The Haunting of RedRise House: Ghosts and Haunted Houses

by Clark, Caroline

  The words faded away and the singer was now humming the tune. Rosie shook herself. What was happening? Was this more from her tablets? Just a figment of her imagination? After all that was a nursery rhyme of the time she wrote in. Perhaps she had researched it. Most nursery rhymes were based on terrible tales and her mind must be going back to her research.

  Still, she heard the humming and was pulled towards the corridor and the source of the sound. Though her logical mind still believed it was someone walking past, she knew it was not. Knew that someone was in the house and yet she did not feel threatened. Disturbed and curious... but not threatened.

  The humming continued and she was drawn like rats to the Pied Piper. The melodic and hypnotic melody pulled her forward.

  The floorboards creaked as she crossed the hallway and turned towards the furthest room at the end of the corridor. It was the one she had seen a shadow at earlier. The one that gave her the feeling of someone watching her. As if with a mind of their own, her legs walked past room by room and on towards that dreaded door.

  The closer she got the more she could discern the voice and she knew it was a young boy. It reminded her of choirs she listened to. Wide-eyed in awe at the perfection of the notes they sang and yet this simple nursery rhyme was filled with sadness. Tears were streaming down her eyes as she reached out to the door handle. Made of brass and tarnished with age. Cold to the touch she almost pulled her hand away, yet something forced her to turn it is as the humming continued.

  She pushed the door open and could see a child. Just like she had imagined his hair was all a tangle. A dirty unkempt brown, it flopped across his forehead. Old-fashioned clothes were patched to the point of destruction. Though his chin was dropped almost to his chest, dark brown eyes pleaded with her and she could not hold their gaze. As she dropped her own, she noticed he reached out towards her with work worn hands that were covered in filth. Lowering her eyes in shame she noticed that his feet were bare and dirty and they did not touch the ground!

  Rosie stepped back into the corridor, her heart hammered in her throat in time to the humming. The boy floated towards her, still humming.

  Then he stopped, the noise faded and she looked up into those big brown eyes. They were filled with longing and hope and she wanted to run to him and pull him into her arms. Something awful had happened to this boy, she felt it.

  Stepping forward he began to speak.

  “Play with me?” he asked.

  It was such a simple request and one she was happy to honor and she moved a step closer.

  The child lifted his head, as she did; he spoke again.

  “Play with me, please play with me. I'm so lonely. Why will no one play with me?”

  Rosie could not see his lips moving. Where were the words coming from? As if in answer, he tilted his head back exposing his throat. A vicious slash mark cut across it and the words were coming from this ghastly opening.

  Rosie turned to run. Behind her, blocking the doorway, were over a dozen children. All of them had terrible injuries to their throats. On some, blood ran down their necks and clothes. On others the wounds looked as if it they were old. Though the ragged edges were red, the wound no longer bled. The children were pale and drawn. Their eyes spoke of horrors she could only imagine.

  Rosie gasped and tried to step back. There was nowhere to go. She was surrounded.

  With blank faces and pitiful eyes the children reached out with grubby hands and surrounded her.

  Chapter 10

  Fingers clasped onto her clothes. Tugged at her arm. Like digits of ice they chilled to the bone as the children herded her away from the door. Pitiful eyes pleaded for a moment and then they changed. Red appeared around the rims. The eyes turned white, opaque and sunk into tiny skulls. The children were animals. Coming for her with blood on their minds. Fingers ended in claw like nails. As dirty as if they had just torn their way out of the earth and were determined to drag her back with them.

  Rosie turned in a circle. Panic flapped against her chest like a trapped bird as she searched for escape.

  A noise started behind her. A shrill keening. She whipped around and she saw it was one of the children.

  They were pushing her back. Towards the window. Their clasping hands, grabbing and poking, pushing and shoving. The sound rose until it hurt her ears and the panic fought inside of her. Like a beast trying to escape, it blocked her airways and squeezed her heart.

  Louder, the sound grew. All the children wailed like a beaten dog and yet still they craved her blood.

  Circling, herding, and pushing her backward.

  Screaming.

  Their mouths were all closed but the gash that was their throat opened obscenely. It vibrated along with the sound. That noise, that wail was of despair. It cut to her bone, sliced into her heart and made her feel all the sadness and torture they had suffered. Once they had hope. Not much. Just a little. Hope that life could be better. Only that hope had been snuffed out in a cold dark cellar that was damp and filled with water.

  How did I know that?

  It made no sense and yet she knew. She knew that they had died here, had been sacrificed and now they wanted her.

  Why?

  Still the noise rose higher and higher. She put her hands over her ears and pressed as hard as she could. The pain grew with the sound and she expected her eardrums to burst and blood to spurt out between her fingers.

  “Stop it,” she whispered but the torn and mutilated necks just flapped quicker, the noise rose higher.

  Did they want her to save them? To put them to rest? Or did they want her to join them in their eternal hell? Backward and backward they pushed her. Forcing her toward the window and what—a fall to her death?

  Rosie stopped as her legs hit the wood of the windowsill. Still they flocked toward her. Demanding that she give before them. The cold glass touched her back. She knew she had to fight, had to escape and yet how could she. There were so many of them. At least a dozen and they wanted her with them.

  Why?

  Grubby blank faces, opaque eyes and those hands kept grasping, kept pushing her back. Hands scraped across her clothes, nails cut into her skin and blood ran down her arms. All the time her heart raced so fast that she was sure it would burst.

  “Keep Back,” she called, but her voice was little more than a whisper.

  The screaming stopped and first the boy, the one she had originally seen. The one with the brown hair that flopped across his forehead in a way that made her want to smile, started to hiss. It was a sound of disapproval and it set her nerves tingling.

  “Hisssssssssssssss.”

  One more started.

  “Hissssssssssss.”

  And another.

  “Hissssssssssssssssss.”

  Soon the room was full of the sibilant sound of a thousand snakes all hissing and pushing her further. Rosie leaned on the window to escape. She had to get away and she cowered back pushing her shoulders against the cold pane until she heard it crack.

  The sound was as loud as a bullet. It rang out across the room. The hissing stopped and the children surged forward. Rosie overbalanced. Her hands flailed in panic. Desperate to grab onto something. To stop herself and yet there was an inevitability about it. An acceptance. Her hands flew out but she could not touch the children. Would not touch them, these things from beyond. The thought of it filled her with dread. Back and back she toppled as they crowded forward. The glass shattered with a pop and she was falling.

  Falling down and down through the darkness, waiting for the crunch of impact. Shouldn’t it be daylight? The thought crossed her mind just before she hit the ground with a bone jarring crunch.

  And then there was darkness.

  Her eyes opened to pain and the sound of thunder. It was raining and dark. A flash of lightning lit up the sky. She was lying on the ground and she started to remember. She had been falling.

  Shock raced through her, setting her nerves on edge and her skin all a tingl
e. The scars on her right arm and across her chest tightened and her breath caught in her throat as she sat up.

  The children. Where were the children?

  Jumping to her feet she scoured the darkness. They were not here, not about and the air seemed to release from her lungs.

  Rain poured down, soaking her clothes and hair. Plastering strands to her face and forehead. How long had she been out? Then she remembered it was dark as she fell only that was impossible. It had been light when she entered that bedroom. Light when the children forced her out of the window.

  What is happening?

  Quickly, she turned in a circle. The house was dark behind her. Menacing and closed it seemed to repel her like water off an oilskin. Round and round she turned. Desperate in the rain and the dark. What should she do? Where could she go? How would she survive this?

  Then she thought of Nick, of the priest. It was light enough for her to see in front of her and what other choice did she have. There was no way she was going back into the house. No way was she facing those kids. Yet maybe she could get to his house and then she would be safe.

  Setting off toward the back of the house she pushed through the rain. Shivering now as the cold penetrated through her exhausted mind. Would she find his house in the dark?

  The sound of a scream rang out behind her. It was desolate and full of pain and it pushed her onward. She would run until she found something, for anything was better than here.

  Soon she was amongst the trees. Panting, she pushed aside branches as she raced through the dark. The rain streamed down, and thunder rumbled in the distance. It was so much darker beneath the branches and she feared she would get lost but what did it matter?

  On and on she ran as if a hound of hell was panting at her back. Chasing her, hunting her, ready to drag her down and back to that house.

  A branch hit her face and she cried out and pushed it aside. The rain was so heavy now. It ran into her eyes and she blinked it away. Ducking and weaving she ran blindly through the trees and then she saw a clearing. Maybe she had found the priests home and yet there were no lights.

  Coming out of the trees she let out a gasp and slowed to a walk. If she could just take a moment to get her bearings then it would be easier. Only behind her the bushes shook and she could hear something coming through them. Something chased her. Looking back she started to run again. Her foot caught on something hard and she was sent sprawling to the ground. Landing heavily on her arms. She grunted in pain as the wind was knocked out of her. “Jesus!” Her face stopped millimeters from a stone jutting out of the ground.

  It was moss covered and old and added to the chill of the rain and the wind... for she knew what it was. A gravestone. Was this where the children were buried? Were they all here in these woods? Had they driven her to this site to find their remains?

  Panting heavily she found she couldn’t move. Shock had frozen her muscles and she kneeled over the grave. Her head close to the stone then a flash of lightning lit up the sky.

  A scream escaped her as she read the faded inscription.

  Father Nickolas Aubrey

  1725 – 1752

  It couldn’t be? It couldn’t be the same priest, the one who had visited her and yet she knew it was.

  Where could I run now?

  Chapter 11

  Rosie knew she could not go back. Something was happening there and she had to escape it. Logic told her that if she just kept going forward, then sooner or later she would come to somewhere and someone. She would find help and so she carried on in the same direction. Tearing back into the trees and running as fast as she could.

  Though she knew she would have to slow down eventually she could run for a few miles. Panic and adrenaline meant that she could maybe run for longer and yet tiredness was already sapping the strength from her legs. They ached and felt wooden. Maybe it was a lack of food. She hadn’t eaten well since she had got here. When was that? The days seemed to have drifted together and she wondered if it was just a couple of days or longer. When was Amy coming?

  The storm seemed to have eased and as she slowed to a walk the rain stopped and all was silent. Holding her breath she listened. Was anyone chasing her?

  There was no noise from behind her, no noise at all. Not even the dripping of the water from the trees. At first that seemed creepy. One moment she was running through torrential rain the next it was just so still. The calm after the storm! Maybe she was safe, maybe she had outrun her followers. That gave her a boost and she let out a big whoosh of air.

  Setting off at a steady walk she searched for signs of life. For lights in the darkness, or the sound of traffic. Anything that would tell her people were close. Anything that could lead her to safety.

  There was nothing for as far as the eye could see and so she bit down on her disappointment and just kept walking. Patting her pockets she searched for her phone. Maybe she would have a signal and if not it would give her a welcome light. The phone wasn’t there. It must be on her desk. Without it she felt more alone and more vulnerable than she had felt in a long while. For a moment her scars itched. The one on her cheek throbbed and those on her arm and chest burned. It happened whenever she was reminded of her past. Whenever she thought about Clive. Only tonight that boosted her. She had survived him against all the odd, she could survive a walk in a wood... forest?

  Feeling better she set off at a jog. Moving faster but still being careful that she placed her feel with caution. It would do her no good to fall again. A vision of her as a corpse, sat against a tree with a broken leg flashed into her mind. What was wrong with her and her damned creative mind?

  Barely containing her panic, she weaved through the trees always going towards the lightest cloud whenever it peeked through the tops of the branches. It had to be the one that hid the moon and so she had to be going in a straight line. Trees brushed her already soaked arms and covered her in even more cold water. She would have done anything to be warm, dry, and safe. To be sat on Amy’s sofa with a big steaming mug of hot chocolate and a blanket.

  Up ahead she saw some lights. A beacon in the darkness, they lured her to them. It looked like a single house but it took a weight off her shoulders and she picked up her pace. Weaving through the trees her legs were lighter and faster. She was able to duck more easily and eventually came out of the darkness and approached the dwelling.

  As the clouds cleared she let out a wail of anguish. She was back at the house. Back where she started. Only every light in the place seemed to be on. It glowed without warmth. The light mocked her, taunted her almost and she wondered if she dared approach.

  How could she be back here? Had she run in circles? That wasn’t possible. She was always going towards the moon, of that she was sure and yet... It didn’t make sense. For a moment she felt her knees buckle but she would not give in. Would not let it beat her. As she stood wondering what she should do next she saw movement up at the house.

  The door swung open and there was something wrong about it. It was a dark wooden door but there was something darker on it. Fear clenched onto her heart and she wondered just how much more she could take. After all the exertion and the shock how much could her poor body cope with before it simply gave up the ghost? For a moment her own thought caused her to giggle and she realized that she was close to hysteria. It was understandable. This had been one hell of a night.

  Her eyes flicked back to the woods and the possibility of escape but she knew it was no use. If she ran again then she was sure she would end up right back here. Exactly where she started only more and more tired each time. Maybe she could go in and get her phone. Maybe she could get far enough away to get a signal? Next time she would ignore the woods and try the driveway. It had been a long way to the road but she was young and fit, she was sure she could make it.

  Knowing she had no choice, she approached the house. At least inside she could get out of her wet clothes and into something warm and dry.

  The closer she got to the ho
use the more dread she felt and the more she wanted to turn and run. When she was just a few feet away she looked down at her arms. They should have been covered in scratches. From the nails of the children earlier and from her desperate flee through the woods. Yet her skin was not touched. She still had the ugly puckered scar from the burn but that was all.

  Had she imagined this? Had she imagined it all? With her head down inspecting her skin she walked up to the door and then looked up.

  A scream was ripped from her throat.

  Pinned to the door was the black cat. Its lifeless eyes stared at her accusingly. Its pink tongue peeked from between sharp white teeth and soft pink gums. Blood ran from the paws that were nailed to the wood and its fur was roughened with dried blood.

  The beast’s stomach had been opened and its entrails were hanging down like some macabre decoration.

  Rosie screamed and the world began to fade. This was it, she couldn’t go on. Though she tried to stagger backward her knees buckled and she hit the floor. As she lay before the door she welcomed the blackness that came over her.

  At least I escaped for a little while.

  Chapter 12

  Rosie jerked awake, cold sweat running down her back as she bolted up in the bed. A mournful meow pulled her eyes down to the covers. There, curled up beside her, was the cat. Its sleek back fur looked perfect. For a moment she had a vision of the mottled animal hanging from the door. Then she blinked and could see the cat before her. Its orange eyes chastised her for waking it and Rosie let out a gasp.

  It was all a dream, all just a bad dream.

  She reached over and grabbed her phone. It was 9.45 and she had overslept. Quickly she checked and the alarm was set. She must have slept right through it.

  Stretching, she got out of bed and was pulled to her writing room and the laptop. As she approached she noticed that the laptop was still on. That seemed strange. The screen usually went into sleep mode after ten minutes without activity. It had to have been a lot longer than that since she last sat at the desk. Clicking the mouse pad she flicked to an open document and began reading.