Brylcreem. His smile revealed teeth stained by years of smoking, but genuine warmth shone through his eyes.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Alice. Don’t let these girls lead you astray.”

  “Mr. Dent!” Suzie exclaimed in mock horror. “Us? Lead her astray? Whatever can you be thinking. Pure as the driven snow, us lot.”

  Mr. Dent laughed. “Yes. After a cartload of monkeys have driven through it.”

  He handed over our money to Diana. “There you are, girls, enjoy your evening. Don’t get too drunk now.”

  “Strictly Coke,” Vicky said, her expression serious before she broke out into a broad grin.

  “Of course, Vicky,” Mr. Dent said and winked at me.

  We left the shop giggling like schoolgirls, linked arms and crossed the road.

  An atmosphere smogged by tobacco smoke, loud chatter, raucous laughter and the incessant clinking of glasses met us at the door of the Yarborough Arms.

  We squeezed our way past throngs of the young and the not-so-young. A couple was moving away from a table, well-placed near the bar, and Diana demonstrated why she had gained medals for athletics at school, by ducking and diving her way forward before a final short sprint saw her grab the table a mere second ahead of a middle-aged man. He brandished a pint of bitter and a newly acquired scowl. Diana smiled sweetly at him and he stomped away, muttering under his breath.

  I sat down with Diana while Vicky and Suzie disappeared into the melee to fight their way to the bar. Ten minutes later they were back with a clutch of half pints of cider for Diana and me, and lager and lime for themselves.

  Cigarettes were exchanged, ashtrays started filling up. I took my turn braving the madding crowd at the bar, with Suzie, who didn’t believe in waiting and had the decibels to ensure she didn’t need to. “What do I have to do to get some service here!” she yelled. “Oy.” She elbowed her way in front of a burly man with a dragon tattoo on his forearm. “I got here first, buster, wait your turn.”

  I held my breath. Surely this six-foot-square giant wasn’t going to take that from a five-foot blonde with attitude? But to my amazement he moved away.

  Suzie shot in with her order. “Two halves of lager and lime and two halves of cider please.”

  “How did you do that?” I asked when we returned to the others.

  Diana grinned. “That’s Suzie. She doesn’t take any shit from anyone.”

  Suzie nodded. “It comes from growing up in the roughest part of Leeds with three older brothers. Doesn’t work every time, though. That’s when I duck. Being short, I can squeeze under them.”

  “I’ve got a lot to learn,” I said, handing around my St Moritz menthols. “I never thought I’d lived a sheltered life, but now I think I must have.”

  “Ah well, we’re not posh like those York toffs,” Suzie said, smiling at me. “You’ll soon get the hang of us.”

  “Speak for yourself, Baxter,” Vicky said. “We’re not all from Hunslet. I’m from Wakefield.” She winked at me.

  A warm glow spread over me as I laughed with my new friends. It had taken a lot for me to leave my comfortable home where I’d lived since babyhood. My mother had wept. My father had tried to persuade me to stay, but I had been determined to push myself, to get out into the big, wide world, earn my own living and make my own mistakes, away from the cozy cocoon my parents had wrapped around me.

  It was the Seventies. A great time to be single, free, and an adult. Women’s Liberation yelled at full throttle and, while I didn’t bring myself to burn my bra, I certainly wasn’t prepared to settle for a dead-end job. I wouldn’t waste my time waiting for the right man to whisk me off my feet, stick a ring on my finger, and chain me to the kitchen sink for the rest of my life.

  “But Alice,” my mother had said, putting her arms around me. She gave me a tight hug and then held me at arm’s length. Tears glistened in her eyes. “How will you cope on your own?”

  “Mum, I’m eighteen. I can
take care of myself. It would be the same if I was going off to college.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. At least at college there are people looking out for you. Leeds is a big city for a young girl all on her own.”

  “But I won’t be on my own. I’ll have work colleagues at the bank and I’m moving into a house with four other girls. I’m going to do this, Mum, and I’m going to make it work. Please be happy for me.”

  She sighed, hesitated, and then nodded. She knew I wouldn’t change my mind. I had inherited my stubborn streak from her.

  Already I had drifted away from the schoolfriends I had known for years. They had either stayed put or gone off to Teacher Training College or University. As far as I knew, I was the only one of us who had decided to strike out on her own. In a couple of weeks, I already had more in common with the three people sitting around the table with me now than I did with any of them.

  “So, Alice,” Diana exhaled a cloud of smoke. “How’s the new job shaping up?”

  “It’s okay,” I said, unsure whether I meant it or not. “There’s a lot to learn, but I’m getting to grips with it. I think so anyway.”

  “I always reckon it takes a good six months to get yourself bedded in,” Vicky said. “I’ve been in this job a year and I swear it took me two days to find the ladies’ loo.”

  Suzie laughed. “I’ve had jobs that didn’t even last two days.”

  “Yes, Suzie,” Vicky said. “But you make your mind up within an hour whether you’re going to like the job or not. You don’t give them a chance.”

  “Life’s too short for boring jobs.” Suzie lit up yet another cigarette, inhaled and coughed. “God, these bloody cigs. Anyway, there’s always another job. This latest one’s not so bad. The boss stays in his office most of the time. He drinks. Spends the afternoon lying on this big couch of his, snoring his head off.”