Helen Phifer - The Good Sisters - The perfect scary read to curl up with this winter

‘If I take the board off the door the house is going to be open and insecure for anyone to get in, unless the door actually works and it’s just been boarded up to keep it secure.’

‘Please can you take it off – and then can you fix the door for me if it needs it? Because I need to move in, today, and I don’t want it to be insecure.’

He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘You want to live here, on your own, when you haven’t seen the inside? It might not be in a fit state to live in. How long has it been empty?’

‘Twenty, maybe forty-odd years, I think. I’m not too sure, but yes I hate it where I live at the moment. It’s a cramped council flat. Last night the flat opposite mine was broken into and set on fire. The drug dealer above me had his door kicked in and seven bells of shit kicked out of him the day before, so yes living here has got to be a better option than living there.’

***

Unable to speak, Oliver shook his head – thinking that she was either insane or plain stupid for buying this house without even looking inside it, but he’d always had a soft spot for her and if he was honest with himself a bit of a schoolboy crush. He used to watch Martin treating her like a second-class citizen, openly flirting with anything in a skirt and generally being a bastard to her. If he hadn’t had enough problems in his own life he would have liked to take him to one side and teach him a thing or two about how to treat a lady, but Martin paid his wages. So until the day he didn’t need the money, he’d been stuck and unable to have his own opinion.

Oliver grabbed his tool box from out of the back of the van. Opening it up and taking out his cordless drill, he began to unscrew the board off the front door. He wondered if she was still drinking as much. He wondered if the purchase of this house had been when she was in an alcohol-fuelled haze or whether she had it more under control now. She was such an attractive woman; it would be a shame to watch her lose her sparkle as the alcohol dulled it until she looked like all the other alcoholics her age. It made him so angry inside to see her drowning her life away inside a bottle, when Ellen – his wife – had fought for every minute of hers.

***

Kate stood watching him with her fingers crossed behind her back. This was going to be amazing. She had such a good feeling about it and just knew that it was. As he took the last screw out and prised the board from the door frame, she let out a small whoop of delight. Behind the faded board was a big, arched stained-glass door that would have looked at home in a church. It was beautiful. The dark oak looked in good condition and pretty solid. The brass lock was rusted and he held his hands out for the keys. Kate passed them to him and watched him fiddle around with them for a few minutes. It wouldn’t turn. He looked at her over his shoulder and must have seen the disappointment that was etched onto her face.

‘I’ve got some WD-40 in the van.’ He walked over to retrieve it and returned a minute later with a can of spray-on grease and two huge torches. He handed them to her then sprayed the grease in and around the lock. He tried once more and this time with a bit of twisting the key gave in and turned. He shoved his shoulder against the door, which was stuck, pushing it open to reveal the darkness inside. It smelt damp, foisty and it was very black inside.

For a fleeting moment Kate felt an overwhelming sense of despair wash over her, but no sooner had she questioned what was going on and it had gone, leaving her feeling excited once more. They switched on the torches and stepped inside, sweeping the beams around the entrance hall that was now covered in a thick layer of dust. It had obviously once been very grand. The walls, which were all oak panelled, were covered in thick, grey dust. The staircase was huge and from what Kate could see underneath the dirt and debris, the floor was made up of ornately tiled mosaics.

What stood out the most was the huge crucifix draped in thick cobwebs hanging on the wall directly opposite the front door. She shivered. Church and religion had been her worst nightmare when she’d been a kid. Her mother used to make her go every Sunday without fail. She’d have to listen to Father Joe deliver the longest, most boring sermons. She looked across at Oliver’s face, trying to work out if he was impressed or not.

‘Well what do you think?’

‘I think that you have taken on a huge task and you’re a braver person than I am, but it doesn’t seem as bad in here as I thought it would. I’m surprised to be honest, although for all we know the floors could be dangerous and full of dry rot.’

He picked up a piece of discarded wood spindling, which was lying on the floor, and banged it down hard on the tiles to make sure they were safe to stand on.

‘Follow me, Kate, I mean it: don’t walk off on your own. This place could be a death trap for all you know.’

She squealed and grabbed his arm. ‘It’s beautiful though, isn’t it? I mean it has so much potential. I can’t wait to get it cleaned up and started.’

***

He couldn’t help smiling to himself in the darkness. Her enthusiasm was catching. It did seem to be a pretty remarkable building.

They were so busy looking down at the floor, making sure it was safe to walk on, that neither of them saw the faceless, black, hooded figure hovering at the top of the stairs watching them. Kate’s torchlight caught the corner of the thick, silver crucifix that hung around its neck, making the light reflect a little. It disappeared back to where it had come from. Back into the shadows where it had dwelled for far too long.

As they walked further into the house, Oliver just hoped that Kate had the money to turn it from this into something habitable. He knew that Martin had taken everything away from her after the court case and he couldn’t help wonder where she had got the money to buy it from. Maybe it was a severance gift from Martin.

***

They walked from room to room. There were a lot of broken windows, which was why it was boarded up, and there were also an awful lot of crosses on the walls. They were everywhere and Kate felt a cold draught run down her back. It was creepy to have so many in one house. Even the church didn’t have so many of the damn things plastered around. Whoever lived here must have been some kind of religious nut. She made up her mind the first job would be to take them all down when she came back with boxes, bags and a huge skip to fill with all the junk from inside.

She was also going to do some digging and find out the house’s history. When she had a minute she would go to the records office attached to the local library and see what information they had on it. She wanted to make a scrapbook about the house now and what it would be like when it was finished. Something for her girls to treasure and that guests who stopped by might find interesting. This was her house now and whoever lived here before her had left years ago. She would turn it into the kind of home she’d dreamt about since she was a teenager.

There were still a lot of pieces of furniture that had been left behind, which was a nice bonus. Most of them were covered in dirty, grey dust sheets and she lifted the corners to take a peek at what was hiding underneath. Although some of it was no good, there were some pieces that were still okay. She would put them all in the outhouse and either sell them or have a go at restoring them herself to use in the bedrooms. Once they’d been painted white or grey instead of the dark, almost black oak they would be much brighter and look a lot better.

***

Oliver and Kate cautiously made their way from room to room. The ground floor was pretty solid. There were a couple of holes in the floorboards in three of the rooms, but the other five were not too bad. The plaster was falling off some of the walls and the wiring wasn’t very good. Oliver didn’t think it would be a huge job to knock out walls and add en suites to the bedrooms. Years ago he’d owned a thriving building business – which had refit offices, hotels and pubs – so this wasn’t going to be anything that he couldn’t do. The only reason he’d sold the business was because his wife Ellen had been diagnosed with motor neurone disease and he’d wanted to take care of her.