The Haunting of Blackwych Grange

by Amy Cross

“Will you stop with that?” I ask as he laughs. “I just want to do things right, according to Mac's plan.”

  “You mean Josephine's plan.”

  “It's not -”

  “He's following it to the letter, you know,” he continues, turning to look at the window again. “He's following the exact same schedule that she used when she came to Blackwych Grange, even down to spending the first night out here instead of going straight inside. It's like he thinks that by doing what she did, he can somehow recreate what happened to her.” He pauses for a moment. “If you ask me, Mac isn't right in the head. He's obsessed. Whatever happened to Josephine when she came here, he's not gonna find the answer by going into the house and replicating her work.”

  “It's not as if he can just ask her,” I point out.

  “He could try. Eventually she might start talking again. She might tell the doctors what happened to her in this house. What scared her so much, she was struck dumb and lost her mind.”

  We stare at the house for a moment, each of us locked into a moment of silence.

  “If you're scared,” he continues finally, “you should face your fear. It's just a window, right? So go take a look. I'll be right here, so what's the worst that can happen?”

  I want to tell him to stop bugging me, but at the same time I know he might be right. I can feel fear churning in the pit of my belly, and I'd rather not spend the whole night in this hyped-up state.

  “I won't tell Mac,” he whispers. “I promise.”

  I swallow hard, as I remind myself that there's absolutely no reason to be scared. Well, probably no reason. I mean, it's not like some kind of shrieking phantom is suddenly going to appear on the other side of the window pane, screeching at me.

  “Fine,” I mutter, stepping forward, “but this stays just between the two of us.”

  “Brave girl,” he replies, and I don't even need to look back at him. I can already tell that he's grinning.

  As I get closer to the window, I actually start to feel a little braver. I mean, this entire situation is dumb, and I've spent so long building Blackwych Grange up in my head that it can't possibly be as bad as I imagined. I keep telling myself that it's just a house, and reminding myself that first and foremost I'm an academic, and a historian, and that the so-called ghost stories are just one of many aspects of this house that are worthy of study. I need to stay calm and rational, so – as I approach the window and look up at the dark glass – I feel as if I'm actually in control of my fear.

  Finally I stop with the stone window-ledge at eye-level, and I look up at the glass.

  “Go on!” Toby calls after me. “Take a peek!”

  Craning my neck, I still can't see inside the house, so I figure I need to climb up a little. A cold wind is blowing faint blusters of rain as I put my right foot on the stone ledge that runs around the side of the house, and then I grab the window-ledge as I haul myself up. I take a moment to get my balance, and I feel more than a little foolish, but finally I'm able to peer through the dark window.

  I can't see a goddamn thing.

  Just a faint reflection of my own face staring back at me.

  “Well?” Toby shouts. “Anything?”

  I turn my head slightly, hoping to get a better view, but the house's interior is completely dark. The light from Toby's torch is dancing against the stone wall nearby as I crane my neck again, and after a moment I realize that maybe I can make out some faint shapes inside after all. There seems to be something directly beneath the window on the other side, and my eyes slowly become accustomed to the lack of light until finally I realize that I'm looking down at a table. I can only really see the basic shape, but at least it's a start.

  There's something on the table, too. Something a little lighter, small and rectangular, maybe a piece of paper or a note, although I can't make out any more details.

  Still, it's strange to think that the house has remained completely shut up and undisturbed since Dr. Josephine Pullman and her team were here five years ago. No-one has set foot in the place, at least not according to Foster, and no-one has even come close.

  Squinting, I realize I can make out one of the walls inside, and there's a door a little further along. The door appears to be have been left open, which seems odd since I'm sure Dr. Pullman's recovered notes claimed that -

  “See anything?”

  Almost jumping out of my skin, I lose my footing and fall back, slamming hard into the wet, muddy grass.

  “Ow!” I hiss.

  Towering over me, Toby is laughing like a schoolboy.

  “Sorry,” he says, reaching out a hand and helping me up. “I didn't mean to do that, honest.”

  I start wiping mud off my clothes, although after a moment I realize my back and bottom are both soaked.

  “Who is it that's supposed to haunt the house again?” he asks, looking up at the window. “A black-eyed woman? I don't suppose you spotted anything like that, did you?”

  “I did not,” I mutter, taking a step back and ruing the fact that I was so dumb. I should never have let Toby goad me into looking through the window in the first place. “All I saw was a table.”

  “A spooky table?”

  “Just a table.”

  And what looked like a note, although I'm not going to mention that. It'd only get him started.

  “Mac's probably wondering where we are,” I point out, turning and trudging through the wet grass, making my way past the side of the house and then heading out until I'm at the proper twenty-foot distance. “There's clearly no sign of a break-in, so I think we can assume the house has been left untouched for the past few years.”

  “Aye, you're probably right,” he replies as he hurries after me, but I can tell he's still highly amused by my little cry of fear. “So are you glad you stuck around, Paula? You wouldn't rather be tucked up in a nice warm bed somewhere?”

  “I just want to help Mac with his project,” I reply, wincing a little as I feel cold muddy water soaking through the back of my shirt and pants. “He's in charge, remember? From now on, we should just do exactly what he says, no more and no less. He's spent years planning for this visit. Let's just give him the support he needs.”

  “That's the attitude,” Toby says cheerily, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Blind, unquestioning obedience.”

  I pull away.

  “Sorry,” he adds, “I just... I'm sure it'll all be fine. I'm sure the black-eyed woman is just a figment of people's imagination. Lots of different people, over the centuries, but still... There's probably no ghost at Blackwych Grange, right? I mean, did you see anything through that window?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “Not even a pair of black eyes staring back at you?”

  I start walking away, and he follows. “Nothing.”

  “Not even a hint of a shadow moving where it had no business?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not even an icy hand creeping into view?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not even -”

  “I didn't see anything, Toby,” I continue, tiring of his constant questions. As I reach the next corner, I spot a figure in the distance, and I quickly realize that Mac and Helen are already hard at work setting up the cameras and other equipment. “We have things to do.”

  “Did you hear anything?” he asks, keeping pace with me. “A faint moan, perhaps?”

  Chapter Four

  “So this infra-red monitor will tell us if anything appears at the windows,” Helen continues several hours later, as she turns a dial on one of the panels. “I actually rigged the system up myself, specifically for this trip. I wanted to be able to discount natural variations based on environmental factors.”

  “What's he doing?” I ask, looking past her and watching as Mac sits alone. He's been away from the rest of us for a while now, going through some kind of notebook.

  “That's hers,” Helen mutters.

  I turn to her. “You mean -”

&nbs
p; “Bingo.” A faint, sad smile crosses her lips. “You know about Josephine, right?”

  I nod.

  “Most of her notes and diaries were destroyed,” she explains, turning and following my gaze. For a moment, we both sit in the van's rear section and watch Mac's distant silhouette. “He pores over them so much, he must know every word by heart. I think he's preparing himself for whatever we might find tomorrow.”

  “You mean when we go into the house?” I ask.

  “I met her once.”

  I feel a faint shiver pass through my chest. “Josephine Pullman?”

  She nods.

  “What was she like?”

  “She and Mac were very similar,” she explains. “Both very dedicated to their causes, both very smart, with very precise analytical minds. I guess that's why they got along so well and ended up engaged. Of course, the big difference was that Mac was always very skeptical of the paranormal, whereas for Josephine it was her life's work. They used to argue about it constantly, but always in a good-natured way. And then...”

  Her voice trails off for a moment.

  “Well, you know what happened when Josephine came to Blackwych Grange...”

  “I read about it,” I reply. “And I talked to some people who knew her.”

  “Mac has never been the same since,” she continues. “He won't rest, not until he knows what she saw in that house.” She turns and looks through one of the van's other windows, toward the huge silhouetted building. “I think he thinks that if he can see what she saw, if he can put himself in the exact same situation that she was in before she lost her mind, he can figure out a way to help her. That's never going to work, of course, but you can't really blame him for trying. It's kind of romantic, if you think about it.”

  “So we're copying Josephine Pullman's visit?” I ask. “Down to every little detail?”

  “Why do you think we're camping out here for the night, instead of going straight inside?” She smiles, but it's still a sad smile as her eyes remain fixed on Mac. “According to her diary, Josephine entered Blackwych Grange at precisely 11am on her second day here. I'll bet you any money in the world that Mac decides to unlock the front door at 11am tomorrow morning. Not a minute sooner, not a minute later.”

  “That's so sad,” I whisper, “but what does he really think he'll -”

  Suddenly the rear doors swing open and Toby leaps in, almost knocking over one of the equipment trolleys in the process.

  “Evening ladies,” he says with a grin. “Does anyone here need a hug?”

  “Maybe one of us should go check on him,” I continue, still watching Mac.

  “Leave him be,” Toby mutters, grabbing a half-empty cup of coffee. “The man's not exactly a chatterbox at the best of times. He knows where we are if he decides he needs something.”

  He takes a look at some of Helen's equipment, and slowly his smile broadens.

  “Do I need to know what all this stuff does,” he asks, turning to her, “or are you just gonna turn all the dials and knobs?”

  “Leave it to a professional,” she replies through gritted teeth.

  “But are you good at turning knobs?” he continues, before turning and grinning at me. “You know, I wouldn't mind if -”

  “I get it,” I tell him, hoping that he'll shut up.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood,” he mutters, peering at one of the screens. “So this is our plan for the night, is it? Watching a bunch of monitors and hoping that Ghosty McGhostface decides to put on a show?”

  “We're searching for traces of paranormal activity,” Helen says darkly, “and if you say Ghosty McGhostface one more time I'll plug you directly into the back-up generator and flick the switch.” She turns to him, and her face is filled with withering contempt. After a moment, she glances at me. “There's an alarm to alert us about any major variations,” she explains, “but I still want someone to be monitoring the feed all night. Should we take it in turns to get some sleep?”

  ***

  Toby snores.

  Of course Toby snores.

  Even when he's asleep, he finds a way to be irritating.

  Helen has earplugs, which I wish I'd thought of, but at least she's managing to snooze in one of the front seats, while Mac has long since retired to the other van. It's my turn to sit up and watch the monitors, and when I check my watch I see that it's 2:57am. I've been on duty for the past fifty-seven minutes, and I still have thirty-three to go, but I actually don't feel that tired.

  I just wish Toby would shut the hell up.

  Glancing out the window, I look toward the house for a moment. It's still hard to believe that I'm actually here, just twenty or thirty feet from the infamous Blackwych Grange. I've read about this place so many times, I guess it had almost become this mythic location, and it's humbling to be reminded that it's a real house in a real location, and that its inhabitants were once real people. Even though I'm still shocked that Mac managed to get us out here, I think I'm finally managing to get on top of my nerves. If I'd run away from this project, I'd be feeling like an abject failure right now. I'm glad I stayed.

  Turning, I look toward the other van and see that Mac's flashlight is still moving. He's reading, and it looks as if he's not planning to sleep all night. Sometimes, I wish I could just ask him about -

  Suddenly I spot a flutter of movement, and I turn just in time to see a patch of white fading on one of the monitors. I wait, but now the image seems completely normal. Still, I grab the clipboard and make a note of the time, so Helen can check what happened in the morning, and then I look toward the house. It's too dark to make out any details, and even the windows are impossible to see, but I can't help wondering whether there's the tiniest chance that something in there is staring back at me.

  After a moment, I realize my heart is pounding.

  And then I see it.

  A faint white blur has appeared on one of the monitors. Whatever it is, it's so faint that I can't be sure it's not just a reflection, so I move around a little so I can check that it's definitely part of the image. Once I've determined that there really is something out there, I grab the clipboard again and take a look at Helen's notes, and I see that the blur's values are within the margin of error that's part of the equipment's operational system. In other words, it's entirely possible that I'm simply seeing a patch of digital fog.

  If I wake Helen up for this, she'll probably laugh at me.

  Still, I grab the night-sight camera and try to train it on the part of the building that's causing the blur. It takes a moment, but finally I get the system running properly and I see a bright, digital green glare through the viewfinder, lighting up the building's old stone walls. I move the camera a little, taking a look at several windows in a row, but all I see now is a series of black rectangles. Frankly, there could be an entire party going on inside the building right now, and this camera would never be able to see anything interesting.

  “Spotted something?” Helen mumbles, stirring next to me. Clearly barely awake, she sits up and looks toward the building. “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I reply, not wanting to sound dumb or paranoid, “I just...”

  Glancing at the monitor, I see that the faint blur is already gone.

  “It was within the margin of error,” I tell her, trying to make it sound like I'm not even too bothered. “I noted down the time, so you can check in the morning, but I really think it was nothing.”

  “Huh.” She grabs a bottle of water and takes a sip.

  “So do you actually believe the stories might be true?” I ask.

  “Stories?”

  “About the black-eyed woman of Blackwych Grange?”

  She smiles. “I think people are impressionable, and capable of great acts of self-delusion. I think the black-eyed woman is a perfect example of a story that spreads through a community like an infection. I'm sure some of the so-called witnesses genuinely believe that they saw what they claim, but the most likely explanatio
n is still some kind of contagious hysteria.” She turns to me. “Mac said one of the reasons he hired me for this trip is that he likes my healthy skepticism. Remember, Mac was skeptical too, once, before the incident with Josephine made him question his rational beliefs. I think he still doesn't believe all this paranormal stuff, not deep down.”

  “Like hell he doesn't,” Toby mutters, sitting up. “The man's an out-and-out convert to the cause. He just needs to find some proof.”

  “You snore,” Helen tells him. “A lot.”

  “Snoring is a sign of great intelligence,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck as he comes over to take a look at the monitors. “It's three in the morning. Has the great and mysterious Blackwych Grange given up any of its secrets yet?”

  “So Mac hired me because I'm a skeptic,” Helen continues, glancing at me, “and he hired Toby because he's a firm believer in all this garbage.”

  “And because I'm funny,” Toby adds.

  “But why did he hire you, Paula?”

  I hesitate for a moment. “I don't know. I was one of ten post-grad students who applied. Maybe he just chose one of us randomly?”

  Helen's eyes narrow slightly. “Mac doesn't do anything randomly.”

  “This is so disappointing,” Toby mutters, fiddling with one of the monitors. “I thought we'd have seen something by now.”

  “Nothing happened on the first night of Josephine Pullman's visit either,” I remind them, peering through the camera's viewfinder and seeing another dark, impenetrable window. “Or the second, once they were inside. It was the third night when... Well, you know. It was once they'd been inside the building for a little while that things started to happen.”

  “Yay,” Toby mutters. “Something to look forward to on the third night.”

  As he and Helen continue to bicker, I move the camera slowly and carefully, taking a look at each window in succession. I know there's no chance I'll see anything, but I feel the need to keep watching the house, to make sure that there's no sign of unusual activity. When I get to the end of the ground floor, I tilt the camera up and start checking the upstairs windows too, but once again there's no sign of anything untoward.