The Bride of Ashbyrn House

by Cross, Amy

  “I'm not alone. I told you, I adopted a dog.”

  “First sign of madness.”

  “I'm actually preferring his company to that of most people.”

  “Second sign of madness.”

  “Plus, Charlie, I happen to be getting a lot of -”

  “Vanessa was here today.”

  I tip a can of chopped tomatoes into a saucepan. For a moment, the mere mention of Vanessa's name is enough to set me off-balance, and it takes a few seconds before I'm able to think of anything to say. I suppose deep down, I'm hoping I misheard.

  “Are you still there?” Charlie says finally. “I said Vanessa was here earlier.”

  “That's nice,” I mutter, already wondering how I can end the phone call without feeding into Charlie's theory that I'm losing my mind. Heading over to another of the boxes that was delivered earlier, I open the top and start sorting through, searching for a frying pan. In the process, I have to swat away several more of these infernal spiders.

  “She was wondering about you,” Charlie continues, his voice loaded with anticipation. He expects me to react. “She wanted to know what you're up to. She'd been to the flat and found you'd moved.”

  “That's lovely.”

  “But -”

  “I'm making dinner,” I continue, even though my appetite has gone. Finding the frying pan, I set it aside for a moment. “Charlie, the only reason I called you was that I need to figure out who'll write the next three-month report. I'm almost -”

  “Are you gonna call her?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you said -”

  “I lied.”

  I wait for him to reply, but now he stays infuriatingly silent. I know he's going to launch into another of his long speeches about how I should hear Vanessa out and maybe think about giving her another chance, but I just -

  Suddenly I hear a loud bump from somewhere upstairs, followed almost immediately by two more that seem to be making their way across one of the rooms above me. I look up, just in time to hear a door slamming shut.

  “What was that?” Charlie asks.

  I pause, waiting for an obvious answer to come to mind, and then I hear a faint growling sound nearby. Turning, I see that Bob once again has his hackles raised, and he's watching the door with a slow, simmering grumble that finally erupts into a series of loud barks. This behavior of his is becoming so regular, I almost find it tedious.

  “Hey, come on,” I say, reaching down and stroking his back. “There's no reason to -”

  I flinch as I hear a creaking sound from above, followed by what seems to be a series of footsteps. I swear, even though Bob and I are alone in the house, it sounds as if somebody is storming about up there, and I think they're at the far end of the main corridor. I know there can't be anyone, but as I slowly get to my feet and continue to watch the ceiling, I start to realize that I can't think of an alternative explanation. Not even an open window would make such a racket.

  “Owen?” Charlie says after a moment. “Are you still there, buddy?”

  “I'll call you back.”

  “No way! I had a hard enough time getting hold of you as it is! What's wrong?”

  “Nothing, but I have to call you back.”

  “No. Effing. Way.”

  “Fine, but you'll have to wait a moment.”

  As he tries to argue with me, I set the cellphone down on the kitchen counter and head cautiously into the hallway. I'm not one for paranoia, and the logical part of my mind knows that there's definitely nobody else in the house, but I can't ignore the distinct sounds I heard just a few seconds ago. Stopping and looking up the stairs, I realize that I have to go and take a look, so I grab the metal poker from next to the fireplace – in lieu of an actual weapon – and start making my way up until I reach the landing. Bob whimpers briefly behind me, but I don't bother turning and telling him to relax. He'd never listen, anyway.

  The house is completely quiet now, which somehow doesn't make me feel any better.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  Silence.

  “This is dumb,” I mutter under my breath. “Get a grip, man. You're not some lily-livered cretin. You know full well that it was just the wind or...”

  My voice trails off.

  Try as I might, I can't quite convince myself that what I heard was just a gust of wind. Besides, I'm certain all the windows are shut, and I don't see how wind could sound like footsteps. There must be some kind of animal here, maybe a badger or even just a bird, and I need to chase it out before night falls and I'm left listening to bumps and creaks while I'm trying to sleep.

  Several minutes later, however, I finish checking the final room and find myself back in the corridor, having found absolutely nothing to explain the sound of footsteps. For a moment, I actually start to feel as if I'm losing my mind, but I quickly pull myself together and focus on the fact that there's obviously some perfectly reasonable explanation that I haven't quite figured out yet. After all, a set of footsteps is really nothing more than a series of regularly spaced bumps, and I suppose it's conceivable that old pipes could bang and cause the floorboards to jump a little.

  I mean, the idea is kind of far-fetched, but it's a little more likely than ghosts and ghouls.

  Heading back downstairs, I tell myself that so long as the house stays quiet for the rest of the night, I should be able to put the sounds out of my mind. I have a long evening ahead of me, sorting out the furniture and bringing at least a semblance of normality to the place, and the last thing I need is to let myself get distracted. Still, by the time I get through to the kitchen, I'm so lost in thought that it takes a moment before I remember I left Charlie on the other end of the phone line. Grabbing my cellphone, I half expect him to have hung up.

  Please God, let him have hung up.

  “Are you still there?” I ask, trying not to sound irritated.

  “Finally!” he mutters. “What the hell was all that about, Owen?”

  “Nothing. I just went to check on a noise. I'm sorry if you were bored by the silence, but you could have just put the phone down. I promise I wouldn't have been offended.”

  “Silence?” he replies. “What silence? You were making that noise the whole time.”

  I carry the cellphone over to the frying pan, figuring that I should just get on with some cooking.

  “Noise?” I ask with a sigh. “What noise?”

  “It sounded like you were having an asthma attack. You don't get asthma, do you?”

  “Huh?” Barely paying attention to him, I give the pan a wipe before taking it to the stove. “What are you talking about?”

  “That weird breathing sound you were making,” he continues. “I heard you, you know. Were you trying to freak me out? I've got to admit, it was pretty weird when I heard you coming closer and closer to the phone, and then that scratching sound...”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” I tell him. “I just had to go upstairs, that's all. I left the phone down here.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “And now I have to go,” I continue, heading over to another box and starting the hunt for a bottle-opener. “I still have to fix my bed up for the night, and get my folders ready so I can work in the morning. Send me an e-mail when you've figured out the details for the meeting. I should have internet set up here by early next week. But apart from that, please... You don't need to call me every time there's a slight problem at the office. I'm a silent partner now. That means being silent.”

  Once the call is over, I turn back to the stove, ready to stir the tomatoes. Just as I'm about to dip the wooden spoon into the sauce, however, I see to my dismay that a solitary spider has already fallen into my dinner and died.

  ***

  Opening my eyes, I'm startled to find that I must have dozed off at the dinner table. I sit up straight, and for a moment I don't quite remember how I got here. I made dinner, just a simple pasta bolognese that I managed to keep spider-free, and then I h
ad a couple of glasses of wine, and then...

  Something woke me.

  A noise, breaking into a dream.

  I look around the kitchen, but the place seems quiet and calm enough. A couple of seconds later, however, I hear the tip-tap of paws on the linoleum, and Bob hurries over to me. I reach down and pat his shoulders, but he sits next to me and turns to look toward the back door. I swear, this dog sure knows how to act spooked. Still, the room is quite dark now, so I suppose I should switch on some more lights.

  “I must be turning into a lightweight,” I mutter, grabbing my phone and checking that there are no messages. “In the old days, Bob, I could drink a bottle of wine and I'd be -”

  Suddenly I hear the distant, echoing toll of a bell.

  I wait as the sound fades, but sure enough it returns just a few seconds later.

  Bob lets out a faint whimper.

  Getting to my feet, I switch on the main light, and then I head over to the back door and look out at the pitch-black garden, just as the bell tolls for a third time. It's definitely close, and it sounds large and heavy. Too close to be coming from the nearby town.

  “Some nights,” I remember the realtor telling me when I first looked around this place, “you might briefly hear the sound of bells coming from this spot.”

  “The hell I might,” I whisper, unlocking the back door and stepping out just as the bell rings out yet again.

  This time, I can tell that the sound is coming from the direction of the ruined church behind the trees. Squinting in the darkness, I'm just about able to make out the silhouette of the church's tower against the starry night sky. I wait, telling myself that perhaps I'm wrong and that the sound is coming from further away after all, but a moment later I hear the bell again. It certainly sounds like an old church bell, but I know for a fact that there's no bell left at the ruins.

  Behind me, Bob whimpers again.

  “Let's nip this in the bud,” I mutter, reaching inside and grabbing the flashlight from the windowsill before making my way out into the cold night air and starting to trudge across the lawn.

  Bob barks, as if to warn me.

  “You can stay behind if you want,” I tell him, “but I'm going to take a look. Whatever's causing this infernal noise, I want it figured out before -”

  The bell rings out again, and I must admit that I stop for a moment in the middle of the lawn. It takes a moment before I realize that I'm being foolish, and I quickly set off again, making my way around the far end of the tree-line and shining the flashlight forward until the beam of light catches the church's ruined bricks.

  I stop and shine the beam all around, but there's no sign of anyone nearby.

  “Hello?” I call out. “This is private property! I don't know what games you were used to playing when the place was deserted, but -”

  Suddenly the bell rings out again, sounding louder than ever, and I instinctively look up and shine the flashlight toward the top of the ruined tower. The sound is definitely coming from up there, even though the tower itself is little more than a crumbling pile of bricks that tops out around ten, maybe fifteen meters above my head. There sure as hell is no way for a bell to be hidden up there, but at the same time I know what I heard.

  A moment later, something brushes against my shoulder.

  I spin around and shine the flashlight toward the trees, but there's no sign of anyone. Turning again, I shine the beam of light at the ruined church, half-expecting some giggling local child to be racing away through the darkness, but there's still no-one.

  “This isn't funny!” I shout, convinced that someone's out here playing a prank on me. “If you think -”

  Before I can finish, I hear something rattling along the driveway that leads to the front of the house. Turning, I shine the flashlight toward the trees, but the sound is getting closer and after a moment I realize it seems not to be a car at all. Instead, I think I'm hearing a horse-drawn carriage.

  And then a brief, sudden scream fills the air.

  Hurrying away from the ruined church, I make my way around the tree-line until I reach the driveway. Stopping, I shine the flashlight toward the pond, which is where the rumbling sound of hooves seems to be headed. After just a few seconds, the sound stops as abruptly as it started, so I start hurrying across the gravel. My heart is racing and I'm convinced that somebody's having a laugh at my expense, but I'm certainly not going to meekly retreat into the house and just hope that I'm left alone.

  By the time I get to the edge of the pond, there's still no sign of anyone and the cold night's air has fallen silent again. I turn and shine the flashlight all around, but I still can't catch sight of whoever's tormenting me.

  “Ashbyrn House is private property!” I call out. “Do you understand? It's mine now! If you've been playing here while it was empty, that's one thing, but the house is occupied now and you're trespassing. I just want to be left alone!”

  Hearing a scratching sound over my shoulder, I turn just in time to see a flash of movement at the pond's far edge. A moment later there's a loud splash, and I see that the water looks to have been disturbed. Hurrying around the pond, I'm more certain than ever that somebody is trying to fool me, and it's clear that something was thrown into the water. When I get closer to the spot where something moved, however, I shine the flashlight down at the pond's surface and see nothing but dark, rippling water.

  “This is ridiculous,” I mutter, turning and shining the flashlight all around, determined to spot some sign of whoever's behind this.

  I wait, but all I hear is the sound of the trees ruffling in a faint breeze.

  “You've had your laughs!” I yell. “I came here to be alone! Get off my property!”

  There's still no hint of anyone. I guess they're hiding out of sight, probably with hands pressed over their mouths to stifle their giggles. Evidently some local idiots from the town have decided they just can't leave me be, and my mind is racing with thoughts of barbed wire, electrified fences and motion-sensitive floodlights. If these cretinous morons think they can make a sport of me, they've got another thing coming. I'll install whatever it takes to make sure that I'm left alone.

  “We'll see who's laughing soon,” I mutter under my breath. “I'll have broken glass put on all the walls. Have fun trying to climb over those .”

  It'll serve them right when they reach up, giggling and plotting some new bout of mischief, and feel their fingers slicing against the shards.

  Sighing, I realize that there's not much more I can do tonight other than go back inside the house and refuse to give them the reaction they're after. Turning, I shine the flashlight down at the pond's surface one more time, and then I turn to -

  Suddenly I stumble back, shocked by the sight of a pale face staring up at me from down at the bottom of the pond. I almost trip and fall, and in the process I manage to drop the flashlight. Picking it up with trembling hands, I aim the beam at the water again, but now there's no sign of the face. Still, I know what I saw, and suddenly I'm convinced that somebody must have fallen into the pond. There was a face, a woman's face, and she was staring at me with the calmest eyes.

  Stepping closer to the edge, I shine the beam at the exact spot where I saw the face, but now the light is catching on the pond's rippled surface and I can't see into the depths at all.

  Trying not to panic, I climb down into the pond, instantly sinking to my waist in freezing water, and then I reach down, desperately searching for whoever fell in. Finding no hint of anyone, I dive down until I can feel the pond's muddy bottom, but there's still nobody. I know I didn't imagine the face, however, so I dive again and again. Whoever's here, I can't let them drown.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Katinka - 1859

  Staring up at the bedroom ceiling, I feel as if I might never sleep again.

  Several hours after retiring for the evening, I'm bedeviled by pain in my side. I had always considered myself to be someone who can resist the worst agonies, and I felt I had a
strong mind, but this pain is searing my soul and taking control of my thoughts. All through dinner with Charles and the others, I could barely even concentrate on a word that was being said. The worst part is that I'm still not done, and I know I must slice away more flesh tomorrow.

  Spotting movement nearby, I turn and see yet another infernal spider crawling slowly through a patch of moonlight on the wall. I take my bible from the nightstand and reach up, using the book to crush the creature. With the bible pressed flat against the wall, I hesitate for a few seconds, wondering whether the spider's soul is now lost to the endless oblivion of death. Or do spiders not have souls at all? Perhaps not, and perhaps that explains why I never see their ghosts?

  Slowly, I move the bible away from the wall and see the spider's crushed remains. I'm starting to think that, each time I kill another of the brutes, I merely end them completely. And if that's what happens to spiders, then maybe the same thing would happen to me if a giant book suddenly fell down and crushed me in my bed. I would blink out of existence, and I would be no more.

  Just darkness.

  Silence.

  Nothingness.

  No afterlife, no continuation. Just the end of me.

  Finally I rise from the bed and slip into my gown, feeling as if I need to get out of this infernal room before I go completely crazy and have to be consigned to a sanitarium.

  The house is dark and quiet, as it should be. Everybody else retired shortly after me, so now I am left to wander along the corridor and then to make my way down the stairs. I like Ashbyrn House best at night, when there is nobody else around to bother me, and sometimes I feel as if I would rather live a solitary life without another soul around. The idea is tempting, but at the same time I have always wanted a fine and strong husband. Charles is certainly both those things, and by the time I get to the bottom of the stairs I have put all thoughts of solitude out of my mind.

  Some people embrace who they are, and some embrace who they want to be. I want to be a married woman, and a mother, and nothing else really matters. And I want a good, respectable husband. Is that too much to ask?