Noises in the night

Suryakumari Dennison tells you a story about a surprise in store for two pranksters

Amir and Asif were delighted to hear that their cousin would be spending a week with them. Saira was younger than them, but the twins did not mind that. They liked the way she followed them everywhere, hoping to be included in their activities. 

“How shall we entertain her?” said Amir. “It’s the first time Saira is visiting us since we moved here. There’s not much to do at our hill station, and we don’t want her to be bored.”

“Don’t worry, Saira’s stay with us will be eventful,” promised Asif, his eyes sparkling. “We’ll make a trip to the haunted house.”

“Oh no!” groaned Amir. “It’s a rundown heap with an unkempt garden. I don’t know why you’re fascinated by Cartwright Cottage, Asif. What is supposed to have happened there anyway?”

“It was in the 1930s, during the British Raj,” began Asif, eager to tell the tale. “A young widow named Emily Cartwright lived in that sprawling bungalow, with her infant daughter. One day, Emily was called away on urgent business and had to leave Dorothy alone at home.” As Amir prepared to interrupt, Asif held up a hand. “No, there was no domestic help. Much to her neighbours’ disdain, Emily did her own cooking and cleaning, and looked after Dorothy all by herself.”

“I assume this remarkably self-sufficient woman suffered a mishap,” said Asif, getting interested.

Asif nodded. “No one knows what went wrong, but Emily did not return. She probably lost her footing on a steep gradient and plunged down the valley. Dorothy waited and waited for her mother who never came. Apparently, she continues to do so; at least, that’s what people say. The sound of wailing can be heard at night.” 

“It makes no sense,” said practical Amir. “Why couldn’t Emily join her child by turning into a ghost as well?”

“Good point,” said Asif, smiling. “So far, she hasn’t made her presence felt. By the way, little Dorothy was in the basement when Emily set off, and that is where she still lingers.”

“Why on earth was she there?” demanded Amir. “Emily Cartwright seems a thoroughly irresponsible parent. Shouldn’t poor Dorothy have been in her nursery?”

“That’s the point,” said Asif. “Had Dorothy been in one of the regular rooms, her cries might have attracted assistance. Since she was in the lower part of the building, they went unheard.”

“And now, all at once, we hear Dorothy loud and clear,” remarked Amir sarcastically. “I suppose that’s why no one ever goes near Cartwright cottage, much less lives there. What happened to Dorothy is certainly sad, but you and I know that ghosts don’t exist.”

“Of course we know that,” said Asif impatiently, “but it might be fun to frighten Saira. I thought we’d tell her about Dorothy, and then take her to Cartwright Cottage after dark. I’ll arrange with Riyaz to hide in the basement and scream for all he’s worth.”

“Riyaz!” said Amir scornfully. “He’d flee his own shadow!”

“Don’t be tiresome, Amir,” said Asif. “Our friend is a clever mimic, and only needs a bit of persuasion. We just have to get Saira to agree to go with us.”

With no idea what was in store for her, Saira readily accompanied the twins to Cartwright Cottage. Entering the ruined house through a broken door, which creaked in horror-movie fashion, they were enmeshed in cobwebs. “How exciting!” exclaimed Saira, looking around the gloomy hall; she was evidently enjoying the adventure. The twins, on the other hand, admitted softly to each other that they hated musty, dusty Cartwright Cottage. 

Then they heard it — a piercing wail from beneath the floor, followed by another and another. Amir chuckled, but realised that Asif was terrified. “It’s only Riyaz,” he assured his twin. Asif shook his head. “He chickened out,” he said shakily. “Riyaz messaged me 10 minutes ago that he couldn’t go through with the trick.”

“Run!” yelled Amir, as the cries began again. 

“No, wait!” said Saira firmly. As the twins stood frozen with fear, the girl they had planned to scare bravely descended the stairs that led below. She was back in no time, cradling a trembling half-starved kitten. “Isn’t it wonderful that the legend of Cartwright Cottage is not entirely untrue?” she told her gaping cousins. Stroking the small black bundle of fur, Saira added: “There really is a baby in distress.”