The Curse of Wetherley House

by Amy Cross

  “What?” I ask.

  When she doesn't answer, I look over my shoulder, but all I see is the slightly gloomy hallway and the front door.

  “It's late,” I continue, turning back to her and making my way over. “I think I'm going to turn in for the night and get up early in the morning. I want to explore, and I want to get this place feeling a little more...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that she barely seems to have noticed my return at all. Instead, she's sitting stock still in the chair and still staring at the doorway, as if something in the hall has really caught her attention. I turn and look again, trying to figure out whatever might be wrong, and then I look back down at my sister with a puzzled expression.

  “I guess you're staying up, then?” I ask, before turning to head into the kitchen. “I'll just -”

  Suddenly she grabs my wrist, holding me tight, but she's still staring at the open doorway.

  “We're not alone,” she whispers, her voice trembling with fear and her eyes wide with shock. “There's another woman in the house.”

  Hannah

  “You'll think it's stupid,” I mutter, holding the phone with one hand while I sift through decades-old papers with the other. Morning light is streaming through the kitchen window, and so far Daddy's paperwork is turning out to be quite a mess. I brought it all with me so I could get it done, but now I'm starting to think I'll need to hire a professional. “It's just... Katie started acting very strangely last night. She said she saw a woman in the hallway while I was upstairs.”

  “A what?” Johnny replies over the phone.

  “I went upstairs to check a noise,” I continue, holding up a sheet but finding that it's not the tax form I need, “and there was nothing up there, but when I came back down Katie looked as if she'd had the fear of God put in her. And when I finally got her talking, she said that just after I'd gone up, some woman had walked right past the doorway and had looked in at her for a moment before continuing through to the back of the house.”

  “Like a burglar?”

  “No, not like a burglar. Like a...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that I don't really want to say the word. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned any of this to my brother at all.

  “Are you sure you haven't got this the wrong way round?” he asks. “Shouldn't you be the one getting all spooked out, and shouldn't Katie be the one phoning me up to complain?”

  “I'm not that easily scared,” I reply, “and I'm not complaining either. I don't know, it's just...”

  Again, my voice trails off, and this time I can't help thinking back to the eyes I saw staring at me from the other side of the dirty glass in the master bedroom. I've been carefully avoiding thinking about that, and about the scratching sound, and I quickly tell myself that they were both nothing. After all, I can be easily spooked. I'm just going to be strong from now on, and not let my mind run away with me.

  A moment later, however, I hear a faint bumping sound from upstairs, and I have to admit that I feel a flicker of concern as I look toward the ceiling, only to quickly realize that it's simply Katie getting out of bed.

  “So when are you coming?” I continue, forcing myself to focus on other things as I look back at the paperwork. “We need to tidy the place up a little and then get an estate agent to -”

  “We're not coming.”

  I hesitate, feeling a flicker of annoyance.

  “I thought we were all going to meet here,” I remind him.

  “Louisa and I have busy lives,” he replies, and I can hear the tension in his voice. “We can't drop everything and come down to poke around in some dusty old house. We actually have things to be doing.”

  “And you're saying Katie and I don't have -”

  “You know what I mean,” he adds snappily. “You can spare the time and we can't. It's as simple as that. I'm not going to let Dad's death interfere with what I've got going on. I already had to take a morning off for the funeral last week -”

  “Yeah, a whole morning,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  “- and Louisa's hardly in any state to travel given that she's in her thirty-fourth week, so it's already a really bad time.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “If you want, I can ask Daddy to come back to life for a while and then die when it's more convenient for you.”

  “Don't get pissy with me.”

  “There's a lot of paperwork we need to get done,” I continue, trying to change the topic. “I brought it to the house, I thought this would be a good chance for us to all look through it together.”

  I wait for an answer.

  “You said you were coming, Johnny.”

  “I said we'd try to come.”

  “No, you said -”

  “Don't put words in my mouth. I said we'd try!”

  “No, you said -”

  Sighing, I realize there's no point getting into an argument. I know full well that Johnny said he'd come and meet us here, but I also know that my brother never, ever admits when he's wrong.

  “We could really use you here,” I point out, this time not managing to hide the irritation in my voice. “Katie and I have done everything so far. You keep saying you'll help out, but nothing ever actually happens. The three of us are in this together.”

  “Just dust the place and get it on the market.”

  “You don't even want to see it first?”

  “A rickety old house?” I swear, I hear him chuckle. “No thanks. It might be good for a laugh, but I'm not going to let any of this interfere with what I've got going on.”

  “And what exactly have you got going on? Being an ass?” I almost say.

  Almost.

  But somehow, I manage to hold my tongue.

  “Dad didn't leave a will,” I tell him with a sigh, “and from looking at the papers so far, it seems like his financial affairs are pretty complicated.”

  “We'll just sell the flat and the house, divide the money in three, and call it a day.”

  “Sell the -”

  Pausing for a moment, I want to ask him if he's serious, but I already know the answer to that question. Johnny has no interest at all in our family's history.

  “This house has been in our family for generations,” I point out.

  “So?”

  “So we can't just sell it.”

  “Yes we can.”

  “But -”

  “Okay, then,” he continues, “buy me out. You and Katie, or just you, whatever, I don't care. Buy me out of my share with all that money you've got. Oh wait, you don't have two pennies to rub together, do you? So really, you can't afford to sit on a house that's worth half a million pounds and start pontificating about what other people should want. Maybe in some fantasy world it'd be nice if you could hold onto the house, but you can't, so let's not even get into this argument. Case closed, yeah?”

  I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell, and that there's no way this place is worth half a million in its current state, but then I hear Katie coming down the stairs and I look over toward the door that leads into the hall.

  “Katie?” I call out. “I think we need to talk about something!”

  I wait, but she doesn't reply. A moment later I hear a clicking sound, followed by a bump as if she just unlocked the basement door.

  “Katie?” I call out again. “What are you doing?”

  “I'm too busy for this,” Johnny says. “Don't go fussing around. Put the place on the market and get out of there, you don't need to turn it into a big job. And stop trying to make me feel bad for not coming down there. There's a limit to my availability. I have a life, remember.”

  I can hear Katie down in the basement now, and after a moment I get to my feet and head across the room. Sure enough, when I reach the doorway I see that the door to the basement has been left open, although I can't imagine what Katie's doing down there with any lights on. I can definitely hear her, though, bumping about beneath my feet as if she's getting on with something.


  “I want you to arrange for the house to be properly valued,” Johnny says.

  “I'll call you back.”

  “I also -”

  Cutting the call, I set my phone down on the hallway table before heading to the basement door and looking down the steps into the darkness below.

  “Katie?” I call out. “What are you doing?”

  No reply.

  All I hear is more bangs and bumps.

  “The light doesn't even work down there,” I point out, reaching out and pulling the string that's dangling next to me. When the light fails to come on, I pull the string again, just to be sure. “I don't think it's safe to be pottering about,” I continue, “so can you come back up here? Or at least use a torch. What are you after, anyway?”

  The bumps continue for a few seconds, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps, and then finally I can just about make out a figure in the darkness at the bottom of the steps, staring up at me. I can't see Katie's face in the gloom, but at least she seems to have finally heard me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “I just talked to Johnny and he's not being reasonable at all. I was thinking maybe you could talk to him instead.”

  I wait, but the figure is simply staring at me from the darkness. All I can really make out are her bare legs at the bottom of the steps, and the rest of her is shrouded in shadow. In fact, the more I look at her, the more I realize that she seems to be naked, and I can't imagine why my sister would be up and about like this.

  “Katie,” I continue cautiously, “can you call Johnny later and -”

  Suddenly I hear a banging sound over my shoulder. Startled, I turn and see that the front door is opening, and a moment later Katie steps into view carrying half a dozen large bags of shopping that look set to fall from her arms at any moment.

  “Little help?” she calls out, pushing the door shut with her butt.

  I stare at her for a moment, my mind racing as I try to figure out what's happening, and then I look back down the steps and see that there's no longer anyone standing at the bottom. My heart is pounding, however, and when I turn back to Katie I see that she's already taking her shopping through to the kitchen.

  “No help?” she gasps. “I got up early and went into town. Although I forgot oranges, so maybe you can pop back in later. Now are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me with these bags?”

  ***

  “There's no-one here,” Katie says as we stand at the bottom of the steps. She's holding her phone up as a flashlight, and I've got a kitchen knife in each hand for protection. “There's no other way in or out, either.”

  “I saw someone!” I say firmly, still watching the shadows carefully, waiting for something to come at us. “We have to call the police!”

  “And say what? That we're being haunted?”

  “Someone came down here! I thought you were in the house! I heard someone in your room, then I heard them coming down the stairs, and then I saw someone standing right here! She was naked! I didn't see her face, so I assumed it was you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean!”

  “Hannah...”

  “You saw someone too!” I continue. “Last night! You told me!”

  She sighs.

  “You were terrified!”

  “I was exhausted! I was out of my goddamn mind thanks to not sleeping for two nights in a row, and driving all the way here!” She sighs again. “And that's exactly what's happening with you, except that you're too far gone to even realize it. I picked up some sleeping pills in town, and you're taking a couple and going straight to bed.”

  “I can't sleep!” I tell her. “We have to go to the police and -”

  “There's no-one here!” she says firmly, before tapping the side of my head. Then she turns and walks across to the far side of the basement, using the phone's light to prove that we're alone. “There's only someone in your mind,” she continues, before tapping her own head, “and in mine. We're two sleep-deprived women in a creepy old house. I mean, when we arrived last night, it was like the beginning of a horror movie. Do you realize how weird it'd be if we didn't go a little la-la? Come on, Hannah, don't make this any harder than it has to be. We need to work together instead of constantly arguing.”

  She comes back over and steps behind me, heading toward the stairs.

  “But I saw -”

  Before I can finish, she clamps a hand over my mouth.

  “Don't say that,” she continues. “Okay? When you say things like that, you make it harder for both of us. I'm the first to admit that I thought I saw something last night, but I'm also the first to recognize that I'm not thinking straight. You need to be the same. Now, promise me that you're going to stop yammering on about impossible things that you think you've seen and heard.”

  She waits for me to say something, but I simply stare at her.

  “Promise me,” she adds, “or by God, I will go back into town and buy a goddamn gag to tie around your mouth.”

  She pauses, before moving her hand away from my mouth.

  “I'd love it if this house was haunted,” she continues. “That'd be great, because it'd mean that the little bumps and things in the corner of our eyes are something real. Frankly it might also make the house sell for a higher price. But there's really nothing. Come on, Hannah, we're both clinging to our sanity for dear life here. Let's help each other, instead of making things worse. Even if you think you see something, just keep telling yourself that it's all in your mind.”

  I open my mouth to reply, to tell her that I did see something, but finally I manage to hold back. Katie's a couple of years older than me, and she's always been the sensible one.

  “That's better,” she continues, before stepping past me and starting to make her way up the creaking wooden steps. “Now I suppose I should go and call our asshole brother and hear what whiny problems he's got today. I assume he's flat-out refusing to help in any way?”

  Left alone at the bottom of the steps, I stare across the dark, bare basement and wait just in case there's any hint of movement. I keep telling myself that Katie is right, and I know that I'm exhausted, but at the same time I can't help replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours over and over in my mind, and I think that maybe -

  “Oh no,” Katie says suddenly, grabbing my hand and forcing me to follow her up the steps. “If you think I'm leaving you down here alone, you're straight out of luck.”

  Hannah

  “I'll take the salmon and cream cheese baguette, please,” I tell the barman, as I set the menu down. “And a steak baguette for my sister. I'll be taking them home with me.”

  “They'll be ready in about five minutes.”

  “That's great. Thanks.”

  I smile as he heads through to the kitchen, leaving me alone at the bar. After a moment, however, I can't help looking at the large mural on the far wall, depicting a pretty terrifying-looking woman who appears to be strangling a man. The painting's kind of crude, but there's a house visible in the distance behind the woman, and it doesn't take a genius to recognize Wetherley House. Up near the ceiling, the name Mary Carmichael has been painted in big, blocky letters.

  “That's her, you know,” a voice says suddenly.

  Turning, I see that the man sitting at a corner booth is watching me as he sips from his pint.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “That's her.” He nods toward the mural. “And I know who you are, too. You're one of them that's gone up and opened the front door at Wetherley, aren't you?”

  “My father owned the house,” I reply cautiously, “and -”

  “I know, I know.” He takes another sip and then sets his glass down. “There are a lot of people around here who'd rather you hadn't done that.”

  “We're just airing the place out a little,” I tell him, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and hoping that the baguettes will be ready soon, so I can leave. “We're going to put it on the market soon.”
/>
  “Is that right?”

  “My father died recently.”

  “I heard. We all heard. News travels fast around here.”

  Not really knowing what else to say, I look back at the mural. The woman looks totally bizarre and freakish, with wild, yellowish eyes. Her long black hair runs all the way down the front of her body, protecting her modesty, and there are flecks of blood on her hands. Frankly, she looks like a monster.

  “You seen her yet?”

  I turn back to the man. “Sorry?”

  “Her.” He nods toward the mural again. “Has she shown her face since you got to the house?”

  “No,” I reply, “of course not. She...”

  My voice trails off for a moment.

  “If you mean Mary Carmichael,” I continue finally, “then no, she's dead. I had no idea people around here talked about her so much.”

  “What do you think it's like for us,” he replies, “living in a town where we know there's something like that on our doorstep.” He looks past me, toward the mural. “There's two types of people here. The first is the type that keeps well away from Wetherley House. Some won't even drive past the place, they don't even want to look at it or even hear it mentioned. Then there's the other type, the type that's willing to at least glance at the windows as they go along the road that runs into town from the east. You'd be surprised how many of those folk reckon they've seen a figure in one of the windows.”

  “I know about the ghost stories,” I tell him.

  “Oh? So you've been here almost a day, and you're already an expert, are you?”

  “I didn't mean that,” I continue, “I just... I know that people talk about Wetherley House. I know there are things that are supposed to have happened there and -”

  “Supposed?”

  “I mean -”

  “It's all documented,” he adds, interrupting me. “Eve Carmichael, and what she did to her daughter. How she turned Mary into a monster, and how Mary stayed in the house even after she died. When I was young, I even knew an old guy who'd been one of the coppers who went out there. He'd seen Mary's body with his own two eyes, and he said he'd never witnessed anything so awful. They found human remains in the basement, too. A woman and her son, relatives of the family. They'd been slaughtered, and most of the meat had been gnawed from their bones.”