The Curse of Wetherley House

by Amy Cross

  This is my home now, and for the first time in my life I feel so very safe.

  Marguerite

  The forest is dark, and I do not know how I ended up out here.

  Stumbling between the trees, I look around for some sign of the house, but I seem to be all alone. Patches of moonlight fall across the uneven ground, bearing the shadows of the high tree canopy, but I cannot make out the lights of the house in the distance at all. I know I must be in the forest at the end of the lawn, I know Wetherley House must be just a few hundred meters away, but the more I look around, the more I fear that I seem to be utterly lost.

  “Hello?” I call out. “Can anybody hear me?”

  I wait, but the only sound comes from an owl in the distance.

  Stopping for a moment, I look around and try to work out exactly which way I have come. I do not remember entering the forest at all, and I do not know this part of Wetherley House's estate at all. I cannot be too far from the main building, but I'm so very cold and I want nothing more than to get back to bed and rest. Feeling a faint kick in my belly, I also begin to worry that I might be stressing my child. I am shivering in the cold night air, and -

  Suddenly I hear a crunching sound over my shoulder, as if somebody stepped on some dry twigs. I turn and look, but I do not see anyone. I see only the cold, moonlit trees. Then again, out here in the dark, somebody could be just a few feet away and I would not necessary be any the wiser.

  “Hello?” I call out again, praying that Robert has come to find me after waking alone in our bed. “Robert, is that you?”

  The only reply is the sound of a light breeze blowing between the trees. Even the owl has fallen silent now.

  A moment later I hear a loud, deep creaking sound. I look around, but all the trees look so still.

  I start walking in the direction of the sound, supposing that perhaps the Lord has seen fit to offer me a path through this wretched forest. I am still getting used to England, but so far I am finding that the place seems to have hidden dangers at every corner. Frankly, I am minded to stay inside the house for the rest of my days, and to never again venture out. And perhaps I shall teach my children to do the same.

  Reaching another tree, I stop for a moment to get my breath back, before suddenly hearing another crunch over my shoulder.

  I turn and look, but once again I see only darkness. I know Robert always has a light kept in the house's rear window, so I should be able to see something in the distance. Instead, however, I see nothing at all.

  “Hello?” I whisper cautiously, barely even daring to speak. “If somebody is out there, I demand that you make yourself known. Robert, if it's you, can we please just go back inside?”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Dear Lord,” I continue, hoping that my prayer will be heard, “please guide me to the safety of the house, and ensure that my child shall be returned to warmth.”

  I hesitate for a moment, still looking over my shoulder, before finally turning so that I can walk away.

  Suddenly a figure lunges at me, slamming hard into my belly and sending me crashing to the ground. Landing on top of me, the figure grabs the fabric of my nightdress and tears it apart, exposing my large, swollen belly. Horrified, I look up at the figure's face and see the awful old woman staring back down at me, the same awful old woman from the roadside last month. I want to scream, to push her away, but my body is frozen and my limbs feel too heavy to move as the woman slowly places her crusty, bony hands against my belly and pushes hard.

  “You left me to die,” she croaks, her voice sounding so utterly dry and ravaged, as if she has a throat full of old twigs. “A little human kindness would not have gone amiss. Now in each generation, the firstborn child of your line, born on this land, shall be taken from you. The way you took life from me!”

  I try desperately to cry out, but all that emerges from my lips is a faint gurgle.

  “I will reach your children,” she continues, as she starts digging the tips of her bony fingers into my belly, “no matter where you hide them! And there is no god in all the world that can stop me!”

  Blood starts trickling from the holes she's begun to force, and now I can feel her fingers slipping deeper and deeper into my body. At the same time, my child is kicking furiously, yet I can't cry out or do anything to help. I strain desperately to push the old woman away, but now her knuckles are buried deep in my bloodied belly and I can feel her scratching at my unborn child. She's laughing, too, and finally I manage to tilt my head back until I'm able to see the lights of the house in the distance, and I scream as the old woman's fingers reach into my belly and scratch against my wriggling, unborn child.

  ***

  “Robert! Somebody help! Robert!”

  A scream wakes me, and I immediately sit up in bed. My mind is racing, and I can hear footsteps hurrying through the gravel below the bedroom window, followed a moment later by heavy footsteps thumping into the kitchen. A few seconds after that, I hear another sound, and I think perhaps somebody is sobbing in the room below. For a moment, however, all I can think about is that awful dream, and I quickly pull my night-dress up so that I can check my belly is undamaged.

  I feel a rush of relief as I run my hands over the smooth flesh. There are no holes, there's no blood, and it's evident that the vile old woman's visit was all just a terrible nightmare.

  Downstairs, voices are still calling out in the house.

  “Everything's okay,” I tell my child, as tears run down my face. “You're safe, I promise. No-one's going to hurt you. No-one's ever going to hurt you.”

  Still, my heart is racing and I'm desperately out of breath, and it takes a moment before I realize that people are still shouting downstairs, as if something is terribly wrong. Looking over at the other side of the bed, I see that my child and I are alone here in the room.

  “Robert?” I whisper, my voice filled with uncertainty and fear. “Where are you?”

  I wait, but all I hear is more sobs from downstairs, followed after a few seconds by the whinnying of the horses in the stable. I need Robert to calm my nerves, for him to tell me that everything is alright, but evidently he has left the bed.

  So I wait.

  I sit on the bed and wait for his return, even as I hear more voices outside in the night. I cannot imagine what commotion could have drawn Robert and the others out there, but I know that they shall have no need of me.

  And yet, the longer I wait, the more concerned I become.

  “Robert?” I whisper.

  I must stay here, I know I must, and yet...

  Finally realizing that I simply must go and check for myself that everything is okay, I ease myself out of bed and start making my way across the room. I'm so stiff and ungainly, I can barely manage to shuffle out onto the landing, and by the time I get to the top of the stairs I feel as if I might be about to collapse. Now that I'm here, however, I can also hear the sobs more clearly than before, and I can tell with absolute certainty that something seems to be dreadfully wrong with Eve.

  “Robert?” I call out again, before starting to make my way carefully down the stairs, wincing slightly as I feel a creaking pain in my knees. “Robert, where are you? Robert, what's wrong?”

  Reaching the hallway, I shuffle past the door to the basement and finally I reach the kitchen, where to my shock I see Eve weeping at the table with her face in her hands. Her shoulders are shuddering and her body seems gripped by wave after wave of violent convulsion, and I must confess that I have never in all my life seen her in such a frightful state. In fact, I do not think I have ever seen another soul weep with such fear. All I can see of her really are her rounded shoulders, shaking violently as the most awful sobbing sound comes from her hidden mouth.

  “Eve?” I say cautiously. “Eve, whatever is it?”

  Heading over to her, I stop next to her chair and look down at the side of her face. Just as I'm once again about to ask what's wrong, however, she suddenly looks up at me
with tear-filled eyes, and I immediately understand that something is terribly wrong.

  “Where's Robert?” I ask, trying but failing to keep a rush of panic from rising through my chest. “Eve, where is my husband?”

  “He's...”

  Her voice trails off for a moment as tears stream down her face.

  “Robert?” she whispers, almost as if the name is suddenly foreign to her.

  “Where is he?” I ask again. “Tell me!”

  “He's in the stable,” she whimpers finally. “Robert's in the stable.”

  “And whatever's the matter?”

  “He's in the stable,” she says again. “Robert's... He's in the stable. He's not coming out.”

  She opens her mouth and tries to say some more, but instead she simply collapses into the most horrific series of violent sobs, and it's clear I shall get nothing sensible out of her. Telling myself that everything will surely be okay, and that I must not panic lest I disturb the baby, I make my way around the table and over to the back door, and then out into the garden. It's at times like this that I dearly wish Robert had seen fit to employ staff at Wetherley House, instead of insisting that we fend for ourselves, and all sorts of dreadful thoughts are rushing through my head as I shuffle around the side of the house and toward the stable.

  Suddenly a horse races toward me, startled and frightened, and it's all I can do to step back out of the way. As it thunders past me, the horse lets out a frightful whinny and then stops, and I see that there appears to be thick red blood glistening on its front left hoof and running up its leg.

  “Robert?” I call out, turning and making my way toward the stable, where the door is wide open. The other horse is just inside, though loose, and I cannot begin to imagine whatever is going on there. As I reach the door, however, I spot a figure slumped on the ground at the very far end of the stable, and I immediately recognize the outfit that he's wearing.

  I step forward, but already a knot of fear has tightened in my chest.

  “Robert?” I stammer. “Robert, what are you doing? Robert, you must get up at once.”

  When he fails to respond, I shuffle into the stable and start making my way across the dirty, straw-covered floor. I have been avoiding the horses and the stable as much as possible during my pregnancy, fearful that the filth in here might cause some complication, and even now the stench of horse droppings is quite overpowering. As I get closer to Robert's prone form, however, I cannot help but notice that there appears to be a great deal more blood on the floor. Robert is resting on his front, with her head turned away from me, and I'm starting to fear that one of the horses must have taken fright and caught him a blow.

  “Robert? Say something, Robert.”

  I wait, and then I start making my way around him.

  “Robert, I -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see that the front of his head had been utterly ravaged, with the flesh having been ripped away from the skull and mashed against the wooden boards. A shattered eye socket bears signs of a heavy impact, and fragments of splintered bone rest glistening in the blood. His mouth is wide open, as if frozen in a scream, but his lower jaw has been shattered in the middle and ripped with such violence that one section rests on the ground.

  “Robert!” I scream, stumbling back against the wall. “Help! Somebody help!”

  This is a dream.

  It has to be.

  It's another nightmare, and I just have to find a way to wake up. Slumping down, I close my eyes and wait a moment, before opening them in the expectation of finding myself safely back in bed with my husband at my side. Yet when I do open them, I am still here in the stable, and a large pool of blood is slowly trickling toward me from Robert's body. I close my eyes again and wait longer, but the result is the same. The third time, I squeeze my eyes tighter still, determined to force myself awake from this nightmare. I just have to find a way.

  This cannot be happening.

  Marguerite

  “Yes, it's terribly sad and -”

  As soon as I reach the doorway, Eve stops speaking and turns to look at me. For a moment, just a moment, I see a flicker of irritation in her eyes, but her usual calm demeanor quickly prevails. She seems capable of restoring her mood at the drop of a hat.

  “And here is Robert's widow now,” she continues. “Good afternoon, Marguerite. Are you feeling a little better now? If not, I have chamomile tea.”

  “Who is...”

  My voice trails off as I look at the gentleman sitting on the sofa, facing Eve. Well-dressed and middle-aged, with a rather bushy gray beard and mustache, he's quite the thinnest man I have ever seen in my life, albeit with an extremely large and pointed nose that seems as much like a beak. He stares at me from behind small round spectacles, and then he gets to his feet and steps toward me with an outstretched hand. I want to turn and run, but I force myself to stay.

  “Josiah Edge,” he says, his voice sounding harsh and rasping.

  “Doctor Josiah Edge,” Eve adds.

  The man's hand is still held out toward me.

  “My sister-in-law struggles with shock,” Eve explains. “Poor Marguerite is so alone now. You must try to understand.”

  “Oh, I understand all too well,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed on me and his hand outstretched. “The female mind is not good at dealing with horrors. Such things are best left to the male mind, but sometimes these things cannot be helped. Time, however, can be a very good healer.”

  I wait, but now they're both staring at me, as if they believe me to be a simpleton. Finally I realize that though I feel desperately unwell, I simply must speak.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor Edge,” I say cautiously, reaching for his hand, only for him to take mine and kiss it gently.

  I was not expecting that.

  “I am so very sorry for your loss,” he tells me. “I cannot claim to have known Robert well, but we met a few times at market and he always struck me as a fine and sturdy man. To lose him now, so close to the birth of your first child, must be an especially cruel blow.”

  “I was just telling Doctor Edge how badly you've taken everything,” Eve says, still sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace. “I said that after the initial hysteria had worn off, you've largely been in bed. Not that there's any shame in that, of course, but... Well, it is what it is.”

  “I have been resting,” I reply, even as a fresh wave of weakness passes through my body.

  “And you are due now, are you not?” Doctor Edge asks.

  “Where is Doctor Forbes?” I ask.

  “Doctor Forbes could barely deliver a letter to his neighbor,” Eve replies, rolling her eyes, “let alone a baby. With Robert no longer around to take care of your health, dear Marguerite, I took it upon myself to get in touch with a doctor in whom I have at least a modicum of faith. Doctor Josiah Edge has his own surgery in Bristol, you know. We're very lucky that he could come out here at all. I have used my own purse to acquire his services, but honestly, there is no need to thank me.”

  “I've become accustomed to Doctor Forbes,” I remind her, before turning to this new gentleman. “You'll understand, I'm sure.”

  “The truth is,” Eve continues, “Doctor Forbes and that frightful Jacobs woman are not available. Therefore I have, at great expense, arranged for Doctor Edge and his -”

  “I should like to speak to Doctor Forbes,” I tell her.

  “Well, I believe he has gone to Edinburgh,” she replies.

  “He mentioned no such thing to me the other day.”

  “Then his journey must have been a sudden one.”

  “I assure you, M'am,” Doctor Edge says, “that I shall ensure you receive nothing but the best care. I have been retained by your sister-in-law to offer you around-the-clock, one-on-one attention. She has even very kindly allowed me to stay here in your home, so that I am always available.”

  “What woman could ask for anything more?” Eve asks.

  “Doctor Forbes said he would be back
to see me today,” I remind her. “He was very keen to follow my progress and he mentioned nothing whatsoever of Edinburgh.”

  “I cannot answer for Doctor Forbes and his actions,” Eve replies, “nor can I answer for his broken promises. All I can do is pay Doctor Josiah Edge handsomely, from my own pocket, so that my dear late brother's child is given the best possible start in life. After all, Marguerite, I'm sure you'll understand when I say that I have a rather vested interest in the life that has been growing in your belly. Robert and I had no siblings. Your belly, therefore, contains our only real chance to continue the line. We owe this to poor Robert.”

  “I am becoming faint,” I whisper, and Doctor Edge immediately helps me over to one of the armchairs. As I take a seat, I feel as if the entire room is spinning around me.

  “You have been through a terrible ordeal,” Doctor Edge points out, “and it is entirely possible that the experience has left you weakened. I should like to perform a full examination as soon as possible.”

  I open my mouth to tell him that such a thing will be impossible.

  “Of course,” Eve says calmly.

  I turn to her.

  “You need to be checked,” she adds. “It's what Robert would have wanted.”

  “I want Doctor Forbes,” I stammer.

  “He's in Edinburgh, my dear. You're in no fit state to go to Edinburgh.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “How can I possibly know? The man is free to come and go to Edinburgh as he chooses.”

  “I really must examine her,” Doctor Edge says, turning to Eve. “It's out of the question for me to provide the requisite treatment if I do not know her current state of health.”

  “Of course you shall give her an examination,” she tells him. “It's out of the question to think otherwise.”

  “No,” I reply, struggling to haul myself up from the chair, almost falling in the process. “I think I shall return to bed and -”

  Suddenly I slip, almost falling forward before Doctor Edge manages to grab my arms and hold me upright. I try to turn away, but my knees feel terribly weak, as if they cannot support my weight at all.