The Haunting of Blackwood House

by Darcy Coates

  Neil’s hands continued to stroke her hair. The soft, tender motion was unlocking some of the ache inside Mara’s chest, and she continued before she could lose her courage. “And I’m so attached to Blackwood. I really, really love this place. When people tell me it’s no good, it feels like they’re saying that about me.”

  “Ah, Mara; I’m sorry.”

  “Nah, not your fault,” she mumbled. Fresh tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Anyway, most of all, I just don’t want them to be right.”

  “Who’s ‘them’?”

  “My parents.” She shrugged awkwardly. “Their friends. All those shams who filed through our house. If I leave Blackwood, or if I call a priest, they win.”

  Neil kissed her neck then picked her up as though she weighed nothing. He carried her into the foyer and up the stairs, into the bedroom then placed her onto the sleeping bag. When he pulled back, she was surprised by the tight resolve carved into his face. “We won’t call a priest. And we won’t leave Blackwood tonight. But can we compromise? If all of the other tests come back negative and weird stuff is still happening, can we reconsider leaving?”

  Mara wiped the tear tracks off her cheeks and smiled. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

  He gave her chin a gentle knock. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Neil was only gone for a few minutes. When he returned, he’d brought their cups of tea and a box of food. Mara, who had skipped her dinner, happily worked her way through a bag of dried-apple slices. Neil sat close to her, and they talked aimlessly for more than an hour, discussing movies they wanted to see, the snobby waitress at Neil’s favourite cafe, his mother—anything that wasn’t connected to Blackwood. She felt herself relax in a way she hadn’t over the previous two days, and she laughed freely. When exhaustion began to grind her down, Neil collected his Taser, pepper spray, and knife, laid them beside his bed, and turned the torch out.

  Mara fell into an uneasy sleep. She woke twice through the night, and each time, Neil stroked her hair until she fell asleep again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Hot Chocolate

  Mara leaned on the window frame and watched dappled sunlight flicker over the vegetable garden in Blackwood’s yard.

  But I don’t have a garden. This is another dream, isn’t it?

  She turned back to the room and found she wasn’t alone. A man was pacing its length, one hand pressed to his lips and the other clutching a black top hat against his chest. He was dressed in formal clothes from what Mara guessed was the early twentieth century, and he didn’t seem to care that his heavy sweat would soak into them.

  Mara looked around and saw they were in a child’s bedroom. A toy box sat at the foot of the neatly made bed, and bright paintings were hung on the wall. The room was a little too orderly and clean for Mara to feel comfortable in it.

  “Are you in here, my love?” A woman appeared in the doorway. She looked drawn and pale but smiled when her husband turned towards her. “Did the funeral upset you so much? I thought it was beautiful.”

  A funeral and a room that’s been scrupulously cleaned. They lost their child, didn’t they?

  The man held his hand out to his wife, and she went to him and embraced him. There was a flash of deep, violent grief in the woman’s face, but she quickly smoothed it over. “We must be strong, my love,” she murmured so quietly that Mara almost couldn’t hear. “If not for ourselves, for the other children. They are struggling.”

  “They say they see spirits in the night.” The man’s voice was raw and frightened. “Anne believes the man who once lived here has not fully left. She says he killed Timothy. That he still believes he owns this house. He’s angry that we’re living in it.”

  The woman cupped her husband’s face and said slowly and firmly, “Put that out of your mind. He’s long gone, and we paid good money for Blackwood. This is our house now.”

  “This is our house now,” he echoed.

  “That’s it exactly, my love.”

  The scene flickered before Mara’s eyes. The peaceful spring sun was replaced by cold winter light. The man, still standing by the wall, looked at least a decade older, and his face was gaunt. And something was smeared over the walls—

  Mara’s dream shifted back to the spring, just in time to hear the wife say a final time, “This is our house.” Then it was back to winter, and the husband was running his fingers across the wall, smearing the red words onto the wood. “THIS IS OUR HOUSE THIS IS OUR HOUSE THIS IS OUR HOUSE.”

  He bent towards the shape at his feet, and Mara felt nausea pool in her stomach as she saw they weren’t just cloths, as she had first assumed, but the wife—older, paler, her chest torn open and dead eyes staring towards the heavens. The man dipped his fingers into the gore between her breasts then rose to finish his message.

  The wall was almost entirely covered. He completed the final word, which filled in the last empty gap, and dropped his hand. Then, without so much as a glance at his dead wife, he turned and left the room. Mara stared at the woman’s corpse while she listened to the husband’s footsteps lead him not to the main staircase, as she’d expected, but towards the opposite end of the house and up the creaking stairs to the attic.

  Mara started awake. It took her a moment to remember where she was, but when she rolled over, she saw Neil sitting by the window. He looked haggard but happy. “Check it out. We didn’t get murdered in the middle of the night after all.”

  She snorted and clambered out of her sleeping bag. “Were you awake the whole night?”

  “Yeah.” He stretched. “But it wasn’t as dramatic as it sounds. We stayed up so late that you were only asleep for a few hours. Want some breakfast?”

  “Heck yes.”

  Mara changed and brushed her teeth while Neil started cooking downstairs. By the time she joined him, he’d fried up plates of eggs, mushrooms, and tomatoes. She pecked his cheek then helped carry their plates to the dining table, where she attacked her breakfast eagerly.

  “I’m going to call in sick to work today.” He passed a spare egg onto Mara’s plate.

  “Don’t do that,” she objected through a mouthful of food. “Your business isn’t going to run itself. And I don’t need babysitting.”

  “Ha! No, it’s not because of you. I’m being entirely selfish this morning. After last night, I’m dead tired, and I wanted to have a sleep at home. I was thinking, though—why don’t you borrow my car?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Drop me home and go out for a while—see a movie or something. You need a break from Blackwood. Then pick me up in the afternoon, and we can come back here together.”

  He doesn’t want me staying in Blackwood alone. Mara felt her eyes wandering towards the corner where the camera had been during the first half of the tape they’d watched, and made herself look away. I probably should get out for a bit. I’ve been saturated in Blackwood for the last four days, and it would be good to clear my head. Plus, I could recharge my phone at a cafe. “That sounds like a plan.”

  “Great.” Neil grinned as he pushed a second egg onto her plate.

  They left quickly after washing up. Neil drove them to his family’s property, a tidy two-story house in one of the quieter suburbs. As they turned in to the driveway, Mara caught sight of the short, pastel-dressed Pam watering the front garden.

  “She’s looking a bit better,” Mara said as they pulled up outside the garage.

  “Yeah, I think it’s actually helped her to have some extra independence these last few days. She cooked dinner for the first time last night.”

  Mara got out and greeted Pam briefly then kissed Neil goodbye. “What time do you want me back?”

  “How’s around three sound?”

  “Good for me.” As she returned to the car, she watched him pick up a spare watering can to help his mother. Part of her wanted to linger in the pretty suburban yard, but she’d already absorbed the bulk of Neil’s attention over the previous few days and didn’t want to intru
de any further, so she reversed out of the driveway and drove towards the town centre. Her smile faded before she’d travelled farther than a block.

  Neil believes in ghosts. The idea made her feel sick. She knew it shouldn’t be a big deal. She’d learnt to be comfortable with his religious leanings, after all. But his acceptance of the supernatural—in particular, supernatural at her home—felt tantamount to betrayal.

  He’s mistaken, not stupid, she reminded herself as the suburbs gave way to clusters of shops. Once this settles down—once I’ve had Blackwood checked out—once I’ve lived in it for a few months without anything bad happening—he’ll have to realise he was wrong. Right?

  “Drop it,” she told herself as she took a corner too fast. I need something to distract me, and I’ve got nearly six hours to fill. What’s not too expensive?

  She stopped by a budget movie theatre, but the only film screening within the following hour was a haunted-house flick, and Mara figured she’d had enough of that already. Next she stopped at a museum, hoping for some quiet, but a gaggle of schoolchildren came in shortly after her, and she ducked out before the chatter could drive her crazy. Across the street was a small coffee shop that seemed to cater to the hippie population. The name, It’s Bean a While, made her smile. They should have outlets, right?

  She fetched her dead mobile and its charger from Neil’s car then crossed the street. The drinks were overpriced, but the heavily tattooed barista was friendly, so Mara ordered a hot chocolate, found a small corner seat near a wall socket, and settled in. She had a good view of the large windows looking onto the street, and Mara leaned against the wall as she counted the pedestrians and tried to guess where they were going.

  A young couple. Probably on their second or third date, based on how carefully they’re dressed. An older, suited man. Might be taking an early lunch break from his work. Ha! One of the schoolkids managed to sneak out of the museum. He’s going to be in trouble when they find out.

  Then a middle-aged couple stopped outside the coffee shop to read the menu posted in the window. Mara choked on her chocolate.

  No, no, no way, no how…

  The man, stately and with deep-grey hair, tapped the menu and said something to his wife. She smiled and nodded. Her long hair, once a rich brown, was developing grey streaks at the temple.

  They can’t come in here. They can’t see me. Mara snatched her phone and charger off the wall and abandoned the hot chocolate. She strode towards the door in what she hoped was a casual, brisk pace. If I keep my head down and move quickly, I might make it out of here before they notice me. Please, please, please…

  The door pulled away from her hand just as she reached for it. Mara jolted backwards and, against her better judgement, raised her eyes to the middle-aged couple entering the coffee shop.

  Elaine had always been a beautiful woman. Even with the soft wrinkles her forty-four years had given her, she was stunning. Her husband, George, had put on weight since Mara had last seen him but not enough to hide his strong jaw. To a stranger’s eyes, they could have been a power couple—high-flying attorneys or professors at a respected college. Only their clothes gave any hint that they deviated from the mainstream. George still wore his skull talisman, barely hidden under his shirt, and Elaine’s skirt was too full and colourful for her to fit in with the Stepford wives.

  There was no avoiding their notice. Mara made eye contact and found herself unable to look away.

  “Mara,” Elaine gasped, eyes wide. She stretched a hand forward as though she didn’t completely believe what she was seeing.

  “Excuse me,” Mara blurted and pushed between them. She still wears the same perfume, she thought as she dashed across the street, heedless of the car horns and screeches of brakes around her, and fumbled Neil’s car keys out of her pocket.

  “Mara, wait!” Elaine yelled. She’d snatched up her skirt and was running across the street, but her shock had given Mara a head start.

  Mara dove into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, pushed the keys into the ignition, and managed to turn them despite her trembling hands. She pressed on the accelerator, narrowly avoided colliding with another car, and sharply veered down the road.

  She tried her hardest to pretend she couldn’t hear her mother’s grief-filled cries. What are they doing here? It’s nearly an hour away from their home! Unless they moved… crap, they’ll know I’m local now. Do they have any way to find where I live? Did they get the number plate? No—it’s okay—it’s Neil’s car, and he knows not to give out my address.

  Once she was certain she’d put enough distance between herself and her parents, Mara pulled into a sheltered side street. She slumped against the wheel, half gagging as she drew air through her tightened throat. Her clothes stuck to her sweat-slicked skin, and her chest ached.

  You’re okay. It’s fine. You’ll just need to stay out of town for a while. Or—or shop at the next town over or something. They won’t be able to find you again. It’s fine.

  “Crap.” Mara propped herself upright, blinked the panicked haze out of her eyes, and tried to figure out where she was. I can’t stay around town any longer. I could wake Neil up. He wouldn’t mind—no, he didn’t sleep last night; he needs the rest. I’ll go back to Blackwood. It’s quiet and safe. And that’s exactly what I need right now.

  This time, Mara had enough control to get back onto the street without a single honk from the cars around her. She drove carefully, keeping below the speed limit as though that would atone for her earlier recklessness, as she circled back to Blackwood.

  Hints of uneasiness began to prickle over her back as soon as she turned into the long, potholed driveway, but she dismissed them as leftover anxiety from her encounter with Elaine and George. It wasn’t until she reached the clearing and saw a black van parked in front of Blackwood that she suspected anything was seriously wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: A Spirited Encounter

  The large black van was unfamiliar, and it didn’t seem occupied. Mara parked near the edge of the clearing so that her engine’s rumble wouldn’t attract the notice of whoever had visited.

  The prickles running down her spine became stronger as she got out of the car. Strangers were inside her home—and Mara hated it. This is my house, she thought, echoing the sentiment scrawled across the wall upstairs. This is my house; this is my house; this is my house.

  She rounded the black van and caught sight of the sticker on its side: Spirited Encounters, written in swirling cursive, sat next to a cartoon ghost.

  “Hell no,” she mouthed, backing away from it. The prickles turned into a buzz.

  A light glowed in Blackwood’s windows. Strains of esoteric music floated to her as she climbed the porch stairs. She twisted the handle of the front door with meticulous care to keep the metal from whining. She felt as though a dozen tiny threads were wrapped around her, barely holding her together, and they could snap at any second.

  She looked left, into the dining room, and frowned. The large wooden table was gone, and six of its eight chairs were neatly arranged by the wall. Mara walked into the sitting room.

  The rocking chair had been pulled away from its corner and sat in its usual place under the windowsill. Feeling numb, Mara turned towards the library—the source of both the music and the golden light—and stopped in the doorway to absorb the scene.

  The dining table had been brought to the library and placed in the centre of the room. Three candles were arranged along its length. Interspersed among them were various trinkets: jewels, animal and bird skulls, leather-bound books, and talismans. A man and a woman sat on either side of the table. They were both young—midtwenties at most—and elaborately dressed. The woman wore a high-necked Victorian-style blouse with frills cascading down its front and clustered at the cuffs. She’d wrapped her long, sandy hair on top of her head in a style she must have thought made her look more mature and had multiple necklaces slung about her throat.

  The man had his dark hair sl
icked back. He was dressed entirely in black and wore a heavy coat. He was chanting words Mara didn’t recognise while his female companion hummed. They held hands, with the third candle placed between them, and had their eyes closed.

  And leaning against the bookshelves at the back of the room, arms crossed, stood Neil.

  “What the hell is this?” Mara was shaking too badly to move further into the room. Her voice wavered but didn’t break.

  Neil jolted away from the wall. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened a fraction, but no sound came out. The horrified guilt on his face removed any faint hope Mara had held that she’d misunderstood the scene.

  The couple at the table started at Mara’s voice and broke their chants. They stared at her for a second; then the woman, who was closer, stood and took a step forward. A hesitant smile lit up her face. “Are you the owner of this house?” Her voice was breathy, almost reverent. “My goodness… you’re absolutely saturated in energy. No wonder the spirits are becoming frantic.”

  “Get out of my house.” The phrase escaped Mara as a whisper.

  The other woman didn’t seem to hear. Her smile widened as she took another step closer. “Do you have training? No—this is natural ability, I think. Probably from a relative who was highly in tune with the other realm. A parent? A grandparent, maybe?”

  “Get out of my house.” Darkness edged in at the corners of Mara’s vision as the tension inside her built like a typhoon and threatened to break the flimsy threads that held her together.

  The woman’s smile faltered. Neil stepped forward and reached towards Mara. “Sweetheart, don’t be angry at Evereca or Damascus. I called them; this is my fault.”

  Mara held her hand palm-out to halt Neil. Her voice was a deadly whisper. “I’ll deal with you in a moment.” She turned back to the woman and her frowning companion. “Get out of my damn house.”

  “It’s all right.” The woman’s bright smile had returned. “I know this sort of thing can seem strange or confusing at first, but we’re here to help purge your house. We’re attempting to communicate with the spirits in order to—”