The Silent House - Laura Elliot

Part I

Chapter One

Southern Stream FM

This is Gavin Darcy opening Morning Stream with an exclusive news flash.

An emergency call was received in the early hours of this morning from a young girl who claimed she was being held at gunpoint by a dangerous gunman at an unknown location. The connection was broken before she was able to reveal her whereabouts and it’s believed a shot was fired before her call abruptly ended.

Gardai were tracing the call to find out if it was genuine or a hoax. Unfortunately, as listeners know, hoax calls, whether to the gardai or the fire service, are regular occurrences and we have been awaiting confirmation from the Garda Press Office, who, as yet, are not prepared to comment. It’s not known if there are others at the location with her. We’ll keep you up to date as further information is released so stay tuned to Morning Stream for coverage of this unfolding situation.

Chapter Two

Sophy

Six months earlier

The rooks had arrived before them. The shriek of rusted hinges when Isobel opened the entrance gates had startled them from their roost and they had risen in clamorous protest to wheel above their nests before scattering into the evening air. Now, they had settled like an ominous, black cowl over the chimneys and roof of Hyland Hall. Silent and unmoving, their sharp, beady eyes watched Sophy as she left her car and took stock of her surroundings.

She had imagined moving into a ‘great’ house. One that had weathered the centuries and stood stately and proud at the end of a long, tree-lined avenue. The bumpy, narrow lane leading to the entrance gates had worried her but the avenue had been as leafy and wide as she had hoped. Her spirits had risen as she drove under a canopy of overhanging branches towards her destination. The trees, she now realised, had been a deceptive lure that did nothing to prepare her for the shock of seeing her new home for the first time.

Hyland Hall would once have been a magnificent dwelling but decades of neglect had carved fissures into the red brickwork, flayed the paint from the front door and tarnished the brass horseshoe-shaped knocker. The courtyard was equally run-down, the flagstones barely visible beneath a wilderness of weeds and overgrown shrubbery.

She did not need to look at her daughters’ expressions to appreciate their shock. They must be waiting for her to break; to turn on her heel and leave this eerie house to the rooks and the two stone lions perched on either side of the high steps. She shared their desire to run but she could not turn back now. Too much was at stake. This house, whatever its flaws, would shelter them and that, for the time being, was enough.

The musty smell of abandoned spaces rushed up to greet them when Sophy unlocked the front door. Isobel stepped back, her nose wrinkling in disgust, and Julie, after an initial hesitation, asked, ‘Is this really the start of our exciting new adventure, Mammy?’

‘You’re right, Julie, that’s what it is.’ Taking their hands, she ignored Isobel’s resistant pull and drew them forward into the wide entrance hall. Its glory days were well past and the embossed wallpaper had faded to an indistinguishable beige. A pall of dust covered the furniture – a large wooden trunk with a curved lid, two antique chairs, and a long-legged console table positioned under a gun cabinet. A carving of a horse’s head was displayed on the marble pillar and portraits of horses hung from the walls. A tall grandfather clock sent out six startling, sonorous booms, as if acknowledging and welcoming their arrival.

Isobel clasped her hands over her ears and Julie, unable to hide her fear, ran back to the car where she had left Cordelia. She carried the mannequin back into the hall and propped her against the grandfather clock. Crooning softly to her, she straightened Cordelia’s wig and adjusted her arms.

‘What’s this supposed to be?’ Isobel stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared at a steel rail with a stairlift attached. It ran along one wall and followed the curve of the staircase until it wound out of sight.

‘It’s a stairlift that’s been installed for Mr Hyland,’ Sophy replied. ‘Remember what I’ve told you. You are not to climb these stairs under any circumstances. Do you understand, Isobel? Julie?’

‘Yes.’ Isobel nodded. ‘No way are we to bother The Recluse.’

‘His name is Mr Hyland.’ Sophy frowned. ‘I’ve told you to stop calling him