The Haunting of Caldgrave House

by Amy Cross

Filled with panic, I strain again on the rope. I can feel the wooden peg holding firm, but I strain and I strain as I try to get free. I can't breathe now, as my collar tightens around my neck, but I can't stop trying. I look over at Maisie an see that she's trying to get to her feet, then I look back at the wooden peg that's holding the rope and -

  Suddenly I spin back around as I realize what I just saw standing behind Maisie.

  The broken-jawed woman is in the hallway, at the bottom of the stairs, watching as Maisie slumps back down through the doorway and lands hard against the mat.

  “Maisie!” Linda yells, throwing herself at the door just in time to keep it open as it starts slamming shut. “Leave her alone!”

  “Mummy, I'm sick!” Maisie gasps, before turning and vomiting against the door.

  “Get her out of there!” Michael shouts, running up the steps and grabbing Maisie's arm, pulling her out onto the porch.

  Linda grabs her other arm, and together they half lead, half drag her down the steps and over toward the waiting car.

  The broken-jawed woman steps forward, edging closer to the door.

  Linda shoves Maisie into the car and then climbs in after her, as Michael gets into the seat on the other side. Even before the door is shut, Michael sends the car lurching forward and then he swings it out around the edge of the yard and races toward the road that leads out through the forest.

  “Hugo!” Maisie screams from inside the car, as the engine roars. “Mummy, where's Hugo?”

  I run toward the car, just as it swings around again and starts speeding toward me. I try to jump out of the way, but my feet catch in the mud and I fall down just as the car arrives. There's a rushing sound and the air is snatched from my lungs, as the car roars straight over me and the wheels miss my head by less than an inch.

  Unable to bark with the muzzle still tight over my jaws, I scramble to my feet and turn just in time to see the car racing away along the road. Seconds later the lights are almost lost behind the trees, and the sound of the engine already sounds so far away.

  Where are they going?

  Did they get Maisie to safety? She was in the car, so -

  Suddenly the yard is bathed in light, and I turn to see the lights flickering inside the house. The broken-jawed woman is still standing in the hallway, but then a second later the lights go dead as the front door slams shut.

  And then a scream rings out, breaking the silence of the night as the lights of the house remain off.

  Chapter TwentyThree

  Morning sunlight streams between the tops of the high trees, as I try again to loop the edge of the muzzle around the wooden peg. I've tried this several times already, but this time I think I might actually have got it right. I pull away slightly and find that the muzzle is caught, and then I twist my head around and start furiously pulling. At first I can't feel any give in the straps at all, but then all of a sudden something comes loose and I fall back against the damp soil.

  I use my paws to push frantically against the muzzle, which finally falls away and lands on the ground.

  I did it!

  I lean down and sniff the muzzle for a moment, relieved that it's off my face. All my efforts to remove the muzzle have left me slightly bloodied under the ears and around the sides of my jaw, but that doesn't matter right now.

  Limping slightly on the paw that lost a claw last night, I start making my way across the yard, heading toward the end of the road that leads through the forest. After a moment, however, the rope pulls tight once again and I remember that I'm still tethered. I turn and look back, and I see the wooden peg still poking out of the ground. And then I look toward the twisted black tree, and I realize that at some point the sobbing pale girl disappeared during the night.

  I hesitate for a moment, before heading back over toward the pit. Stopping at the edge, I look down, and now in the light of day I can see the half-uncovered skeleton a little more clearly.

  I think it was a human.

  Tilting my head slightly, I stare at the skull's empty eye-sockets. Then, realizing that I should keep busy until Maisie comes back to get me, I clamber down into the hole and take a closer look at the bones. They're still partially buried, and slowly some deeper instinct takes over. Now free of the muzzle, I'm able to bite the bones and start pulling them out of the mud, and without really thinking I end up dragging the bones one-by-one out of the hole until they're all up on the ground. I even manage to get the skull up, although once I'm finished I can't really work out why I felt the need.

  I suppose I just always want to dig up buried things.

  And then the rain starts.

  A drop falls on the skull, then another, and within a few seconds rain is falling much more steadily. I instinctively turn and hurry toward the house, only for the rope to pull tight around my neck. I look around, trying to work out where I can take cover, but the only obvious option would be the shed. Since the shed's door is shut, however, I turn and head back across the yard, and fortunately the rope is just long enough for me to find a little shelter under the twisted black tree.

  There, I settle down and start gnawing on the rope while I wait for the rain to pass. At the same time, I keep my eyes fixed on the house, watching for any sign of the broken-jawed woman at any of the windows.

  Chapter TwentyFour

  One year later

  The squirrel scurries down the tree and then stops just a few inches from the ground, almost as if it knows that it's being watched. It remains completely still for several seconds, with only its eyes twitching slightly, but then suddenly it drops down onto the grass and looks around. I can see its nose twitching, but I don't think it would have come this far if it knew about me.

  The wind is blowing toward me. There's still a piece of the old, gnarled rope hanging from my collar and moving slightly in the breeze.

  I wait a few more seconds as the squirrel scurries forward. It's within striking distance now, but I've lost too many chances over the past few days so I need to time this perfectly. I'm so hungry, my stomach has been rumbling all day, and now night is beginning to fall so I might not get another chance before the morning. I watch as the squirrel edges closer, and slowly I begin to tense my rear legs as I prepare to -

  Suddenly I lunge, surprising myself.

  The squirrel immediately turns to run, but it's too late and I bite down hard on its neck. I feel hot blood spurting into my mouth as I bite through the fur, and then I feel bones crunching. The squirrel lets out an agonized squeal and starts struggling, but I have my jaws locked tight and I start shaking the body wildly. Blood is rushing into my mouth and dripping from my chin, and I continue to shake the squirrel for several more seconds before stopping and waiting to check whether there's any further hint of life.

  Once I know that the squirrel is dead, I set the carcass down and start tearing at the body, using my paws to hold the chest still. There are lots of bones, but there's good meat too, and I'm hungry enough to devour this entire squirrel without taking a break. All I can smell is blood as I tear strips of fresh meat away, and all I can think about is the fact that I have to eat.

  What else matters in the world?

  ***

  The tree-tops rustle as a gentle wind blows through the forest. I'm starting to feel the air getting colder, which means I need to find a place to sleep. I'd usually go to one of the old, abandoned badger sets near the stream, but today I've wandered a little further than usual so I need to find somewhere new.

  Then again, I've been to this part of the forest before. In fact -

  Stopping suddenly, I spot a patch of glinting light in the distance. I wait, but deep down I already know that I recognize the dark shape beyond the trees. I've been avoiding this part of the forest for a while now, mainly because of the noises that I sometimes hear coming this area, but it's a while since I've been this close. Rains have long since washed away any familiar smells, although now I think I can just about pick up on that peculiar mix of rotten wood and deca
y that always characterized the house.

  Maisie.

  I remember Maisie.

  I've never stopped remembering her, not really, but I've managed to put her to the back of my mind. I always intended to follow the scent of their car, but rains put a stop to that. After she and the others left, I stayed near the house for weeks, but I soon ran out of mice to eat. I had to venture further afield, and then I began to hear the noises and I wanted to stay away. If Maisie and the others had come back, I'd have picked up their scents and come straight back, but even now I can tell that they haven't returned.

  Still, the thought of Maisie gives me a flicker of hope, and I start wondering whether I should go and check that the house still has my scent. After all, if Maisie comes back, I want her to know that I'm still around.

  I pick my way carefully between the trees, while constantly poised to turn and run if I hear anything bad. As I get closer to the edge of the forest, however, I start to make out more details of the house, and finally I stop as I see the steps leading up to the front door. I sniff the air, but it's already clear that nobody has been here for a very long time. I can't even pick up the scents of any animals, which is odd since I'd have thought mice and rats might have moved in and begun to live in the yard and maybe even in the house itself.

  I look over at the twisted black tree.

  The bones are still on the ground, although they looked more yellowy-brown than I remember.

  I look at the house again.

  The lights are still off, and the windows reflect the light of the slowly darkening sky. I still remember the night Maisie was carried screaming out of the house, and then the moment when the car raced straight over me. I was so convinced that they were going to come back and fetch me, but I suppose something kept them from returning. I'm sure Maisie is okay, I'm convinced that I'd know somehow if she'd been hurt, although at the same time I can't imagine why she wouldn't have come back for me. We were a pack, and packs always stay together.

  Always.

  Maybe I did something wrong.

  Stepping out across the yard, I soon find the old muzzle resting on the ground. I lean down and take a sniff, but a year's worth of rain has washed away all the old smells. Still, I hated that thing, and I carefully nudge it with my nose before walking around and making my way over to the hole that I dug back in the old days. The bones are resting nearby, and the skull is still staring at me with its dark, empty eye sockets. I keep expecting to pick up some kind of scent, some indication that at least someone has been here since that awful night, but the whole place truly seems empty and abandoned.

  I look toward the house.

  Everything looks so cold and -

  Suddenly a scream rings out from somewhere inside the house, and several black birds immediately fly away from nearby trees. I freeze, watching the house, but the scream has stopped now and I already know that I've heard it before.

  That was the same scream I heard on the night that Maisie and the others left.

  The same scream I've heard a few times since, while I was further out in the forest.

  Someone or something is still inside the house, and I can't help thinking back to the broken-jawed woman. I turn and scurry back toward the safety of the treeline, and then I stop to look at the house one more time. The air feels so much colder now, and faint curls of mist are drifting across the yard. Looking at the windows again, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched, even though all I see in each window is a different reflection of the sky. Yet as I look from one window to the next, the sense of being watched only grows, until I start frantically trying to work out where the figure is standing.

  Finally, filled with a sense of foreboding, I turn and hurry away with my tail between my legs. I need to find somewhere to sleep for the night, and I want that place to be as far from this house as possible. And I hope I dream of Maisie again, because that's the only place I ever see her now.

  Chapter TwentyFive

  A few more years later

  The voices continue as I creep forward.

  There are two of them, standing next to a car at the side of the road. This is a part of the forest I usually avoid, but the hunt for squirrels has finally brought me out here. Now, for the first time in years, I can hear human voices.

  I'm scared, but the voices have brought food.

  I can smell cooked meat, and all sorts of other human food that I remember from when I used to be a pet. All these scents are drifting through the forest, and I'm so hungry I can't resist. I should be hunting squirrels in another part of the forest but, as I edge between the trees and finally spot the humans eating near their car, I can't help sniffing the air and hoping desperately that these people might drop some of their food.

  “No,” the man is saying, “this whole forest is deserted. Fun, huh?”

  “So you can really go hiking anywhere?” the woman replies. “This place must be the best-kept secret in the whole country.”

  “Last time I was here, I hiked eighty miles to the Glen Coast and back.”

  “That sounds amazing.”

  “Well, we can go that way if you want. I'm not wedded to the original plan.”

  They continue to talk as I sneak closer. I can see them really clearly now, and the smell of bacon sandwiches is making me slobber and drool.

  “We can even go and check out that haunted house, if you like,” the man continues.

  “Haunted house?” She sounds skeptical.

  “Yeah, it's somewhere in the forest. Next to a lake, I think.”

  “There's a haunted house in the forest?”

  “Well, obviously not. I mean, it's this old mansion that's been abandoned for decades. If you look online, there are loads of stories about people going there and spending the night.”

  “Let me guess,” the woman says, speaking with her mouth full. That bacon smells delicious. “Blurry photos and mysterious recordings of unexplained bumps?”

  “More or less,” the man replies. “There are whole websites about it. The place is called Stockingdale Mansion, I think. Something like that. Apparently it's haunted by a headless butler and a gray lady, to name just two of the ghosts.” He pauses. “What's wrong? Are you not a believer in things like that?”

  “It sounds more like a tourist attraction than an actual abandoned, haunted house.”

  “You might have a point there.”

  They sit in silence for a moment, each of them staring out at the forest. I creep closer, making my way around toward the rear of the car in the hope of spotting some food they might have dropped. Even crumbs would be a welcome change from my usual diet of squirrel, mouse and bird. I remember the food that humans eat, and I remember how it was always so much better than anything else I've even tried. I'm really drooling now, and my belly is crying out in hunger.

  “I think there are haunted houses in the world,” the woman says suddenly.

  I stop, watching for any hint of a dropped piece of bacon.

  “I don't think there are websites about then, though,” she continues. “The famous cases aren't haunted.”

  “So which ones are?”

  “The ones that nobody talks about. The ones that nobody goes to.” She pauses. “If there's a real haunted house in this forest, I bet it's completely abandoned and ignored. Forgotten, even. Maybe people even have a sixth sense that they shouldn't go close. While all the Youtubers and podcasters are flocking to that Stockingdale Mansion place you talked about, the real haunted houses probably stand completely ignored. After all, a real haunted house wouldn't be some kind of fun place for a night out.” She pauses again. “It'd be absolutely terrifying.”

  “You've given this a lot of thought, huh?” the man replies.

  “I reckon you'd sense it,” she says. “You wouldn't even realize what was happening, but you'd get this deep, primordial feeling that you should stay well away. You might be hiking straight toward it, and then you'd get a feeling in your gut, telling you to change direc
tion. I guess maybe the living have an instinctive need to keep away from the dead. And that's how your real haunted houses, the ones that really have something in them, get left well alone. They don't end up with people running around inside, holding cameras. They just sit alone and untouched, year after year. And that's probably for the best.”

  She falls silent, staring out across the forest.

  “Well,” the man mutters finally, “that was quite an idea.”

  “I believe it,” she continues. “It's the only way I can believe haunted houses still exist in the days of smartphones and always-on cameras.”

  As she says those words, a piece of bacon falls from her sandwich and lands next to one of the car's tires.

  I start sneaking forward, staying low.

  “So do you think there's a house out there somewhere in this forest?” the man asks. “Right now? Apart from Stockingdale Mansion, of course.”

  I'm so close to the bacon now, I can feel drool running from both sides of my mouth.

  “Yeah,” the woman says, “I do.”

  I lean toward the bacon, desperately trying to get it without attracting attention.

  “Wanna go find it?” the man asks.

  “No way,” she replies. “I have too much respect for that kind of thing. Healthy fear, if you like. I think real haunted houses should be left well alone. There's no need to go into them. Let them be.”

  I grab the bacon.

  “Hey!” the man says suddenly. “Look!”

  With the bacon in my mouth, I turn and see the man and woman staring at me with shocked expressions. I immediately gulp the bacon down, while turning and racing back between the trees.

  “Wait!” the woman yells. “Doggy, wait! Stop! Stay!”

  I scurry down a small dip and then I stop behind a tree. I can still taste the bacon, and for a moment all I can think about is what it was like to be in a human kitchen while breakfast was being prepared. Those days were so long ago, but at the same time they feel like they were yesterday. And Maisie always used to be there, sometimes singing one of her favorite songs.