Grayson Manor Haunting

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “What thoughts?”

  Adele leaned back on a metal desk. “People like Roxy don’t just disappear—not when they’re on the brink of stardom like she was. You know, there was a lot of gossip going around just before she died. People said she had a secret lover no one knew about.”

  “How did they know?”

  “Gossip is the same today as it ever was. There’s always someone willing to roll over on a friend, especially when money’s involved.”

  “Was the man ever identified?”

  “It’s been too long, honey. I don’t remember.”

  “Have you ever heard the name Norman Grayson?”

  “Hmm. Sounds vaguely familiar. But no. Can’t place where I’ve heard it before.” As Addison made her way to the door, Adele muttered, “Roxy liked to keep all her men on a string—play them against each other. Now, I’m not saying I’m right, but I’d be willing to bet that jealousy led to her undoing.”

  Finally, someone who believed the same thing she did. “You think she was murdered?”

  Adele nodded. “And it sickens me that the son of a bitch got away with it.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Find what you were looking for?” Luke was just finishing up at the house when Addison walked in. Addison tossed the video tape into his lap. “A Night In Paris…it’s a bit outdated, don’t you think?”

  “That’s why we have this.” She pulled the VCR out of a bag and held it out.

  He took it and grinned. “We?”

  She hesitated, second-guessing her choice of words. Luke flipped the boxed video cassette over, perusing the back side until something struck a chord. A name: Roxanne Rafferty. “This is the woman you texted me about. You found this at the library?”

  “It was at an old video store. Well, at least it used to be a video store.”

  He raised a brow.

  “It’s a long story,” she replied. “I bought pizza. It’s in the car.”

  Luke stood. “I’ll go get it.”

  “If you’d rather not stay, it’s all right. I can just—”

  He ran a hand over her arm as he passed by. “Oh, I’m staying.”

  The movie began several minutes later in typical Hollywood fashion with Roxanne Rafferty walking the cobbled streets of Paris—a woman down on her luck, broken and penniless, struggling to land a job, any job. Again and again she enters businesses seeking employment and is shooed away. Soaking wet and in a tattered dress, she tries one final office on the corner of a dead-end street. Her last hope. It’s here she finds a man who takes pity on her, offering her a position he’d conveniently put in the paper a few short hours before. The pay isn’t much, and it’s not full time. But it’s a job. She’ll be his receptionist. She doesn’t have the experience or the qualifications and has never typed a day in her life, but the man can’t take his eyes off of her.

  The woman at the video store had been right; Roxanne commanded an audience with vigor and ease. She didn’t walk into a room, she waltzed into it. Head held high. Shoulders back, fluttering her big, brown eyes. Eyes filled with a dream.

  “So that’s her? Not bad,” Luke said. “It must be strange for you to see her like this.”

  “She’s different than I…imagined.”

  He clicked the pause button on the remote. “What is it like—seeing someone who’s dead?”

  “You saw your grandfather; I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I never got a really good look at him. A bodiless head wasn’t exactly something I could deal with at the time.”

  She leaned against the sofa cushion. “When my childhood friend fell from the swing, it seemed real—like I was there while it was happening, even though no one could hear me. The homeless man was almost like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from. I didn’t understand why I was seeing him until they reported him dead on TV.”

  “What about Roxanne?”

  “It’s different with her. She can hear me. She knows I’m there. She hovered at the edge of the bed trying to tell me something. She has a purpose in being here. When I was in the room with her, I truly thought I could grab the gun out of the murderer’s hands even though I couldn’t. What’s the point of knowing the outcome if there’s no way to reverse it? She’s dead. I can’t bring her back.”

  Luke scooted closer. “Maybe that’s not the point.”

  “Her murderer is probably dead by now.”

  “Then why is she here—why hasn’t she moved on? What if she’s stuck between this life and the next because her murder was never solved?”

  An icy chill coursed through her body as she considered his words. “Do you know how many unsettled spirits could be hanging around if that were true?”

  She sat back and the movie resumed. The scene shifted. Roxanne sat on a wooden park bench alongside another working-class girl, legs crossed, both women anxious for the evening bus to arrive. Roxanne muttered a forced hello, as if obeying some predetermined societal rule and a timid conversation ensued. It was brief, and silence soon prevailed. All eyes were on the street, watching and willing the bus to come.

  Addison sensed familiarity in the other woman’s face. It was as if she’d seen her before. But that wasn’t possible. How could it be? She stared at the screen, dissecting the woman’s every move, searching for answers. The woman resembled Bette Davis; she had the same devilish grin and steely, mysterious eyes. It wasn’t until the bus rounded the corner and both women rose from the bench that Addison found what she was looking for. The woman turned, bending down to grab her handbag. With a single flick of the wrist, the bag slid halfway up her arm. She reached over with her other hand and pulled it onto her shoulder.

  It was a simple gesture and one no one would have noticed except a stunned Addison, who rose from the couch and inched closer, her eyes holding fast to the woman’s every movement. She had seen the wrist flick before, but where? The answer surged through her in a wave of clarity as the woman ascended the steps, entered the bus, and handed something to the driver.

  Helen.

  The woman was a younger, more lively version of her aging neighbor. Addison turned away from the TV screen, her flesh prickling up and down her arms. She glanced at Luke. His body was curved, his eyes closed, mouth open—asleep. She wanted to wake him, but something stopped her. A finger, stiff and cold, traced down the side of her neck. It lasted only a second or two. And then it was gone. But Addison knew she was still there. The smell of rotting decay permeated the air, like fallen soldiers left on a battlefield.

  Addison didn’t move.

  She didn’t turn around.

  She didn’t face her.

  “I know who you are,” Addison whispered.

  She waited.

  “Can you hear me?”

  She waited again. Had Roxanne gone?

  An ethereal, shadowy vapor floated past Addison and turned before it reached the bottom of the stairs. Addison clamped her eyes shut and then opened them again, unable to believe the spectacle taking place. Hovering inches in front of her face was the ghost-like image of a bereaved, stern-faced Roxanne Rafferty.

  Roxanne raised her arm into the air, prompting Addison to gaze upstairs.

  “You want me to go up there?”

  Roxanne tipped her head forward. The movement was slight, but her desires were clear. Addison climbed the stairs ahead of the waif-like figure, glancing back as she reached the top step. Roxanne was gone.

  The door at top of the stairs opened to a glowing shower of iridescent light filtering layers of color through every door. Roxanne’s body hung in the center of the hall, suspended in midair as if being held up by an invisible string. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed. Her arms dangled from her sides, flaccid in appearance as if made of all flesh and no bone.

  “Roxanne…can you hear me?”

  Roxanne was unresponsive. Addison tiptoed forward, standing in front of Roxanne’s lifeless body. Roxanne remained still in a trance-like state, her chest rising and falling. The
doors to the one barricaded, locked room rattled loudly. Addison turned to look and held up a hand, shielding herself from the bright, blinding light surging from all the cracks and crevices of the door and its sidelites.

  “Is that what you want?” Addison yelled. “You want me to go inside?” She backed away from the door and knelt down, suddenly gripped by a crushing feeling of fear, the kind of fear she felt the day her mother had died. The kind of fear she’d moved to get away from. She closed her eyes and buried her head inside her knees. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go in there. I didn’t want any of this. I know I’m supposed to help you, but I just want a normal life. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”

  When her eyes reopened, she was alone in the hallway. No blinding light. No rattling door. And no Roxanne.

  CHAPTER 19

  Addison didn’t need to wake the locked room from its boarded-up state of slumber. She knew what she’d find on the other side. It was as if she’d always known. Ever since the night the knob had lit up like a glow-stick in front of her eyes, she’d been drawn to it. Maybe it was the reason she had resisted for so long. Even now, it was the one truth she didn’t want to be real. With each passing day, she’d grown fonder of the manor. It was finally starting to feel like home. But how could she live in a place that harbored a deadly secret?

  “There’s something I haven’t told you,” Addison said, shaking Luke awake.

  He half raised an eyelid, then closed it again. “Can we talk about it in the morning?”

  “No—it has to be now,” she insisted.

  He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. “What time is it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did you finish the movie?” he asked.

  “I was interrupted.”

  “By what?”

  “By her.”

  “Roxanne?” he asked.

  “She appeared to me.”

  “Here? In the living room?”

  Addison nodded.

  Luke shook his head. “And I slept right through it?”

  “I had the feeling you wouldn’t wake up even if I’d tried.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “She wanted to show me something.”

  “What?”

  “The bedroom upstairs.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one that’s locked.”

  Luke sat back, folded his arms and yawned. “So what have you been keeping from me?”

  “Roxanne was murdered in that room, Luke.”

  “What? How can you possibly know that without ever seeing the room before?”

  Addison sat down. “Trust me—I just do. I should have found a way to get into that room days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Addison sighed. “I didn’t want to deal with it. I don’t now. I want to help Roxanne, but I’m terrified, Luke. I don’t care if I’ve been given some kind of curse where I can see dead—”

  “It’s a gift. Can’t you see that? There are people out there who would give anything to see what you’ve seen.”

  “I don’t care. I just want to live a normal life like everyone else.”

  He leaned across the couch, wrapping his fingers around her arms. “She chose you, Addison. Not me or the teenage kids who probably vandalized this place—you. You were chosen for a reason.” He paused and then said, “I believe you are the only one who can set her free.”

  “I need more time. My mother just died. I haven’t even recovered yet. I’m not ready for this. So I got curious, went to the library, got a video from an old woman and popped it in. Just because I can see her doesn’t mean I can save her.”

  Luke tightened his grip. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You want to help her, but you don’t believe in yourself enough to know that you can.”

  She looked away. “I never said that.”

  “Is this how you want to spend your life, afraid of everything? Or are you going to start taking charge? You’re not a little girl anymore, telling a story that no one believes. You know what you’ve seen is true. Don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “You’re a grown woman—you can do anything. You’re stronger than you know, and you’ve got to start believing in yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe in you.”

  He believed in her. Never in her life had anyone said those words. Roxanne was restless. Addison had seen the frustration in her pallid eyes. She couldn’t let her down.

  Luke stood and smiled, staring at Addison like he’d finally seen the spark that he’d been waiting for.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To break that door down.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Addison expected Luke to reappear with an axe in hand. He didn’t.

  “You’re going to break the door down…with that?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Watch and learn, grasshopper.” He pointed at the corner of the door. “See these hinges? They’re on the outside. Most of the time, they’re on the inside. I should just be able to tap the hinge pins out, and then I can pull the door off.”

  “You just pull it off?”

  “Remove it from the frame? Yeah.”

  Luke and his hammer went to work on the first pin. Fifteen minutes later, it hadn’t budged.

  “This door has been here for so long, these pins have practically become fused to it,” he said. “If I oiled them, it might help, but it might not either. I might have to break it down after all.”

  “Isn’t there a way to get these doorknobs off?”

  “It’s locked from the inside, and the outside is solid. There’s no hole.”

  “How did they get in here if it was locked from the outside?”

  “Maybe that was the idea. Once they locked it, they never planned on going inside again.”

  “What now?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Roxanne, if you can hear me, we could use some help.”

  “Luke, I don’t think you should say things like…”

  A cracking noise was heard on the other side of the door, followed by what sounded like pieces of something shattering.

  “Did you hear that?” Luke asked. “Sounded like broken glass.”

  “It came from behind this,” Addison said, placing her hands on top of one of the long wood boards. “We need to get one of these off.”

  Luke replaced the hammer with a pry bar, splitting the wood until he’d broken off a chunk large enough for Addison to stick a hand through. She turned the middle of the knob until it clicked and stared into the murky darkness.

  “You want to turn the light on?” she asked Luke.

  “Nope. This is all you.”

  Addison ran her hand along the inside of the wall until she felt the switch. She turned it. The light sputtered on.

  “It’s empty,” she said. “There’s nothing here.”

  “What did you expect to find?”

  “I don’t know. Not this.”

  “Look again—what do you see?”

  There were holes in the walls but no pictures. A half-open closet door with a few wire hangers but no clothing. There was one window. The carpeting on the floor was thin and brown and reminded her of something she’d see at church. “Strange.”

  “What?”

  “The carpet. All of the rooms in the house are hardwood. None of them have carpet. Not even the storage closet.”

  “Exactly.”

  Addison walked around the room, staring at the walls, trying to remember where she’d seen Roxanne crouched in the corner, begging for her life. On the wall opposite the door she found a tiny hole. It was too small to be a bullet hole or a nail, but the perfect size for a pushpin. “This is where the calendar was—which means Roxanne was right about here when I saw her in my vision. I remember the floor. There was no carpet. It was wood.”

  Luke reached into his pocket and retrieved a carpenter’s knife. “With yo
ur permission?”

  Addison nodded. “Rip it out. Rip it all out.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Beneath the carpet was a spot. A really big spot. A really old spot. But it wasn’t blood. It was a splintered, circular pattern extending six feet in all directions. The rich mahogany color of the wood was faded to a much lighter shade that looked like it had been scrubbed several times over. Addison bent to her knees, feeling the roughness of the wood with her hand.

  “Someone cleaned this,” Luke said, kneeling beside her.

  “And once the police came around looking for Roxanne, they knew they had to do something, so they slapped a piece of carpeting over it.”

  “It’s still here, so it must have worked.”

  “So, what do we do now—call the police?”

  “Do you think they’ll believe you?” Luke asked. “All we have is a faded patch of wood, and an old, stained dress, which may or may not be stained with blood, possibly pointing to a female killer. And we don’t have a body.”

  “Yet,” Addison said.

  Possible blood and no body. What had been done with Roxanne’s body? A chilling sense of clarity swept over Addison as she realized an undeniable truth: Roxanne couldn’t have been killed in her grandparents’ house without them knowing about it. Were they to blame? Had the dress belonged to her grandmother? And if so, had she taken the responsibility of Roxanne’s death to her grave? Addison thought about how adamant her mother had been about shunning her grandmother for all those years. Had she been there that night—had she seen something? She glanced back at the floor. It didn’t matter how many times it had been bleached, the overwhelming smell of death lingered like an abandoned city morgue.

  “I will go to the police,” Addison said, “and hopefully someone who was working the case all those years ago is alive today. If I can get anyone to believe me, it would be one of the detectives who investigated her disappearance in the first place. But there’s something I need to do before that.”