“The man,” Daphne asked, affecting nonchalance. “He was a soldier, wasn’t he?”
Mrs. Fitts nearly choked on the cucumber she had popped in her mouth. She spluttered and spat, finally breathing hard and staring at Daphne as if she’d seen a ghost.
“How’d you know?” Mrs. Fitts wheezed.
“Oh, Dad mentioned him being in World War II.”
“Oh, oh yes.” Mrs. Fitts patted her sweating brow with the back of her spotted hand. “Quite right. As I was saying,” she continued, having composed herself. “It’s nice to have a family in the house. Brighten things up.”
“Was it something contagious?”
“Beg pardon?” Mrs. Fitts suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“You said the original family died within the year. I just wondered if it was something contagious.”
“Oh, no one knows. The wife died in her sleep scarcely a month after they’d moved in. She was such a pretty thing, all poise, and charm. They had three girls. The baby was the first to go. Had a high fever one night, then just passed away in her sleep. The eldest was next, she started to cough and hack, until she was spitting blood. Three days later she died. The middle daughter was the last, oh but it was horrible. She would scream and hold her abdomen, and say someone was cutting her there. Poor girl, one minute she was screaming as if she was being murdered, the next she was gone.”
“What did the doctors say?” Daphne had stopped cutting the vegetables. She didn’t trust her numb fingers to do the job.
“Doctors?” Mrs. Fitts scoffed. “Never took them to the hospital, did he? Refused treatment! Those poor girls didn’t have a chance. George himself… George Paignton was his name, that’s where the house gets its name from… he was a shadow of himself on the day of the last funeral. He’d lost weight, he was unshaven and there were bags under his eyes. I was the last one to leave, tidied the home up for him and everything. He hanged himself by that cherry tree later that day.”
Mrs. Fitts relapsed into a melancholic silence, gazing out at the flourishing cherry tree. Daphne’s mind was racing on a whole other tangent. She had seen the man, George, so he fit into the story, but what about all the children Katie had seen? She had mentioned a boy, but the Paignton’s didn’t have a son. And according to Mrs. Fitts none of the girls had any burns, or disfiguring conditions. Where had all these children come from?
“Have there been any other deaths in this house?”
“Huh?”
“I mean,” Daphne shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, “you mentioned that no other family lasted long in this house. I’m just wondering why that was?”
Mrs. Fitts leaned in, her eyes darting to and fro, making sure nobody was eavesdropping. Daphne tilted her head to hear better.
“Ghosts.” Mrs. Fitts laughed heartily. She slapped her large thighs, her gaudy rings twinkling.
Daphne chuckled without humour.
“Oh, it was the history of the Paignton family that freaked them out. Lots of families move in thinking it will be easy living in a house that’s seen such tragedy. But once you start living there, the images are harder to un-see.”
Daphne thought about this. She was sure there was truth in what Mrs. Fitts said, but that it wasn’t entirely the case for Paignton House. There was something more going on here. Daphne listened to Mrs. Fitts gossip about the neighbours. She finished the salads and a fresh plate of sandwiches and excused herself. She looked back once and saw Mrs. Fitts poking her beaky nose through the kitchen cupboards.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The Screaming Stopped
15th August 1983
For once she had the house to herself. Sarah sang to herself as she came out of the cold, refreshing shower. Poppy had gone to the University with Andrew, wanting to visit one of its libraries for some obscure book and Daphne had taken Amber and Katie to the park so Sarah could have Saturday morning to herself.
Sarah was fond of all her girls, but Daphne was special. Sensitive to others’ needs, her eldest daughter went out of her way to make things easier for her parents. It was a shame Poppy and Daphne didn’t get along. Sarah put on a thin cotton dress, and picked up a magazine she’d been meaning to read for some time.
On her way to the relative cool of the back garden, Sarah stopped in the kitchen to make herself some lemonade. She picked lemons out of the fridge, and a few ice cubes from the freezer, and squeezed the lemons between her palm and the counter to get the most juice out of each lemon. She had just pierced the skin of the first lemon with her knife when the screaming began.
Startled out of her skin, Sarah dropped the knife. For a disorienting moment Sarah thought the lemon was screaming in pain, but then common sense prevailed. Sarah looked out the window but the sound was coming from within the house; a loud keening screech, as if someone was being tortured. Sarah held her palms up to her ears to drown the sound out but it only got worse.
Frantic pounding began to accompany the screams. The plates on the draining board began to shake and skid. The screaming was coming from the cupboard where they stored the biscuits and cereals. Sarah was too frightened to open the door, afraid of what she might find there, but the raging cries were too much to handle. Sarah moaned and gritted her teeth, and pulled at the cupboard door.
The screaming stopped.
The cupboard was empty, apart from half eaten biscuit packets and their morning cereal, there was no apparent source of the screaming. Sarah breathed in and out, trying to calm down. Suddenly she didn’t feel like being alone. She wanted her family with her.
“I’ll go for a walk.” She spoke out loud to fill the oppressive silence that had followed the screams. Snatching her keys from the bowl beside the front door, Sarah ran out of the house.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Leave While you Still Can
20th August 1983
The nights were no better than the days. As promised by weathermen up and down the country, August was proving to be the hottest month in years. Parks were abandoned for the air conditioned shopping centres, all activities were planned for early evenings, and tempers were frayed to their sensitive nubs.
Gardens wilted, grass turned yellow, then a scorched brown; abandoned toys were bleached under the harsh summer sun, and drying out washing took but a matter of minutes. It had become so bad that Daphne had entertained her bored sisters by placing a frying pan outside for ten minutes before successfully frying an egg in it.
Windows were flung open to catch any breeze that was merciful enough to blow. Sarah had lightly drenched Katie and Amber’s nighties with water so they’d feel cool in their beds. Daphne had invested in a pedestal fan that was noisy but did the trick of cooling the nights.
It blew now, moving its ponderous head from left to right, covering the full length of Daphne in bed. She had opted for cotton shorts and an old crop top to stave off the heat, her sheets were pooled at her feet, where she had kicked them off unceremoniously. Drool collected on her pillow as she dreamed in deep sleep.
A sudden breeze flitted through the open window, carrying the smell of ripe cherries. The pedestal fan stopped mid whirr; its face a blank spiral incasing three sharp blades that twinkled in the sudden cold.
Daphne shivered, her feet seeking the covers, her mind slowly lifting out of a cocoon of sleep. Her hand rubbed at her mouth, slick saliva coated the back of her hand. The first thing her fuddled mind registered was that it was too cold for summer. She wondered if she were still dreaming when she heard weeping.
Daphne froze, her body temperature dropping several degrees. Her head was slightly lifted from her pillow but she was too afraid to set it back down. There was a weight on the bed near her feet, her seeking toes had felt the indentation when they had stretched for the sheets. Daphne took fast shallow breaths, tilting her head slightly to see from the corner of her eye.
A man was sitting on the edge of her bed, his back bent to form a perfect C, his head hung low and his hands covering his eyes. His s
houlders shook with every sob. Cold radiated off him like waves, hitting her exposed skin.
Daphne tucked her feet in slowly, sliding away from the figure.
Suddenly the weeping stopped. The curved back became still. The head lifted slightly from the hands, and Daphne felt the thing’s gaze crawling over her skin. She shrank against the headboard, her hands clutching for something, anything to protect her, her mind a whirlwind of panic.
The figure unfolded from its crouched position on the edge of her bed, it unfurled, an impossibly tall shadow with empty sockets. Only the barest glimmer of light glinted through those hollow orbs, sparkling maliciously.
Leave
Daphne’s feet found the floor. She inched against the wall, her fingers grazing the soft wallpaper.
Leave while you still can
The door swung open with a crash. Daphne took her chance and ran.
She collided headfirst with Poppy.
Daphne went sprawling on the floor. She was bathed in cold sweat, her heart galloping in her chest.
“We have to run!” She scrambled to her feet, grabbed Poppy by the arm and began dragging her away from the monster in her room. “We have to leave!”
“What are you talking about?” Poppy wrenched her hand free. “Let go of me!”
“You don’t understand,” Daphne moaned. “They don’t want us here!”
“Who doesn’t want us here?”
“The spirits!”
Poppy stared at her, then her expression turned sour.
“You’re such a freak! When are you going to drop this act? It doesn’t work.”
“I’m not acting!”
“What’s going on?”
Andrew and Sarah had come out of their bedroom, their hair disheveled, eyes puffy with sleep.
“Poppy, Daphne!” Andrew scowled at his two daughters. “I’m surprised at you two. Picking fights in the middle of the night? What the hell is this?”
Poppy blanched as if she had been slapped.
“I just went for a glass of water!” Poppy cried. “She’s the one running around the house screaming about ghosts wanting to murder us in our sleep!”
Both their parents immediately softened, yet grew tense with worry at the same time.
“Is this true?” Sarah gently touched Daphne’s arm. “Honey, have you been having night terrors again?”
“You should have come to us.” Andrew held Daphne in a half hug. “I’ll call Dr. Hurst first thing in the morning and schedule an appointment.”
Daphne bristled with resentment.
“It wasn’t a night terror! I’m telling you, I saw the man who built this house. I saw him hanging from the cherry tree. He was in my room right now, demanding we leave!”
Sarah and Andrew were a picture of shock.
“How did you know about him?”
“How did you know he hung himself from the cherry tree?”
“Because,” Poppy let out a frustrated cry, “Mrs. Fitts told her. I heard you two talking about the house at the party. She told you all about his family dying, and him hanging himself.” Poppy stamped her foot on the floor. “This is classic Daphne, manipulating the situation to look like the victim so she can get all the attention!”
“You were eavesdropping on my conversation?” Daphne was so angry her lips had gone white.
“Yes.” Poppy did not look the least bit sorry. “And it’s a good thing I did so I could expose you for who you are.”
Daphne looked at her parents. They were looking at her in an odd way, like they pitied her.
“It’s true that Mrs. Fitts told me the details, but I’d seen the hanging man weeks before the party. How did I know he was a soldier? Because I saw his uniform! This house is strange, and it doesn’t want us. You must have felt something!”
Her parent’s faces grew guarded. She could see that they were struggling against something, but as individuals. Whatever it was, they hadn’t shared it with each other either.
“Go to bed,” Andrew sighed. “The both of you. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
Poppy gave Daphne a triumphant sneer then stalked off to her room. Daphne watched her parents retreat to their room. She was left alone in the hall, with no desire to return to her own bed. Something was wrong here, and she had a feeling her parents knew it too. She’d have to get to the bottom of it, find some clue to convince them.
She no longer cared about Poppy and her stupid vendetta; this was about the safety of her family. She could feel something big coming on the horizon, some fateful event building up in the very air they were breathing. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was still there, oppressive like the heat.
Giving her room up as a bad job, Daphne slunk down the stairs. She made herself comfortable on the sofa, convinced she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Ten minutes later she had dozed off.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
The Paignton Blackness
21st August 1983
11:00 AM
The National Archives was a large glass building that let in a decent amount of natural light, but on a scorching summer’s day like this it was also an absolute oven. Daphne was sweating profusely as she searched for information.
Breakfast had been a tense affair. Her parents had wanted to talk to her but Daphne had bolted after eating her cereal, made some excuse about meeting friends and left. She didn’t feel like being with her family at the moment.
Was it too much to ask to be believed?
Her family’s insistence on brushing her psychic sensitivity aside was finally getting to her.
She was nearly dozing when she finally came across the obituary section of August 1950.
We regretfully announce the passing away of Diana Paignton,
Wife to Sgt. George Paignton, mother of three daughters, Diana was thirty-two when she passed away in her sleep
She will be deeply missed
Wake to be held at 23 Paignton House, Clapham
Daphne had known that people had died, but reading it in print made it that much more real. These were people with families, interests and their own odd idiosyncrasies. They had likes and dislikes, hobbies, routines; all coming to a halt suddenly, irreparably.
She began to sift through the obituaries in the newspapers following August. There was a Paignton death in February 1951, in May 1951, and finally two deaths in August 1951, only three days apart.
Daphne sat in shocked silence. The waves of grief she had felt from the figure in her room last night were so acute, so bleak, Daphne had felt any will to stay alive draining from her. Now, looking at the obituaries of George Paignton’s wife and daughters, she could very well understand the need to break your own neck rather than go another minute living through that loss.
But this still didn’t explain the ghosts Katie had seen, or why the Paignton family had died so quickly, and under such mysterious circumstances. Diana and little Chloe had both passed away in their sleep; a moderately peaceful death, if you didn’t focus on the fact that both Diana and Chloe were healthy, with no sudden onset of illness.
Susan’s death had been a little more concerning. She had developed symptoms similar to tuberculosis that had ravaged her body within days, leaving her choking on her own blood. And finally Paula, she had died in such sudden pain, complaining of stabbing pain but had no physical wounds.
Daphne searched the archives for inheritance information for Paignton House. George hadn’t always owned the plot, so it was safe to say that there was something wrong with it before the house was built. Newly minted houses were rarely haunted by such malevolent ghosts.
It took her the better part of two hours to find details of the Paignton property, how it had been a children’s infirmary in the 1920’s, how it had burned down, gone from Paignton to Paignton too busy with the two world wars to develop anything on the property, till it had finally come to George Paignton.
Armed with a little more information, Dap
hne went back to the newspapers, searching for all the daily issues from the early 1920’s to the early 1930’s. At first there was nothing, but then Daphne found an article on the Paignton Infirmary for Children. It was accompanied by a grainy black and white photograph. The infirmary was a three story brick building, simple in design, with the infirmary name mounted on a painted board.
A group of people stood on the front steps, mostly children, scrawny limbs, large eyes, and limp hair. There were five adults, two nurses that penned the children in, and a large male orderly standing in the very back. The front of the picture was dominated by two smartly dressed doctors sitting in camp chairs.
The woman sat straight-backed, her spindly neck balancing a round face. The man beside her had a full beard and wore spectacles. None of them were smiling. Daphne didn’t pay much heed to the forlorn faces. The country had just come out of the first World War, and was unknowingly headed into a second. There wasn’t much to be happy about.
Daphne read the article that named the two doctors as Christian and Melanie Paignton, and their charitable work involving sick children from poverty stricken homes. This explained all the children Katie had seen. Daphne read on, searching newspapers till she finally reached the 26th of August 1925.
Fire Destroys Children’s Infirmary
It was a detailed report on the fire that had laid waste to the Paignton Children’s infirmary, how the fire had raged for hours before the firemen had been able to tamp it down. Nothing remained of the infirmary but ash and rubble. All the children had died in the flames. The doctors and staff had managed to escape the fire and sound the alarm.
Daphne’s hair was on end again. Katie’s description of the burnt girl was resounding in her head. She tried to imagine what it must have been like for the poor souls to be stuck in their beds, fire surrounding them, knowing that death was inevitable; the final pain and agony as their flesh burned while they were still alive.
13 Hauntings Page 31
