by Amy Cross
“Elizabeth?” I hear the boy ask, his voice filled with fear. “Is that... Is that really you?”
A moment later he comes into view, his fearful eyes just about visible as he continues to climb the spiral staircase.
Elizabeth stares at him for a moment, before starting to make her way down.
“Run!” I hiss, crawling after her as more blood leaks from my wounded chest. “Matthew, get out of here!”
“What happened to you?” he continues. “Elizabeth, please... You're scaring me...”
Reaching the top of the stairs, I look down and see that although Matthew is backing away, he seems unable to turn away from Elizabeth. She's making her way slowly, calmly down toward him, and I have no doubt that she intends to end his life. Like his father, he is frozen by her appearance.
“Run!” I gurgle, tasting blood in my mouth. “Matthew! Boy, you must run!”
He looks at me briefly, but he quickly turns his attention back to Elizabeth.
“I saw you die,” he tells her. “Please, Elizabeth... My father... I am not my father. I never liked what he did to you, I always wanted him to stop! And for what I did to you, I am truly sorry...”
“Look at me,” she replies, edging closer.
“Run!” I shout, despite the burning pain in my chest. “Matthew, get out of here!”
“Elizabeth please,” he sobs, with tears streaming down his face. “Elizabeth, don't hurt me,” he whimpers. “Elizabeth...”
His voice cracks as she reaches him.
“Look at me,” she tells him. “Look -”
“Run!” I yell, as loud as I can manage. “Matthew! Leave this house!”
As if my words have finally reached him, he suddenly steps back and then turns, hurrying down the staircase. Elizabeth follows, but a moment later I hear the front door swinging open.
“Keep running,” I whisper, as I start easing myself down the stairs, going step by step as more blood flows from my chest. “Never come back...”
It takes a couple of minutes for me to reach the hall, but finally I see that Elizabeth is standing in the doorway, staring out at the darkness of the world.
“I cannot follow him,” she says calmly. “I am bound to this place, unless...”
She hesitates, before turning to me.
“You must destroy it. Perhaps then I shall be free to leave and go after my uncle's family. Not just Matthew, but all who share his blood. Destroy this house for me.”
“Elizabeth, please,” I gasp, slumping down against the floorboards. I can feel my strength fading. “Revenge is not... Matthew did nothing to you, he merely...”
I close my eyes, and for a moment I start drifting into a sleep that feels deep and unending. Forcing my eyes open, I see that Elizabeth is walking past me and heading back up the stairs. For a moment, I feel the absolute chill of her passing.
“Elizabeth!” I stammer. “Wait! Please...”
She stops and turns to me.
“They will all pay,” she says firmly. “All his family, all his descendants... And if they are too cowardly to come to this house and face me, I shall find a way to free myself and find them in the world. I swear, I shall not rest until they have all paid for what was done to my child. And if you will not destroy this house and set me free, I shall find another escape.”
With that, she continues her journey up the stairs.
I try to call after her, but finally I'm too weak and I simply remain slumped in the hallway. My breath is shallow now, and I feel death creeping its fingers around my shoulders. I know I cannot give up, that I cannot abandon my dear Elizabeth to haunt this house alone. With my final thought, I realize I shall have to stay with her, to turn her away from the path of revenge. I cannot abandon her, nor can I leave her to walk the corridors of the house alone. If Elizabeth is to haunt Blackwych Grange, then perhaps I shall find a way to stay with her, and to warn others that they must leave the place well alone.
Finally, unable to fight any longer, I close my eyes and let the darkness wash over my soul. I can only pray that death is kind to both our souls.
Part Five
Clara Harrison - 1912
Chapter Thirty-One
“Calm down, Clara!” Mum shouts, with tears in her eyes. “I will not have this nonsense again!”
“But Mum -”
Before I can get another word out, she places a hand gently on the side of my face. I pull back until I'm pressed against the bed's headboard, and then I stare at her with tear-filled eyes.
“Oh, my dear girl,” she continues, suddenly moving along the bed and putting her arms around me. “Please, you have to calm down a little. These constant histrionics are going to drive us all up the wall!”
“It's okay,” I stammer, even though I'm still shocked by her forcefulness. “I meant every word, though. I saw -”
“Not now.”
“But I saw -”
“Please, Clara.” She pulls back and looks into my eyes for a moment. I can see fear on her face, but also exhaustion. “I know what you think you saw,” she continues. “It's the same thing you thought you saw last night, and the night before that. I'm so very sorry that you're going through this, but you must understand, these figures exist only in your imagination.”
I open my mouth to tell her that she's wrong, but after a moment I simply look over toward the wide-open bedroom door. A moment ago, Mum came rushing in after she heard my cries. A moment before that, I saw a dark figure watching me, and although the figure is gone now, I can somehow still feel its presence.
“This will pass,” Mother continues, reaching out and taking my hands in hers. “The move has evidently been a great strain for you. You've always had a very active imagination, my dear, but you're no longer a child. Now that you're fifteen, you must learn to control your thoughts a little. After all, you're very nearly a woman.”
She pauses, before leaning closer and hugging me.
“I know what I saw,” I whisper, resting my head on her shoulder and staring at the door. “I'm not a fool. Please, Mum, you have to feel it too. There's something wrong with this house, it's like I can sense something in the air all around me. We're being watched.”
I wait for her to reply, but it's clear that she doesn't take my fears seriously. How can I feel this presence so keenly, yet she and Dad remain oblivious?
“There was someone on the landing,” I continue, still staring at the empty doorway. “I saw her.”
“And soon you'll realize that there can't possibly have been anyone there,” she replies, squeezing me tight. “Trust me, Clara. There are no ghosts here. Not at Blackwych Grange.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Check the runner beans, love!” Dad calls out from the back door. “Clara! Check the beans!”
“Alright!”
Trudging across the muddy garden, taking extra care to make sure that I don't trip over any of the loose stones, I head over to the poles that Dad uses for the beans. He's been trying to get a kitchen garden up and running ever since we arrived at the house a few weeks ago, despite the wretchedly wet weather. Although, as I look at the beans now I can't help noticing that they seem very plump, almost juicy. I suppose that would be a good thing, ordinarily, were it not for the fact that I have suspicions about the soil beneath my feet.
Glancing over my shoulder, I look down for a moment at the cracked gravestone. There's a lot of moss on the surface, but I can just about make out the name Elizabeth Jane Marringham, and for a moment I find myself imagining the runner beans' roots twisting down through the dark soil and feeding on the corpse.
A shudder runs through my chest, and I quickly turn to head back to the house.
“Bloody beans,” I mutter under my breath, looking up the windows. “I certainly won't be eating any. In fact, I shouldn't like to even -”
I freeze as soon as I see her.
Standing at one of the upstairs windows, a woman is watching me. The window reflects the gray winter sky, so a
ll I can really make out is the woman's outline, but I can immediately see that this isn't Mum. As if to prove that point, a moment later I hear Mum calling to Dad from the kitchen, and a shiver runs through my chest as I keep my eyes fixed on the shadowy figure. This isn't the first time that I've seen her since we arrived at the house, but it's becoming increasingly clear that she seems particularly interested in me. Mum and Dad both say they've not spotted anything untoward, and it's almost as if she leaves them alone and instead focuses her attention entirely upon my activities.
“Clara?” Mum says suddenly, emerging from the kitchen. “What are you doing over there?”
“Come and look,” I whisper, not daring to take my eyes off the woman in the window, in case she vanishes.
“Don't mess around, Clara,” Mum continues with a sigh. “There's plenty to -”
“Come and look!” I hiss. “I swear, Mum, just come and look up at the window!”
“Child, just -”
“She's right there!” I continue, still watching the figure. “There's no-one else in the house, is there? Just you, me and Dad?”
“Of course there's no-one else in the house,” she replies, and it's clear that she's exhausted. “Clara, you're a sensible girl, so stop all this messing about and help me get the place ready. The landlord sent word that he's going to drop by this afternoon, and we need to make sure the house is in good shape. We can't afford to have him think he's renting the place to a bunch of uncivilized ruffians.”
Instead of replying to her, I simply keep my eyes fixed on the woman. I know from experience that her apparition has a tendency to vanish as soon as I look away, and this time I'm determined to ensure that Mum sees that I'm telling the truth.
“Oh Clara, please -”
“Mum, just come and look!” I hiss, interrupting her. “There's a woman in the upstairs window! In the bedroom next to mine!”
A moment later, I hear Mum trampling across the grass, coming this way.
“There!” I continue, pointing up at the woman. “Right in the -”
Suddenly she's gone.
As quickly as she appeared, the woman has entirely vanished.
“Where?” Mum asks, stopping next to me and shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks up at the house. “I don't see anyone, Clara.”
“She was just there a moment ago!”
She sighs.
“Wait!” I hiss, hurrying past her and making my way into the house.
I know Mum thinks I'm some kind of lunatic, and I know there's next to no chance that I'll find anything once I get to the room, but I have to at least try. Storming through the house and then up the stairs, I ignore Dad as he calls out to me, and I hurry along the landing until I reach the door to the farthest bedroom. Pushing the door open, I look through into the bare room and see absolutely no sign of anyone, although a moment later I feel a sudden and very noticeable blast of cold air as I take a step forward.
“Hello?” I say cautiously, my voice trembling slightly. “Is anybody here?”
I wait, but of course there's no reply.
“Hello?”
Stepping over to the center of the room, I feel the air chilling even further. I turn and look around, but all I see is ugly wallpaper and bare, exposed floorboards.
“Are you...”
I hesitate, wondering whether it's wise to say the name.
“Are you Elizabeth?” I continue finally. “Are you Elizabeth Jane Marringham? I saw your grave outside, but...”
My voice trails off.
Silence.
“My name is Clara,” I add. “Clara Harrison. If you can hear me, I hope you don't mind that we've moved into your house. We'll take good care of it, I promise, it's just... Well, we need somewhere to live, and Dad couldn't afford anywhere in town, and for some reason this house was available for a very reasonable price. But we're good people, I promise. We'd go to church on Sundays if there was a church nearby, but we're honest and respectful, and we'll take really wonderful care of the house.”
I wait.
No reply.
“Just give me a sign,” I whisper, turning and looking around again. “One sign that you're here. That's all I ask.”
Nothing.
Stepping over to the window, I look out and see that Mum is checking the runner beans. She has her back to the grave, which is pretty typical. After all, Mum and Dad have both seemed pretty dismissive of my concerns, and they act as if the presence of an actual grave in the garden isn't at all concerning. At first I thought they were simply scared, but now I'm starting to wonder whether they honestly don't think that the grave is at all strange. Perhaps I should try to be more like them, although I can't stop thinking about the fact that there's a dead body rotting down there beneath our garden, and after sixty years it's probably still a little meaty.
Suddenly Mum turns and looks up at me. I see a flash of fear in her eyes, before she recognizes me and rolls her eyes. Perhaps she thinks I was trying to scare her, but hopefully she knows me better than that.
A moment later, in the distance, I hear someone knocking on the front door.
Heading out of the room and over to the top of the stairs, I look down just in time to see Dad hurrying through to the hallway. He stops for a moment and straightens his clothes, and Mum rushes to join him. They discuss something in hushed tones, before Dad opens the door to reveal a tall, well-dressed gentleman wearing a top hat.
“Mr. Marringham,” Dad says nervously, stepping back and gesturing for the man to enter. “It's an honor to have you here. Please, won't you come inside?”
“I would be glad to,” the man replies, removing his hat as he enters the house. “And please, let's ditch the formality. This is the twentieth century, after all. You may call me Matthew.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I honestly didn't mean to intrude,” Matthew explains a few minutes later, as we all sit in the front room and wait for Mum to bring some tea through. “I just felt that I should welcome my new tenants in person and make sure that everything is running smoothly.”
He glances at me, and for a moment I'm struck by a haunted quality in his eyes. Although he is most clearly in his sixties, Matthew Marringham remains a rather striking gentleman, and I feel almost as if I shall blush. Fortunately he quickly looks away, and now he seems more interested in the empty doorway. I have never before seen a man who is so obviously haunted by his own thoughts.
“This house means a great deal to me,” he continues, lowering his voice a little. “It has been in my family for several generations.”
“It's absolutely lovely,” Dad replies with a polite smile. “We've very much enjoyed our time here so far.”
He turns to me.
“Isn't that right, Clara? We're really settling in nicely, eh?”
“Absolutely,” I say, glancing at Matthew again. I suppose it would be unfortunate if I mentioned the strange woman. Still, I feel as if there are unanswered questions. “Blackwych Grange is such a delightful home,” I point out. “I cannot imagine why you would choose to rent it out rather than living here yourself.”
“That is another matter,” he replies uneasily, and once again he glances toward the doorway. A moment later, he looks toward the ceiling. “In fact, it has been several years since I was last here. I'm afraid my business interests have kept me from the area, and I have also been raising a family of my own. There is so much...”
His voice trails off, although he mumbles something under his breath.
I lean forward, hoping to catch what he's saying.
“Harold?” Mum calls through. “Can you come and carry?”
“Excuse me a moment,” Dad says, getting to his feet and hurrying to the kitchen. “Back in two shakes.”
I sit back, remembering my posture.
Left alone now with Matthew Marringham, I feel rather awkward. This sensation is not eased when he suddenly turns and looks at me rather intently, and although I pointedly look away for a few
seconds, I can tell that his gaze has not shifted. I watch the curtains, then the fireplace, and finally I turn back and smile at the gentleman. I fully expect him to say something, perhaps to offer some meaningless platitude, but instead he merely continues to watch me, almost as if he is unaware of the fact that I am starting to feel uncomfortable.
“The house,” he stammers finally, as the color drains from his face. “It's just, I was thinking, have you...”
Again, his voice trails off.
“I beg your pardon?” I reply, forcing a smile.
“I don't mean to pry,” he continues, and now he seems to be sweating slightly, “but I was just wondering... Since your family arrived at Blackwych Grange, have you noticed anything untoward?”
“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”
He glances around again, even going so far as to look over his shoulder as if he expects to see someone, and then he turns back to me.
“There have been no concerning incidents?” he asks. “No moments when you have felt... accompanied by something that perhaps you do not see?”
I immediately think of the several times I have spotted the strange woman, although I still don't know that I should mention these things to him. After all, he is a distinguished gentleman, and I am just a commoner.
“I see it in your eyes,” he whispers. “You have seen something.”
“I didn't say that, I merely -”
“What was it?” he continues, leaning forward. “It's perfectly alright, I won't breathe a word to anyone else, but I must know. What did you see? Was it... Was it her?”
I swallow hard. “Her?”
He opens his mouth to continue, but suddenly Mum and Dad return with trays of tea and biscuits, and their presence seems to bring about an immediate change in Matthew's composure. He turns to them and smiles, and it's quite clear that he has no intention of asking them about any strange occurrences that might have taken place in the house. For some reason, I seem to be the only one in whom he seems willing to confide his fears.
