by Amy Cross
Copyright 2021 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
First published: February 2021
The year is 1965, and Susan Jones is desperate to get out of Crowford. First, though, she needs to make enough money to finance a fresh start. She takes a series of dead-end jobs, until finally she gets hired to work at the town's faded old cinema.
The Crowford Empire is a building with history. Before it was a cinema, the Empire was the site of a terrible tragedy. While the building has been thoroughly renovated, some elements of the past remain. Some locals even whisper the name of a woman who still walks the halls and corridors of the cinema.
Susan soon discovers that the cinema's past is determined to bubble back to the surface. What does Winifred Thorpe's ghost really want? How is her eternal suffering connected to the local golf club? And what happens to any poor soul who accidentally meets her face to face?
The Horror of the Crowford Empire is the sixth book in the Ghosts of Crowford series. Each book is a standalone story, and there's no need to read them in any particular order.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
The Horror of the Crowford Empire
(The Ghosts of Crowford book 6)
Prologue
November 15th, 1966...
As distant thunder rumbled in the night sky, and waves crashed against the nearby shore, a figure wearing bright pink shorts and bright pink cat ears stepped out across the golf course, clutching her bleeding belly.
No matter how she tried to adjust her trembling hands, she was unable to stop the flow of blood. The knife had left a thick cut running straight down from just below her ribs, cutting straight through her navel. Since staggering out of the clubhouse a few minutes earlier, she'd tried to find some place where she could hole up and hide while she waited for the inevitable end. Now, however, she was starting to feel increasingly weak and finally she dropped to her knees.
Letting out a faint gasp, she shivered slightly as a cold breeze blew in from across the dunes. She looked down at her hands; in the moonlight, she could just about see dark blood glistening on her fingers. Her eyes began to slip shut, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep them open. Somewhere over her shoulder, a roar of laughter rang out from the clubhouse, and the voices of so many happy, drunk men seemed to echo all around in the darkness, bouncing off the golf course's tees and greens and dunes.
“Please,” she whispered, as – if anything – the flow of blood became stronger. “I didn't... please... I never meant to...”
Perched on top of her head, the pink cat ears were starting to get blown back by the wind that howled in from the sea. A cloud briefly moved across the moon, cutting off the blue glow just as she slumped to her side and fell against the damp ground. She let out a couple of faint, pained groans as her hands slipped away from the wound, and as her blood began to soak into the carefully-manicured grass of Crowford Golf Club's second hole. A few seconds later, the cloud moved on and moonlight once again bathed the course.
This time her eyes were frozen in place, staring up at the sky as a slow, dying breath left her lips.
Chapter One
One year earlier...
“Is it just me, or is this place really creepy?”
Standing in the office, Susan Jones couldn't help but look around at all the golf trophies and golf photos that adorned every spare inch of the place. The whole room was filled with an almost overbearing smell of pine, and she was starting to feel very much out of place. She'd never set foot in a golf club before, she'd never really been around posh people at all, and she felt certain that at any moment she'd be asked to leave. That someone, somewhere, would realize that a mistake had been made.
“Just go with it,” her friend Angie whispered. “Any new job feels weird at the start.”
“Yeah, but this place is -”
Before she could finish, Susan heard footsteps approaching the door, and she instinctively straightened up just as the door swung open and Mrs. Chalfont hurried into the room.
“So sorry to keep you waiting, ladies,” the older woman said, placing two boxes on the desk. “I had a little difficulty locating anything in your sizes, but I think we're there now.” She turned to them and smiled. “You told me you both have experience in the hospitality trade, did you not?”
Susan and Angie both nodded, both lying.
“Let me give you a little word of advice,” Mrs. Chalfont continued. “It's certainly true that the members here can become a little boisterous when they've had a drink or two. They're usually alright until the after dinner speaker gets up, but then a few of them can really start to get rather red in the face. There's nothing to worry about, however, so long as you're the kind of girls who know how to handle a man.” She paused. “You both know how to handle a man, don't you?”
Susan and Angie stood in silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to reply.
“What...”
Susan tried to work out exactly how to frame her question.
“What exactly do you mean by... handling them?” she asked cautiously.
“I mean ignoring them, dear,” Mrs. Chalfont replied. “That's all you've got to do. You take their drinks to their tables, you collect their empty glasses, you nod and smile at their terrible jokes but ultimately, you ignore them. Even if they get a bit lewd, or even a bit handsy, just ignore them and get on with the job and everything will be tickety-boo. Can I trust you both to do that?”
Again, Susan and Angie weren't quite sure how to react.
“So are those our uniforms?” Susan asked finally.
“They are indeed,” Mrs. Chalfont said with a broad grin. “You'll have to get changed in here, I'm afraid.” She checked her watch. “And the first guests are due in about half an hour, so don't take too long. There's still quite a lot that I need to show you.”
Stepping forward, Susan looked into the box and saw a pair of pink cat eats attached to a headband. Pulling the ears out, she saw that they were surprisingly stiff.
“They attach quite easily,” Mrs. Chalfont said, taking the ears and setting them on Susan's he
ad, taking care to make sure that the headband was nice and tight. “Like that, see? Some girls complain of a headache after wearing them for a while, but most of the time it's alright.” She reached into the box and pulled out a pair of bright pink pants, complete with a fluffy white tail. “Make sure you don't get your tail caught in anything. And you'll find that some of the members like to pet it, but again... ignore them. Especially Roger Bell, he can be something of a handful.”
Angie, who'd stepped over to the other box, pulled out a pair of pink, high-heeled shoes.
“I won't lie to you,” Mrs. Chalfont said, “your feet are going to be sore after a night working here.”
“Right,” Susan said cautiously, before looking down into the box and seeing that it was now empty. She thought for a moment, before turning to her new employer. “Where's the rest?”
“The rest, dear?”
“The top,” Susan continued. “What do we wear on top?”
“Oh, you silly thing,” Mrs. Chalfont said with a chuckle, “this is the 1960's, my dear. We're living in enlightened times, and our members like to see a little flesh while their drinks are being delivered!”
***
“This is humiliating,” Susan said thirty minutes later, as she and Angie stood in the back room, behind the bar, holding empty trays and getting ready to go out. “It's degrading. It's wrong. It's...”
Her voice trailed off.
“It's the sixties,” Angie replied. “You've got to roll with the times. Plus, we are getting paid for it.”
“I'm twenty-one years old,” Susan said, wincing a little as she heard some of the members roaring in the dining room. “Call me crazy, but I didn't think that at twenty-one I'd be a topless waitress at Crowford Golf Club. I thought I'd be... well, anything else, really.”
“Just think of the money,” Angie told her. “That's all we're here for. I don't know about you, but I can handle a bunch of drunk old men if it means I get some cash in my hand at the end of the night. And they're only going to be looking. You heard what Mrs. Chalfont said, they're harmless, no-one's going to let them actually get out of hand. Just ignore them, and if any of them try to get touchy, be polite and move to another table.”
“She also said we shouldn't get left alone with any of them.”
“That's just her way of being protective,” Angie said, unable to hide a faint smile. “Anyway, I really don't mind. Not all the golfers are doddery old men. Didn't you see when they were arriving?” She leaned closer. “Some of them aren't bad looking, plus you need to have some serious money and connections to be able to afford to play here. And the younger ones might not have sweethearts yet.”
“You're on the lookout for a husband?” Susan asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Here, of all places?”
“I'm always on the lookout for a husband,” Angie explained. “Women don't have to wait around for men to take the initiative, not anymore. The times are changing, Susie, you need to get with the modern world. Women are allowed to be a little more pushy now.”
“Maybe,” Susan said cautiously, still feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
“Besides,” Angie added, “it's not just a husband I'm looking to meet. I've got a few good years before I need to think about settling down, so it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun on the side.”
“Wait, are you -”
“Girls?” Mrs. Chalfont called out from the bar area. “The men are ready for their first drinks! The kitchen has the meal almost ready to go!”
“Are we actually going to do this?” Susan muttered, looking up at her cat ears. She could just about see the curled tips hanging over the top of her head.
“We're not just going to do it,” Angie replied, nudging her elbow. “We're going to rock it. Come on, let's go and show those men what we're made of.”
“Oh, I don't think they'll have any trouble telling what we're made of,” Susan pointed out. “Almost everything's on display.”
“Don't be such a prude!”
With that, Angie grabbed Susan's arm and forced her to step forward, before reaching out and pushing the double doors open.
Although she winced slightly, Susan managed to fix her face with a smile as she grabbed a tray and followed Angie out into the dining room. She immediately saw that all the men at all the tables had turned to look at them, and she hated the fact that she was being leered at, but she knew that she should probably be a little more thick-skinned. More modern. Besides, she desperately needed the money, so she tried to ignore the gawping stares as she and Angie headed to the bar and began to put the first round of drinks on the trays.
“I see a couple I wouldn't mind getting to know better,” Angie whispered, almost giggling. “I told you there'd be a few hot ones here tonight.”
Susan tried to think of a response, but she was already gritting her teeth as she tried to work out how she was going to get through the evening. She felt as if the gazes of scores of men were burning holes in her bare back, and she knew they'd only get louder and more rowdy after a few drinks.
“There you go, girls,” Mrs. Chalfont said once the last of the glasses had been placed on the trays. “Don't drop them, okay? And hurry back, because there are plenty more to go out.”
“It's so exciting!” Angie squealed, as she turned and carried her tray over to the tables.
“Susan?” Mrs. Chalfont continued with a furrowed brow. “Is everything alright there, dear?”
“Just peachy,” Susan replied, before picking her tray up and turning to head to some of the other tables. She was just about able to manage a big, insincere grin.
“Well!” one of the men at the nearest table roared, leering at her and making no effort to hide the fact that he was looking at her chest. “Always nice when we get some new blood in for the dinners!” He leaned closer. “And what's your name, my pretty little pussy cat?”
Chapter Two
Five hours later, exhausted from the long evening, Susan sat alone in Mrs. Chalfont's office and slowly began to slip her right foot out of her shoes. Gasping at the pain, she was already wondering how she was ever going to manage the four-mile walk home.
Suddenly the door opened and Mrs. Chalfont stepped into the room.
“Ah, there you are,” the older woman said heartily as she made her way over and handed Susan a brown envelope. “Your wages for tonight, my dear, including your share of the tips. I should hope that you're feeling very pleased with yourself.”
“Thank you,” Susan said, opening the envelope and peering briefly inside, before closing it again and stuffing it into her pocket.
“There's another dinner next week,” Mrs. Chalfont explained as she took a seat at her desk. “Next Saturday, as it happens. I don't know how these men fit all the food in, but I suppose one shouldn't complain. After all, if they didn't have a big shindig every week, they wouldn't need the likes of us to put the things on for them, would they? Shall I put you down to work?”
Susan opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Angie skittered into the room, giggling slightly. Whereas Susan had begun to change into her own clothes as soon as the dinner had ended, Angie was still in her full cat costume. Not that there was much of a costume to begin with.
“Are you alright, Ms. Carter?” Mrs. Chalfont asked.
“Yes, M'am,” Angie replied, pulling herself together and trying not to laugh. After a moment, however, she glanced over her shoulder and gave a little wave to someone out in the corridor.
“Your earnings, Ms. Carter,” Mrs. Chalfont continued, sliding a brown envelope toward her across the table.
“I've been waiting for this,” Angie said, snatching the envelope and taking the money out, and immediately starting to count the notes. “You've got no idea what I'm going to do once I've earned enough. I've got big plans!”
Mrs. Chalfont, evidently not too impressed, peered at the door as she heard a stumbling sound outside.
“Who's there?” she called out. “Everyone's supposed to ha
ve left by now!”
“Oh, that's just Charlie Evans,” Angie told her, still counting the money. “You must know him, he's the son of the family who own that big department store in town. They're really one of the most influential families in the whole area. Anyway, he's very kindly offered to walk me home.”
“He has, has he?” Mrs. Chalfont muttered. “Are you sure that you -”
“He's a real gentleman,” Angie continued, slipping the cash away. “I got talking to him while I was serving his table. He was the only one on that table who looked me in the eye while they were giving me their drinks order. Isn't that chivalrous?”
“I thought we were walking home together,” Susan said, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was almost midnight. “That's what we agreed, isn't it?”
“I know,” Angie replied sheepishly, “and I'd say you could come with us, but, well, the thing is...”
Her voice trailed off.
“It's fine,” Susan said. “Don't worry about it.”
“I'd better not keep him waiting,” Angie added, grabbing a bag of her things and then hurrying to the door. “I'll see you next week, Mrs. Chalfont!”
As she left the room, she giggled again, and a man's voice could be heard in the distance urging her to hurry up.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Chalfont muttered darkly, before starting to make some notes.
“Actually,” Susan said, “I'm not sure I'll be back next week.”
“Are you otherwise engaged?”
“No,” Susan replied, “it's not that, it's just... I think maybe this type of thing isn't for me. I'm very grateful to you for giving me the opportunity, but tonight was just...”
For a moment, she thought back to all the eyes that had been staring at her, to all the comments – both shouted and whispered – that she'd heard, and to the general feeling that she'd spent the evening on display. Although she tried to hide her shyness most of the time, Susan had never enjoyed the sensation that people were paying very much attention to her, and the thought of spending another night working at the golf club filled her with a sense of palpable dread.
