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

by Dorey, Michelle

  Maureen looked askance at her daughter. “It’s our house, Gillian. Our house, okay?” She put her hand on top of moppet’s head. “If it’s fine with your mother, I think it’s a wonderful idea, Sarah.”

  “Now? Can we get it now?” The little tyke turned and pulled at her arm, her grin as wide as any jack-o’-lantern’s. And just as toothy. She had lost her first baby tooth while they were away.

  “Tell you what. Drop me off at the house and you two go to the pound together. Don’t get something too big—”

  “Gee and my heart was set on a Great Dane!”

  Maureen shook her head. “It’s your daughter, and her dog; you think I’ll be cleaning up accidents?”

  “Ick.” Gillian’s eyes almost crossed. “Maybe not so much a Great Dane.”

  Maureen laughed at the expression on her daughter’s face.

  Ten minutes later, Maureen got out of the car and walked up the steps to her house. Yes, her house. She gazed at the bronze plaque with the name ‘Crawley’ embossed on it. She was going to polish that plaque and gussy it up nice. She had even put that off until the deal was done, in fear of jinxing anything. Her mouth twitched for a second. Would she have bought the house if not for that plaque? Probably not. But there were no second thoughts that she’d done the right thing.

  She slipped the key into the lock and turned it slowly. She dropped her head, a wound in her heart opened up with the realization that Mike wouldn’t be carrying her over this threshold. With a small shake of her head she banished the pain to the back of her mind. She’d probably shed a few tears in bed tonight. Again.

  “Sure you don’t want to come with us to pick out a dog?” Gillian looked up at her mother.

  Her hand rested on the doorknob and she turned her head to answer her daughter. “Actually, I’d like some time alone in the house. I’ve never done anything like this before... I mean, buying my first home. It must sound silly but—”

  “It’s not silly, Mom. This is something you wanted to do and I agree with you. We’ll be back in an hour or so. Enjoy the quiet while you can!” Gillian went back to the car and left.

  Maureen pushed the door wide and gazed around at the foyer and entrance. Yes, it was good to be here, to own this home. When she turned to close the door, she stopped for a moment. That old man was back. He was across the street, on one of the park’s footpaths. He was standing still, his hands resting his cane, watching her intently.

  Who was he and why did he stare at the house like that? And he was watching the house, not her. The first time she saw him, she was behind the curtains at a window; even so, he had stood in that path, gazing at the building. Her eyebrows drew together and she exhaled slowly. Should she confront him, find out what the heck his problem was or just leave it be?

  He looked ancient. He could just be senile or something. He wasn’t any sort of threat… was he? Not at that age—he looked like he could barely stand, let alone hurt someone. Maybe he was just being neighborly or something. When they made eye contact, she lifted her hand in a small wave. Yes, I see you, mister. She felt a sense of relief when he nodded back.

  Closing the door behind her, she smiled and took a deep breath. Yes, it was her house. Gillian would probably inherit, but it was her name on that bloody deed! She could at least be honest about that to herself.

  Standing in the hallway, she turned her head like a princess taking in her dominion, a kewpie-doll smile forming on her lips. Her eye wandered up and down the oak stairs, and turned to first the dining room, then the living room. ‘No, ye eejet, it’s called the parlor!’ echoed in her head.

  She nodded with a small smile. Of course.

  The only sound breaking the stillness was the click of the grandfather clock.

  The heels of her sandals echoed when she walked into the living room. Dust motes, caught in the rays of the late afternoon sun, flecked the air beside the wide front window. She wandered over to the fireplace, and ran her fingertips over the mantel. It would be beautiful when a fire was burning in it…

  She looked at the coved ceilings that curved into the plaster walls as she walked to the end of the room, pausing to glance out the window into the backyard. The flower beds lining the fence would need work but that was something she preferred to do herself rather than hire the job out.

  The swing’s gentle movement caught her attention, and her eyes hooded. ‘That should be cut down and burned in the fireplace!’ sounded in her mind out of nowhere. She nodded to herself.

  Of course.

  The back of her neck tingled, and she blinked her eyes a few times. She was more tired from that vacation than she’d thought.

  She walked through the rounded archway, past the back door and into the kitchen. She glanced at the swing again as she passed by the window, and exhaled softly seeing that it was now still. At the counter, she emptied the kettle to pour fresh water and make some tea—the first cup of tea to christen her new home.

  While she waited for the kettle to boil she decided to make good use of the time. Upon entering the dining room, a faint floral scent drifted into her nostrils. She paused and sniffed again. Yes, not just floral but roses. The sweet scent was unmistakeable. She gazed around the room trying to find the source. Perhaps Gillian had left a potpourri or scented oil on the hutch or cabinet. ‘It was smashing how well the scent complemented the room.’ A soft, gentle voice lilted in her head.

  Maureen rolled her eyes. She was talking to herself in her head in two voices! One as rough as canvas, the other smooth as French satin. She chuckled to herself.

  She trudged up the stairs, walked down the hall and opened the door to her bedroom. She’d have time and the peace now to catch up on any email or reading on her laptop. She hadn’t had it with her while they were away.

  Her head jerked back and she stopped short. The family Bible was laying on the floor in the center of the room. How did it get there? She always kept it in the bookcase by the door. Could Sarah have been in her room, looking at the book? She’d have to ask her. The book was old, a family heirloom which Sarah needed to be careful with.

  The high-pitched whistle of the kettle downstairs caught her attention. She picked up the book to put it back in its rightful spot.

  At the kettle’s insistent whistle, she hurried down the steps to go into the kitchen and unplug it. A few minutes later she settled at the dining room table with her mug of tea and opened her laptop. As the computer booted up she took a sip, her gaze above the rim of the cup flitting around the room. Aside from a fresh coat of paint, this room was fine. In fact it was her favorite room in the house. She sniffed. Pity, that sweet aroma had faded away.

  The thump of a car door, followed by the squeals of her granddaughter could be heard outside. When she opened the front door, Sarah and Gillian were coming up the walk. A small, fawn-colored dog was straining at the leash in Sarah’s hand, scrabbling toward the house. Sarah was laughing and giggling as she was being tugged along.

  It got to the top of the steps, looked up at Maureen and promptly sat down, cocking its head.

  “Oh my God, what an ugly dog,” she said under her breath. She looked up to Gillian. “You got a boxer?”

  “No, silly!” squealed Sarah. “She’s a pug! This is Pearl the pug! Isn’t she cuuute?”

  Cute? Maureen’s mouth opened for a split second and she closed it again. Pearl was still sitting patiently at her feet, her large eyes watching her. Maureen squatted down to look at this creature more closely.

  When she crouched, the dog perked its ears. Her large brown eyes were soulful as they peered at her from the folds of her coat. When Maureen held out her hand, the dog leaned forward, sniffing with its pushed-in, black snout. After a few quick sniffs, it gave her hand a lick and tilted its head up to her. Pleased to make your acquaintance.

  Maureen’s heart melted. Cute was an understatement. Pearl was adorable. “Yes… I think she is very cute.”

  “So ugly, she’s pretty,” said Gillian.

&n
bsp; Maureen nodded in agreement.

  “She’s not ugly! She’s cute!” Sarah said.

  Gillian had a bag of dog food and another white plastic bag in her hand. She followed her mother into the house and shut the door.

  “I’m going to show Pearl the house!” Sarah raced up the stairs, the dog two steps ahead.

  Maureen turned to Gillian and smiled. “It is pretty cute and Sarah obviously adores it. I made a pot of tea. Would you like a cup?”

  “Sure. I’ll put the dog stuff away and join you.”

  Maureen led the way down the hall and into the kitchen and took a mug from the cabinet. “I’ve got a few plans for the house.”

  Gillian walked over to the counter and took the mug of tea from her mother’s hand. “Oh yeah? What are you thinking?”

  They walked into the dining room and took a seat.

  “Well, the fireplace for one. I want to get it checked, make sure everything’s in working order and that room in the attic. Maybe we’ll—”

  A loud thud was followed by barking and a low growl. The women jumped and Maureen looked past the archway to the stairs. Gillian was already on her way, bounding up the stairs, two at a time.

  Maureen was right behind her, her heart thudding fast when the yapping became downright ferocious.

  At the threshold of Maureen’s bedroom, Pearl stood, snarling into the empty room, wild-eyed. Sarah had her arms around the dog’s neck trying to comfort it and pull it back to the hallway. She looked up to the two women.

  “I was showing her the house and when we got to your room Nana, there was a thump when I opened the door and Pearl got scared!” She hugged the dog to her chest.

  Pearl was having none of it. She was scrabbling at the floor and broke free of Sarah. She bounded into the room and let out a piercing yelp. With her tail tucked, she leapt out of the room into Sarah’s arms, now whining, ‘Aaarrroooo!’

  Sarah was still on the floor and clutched at the dog. “It’s okay, Pearl, it’s okay.” The dog began to lick Sarah’s neck and ear. Sarah turned her face up to the women. “Close the door! Close the door!”

  Maureen reached into the room grabbing the knob. As she pulled the door closed, she saw the Bible again on the floor.

  “It’s a banshee, Mama! Pearl saw the banshee!” Sarah’s eyes were like diamonds, staring up at them. She stood, cradling Pearl who was still howling. “She sees the banshee!” she cried out again as she stumbled to her room.

  Maureen looked over to Gillian and the two women stared at each other goggle-eyed.

  “Mom, what’s wrong with my child?” Gillian said in a whisper.

  “I don’t know…”

  Chapter 34

  Maureen sat bolt upright in her bed. Her eyes peered around the room while her heart thudded fast in her chest. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Twelve past one. She sighed. That was the same time she’d woken up before, when the floor had creaked.

  She pulled the cord on the lamp and tugged the comforter close around her neck. The only sound now was the ticking clock. She must be the only woman in the city who used a windup clock in the bedroom. Since childhood, she had always had one, and wouldn’t be able to sleep without its monotonous ticking.

  She jumped at the sound of the loud creak from the center of her room, inhaling sharply through her nose. The stench in her nostrils made her start to cough. It smelled like something died under her bed!

  She puffed her cheeks and blew out a blast. Great. As if Sarah’s meltdown wasn’t enough! She didn’t know who was more frightened by the child’s outburst. It was the second one now. And like the first time, after her outburst, Sarah cried, dozed off and woke up fresh as a daisy. What was wrong with that girl?

  And now she had goblins in her own bedroom? Goblins who really could use a shot of air freshener? This was too damn much.

  She sniffed the air again. The smell had gone. What the hell? And any presence she felt—or rather thought she had felt—was gone too. She exhaled slowly and gave her head a small shake. This was crazy. It had to be all the stress. Leaving the farm, then buying this place, all in such a small space of time. Small wonder she was going crazy.

  With a sharp toss of her hand, the comforter landed on the side of the bed and she stood up. A cup of tea or hot chocolate... She sighed. No. She’d have a glass of wine. That would do the trick.

  She stood up, grabbed her housecoat and the family Bible. She was going to leave this in the living room where she could keep an eye on it. She’d found it too many times in the center of her bedroom; she’d put it in a spot where Sarah couldn’t get at it.

  Making her way down the hall, she peeked in at Sarah, and her gaze softened watching the child’s peaceful face, Pearl curled up at the foot of her bed.

  The dog lifted its head and hopped off. She turned to go down the stairs, a small smile on her lips watching the dog step in line behind her. Even with only a dog for company, it was better than being alone in the night.

  A nightlight lent a yellowish glow to the kitchen. She took a glass from the cabinet and when she’d filled it with wine, she wandered into the living room and sank down into the cushiony sofa. With the heavy book propped onto her bent knees, feet digging into the cushions, she took a long sip. The dog hopped up on the sofa and nestled in at her feet. She plucked the crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa and settled in. She’d have her wine and hopefully get drowsy enough to go back to bed and fall asleep.

  It was an enormous book, the size of a large old-fashioned photo album, but much heavier. Each time it had slipped off the table in her bedroom, the thud it had landed with, was as loud as if a concrete block had been thrown to the floor. No wonder; each page was a hardy vellum stock. Resting it on her lap, her fingers traced the embossed, gold edged title which read ‘Holy Bible.’

  She certainly didn’t lug it all the way downstairs for nighttime reading. She hadn’t given much thought or respect to the idea of God or Jesus since she was a young girl. She didn’t even know what the illness was which took her Nan away. It must have been some sort of cancer though. When Nan took to her bed in the family home, Maureen had bloodied her knees beside her bed beseeching God with prayer to spare the woman.

  As Nan worsened, she pled with God for at least a peaceful death. Her poor grandmother had wasted away so much, the last time she came home from the hospital, she’d known there was no hope. But even a peaceful death wasn’t meant to be; the shrieks and keens of agony from Nan when her morphine drip ran out were agonizing. That a woman of such indomitable will and spirit, reduced to a slobbering husk, was a condemnation of God. When Father Carson spoke to Maureen at the wake how her death was a blessing, she’d laughed in his face. It made more sense to realize God didn’t exist than to try to figure out how such a being could be ‘the first mover’ of such a chain of agony.

  Ever since, she would describe her spiritual leanings as ‘I’m an avowed agnostic.’ One day, she would tell Sarah the stories of Nan she recalled from her own childhood. Life everlasting? Not at all; but she’d do all she could for Nan’s memory to live on.

  Leafing through the gilt-edged pages, she had to admire the craftsmanship. On the inside of the front cover was inscribed the reason she had kept the foolish thing. Nan’s own mother’s name was at the top, Eileen Marie (O’Hanlon) Crawley. Below that was written ‘Bestowed to Mary (Crawley) O’Neill, daughter. That was her dear Nan. A cascading chain down the cover showed the Bible being then ‘bestowed’ to Marie Aileen, her own mother. And below that was written ‘Bestowed to Maureen Mary’, which was herself. She would see Gillian’s name below that before she died, and Gillian would inscribe Sarah’s name when it was time.