Sker House 2020 by Saunders C.M

Author:Saunders, C.M
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deviant Dolls Publications
Published: 2016-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19:

Skeletons

Once he accepted the fact he was having a conversation with himself in an otherwise empty room, Dale threw himself into the task of trying to interact with the ghost, if there was one. The first few questions he asked were hesitant, his voice sounding strange and self-conscious, but he persevered and kept the recorder rolling. Soon he was firing off questions on a whim, sometimes repeating the same one several times in different tones in an effort to provoke a response, mimicking the ghost hunters he saw on TV.

Alone with his thoughts, he couldn't help but be dragged back to the past, where the real ghosts were.

He’d started frequenting the local pubs when still in the last year of comprehensive school. Some of the landlords used to let him and his two best friends, Simon and Barry, play pool in the afternoons, even if they were wearing school uniforms. As long as one of you bought a glass of coke or two between you, there was never any problem. There they would talk about girls and sport, catching the balls before they went down the pockets to make their lunch money stretch further.

Having grown up within three streets of each other, the three boys were bound together most of their lives, but couldn't be more different. Simon was the studious one and destined for a life on the council, a feat he duly achieved around the same time Dale started work in a local factory the summer they left school. Barry, on the other hand, was always a bit 'dodgy,' as Dale's parents put it. And they weren't wrong. It wasn't that he lacked intelligence. Far from it. Barry was smart enough to turn his back on the rat race early-doors and explore alternative ways of making a living. He had his plump little fingers in all sorts of pies. It didn't make him a bad person, he just chose a different path. Unfortunately, it was a path fraught with danger that frequently landed him in trouble with the police.

Dale's mind was wrenched back to the present when, after precisely nine minutes, the Dictaphone's red RECORD light abruptly winked out.

No battery. Shit.

Like any good pro, Dale always carried a supply. There was a new pack in his rucksack, and he was almost positive there were one or two loose ones kicking around, too. As he crossed the room to retrieve them, he suddenly became aware of how cold it was getting.

Damn skinflint landlord, turn the heating on!

On checking, he was surprised to find that the heating already was on. The large wall-mounted radiator was almost too hot to touch.

The temperature must be dropping outside, he thought, glancing out of the window at the rapidly deteriorating weather.

Just then, he noticed something lying on the floor beneath the radiator and stooped to pick it up.

It was a long-barrelled iron key. The rust and level of discolouration told him it was very old.

Puzzled, Dale looked around the room. It didn't seem

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