The Haunting of Blackburn Manor

by Blake Croft

  Small rectangle windows spanned the entire length of one side of the wall but it was night and they provided no illumination. A washer and dryer sat like a sullen old couple by the far wall. An iron was stationed on a stand under the windows. A notch of pitch dark beneath the stairs caught her eye. No light went in there. Linda thought she saw movement within that patch of black. Her hackles rose.

  “I’ve been meaning to get those fixed,” Stewart said apologetically. “There’s a bad connection in this room; old wiring you know. The fuses blow no matter what bulbs we put in. I’m going to get the wiring checked soon.”

  Stewart’s casual voice tore her away from the contemplation of the darkness under the stairs. He spread his hands taking in the whole room. “And that’s the house tour. I can show you the shed tomorrow. Your job mostly entails growing vegetables in the back garden, and there are hiking trails you might enjoy if you’re an outdoors person.”

  “I am,” Linda said. “It helps me calm down being out in nature.”

  “You’ll find lots of that,” Stewart climbed the rickety steps. Linda followed keeping an eye on the swatches of darkness between the steps.

  Stewart reached the landing before her. He switched off the lights.

  Linda was in the dark for only a few moments but it had the effect of making her shudder, as if a hundred spiders were crawling up and down her back.

  She reached the landing to find Ashley sitting on the sofa while Marisa stood by the kitchen, hands on her hips. Her attitude changed when Stewart showed up. “There you are. I made extra lasagna. I know you like it.” She beamed up at him.

  “Thank you, Marisa, but not tonight.” Stewart’s smile was mechanical.

  “But I made so much.” Marisa pouted. “It’ll go to waste otherwise.”

  “Why don’t you share it with our new tenants tonight?” Stewart brightened. “I’m sure they don’t have the strength to go buy groceries at this time. I know they’ll appreciate it.”

  “I would,” Ashley chimed in. “I’m starving.”

  Marisa’s face was torn between smiling in compliance to what Stewart wanted, and scowling at Ashley. Stewart won. “Sure,” she shrugged. “It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “Great!” Stewart clapped his hands. It seemed to be a habit of his when he was happy. “I’m glad it all worked out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He left by the front door. Marisa huffed into the kitchen.

  “Better go in to keep an eye on her.” Ashley got off the sofa. “She might poison our food.” She winked at Linda.

  Linda went to select a book from the shelf in the small niche just beyond the staircase in the main hall. It was the main channel to the whole house, like a pipeline connecting the ground, and upper floor, where everything seemed to meet. She could feel the manor breathing, its powerful lungs sucking the warmth and life into the basement and exhaling dusty air that settled on everything, even her soul, making it heavier. She shook her head. Where did she get such thoughts from? She was obviously edgy, tired by the travel and by this change in her life.

  Indeed, it was a drastic change. From a bustling city that never slept to a small town that was practically comatose; from sharing a brownstone with her ex-fiancé to living with other girls in a counseling retreat. It was no wonder her insides twisted with nerves and anxiety about the future. Linda could feel it vibrating in her bones, a dull ache in her gut. Her first instinct was to run back to the places and faces she knew. But there was no money in the bank; they were as poor as church mice, and Ashley needed this job just as bad as Linda needed the counseling. The last time she had ignored her instincts, she had ended up face down and bleeding. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  I have to make this work. I have to take back control of my life.

  She went back into the living room and was about to walk to the kitchen when something moved out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around, her eyes large, her heart in her throat.

  No one else was in the living room. The curtains were drawn. It hadn’t been anyone moving in the street. She walked closer to the living room. If she hadn’t been mistaken the movement had been from somewhere along the wall above the sofa.

  A large oil painting of a hill hung there. Linda realized it wasn’t any hill but the hill across the way from Blackburn Manor. The strokes were gentle and feathery and gave the impression of rippling waves. It was an impressionist rendition of a local landmark. Maybe the light had played tricks, rippling over the paint in such a way.

  The frame shuddered.

  Linda gasped.

  A fat lizard darted out from behind. It scurried to the far side of the wall. Linda stared at it a moment then burst out laughing.

  Just a lizard. She had seen the lizard dart inside the frame, just that; nothing sinister.

  Sighing with relief, she headed to the window.

  It wasn’t humid, but it still felt oppressive inside. The open window would allow cool air to pass through and let the lizard out. She pulled back the curtains and stood on tiptoe to unlatch the window. It proved hard at first but she finally managed.

  Cool pine scented air swished inside. She breathed it in. She could get used to the fresh air. No park in the city smelled as good as this.

  A blood-curdling yowl rose into the night derailing her train of thought.

  Linda’s hair stood on end.

  The animal cry was answered and the night was full of howling cats. At least ten had laid siege to the porch across the road. Linda wondered about the woman who lived there and her unfriendly attitude.

  The curtains in the house across the road twitched. Linda stepped back.

  The woman was staring right at her, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth curled in a sneer. It was a hateful face, cruel and dangerous.

  Linda shut the window and drew the curtains, her heart beating a mile a minute. Her hands began to shake. Her breathing got stuck somewhere along her throat, unable to come up, impossible to go down.

  “Dinner is ready, Linda.” Ashley placed a hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Linda swallowed. Ashley was looking at her intently. It wouldn’t do to worry her too much.

  “Yes,” Linda nodded. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

  “Eat something and then we can go to bed.”

  Linda followed Ashley to the kitchen, trying to forget the old woman’s face.

  The table was set for three with a steaming dish of lasagna and a bowl of salad in the middle. Marisa was popping garlic bread on to a serving plate while Ashley filled a jug with cold water.

  “This looks delicious, Marisa,” Linda said, taking a seat. “Thank you.”

  “Stewart invited you to dinner,” Marisa said placing the garlic bread down. “You should thank him, really.”

  Linda and Ashley shared a look across the table. Ashley shrugged and helped herself to a large slice of lasagna, towering salad on the side, and piling hot garlic bread on top of that. Marisa stared.

  “Hungry, aren’t we?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

  “Famished,” Ashley mumbled through a mouth full of pasta.

  Linda waited for Marisa to serve herself before she made her plate. The next few minutes were silent except for the tinkle of cutlery against plates. Linda took a sip of cold water and decided to cut the awkward silence.

  “It’s very quiet here,” she said. “Very different from the city.”

  “That’s because it’s empty,” Marisa shrugged, scooping sauce off her plate with garlic bread. “Once the new season starts, the manor will be full and it won’t seem so quiet then.”

  “Isn’t this table too small to fit all the clients then?” Ashley asked helping herself to more food.

  “This isn’t the dining room,” Marisa snorted. “That’s upstairs near the bigger kitchen. This one is for those who want to have something off menu or have midnight cravings.”

  “How big is this place?” Linda wondered out loud.
<
br />   “Too big for five people,” Marisa said finishing her meal. “But it can fit a couple of dozen people comfortably.”

  Linda considered this as she nibbled on her food, but the old woman’s face from across the street was etched in the back of her mind.

  Chapter 4

  The room had a smell to it.

  Linda hadn’t noticed it before, when Stewart had given her a tour of the manor, but it was distinctive now. It smelled like stale air mingled with rich, wet earth. It was a subtle odor, not wholly unpleasant, but it was disconcerting every time she got a whiff of it.

  “There are bed sheets and extra pillows in the supply closet down the hall,” Marisa said, buffing her nails as she leaned on the doorframe. “We can start our first session tomorrow afternoon after I come back from the city. Does that work for you?”

  “That works out great,” Linda said. “Ashley and I will do our grocery shopping in the morning.”

  “It’s neat that you have a car,” Marisa examined a nail. “I have to walk to the bus stop, and though it keeps me fit, it can be a pain in the summer.”

  “We could take you,” Linda offered.

  Marisa gave her a look. “I’ve managed to get myself around before you arrived, you know.”

  Linda was taken aback. She was having a hard time reading Marisa.

  “Have you been here long?” Linda asked, trying to guide the conversation into friendlier waters.

  “Only a few weeks,” Marisa admitted. “I was here for the last few days of the big clients before everyone left. Incidentally,” she smiled ruefully, “the retreat does have a small van to shuttle clients and employees around town but the brakes were faulty so it’s been at the mechanics for a few days now. It was kind of you to offer.”

  Linda still wasn’t sure about Marisa’s nature, but it wasn’t as horrible as she had first thought. She guessed Marisa was also trying to feel them out, hence she was being guarded as well.

  “Bathroom times are strictly rotated. You can work out your time with your sister,” Marisa pushed lightly off the door. “I need it between eight and nine every morning and six to seven every night. There’s another one on the ground floor but it has a leaky faucet and smells so I’d only use it if it’s an emergency. The other bathrooms are private and restricted to the most expensive rooms of the paying clients.”

  “Isn’t two hours excessive?” Linda joked.

  Marisa looked at her for a few seconds then touched her curls lightly. “These need a lot of work. I can’t just pop in and out of a shower; I need to plan a whole crusade. You’re lucky you have straight hair. Never get a perm; the maintenance will kill you.”

  With that last piece of advice she was gone.

  The counselor was helpful, and always gave the required information before Linda had even thought to ask, but there was a cold streak to her, and she kept Linda and Ashley at arm’s length. Linda wasn’t sure if this was the mark of a great counselor, or a really terrible one.

  Grabbing a towel from the closet, she picked up her toiletry bag from the chair in the corner, and she made her way down the hall.

  Ashley had chosen the room across the hall from Linda’s. Her door was wide open and she was sitting in the middle of a mess of half unpacked boxes, blonde hair piled up in a messy bun, writing on a small piece of paper.

  “You need the bathroom any time soon?” Linda asked her.

  “No,” Ashley scratched her cheek, distracted. “I’m making a list of things I need for the room. There’s only one shelf for shoes in here.”

  “I have space in my closet you could use,” Linda offered. “I’ll be in the bathroom down the hall.”

  “Don’t use up the hot water,” Ashley called.

  Linda walked down the dimly-lit hall. All the doors were closed. It was a cramped space compared to the rooms dedicated to paying clients but Linda didn’t mind. At the end of the hall Marisa’s door was ajar. Linda heard Marisa speaking in hushed tones inside.

  The bathroom was surprisingly cold. Linda frowned. She stepped back out into the hall, and then in again. There was a clear difference in temperatures.

  Linda didn’t pay it much mind. It was an old house. Old structures were like brooding old men with shifting moods. She turned on the lights and hung her towel on the hooks nailed to the wall beside the sink. Flecks of paint rimmed the sink, and the mirror was old and slightly curved with age. Rust bloomed in one corner.

  The bathtub was antique, and that was a nice way to put it. A brown stain ran around the drain that was clogged with dark red hair. Linda made a face but beggars can’t be choosers. A soft breeze came from the small frosted-glass window above the tub.

  Linda half turned in the small space to shut the door when someone passed quickly by and ran down the stairs. Linda jumped in surprise. She had only caught a glimpse but she knew it wasn’t anyone she had met in the house. The girl had long black hair; Marisa’s was decidedly red and curly, Cindy had ash-grey highlights in her hair and she didn’t live in the house, while Ashley was blonde.

  She stepped out of the bathroom to look back down the hall. She could see Marisa pacing her room through the small gap in her door, talking into her phone. Marisa noticed her watching and shut the door firmly.

  She probably had a friend over, Linda thought. Maybe we’re not allowed late night visitors, which is why the girl left so quickly.

  She closed the door and the window firmly before she undressed, placed her glasses by the sink, and ran hot water through the showerhead. The pipes rattled and spurted brown water before it cleared.

  The shower curtain was white and grimy at the bottom. Linda closed it around the tub for some privacy making sure her naked skin didn’t touch it.

  As the water sluiced down her back, Linda massaged her neck, her fingers running over the raised scar where the prong of a belt buckle had sliced through her skin. There were several scars along her body, testaments to the various forms of physical torment she had faced over the past six years. They painted an accurate picture of the fractured state of her psyche that she had just begun to gather; sorting through and mending would take longer, but now she was happy just knowing that she was up to the task.

  The back of her shoulders prickled. There was a faint sound, scratching at her ears from under the roar of running water. She turned in the shower to face the opposite wall, her eyes squinting to see more clearly. She had the unnerving sensation that someone was watching her.

  What was that sound? She couldn’t make it out clearly it was so faint, like someone calling her name from a great distance.

  Swallowing hard she turned the water down. The water was a thin trickle. The drain sucked it all up noisily. Linda blinked and bent closer to the drain. A family of silverfish scuttled in and out of the drain; their many legs pushing them forward and their bodies writhing repulsively. She blanched and stepped back, her toes curling up.

  Linda’s hair raised on her arms; she twisted the knob and let the water sluice them back in the drain, inching her feet back so they wouldn’t come in contact with the disgusting insects. Finally the last one dunked under the force of the water and drained out of sight. Shuddering, Linda shut the water off.

  A door closed on the landing, footsteps echoed down the hall, and someone sang a song Linda hadn’t heard. Probably Marisa, Linda thought. She placed her hand on the knob again but the feeling of not being alone in the bathroom was too strong.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?” she hated the tremble in her voice.

  Raising a shaking hand, she slid the shower curtain a little.

  The bathroom was empty.

  Linda blinked, and squinted, just to make sure.

  A skittering rustle, like the feet of many rats across rotten floorboards, came from behind her. She whirled around so fast she lost her balance and had to cling to the moldy curtain to break her fall. Slimy dirt trailed down her thighs. Her heart was beating a choking tattoo in her throat.

  Shoving the foul curtai
n aside, Linda bent down to stare at the small space between the tub and the wall underneath the window. She bobbed in place, afraid of rodent fangs jumping up to bite her. The space was minuscule and dark, but not too small for the agile slinking bodies of rats.

  That’s just what I need, she thought shivering, a rat infestation to keep me up at night.

  There was no sign of any small beady eyes, or shiny whiskers, but Linda’s calming shower had turned into a dreadful experience. She washed up quickly, soaping away the mildew.

  The pipe rattled again when Linda shut off the water. Steam billowed around her as she got out on the blue bathroom mat. She reached for the towel and hugged it around herself knotting it over her breasts.

  Leaning over the sink she gathered her wet hair and squeezed the excess water out. She rummaged in her toilet bag and brought out a leave-in conditioner. She glanced up at the fogged mirror and ran a hand to clear the condensation off. It revealed her own pale face and someone peering over her shoulder.

  The conditioner clattered in the sink. Linda whipped around. When her wet hand reached for her glasses, her towel slipped to the floor. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. The glasses slipped from her fingers, rattling against the tiled floor. Wisps of steam floated around her. Her hands clawed at the cold sink.

  Whimpering, shaking, she fell on her knees and jammed her glasses on her nose. They fogged up almost immediately. She wrenched them off again and squinted to see moderately better.

  Nothing was there.

  The window was open.

  Linda went cold.

  She had closed the window. She was sure of it. She had shut it before her shower.

  Maybe it was loose, maybe it opened on its own, maybe that was the skittering sound she had heard. There couldn’t possibly be anyone out there — could there be?

  Linda was suddenly very aware of her nakedness, and just how vulnerable she was. Gathering her towel from the floor, she held it tighter against her chest. She took a cautious step forward and stepped back into the tub. She reached up to hold the window sill, propped a foot up on the slippery rim of the tub and pushed herself up. She knew perfectly well how stupid this was but she had to show herself that nothing was out there; just telling herself so wasn’t enough.