by Bill Jessome
“Meaning?”
“Something else I found out. Do you know how many people have died in this house?”
“No. How would I?”
“Twelve, that’s how many, an even dozen. That’s a lot of people dying in one house, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, if the house were relatively new. But this house is over two hundred years old. If twelve people have died here during that span of time, it’s fairly normal, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps, but that’s not the case here. All twelve died during the last ten years, and all were accidental.”
“‘Accidental’?”
“Tripping, falling, dying mysteriously in their sleep, choking on food and accidental poisoning.”
“And just what are you trying to say?”
“Well, doesn’t it seem strange to you that all these people died the way they did? That’s all I’m saying. By the way, any activity from our non-paying guest up top?”
“She’s sitting across from you, listening to everything, and I must say with interest too. I do think you scared her a couple of times though. She’s there on the stool.”
“What?!” A visible shudder passed through Charles’s body. “Margaret, that’s not the least bit funny.”
“I’m not kidding. We’ve had a long talk, Cassie and I, and we’ve agreed that she no longer has to stay in the attic. As a member of this family, she has the run of the house.”
“What do you mean, a member of this family?”
“Cassie is now a member of our family. It’s kind of an in-house adoption, if you will.”
“Come on, there’s no one there. Look, the stool is empty. Who are you kidding?”
“Cassie Fielding Wicks, meet your in-house father, Charles Wicks.”
Slowly a form began to take shape. Charles’s eyes widened and his heart began pounding as the shape of a young girl with green eyes and hair the colour of gold slowly took form. She slid off the stool and came toward Charles. Not knowing what she was going to do, Charles backed away. “Stay away from me!” he shouted. “Margaret, for the love of—I don’t believe in such things.”
“Well,” said Margaret, “seeing is believing. Now act your age. She’s not going to put a spell on you or make you disappear. Look at her. She wants to be your friend. Speak to her.”
“Speak to her? I wouldn’t know what to say!”
“‘Hello, Cassie’ would be nice.”
Charles’s greeting was rather more garbled. What he actually came out with was, “Hello there, you girl. Are you really a ghost you are?”
Margaret looked at Cassie and they both looked at Charles and laughed. And then Charles gave a weak laugh. “Okay,” he said, “This isn’t natural or normal, and I don’t even know if it’s happening—but we’ll see, we’ll see.”
The next morning Margaret convinced Cassie to accompany her while she shopped. Cassie froze at the thought of leaving the safety of the house. Margaret finally convinced Cassie to go along. But would Cassie agree only if she could remain invisible.
“Absolutely,” said Margaret. “How could I explain you to people otherwise?”
Charles gave a faint smile. He told Margaret that while she and Cassie were out, he’d be down in his workshop catching up on some projects. Charles stood in the doorway watching his wife’s car disappear over the rise. When he opened the basement door he thought he heard footsteps coming down from upstairs. He stopped and listened. Five seconds passed. Ten. Fifteen. He heard nothing but his own heavy breathing.
And in the car, if Cassie were visible, Margaret would have seen her small body stiffen and her face fill with fear. Cassie whispered: “We must return to the house immediately, Mr. Wicks is in danger. I will leave the car now. Please turn around and hurry.”
“Danger? What kind of danger?” Margaret asked quickly.
“I can’t explain now. You must go back.”
When Charles was about to place his right foot on the basement step, he felt an explosion in his head. He tried desperately to stop from falling but couldn’t keep his balance. Then suddenly, it was as if he fell upon a cushion of air—the fall was broken and he was laid gently on the cold concrete floor, where he passed out.
Cassie looked up from the man whose life she had just saved to see a demonic ghost coming straight at her throat. Cassie sidestepped and the creature slammed into the far wall, giving the girl the few precious seconds she needed. She saw Mr. Wicks’ electric sander on the workbench and she quickly disconnected it from the power cord, which was plugged in the wall. As the spirit came flying across the room with its claw-like fingers reaching for Cassie, its hot, putrid breath upon her face, she drove the wire into its chest. There was a guttural howling and the evil spirit exploded in a ball of fire. All that was left was a pile of smouldering clothing.
Cassie heard a car door slam, and Margaret ran into the house, calling Charles’s name. “Down here! We’re in the basement!” Cassie called back. Margaret hurried down, and when she saw her husband’s still body on the floor, she became faint, but managed not to pass out.
“He’s unconscious,” Cassie said. “But he’ll be okay.”
“What happened? And whose clothes are those burning?”
“Oh Margaret. I’m so sorry I didn’t warn you earlier. These clothes belong to an evil spirit who also lives here. She’s the one responsible for those twelve deaths that Mr. Wicks spoke about. I was intending to tell you about the evil spirit but I wanted to wait for the right moment. I was almost too late, and I’m so sorry.”
Charles was coming around, moaning. Margaret lifted his head onto her lap, and to make sure he wasn’t suffering from a concussion, asked him, “How many fingers do you see, and what is my name?” Sarcastically he replied, “Your name is Suzanne, you’re holding up six fingers, and I want to know what just happened! I’m at the top of the steps, and suddenly something hard hits the back of my head and down I tumble. But I remember I didn’t fall all the way down. Something like a cushion of air broke my fall. It was like I was floating.”
Margaret didn’t say anything. She looked over at Cassie and smiled. Charles caught the smile and turned toward Cassie. “It was you that stopped my fall, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was I.”
“Well then,” said Charles, “I suppose you have an explanation for all this?”
“But first,” suggested Margaret, “let’s go upstairs and get Charles a little more comfortable.”
Once they were all seated around the kitchen table, Margaret and Charles looked at Cassie expectantly.
“I could easily vanish, you know,” she said, “and that would be that.”
“Yes,” Margaret gently replied, “But you’re not like that, are you?”
“No. Well, all the years I lived here nothing happened. It was even boring, you know. Then she arrived—the evil spirit, I mean. There was an awful thunderstorm that night. I knew immediately that another spirit had come into the house, because the feeling of the place changed. It became dark and foreboding. I not only kept myself invisible but I hid inside that mirror in the attic, and watched and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. The room filled with a heavy odour, like dead flowers. And then I saw her. She was tall and ugly and she wore a long black skirt with a black shawl over her shoulders. Her hair was as black as the scowl on her face and it was parted in the middle and fell to her shoulders. She must have known there was another spirit somewhere in the house, as she searched the room so carefully. I froze when she came to the mirror and stopped. And for a moment I felt she saw something else besides her own image in the mirror. I held my breath, waiting. She leaned forward, searching, but then turned away and left the room. If I could have left that room I would have, but I had to wait for father to come for me.
“Well, one morning not too long after she arrived, I heard voices and people moving around downstairs. I crept to the top of the stairs and observed an elderly couple listening to a man telling them about the c
harms of this house. They nodded in agreement, shook hands with the man, and a couple of days later they moved in. The first tragedy happened very soon. The old man came out of his bedroom, and the demon spirit came up behind him. When he reached the top of the stairs she pushed him and he went headlong down the stairs. It was awful. The evil spirit stood at the top of the stairs laughing at the old man on the floor, and I heard it all happening! I wish I could have helped then, but I didn’t even know I could leave the attic.
“Again and again over the last ten years, I have listened to nice, innocent people dying, without being able to help them. And then you came, and you were so kind, and you taught me how to leave the attic, and oh—I wanted so much for you to stay. I should have warned you, but I couldn’t bear to lose the only friends I had in all these years. Will you forgive me?”
Surprisingly, it was Charles who spoke first. “Forgive you? Cassie, you just saved my life. Now, those other people who died, they weren’t your fault. I reckon now you have got rid of that evil spirit for good, and you can relax and—well, like Margaret said, we never had our own children…”
Charles’s voice trailed off as he realized Cassie had stopped listening. He followed her gaze across the kitchen to the back door, which had blown open suddenly in a gust of wind. There stood three ghostly figures. Cassie jumped from the table, ran to the newcomers, and embraced the tallest. At this point, all three figures became more solid, and Margaret and Charles realized what was happening.
“Oh Charles, they’ve come for her! I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
Cassie looked truly happy, and was whispering excitedly with what must have been her brother. Her parents—her real, ghostly parents—were beaming down at their long-lost daughter. Margaret and Charles couldn’t help but be happy for their little ghost.
Cassie’s father thanked Margaret and Charles for caring for his daughter. Margaret invited them all to stay but her invitation was refused; the family had to return to England as soon as possible.
Cassie hugged Margaret and told her that she would never forget her, and that she would always be her earthly mother. Margaret had tears in her eyes when she thought of what lay ahead. “I’ll never see you again, will I?”
“Never is a long time. Perhaps we’ll meet somewhere later.” When Cassie turned to say goodbye to Charles, he was waiting with open arms for a hug from this girl he had barely believed in a few hours before.
“It is time,” called Cassie’s father. “We must hurry.”
Margaret and Charles walked with Cassie to the veranda, where her parents and brother were waiting. They watched as the Fielding family disappeared inside a swirling bright light that lifted them skyward. They stood there watching, transfixed, until the four lights disappeared in the night sky. The couple turned to go back in. From a distant corner of the house they heard a thumping sound, then silence.
Footsteps
A young couple, David and Helen, stood on the veranda of a beautiful house in Truro discussing the age and history of the house with the real estate agent. “Old, said the agent freely, “very old indeed. Built in 1810 as a matter of fact.” The agent told the couple that the same family had stayed in the house for those years. Then, hesitantly, she told them the home had remained vacant for quite a long time because of a tragedy. When they inquired as to what happened, David and Helen were told only that a murder had been committed. The agent was reluctant to go into any more detail, and changed the topic by asking them if they would mind living so far from town and neighbours. “The nearest neighbour is two miles away and the town itself, seven,” she said. David said that he and his wife would welcome the privacy. The real estate agent unlocked the front door and showed them inside.
They checked all the rooms. Helen peeked into every nook and cranny. There were no hidden passageways, no dark hallways leading to open trapdoors, no closet walls that fell away, and no unexplained shadows passing on the stairway. It was a simple, plain old house that needed some attention. David noticed only the old house smell, but he was more preoccupied with the financing. He saw the place as a good investment, and decided they would move in immediately.
A few uneventful days passed after the move; then, just after dinner one night, as Helen stepped out into the hall, a sudden rush of cold air pushed hard against her face, and she had the feeling of being unwelcome. Her misgivings about their new home grew. It wasn’t so bad when David was home but when he left for work or had to go out of town on business, Helen felt uncomfortable being alone in the house. She felt like she was being watched by someone who was right behind her all the time. Several times she thought she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned her head, there was nothing there.
One day not too long after they had moved in, Helen was alone, making the bed upstairs, when she heard footfalls climbing on the steps. She stopped and listened, her heart beating loudly. She came out of the bedroom cautiously but there was no one on the stairs. She could see nothing, it was true, but she could still hear the sound of fading footsteps! Helen suddenly became weak. She would have fallen head long down the stairs if she hadn’t grabbed the railing for support. She sat down quickly, wrapping her arms around her knees, and rocked back and forth, afraid of what might be in the house with her.
When her husband arrived home from work that evening, she told him what had happened. She was convinced the place was haunted. David laughed, telling her that it was probably just the excitement of a new place, and the power of suggestion.
That night in bed, unable to sleep, Helen ran through the day’s events in her mind; she wasn’t so sure it was just her imagination or the excitement of a new place. She was certain that what she’d heard that morning was real.
Rolling over on her left side to face the wall, she suddenly found herself looking straight into the eyes of a child. It was standing so close to the bed that Helen could feel its cold breath on her face. The child touched Helen’s cheek with the tip of her finger, whispering, ”Mummy, is that you?” Helen stiffened. The little girl stepped back—right through the wall until she was gone. Helen muffled a pitiful cry with her fist pressed to her lips. She didn’t want to awaken her husband—he would only say she’d dreamt it.
Many questions swirled through Helen’s mind as she fixed her eyes on the wall where the child had disappeared. This explained the footsteps this afternoon, she thought to herself. She could not stay here! How was she going to convince her husband that the house was haunted and they would have to leave?
First, she decided, she would have to find out who the child was and why she was haunting the place. Something terrible must have happened. That was it: when David left for work in the morning, she would find out all she could about the family that had lived in the house and the murder that had taken place.
The next morning, Helen was in her bedroom getting ready to go into town to the local newspaper office when the room suddenly went ice cold. An inner voice told her to run but it was too late. The mirror she was looking into smashed to smithereens. As she turned to flee, an unseen force attacked her and held her down. Her face felt like it was covered in cobwebs, and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t pull them off. She heard footsteps on the stairs and the whining voice of the child calling out, ”Mummy, Mummy where are you? Don’t leave me.” Helen got down on her hands and knees, dragging herself into the hallway and down the stairs. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she managed to get the front door open and she broke free. She collapsed on the ground. She wanted to run as far away from the place as she could but she was too weak to move any farther.
From around the corner of the house a tall man carrying an axe walked slowly toward her. Thank God, Helen thought. Another living human being. She assumed he was a woodsman by the plaid shirt and breeches he wore.
Helen was too weak to get up. The stranger removed the axe from his shoulder and cradled it in his arms, like he was holding an infant. Helen shivered, not from
the chill in the air, but from what he might do with the axe, but fear left her body when she looked up into his friendly face. He smiled down at her before he spoke.
“I was wondering as I came around the house why you were sitting on the ground and then I remembered the chilling history of this house.” Helen explained her experience with the spirits inside. The stranger suggested they go inside where it was warm, jokingly telling her that even ghosts were afraid of a man carrying an axe.
Helen was reluctant to re-enter the house, but something about the man’s demeanor made her feel safe, and she found her courage returning. Once they were seated inside, Helen asked the man to explain what he had meant when he had mentioned the “chilling history of the house.” She begged him to tell her the story. He provided her with the grisly details.
“An escaped patient from the insane asylum hid in the woods for weeks and when he thought it was safe to come out, he snuck inside this house while the family slept. He then crept upstairs and killed them all.”
“Was he caught?”
“Oh, yes indeed and hanged as well. There are reports his ghost is also seen around the property.” Helen shivered and was thankful that so far she had just run into the ghost of the little girl that afternoon.
They were still seated at the kitchen table when they heard a car drive up. Helen looked at the wall clock. It was near noon. She told the woodsman that her husband was home for lunch, but the stranger wasn’t listening.
David hurried up the veranda steps and went inside. He saw his young wife slumped over the kitchen table. He thought she might be napping, but sensed something was wrong. From somewhere upstairs he heard a child’s voice whispering, “Mummy, mummy.” On the wall, he saw the shadow of what looked like someone holding an axe over his head.
Music to Wake the Dead
The house in this story is long gone, destroyed by fire as, I’m told, most haunted houses are. For the setting, we must return to the 1940s, to a house located in east Guysborough County. The young man of the house—we’ll call him “Tim”—loved music. His favourite music at that time was the famous drummer Gene Krupa. Now, Tim preferred sleeping in the attic because there he could play the drums and listen to music without disturbing the family. But he didn’t consider others who might be disturbed.
