The Haunting Of Larkspur Farm (Ghosts and Haunted Houses): A Haunting In Kingston (The Hauntings of Kingston Book 4)

by Michelle Dorey

  “Nothing!” she hissed at him. “Just leave me alone!” It broke her heart to say the words, but Mother told her that if she was caught out doing anything with boys, Father’s wrath would make yesterday’s punishment seem like a nice warm bath.

  Jumping up in tears she fled back inside to her classroom. She went to her desk at the back of the room, dropped her head and sobbed.

  “Cora, what’s the matter?” Oh no! Miss Hawley was at the door to the classroom holding a stack of books. Leaving them at the front, she hurried down the row to Cora. She put her arm across the child’s back. “What happened?”

  “I… I can’t tell you,” she sobbed into the crook of her arms. “We never tell.”

  “Was it Greg Armitrage?” When Cora’s head whipped up, Miss Hawley gave a small laugh. “It’s alright, dear, I know he’s very sweet on you.” She paused. “Did he do something bad?”

  “No! He’s the nicest person ever! I love him!” She scrabbled in her book bag and fished out the music box and opened it. When the tune began to play, she looked up to Miss Hawley. “He gave me this! It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever had!” The tears began to flow again, and Cora began to hiccup.

  Miss Hawley squatted down beside the girl, admiring the music box. She opened the lid and it began to play.

  “I’ve never heard that tune before, Cora,” she said.

  “Really? I know that song by heart.” Cora’s face which had been so full of sadness lightened. “It’s my favorite song in the whole world.”

  “Really? What song is that?”

  “I don’t know its name, but I can sing it.” She closed her eyes and began to sing in a clear voice:

  Come away with me

  We’ll always be

  Just me and you

  Just us two…

  When things go bad

  And make you sad

  Fear not my dear

  I’m always here…

  Come away my dear

  Let us fly

  Away from here

  Until we die…

  Miss Hawley shook her head. “No, that’s a new one for me, but you have such a pretty voice.”

  “I’ve been singing that as long as I can remember,” Cora replied in a far away voice as she watched the spindle turn inside the music box.

  As the melody tinkled out, Miss Hawley rubbed her fingers across the polished inlaid wood design. “This is a fine gift, Cora,” she said. “So please tell me what happened?”

  Snapping back to the here and now, Cora took a deep breath. She couldn’t tell. She stood up and stepped away from her desk. Turning her back to Miss Hawley, she grasped the folds of her skirt and lifted them. But she could show.

  “Oh dear Lord!” the woman gasped, seeing the now blackening bruises that striped the backs of Cora’s legs. “Oh my God!”

  Cora dropped her skirt and turned around. “God? She did it in His name!” And began to wail once more as the woman enfolded her into her arms.

  ***

  That night, Barbara Hawley got well and truly drunk as she sat in the sitting room of her one bedroom apartment. It didn’t take much to accomplish that feat—the last time she had anything to drink was almost a year ago when she celebrated the ringing in of the New Year. From this very same chair.

  She had taken Cora to the School Nurse, who applied a salve and covered the nasty welts. The poor thing spent the rest of the school day there while Barbara had a terrible row with Principal Larry Burns. He had examined Cora and spoke to the nurse and forbade Barbara from notifying Children’s Aid.

  “The child was disciplined by her parents, and while she has light bruising, is in no danger, Miss Hawley,” he said. They were in his office, he behind his desk, speaking with authority.

  Barbara leapt to her feet. “Light bruising! That girl was beaten!” She pointed a finger at the man. “Beaten like a dog!”

  Mr. Burns shook his head slowly. “No. There is no bleeding, and while she may be uncomfortable for a few days, she did not sustain a physical injury.” He sat back in his chair, the School Board’s guidelines open on his desk. Tapping the pertinent section, he said, “There is no justification for the school to interfere with parental rights at this time. The child is in no danger.”

  “What! She has to come to school bleeding?” Barbara could barely contain herself. “Or with a broken arm? Is that what you’re saying?” She took a deep breath. “What kind of a man are you? A child’s been beaten!”

  “Miss Hawley!” Burns leapt to his feet. “I am the Principal of this school, and you have been a teacher for but a year! Do you not think that we’ve encountered such episodes before? Parents have the right to care for their children as they see fit, and we have no right to interfere in such matters!”

  Barbara sank to her seat before his desk. “Mister Burns, I’ve seen such things during my own childhood. I’m not a simpleton.” She leaned forward. “This child’s in real danger!”

  “Based on what? On a spanking from her mother?” He shook his head.

  “I know this! I can feel it in my bones! She’s in danger! She needs to be removed and her parents put on notice!”

  “You can feel it, eh?” He sat back down with a small smile.

  “Yes!”

  Mister Burns again shook his head slowly. With a smile more condescending than supportive, he said, “I’m sorry, Miss Hawley, but we do not operate a school, nor abrogate parental rights on such flimsy evidence as women’s intuition.”

  “It’s not that!” She leaned forward and grasped the edge of Burns’ desk. “I… I sense things, Mr. Burns! I’ve never mentioned this before, but at times I…”

  “Get premonitions?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes!”

  “Some sort of indication from inexplicable sources of ominous portents?”

  "Exactly!” Thank God! There was hope the man would understand! Goodness, she didn’t understand how she knew things, but Mr. Burns’ face took on an expression of comprehension as he nodded and looked down at his desk.

  Keeping his eyes down on the desk, he spoke in an even voice. “I see.” He lifted his head and looked sternly at the teacher. “Miss Hawley, I hope you’ve simply seen too many movies. Or perhaps have read too many novels.”

  Barbara’s face recoiled in surprise and confusion. “I…I don’t understand.”

  “That’s exactly my point, Miss Hawley.” Getting to his feet, he said, “You’re speaking now like someone deranged.”

  “What!” She leapt to her feet.

  “Do not EVER come to me with such nonsense ever again! You went from women’s intuition to now speaking of the supernatural!” Shaking his head he guffawed, “Ghosts and goblins, my, my.” His face again went dark and he pointed to the door of his office. “This matter is settled! Good day to you, Miss Hawley!”

  Sitting in her room, downing another shot of whiskey, she decided that she would call in sick to the school on Monday. Instead of teaching, she’d drive into Kingston and go to the School Board’s offices. If she got no satisfaction there, it would be on to the Kingston Police Department headquarters.

  Raising her glass she toasted the full moon as the clock struck midnight. “Don’t worry, Cora, your rescue is nigh,” she said with a slur in her voice. Thank goodness tomorrow was Friday.

  Chapter 27

  “Cora… wake up…”

  She had drifted off while sitting in bed.

  “The moon is full my dear. Come to me…”

  “Of course,” she said out loud, tossing the covers off the bed.

  Of course she would come to Mister Pooka! She had come to him every full moon for as long as she could remember! When she was a little kid, he gave her ice cream and candy. When she got bigger, he took her to the Kingston Fair, then Disney Land. They’d spend hours and hours visiting magical places, and he’d have her right back home with no one the wiser. Mister Pooka was magical like that.

  And whenever Mother or Father gave her a thrashi
ng (and they’d become more frequent the last few months) he always made the pain go away. She put her feet on the floor and put her sneakers back on. When she bent over to tie the laces, the backs of her legs screamed as the skin on her thighs stretched. Boy oh boy, she sure couldn’t wait for him to get rid of these stings, Mother was getting as good as Father in making things hurt.

  She threw on her green Sunday dress and grabbed a sweater. Mr. Pooka would make her as warm as toast when she got to the barn, but the evening had the sharp bite of winter in it despite it being June.

  With years of practice, she snuck out of her room and out of the house. She carried the music box Greg had given her the day before. It was amazing; the tune it played was the same as the song she and Mister Pooka sang together every time she came to the barn to visit him. Since she was really little—three? four? — she had come to the barn on the night of the full moon.

  Barn? It looked kinda like a church, with its low walls and sharply peaked roof. She thought it was prettier in the moonlight than the church she had to attend with her parents. Even though Fellowship Gospel Church was newer and cleaner, she never felt she belonged. She snorted. Mister Pooka has been welcoming her to the barn for years!

  As she approached, the doors swung open silently, just wide enough for her to slip through. After she stepped inside, they arced closed again, the only sound being the click of the latch being reset.

  The barn had been pitch black as she entered, but when the doors shut, as usual her ‘Special Spot’ on the floor began to glow. A foot wide square of light, the color of yellowy green marked her spot on the floor in the center of the barn. She became warm as toast as soon as she stepped on it, and the pain in her legs vanished.

  “Ahhh…” she said out loud. “Thank you.”

  She sat down on the barn floor in the center of the light as Mister Pooka drifted inside her head. She closed her eyes. An expression of pleased surprise flowered on her face. “Oh!”

  As she began to drift away, she began to sing the song Mister Pooka had taught her years and years ago.

  Come away with me

  We’ll always be

  Just me and you

  Just us two…

  When things go bad

  And make you sad

  Fear not my dear

  I’m always here…

  Come away my dear

  Let us fly

  Away from here

  Until we die…

  They were in an airplane! Sitting at the window seat she looked down on the city lights twinkling below, mesmerized.

  “I’ve never been on an airplane!” she said.

  “I know,” Mr. Pooka replied. She turned to look at him. He was quite handsome this time. He reminded her of that man that looked after Little Orphan Annie in the comic pages of the newspaper. His head was completely bald, and he had a grand smile as he looked at her.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice a deep baritone.

  “Oh yes!” She turned back to watch the scenery unfold below. “Where are we going?”

  Mr. Pooka chuckled. “Wherever you want, my dear!”

  He always said that. When she would come to visit him, she could go wherever she wanted, eat whatever she desired, and do whatever she felt like. It had always been that way. Why oh why couldn’t it be forever and not just on the night of the full moon? She had asked him that before, so many times, but he had always told her that the time wasn’t just right.

  She turned back to him. He was sipping a glass of champagne and watched her over the rim of the glass.

  “May I try that?” she said.

  Again, he chuckled. “Whatever you want, my dear,” he said once more and handed her a glass. The bubbles tickled her nose, and it tasted very sweet. Like a gentle version of ginger ale, she thought.

  When she thought again how she would like this to be forever, her mouth turned down.

  “What’s the matter, my dear?” Mr. Pooka asked, his dark eyes narrowing in concern.

  She decided to act more grown up. “Oh, the same as usual. I’d like us to be here in this forever, but you keep telling me it’s not the time yet.”

  “I see,” he said. “And how are things going?”

  “TERRIBLE!” she burst out. “Mother beat me terribly yesterday! I could hardly walk!”

  “You’re joking!” he said.

  “No! I’m not! My legs were all hurty, and Mother said I got just what I deserved! She hates me!”

  Mr. Pooka grew quiet and put his glass on the tray in front of them. He turned in his seat to face her better. “But you always are such a good girl, Cora. Why is she so mean to you?”

  “Because she hates me! She loves my brother Sean more! Father hates me even more! He’s told me that he wished he had two sons, not a little harlot!”

  “Your father called you that name?” Mr. Pooka’s eyes flew open wide in disbelief.

  “Yes! He’s said it before, and I know what that word means! I looked it up in the dictionary at school! It’s a bad word!” She sat thrust herself back in her seat, and for the first time EVER with Mr. Pooka, she began to cry. “They hate me, Mister Pooka. I wish I was dead!” She looked over to him, to expect to see him horrified, but all he did was smile gently.

  “Do you really believe that, Cora? They want you to die?”

  She nodded, tears running down her cheeks.

  “You, who are such a fine young lady. You, who only want to be loved. THEY wish you dead.”

  “Yes!” She didn’t have any idea where that thought came from, but the more Mr. Pooka said it, the more true it sounded.

  He rubbed her shoulder. She felt like an electric current had passed through her. It was the first time he ever, ever touched her! Not even when she was really little, the first times she started coming to the barn to go on ‘trips’ with him had he ever so much as patted the top of her head.

  It felt wonderful. If she was a kitten, she would be purring right now. And at the same time, the hurt and sadness in her heart transformed into anger, and then a rage.

  A killing rage.

  She turned from Mr. Pooka to stare at the back of the seat in front of her. She felt her face get very stern, and through the thinnest lips, said, “I shouldn’t die.” She turned to look at Mr. Pooka, and again he had the kindest expression on his face.

  He reached out to rub her shoulder again. “No, you shouldn’t, my dear. Go on…”

  She gave an emphatic nod and said, “THEY should die.”

  A beam of gladness took over Mr. Pooka’s face and he began clapping his hands together softly. “You’re absolutely right! And if they do…”

  Cora’s eyes sprung open in happy excitement. “We can go away! Forever! Right?”

  “Yes! We’ll go tonight!” His face glowed, he was so happy for them! He patted his hands together in joy.

  ***

  Cora crept back into the house and up to her bedroom. She opened the door to her closet and rummaged around in the bottom of it. Clearing out the furthest back corner, she lay her music box there. Mr. Pooka told her that she had to do that first, and if she did it just so, the rest of her ‘errands’ would be easy peasy. As she settled the music box into the corner, it suddenly grew warm in her hands.

  The warmth travelled up her arm right to her head, and exploded in a red flash.

  “Oh!” was all she could say before everything else faded away.

  ***

  The girl’s eyes were wide and her pupils were fully dilated as she crept back down the stairs to the kitchen. She went to the kitchen drawer where her mother stored all of her knives and opened it. In the total darkness, she easily found and pulled out the carving knife with the longest blade—it was more than ten inches long. She fished back into the drawer and pulled out the knife sharpener and ran the blade through it, making sure it was as sharply honed as possible.

  She held the blade before her eyes, and in a flat voice, repeated her instructions. In a low whisper, she sa
id, “First the boy, then summon the mother and finish off the father as he sleeps.” Repeating it over and over, she climbed the stairs.

  She went silent at the top of the stairs. Like a mouse she crept into the room of the boy—the boy who despised her and wanted her dead—to find him just as Mr. Pooka promised. He was flat on his back, snoring softly.

  In a voice that was so soft, she said, “Now, quick, quick, quick!”

  In a flash she was beside the bed. She held the point of the knife just below the boy’s ribs. In a single fluid motion, with all of her strength, she drove the blade upwards under the ribcage as her other hand clamped down on the boy’s mouth. She wiggled the blade back and forth for a moment, but knew as she had been told that she had driven the steel right into the boy’s heart.

  He didn’t even have time to open his eyes before death took him. She withdrew the blade and wiped the blood off on the sheets of the bed.

  “Summon the mother,” she said in a dead voice as she pattered to the bedroom of the woman and man.

  The door opened without so much as a squeak as had been promised. She scurried up to the side of the bed where the woman lay. She gently shook the woman, rousing her.

  “Hmph… wha—”

  “Mother! Come quickly! Something’s the matter with Sean!” she hissed as quietly as possible. “He’s not moving!”

  The woman’s eyes sprang open wide. She was fully awake now, the terror of something the matter with her oh so precious son driving her from the bed and to his room like a dervish. Cora was right on her heels.

  The switch for the light didn’t work because Cora had taken the bulb from the lamp. In the darkness the woman flew to the bedside of her precious little boy. She dropped to her knees and began to shake him.

  “Quickly, quickly, quickly!” Cora whispered as she slid up behind the woman. She held the knife so the blade was horizontal, easier to slide between the ribs on the woman’s back. As the woman shook and called out to the boy, Cora’s fingers counted up the necessary number of ribs and slid the knife in between once again. With a savage yank of revenge, she twisted and gored the inside of the woman’s chest with the steel.