The Haunting of Blackwych Grange

by Amy Cross

  “Matthew Marringham was your father?” I ask, getting to my feet.

  “Not that it's any business of yours,” he replies, “but yes, he was. And now that he's dead, Blackwych Grange will pass to me.”

  “You mustn't go there,” I tell him, stepping closer. “The ghost of Elizabeth Jane Marringham is haunting the house, and she wants revenge against every member of your family.”

  He eyes me with a frown, but at least he doesn't laugh.

  “She was with your father when he died,” I explain. “I know it's difficult to believe, but I saw her. She's been waiting all these years for a chance to get back at your family, but she's not done yet. Whatever she said to my mother today, it was designed to drive us away from the house. It's not safe for any of you to go back there.”

  I wait for a reply, but the man simply stares at me for a moment.

  “Aye,” he says finally, “well I'm not particularly aiming to go there myself. Never set foot in the place, and that's how things are going to stay. There's a man named Foster who's been fixing to buy the house for a while. My father always turned him down, but I think I might just accept the offer. Blackwych Grange has been tormenting us all for long enough.”

  “It has to be torn down!”

  “Wouldn't be worth much after that.”

  “She's after your family!”

  “Clara!”

  I feel Dad's hand on my arm, and I know he wants me to calm down. Still, I think this latest member of the Marringham family is taking me seriously, at least to some degree. Perhaps if he sells the house, Elizabeth's ghost will be able to rest.

  “You'll be wanting out of your tenancy agreement, then,” the man mutters, turning to Dad. “Given the circumstances, I can't argue. Consider the agreement terminated with immediate effect.”

  “Someone must help us fetch our furniture and other belongings from the house,” Dad tells him.

  “You'll have to organize that yourself,” the man replies, “although I'm not sure you'll find many people around here who are willing to go out there. The house has long had a reputation, and recent events haven't exactly helped. I dare say Blackwych Grange's days as a family home are over. The place is damn near ruined now.”

  “There's a train leaving tonight at ten,” Dad tells him. “We aim to be on it.”

  “See that you are,” the man continues, taking a step back. “This unpleasant business belongs in the past, but I'd very much appreciate your discretion. That's the one condition of your tenancy being terminated early. I wouldn't like talk of these events to circulate in London. After all, people might get the wrong idea.”

  “Our lips will be sealed,” Dad tells him.

  “I'll contact Foster,” the man mutters, turning and heading back to the door, with his comrades following. “Everyone else in this infernal tavern can quit their gossiping! You're all employed by my family, one way or the other, and you can just as easily be relieved of your positions if you're caught flapping your tongues. Take heed!” He glances back at me, and then toward Dad. “The Marringham family is too grand to get caught up in all this nonsense. We've got our reputations to consider, and we can't -”

  “Hurry!” Mum yells, suddenly grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the door. “We must rid ourselves of her influence!”

  “Mum!” I hiss, trying to pull free but finding her grip to be surprising firm. “What are you -”

  “We have to be sure we left her behind!”

  I try again to get free, but she's remarkably strong now and she pulls me past the gathered men in the doorway and out into the darkened street. Although I could no doubt force her hand off my arm, I let her pulls me around the corner and along a narrow lane, until finally she leads me into the cemetery of the village church, and then toward the open door.

  “What's wrong?” I ask. “Mum, you're scaring me, what are -”

  “I think we left her behind,” she stammers, “but she was trying to come with us. We have to be absolutely certain that there's no trace of her!”

  “What are you talking about? How could there be a trace of her?”

  She doesn't answer. Instead, she pulls me into the church and then along the aisle until we reach a large stone bowl filled with water.

  “We must wash ourselves,” Mum explains, forcing me closer. Her eyes are wild and staring now, as if she's in the grip of full-blown panic. “She touched us, Clara. She was trying to hitch a ride, to come with us when we left the house. I think we left her behind, but there's only one way to be absolutely certain we're not possessed by her spirit.”

  “Possessed?” I ask. “How could -”

  Before I can finish, she grabs the back of my neck and forces me forward until my face dips into the water. I try to fight back, but she holds my head under for a couple of seconds before allowing me back up, and then she immediately does the same to her own head.

  With water running down my face, I take a step back. A moment later, Dad and some other men hurry into the church, but they stop as soon as they see us.

  Ahead, the church seems so utterly peaceful and calm. Tranquil, even, and certainly a place where I cannot imagine any harm coming to us.

  “We must do it again,” Mum splutters as she raises her head from the holy water. “Clara, again! We must make sure that there is not one whisper of that evil spirit still in our bodies, else she might get what she wants!”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I tell her. “Mum, please -”

  “She wanted to leave the house with us!” she screams, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer again. “For the love of God, girl, just do what you're told! We have to be sure we're rid of her, and that she isn't lurking in either of us, waiting to come out!”

  With that, she dips her own face into the water again. I want to tell her that she's crazy, but at the same time I feel as if I felt a hint of Elizabeth Jane Marringham's ghost in my soul earlier. Back at the house, it was almost as if – for a brief second – the ghost was trying to enter my body. Even though I feel certain that she didn't succeed, I suppose I should take every possible precaution.

  Candles are burning nearby as I step back to the bowl and dip my head back into the water. I can only hope that Mum is right, and that this will ensure the ghost of Elizabeth Jane Marringham is not with us as we head away from the house. As bad as it might seem, I hope the ghost is trapped at Blackwych Grange forever, and never finds a way out.

  Part Six

  Paula Clifton - Today

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  As midnight approaches, the only sound is a faint, persistent buzzing that seems to be coming from the main monitor. The screen shows a night-vision shot of the upstairs landing, bathed in green light but revealing nothing more than a long corridor with closed doors on either side. The monitor refreshes its settings every ninety seconds, causing a horizontal line to pass across the image, but apart from that there has been no sign of movement whatsoever.

  And yet I've barely stopped watching the picture for the past couple of hours.

  “Toby doesn't know what he's missing,” Helen mutters, sitting next to me with a folded newspaper on her knee. She seems more interested in completing a crossword. “Bloody coward.”

  “He just let the stories about the house get to him,” I reply, turning and looking past her. Our portable lights are all around the hallway, but they just make the doorways leading to the rest of the house seem darker. “I guess he really thinks there's something here.”

  “And you don't?”

  “I don't know.”

  She smiles. “Toby just got scared. Let's not try to glamorize his cowardice, he chickened out like a goddamn pussy.”

  “Aren't you scared?” I ask, although I immediately realize that Helen seems far too organized and calm. “Or at least worried?”

  “Not remotely,” she mutters, filling in another part of the crossword grid. “You are, though.”

  “Me? I...”

  I hesitate for a
moment.

  “Well, I...”

  “Relax,” she continues. “I could see it all day. You and Toby were both concerned about the house, but whereas he run off like a frightened little bitch, you decided to stick it out. I've got to admit, I'm impressed. I was absolutely convinced you'd bolt too. To be honest, I...” She leans toward me and lowers her voice. “Thank you for not leaving me alone with Mac!”

  Glancing past her, I see that Mac is still in the far corner, still going through one of Josephine's notebooks. He must have read that thing a hundred times today alone.

  “I wish we knew what was in there,” I tell Helen. “Why can't he just let us -”

  Before I can finish, there's a brief, loud banging sound from above, as if metal momentarily struck metal. I immediately get to my feet and look up the stairs, while Helen remains seated next to me. My heart is pounding, even though I'm already telling myself not to overreact.

  “Did you get anything on the monitors?” Mac calls out, already on his way over to join us. “Any temperature changes or visual triggers?”

  “I don't think so,” Helen mutters as she flicks a switch, cycling through various panels. “No. Nothing.”

  “It came from upstairs, didn't it?” I point out, turning to Mac. “I'm sure of it.”

  He nods, while still watching the spiral staircase.

  For a couple of minutes, the three of us stand in silence, waiting in case the sound returns. My pounding heart starts to calm a little, and I'm already starting to rationalize the sound we heard. After all, there are plenty of old pipes in here, so it's not that strange if they make a noise during the night. And as Helen pointed out earlier, what kind of ghost would decide to go around making random sounds just to freak us out? I need to stay calm and rational here, rather than descending into fearful, paranoid delusions.

  “Should we call a plumber?” Helen whispers finally.

  “Did you catch anything on the camera at the top of the stairs?” Mac asks.

  “I can't get a reading from that one,” she mutters, tapping at a screen. “I don't know, maybe something came loose.”

  “Paula,” Mac continues, “go and check.”

  I turn to him, shocked. “What?”

  “The camera at the top of the stairs,” he explains. “Go and check the connections.”

  I wait for him to say that he's joking, or that he'll come with me, but I think he might actually be serious.

  “It's right up there at the top of the staircase,” he adds. “We'll be able to see you the whole time. Just go and check the connections. Please.”

  I open my mouth to ask if he'll come with me, but at the last moment I hold back. I can't let him think that I'm some kind of coward, so instead I nod and then turn away, taking a few steps toward the staircase before slowing. There's a light at the foot of the stairs, and another halfway up, but beyond that the upper section of the house is completely dark. Forcing myself to make my way closer, I look up and see nothing past the railing that runs along the landing.

  “Paula?” Helen calls out. “Are you -”

  “I'm fine,” I reply, although I can tell that I sound terrified. Worried that Mac might be doubting me, I take a deep breath and then start making my way up the spiral staircase, while telling myself over and over that they can still see me, and that there's really no reason to be worried.

  With each step, however, I feel my chest tighten a little more. As I make my way around the curve of the staircase and rise higher and higher into the darkness, I feel the air chilling all around me, and my footsteps somehow sound emptier, echoing a little.

  When I reach the second light, halfway up, I slow a little, and then I realize that right now Mac and Helen can't see me at all thanks to the way the staircase twists around on itself. I can hear then both, discussing the equipment way down below me, and I figure I should just get on with the task at hand. After all, I was brought along to act as an assistant, so I guess I'd better assist.

  Finally I get to the top of the stairs and find myself standing at the start of a long, dark corridor. The air is noticeably much colder, and I didn't realize how much I'd miss the buzz of the monitors until I found myself in absolute silence. For a moment, I can't help looking along the corridor, staring into darkness. I know there are lots of closed doors ahead, and a window at the far end, but I can't see them at all.

  “Paula?” Mac calls out suddenly. “Have you found the camera?”

  Looking down, I see a camera next to my feet. A red light is blinking on its side, so I crouch down to take a closer look. Taking the flashlight from my belt, I switch it on. I'm not certain, but I think this is the camera that Toby knocked over earlier, back when it had just been removed from its crate. I guess maybe he caused some damage after all.

  “Paula? Did you hear me?”

  “There's a red light blinking!” I shout back to him. “What does that mean?”

  I hear them talking downstairs, but I can't make out what they're saying. While I wait, I turn and shine the flashlight along the corridor, and sure enough I see rows of closed doors on either side. The beam isn't strong enough to reach the far end, but at least I can tell that I'm alone up here.

  Of course I'm alone up here.

  That was never in doubt.

  “Check the battery housing!” Helen shouts. “On the back!”

  Looking down at the camera, I fumble for the rear section and find that the battery compartment seems a little loose. I give it a little wiggle and find that, sure enough, the plastic hinges seem to have snapped near the top.

  “It's not on straight!” I yell.

  “Push it!”

  I set the flashlight on the floor and then take hold of the camera with both hands. When I push the housing shut, the red light stops blinking and all seems well again.

  I wait, but all I hear is the distant sound of Mac and Helen discussing the equipment. They seem engrossed in whatever problem they've discovered, almost as if they've completely forgotten that I'm up here.

  “Should I come back down?” I call out.

  No reply. They're still talking.

  Figuring that I should just stay in place for now, I look back down at the camera. At least the red light is no longer blinking now that I'm holding the battery casing in place, which I guess is a good thing. It feels good to be useful, too, although I can't help wishing that Toby had stuck around. He was always joking about everything, and I guess I never realized that he was so worried about the house. His fear was hidden pretty well.

  Suddenly I hear a bump over my shoulder, and I turn quickly, looking back into the darkness. Grabbing the flashlight, I shine it toward a nearby set of doors, although there's no sign of anything untoward and after a moment I realize Mac and Helen are still talking, which probably means they didn't hear the noise.

  I wait, but now the house seems to have fallen silent again.

  And then, slowly, I become aware of a very faint creaking sound coming from the other direction.

  I turn, shining the flashlight along the corridor. At first I don't see anything different, but after a moment I realize that one of the doors on the left side is now partially open. I swear it was shut just a moment ago, although doubts are already creeping into my mind and I'm trying to convince myself that I simply didn't notice it standing slightly ajar. Still, as I keep the flashlight trained on the door, I can't help thinking that I'd definitely have noticed if it had been like this.

  I should go and take a look. If only to confront my fears, I should go and push the door all the way open, and I should look in the room.

  “Paula!” Mac shouts suddenly. “Are you still holding the battery in place?”

  “Um...” Startled, I glance down at the camera. “Yes, I am!”

  “Let go of it!”

  I do as I'm told, and this time the blinking light doesn't return.

  “Is it okay now?” I call out, hearing Mac and Helen still discussing the equipment.

  I wait.


  They don't even seem to have remembered that I'm up here.

  “Should I come down?” I shout.

  Again, I wait.

  Again, they seem lost in their own discussion. Turning, I look back along the corridor and see that the door is still open.

  Picking up the flashlight, I get to my feet and take a step forward, although I hesitate when one of the floorboards creaks under my left foot. Up ahead, there's a small half-table resting against the wall, with a tall mirror propped on the top, and I take a look at my reflection as I get closer. The glass is badly scratched, and I keep the flashlight a little low so that I can better see my own face.

  I look scared.

  Forcing a smile, I try to appear a little braver, although I can still see the fear in my eyes. Figuring that there's no point spooking myself any further, I turn to go toward the nearby door, but at the last moment I stop as my flashlight catches some of the scratches on the mirror's glass, down at the bottom right just next to the frame.

  There's a face.

  I stare for a moment, convinced that I must be wrong, but I swear the scratches form a kind of face on the mirror's surface. Stepping closer, I reach out and run a fingertip against the shallow grooves, but the scratches definitely seem to have formed two eyes and an open, screaming mouth. When I tilt the flashlight, however, the face is gone and all I see are a set of random-looking scratches.

  I tilt the flashlight again, trying to get the scratched face to reappear, but I can't quite get the angle right.

  A moment later, however, I see that the scratches seem to be forming a different pattern.

  I tilt the flashlight a little more, and finally I see letters.

  “Leave this house,” I read out loud, and it definitely seems as if those are the three words formed by the scratches. I feel a flash of fear in my chest, followed by a rush of relief. “It's a joke,” I whisper finally. “It has to be.”

  Toby did this.

  One final prank before he left.

  Again, I tilt the flashlight, but now the scratches just seem random again. This time, when I tilt the flashlight a few more times, I'm unable to see either the face or the words. I try for a few more minutes, but either I can't get the right angle, or I was wrong to begin with. There are so many scratches in the glass, criss-crossing one another in every direction, that I guess they could form pretty much any pattern.