The Haunting of Shadow Hill House

by Caroline Clark

  The shadow formed and circled him, buffeting him and yet he would not move. Then it swarmed down and into the coffin. Once it was all inside there was peace once more and the lid of the small and insubstantial coffin slammed shut.

  Mason let out a gasp of air. “Is it over?”

  “I think so.” Luke stepped towards the grave and threw a single pink carnation onto the coffin.

  Mason had not seen the flower before but thought that the priest must have prepared even this beautiful gesture. Now he wanted to go. To find Jenny, and yet his car was back at the house and he could see that Luke wanted to see that the grave was filled. With difficulty, he stood and looked as solemn as he could.

  “Here.” Luke passed over his keys. “Take my car and I pray that Jenny is safe.”

  Mason nodded. “Thanks.”

  “We did a good thing here,” Luke said as Mason ran for the car.

  Mason gunned the car and reversed down the narrow driveway as fast as he could. He knew the priest was right. That is was good to put the child to rest. It would prevent her hurting others but it was also the best thing for her. She was so tormented and this was a great release and yet all he could see was Jenny’s sweet face. Though his shoulder hurt and a wave of dizziness engulfed him, he pushed the car faster along the narrow and twisty lanes. What would he do if they were too late? Would they have to do the same ritual for Jenny?

  That thought was too hard to even contemplate.

  Jenny was losing the fight. Victoria was stronger than she was and each time she touched her it was sapping her will to fight and yet she had to. Abby and Mason needed her and if she was pregnant... then she owed it to the child. It made sense, the sickness and the sudden craving for ice-cream. It was something she never liked and yet the first time she was pregnant it was all she wanted to eat.

  The room was so cold and Victoria had a hold on her arm. She was dragging her towards the balcony. Pushing and pulling and Jenny wanted to give in, she wanted to let go. Her only weapon seemed to be the pain and yet if she dug her nails into her hands she couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t hold onto the banister and try and stop the fall. In the end, she released her fingers and instantly she felt herself relax and give into the spirit. It was like a wave of fatigue washed over her and carried her along with it. How could she stop the feeling? She was no longer resisting, no longer digging in her heels, and though she wanted to remove the noose, she could not force her hands to move. Then she thought of Abby and she bit down on her lip. This time she kept biting until blood ran into her mouth and tears streamed out of her eyes. It gave her back a sense of will but it also incensed Victoria.

  “You have to come with me,” she screamed and suddenly there was a whirlwind in the house. The pressure from the wind swept Jenny ever closer to the banister. She could feel it lift her from her feet and she knew it was too late.

  “No,” she screamed and she grabbed the noose and pulled it from her neck. If she fell it may still kill her or paralyze her but it would not be a hanging. She would not go the way the spirit wanted. The wind swept her up over the railing but she clung on for dear life. Though her arms screamed in pain and her shoulders were almost wrenched from the socket she hung on.

  “You are not welcome here,” she shouted through clenched teeth. “Go!”

  As if on her command the wind dropped and she was left hanging by her arms. The house was deadly silent and felt peaceful in a way she had never known. Everything came back to her. Who she was, her family, and how close she had come. Sobbing, she tried to pull herself up but it was no good. Her weight was too much and her arms could hardly support her. Then she heard a car pulling up and she looked to the door. It was Luke’s car.

  “In here,” she shouted. “Help me.”

  The pain was so much that she wondered if she could hold on but she heard footsteps running up the stairs. Her eyes were closed now as she clung on for grim death, but then she felt a hand touch hers and she looked up into Mason’s face.

  Quickly he grasped onto her arm and hauled her over the banister. They both collapsed onto the floor and she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “How you doing?” he asked, panting between each word.

  “Good,” she managed. “You?”

  Mason laughed and pulled her to him and kissed her head.

  “I’m good too, but I think I pulled my stitches.”

  “Typical of a man, can never rest when he’s told to.” Jenny turned and checked his arm. He was right. “It looks like another visit to the hospital. What should we tell them?”

  Mason doubled over laughing. “I suggest a break in,” he managed when he finally controlled himself.

  Jenny nodded.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later.

  Jenny walked around the garden and through the artists who were enjoying her latest retreat. It was a year to the day of them laying Victoria to rest and later they were celebrating.

  Gail Parker and her boyfriend, Jesse, were coming for a meal with them and Luke, the priest, would be there also. They had so much to be grateful for and so much to thank these people for and yet she knew that it would not be mentioned.

  Gail and Jesse had arrived the morning following all the excitement. They were very disappointed to have missed everything but eager to learn all they could. Since then they had become good friends. Mason even helped them with their website and accounts from time to time. They had come into the house and checked everything over and had assured them that all was fine. It seemed so strange to see them walking around with their meters and cameras, almost like a television show. Once they had been through the house twice they assured them that Victoria was gone. Still, Jenny managed to persuade them to stay for a few nights and she felt so much better after that.

  There had been no more occurrences, nothing at all. They had even managed to clean the stains from the carpets and this time they never returned.

  Abby seemed to remember nothing and yet she no longer wanted to sleep in her old room. Mason quickly decorated one of the guest suites in a bright and sunny yellow and she moved next to their room. It felt much better and much safer when the guests arrived. They even had a door fitted so that their part of the house was private.

  Jenny had cleaned out the attic and now used it as a storeroom. It seemed such a sad little place but once again, with some good lighting and a coat of white paint, it was a different place.

  Jenny stopped behind one of her artists.

  “Slow down, Mark,” she said. “It’s not a race and you are not allowing your senses to appreciate what is before you. Once you do, you will be able to transfer that feeling to the canvas. It’s not just about what you see... it’s mostly about how you feel.”

  Mark nodded a head covered in shaggy ginger hair and looked a little bashful.

  Jenny moved on. Life was so good. She got time to paint and to explain her methods to other artists. Her retreats were getting excellent reviews and she was now booked up two years in advance. Mason was working from home and had just a dozen clients. That gave him time to help her and to help look after the guests.

  Over to one side, Abby was sat with her brother, James. He was the sweetest child with jet black hair and pale blue eyes. Jenny would not call them gray. Not after what had happened, but she had to admit that at times they bore a resemblance to Victoria’s. There was something else that disturbed her. Mason told her it was ridiculous and yet she could not shake a feeling of dread. The stain. The one in the hallway had been in the shape of an angel. After she had seen Victoria fall she understood, but Mason had never seen it. Could never understand how she saw the shape, but she could. Now her son had a birthmark on his right shoulder in the exact same shape.

  Was he her little angel or was the mark something more foreboding? Jenny knew that it could be nothing, could be just a coincidence, or her stressed mind looking for trouble and yet sometimes when she saw it she felt the room chill.

  THE END

 
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  25th April 15 82

  The basement of the cage.

  Derbyshire.

  England.

  3:15 am.

  Alden Carter looked down at his shaking hands. The sight of blood curdled his stomach as it dripped onto the floor. For a moment, his resolve failed, he did not recognize the thin, gnarled fingers. Did not recognize the person he had become. How could he do this, how could he treat another human being in this terrible way and yet he knew he must. If he did not, then the consequences for him would be grave. For a second he imagined a young girl with a thin face and a long nose. Her brown hair bounced as she ran in circles and she flashed a smile each time she passed. The memory brought him joy and comfort. Brook was not a pretty girl, but she was his daughter, and he loved her more than he could say. He remembered her joy at the silver cross he gave her. The one that he was given from the Bishop, the one that cost him his soul.

  Rubbing his hands through sparse hair, he almost gagged at the feeling of the crusty blood he found there. How many times had he run those blood-soaked fingers through his lank and greasy hair? Too many to count. It had been a long night, and it was not over yet. This must be done, and it was him who had to do it.

  Suddenly, his throat was dry, and fatigue weighed him down like the black specter of death he had become. A candle flickered and cast a grotesque shadow across the wall. Outside, the trees shook their skeletal fingers against the brick and wood house and he closed his eyes for a moment. Seeing Brook once more he strengthened his resolve. The trees trembled, and the wind seemed to whisper through their leaves, tormenting him, telling him that he was wrong but he would not stop. Could not stop. Taking a breath, he felt stronger now, and with a shaky hand, he picked up an old stein and took a drink of bitter ale. It did not quench his thirst, but it gave him a little courage. He must do this. He must go back down to the cage and finish what he had started, for if he did not Brook would not survive and maybe neither would he?

  The kitchen was sparse and dark and yet he knew he was lucky. The house was made of brick as well as wood. It was three stories’ high and was bigger than he needed. This was a luxury few could afford. As was the plentiful supply of food in the pantry and work every day. The Bishop had been kind to him, and he knew he had much to be grateful for. Yet, what price had he paid? As the wind picked up, the trees got angry and seemed to curse him with their branches. Rattling against the walls and making ghostly shadows through the window. Alden turned from them and up to the wall before him. The sight of it almost stopped his heart and yet he knows he must go back down to the cage. If the Bishop found him up here with his job not done, then he would be in trouble... Brook would be in trouble. A shiver ran down his spine as he approached the secret door. Reaching out a shaky hand he touched the wall. It was cold, hard and yet it gave before him. With a push, the catch released and the door swung inward. Before him was a dark empty space. A chasm, an evil pit that he must descend into once more.

  Picking up the oil lamp, he approached the stairs and slowly walked down into the dark. The walls were covered in whitewash, and yet they did not seem light. Nothing about this place seemed light. Shadows chased across the ceiling behind him and then raced in front as if eager to reach the hell below. Cobwebs clawed at his face. These did not bother Alden, he did not fear the spider, no, it was the serpent in God’s clothing who terrified him.

  With each step, the temperature dropped. He had never understood why it was so much colder down here. Cellars were always cool, but this one… with each step, he felt as if he was falling into the lake. That he had broken through the ice and was sinking into the water. Panic clenched his stomach as he wondered if he would drown. The air seemed to stagnate in his lungs, and they ached as he tried to pull in a breath. It was just panic, he shook it off, and was back on the stairs. His feet firm on the stone steps he descended deeper and deeper. He shrugged into his thick, coarse jacket. The material would not protect him, of that he was sure, but he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind and stepped onto the soft soil of the basement floor.

  There was an old wooden table to his right. Quickly, he put the oil lamp on it. Shadows chased across the room. In front of him, his work area was just touched with the light, he knew he must look confident as he approached the woman shackled to the wall. Ursula Kemp was once a beauty. With red hair and deep green eyes. Her smooth ivory skin was traced with freckles, and she had always worn a smile that had the local men bowing to her every need. Seven years ago she had married the blacksmith, and they had a daughter, Rose. Alden felt his eyes pulled to his right… there in the shadows lay a pile of bones. A small pile, the empty eyes of the skull accused him. Though he could not look away from that blackened, burned, mound… the cause of another stain on his soul. Bile rose in his throat, and the air seemed full of smoke. It was just his imagination, he swallowed, choked down a cough and pulled his eyes away. Blinking back tears, he turned and looked up at Ursula. Chained to the wall she should be beaten, broken, and yet there was defiance in her eyes. They were like a cool stream on a hot summer’s day. Something about them defied the position she was in. How could she not be beaten? How could she not confess?

  “Confess witch,” he said the words with more force than he felt. Fear and anger fired his speech and maybe just a little shame. “Confess, and this will be over.”

  Ursula’s eyes stared back at him cool, calm, unmoving. She looked across at the bones, and he expected her to break. Yet her face was calm… her lips twitched into a smile.

  Alden’s eyes followed hers. The bones were barely visible in the dark, but he could still see them as clear as day. A glint of something sparkled in the lamplight, but he did not see it. All he could see was the bones. Sweat formed on his palms as if his hands remembered putting them there. Remembered how they felt, strangely smooth and powdery beneath his fingers. Ash is like silk on the fingers… a sob almost escaped him, and for a second he wanted to free Ursula, to tell her to run… and yet, if he did then the Bishop may turn him and Brook into a heap of ash like the one he was trying to not look at.

  In his mind, he heard the sound of a screaming child, the sound of the flames. Smelt the burning, an almost tantalizing scent of roasting meat. Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts away. Now was the time for strength. Biting down on his lip, he fought back the tears and turned to face her once more.

  “You will not break me,” she shouted defiantly. “Unlike you, I have done no wrong. Kill me, and I will haunt you and your family until the end of time.”

  Alden turned as anger overrode his judgment, striding to the table he picked up a knife. It was thin, cruel, and the blade glinted in the lamplight. Controlling the shaking of his hands, he crossed the room and plunged it into her side. For a second it caught… stopped by the thickness of her skin. Controlled by rage, he leaned all his strength against it and it sliced into her. Slick, warm blood poured across his fingers. “Confess, confess NOW,” he screamed spraying her face with spittle.

  A noise from above set his heart beating at such a rate that he thought she must hear it. It pounded in his chest and reminded him of his favorite horse as it galloped across the fields.

  The Bishop was here.

  Without a confession, he was damned, but maybe he was damned anyway. Maybe his actions doomed him to never rest, yet he must save his daughter, he must save his darling Brook.

  As he heard the door above open, panic filled his mind, he must act now, or it would be too late. Then he saw it in her eyes, Ursula knew what was coming. She knew she would die soon and yet she did not fear it. Maybe she thought she would meet her daughter, that they would be together again. He did not know, but the calm serenity in her eyes chilled him to the bone.

  In a fit of
rage, he struck her on the temple. The light left her eyes, her head dropped forward, and she was unconscious, but it no longer mattered… he had a plan.

  “You have confessed,” he shouted. “You are a witch. By the power of the church, I sentence you to death, you will be hung by the neck until you die.”

  Before the Bishop reached him, he pulled back his hand and slapped her hard across the face. The slap did not wake her, but the noise resounded across the cellar. As the Bishop stopped behind him, he felt an even deeper chill. This man had no morals, no conscience. Alden knew what he had done was wrong, but he did not care. If it kept his family safe, he would sacrifice any number of innocents, and yet his stomach turned at the thought of what was to come.

  “You have your confession,” the Bishop’s voice was harsh in the darkness. “Let us hang her and end this terrible business.”

  Ursula woke to the feel of rough, coarse hemp around her neck. As her eyes came open, she felt the pain in her side and knew it was a mortal wound. The agony of it masked the multiple injuries she had received over the past few days.

  Alden was holding her. Hoisting her up onto a platform which was suspended over the rail of the balcony. The rope tightened as he placed her feet on the smooth wood and fear filled her. This was it, she knew what was coming, and yet she shook the fear away. To her side, the Bishop stood, a lace handkerchief in his hand as he dabbed at the powder on his face. Blond hair covered a plump but handsome visage, with good bones and a wide mouth, but his eyes… they were gray and hard. The color of a gravestone they could cut through granite with just a look. Amusement danced in them, or maybe it was just the lamp flickering. It could not provide nearly enough for her to really tell, and yet she knew.