The Lake House. Helen Phifer

but after a minute he could hear a shuffling sound coming along the corridor. He put on his best smile and grinned at the old woman who opened the door. She looked distraught and he actually felt uncomfortable for the first time ever.

      ‘Yes, can I help you?’

      ‘I was thinking I might be able to help you, miss.’

      ‘Really, and how exactly could you help me?’

      ‘Well, I was out walking and couldn’t help but notice the plumber’s van. Are you having trouble with your drains?’

      ‘I am.’

      ‘Well, I could sort it out today if you like, if the price is right. Cash in hand.’

      Seamus was thinking how he could make a bit of money all to himself before coming back with the others to burgle the house later. Before she had chance to answer he put his foot into the open doorway and stepped forward, forcing Martha to move back. He took his chance and within two strides was inside the house. His eyes fell to the huge oak sideboard with the solid silver candlestick holders and antique blue and white vase, and he practically felt the wad of cash he was going to earn from this in his back pocket.

      He had startled Martha, who now felt wary of him. She knew his sort and knew what he was up to because she could almost imagine the pound signs that were ringing in his ears, but she was so desperate that now she didn’t care. He could only rip her off if she allowed him to. He was on his own but she didn’t feel quite as bad about a con man coming to a sticky end as two reputable businessmen.

      ‘I can only pay you what I was quoted by the others and not a penny more. I have no bank card that you can force me to give you the numbers for and I haven’t left this house for ten years so don’t think you will be able to get me to come to the bank with you.’

      Seamus grinned. ‘Fine by me, miss; I’m only after an honest day’s work and some cash for my back pocket. Do I look as if I would try and rip such a lovely lady off?’

      Martha didn’t answer that, but she smiled.

      ‘Good. I’m glad we have an understanding.’

      ‘Well, come on in then and take a look. See if you can do anything about my drains.’

      She led the way and he followed, eyeing up the oil paintings and antique grandfather clock, which was ticking away in the hall. When they reached the cellar door he looked it up and down but didn’t say anything. All the time she kept telling herself that it would be okay. Those other men had been down there and come back out. He slid the bolts across and leant in to reach the light-pull. He tugged it but nothing happened. He pulled it again and still there was no light.

      Uneasy now, Martha felt her heart begin to race. The light had worked less than half an hour ago.

      ‘It doesn’t matter. You can’t go down there in the dark. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?’

      ‘What’s up with you? I’m not scared of the dark, you know. Have you not got a torch?’

      Martha nodded and walked back to the sideboard where she opened the drawer and pulled out a big torch. He took it off her.

      ‘I’ll have your drains sorted in ten minutes. You see if I don’t.’

      He went back to the cellar with Martha lagging behind. She watched as he ran down the steps into the blackness and prayed to God that, even though he was probably a crook and a thief, he would be safe. The memories from eighty-five years ago came rushing back as if it was yesterday. He was whistling away to himself until she heard him mutter, ‘Fuck me.’

      ‘Is everything okay?’

      ‘Apart from the smell it’s fine, miss; don’t you worry. I’ll get this sorted out for you in a jiffy.’

      Martha couldn’t stand there any longer. Her legs were shaking so much she needed to sit down, so she went into the kitchen and filled the kettle up. She would make a pot of tea for them both. After what he’d done he deserved it and it might make her stop feeling as if the world was about to end. She could hear some banging and clattering then some muffled curses, which made her smile. Footsteps came running up and he came into the kitchen.

      ‘I found the drain and it looks like something big is jammed in the bottom of it. No idea what it is but I need something to poke it with. If I can dislodge it then it should move along the sewer pipes. Then I can chuck some buckets of water down to flush it out.’

      It didn’t sound very technical but she didn’t care. As long as it worked and got rid of the smell she would be more than happy.

      ‘There’s a shed outside full of my father’s old tools. I’m sure you’ll find something in there.’

      He nodded and went out of the back door to the shed, which she could see from the kitchen window. He came back in with an assortment of tools and smiled at her.

      ‘You know, you have a beautiful old house and garden, miss. Do you not get lonely living here all on your own?’

      ‘Thank you, I do. I get terribly lonely but it’s always been this way and it always will be until the day I die. I know what’s in the shed by the way, but if you manage to sort out my problem I will let you take whatever you want.’

      He began to laugh. ‘Well now, that’s very kind of you.’

      He went off to finish the job and she felt a lot better. Maybe, after all these years, whatever it was had moved on. After all, it had nothing to feed on so there wasn’t really any reason for it to be hanging around beneath her house. She went back to the shortbread she had begun to roll earlier.

      Seamus walked back along the corridor and was surprised to see the cellar door was now shut when he knew he had left it wide open. Probably a draught – this was a big house and he’d gone outside. He pulled it open and pressed the button on the torch. Before he could move he heard some strange, tinny music coming from somewhere down in the dark. It reminded him of the old jack-in-the-box his dad had given to him when he was a kid. It had a scary clown that freaked the shit out of him every time he wound the little handle, never knowing when the fucker would pop up and make him scream. In the end, he’d given it back to his dad and told him that it gave him nightmares. His dad had laughed until he’d cried and called him a big girl but Seamus hadn’t cared. He hadn’t wanted it in his bedroom.

      He was much older and wiser now and shrugged to himself. He must have knocked something over on his way out of the cellar. The quicker he got out of here, the quicker he could pocket the cash before his mates turned up. He made his way down the steps and got a whiff of something that smelt of rotting flesh, smoke and lake water.

      Martha was clattering around in the kitchen. The kettle was boiling. She had just slid the tray of shortbread into the oven and slammed the door shut. After she’d poured the milk and set the teapot on the table to brew, she heard the noise and her heart missed a beat. She knew that sound. It was for ever etched into her memory. That jack-in-the-box had been Joe’s favourite toy and he had spent hours turning the handle and playing the music. She felt her legs begin to wobble. Either that man was messing around or something terrible had happened.

      Forcing herself to move, she walked slowly towards the open cellar door. The first thing she noticed was that the smell had gone. He must have cleared the blockage and be rooting around in her belongings. She reached the top step, her fingers brushing against the ancient Cree Indian symbols her father had carved into the back of the cellar door a long time ago to protect them all from the monster that lived down there. He had promised her when they had been done that the thing could not come past them because they were full of ancient Indian power, and she had believed him wholeheartedly. She looked down to the bottom of the steps and saw the circle of light shining into the blackness from the torch, which was now on the floor.

      ‘Are you all finished? I’ve made you a cup of tea and if you’ve got a few minutes to spare there will be some fresh shortbread coming out of the oven to go with it.’

      She was greeted by silence. Then