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

by Dorey, Michelle

  “I’ll be killin’ all ye blasted Crawleys!!”

  The shriek thundered in her ears, and she saw Sarah’s figure rise from the floor. She began to spin around like a pig on a spit.

  “Sarah!” Gillian reached one hand out and grabbed at her foot, clutching onto the ankle. She kept her other hand on the plywood, and yanked at it again. She only knew she had to get this passage opened! The force began to pull Sarah away—to the top of the stairway!

  “Die, God blast ye, die!!”

  The force began to spin and yank at Sarah, but Gillian held on with a might fuelled by desperate adrenalin. Her hand grasped at her daughter’s ankle like a steel vise and she pulled it back toward her. The struggle and pressure, Gillian clutching the panel in one hand and her daughter’s leg in the other stretched her like a piano wire.

  The panel squealed open even more. She glanced back at it to see the gap just inches wide.

  The evil force spun Sarah around again. Gillian felt, then heard her daughter’s ankle snap.

  “Sarah!” Her fingers opened letting go of Sarah’s ankle. Even after the break, Sarah didn’t make a sound.

  “Nowww!” Three feet off the ground, Sarah flew through the air down the hall. Gillian let go of the door and sprinted.

  At the top of the stairs, the house rumbled, like a loud grunt. Sarah was launched headfirst down to the first floor. Gillian leapt at her and missed, crashing to the floor at the top of the stairs.

  Time slowed to a crawl as she watched her daughter get hurled down the stairs like a javelin. The split second passed like five minutes; in her memory she saw Sarah take her first step, say her first words, and struggle with learning to zip up her winter coat all by herself for the first time. In the split second before her daughter’s head cracked open on the landing, neck shattering, she began to grieve.

  Please no…

  The entire house pulsed again. This time a radiant, white light throbbed in the air.

  In that eternal instant, Sarah stopped falling. She hovered in midair a foot above the steps. And gently, like an infant put down for the night, she floated onto the bottom landing.

  The scent of fresh roses bloomed around Gillian and she stared in wonder. Sarah’s eyes opened and she began to cry.

  From behind her, Gillian heard the voices of two children crying out.

  “Mummy!”

  She whipped her head around to the doorway. Two sets of tiny hands writhed at the edge of the plywood.

  She struggled to her feet and staggered back down the hall. She pulled on the panel again. The gap widened and their faces peered out at her, wide-eyed. With a final yank of outraged fury, she wrested the opening wider.

  The children, mirror images of each other scuttled past her, their arms outstretched.

  “Mummy! Mummy!” they cried, their voices as forlorn as a train whistle on the prairies at midnight.

  They froze in their tracks when the house throbbed again. A purple blackness bloomed in the hallway. The smell of rotting meat filled the air, making Gillian’s hand rise to her mouth blocking the wretched gag which rose in her throat.

  The twins screamed when the purple blackness roiled over them. As the children disappeared inside, blood-red flashes flared within.

  “I’ll shatter ye’er bloody souls!” The banshee howl knocked Gillian to the floor. She clawed at the plywood, pulling herself to her feet and stumbled at the roiling image, her arms outstretched.

  And passed through it, bouncing into the railing at the top of the stairs. She felt frozen to the bone, and her heart was black with despair from the encounter. She looked down to her sobbing child at the bottom of the stairwell.

  Another vision bloomed in the stairwell. A rolling blossom of white, streaked with gold grew and rolled up the stairwell like a wave. It flowed over Gillian overwhelming the despair in her heart with hope and love, warming her chilled bones. It merged into the black roiling apparition like cream into coffee.

  In the blink of an eye both clouds vanished, leaving four figures.

  A slight young woman in a cotton nightdress knelt on the floor, clutching the two children to her. Across from her, hands outstretched like claws stood a more solidly built woman, dressed from bygone days. Hatred blazed from her eyes.

  “I’ll murder all ye Crawleys!” she hissed. But her voice was faded, as if she was calling from across a wide field.

  The slight woman looked up at her. Each girl’s arms were around her neck, their faces nuzzled into her. “It’s over, Bridey. We can move on now.” Her voice held a delicate English lilt.

  “I’ll not move on without me son! If ye are to have your bairns, where’s me boy!”

  “I’m here.” Gillian had seen the old man enter the house with her mother. He had been leaning over Sarah. She handed him the medal she had been wearing since Dad’s death. Holding it in his hands, he ascended the stairs. He was at the top, grasping the newel post and huffing from the climb. “I’m Eamon.”

  The four figures turned to him.

  “Eamon, it is you!” one of the twins said.

  Bridey flung herself at the old man, wrapping him in her arms. “‘Tis you! Oh Eamon, how I’ve pined for ye all these years!”

  He pulled her arms from his body and looked at her with forlorn sadness. “Oh Ma… what you’ve done…”

  “T’was all for you!” she said. She tried to caress his face, and he grasped her by the wrists. “You were me only dream! Me only love!” She looked at him with such fading joy, that Gillian felt pity.

  “It wasn’t just for me, Ma.” Eamon looked over at Melanie and the twins. They returned his gaze in silence and he turned back to his mother. “I don’t know how I know this, but Ma, you murdered them all! And drove my father to his death!” His eyes were wide in dismay. “How could you?”

  “I…” Bridey’s mouth opened and closed. He released her arms and they dropped to her sides.

  He stepped over to where Melanie and the twins stood and got down on one knee. Reaching out with his hand, he glided a finger down a cheek of each of the girls’ faces.

  “I’m Alice…” she said quietly.

  “And you were always kind,” he said back. “I was but a babe and I was always your brother first,” he said softly.

  She nodded, and he turned to her sister.

  “I’m Agnes,” she said, eyes large.

  “And you’ve always been strong,” He took the St. Jude medal in his hand and looped the chain over her head. “And your strength got me through a war, and times of great sorrow.” He took her by the shoulders. “I am now and have always been, your brother.” He kissed her cheek.

  He turned his head up to Melanie. “The circles once opened are closed,” he said. “All my life, that phrase was in my head. I never knew what it meant until now.”

  She nodded softly as he stood. His eyes suddenly widened and his hand went to his chest. He looked over to Gillian, his face twisting in pain. “Thank you…” he gasped, and fell to the floor.

  Except he didn’t. His body lay in the hallway, but it was as if he was duplicated, because just as real, he continued to stand with Melanie and the girls. Numbly, he stared down at his own form on the ground and raised his eyes to his mother as he comprehended his own passing.

  Bridey began to cry as she faded. “No, Eamon… don’t leave me again…”

  He gestured to the twins. “These are my sisters, Ma. You’re free of Crawley House now. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side when you’re allowed to come the rest of the way.” He sighed. “When you’ve repented for what you’ve done…”

  “Eaaaaamonnn…” and like a light being dimmed, Bridey Walsh faded away.

  The old man looked down at the twins.

  “You look like Papa,” Alice said. Agnes nodded.

  “So I might,” he said. His gaze lifted to Melanie.

  She had a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s leave here and say hello to him. He’s been waiting.” He smiled shyly at Melanie, a
nd back down to the twins.

  Whereas Bridey had faded, the four of them began to glow again; white and golden hues pulsed from within them. With each surge, the colors grew brighter as their images faded.

  Until all that was left was the color, then that too was gone.

  “Holy Toledo,” whispered Gillian, awestruck.

  Chapter 52

  “Holy Toledo is right!” The whites of Maureen’s eyes showed and her hand clutched her chest. “Did you see what I saw, Gillian?”

  “Yeah.”

  Maureen and Sarah ascended the staircase slowly. Maureen’s forehead furrowed. “Eamon… is he…”

  “Yeah.” Gillian looked at her daughter. “Are you okay, moppet? Is your foot alright?”

  Sarah nodded. “Alice and Agnes’ Mommy kissed it and made it all better.” She got to the top of the stair and saw the still form of Eamon lying on the floor. “Is he dead?”

  Gillian turned to look down at Eamon. His face was peaceful and still, and she could see the pasty white of his skin. Just to be sure she laid her fingers under his neck searching for a pulse. Finding none, she nodded to Sarah. “Yes, I’m afraid he’s passed away, Sarah.”

  “Well, he’ll meet Grandpa then, and he is with the twinses,” she said. Her face got sad. “He was nice. I hope his Mommy can come over to him soon.”

  “We’re going to have to phone the police,” said Maureen.

  ***

  It didn’t take long for everything to be settled. When the police arrived, they notified the nursing home, who took care of everything. Eamon had been quite old, and the surprise of learning this had been the home he had been born in, must have been too much for the poor man.

  When the funeral hearse arrived, Gillian went to the front door to let them in. She stepped out onto the porch and for the first time since they moved in, saw neighbors. A man her father’s age wandered down the sidewalk toward her.

  “Hi, I’m Dennis Doyle,” he said. “I guess you’re the new tenants?”

  “No, we purchased the place.”

  “Really?” He adjusted his eyeglasses and rubbed his beard. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” He gestured at the police car and funeral home vehicle. “Is everything all right?” He gave his head a shake. “Sorry. Of course it’s not. Why else would the police be here?”

  She came down the veranda steps to him. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking. We had a visitor who was very old and got very sick suddenly. He passed away.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Some housewarming event for you.” Dennis looked up at the house. “I didn’t even notice when you moved in; was it today?”

  Gillian tilted her head at the guy. There had been a truck, their car, and all that stuff weeks ago. “Uhh… no, we moved in a while ago.”

  “Really?” Dennis looked down the street to his house and back to Gillian. “I didn’t notice anyone living here or anything until just now.” He cracked a wan smile. “Guess I’m getting old.”

  Gillian gave a shrug. “No, I guess we just live quietly, that’s all.”

  “I guess so.” He stuck out his hand. “Like I said, welcome to the neighborhood. You’ll probably have people from the block knocking on your door saying hi and all that. My wife Corliss will probably be over during the weekend to say hello. She’s at work right now.” He shook his head with a smile. “She’s going to be pretty surprised to learn you people have been living down the street and she hadn’t noticed.”

  The front door opened again, and two men wheeled out a stretcher with Eamon’s earthly remains. She and Dennis stood aside as they loaded him into the back of the vehicle and left.

  Dennis kept his head bowed as the vehicle pulled away. “Did you know him well?”

  “No, we had only met this afternoon. He had always walked past this house, and I said hello to him.”

  He lifted his head. “The old fella? I think his name’s Eamon.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Gillian. “Turns out he was a distant relative.”

  “Oh. Then I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, but it’s okay.” She turned her head watching the hearse drive down the now active street, slowing down for people crossing down at the corner. “He died a happy man.”

  Back in the house, Maureen and Sarah were in the kitchen heating up a frozen pizza. That was a good idea—she was hungry as anything. She plopped down at the kitchen table and Sarah hopped up onto her lap. The three of them sat quietly, eyes flitting from one to another.

  “Is it just me,” said Maureen, her eyebrows making a question mark. “Or does the house seem… I don’t know… peaceful or something?”

  Gillian turned to Sarah. “What do you think, kiddo?”

  Sarah’s eyes rose and scanned the ceiling. She craned her neck and looked all around her and turned back to the women. “It’s not mad at us anymore.” She tilted her head. “And it’s not sad anymore… and it’s not scared anymore,” she said with a nod. She turned to Gillian and put her arms around her mother’s neck. “It’s our house now.”

  “You don’t know how right you are, Sarah,” said Maureen. When her daughter and granddaughter looked over to her, she continued. “I just remembered something I was told when I was about your age, Sarah.”

  “What, Nana?”

  She drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. “It was my own grandfather and grandmother who bought the family farm in Lanark. Sean Crawley.”

  “Yeah, Eamon’s uncle and Colonel Kevin’s brother.”

  Maureen nodded. “Yes. But here’s the thing—when I was a little girl, I remember being told my grandpa was able to buy the farm when his brother died. He came into some money and a house.” She pointed a finger above her head. “This house. And from the money from Kevin’s estate and the sale of this place, my Grandpa was able to buy the family homestead. Up until then, he was only a farmhand.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Gillian. “You mean this place made our home possible?” When Maureen nodded, she continued. “And selling the farm back in Lanark made buying this place possible?”

  “Yes.”

  Gillian leaned across the table. “Ma, that’s a circle.”

  “And now the circle is closed.”

  The End

  A closing word:

  Kingston, Ontario teems with inspiration for tales of the paranormal. A short walk from City Hall can take you past a number of places where uncanny events have occurred. Within these nooks and crannies, the veil which separates planes of existence becomes quite thin. Stories of apparitions in church choir lofts, wandering spirits of executed criminals, and haunted residences abound. This tale of a Haunting In Kingston was inspired by a story I was told one crisp and chilly autumn night while I was near the campus of Queen’s University. Listening to the story, my imagination took over, and the result was this, my debut novel.

  I am so happy you read my debut novel Crawley House. It is my first novel and holds a special place in my heart. I’ve written several other books in the same vein—all based in the Kingston area. The series is called ‘The Hauntings Of Kingston’ and they are:

  The Haunted Inn: Two guys plan to open a fake ‘Haunted B&B’ only to learn that there are thing in this world better left alone. Click here to learn more!