Whispers in the Walls

By Claire Dowler

Welcome home. They've been waiting.

 

Just married. New house. Sponsored abroad. Raven feels like she finally has her life together when a broken leg from a cage-diving accident leaves her housebound.

 

Eye-deep in medical debt, she and her husband, Ethan, are forced into an old rental on the fringe of a small country town, where community ties are stronger than blood.

 

While Ethan works as much overtime as he can, Raven is left alone in the ramshackle house.

 

It starts with strange noises. Her belongings go missing. There's the unshakeable feeling she's being watched. Something or someone seems to take pleasure in her fear.

 

Could the shut-in recluse a few doors up have something to do with it?

 

Only when the nosy neighbour reveals the little town of Burnsley was the stage for a tragedy several years earlier does Raven begin putting together the pieces.

 

The house has a secret, one Raven will have to solve if she has any chance of escaping with her sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claire Dowler
• Release date: Nov 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9780645380330

Book preview

Chapter One

Being wheeled, casted leg first, was hardly the way I anticipated returning from my honeymoon. Not to mention we were not returning to our sage, two-storey dream, the culmination of months of searching.

I was not carried, giddy and giggling, across the doorstep by Ethan, my husband of just a few weeks. My wheelchair skidded on the threshold, and he gave it a firm shove from behind, physically forcing me into our temporary residence. And it would only be temporary, I promised myself.

We hadn’t chosen this place willingly and even our belongings seemed to protest, sticking out from the walls at odd angles, looking as out of place as we felt.

The alcove above the door sheltered the windowless entry from any proof of day, and Ethan moved me through it quickly, as if he was hoping I wouldn’t notice the mould creeping from the corners of the light fitting.

It was one level, that was the main reason we had chosen it. That and it was cheap, though it was still more expensive than we could easily manage between medical bills, lawyer fees and the mortgage repayments we were still making on our empty castle.

He parked me in the lounge room, where the removalists had left the TV teetering precariously on the edge of a small bookcase. God knows where the wall unit was.

The backseat was still packed with bouquets of flowers and more chocolates than I had been able to justify eating just yet. Ethan made two trips from the car, ladening the dining table with pollen and Hershey’s. The small suitcase I’d been living out of for the past two weeks was left propped against the gas heater. The fireplace behind it had long been boarded up and I frowned at why they would replace the cosy glow of a fire with electricity.

Ethan held both arms out to his sides in an apparent gesture of grandeur. It only highlighted how little he had been eating.

Home sweet home! I knew it was meant as a joke, but I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He interpreted my lack of response for what it was, reluctant acceptance. It won’t be for long, birdie. Think of it as the airport terminal before we get to our slice of paradise.

I didn’t have it in me to respond. My deafening silence could be considered rude, but it was a favourable alternative to anything that might have come out of my mouth if I’d opened it. Ethan’s sacrifices were quickly outweighing mine as he fought single-handedly to keep a roof over our heads. And this was the honeymoon phase.

Still, I was grateful for the man he was showing himself to be and so I simply nodded, looking around under the pretence of considering how I would decorate the drab space.

I’ve hiked Huayna Picchu, I can do this. It is one thing, though, to have the world at your feet with your only barriers being stamina and mental fortitude. It is another to be at the mercy of the world, a broken little doll waiting for repairs.

Ethan’s arms reached around me in a hug from behind, awkward but endearing, and I rested my head back against his shoulder. His daily spritz of wood and spice had dissipated somewhat in the hours waiting for discharge from the hospital.

The man hadn’t slept since we’d been back. He had picked up extra shifts at work as soon as he could and, when he wasn’t working, he was fielding calls from real estate agents, lawyers and insurance agencies. Tonight would be the first proper night’s sleep either of us had had in weeks. I turned my head to plant a kiss on his stubbly cheek, but he met my lips with his.

There was a knock at the door, which was still hanging open, followed by an overpowering female voice. Howdy, neighbours! Is anyone there?

I exhaled a groan, and Ethan squeezed my shoulder gently. He wasn’t in the mood for a welcome wagon any more than I was.

Hello, he rounded the corner into the hallway. You must be our new neighbour. I’m Ethan, and this is Raven.

Mustering a polite smile, I waved asininely as Ethan showed the drop bear into the living room.

The woman was built like a Staffordshire terrier, with sturdy hips and a thick torso. Her hair was cut into an inverted bob, longer at the front and shorter at the back. What may have been average looks were superseded by an eccentric taste in clothes. A silk leopard print top clung to her curves, faux-leather pants wrapped around her ample thighs. She had even donned a pair of red pumps to put the cherry on her first impression.

Oh my goodness! Her eyes widened, fixated on me. I waited for the comment on my appearance. People usually chose words like unique or different. They didn’t sound like compliments, but I took them as such.

Look what you’ve gone and done to yourself! Oh, I had almost forgotten about my leg. The woman’s manicured hands flew to her mouth, taking in my appearance with an expression of horror. I wasn’t giving a great first impression.

It’s nice to meet you. I met Ethan’s eyes, which implored me to be polite. This, I waved half-heartedly at my full-casted leg, was just an accident. Happened on our honeymoon.

On your honeymoon! she parroted. It’s one thing to sweep a girl off her feet, but I think you got a bit carried away! Somehow she had gotten louder, spurred on by her own enthusiasm.

Ethan smiled awkwardly. No, this wasn’t quite the plan. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?

Oh, forgive my manners, I’m Sonja. You know, like that Australian TV host. The blonde one.

I could only imagine how the leggy, lean Sonia Kruger would feel about being compared to the high-pitched lawnmower standing in front of us.

Nodding inanely, I agreed, Yes, I’m familiar. Ethan eyeballed me and I fought to keep control of my own expression. I’m from Australia, actually. And Ethan is English.

Sonja clapped in delight. "Oh, I knew I could hear an accent! I’ve wanted to go ever since I saw Crocodile Dundee. ‘That’s not a knife’," she twisted her mouth into what she obviously intended to be an Australian drawl.

It is a classic, I conceded. Not renowned for its accuracy, but a classic nonetheless.

Oh, of course! I know it’s illegal to walk around with knives, even Down Under. Which part are you from?

My mouth opened and closed like a trout as I fought the urge to clarify that portraying us wearing knives in leather belt holsters wasn’t the film’s only inaccuracy. Um, Sydney.

Amazing, the capital! She clapped again.

I raised an eyebrow at Ethan who seemed to already know that I was at the end of my string of tolerance.

It’s been wonderful to meet you, but we really need to get on with unpacking, especially if we want somewhere to sleep tonight. Ethan already had an arm behind her back, ushering the loud blonde back the way she had come.

Of course, of course, it was lovely to meet you! Sonja called over her shoulder before attempting to re-engage Ethan. So, England? Did you ever get to see Hogwarts?

Smirking, I listened to the conversation trail off down the hallway before the door clicked shut and a soothing silence descended. Ethan’s deep sigh of relief floated around the corner.

Undoubtedly the more tolerant half of the relationship, Ethan had a way of gently guiding someone to the conclusion he wanted them to reach. Although he avoided confrontation at all costs, he was a force to be reckoned with if backed into a corner. I’d always thought he was the dangerous one, despite my outspoken tendencies. He was the riptide you didn’t notice was slowly pulling you out to sea until the shore was a distant blip.

Growing up with two older sisters had taught him the only way he would get any airtime was through negotiation and being level-headed.

I, on the other hand, had a younger brother, though only younger by about a year. No one knew how my parents had done it and they didn’t seem to know either. After having two under two, they made the very wise decision to close the shop. Personally, I might have taken it a step further and sold us off for magic beans — we were every parent’s worst nightmare.

Truth be told, the tough life lessons I’d received from growing up with Adam had stuck with me. If you’re not loud enough, no one will hear you. If you want something, you had better get it for yourself because no one else is going to get it for you. At the time, that particular lesson applied to the TV remote, but I now unwittingly applied it to most facets of my life.

Have you passed away? I called.

I was hoping to, but it doesn’t look like today’s the lucky day.

You’d better make yourself useful then. These boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves.

He leant around the corner, arching an eyebrow. Unshaven, his stubble meandered into his mop of tawny hair, but it didn’t conceal the suitcases under his eyes. Yet his eyes still sparkled. They always did, no matter what.

Our furniture was a hodgepodge of new, old and questionable. It hadn’t been enough to fill the small apartment we had moved out of, let alone this three-bedroom hovel. Even now, with things strewn about haphazardly in the living spaces, our smallest movements echoed.

With the down payment on our dream house and having every intention of moving in as soon as we returned from our honeymoon, we’d let the lease lapse on our old apartment. Then I went and had my accident, making that house practically uninhabitable for me for several months. Short of having a semi-permanent catheter.

But we weren’t prepared to let it go so here we were, making mortgage repayments on one house while we lived in the cheapest rental we could find. I hoped we could make it a little less crypt-like before Ethan’s next shift at work. As that was the next day, I was probably being overly optimistic.

Watching Ethan assemble the Ikea bed was painful. I was a doer. I had taught myself how to barter on the streets of Bangkok and how to syphon water out of a cactus in Egypt. Sitting there, tibia snapped in half, watching Ethan try to use an Allen key instead of the Phillips head it needed was infuriating.

After the third ow, bugger, I decided to remove myself from the room. I struggled with sarcasm incontinence. It tended to seep out at the most inappropriate times.

The walls bumped into me as I tried to give myself a tour of our temporary residence. I had stayed in hostels worse than this. Sharing a room with one shower and twelve other travellers was my norm. If you smelled something during the night, you buried your face in your shirt and tried not to think about it. It was advisable not to bury it in the pillow — just trust me.

So why, then, was this place so abhorrent? The floral wallpaper, while peeling in the corners, should have reminded me of my grandmother’s house. The combined kitchen/living room was perfect for entertaining — not that we had any friends here. Maybe we could make some.

Attributing my bad mood to the situation rather than the house itself, I found the box of plates and bowls and placed it on my lap before wheeling into the kitchen. There was something fun about that. It only made sense to use the lower shelves, so I set about packing the cupboards in a way that made them usable for me.

The cupboard doors were a drab brown, iced with a cracking countertop that had once been fashionably white. The wallpaper had been switched up with crimson and cream stripes. It reminded me of a vintage ice cream parlour. The thought of stepping back into the eighties amused me — until I realised there was no dishwasher.

I opened a new door only to find the shelf was already occupied. One plate was sitting there waiting, accompanied by a single bowl. Although it looked clean and quite ordinary, I picked them up gingerly and added them to a bag of trash in the corner. Not knowing who had lived here, I wasn’t overly keen on sharing flatware with them.

Our cutlery was hiding beneath a box of exercise equipment we’d been hoarding, under the pretence that just owning a skipping rope made you fitter. But the cutlery drawer already had residents: one fork, one knife, and one spoon.

Odd, I frowned. In the first, and only, house-move of my childhood, mum had insisted on packing away as much as possible in the weeks prior. This had meant making do with two plates between four people and drinking directly from the tap. Perhaps the last resident of this house had done the same thing. Or simply left behind what they didn’t want. Again, I paid tribute to the bin gods.

A kettle, toaster and some tea towels later, the kitchen had started to actually resemble one. I was also quietly chuffed; I’d made something useful of myself. Keen to demonstrate my prowess, I decided to make us both a cup of coffee.

Mercifully, the fridge must have been delivered the day before. In true Ethan style, he had already stocked it with a few staples: milk, butter, bread. The milk was just within reach of my fingertips, and I frowned that he didn’t have the foresight to realise it would be too high for me.

Adding a liberal dash to my coffee, I grimaced as it curdled. Eurgh! I inspected the bottle; already a week past its use-by. Ethan!

He emerged looking slightly dishevelled, instructions in one hand and his phone in the other. Had he been calling Ikea? What’s wrong?

Where did you buy this milk? I showed him the bottle of Horizon Organic, holding my nose as a powerful waft hit me.

I didn’t buy milk. He blinked. That fridge was already here. I guess they forgot some stuff.

Well, that’s gross. I dropped the bottle in the sink, switching on the tap to wash away the rancid smell.

Look at how much you’ve done, though! He inspected the kitchen and I felt just a tiny bit proud as he kissed the top of my head. Half broken and still more useful than me.

Fortunately for him, he took his coffee black, and I slid his cup towards him. It’s been a while since we camped on the floor. Could be like old times.

He shook his head resolutely. "There’s no way I’m letting my wheelchair-using wife, he emphasised the word, making me blush, sleep on a mattress on the floor."

We did, in fact, sleep on the floor that night.

That was after rigorous attempts to force the horrific Ikea jigsaw puzzle together and opening a bottle of Merlot to take the edge off. That was the end of that. We settled on Chinese takeaway for dinner.

The rest of the evening should have been spent homemaking but, truth be told, neither of us wanted to unpack more than we had to. The doctors were hopeful my leg would be healed in eight weeks. We had signed a twelve-week lease. That gave me ample time to gain enough strength and mobility in my leg to get me up the stairs of our real house. Or at least enough upper body strength to drag myself.

As Ethan finished wrapping my casted leg in cling wrap and lifted me gently into the tub, I vowed silently never to take a solitary shower for granted again. I was reminded why I married him when he left me to my solitude, telling me to yell when I was done.

My leg protruded awkwardly over the side of the bath. I looked like a praying mantis that had come off second best in a fight. The bathroom itself felt melancholy, the tiles a splodgy obsolescent blue-grey. The solitary light beamed directly downwards, casting the floor in a spotlight while leaving the walls in shadow.

I sighed and sank into the steaming water. It was the first bath I’d had since the accident and showering in hospital had been about as pleasant as being shot with a Super Soaker. Beads of sweat coalesced on my forehead, tendrils of hair clinging to my neck and face.

Closing my eyes, I tried to relax in the unfamiliar place. Although we had neighbours on either side and lived well within suburbia, it was oddly silent. The house itself seemed to be listening, waiting to pass judgement on its temporary inhabitants. Only the occasional drip of the tap punctured the quiet.

I stared up at the ceiling fan with tarnished, old-fashioned bronze blades. There was only blackness on the other side. As I stared into the darkness, I had the awful thought that something might be staring back at me. I looked away. It was only day one. If I was going to have a mental breakdown I may as well draw it out.

My fingertips were wrinkled prunes before I was done marinating in the Palmolive soup. Not because I was particularly relaxed; by that point, the water was cold, and my skin was breaking into goosebumps.

I just couldn’t find a reason to get out. There was no work the next day to prepare for. It didn’t matter what time I went to bed. Nothing else needed to be unpacked. A day of rest had always been a welcome reprieve but, as I stared down the three-month runway to being able to stand on my own two feet, it was unsettling, even nauseating, to think of doing nothing for that long.

It was questionable whether I would even have a job to go back to. A quantity surveyor by trade, my skill set had been rare enough that a well-respected construction firm had been desperate enough to sponsor an Aussie. They’d paid for the plane ticket. They had even understood I was soon to be married and would be taking a month off only shortly after joining them. But less than a week before I was meant to return, I had to make that phone call. I would now be out of the office for at least another two months. I gave my casted leg a withering glare; what an asset to the company I was.

There must have been a breeze outside. The house shifted and its timber bones protested with a groan of loud cracks. I shivered, contemplating the hot water tap but decided I didn’t want to leave Ethan with a tepid shower. I called out to him reluctantly, so he could rescue me from the tub.

This was not how a husband was meant to see his new wife. He pulled the plug for me and wrapped a towel around my torso before lifting me out. I felt senile, decrepit, like he had become my caretaker. It was decades before he was meant to see me like this. There was nothing in his face to say he felt the same, but the humiliation had already burrowed deep.

He helped me into my pyjama bottoms and onto my wheels, holding them steady as I pulled my head through a shirt. He even let my hair out of its bun and pulled his fingers through it, grazing my scalp with his nails in the way he knew I liked. All of it with love and without a grumble, but it only fanned the flames of my inadequacy. I had become a dog — something that offered companionship but that he had to bathe, pet and feed. He caught my eye in the mirror and gave me a smile which I returned, not wanting him to think I was anything less than grateful.

Getting into bed was manageable enough on my own. With the mattress on the floor, I only had to fall out of my chair. I did so with as much grace as you’d expect, silently relieved Ethan was still brushing his teeth. Burying myself in the blankets, they tented over my rigid foot.

Our room was eerily barren. The wooden slats and posts had been pushed up against the wall, relegated to being dealt with tomorrow. Our clothes, still in boxes, had been stacked in the corner beside the wardrobe. If they would end up inside was still to be determined.

My bedside stand had always teetered with books, most of them with bookmarks halfway through. Once I found a story I liked, I put off finishing it for as long as I could. The characters stayed alive that way, playing in the pages until I returned. There was only an empty space beside me now, but I would fix that tomorrow.

Do you need anything? Ethan stood framed in the doorway, grey sweatpants clinging to his lean legs.

Would you mind grabbing my meds, please? I hated asking, but my leg had started to twinge, and I had ambitions to actually sleep.

He gave me a mock bow, making me giggle in spite of myself, disappearing and promptly returning with the pill bottle.

Madame. He presented it as though he were offering me a bottle of wine.

Merci, monsieur. I threw back two capsules and felt them slither down my throat.

He switched off the light, and the house was plunged into darkness. A bedside light was definitely in order. The mattress shifted as he climbed in next to me, pressing his cold feet against my unbroken one.

I squealed, kicking at him lightly. Oi, quit it!

You’re no match for me right now, girly. He locked my leg between his knees and wrapped an arm around me. You’re much easier to manage.

I snorted. Enjoy it while it lasts.

He breathed a chuckle and we lapsed into silence, listening to the stillness of the house and the occasional distant rumble of a car.

This is just for a little bit, birdie. You’ll be back before you know it.

I sighed. Of course, I would be back. I just resented the detour.

Chapter Two

Iwas as much a morning person as I was an arachnid. As a rule, I only emerged before 10 am if I was being paid. That definitely wasn’t the case for the next two months.

It was with as much love as I could that I told Ethan to bugger off when he asked if I needed help getting out of bed. I’d sooner build a pulley system out of sheets to leverage myself off the mattress than get up at whatever godforsaken time he left.

The front door clicked shut and his key turned in the lock before silence fell and I snuggled back down into the blankets, waiting for sleep to steal me away again. But, hard as I tried to catch them, the tendrils of slumber slipped through my fingers. Awareness slowly returned, reminding me that I was in an unfamiliar place, and unease grew in my stomach. Against my