Bang!
“Shit!” she yelled. Then she saw the culprit; the window was open and banging back and forth in the wind. “Holy hell,” she mumbled, walking to it. She put the candlestick on the dressing table and stuck her hand out of the window. The harsh pounding of hail stung her hand and she hurriedly pulled the window shut, securing it. Holding her hand against her cheek for warmth, she flicked the light off with her other, and left the room. She shot down the stairs, grabbed her Harry Potter book and mug from the hall table, and went back in the kitchen.
After making herself a sandwich from her supplies, she went to the cupboard under the stairs to check the electricity panel. Matilda found a couple of the switches had tripped, so she flicked them back on and went to her father’s study and put the plate down on his desk. Not allowed in her father’s study, unless it was to tell him his dinner was ready, Matilda had never looked through his extensive collection of books.
Find the book, his voice haunted her. What bloody book, why, and how could she hear him, and the biggest question of all, why wasn’t she afraid of him? After all, he was a ghost - wasn’t he? Her eyes ran across her father’s collection, and she began to pull out a few here and there. There were books on trees, books on history, but the ones that interested her were the books on the paranormal, and the occult. There were dozens of them, and alongside them were her father’s own books. An author himself he wrote books on the supernatural, witches and warlocks, myths and legends. She had her own copies in the back of the van, but these were first edition author copies. After what happened to her family, she often wondered if it was because of something, her father had been working on. Did he dabble in the supernatural, and open some kind of portal to the spirit world allowing this demon to come through?
Abandoning the bookcase, Matilda brushed off the dust and cobwebs on his swivel chair, and sat down. She flicked through pieces of paperwork scattered on his desk while eating a sandwich, but finding nothing remotely interesting, she began to rummage through his desk drawers. When she got to the last one, it wouldn’t open.
“Aperi,” she chanted pointing her finger at the lock, and it clicked undone. With a satisfied grin, she opened the drawer, and inside found another book. Her eyebrow rose inquisitively. Lifting it out, Matilda placed her half-eaten sandwich back on the plate, and put the book on the desk. The title was written in her father’s hand and it read Private property of Edward Renward. Opening it she scanned through the pages, and soon realised it was her father’s diary. She had no idea he kept a diary, and wondered if this was the book the ghost was asking her to find. She flicked to the last entry he wrote.
31 October, her birthday, and the day they all died.
‘I am afraid Eric is right, Richard is coming for her. I believe the only way to stop him is to find the book before he does, but I have searched and searched to no avail. I know he says he will come back to protect her, but I do not know if he can. Richard is more powerful than ever, he has been sending demons through the portal, so far I have thwarted them, but it will not be long before even I cannot hold them back.
After her birthday tonight, I have decided to send her, Teddy and Eloise away, as it is the only hope I have left. I cannot keep Matilda here any longer, once she receives her magic, he will know she will be capable of undoing the curse. I know he still wants her for himself; Richard is coming, of this I am sure, it just a matter of when.
She will have a chance against Richard, but only when she is an adult, and she has learned how to use her powers. Eloise will teach her all she needs to know. I know I cannot stop it forever, eventually Tilly will have to face Richard, but I just hope it is when she is older, stronger, and prepared. I hope that Matilda will reunite with her love and that together they will destroy Richard forever….
Matilda read it six times, not quite believing what it said. Her father had fought demons - who was he talking about, who was Eric, was he a real person, or the ghost who spoke to her upstairs? Was he the one her mother called for when the Demon attacked them and who the hell was Richard, and why did he want her? Who was her love, and did her mother possess magic as well?
Matilda leaned her elbows on the desk, sank her head into her hands, and groaned. She should just leave, run away, and get the hell out of here. Maybe buy a nice castle somewhere remote in Scotland, after inheriting twenty six million she could certainly afford it. Matilda sighed, knowing it wasn’t an option, she had so many answers to find, and now there were even more questions.
Matilda left the study and went to the front door. Opening it, the cool night air touched the bare skin on her arms sending goose bumps rippling down them. Thankfully, the rain had stopped and she walked down the stone steps to her van. Opening the side door, she took out her duvet, pillows, towels and a sheet and leaning in further, grabbed her chest and dragged it towards her.
She shot a look over her shoulder at the sudden noise coming from the darkness. Matilda felt chilled, icy cold, and reaching inside the van, she grabbed a torch. Flicking it on she shone it into the trees praying at the same time she wouldn’t see anything. After a few minutes, she switched the torch off and shut the van door.
Matilda decided to sleep in the tower, as it was the cleanest room, and despite the creepy ghost, she felt safe in there. She pulled off the plastic cover and made the bed. Opening her chest, she looked at the different vials of potions and boxes of herbs, checking they were all still in their correct places. She took out her book of shadows, and the witch’s spell book and placed them on the bedside table.
Taking her nightdress, towel, toiletry bag and a pack of cleaning wipes from her holdall, she went back down to the bathroom. Turning the light on, Matilda approached the mirrored cabinet, and opening it, she blinked a tear as her father’s aftershave, razor, and shaving foam were still inside as if waiting for him. Sadly, she closed the door.
“What the hell!” she screamed spinning around. Her heart was going ten to the dozen as she could have sworn she saw a black shadow reflected in the mirror. Staring at the closed door of the bathroom, Matilda took a breath; it was just her nerves - just her imagination playing tricks on her.
After cleaning everywhere with the wipes, she ran the water for a few minutes before sticking in the plug. She took off all her clothes and waited for the bath to fill. It had always been slow, she needed to add, ‘sort out the plumbing’ to her list of things for Mike to do. Turning the taps off, Matilda climbed in, giving an audible sigh as she sank down into the hot water. Closing her eyes, her mind began to drift into a daydream.
“Tilly,” he called, as he opened the secret door at the other end of the tunnel. Her heart pounded, and as he gathered her in his arms, she hugged him close.
“He knows, Richard knows you are in love with someone else, and I am sure he suspects me,” he said, his eyes fearful.
“What will we do?” she wept. He pulled her to him, and, as his lips pressed against hers, her body yearned for him.
“I can’t lose you Tilly, not to him. He does not love you he just wants your power.”
“I know, and I do not want to marry him, I love you.” He kissed her again. His lips moved down her neck, kissing and caressing her until she whimpered.
“I have horses waiting beyond the cave, will you come with me? We can ride to Scotland this very night?” he begged. He pulled back from her, and his hands swept through her long, dark hair. “Tilly, he will kill you and me the moment he finds out about us.”
“Wake up ~ Wake up, Tilly,” his voice called. Her ears were under the water, muffling his cry.
“Tilly, wake up!” he yelled louder. Her eyes flew open; she sat up brushing the water from her face. Launching herself to her feet, Matilda stood in the bath, her eyes wide her heart pounding as she listened. Inhaling, she could smell smoke and in a panic, grabbed her towel, wrapped it around her chest, and climbed out of the bath. Opening the bathroom door and the smell was even stronger in the hallway. Her wet feet pattered along the
wooden floor as she followed the scent of smoke. She hurried downstairs, ran across the foyer, and opened the kitchen door.
“Shit!” she screamed, as the damned boiler was on fire.
Hitting the off switch on the wall, and grabbing a fire extinguisher she remembered was in the kitchen cupboard, Matilda prayed it would still work. Pulling the nozzle, she sprayed the boiler and coughing from the smoke pouring from it, she doused the flames. When the fire was out, she dropped the extinguisher to the floor with a loud thud.
“Thank you,” she said aloud. “Whoever you are,” she added as he had almost certainly saved her from another inferno. Opening the back door to allow the smoke to escape, she shivered at the cold as she fanned the door back and forth a dozen times to eradicate the smoke.
Finally, unable to stand the cold any longer, she closed and bolted the door. Walking towards the kitchen door, and placing a hand on the doorframe, Matilda peered out into the hall. Faced with nothing but silence, she edged slowly out of the kitchen and hurried across the foyer towards the stairs. With her hand gripping the wooden bannister rail, Matilda headed back up to the bathroom. Making her way down the hallway, a sudden chill rushed through her body, sharp pain tore through her shoulder, and she gasped stumbling back a pace.
Bang!
Matilda whirled around as the bathroom door slammed closed and glanced down at the parquet floor. Moving slowly, she stared at what looked like a second set of wet footprints coming out of the bathroom, and they were smaller, like that of a child.
“What the hell,” she muttered. Matilda approached the bathroom door, her hand hesitantly lifting to turn the handle. Pushing the door open slowly, she peered inside, while at the same time letting out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. Going inside, and dropping her towel, Matilda quickly pulled on her nightdress and wrapped her long, dripping locks in another towel. The creepy ‘footprints’ had seriously spooked her, and she hurried back to the tower.
At the top, she switched on the light and was relieved to find it now worked. Matilda closed the heavy oak door behind her, pulling over the iron lock to secure it. It may not stop a ghost, but it made her feel a lot safer.
She towel dried her hair, brushed it, and plaited it into ten small plaits before giving a yawn, and climbing into bed. She was glad the long drive had made her so tired, and with luck, she would fall asleep without any further incidents.
Tomorrow the crew would arrive. They were bringing a couple of mobile homes as some of the men, including Mike, were going to stay on site until the job was complete. That in itself made her feel a whole lot better.
Flicking off the light switch on the wall by the bed, Matilda snuggled down into her duvet. She closed her eyes, but unable to get the ghostly voice out of her head, she tossed and turned for what seemed to her to be hours. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep and inevitably slipped into her reoccurring dream.
“Tilly,” Eric called, as he opened the secret door at the other end of the tunnel. Sat weeping on her bed, her heart pounded at his voice. She turned.
“Eric!” she cried in a whisper, and she jumped to her feet. As he gathered her in his arms, she hugged him close.
“He knows, Tilly, Richard knows you are in love with someone else and I am sure he suspects me,” he said, his eyes fearful.
“What will we do?” she wept. He pulled her to him, and, as his lips pressed against hers, her body yearned for him.
Her duvet pulled back, and a cold chill swept across her; it caressed her neck and blew gently in her ear.
“Remember me, Tilly,” he whispered. Her plaits lifted from her pillow and wavered in the air, a finger ran gently down her cheek, traced along her jaw, and down her throat where it settled for a moment.
“Tueri deus meus es, amica mea,” the voice whispered, his hand moving to her breast and then down the line of her body.
“I can’t see your face,” she moaned, her eyes still closed in a dreamy state. “Show me who you are,” Matilda begged, lifting her hand to touch him, to feel him, but all she found was an empty space, and her hand fell limp onto her stomach.
Her plaits dropped with a slight thud on the pillow. Matilda’s eyes opened at the sensation, and her hand lifted to touch her hair. Patting them down with her hands, she sat up and glanced uneasily around the bedroom. Feeling cold she pulled the duvet over herself, and snuggled down before drifting back to sleep.
Chapter Three
Matilda pulled the pillow over her face to shield her eyes. Without any curtains at the window, or blinds covering the dome, the early morning light streamed through waking her.
Having lay awake restless for most of the night, she was still tired, and although having tons to do, she contemplated lying in just a little while longer. Her phone whistled the tune from the clangers and her hand emerged from the duvet reaching over, and searching the bedside table. Her fingers found it and drawing her phone into her hand looked at it under her pillow. She smiled, as it was a text from Mike.
‘Hi, Matilda, hope you survived your first night!’ it read, and her smile deepened, if only he knew! “Will be there around twelve, make sure the kettle’s on! Mike ’.
“Shit,” she said, checking the time, as it was already seven. Emerging from under the pillow, she squinted, threw her phone on the bedside table, and slid out of bed. With a yawn, and stretching her arms either side of her head she wandered to the window. It wasn’t raining yet, and she admired the view of the old oaks that made up most of the forest surrounding the hall. A dozen or so trees still had their golden leaves hanging on defiantly against the autumnal winds, but most had shed them and they lay scattered carpeting the ground like a crimson field. All this now belonged to her, over a hundred acres of forestry, and a ram-shackled hall.
She grabbed her toiletry bag, and her robe, and slipping it on made her way downstairs to the bathroom. After going to the loo, she stood at the sink washing her hands, her eyes rolled at her reflection in the mirror as Matilda had left her make-up on last night and now resembled a panda.
Grabbing some cleansing wipes, she began to take the make-up off. She scratched at her throat, as it felt irritated and itchy.
“What the….” she muttered, and stood on the tips of the toes to get a closer look in the mirror at a mark on her neck. Her hand lifted to it, and her fingers prodded it. Using a cleansing wipe, she scrubbed at it to see if it would go away.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” she muttered, wondering why there was a cross, burned into her throat. She was unable to rationalise where it had come from or what else it could be. Even if she slept on her pentagram, it wouldn’t have left an imprint like that, it didn’t make sense. Pulling the neckline of her nightdress down and checking herself for any other marks she stared at what looked like three claw marks scratched into her skin on her left shoulder.
“Oh my god,” she mumbled, moving in closer to the mirror. There were three long scratches, around half an inch apart and six inches in length, and they were slightly raised and scabby. She gave them a gentle rub, and thought back to the night before, when she felt a sudden sharp pain in her shoulder.
Concern flooded her, as she read about these sorts of scratches on the internet while doing research. It seemed to be a common paranormal phenomenon associated with demon hauntings. She pulled her top back up and sighed. She had been here one night, and already weird things were starting to happen.
Matilda went back up-stairs. She slipped on black knickers and a matching lacy bra and got dressed in a long blue maxi dress. Rummaging through her chest, and grabbing a jar of homemade healing ointment. Pulling the collar of her dress to one side, and applied it to the scratches on her shoulder and to the cross on her throat. She grabbed her phone, and took a couple of selfies, having decided to keep a record of anything weird or unusual that happened as evidence. She took a blue silk scarf from her holdall and tied it around her throat, as she didn’t want anyone asking question, especially not Mike.
>
After breakfasting on muesli and fresh blueberries, Matilda watered the dead plants on the window ledge in the hope of reviving them, and cleaned the downstairs cloakroom. Rubber gloves on and black bags in hand she started to tackle the kitchen, scrubbing the Aga and cleaning the fridge, both of which amazingly still worked.
Her next job was the pantry and everything had to go. Wasting no time, the entire contents went in the black bags and dragging them to the back door, left them there ready to take out.
Matilda scrubbed all the shelves and dried them. Looking at the floor, her hand rose to her hips as she had forgotten to bring a mop, and wondered if her mother’s would still be any good. Discarding her rubber gloves on the kitchen table, she went to the laundry room.
Flicking on the light, her lips wrinkled as she looked at a pile of clothes on the worktop, neatly folded as if freshly laundered. She wandered to it and lifting the t-shirt on the top, gave a little cough as a puff of dust whooshed into the air. Pursing her lips, and determined not to cry she sucked it back in. It was one of Teddy’s t-shirts with Fireman Sam emblazoned across the front.
“Oh for the love of God,” she muttered, pulling it to her nose and inhaling, but it smelt musty and not of her dear brother. Dropping it back on the pile, and spotting a mop and bucket in the far corner, she walked to it. On further inspection, it turned out to be mouldy and smelly and of no use at all. Glancing at her watch and needing to go to town anyway to get some supplies she decided to buy a new one.
Crash!
Her eyes spun to the door, and hurrying out of the laundry room, she stood in the hallway listening, her eyes searching the hall, and staircase. On hearing nothing further, she walked back to the kitchen, and pushed the door open.
“What the hell,” she groaned, as littered all over the kitchen floor were the entire contents of the three black bags. Her hands rose to her hips surveying the mess. As wave of cold went right through her, she spun around - a flash of a shadow catching her eyes.
Malevolent Hall 1666AD Page 3
