Chapter 6: Six - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

The first thing that amazed her was how…tidy the kitchen was. It wasn’t just that every surface was uncluttered – there was nothing on them at all. And, just like upstairs in Reggie’s bedroom, the curtains were only half-drawn.

It was an old-fashioned kitchen, just as she’d expected – chunky, dark-wood units and laminate counters yellowed with age, much like the hallway walls.

Perhaps Mr Lord had some strange form of OCD. That would explain why certain parts of the house were immaculate while others were not. If so, she should probably be grateful. One room to clean was plenty for now – epic in proportion, in fact.

Disused. The kitchen was exactly that, not even a kettle in sight. Didn’t he ever enjoy a cup of tea? The thought astonished her further – everyone loved tea!

As she went deeper into the room, the linoleum squeaked beneath her shoes, so much so that it made her laugh – a nervous laugh, though. What exactly had she expected to find in here? Something dark and monstrous? The very thing haunting Reggie? Ridiculous! It was just a kitchen, not a gateway to hell. Retro, yes, but solid. There had to be something useful tucked away in a drawer or cupboard somewhere.

She’d have to tell him – insist, even – that she be allowed to use this room, to open up the house a bit more. She’d tread carefully, of course, knowing how set in their ways older people could be. But maybe, just maybe, that was part of the reason he’d hired someone – subconsciously, at least – so they could persuade him.

With that thought, she felt happier, more at ease, less bewildered even. She was looking for bin bags, that was all.

She crossed to the sink, ceramic not stainless steel. A butler sink, she thought they were called, old-fashioned, with a dirty great stain down its bowl and an equally aged brass tap, silently dripping. Bin bags were usually kept in the cupboard below the sink – they were in her house – so she tried there first. Reaching out, she gripped the metal handle, pulled, and then pulled again. It refused to budge.

Trying the cupboard beside it, she found the same. Frowning, she moved to a unit with four drawers, the top one likely to hold cutlery, but that, too, was sealed tight.

Lottie stood back, not just frowning now but scratching her head. Were they all jammed like this? That couldn’t be, not unless they’d been deliberately sealed. Nailed shut, like the windows in Reggie’s room. Like all the windows here, maybe.

A closer look confirmed it. Holes had been drilled into every cupboard and drawer – tiny, neat holes, the damage carefully repaired afterwards.

Reggie Lord might live in an utter mess upstairs, but sometimes, as with this, he showed a disturbing fastidiousness. He was a man who needed to be in control; that was the feeling she was getting. If she could open these cupboards, she’d bet everything inside would be neatly arranged, not tossed in.

She closed her eyes. Why the need, though?

Plates, cups, saucers, pans, jugs – the whole shebang. There was a place for everything, and everything in its place. This wasn’t just tidiness; it was discipline.

She tuned in further. Reggie lived here alone, and perhaps he always had, with no one to disrupt the system he’d built. But now…like the photo frame upstairs, something was spilling out of him too. A slow leak. A loss of control.

What she was doing now – connecting to someone’s history without touch – was new. And though daunting, she went with it.

His obsession with order was telling. Yet upstairs, that strict resolve had been abandoned. Recently? She nodded to herself. Yes, there’d been a shift at some point – things worsening for Reggie, perhaps – driving this need for security.

The cupboards, the holes, the repairs…it was as if he believed that by keeping a lid on things, he could stop himself from unravelling.

But again, what was he trying to keep himself safe from?

The question echoed in her mind, but instead of clarity came darkness, one that bred further unease, as such darkness always did. No one would welcome it – no one sane – it went against human nature, because in darkness so much could hide.

What are you hiding from, Reggie?

If she could stay with the darkness – bear it – she might get lucky. The edges would soften, the blackness paling to grey, thinning until it became almost transparent. Then, what usually came through touch might come this way instead – her mind’s eye a screen where images unfurled.

She urged herself to focus. To believe. Anything was possible.

A quote came to her – one that Matt had loved, though he could never remember where he’d read it. She’d loved it too, been in awe of it, actually. The universe is not only stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine.

That single word – can – kicked the idea into another dimension.

What else had Matt said?

Ah, yes…

“Reality doesn’t work the way we think it does, Lottie. Nothing does.”

“And?” she’d ask.

“And…you know the saying, the sky’s the limit? It’s not. There aren’t any limits.”

Oh, Matt. What was he doing now, she wondered? Because someone like him, whose energy had fizzed before his illness, who’d been fascinated not just by the world, but by the universe beyond, couldn’t simply vanish. Impossible! Like Bobby, he was out there somewhere, part of the infinite – and knowing Matt, a big part.

“Reality doesn’t work the way we think it does.” She turned his words over in her mind. There’s a reason I’ve remembered that, as though it’s a clue.

If only the darkness would lift so she could see.

She coaxed it like a living thing. Come on. Go. Get out of here. Fade now…that’s it…that’s good. You’re almost gone. I can almost––

Reggie’s voice boomed in her ear.

“Girl! What do you think you’re doing?”

At the same moment, someone banged on the door.

“Lottie? Lottie, pet? It’s me – Tony. I’ve got that fan you wanted. Are you in there, hinny? Only I’ve got to get on – I’ve got a pickup in a minute.”

And just like that, the darkness surged back, clinging to everything.