The Haunting of RedRise House: Ghosts and Haunted Houses

by Clark, Caroline

  Folding the letter over and putting it back in the envelope she left her case near the table and decided to fetch in the others before she explored.

  Stepping outside the door she walked down to her cases. They were scattered around as if they had been kicked over by a petulant teenager. What had happened?

  For a moment she just stared at the cases, her mouth open. Who could have done this? Then the old sickness was back in her stomach. He had found her! Looking around she searched for Clive. There was no cover close to the house. The trees were dotted about the grounds but there was nowhere for a car to be parked and it was too far from the road for him to have walked. Slowly she began to back towards the house. What if he was inside?

  She whipped around, her heart pounding so hard that it tightened her chest and made it hard to breathe. Her hand went to the scar, her burnt hand and she was frozen on the spot. Then a breeze lifted her hair and she let out a laugh along with a great gust of tension. The wind had knocked over the cases.

  Picking them up she went back inside and placed them on the beautiful floor. Then she shut the door. Taking one last look around at the grounds. They looked so peaceful, so beautiful and so well maintained. Matron must have had help. The house, what she had seen, was immaculate inside and so were the grounds. She hoped that it would not take her too long to keep it that way. Nothing must disturb her writing if she was to meet her deadline.

  Closing the door, she locked it and placed the key on the table below the flowers. Now it was time to explore. Yet, her joy of the house was gone. Thinking of Clive had left her feeling sick and nervous. Would she ever escape his clutches?

  Chapter 3

  Rosie spent the next forty minutes exploring her new home. The room to the left of the hallway was a library. It was wonderful, like something out of her novels. It was decorated in a mushroom color. The walls rich and the upholstery matching. The carpet was a similar color with veins of green running through it. There were several little sofas in a deep rich chestnut velvet spotted around the huge room, and against the sidewall, a huge fireplace surrounded by sofas, chairs, and a writing desk.

  The room opposite was a large kitchen with an attached pantry. There were red slates on the floor. A huge range cooker and deep mahogany units. The sink was old fashioned and ceramic. The taps steel. When she turned them on the pipes rattled ominously for a few moments before spitting out some brown water. That was just what she needed!

  Feeling a little despondent she held her hand on the tap as it vibrated from beneath the earth and then eventually the water ran clean. Maybe it was safe to drink? Maybe it had just been left for a while. She glanced around. The house was immaculate. There was not a speck of dust or a cobweb in sight. If Matron was ill she had done a very good job of keeping the place in order.

  Turning she saw two doors. One was in the corner of the room and the other the middle of the same wall. She went to the left one first and found it was a pantry, fully stocked with jars, cans, and bags of everything from fish to flour. Much of it she would not know what to do with. In a panic she searched the kitchen. There was not a microwave in sight. More dread settled on her. It looked like she was going to have to cook. Then she spotted cans of beans, tuna, ham. Hopefully there would be bread, cheese, eggs, and bacon. She could manage omelets, sandwiches, and a good old breakfast. Looking out of the kitchen window, she noticed a small garden. There were lettuce and other salad vegetables growing. Behind the gardens were some old and dilapidated looking buildings. These must be the outbuildings mentioned in the letter. They were off bounds to her and she wondered if maybe it was because they looked a little unsafe. A few of the roof tiles looked loose and the roof itself dipped in the middle. Behind them was a woodland. The trees looked thick, dense and uninviting.

  Then she turned to the door in the corner. There was a note on the door.

  This room is out of bounds.

  Do not enter.

  How strange!

  Rosie had always been one of those people who did not take well to authority. She had always been a rule breaker as a child, and seeing the sign made her hand reach down for the handle. It was old brass, darkened by many years and no doubt countless hands. As she touched it she felt a slight shock and pulled her hand back with a laugh. It had to be static... and yet the floor was slate. How would she build up any charge?

  It didn’t matter. She had the urge for a cup of tea and remembered seeing some bottled water in the pantry. It took her a while to work out how to light the range. She filled the heavy black kettle and placed it on the ring before finding the fridge. Pulling the door open she was assaulted with a smell of decay and stepped back. The door closed and the scent was gone. A groan escaped her. If all the food was rotten then how would she cope? Until she received her first pay check money was tight. With a feeling of despair she opened the fridge again. This time there was no smell and she looked in. It was stocked to the brim with everything she could need. There was meat, cheese, salad, vegetables, milk, and yogurts. The bottom half was a freezer and she looked in there to find lots more supplies.

  The sound of the kettle boiling behind her made her jump and she let go of the door. With a laugh she turned away and made some tea. Strong and black just the way she liked it.

  With the cup in her hand she explored the rest of the house. On one side of the stairs there was a large dining room, and a couple of box rooms. On the other she found her bedroom, a small bathroom, an office and a small sitting room. It was just perfect. So she set up her laptop in the office that adjoined onto her bedroom and opened up a document. For a moment, she looked around the large room. The office was painted in a deep russet. It should have appeared dark and depressing but instead it made the room look big and grand. The drapes were an even stronger orange brown but deeply complemented the walls and there was a pale ochre rug on the polished wooden floor.

  It was a sumptuous room with a large hardwood desk and an old-fashioned captain’s chair. It was the sort of room she had sometimes dreamed of and here she was able to have it all to herself. Maybe it would help encourage her muse to put in an appearance. So she took a breath and looked down at the blank screen.

  This was when she usually started to panic. To write she needed to be totally immersed in her story. There was no room for outside influence and thoughts but since the incident she could not let her mind go and truly relax. The slightest noise would force her back to the terrifying night. She would almost feel the force of the blows. Feel the skin melting as he shoved her hand into the boiling soup and then pulled the pan over onto her. Then her cheek would burn, a white hot pain just like the knife slicing through her tender flesh.

  Shaking her head she pushed the thoughts away. She was torturing herself. Forcing the memories to come back when there had been no trigger. It was something her counselor had warned her against and she knew she had to stop it. So she took a deep breath. In and out, concentrate on nothing but her breathing and let her mind go blank. It took a while but before she knew it characters were popping into her mind and the plot of her book began to take shape.

  Looking back at her laptop she began to type. Soon she had mapped out her main characters and set up the premise of a story. Of course her main characters hated each other in person but they were introduced in correspondence by a good friend. Her female character would be Henrietta Carter and her hero would be Miles Drake Browning. The minute she had given them names, they came to life in her mind and pulled her into the tale they wished to tell.

  Henrietta was willful and disobedient but her family needed her to marry. Miles was jaded and bored with the same women who chased him for his wealth.

  As the characters formed, her fingers flew across the keyboard. First she wrote out the character traits for all her key players. Giving each one a detailed life and characteristics. Then she wrote a plot. Over the next several hours she honed and built upon it until it filled her with excitement and joy. The happy ending was satisfying and yet no
t too predictable and she knew that she wanted to write this book.

  As she saved the document it occurred to her that the room was dark. How long had she been writing? That very thought brought her out of her zone and she was instantly hungry. A quick look at her watch told her it was almost 9 pm and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A laugh escaped her. She was back. This move had been the best thing she could have done.

  Getting up from her desk, she pushed back the chair and realized just how dark the room was. Away from the laptop screen it seemed like a pit of gloom and for a moment she did not want to move out of the laptops comforting glow. A curl of fear appeared in her stomach and froze her to the spot. This was silly and she turned and headed for the door. That would be the logical place for the light switch. It seemed a long way and the further she got from the laptop the darker it seemed. It was almost too dark and she put her hands out in front of her. What if something was there? What if someone was there?

  Ignoring her fear, she took another step and another. She had counted another six steps before her fingers found the wall. Then she started to search for a switch. The surface should have been smooth paint but it seemed to crumble under her fingers. The urge to pull her hand away was strong but she had to find the switch. Panic was waiting to consume her and if she did not bring light to the room soon she knew that it would win. Her breath was coming faster and faster. The laptop screen shone in the darkness but it was so far away. Had she really walked that far or was her vision starting to fade with panic?

  Her hand scrabbled across the wall until it hit the doorframe. That had to be a good point of reference. She searched around the frame and her breath got faster, her chest tighter and her heart pounded so loud she could hear nothing else.

  At last her fingers found the switch and she pushed it down. For a moment nothing happened and she heard a small cry escape her strangled throat.

  What now?

  Then glorious light flooded the room and all was back to normal. She had simply had a panic attack. A worthless one at that, for she could have pulled out her phone and put on the torch app at any time. That thought filled her with relief and a little guilt. How long had she been here and she hadn’t even sent Amy a text to tell she had arrived safely. With the room flooded with light she went back to the table, saved her document and closed the laptop.

  Leaving the room she found light switches as she went. They cast a yellow light duller but warmer than she was used to. It reminded her of years gone by before LEDs and the blue and harsh lights she had become used to. Once she arrived at the kitchen, she pulled out a pan and began to make an omelet. As it cooked she typed off a text to Amy.

  ‘Sorry for not texting earlier. You were right this place is great. I will call you tomorrow but thanks and have a lovely night.

  R xx’

  The phone flashed back at her, no signal. Amy had warned her this could happen and yet knowing that she was so isolated hurt. What if something went wrong? Then she laughed. Wasn’t that what she wanted all along? To get away from everyone. Dropping the phone back in her pocket she looked down at her meal. With the omelet, a salad as well as a glass of sparkling water all piled onto a tray she walked back to her writing room.

  That thought excited her. For as long as she was here, she had a writing room and it felt good... amazing. Already she had been more creative than she had been in months. Maybe she could manage without the anxiety medication tonight? Maybe she should leave it a few days though? Amy was coming to visit for a few days at the end of the week and maybe that would be a good time to change her medication. Nodding her head in agreement she arrived back at the room and pushed open the door.

  The light was off and the laptop screen lit up the room. A fission of fear stroked down her spine and her body went rigid. Stumbling to a halt she almost dropped the tray. As it slipped in her hands goosebumps rose on her skin and a stab of adrenaline jerked her arms righting the tray.

  Slowly she reached out for the light and the room was flooded with brightness. It chased away the shadows and all that could hide among them. Where had that thought come from?

  Slowly she approached the laptop. Surely she had closed it earlier and left the light on? When she had entered the room she had been positive but now, now she could not be sure. After all she was tired and on medication. Wasn’t it entirely possible that she had forgotten to shut it down? Or that she had imagined doing so.

  Sitting at the desk, she used the mouse, closed the document and powered the laptop off. This time she closed it and was sure she had done so. Next she put the tray on top of it and tried to tuck into the omelet, only her appetite seemed to have vanished.

  Chapter 4

  The sense of ease and comfort had left her. Rosie was back in her nightmare of fear and worry. Anxiety hung on her like a heavy cloak weighing down her shoulders and yet it offered no warmth; she shivered against the dread that seemed to lurk in the shadows. Though she knew this was stupid. It was just a mistake, she no longer wanted to be anywhere near that room. Closing the door to her writing room, she leaned a chair beneath the handle and shuddered. It was all in her mind. It had to be.

  With a cup of honey-sweetened chamomile tea and a couple of ginger biscuits, she walked across the sumptuous rug towards her bed. The rug was soft beneath her feet and yet the blood red color and swirling pattern made her feel a little sick. She could not bear to look down at it. Shaking her head, she put the cup and saucer down on a bedside table that looked like it cost more than her book advance and climbed into the big four-poster bed. It was soft and comfortable, if a little cool. The crimson drapes were romantic and yet they felt like a trap. The comforter lay on her body, warm and yet oppressively heavy.

  Stop it!

  There was already a glass of water on the table next to her tablet box. Maybe she should take a sleeping tablet as well as her anxiety medication.

  What could happen if I don’t wake up?

  Stop it!

  Fighting against the gloom she took a sip of tea. It was hot and sweet, burning her mouth as it went down. Closing her eyes she decided to leave the lights on and get a good night’s sleep. Everything would look different in the morning, in the light. So she opened the Kindle app on her phone and began to read.

  Sipping tea, munching on biscuits, and reading a romance she couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a night and yet her eyes constantly left the screen and searched the corners of the room. Her ears were poised for the slightest sound struggling to hear over the pounding of her heart.

  Ignoring her paranoia, she read on.

  The hero was a rogue and was currently mocking the heroine, yet the woman was clever and resourceful and turned his mocking right back on him. It was a lovely scene and she found herself chuckling. Beneath her voice there was the tinkle of piano keys. At first she didn’t register what she had heard and kept reading. Then her mind thought it must be her imagination and a carry through from her reading. In the book, Charlotte the sister played the piano... only Charlotte wasn’t in this scene. The sound came again, a discordant jumble of notes... not the masterful skill that Charlotte would use. Rosie jumped in the bed and dropped her Kindle.

  What should I do?

  There was nowhere to go. The text she had sent to Amy hadn’t been sent. It was something she had been warned about, the house was remote and there was no signal.

  If someone was here, what could I do?

  As panic began to descend, she clutched onto the bed sheets. It was too far to walk anywhere. Should she hide or run? Maybe she should just stay still and hope that she was safe? Then she thought of the plucky heroine and felt a little foolish. Maybe it was the tablets messing with her mind... there was nothing to fear... surely. She had to let go of blaming every noise, every shadow on Clive. He wasn’t here, couldn’t be here. Maybe it was just the wind?

  Convinced that the fear was all in her mind Rosie pulled on a robe and headed for the door. The feel of the rug beneath her feet was unp
leasant. In her mind it was slimy and she lengthened her stride, feeling a great sense of relief as her feet touched the hardwood floor.

  As she reached for the door handle, her breath was coming fast and hard. There had been no more noise. Or had there?

  Would she hear it above her panting? With a hand poised above the age darkened brass she tried to slow her breathing. Taking a few deep breaths, she pulled herself back from the brink.

  The past was gone. That was what her therapist had told her... Let the past go. Do not let it control your future.

  There had to be an explanation for the piano. Maybe it was an auditory hallucination or maybe it was just the wind. Not really believing either of those options, she opened the door and listened.

  Somehow, just moving had lessened her panic. The rushing of blood through her ears had slowed, her breathing was back under control. Earlier she had left the lights on low and she could see well enough. For some reason she didn't want to turn them up. It would give away that she was searching!

  Moving silently down the long corridor she strained her ears. Turning her head left to right, holding her breath, she searched for any sound that she was not alone.

  There was nothing. No wind, no creaking floorboards, no rustling of trees. The very silence was oppressive and seemed to weigh heavily on her shoulders. Though she wanted to turn and run back to the bed, she kept walking. Each step took her closer to the entrance hallway and the stairs. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that the noise had come from the second floor. The floor that was off-limits to her. Suddenly she wondered why. Was something hidden up there? Was someone hiding up there?

  As that thought went through her mind, an image of Clive flashed across her vision. For a moment her legs weakened and she almost tumbled to the floor. Yet, the fear was soon replaced with anger. How long would she let him control her? How long would she live in fear? There had to be an explanation of what was happening and it could not be Clive. She had taken every precaution. There was no way he had found her, no way was he here.