The Haunting of the Crowford Hoy (The Ghosts of Crowford Book 5)

by Amy Cross

  “After the tests are over,” Sally continued, “we'll make sure that your bones are properly buried. Would you like that?”

  Annie thought for a moment, before nodding.

  “And where would you like to be buried?”

  “Somewhere pretty,” Annie told her. “I don't know anything about my parents, I don't remember them, so... Can I be buried in a big field, where there are lots of flowers? And butterflies! I love butterflies so much!”

  “I'll make sure that happens,” Sally replied. “I promise. There'll be a little stone with your name on it, so that people remember you. To be honest, I think the story of what happened to you is going to be pretty big news in Crowford for a while. People always love a mystery, and your story is pretty crazy. It's all over now, though. Aren't you happy that you were found eventually?”

  Annie considered the question, before smiling as she nodded again.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” she continued. “When I realized that you were trying to show me where to find your body, I had to try to find you. The original plan was to just end the session, but that might have meant that everything would have just gone back to how it was before. I hated the idea of leaving you trapped here with Mildred Weaver again.”

  “That's okay,” Annie replied, “but...”

  She paused.

  “It wasn't me who showed you,” she added finally.

  “It wasn't?” Sally replied. “Then who was it?”

  “It was Tommy.”

  Sally felt an immediate punch of anticipation in her chest.

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “Have you seen Tommy?”

  “He's my new friend,” Annie explained. “I know he's your son. He's been my friend since he died, we played a lot whenever Mildred wasn't around. Sometimes he's near you, but you never seem to notice him.”

  “Where is he now?” Sally stammered, getting to her feet and looking around. “Tommy, are you here?”

  “He's not here right now,” Annie told her. “I don't know where he is. He might have been scared off by Mrs. Weaver. I know he didn't like her much, even though she never tried to hurt him. I'm sure he'll be back soon, when he realizes that she's gone.”

  “Tommy!” Sally shouted, filled with panic as she realized that her son's ghost might be nearby. “Tommy, it's me! Tommy, you have to talk to me!”

  A moment later, she heard a creaking sound coming from one of the other rooms.

  ***

  As soon as he'd switched off the car's engine, Matt scrambled out and hurried along the pavement, heading toward the pub. Reaching the front door, he pushed it open and raced inside, and then he began to look around for Sally. His heart was pounding, and he knew that he had to find some way to get her to safety.

  “Sally!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

  “Up here!” she called back to him from one of the upstairs rooms. “I'm looking for Tommy! I think he might actually be here!”

  “You have to get out of the pub,” he replied, hurrying through to the hallway and looking up the stairs. “Sally, I'll explain later, but for now I have to get you away from this place while we figure out what to do next!”

  Stepping into view at the top of the stairs, Sally looked down at him and smiled.

  “What are you on about?” she asked. “Everything's fine, but Annie told me that she's seen Tommy's ghost. Apparently he's been around me this whole time and I just didn't see him, but that might have changed now, right? Now that I know how to look for them, I -”

  “There's no time for that right now!” he said firmly, reaching a hand up toward her. “Sally, I'm begging you, we need to move!”

  “Not until I've talked to -”

  “Now!” he shouted, as he suddenly saw Mildred Weaver standing directly behind her. “She's right there! You have to run!”

  “You don't understand,” Sally replied, still smiling. “I'm not going to go anywhere, not while Tommy's here. I'm going to find him, and I'm going to tell him how much I love him.”

  Behind her, Mildred Weaver slowly reached up with her hands, as if she was about to grab the back of Sally's neck.

  “No!” Matt yelled, scrambling up the stairs.

  “I'm going to find Tommy,” Sally said, with tears in her eyes. “I'm going be with him again. Whatever it takes. And -”

  Before she could get another word out, Sally felt Mildred's dead hands on the side of her head. In an instant, Mildred twisted her hands sharply, snapping Sally's neck with a sickening crunch.

  Matt raced up to try to save her, but Sally's lifeless body was already falling. They met halfway up the stairs, and Matt somehow managed to catch Sally and then lower her down so that he could check for signs of life. He saw her dead eyes staring up at him, but he refused to believe that she was really gone.

  “Sally!” he shouted, shaking her in a desperate attempt to get her to wake up. “Come back! Sally!”

  Chapter Thirty

  The cell door shuddered as a key was turned in the lock, and finally – after several hours – it was pulled open to reveal Matt's uncle Roger standing outside.

  “What's going on?” Matt asked, leaping to his feet and hurrying across the cell.

  “Just calm down, lad,” Roger said, holding a hand up to stop him, then gesturing for him to go back over to the bed in the corner. “You and I need to have a talk.”

  He pulled the door shut, and then he led Matt back across the room.

  “Is there any news on Sally?” Matt asked.

  “I already told you about that,” Roger replied, letting out a gasp as his knees clicked. He managed to sit down, and then he patted on the side of the bed for Matt to join him. “Your friend Sally Cooper died, Matt, and there's nothing to be done about that. Doctor Wilshire says it would have been quick, if that's any consolation. He's going to carry out an autopsy today and let us know the results later.”

  “I just thought...”

  Matt's voice trailed off for a moment.

  “I thought maybe there'd been a mistake,” he continued finally, “or that somehow someone had managed to revive her, or that somehow she...”

  His voice trailed off.

  “Sit down, lad,” Roger said firmly. “There are still officers down there at the pub, trying to figure out what happened tonight, and we need to get your story straight while there's still a chance.”

  “I didn't do anything wrong,” Matt told him. “I swear.”

  “I know that,” Roger replied, “but please... sit down.”

  Matt hesitated, before doing as he was told.

  “I know full well,” Roger continued, “that you didn't do anything to that Sally girl. You're a good boy, and you'd never hurt anyone. However, you have to admit that the situation looks bad. Your explanation of what happened to Sally isn't going to go down too well if you end up in front of a judge. They tend to take a dim view whenever people start yammering on about ghosts.”

  “I'm telling the truth!”

  “Well, that might well be the case,” Roger replied uncomfortably, “but you have to think about what's going to happen if you end up in the dock, talking about that sort of thing. There's also the fact that you weren't supposed to be in the pub at all last night, and then there's the damage that was caused, and that's before we try to link it all to the traffic accident that killed the O'Neill girl.”

  “Jane died because -”

  “You've already told me,” he said, interrupting him. “I've been around the block enough times to know that this town can throw curve balls, and that sometimes a little creative policing is required. I'm also at the grand old age where I have some influence, and I've been speaking to a few people.” He paused. “You're going to be released shortly,” he added finally, “and there won't be any charges. I've had a word with the folks who decide that sort of thing, so it's all going to be fine. But part of that agreement means that everything has to be kept under wraps. Do you get where I'm coming from?”

  “Y
ou're not going to investigate?”

  “Investigate what? A young woman tragically broke her neck after falling down the stairs. Another young woman was killed in an entirely unrelated traffic accident. Meanwhile, an old mystery about a little girl was cleared up. That's really all that people need to know, and everything'll be fine so long as you keep your mouth shut.”

  “You need to talk to Ernest Dwyer.”

  “I'm not talking to that miserable crank,” Roger said, shaking his head. “Everyone knows to ignore him, he's an old fart who thinks he knows everything about this town. The day I go running to Ernest Dwyer for help is the day I know it's time to retire.” He put a hand on his nephew's shoulder. “You should also steer clear of that pub from now on, because I'm not sure that you'll be Jerry Butler's favorite person right now. I hope you understand, lad, that I've stuck my neck out for you on this one and I've had to pull in quite a lot of favors. I hope you won't do anything to embarrass me.”

  “Of course not,” Matt replied, although he was shocked that the night's events were going to end up swept under the carpet.

  “I'd better go and see if they're done processing your paperwork,” Roger added, wincing again as he got to his feet. “Sit tight, and someone'll be through to fetch you in a minute or two.”

  “Did you look at that note?” Matt asked.

  Roger opened the cell door, before turning back to look at him.

  “It was Dad's handwriting, wasn't it?” Matt continued. “You must have recognized it.”

  “My brother had the worst scrawl I've ever seen,” Roger replied, “but... I have to admit, the writing on that note certainly seems familiar.”

  “Then -”

  “And that's where we'll leave the discussion, lad,” Roger added. “I meant what I said just now. You need to keep your head down and try to forget about ghosts and all that nonsense. Trust me, you'll thank me one day.”

  Once his uncle was gone, Matt sat alone on the bed and stared down at his hands. He kept thinking back to the moment when Mildred's ghost had snapped Sally's neck. In some small, strange way, he couldn't help thinking of the look on Sally's face. At the time, he'd assumed that she'd been oblivious to what had been about to happen, but now he found himself wondering whether maybe – just maybe – she'd understood.

  And maybe she'd chosen to be with Tommy again, no matter the cost.

  ***

  Stopping in the hallway, Matt listened to the sound of his mother's voice coming from upstairs. He couldn't quite make out what she was saying, so he made his way quietly to the foot of the stairs and tried to listen.

  “I know, Fred,” she muttered with a sigh, clearly oblivious to the fact that she was being overheard, “but I worry about him. He'll be turning twenty-nine soon, and he still hasn't got a proper career.”

  The house fell silent for a moment.

  “Maybe,” she continued. “I hope you're right, but you can't blame me for being concerned. He's got no job, no girlfriend, no nothing. When's he going to get on with his life?”

  ***

  “Oh, it's you again,” Nigel said a few hours later, as he spotted Matt making his way over to join the picket line. “Decided to finally show your face, did you? You're normally here earlier.”

  “I... had somewhere to be,” Matt replied awkwardly, figuring that it'd be best to avoid any mention of the night's events. “What's going on here?”

  “What do you think?” Nigel replied, turning and looking over at the parked police cars near the colliery's entrance. “Bloody nothing, as usual. To be honest, I'd started to think that you weren't going to show up this morning, and I wouldn't have blamed you.” He paused. “You know, there are quite a few jobs on the boards in town. I even had a look myself. A young, strapping lad like you should have no problem finding something new.”

  “I know,” Matt told him, “and I'm going to pop in later, or maybe tomorrow.”

  “So you've made up your mind, have you?” Nigel said. “You're going to get a new job?”

  “I haven't quite decided yet,” Matt told him, preferring to hedge his bets. “I suppose I'm going to keep my options open.” He paused for a moment, watching the others as they waved their flags and placards, and then he looked toward the colliery's headgear in the distance. “I learned one useful thing last night, though,” he added. “I learned how to see ghosts.”

  “Come again?”

  “Never mind,” he added, forcing a smile. “It's not something that'd be very easy to explain. I suppose it just means that sometimes a ghost can be right in front of you, and you don't even realize. Some people can see them easily enough, some never manage it, and some people – like me – have to learn.”

  “You don't half talk some rubbish,” Nigel muttered.

  “You don't think there are ghosts around?”

  “I hope not. There are a few dead people I wouldn't want to bump into again.”

  Before he was able to reply, Matt spotted a figure in the distance, standing at the top of a small hill on the other side of the road. He squinted a little in an effort to see the figure better, but deep down he already knew that it was his father, even as the figure began to fade away to nothing.

  “Oh, they're around alright,” Matt said, with a faint smile. “Sometimes you've just got to learn to see them.”

  Epilogue

  Three weeks later...

  “Oh, tell me about it,” Jerry said, rolling his eyes as he took the man's money and headed over to the till. “Do you think I don't hear all about that sort of thing while I'm working behind this bar?”

  He took a moment to gather some change, and then he made his way back to where Bob was standing.

  “I've got experts down in my cellar every bloody day,” he explained as he handed the man's change over, “poking about and getting in my way, telling me that they're going to have to do some more digging just because some bones were found down there. At least the brewery's the one that's on the hook for the costs, but I'm telling you, I've just about had it up to here with experts. They get bloody everywhere!”

  “It must be a bit creepy to think that there was an actual dead body in your cellar for so long.”

  “Not really,” Jerry said with a shrug. “She never bothered me and I never bothered her, so it was a win-win situation for everyone. Now I've got half my cellar taped off just because some idiot from the local council thinks the place is a site of special historic interest. It's not a site of special historic interest, though, is it? It's a pub. It's a business. How would you like it if someone came into your car showroom and started digging half of it up?”

  “It's quite interesting, though,” Gary suggested.

  “Is it?” Jerry replied. “Is the world experiencing a shortage of dead people? Now they're having a whip-round to try to pay for a proper funeral for the kid. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? The girl's dead! What does she care whether she's stuck in the ground, burned at the crematorium, or left outside somewhere to rot? Everyone's gone completely mad!”

  “Jerry?”

  Turning, he saw that his new barmaid Carrie was trying to pour a pint.

  “The Ballylocke's off again,” she told him.

  “That's all I need,” he muttered, turning and heading toward the cellar door. “Don't worry, I tapped some, it'll only take me a moment to switch the lines over. I'll go, though. I wouldn't want anyone else straining themselves.”

  Once he was down in the basement, Jerry made his way over to the barrels and crouched down to get the new keg of Ballylocke connected. He had far less room to work in than usual, since most of the cellar was still being examined by all manner of specialists and experts, a fact that had done nothing to lighten Jerry's already rather foul mood. Even as he adjusted the various pipes, he was already muttering under his breath about all the ways that life was conspiring to annoy him.

  “Where's that topper?” he said with a sigh, looking around. “Come on, I know I left it down here somewhere.�
�

  Realizing that the topper was nowhere to be seen, he got to his feet and started searching, He knew that he'd set it down nearby, which only made its sudden disappearance all the more perplexing. What he hadn't noticed, however, was that he'd managed to bump the table next to the kegs, and in the process he'd knocked the topper down onto the floor, where it now lay hidden behind a brick. As he searched with more and more anger, Jerry was also getting further and further from the spot where the topper lay.

  Until, as if by magic, an unseen hand picked the topper up and put it back on table.

  “This is ridiculous,” Jerry said with a sigh, before turning and looking over his shoulder, “what -”

  Stopping suddenly, he saw that the topper was in its rightful place.

  “I'm going mad,” he continued, heading over and grabbing the topper, before attaching it to the correct keg. “Soon I'll be a drooling wreck in a bath chair.”

  Once everything was set up, he turned and headed back toward the stairs.

  “You're welcome.”

  Stopping again, he realized that the voice seemed familiar. He looked back across the cellar, while telling himself that he must have misheard. Sure, the voice had sounded real, and it had reminded him a little of his recently-deceased barmaid Sally Cooper, but he knew that she was long gone. Still, the sensation troubled him for a moment, until finally he set off toward the stairs again. He briefly heard what sounded like a child, perhaps a boy, giggling, but this too he put out of his mind as he hurried up to the bar.

  “All sorted,” he told Carrie, as he shut and bolted the cellar door.

  “So I've got a question for you,” Graham said as Jerry headed back over to join his friends on the bar's other side. “It's fair to say that a lot's gone on in this pub. Not only with the girl in the wall, and poor Sally's accident, but there have been a lot of stories over the years. You've been here since, what, seventy-six? Have you, or have you not, ever seen or heard a ghost in this fine establishment?”