by Olivia White
The Haunting of Winchester Lane
by Ashton Raze
This work is copyright 2014 Ashton Raze. It is released under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International which means the work may be distributed freely with the appropriate credit, but may not be modified, changed or used for commercial purposes without the express permission of the existing copyright holder.
"A lot of buildings have histories," the realtor said, glancing around the bare living room uncomfortably. Kerry could see a thin film of sweat on his upper lip, just under that ridiculous pencil moustache that she and William had giggled about after their first meeting.
William made an 'mmhmm' sound, distracted by the peeling wallpaper in one corner.
"Uh, of course, we'll get that fixed up for you before you move in. Should you choose to move in, of course," the realtor said. His name was Dick. Dick Wickens. You couldn't make it up.
"So you were telling us about the place's history," Kerry prompted.
"Ah yes. Yes, well, that's the thing," Dick Wickens said, clearing his throat. "I've sold a lot of properties with a history. A castle on the outskirts of Berwick on Tweed which had been home to one of the worst monk-slaughters in British history. A-"
"Wait, monk slaughters?" William asked. "Was that like, a thing? A thing that happened regularly?"
"Monks weren't always as popular as they are now," Dick Wickens replied. "Anyway. That castle was said to be haunted by a headless, chain-rattling monk who died in misery. Many sightings over the years. You'd think it'd make it harder to sell the property, right? Wrong. People love that nonsense. The supernatural, the unexplained, the wailing of tormented souls. Love it, they do.
"I remember another time, I sold this old, broken down shack out on the Cotswolds. Said to be inhabited by the spirit of a woman waiting for her lover who got lost at sea."
"On the Cotswolds?" Kerry asked.
"Well, yes. I guess he'd gotten very, very lost. Anyway, ghostly candlelight was said to be seen in the window while the property was uninhabited. Got a pretty penny for that too. Old couple live there now. They run a website about the ghost. The Sea Maiden Of The South, they call her.
"Of course, the whole thing's a sham. Turned out the light in the window was an impromptu meth lab set up by squatters in the seventies. Cleared that out post-haste. Definitely haunted as well though."
Dick Wickens strode out of the living room and into the kitchen ('spacious, and perfect for a family' the brochure had called it. It was distinctly average).
"Then another time, I sold a semi-detached in Somerset in which a builder snapped and slaughtered the family. Killed the husband, wife, two kids, then threw himself off the roof onto a wrought iron fence. You can still see the bloodstains on the metalwork. Got all the documentation for that one. Newspaper clippings, the lot. Really boosted the value. A practitioner of alternative medicine bought it, and runs a clinic out of the house. For anger management, would you believe. She claims she channels the negative... chakra? Energy? Into her therapies. Works wonders, she says. I don't know about that, but I do know she's done pretty well for herself. She's looking to franchise, buy up a few more haunted houses to set up clinics. Good lady, she is."
William, who as picking at the kitchen lino, sighed. "So, about this place?"
"Ah, yes," Dick Wickens said. A look of slight guilt passed across his face. "Now for the downside. This place... I'm afraid there's no story here at all. No tragedies in its past. Previous owner was a schoolteacher and his husband who retired to Marbella. Owner before that was a young family who eventually upsized to a detached. Literally nothing of note has ever happened here. Nothing.
"If it's a problem, I do have some other properties on our listings that might be more to your tastes. A cottage built on an ancient Indian burial ground. An apartment in a converted former abattoir. A nice little place on a housing estate build amongst a funfair, abandoned after the deaths of six clowns in a horrifying bumper car accident. Just say the word."
Kerry frowned. "Are these properties really so popular?" she asked. "It's just, well, we like to watch horror movies, don't we William?"
William muttered an affirmative.
"And in those movies, nobody wants to move into haunted houses. Nobody. They're spoken of in hushed tones, warned against by the locals. and it always seems to be storming whenever anyone approaches."
"Ah, the unrealism of Hollywood," Dick Wickens sighed. "Yes, no, that's just not the case at all. These places are in huge demand. Huge. People love a good ghost story. In fact, I really struggle to shift these nice, quiet, non-haunted places. Really struggle. Half wish I could arrange for a few murders in-situ just to boost the value."
He stopped, wiped his brow with a handkerchief, and laughed sheepishly.
"Joking, of course. Real estate's not quite that cutthroat, not yet anyway."
"As it happens, we're actually looking for somewhere quiet. Somewhere uneventful. Somewhere to settle down, maybe start a family, definitely not get haunted. Isn't that right, William?"
William, who was hastily trying to reattach a cupboard door, turned around and nodded emphatically.
"Absolutely dear. No ghosts, you said. No ghosts, no murders, no underground lakes, and no ancient artefacts of unknown origin left behind by the previous owners."
"Well, you'll find none of those things here. None whatsoever. The only chance this house has of getting a ghost problem is if you two end up killing each other."
Wickens froze. An uncomfortable silence followed. William broke the hush with a braying laugh.
"Not much chance of that is there, Kerry darling? We're pacifists."
Kerry nodded. "William's a vegan."
"So if we took this place," William said, "you'd have your men come in and clean it up a little before we moved in?"
Dick Wickens clapped his hand on William's shoulder. "Sure, sure," he said. "I mean, uh, it'll cost a little, of course, but you want your first house together to be a home, after all. I know a guy. Very good. Painter, decorator, all-round handyman. Could probably get you a good deal, if you were happy to pay in cash."
"That sounds great!" Kerry said. "So, William, I think we've looked around everywhere. What do you think?"
The pair glanced around at the bare kitchen, the threadbare dining room, the scrappy yard beyond the back door. Dust motes danced and glittered in the rays of sunlight spilling through the skewed Venetian blinds.
It's empty, Kerry thought, and hollow. Hollow, yeah that's it. The place needs life. Our lives? Our lives. We could turn this house into something wonderful, I know it. There's a study for William, a nice attic room for my collection, two bedrooms upstairs. One for us, and one for... yes, for a little one. Someday soon.
Subconsciously, Kerry put her hand on her belly. Her thoughts began to drift. She caught William looking at her.
"Oh, William, let's take it," she said. "It'll be perfect. It's just the right place."
"I'm quite tempted to check out the abattoir apartment before making a decision," William said, frowning.
"Oh, no, William, we said no apartments remember? Please, William. I have such a good feeling about this place. Such a good feeling. This could be our home. No, this is our home!"
"Sounds like the lady's spoken," Dick Wickens said, already opening his clipboard and leafing through to the contract.
William paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought. Then; "Yes. Yeah, it is rather delightful, isn't it? We could do a lot with this place.
"Okay Wickens, draw up the paperwork. We'll take it."
A month later, Kerry and William O'Donague moved into their new home, the delightful, completely u
n-haunted terraced house on Winchester Lane.
