by Amy Cross
Suddenly Mum slaps my face, hard enough to make me turn away. Feeling a rush of stinging pain, I hold still for a moment, before turning to see that she too has tears in her eyes.
“Go to your room!” she says firmly, even though she seems utterly shocked.
“Mum -”
“Now!” she screams.
She steps toward me, but I instinctively pull back, terrified that she might hit me again. Overcome by fear, I turn and hurry out of the room, even as Mum calls after me and tells me she's sorry. When I reach the bottom of the spiral staircase, I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to go up. Even in daylight, the house seems to be watching me, and I can't shake the feeling that the ghost of Elizabeth Marringham is still here somewhere, still seeking revenge.
As I force myself to climb the stairs, I swear I can feel the air starting to become even colder all around me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Dead,” Dad mutters later in the day, as he examines the runner beans. “All of 'em. I thought you said they were looking good the other day, girl.”
“They were,” I reply. “I checked them yesterday and...”
My voice trails off. I know it's hard to believe that the beans could have withered and died, even blackened, in less than twenty-four hours. Frankly, if I were in Dad's position, I'm not sure I'd believe me either. At the same time, I know what I saw yesterday, and I know what I'm seeing now. The beans have shriveled to nothing and – as I look around at the rest of the garden – I can't help but notice that all the trees seem a little darker too. In fact, some of the trees even appear to have curled slightly, as if their trunks are twisting and dying.
“We have to get out of here,” I whisper.
When Dad doesn't say anything, I turn and see that he's still examining the dead beans.
“We have to leave,” I say firmly. I've felt this way for a while, but now the urge is much stronger. In fact, I can feel my whole body starting to shudder slightly, as if I'm physically compelled to get as far as possible from Blackwych Grange.
“Carla -”
“I'm not fooling around,” I continue breathlessly, with tears in my eyes. “Dad, please, Mum isn't here right now, so you can be honest with me. I know you've seen something, so don't even try to deny it. And when Matthew Marringham killed himself last night...”
My voice trails off, but the fear is more evident than ever in his eyes.
“Matthew said something about Elizabeth.” I look over at the gravestone for a moment, and a shudder passes through my chest. “We can't afford to rent this house, or at least we shouldn't be able to. So there must be a reason why it's going cheap.”
I turn back to him, and somehow I can see from his expression that I've broken him down. Perhaps now, finally, he'll tell me what he knows.
“The previous tenants,” he says cautiously, “only stayed for a few months. And the tenants before that, too. There are certain stories about Blackwych Grange, Carla, but that's all they are. Stories.”
“You knew about all of this before we came here?”
“I knew about the silly gossip and -”
“You moved us into a haunted house!”
“We can make this work,” he continues, sounding a little exasperated. “Blackwych Grange is just a house, Carla, even if some dark things happened here in the past. I know the business with Mr. Marringham last night wasn't exactly ideal, but if you can look beyond that -”
“Look beyond a man shooting himself in the head?” I ask, interrupting him. “Are you serious?”
“He was very troubled.”
“Because of what happened here,” I reply, before turning to look at the windows again. “Because of what's still here.”
“There's nothing here.”
“Matthew saw her,” I continue, feeling as if I'm being watched even though I don't see anyone right now. “She was in the room with him when he died. You might not believe me, you might never believe me, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that the ghost of Elizabeth Jane Marringham was with him when he aimed that trigger at his own head.” I turn back to Dad. “I also know that you saw something. Tell me.”
He opens his mouth to reply, most likely to ask me to hush, but something seems to hold him back. Now, finally, it's almost as if he's about to admit the truth.
And then, before he can say anything, Mum screams.
***
“It was blood,” she stammers, shivering as we watch Dad examine the kitchen sink. “I'm not hysterical, Gerald! There was blood coming from the tap!”
“There's nothing here now,” he replies, peering down at the plughole. “Wouldn't blood have left a stain?”
“I know what I saw!” she screams. “It was thick and red, and it splattered down into the sink! It wasn't just blood, either. There were black little particles in there, like chunks of flesh. I tried to turn it off, but I couldn't! I just kept twisting the tap, but blood kept coming!”
Dad turns the tap, and clear water starts running down into the sink.
“I don't care what it looks like now!” Mum shrieks, as tears run down her face. “There was blood a moment ago! Awful, terrible blood! Oh Gerald, you have to fix it!”
“She's trying to warn us,” I whisper.
Mum turns to me.
“She wants us to leave,” I continue. “Her quarrel isn't with us, so she needs us to get out of here. She wants more members of the Marringham family to come to her. She can't leave the house, for some reason she's trapped here, so she needs them to visit. And maybe they won't do that while there are tenants. That's another reason why we have to get out of here as soon as possible. The longer we stay, the more likely we are to get caught up in the crossfire.”
I wait for Mum to tell me that I'm wrong, maybe even to slap me again, but instead she simply stares at me for a moment. Somehow, I think I might be slowly getting through to both of them.
And then suddenly, as if to further illustrate my point, there's a loud bump directly above our heads. Looking up, I realize it came from Mum and Dad's bedroom.
A moment later, there's a faint creaking sound, as if something is pressing against one of the floorboards.
“I don't think her patience will hold out forever,” I whisper, feeling a shudder pass through my chest as the creaking sound begins to move, making its way slowly across the ceiling as if someone is heading to the door. “She's trapped here, so she sees us as intruders. Interlopers. This house is all she has now.”
Mum and Dad stay completely quiet as we listen to footsteps heading out onto the landing.
After a moment, I realize I'm holding my breath.
The steps move toward the top of the staircase. There can now be no doubt at all that somebody is in the house with us, and I know full well that we're supposed to be alone. As the steps start making their way slowly down the spiral staircase, I look toward the wide-open door that leads into the hallway. I can't see the bottom of the stairs from here, but it's absolutely clear that someone is coming.
Turning to Mum and Dad, I see that the color has drained from their faces, and that they too are looking toward the door.
Whatever's coming down the stairs, it sounds remarkably calm and unhurried.
“It's Elizabeth Jane Marringham,” I whisper, and this time no-one argues with me.
The footsteps finally reach the bottom of the stairs. There's a loose board right outside the door, and I wait for it to start creaking. Sure enough, just a fraction of a second later I hear a tell-tale creak that means someone is walking across the hall. Any moment now, a figure is going to appear in the doorway.
Suddenly the footsteps stop.
I wait, still holding my breath.
The house is silent now.
A moment later, I realize Mum and Dad are holding their breath too.
Suddenly the kitchen door slams shut, with such force that the entire frame rattles. Feeling a rush of air, I instinctively step back, as do Mum and Dad. I stare at the door for a
few seconds longer, before turning to Mum.
“Now do you believe me?” I ask, my voice trembling with shock. “What more do you need?”
She hesitates, keeping her eyes fixed on the doorway, before shaking her head.
“It can't be,” she stammers, “it just -”
We all flinch as another door slams further off in the house.
“Go and see, Gerald!” Mum hisses, pushing Dad forward. “You're the man of the house! Go and find out what's going on!”
Dad steps toward the closed door, but I can tell that he's nervous. Feeling that I should perhaps help, I start following him, and thankfully no-one tells me to stay back. When Dad hesitates at the door, I reach out and grab the handle. I pull the door open, but I see nothing on the other side except an empty hallway.
Still, I know she's still here.
The air feels so much colder. Even colder than earlier.
“Hello?” I call out.
No reply.
Stepping past Dad, I make my way across the hallway and look up the stairs. There's no sign of anyone, but I can feel a presence in the air, and I feel quite certain that I'm being watched.
Behind me, Dad is edging closer, but it's quite evident that he too is scared.
“What are you waiting for?” Mum calls out. “It might be a thief!”
Glancing back at her, I see that she's still standing at the kitchen table, still watching us.
“It's no thief,” I whisper, turning back to Dad. “How much more obvious does Elizabeth have to be? She wants us gone from here!”
“Keep back, sweetheart,” he replies, stepping past me while keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the stairs. “Your mother's right, there's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.”
His tone of voice is so weak, I can tell that even he doesn't believe those words.
“Where is she?” I ask, looking around the hallway. “What does she -”
Before I can finish, I feel a brief, passing flash of ice-cold air. The sensation is quickly over, but I turn and look toward the front door, and I'm certain that something just brushed against me. At the same time, I feel a sensation of nausea in the pit of my belly.
“I can't stay here,” I stammer, before I even know the words are going to leave my mouth. “If they won't come to me, I have to go to them.”
I pause for a moment, as the nausea fades.
“What did you just say?” Dad asks.
I turn to him, but I honestly don't know how to answer. Those words just seemed to fall from my lips unprompted, as if for a moment some other voice was speaking through me.
Glancing back toward the staircase, I realize that there have been no creaking sounds for a couple of minutes now. The ghost of Elizabeth Jane Marringham definitely walked downstairs, and she was in the hallway, but I have no idea what she's doing now. I look over at the door to the front room, but there's no sign of movement, and then I look toward the pantry, but again there's no hint that she might be in that part of the house. Looking all around, I can't help feeling that the ghost seems to have suddenly vanished.
And then I look into the kitchen, and I see Mum's terrified face, and my blood begins to run cold.
Mum is staring straight ahead, with her eyes fixed on me, and her body appears completely rigid. Behind her, there's a human figure barely visible in the gloom, but it's almost as if someone is leaning over Mum's left shoulder and whispering into her ear.
I take a step closer, too shocked to say anything, and now it's clear.
A black-eyed woman is whispering to Mum. And whatever she's saying, it's clearly driving pure, unadulterated fear into her heart.
“Dad?” I stammer, reaching out and nudging his arm. “Dad, you have to see this...”
Mum is trembling now, as if some unseen force has taken hold of her entire body. Her eyes seem impossibly wide, and after a moment I hear a faint spattering sound as liquid dribbles down her leg and runs from beneath her skirt. Whatever she's hearing, it has clearly caused her to lose all control of her bodily functions.
“Mum?” I call out, stopping as I reach the doorway. “Come here. Come to me.”
She doesn't move.
She doesn't even react.
She simply stares at me, and after a moment I look at the black-eyed woman and see to my horror that she too is looking at me.
Suddenly Mum lets out an agonized cry and lunges forward, falling against the counter and then stumbling around until she grabs me arm.
“Out!” she gasps. “Both of you, get out! Get out before she -”
She cries out and doubles over, as if struck by the most intense pain, but she quickly limps toward me.
“Move!” she gurgles. “She'll try again!”
I look past her, seeing that the black-eyed woman is coming toward us, but Mum quickly pushes me out into the hallway. By the time I'm able to look back into the kitchen again, the spectral vision has disappeared, and a moment later Dad grabs my arm and pulls me toward the front door.
“Everybody out!” he stammers. “Move!”
“Did you see her too?” I ask, looking around in case there's any sign of her. “Did -”
Before I can finish, the sense of nausea hits my gut again.
“Dear Lord, deliver us from this house!” Mum shrieks, stumbling through the front door and out onto the steps. “Free us from this danger!”
“Move, Clara!” Dad hisses, pushing me after her and then following.
Ahead of me, Mum has collapsed sobbing on the ground, and Dad quickly runs to comfort her. Left standing alone at the top of the steps, I'm about to go and help when I suddenly feel a flash of cold running across the back of my neck. I freeze for a moment, absolutely certain that the ghost of Elizabeth Jane Marringham is right behind me, but at first I don't dare turn around.
“It's okay,” Dad says, trying and failing to get Mum to her feet. “We'll leave, I promise. We'll never set foot in that place again.”
As the cold sensation continues to brush the back of my neck, I realize that I shall never forgive myself if I don't find the courage to turn and look. Slowly, I turn my head so that I might see what is standing in the doorway.
The black, rotten eyes of Elizabeth Marringham are staring at me.
Suddenly she reaches out to grab me, but I step back.
And then the front door is slammed shut with such force, I am compelled to take another step back as Mum's sobs get louder and louder.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“We shall be on the first train to London,” Dad explains as he steps away from the tavern's bar, bringing a shot of whiskey to Mum. “Then we shall all three forget that we ever even heard of that wretched Blackwych Grange.”
Mum takes the glass and drinks the whiskey quickly, but she is still trembling and I am beginning to worry that she might never fully regain her composure. She has finished the entire glass, which is most unlike her.
“What did the ghost say to you?” I ask, unable to hold back. “Mum? I saw her whispering into your ear. What was she telling you?”
“I hope the floods haven't knocked out the train line,” she whimpers, clearly lost in her own mind. “We shall never get away if the bad weather has caused a commotion.”
“Mum!” I say firmly. “What did Elizabeth Jane Marringham say to you?”
“The Irish situation,” she continues. “There'll be trouble there. Mark my words. And Europe is festering, there'll be a storm there. The men will have to go off and fight.”
She pauses, before turning to look at Dad.
“You'll go to the river, Gerald. The Somme. You won't come back.”
“She's delirious,” mutters one of the men nearby, and I turn just in time to catch him rolling his eyes. “I've seen the like of it happen before. She won't be making sense any time soon.” He leans back and folds his arms across his chest. “It's a common hysteria that strikes weak women.”
“You don't know anything about her!” I hiss. “Yo
u're just -”
“Calm down, pet,” Dad says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “There's no need to get agitated. I'm sure a glass of whiskey and a nice cup of tea'll see your mother right.”
“See her right?” I look up at him, and then I turn and see that tears are gathering once more in Mum's eyes as she stares down at the floor. “Whatever she heard from that ghost,” I continue, “it scared her to the core of her soul. But we'll get her back. I don't know how, but we'll get her mind back. Mum's a strong one, isn't she?”
I wait for an answer, but I can see the fear in his eyes.
“She's strong, Dad,” I stammer. “Right?”
I pause for a moment, searching Mum's face for some hint of recognition. Finally I pass a hand right in front of her eyes, but even this brings no response.
“You'll be fine, Mum,” I add, forcing a smile even though I feel like crying. “We'll get your head straight. It might take a while, but you're way too tough to let some silly old ghost get you down. Soon you'll be right as rain.”
Hearing a commotion over on the other side of the room, I turn just in time to see several men coming through the tavern's front door. Something about them seems to have caught the attention of all the drinkers, who have parted a little to make a path for the new arrivals. That path leads straight to our table, and I watch with a growing sense of apprehension as the four men get closer. When they reach us, I see that they're wearing fine clothes, finer than anything most folk can afford. In fact, the only other person I've ever met who dressed like this was Matthew Marringham himself.
“You're the Harrison family?” the foremost of the men asks, sounding distinctly unimpressed.
“Gerald Harrison at your service,” Dad says, getting to his feet and holding out a hand for the man to shake.
His hand is ignored.
“It's a bad business,” the man mutters, “what with my father's death. I had no idea he was coming out this way, but perhaps I should have guessed. These past few weeks, he's seemed particularly agitated. We should have realized he was planning to do something foolish.”
