She placed the mug of milk on a tray that already held his medicine bottle, spoon, and an assortment of pills. God, he would rattle if she ever picked him up and shook him and that wouldn't be difficult to do with her size and him being nothing more than skin and bones. Half the pills he didn't really need, but they gave him the impression he was being looked after. They were harmless enough. How much longer, though? How much longer would the stubborn old fool live, and how much longer could she stand being around him? Patience, Julie, she told herself. It will be worth waiting for. Christ, she'd dance on his fucking grave, all right. Maybe the winter would finish him off. The mean old skinflint didn't believe in central heating and the single-bar electric fire he had in his room just about heated the piece of carpet in front of it. She had left his bedroom window open often enough when she went out shopping as well as creeping in to open it in the middle of the night when he was asleep, always closing it first thing the following morning before he woke. If he didn't catch pneumonia before this winter was out, then he was never going to die, he would go on forever. But she had to be careful: sometimes she thought he wasn't as senile as he pretended.

She carried the tray from the kitchen and began to climb the stairs to the bedroom. She almost missed her footing on the gloomy stairway, the milk slurping over on to the tray, and she silently cursed his meanness. The whole house was dismally lit because of his insistence on low wattage light bulbs. Even when one expired it was difficult to get his permission to buy a new one. He scrutinized every bill she presented him with, his whole body suddenly becoming alert, helplessness mysteriously disappearing; it was as though he suspected her of swindling him, that the weekly shopping bill was a concoction of her own making. Crafty old bugger! The only thing he didn't mind paying for was the medicines and pills she fed into him. He regarded this as the mortgage on his life.

Benjamin's rheumy old eyes watched her from over the top of the bedclothes as she entered the room. He pulled the blankets down under his chin and smiled toothlessly at her.

'Bless you, Julie,' he said as she used her broad rump to close the door behind her. 'You're a good girl.'

She brought the tray over to the bed and moved the lamp on the small bedside table back against the wall to make room for it. The shadows in the room adjusted themselves to the change.

'There now,' she said, sitting heavily on the side of the bed. 'Medicine first, then your pills. You can take them with your milk.'

'Help me sit up, Julie,' he said, putting on his weak voice.

Julie groaned inwardly, knowing full well he was capable of propping himself up. She stood and reached under his armpits, heaving his light frame into a sitting position, fluffing up the pillows behind him. He sat grinning at her, yellow, wrinkled and gummy. She turned her head away.

'Medicine,' he said.

She shook the bottle then poured some of its contents on to the spoon. Benjamin opened his mouth wide and she was reminded of a baby gannet waiting to have a worm dropped into its beak. Julie pushed the spoon in, resisting the urge to shove the whole thing down his scrawny throat, and he sucked noisily at the sticky liquid.

'One more, there's a good boy,' she forced herself to say.

He put on a childish mock grimace, then dropped open his lower jaw.

When he had swallowed the second dose, she scraped the spoon up his grizzled chin, shovelling the dribbles back into his mouth. The pills came next, delivered on to his glistening, wavering tongue like communion wafers, and washed down with the warm milk. She patted his mouth with a Kleenex tissue and he sank back down into the bed, his head still propped up by the pillows, a smile of contentment on his face.

'You promised to sit with me,' he said slyly.

She nodded, knowing what he meant. It was a small price to pay for the old bastard's money, she supposed wearily.

'You're good to me, Julie. All these years, you're the only one who's cared for me. You're all I've got in my last years, dear. But you won't be sorry, I promise you that, you won't be sorry. You'll be well taken care of when I pass on.'

She patted his hand. 'Now you mustn't talk like that. You've years ahead of you. You'll probably last me out.' She was only thirty-nine, so there was no bloody chance of that, she thought.

'You'll be well taken care of, Julie,' he repeated. 'Untie your hair, dear. You know how I love to see it.'

Julie reached up behind her head and with a few swift tugs, her lush, dark brown hair cascaded down on to her broad shoulders. It was long and when she tossed her head it fell beyond her shoulders to settle almost to the bottom of her back.

He reached up a trembling hand. 'Let me feel it, dear, I love to touch it.'

She leaned forward so her glistening mane was within reach. He ran a gnarled hand through it, relishing its rich texture. 'Beautiful,' he murmured. 'So thick, so strong. You really have been blessed, Julie.'

She smiled despite herself. Yes, her hair was her greatest attribute. She knew her body was heavy, although her wellrounded curves were not unattractive Rubensesque would be a way to describe them; and her face, too, was a little plump, but then again, not unattractive. Her hair, though as her drunken old father in Ireland used to tell her was a 'gift from the gods'. She became coy, playing the game the way he liked it.

'Come on, Julie dear,' he said in mock pleading, 'let me see you.'

'You know I shouldn't, Benjamin.'

'There's no harm in it. Come on now,' he coaxed.

'It might overexcite your heart, Benjamin.' She hoped one day it would.

'My heart is already excited, dear. Won't you give me some reward for the reward I'll be leaving you.'

'I told you not to talk like that. Besides, my reward is taking care of you.'

'Then take care of me now, Julie dear.'

She stood, knowing he would become impatient if the game went on too long. Reaching behind her back, Julie unhooked the clasp at her neck, popping the descending buttons open so the stiff dress hung loose around her shoulders. She shrugged herself free of the top and stood there before him in a fake pose of modesty, her breasts hanging heavily inside her bra.

His mouth opened as he gazed up at her, the corners wet with saliva. He nodded his head in quick jerky movements, encouragement for her to go on. Julie undid the bow that secured her white nurse's apron to her waist, letting it fall to the floor. The rest of the dress was pushed, not without effort, over her hips, and the starched material crackled as she slid it down her legs. The elastic in her dark tights was tucked inside a deep crease around her middle and she dug her thumbs into her flesh to find it. Benjamin groaned when these were pulled from her firm legs and she stood over him, a mountain of white flesh contained only by bra and panties.

'Lovely,' he said, 'so very lovely.' His hands disappeared beneath the covers to scurry around in search of his shrunken member. 'The rest, Julie dear. Now the rest.'

She unhooked the bra, her great mounds spilling free and resting sullenly on the rise of her belly. The bra was dropped on to the pile of clothes at her feet and she ran her big hands over her breasts, squashing them flat and teasing the two pink buttons at their centres until they rose like blunted antennae. She allowed her fingers to run down her large expanse of tummy, hooking her thumbs into the top of her panties and slowly drawing them down over her thighs. He moaned aloud and craned his neck forward off the pillow to see her dark, bushy triangle more clearly.

Completely naked, she placed her hands on her hips and stood before him.

'Yes, yes, Julie. You know what to do now.'

She did. She danced.

Her gross shadow matched her movements around the room, sometimes stretching over the ceiling as she drew near to the lamp, hovering darkly over them both. She weaved and turned, crouched and leapt, flinging her arms high in the air, giving him the chance to see every inch of her fleshy body. She finished with a pirouette, crudely performed and grotesque to see, but he cried, 'Encore!' his eyes alight with the thrill.

Julie slumped breathlessly into a wicker chair standing in one shadowy corner of the room, the wooden struts uncomfortable under her bare skin. But this was where he liked her to sit for stage two of the game.

He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to catch her breath, his own breathing sharp and fast with excitement. If only she knew the money was nearly all gone. Paying her for her services all these years had drained it; there was just enough to last another year, a year-and-a-half at the most, then there would be nothing left. But she had been worth it! By God, she had! He knew as soon as Julie had walked in the door that she would be the one. Everything about her had been sensual: her robust figure, the way she moved, those starchy, high-buttoned nursing frocks she wore. Even her voice with its bare traces of an Irish lilt. And when he had first seen the full glory of her wonderful hair flowing over her shoulders like a soft, umber waterfall! Bliss! She was the one! The others had done their job well enough, but they cared little for him and his needs. It hadn't taken long to convince Julie her future was with him and not with the nursing agency. Of course, a little deception had been necessary. But after all he had provided for her all these years. It was a shame it had to end, but the money he would get for the house would pay for his last years in a comfortable nursing-home. He would give her a couple of hundred pounds from the proceeds, maybe even three hundred; she had been very obliging. That should keep her happy! Oh yes, Julie, now, do it now!

Julie's legs were stretched wide and her hand was travelling down between her thighs. Her fingers cut a path through her triangle of hair and found the fleshy lips lurking beneath. She moaned, not just for his pleasure, but because her own passion was beginning to awaken. Self-abuse was her greatest pleasure nowadays. Men, on the rare occasions she had found one to smuggle in, were seldom strong enough for her demands. Her teeth bit down on to her lower lip and her face became moist with perspiration as her middle finger forced entry. Her hand moved in a soft, languid motion, but gradually the strokes increased in both speed and firmness as the muscles in her stomach tautened.

Benjamin's hand movements beneath the bedclothes had increased also, but to no avail. 'Julie,' he called out, 'over here now, please, over here.'

He blinked his eyes as her white, mountainous shape seemed to dim in the poor light. The bulb in the lamp must be dying, he thought, unless his vision was failing along with certain other parts of his tired old body. The shadows in the room became darker and he could hardly see her now, just the ends of her legs from the knees down sticking out of the black patch in the corner, her large feet jerking spasmodically.

'Julie! Please come into bed now,' he pleaded. 'I need you, my dear.'

Her great flabby shape emerged from the shadows and she padded over to the bed. He grinned in welcome as she threw the covers back, and held his limp member upright for her to see. She climbed in next to him and he shivered as her cold feet touched his legs.

'Good girl, Julie. That's my girl,' he murmured as she smothered his thin body with her own oozing flesh.

'Careful now,' he gasped as her weight bore down on him, forcing the air from his lungs. She rolled off and her hand grabbed down at him, brushing his own hands away. He winced at the rough treatment she gave his half-erect penis, pulling and kneading it as though to mould it into a firmer shape.

'Do be careful, Julie,' he complained, 'you're being rather rough.' He could feel her hot breath panting in his ear and his skinny old hands grabbed her wobbling breasts, squashing the two points together, holding them out for his gummy lips to close in on. He sucked at the nipples making baby-like gurgling sounds, then yelped as her arm went beneath him and pulled his body on top of hers with a great heave.

'Come on, you old bastard, give it to me,' she whispered.

'Julie, what . . .'

His words were cut off as she spread her legs and tried to put him into her. She had to stuff his flaccid organ in with her fingers and it was like dough being forced into an open purse. Her great hands clasped around his fleshless buttocks and she heaved him in, her own hips rising up from the bed to meet him.

'Julie!' he screamed. 'Stop this at once!' He felt as if his lower body was being crushed, his bones ground to powder.

'Come on, you old bastard! Fuck me!' Tears of frustration ran from the corners of Julie's eyes, running into her ears, filling the wells. She rose and pulled, writhed and jerked, but there was nothing of substance inside her. 'Fuck me!' she screamed, and the shadows closed in around them until there was a barely audible fizzing sound as the light bulb splattered into lifelessness and the darkness engulfed them like a black tide.

He was wailing now, hurt in the struggle, desperate to be free. But she would not release him. She held him against her with one hand, her knees rising up on either side of him, her ankles hooked over his reedlike legs. Locking him there. Her hand reached behind her lifted head, gathering up the hair that billowed out on to the pillow. She worked it into one long, thick length and wound it round his scrawny neck.

'Julie, what are you doing? Please stop this! I don't want to play any . . .'

His words were choked off as she began to pull on the hair, tightening it, using her other hand to hold the roots firmly against her head. She pulled harder, tighter, his face twisted to one side, his eyes wide in terror, his mouth spitting small white specks.

'All these years,' she hissed between clenched teeth. 'All these years . . .' Her tears were now because of her own pain, the roots screaming against her scalp. But still she pulled, his gurgling sounds music in her ears. 'All these years . . .'

The darkness in the room became even denser until there was not even light shining through the cracks of the curtains. She could not see anything at all in the blackness. She could only hear his gurgling chokes. And that was enough.

8.

He sat in the car, watching the house, afraid. Although the engine was switched off, his hands were gripped tightly around the steering-wheel as though whether to stay or drive off was still unresolved in his mind. The sun was hidden behind troubled clouds this time and the windows were black and secretive. Beechwood was no longer an ordinary house.

Bishop drew in a deep breath and released the wheel, one hand whipping off his glasses and tossing them on to the passenger seat, then reaching back for his case. He strode briskly across the paved area, knowing if he hesitated any longer he would never enter the house. He knew his fear was irrational, but that did not make it any less real. The door opened as he mounted the steps and Jessica smiled down at him. As he drew nearer, he saw the smile was restrained; a nervousness was in her eyes. He understood that nervousness.

'We thought you might not come,' she said.

'You're paying me, remember?' he replied and instantly regretted his harshness.

Jessica looked away and closed the door behind him. They're waiting for you.' She pointed to the first door on his left, the one opposite the stairs. For a moment he couldn't move, almost expecting to see the legs still dangling over the stairway, the fallen shoe lying on its side beneath them. They were gone, of course, but the scuff marks on the wall remained.

He felt the gentle pressure of Jessica's hand on his arm and shook the thoughts from his mind. Almost. He walked down the gloomy corridor and entered the room she had indicated. A woman was waiting with Kulek and she rose as Bishop walked in.

'I'm glad you came, Chris,' Kulek said from the armchair he occupied, one hand curled around the top of his walking-stick. 'This is Mrs Edith Metlock. She is here to help.'

Bishop shook her hand and tried to remember where he had heard the name before. She was short and stout, almost matronly in appearance. Grey streaks broke up the blackness of her tightly curled hair and her cheeks bulged ruddily when she smiled. He realized she must have been rather beautiful in her younger days, but plumpness and time had concealed most of that beauty now. Like Jessica, her pale eyes held a nervousness in them. Her grip was firm but, despite the coldness of the room, the palm of her hand was moist.

'Please call me Edith,' she told Bishop, curiosity now mingled with her unease.

'In what way are you going to help . . .?' He stopped in mid-sentence. 'Edith Metlock. Yes, I thought I knew the name. You're a medium, aren't you?' He felt his anger rising.

'I'm a sensitive, yes.' She let go of his hand, recognizing the aggression, knowing the scepticism that would follow.

Bishop turned to Kulek. 'You didn't tell me. There's no need for this.'

'It was only decided at the last moment, Chris,' Kulek said placatingly. 'If the house is soon to be demolished, then we do not have too much time. Edith is here to observe. She will assist only if necessary.'

'How? By calling up the ghosts of the people who died here?'

'No, nothing like that. Edith will tell us of the atmosphere of the house, the feelings she receives. She will help you remember.'

'I thought we were going to investigate this house by more scientific means.'

'And so we shall. Edith will be an extra method of investigation if we fail with your, shall we say, more material approach.'

'But you still think there's something I've forgotten from my last visit here. What the hell makes you so sure?'

'I am not sure. But several moments have been lost to you. You found yourself outside the house without knowing how you got there.'

'It's not unusual when someone panics.'

'No, but we are talking of an unusual event.'

'May I interrupt?' Edith Metlock said, looking from one to the other. Without waiting for a reply, she asked Bishop: 'Why are you so afraid?'

'Afraid? What makes you say that?'

'Your whole manner, Mr Bishop. The uneasy way you entered this room . . .'

'My God, if you'd seen . . .'

'Your resistance to Jacob Kulek's efforts to discover the secret of this house . . .'

'That's nonsense . . .'

Bishop's protests faded and he stared down at the medium, his face grim. 'Yes, I object to your presence. I've heard you have an excellent reputation as a medium; unfortunately I can't have the same high regard for your kind.'

'My kind?' She smiled at him. 'I have heard of you also, Mr Bishop. You have a reputation for taking great delight in exposing the mistakes of my "kind".'

'Not the mistakes, Mrs Metlock. I'd rather call them the deceptions.'

There was concern on Jacob Kulek's face. 'Chris, please. Edith is here at my invitation.'

She walked over to Kulek and patted his hand. 'That's all right, Jacob. Mr Bishop is entitled to his views. I'm sure he has his own reasons for his attitude. Perhaps he will tell us?'

'I think we've wasted enough time,' Bishop said angrily. 'By all means stay. But please don't try to interfere with my work here.'

Jessica came forward and stood beside the investigator. 'Chris is right. We are wasting time. Let's get on with this business, Father.'

'I'll stay out of your way, Mr Bishop,' Edith Metlock said. 'I'll keep to this room while you go about your investigation. If you should need me . . .'

'I won't. But maybe you can help me, Jessica?'

'Of course.'

'What do you intend to do, Chris?' enquired Kulek.

'First I want to take the temperature of each room. I don't know if any of you have noticed, but it's freezing in here, much colder than it is outside.'