The Ghost of Shapley Hall

by Amy Cross

  Silence.

  “Rachel?”

  I waited, but there was still no response.

  “Rachel, it's me,” I continued, imagining her cowering somewhere in the dark, with beetles all around. “It's James. I came back, Rachel. I never should have left you alone here, but I'm back now and I'm going to take you away from this place. Is... Is Lizzie down here with you?”

  I paused, before reaching my hand forward into the cold air.

  “Let's make this easy, Rachel. I know about the hospital, and I know that helping Georgette Shapley is important to you, but -”

  Suddenly I heard a shuffling sound from the darkness, as if someone had bumped against a wall.

  “Rachel, let's get out of here,” I continued, with my hand still reaching forward. “There's nothing for you here. Everything's going to be okay, but I need you to trust me. You do trust me, don't you?”

  I waited.

  Nothing.

  “Rachel, please.”

  Trying not to sound frustrated, I finally realized what I had to do. Stepping through the doorway, I shivered as I felt the difference in air temperature. All I could see ahead was a sea of beetles swarming across the concrete floor.

  I listened to the sound of thousands of little clicking legs, but there was no sign of Rachel.

  “I'm sorry I abandoned you,” I continued, despite the pain in my chest, “but I won't leave again. Not without you. And when we get back to London, I'll stay right by your side. I won't go anywhere. If I ever meant anything to you, Rachel, I need you to trust me now.”

  I waited.

  “Rachel?”

  Silence.

  “Doesn't that sound good, Rachel?”

  I paused.

  “Come on. What do you say? Why don't we -”

  Suddenly I spotted something in the darkness ahead. The light from Lizzie's phone was just about strong enough to pick out a hand, resting on the concrete.

  “Rachel?” I shouted, hurrying forward and kneeling next to her. Reaching out to touch her shoulder, I realized she was shuddering violently, but after a moment I saw that the figure I'd found wasn't Rachel at all.

  “Lizzie?” I whispered, moving around to get a better look at her face. “Lizzie, what -”

  Suddenly she turned and let out a horrified, pained gasp. Pulling back I saw that the flesh around her mouth was burned and bloody, and that she was desperately clutching her throat.

  “What's wrong?” I asked, trying not to panic. My heart was pounding and my left arm was starting to ache. “Lizzie, what happened?”

  She tried to speak, but all that came from her mouth was an agonized gurgling sound. Looking over my shoulder, I realized there was no sign of anyone else in the basement, but after a moment I spotted a metal tin on the ground. Reaching over, I grabbed the tin and tilted it until I could see the label.

  “Cleaning agent,” I whispered, “for use on lead pipes. Warning, do not -”

  Before I could finish, Lizzie reached up and grabbed my shoulder. Dropping the tin, I turned to see that blood was pouring from her mouth and washing down over her chin. Her eyes were wide with pain and her hands were gripping my shoulder, but after a moment I felt her starting to weaken. She tilted her head back and I saw a dark red patch on her neck, as if the cleaning agent was slowly burning through from the inside. She let out another gasp, but her hands were starting to slip from my shoulder.

  “I'll get help,” I stammered, closing the phone's flashlight app so I could call the police. “I'll -”

  Suddenly Lizzie slumped back and fell still. I stared at her, waiting for her to make another move, but her hands simply dropped down until they were resting on her belly.

  “Lizzie?” I whispered, before dropping the phone as I crawled around and cradled her head in my hands. “Lizzie, listen to me!” I shouted. “Lizzie, stay awake! Lizzie!”

  I waited, but as I tilted her head back up I saw immediately that she was dead. After a moment, I realized that a faint trace of steam or vapor was curling up from her open mouth, and I could just about hear a fizzing sound from the back of her throat. With trembling hands, I gently eased her head down until she was resting on the concrete.

  “Jesus Christ,” I whispered, before climbing over her and trying to find my phone. “Oh God, oh -”

  Grabbing the phone, I tried to bring up the screen so I could call for help, only to find that there was no signal. I quickly scrambled to my feet, racing back up the stairs until I reached the main hallway. Running to the front door, I pushed it open and made my way out into the rain. I checked Lizzie's phone again, but there was still no signal. Glancing around, I was about to call Rachel's name again when I saw something at the far end of the lawn.

  Over by the trees, barely visible through the rain and darkness, there stood a small wooden cross. I instantly realized that it was the same cross Rachel had been making earlier in the day, except now it had been hammered firmly into the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Rachel?” I stammered, making my way across the lawn.

  I looked back at the house for a moment, thinking about Lizzie's body in the basement. Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to me that Rachel really might have lost her mind, that she might have become dangerous, but a cold shudder passed through my chest as I realized that in the space of just a few hours she'd clearly lost her mind. She was the only person who could have killed Lizzie, and it was clear that she'd somehow tried to recreate the murder of her ancestor Georgette. I wanted to turn and run, but at the same time I felt as if the mess was partly my fault, that if I'd just stayed with her instead of leaving her alone in the house...

  Besides, she wouldn't hurt me.

  I had to believe that.

  Rachel would never hurt me.

  Taking a few steps forward, I started making my way toward the tree-line, while constantly looking around in case someone came up behind me. I kept walking, my feet almost sinking into the muddy ground, until I reached the edge of the forest and saw the wooden cross just a few meters ahead. There was no sign of Rachel, but I couldn't shake the feeling that she might be around somewhere, watching me from the darkness. Still, though, I felt certain that she'd never attack me, that I was perhaps the one person who could get through to her.

  “It's me!” I called out, watching the dark spaces between the trees. “Rachel, it's James!”

  I waited, but all I heard was rain crashing down and spattering into puddles of muddy water.

  Stepping closer to the cross, I saw that Rachel had finished carving Georgette's name into the wood, and that she'd added a brief mention of the dead child too.

  “Rachel was obsessed with the story of Georgette,” I remembered Lizzie telling me earlier. “Sometimes, I think she even wanted to be Georgette. She pretended to be possessed by her sometimes.”

  I stood in the rain for a moment, staring at the sign, before realizing that Rachel must have buried something in the muddy ground. And if she hadn't found Georgette's body, that left only one other person who could be down there in the darkness with the baby's bones.

  “Rachel?” I whispered, as a sense of panic began to build in my chest. “Rachel!”

  Dropping to my knees, I reached my hands into the mud and began to dig. Rain was still falling hard, and no matter how much mud I scooped up and tossed aside, more just seemed to slide immediately into the hole to take its place. Finally I came up with a different plan, simply digging my hands as deep as I could manage, wriggling my fingers through the mud in a desperate attempt to feel something, anything, beneath the surface. Hoping against hope that Rachel wouldn't have had time to get too deep, I pushed down until my face was against the mud, and then I reached even further, holding my breath as I felt my hands pushing through denser, colder, less damp mud further beneath the surface. Still holding my breath, I realized my fingertips were starting to brush against some kind of fabric, but a moment later I had to pull up slightly, gasping to get air back into my lu
ngs.

  As soon as I was able, I plunged myself back into the mud, driving my body through the darkness until I felt the fabric again. This time I could tell that there was something solid on the other side, so I grabbed hold of whatever I could and began to pull it up. The harder I pulled, the more I felt the mud weighing everything down, but inch by inch I was able to start dragging the object closer to the surface until finally I pulled it free and fell back, gasping for air. Stunned, I saw that I'd pulled up a large cloth sack that clearly contained a body, and I stared for a moment, waiting for some hint of movement.

  “Rachel?” I whispered, before scrambling closer and turning the sack around, trying to find an opening. “Rachel!”

  Pulling at the sack's edges, I tore a hole through the fabric and ripped the damn thing open, desperate to get to her before it was too late. After a moment, however, I froze as I saw that the face staring up at me wasn't Rachel's at all.

  Instead, the cloth sack contained an adult human skeleton.

  I stared, trying to work out what had happened, before spotting another skull further down. The body of the baby had been placed inside the sack with the larger skeleton. Most of the bones had come loose, but the two skulls stared up at me, with rain already falling against what was left of their faces. I'd braced myself to find Rachel inside the sack, as if somehow she might have taken Georgette's place and buried herself in the mud. Now, however, I realized it was Georgette herself who stared up at me, as if Rachel had somehow – unbelievably – succeeded in locating her unmarked grave and then reburying mother and child together.

  Realizing that I needed proof of everything that had happened, that I couldn't just leave Georgette and her child to sink back into the mud, I reached down and began to gather the baby's skull and bones in my hands, so I could take them and -

  Suddenly a face lunged at me, screaming. In a flash, I saw the same face I'd seen at the window: a woman, her eyes filled with anger and her mouth burning with some kind of black liquid, and most of the hair on her head torn away. I pulled back, letting go of the child's bones, and immediately the woman's face was gone.

  I paused, shivering in the rain, before reaching down to take the child again. This time, however, I couldn't quite bring myself to try, not if there was any chance at all that I might see the face of Georgette Shapley again. I tried to force myself to pick up the bones, but deep down I knew that if I tried to take the baby, Georgette would appear again. I knew that she'd waited all this time to be reunited with her child, and that she wouldn't let him be taken from her again. Already, mud was reclaiming both the bodies, and I watched as they finally sank back down into the depths.

  And that was the moment when I finally knew, without a shadow of doubt, that ghosts were real, and that Georgette Shapley really had waited all those years to be reunited with her lost child.

  Looking over at the crude wooden cross, I tried to imagine Rachel calmly driving its base into the ground. She'd seemed so manic and obsessed when I'd last seen her, just three or four hours earlier, and I simply couldn't believe that she had managed to locate Georgette's grave so quickly. But she had, she'd done everything she'd promised. Looking around, I realized that she had to still be nearby.

  I stumbled to my feet and began to make my way back toward the dark house. No matter how much I wanted to run, I knew I couldn't abandon Rachel again, not now that I knew what else was lurking in Shapley Hall. Georgette's ghost might have been haunting the garden, but it was Edward's ghost that lurked in the shadows of the house itself. By the time I reached the steps and walked up to the open door, I felt absolutely certain that Rachel was cowering inside somewhere.

  “Rachel?” I called out, stepping into the main hallway and then stopping at the bottom of the stairs.

  I waited.

  All I heard was the sound of bugs behind the walls.

  “Rachel? Are you -”

  Suddenly the door slammed shut behind me, with such force that it briefly rattled in the frame.

  I froze, aware of a presence coming closer. The hairs on the back of my neck were starting to rise, and I swear the beetles were rustling more frantically now, as if they were becoming agitated.

  “Where's Rachel?” I whispered, still staring straight ahead into the darkness. “What have you done to her?”

  I waited, my whole body trembling with fear. I didn't want to turn, I didn't want to face the sight that I knew was right behind me, but at the same time all my doubts were gone now.

  “Where's Rachel?” I asked again.

  Silence.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Fear was crushing my chest and there were tears in my eyes, but I knew I had to face the truth. Finally, slowly, I turned and came face-to-face with the ghost Edward Shapley, his features just about visible in the darkness.

  “Where's Rachel?” I asked, as I felt my chest tightening. “What have you done to Rachel?”

  Epilogue

  “What have you done to Rachel?” I blurt out, feeling a sudden surge of panic. “What have you done to -”

  “It's okay, James,” Nurse Wilson says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You're safe. Just try to breathe deep.”

  Momentarily distracted by the morning sunlight streaming through the window, I turn and see her friendly, smiling face. Somehow her hand on my shoulder is always so calming. Of all the nurses and attendants in this place, she's the only one who can talk me down from these moments of panic, and I can already feel myself starting to settle again, even though...

  Suddenly I feel a tickling sensation on the back of my neck. I reach up and instinctively swat the beetle away, although I don't see where it lands. Still, I know they're here with me.

  They followed me to the hospital.

  Sometimes, I even think I can hear them in the walls at night, although the doctor says that's just my imagination.

  He's wrong, though.

  The beetles are here. No-one else can see them, but I feel them on my skin all the time.

  In the distance, one of the other patients is screaming, and four attendants are trying to hold him down. He's struggling like a madman, shouting the foulest, filthiest insults I've ever heard in my life, and the veins on his neck and forehead are bulging wildly out as if they might be about to burst through his red, puffy skin. After a moment, his face briefly changes and I see Edward Shapley staring back at me.

  “Another flashback?” Nurse Wilson asks, still smiling.

  I turn to her for a moment, before nodding.

  “You must remember to tell Doctor Harris about these in your session later,” she continues. “She really needs to know everything you're experiencing. Do you promise?”

  I pause, before nodding.

  “Let's see here,” she continues, placing two fingers on the side of my neck. “You need to stay calm whenever possible, James. We're still waiting for the results of your last batch of tests, but you mustn't strain your heart or you might suffer another attack. You remember what we talked about before, don't you? About how you need to get plenty of rest?”

  I pause, before nodding again.

  “Okay. That's good.” She hesitates, as if there's something else on her mind. “I'm not sure if you're -”

  I flinch as I feel another beetle on my neck. This time, I brush it away with such force, I accidentally hit Nurse Wilson's leg.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, looking down at the floor but seeing no sign of the beetle. I swear it was on me, though. I felt its little legs clicking and scratching across my flesh.

  “I don't know if you're feeling up to this, James,” Nurse Wilson continues, sounding a little more concerned than a moment ago, “but there's actually a visitor here to see you. She's waiting in a room along the corridor, I thought you'd like a little privacy when you see her.”

  “Who?” I ask, shocked by how frail and weak my voice sounds.

  “I can tell her to leave if you prefer,” she continues, “but... James, Rachel Shapley is here to visit yo
u. Do you feel up to seeing Rachel?”

  ***

  “Jesus!” Rachel says, wrapping her arms around me and giving me the tightest, warmest hug I've ever felt in my life. “You scared the crap out of me!”

  Not really knowing how to respond, I simply stand in the doorway and wait for her to be finished. The hug lasts longer than I expected, but finally she pulls back and smiles at me.

  “I wanted to come sooner,” she continues, “but they said... Well, it's complicated. Don't think I'd forgotten you, though. Every single day, I called up and asked if I could visit, I think eventually I wore than down and they agreed to let me see you, just to shut me up.”

  “Rachel?” I whisper, feeling a nervous, tight sensation in my gut.

  Leading me over to the chairs by the window, she takes my hand and helps me as I take a seat. She seems so calm and gentle, much calmer than the last time I saw her.

  “I couldn't believe it when I heard what had happened,” she continues. “I'd got back to London so late that night, I went straight to bed. In the morning, I got a call from the police to say that you'd been found unconscious at the house, and that...” She pauses, with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Well, they told me just now that we shouldn't talk about certain things, not while the police investigation is still...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “I never would have left,” she continues, “if I'd known you were going to go back to Shapley Hall. After I dropped you off in town, I drove back to the house and it didn't take me very long to find Georgette's grave, so I just buried her with her child and then I decided to get the hell out of there. Never in a million, billion years did it occur to me that you'd show up again. I thought you were completely done with the place.”

  “Bus,” I whisper. “There was no bus.”

  “Right,” she replies calmly. “That's my fault. I'd forgotten it was Sunday.”

  “I got a room at the pub.”

  “I know. I heard all about it. I had to really prove to the police that I wasn't involved in what happened next.”