Elysium Read online

  Standing in the corridor, Michelle was wearing a shiny satin nightshirt that showed most of her skinny brown arms. She was hugging herself, as if she were cold.

  ‘Something weird just happened,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Weird?’ said Ray. I’ve never heard him sound so confused.

  ‘In my room,’ Michelle went on. ‘It scared me.’

  ‘What did?’ I asked, but she wouldn’t look in my direction. She was looking up at Ray.

  ‘I turned off the light,’ she gasped, ‘and I was lying there, and someone sat on my bed! I could feel it! But when I turned on the light, no one was there!’

  I knew instantly that she was lying. I mean, she’s my best friend – she couldn’t fool me. Though she was pretty convincing, I have to admit.

  Ray scratched his head.

  ‘Have you told your mother?’ he inquired.

  ‘I can’t!’ Michelle hunched her shoulders. ‘She’s not back yet!’

  Ray looked at Mum, who pursed her lips. I had a feeling that Mum didn’t believe Michelle, either. Possibly she’d drawn the same conclusion I had: that Michelle was telling stories so Colette would come back upstairs.

  ‘Has your mother locked her door, Michelle?’ Mum wanted to know.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you can’t move into her room?’

  ‘No.’

  Mum sighed. Ray said: ‘Hang on. Just let me get changed.’

  Ray was wearing his striped pyjamas. (He always wears the proper clothes in the proper place, unlike Mum. Mum wears an old crocheted poncho to bed, for some reason.) He pulled a pair of trousers over his pyjama shorts and replaced the striped top with a T-shirt. Then he padded out of the room in his bare feet.

  After he’d gone, Michelle looked at Mum and said, defiantly, ‘It did happen! It really did!’

  ‘Perhaps you were dreaming,’ Mum suggested, trying to be kind. But Michelle shook her head.

  ‘I wasn’t. I know I wasn’t.’

  ‘We’ll probably all have nightmares, tonight,’ Mum continued, rubbing her eyes. ‘After that ghost tour. Aren’t you cold in your nightshirt, Michelle?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure? You’d better get in beside me. You look cold.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m scared.’

  Mum grunted. Michelle climbed in next to her, still avoiding my gaze. I probably would have been mad at her, if she hadn’t been so upset. Her face was flushed, and she kept blinking a lot, as if she was blinking away tears. That’s always a sign.

  Then all of a sudden, Dad poked his head into our room.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

  He was wearing a lovely sort of white cotton dress, embroidered all around the collar and cuffs with coloured flowers and things. It must have been what he wore to bed. It was very pretty, though not what I would have expected to see on a man, somehow.

  I suppose he and Mum have at least one thing in common, besides Bethan and me. They obviously aren’t comfortable in normal, everyday pyjamas.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Mum told him, sounding irritable. ‘Michelle just had a bad dream.’

  ‘It wasn’t a bad dream, Mrs Gebhardt, truly!’ Michelle insisted, using her earnest, library-monitor voice. ‘It was a ghost, I’m sure it was!’

  ‘A ghost?’ said my father.

  ‘On my bed! In my room!’

  Dad clicked his tongue, and shook his head. ‘You see, these are sensitive, intelligent kids,’ he remarked, not exactly addressing Mum, but not really talking to himself, either. ‘You can’t feed them all this stuff without expecting a bad reaction.’

  ‘Go back to bed, Jim,’ Mum said coldly. ‘It’s under control.’

  Dad sighed, and shook his head again. ‘Good night, Alethea,’ he said.

  ‘Good night, Dad.’

  He withdrew, and I heard his footsteps in the corridor. After that, there was a short lull. Michelle pulled Ray’s bedclothes up under her chin. Mum yawned, and checked the clock on her bedside table. I made a face at Michelle, who made a face back at me.

  Finally, her mum arrived.

  ‘Michelle?’ trilled Colette, appearing suddenly in the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’

  Michelle looked up. ‘There was a ghost,’ she whimpered. ‘In my room.’

  ‘Oh, now that’s just silly –’

  ‘There was! I could feel it, sitting on my bed!’

  ‘You were dreaming.’

  ‘I was not!’

  ‘Come.’ Michelle’s mum beckoned. Her bracelets jangled. Her lipstick was slightly smudged. ‘Come out. Let these poor people sleep.’

  ‘I’m not sleeping in that room again! I’m not!’

  ‘You’re not sleeping in here, either. Come.’ As Michelle slowly pushed back Ray’s covers and slouched across the floor, Colette turned to address Ray – who was hovering behind her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m very sorry about this.’

  Ray looked embarrassed. He waved a hand. Beside him, I could see Richard, who was bright-eyed and slightly red in the face.

  ‘Where did it happen?’ Richard asked. ‘I could get my equipment . . .’

  But someone shushed him. Rosemary, I think. She dragged him out of view, down the corridor. I could hear the murmur of their voices. Ray craned his neck to watch them go.

  ‘Michelle seems a bit het up,’ Mum remarked, from her nest of blankets. ‘She needs to calm down, I think.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Gently, Colette nudged her daughter out of the room. Michelle disappeared without a backward glance. I bet she was ashamed to look at me. ‘It’s been a big day,’ Colette finished. ‘A dramatic day. Good night, Judy.’

  ‘Good night.’

  ‘Thanks, Ray.’

  ‘No problem,’ Ray muttered. He waited until Colette was out of the way before re-entering our room. Even as he did so, I heard Michelle saying, ‘Why doesn’t Sylvester sleep in my bed, and I’ll sleep with you? Sylvester doesn’t believe in ghosts . . .’

  Our door clicked shut. Ray rolled his eyes, and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

  ‘Go to sleep, Allie,’ said Mum. ‘Show’s over.’

  ‘If there was a ghost,’ I observed, doubtfully, ‘we should probably report it to the people here . . .’

  ‘I don’t think there was a ghost,’ said Mum. ‘I think Michelle’s suffering from an inflamed imagination.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I caught her eye. ‘Still, though, it might be true.’

  ‘Yes, it might be,’ Mum sighed. She had seen what Eglantine could do. She had no reason to doubt the existence of ghosts.

  ‘And if it is true, then the hotel should be told,’ I pointed out. ‘In case that room’s haunted. Perhaps we should get Richard to check it with his electromagnetic field detector.’

  ‘Go to sleep, Allie,’ said Mum.

  ‘Even if it was just her imagination,’ I went on, ‘do you think anyone should sleep in there, until Richard’s got a reading? I mean, you know what happened with Eglantine. You never let Bethan sleep in his room until Eglantine had gone.’

  ‘Go to sleep, Allie!’ It was Ray who spoke. He was back in his pyjamas, buttoning up his buttons. When he talks like that, you don’t argue.

  So I lay down and turned over. Bedsprings creaked as Ray got in beside Mum. ‘Right,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s hope that’s it.’ Mum switched off the light. There was a sigh in the darkness.

  Then I heard a vague, sleepy voice.

  Bethan’s voice.

  ‘Mum?’ he yawned. ‘Whass going on?’

  CHAPTER # five

  When I woke up, it was still dark. And I needed to go to the toilet.

  The illuminated digits on my mother’s bedside clock said that it was 2:12 a.m. I didn’t really want to get out of bed at 2:12 a.m. I especially didn’t want to leave our room. Richard had said that the lights were left on in all the Caves House corridors at night, to keep the ghosts away – but that didn’t make me feel any better. On the contrary.
/>   So I lay for a while, trying to ignore my bladder. It didn’t work, though. In the end I was forced to get up, and creep across the floor, and cautiously pull the door open. Sure enough, lights were blazing in the corridor outside. It was as bright as day. This meant that I could only leave our door open a crack while I went to the bathroom. (I didn’t want to get locked out, you see.)

  Even though I tried to walk quietly, the floor creaked a bit. To reach the bathroom I had to turn my back on a very large window, which opened onto complete blackness. That was a bit scary. But everything else looked normal. It just didn’t sound normal. It was unusually quiet.

  There was no one else in the bathroom. All the shower stalls and toilet cubicles were empty. They smelled of chemical air freshener, which isn’t a paranormal sort of smell. Even so, I was a bit nervous. Walking around in a strange place in the middle of the night always makes me nervous.

  I remember wincing when I flushed the toilet. The gush of water sounded so loud that I was afraid it would wake up everyone on the floor. After that, I made a point of not using warm water when I washed my hands, because I knew what a terrible noise hot-water pipes could make.

  Then, after passing through the little vestibule again, I tried to pull the bathroom door open.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  At first I thought I must have locked myself in by mistake. So I didn’t panic. It was only after I’d checked, and seen that there was no lock . . . well, then I started to yank and push and kick and generally lose it.

  ‘Come on,’ I muttered. ‘Come on. Hey! Hey! Is somebody out there?’

  No reply. I banged on the door again, slamming it with both hands. I pulled and tugged at the handle.

  ‘Hey!’ I cried. ‘Open up!’

  When nothing happened, I fell back, and looked around. It was a scary moment. The sweat was breaking out all over me, and my heart was pounding, and I was panting and squeaking and telling myself not to panic, the door was stuck, it didn’t mean anything, I wouldn’t be in there all night . . . that sort of thing. Leaving the entrance vestibule, I went back into the bathroom, looking for help. The only large object that wasn’t fixed to the floor or wall, in that room, was the laundry basket, which was full of dirty towels. And I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. The door was meant to open inwards. So I could pound on it all I wanted without making the slightest difference.

  I approached the door again. I braced myself. I clenched my teeth and grasped the handle and heaved . . .

  . . . and the door sprang open so smoothly, so easily, that I fell on my bum.

  Whomp!

  There was no one on the other side. I scrambled over the threshold before I was even on my feet, not wanting to risk being stuck inside again. I looked to the right: nothing. I looked to the left: nothing. It wasn’t far to our room – just a few steps to the left, around a corner, and a few steps more, heading towards the window. But as I approached the corner, I began to slow down. I don’t know why. Perhaps because I had this image in my head: an image of a face materialising out of the darkness on the other side of the window. I didn’t want to turn the corner. I didn’t want to see anything like that. It was stupid, I know. But I went slowly, very slowly, until I was at the corner . . .

  ‘Boo!’

  ‘Aagh!’

  I almost died. I almost lay down and died on the spot. I fell against the wall, and Paul started to laugh.

  He covered his mouth, but he was snorting and snickering.

  ‘Scared ya!’ he crowed.

  I just stared at him. I couldn’t believe it. He had jumped out in front of me.

  ‘Did you think I was a ghost?’ he grinned.

  ‘What – what are you doing?’

  ‘Who did you think was pulling the door?’

  I looked around. I couldn’t see Sylvia.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ I hissed.

  ‘You should have seen your face!’ He really seemed to expect that I would enjoy the joke too. ‘What a great idea.’

  ‘You’re insane,’ I said, getting angry. ‘What are you doing, creeping around at this hour?’

  ‘What are you doing?’ he retorted.

  ‘I’m going to the toilet.’

  ‘Well – so am I.’

  I didn’t believe him. I was about to say so when the door nearest us suddenly opened, and a bleary, rumpled face peered out, crossly. The face didn’t belong to anyone I knew.

  ‘Do you mind?’ (Whoever it was, he didn’t appreciate being woken up.) ‘There are people trying to sleep!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmured. Paul didn’t say anything.

  The head withdrew, and the door closed.

  ‘You’re such a jerk,’ I whispered to Paul. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being scolded by strangers. Especially for something that isn’t my fault. ‘You make me sick.’

  Then I marched back to my room, before he could say anything else. I was so furious. It took me ages to get to sleep, because I kept thinking of things that I should have said to him. I also started wondering if I should tell Mum and Ray about it the next morning. Yes? No? If Paul got into trouble, would that spoil the tour? Would it create further tension?

  In the end, I did tell Ray. I woke up very early, at a quarter to six, and saw him dressing in one corner. His shuffling and zipping had roused me. He was pulling on his shoes.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I whispered, and he looked up, startled.

  ‘Oh.’ He winced. ‘I’m sorry, Allie. Was I making too much noise?’

  ‘Where are you going?’ I had noticed, suddenly, that his sketchbook, pencil box and water bottle were sitting on the floor near him. ‘Are you going to draw?’

  He nodded, and put a finger to his lips.

  ‘I’m just going for a bit of a walk,’ he said, in a very soft voice. ‘See if I can find any interesting rock formations.’

  ‘Please can I come?’

  ‘Quietly.’

  He waited for me outside the room. I put on my clothes as quickly and quietly as I could, remembering to take my hat. Mum always gets mad if we don’t wear a hat in the sun.

  Though I have to admit that it wasn’t terribly sunny, just then. The sun had only just risen, and the valley was deep in shadow. Ray and I saw this as soon as we walked out of the foyer, and looked around. We hadn’t said much coming down the stairs. It was still very early, and we were frightened of disturbing people.

  ‘Doesn’t it smell good?’ said Ray, drawing a deep breath through his nose. ‘So clean.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘There’s something called the Carlotta Arch walk. It starts over there.’ Ray pointed across the road. ‘It’s supposed to contain “many panoramic views and geological features”.’

  ‘Can I please have a sip of your water?’

  We crossed the road and began to climb the first set of stairs. It led us up a steep slope to a path that headed straight for the sky. This path was lined with lampposts and iron railings, and zigzagged up the side of the valley. On the way, it passed a bushland regeneration project, and a couple of wooden benches, and the peaked, red roofs of Caves House. As we climbed higher and higher, Caves House grew smaller behind us. I could see the road far below, disappearing into the Grand Arch. When I peered up, I was surprised to spot a tumble of rocky cliffs towering over us. They were streaked and cracked and full of strange, smooth holes, like a Swiss cheese.

  A blue wren flitted by.

  ‘Aren’t we lucky?’ said Ray. I don’t know exactly what he was talking about (the weather, perhaps?), but he smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then I said, ‘Paul nearly scared me to death, last night. He was pretending to be a ghost when I went to the toilet. At two o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘He’s such a jerk,’ I went on. ‘He pulled the door shut, and then he jumped out at me. He really likes scaring people.’

  ‘You mean he was wandering around the hotel?’

  ‘I don’t know. He said h
e was going to the toilet.’

  Ray sighed. He seemed to be thinking. We were both a bit out of breath at that stage, so we didn’t say anything for a while. At last we reached a fork in the path, and Ray stopped. He looked at the sign pointing towards Lucas Rocks. Then he said, ‘Let’s not worry about Paul, just now. I’ll have a word to Sylvia, but I don’t know if it’s going to help. He’s a very troubled boy.’

  ‘I wish he wasn’t here.’

  ‘Yes. Well. You won’t get any argument from me.’

  We turned left, and kept walking along the track, up and up. By this time we were high enough to catch the pale morning sun. There were white butterflies flitting about. Birds were chirping, and ants were scurrying, but we were the only people on the track. It felt as if we were the only people in the world. Overhead, the sky was a pearly colour. You could tell that it was going to be a beautiful day.

  Then the path seemed to swerve, and suddenly we were looking through an enormous rocky arch, down at the shimmering blue water far below. The mouth of the arch was hung with grey stalactites. There was a viewing platform in front of it, and railings, and a sign.

  ‘Wow,’ sighed Ray.

  We gazed for a while, soaking up the view, before Ray finally declared that he wanted to do a quick sketch of the stalactites. I said I’d wait. At first I stood behind him, watching the quick, clean strokes of his pencil. (He’s very good, you know. I get a bit jealous sometimes.) But I have to admit that I didn’t find the stalactites as interesting as Ray did. So eventually I drifted away, to inspect the big hole in the ground that lay opposite Carlotta Arch, on the other side of the track. It was a kind of crater, about four or five metres deep, and about as wide as two cars parked end to end. A fence stood in front of it. You could tell at first glance that it had been formed when the ground suddenly subsided. There were still bushes and vines growing on the bottom – or what looked like the bottom. But when I studied it more closely, I realised that the bottom of that hole wasn’t really the bottom. All along the edges, where the walls of the crater should have joined its floor, there was just dark, empty space. In other words, if you dropped into the hole, you could walk forward, duck your head, and squeeze into a cave that had been exposed to the air when the ground collapsed.