The Ghost of Longthorn Manor and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  She must have planned everything in advance. That's what she was doing while she lay on her bed, staring into the darkness. She looked so still and quiet, but her thoughts must have been rushing. I've always wished I could hear what goes on inside people's heads, but perhaps Jennifer's thoughts would have been too disturbing.

  Ronald was still snoring as Jennifer entered his room. She approached the bed cautiously, expertly avoiding the various creaking boards on the floor. I remember thinking that she'd back out at the last moment, that she wouldn't actually go through with her plan, but then she unscrewed the lid of the canister and began to slowly dribble gasoline across the sheets that covered her father's legs and waist. The stench was over-pouring, but she methodically moved her way along the side of the bed, covering her father's waist now as his snores became a little snatched. He was beginning to wake up, but too much of him was still asleep.

  Finally, the gasoline spattered against his neck and chin, and he let out a faint grumble as he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.

  I didn't even see Jennifer strike the match. Suddenly the flame was burning, and she dropped it onto the sheets. Ronald let out a brief, terrified cry, but he was immediately engulfed in a roaring inferno. Rolling off the side of the bed, he crashed against the bare floor. Jennifer stood back calmly, watching as her father tried furiously to put the flames out. The old man rolled across the floor, flailing his arms this way and that while screaming for help. At one point he banged against one of my walls, and then he fell back with a thud against the bare boards.

  I don't know what Jennifer saw as the flames reflected in her eyes, but I know what I saw.

  I saw Ronald's face screaming in the heart of the fire. I saw his mouth wide open as the flesh seared away from his cheeks. Perhaps there's some peculiarity to the way I see the world, but I was able to watch as first his nose, then his lips and finally his eyes were consumed by the flames. Still he screamed, and he began to drag himself toward the doorway. I don't know what he planned to do if he got out there. Reach the bathroom, perhaps, and douse himself in water? I suppose it's academic, because he never got that far. As his screams finally died down, he slumped against the floor and fell still, and now the only sound came from the crackling of his flesh and bones at the heart of the fire.

  Jennifer watched for quite some time. There were voices out in the garden by now, and Ronald's screams had brought the neighbors running. Jennifer remained quite still, staring at her father's burning body, before finally she lifted the canister and poured the rest of the gasoline over her own body.

  If I could have screamed, I would have screamed at that moment.

  I wanted her to run.

  Instead, she tossed the canister aside and – as some neighborhood men battered the front door down – she stepped forward until her gasoline-soaked left foot brushed against her father's burning corpse.

  She didn't cry out as she burned. She simply stood and waited as the flames consumed her body. I could see her face, and there was not a flicker of emotion as she died. Even when several men reached the doorway and saw the horrific scene, Jennifer remained standing long after she should have fallen. When she finally crumbled, I think it was only because her spirit had left her body. Her meat and bones crashed down in a rush of fire. Her mind was gone.

  But Jennifer and her father were not the only ones who burned that night.

  As fire trucks began to reach the scene, I burned too. The inferno had begun with Ronald and spread to Jennifer, but now it leaped onto my walls and began to furiously consume the wood. Plenty of gasoline had been spilled, so the flames reached the far wall and tore through the frame around the window. Within just a few minutes, the fire had reached the ceiling and was burning through into the attic, finally catching the roof.

  There was no pain for me, of course. What I felt instead was a sense of my body being destroyed, of pieces of my mind falling away into nothingness. When the outer wall of Jennifer's bedroom collapsed and went crashing down onto the lawn, I felt only a sudden absence, as if my conscious mind had become that much smaller.

  When the floor gave way, sending the contents of Jennifer's room down into the kitchen, I felt as if one part of my mind had been crushed and another part had been torn wider open.

  My memories were being eaten by flames.

  Of course, by now men were spraying gallons of water at my burning frame, trying desperately to extinguish the fire. Their efforts made some difference, but not a great deal. The fire was already in other rooms, burning through the upper floors of the house was rapacious speed. I remember feeling more and more of my body being torn away, and I remember wondering how it would feel if I understood the sensation of pain. I tried to imagine pain, but I could not. I felt fear, though.

  Fear that I was about to be completely eaten away by the flames, that there would be nothing left of me come morning.

  Fear that I was about to follow my memories and collapse into oblivion.

  I remember the rush of air in all my rooms as the flames ate everything they could. There came a moment when I felt ready to accept my fate, and to have all my walls topple into my basement and leave nothing but a few blackened lumps of wood. Death, after all, must come to everything. I thought that night that I would burn to nothing.

  But the fires were eventually extinguished, and part of me remained. Not all, not by a long shot, but part of me. And then men arrived eventually to rebuild me, although the new walls lacked the memories that had lived in the old. I am half old and half new now, and I am missing so much that is important. At least now, however, I remember why I forgot so much.

  Thirteen

  “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  Wincing slightly, Patty leans heavily on a set of crutches as she steps through the front door. Behind her, a cab driver is holding her suitcase.

  “Hello?”

  Patty hesitates, before turning to the driver.

  “Thank you so much,” she says, handing him some cash. “Please, keep the change and -”

  “Mommy!”

  Hearing Kelly's excited voice, Patty turns just in time to see her daughter rushing down the stairs. They immediately embrace, hugging tight before Patty pushes the door shut.

  “How's my little princess?” she asks with a smile, as she glances at the doors that leads away from the hall. “Where's your father, honey?”

  “I missed you so much!” Kelly continues, still holding her tight.

  “I missed you too. I called Daddy and asked why you guys hadn't been to the hospital for a few days, and then eventually the doctor said it was okay for me to come home. I thought Daddy would come and pick me up, but maybe he hasn't checked his messages. Just be careful with my leg, okay? It's still very sore and it'll be a while before I'm properly up and about.”

  “Daddy's upstairs,” Kelly says, pressing her face against her mother's belly as if she's too scared to ever let go again. “He's been acting really weird since the other day. I didn't like being home alone with him.”

  “He's been strict, huh?”

  Patty waits for a reply, before reaching down and tousling the hair on top of her daughter's head.

  “Brian?” she calls out, sounding just a little nervous. “Are you home? Why haven't you been answering your phone?”

  Again she waits, and again there's no reply. After a moment, however, there's a brief, loud bump from one of the upstairs rooms.

  “So Daddy's been in a funk, huh?” she continues. She looks a little worried, but I imagine she's putting on a brave face for her daughter. “Well, we'll soon get him out of that, won't we? One night of home-cooked food and he'll be back to normal. Whether he wants to be or not.”

  “I think there's someone else living in the house,” Kelly says, finally stepping back and looking up at her mother. “I can feel someone next to my bed at night sometimes. I even saw her once.”

  “You did?” Patty hesitates for a moment. “That doesn't sound quite right. What did sh
e look like?”

  “She's old,” Kelly replies. “She's about your age, or maybe a little bit older. She looks really mean, and she's pale. I think her skin is gray. I don't think she likes me at all, and she follows Daddy a lot. Whenever she's close, it gets really cold, and sometimes I start shivering. But Daddy says he doesn't see her, and Mrs. Barnapple from next door came over yesterday and she said she couldn't see her either. That doesn't mean she's not there, though, does it?”

  Patty opens her mouth to reply, but she's clearly not quite sure what to say.

  “Can we go live somewhere else?” Kelly adds, tugging on Patty's arm. “Now you're home, Mommy, can we find another house?”

  “Brian?” Patty calls out, leaning on her crutches as she heads over to the bottom of the stairs. “I can't get up there very easily, honey. Can you come down?”

  She waits, before turning to Kelly.

  “Daddy's home, right?”

  Kelly nods.

  “Brian!” Patty yells. “Come on, don't be like this! What's wrong? I'm home!”

  There's another bumping sound from upstairs, followed by the sound of a door opening, and a moment later Brian finally stumbles to the top of the stairs. He's been sleeping for hours now, mumbling as he tossed and turned, and the woman in gray was right next to his bed the whole time. Now he's rubbing his eyes, and he seems genuinely confused by Patty's return. The woman, meanwhile, is waiting for him in the master bedroom.

  “I wasn't expecting a party or anything like that,” Patty tells him, “but I thought you'd be a little pleased to see me. How have things been going here?”

  He stares at her, before starting to make his way down the stairs.

  “Fine,” he mumbles, still sounding groggy. “Busy. You know how it is. Kelly's been a little pain, as usual. Always coming up with a bunch of crazy ideas.”

  He reaches out to pat Kelly's shoulder, but she instinctively pulls away.

  “Is that right?” Patty asks, clearly sensing the tension. “Well, I guess I'm going to have to whip everything back into shape, aren't we? Let's start with -”

  Suddenly there's another bumping sound from upstairs, as the woman in gray pushes the master bedroom door shut. She's angry. She doesn't like Patty.

  “What was that?” Patty asks.

  “Nothing,” Brian says quickly.

  “The wind?”

  “I guess. It's an old house, these places can be a little drafty.”

  Patty eyes him with a hint of suspicion. “There's no-one else here, is there?” she asks finally.

  “I told you, Mummy!” Kelly hisses. “There's a woman living here, but I'm the only one who can see her!”

  “Do you hear what I've been having to deal with?” Brian asks, forcing a smile even though he seems deeply uncomfortable. “She's been going on about some kind of ghost for the past few days. It's basically all she wants to talk about. I've told her over and over again that there's no such thing, but it just doesn't seem to stick in her head.”

  “This house does have a bit of a history,” Patty replies, sounding a little worried. “Have you seen or heard anything?”

  “Me?” Brian shakes his head. “Of course not. It's just a house. And please, let's not bring up the past in front of impressionable ears. Certain people might get funny ideas.”

  He looks down at Kelly and smiles.

  “How about we go get some ice-cream for after dinner, huh? Would you like that?”

  Kelly hesitates, as if she's worried about going anywhere with him, but finally she nods.

  “I don't think I can go to the store with you guys in my current state,” Patty tells them. “I'm not exactly very mobile, and I probably won't be for a while. But if you really want to go get ice-cream, I guess I can potter about here and get used to the place again. Does that sound good?”

  “I'll just grab my keys,” Brian mutters, still sounding groggy as he heads toward the door.

  “It's just a house,” Patty tells Kelly, patting her daughter on the shoulder. “And it's our house, so it's going to be just fine. There's no such thing as ghosts, honey, so you absolutely don't need to worry. Just focus on having fun before school starts again, okay? It'll take time to get used to the place, but you will get used to it. I promise.”

  Kelly hesitates again, before nodding. Still, as her mother pulls her close for another hug, the little girl turns and looks back up the stairs. I swear, it's almost as if she knows that the gray woman is in the master bedroom, listening to every word that's said.

  Fourteen

  “Kelly?”

  Sitting up suddenly on the sofa, Patty looks around at the darkened front room. Since her leg is in plaster, she decided to sleep downstairs rather than struggling all the way up to the upper floor, and she's been resting quite soundly for the past few hours. It's a little after 1am now, and until now everything has stayed completely quiet, but a moment ago there was a faint bump in the distance as the woman in gray made her way out of the master bedroom, and the bump was evidently enough to wake Patty.

  Now, however, everything is once again silent.

  Patty sits listening for a moment. She can't possibly know that the gray woman is at the top of the stairs now, but still, it's clear that Patty has some kind of sense that things aren't quite right.

  Clambering off the sofa, she has to lean heavily on her crutches as she starts making her way across the room and over toward the door that leads into the kitchen.

  The gray woman is slowly and silently making her way down the stairs toward the hallway. As she reaches the bottom, the ghostly figure steps on a loose board, causing a brief creaking sound.

  Patty turns and looks back into the front room. She waits a moment, before turning and continuing to limp awkwardly into the kitchen, while the gray woman steps silently across the hallway.

  “You're cracking up,” Patty mutters to herself, pouring a glass of water at the sink and stopping to take a drink. She lets out a gasp before filling the glass again. “Get a grip, woman. It's just a house.”

  She looks down into the sink, as the gray woman slips silently into the dark kitchen and starts stepping up behind her. Patty seems completely oblivious, although after a moment she sets her glass aside.

  I need to warn her.

  There has to be some way. For all these years, I've been watching the people who live in my rooms, and I've never once been able to let them know that I see them. Even when Jennifer was suffering so badly, I knew I could do nothing to help. Now, however, as Patty remains at the sink and the gray woman approaches from behind, I feel a rush of panic as I realize that I have to find a way to stop this. After all, what good are memories, if you don't use them to change what happens in the future?

  First, I try to cry out. I have no voice except the voice that carries my thoughts, but I scream at Patty, begging her to see what's happening in this place.

  She simply stays where she is, looking out at the dark garden.

  Next, I try to make some other kind of noise. I try to rattle the pipes, but I lack the strength. I try to shake my walls, but this only makes me feel more helpless. I even try to slam a door.

  Finally, I try to reach directly into Patty's mind, to somehow take hold of her thoughts and make her see that something is terribly wrong, but even this is beyond me. I try again and again, each time trying to figure out some fresh approach that might allow me to finally make contact. Never in my life have I been able to communicate with the people who live in my rooms, and I long ago accepted that I must remain silent. Now, however, I feel as if I must find a way.

  And all the while, the gray woman is getting closer and closer, watching the back of Patty's head with calm, dead eyes. She almost killer her once. I'm sure she won't fail this time.

  “Move!” I try to scream. “Turn around! Get out of here!”

  No-one hears those words. No-one ever hears me.

  Patty tilts her head slightly, as if something has caught her attention in the garden.


  The gray woman reaches out, moving a hand closer to Patty's shoulder.

  “Mommy?”

  Suddenly Patty turns, and at that moment the spectral figure fades.

  “I couldn't sleep,” Kelly says, standing bleary-eyed in the doorway, once again holding her toy bear. “I don't know why, but I felt weird and then I got scared. Can I sleep with you tonight?”

  Patty limps over and stops in front of her, brushing some of the hair from across her daughter's face.

  “Of course you can, sweetheart,” she says with a smile. “Did you miss me while I was away? Just a bit?”

  Kelly peers past her, looking at the spot where the ghostly figure was standing just a few seconds ago. There's fear in the girl's eyes, and her lips are trembling slightly.

  “Someone was shouting at me,” she whispers finally.

  “What do you mean?” Patty asks.

  “Didn't you hear it?” she continues, looking up at her mother. “Someone was shouting. They didn't make a noise, but I could still tell they were shouting. It was like the shouting was coming from the house.”

  Patty furrows her brow for a moment, before tousling the hair on the girl's head and leading her back to the front room.

  “You're pretty funny sometimes, did you know that?” she tells Kelly. “You have some pretty wild ideas.”

  As she's led away, Kelly turns and looks back toward the kitchen. She seems troubled by something, and I can't help feeling that her sudden arrival just now was more than a coincidence. I was trying to get Patty's attention, but is there a chance that somehow Kelly heard me instead? I know such things should be impossible, and I know it's dangerous to let one's imagination run wild, but I can't help wondering whether I began to get through to the little girl's mind. And if that is the case, then I must find a way to do it again, so that I can warn her about the evil that exists here.

  I finally remember the truth about the gray woman. Her name was Winifred Marsh, and I remember why she was buried in the basement, beneath the concrete floor. She was buried because no matter how bad Ronald might have been, his wife Winifred was so much worse.