Within These Walls

"Or they didn't hear you," Jack replied. "These are solid stones walls, not like our modern houses where you can hear every noise from next door. You've got to give it some wellie."

As he spoke, Jack brought his hand down on the door, in more of a pounding than a rapping. This time there was a response, not from any person, but from the door itself. By the time Jack had finished, the door stood open a few inches. Siobhan tried to glance around the edge of the heavy wood, but it was too small an opening to really see anything inside.

"Hello," she called out.

"Hello," a second time.

With a creak of rusty hinges, Siobhan pushed against the door, easing it further open. At last, she could see inside the house, taking her first glimpse of what may not have been all it was made out to be, but was still a most interesting property. Darcy Hall or not, when compared to the outside, the interior was in a much better state, albeit decorated in a style from a bygone age... a very bygone age. It wasn't all seventeenth century though. At some point, electricity had been installed, but even that looked ancient and most likely unreliable, if it even worked at all.

Immediately in front of them was a short hallway come reception area, leading inside, ending at what seemed to be another corridor, this one running widthways through the house. She couldn't be sure, but it looked like paintings were still hanging on the walls of this second corridor.

"Is anyone at home?"

This time it was Jack who called out into the now brightly lit entrance hall.

Again, there was no response, or at least no audible response.

Little did the couple know it, but there had been a response from the minute they had driven into the courtyard. The house had seen them, and the house was readying itself to welcome them. Them? That was the problem. The house was expecting one guest, one female guest, but here were two. The house needed to know more, to make its choice, to decide whether she would be the next to be welcomed into its very walls.

It wasn't only the house which was keeping an eye on the young couple. Standing in an upstairs window, was a man, an old man, looking almost as ancient as the house itself. He watched their every move. He listened to every word they said. He recognised Siobhan from her videos, but who was the other one, and why was he here? If they were together then this would never do. He needed to find out, but there was something else he needed to know. Was she as open minded, as adventurous, as her profile suggested? Would she come into the house of her own accord, eager to know more? For now, he waited.

"You were right," Jack said. "Nobody at home. You've been led up the garden path, Siobhan. Now, shall we get on our way?"

Siobhan wasn't listening. She wasn't even standing at the side of Jack anymore. Pushing the door even further open, Siobhan had slipped into the entrance hall and was busying herself looking around.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Jack asked, as he too took a step into the hallway. "This is trespassing."

"Trespassing?" came a sarcastic rhetorical question. "To trespass, then it needs to be somebody else's property, and you yourself said that there is no-one at home and that I had been led up the garden path. So, if this is nobody's property, then it won't harm anyone if I look around, and it won't be trespassing, will it?"

As she spoke, Siobhan followed the entrance hall down as far as that second corridor, the one which ran across the width of the house.

"Have you seen this place? It's like a time warp," Siobhan gave a sort of running commentary as she headed deeper and deeper inside.

There was a pause before Siobhan called out once more, this time with an excitement in her voice.

"Come here, Jack. You've gotta see this. Paintings... everywhere you look, there's paintings... maybe thirty of them... some old... some newer... but all portraits. Who do you think they are, Jack?"

The tranquillity of the house was broken, not by a response from Jack, but by the sudden bang of a door... the heavy front door. Siobhan jumped for a third time, as the peace was shattered, and bright daylight became more like dim dusk.

"Jack? Was that you, Jack?" Siobhan called out.

"Just the door," Jack finally responded. "Must have blown shut."

'Deep breath... keep calm... there's a rational explanation for everything...' Siobhan kept telling herself, unsure of exactly how such a heavy door could blow shut, and on a day when there was so little wind... well, at least Jack told her there was so little wind. It was rather ironic that a young woman who prided herself in searching for the supernatural, was getting freaked out by nothing more than an old stone house, and in the middle of the day.

Whilst she waited for Jack to join her, Siobhan turned her attention back to the paintings once more. It was a very female dominated collection. The single male portrait, a handsome debonaire chap, sat directly at the end of the entrance hall, positioned as if he was keeping an eye on the front door. His dress suggested seventeenth or maybe early eighteenth century. Was that the owner of the house? If this was Darcy Hall, then was that Mr Darcy himself?

And if that was Mr Darcy, then who were all the women? Radiating out on both sides of the male sitter were other portraits, all similarly posed, but all of women. They ran out in both directions, covering one side of the corridor before looping back on the other. The ones either side of her assumed Mr Darcy, were dressed in similar attire and, from the heavy layer of dust, may have been painted not long after the house had been built.

As she moved away from the man of the house, the dress styles changed, each seemingly more recent than the previous sitter. By the time she was working her way down the wall opposite Mr. Darcy, the dress styles had moved through more familiar genres, before finally reaching the twentieth century, the last sitter seemingly dressed for the seventies or eighties. It was like a timeline of fashion styles, captured through the portraits of many beautiful young women.

Who were they?

Why were they here?

What did they have to do with the house?

Why were there a couple of empty frames hanging next to the most recent painting? Were they waiting to be filled? Was the artist still at work, and these were placeholders for his next creations?

Siobhan returned to her Mr. Darcy. She stared deep into his eyes. There was something captivating about his stare, and Siobhan found herself being drawn closer in. What would it have been like to meet him for real? Would he have been just as dashing as the painting suggested? She noticed the name plaque on the wooden frame, and carefully rubbed away what might have been centuries of dust to see the name.

'Count Serafino D'Arcy... 1684,' Siobhan read to herself, her heart skipping a beat as she realised for the first time that this had to be Darcy Hall, and that she was staring right at the count himself, or at least at one of the counts, as this guy looked a little young to be the one who had the house built. Siobhan pulled herself away from the painting of the count and glanced at the ones either side.

'Eliza... 1684' sat to the left of the count.

'Charlotte... 1705' sat on the right.

Each plaque was hand-written, and each uncannily in the same script. It was as Siobhan moved along the row of paintings, first left and then right, gazing at portrait after portrait, easing away just enough of the accumulated dust to reveal the sitter's name and date, that she felt it. At first Siobhan wasn't sure. It was just an inclination, a sixth sense maybe, a feeling that she was being watched.

Time after time, she spun around, expecting to see somebody, expecting to see Jack playing games with her. What she did see though, was one painting in particular. It was the most modern looking of the lot, a painting of a beautiful young woman with blonde hair and an outfit which dated back to the latter part of the twentieth century. It wasn't the modernity of the painting which grabbed her attention, nor was it the beauty of the subject, albeit she did have to admit that the sitter was incredibly attractive. What grabbed Siobhan's attention were the eyes.

She was now becoming paranoid.

Had they moved?

Were those eyes following her every step?

"Jack!" she called out, a touch of fright in her voice. "There's somebody here."

"Yes..." came a familiar male voice, and a tap on the shoulder, making Siobhan jump once more.

"I'm here... just you and me," Jack continued.

Instantly, Siobhan wrapped her arms around her friend. She had never been happier than to see him there. She was sure that the picture had been watching her. She sensed it. She never actually saw it, but every time she looked at the painting, she was sure that the eyes had changed position.

"The painting!" Siobhan called out.

"Which painting?" Jack asked. "There's lots of paintings. It's like the bloody national gallery in here."

"That one... the blonde with the blue eyes. It's watching me."

"Pull the other one," Jack responded, his voice taking on a more mocking tone. "You're getting carried away again. It'll be nothing more than a trick of the light. Come on, let's take a closer look and you'll see."

Jack reached out his hand, took Siobhan's in his, and led her towards the painting.

"This one?" he asked, gazing deep into the face of a most beautiful young woman, a naturally attractive young woman. Whoever the painter was, he had captured such a good likeness that the sitter could almost be real.

"Yes," Siobhan responded, a nervous edge to her voice. "She's the one. She was watching me."

"Victoria," Jack announced, rubbing a lighter layer of dust off the name plaque.

"And this one is..." he started.

"...beautiful," a deep yet foreign sounding voice from behind, finished the sentence.

Siobhan's heart missed a beat, and she screamed. She practically leaped into Jack's arms such was the surprise.

Jack jumped too but stayed short of screaming aloud.

Slowly the couple turned around and jumped once more when they saw where the voice had come from. Standing just a few feet away was a man, an old man, a wizened, haggard old man, his back slightly hunched, his skin thick and creased, his hair straggly and thin, his clothes looking equally as old as his weathered face. They hadn't heard him approach, he had just appeared as if out of thin air.

Where had he come from?

What was he going to do with them?

Who was he, or more to the point, just how old was he and how could he sneak up on them so quietly?

"Victoria," the old man said, confirming what Jack had read.

"And, you must be Siobhan," he continued, holding out a gnarled hand in a gesture of friendship.

"And you..." he started to address Jack.

"Jack," Jack responded, making sure to hold his hand out first in a gesture of strength. "Who though, are you?"

"Well, that's charming, isn't it. You come walking into my house, and you need to ask who I am?" the old man retorted.

"I'm sorry," Siobhan responded. "Jack didn't mean it. You just took us by surprise. We thought the place was empty, but the door was open. It's all my fault. I just couldn't resist looking inside. Please forgive us. We didn't mean to trespass."

"Don't worry, my dear. The house wouldn't have let you in if it didn't want you looking around. It's like that. It's a very selective house, so to say. Oh yes, and I'm... I'm... Gedeon. You could say I'm the keeper of the house, not that it needs a keeper."

"Ged?" Siobhan asked, remembering the name which went with the comment against her video. "Count Ged D'Arcy?"

The old man laughed.

"Oh no. That's the Count, right there," he responded, pointing to the painting. "You could say I'm his faithful companion."

"You know him?" Siobhan asked.

"We go back a long time, the Count and me. And these..."

Gedeon waved his hand across the myriad of paintings before continuing.

"... these are his mistresses... his loves. Victoria is his current, you know."

There always was a rational explanation, and this one had just become clear... well, sort of clear. The years hadn't been too kind on Gedeon, and he was a bit confused in what he was saying. That was obvious by the choice of words but, reading between the lines, the Count, not the one in the painting, was an artist. His loves were his paintings, and Victoria... well, she was just his latest sitter. Ged... or Gedeon... well... Gedeon was just an old, rather confused caretaker, looking after the house and collection for the Count.

That just left one question.

"And is the Count here?" Jack asked, his question met once again with laughter.

"Here? Of course, he's here," Gedeon replied, glancing towards the painting again. "And isn't that why you're here? To meet the Count?"

"So, can we?" Jack asked again, getting a little frustrated with the evasive nature of the responses from this so-called housekeeper.

"Well, that depends," the old man responded, a wry smile on his face.

"What do you mean depends? Can we see the Count, or can we not see the Count," Jack continued, his tone becoming ever more frustrated. "It is an easy—"

"Jack!" Siobhan snapped. "That's enough."

"I'm sorry, Gedeon," Siobhan turned to the old man and smiled. "I'm sorry about Jack. He doesn't always believe, but I do. You invited us, didn't you? Was that to meet the Count? Is that why you brought us here? Is he present in these very walls. Is he the ghost you want me to find?"

"Yes, I invited you, but... to meet the house," Gedeon corrected, a smile now on his face. "The house will meet you first, and if it likes you, the house will bring the Count to you... but... I need to ask... are you together... are you like... like his loves?"

The look on Jack's face said it all. How dare this old man, bad English or not, start to pry into their relationships. Siobhan though was more accepting of the many questions. The conversation was moving in a direction she loved. The Count was dead, but his ghost still resided in the house. That was what Gedeon was trying to tell them. That was why Siobhan had come out all this way.

"Oh no," Siobhan responded, ignoring her friend. "Me and Jack... we're just friends... nothing more. I do the videos and Jack... he helps set up the technology."

The look on Jack's face was a picture of frustrated disappointment. He had stood there hoping Siobhan would respond in a way which gave just a glimmer of interest in him, yet instantly she had dispelled the whole idea. Friends. Just friends.

"Technology?" Gedeon asked.

"Yeah, you know... movement sensors, heat sensors, sound recorders, but no cameras. I record the video through my phone... it's like a, well, a more personal diary of the night's events. I'm guessing he comes at night. Am I right?"

There was a pause before Gedeon replied.

"As I said... that depends... the house will decide, but only if you are right to meet the Count."

"Siobhan," Jack interrupted, grabbing hold of his friends' hand, and pulling Siobhan in towards him before whispering. "This guy is a crackpot. All this shit about the house choosing. You're not seriously thinking of doing it, are you?"

Siobhan didn't respond. Her eyes had already glassed over. She was already dreaming of the possibility for a first spectral encounter. This house had something different to all the others. It had, and that was the stupidest thing of all... it had a presence. The wind outside, the banging door, the painting. It was like the house was already eyeing Siobhan up, already deciding whether it liked her or not.

"Trust me," Siobhan whispered back to Jack. "This one is different."

Jack knew there was no arguing with Siobhan when she had that look in her eye, yet still he needed to be sure.

"Do you live here, Gedeon?" Jack asked.

"Oh no," came an unexpected reply. "I live in the lodge, down at the other end of the woods. I just come here when the Count needs me. He can't meet visitors, you know... well, not at first."

"So, you won't be here if Siobhan stays over?" Jack continued.

"No... no... you have my word. What about you, Jack? Will you stay too? I sense you are not a believer, and the house may not reveal its secrets to those who don't believe," Gedeon clarified.

"Siobhan does the house stuff. I set it up then stay well out the way, either somewhere downstairs or out in the car. She says it's better that way... gives a more convincing performance... and yes, I don't believe a damn word of this spooky nonsense," Jack responded, before adding. "Oh, but don't worry... I'm on the other end of her phone and will be with her quicker than you can say Count Serafino D'Arcy if I think there's something up. Do you get me?"

"Oh, I get you, Jack... and don't worry, I have no intention of getting something up," Gedeon replied. "I haven't gotten anything up for many a year," he added, before turning to Siobhan. "Now, how about it? Are you up for meeting the Count, or is he not what you are looking for?"

By now Siobhan's excitement was starting to boil over. What a stupid question? To think she wasn't up for a chance to meet a real ghost.

"Yes... yes... but when?" she asked.

"Better sooner than later," Gedeon responded. "I can tell the house likes you, so how about next weekend?"

"I can't," Jack replied. "I need to be away Saturday night."

"That's a shame," Gedeon replied. "It's a full moon next weekend, and the Count always comes out at a full moon."

It was a lie, well a little white lie at least. The truth was that it was a full moon next weekend. The lie... well, whether the Count paid a visit or not, had nothing to do with the state of the moon... but had everything to do with who he wanted to see, and whether they invited him in.

"Your loss, I guess," Gedeon added.

Siobhan wasn't one to give up so easily. She was already thinking it out.

"We can do it, Jack," she practically begged her friend. "Hear me out. Drop me off on Friday evening... stay the night and check in on me Saturday morning... if all checks out, then leave me here Saturday night. I'll be fine and you can pick me up Sunday morning."

"I dunno, Siobhan," Jack responded.

"Well... I do!" Siobhan snapped. "You know what you say about my videos. The only thing ever to go bump in the night was a cauldron of bats, and this one'll be no different. So, what's the worry?"

"Are you sure?" Jack asked.

The response from Siobhan was direct, confident, and most enthusiastic.

"Never surer. You can't tell Siobhan that a house is haunted and have her walk away."

Siobhan turned to Gedeon and smiled.

"Done deal," she said. "Friday evening. Now, are you going to show us around before we leave... just to get the lie of the land?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

An hour later, Gedeon was alone again in the house. He stood in the gallery of paintings, at first facing that of the Count. A smile came across Gedeon's face as the thought of pleasing the Count, his master, crossed his mind.

"Is she the one?" a female voice wafted, almost inaudibly, across the corridor.

Gedeon turned and faced the painting of Victoria.

"Attractive... feisty... passionate... determined... and a believer... she's the one alright," Gedeon responded. "You chose well Victoria. Now, let's see if the house agrees."

As Gedeon spoke, the expression on the painting changed. A smile set across Victoria's brush-stroked face. Siobhan hadn't been wrong to think that she was being watched, and Victoria couldn't wait to finally meet the young redhead... to invite her to become the next of the Count's loves.

The frame was already on the wall... all it needed was filling.