Moorcroft The Possession

by Sandra Callister

  Outside the pub Charles looked at her. “One more look before we leave?” Sarah nodded. As they went through the gates Sarah stopped him. “This is far enough.” She looked at the cold house with its grey walls and it’s boarded up windows, it held no joy for her now. She brushed away her tears. “Well, she got what she wanted, but she won’t hurt anyone else if I can help it. Let’s leave all this behind us; I don’t need this house and all its trappings. Let’s go home Charles to our son and a happy and contented life.”

  Upstairs in Moorcroft, Charlotte looked through the cracks in the boards and watched as the car turned round and drove out of the gates. Tears streamed down her face, she was alone again. She turned and walked to the top of the stairs and screamed out. “Frederick, where are you, come to me I need you.” The only sound that came back to her was the gentle tinkle of the chandelier.

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  CHAPTER 19

  Charlotte wandered the house, roaming from room to room, but the house held no joy for her now. She missed the company of Richard, the closeness they shared, the affection they had. She hadn’t meant to push him so hard but he had made her angry that night, saying that he would never love her. She pushed a plank of wood from the broken bedroom window and looked down onto the drive, at the very spot Richard had fallen. A tear fell across her cheek remembering how the woman, Victoria, had come to him. How she held out her arms to him and how they had embraced and walked away hand in hand. A tear caressed her cheek. Why did he leave her? Why hadn’t Frederick come for her as Victoria had come for Richard, as John had come for Emily? Why had she been left alone in this house? Did no one love her enough?

  From the corner of her eyes she spotted movement, those ruffians from the village were back to torment her, well she would show them. She watched as they neared the house, it was always the same group but today they had a newcomer, who was this? They pushed each other playfully and kicked the gravel on the drive, soon they would be in front of the house and they would pick up larger stones and throw them at the windows, she was thankful that they were boarded up or there would have been nothing left of her beautiful house. Why did they want to vandalise her lovely home?

  She watched as the biggest boy pushed the newcomer forward and they all laughed. The boy was coming towards the dining room window, was he actually trying to get into the house, this was a first. She rushed to the top of the stairs and listened. She heard wood splinter and glass break and the shutters being pushed inward. At the foot of the stairs she stared at the small boy cautiously making his way to the large front door. He would never be able to open it, it was far too big, she would have to help him. This was fun. He gripped the old iron ring and pulled, but it didn’t budge. He put his foot against the door jamb and threw all his weight back against it. It opened a crack and Charlotte put her hand through and on his second heave she pulled the door open and the boy fell backwards to the floor. The others rushed in, laughing at the young boy as he scrambled to his feet.

  Robert was new in the village and the locals were not too friendly, the boys from his school had said that if he wanted to be in their gang he would have to enter an old house. No problem he thought, until he saw it. As he had walked up the gravel drive on the approach to Moorcroft he shivered with fear. The house stood dark and brooding, it looked well secured, how was he to get in? He looked at the house and spotted a broken board that covered one of the windows and began to kick. Soon the wood splintered and with a good heave he managed to pull enough away for him to squeeze through. He pushed at the shutters and pulled back the curtains. The room was dark and cold and smelt musty and he coughed, he shivered and cautiously made his way to the front door, it looked big and heavy, would he be able to open it to allow the others to enter? With a lot of heaving and pulling he finally opened the door and the boys rushed in. They stood open mouthed looking round the large entrance hall; it was obvious to Robert that they had never ventured beyond the gardens.

  “Now can I be in your gang?” He asked.

  They had looked at each other and then to Johnny Lawson, the leader, who told him that first he had to go upstairs. Robert turned and looked up the wide staircase. At the top was a landing, the walls covered with portraits with stern faces and fixed stares and the corners seemed filled with shadows.

  “Well, go on scaredy cat.” They taunted him, laughing.

  Charlotte felt sorry for the boy, but she didn’t want to show herself just yet.

  Johnny Lawson had jeered and the others soon followed. If he didn't do this he would never be accepted into their gang. Taking a deep breath he took a step forward, one step, two steps, he put his hand on the banister to steady himself. He was shivering, but he didn't know if it was with the cold or fear. He could hear the boys behind him giggling, he must carry on. Each step took him nearer to the shadows. The stairs creaked beneath his feet, the dust and cobwebs clung to his hands and clothes. He took another step and stood still. He was sure he had heard something ahead, like a swishing noise. Probably a mouse, he thought, he wasn't scared of mice. When he reached the top of the stairs he turned and raised his arms in triumph.

  “Now can I be in your gang?”

  Charlotte stood behind him and waved her arms.

  The boys looked up towards him with fear in their eyes and screamed. They turned and ran as fast as they could from the house, the door slamming behind them as if a gust of wind had taken hold of it to shut out the daylight.

  Robert went to run down the stairs but something or someone was holding him back, he kicked and thrashed his arms about trying to free himself. He heard a little giggle, it sounded like a child and then he was pulled back and he fell to the floor. He spun round expecting to see some mischievous boy but there was no-one there. Was there someone in the house after all? Did someone still live here? Was this a set up to see what he would do? Were they playing a joke on him? Should he run like the others or search for the person? He turned to run when he heard another giggle and from the corner of his eye he saw a door open and close further up the corridor and heard gentle laughter as if floating on the wind. There was someone here. Curiosity got the better of him and he slowly made his way back up the few stairs and to the door, he pushed it slightly open and looked inside. There was no-one there. He felt a push in his back and heard the door bang shut behind him. He turned quickly. Before him stood a beautiful young woman, she was older than his sister, but younger than his mother. She put her head on one side and looked at him.

  His heart was beating fast and he began to shake. “I'm sorry for coming into your house, I didn’t know anyone lived here, I thought it was empty, if you open the door I'll leave right away and never come back, I promise.”

  Again she giggled. As if floating on air she moved to the window. He tried the door but it wouldn't budge. “Come here boy and watch your friends run like the wind away from this house.”

  At the window he looked through the gap down the driveway to see his so called friends running away as fast as they could go. “Can I go now, please?” he asked.

  “Go. You want to leave a lovely old house like this? You want to leave me here all on my own with no-one to talk to?”

  The boy nodded, too scared to talk.

  “I've been hear so long by myself, no one wants to talk to me.” She turned to the boy. “Surely you can stay a little longer and keep me company.”

  The boy began to cry. She looked down at him and frowned, her tone became a little sharper as she told him to be quiet. He couldn't stop, the more she shouted at him the more he cried, and the tears flowed down his face.

  “Stop, I said.” She screamed at him.

  The boy sobbed. “I can't help it. I just want... I just want to go home.”

  He watched in horror as her voice became courser and her features changed from the beauty to a scowling wicked woman with evil eyes, she stared at him and smirked. With her bony fingers she stabbed him in the chest. “You will stay here until I say you can go boy.” With that she
turned and went through the door. He could hear her laughing as she went up the corridor.

  He turned and banged on the boarded window, shouting for help, but there was no-one there to hear him. The light outside was fading and the sky was getting darker. His mother would be wondering where he was. Would he ever see his home again? He ran to the door and pulled with all his strength but the door wouldn’t budge. How had he got himself into this mess and where were all his so called friends now. He huddled in a corner whimpering, too frightened to cry out, what was he going to do? He sat still, his head resting on his knees and listened, the floorboards creaked, his head shot up, was she coming? The door handle turned and he hid his face in his hands, she was here to punish him for being in her house. Still crying he turned his head, and watched as the door slowly opened and there again stood the beautiful woman all smiles.

  She looked around the room and in a soft voice she said. “Ah, there you are, silly boy. What are you doing in the corner? You'll get all dirty and then nanny will be cross.” As she approached she offered him her hand, it was a nice soft gentle hand, but icy cold. The boy stood before her shivering. “Oh dear, are you cold?” She turned and whoosh a fire appeared in the grate, he blinked hard, was this a nightmare, would he wake up soon. Smoke soon filled the room and he coughed and started to cry.

  He could see a flash of anger cross her face and he backed away.

  “Please let me go.” He begged.

  She swung round and glared at him and pointed at the door and it slowly opened. “Get out you snivelling little brat. Get out before I change my mind.”

  The boy rushed for the door and looked out onto the corridor, was this a trap? Which way should her go, he couldn’t remember. He turned right and ran and the stairs opened up in front of him. As fast as he could he bounded down the stairs and charged the main door. It wouldn't open. He tugged and tugged. Still it wouldn't open. He could hear her laughing behind him. He looked for another way out, which way had he come in. He went to the first door on his right, this wasn't the room in which he had entered the house, dust sheets clung to the furniture and cobwebs hung from the ceiling and in the corners. There was no time to turn back. Heavy curtains hung over the windows he ran over and pulled them to one side showering him and the room in dust, behind the curtains were floor to ceiling shutters, he tugged at them until they opened to reveal glass doors. Behind the doors he was faced with the wooden boarding, what was he to do now?

  He looked behind him, there was no sign of her, could he reach the other room before she came back? Cautiously he made his way across the hall and into the other room, he was faced with a large table and chairs covered with dust sheets. This was the room from which he had first entered the house. He raced to the window and pulled back the heavy curtains, then the shutter and at last found the broken window. The hole looked much too small for him; if he came in this way he must be able to get out, he had to get away before she came after him. He felt a movement behind him. He turned and she was there in the doorway.

  “You still here, boy?” she shouted.

  He struggled with the boards on the window and pushed with all his strength. The wooden frame groaned. He pushed again and again. He looked behind him, she was still there smiling. He could feel the panic rising inside him. He started to kick at the boards and the small panes of glass shattering. He kicked again at the lower panes until the wooden frame gave way. He kicked at the wooden boards until the panels began to split making the hole big enough for him to squeeze through. He crouched down and began to scramble through the opening, getting tangled in the heavy curtains, certain she was trying to hold him back. He fell forward and found himself lying in the flower bed. The brambles scratched his hands and legs and clung to his clothes. He dragged himself to his feet and started to run as fast as he could down the drive. He didn't dare look back but he could hear her laughing. On he ran through the gates and down the winding road, stumbling as he went. He got a stitch in his side, he was short of breath and his pace slowed but he couldn’t stop. Through the hedge he could see the lights of the village, it was almost dark. He ran out onto the road, over the green towards the small estate of houses where he lived.

  Charlotte stood at the bedroom window watching as the boy raced down the drive. She was sure that he would not be back. She laughed wondering what he would tell his friends. Would they let him into their gang now, he certainly deserved to be. As the boy disappeared through the gates, she sighed, now she was alone again with just her memories, until someone else ventured into her home.

  THE END

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  Other books by Sandra Callister

  Moorcroft - The Obsession

  The Spirit of Charlotte Worthington is back in the second novel of the trilogy. Moorcroft has been standing empty for years until the heir of murdered Richard Gardener is found, his nephew Ben Wesley. After renovating the old mansion Ben moves his family from the Midlands into the sprawling estate unaware that its resident ghost Charlotte still wanders the property. Soon Charlotte is up to her old tricks and falls for the new owner, but he has a wife and eventually a child, what will the lonely spirit do to find happiness in her everlasting world? Love, infidelity, passion, aggression, resentment and pique all play their part in building to a tremendous and terrifying climax in this second episode of the Moorcroft saga.

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  Moorcroft - The Surrender

  Like a phoenix rising from the ashes four luxury apartments are constructed from the ruins of Moorcroft. Four new apartments means four new families for the ghost of Moorcroft to interact with, to observe, to torment, and to look for love. The Cartwright’s a retired couple looking for peace and tranquillity, Marjory Fenton a divorcee looking for the good life paid for by her ex-husband, her life on hold until she can find a new rich partner. The Millers a troubled couple, Roger a house husband and devoted father and his career wife Vivien who wanted the status that the Moorcroft Mansions address could provide and finally the Cartwright’s daughter Diane, a victim of domestic abuse.

  Over time the many and complex personalities of Charlotte are exposed in this finale of the trilogy as she gets to know and befriends the new occupants of “her” house. It all leads to a tumultuous climax that will leave you stunned.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sandra was born in Lancashire, the youngest of three children. Her mother, Frances Hudson, worked in the cotton mills to provide for her family single handed after her divorce and Sandra saw little of her father. She was educated in the local Secondary School. She married at eighteen and had two boys before moving to the Isle of Man. After eighteen years of marriage she divorced and devoted her time to the upbringing of her two boys. Her youngest son was diagnosed with MS and later died at the young age of 24 leaving behind a partner and unborn child. After thirteen years as a single parent, she married a co-worker and moved to Spain, soon followed by her eldest son. She has two grandchildren, one living on the Isle of Man and one in Spain and now lives happily in the Mountains of Malaga with her husband Terry and their three dogs.