“There’s no such thing as normal teenage behavior.”
“You’d need to see her to be sure, wouldn’t you? Face-to-face?”
I nodded.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“What about the hallucinations? Could they be linked to this—uh, anemia?”
“Unlikely. But it’s been so hot lately—could be dehydration, heatstroke? Even something like carbon monoxide poisoning would cause some of the behavior you’re describing, although the whole family would be affected if that was the case. How is she in school?”
“She’s been taken out of school. In September she’s due to study hairdressing at the local college.”
“Ah, okay. What’s her homelife like?”
“I mean, I can only go on first impressions but there are five of them living there. Dad works in a factory, Mum’s a housewife. There are two young children under ten and a teenage girl. It’s hectic. They live in a small, terraced house, council owned, like the others around it. It’s a close-knit community, but there’s poverty and an air of dissatisfaction with the government and life in general. Unemployment in the whole county is high.”
We both fell silent. My glass was empty, the ice melting into miniature floes. Outside, a man was shouting in a hoarse, cracked voice, “She said she could swim! I threw herin!” over and over. The heat was sending us all mad, I thought. I checked my watch again. I had to go.
“I hope that’s helped you, Sam. For what it’s worth, you asked for my opinion so I’m going to give it to you. I think whatever is happening to Alice Webber doesn’t have roots in the supernatural. I think it’s environmental, almost certainly physical. Something as mundane as hormones, even. If you’re considering turning this into a story, I would ask that you go easy on her, huh? I remember how it is to be a teenage girl—I was one myself not long ago—and it’s tough. Okay?”
“Sure. Okay.”
I stood up, but I didn’t leave right away. I studied Sam carefully. There was a blot of color high in each of his cheeks and, when he shook my hand, he didn’t quite meet my eye. I wondered why I was not moving out the door and into that bright sunshine, why I was not already calling a cab to an important appointment that I was dangerously close to missing.
“There’s more, isn’t there? Sam?”
“You’ll miss your appointment.”
It felt as though someone was squeezing my ribs, making it difficult to draw a breath.
“Sam?”
He sighed, pushing his hair away from his face.
“I was intrigued by this story when Paul told it to me. Last week I went down to Banathel and met Alice Webber and her family. I had low expectations and to be honest, Mina, I wasn’t disappointed. Alice is a normal teenage girl, quiet and a bit sulky. Shy. Unremarkable, really. She didn’t say much—her father didmost of the talking. In the time I was present, I saw no evidence of a haunting or anything untoward. I taped some interviews with members of the family and then I drove home feeling disappointed. I almost didn’t bother listening to the tape—it’s about forty-five minutes from beginning to end, but I did. I did. And right at the end as I’m packing away there’s a voice.”
“Whose voice?”
“I don’t know. We’d been using the girls’ bedroom for interviews, as that’s where most of the ‘activity’ was concentrated, according to Alice. When we were done, I started packing my things away, not thinking about much except how hot it was and the long drive home. By this point I was alone in the bedroom. The recorder picks up a lot of sounds, you can hear me breathing and moving around, zipping up my bag. It’s just me in there, Mina. I’d swear it on my life. But when I played it back it’s as if something came right up to it and whispered into the microphone.”
A chill slipped down my back, breaking me out in gooseflesh. I leaned forward hungrily, caterers forgotten.
“What did it say?”
“You tell me.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a slim black box, plastic and chrome. At first I thought it was a camera but I realized as he passed it to me that I was mistaken. It was a Dictaphone. Sam also passed me a pair of headphones, his face set.
“Play it, Mina.”
At first there was nothing but the sound of the mechanism whirring, a hiss of static from the small speaker. I turned the Dictaphone over and found the volume dial, turning it with the pad of my thumb until the hiss became a roar. I pressed the headphones close to my ears, heart quickening, tongue dry and heavy as sand. There was a rustling, voices growing distant as if in another partof the house, walking away. Silence. The hiss and click of the tape. Then, something bled through, distorted. Something with a throatful of splinters.
“Good riddance!”
I dashed the Dictaphone away from me in one deft swipe, whole body stiff with alarm. It hit the ground with a crunch as the plastic casing split. The waitress turned toward the sound, eyes wide. My mouth was working over and over but no words were coming out, and Sam was reaching for me and saying what is it, Mina, what’s wrong and all I could think wastell me about the ice, tell me about the ice.
FOUR