The Haunted Book Page 7

  LOCKED-OUT SYNDROME

  At first, Dale wasn’t sure where he was.

  It was like waking up from a deep sleep in a hammock to find that his back ached and the air had become cold. His head hurt. His eyes wouldn’t focus.

  Or rather, they would focus—but not on the things he told them to. His eyes were not under his own control.

  Panic washed over him. He was walking around. He was doing things. But he wasn’t the one in charge. Dale had heard of locked-in syndrome—a condition which left people wide-awake but unable to move a muscle, sometimes for the rest of their lives. But this was so much worse. This was more like locked-out syndrome. Luke Greenway had stolen his body.

  The exhaustion was even worse than the terror. Just being awake was sapping his energy. Darkness crawled in at the edges of his vision. He fought it back. If he went to sleep, there was no guarantee that he would ever wake up again.

  Greenway was walking up the steps towards the house, carrying something. Dale couldn’t see what, but he could feel the wooden grip. A stick? No, too smooth. A broom? Too thick.

  Greenway pushed the back door open and stood in the darkness of the laundry.

  ‘So,’ he whispered. ‘Is anyone else here?’

  Mum, Dale thought. Dad. And—

  ‘Mum and Dad,’ Greenway muttered. ‘Very well.’

  Dale jolted in terror. Green way could hear his thoughts!

  He tried to add some extra information—Mum and Dad and a whole heap of armed police!—but Greenway didn’t react. Maybe Greenway had crawled through his brain like a search engine through the internet, and now he was gone again.

  Greenway could hear Dale’s thoughts whenever he wanted to, but he could also shut them out.

  Panic flooded Dale’s mind. If that was the case, he couldn’t talk to Greenway, or anyone else for that matter. There was no way to negotiate with him or beg for mercy.

  Dale strained to move his legs, but they carried on regardless under Greenway’s instructions. He tried to move his arms, but it felt like they were locked in place—he imagined it was like being in the stocks in medieval times, head and hands exposed so people could throw rotting fruit.

  As Greenway entered the lounge room, he shifted his grip on the object in his hands. Finally Dale saw it. An axe.

  Terror clouded Dale’s thoughts. Mum, Dad and Sarah were sleeping in a house which held an axe-wielding lunatic!

  Something creaked. Greenway whirled around. It sounded like someone was climbing the back steps. Two someones, in fact.

  Dale felt Greenway searching his brain, trying to figure out who might be coming. But Dale had no idea either.

  As the footsteps drew closer, Dale made one last desperate attempt to control his hands, trying to drop the axe.

  His pinkie spasmed away from the handle. It was only a tiny movement, but Greenway noticed immediately.

  ‘How dare you!’ he growled.

  And suddenly Dale found himself swallowed by the silent darkness, no longer able to see or feel.

  CLOSE QUARTERS

  When Sarah and Mr Sop approached the house, they found the back door open. It was eerily quiet. Perhaps no more so than before, but Sarah felt uneasy just the same.

  ‘This is much more straightforward than last time,’ Mr Sop observed. ‘I had to take the tiles off the roof.’

  ‘I thought I closed that door.’

  ‘Might your aunt or uncle have come out looking for you?’

  ‘Maybe, I guess,’ Sarah said, trying to ignore the dread creeping up her throat.

  They slipped into the house. Mr Sop moved quietly over to the secret passage and ran his hands over the wall.

  ‘It’s all sealed up,’ Sarah said. ‘We’ll need to cut it open to get to the barrels.’

  ‘No we won’t. Look.’

  The carpet was blotted by little mounds of sawdust. Mr Sop pushed on the wall, and with a faint click, it swung open.

  ‘What?’ Sarah ran over. ‘I looked at this two days ago. It was painted shut.’

  ‘Then someone cut it open,’ Mr Sop said. ‘Has anybody been in the house, other than your family?’

  There was a muted thump from the hallway. Like someone dropping a heavy book.

  ‘What was that?’ Sarah hissed.

  ‘Someone’s awake,’ Mr Sop whispered.

  ‘Hello?’ Sarah called.

  There was silence. No more thumps, no footsteps. No anything.

  Sarah edged closer to where the noise had come from. What if Dale had passed out again? What if that sound had been her cousin’s head hitting the floor?

  But with every step her fear grew. Something bad awaited her around the corner. She could feel it.

  She reached the doorway. Hesitated.

  And then someone stepped out in front of her.

  She squeaked and jumped back—then she sighed with relief.

  ‘Dale,’ she said.

  IMPOSTOR

  Dale, Greenway thought. So that’s my new name. I don’t like it, but I suppose I can change it later.

  Right now, he had bigger problems. He had put the axe down when he’d heard a female voice, feeling certain he would be able to overpower the girl without it. But she wasn’t alone. Just behind her was an enormous old man—her father, perhaps? Or her grandfather? He looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Hello,’ Greenway said. ‘I’m frightfully sorry that I startled you.’

  The girl gave him a strange look. Did people not speak in such tones anymore?

  ‘Dale, this is Mr Sop,’ she said finally. ‘He’s the man your dad arrested here years ago. He …’

  Greenway stopped listening. His heart—Dale’s heart—was pounding in his ears. Henry Sop had returned, after all these years!

  That was terrible news. Sop had met Greenway. He knew how he talked, how he thought, how Credence B worked. He might recognise him.

  For the girl not to become suspicious, Greenway had to pretend to be Dale. For Sop, he had to pretend not to be himself.

  It would be hard. But if he could get down to the basement, things would get much, much easier. His secret weapon was almost certainly still there.

  ‘… and so now we need to get down to the basement,’ the girl was saying.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Greenway said.

  ‘To get rid of the barrels. Fortunately, someone has already cut the door open.’

  Happy to help, Greenway thought. But his secret weapon wouldn’t do much good if they all went down there at the same time. Could he get them to wait upstairs?

  Or perhaps he should ask Sop to go first—and then push him down the stairs.

  Greenway was still weighing up the options when a door opened elsewhere in the house.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ the girl whispered.

  ‘No,’ Greenway said. ‘Let’s go down into the basement.’

  Sop gave him a strange look.

  ‘To destroy the barrels,’ Greenway added. ‘Like you said.’

  A heavy footstep. Someone was coming.

  The girl turned to Sop. ‘You said Greenway would be looking for a new host,’ she said. ‘Could that be him? In another body?’

  That was possible. Judging by Sop’s age, at least sixty years had passed—more than enough time for someone else to find the diary and become a Greenway. But it seemed more likely that the footsteps were from Dale’s father, who was coming to investigate the voices.

  ‘Quick,’ Greenway said. ‘We should hide in the basement.’

  ‘We have to warn your mum and dad,’ the girl whispered.

  Sop backed away. ‘If your uncle sees me, I’m going back to prison,’ he said.

  ‘You hide outside then,’ the girl said. She tiptoed towards the doorway, closer to where the footsteps were coming from.

  ‘Wait!’ Greenway said. ‘Uh …’ Drat! What was her name?

  He searched Dale’s mind for the answer. It came to him quickly, swimming up from the depths of his subconscious: Jane.

&n
bsp; ‘Jane, wait!’ Greenway said. ‘It’s not safe!’

  The girl turned around, very slowly.

  ‘What did you call me?’ she asked.

  And somewhere inside his mind, Greenway heard Dale laughing.

  SHOWDOWN

  Dale mentally held his breath. He couldn’t do it physically, since his lungs were still under Greenway’s control.

  He had been terrified that Greenway would force him under the surface again—drown him in blackness where he couldn’t interfere. But Greenway seemed too busy trying to convince Sarah that she had misheard him.

  ‘I said “explain”,’ Greenway told her. ‘Explain why you would risk—’

  ‘No you didn’t,’ Sarah said. ‘You called me Jane.’

  When Greenway had searched for Sarah’s name, Dale had given him the wrong one. That was the best he could do while he was locked out of his own body. Now it was up to Sarah.

  Everything depended on her.

  Come on, Sarah, Dale thought. Figure it out!

  ‘A slip of the tongue,’ Greenway protested. ‘I tried to say “explain yourself”—there could be a dangerous madman in this house, and you seem hell-bent on taking us toward him!’

  A voice echoed through the house. ‘Dale? Sarah?’ Dad called.

  ‘Quick!’ Greenway said with Dale’s mouth. ‘Into the basement.’

  ‘That was your dad’s voice,’ Sarah said. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  Mr Sop was edging over to the back door. ‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘Please, I can’t let him find me!’

  Sarah ignored him. ‘You’ve been acting funny for days,’ she said. ‘Fainting, seeing things …’

  ‘Shut up!’ Greenway hissed, but it was too late. Mr Sop had heard.

  ‘Sarah,’ he said slowly. ‘Come here.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Sarah,’ Greenway said.

  Mr Sop pointed a quivering finger at him. ‘That’s not your cousin,’ he said. ‘Luke Greenway has assumed his form.’

  Sarah’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Greenway said. ‘He’s crazy.’

  ‘If he’s been fainting and hallucinating, he’s probably been affected by Credence B,’ Mr Sop said. ‘Ask him something only Dale would know.’

  ‘Sarah,’ Greenway said. ‘This is lunacy.’

  Sarah turned to face him. ‘What’s your middle name?’

  Dale fought to keep his mind blank, hiding the answer from Greenway. A tingling spread through his skull as his brain was probed.

  And at that moment, Dad appeared in the doorway holding the axe.

  ‘What on earth is this doing inside?’ he demanded. Then he saw Mr Sop. ‘You!’

  Mr Sop bolted out the back door. Dad gave chase. Sarah screamed at him to wait. And in the confusion, Greenway ran across the room, pushed open the secret door and plunged into the darkness of the stairwell.

  Dale couldn’t see anything, but he could feel the stairs beneath his feet as Greenway sprinted down them at a spectacular pace.

  No-one seemed to be chasing him. By the time Dad and Sarah and Mr Sop sorted out the confusion upstairs, it would already be too late.

  Dale had read the diary. He had figured out what was in the basement. Not just the barrels of Credence B, but also Greenway’s secret weapon. If Greenway reached it, it would all be over. He would occupy Dale’s body until it died, and he would keep taking victims, over and over and over for the rest of eternity.

  Dale couldn’t let that happen. But there was nothing he could do to stop him …

  Or was there?

  Dale’s blood ran cold. If he did this, he could die. But if he didn’t, Greenway would soon find a way to erase him completely. Dale was doomed either way. He could at least save Greenway’s next host.

  He mentally gritted his teeth.

  If he was going to do this, it had to be right now.

  With all his strength, he kicked.

  His foot only twitched a little bit, but it was just far enough for Greenway to miss a step. He screamed with Dale’s mouth and Dale’s lungs as he lost his balance. His ankle twisted and he tumbled forward, throwing his arms up over his head as he plummeted through the pitch blackness, bouncing down the stairs, shrieking as they hit his knees, his elbows, his back, his shoulder blades …

  And finally his head.

  There was a hideous crack.

  Both Dale and Greenway blacked out.

  One of them would never wake up.

  TRIAL AND ERROR

  The courtroom was a long, narrow space, lit by dozens of dangling neon lamps and panelled in white and green. Almost all of the straight-backed, dark-cushioned chairs were empty. Almost.

  In the front row, four lawyers—two prosecutors and two for the defence—whispered and shuffled papers. Henry Sop sat at the defence table, clean-shaven and wearing a freshly dry-cleaned suit. He looked like a different man.

  In the row behind him sat Dr Ngoza, who had just finished her testimony. She had described all the effects of the chemical known as Credence B. The magistrate had been doubtful when Dr Ngoza outlined its effects on strength and longevity, and incredulous when she said it could be used to erase someone’s personality and take control of their body. But when Dr Ngoza presented the data from her examinations, including blood samples and psychiatric test results, the magistrate was finally convinced.

  The prosecuting lawyers downplayed the risks, but Dr Ngoza had urged the magistrate to consider how deadly a widespread release of Credence B would be. ‘A population of zombies,’ she had said, unknowingly using Sop’s words.

  Next to Dr Ngoza sat Detective Sergeant Claude Sharpe and his wife, Michelle Sharpe. Otherwise, the courtroom was empty. The Quirin corporation had ensured that no-one in the media reported on the case.

  ‘Please state your name for the court,’ the prosecutor said finally.

  ‘Dale Sharpe,’ Dale said. His voice came out croaky. He was still exhausted after all the blood transfusions which had flushed the Credence B out of his system. Why was it always him who woke up in hospital with a needle in his arm? This sort of thing never happened to Josh.

  ‘You’re sure that’s your name?’ the prosecutor asked, with a smirk. He was a skinny old man whose eyes were mismatched shades of blue.

  ‘Objection, your honour,’ the defence lawyer said. ‘The witness has answered the question.’

  ‘Mr Sharpe has suffered a severe head injury,’ the prosecutor replied.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Dale said. ‘I wasn’t unconscious for very long, and Dr Ngoza said there would be no permanent effects.’

  ‘He has also been exposed to a mind-altering chemical,’ the prosecutor said, ‘which the court just heard causes dissociative identity disorder. The witness’s state of mind is relevant.’

  ‘Overruled,’ the magistrate said. Her grey wig somehow made her look younger, perhaps by accentuating her lack of wrinkles. ‘Answer the question, Mr Sharpe.’

  ‘There’s no Credence B in my system,’ Dale said. ‘And I had a pretty full-on therapy session with Dr Ngoza and my family as soon as I woke up. I know exactly who I am.’

  ‘But, for a time, you believed yourself to be Luke Greenway,’ the prosecutor said.

  ‘I was him,’ Dale said. ‘He took over my body.’

  The prosecutor rolled his eyes. ‘Fine. When you “were” Luke Greenway, is it true that you threatened your family with an axe?’

  Dale squirmed in his seat. The memory opened a pit of dread in his stomach.

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘But Greenway might have, if Mr Sop and my cousin hadn’t interrupted him. In fact, if Mr Sop hadn’t figured out what Greenway had done to me—’

  ‘You’ve answered my question,’ the prosecutor said.

  ‘—then most of the people in this room would be dead,’ Dale finished.

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Objection,’ the defender put in. ‘Mr Sharpe was Greenway for a brief period. No-one knows better tha
n him.’

  ‘Sustained,’ the magistrate said. The defender beamed.

  ‘Mr Sharpe,’ the prosecutor said. ‘Do you seriously expect the court to believe that a man born in the nineteenth century developed a “mind-transplant” chemical and then used this substance to hijack your body?’

  The defender opened his mouth to object. Maybe he was about to say that Dr Ngoza had already testified about the deadly capabilities of Credence B. Perhaps he wanted to point out that this hearing wasn’t even about Dale—it was about overturning Mr Sop’s conviction.

  But before he had the chance to interrupt, Dale spoke. ‘It doesn’t matter if you believe it,’ he said. ‘It’s the truth.’

  Silence fell in the courtroom.

  ‘There are no further questions, your honour,’ the prosecutor finally sighed.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Sharpe,’ the magistrate said. ‘You may step down.’

  PRIDE

  They left the courthouse by the back exit and walked through the car park. The blazing sun left Dale’s skin glowing.

  ‘Am I done?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re done,’ Dad said. ‘From here on, it’s up to the magistrate. Everything can go back to normal.’

  Dale was so relieved he felt like he might collapse. Even knowing that he hadn’t been on trial, part of him worried he would leave the hearing in handcuffs.

  Dad put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You did well in there. Really well.’

  ‘You arrested Mr Sop,’ Dale said. ‘Won’t it look bad if his conviction gets overturned?’

  ‘Probably,’ Dad said. ‘But it’s justice. Now that I know what Greenway tried to do, I understand why Sop did what he did. But you shouldn’t give him all the credit for saving our lives. That was you.’

  ‘Not really,’ Dale said, although secretly he suspected it was the case.

  Mum hugged him. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘You forced Greenway to give himself away. And you risked your life tripping him up.’

  ‘And most of all,’ Dad said, ‘you told the truth. Even when you thought we would get angry. Even when you must have known we wouldn’t believe you.’