The Haunting of Shadow Hill House

by Caroline Clark

  Jenny flinched a little when there was no mention of Mason but she let it slide.

  “She just hates that expression,” Abby said. “You must be a good girl has been said to her so many times that she hates it and it makes her angry.”

  “If she is a good girl then there would be no need to say it again,” Jenny said moving her eyes from Abby to the spot where Victoria could be! “We would love to welcome you into our family, wouldn’t we, Mason?” Jenny turned and took Mason’s hand, he looked bemused but put on a big goofy smile and nodded.

  Abby seemed to relax and turned.

  “We best get ready for school,” she said. “Victoria is really looking forward to it.”

  With that she held out her hand and skipped from the room. It looked so strange and yet so normal and Jenny let out a huge gasp of air and almost collapsed into a heap.

  Chapter 11

  Jenny dropped Mason at work and then took Abby to school. All throughout the journey she was talking excitedly to herself.

  “You will make friends,” she would say. “Yes, you will have fun. The school was always fun back at home. No, I don’t want to go back, well, maybe sometimes but not to leave you.”

  Jenny found herself both amused and a little worried.

  “Did you meet any new friends?” she asked.

  “No, not really,” Abby said. “One girl called me strange for staying at Shadow Hill.”

  “Well, if she does it again you tell the teacher.”

  “I can’t snitch,” Abby said in a voice way too old for her seven years.

  Jenny found herself laughing and worried all at the same time. How difficult must it be starting a new school in the middle of the term?

  She parked the car and helped Abby out grabbing her bag and then her hand out of instinct. Abby pulled away.

  “Mummy, Victoria had that hand!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Victoria.”

  Jenny stepped around Abby and took her other hand. It felt wrong, dangerous. Abby was now closest to the road and every nerve in Jenny’s body rebelled and yet she did not know what else to do.

  Soon, they were at the school gates. Jenny bent down and handed over a lunch box. It contained two sets of sandwiches, two cake bars and two apples. She hoped that Abby would not make a fool of herself in front of the other children but what could she do. Bending down she kissed her cheek.

  “Have a great day,” she said and was about to go.

  “Don’t forget Victoria’s kiss,” Abby said.

  Jenny looked around, no one was paying any attention so she ducked down again and kissed where she imagined the child was supposed to be.

  “Have a great day... both of you,” she said before watching Abby run through the school gate her right hand held out to the side.

  Oh, what was she going to do?

  Jenny wanted to run back to the house to start looking into the loft and yet she also dreaded it. So she nipped into the shops to look for some rugs. Both carpets were rich and deep in color. The hallway, a busy red and deep blue pattern and the bedroom, a rich burgundy. What she needed was a rug that wouldn’t look too out of place and she spent an hour looking backward and forward between the rugs until an exasperated sales assistant tracked her down.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Jenny wondered whether to explain the situation and in the end decided it was the best way. So she told him off the stains and the problem. He steered her to the back of the store where offcuts of carpet had been made into rugs. They were perfect. There were some very similar to the hallway.

  In the end she picked one a little darker for the hallway. It was red and almost black but she hoped that in the shade it wouldn’t look too bad. For the bedroom she picked a slightly lighter color. Thinking that it would brighten the dark room and add a bit of warmth.

  Feeling much more positive, after all, the house would not beat her. She would hide these stains whether it liked it or not and feeling much better she headed back to Shadow Hill.

  Once there she intended to rush straight up to the loft and begin her investigation. For some reason she was drawn to it. Maybe it was because Victoria had warned her out of there, maybe it was her dream, or maybe it was that trunk. It didn’t matter, until she went back up it was like an itch that she couldn’t quite reach.

  Yet, she wasn’t quite ready so she put on the kettle while she got the rugs from the car. The first one looked much better than she could have hoped. Yes, it looked slightly out of place, especially if you were near it but from a distance it was hardly noticeable. It was much better than the angel shaped stain.

  Grabbing the other rug she hauled it up the stairs to the bedroom. As she turned the corner she stopped. There was a figure stood there leaning over the balcony just above the stain. Her mouth opened and she tried to shout but then it was gone. It faded before her and melted into the wall. What was wrong with her?

  The rug had dropped from her hand and she wondered whether to run or to carry on. For a moment she thought about going, and yet where would she go? So, she picked up the rug and, denying her fear, she walked on to the bedroom.

  As always, she felt her skin crawl slightly as she entered the room, but she shook it off. You’re not driving me out, she thought and walked in with her head held high.

  The stain in this room was at the base of the bed.

  Jenny dropped the rug and arranged it so that it covered the stain. It looked good and as if it was meant to be there. She wondered if Mason would even notice it, she knew he no longer saw the stains. What was it with men?

  Leaving that age old question for another day she went downstairs and made a cup of coffee.

  The kitchen was so quiet and so perfect. It was a combination of old and new and was exactly what she wanted and yet if felt alien. The coffee had gone cold and yet she could not force herself to leave this room. Somehow, she felt safe here and was trying to build her courage to face the loft and yet it would not come.

  This was ridiculous, she had so much to do before her first clients arrived. There was a bedroom to paint, as well as part of the hallway and their own room. Once that was done she needed to complete a few works to demonstrate with. She had pencil drawings done but she wanted to do the same bowl of fruit from conception to completion and use it to train her students. It was quite a bit of work and she had waited until they got here as she wanted to complete the painting in the room she would use to train. It made a difference what light was used and this would be the most authentic she could get.

  Then she had to set up her paperwork for the course. She had started to develop notes and workings but they needed completing and printing out. Then she wanted to do a welcome pack. Again, this had been left until they were here so that she could see the house first and make sure that everything was right.

  Then she realized that she hadn’t been online since they arrived. Most of her correspondence came to her phone and that had been blessedly quiet but she should check her email accounts to see if there were any emails and queries and she also wanted to look into the next advert.

  All of this was waiting for her and here she was twiddling her thumbs because she wasn’t sure whether to open the trunk of an imaginary girl. If that wasn’t procrastination at its greatest, then what was?

  Somehow, that thought broke her reticence and she found a torch and set off for the attic. If there was anything to find she would find it and she would get to the bottom of this mystery.

  Once more, as she approached the bend in the stairs, she felt her heart kick up a beat. What did she really expect to find behind that wall? A vision of Victoria filled her mind and she shook it away. After all the ghost was at school with her daughter. That was a really crazy thought and she knew it. After she had climbed the seven steps she hesitated before turning. Listening, she tried to discern if anything was waiting for her and yet all she could hear was the ringing and hissing that had plagued her since her encounter in the bath tub.

&nb
sp; What had that been? Was It Victoria? If so, what did it mean?

  Jenny found she could not make any sense of it and so she pushed the thought aside and wondered what she should do if the spirit came back. If something had really attacked her in the bath then they were obviously in danger. What else could it have been? A panic attack? Could she have slipped and panicked so badly that she felt she was being attacked? It didn’t make sense, she was not like that and she decided that as soon as she was finished here she would get on the internet and see if she could discover any way to protect her family.

  Taking a breath, she turned the corner to find nothing. Just the seven stairs up to the white painted door with the lock on the outside!

  Taking the steps quickly, before her nerves could get the better of her, she flicked on the torch and pulled open the door. Darkness escaped and stormed the stairwell. Jenny flinched back as if it could harm her. The thought of that gloom touching her skin tightened her chest but she shrugged it off and stepped upward. It was just a shadow after all.

  With the torch she found the light pull instantly and this time the sickly yellow glow seemed even weaker. It was just a glow in the distance and she was surrounded by shadows and yet the torch pointed the way. It shone directly where she went the time before, directly back to the trunk.

  Jenny looked around, scanning the beam over the boxes and other items that were so covered in dust that they appeared as just shapes. They hulked at the edge of the beam and she was waiting for their eyes to open and the shapes to move. To become living, breathing monsters. What was wrong with her? Though she was an artist, she had always recorded what she saw, not some fantasy world. In fact, she had never believed in anything that could not be seen and recorded and surely this spirit was neither of those. Only, she had recorded it and she had seen it. Suddenly, she could picture the painting in the ballroom and the fear was almost overwhelming. Pulling to a halt she wondered about running from here and never coming back. Only, she must find out what was going on. Mason wouldn’t. He didn’t see things the way she did, didn’t feel the trouble with Abby. If she gave in now then they were at this... this... thing’s mercy.

  Ignoring the way her heart thumped against her chest, ignoring the ringing in her ears, she inched forward. With each step she searched the darkness. Looking for anything that may lead her to an answer but there was nothing. Just more junk, more clutter and lots and lots of boxes.

  The sound of panting stopped her and she strained to hear. Was someone here? Each time she stopped to listen the sound stopped. She would strain for any sound but nothing was there so she let out her breath and moved again. The panting was back and it was so close. Jenny pressed a finger to each ear, for a moment, the ringing stopped and she listened. All was quiet, no one was here unless they were watching her, following her and stopping each time she stopped. Panic was like a beast inside her. Clawing its way through her sanity as it tried to escape. Only the thought of Abby kept her here and kept her moving. This time, as the panting came back she recognized it. Her own desperate hyperventilating had been scaring her. There was no one here but her and her panic.

  Moving forward again she was almost to the box. The air seemed thicker now. It was harder to breathe and she had to fight hard to control the panic. To force herself to take long, slow breaths because she was starting to feel faint. Slowly, just breathe slowly and deeply, she told herself and the room cleared.

  Then she stopped before the trunk. It was surrounded by boxes and she could see that a path led behind them. What was there? She knew she would have to find out but first things first. This trunk had called her and now she was here would she have the courage to open it?

  It was an old-fashioned shipping trunk. Dark wood bound with metal stays. The lid came over the box and had a catch that could be secured with a padlock. The metal was old and looked to be green with oxidation. Jenny paused but she knew she could not stay here too long, if she did her nerve would surely leave her. It was time, she reached out her hand and moved it towards the trunk. There was no blast of air this time and yet an almost imperceptible current ran through her hand. It wasn’t quite static but there was a buzz in the air. As if the trunk was repelling her but its batteries were wearing low.

  Was that because Victoria wasn’t here?

  Pushing such a foolish thought away she touched the lid. Again there was no shock but a definite current. A feeling of malevolence filled her and she pulled her hand back.

  “Oh, stop this,” she said to the empty attic and the words reverberated in the eaves and came back to her. That was creepy but was explainable, or at least she thought it was. The room was just flat surfaces with no carpet or wallpaper to deaden the sound waves.

  Again she reached out, this time the current was even less and she did not pull her hand back. The trunk buzzed slightly beneath her fingers and then it was still. Slowly, with gritted teeth she lifted the lid.

  It was full of dolls. Their lifeless gray eyes all staring up at her. Then she realized they were the same dead fish color of Victoria’s eyes. Most of the dolls were blond too and they were as creepy as dolls can get and yet she imagined they were old. As she picked one up she expected it to move, or to try and bite her. It did nothing, of course, it was just a doll. The face was hand painted porcelain she thought and very well done. The dress was exquisite, the stitching perfect. For some reason, she reached in and pulled out another and another and then she saw books beneath it. They were journals, all leather bound, it looked like four of them. With a shaking hand she pulled one out and what she read on the front chilled her blood.

  This Journal Belongs to Victoria Pennyford

  Aged 9 Years

  The Year of Our Lord 1690

  Victoria had existed. Could Abby have come up here and found this? Was that why she imagined Victoria as her friend? Jenny found so many questions going through her head she wanted to scream at them to stop. Where had she heard the name Pennyford? The cover sent ice water through her veins and once more she was breathing too fast and coming close to a panic attack.

  Shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath, and then she opened them and skipped through the journal.

  Mama and Papa are fighting again. The screams resonate through the house. I heard Mama say that was why my room was so far away. I know I must stay in my room when Mama screams, but it is so hard. The monster came again last night and I was so afraid.

  Jenny read more, it spoke of a terrified child and an abused mother. It seemed the woman was trying to protect her daughter but still the abuse was overwhelming the child. Jenny felt tears running down her cheeks as she felt for Victoria and all she had been through. She turned to another page.

  Papa sent me to the loft again. I have made my own place and brought a blanket up when he wasn’t looking. Sometimes I play with my dollies but it is so dark and the monster hides up here. I hear him whistling and know he is coming for me. I am so afraid that I hide under the blankets and keep as still as I can. That way the monster will miss me, or at least I hope so.

  As Jenny read the words she heard the wind whistling. It worked its way through the tiles and whistled between them before escaping further down the attic somewhere in the eaves. She could understand how a terrified child would think it a monster. It certainly made her own heart pound a little harder.

  Jenny skipped on more and more of the pages. Each time she stopped to read, the journal told of a girl afraid of her father and how she wanted to help her mother. The further towards the end the more the girl hated her father. She was beginning to see him as the monster and yet she couldn’t quite make herself accept it. Then she found a dozen pages that looked strange. She stopped and read them.

  I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be
a good girl.

  There were over 10 pages all with the same words, all neatly written. No wonder Victoria didn’t like that phase! Now, how could Abby know that? Either she had been up here or she had communicated with Victoria somehow. Jenny kept looking through and there were more instances of it. The next time there were over 20 pages, all so neatly written and yet in places the paper had crinkled. It looked like Victoria had cried when she wrote this.

  I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl. I must be a good girl.

  Time after time she came across the same phrase that filled page after desperate page with the same awful words. How could the poor child have coped with this? There was more about her being locked in the attic. At least, that explained the lock on the outside of the door. It was not to keep something evil in, just a poor frightened child.

  There were times in the journal when Victoria had been struck. Times when she had been screamed at, or dragged up here by her hair after her mother had been knocked unconscious. Jenny wondered why the woman didn’t leave him but then she realized that 1690 was a different time. How would a single mother cope with a child in those days?

  Jenny couldn’t read anymore. It made her feel ill that a parent could do this to his daughter and she could understand Victoria’s animosity towards Mason. What child would want a father after some of the things that hers had done to her?

  She put down the journal and followed the track between the boxes. Though she knew what she would find it was still a shock. Victoria had built a room out of boxes, there was just a small entrance, like an igloo, and Jenny shone the torch down the hole. She could see a blanket, another journal and a children’s book. There were bits of candle wax on the floor and she could see a candle stub in the tiny room. Though there was no way she was going in there. It was way too creepy, she could empathize with Victoria. The child had made the best of her situation. She was clever and resourceful and brave. The thought of her using a candle amongst all this paper was terrifying. How could anyone do this to a child?