Emily
Horror
Stephen Kingston
Contents
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
BONUS
Still Birth
The Shadow Man
About the Author
Copyright © Lovy Books Ltd, 2016
Stephen Kingston has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Lovy Books Ltd
20-22 Wenlock Road
London N1 7GU
About the Book
A dream cottage in the Yorkshire Dales should have been the perfect paradise for Peter, Mary and their young son Jason.
But soon after they arrive in their new home, strange things start to happen. A young girl stops by and asks who they are. A strange Victorian pram refuses to be thrown out of the cellar, and over on the moors stands a large standing stone.
The locals in the pub warn Mary and Peter their dream cottage has “history” - lots of history.
Soon, their son Jason starts to act strangely. He begins to act up and attacks his mother. They are at their wits’ end when the demon shows itself to them all and they can no longer deny the stories. The cottage is haunted and their son is possessed.
Making love becomes a ritual orgy by the standing stone surrounded by hooded followers.
An old woman in the pub, Isadora Hamilton, must follow in the footsteps of her mother and grandmother to help them defeat the evil that has been spawned on the moors, save the family and release the trapped spirit of Emily Wainwright.
Chapter One
Peter pulled the car up alongside the stone wall surrounding the picture postcard cottage. Both Peter and Mary sat in quiet contemplation as they looked out of the car windows at their new home. Today would be their first day there together. In the back seat sat Jason. He had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had left their old home back in Birmingham and was still sleeping and oblivious to the wonderful view his parents were enjoying. They had set off early for the long trip and arrived in time to see the mist on the lake some half a mile away. The sun was slowly lifting it off and would reveal a beautiful, Yorkshire dales landscape.
From here, they could look down to the small village that was nestled close to the lake. It was perfect. Once Peter had turned off the engine, the only sounds were those of a sleeping child and nature.
Peter opened the car door and stepped out. He was tall and well-built. At forty years old, he would have easily passed for thirty with his shoulder length blonde locks falling from his head. He opened the wrought iron gate and walked the short path to the front door. Mary was already alongside him as he fumbled in his trouser pockets for the keys. She draped an arm over his shoulder and smiled as he found the key and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and Mary was about to step past him when he stopped her.
“Where do you think you’re going, lady?” Peter asked.
“I, dear husband, am getting myself in that kitchen to make a cup of tea. You can stand here at the door as long as you like,” Mary giggled. Mary was petite. She barely came up to her husband’s shoulders. Petite, raven-haired and incredibly beautiful. Just short of her thirtieth birthday, she was looking good. It was effortless for her to look beautiful and Peter knew it and loved it.
“Not a chance,” Peter said as he scooped her up into his arms. “This is our first proper home and I’ll be carrying you in, wench,” he finished as he lifted her high and carried her over the threshold into the cool of the small entrance hall.
“Okay, Missus. Now you can make tea,” Peter said.
“Ah! I get it. Bit of the old male conquest stuff is it? Tea it is then, me lord,” Mary snickered as she went into the small country kitchen. She gasped with delight as she took in the long kitchen range with its polished copper pans gleaming in a row hanging just above it. The ceilings were low and the old, knotted oak beams were painted black against the bright white plaster on the ceiling. Old knot holes and nails told the tales of hundreds of years of families that had lived here before. All using this kitchen with the equipment of the time and all leaving their mark. Mary had seen the kitchen when they first decided to buy it, of course, and for the pair of them it was without a doubt a main selling feature; but Mary was still left open-mouthed at the beauty of it again now she was here for real.
She turned on the taps and heard the hot water gas boiler burst into life as she rinsed out a couple of mugs and filled a large copper kettle. She sat it on the hob and went back out to find Peter.
Peter was back at the car, gently waking Jason and helping him from the back seat.
“Are you two fellas ever coming in? Or are you going to live in the car?” Mary asked.
“Where are we, Mum?” Jason asked as he stepped from the car. The five-year-old had his mop of blonde hair hanging over his eyes.
“Maybe I should take some scissors to all that hair, Jason. You might be able to see where you are then. You’re home baby. You’re at your new home. What do you think of it?” Mary said.
Jason swept the hair from his tired eyes and looked around. This was his first visit to his new home. He took in the old stone wall covered in rambling roses that arched high over the front gate. Behind it, the garden was an explosion of colourful flowers and the house itself had its windows trimmed with geraniums. Ivy had clambered over a good half of the front of the house.
“Is it just us living here? I won’t have any friends,” Jason said.
“Oh, there’s loads of kids in the village, Jason. You’ll get to make a lot of friends here. And the school isn’t too far at all,” Peter said.
“Looks a bit lonely to me. Do I get my own room then?” Jason said.
“Of course you get your own room. Come on, I’ll show you. All your stuff is already in there for you,” Mary said, taking Jason by the hand.
Mary took Jason into the cottage and up the narrow staircase to his bedroom. Jason rushed straight across to the bedroom window that looked out over the front garden and the lake and village beyond. He turned to Mary and gave her a huge hug.
“This is the best room ever!” Jason exclaimed as he jumped on the bed.
“Well, I’m glad you approve sir!” Mary replied. “Now, all your toys are in the toy cupboard here,” she said, pointing to the large wardrobe in the room. “And look how smart it all looks in here. So if you play with something, try and keep it looking as good as it is now, yes?”
“I will, Mum. I promise,” Jason said. “Is it snack time yet?”
“Come on back downstairs and I’ll fix you a sandwich okay” Mary replied, taking him by the hand and leading him back down the narrow staircase and into the kitchen. Peter was already sat at the large, heavy kitchen table. He had finished making the tea for them both.
“Hey Jason, come and sit down with your old Dad. We’ll do some exploring after lunch, okay?” Pet
er said.
Jason jumped onto the chair next to his father.
“Can we go down to the village and the lake? Can I go fishing?” Jason asked excitedly.
“Whoa! Slow down there fella. I thought we’d explore the house and the garden first. Best find out where we live first before we go adventuring too far away don’t you think? Plenty of time to go to the village. Maybe later this afternoon, okay?”
“Well, this afternoon will do I guess,” Jason replied.
After lunch, Peter took Jason around the house as promised. Examining all the nooks and crannies and getting themselves lost in the large country garden at the back that led out onto the open moorland. A line of border plants and rockery was all that separated them from miles and miles of open moor that would eventually find its way to the coast. From the back garden, Jason could see a huge stone standing like a sentinel off in the distance. He begged Peter to take him to it. Peter could see a long, winding path heading towards the standing stone coming up from the village and he pointed it out to Jason.
“It’s too far to go this afternoon, Jason. We might get there before dark but I doubt we’d be home before dark. Anyway, we’ve still got a lot more to see around here, right?”
Peter was right. It was a good long walk to the standing stone and Jason was asleep on the couch ten minutes after they’d got in the house. Peter suggested a walk into the village for some groceries and to check out the pub.
“You go on down, darling. I’m going to sort some stuff in our bedroom and maybe have a nap with Jason. It’s been a long day already,” Mary said.
Peter nodded and grabbed a jacket from the hall as he made his way out of the house and began to follow the lane down to the village.
Pudsgate was a typical, tiny North Yorkshire village. A main road ran through the centre of the village with just two shops: a café and a post office. The road was lined with terraced cottages; all probably as old as the one they had just bought, Peter thought as he wandered along. It was quiet and still sunny in the late afternoon as Peter arrived at the Yew Tree. The local and only pub. He nodded to an old couple sat on a bench just outside the front porch and entered the bar.
When Peter and Mary had driven up to Pudsgate to view the cottage, Peter had insisted on checking out the pub first. With only one pub in the village he’d explained, life would be totally intolerable if it had been a dump. It wasn’t. It was everything he had wanted in a pub. Real ale and a dartboard. The fruit machine was situated out of the main bar and the music was piped from a small music box behind the bar. The patrons were a good mix but all locals. This, for Peter, was the perfect pub. No rowdy teens and no thumping jukebox to ruin the ambience. That and, of course, a perfect pint. He smiled as he made his way to the bar.
“Peter, right?” asked the burly landlord standing behind the bar. “Welcome to Pudsgate. I’m guessing it’s a pint of our best ale? That’s what you were drinking last time you were visiting if I recall.”
“A pint of best it is thanks. George, isn’t it? And yes, I’m Peter. We got moved in at last,” Peter replied.
“Well, old Billy down the other end of the bar there is the one has been keeping the place looking tidy ‘til you come along and bought it. He knows all there is to know about the old place,” George the landlord said.
“Oh, well in that case I best put him a pint in the barrel, right?” Peter replied.
The landlord gave the universal gesture of a drink to Billy at the end of the bar. Billy raised his empty glass and nodded before making his way up to Peter.
“Nice to meet you, Billy. You did a great job keeping the cottage looking good,” Peter said.
“Aye, well thanks for the pint son. Good to see the house getting a new life, even if you folks are not local. Maybe that’s what the place needs. Someone from outside to help it recover,” Billy said, taking the top off his new pint.
“Recover? Recover from what?” Peter asked.
“Well, maybe not my place to say. But the old cottage, it’s got a bit of history see? The cottage is as old as the village, if not older. Lots of strange stuff went on there,” Billy said.
“Oh? What sort of stuff?” Peter asked. He noted the scowling look George the landlord was firing at Billy.
“He might as well know, George. Fella bought the place now. As well he knows the history don’t you think?” Billy said.
“Old, local gossip and superstition, Billy. You know that. No wonder folks from outside think we’re all country bumpkins round here,” George said looking at Peter. “Just old wives rubbish, Peter. Take no heed. Lots of folk round these parts are just angry they could never afford to buy a nice place like that is all. So they make up stories to convince themselves they didn’t want it anyway.”
Peter looked back at Billy. “So what stories, Billy? Nobody told us anything about that when we were buying the place.”
Billy shuffled at the bar under the glare of George the landlord.
“Aye, just stories is all. Nothing to worry over. George is right,” Billy said, lifting the empty glass up to George. “You’ll be just fine up there fella. Take no mind of me.”
George refilled Billy’s glass and went to serving a couple that had just entered. Billy sidled back down the bar leaving Peter pondering and perplexed over the strange conversation. He glanced around the pub and found an old couple staring at him. They looked away as he stared back. Now he was more confused than ever.
Peter enjoyed another pint before making a slow walk back up the long, winding lane to his new cottage. As he climbed out of the village, he took in the staggering beauty of the dales. Whatever tales there may be about the cottage, Peter thought it would be impossible for an area so old and steeped in British history and legend, not to have some sort of stories.
He arrived in time to find Mary and Jason in the front garden enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. Jason was keen to explore all the nooks and crannies and Mary was trying to stay close enough behind.
“How was the pub, dear? As good as you remembered?” Mary asked.
“The pub was just fine, dear. Just some weird talk is all. About the house. Just old, local gossip. Nothing to worry over. We aren’t living in a murder scene or anything,” Peter replied as he settled himself down at the kitchen table.
“Oh? So what stories exactly?” Mary continued.
“Well, I’m not really sure, to be honest. Nobody actually came up with a story. Billy, the bloke that kept the garden tidy, was going to say something but George the landlord shut him up. So no idea really. Just that the place has stories. Is that a roast you’re cooking? I’m starving,” Peter said, moving the conversation on.
“Yes, dear. A roast lamb in the new oven. We’ll see how it’s turned out, shall we? Can you go and find Jason and I’ll get dinner on the table?” Mary replied.
Peter went in search of their son and found him out in the back garden, sitting on a fallen log and looking out over the open dale.
“Come on, Jason. Your mum’s got dinner on the table. Everything okay out here?” Peter said.
“Sure, Dad. I’m coming. Just can’t wait to walk over to that huge stone. We will go there won’t we?” Jason asked, as he climbed off the log and joined his father.
“Of course we will. We’ll take a picnic and make a day of it. I’ll bet you could almost see the sea from right up there,” Peter replied as he guided them back to the house.
Over dinner, Jason talked excitedly about the plan to take a picnic out onto the moors to visit the large standing stone. As he rattled on between mouthfuls of food, Mary and Peter looked at each other happily. One of their biggest worries in moving was whether Jason would settle into the new place. It seemed, for the moment at least, he was over the moon about it.
After dinner, Peter took Jason upstairs and settled him in his bed. He made his way back into the kitchen and out of the back door, leaving Mary looking puzzled. He soon returned carrying two bottles of red wine he’d purchased on his way
home.
Mary smiled and passed him her glass from off the table.
“Thought we should drink to our new home, Missus,” Peter said, as he uncorked one of the bottles and poured her a glass of the rich, red liquid.
“Here’s to us and our new home, Sweetheart,” Mary said, raising her glass.
Gazing out of the kitchen window, they snuggled together on a small side sofa and enjoyed the view of the village lights in the distance as the moonlight sparkled on the lake. It was, as they had always dreamed it would be, perfect.
Chapter Two
The sun had risen on a beautiful, cloudless morning and bathed the cottage in a golden glow. The whitewashed walls sparkled through the growth of rambling roses and ivy that embraced the old building.
Peter and Jason were out in the garden, building a swing to hang from one of the large trees on the edge of the wall. The lecture from Mary had been about the height, the distance from the wall, anything pointy and, of course, that Peter was not to go climbing trees in the flip-flops he was wearing. Peter and Jason stood patiently waiting for Mary to finish her lecture and get gone so they could do boy’s stuff without her interference. She left, giving a knowing scowl at Peter as she did so, and headed down the lane to the village.
Mary was in love with the little village and had been since the first time they had driven up there to view the house. No fancy supermarkets or fashion outlets here. A distinct lack of restaurants too, she noted, though there was a fish and chip shop that opened in the afternoons. She eventually arrived at the post office and went in. Like most of the small, village post offices now, it had had to move with the times to stay in business. Rather than just a counter and a few racks of assorted envelopes and birthday cards, the village post office also had a small grocery and off-licence section.
Thriller: Emily Page 1
