The House That Jack Built by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online

want you ruining my car. Supposing you strained the engine? Supposing one of the gates fell onto the back of it?'
        'Okay, okay. Just an idea.'
        Effie stood watching him for a while. He seemed extraordinarily agitated, yet pleased, too, because he kept chivvying the palms of his hands together, the way he always did when he was excited or inspired.
        'What is it?' She took hold of his arm, and his face was radiant. 'Tell me what it is.'
        He grasped her shoulders, and then he hugged her close, really hugged her, for the first time since he had left home on the morning of March 16. Effie was so surprised and touched that she suddenly felt as if she had burrs in her throat, and her eyes filled up with tears. It had been so long since he had spoken with any affection at all, let alone showed it, that she was overwhelmed.
        'I was meant to come here,' he repeated. 'I don't know how, or why. But it's like hearing music, almost.'
        'Music?' Effie was moved, but completely baffled.
        He released her from the hug, but he still kept hold of her hands.
        'I can't explain it. I just can't explain it. But do you know what it's like, when you're passing somebody's house, on a summer afternoon, and they've opened all the windows, and you can hear music playing? Dance music, do you know what I mean? Dance music - tango, foxtrot, that kind of thing. And you think to yourself, I wonder what memories this is conjuring up, for the person who's listening to it. Is it happy, or is it sad? Maybe they danced to this music with somebody who's dead. Maybe they never had anybody to dance with.'
        'Craig,' said Effie, half-pleased and half-concerned. He had delighted her, with this sudden burst of affection, but he had alarmed her, too. She had never heard him talking this way before, even when they were first married.
        'It's all right,' he said. 'Everything's fine. Everything's going to be fine.'
        After a while, they climbed back into the car, and he started the engine. He turned around in his seat to back the BMW along the road. Effie took a last look at the rusting gates. They reminded her of Edward Gorey's drawings; the sort of sinister Gothic gates that might have been familiar to The Dwindling Party or the Gashlycrumb Tinies ('A is for Amy who fell down the stairs').
        'We must be able to find out whose property this is,' said Craig. 'One of those realtors in Cold Spring should know.'
        'What does it matter whose property it is?'
        'I want to see it, that's why it matters.'
        'I expect it's all run down, just like the Red Oaks Inn.'
        'I want to see it, is that such a bad thing?'
        'No, no, of course not,' said Effie. She didn't want to upset him now that he was being so effervescent. If it took a visit to some derelict old house to lift him out of his trauma, then terrific.
        They had almost backed up to the point where Craig could turn the car around when she saw something moving, beyond the gates, where the oaks were darkest. It could have been nothing at all, a stray flicker of sunlight through the leaves. But she was sure that it was a figure; a very slim pale figure dressed in white or cream, watching them go.
        She didn't know why, but the sight of this figure alarmed her out of all proportion. She opened her mouth to say something to Craig, but then the figure was gone, or dissolved, or vanished. She suddenly thought of the man in the homburg hat she had seen through the red stained glass segment of the window at the inn.
        Red world, green world, and sickly amber world. Perhaps there was another world, too. A world glimpsed through closed gates and half-closed doors. A world where dance music was always heard through other people's open windows. She looked at Craig and he looked back at her, and she wondered if she had actually understood what he meant.
        

SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 3:23