Secrets of the Dead Read online

‘Oh.’ Just for a moment the man sitting astride the bicycle looked uneasy, as if he’d heard bad news. ‘Well … I’m sure … uhm … Anyway.’ He flashed a smile. ‘I popped down to ask you if you’d like a tour of the castle. All the family’s invited, John. I thought you’d like to see the lie of the land, as it were, before you start work on Monday?’

  ‘That sounds great. What time would be best?’

  ‘Seven would be ideal. It’ll give you time to get yourselves sorted and have something to eat.’

  ‘Seven it is. Thanks.’ His father smiled. ‘You want to see inside the castle, don’t you, Oliver?’

  The man turned the bike round, ready for the off. ‘Cheerio.’

  ‘Bye.’ His dad waved as the man pedalled away down the drive.

  Oliver remembered the mummy photographs that Fletcher had shown him on the phone. In a couple of hours, Oliver would walk into the castle where the mummies were kept; his heart began to beat that bit faster, because he recalled what Fletcher had told him: ‘When people sleep, that’s when the mummies wake up.’

  SEVEN

  When Philip Kemmis stepped through the door that led from the entrance of his apartment in the gatehouse, he saw David Brown with his son, Fletcher. The white-haired man and the boy were heading towards where David parked his car. It was late afternoon, and the sun still burned down on the Devonshire landscape.

  David waited until his son had climbed into the passenger seat before walking across to Philip and asking, ‘Feeling any better?’

  ‘Much better, thank you. Sorry about earlier. I’d forgotten to take my medication.’

  ‘Not to worry, Philip.’ The man smiled in a friendly way. ‘You must get sick of swallowing pills. I know how it is with Mary. She takes so many she rattles when she walks.’

  Philip knew that the man was putting a brave face on things. His wife was seriously ill in hospital.

  ‘How is Mary?’ Philip asked.

  ‘Oh … shouldn’t complain in the circumstances. She’s comfortable. That’s all we can hope for.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Well, I best get on. I’m taking Fletcher to see her now. Can’t be late for visiting, or she’ll worry.’

  ‘Will you pass on my best wishes to Mary? Tell her I’m thinking about her.’

  ‘I will, Philip. Thank you. It’ll mean a lot to her.’

  David climbed behind the wheel of the car and started the engine. The man’s son stared back at Philip as they left.

  Fletcher, you’re an oddball, Philip thought. You and me both. We’re both oddballs. Then, it’s hardly surprising. Those things in the castle have a knack of reaching out and touching minds here – anyone sensitive enough … or vulnerable enough … can fall prey to those things lying in the mummy cases.

  Just visualizing those ancient, dry-as-dust bodies in the castle put Philip on edge again. Even though he’d taken the pills that were prescribed to dampen down his anxiety and quell hallucinations, they were never powerful enough. Even with those chemicals oozing through his veins, making him infuriatingly dull-witted, it didn’t take much to conjure up images that flashed with the savagery of lightning. Of that time in the castle tower when John Tolworth was there … when they were in the chamber with the Egyptian mummies and the lights went out. He remembered … yes, he remembered. His heart began to pound. Blood roared like thunder in his ears.

  Philip breathed deeply, trying to dispel the images that haunted him day and night. He began to walk at a furious pace. Sometimes exercise helped. He struck off from the drive, following the path to the church built by his ancestors. This was their private place of worship on the estate. Though the castle had been sold, only the Kemmis family and their remaining staff were permitted through its doors. He walked through the gate into the graveyard. Ahead of him, the church, built from black stone, sat in the forest clearing. All around were tombstones that bore his surname: KEMMIS. All those dozens of people that shared his blood lay six feet down in their graves. Like insects trapped in amber, his ancestors were trapped in the silence of the tomb. Fixed there for eternity. Bones in long boxes. Leaving nothing but their names etched into cold stone.

  Philip walked faster, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding that wrapped itself around his heart in the same way a python wraps itself around a lamb.

  ‘Stop it,’ he hissed at himself. ‘Don’t let these thoughts control you.’

  Just then his right hand began to hurt, a sensation of hot metal spikes being driven into the ends of the fingers. He looked down at the hand. Even though this was a hot summer’s day he wore a black leather glove there. He grimaced as the pain grew worse. A groan escaped from his lips.

  ‘This isn’t fair …!’

  A savage jolt of pain in the hand nearly brought him to his knees. As he stopped to gulp in a lungful of air, he looked at the graves of his cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents, who had all once lived in Baverstock Castle. Just for a moment, the soil became transparent. In each and every coffin lay a dried, wrinkled corpse wrapped in strips of linen, a criss-cross pattern of bandages across each chest. Faces with shrivelled lips and withered eyes.

  The mummified bodies in the castle were responsible for this grisly spectacle – he was certain of it. Even so, he recalled those long talks with his psychiatrist. ‘John, you must remember that these visions of the mummies are nothing more than a dream. They can’t hurt you any more than having a nightmare about drowning in a river can kill you. There is a chemical imbalance in your brain, that’s all. The chemical imbalance is producing these images you see of Egyptian mummies … The medication will make them vanish.’

  He gasped. ‘Dear God, I wish the pills would work … They’re useless … bloody useless.’

  Inside the leather glove on his right hand he felt a sensation of something wet sliding across his skin. Like an extremely slimy tongue being run across the palm of his hand. In disgust, he tore off the leather glove. Beneath the glove was the artificial hand. A lifeless thing made of plastic and steel.

  ‘But why can I still feel sensation there?’ He stared at the prosthetic in horror. The fingers hurt, while the sensation continued of a tongue lapping the sensitive skin of his palm. He twisted the artificial hand, removing it from the connection fixed to the wrist stump. It didn’t make the pain go away. When he looked into the forest beyond the churchyard wall he saw mummies standing there – sentinels that watched him and took pleasure in his agony.

  Thirty years ago, he’d entered the chamber in the castle tower. The collection of mummies had been there since his ancestor brought them back to England all those years ago. He’d entered the chamber with his friend, John Tolworth. The lights had gone out.

  In the darkness he’d felt them: teeth closing over his wrist. Due to the absence of light he hadn’t seen what happened next. But he’d felt … oh, yes, he’d felt that dreadful, soul-destroying bite that changed his life forever.

  EIGHT

  John Tolworth approached the castle’s main entrance. He felt tingles of anticipation, wondering what it would be like after all these years. The last time he’d stepped through those massive timber doors was thirty years ago when he was ten years old. His wife and children gazed up at the massive walls, topped with battlements. Towers soared up towards clouds blowing in on the evening breeze from the ocean.

  The head of admin, still wearing his white shirt and blue tie, greeted them warmly. John wondered if Greg Foster ever went off duty. Perhaps he sleeps in the shirt and tie, always ‘on’, always ready to serve the company. He immediately regretted the flippant thought. The man’s only trying to make us feel welcome, John told himself. And he does seem likeable.

  Greg smiled. ‘All settled in at the cottage? Beautiful setting, isn’t it? You have the forest, the meadows; all those wild flowers. This could be the Garden of Eden.’

  Ingrid smiled back, appreciating his efforts to make them welcome. ‘Thank you, Mr Foster. The cottage is lovely. I’m sure we’ll enjoy staying there.’

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sp; ‘There’s a stream at the bottom of the garden,’ Oliver said. ‘I really like that.’

  Sixteen-year-old Vicki held up her phone. ‘I bet you could get a signal in the Garden of Eden. I can’t get one here.’

  Greg laughed. ‘Baverstock Castle is rather remote. You should see it in winter; snows are positively arctic.’

  John smiled, too. ‘I’ll be more than happy if the sun keeps shining. We’re looking forward to lots of barbecues in the garden.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Greg rubbed his hands together. ‘Right. Everyone ready for the tour?’

  John followed Greg into the impressive entrance hall. He was pleased that his children looked around them in an interested way, rather than the bored manner they could adopt when the mood took them. A massive staircase swept up to the next floor. Tapestries hung from the stone walls. Oliver was fascinated by suits of armour that flanked the staircase.

  ‘Don’t touch.’ Ingrid caught Oliver’s hand as it closed around the handle of a sword that lay on a table.

  ‘This way,’ said Greg. ‘We’re still doing renovation work, so keep clear of scaffolding and cables.’

  John caught the distinctive scent of fresh paint. The last time he was here the place was still owned by the Kemmis family. Back then, the odours filling the ancient building had been ones of damp and decay. He recalled how plaster had been sloughing from the walls like a snake sheds its skin. Every door had squealed on its corroding hinges. Many of the windowpanes were cracked or roughly repaired with pieces of wood. Now, corridors were pristine. Rooms contained beautifully restored furniture. Everywhere he looked there was renewal and repair.

  ‘We’ve still plenty to do,’ Greg told them. ‘All being well, however, we’ll open to the public next year. Ah, in this part of the castle we have the Egyptian artefacts that Lord Kemmis brought back from his expeditions.’

  They entered a room that contained jars made from creamy alabaster. There were foot-high figures of men and women made from clay. They all seemed to be busy with some job or other, whether grinding corn, making clothes, or playing musical instruments.

  Greg indicated the figures. ‘These clay people were found in a tomb. It was thought that in the next life they’d serve their dead master and mistress.’

  Oliver asked, ‘When can we see the mummies?’

  ‘They’re in the lab upstairs,’ Greg told him. ‘We’re still carrying out scientific tests on them to determine their age, and what kind of food they ate, and whether they suffered from disease.’

  ‘Can we see them now?’

  John noticed that Oliver’s eyes had gone big and round. His son was excited about seeing the mummies. However, he was nervous, too.

  Ingrid flashed John a warning look, then she cleared her throat. ‘I don’t think we’ll have time tonight.’

  Greg beamed. ‘Oh, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time.’

  Oliver had been troubled by frightening nightmares recently, so seeing dried-out corpses would undoubtedly trigger another bout of night terrors. ‘Maybe another time,’ John said while catching Greg’s eye in such a way that he hoped the man would understand. ‘We’ve had a long day travelling. Oliver’s tired.’

  ‘I’m not tired,’ Oliver said crossly.

  Greg, thankfully, changed the subject from mummies. ‘I’ll show you the woodworking tools found in the Nile Delta. You won’t believe the excellent state of preservation.’

  ‘Oh, great!’ Vicki exclaimed. ‘I’ve got a signal on my phone.’ She beamed with delight. ‘There’s a text from Lee.’

  Vicki was more focused on her phone than the tour of Baverstock Castle. She texted her boyfriend as she walked along. John glanced out of a window. Huge slabs of black cloud had taken the place of blue sky. The moorland had now become a gloomy wasteland as the light faded. Ingrid listened with interest as Greg described how the castle had been converted from a fortress to an aristocrat’s residence in the nineteenth century. The rooms here had been restored to how they would have been in the 1850s. Oliver repeatedly yawned. At least they’d managed to avoid him viewing the Egyptian mummies, John thought. He didn’t doubt for a moment that gazing at the faces of what, when all’s said and done, were dead human beings would unleash another spate of nightmares. Perhaps Oliver had reached that age when he had begun to understand what death really was.

  Greg, meanwhile, explained how the antique upholstery had been cleaned. ‘The sofa cushions are supposed to be stuffed with wool, but when the fabric was removed it was found that someone had actually re-stuffed the cushions with old shirts. Dozens of them.’

  Ingrid politely laughed at the notion of repairing furniture with clothing. ‘Necessity is the mother of invention,’ she said.

  John glanced along the corridor. He recognized the door that led to the spiral staircase. Oddly, a strange taste flooded his mouth – it was almost like when you touch battery terminals with your tongue. A weird, tingling, electric taste. He found his eyes were repeatedly flicking towards that timber door with iron studs, as if he expected someone to burst through the doorway at any moment. A muscle began to twitch in his eyelid. Damn it, he must be overtired. It had been a long drive to Devon from London.

  Greg Foster opened a cabinet that contained willow pattern plates.

  John felt Oliver tapping his arm. ‘Anything wrong, Ollie?’

  Oliver whispered, ‘What do you think Mr Foster’s secret is?’

  John looked at his son in surprise. ‘His secret?’ He spoke so that Greg wouldn’t hear. ‘What makes you say a thing like that?’

  ‘Everyone has secrets. That’s what my new friend says. What’s your secret, Dad?’

  This question took John aback. However, he masked his surprise with a smile. ‘These hands.’ He held them up. ‘These are strangling hands.’ He pretended to throttle his son.

  Laughing, Oliver dodged back, knocking into an antique sideboard as he did so, making vases sway perilously.

  ‘Behave, you two.’ Ingrid automatically adopted schoolteacher mode.

  ‘Yes, behave,’ murmured Vicki without taking her eyes from the screen. ‘He’s gone bowling with his friends.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I hope that Susan Cranshaw isn’t there. She was all over Lee at his birthday party.’

  Greg evidently realized that the time had come to bring the tour to an end. ‘We’ll go along the corridor,’ he said, ‘and use the stairs in the east wing. That’s the oldest part of the castle. Almost a thousand years old, or so the archaeologists tell us.’

  They walked along the corridor, passing the formidable door that sealed off the spiral staircase to the tower. John Tolworth remembered running up and down the corridor with Philip Kemmis, the son of the lord that owned the castle back then. Perhaps it was those memories from so long ago that made him feel strange and sort of jittery inside. He wondered whether he should ask Greg about Philip. After all, it had been his old friend who’d launched himself at the car earlier and beaten the windows with his fists. John couldn’t possibly know what had actually befallen Philip in the intervening years. He could make an accurate guess, however. The man’s clearly not well. Something psychological. It has to be. Why would a grown man wear a dressing gown outdoors in the middle of the day and hurl himself at passing cars?

  ‘John?’ He felt a hand touch his back. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You’re staring at that door like it’s going to bite you.’ His wife smiled as she tried to make light of it. She did look worried, though.

  ‘Oh … I was just remembering the time I was here.’

  Greg took an interest. ‘You’ve been here before?’

  ‘A long time ago. My parents were teachers at the local school. I lived here for about three years. In fact, we had a cottage near to the one we’re occupying now.’

  ‘So you’ll know all about our famous mummies from the Gold Tomb.’

  ‘Hardly all.’

  Oliver said, ‘I really want to see the mummies.’
/>   Ingrid spoke firmly. ‘Not tonight, Oliver.’

  ‘There are five mummies.’ Greg was proud of the castle’s unusual residents. ‘Archaeologists believe it’s a family – a mother and father along with three children. One would be about Oliver’s age … ahm …’ Greg realized that was perhaps too much detail to give a child. ‘Of course, John, you’ll soon be busy restoring the papyrus. Reassembling the fragments has defeated the experts for a century or so, but we’re confident that you’re the man for the job.’

  Vicki took an interest in the conversation again – well, at least she wasn’t actually texting as she spoke. ‘What exactly is your job here, Dad?’

  ‘Greg’s company have asked me to put the pieces of an old Egyptian book together that’s made from papyrus, which is an early kind of paper.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  Greg smiled. ‘Oh, it’s going to be an extremely complex task. You see, hieroglyphs are a form of—’

  ‘Writing, yes, I know,’ said Vicki, a tad too sharply for John’s liking.

  ‘Anyway, these ancient documents are very important.’ Greg didn’t let his smile falter. ‘It might reveal if the father mummy – if that isn’t a too seemingly contradictory phrase – is the lost pharaoh Akhenaten.’

  Ingrid added, ‘The pharaoh Akhenaten radically changed the religion of the ancient Egyptians. They used to worship dozens of gods and goddesses. Akhenaten decided they should worship only one god, the sun god called the Aten.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Greg. ‘Our family of mummies had been buried in an underground chamber called the Gold Tomb. In the next chamber were the papyrus documents. At some point individuals broke into the chamber and ripped the documents into tiny pieces.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Oliver.

  ‘Because,’ John explained, ‘the Egyptian priests told everyone that Akhenaten was evil after he died. They smashed up his statues and chiselled his name off monuments so people later wouldn’t know that he’d ever existed. They might have ripped up the papyrus for the same reason. Now it’s in thousands of fragments. I’m going to put it back together so archaeologists can read what’s written there. Perhaps it will solve the mystery of who the mummies really are.’