Spectre of Springwell Forest

A mother suspects her young daughter is cursed after finding a mysterious painting in the attic of her new home — Chapter 4

Continued from Chapter Three

Chapter Four

‘I have a painting just like this,’ I said.

‘Oh, really?’ said Melissa.

‘I found it in the loft whilst exploring. It might have been left there by the previous owner.’

‘What did you do with it?’ Jane asked.

‘Well, I quite liked it, so I put it up in the hallway. Elsie has one too…’

‘Mine is not up,’ Elsie put in. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Yes,’ I continued. ‘Well, anyway, I hear they’re painted by a local artist. What’s her name? Alison Merrifield. She obviously felt very struck by this particular scene or she wouldn’t have painted it over and over again.’

For a few seconds, no one spoke. Whatever secret surrounded the painting, no one wanted to explain it. When no further discussion ensued, I continued.

‘I thought I might try and meet with Alison Merrifield and find out why she painted so many pictures of this particular place.’

Jane and Melissa exchanged glances. Sue stared down at the carpet and Elsie looked a little alarmed.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ I blundered on, determined to cut through the peculiar silence.

‘Oh, nothing at all,’ said Melissa. ‘It’s just… Alison Merrifield is a bit strange and, well, I keep this picture up so that if she ever comes over, she can see that when I bought it, I really did like it, as I told her.’

‘But do you like it?’

Melissa shook her head. ‘Not really, to be honest. I felt sorry for her and wanted to give her some business.’

‘But her business is doing alright, isn’t it?’ said Elsie. ‘I mean, her wools and fabrics sell, and her art is really something she does on the side.’

‘Yes, well anyway, that’s why I have it hanging,’ said Melissa. ‘I can understand why you wouldn’t have yours hanging up, Elsie, since you don’t know Alison very well. She’s not likely to visit you.’

‘I suppose not,’ said Elsie.

‘Clearly you like the picture,’ said Jane, addressing me. There was something in her tone I didn’t care for. She sounded accusatory, almost threatening.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘What I say,’ said Jane. ‘You found it in your loft and put it on your wall.’

I didn’t quite know how to respond to this. Even though I had put up the painting, it hadn’t exactly been because I liked it.

‘Melissa, I’m sorry you feel like you have to display a picture you don’t like,’ I said.

‘Lily, why do you like it?’ Sue asked.

‘I… Well, I… I don’t know. It just struck me as an unusual painting. We were in the middle of unpacking our things, so I just put it up in the hallway. Elsie said she had one just like it. Then I see another exactly like it hanging here, so I suppose I’m just increasingly curious. I’d love to know why Alison Merrifield paints this tunnel, and why everyone seems to buy and display them.’

‘Or not,’ said Sue, indicating Elsie.

‘Indeed.’

Melissa laughed. ‘Well, there’s really nothing strange about it at all. Alison Merrifield is a local artist. People like to support her, even though she’s a bit odd. It’s natural that you’d be curious, especially if you found one in your new home. I’m sure she’ll be able to clear up whatever questions you have. Only I do warn you, she is a bit odd.’

After that, Melissa changed the subject, rather forcefully. We discussed Alison Merrifield’s business, and I discovered that whilst Elsie was not a knitter, Melissa was, and that she had bought the painting of the abandoned railway tunnel whilst shopping for wool. She also made her own clothes, as I did, and we talked fabrics. Neither Jane nor Sue had much experience in either discipline, but Sue said she would love to do more along those lines if she had the time. Elsie, on the other hand, reiterated she was hopeless with such crafts.

The rest of our conversation was light and pleasant, and later as I left Melissa’s house, I asked Elsie what she thought about inviting them all to my house for coffee the following week.

‘If I were you, I would wait for a few weeks and see if you remain in favour,’ said Elsie, as we strode back past the school toward the main road into the village. ‘It could get awkward if they treat you like me, and start making excuses why they can’t come.’

‘But it’s all so ridiculous,’ I said. ‘Oh well, if you think its best…’

‘Are you going to see Alison Merrifield now?’

‘Yes.’

Elsie fell silent. The wind had picked up, and the sombre skies blackened considerably. A few spots of rain began to fall, though in a half-hearted way, like warning shots, urging us to find shelter. In my mind’s eye, I recalled the walk I had taken with Olivia the previous day. The unsettling way the cloud shadows had seemed to bleed out of the centre of the forest in the hills above Springwell, leaking down onto the village, remained vivid in my mind, like a grim premonition. And yet, at this point, I still felt safe, carefree, and mercifully oblivious to the dangerous path I was putting myself on by determining to question Alison Merrifield.

‘I have to tell you something,’ Elsie said presently, as we approached the war memorial at the centre of Springwell. ‘Something else about that painting you need to know before we get to Alison’s shop.’

I halted and turned to Elsie, intrigued. ‘What is it?’

‘It might be completely irrelevant and silly, but… Well, I have to tell you. The whole thing was just too strange…’

‘I’m sure it’s not silly, Elsie. Please tell me.’

She took a deep breath and spoke in an undertone. ‘Just over a year ago, in late August, I was walking past the vicarage, along the pavement by the church, further up the hill near the top of the village. Do you know it?’

‘I’ve driven past. What happened?’

‘I saw our vicar, Reverend Derek Morrison, in his back garden. He was having a bonfire. Nothing unusual about that, and I was about to say hello over the hedge. But then I saw the expression on his face and noticed he seemed… well, frightened. He kept glancing around, as though checking if anyone was watching. I was curious, so I’m afraid I decided to hide and watch from where he couldn’t see me.

‘Anyway, he looked around a bit, then walked back into his house and came back out carrying one of Alison Merrifield’s paintings of the abandoned railway tunnel. He threw it on the fire as though it was some filthy, unpleasant thing, and nodded in a kind of satisfied way. Then he closed his eyes and started to pray. I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but I caught something about a ‘vengeful spirit.’ At least, I think that’s what he said. He seemed very fervent, very committed, and once the painting had burned up, very relieved.

‘Afterwards, I didn’t know what to make of it all. I felt a little alarmed, to be honest. Derek had not seemed his usual cheerful self at all. His wife Louise was away, so I decided to bake him a pie and take it round the following day, but when I did, he seemed absolutely fine. There was no trace of the worry I had seen when he had burned the painting. I wanted to ask him about it, but didn’t see how on earth I could bring up the subject. It’s a complete mystery, and as I said, it might have nothing to do with anything, but there we are.’

‘That’s genuinely bizarre,’ I said. ‘So why did he feel the need to burn the painting? Why did he have to do it in secret? And what was all that about a vengeful spirit?’

‘It freaked me out a bit,’ said Elsie. ‘I almost went home and burned my own copy of the picture. But after a while, I forgot about it, and when I remembered, I somehow couldn’t bring myself to destroy the painting after all.’

‘Did you tell anyone else this story?’

Elsie shook her head. ‘Jane, Sue, and Melissa don’t really take me into their confidence, so I didn’t see why I should take them into mine.’

‘Seems fair enough. But I think they know more about this painting than they are telling. Let’s see what we can get out of Alison Merrifield herself, and then if necessary, I will go and see Reverend Morrison. I’d like to meet him in any case.’

‘Oh, he and Louise are lovely,’ said Elsie. ‘He hasn’t behaved strangely like that before or since, and quite honestly, the whole scene was so odd it felt like something out of a dream. Anyway, look, I need some cigarettes. Can we stop off at the newsagent?’

‘Of course.’

Elsie and I crossed the road to the other side of the war memorial and entered the newsagent. Paula Wainwright stood behind the counter, her eyes darting between Elsie and I with a somewhat wary expression.

‘Good morning,’ said Paula. ‘I hope you’re settling in well.’

‘Oh yes,’ I replied. ‘Olivia’s first day of school today.’

‘Oh, is she nervous?’

‘A little, but I think she’ll be alright.’

‘She made friends with Howard,’ said Elsie, who still seemed thrilled every time she mentioned this.

‘That’s lovely,’ said Paula.

‘And Melissa Bilbury invited us for coffee earlier, so I’m getting to know people a little,’ I added. ‘I met her, and Jane Hargrave, and Sue… What’s her surname?’

‘Sue Evans,’ said Elsie.

Paula’s expression hardened a little at the mention of Sue. ‘From what I hear, it’ll be Sue Starling again fairly soon.’

‘Yes, I heard about the impending divorce,’ I said. ‘Very sad.’

Paula scoffed. ‘Yes, well, Matt Evans is a patient man, but patience has limits. It’s the children I feel sorry for.’

‘Yes, always the children who suffer,’ I echoed.

Elsie bought her cigarettes, and we left the shop. Something about Paula’s manner unsettled me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. She seemed on edge. I idly wondered if she had heard about my interest in Alison Merrifield’s painting, perhaps from Jane, Melissa, or Sue.

‘Do you know Sue Evans well?’ I asked Elsie, as we continued our journey to Alison Merrifield’s shop.

‘Not really, no,’ said Elsie. ‘I don’t like what Paula said about her either.’

‘Jane and Melissa didn’t exactly leap to her defence when Sue said her husband leaving was her own fault.’

‘That’s because I think they believe she is to blame. But at least they have the decency not to say it out loud.’

‘Do you think it was her fault?’

Elsie shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. But I can tell you one thing. I never liked her husband much. Something about him made my skin crawl. He’d look at you in this odd way, as though you were part of his medical research or something.’

We reached Alison Merrifield’s shop a few minutes later. It lay a few hundred yards east of the war memorial, around a curve in the road near the library and tea rooms. Merrifield Fabrics was a cosy little place with a bell that rang when you entered. Inside were rows and shelves of wool, fabrics, and buttons, and we spent some time browsing. On the walls a little farther inside, several landscape paintings had been mounted, including one of the abandoned railway tunnel — the fourth copy I’d seen.

I decided to buy some wool to knit Olivia a pair of socks, and took my purchases to the counter. Somehow, I doubted the girl behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager reading a magazine, was Alison Merrifield.

‘Is Alison here?’ Elsie asked.

The teenage girl looked up from her magazine with a sullen expression. ‘In the back.’

‘Could we see her?’

‘She’s busy.’

I glanced into a dark corridor behind the teenage girl, which led to a dimly lit storeroom where I could hear someone moving around behind shelves.

‘Er… Well when would be a convenient time to catch her?’

‘Dunno.’

I exchanged glances with Elsie, but was determined not to give up so easily. ‘Look, I’d really like to talk to Alison Merrifield if at all possible, so could you go back and ask her when would be a good time to return and…’

‘It’s alright, Gina,’ a voice said from the corridor.

I peered behind the teen into the gloom, and made out the silhouette of a tall, bespectacled older woman in her early sixties with wispy silver hair. She wore a dark grey skirt and matching cardigan, and as she stepped into the light, she beamed at us. But her smile seemed mysterious rather than welcoming, and her bright, piercing blue eyes appraised me in a way that made me uneasy.

‘You’re new to the village,’ the old woman said finally.

‘How do you know?’ I asked.

‘I’m guessing, but you are with Elsie, and she is often friendly to newcomers. As to why you’re here, I’m also guessing you have seen a painting you are curious about.’

‘Well, I only really wanted to buy some wool…’ I began.

‘You are here about a painting,’ the old woman insisted. ‘Not necessarily to buy one, but to ask me about one.’

The old woman’s blunt and accurate statements unsettled me, and a couple of seconds later she began to laugh. But her laugh did not reassure. If anything, it sounded even more unnerving.

‘You must forgive me. I’m Alison Merrifield, and I am very used to people asking the same question over and over again. But then, I do paint the same picture over and over again and people are intrigued. It is understandable that someone like you would want to know more.’

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact,’ I said, feeling as though the wind had been taken out of my sails.

Gina, the teenage girl, returned to her magazine and slouched against the wall by the till. She had the look of someone who had witnessed scenes like this involving curious customers all too often. Alison indicated the painting of the abandoned railway tunnel, her eyes widening.

‘Let me guess… This one?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

Alison turned to Elsie. ‘I sold one just like it to you, didn’t I?’

‘You certainly did,’ said Elsie. ‘But… Well, Lily was curious…’

‘Lily Henderson, eh?’ said Alison. ‘I thought as much. Paula Wainwright mentioned you, and that you had a little girl.’

‘Yes, Olivia,’ I said, feeling more awkward with every second.

‘In that case, you really need to buy one of these,’ said Alison, pointing to the picture of the railway tunnel.

‘Well, actually, I already have one just like it,’ I said. ‘I found it in the loft when I moved in. I think the previous owner had left it.’

‘I see,’ said Alison. ‘Well, perhaps I can interest you in another of my paintings?’

With this question, Alison’s manner altered entirely. She became a lot less peculiar and friendlier, but business-like. The abrupt change was disconcerting, and amid the confused signals, I almost forgot the crucial thing Alison had said.

‘Wait a minute… Why would we need one of those pictures of the abandoned railway?’

‘Oh, lots of the people in the village have them. It’s become a kind of tradition. But if you have that one already, I could perhaps interest you in…’

‘But that isn’t what you said,’ I insisted. ‘You said I needed one of those pictures because of Olivia.’

Alison frowned. ‘I think you must have misunderstood me, my dear.’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Well, if you just want the wool then, that’s fair enough. I’ll ask Gina to ring it up for you and…’

‘Is that a real place?’ I interrupted.

Alison seemed to choose her words with care as she replied. ‘Well, I painted that picture by copying a photograph, so yes.’

‘Where is it?’

‘I don’t know the exact location. I daresay there are many such places all over the country, and one would look much like another. It could be completely overgrown by now. Perhaps you can’t even see the tunnel at all…’

‘Do you at least have a rough idea of where this tunnel is?’

‘I would imagine somewhere in Devon or the South-West, but again, I don’t know exactly where.’

‘And how did you come by the photograph? Do you still have it?’

‘Oh no, the original photograph has been lost for years. Whenever I paint a new copy, I simply copy a previous painting.’

‘Who gave you the photograph?’

‘Oh… My memory isn’t what it once was… You know, Lily, you would have made a good detective.’

I laughed.

‘Tom, my husband, says that all the time. I’m fascinated though, why do you paint that tunnel over and over again?’

‘You’ll find many artists duplicate successful renderings, if they find the copies sell,’ said Alison. ‘In the case of this picture, it seemed to strike a chord with people here, so it became something of a local in-joke to own a copy.’

I frowned, unconvinced by this explanation.

‘I’ve been asked this question many, many times by newcomers, visitors or tourists, whenever they discover there are multiple copies of this painting hanging in homes around Springwell,’ Alison insisted. ‘There really is nothing more to it than that, my dear. I assure you.’

I felt certain that Alison, like Jane, Melissa, and previously Elsie, was not telling the full truth about the mysterious painting. What could I do? I could hardly stand there and argue the toss, insisting she tell me the truth.

‘I know there is another reason why you said I needed a copy of that painting in my house, and it has something to do with Olivia,’ I blurted out.

Alison laughed, and stared at me as though I were an escaped lunatic.

‘I honestly have no idea how you got that idea in your head,’ said Alison. ‘It might seem disappointing that your mystery has such a boring explanation, but I simply make copies of this picture because they sell. It all comes down to business.’

‘So, that’s it? The painting is just popular with locals, and nothing more?’

‘Nothing more.’

A strained silence fell.

‘Well, if you say there’s nothing more to it, then that’s the end of it,’ I said. ‘Better buy this wool and get going…’

Feeling oddly embarrassed, I found myself paying for the wool as quickly as possible. Elsie said nothing, but no doubt sensed my change in mood.

After leaving the shop, I glanced back and saw Alison standing on the pavement outside, watching us walk away. I forced a smile then turned and picked up my pace, feeling Alison’s eyes boring into the back of my head. It was only when we were out of her eyeline and I relaxed again that I realised she had completely wrong-footed me. She struck me as a highly manipulative woman; the kind of person who could persuade customers that they absolutely did need a copy of her painting.

‘She is a very odd woman,’ I said to Elsie.

‘She makes me uncomfortable too,’ said Elsie. ‘I think Jane and Melissa feel the same way. To be fair, they did sort of try to warn you.’

‘True…’

For all my curiosity about the mysterious painting, I was no further forward. The only thing I knew for certain was that Alison’s explanation that she painted copies to satisfy business demand did not ring true at all. However, I did have one last lead to investigate. I would pay the Reverend Derek Morrison a visit and see if I could find out why he felt the need to burn his copy of the abandoned railway tunnel.

To be continued in Chapter Five.

Copyright 2018 Simon Dillon. The moral rights of the author have been asserted. For more information about Spectre of Springwell Forest and other gothic mystery horror/thriller novels by Simon Dillon, including purchase links for e-books and paperbacks, click here. For more information about Simon Dillon on Medium, click here.