Haunted Happenings

by Lucrezia Black

  She heard the alarm sound and her breath caught in her throat. She was not going fast enough. She would not make the village in time. She would not find freedom in time.

  She ran faster. She pushed herself faster.

  The cold air bit at her lungs and her slippers were torn from running on the snow. She was running in bare feet now and the snow and ice were tearing at the soles of her feet. She ignored the pain and continued to run.

  She could see her home. She knew that, if she could only get there, she could get a horse and get away. Getting away was the most important part. Getting away was all that mattered.

  She burst through the front door, out of breath and looking ragged. The woman at the counter gasped and ran over to her.

  “Emma?”

  Emma? She thought. Her name wasn’t Emma.

  “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at the Hall?” the woman’s voice was full of panic.

  “I need a horse. I need to get away.” She responded. But it wasn’t her voice. It was a voice that was much younger, which trembled with fear.

  “We don’t have any horses, Emma,” the woman, who was clearly her mother looked pained to say those words. “We had to sell the last horse to buy supplies for the winter.”

  “No, no, no, no,” the panic was clear in her voice as she pulled at her hair. “They’re going to hang me for it, Mama. It won’t matter that I didn’t do it. They’ll hang me for it still.”

  “Hang you for what?” her mother inquired, her voice demanding.

  “Haven’t you heard the alarms? My mistress is dead.”

  Time seemed to fast-forward after those words. She was no longer in the body of Emma, the handmaid from Ferguson Hall, but more of a fly on the wall as she watched the mother try to hide her daughter somewhere in the house. Since escape was not an option, it was the best that they could provide.

  Then the armed guards broke down the doors and a screaming and crying Emma was dragged back out into the cold. She kept yelling that she was innocent. She kept begging them to reconsider. She kept asking for a moment to speak with her master. But they silenced her with a swift blow to the head.

  Without trial or a chance to defend herself, she stood at the hangman’s noose. She stood with her feet still bloody and her face tearstained. Her mother stood in the audience as Sir Cuthbert went on about the fact that this young woman had killed his beloved.

  Emma didn’t bother to protest. She didn’t want her words to fall on deaf ears any longer. She knew what her fate was. She had accepted it. And she stood tall to take her punishment.

  The floor dropped out from beneath her and death came swiftly. Her mother screamed from the crowd and was restrained. She begged for her daughter’s body. She begged for a chance to bury her properly.

  But Sir Cuthbert dragged the lifeless corpse away and had her burnt. He proclaimed that she deserved no less for what she did. Any person who could bring harm to someone as sweet and loving as his wife deserved all the fury that hell could provide rained down upon them. They did not deserve to rest in peace. They deserved a lifetime of torment.

  And then he rode away from her burning corpse. He left her mother to cry beside it and grieve her lost daughter, leaving a million unanswered questions and nothing but ash to interrogate.

  Charlotte sat upright in bed, her heart racing from the vividness of the dream. She couldn’t remember ever having a dream so vivid before in her life. She pressed a hand to her chest and struggled to draw in deep breaths in order to calm her racing heart.

  She blinked owlishly into the darkness and, as her eyes began to adjust, she jolted again.

  At the foot of her bed stood the young woman from her dreams. Emma stood there, waving her hands and mouthing words that Charlotte could not hear. Her face was a mask of desperation and it seemed to plead with Charlotte to do something. She just had no idea what.

  She tried to focus on the figure at the end of the bed, tried to read her lips, but the more she focused, the more out of focus the image became. And before she even knew it, the image of Emma was completely gone.

  She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Was she seeing ghosts now? Or was she still dreaming.

  She pinched her arm and jumped at the sharp feeling. She was clearly awake, but who had been at the end of the bed. Had it really been Emma? Was the girl really trying to tell her something?

  She rubbed at her eyes and stifled a yawn.

  Whatever the problem was, it could wait until morning. Charlotte wasn’t afraid of Emma. She wasn’t afraid of a ghost. So she snuggled back down under the blankets and hoped that she could find sleep again.

  Chapter 7

  Reality

  * * *

  December 25, 2016

  * * *

  It was Christmas morning and Charlotte woke feeling refreshed, despite the disturbance she’d had in the night. Her brother began pounding on her bedroom door.

  “If you don’t get out of bed, you’ll miss breakfast, and I’m to inform you that missing breakfast is unacceptable.” His voice carried through the door and she cringed at the sound of it.

  Despite having consumed a great amount of food the night before, she still felt hungry. And she could really go for a cup of morning tea.

  Not to mention, she was curious about the breakfast spread. She was starting to enjoy living like the other half. So, she was going to indulge in it as much as she could before she had to go back home for the remainder of the holidays, and definitely before she had to go back to school.

  She was just climbing out of bed, intent to make the journey downstairs in her pyjamas, when her eyes settled on the foot of the bed and she remembered last night. Had she really dreamed about Emma’s death? Had she really seen Emma standing at the foot of her bed?

  She wasn’t completely certain, but something in her gut told her that both things were true. She had a feeling that she was going to need to look into the case of Emma a little more closely. There was clearly something keeping the girl here and it needed to be addressed.

  Her heart went out to the girl, wrongly accused and sentenced to death. She had tried to run from her fate but she hadn’t run fast enough. Charlotte remembered the fear coursing through her body and the need to escape. She had lived what it was like to run away from that, knowing that you would be blamed regardless of guilt. She could vividly remember each moment of that flight from the hall even though she hadn’t actually been there, and it made no sense because it had happened 600 years ago.

  She shook her head as she left the bedroom and headed down to the dining room. She assumed everyone would be gathered there for breakfast. It seemed logical. And then they would no doubt be headed to the sitting room for presents and the usual Christmas morning shenanigans, which in this case would likely just be tea and a family photo. There would be no fun and pranks as it was with just her family.

  She sighed at that thought and walked into the dining room to be met with the most delicious breakfast aromas.

  “Well look who finally decided to join us,” Amelia said with a smile and waved her towards the sideboard. “Help yourself, there is plenty of food.”

  Charlotte nodded and began to pile items on her plate. There really was a great deal to choose from. Meats and pastries and fruits – she wanted to have some of everything and she was fairly certain that she would. When she settled down at the table with her laden plate, Amelia gave her another smile.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked.

  “I did, except that I had the strangest dream.” Charlotte turned her attention to Charles who was sipping at his tea and eating a Danish. “It was the most vivid dream ever. I dreamed about Emma, the handmaid, and her death.”

  Charles paused as he was about to take a bite from his Danish and glanced over, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Really? Did you see her?”

  “Oh, have you been telling your stories again?” Amelia chastised.

  “I did. At least I think I did. St
anding at the foot of the bed. She seemed to be trying to tell me something but I couldn’t hear her.” Charlotte sighed and took a bite of her own Danish. “You wouldn’t happen to have any documentation on her, would you? I really think this business with her needs to be put to rest.”

  He nodded enthusiastically and ignored Amelia’s exasperated sigh. Stuart was also listening closely, clearly eager for whatever new adventure they were about to embark on.

  “I think I have some stuff in the study. Our family is more than a little obsessive when it comes to record keeping,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “Alright, alright. Well you can play with your dusty books after we open presents.” Amelia rolled her eyes and smiled up at the doorway as her parents walked into the dining room. “Merry Christmas!”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t begrudge Amelia her decision. This was Christmas after all. It was hardly the time to go on a wild goose chase through hundreds of years of records, but oddly enough that was exactly what she would rather be doing.

  She was sure that the presents she would receive were lovely. Half of them might even be useful, but she didn’t care about that right now. She cared about Emma and she needed some answers. She couldn’t help but feel like this needed to be dealt with today. It couldn’t wait.

  But she was forced to wait. She waited while everyone sat through a drawn-out breakfast; she waited while everyone sat through an even more drawn out present opening session. She sipped her tea and was polite. She opened her presents and was happy about their contents. And she smiled for the family photo.

  And when everyone settled in for more gossip and chitchat, she slipped out of the sitting room with Stuart and Charles and they headed to the study. It was several hours after breakfast now but at least they had finally gotten away. Better late than never.

  “I was beginning to wonder if they would ever let us go,” Stuart said as they entered the study and closed the door firmly behind them.

  Charles chuckled. “Oh, they were reluctant to be certain. Even now they probably haven’t noticed we’re gone yet, but give it an hour and they’ll start wondering. Maybe not about where you are, but my in-laws will wonder where I’ve run off to again.”

  “Do you often run off?” Charlotte raised a brow in question.

  “To avoid my in-laws, yes. I figure that’s the requirement of any husband.” He smiled and went to the far wall to begin searching for a book. “Ah, here it is!”

  He pulled down a dusty volume and laid it on the desk. “They kept records of all the staff in here,” he told them. “If we are going to have any luck finding Emma, we best start here.”

  They flipped through the pages and scanned the faded ink. It took them several pages before they found the name “Emma Hart” scrawled with the title “handmaid” next to it.

  “Emma Hart,” he muttered. “Well that’s something I never knew, her last name that is.”

  He skimmed his finger a little further down the page and stopped again. “Bethany Hart.”

  He looked up from book and his eyes went from Charlotte to Stuart. “How much you want to bet that those two are related?”

  “I don’t think we have the kind of money to be placing wagers with you, Charles,” Stuart observed and got laughter as a response.

  “That’s completely fair.” He looked back down at the name. “Perhaps Emma had a sister and the head of staff hired her after Emma’s death. The staff at least would feel bad about what the loss of wages would do to Emma’s family. It would be a kind gesture.”

  “I wonder how long the Harts have worked for the Fergusons.” Charlotte looked at the book. They were barely at the front of it. “How far forward does this go?”

  “Right up until the 1970s I believe. Not this copy specifically, but as I said, we were a little obsessive.” He glanced back at the bookshelves.

  “Let’s check the most recent volume and see if any Harts have been hired in the last 60 years. Perhaps we need to find her descendent. Perhaps we need a Ferguson to tell a Hart that she was not responsible.” Charlotte was just pondering out loud but both the guys were looking at her now.

  “I don’t know how this stuff works,” she muttered. “But something needs to be done. Perhaps we can have a Christmas miracle of some sort.”

  Charles shrugged. It was worth a try and he was always up for an adventure. This was definitely more excitement than he’d anticipated having over Christmas. He was very glad for the distraction the kids were providing. He was pretty certain he would have drunk himself into oblivion if he’d been left in the sitting room.

  It took them a few hours and some very creative legwork, but eventually they had a name, Annabelle Hart-Stanford. They had an address and they had a phone number.

  Charlotte stared down at the piece of paper in front of her and tapped her fingers on the table. She looked from Stuart to Charles and waited for some kind of guidance. Both remained silent.

  “What do we do now?” she inquired and could feel her heart racing.

  Charles shrugged. “I don’t know. This had been your plan the whole time. What do we do now?”

  She looked at the phone number and felt her heart pound in her chest. This was their opportunity to perhaps fix things. This was the moment they could set 600 years of bad blood and wrong history to right. And she was the one that would be responsible for it.

  She drew in a deep breath and looked up from the number. “I suppose we give her a call and see if she actually knows anything. She may have married into the family and know nothing about all this.”

  Chapter 8

  Laid to Rest

  * * *

  Charlotte was surprised when she called the phone number that, not only did someone pick up, but it was the very person they were looking for. She actually was speaking to Annabelle Hart-Stanford. The woman was in her seventies now, but she was still pleasant and sharp over the phone.

  “Where did you say you were calling from, dear?” She asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

  “I’m calling from Ferguson Hall. We wonder if we could ask you some questions about one of your relatives.” Charlotte swallowed her nervousness. “I know this is a little out of the blue, but we have something we’d really like to discuss with you.”

  “Ferguson Hall,” the woman mused. “It’s been a long time since I stepped foot in that building. I’ve got some fond memories of that place.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come and talk to us? It really would be a pleasure to have you here.” Charlotte looked from Stuart to Charles hopefully as she spoke to the woman on the phone. “Perhaps we could arrange for you to come here, so we could pick your brain.” Charlotte asked.

  That would be lovely, dear, if someone can come pick me up, I would love to join you. They took my car away when they put me in this wretched home,” she grumbled.

  “That can definitely be arranged. What day would suit you?”

  “Well now, let me think…tomorrow would be fine, about 5 o’clock in the afternoon?” Charlotte turned, holding her hand over the receiver, and whispered the arrangements to Charles, he nodded that would be fine, and mouthed to invite her to lunch and dinner.

  “Yes, and your invited for dinner, of course.”

  “Oh, that will be lovely, dear. I’m looking forward to it.” Charlotte jotted down the address of the home, thanked her and hung up the phone.

  She looked from one face to the other of the guys who were seated across the desk from her. “She’s going to come, but you’ll have to pick her up from the nursing home as she has no transport.” She explained handing Charles the address.

  He glanced down at it and nodded. “That certainly won’t be a problem.”

  He didn’t want to think about how he was going to explain this all to Amelia. He was actually pretty sure he wasn’t going to explain it; he would simply fetch her and let the evening pan out. It would be much more entertaining that way.

  He had rather a habit of bein
g mischievous. It would get him in trouble in the long run, he was certain. But today was Christmas and for now he was going to hold out for some kind of Christmas miracle. After all, they were playing around with spirits and hoping to bring things full circle.

  On any other day and with any other event he would have scoffed at the whole thing. But he knew Ferguson Hall. He knew its history. He’d felt the cold spots. He’d heard the floors creak and the clocks chime off the hour. He’d seen the objects move on their own. He’d heard the accounts of Emma and of Lady Edith. He’d heard the accounts of several other spirits throughout the years being spotted.

  No one was scared of what lived and haunted the halls of Ferguson Hall. It was just part of the appeal of the place. No one had ever been overly frightened, the building had a history, it had its quirks. He wasn’t certain if Amelia was aware of just how many, but he was sure she’d find out in time.

  If he had a chance to put one of those souls to rest, he was going to do that. And Emma was definitely a restless soul. Her story had always been one that had particularly interested him as a child. It had also perplexed him as an adult. It was rather a black spot on their family history, and one that had occurred so early on that many didn’t pay it much attention. But Charles couldn’t quite forget about it.

  There had always been something very unjust about what had happened to Emma. And now, with what Charlotte had told him about her dream, and what he had already suspected, it seemed she was just a scapegoat for his predecessor’s anger. Who had been the real person responsible for the death of Lady Edith? Had it just been illness that had taken her? Or had there been some form of foul play involved?

  He hoped that by talking to Annabelle they might find some answers. He hoped there might be something that had been passed down in her family history that was the key to laying the entire matter to rest