Free Dark Entries by Robert Aickman Page A

wildly.
    ‘Darling!’ Phrynne caught him by the arm.
    ‘Leave this to me, Phrynne.’ He addressed Mrs Pascoe. ‘We’ll pay for the room, of course. Please order me a car.’
    Mrs Pascoe was now regarding him stonily. When he asked for a car, she gave a very short laugh. Then her face changed, she made an effort, and she said, ‘You mustn’t take the Commandant so seriously, you know.’
    Phrynne glanced quickly at her husband.
    The whisky was finished. Mrs Pascoe placed the empty glass on the plastic overmantel with too much of a thud. ‘No one takes Commandant Shotcroft seriously,’ she said. ‘Not even his nearest and dearest.’
    ‘Has he any?’ asked Phrynne. ‘He seemed so lonely and pathetic.’
    ‘He’s Don and I’s mascot,’ she said, the drink interfering with her grammar. But not even the drink could leave any doubt about her rancour.
    ‘I thought he had personality,’ said Phrynne.
    ‘That and a lot more, no doubt,’ said Mrs Pascoe. ‘But they pushed him out, all the same.’
    ‘Out of what?’
    ‘Cashiered, court-martialled, badges of rank stripped off, sword broken in half, muffled drums, the works.’
    ‘Poor old man. I’m sure it was a miscarriage of justice.’
    ‘That’s because you don’t know him.’
    Mrs Pascoe looked as ifshe were waiting for Gerald to offer her another whisky.
    ‘It’s a thing he could never live down,’ said Phrynne,brooding to herself, and tucking her legs beneath her. ‘No wonder he’s so queer ifall the time it was a mistake.’
    ‘I just told you it was not a mistake,’ said Mrs Pascoe insolently.
    ‘How can we possibly know?’
    ‘ You can’t. I can. No one better.’ She was at once aggressive and tearful.
    ‘If you want to be paid,’ cried Gerald, forcing himself in, ‘make out your bill. Phrynne, come upstairs and pack.’ If only he hadn’t made her unpack between their walk and dinner.
    Slowly Phrynne uncoiled and rose to her feet. She had no intention of either packing or departing, but nor was she going to argue. ‘I shall need your help,’ she said, softly. ‘If I’m going to pack.’
    In Mrs Pascoe there was another change. Now she looked terrified. ‘Don’t go. Please don’t go. Not now. It’s too late.’
    Gerald confronted her. ‘Too late for what?’ he asked harshly.
    Mrs Pascoe looked paler than ever. ‘You said you wanted a car,’ she faltered. ‘You’re too late.’ Her voice trailed away.
    Gerald took Phrynne by the arm. ‘Come on up.’
    Before they reached the door, Mrs Pascoe made a further attempt. ‘You’ll be all right if you stay. Really you will.’ Her voice, normally somewhat strident, was so feeble that the bells obliterated it. Gerald observed that from somewhere she had produced the whisky bottle and was refilling her tumbler.
    With Phrynne on his arm he went first to the stout front door. To his surprise it was neither locked nor bolted, but opened at a half-turn of the handle. Outside the building the whole sky was full of bells, the air an inferno of ringing.
    He thought that for the first time Phrynne’s face also seemed strained and crestfallen. ‘They’ve been ringing too long,’ she said, drawing close to him. ‘I wish they’d stop.’
    ‘We’re packing and going. I needed to know whether we could get out this way. We must shut the door quietly.’
    It creaked a bit on its hinges, and he hesitated with it half-shut, uncertain whether to rush the creak or to ease it. Suddenly, something dark and shapeless, with its arm seeming to hold a black vesture over its head, flitted, all sharp angles, like a bat, down the narrow ill-lighted street, the sound of its passage audible to none. It was the first being that either of them had seen inthe streets of Holihaven; and Gerald was acutely relieved that he alone had set eyes upon it. With his hand trembling, he shut the door much too sharply.
    But no one could possibly have heard, although he stopped for a second outside the lounge. He