Doll
A tale of Gothic Horror
By
Sallie Osborne
Copyright © 2016
Introduction
When an iPad accidentally left on records an unfamiliar and eerie night-time sound, thirteen-year-old Barnaby decides he needs to investigate matters further.
Eventually finding himself at the doors of 'The Bloody Cauldron,' a Gothic horror shop in town, owner Lottie Durant and her sister Aimée present Barnaby with a diary. Telling of a deadly plague, linked to the appearance of two strangely hooded figures there is also a paragraph that mentions a mysterious doll.
Enlisting the help of Julian Claridge, a rather flamboyant antiques dealer, Barnaby and his sister Ruby slowly uncover the whereabouts of the doll, a 300 years old child’s toy named Lulu.
Containing the stolen memories of the deceased, those killed by the bitter cold London winter of 1664 when ‘The Great Plague’ swept London and taking with it 80000 lives, it becomes clear that they must find the doll at all cost... unfortunately they aren’t the only ones looking.
And if you don’t believe your memories are stolen, then try to remember a time before... ‘YOUR’ second birthday.
Legal Notes
Copyright © 2016 by Sallie Osborne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
CONTENTS:
HINDSIGHT
APPARITIONS
THE ABBEY
THE FARMHOUSE
BACKGROUND NOISE
THE BLOODY CAULDRON
CLIVE
LOTTIES LETTER
SCHOOL
THE CHAIN
SLEEPOVER
MEMORY HUNTER
THE WHISPER
NEW DAY
THE CHATEAU
HOLLY
URBAN LEGEND
LULU
GREGOR
AIMEE
JULIAN
TEA
THE LETER
HARRIET
THE VISITOR
SHADOWS
PLAGUE
END GAME
CLOSURE
Hindsight
You could hear them at night if you concentrated hard enough.
They'd been before - taken things then disappeared without a trace... but this time they had Gregory.
It wasn’t really Gregor's fault, it was mine for suggesting the sleepover and now I had only before the sun came up and the sound of the school bell to get him back...and it wasn’t going to be easy.
Before they came, I thought all those noises in our house at night like, the creak of the floorboards and the click of the radiators as the central heating came on were natural, but then I realized there was something else.... something my iPad recorded that night - the night it was left on.
Faint at first but then it came clearer – like a clinking sound - hiding amongst the background noise. So I asked Mom if she could hear it, she said, “No, not really,” but Ruby could.
I didn’t think too much about it at the time, after all it was only background noise, so it wasn’t until later that I realized... 'The Rattlers' were here...
Apparitions
It really is difficult sometimes, to pinpoint that exact moment when something begins that changes your whole perception of the world - but for me 'that something' happened around two a.m. - last Tuesday morning and it ended with the discovery of that crazy doll.
We’d been to the cinema that night, Mom Dad and me and when we got back I was feeling pretty tired, so I bid my farewells and went to my room to lie down.
Mom said, 'It’s the stress of moving house Gregs,' and that things would settle in a few weeks or so - but I wasn’t so sure.
When I walked through the bedroom door, I didn't sense anything different - but I knew things weren’t quite right. You see, at heart we are just animals and like all animals, our instincts although numbed by years of domestication are hidden only just below the surface, and when things aren’t right we can feel it.
I always knew I was sensitive to changes but as I said, I didn't feel anything so I drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken maybe twenty minutes or so later by a sense of something lurking, so I turned on my night light and looked towards my bedroom door.
My laptop is always on my bed, facing me, and the screen is always on - it’s my secondary night light I guess... a kind of comfort blanket.
The laptop screen was angled slightly towards me, so the light was on my face and I couldn't really see anything so I pushed my laptop all the way open which allowed the light to fill the room.
There.... in the partially illuminated furthest corner of my bedroom wall, I could have sworn something dark and shadowy was standing watching me... silently... head hung, as though deep in thought.
I should have been scared but as I stared harder at whatever it was, my bleary eyes gave up and what I perceived at first to be the figure of a hooded man, dissolved into nothingness. An illusion maybe or a shadow cast by the stray shafts of light from a moon, almost the size of the sun, as it pierced the darkness of my bedroom? - I'm still not sure.
They say, evil lurks in the shadows of ancient buildings and as I looked out across the moors from my bedroom window, I could definitely feel it... waiting amongst the ruins of the old abbey, as it stood against a darkened horizon, solitary and foreboding.
Grotesque and mischievous, I began to imagine witches and goblins scurrying around, high on those crumbling towers, peering down upon the innocent as they slept and plotting their demise. Then my imagination got the better of me as I stared through the darkness... because just for few seconds... I was sure there was something... a figure.
Gaunt and hooded, it towered in stature against the remnants of the moon - another trick of the light maybe - or just some hideous prankster - then my door opened.
“Come on Greg’s, you should be asleep by now my love.”
“Mom... there was something on the abbey... I was sure of it.”
“Let me take a look,” replies Mom, giving me one of her, 'I don't believe you looks.' “Nope, there’s nothing there now darling,” she tells me. “Probably a trick of the light young man or maybe it’s those tired eyes of yours.”
“Sorry Mom, but I could have sworn...never mind.”
“Come on, back in bed with you,” insisted Mom, so I returned to my bed and drifted off to a restless sleep.
The Abbey-
Thirty Minutes Earlier
Startled by a car's distant headlights, a strange and elusive figure moves back into the shadows of the abbeys cloistered walls.
Now out of sight, this apparition hurriedly makes its way across the vastness of a darkened courtyard and as the rain begins its heavenly descent, out the dank and dusky corner of the abbey's most intimate cloister, a decayed and misshapen hand moves slowly across the abbeys crumbling and weather beaten, north-facing wall.
Semi-translucent and without colour, the hand possesses a strange spectral glow that seemed to give it more form than shape than form, and it’s now hanging loosely as though in contemplation of the stones texture.
Reaching slightly higher, the hand caress the structures curves and imperfections before pushing firmly against the cold sandstone and pulling away a fragment of perished limestone mortar from the abbey's last remaining stone window frame.
Watching closely as it tumbles down the uneven stonework, it then examines the remaining stonework’s rough shape and texture as though feeling the moment when t
he blade struck home.
Possibly, from some long forgotten crime or atrocity, the mark is jagged and haphazard. Catching the grooves outermost edge, the apparition's hand suddenly recoils as it senses the residual moment when a young girl was executed for taking bread from a king’s table. Overwhelmed by emotion, the strange figure drops to one knee before deciding to let its own feelings known.
“I hate this world,” it whispers. “Especially when the innocents die,” but unfortunately, he’s been heard by someone.
Beckoning beggingly towards a shadowy corner in the furthest corner of the Abbey's derelict courtyard, it’s now clear that this eerie figure is not alone.
“Mother said you were the more sensitive one,” remarks a smaller figure as its cloaked shadow seemingly falls triumphantly over that of its companion. “That's why she gave me her chains - but deep down inside - I always knew it was you who would have benefited the most from her gift.”
“You took them because you said they were pretty and I knew how much you liked them, so what was I to do, deny them to you?”
“Maybe,” replies the smaller figure, then offering a hand to her fallen colleague insists. “Come, let me help you up, and you shouldn't gorge yourself on such pitiful and tragic emotions, you know it makes you ill my love.” The smaller figures voice is soft and refined, making it clear; it’s the female of the two.
“I have no choice,” he admits. “And as you are well aware - it helps them deal with their world.”
“Look...see - over there.” His hand now pointing towards the crumbled sandstone, he then asks. “The curves of the stone...can you see it?”
“It’s where the blade of a sword struck the final blow,” she replies. “I can feel the moment it struck... and it was swift.” Now looking lovingly towards her companion, she then tells him. “I don’t think love ever existed in this place, only fear... and there is nothing else here other than evil.”
“I hope you are discounting us,” he then asks, but she doesn’t reply.
Now slowly moving towards the abbey’s south facing parapet, the smaller figure looks out towards the horizon. As though encouraged by some invisible force, she sees the dark and mysterious silhouette of woods tree line begin to sway.
“Beautiful,” she whispers to herself, before reminding her colleague. “Can you see... how the trees move? There’s a storm coming this way... I can feel the oncoming rush.”
The Farmhouse
“The local police rang, Ben. Jacobs broken the fence again and his friends are wandering all over the main road.”
“God! It’s one a.m. in the morning Sal - have a heart Jacob,” whispers Ben.
“You might think he'd have more consideration given the amount of time you've spent up there these last few weeks Ben,” replies Sallie concerned at the number of journeys Bens already had to take this week - and it’s still only Wednesday.
“I don’t think Jacob really thinks that deeply love, he just acts on instinct and his army of followers tag on mindlessly behind him – a bit like the 'Pied Piper of Hamlin'.”
“The what!?”
“'The Pied Piper' – from the story – you know - that fellow who abducted the town’s folk’s children using his magical flute whilst they were asleep.” Carefully extending his arms out and shaping his fingers, as if playing a flute, Ben continues the story in full mime.
“When they reached the mountain-side portal a door opened as if a cavern was suddenly hollowed out and as the Piper advanced, the children followed.”
Bens now dancing around the room as if he were the Piper himself, but then he stops. Eyes wide open; he’s now staring at Sallie.
“And when all were in - to the very last,” he then continues. “The door in the mountain-side shuts fast and they were never seen again.”
“Well, for your sake let’s hope they've not wandered into the old abbey and disappeared into that portal of yours - ‘eh’. Listen Ben, I know how much you hate that place, - and I know you still believe it’s haunted, don't you? - and don't lie I can see it on your face - you've gone that shade of grey again.”
“It’s hardly surprising is it though,” replies Ben as he checks his shade of grey in the bedroom mirror, “especially when the local paper splashed it all over the front page.”
‘Local residents terrified by phantoms seen roaming the old abbey ruins, above Moorland Hill'
“It’s enough to put the frighteners on anyone.”
“True, but didn't I read somewhere, later on, it turned out to be nothing more than a college student dressed up as a television character for a drama studies project.”
“Possibly,” replies Ben, “but then there was that police incident later on in the year... remember? Local police were sent up there to investigate a reported sighting of two figures, possibly monks, wandering around on the abbey’s towers. One of the officers thought they were pursuing some silly Halloween pranksters until the figures they were chasing disappeared through a solid wall, so you can probably imagine why I get just 'a little jumpy' on my own up there.”
Sallie rose from her fireside chair. “You’d think those writers would be more descriptive. ‘The hooded figures dissolved into the crumbling brick work of the old abbey’s ancient walls', now that sounds much spookier - don’t you agree?”
“It does, but it’s not something that makes me feel any better about going up there tonight – now - is it?”
Ducking down before reaching the cottage's south facing window, Sallie is careful not to strike her head on an her present wooden nemesis, the ceilings main beam. Now lower, she's able to peer through the window's tiny pane. Noticing how bright the sky, she looks back towards Ben and smiles.
“Well at least it’s a full moon tonight,” she then tells him and hoping in some way, her words might allay his fears. “So I imagine the roads should be well lit – or I'd have been worried otherwise.” Then turning towards the staircase, she whispers across.
“I'm just going to check on Gregor again - he's been restless these past few nights - I don’t think he’s quite settled into his new bedroom yet.”
“It’s all that time he spends on his Xbox love, it's frying his bloody brain - maybe a break would do him good then he might be he'll be able to spend a little more time on his school work and finish that project he's been going on about so much - 'and as to the weather'? There are storm clouds gathering, I can feel it.”
As Ben turns towards Sallie, she can see the apprehension in her husband's face. “Do you really think the abbey's haunted Sal?” Inquires a still concerned and obviously worried Ben.
“Well the faster you get up there my love, the quicker you'll find out,” she then teases, having first pulled her world famous horror face.
“’Look.’ There are no such things as ghosts Ben - and those two police officers...well... their imagination just got the better of them... right?”
Against a driving rain, now rebounding as mist from the flooded gravel drive, Ben pushes open the courtyard door and runs towards the Land Rover's inviting but damp leather interior. Eventually finding the right key, he fires up the engine and springs the old car into life. Wiping the interior of the windscreen, Ben then looks out towards the moors.
Seeing the silhouette of the abbey as it stands chillingly against the backdrop of a dismal moonlit autumn, he shivers before muttering “I really do hate that place,” and as a veil of almost impenetrable and unrelenting rain begins to cloud his vision diminishing the view, Ben engages first gear and pulls out of the drive.
Turning onto the main road, Ben notices a fox sat at the edge of the lane. Panic-stricken as the headlights catch it, in some hypnotic trance it’s forced to scurry back into the undergrowth.
With eyes, now awash with the intensity of the Land Rovers main beam, the fox pauses momentarily before looking back in anger at Ben who suddenly realizes just how big the animal is as he continues to track it through the brambles, then his mobile rings breaking his train of tho
ught.
“Hi, love, everything OK.”
“Fine love, although I've just seen the biggest fox ever - about the size of an Alsatian dog.”
“I'm afraid you'll be on your own up there Ben, fox or no fox, the police have been called out to another emergency.”
“Great, all alone on a ghostly moor with psycho Jacob and a fox from hell.”
“Be careful Ben, the rains really coming down now.”
As Ben makes the two mile drive up toward Moorland Hill, the old abbey once a tiny and unintimidating spot on a distant horizon suddenly looms from out of the darkness like some huge monolith.
Its foundations now clearly visible, as its dark mantle of mist from the river below clears, seem eerie as they appear somehow to resemble gigantic mounds of tombstones then - from out of nowhere - springs Jacob. Ben, seeing his old adversary, immediately hits the brakes causing the car to skid to a halt and almost leaping the vehicle into the field opposite before coming to an abrupt halt.
“STUPID SHEEP,” exclaims Ben, slamming the door of the car in temper. “Frightened the bloody life out of me - get here you daft animal - you're coming back home to the farm with me where you can't cause any more trouble.”
As the young farmer turns to pull a kicking and struggling Jacob, startled by the lightening’s blaze and accompanying clap of thunder into the back of the car, he glances up towards an abbey.
Now floodlit by the lightening’s blinding illumination its sharpness pierces the darkened sky's somber blanket, and through the driving rain and his mist clouded glasses - just for a moment - he could have sworn - that high on the abbeys crumbling parapet there were two hooded figures looking directly at him.
Although completely unaware of the strange conversation-taking place between these two ethereal phantoms, Ben continues to stare through the pouring rain. Straining as though to listen, a sweaty primitive chill begins to rip away his reasoning, and as he struggles to clarify this most unusual of visitations, the figures conversation begins to intensify, high above him in the shadows of the abbey's moonlit towers.
Doll Page 1
