The Ghost of Longthorn Manor and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  Fifteen

  “Jennifer, stop that!”

  The little girl spins around, but it's too late. Her mother's hand strikes her hard across the face, sending her staggering back until she trips and falls to the floor.

  Towering above her daughter, Winifred Marsh remains stony-faced and resolute as the child starts sobbing.

  “Go to your room,” Winifred sneers, “and don't come out until you're told.”

  “But it's supper and -”

  “Go to your room!” Winifred screams, grabbing Jennifer by the arm and hauling her into the hallway, before throwing her against the stairs. “You will not eat supper tonight! You will learn some patience and discipline, and then perhaps tomorrow morning you'll deserve food! If not, you'll go hungry again!”

  As the terrified girl scampers upstairs, Winifred straightens her apron and then heads back through to the kitchen. Her husband Ronald is in there already, watering the plants in the window, but he freezes as soon as he spots his wife.

  I remember it all now. I remember the fear in his eyes every time he saw her. I remember the fear in Jennifer's eyes, too. How could I have not remembered? I know the fire damaged me, but I cannot believe I ever forgot the true evil that once lived in my rooms. The evil that bore the name Winifred Marsh.

  “What are you looking at?” she snaps as she heads over to the counter. “Wipe that gormless expression from your face, man!”

  “Of course,” he stammers. “I'm sorry.”

  “That girl needs to learn some basic respect,” Winifred continues, grabbing a chunk of meat and rolling it in salt. “She's becoming weak as she gets older, and it's obvious who's to blame. She certainly doesn't get it from me!” She casts a disgusted glance toward her husband. “I won't have a weak child, Ronald. She'll grow up strong and true, or she won't...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “She'll grow up strong and true, and that's the end of the matter,” she adds finally. “I've done my share, but now you'll have to play your part. I need you to be strict with her. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you tolerate her nonsense. You undermine my work with her, and now the effects are starting to show. The girl has no fortitude.”

  “I'm sorry,” he replies meekly, not even daring to look at her. “I won't do it again.”

  How could I have forgotten all of this? When the fire tore through me, did I really lose so much of myself?

  “I don't know why I married you,” Winifred spits, turning the meat roughly as she continues to coat it with salt. “My parents warned me, they said you're not a proper man, but I foolishly believed that I could firm you up. I should have realized that some men are so weak, they can't ever be fixed. You do realize, I hope, that this is a wife's chief responsibility? All men are pathetic to begin with, and it takes a good wife to bring about the necessary change. I am more than a good wife, Ronald, but you are so much less than a good man.”

  She hesitates, watching him for a moment, and it's clear that she finds him utterly repulsive.

  “I honestly don't know,” she adds finally, “what I am going to do with you.”

  “I'm sorry,” he stammers, setting the watering can down. His hands are trembling.

  “You remember what I told you to do to the child, do you not?” Winifred continues, eyeing him with caution. “It's the only way to toughen her up.”

  “I know,” he replies, “but you must understand... I can't do that, not to my own daughter.”

  “Why not?”

  “It's monstrous!”

  “It's the only thing that can possibly save her, Ronald. She's so weak, she's liable to fall apart in a stiff breeze. You're the man of the house. You must step up to your responsibilities and do whatever's necessary. She's up there in her room now, no doubt bawling her eyes out. If you were a real man, a real husband and a real father, you'd go up there and start the process of toughening her up.”

  She turns the meat and slams it against the counter.

  “I suppose you're right,” Ronald whispers, looking up toward the ceiling with a hint of dread in his eyes. “I suppose... I suppose I should have listened to you all along.”

  “Then what are you wasting time for?” she snaps. “Get on with it, man!”

  I remember feeling a terrible sense of dread as Ronald Marsh made his way to the hallway and began to climb the stairs. I wanted to believe that he would never do such an awful thing, but at the same time I knew he was under the thumb of his wife. They had been living in my rooms for several years by that point, and I had come to understand that Winifred Marsh was a cruel and vicious dictator, ruling the lives of those around her. There was nothing I could do to stop her, of course. I could only witness the horror.

  “I need you to do something for me,” Ronald says later, as he sits on the bed next to his daughter. “It might sound funny, but we'll turn it into a game. Does that sound like fun? Do you want to play a game?”

  With tears still in her eyes, Jennifer looks up at him.

  “I need you to cry loudly,” he continues. “Do you think you can do that? The game is simple. We're going to make your mother think that you're upset about something that... Well, about something that I'm doing to you. Don't worry, I won't actually do it. You just need to cry a lot and make her think that it's happening.”

  “What does she want you to do?” the child asks.

  “Never mind that. Just cry. Do you think you can do that? Trust me, it'll be better in the long run.”

  So that's what happened. It became a game between the two of them. I think in some ways, Jennifer even found it quite funny, since she got to be loud and she didn't really understand the pain in her father's eyes. To her, the whole thing was just a fun game that allowed her to yell. This carried on for several weeks, until one day – in the middle of screaming – Jennifer started to laugh. Ronald tried to clamp a hand over her mouth in time, but it was too late, and Winifred immediately stormed up the stairs and pushed the door open.

  I remember that moment, as if it's happening right in front of me all over again.

  “I was just...” Ronald begins to stammer, but he knows it's too late.

  What happened next is something that I truly do not wish to remember. I cannot force the images and sounds from my thoughts, however, and they come to me not as memories but as relived experiences. Even now, as Patty and Kelly sleep downstairs on the sofa, and as Brian sleeps alone in the master bedroom, I can see and hear Winifred dragging Ronald from one of the upstairs rooms and forcing him down the stairs. It is as if the memory is playing out all over again in my rooms and corridors. Ronald is shouting, begging his wife to see reason, but she says nothing. Her face is rigid with determination, and now Jennifer is running after them both, screaming at her mother to leave her father alone.

  Now they're in the basement, where today there is a crack in the concrete. Back then, there was simply a rotten wooden floor. Winifred throws Ronald down onto that floor and stands over him, sneering. She says the most awful things, either unaware of Jennifer's presence or not caring that her daughter should hear such foul words. Ronald tries to get up, but he is a broken man, and I remember how I thought at the time that he was ruined. There is a brief moment where I think that perhaps he might rise up and strike his wife, when I hope he will have the courage to fight back, but he simply cowers and trembles. I can only assume that over the years, his wife's cruel words have created cracks in his soul and have seeped deeper to the very core of his being. Now his foundations are too badly damaged, and the rest of him is in danger of collapse.

  That's the only way I can understand what happens next. Because if Ronald's foundations are in a state of ruin, little Jennifer's are still new and strong.

  I want to forget all of this again.

  Why did I try to remember?

  I only realize at the very last moment that the child has taken a wrench from one of the workbenches. Even if I had been able to cry out, I would surely have been too late. I doubt Jen
nifer really knows her own strength. She swings the wrench, barely reaching high enough, yet she hits the back of her mother's head with shocking force, enough to shut Winifred up mid-sentence and send her crumpling to the floor. She lands on top of her husband and he quickly pushes her body aside, and now the woman's dead eyes stare up at the basement's ceiling as blood pools beneath her on the rotten floor.

  And Jennifer stands with the blood-soaked, dripping wrench, her eyes wide with shock as she sees what she has done.

  After he has taken the little girl back upstairs and put her to bed, Ronald goes back down and gets to work in the basement. He uses a shovel to break the wooden floor apart, and then he digs a pit into which he eventually throws his wife's body. Then he fills the pit in and rearranges the rotten wooden chunks, and then he goes back up to comfort his daughter some more. And the next day, he begins the job of creating a whole new concrete floor, sealing his dead wife below. He works calmly and methodically, and finally he stands back and admires the floor once he is finished.

  It was a good floor, and I was glad of it.

  For several months, Ronald and Jennifer live as best they can. Over time, however, I notice a haunted quality in Ronald's eyes, and finally I become aware of a faint gray smudge in the air, following him from room to room. One night, after little Jennifer has gone to bed, I realize I can hear a whispering sound, and it takes some time before I realize that the smudge seems to be speaking directly into Ronald's ear. Winifred always had a way of persuading her husband to do whatever she wanted, and I realize with a growing sense of dread that this seems to have continued even beyond her death. So while Jennifer sleeps upstairs, Ronald sits in the dark kitchen and lets his wife's words create deeper and deeper cracks in his soul. She whispers to him from the grave, and finally one night he goes up to his daughter's room and he does what he was told to do in the beginning.

  And Jennifer takes it as punishment for what happened to her mother, so at first she barely even cries out. Even when she does protest, she's powerless to save herself, and a kind of darkness settles in her eyes. Several years later, she will use flames to end the misery.

  I can see Ronald now, sloping down the stairs after yet another session with Jennifer. His daughter is sobbing upstairs in her room, but Ronald shows no remorse, no pity. Winifred, meanwhile, is waiting in the kitchen to whisper to him again, and my rooms are briefly alive with remembered creaks and groans from floorboards that were stepped on long ago, and from voices that cried out in the night and were never saved.

  The gray woman was never Jennifer. It was always Winifred.

  And little Kelly, on the sofa with her sleeping mother, has opened her eyes. It is almost as if she heard my memories come to life.

  Sixteen

  “Mommy?” Kelly whispers in the darkness. “Do you hear that?”

  She waits, but her mother doesn't stir. After a moment, Kelly turns and nudges Patty's shoulder. She seems reticent, as if she doesn't want to upset her mother by disturbing her, as if she wants to be able to pretend that she woke her by accident.

  “Mommy? I think there's someone else in the house. Mommy, I can hear them.”

  As she speaks, another floorboard creaks in the kitchen. I can't see anyone through there, of course, but I remember how Ronald used to pace back and forth at night. Is Kelly simply hearing my memories, or are my memories more than memories? A moment later, as if to answer that question, I realize I can hear a faint rustling sound from one of the upstairs rooms.

  The gray woman, the ghost of Winifred Marsh, is in the master bedroom, whispering to Brian as he sleeps. I cannot help but fear that her persuasive skills, which once worked so well on Ronald, are now being turned to another man. I want to believe that Brian is stronger than Ronald, that he won't give in so easily, but deep down I'm sure that nobody can resist Winifred's whispered instructions forever. In life, she was already a master of persuasion. In death, her power is only stronger.

  “Mommy, wake up,” Kelly continues, nudging her mother's shoulder a little harder and this time eliciting a mumbled instruction to go back to sleep. “Mommy, there's someone else in the house!”

  Finally Patty opens her eyes and turns to look at her daughter.

  “There's no-one else in the house,” she says wearily. “Go back to -”

  And then she stops, listening to the silence as if something has piqued her interest. I feel certain that she can't hear Winifred's whispers from all the way downstairs, but after a moment she sits up.

  “Someone's whispering,” Kelly points out, and they both look toward the stairs. “Who is it? I'm not imagining it, Mommy, I know I'm not! Why is -”

  “Quiet!” Patty hisses, holding a finger against her lips for a moment. “Maybe Daddy's watching a film up there or...”

  Her voice trails off. I can see the doubt in her eyes, and the fear. She wants to calm her daughter's nerves, but at the same time she senses that something is wrong. If I could reach into her mind, I'd tell her to take Kelly and get out of the house right now. If only I could find a way to speak.

  “Wait here,” she adds finally, grabbing her crutches and slowly starting to get up.

  “Don't leave me down here!” Kelly hisses.

  “There's nothing to worry about,” Patty tells her, wincing slightly as she leans on the crutches and starts struggling toward the hallway. “I just want you to stay here and try to go back to sleep. I'm going to turn Daddy's laptop off, that's all. He must have fallen asleep with it on. You know what he's like.”

  “Mommy, stay!”

  Reaching the hallway, Patty stops and looks up the stairs. I'm still surprised that she can hear the whisper from here, but after a moment she starts awkwardly making her way up the stairs, struggling one step at a time as her crutches bump against the wood.

  “Mommy, don't leave me!” Kelly half whispers, half shouts, clearly terrified but at the same time not daring to leave the sofa. “Mommy!”

  “Just wait!” Patty tells her, finally reaching the top of the stairs and looking along the landing toward the open door at the far end.

  She starts shuffling along, passing under the light that has been left on and finally reaching the door. She looks into the pitch-black bedroom, and she listens for a moment as the whispering sound continues. The ghost of Winifred Marsh is right next to the bed, still leaning down and speaking into Brian's ear, although I don't know whether Patty can actually see her.

  Reaching into the room, Patty flicks the switch on the wall, but the light doesn't work.

  “Brian!” she hisses. “What are you doing?”

  She waits, but the whispering continues.

  “Brian! Are you watching something? What's going on in here?”

  Again she waits, silhouetted in the doorway, before finally she leans on her crutches again and starts shuffling into the room. I don't think she can see anything in the darkness, but I can still see the gray figure of Winifred Marsh leaning over the bed and whispering into Brian's ear.

  “It's so cold!” Patty says, her voice shuddering slightly as if she's starting to shiver. “Brian, are you talking in your sleep? Wake up!”

  She's at the foot of the bed now, and she starts heading around toward the bedside table. By the time she's close enough to reach out toward the lamp, she's just inches from the figure of Winifred Marsh.

  “This is ridiculous,” Patty mutters, fumbling to find the switch. “Brian, at least when you snored, I could bump you and get you to stop. This is just creepy!”

  She struggles for a moment longer, propping herself against her crutches, before finally locating the switch and turning the light on.

  “Brian,” she continues, turning to look at him, “can you please -”

  Suddenly she freezes, and her eyes widen with horror as she stares at the back of the ghost's head.

  “What the -”

  Before she can finish, the ghost of Winifred Marsh turns and screams, leaning toward Patty and sending her stumbling back. A
s Patty falls to the floor, Winifred stares down at her with a face that seems so much clearer and more distinct than usual.

  “Who the hell are you?” Patty stammers, dragging herself away from the bed on her elbows. “What are you doing in my house? Brian, wake up!”

  The ghostly figure simply stands and watches her, shimmering in the lamp's low light.

  “Mommy?” Kelly calls up from the front room. “Are you okay?”

  “Run!” Patty shouts, turning and trying to get up, only to wince as her broken leg slips from under her. She tries again, but suddenly the bulb in the bedside lamp shatters, plunging the room back into darkness.

  Patty starts crawling toward the open door, trying to reach the landing.

  “Kelly!” she yells, grabbing the door handle and using it to haul herself up. “Get out of the house! Go next door and -”

  Suddenly one of the crutches swings through the darkness, slamming against the side of Patty's head and sending her crunching against the door-jamb. She tries to hold herself up, but the crutch hits her again, this time with a cracking sound that sends Patty slumping forward again.

  “Kelly!” she cries out. “Get -”

  The crutches hit her again, sending her crashing down to the floor. A moment later, Brian steps out of the darkness, holding the set of crutches in his hands. He stares down at Patty's sobbing body, and he watches for a moment as she tries to drag herself toward the top of the stairs. She's letting out a series of pained gasps, as if she's still trying to call out to Kelly, but the wound on the side of her head is thick and bloody, with fresh blood already dribbling down past her ear and spattering against the wooden boards.

  Directly behind Brian, in the dark of the bedroom, the spectral form of Winifred Marsh is still whispering in his ear.

  A moment later, Brian steps around Patty's shuddering body and raises the crutches high, and then he brings them crashing down against the back of her head. He hits her again and again, with more force each time, and he keeps striking her until her skull has been cracked open. At first, each impact causes a faint gurgle to burst from her mouth, but finally all that comes out is more and more blood.