Ghosts, Ghouls, and Haunted Houses

by Carrie King

  “Greyfield!” Only she knew it wasn’t, this was something else, something worse.

  It was dark, and she felt the fingers reaching for her neck. She heard rather than felt the snap, but now she knew it was over. This was her prison for eternity. Down here in the dark she would not be alone… would she find Mindy?

  "You're mine now."

  Child’s Play

  The Unseen

  The Haunting of Greyfield Manor – Book 3

  By

  Carrie King and Caroline Clark

  ©Copyright 2019

  All Rights Reserved

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  The Unseen

  A grieving widow, a silent child, Greyfield Manor has just what it needs to complete a centuries-old curse.

  Recently widowed Diane Greyfield arrives at Greyfield Manor with her young son, Grant. Struggling with the tragic and untimely death of her husband, she hopes that the change in scenery will help pull her child from his silent grief. But this trip away from London is filled with unimaginable horrors.

  Now Grant claims to see the ghost of a man and a woman in the old manor. What Diane hoped would be an idyllic place to heal, turns into a place of inconceivable danger.

  Noises, whispers, and shadows fill the old manor. Furniture moves of its own accord and her fear for her child is growing. Pushed down the stairs by unseen hands her terror mounts.

  Who is stalking the old hallways? According to her son, the ghost doesn't like her and wants her dead.

  Are these ghosts merely figments of a child's overwrought emotions?

  Is Grant being tormented by spirits who want him to harm himself – or her?

  Has Diane put her son in harm's way by bringing him to his ancestral home?

  Diane will do everything in her power to protect her son from harm. But how can she do that if she

  Prologue

  Greyfield Manor 1732

  Angus Greyfield watched from afar as his wife Beatrice interacted with a small group of people from the nearby town. They had come to offer good tidings and wishes on her birthday. A frown turned his mouth down and his stomach rolled, he was more than capable of noticing the difference between her currently false and forced smile and a genuine one. The latter was rare enough indeed.

  As Lord Viscount, he often visited the inhabitants of the nearby village. They were his people, his responsibility and it gave him pleasure to offer assistance where he could, be it through food, extra grain, or financial support—or on rare occasions he acted as the law. Settling of disputes was easier that way. Unfortunately, Beatrice didn't share his affinity for generosity, compassion, or justice. In the presence of the villagers she put on airs and pretended to be a dutiful lady, wife of the Viscount, but in private, the mask came off and her true personality was exposed.

  At the moment, she forced a smile and accepted the offer of a bouquet of wildflowers from a child, plucked from the wayside. The child's genuine smile and good wishes were barely acknowledged as Beatrice took the proffered gift, barely managing to hide a grimace of distaste as her fingers brushed against the youngster’s dirty, stubby fingers.

  The gesture caused a pang of disappointment in Angus’ heart, over and above his general displeasure with the woman he had literally been duped into marrying. He would never have a child of his own, not only because Beatrice refused to share a marital bed with him, but because he would never subject a child to her petty and spiteful behavior.

  He sighed and turned away, gazing toward the cliffside, beyond which Solway Firth glistened in the late afternoon sun, the breeze rustling his hair. He heard a shout and turned to watch the little boy running toward him, away from Beatrice. A smile tugged at his lips. The boy's blond curls flew behind him as he raced toward Angus, shouting a joyful greeting.

  "Lord Greyfield! Lord Greyfield! Look what I found!"

  Angus crouched and chuckled as the little boy approached, his small hand clasping something. Angus gazed down at the boy's hand, inside of which squirmed a small butterfly.

  "Well, look what you have there, Troy," he said. "You know what that one is called?"

  "No, Lord Greyfield," the little boy said, looking up at him, his blue eyes large with wonder. "Do you know?"

  Angus smiled to see the pure joy on the young boy’s face.

  "It's called a copper, or a small copper. See the orange wings with its black spots?" Angus grinned at the boy. "They're not that common around here, so will you promise to let it go after you've looked at it for a few minutes?"

  "Oh, indeed I will," Troy said, a small finger delicately tracing along the edge of one of the butterfly's wings. Then, offering a pleased and proud smile toward Angus, he opened his hand, palm flat and facing the sky. The small butterfly flapped its wings once, twice, then flitted away, much to the boy's delight.

  With a giggle, Troy immediately gave chase, but then he stopped, turned around, and offered a small bow. "Goodbye, Lord Greyfield."

  Angus rose and offered a slight bow in return. "Goodbye, Master Troy."

  He watched the boy run off after his mother and the group of people returning to the village. Beatrice had already gone back into the house. Once again, he turned his gaze to the sea, knowing that the empty place in his heart, the one that so yearned for a child, would never be filled.

  Chapter 56

  Present day: Greyfield Manor, Solway Firth

  Diane stepped from the taxi, eyes wide and a smile on her lips as she took in the beauty of Greyfield Manor. She had looked forward to this trip for months in the hopes that getting away from London would help ease their grief. Perhaps the change of environment would do young Grant some good. He missed his father dearly. Maybe the time away would heal him and lift her spirits as well. Though she tried to hide it from her boy, she missed her husband dearly.

  While she knew that time would eventually heal, she had grown increasingly concerned about Grant. The six-year-old had sunk into a deep depression. He could rarely be cajoled to leave their flat and instead spent hours brooding, idly playing with his toys, and hardly talking at all.

  Overwhelmed with her own raw emotions and Grant's retreat into a world of his own, she had agreed, at her mother's urging, to see a therapist. It was not only to help herself, but to find ways that she could help her child deal with his father's death. It was he who had suggested them getting away for a few days, to somewhere completely different from their current environment.

  Diane also needed a break from her well-meaning but coddling mother’s looks of pity and never-ending hints to move back home to Somerfield. Adapting to life without Jeremy was proving difficult enough without her mother's sad visage constantly reminding her of her loss.

  She turned from the manor house and her spirits lifted when she noted Grant was also looking at the house. A smile almost made its way onto his lips and his young eyes were wide as he took it all in. It was the most animated she had seen him in weeks. She determined to make exploring the house with her son as fun as possible. After all, they had it all to themselves for a few days and had paid some pretty pence to make it happen.

  She stooped to tug Grant's backpack and her overnight bag from the back seat as she spoke to the cabbie. "You'll be back for us the day after tomorrow, three o'clock sharp?"

  "Yes, ma'am," the driver said, smiling over his shoulder at Grant. "You should know that cell reception out here is spotty, so if you need a phone, you're going to have to hike to the nearest village, which is about three kilometers away, back there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction from which they had come and then reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve a business card. "Hang on to this, just in case you need anything."

  Diane smiled. "Thank you. I will."

  The taxi turned around and drove off. Diane held out her hand. "Ready to do some exploring?”

  Grant nodded and grasped her hand with a genuine smile, something she
hadn't seen in the past three weeks. She walked toward the front door, but Grant stopped her, pulling her instead toward the cliff side.

  "Let's go look there!"

  "We'll go exploring the beach later, Grant," she said. "First, let's get these bags inside and get settled." She turned toward the house, pausing as she heard the sound of a door slamming and then another and another. That was odd. The place was supposed to be deserted. Surveying the house for signs of company she looked up and saw an open window. It was just the wind. She smiled down at her son. "Are you ready to explore this magnificent house, little Lord Grant Greyfield?"

  "Ready, Mummy!"

  Angus stood, stunned. Grant. That had been the name of his estranged twin brother. His name was Greyfield? Was it possible? Could this be his brother's descendant?

  Angus had watched from the house as the young woman and a small child, perhaps five, maybe six, years of age, emerged from the vehicle that had just pulled up in front of the manor. With a catch in his heart, Angus realized that the young boy reminded him of Troy Bascom, a local village child with whom he had forged a bond before his untimely death by murder.

  "Only two more, Angus. Two more and you can be free."

  "Leave me be, Beatrice," he said softly, not deigning to turn and look at his adulterous wife, the murderous, the betrayer. She and her lover, Kevin, had murdered him, and he'd been trapped in this … whatever it was, through his own doing. His hatred and bitterness against his wife and his thirst for revenge had prompted a contract of sorts with the Soul Taker, an evil entity that had promised him his freedom in exchange for twenty souls.

  For nearly three centuries, Angus had collected those souls, one by one, each one contributing to his torment, but he so yearned to be free …

  "Only two more."

  He frowned as he watched the child scramble from the vehicle and tug at his mother's hand, prompting her to turn toward the sea before they neared the house. Freedom was within his grasp, but for the first time, he hesitated. A child … he had never taken a child. Having grown up as an orphan himself—albeit with a twin brother—he also hesitated at the thought of taking the mother, leaving the child without one was a cruel fate.

  Beatrice, as usual, read his thoughts and spoke, her tone filled with disapproval.

  "You're not going to do it, are you?

  "Be gone, Beatrice." His patience snapped, and he turned to her with exasperated anger. "Be gone!"

  At that moment, every open door in the house slammed shut. Beatrice disappeared. Angus turned back toward the yard, where the young mother stared at the house, frowning in consternation. Perhaps she would think the slamming doors had been caused by nothing more than a gust of wind making its way through the house. Nevertheless, he wanted them gone. He knew what Beatrice was capable of. She had no compunction against harming others who came to his home. Unlike Angus however, she was not trapped by any deal with the Soul Taker. Angus only took those who deserved punishment.

  Beatrice took souls because she wanted to. Because she had a thirst for it.

  Grant pushed past his mother as she placed their bags on the floor of the foyer. She only managed to briefly caress the curls atop his head before he strode into the front sitting room, his sneakers padding softly on the wood plank flooring. He touched a hand to the sofa and turned to her.

  "Mummy, this sofa feels funny."

  She smiled and followed him into the room. "That's because it's velvet. That's how they used to make them a long, long time ago." She gestured toward the lovely piece of furniture. "They called this a settee."

  She gazed around the sitting room, impressed with the décor. The landlord had done a good job decorating with Victorian era furniture, although Jeremy had told her that the house itself dated back to the early eighteenth century.

  "Grant, do you know how special this home is?"

  "No, Mummy. Why is it special?"

  She swallowed thickly, tears of relief briefly warming her eyes. She was amazed that he was responding, speaking to her, showing interest. "Because your ancestor was the brother of the man who built this place."

  Diane could tell that Grant was less interested in the history of the place than exploring its nooks and crannies. Without a word, he dashed from the room and down the hallway toward the back of the house, his footsteps echoing loudly.

  With a smile, she followed. It was nice to see him excited about something. Coming here had been a good idea after all. Because they had the place to themselves, it would also be a good time for her to take stock, to figure out her next move, her plans for the future.

  Future. What kind of future could she have without Jeremy? Grant was not the only one struggling with a sense of loss and overwhelming grief. The memory of Jeremy's laughter reverberated in her head as she walked down the hallway in search of her son. She peeked into a room that looked like a study, then passed an open doorway into a dining room. At the end of the hallway, a doorway on the left opened to the kitchen. She smiled with bittersweet memories as she watched Grant open the door of the refrigerator. Just like his daddy. First thing Jeremy did when he got home—from anywhere—was to head into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and look inside. Even when he knew every item inside, he still did it.

  Grant closed the refrigerator door, gazed around the kitchen, and looked at his mother.

  "I miss Daddy."

  Diane did her best to keep from crumbling. She offered a wan smile instead. "I do too, honey. I do too."

  "He's here with us, isn't he?"

  "What?"

  He pointed at her. "That shadow, standing behind you. That's Daddy, isn't it?"

  She glanced over her shoulder but didn't see anything. She turned back to Grant, approaching now, but he wasn't looking at her, but beyond her.

  "He's been following us since we came inside. It's Daddy, isn't it?"

  Diane's heart sank. She shouldn't have gotten her hopes up. Overcoming such a devastating loss would take more than a few days away in the country.

  Chapter 57

  Diane and Grant had spent a pleasant afternoon exploring the old house; every room, every corner, every closet. After Grant's comment about the shadow in the kitchen, she had watched him closely, but he seemed in relatively good spirits despite the circumstances.

  Maybe a bit of wishful thinking wasn't so bad. If imagining that his father was here with them, exploring an ancestral home, helped him cope then who was she to discourage him? Grant loved his father, so it should be no surprise that he imagined he saw him. Diane wouldn't encourage it, but she wouldn't discourage him either. She knew that her therapist might have something to say about that; something about adults and children alike needing to face reality, but one step at a time was adequate. Besides, the thought of Jeremy watching over them gave her comfort too. Who was she to say it wasn’t real!

  After their initial exploration of the house, Grant asked to go play outside. Diane hesitated, gazing uncertainly toward the edge of the cliff in the near distance. She made Grant promise that he wouldn't get too close to it.

  “I promise mum,” he said, his eyes bright and excited.

  “Good, you have to stay in view of the front door, promise?”

  “I promise,” he said shaking his head in the way he did when he was impatient and just humoring her.

  Finally, she opened the door and allowed him to go outside and explore.

  Standing in the open doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her shoulder leaning against the door jamb, she watched her son chasing after a butterfly. It brought a warmth to her cold heart as he ran criss-cross across the grass chasing the butterfly as it flitted just in front of him. Then his soft laughter wafted on the afternoon breeze. The sound, which she hadn't heard since Jeremy's death, caused her heart to clench and warm tears to fill her eyes. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the scent of salty ocean air combined with the wild grasses, the soil, and the stand of pines behind the house.

  It was a lovely home. She wondered a
bout the man who had built it. So far away from town, so isolated, so wild …

  Angus stood in the doorway of the sitting room, gazing at the woman as she watched her son play in the yard. A slight smile lifted the corners of her lips, relieving the appearance of the dark smudges under her eyes. He sensed her emotions, a skill he had learned over time. She had come here to grieve a loss. The child was confused. He sensed that too. The child had seen him. Odd. But the youngster had shown no fear and had even remarked about his presence to his mother matter-of-factly. Why could the child see him? That had never happened before. What was changing?

  "Do it."

  Angus turned to look into the parlor where Beatrice sat, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded sedately in her lap. She was still beautiful, on the outside at least, but the cold of her heart showed in the spiteful curl of her lips. As usual, she made it difficult to ignore her.

  "This might be your last chance, Angus," she said with a demure smile. "You know this place isn't going to be here forever, one day they will tear it down."

  He turned to her with a frown. "Go away, Beatrice. I have no interest in hearing anything you have to say."

  "The owner is putting the place up for sale, who will buy it after all that has happened?"

  "Be gone!"

  “Maybe a developer, maybe they will tear it down and use the land. Once they do you will be trapped here forever.”

  “Be gone!” This time the force in his voice sent her away and he stared at the empty table. Could she be right? Could this be his last chance for peace?

  Chapter 58

  The door to the kitchen slammed shut.