The Haunting of Blackwood House

by Darcy Coates

  That was the only way Mara could describe the sensation: an explosion. Victor burst outwards, his black-smoke form sizzling into nothing as the golden light surged through Blackwood. Mara felt pressure on her skin though it didn’t even ruffle her hair. It stole her breath and sent blood rushing to her head.

  In that moment, she saw Blackwood as it truly existed: a matrix of black threads—the spiritual form of memories and emotional connections—criss-crossed the room and shrouded the walls like cobwebs. They disintegrated, shrivelling like spun-sugar threads under heat, as the energy wave blasted through them.

  The energy hit the walls and ceiling then washed back, running down the building in rivulets. It coursed towards the ground, pouring along invisible paths on the wooden beams, and disappeared through cracks in the stone floor.

  More light followed in the wake of the explosion. It dripped through the ceiling, slipping through every crack and pinprick hole. Mara felt it slither under her hands, which she’d rested on the floor. To her horror, there were emotions in it—grief, fear, anger—and she snatched her hands away as the golden light passed. It’s the other spirits. They’re flowing out of Blackwood now that Victor’s gone. How did Erica put it? That’s right—like unblocking a drain.

  The last of the energy slithered down the walls and through the floor. As its glow faded, Mara was left with nothing but the torch. The man-made light seemed woefully inadequate in comparison to the previous glow, and Mara blinked against the pressing darkness as she turned towards Neil.

  No, I don’t think I can blame the darkness on the torch. Mara’s dizziness rose. She didn’t like to think about how much blood she’d lost. She stretched a hand towards Neil’s still form, but even that effort was too great. The ground tumbled up to catch her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Clean Slates

  For the first time since moving to Blackwood, Mara’s sleep wasn’t troubled by dreams. She wished she could enjoy more of it, but her surroundings conspired to drag her towards consciousness.

  The biggest annoyance was her arm. Put simply, it hurt like hell. The sharpness of the fresh cut had faded, but a dull, spreading ache took its place.

  Light pushed against her closed eyelids. She thought it was probably still night, which meant she would have to yell at whoever had turned the lights on. Doesn’t anyone respect bedtime anymore?

  Then there was the voice. It wouldn’t shut up. Shortly after leaving her parents’ house, Mara had moved into a flat with two Russian students. They’d woken up at four every morning to go to the gym. They would use the blender, slam doors as they got their gym clothes, and chatter incessantly in their heavy accents. The experience had been enough to convince Mara that she never wanted to room with someone she met on the internet again. And yet, the Russians might have actually been less annoying than the voice that was bothering her at that moment.

  “Mara, please, wake up. Can you hear me? You’ve got to wake up, sweetheart.”

  Why’s Gregory calling me sweetheart? And what happened to his accent? And why’s he so upset?

  Mara forced her eyes to open a crack. A headache roared through her skull, and she squeezed them closed again.

  “Mara, thank goodness.” A rough hand ran over her cheek, and memories began to flit back into her mind. The seance—the basement—Victor—Neil.

  “Neil!” She tried to call the word, but it came out as a croak.

  The hand ran over her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re going to be fine.”

  Mara blinked her eyes open again. Neil’s face swam into view. His skin was white, and a blot of dirt was smeared over his cheek, but she was relieved to see his eyes were bright and alert as they scanned her face.

  They were back in the foyer, based on the corner of the bannister visible over Neil’s shoulder. She was being cradled like a child, and a blanket had been wrapped around her. Only her upper arm had been left exposed, where the blood had congealed in its cut.

  “You okay?” Mara mumbled.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” A shaky smile rose over Neil’s face then dissolved. “I’m sorry, Mara. I—I couldn’t stop him—I’m so, so, so sorry—”

  “Uh-huh.” Neil’s safety assured, Mara let herself sink back into the exhausted daze. “It’s cool. Get me some of those biscuits your mum makes, and we’ll call it even.”

  Neil shook as he half chuckled, half sobbed, then he pressed a kiss to Mara’s forehead.

  “How’s she doing?” The voice was familiar, but it took Mara a minute to recognise it. Damian. Wow, did I really invite mediums into my home? Just how crazy did I get over the last twenty-four hours?

  “She’s awake,” Neil said. “Were you able to call an ambulance?”

  “No, I can’t get any reception. Did you hear that, Mara? Your house sucks.”

  Mara grimaced and opened her eyes. “You suck. Call yourself a spirit medium? You totally botched this whole thing. Don’t think I’m going to pay you.”

  Damian crouched beside Neil. A red-tinted bruise rose over his cheek and forehead, and his eye was swelling closed, but he still grinned at her. “Sounds like you’re going to be just fine. I’ll clean out that cut, then we’ll let you rest until we can get you an ambulance and a blood transfusion.”

  Mara pressed her head closer to Neil’s shoulder as Damian poured a bottle of water onto a cloth. “Is Erica okay?”

  “She’ll be fine. I put her on your couch to sleep it off. She’s mad that you got rid of the spirit when she couldn’t, though.”

  “Not her fault,” Mara mumbled. “It wasn’t Robert; it was Victor.”

  “Really? Huh—that makes a lot of sense.” Damian moved the cloth towards her arm. “Hold still. This will sting.”

  Out of respect for his preferences, Mara normally tried not to swear around Neil. But all self-restraint left her as the damp cloth touched the cut. She screamed every bad word she knew and invented a few new phrases in the process. Neil bore it well.

  The following hour was a blurry haze. Damian bandaged the cut despite Mara’s stream of threats. She slipped back into unconsciousness shortly after. When she woke again, she was in the upstairs bedroom, wrapped in the sleeping bag. The heater was on, and she had what she thought was every blanket in the house draped over her, but she still felt cold.

  “Hey, you awake?” Neil’s voice was soft. Mara mumbled some sort of reply, and Neil slipped his hand under her head to lift it. “Here, drink this.”

  It was one of his herbal teas. Mara realised she was parched and drank deeply. When she finished, she tried to sit up, but Neil nudged her back down. She was annoyed at how little resistance she could put up.

  “Stay still, sweetheart. You lost a lot of blood. Damian’s driving to get an ambulance.”

  “No, I’m good,” Mara grumbled. “Tell him not to bother. I’ll get up in a moment.”

  “Not a chance.” Neil stroked her cheek tenderly. “You need rest.”

  She peeked up at him. He’d regained some of his colour, but anxious lines still creased his eyes. She raised her uninjured hand to tug at his sleeve. “C’mere. I want a hug.”

  Neil obediently lay down beside her. He shuffled close and wrapped an arm around her waist. Mara nuzzled her head into the space below his chin and inhaled his scent. “Are you okay?”

  “Ha. Yes, I got out of it without a scratch.” He spoke lightly, but she could hear a crushing grief lingering in his words. She slipped her hand up to his neck and ran her fingers over his skin. He felt warm and soft and good.

  “It was all Victor,” she said. “Don’t you dare hold on to any of what happened in that basement. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I wasn’t strong enough to stop him—I tried, but—”

  “Shh, I know.” She hated hearing the pain in his voice. “It was my stupid house and my stupid great-whatever-grandfather. You got roped into this mess. I’m just grateful you stuck with me.” She hesitated. Failed sea
nces, possession, and attempted murder were all things an average relationship wasn’t expected to endure. Don’t presume. What if he can’t move past this? Tonight could have permanently changed the way he feels about you. She licked her lips and shifted slightly closer. “Are you sticking with me?”

  “Like glue.” Neil’s arms tightened around her, and Mara heard a note of relief in his voice. He’d been worrying over the same thing about her. She couldn’t stop her grin.

  “Love you, Neil.”

  “Love you more.”

  She closed her eyes and let her consciousness focus in on Neil’s steady breathing and his heartbeat. He ran his hands over her hair and her back, soothing and comforting.

  “You were right, by the way.” Neil’s words startled Mara out of her sleepy haze. “When you first found Victor’s photo, you said he was twisted. And he really, really was.”

  Mara frowned. “Did you see stuff when he was… uh… in control?”

  “Sort of. I could hear his thoughts—his plans—and see snapshots of what had happened.”

  “Jeeze.” Mara wished there was something more she could say. If Neil had experienced Victor’s memories of the murders committed at Blackwood, she wondered if he would ever sleep again.

  “Hah, don’t worry. It was all sort of hazy. I suppose even a ghost’s memories fade over time.”

  “What did you see? Do you know what his goal was?”

  Mara felt Neil smile into her hair. “Yes, but you’ll laugh.”

  “Well, now you’ve got to tell me.” She poked his chest as emphasis, and Neil’s smile cracked into a chuckle.

  “He had a theory that if a spirit could absorb enough energy, it could create a physical, tangible form for itself. One that was no longer limited by human conditions such as hunger, pain, or death.”

  Mara raised her eyebrows. “Are you seriously telling me he was trying to become immortal?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Oh my gosh.” She buried her face in Neil’s chest and cackled. “That’s like something out of a cheesy sci-fi novel.”

  “Stop it.” Neil wasn’t quite able to keep his voice stern. “Don’t demean his supervillain goal, okay? He was actually really close to having enough energy.”

  A floorboard creaked below them, and Mara started upright. Dizziness crashed over her, and Neil had to catch her before she collapsed. “Wha—” she started then cleared her throat. “What was that?”

  “Shh.” Neil carefully lowered her back into the bed. “It’s just Erica. Don’t worry—Damian says the ghosts are gone.”

  “Ugh. Are we sure we trust him?” Mara grimaced as her head swam.

  “He says he’s certain. You cleared Blackwood, sweetheart. It’s safe to live in now.”

  Mara opened her eyes. Neil was right. It was such a subtle change that she hadn’t noticed it before, but the ponderous, heavy atmosphere had cleared. Blackwood felt like any other house.

  She peeked at Neil. “Does that mean you’re okay with me staying here?”

  He grinned and shifted forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “It’s your house. You can do whatever you like with it. And this time, I won’t complain.”

  “C’mere.” Mara snagged his collar before he could retreat and brought his lips to hers.

  CHAPTER FORTY: Changed Plans

  Three Months Later

  Even with a Wi-Fi amplifier, Blackwood’s reception remained terrible. Mara turned her mobile over in her hands as she sat at the dining room table. Morning was shifting into afternoon, and thick sunlight poured bright rectangles over the floor. The rocking chair groaned in the living room and, far above her, footsteps paced through the attic.

  In the days following Mara’s slapdash spirit clearing, there had been a tangible lack of energy in Blackwood. Even Mara, who had the most primitive understanding of spiritual energy, found it unnatural. But the energy spot under the house hadn’t let it stay dormant for long.

  Blackwood was gradually building its charge back. If she concentrated, Mara could feel it thrumming around her and sometimes even see the floating black threads. It was far more moderate than during Victor’s reign, though. He’d charged the house until it was close to bursting.

  Mara turned her phone over and checked its reception. Zero bars.

  The footsteps above her head paused then moved towards the trapdoor. Mara listened to them travel down the second-floor hallway, then she leaned back in her chair to see through the dining room’s arch to the landing at the top of the stairs. Damian appeared and paused at the railing. “We’ve got another request. A couple bought a house last month and say they can’t sleep because of strange noises. They want us to check it out tonight. You in?”

  “It’s probably racoons,” Mara called back. “But sure, I’ll come.”

  Damian nodded and returned to the attic.

  Eighteen years spent in a spiritualistic household. Four years of freedom. Now I’m working as a medium. I feel like a walking joke.

  Erica had been the first to broach the idea of renting a room at Blackwood. She needed somewhere with a lot of energy to practice, she claimed, and Damian didn’t like repeatedly breaking into abandoned buildings. What the hell; it’s good money, Mara had thought. It’s not like I need to interact with them. But, before she knew what was happening, she was being invited on their ghost-hunting jobs… and enjoying it.

  The commissions weren’t amazing, but it was enough that Mara could be comfortable without looking for a second job. And though she hated to admit it, the excitement was becoming addictive.

  Damian and Erica worked in the attic most afternoons, but they weren’t the only people moving through Blackwood. The day after the last of the holes had been patched, Neil and Pam had moved in.

  The amalgamation had gone far more smoothly than Mara had been prepared for. Pam was overly considerate almost to the point of being humorous. Mara couldn’t count the number of times she’d reassured the older woman that she didn’t have to hide her bible.

  Pam had made the house feel like a home. She’d decorated the rooms deftly, cooked Mara’s meals, and was responsible for the steady creaks of the rocking chair. They’d thrown out the original chair, of course, and Pam had replaced it with her own. She liked to sit by the window in the afternoons and work through the cartons of second-hand books she’d bought at charity events. Mara had been surprised and delighted to discover the older woman was a voracious romance reader.

  A door slammed, and a minute later, Neil appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was sweaty and dirty from working in the backyard, but his smile was bright enough to send a thrill through Mara.

  “How’re you doing?” He swooped in to peck Mara’s cheek, but she twisted to catch him by surprise and met his lips. They lingered for a moment before he pulled back with a self-conscious chuckle. “Sorry; I’ll have a shower before I get you dirty, too.”

  “Damian wants me to go on another ghost hunt tonight. You coming?”

  “Why do you even bother asking? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Neil caught sight of the mobile in her hands and nodded towards it. “Are you thinking of calling them?”

  “Yeah.” She turned the phone over. Three bars. That was about as good as she could hope for. “It’s probably going to be horrible.”

  “Maybe.” Neil leaned against the table’s edge and took his work gloves off. He tilted his head to one side as he examined her face. “But if it doesn’t work out, you don’t have to see them again.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hey, Mara?” She met his blue eyes and felt her heart leap at the tender smile he gave her. “Whatever you do, I think you’re amazing. Don’t forget that.”

  Heat rose over her face, and she waved him off. “Get out of here, gorgeous. You smell terrible.”

  He laughed, kissed her cheek, and left for the shower. Mara sat for a moment, listening to the faint sounds of Erica and Damian working in the attic, the gentle creaks of Pam’s chair, and the running water a
s Neil showered. Then she took a breath and dialled a number.

  The phone rang four times before a woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mum.” Mara’s mouth was dry, but she was able to keep her voice steady.

  Elaine drew a sharp breath. Mara caught notes of mingled shock and hope. “Mara?”

  She let a cautious smile grow. “Hey. Did you and Dad want to come over for dinner sometime?”

  THE END

  The Story Continues:

  Mara, Neil, Damian and Erica investigate Graham House, a Victorian-era building with a sinister secret. Download the bonus short story for free: http://bit.ly/1I0bptd

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