The Haunting of Crawley House (The Hauntings Of Kingston Book 1)

by Dorey, Michelle

  Gillian squeezed the tiny tyke’s body close and kissed her cheek. “She did, huh?” She looked over at her mother, standing in front of the stove, a spatula in her hand. “Don’t tell me. I bet she made it in the shape of a letter ‘S’.”

  Sarah’s eyes were like blue marbles, her lips wide, grinning. “Like my name. ‘S’ for Sarah!”

  “That’s right!” Gillian kissed her again. “My little Einstein.” She walked over to the table and set Sarah on the chair. “Would you like some juice or milk?”

  “Milk, please. Can we visit the cows one last time before we leave? I want to say goodbye to Bessie.” She squirmed forward on the chair, barely able to contain the excitement.

  Maureen’s eyes met her daughter’s and the smile on her face faded.

  Gillian grabbed the carton of milk and a glass, filling it as she walked back to the table. “Sure. I want to say my goodbyes too.” She set the glass in front of Sarah and turned around, walking back to the counter.

  “Hey! The cows are just like us! They’re going to a new home, too.” Sarah’s small hands closed around the glass and she took a long sip. She set the glass down and swiped the mustache of milk from her upper lip. “Tell me about the place we’re moving to. I’m gonna have my own room, right? And you’re getting me a kitten!”

  Gillian glanced at her mother and continued pouring coffee. It was in the slump of her shoulders as she flipped the pancake over, her eyes misty as she stared down at the frying pan—the end of an era. It had to be killing Mom to be leaving this home, where she grew up. Where she’d loved and lived with Mike, raised their daughter, the surprise and joy of birthdays, Christmas days filled with wonder.

  “Sure thing, Sarah.” Gillian stepped to her mother’s side and put her arm over her shoulders. “We’re going to be all right, Mom. You made the right decision. You moving to Kingston with us... It will be healthier in the end. The memories here...” She sighed and squeezed her mother’s arm.

  Maureen sniffed and shook her head slightly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. The wisps of silver hair framing her face fell back, and her lip trembled as she struggled to maintain control of her emotions. She inhaled slowly and her fingers plucked strips of bacon from the paper towel where they were drying. She placed a couple on a plate and slipped the pancake next to it.

  “Doesn’t mean it don’t hurt.” There was just a hint of a smile when she turned and handed the plate to Gillian.

  Gillian grabbed the bottle of maple syrup from the fridge and poured it over the pancake before setting it down on the table. She took a seat across from Sarah, watching her bite into the crispy bacon strip. As she sipped the coffee, her eyes focused on her mother. Her chest filled with love and admiration watching the older woman’s brave attempt to focus on the upside.

  “Do we have any family in Kingston, Mom? I wonder if there’re many McDougalls or Crawleys there? McDougall’s a pretty common Irish name.” Gillian sat back in the chair, glancing from Sarah to her mother.

  Sarah swallowed hard and her eyes were round when she looked at Gillian. “What’s a Crawley? Is it a worm or a snake? I don’t like snakes.”

  Maureen laughed while she ambled over to Sarah and mussed her pigtailed hair. “It’s our family name. It’s my family name from long ago, moppet. Not some wretched creature. Sort of like a maiden name.”

  Sarah brushed her hand away and looked up at her grandmother. “What’s a maiden name?”

  Gillian gulped her coffee and stood up. “I’ll explain later. You better finish your breakfast now, if you want to see the cows and say goodbye to Bessie. The truck will be here soon to pick them up.”

  She turned to her mother. “Will you be okay while we’re out in the barn? We won’t be long.”

  Maureen tapped her daughter’s shoulder. “Go on. Take as long as you need.” Her eyebrows rose high. “Actually you’ve only got an hour. We need to get ready to go to the lawyer’s office. I’d better clean up the breakfast things. I know you said the moving company will take care of everything, but I’m not leaving dirty dishes.”

  Sarah shoved the last bite of pancake in her mouth and scrambled from the table. “Wait for me, Mommy!” Darting to the door, she nudged past Gillian and opened it. She raced forward, tugging her mother behind her.

  Outside, the temperature was already in the eighties, the sun warm on their faces as they stepped off the wide veranda and onto the flagstone walk. Sarah ran ahead, the gray soles of her sneakers flashing high, while her arms reached forward, the ends of the braids bouncing against her shoulders. She disappeared, rounding the toolshed and Gillian hurried to catch up.

  Past the shed, Gillian’s footsteps slowed and her mouth fell open watching her daughter at the barn door. She was tugging the thick, heavy slab by the handle to no avail. She stopped, tilting her head, and she smiled. She put both hands on the handle and pushed down on the catch. Now, holding the handle with both hands, she backed up, pulling the door open wide enough to enter. She tilted her head, again looking up and giggled before darting inside.

  Uh oh, thought Gillian. If she walks behind the cows she might startle them and get kicked!

  “Wait! Sarah!”

  But Sarah had disappeared into the dim interior.

  Chapter 23

  Gillian’s feet pounded on the dusty path and she lurched through the open doorway. She flipped the switch, flooding the barn with light, and peered ahead, craning her neck, looking for Sarah. Where was she?

  She heard a rustle of hay from the far end and the soft murmur of her daughter’s voice. Gillian trotted down the row and there Sarah was, standing in the low mound of hay, her hand extended offering the giant cow a handful of straw. In her other hand was a pancake from the kitchen.

  Bessie was gently nibbling the pancake.

  Sarah looked up at her mother. “She always likes pancakes, doesn’t she, Mommy?” With a last slurp, Bessie polished off the pancake and turned to the silage Sarah held in her other hand.

  Gillian remembered giving Bessie pancakes when she was a little girl and nodded her head. “Yes, she has, sweetie.” It was probably the last pancake Bessie would ever eat though, and her heart pulled at the thought.

  “Mr. Hawkins is going to give her one every morning whenever he has them for breakfast.” Sarah looked into Bessie’s eyes and stroked the animal’s huge snout.

  “You’re sure about that?” Gillian couldn’t remember which cows Hawkins had purchased. He was taking half of the thirty-head herd. He knew he was buying well-cared-for animals, and apologized that he didn’t have room for them all.

  “Yep!” When Bessie took the rest of the feed from Sarah’s hand, she licked the palm and dropped her head to forage what was on the floor. Sarah let out a giggle and wiped her hand on her pants. Turning up to her mother’s face, she said, “Bessie has eyes like Nana—big and brown. Mr. Hawkins will be as nice to her as Grandpa was.” She giggled when Bessie lifted her head and her fleshy mouth nudged her fingers.

  “How do you know that?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes at her mother. “He told me!” She suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oops! That was supposed to be secret!”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything, honey.” Mr. Hawkins was nice, and to tell Sarah, that was sweet of him. Gillian smiled and rubbed the hard patch of skull between Bessie’s eyes. “This one was always Dad’s favorite.”

  Sarah scooped up another handful of straw and held it out to the cow. “I know.” She looked up at her mother and wrinkled her nose. “It sure stinks in here.”

  “You sure got that right.”

  She sighed and looked around at the other cows waiting, their feet shuffling from side to side while their tails swished. The stalls and waste troughs weren’t as clean as when her father had done it. The hired hand who had been looking after the herd for the last week wasn’t as thorough as she had been, but what could she do? Once the deal for the property had finalized, she and her mom ha
d been a whirlwind packing and sorting three generations of possessions.

  Well, that was all over now. The cows had been auctioned off and would be picked up this afternoon by the broker. At the lawyers, they would drop off the keys, sign some papers and that would be that. Soon enough, this would be another subdivision, jammed with houses. The surveyors had already been by, leaving their orange stakes all over the fields. She huffed a sigh. Dad would have hated seeing houses built on this land. He had loved the spread at first sight, just as he had fallen in love with Mom.

  Well, that was all over now. “We’d better go. Finished here?” Gillian placed her hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

  There were tears in her daughter’s eyes when she looked up. “Yeah.” She turned back to the cow and stroked its nose. “Bye Bessie.”

  Gillian took her daughter’s hand and they walked across the concrete floor to the door. Sarah turned her head and whispered, “Bye Grandpa.” She reached into the neckline of her shirt and pulled out the St. Jude medal. Clutching it, she nodded silently, her eyes closed.

  Gillian looked down at Sarah while she shut the barn door. That girl and that medal. She found it on the day Dad died, prowling and poking around in Dad and Mom’s bedroom. Sarah hadn’t taken it off ever since—not even when taking a bath.

  Taking Sarah’s hand, they headed back up to the farmhouse. Gillian would be happy to leave the farm again. These little strange things with Sarah were making her uneasy. She didn’t realize at the time they were, but thin, threatening clouds on the horizon—harbingers of a tempest.

  Chapter 24

  The next morning, Gillian walked along the waterfront from the hotel, heading over toward the university. She had left Mom and Sarah back at the Radisson Hotel on Ontario Street where the three of them had spent the night. Mom and Sarah were going to hit the supermarket for some cleaning supplies while she picked up the keys from Jeremy Sloat, the rental agent.

  The sky was overcast, with muddy gray clouds looming over the lake, threatening to downpour any second. She tugged the collar of the light, nylon jacket up in the face of a sudden gust of wind. It was only five more blocks to reach the house.

  The house they had rented was incredible. Hard to believe that you could get a four-bedroom house with a backyard, even a swing on a maple tree, for five hundred a month! The online, room-to-room tour had sold them both. It was the deal of a lifetime!

  The street ended at the yacht club and she was forced to turn right walking away from the lake. As she passed the sailboats tied up there, the plaintive whine of the breeze thrumming the ropes on the high masts filled her ears. A few sprinkles of rain trickled along her forehead and nose and she walked faster.

  She crossed the street and entered a wide, walkway of a park. The age of the city was evident in the size of the trees, their thick limbs branching high, providing a canopy of leaves giving some shelter from the rain. She left the park’s walkway, waiting for a break in traffic to dash across to Harvest Street and check the numbers on the houses. The campus was only a few blocks away, an easy walk for her, once she was settled in, and the playground and park nearby was perfect for Sarah. What a find.

  There it was, number eight, looking more elegant than the pictures posted online could ever do justice to. Like the houses next to it, the exterior was brick and there were two floors. A half-moon-shaped window peeked out from the trails of ivy gathered at the peak.

  As she mounted the steps to the veranda, the heavy, dark front door opened and a tall, gangly man stepped out. His fingers were threaded together, clasped in front of his chest and he leaned forward, peering at her.

  “Ms. McDougall?” He seemed to glide across the floor and then perch on the edge.

  “Yes.” Stepping onto the porch, Gillian nodded, her hand extended. “Mr. Sloat? Pleased to meet you.”

  His hand was limp, barely gripping hers when they shook, and it was clammy. A dead-fish handshake, her dad would have said.

  “Yes, yes. Please come in. You’re right on time.” He stepped back and pushed the door open wide.

  Entering the house, her eyebrows rose high. Oh my. An enormous oak set of stairs dominated the center of a wide hallway. The banister was thick and worn above intricately carved spindles and the steps were at least four feet across.

  “Impressive, isn’t it? They don’t build staircases like that anymore.” Mr. Sloat sidled past her, gesturing down the hallway. “Let’s start down here, shall we? I’m sure you’ll want to see the kitchen.” He took a few steps down and looked over his shoulder at her.

  Gillian stood stock-still gazing at the staircase. She had known this place was the deal of a lifetime, but seeing it for real amped it up like crazy. Who had built this house? What kind of family had lived there? But more puzzling was, why was it vacant? Who wouldn’t want to live here, especially when the rent was so cheap?

  “Mr. Sloat—”

  He clucked his tongue while shaking his head. “Please, it’s Jeremy.” His gaze went past her, over her shoulders. The guy couldn’t look her in the eye. She couldn’t help but think if he was this shy, he shouldn’t be in the people business, dealing with tenants and such. A thought tickled the back of her head—what if he wasn’t shy, but instead had something to hide? She shook it off.

  She shrugged. “Okay, Jeremy.” He turned and she followed him into the kitchen. Dust motes flickered in the natural light streaming through the window at the back of the room. “I’ll be honest with you. It seems like a lot of house for the low rent you’re asking. What gives? I mean, not that I’m complaining but...”

  He smiled and walked over to the counter, running his finger along the dark surface. “Take my word for it, the university is not in the business of fleecing tenants, especially when they’re students. The house was bequeathed to Queen’s and we rent it out, but actually it’s listed for sale as well. Being a landlord is not a primary objective for us. The university’s mandate is dedicated to higher learning.”

  The guy should have gone into politics with non-answers like that. Plus his answer was a crock; she knew the university owned a slew of houses they rented out. She stopped herself from saying anything though. The rent for that entire house was less than what she’d been paying for her one bedroom back in the village of Lanark!

  Gillian walked to the cabinets pulling them open and peering inside.

  Jeremy opened the fridge and turned on a couple of burners on the stove. “As you can see, the appliances all work. Actually, we replaced them all just a couple of years ago.”

  The coils on the stove were already turning orange and the fridge motor kicked in. Gillian nodded and he turned the stove off again. “There’s a microwave, which is also new.” He flitted around the kitchen, again never making eye contact.

  Gillian wandered over to the window and looked out into the backyard. She smiled seeing the large maple tree; the swing suspended from a thick lower branch. Sarah would love that. The yard was bordered by a high, wooden fence, and a few clumps of white daisies struggled to keep aloft in the now steady rain. Mom could coax some life into the garden, maybe even plant a few tomato plants.

  There was a fieldstone patio area next to the house and a hulking BBQ unit. “The BBQ was put in recently too, I guess.” There. She beat him to the punch.

  He smiled and nodded his head. There was a door next to him which he opened, dipping his head out before darting back quickly. “I’d take you out and demonstrate the BBQ, but it’s raining cats and dogs.”

  She gave a small smile. “That’s okay; I’ll take your word for it.” Mr. Sloat failed to hear the irony in her voice.

  Sloat stepped back and opened another door in the kitchen leading to a set of three steps going to a landing. Holding his hands out from his side, he said, “The mudroom, of course.” Turning, he opened a second door which led to the basement. Leaning in, he flipped a switch and his hand swept in front of him. Glancing over his shoulders, he said, “The electrical panel is down here. It was up
dated when the kitchen was redone.” He stopped down onto the first step and turned to her. “Don’t worry, there aren’t many spiders down here… I hope.”