The Haunting of Appleton Hill

by Trinidad Giachino

  I moved around aimlessly, looking to catch a thread of a net that seemed to have a hole right over Appleton Hill, but it was pointless. What an irritating situation. It was bad enough being constantly reminded of Claire’s absence, but on top of that, not being able to have some distractions―to lose myself on Facebook or Instagram―made it even worse.

  I stopped moving when a single ghostly bar began to pop in and out of view on my screen. While the silence of the night drifted away, a rustling sound began to creep up around me. Something was moving among the overgrown grass. It wasn’t violent. On the contrary, it was rather smooth, as if this something was dragging itself along the ground. The phone signal quickly took a back seat in my mind, so I could pay attention to the noise.

  Was there someone in the gardens?

  “Hello? Who’s there?”

  The sound was fluid, and not only had it not been my imagination, but it also didn’t seem to stop. Those noises were not footsteps. Although I was glad no one was hiding in the impenetrable darkness of Mother Nature, the last thing I wanted was to deal with a snake or some other reptile sliding its way towards me.

  I rushed to the house, careful not to get caught on the vines that had knitted themselves onto a carpet over the steps, and shut the door behind me.

  Thud… Thud…

  The throbbing became louder and louder in my body. My heart was trying to break free through my ribcage, looking to escape. I could hear someone’s breathing. Was it me? It sounded like someone was exhaling right into my skull.

  There was so much black around me. Like a dark spiderweb extended over me, attaching itself to my body and pinning me down, so I wouldn’t be able to move. Wait. Move from where?

  My brain was clogged by the same dark spiderweb. Forming a full thought was exhausting, a nearly impossible task, if I was indeed able to complete it. There was a heaviness over my face, preventing me from opening my eyes. I even felt it immobilizing my tongue. It had turned into an unknown piece of rubber, as if these webs of obscurity had managed to squeeze their way between my lips and get ahold of my tongue, weaving themselves tighter around it. I could even taste it. It was bitter and dusty.

  Thud–thud… Thud–thud…

  The throbbing accelerated, pushing my body into a higher state of alert. I was already aware that what I was feeling wasn’t right, but now fear was invading my whole body.

  Thud–thud... Thud–thud… Thud–thud…

  I attempted to move my extremities, but my arms and legs were frozen. No, that’s the wrong way to describe it. I felt like I was floating in a sea of tar that kept trying to swallow me. I was trapped by a sticky substance that was sucking the living force out of my body. The breathing inside my skull grew louder.

  Thud–thud... Thud–thud… Thud–thud…

  A sharp pain attacked me from the left. I couldn’t pinpoint which part of my body was experiencing that amount of pain, but in the end, it did not matter. There was nothing I could do except surrender. I was a guest inside my body.

  Am I dead? I asked without words while, out of the anonymity of the darkness above me, snowflakes began falling on me.

  I tossed and turned in the bed for a while before I was able to open my eyes. When I did, a strong feeling of grogginess prevented me from focusing on anything around me. The room was inundated by a tepid gray light, so I knew it was daytime. Other than that, everything seemed to have lost definition, as if the mist from the previous day had found its way into my bedroom. Not without effort, I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes. I felt tired. I had slept a restless sleep.

  I concentrated on focusing on the room around me, and this time at least the furniture regained its sharp edges. My half-empty suitcase still lingered on a chair by the window near the closet. The black dress I had peeled off my body after the funeral had fallen from the back of the chair to the floor. I turned to my right to grab my phone from the night table to look at the time, but I couldn’t manage to do it. I was numb from the waist down. My legs did not respond to my command.

  “C’mon, sheets, don’t make this morning even harder. Work with me here…”

  I tried to get rid of them, but it seemed impossible. I was entangled in the bedding. I leaned forward, removing the blanket, and found my legs wrapped up in the bedsheets. What was that? How did I manage to twist the sheets around my legs in that form? No wonder I was tired; I had spent the night literally wrestling with the bed. I pulled the sheets away from my legs, but it was impossible to set them free. The fabric was enfolding both of them, forming a spiral.

  “Okay, this is just ridiculous.”

  I gave it another yank, this time harder. The sheet mirrored my actions, tugging my legs in return, pulling me closer to the end of the bed. It did not want to let go of me.

  I jerked my legs harder than ever, willing to put up a fight with the mischievously inanimate fabric. This time, its response was also a stronger one. It pulled my legs in one sharp stroke, leaving me lying on my back due to the force of the fall. It almost felt like my body had turned into a whip.

  “What…?”

  I attempted to get up again, but this time it was simply impossible. My back was pinned to the mattress. The blanket I had tossed aside was now creeping back onto the bed to reach my left arm, wrapping itself around it. I kept fighting an irrational fight with what remained free of my body, but I was quickly losing ground.

  The mattress became softer, and softer, and softer… I began to sink farther into it. I wanted to scream for help, but I couldn’t articulate words because I did not own my body anymore. This thing was determined to devour me.

  Chapter 13

  My eyes suddenly opened, and I was awake. I wasn’t even aware that I’d been asleep. Granted, the first dream had a surreal feel to it. But the second one―even though equally strange―had percolated through to my conscious mind. I could still feel it creeping over my skin.

  Two weird dreams in one night. Congratulations, Althea, you have managed to let this situation wreck your mind completely.

  Awkwardly, I moved around trying to wake my body up. Every single one of my muscles ached, like I had run a marathon before going to bed. The drowsiness that set the tone for my weird dreams had now permeated all the way to my waking life. I managed to sit up on the bed and when I did so, some strange dust fell from me. I scanned the rest of the bedding. The covers were layered by the same powder.

  “What is this?”

  I stretched out to touch it, only to find that my hands and arms were also coated with the same residue. It was all over my torso and hair as well. I didn’t have a mirror close by, but by touching my face, I concluded it was also there. However, this wasn’t regular dust, the sort you sweep under the carpet. I rubbed it between my fingers, then smelled my hands and clothes to confirm my suspicions.

  “Mold.”

  How could it be possible for me to wake up covered in mold? The house was far from being brand-new, but this was a little extreme. A memory came to me from my first dream.

  “Snow.”

  I looked up. Although the ceilings were high, as in any old manor, it was possible to see the outline of a large mold spot hanging right above the bed. Some of it had rained on me during the night. Great. This was what my subconscious mind had interpreted as snow. I had probably been inhaling this stuff for the past two days.

  I left the bed as if I were in a slow-moving picture, trying to avoid sudden movements that might shake up the fungus covering the bed. I needed to take a shower. I walked over to my half-empty suitcase and grabbed a few clothes. Something caught my attention while I did this―the floorboards were not squeaky anymore.

  Maybe I am so drugged by this hideous fungus that I am lighter, I thought, trying hard not to rub my face or touch my hair as I headed towards the door. The true definition of being high, I guess.

  I held the clean clothes with two fingers only, keeping them at arm’s length. I didn’t want them to touch my filthy pajamas. But a two-
finger grip wasn’t strong enough. Halfway to the door, I dropped my jeans and, cussing under my breath, I immediately bent over to pick them up from the mold-covered floor.

  Except it wasn’t.

  The floor was not coated by a thick layer of fungus as I assumed it would be, due to the state of the bed I had just abandoned. Its appearance was quite the opposite―a uniformly polished surface, like a deep brown mirror at my feet. The floorboards seemed less warped. Now they no longer complained every time I stepped on them.

  I straightened as if someone had pulled me up from my spine, rigid with anticipation of something I could not explain. I looked around the room. I had not noticed it from the bed because of the mold, but everything looked cleaner. No, not cleaner. Newer. Everything appeared to be brand-new.

  The furniture, the drapes, the carpet. Even the bedding, despite the mold, looked less worn-out, as if I had been the first person sleeping on it. Now it was possible to appreciate the rich silk threads of the fabrics as though they were fresh out of the store.

  As for the mold… The mold was only above the bed. And not only that. Another thing I was able to see as I studied the ceiling once more was that the walls had a better appearance as well. The paint was no longer chipped or stained.

  “What on earth happened here?” I asked the rejuvenated room.

  I couldn’t wrap my mind around the changes that had occurred overnight. The light coming through the window was not different; it was the same shade of gray as the previous days. The mist seemed hell-bent on staying put, so it wasn’t as if I was suddenly appreciating the bedroom and its contents under bright sunlight.

  Here it was again. The feeling of things being off. It was getting stronger by the minute. I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with any of this but I still needed a shower, so maybe by taking it, I would be able to clear my head.

  I opened the door and, as I crossed the threshold, I stepped on something. It was another type of dust, more granulated and solid than the mold. I lowered my eyes. A stripe of white powder lay at my feet. I had disturbed the line when I accidentally stepped on it.

  Unlike the mold, this substance was easier to recognize. It didn’t represent a health hazard, but its presence outside my bedroom’s door was equally disturbing. At least the fungus was something I could explain somewhat logically. Once again, I squatted and with my free hand, I took some of this white powder to smell it.

  Salt?

  I straightened my legs and let the pinch of salt fall away from my fingers, but I could not take my eyes away from the line.

  “Maybe Liz is right. Maybe I need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

  I walked away from the bedroom with the distinct feeling of being watched. This hallway wasn’t lined from floor to ceiling with members of the Appleton family, as was the case with the corridor leading to Beatrix Appleton’s chambers. Nonetheless, the feeling of not being alone had me looking over my shoulder more than once on my way to the bathroom.

  Perhaps it came from the fact that the enhancements I saw in my bedroom had spilled into the corridor and bathroom. It didn’t look as immaculate as the room I had just left, but still, the improvements were impossible to ignore. The walls, the floor, and even the lamps lighting the way had a better appearance. Once inside the bathroom, the tendency continued, although its strength had decreased significantly. The fixtures looked cleaner, whiter. The faucets had lost that opaque layer of grime I initially saw on them. I had a hard time finding the cracked tiles I’d spotted the day before.

  I turned on the shower and started to undress slowly, trying to achieve my goal with as little movement as possible. I didn’t want mold flying all over the bathroom. The heaviness of my body, the soreness of my muscles, the brain fog, they all seemed to have faded away with the shock of discovering the changes in my surroundings. It wasn’t until I was under the hot water that I felt an increasing burn on my left forearm. When I looked down, it didn’t take long for me to figure out the reason behind the pain.

  “When did I get this?”

  Chapter 14

  I traced the cut on my arm with two fingers. It was tender. I had no idea how I’d managed to suffer―overnight―an injury that ran along the inside of my left forearm. It was three inches long and, by its appearance, it had bled. Maybe all the wrestling I did in my dreams had not been just within the boundaries of my subconscious mind.

  When I went downstairs, it was already midmorning. I wanted to have breakfast and perhaps start to plan my escape from Tom. The thought of abandoning the hill and going back to California made me feel restless. What was I going to do about Mrs. Appleton? I couldn’t leave her alone with the possibility her groundskeeper was her daughter’s murderer. For the first time in my life, running away seemed like the wrong answer.

  At first, I couldn’t figure out why Tom Huddle would want to murder Claire, even if, as Jo said, he had an unrequited interest in her. But on this brand-new morning―and with a clearer head than yesterday―as I moved along the beautiful corridors and the elegant stairs, the reason came to me. Perhaps because the more I walked the manor, the more I appreciated its resilience. Beatrix and Claire Appleton had been two of the three survivors of the Appleton clan, along with Claire’s aunt, Rose.

  Maybe Tom was trying to murder both remaining women and take control of Appleton Hill. It was a fascinating property and even in its current state of decay, I was certain one could gain profit from the land. However, something didn’t add up; it was a somewhat imperfect plan. Maybe Tom was insane. That was an option as well. Not everything had to have a rational explanation. After all, blinding rage didn’t seem like an impossible state to achieve for Tom.

  I reached the ground floor and headed for the kitchen. Mrs. Appleton was nowhere in sight, so I decided to make some breakfast for myself. I had no idea whether she was up or not, but her daughter’s funeral had been the day before. If she wanted to stay the entire day in bed, then that was her prerogative. God knows that’s what I’d have done, if it wasn’t for that ridiculous mold raining on me.

  I opened the fridge and took out some eggs. I was expecting to find it packed with pre-prepared meals, as Mrs. Appleton had indicated. To my surprise, it was a rather common fridge in a rather common kitchen, with no ready-made meals in sight. It was only the third time I had set foot there during my stay at the hill—the improvements to the bedroom and bathroom upstairs had not permeated to the ground floor.

  All the appliances were outdated, and the most disheartening thing was the lack of a coffeemaker. I grabbed the kettle and filled it with water, then turned on the stove and set the kettle upon it. Now I needed to find some tea bags.

  I opened a few cabinets, and I was searching through them when one of the lower cabinet doors suddenly closed itself with a loud noise. Not only did it make me jump, but it also created a tremor on the counter that caused both eggs to roll off and smash on the floor.

  “Dammit!” I grabbed a few paper napkins and knelt to clean the mess. “What was I thinking? Leaving the eggs like that…”

  Another cabinet door made a loud bang behind me.

  And then another.

  I turned on my heels. Nothing moved. The kitchen remained quiet.

  What was going on? I hadn’t seen any open doors when I first walked into the kitchen. Was there a draft somewhere? Just as I was refocusing on the smashed eggs, a new door slammed shut. And another.

  Then, the door in front of the spot where I was cleaning opened itself. Two seconds later, it slammed shut… also by itself, as if it had some sort of wire that a puppet-master was tugging to force the cabinets to clap. I had felt no draft. Although the kitchen did feel colder, and my agitated exhalations became visible white puffs in front of me.

  After that, it was open season for all the doors in the kitchen. This uncoordinated symphony started to unfold around me. It only had two notes―the squeaking sound as the doors opened and the inevitable violent clap as they slammed shut. Still on my knee
s and numbed by the increasing commotion, I crouched down as much as possible, trying to make myself invisible to the open fire.

  The kettle started to whistle, and it only seemed to intensify the ferocity of the cabinets.

  “Althea? What are you doing?”

  I barely managed to look over my shoulder and found Mrs. Appleton at the kitchen’s entrance. Her eyes shifted from me to the boiling kettle. Her face deflated, changing from curiosity to rage.

  “For the love of God, turn off the burner!” she screamed at me, trying to leap out of her chair to do it herself.

  I scrambled to follow her orders and when I finally got hold of the knob and turned off the burner, all the maddening racket around us came to a halt.

  The doors stopped.

  And the kettle became silent.

  I was so shaken up by the insane situation that I could only get to my feet by holding on to the counter. I turned to face Mrs. Appleton, scared of what she might say to me after her screaming, a side of her I had never witnessed before. To my surprise, she looked composed. The peaceful look on her face was once again there, as if nothing had happened.

  “I’m-I’m sorry… I-I just wanted to-to…” I stuttered, trying to form an intelligent sentence that would get me out of trouble. But why was I in trouble? I had no idea what I had done to set off her whiplash reaction.

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear. It’s just that the stove has a gas leak. It’s dangerous to use it. Were you trying to make yourself some breakfast?”

  “Yes, I was, uh, looking for some tea bags.”

  “Cupboard. Two doors to your left,” she cheerfully informed me.

  Does she have a gas leakage that makes the cabinet doors open and close by themselves?