I open my mouth to respond and snap it closed again. As far as I know Sam never actually met Mary so he can only take Bert’s word for how sick she was. He has no idea how vulnerable she was at the end. I could tell Sam about the marks on the wall and her bloodied, gory eye but if I start contradicting Bert now I’ll only infuriate Sam more so instead I ask, “When did you see Bert?”
“Today. He came over and spoke with Lisa and Paul. They’ve asked us to leave, Mina.”
“What?” My knees feel suddenly weak. That sense of dread swells and clings. “Why?”
“They said you can’t be trusted.” Sam wipes his nose along his arm and I realize he is crying. “I was so close, Mina.”
“Sam, there’ll be other opportunities. You said yourself ghost stories these days are ten a penny.”
He looks at me in genuine confusion, face crumpled with disappointment. “I meant Maggie, Mina. I was so close to contacting her, and now you’ve ripped it away from me.”
Pain radiates from him like heat from an oven. He hugs the grubby shoe against his chest, so small in his big hands. I stand very still, head down. Thinking.
“Okay. Okay, listen, Sam—I’ll speak to them. I’ll speak to Bert. I’ll make it right, okay?”
Sam isn’t listening. He is shaking his head, still talking. “Bert said if we go quietly he won’t ask for an inquest.”
“An inquest into what?”
Mary’s eye, muddied with blood. The claw marks on her neck. I swallow dryly.
“You weren’t meant to be in her bedroom, Mina. Bert told you not to go in.”
I stare at Sam, jaw fused with shock. I want to speak but the words won’t come. Black spots dance in front of my eyes.
“They want us out by four. I’m already packed. You should make a start.”
“Sam, you can’t possibly thinkIhad anything to do with Mary’s death.”
He looks up at me and I’m frightened by the lack of feeling in his gaze. I lower myself in the armchair beside him, reaching for his hands. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“I wasn’t even in the bedroom when she died. I was—” I stammer, suddenly feeling sick. What can I tell him? That I was poking around in the basement instead? It might absolve me of suspicion in Mary’s death but Sam and I will still be asked to leave. There is a buzzing in my ears like a soft electrical charge, a static I feel all over. I wasn’t even meant to be in the house last night, only Alice. I remain silent for so long that Sam sighs and picks up the remote control, pressing Play. The video jerks into life, so sudden and so loud that I jump, turning toward the television.
It is footage from Sam’s video camera, the image grainy, laced with static. The ambient noise is a sound like rushing water, slightly muffled. The camera has been positioned in the center of the room directly between Alice’s and Tamsin’s beds. The focus is on the dark arch of the fireplace and the red-bricked chimney breast but to the right, seated on the edge of her bed, Alice is visible in profile. She glances at the camera warily, tucking thewaves of her hair behind her ears before turning back to the object on her lap.
“When did you film this, Sam?”
“Early this morning. I went to Tanner’s Row first thing and when I got back I found Alice in the kitchen. What happened last night really scared her, Mina. She swears on her mother’s life that she doesn’t know where that hagstone came from—that she’s never seen it before, let alone tried to swallow it. She doesn’t remember standing outside your door, only that she dreamed she’d been watching herself sleep and that something liquid and black had slid out of the chimney and into her open mouth. She only fully woke up when I grabbed her.”
“Good thing you did. You probably saved her life.”
“Yup, and that’s why she agreed to try to contact Maggie for me again.” He points to the screen. “She said even though her ribs hurt and her throat is sore, it’s better than being dead like the others.”
“What others?”
Sam gives me a look and I know instantly he is talking about Vicky, Simon, and Mary. Still though, it’s a strange thing for Alice to acknowledge and I file it away, turning back to the screen as Sam keeps talking.
“Alice said the witch wouldn’t show herself if I was there so I gave her the shoe and set the camera running. It’s about twenty minutes of footage, give or take. She sits like this for nearly fifteen minutes with nothing happening. I’ve watched this over six times now and I still can’t figure out how she does it.”
“Does what?”
“Keep watching, Mina.”
Sweat dampens the collar of my T-shirt and gathers in the folds of my stomach. I watch the screen carefully, my pulseclimbing. My saliva dries up, sticking my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Sam presses the remote control again and a little green bar appears in the lower left corner as he increases the volume. There is a low, static hiss. Alice is swaying a little, her head moving like a snake about to strike. I glance at Sam. He is chewing his thumbnail nervously and I feel my pulse spike again, the friction of fear shooting up my arms and beneath the thin skin of my neck.
A fine scrim of dust begins trickling from the chimney space. The tape crackles. I see Alice flex her toes like a dancer, as if she is stiff from sitting for so long. Briefly, a dark, blurred object appears on the lens like a smudge. It obscures the room a second or two before darting away. I look at Sam, eyebrows raised.
“A wasp landed on the lens. I asked Alice about it. There were a few flying around when I went in afterward.”