CONTENTS
Table Of Contents
The Haunting of Brew Witch House
Chapter One - One
Chapter Two - Two
Chapter Three - Three
Chapter Four - Four
Chapter Five - Five
Chapter Six - Six
Chapter Seven - Seven
Chapter Eight - Eight
The Haunting of Grave’s End House
Chapter Nine - Prologue
Chapter Ten - The House in Tewkesbury
Chapter Eleven - Just a Phase?
Chapter Twelve - Unwelcome Party
Chapter Thirteen - Hallucinations
Chapter Fourteen - Not Alone in the House
Chapter Fifteen - Epilogue
The Haunting of Ravenscroft Castle
Chapter Sixteen - Prologue
Chapter Seventeen - Chapter 1
Chapter Eighteen - Chapter 2
Chapter Nineteen - Chapter 3
Chapter Twenty - Chapter 4
The Haunting of Crippleview House
Chapter Twenty-One - Prologue
Chapter Twenty-Two - A Imaginary Friend
Chapter Twenty-Three - Mystic Mary
Chapter Twenty-Four - Some Kind of Hell
Chapter Twenty-Five - Justice for Jacob
Chapter Twenty-Six - Epilogue
The Haunting of Rose Mansion
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Prologue
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Rose Mansion
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Imagination & Tricks
Chapter Thirty - Psycho
Chapter Thirty-One - Misery
Chapter Thirty-Two - Blood Flow
Chapter Thirty-Three - Blind Panic
Chapter Thirty-Four - Demonic Hold
Chapter Thirty-Five - May God have Mercy
The Haunting of Shadowcreek House
Chapter Thirty-Six - Prologue
Chapter Thirty-Seven - New Beginnings
Chapter Thirty-Eight - The House Creaked
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Paranoia
Chapter Forty - A Real Dream
Chapter Forty-One - The Vile Discovery
Chapter Forty-Two - Reeking of Hate
Chapter Forty-Three - Epilogue
The Haunting of Paignton House
Chapter Forty-Four - Prologue
Chapter Forty-Five - The Stuff of Fairytales
Chapter Forty-Six - A Unique Talent
Chapter Forty-Seven - Things Supernatural
Chapter Forty-Eight - The House is Fine
Chapter Forty-Nine - The Children who Live in my Room
Chapter Fifty - Fingers and Flesh
Chapter Fifty-One - Paignton History
Chapter Fifty-Two - The Screaming Stopped
Chapter Fifty-Three - Leave While you Still Can
Chapter Fifty-Four - The Paignton Blackness
Chapter Fifty-Five - Mute Horror
Chapter Fifty-Six - Exorcism
Chapter Fifty-Seven - House of God
Chapter Fifty-Eight - I Command You, Unclean Spirit
Chapter Fifty-Nine - The Paignton Ghosts
The Haunting of Hallow Church
Chapter Sixty - Prologue
Chapter Sixty-One - Hallow Church
Chapter Sixty-Two - The Arrival
Chapter Sixty-Three - First Sighting
Chapter Sixty-Four - Tainted with Blood
Chapter Sixty-Five - The Blood Moon
The Haunting of Rutley Mansion
Chapter Sixty-Six - The Hayward Clinic of Psychiatry
Chapter Sixty-Seven - Rutley Mansion
Chapter Sixty-Eight - Nightmares
Chapter Sixty-Nine - The Chair
Chapter Seventy - Conversation with A Friend
Chapter Seventy-One - A Suit of Red
Chapter Seventy-Two - The Devil in Rutley Mansion
Chapter Seventy-Three - A Shared Psychosis
Chapter Seventy-Four - Bleed for Pleasure
Chapter Seventy-Five - R.I.P
The Haunting of Drerie Haunt
Chapter Seventy-Six - Prologue
Chapter Seventy-Seven - Drerie Haunt
Chapter Seventy-Eight - Your Worst Nightmare
Chapter Seventy-Nine - The Girl Aged Five
Chapter Eighty - The Second Guest
Chapter Eighty-One - Visions
Chapter Eighty-Two - Wits End
Chapter Eighty-Three - The Clue
Chapter Eighty-Four - The Girl – Aged Twenty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Five - London
Chapter Eighty-Six - Return to Drerie Haunt
Chapter Eighty-Seven - Expert Opinion
Chapter Eighty-Eight - The Smell of Decay
Chapter Eighty-Nine - The Conversation
Chapter Ninety - Rescue
Chapter Ninety-One - Saviour
Chapter Ninety-Two - Epilogue
The Haunting of Sacred Heights
Chapter Ninety-Three - Madam Mungo
Chapter Ninety-Four - Paranormality
Chapter Ninety-Five - Deep Magic
Chapter Ninety-Six - The Sceptre
Chapter Ninety-Seven - Reborn
The Haunting of Darklands House
Chapter Ninety-Eight - Prologue
Chapter Ninety-Nine - Bleeding
Chapter One Hundred - Ghost Eye's
Chapter One Hundred One - Darklands's Grave
Chapter One Hundred Two - Crying Widow
Chapter One Hundred Three - Epilogue
The Haunting of Bleak House
Chapter One Hundred Four - Prologue
Chapter One Hundred Five - The Brink of Hell
Chapter One Hundred Six - Unpleasant Thoughts
Chapter One Hundred Seven - Birdman
Chapter One Hundred Eight - Ring of Roses
Chapter One Hundred Nine - Blood Red
Chapter One Hundred Ten - Sick People
Chapter One Hundred Eleven - A Protective Entity
Chapter One Hundred Twelve - Sacrifice
Chapter One Hundred Thirteen - Epilogue
Table Of Contents
The Haunting of Brew Witch House
The Haunting of Grave’s End House
The Haunting of Ravenscroft Castle
The Haunting of Crippleview House
The Haunting of Rose Mansion
The Haunting of Shadowcreek House
The Haunting of Paignton House
The Haunting of Hallow Church
The Haunting of Rutley Mansion
The Haunting of Drerie Haunt
The Haunting of Sacred Heights
The Haunting of Darklands House
The Haunting of Bleak House
By Clarice Black
The Haunting of Brew Witch House
Clarice Black
CHAPTER ONE
One
The drive out to Cirencester in the county of Gloucestershire, like most excursions through the English countryside, took longer than Bryce Price would have liked. He got to see plenty of trees, plenty of houses, plenty of road signs, and plenty of lorries on the roads. These sightings had started to bore him. Even taking the M4 to reach the A419 wasn’t all that special. During the last few months, he had driven up and down England, Wales, and Scotland enough times to last him several lifetimes. Without his audio books and his music, he would have been lost on those trips.
As it was, he managed to drive all across the countryside while listening to the American historian Howard Zinn and the French novelist Alexandre Dumas, the latter having had two books rediscovered within the last decade or so. The audio books he listened to were compilations made from English-language translations that were in the public domain. The readers were volunteers, mostly from America, who often
spoke with a strange accent to which he had never grown accustomed. Some of the readers were men. Some were women. Some he struggled to understand. Some, he thought, could have become professional readers if they got a foot in the door.
An hour or two was enough for him to connect the story in his mind so that he no longer needed to pay close attention to the words spoken; he could just sit back and enjoy the book. Sometimes he traveled alone. Sometimes he took his wife, Sheila, with him. Today, since he was making a real estate purchase in a town he had never visited before, he asked his wife to come along so that she could provide a different perspective. She often saw things that he didn’t. Whenever he decided to spend a great deal of money on anything, he consulted his wife. She had never steered him wrong, nor allowed him to make a mistake that he would later regret.
For the past six months, he had been trying to create a market for brewing craft beers in England. His company, Bryce’s Beers, was a smash hit in Australia. He had managed to open franchise operations in Italy and Germany. He was looking at New Hampshire, Maine, and Toronto as options to establish his company further. For now, he saw the United Kingdom as the best market for craft beer. The research he had done suggested that the decline in a country’s economy was directly correlated with increased interest in alcohol among the people of that country.
He wouldn’t have bothered with England in the days of Margaret Thatcher. That was the England he had grown up in, before he moved to Australia. That country was prosperous and successful. Even while the empire gasped its last breath, there was more than enough business to go around. Now, in the days when the Tories and Labour Party socialists seemed indistinguishable from one another, businesses closed one after the other. The only people who could afford to invest in England were foreign investors who could afford to speculate with their discretionary income. Few, if any, homegrown companies could actually afford to keep their money inside the country. There were opportunities for those who had the money to buy themselves in.
Even as a naturalized Australian citizen, he knew that he wouldn’t be treated well if he just went crashing in wherever he pleased. The England of his youth, the country that he remembered as being open and accepting, had turned xenophobic to the point where England was only supposed to be for the English. Or maybe England had always been that way and he had just never noticed it.
Rather than opening up a new branch of his multi-national corporation, one that would surely draw attention, he decided to come in to preserve a historical site, which would otherwise go by the wayside. The way he saw it, locals always appreciated those who saved landmarks that would have been demolished otherwise. The problem was whether anyone would actually let him buy any old property that he could utilize to get his foot in the door. He wanted to start with a museum, a place where people could learn about the history of alcohol production.
After looking in Glasgow, Cardiff, Edinburgh, Dublin, and York, he settled on Cirencester as the place to start. Every place he looked into thus far had seemed good, just not quite good enough. He supposed that if he had to go back to any of those places, he’d find a warm welcome waiting for him. It was just, as far as he could see, the small town near the Churn River needed his business more than any of the other cities did. There were four airports nearby where he could ship products in and out. There were sufficient roads to enough nearby towns to export his product to local stores and businesses. As nearly as he could tell, Cirencester was perfect.
He turned off his audio book when he took the exit leading into town. Next to him, sitting in the left seat, Sheila Price spoke up with the lovely twangy English that came from being the daughter of an Australian and a Japanese citizen. She pronounced her words with a colourful flavoring that few others used. She had never managed the trick of picking up the local accents that she encountered in all the different places she visited when she joined him on his business trips. She still sounded exactly the same as she did when he knelt down on the pinewood floor of a restaurant in Canberra with a ring in his hand. The best things in life, he had found, never really changed.
She said, “What do you reckon? Think we’ll get it this time?”
She referred to the meeting that he had scheduled with a real estate agent to discuss the possibility of purchasing an old property that had been built in 1672. At some point, he had not been able to discover when, the property had been declared a historical monument. Ownership had passed back and forth between various non-profits and historical societies that had tried their best to keep the property from being demolished. So much money had been spent renovating and maintaining the property that he was sure whoever had it now would be happy to have the burden taken off their hands.
His hunch had proved right when he made inquiries as to who owned the property and how much it cost to be maintained. The Gloucester County Historical Society owned the building, one of the many properties they husbanded in the county. Times were bad, Bryce was told. There was less money to go around. The GCHS had no objection to his buying the property as long as he was willing to sign an agreement to include educational purposes in his plans for the property. The agreement kept the Society as minority owners of the property; as such, it stipulated that neither he nor his company could demolition or remodel without their approval for a period of twenty years. He had been all too happy to sign. He wasn’t looking for a warehouse. He was looking for ways to establish a presence in the area.
He had been in business long enough to know that people told their friends where they worked, and what their work was like. Whenever he entered a new area, he always started out small. He made sure the people working for him were treated well so that they recommended his company as a good place to work. Reviews of his locations popped up everywhere. Though there would inevitably be negative reviews at some point, he made sure to avoid them in the first year of establishing his business in a new area. That had ensured that he got the most talented, motivated people to work for him, rather than just anyone who happened to show up for work. That was how he had made his money. The process was intensive and slow, yet the long-term rewards were well worth it.
He said, “I’ve got a good feeling about this one. Feels like we’re back in Stuttgart again. I can’t wait to have a go at this property, see what we can get out of it.”
“Do you know, darling, I’ve been wondering for a long time now: why do we keep doing this? The non-profit stuff, I mean. The outreach and the community stuff? Most companies neglect this sort of thing, and they seem to get on just fine.”
“That’s a question I’ve been waiting to hear nigh-on fifteen years. You’ve come with me, advised me, been at my side this whole long time, and you’ve never once asked me about our community work. Has it bothered you all this time?”
She fidgeted with her hair, trying to adjust it while looking in the side view mirror. She said, “Not really. I mean, sometimes. It just seems unnecessary. Seems like we’re spending money we don’t have to spend.”
“Well, as I’ve never explained it to you before, I thought you understood intuitively. Or, at least, that you’d gotten your own ideas about it and didn’t find anything objectionable in what you decided for yourself.”
She opened her red purse, and pulled out a mirror that flipped open. She considered her face from different angles, trying to make sure that she had applied her makeup well enough. Even though she could by now teach classes on how to apply makeup, she was never quite satisfied with her appearance. The subtle wrinkles that appeared around her mouth and eyes vexed her much more than she let on, more than she was willing to let on. He was sure that she only dropped her guard around him because he kept telling her that he found her beautiful no matter what she chose to wear. She never quite believed it. Bryce wished that he could be more convincing, let her know that she didn’t have to bother so much, or so often.
She said, “I’ve never questioned your way of doing business. I mean, I understand. Working with the community builds go
od will. You don’t want people to think that you’re a mean-spirited, greedy capitalist who is only in it for yourself. It’s just…”
“Yeah? Come on, you can tell me. That’s why I want you here, so you can tell me things. You’re a smart woman, Sheila. You know that’s why I love you.”
She gave him one of her secret, shy smiles, the kind that she always held in reserve for when she was feeling especially gratified or happy. He loved seeing those smiles of hers, even if she gave them to him on a daily basis.
She said, “Okay, since I’m obviously much smarter than you, and the person who is single-handedly keeping the company from going bankrupt-”
He laughed. “Obviously!”
“-then I should probably intercede to keep your head on straight, Mr. Price.”
“All right, Mrs. Price, what do you think I should do? Please, give me your best advice.”
“I think you’ve chosen a really odd place to do your community work. We usually get involved with local nonprofits, funding, that sort of thing. We’ve never done a museum before. Do you think this kind of thing is actually viable? Do people patronise museums any longer? Seems like they’re just pet projects of local governments and rich people who like to get their name in the papers. Not that anybody reads the papers anymore, either.”
“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Our ultimate goal is for a brewery in Cirencester or somewhere nearby. What we start with is a museum that has a liquor license. We serve alcohol to the public, but only in a controlled setting. Patrons can wander around and look at our exhibits. If they want to sit down and have a drink at the bar, they can do that too. They just can’t take the drinks out to the exhibits.”
“So you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Come on, no one is that altruistic. I’m doing this because I think it will help the company make money. Anything you want to do- movie theatre, bookshop, grocery store- any business venture you want to take, all you need to do is add alcohol and people will show up. Alcohol is a safety barrier that people use to help themselves feel comfortable around other people. I swear to you, on my life as a man of business, if hops had never been invented, I think human beings would have evolved into a race of deaf-mutes. People go to bars to talk. But the bar scene can get tiresome. Have a drink and see some works of art, maybe learn some history, that’s a unique experience that people would be willing to subsidize, yeah? I think we could make a lot of money doing that.”
13 Hauntings Page 1
