by Amy Cross
Copyright 2016 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
Dark Season Books
First published: August 2016
For almost a century now, Blackwych Grange has been left locked and abandoned. But when a team of researchers gains permission to enter the house and monitor for ghosts, a dark presence begins to stir.
Paula is thrilled when she's invited to join the team. Soon, however, she starts to regret her choice.
Something lurks in the dark rooms of Blackwych Grange, something that seeks vengeance. Many years ago, a young woman named Elizabeth Marringham lived in the house with her vicious uncle. Today, more than a century and a half after Elizabeth's death, does her vengeful spirit still roam the house's corridors? And if so, what does she want?
Table of Contents
Part One
Paula Clifton – Today
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Part Two
Sir Edward Marringham – 1788
Chapter Nine
Part Three
Elizabeth Marringham – 1851
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Part Four
Daniel Jones – 1853
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Part Five
Clara Harrison – 1912
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Part Six
Paula – Today
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Haunting
of Blackwych Grange
Part One
Paula Clifton - Today
Chapter One
I have to admit, I never actually thought we'd get this far. I never thought we'd raise the funding for this project, and I certainly never thought we'd get permission to go to the house. I signed up mainly for the experience of working with the great Doctor John McAllister, and for the chance to bolster my CV with some actual fieldwork.
Mild fieldwork.
Safe fieldwork.
But now here we are, just a few miles out, and suddenly everything seems very real. Suddenly we're actually going on our way, and everything's moving a little too fast for my liking. I know what I have to do. If I don't find a way to quit, I'm actually going to end up at Blackwych Grange.
***
“Mac!” Toby calls out, craning his neck to look across the crowded pub. “Mac, are you still here?”
“He went that way,” I tell him, pointing toward the bar. “I think I can still -”
Suddenly someone bumps into me from behind, sending me stumbling forward and bumping against Toby's arm. It takes a moment before I manage to steady myself, and I hear a roar of laughter from nearby. Nearby, a fruit machine celebrates my misfortune by lighting up and spewing out coins for the guy who's been working its paddles. At least someone's having a good night.
“Village country pubs, huh?” Toby says with a faint smile. “Whoever knew they got so rowdy on a Friday? I thought they all just sat around talking about whippet racing and disobedient groundskeepers. Then again, I might be grossly caricaturing an entire segment of society.”
“We have to find Mac,” I mutter, trying to squeeze between two loud, singing men wearing country tweed. “I have to tell him something.”
“Relax,” Toby continues. “He's around somewhere. I'm sure he'll come and find us when he needs us.”
I know he's right, but still, I feel I need to stick close to Mac as much as possible. After all, he's the leader of this little project, and I need to tell him that I've had second thoughts, that I'm not going with them to Blackwych Grange after all. Ducking under the arms of two nearby drinkers, I slip through the dark crowd, making for the lights of the bar in the distance. Several people nudge my arm and ask why I don't have a drink, but I simply ignore them and keep twisting my way onward. For once, being a little on the short side is actually turning out to be an advantage.
Finally I'm spat out of the crowd, and I take a moment to take stock of my surroundings. I'm next to the bar, and a guitar player is checking his microphone nearby, getting ready to play.
“What'll it be?” the barman asks, grinning at me. He already has a hand on one of the beer pumps, ready to pour me a pint of Spitfire.
“Oh, nothing thanks,” I stammer, “I just -”
“You need a drink,” he continues, pulling the pump down. “Don't worry, first one's on the house, just to get you in the mood!”
I open my mouth to tell him it's fine, but the glass is already half full and I figure it'll be easier to just smile politely and carry the pint around. Most of it'll probably be on the floor soon anyway, thanks to all the elbows that keep jolting out and banging into me.
Over in the far corner, the guitarist is still banging out random chords. Soon there'll be so much noise, we won't even be able to hear ourselves think. Maybe that's the whole idea.
“Have you seen a tall guy wearing a dark jacket?” I ask as the barman slides the already-overflowing pint glass toward me. “He might have been carrying a backpack, and asking around for someone named Ronald...”
The barman freezes for a moment, but I can tell he knows who I'm talking about.
“You're not one of them, are you?” asks a voice next to me.
Turning, I find a gray-haired man eyeing me with great suspicion. He has a pint glass raised to his lips, poised to dunk his formidable white mustache into the foam, but he's not quite drinking, not yet. Instead, he seems to be waiting for me to explain myself.
“Um...”
“Please,” he continues, “tell me you're not one of those idiots who're going out to Blackwych Grange.”
“Actually, I am,” I tell him. “Yes, I'm one of those... idiots...”
He stares at me, as if he can barely believe that I'm here. Finally, he mutters something under his breath and then turns, nudging his friend.
“This is one of them!” he explains.
The friend turns and stares at me. “You don't say,” he replies with clear astonishment.
“You're not actually going out there, are you?” the first man asks, turning back to me. I can't see his mouth moving at all, but his mustache quivers with every wo
rd. “Now let's be sensible here, this is all talk, isn't it? You're not actually going through with this hare-brained scheme. You can't be. You look like a smart girl.”
“We are going out there,” I tell him, although I'm starting to become very aware that several other locals are watching me now. “I mean... They are... That's the plan...”
I pause. Damn it, I'm such an idiot, but there's no way I can go to Blackwych Grange. If that makes me a coward, then I guess I'm a coward. I just have to find Mac and tell him that I'm letting the team down. He has a famous temper, and I might well get both barrels.
“Bloody hell,” a man mutters behind me. “Sometimes you just can't save people from themselves.”
I turn to him. “I'm sorry?”
“You're from a university, aren't you?” he asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“That's right,” I reply, “we're from the History department at -”
“So you all think you're pretty smart.”
I'm not quite sure how to reply. “I'm just a student, I'm -”
“Let me give you a lesson you won't get in any lecture hall,” he continues, leaning closer and – in the process – letting some of his beer slop onto the floor. “Don't mess about with all this codswallop. You're not the first people who've shown up, bragging about how you're gonna get to the bottom of Blackwych Grange. That kind of talk is easy to come out with, but it never actually gets anything done. I'm sure you've got lots of fancy equipment, haven't you?”
“Well...” I pause for a moment. “We're certainly not bragging. And sure, we have some cameras but -”
Suddenly he starts laughing, roaring really, although I'm not quite sure why.
“Just turn around, darling,” another man says, nudging my arm. “I'm sure a pretty little thing like you doesn't need to be out here in the middle of nowhere. Haven't you got anything better to be doing on a Friday night?”
I take a deep breath. “I'm part of a research team and -”
Before I can finish, I spot a familiar face in the distance, pushing through the crowd.
“Mac!” I call out, raising my right arm and waving at him. “Over here!”
But he's already gone again, disappearing from sight.
“Mac!”
Nearby, several men are laughing at me.
“Lost your boyfriend, have you?” one of them asks, nudging my shoulder. “I'm sure you can find someone else pretty fast. Maybe one who doesn't leave you all alone at the bar on a busy night? Fancy a drink?”
“Sorry,” I reply, slipping past him and heading off after Mac, “I have to -”
Suddenly another man bumps into me, knocking me forward until yet another man grabs my arms and holds me up.
“Thank you,” I stammer, taking a step back.
“You really should think about getting out of here,” he tells me, with a hint of concern in his eyes. “All jokes aside, there's no point going out to Blackwych Grange. Why mess with something like that? Maybe there's something there, maybe there isn't, but what does it matter either way? The place is far enough out that it's not gonna bother anyone, not unless they go looking for trouble.” He pauses for a moment. “So don't go looking. It doesn't do anyone any harm to just leave the house be, and keep well away.”
“We're from the University of -”
“I know what you're trying to do,” he continues, interrupting me. “I remember a few years ago, when the last bunch came out here to do what you're trying to do now... They were the same, they thought they were different from all the rest, but all that bravado didn't do them much good. Fortunately, there's not a snowball's chance in hell that old Ronald Foster will give anyone the keys to Blackwych Grange again. He's a smart man and he'll just send you packing. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey. Blackwych Grange isn't open for business.”
I'm about to reply, and to tell him that we've already been in contact with Mr. Foster, when I spot Mac again, slipping through the crowd.
“Mac!” I call out, waving again but still not managing to get his attention. “Wait! I have to tell you something!”
Turning sideways, I shuffle between two men and then make my way along the side of the bar. I've lost sight of Mac, but a moment later I spot Toby and Helen heading toward the far end of the room. I have to wiggle through the sea of bodies before I can reach them, and finally I lunge at Toby, grabbing hold of his arm so that we can't get separated again.
“Alright there?” he asks with a smile.
“I saw Mac!”
“So did we, headed this way. Come on, keep up.”
“I have to tell him something!”
“What? That you're so excited, you could burst?”
“Not quite,” I mutter. “I have to...”
Quit.
That's what I have to do.
I have to tell Mac I'm quitting the project before we get out to Blackwych Grange. He'll ask why, of course, and I'll have to tell him the truth.
I'll have to tell him that I'm scared to go to the house.
The three of us make our way around the far end of the bar, to the part of the pub where there aren't quite so many people, and finally I spot an open door that leads into some kind of back-room. There's a fire burning in a hearth, casting flickering orange light, and after a moment I see Mac's distinctive tall, hunched silhouette as he sits at a large round table. There's another man on the table's other side, and I can already see that they're deep in discussion.
After slipping through the last of the crowd, I stop at the doorway with Toby and Helen right next to me, and I watch as Mac examines a document that the other man has produced. They seem to be engaged in a very intense, very heated discussion, and they don't seem to be entirely in agreement about everything. A couple of seconds later, Mac glances in our direction, and for the first time I see a flicker of fear in his eyes.
Behind me, the guitarist finally gets started, launching into a Stones cover.
Mac's going to hate me for pulling out of this expedition, but I don't have a choice. The blunt truth is pretty simply. I'm scared, and there's no way I can spend a night at Blackwych Grange.
Chapter Two
“I want to make it clear,” Ronald Foster continues, as Toby, Helen and I join Mac at the table, “that I'm not agreeing to your request because I think it's a good idea. I'm agreeing because I get the feeling that if I don't grant you permission, Mr. McAllister, you'll go out to the house anyway and probably break the bloody door down.”
Mac says nothing, still studying the document. After a moment he turns to the next page, but clearly he's completely absorbed by what he's reading. He's mumbling something under his breath, too, and he doesn't seem too happy. And when Mac's not happy, the whole room somehow seems more tense.
“No-one's going to be breaking any doors down,” Toby tells Mr. Foster. “We have the utmost respect for your property.”
“If that were true,” the older man mutters, “you'd leave the place alone and get out of here tonight.”
“We're conducting a scientific research project,” Helen explains. “Science by its very nature is inherently respectful.”
Foster chuckles. “Is that right?”
“Of course,” she continues. “We're not ghost-hunters. We're scientists. And academics.”
“And you think it's respectful to go poking about in the dark?”
“Absolutely.” She seems so confident, so sure of herself. I wish I could be more like her. “Truth is the ultimate form of respect.”
He stares at her for a moment, before glancing at me. “And what about you? You haven't said a word yet.”
I sit up straight. “I'm the -”
“Paula's our lab monkey,” Toby explains, reaching over and patting me on the shoulder. “She's just a student, really, tagging along for some extra credit. We toss her a bone every now and then.”
I bristle at that description. “I'm not sure I -”
“But I'm being unfair,” he continues,
patting me again. “Paula's the best lab monkey we could hope to have. We're just knocking her into shape a little so that she can eventually go off and pursue her own dumb projects. Everyone has to start somewhere, though. Am I right, or am I right?”
Glancing over at Mac, I see that he's still going over the document. He's holding a pen in his right hand, and after a moment he makes a couple of notes in the margins.
“The terms are not negotiable,” Foster tells him nervously.
“The hell they aren't,” he mutters.
“Mac,” I stammer, figuring that I have to tell him what I've decided, “I really need to -”
“Sshhh!” he hisses, holding a finger to his lips.
I open my mouth to tell him that it's urgent, but at the last moment I decide to wait a little longer. That little moment of bravery has passed. I guess there'll be another.
“Do we have a problem?” Foster asks, watching him.
“These terms are far too restrictive,” Mac replies, not looking up from the pages. “We can't conduct our work under such ornery conditions.”
Foster sighs. “They're the only -”
“I need three nights out there, not one.”
Foster shakes his head. “There's -”
“Three nights.”
“Out of the question.”
“And you know why,” Mac adds, glancing at him. “One night is pointless. It has to be three. My entire program is designed around a three-night stay at Blackwych Grange. Besides, you've already wasted half of this night. If I was a cynical man, Mr. Foster, I'd be inclined to think that you'd done that on purpose.” He pauses, eyeing the man with disdain, bordering on hatred. “I need three nights at the house.”
“That might be the case,” Foster says cautiously, “but if you know anything at all about the history of Blackwych Grange, you'll know that -”
“I know everything about the history of Blackwych Grange,” Mac replies, cutting him off. “More than you, more than anyone. I know this house inside-out and back-to-front, so please don't think that you need to lecture me on its history just because you happen to own the place.” He pauses, before letting out a snort of derision. “I doubt you've dared go near the place in ten years.”
