‘I’ll hold on to the boat. Just put the stone on the roof.’
Sue let go, noticing John’s knuckles turn white as he took the strain from his awkward position. She needed both hands and a knee to heave the hearthstone up, and as soon as she let go it started to slide.
‘No!’ they both cried, and John let go of the boat’s gunwale to stop it slithering into the water.
‘John!’ Sue shouted and grabbed for the edge of the church roof. Her momentum forced the boat from under her and she splashed into the water, kicking hard to help herself gain purchase on the wet, slippery slate tiles. Lightning and thunder cracked overhead.
‘Sue!’
‘Get the stone inside, I’m okay.’
‘No, grab my hand.’
‘John, please, this could mean Richie’s life.’
John said nothing, but turned himself around, his leg securing the stone. He began the laborious task of pushing it up the steep roof, but every inch he gained was immediately lost again. The roof was too wet, too mossy, and too steep. He had no choice but to begin prising away slate tiles where he was.
‘They won’t budge – they’re fixed tight,’ he called.
‘Then smash them!’ Sue had managed to get a leg on to the roof and hauled herself to safety.
‘Grab hold of the stone and brace yourself, don’t let it slip.’
She shuffled over and used her body as a brace between the stone and the gargoyle she’d anchored herself to earlier.
John sat back and used the heel of his boot to smash the roof tiles. When he had a hole large enough, he started to push the hearthstone towards the gap.
‘John, no!’
‘What?’
‘Is the inside flooded?’
He peered through the hole. ‘I don’t think so, not yet – the water level’s still low.’
‘The stone can’t break, it’s our only chance. We need to wait until it’s deep. Then it can sink and stay in one piece.’
John looked at her. ‘You’re right, but can we wait that long?’ He glanced up as another flash of lightning lit them from above and cringed at the force of the thunder.
‘We have to.’
*
Old Ma Ramsgill continued her chanting of, ‘I bind thee, Jennet Scot, to this valley. Thee’ll do no more harm here. I bind thee Jennet Scot—’ She screamed as something knocked her down. Screamed again as her body broke. Then resumed her chant.
The storm above the valley intensified.
‘Got thee now, bitch,’ Ma whispered. ‘Got thee on t’ run – too busy celebrating thy freedom, forgot what was—’ She screamed again as lightning struck nearby.
‘Missed, bitch!’ She cackled into the sudden dark as the lights went out. ‘That’s all thee’s got? Terrorise my family, would thee? Ha!’
Another scream as her leg was twisted and she felt – and heard – another bone break. ‘Do what thee likes to me – I’ve lived a long life, more than thee ever did. Too late to stop me now!’
The fire flared and sparks leapt out into the room.
‘No!’ Old Ma Ramsgill screamed, louder than she had for sixty years. Sparks landed on the pile of journals and bred flames. As they took hold, Ma forced her broken body along the floor and reached out. She found her own journal, dragged it out of the inferno, beat it against the floor, then rolled on top of it to smother the flames. She passed out.
*
‘John!’ Sue screamed as lightning struck the steeple. ‘Do it now – she’s too strong.’
John glanced up at the sky then turned to Sue. ‘I don’t know if it’s deep enough.’
‘It has to be, just do it before she stops us.’
He nodded, once, then pushed the heavy stone towards the hole in the church roof.
Right at the edge he paused and looked at his wife. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Just do it.’
Lightning struck again, blinding them both.
As Sue’s sight slowly came back, she searched for her husband. ‘John? John? John!’ The last word was a shriek. He had gone.
Sobbing, she pulled herself to the hole in the roof and peered down. All was black. She could see nothing.
Lightning flashed again and she had a split-second image of John’s twisted body, floating face down in the water below.
‘Nooo! John, no!’ She turned her face to the sky as distant thunder rumbled and the church bell pealed.
Another flash. John still didn’t move. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t get to him and Richie needed a mother.
The bell continued to ring and she realised: it was Jennet. She’d claimed another victim, but the bell was the only way she could now express her fury.
The ringing faded. It was over. At least for now.
Soundlessly, Sue slid off the roof and into the water. She swam ashore, silent tears adding to the new Thruscross Reservoir. She was a widow but her son was safe. The only person left on this earth who carried Ramsgill blood.
16th August 1966 – 2:00 p.m.
‘Here thee goes, Ma,’ Wilf said, passing her a heavy carrier bag. ‘Don’t let the nurses see.’
Ma peered into the bag and grinned before pulling out one of many bottles of Oatmeal Stout. ‘That’s good of thee, this’ll do a damn sight more good than them pills they keep making me take.’
‘Don’t be daft, Ma. Everyone knows what thee did – thee’ll never have to pay for another drink in the Stonehouse, that’s for damn certain.’
‘Right, well give Sue one then and thee can bring some more tomorrow.’
Wilf chuckled as Sue walked back into the room and took the bottle Ma held out to her.
‘Is it really over, Ma?’
‘I bloody well hope so, lass. At least for now.’
‘What do you mean? Will she be back?’
‘She’s always managed it in the past. Just promise me one thing.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t drink the bloody tap water and don’t let Richie have even a drop.’
‘What?’
‘That reservoir. It’s to supply drinking water. Don’t use the tap water and never let Richie – or his kids – drink it.’
Sue stared at her.
‘Jennet’s in there – in that water. She’s bound to it. If even a drop of Thruscross water makes it into the glass of a Ramsgill, Jennet will gain strength. Maybe enough to come back.’
21st August 1966 – 2:00 p.m.
‘Ey lass, thee’s a good ’un to visit me every day as thee does.’
‘Ma, Ma, Ma!’
Sue lifted Richie up on to Old Ma Ramsgill’s hospital bed and he snuggled up to his grandmother.
‘Did thee rescue any of the journals?’ Ma asked once she’d hugged her grandson.
Sue shook her head. ‘Only the one you saved. But rain stopped the house burning.’
Ma nodded. ‘Keep that journal safe, and make sure thee passes it on to Richie and he knows to pass it on to his kids. There’s a lot of stuff from the others in there. I hope I’ve copied all the important bits. Should have left the others at Gate House.’
‘Ma, about Gate House . . .’
Old Ma Ramsgill looked up sharply at her daughter-in-law.
‘It-it was struck by lightning. I’m sorry, it’s gone. But you’ll be all right, you’ll stay with us.’
Ma said nothing, but her sorrow was clear on her face.
‘There’s something else. They’re going to demolish the church,’ Sue added quietly.
‘What’s that thee’s saying?’
‘Someone must have seen us that night on the church roof. They’re concerned about people swimming out to it if they leave it. Part of the steeple was still above the water when the reservoir was full. Anyway, they’ve decided it’s too much of a risk. When they let the water out, they’ll take it apart and take all the internal fittings to that new monstrosity they’ve built on the other hill.’
‘Buggeration!’
‘Does that mean she’ll be
free again?’
‘Don’t know, lass. It’ll still be holy ground, it depends on whether they move her stone. Did it go right to the bottom?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then we can only hope, lass, nowt more we can do now. Pass me another of them stouts.’
***
Jennet wakes again in the novel The Haunting of Thores-Cross which chronicles her full story, as well as the havoc she wreaks in the twenty-first century.
Available now – read on for an excerpt.
If you enjoyed Cursed, please consider leaving a few words in review. Reviews are very important to an author and do help me understand what you enjoy, as well as guide other readers to books they would like to read.
Thank you – Karen Perkins
For more information on the full range of Karen Perkins’ fiction, including links for the main retailer sites and details of her current writing projects, please go to Karen’s website:
www.karenperkinsauthor.com/
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Fiction by Karen Perkins
Yorkshire Ghost Stories
Parliament of Rooks: Haunting Brontë Country
Knight of Betrayal: A Medieval Haunting
The Haunting of Thores-Cross
Cursed (Short Story)
The Yorkshire Ghost Stories are also available in a box set at a reduced price:
Ghosts of Yorkshire
To find out more about the full range of Yorkshire Ghost Stories, including upcoming titles, please visit:
www.karenperkinsauthor.com/yorkshire-ghosts
Coming 2018
Jennet (Ghosts of Thores-Cross #3)
Valkyrie Series
Look Sharpe! (Book 1)
Ill Wind (Book 2)
Dead Reckoning (Book 3)
The first three books are also available in a box set at a reduced price:
The Valkyrie Series, The First Fleet
To find out more about the full range of books in the Valkyrie Series, including upcoming titles, please visit:
www.karenperkinsauthor.com/valkyrie
About the Author – Karen Perkins
Karen Perkins is the author of seven fiction titles in the Valkyrie Series of Caribbean pirate adventures and the Yorkshire Ghosts Series. All of her fiction titles have appeared at the top of bestseller lists on both sides of the Atlantic, including the top 50 in the UK Kindle Store.
Her first Yorkshire Ghosts novel – THE HAUNTING OF THORES-CROSS – won the silver medal for European fiction in the prestigious 2015 Independent Publisher Book Awards in New York, whilst her Valkyrie novel, DEAD RECKONING, was long-listed in the 2011 MSLEXIA novel competition.
See more about Karen Perkins, including contact details, on her website:
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Author’s Note
Thruscross Reservoir does exist, and covers the drowned village of West End – one of a number of small hamlets that made up the parish of Thruscross – previously known as Thores-Cross. The dam was finished in 1966 and the test flood covered everything in the valley – except the top of the church. After a man was spotted sitting on the roof and swimming back to the shore, the church was demolished to prevent this happening again.
It must have seemed in 1966 that the village beneath Thruscross was gone for good, but it does rise now and then, whenever there’s a drought severe enough to dry out the reservoir . . .
Read on for an excerpt from The Haunting of Thores-Cross by Karen Perkins:
Prologue
26th April 1988
‘I dare you to go up to the haunted house.’
I glared at my sister in annoyance, then up at the house. I’d been there plenty of times with Alice and my friends, but never on my own. I did not want to go on my own now.
‘Double dare you.’
‘You little—!’ I lunged at her, but she danced out of my way. She might have been small, but she was quick.
She laughed. ‘Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat, Emma’s a scaredy-cat!’
I eyed the house again, then frowned at Alice. But a double dare was a double dare. And I was not a scaredy-cat. At ten years old, I could do this. I took a deep breath, ignored the butterflies in my stomach and started walking up the hill. I didn’t rush.
I scrambled through the gap in the crumbling dry stone wall that separated the house from the field, using both hands to steady myself. Something caught my eye and I stopped to have a closer look. Curious, I reached into the jumble of stones, and pulled it from the dark recess in the wall.
A little pot. Made of stone, it was rich brown in colour, roughly an inch high and two inches round with a small neck and lip. An old inkpot. I shook my head. How did I know that?
‘My story.’
I froze, then spun round to check behind me. Who said that? I looked back at the house. There was nobody here. Although the stone walls still stood, there were no doors, windows, nor roof. Dark holes gaped in the walls and, I knew from earlier visits, it was knee deep in sheepshit inside. I must have imagined the voice. I glanced back at Alice, braced my shoulders and took a step towards the house.
‘Write my story.’
My breath caught in my throat, then I sucked in a great lungful of air, turned and ran. Dashing past Alice, I didn’t care that she was laughing at me, that I’d lost the dare. I was terrified, desperate to get away from that house, that voice. It was only when I’d stopped running that I realised I still clutched the inkpot.
The Haunting of Thores-Cross is available now
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Christina Robinson of Robinson Bobcat Hire for her expert tutelage about road building and the hazards – and inconveniences – encountered by those who keep us on the move.
Louise Burke, thank you for all your help and objectivity – it can’t be easy to edit an editor; you do a wonderful job and save me much embarrassment.
Cecelia Morgan, what can I say? Your vision and quite simply amazing talent have once again created a wonderful cover. I am so proud to be working with you, and count myself blessed that Cursed carries your work.
Also thank you to the staff of the Rampsbeck Country House Hotel in Ullswater for looking after me so well – I wrote non-stop and the first draft of this tale was written in its entirety on the terrace.
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by
LionheART Publishing House
Copyright © Karen Perkins 2014
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention
No reproduction without permission
All rights reserved.
The right of Karen Perkins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
LionheART Publishing House
Harrogate
www.lionheartgalleries.co.uk
www.facebook.com/lionheartpublishing
[email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by CC Morgan Creative Visuals
Historical, horror, ghosts, paranormal, supernatural, ghost story, British, Yorkshire, 1960s
rom.Net
Cursed: A Ghosts of Thores-Cross Short Story Page 3
