The Ghost of Shapley Hall

by Amy Cross

  “Hey,” I said cautiously, turning to Rachel again, “would you be okay up here alone for just a few minutes?”

  “Sure,” she muttered.

  I paused, surprised by her answer. Earlier she'd been terrified by this room, but now apparently she had no concerns at all. Evidently her fears were less overwhelming when she was focused on work.

  “I won't be long,” I continued, “I just want to go down and check something out, so maybe -”

  “It's fine,” she replied, interrupting me as she continued to work. “If Edward Shapley appears again, I'll...” She hesitated for a moment, before glancing at me. “Just go,” she said firmly, with just the faintest trace of fear in her eyes. “I'll be fine up here.”

  “I'll be real quick,” I told her, heading to the door. I still found it strange that she'd suddenly become so bold, but by that point I was kind of used to the quick changes in her temperament. Making my way out into the corridor and toward the top of the stairs, I began to steel myself for facing whoever was out there on the lawn. The crazy part was that no matter how many times I reminded myself that ghosts didn't exist, there was a part of me that was starting to notice the creepiness of the house more keenly than before. Suddenly the shadows seems menacing, as if there might yet be someone or something hiding in the darkness, watching us.

  I was starting to understand how even smart people could start believing in that kind of rubbish, but I felt a little proud of myself for not succumbing. I told myself I had a strong, logical mind that was immune to dumb superstition.

  Reaching the kitchen, I headed to the back door and turned the key, before stepping out into the cold night air. Rain was falling steadily now, but as I looked across the lawn I felt a flash of relief when I realized that there was no sign of anyone. At the same time, assuming that the figure had been a stray yokel from the village, I really didn't like the idea of some random weirdo lurking in the dark and watching us. After taking care to look the door so that no-one could slip inside, I grabbed an old shovel that had been left leaning against the wall and I started to make my way out across the lawn. Glancing around, I half expected to spot someone running through the darkness, but finally I reached the middle of the lawn and stopped.

  I waited, shivering slightly as the wind picked up, but there was still no sign of anyone.

  I told myself that whoever was out here had probably bolted as soon as they saw me, although deep down I still felt a faint rumbling of concern. Turning to look back at the house, I spotted a flutter of light in one of the upstairs rooms, and I couldn't help feeling a trace of sadness as I thought of Rachel up there, working away as she continued to search for some long-lost child. As rain continued to fall -

  Suddenly a figure walked past me, heading toward the house.

  I turned, shocked, but the figure was already gone. With the shovel still in my right hand, I took a few steps through the darkness, waiting for some further hint of the figure's presence. All I saw, however, was the house up ahead and rain falling all around, although I was absolutely certain that there had been someone a moment ago. The silhouetted figure had only appeared for a fraction of a second but it had been absolutely clear and close.

  Hurrying across the lawn, I made my way back to the house and then looked around again, but there was still no sign of the intruder. My heart was pounding, and I instinctively raised the shovel, ready to strike if someone attacked me. Growing up on a London estate, I'd learned to defend myself first and ask questions later, but as I stepped back against the wall, I realized there was definitely no sign of anyone now.

  Glancing up at the window next to me, I saw rain falling against the glass. A moment later, I spotted scratches all around the frame.

  “Whoever you are,” I called out, trying to sound firm and menacing, “you'd better get the hell out of here! This is private property and trespassers are gonna end up smacked around the head with a goddamn shovel!”

  To prove my point further, I held the shovel up a little higher, although I was starting to feel just a little ridiculous. I waited a moment longer, before fishing the key from my pocket and heading to the door. Taking the shovel inside, I locked the door again once I was in the dark kitchen and then I stepped back as rainwater soaked into my clothes and dripped onto the floor.

  I waited, but there was no sign of anyone outside.

  A trick of the light.

  The 'person' out there had just been a trick of the light, a freak flash that had played on my subconscious fears. Now that I was safely back inside, the truth seemed obvious.

  “Get a grip,” I muttered under my breath.

  Sighing, I leaned the shovel against the wall and began to wonder across toward the hallway, while peeling my wet shirt away and tossing it onto the counter. I figured I needed a change of clothes before I went to find Rachel again, but as I reached the door I stopped suddenly and listened. Whereas I'd become accustomed to the constant rustling from behind the walls, now I realized I could hear another sound from nearby. I told myself I was imagining the whole thing, that it was probably just the rain, but finally I turned and looked back over at one of the windows.

  Something was scratching the frame from outside.

  I couldn't see anything, of course, but I could definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, hear a continuous, steady scratching sound.

  I waited, trying to persuade myself that the beetles were just up to something, before finally I realized that I had to go and take a look. Sure, I could think of plenty of possible explanations for the sound, ranging from wild animals to the weather, but I knew I couldn't just walk away. Taking a step across the dark kitchen and toward the window, I felt genuine fear in my chest for the first time since arriving at Shapley Hall, but the fear just drove me onward. I told myself that by not looking, I'd only let the fear take root and grow, and I'd live the rest of my life with a lingering sense of doubt. By facing my fear, on the other hand, I'd be able to see the real cause of the scratching sound, and I'd be able to put all my concerns to rest.

  I just had to be calm, logical and rational.

  Still, by the time I got close to the window, my heart was pounding.

  I hesitated, not quite daring to take the final step. The scratching sound was more insistent now, and whatever was out there, it either hadn't noticed me or it wasn't scared.

  I took a deep breath, and then I stepped right up to the window. I still couldn't see anything outside, since there wasn't a hint of moonlight and rain was falling steadily, but I slowly knelt on the cold floor and leaned closer to the glass pane, trying to see the exact spot where, outside, something was still digging at the frame.

  I waited, before leaning closer.

  And closer.

  Finally, I felt a shiver pass through my chest as I realized I could see something moving out there in the darkness, pressed up against the frame. At first I couldn't make it out, so I leaned even closer. By now I'd begun to realize what I was seeing, but I still didn't quite dare to believe my eyes, not even as the image became clearer and I saw the horrific image that even today remains etched in my mind.

  Outside in the rain, on the other side of the glass just inches from my face, a pale and gaunt hand was scratching at the frame, as if someone was trying to dig the glass out.

  I froze for a moment, holding my breath, before looking past the hand. All I saw now was darkness, but I knew that if there was a hand, there must also be a face.

  Suddenly the scratching stopped. Silence fell, but I could still see the hand out there as it rested against the glass.

  Someone from the village.

  It had to be.

  Someone from the village had come to spook us. Someone who knew the story of Georgette Shapley and who figured it'd be fun to give us a bit of a scare. Maybe even someone who was in cahoots with Rachel.

  Leaning closer, I tried to see who was out there.

  Suddenly a face came into view, lunging toward me with its mouth wide open and some kin
d of black fluid dripping down its chin.

  I saw its eyes, too, filled with anger, but I instinctively pulled back and fell, landing hard on the kitchen floor and staring up at the window.

  My heart was pounding, but now there was no sign of anyone out there, although I'd seen enough of the face to realize that I didn't want to see any more.

  It had been a woman, I was sure of that, and there had been fury in her eyes. I hadn't seen any hair on her head, almost as if she'd been bald.

  I waited on the floor for a moment, letting the silence settle again, before finally sitting up. I could no longer see a hand on the frame outside, and the scratching sound was gone, and after a moment I looked over at the door. Taking a deep breath, I told myself I had to face my fear again, so I got to my feet and headed over. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if fear was weighing me down.

  I tried to remind myself that ghosts was impossible, but all my calming thoughts suddenly felt hollow and desperate.

  When I reached the door and placed my hand on the key, I imagined seeing the face again and I froze. Looking out through the door's glass panel, I saw the dark, rainswept lawn and I tried to find the courage to turn the key and go see for myself. I knew that the only person out there had to be someone from the village, but my hand was trembling and I couldn't force myself to unlock the door and go see for myself.

  “Come on, you coward,” I muttered, trying to encourage myself. “There's nothing to be scared of. Just go and take a look.”

  I waited.

  Somehow, the courage never came.

  Finally, I took a step back. Whatever that face had been, I never wanted to see it again. I knew I should face my fear and go out there, but it was as if my body was refusing to obey the rational part of my mind and was listening instead to the rest of me.

  Besides, I figured there was no need to go out there and play into the hands of some trickster. The other possibility was that I'd hallucinated, and I told myself that if I went outside, I'd just be stoking my fears and risking another weird encounter.

  It took a moment, but I eventually managed to rationalize my decision to stay inside, even if I look back now and see that I was just making excuses.

  I was terrified, and the woman's face was burned in my thoughts. Somehow, I just about succeeded in coming up with an excuse for turning away.

  “There's nothing out there,” I muttered. “It was just a trick of the light.”

  Finally I made my way past the dark window and across the kitchen, and then through to the hallway. There was a sense of panic in my chest now and I avoided looking at any of the other windows, just in case I might see that horrific face. Determined to stay calm, I hurried up the stairs and along to the room where Rachel and I had been sleeping, and I quickly changed into some dry clothes. No matter how hard I tried to remind myself that nothing was wrong, my entire body seemed edgy and frantic, as if fear had gripped every muscle.

  All around, beetles were scuttling through the gaps between the walls, but suddenly their presence was strangely comforting. Their scratching little legs would block out any other scratching sounds, and I told myself that the noise at the window had most likely been caused by beetles in the sill.

  Either that, or a joker from the village.

  Once I was in dry clothes, I headed along to the room where I'd left Rachel earlier. After everything that had happened, it felt like an eternity since I'd last seen her, even though it had only been five or ten minutes. I stopped outside the door, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to put the nightmarish woman's face out of my mind. The last thing I wanted was to say or do anything that might encourage Rachel's crazy ideas, so I knew I had to keep my mouth shut.

  Once I was sure that I could act normal, I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. In the back of my mind, I was wondering whether Rachel had tried tricking me again, but I knew I needed to be careful. I couldn't just outright accuse her again.

  “Hey,” I said, forcing a smile, “sorry I took so long. How are things going up here?”

  I waited for a reply, but Rachel was simply kneeling next to a hole in the floor, where she'd apparently pulled up several of the boards.

  “Hey,” I said again, stepping over to her, “how about we -”

  Stopping suddenly, I looked down into the hole and saw a small blanket, with a tiny human skull poking out at one end.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Gently!” Rachel whispered as I began to set the rattling bundle of bones down on the kitchen counter, still wrapped in the blanket. “Don't damage it! Be careful!”

  “I am,” I replied, taking a moment to make sure the bones were steady before, finally, slipping my hands away.

  For a moment we both stood in silence, watching as candlelight flickered across the baby's remains. Dancing pools of shadow constantly flickered around its little skull, which was covered in tiny pock-marks, as if beetles had gnawed at it over the years.

  I wanted to say something, to somehow mark the moment, but no words came.

  “I found it,” Rachel whispered after a moment, as if she could still scarcely believe what was in front of us. “After all these years, I found Georgette's baby.”

  “The side of the skull looks damaged,” I pointed out, spotting a crack on one side of the head, with a small section of bone missing. “Do you think that happened before it died or after?”

  “I have no idea,” she replied, her voice tight and filled with a sense of anticipation. “After, maybe. I doubt Edward Shapley would have had any trouble murdering a newborn baby.”

  Hearing a noise nearby, I glanced across the kitchen toward the window, but after a moment I realized the sound had been caused by the wind outside. I hesitated, watching the window, before looking back down at the bones. Above, there was a brief scuttling sound, caused no doubt by a little swarm of beetles crawling through the ceiling.

  “I'm sorry I doubted you,” I said finally, turning to Rachel.

  “It's okay.”

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head, “it's not. I focused so much on proving you wrong about the ghost side of the story, I never really considered the possibility that the rest was true. There really was a woman named Georgette Shapley, and her baby really was hidden in this house.” I paused for a moment, glancing at the window again, before turning back to Rachel. “Now what? I guess you want to take the bones outside and put them somewhere?”

  “We have to reunite the baby with its mother.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “Georgette was buried in an unmarked grave somewhere on the estate,” she replied, still staring at the bones. “On his deathbed, Edward Shapley apparently confessed that she was a short way past the lawn, just a few feet into the forest. It shouldn't take long to find her.”

  “Find her?” I paused for a moment, feeling a growing sense of concern. “Rachel, you said we just had to find the baby -”

  “And return it to its mother.”

  “You didn't say anything about digging up a goddamn forest,” I continued, unable to shake a growing sense of panic as I glanced at the window again, half expecting to see the woman's face. “We found the kid! That's it, we're done here! Let's put the bones outside and go home right now! We don't even have to stay the rest of the night!”

  “We have to reunite them,” she said calmly, still staring at the bones.

  “No way,” I continued, taking a step back. Glancing at the window, I briefly saw the face again in my mind's eye, and I felt a shiver pass through my body. “You're changing the goalposts here, Rachel. I indulged you this far, but now we're finished. We need to gather our stuff up and get out of this goddamn house!”

  “It's the middle of the night,” she pointed out, turning to me. “It's raining out there.”

  “We can still drive,” I replied, unable to hide a sense of panic. “We've got lights on the goddamn car, Rachel!”

  “We agreed to stay until tomorrow afternoon,” she continu
ed. “Tomorrow's Sunday, we -”

  “I want to go now!” I hissed, glancing at the window again before turning back to her. For a fraction of a second, I saw the face again in my mind's eye. “Come on, please!”

  “What's wrong?” she asked with a frown. “James, you're acting like -”

  “I just don't want to stay in this stupid house any longer than I have to,” I replied, aware that I seemed on edge but unable to help myself. I just wanted to get away before there was any chance of seeing that face again. I knew I could rationalize it once I was back in London, but the house had started to really get to me. I couldn't tell Rachel any of that, of course, so instead I stepped toward her and put my hands on her shoulders. “You came to find the kid, right? That's what you talked about, and you did it. You succeeded, Rachel, and that's great, but enough is enough! This house is like an obsession for you!”

  “I want to do the right thing,” she continued. “I want to do what I promised all those years ago!”

  I sighed.

  “Did something happen?” she asked. “James, you seem different, like you're... I don't know, it's almost as if you're scared.”

  “That's ridiculous,” I snapped.

  She frowned.

  “Of course I'm not scared,” I continued, trying to seem like my normal self even though I was still seeing flashes of the face in my mind. “I'm scared for you, maybe. This house isn't good for your mental health.”

  “I can't leave the job half-done,” she said firmly. “I'm so close, but I have to just get the last little part of it done. Please, I have a good idea where to dig, and once I've put the child down there in the grave with its mother, we really can leave. There'll be no more jobs, nothing else to do. We can leave and I won't ever need to come back to Shapley Hall again.” She paused, watching me intently. “Unless there's something you're not telling me?”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like maybe you saw something?”

  “Of course I didn't,” I told her, even though I knew I probably didn't sound too convincing. “I just feel a little claustrophobic here, that's all.”