by Cat Knight
Joanne remained deathly silent and backed into the crevices of the wall, pulling back from the occasional glow of candlelight that flickered her way. Her only chance was to try to get by him and out of the front door.
It was a slim hope, but there was nothing else. If she kicked at him hard enough maybe she could do it.
Pushing and sliding along the wall under the pews she got as close to the door as she could get.
The light of his candle fell on her face and she audibly whimpered. With the swiftness of a cat on its prey he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out.
“And this is exactly where Adam Weaver caught David, his legitimate son and heir. You’ve made the same mistake.” Weaver dragged her out and pulled her toward the alter. “He killed his entire family right here. I had a better hiding spot than David, and Weaver never saw me. But then again, he wasn’t expecting me.”
Joanne struggled, kicked, and flailed out, but he held her too firm and close. She searched around looking for the form of Sharon who had faded. She led me here to die. Joanne thought for a way to unnerve Weaver. “David’s in the pond. I saw him there. The truth will come out; someone will find him eventually.”
Weaver scoffed and a withering look fell over his face. “Perhaps you’ve had a touch of the Angels Trumpet already, but just in case, I’ve got a bit more for you right here. They’ll think you went crazy, just like old man Weaver before his heart gave out. I’ll use the same method of delivery. That means you’ll need to eat it, just like he did. The effects are almost instantaneous.”
A vacant look came over his face. And lost in thought, he seemed to wonder at the power of the plant. “It was fascinating to watch him lose his mind. He was delirious within minutes, and then the hallucinations set in. God only knows what he saw, but he was completely petrified. As you will be, Ms. Williams. I’m sorry for what you’ll see and it won’t be real, but it’s no good telling you that, because you won’t remember.” A maniacal look burned in his eye, like a predator he was anticipating his kill.
Worse still, Joanne could see he was toying with her, hoping to create a dreadful fear. Joanne twisted and turned, trying to pry herself loose.
Her powerlessness raged in her and she lashed out with words, putting as much hate into them as she could. “You’re a fuckin’ sociopath.”
“Sociopath? That’s a big word for you, Ms. Williams.” He smirked. “I would suggest that you mind your language but it really doesn’t matter, does it? Would you like to know how it happened for poor Mrs. Weaver? She pleaded with him, tried to reason with him, but he couldn’t hear her for the demons in his ear. They were everywhere, surrounding him, closing in on him. Whatever words she spoke drove him further into madness, Weaver thought she had called them in to take his soul to hell. That’s what he ranted, that’s what he believed. And then he took her throat in his hands and crushed her neck. That was difficult to watch.”
Weaver pulled Joanne behind the alter and touched the baptismal font. “This is where Sharon died. I watched her gurgling and spluttering and fighting for her life. Did you know it can take several minutes to drown a person properly? It would have been easier on her if she hadn’t struggled. And after she had succumbed she was more beautiful in death than she ever was in life.”
Joanne’s rage was ebbing away, being replaced by a terrible anguish. Terror engulfed in her.
There had never been a time that she had been so unable to get herself out of trouble. Weaver was unhinged, she was certain of it.
He might have even gotten a smidge of the Angels Trumpet himself given the delirium and agitation he was exhibiting. Not knowing what else she could do, she tried to bargain with him.
“Let me go, I won’t say anything. I promise. Just let me go. I’ll tell them all at social services how much you’ve helped me. They’ll send more kids, there’ll be more money.” Her eyes sought his, trying to connect with him, to make him stop. With one hand on her throat and the other hand reaching for the Angels Trumpet he pinned her against the alter.
Chapter Fourteen
Scratching and writhing, she tried to free herself. Her throat began to burn and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe as his hand was cutting off her air. He grabbed the flower and brought it near to her mouth. She jammed her lips together. It wouldn’t help that much, she knew. All he had to do was run it across her mouth. Dan had told her how powerful the botanical was, but Joanne was a fighter and in these last minutes she wouldn’t make it easy for him.
Leaning into her so that she could not move he pressed the sides of her cheeks in hard forcing her mouth open. His fingers dug hard into her flesh, so deep she felt the skin pierce and her cheek bones ached. Soon she would be breathing in the pollen and tasting the flower.
Twisting her head from side to side as hard as she could, Joanne stopped. The ethereal face of the woman she had seen in the picture floated above. The face was full of concern. Sharon and David’s mother. Oh, My God. It’s too late. I’m losing my mind. A terrible sadness overtook her and it occurred to her that maybe she was already dead.
A dreadful muted howl escaped from her nostrils. Joanne didn’t want to be dead. Not yet and not like this.
Am I destined to remain here like Sharon and David and their mother? Joanne started fighting again. Weaver held the stamen of the flower above her lips. The ethereal woman’s expression changed from concern to bloody fury and before Joanne knew what had happened Weaver was flung off her and she heard the crack of his body as he landed on the floor.
Joanne was flooded with renewed strength and bounded off the alter. Weaver was flat on his back, momentarily bewildered and confused. The image of the woman hovered above him. Joanne watched Weavers face drain of colour. The ghost had revealed herself. A grating scraping sound reverberated through the chapel as the stone alter wobbled and teetered on its base.
Before Weaver could get himself up off the floor it toppled and fell on him pinning him to the ground. Joanne’s eyes bugged, her mouth fell wide open.
Shock and disbelief rooted her to the spot while she watched horrified as he tried in vain to turn or move.
“Help me. Help me. Help me.” Weaver’s voice was high pitched and hysterical. His eyes darted wildly around and then locked onto Joanne. Terror was etched into every crevice of his face. Candles lay burning on the floor, their wax seeping into the cracks and fissures of the old wooden boards. It ran in thick rivulets down toward the door. An orange flame had already taken hold roaring fiercely in one spot and was rapidly gaining strength scorching the floor and licking at the timber pews.
Weavers terrible pleading tore at Joanne’s conscience. Her mind and her judgment told her to run, but she could not.
The fire had burgeoned on one side of the room and the heat was fierce. A loud crack sounded and a pane of stained glass fell out, smashing over the floor.
A shuddering WHOOSH rushed through the opened space and the flames exploded between Weaver and Joanne.
Holding her hands and arms over her head Joanne tried to shield her face. Bending low she moved forward, but the heat drove her back. A tortuous howl emanated from Weaver. Flames were dancing around his trouser leg and melting the vinyl off his shoes. Joanne watched in abject horror as the fire snaked its way up his legs.
His screaming filled the chapel and she turned her head away unable to watch him twist and turn in a fruitless effort to free himself.
An unexpected and abrupt quietness descended. Weavers screams had ceased, only the crackle of fire remained relentlessly moving forward toward the door. The ghostly forms of Sharon, David, and their mother glowed beyond the fire. They were watching her. Joanne couldn’t help but gaze back at them. CRASH! Part of the roof tumbled in.
Gathering her wits, she turned to leave but looked back over her shoulder at the ghosts for just another second before fleeing toward safety. Once she reached the door she yanked it open with every bit of strength in her. Precious, delicious air flowed in.
>
A hunch tickled at her mind and before she could run further something pulled her back. Turning her head, her fears were confirmed. Sharon was following her. The heat from the burning was intense.
Joanne’s body was shaking with fatigue and panic. What does she want? Why can’t I just leave? Is she going to try to drag me to the flames? Wait a minute. Somethings different, she’s dry.
The ghost girl’s hair was flowing out behind her and instead of the sallow drenched form that had always been Sharon, a luminous, lovely girl shimmered directly in front of her.
Sharon held her hand outward toward Joanne. Reaching out toward her, their hands merged and Joanne felt the familiar form of her grandmother’s ring. Sharon’s form retreated to the family of ghosts. Joanne watched them fade away and placed the ring firmly, and gratefully back on her finger.
Epilogue
Joanne was digging in the garden. An entire new bed had been worked and planted out in tomatoes and borage, lavender foxgloves, edged around with garlic and marigolds. Dan’s daughter, Dannielle had been working with her, teaching her about botanicals, companion planting, and edible gardens. Dannielle and Robert were new to fostering, but things had been going well.
Joanne was learning to fit in with their two older girls, they had made a big effort for her and she was losing some of her boyishness under their tutelage. But now Joanne and Dannielle were fossicking around in the lily patch.
“How’s it going? You’ve been busy. I wager we won’t want for tomatoes this season.”
Dan’s voice sounded across the garden and was tinged with curiosity, for the lily patch was largely left alone. Dannielle answered him.
“We’re having a funeral of sorts.” Dan sauntered over and bent down to join them.
“Isn’t that the pin that I saw you with at the pond. I had a feeling it might be needed.” Joanne nodded and was folding in to a small piece of cloth. “Well the old bloke is right sometimes then?”
“Yes. And I drew these.” Dan looked at the piece of paper she held out to him.
“So that’s what Sharon looked like. Is this her mum too?”
“Yes, I did it from memory. I didn’t have anything that belonged to them, but I couldn’t get the ghosts off my mind. I wanted to bring them peace. Dannielle thought if we buried them in a sweet place, they might find rest.”
Dan’s voice was gentle. “OK, luv. That sounds like a good idea to me.”
Dan swung his arm around his daughter and gave her a wink.
“So, I have some news.” A huge smile spread over his face.
Looks like someone up there’s lookin' out for me. I landed the job over at Haldon’s nursery and I got a bevy of staff under me, I’m training the up and comin’ horticulturists. Old as I am, they took me on.” Dan couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
The new job was educational and paid several times over what Weaver had paid him. Dan’s years of practical experience and natural curiosity in working with the soil had placed him on the cutting edge of horticultural design.
“And I ran into an old mate from school. He’s retired now, but he was a copper. He told me they found Martha. Haven’t laid any charges yet. They might though.”
Joanne looked up bewildered. “Why would they want to do that?” Dan looked uncomfortable.
“Turned out Parker was cooking the books, claiming income for kids he didn’t have. According to what Martha told police, he always wanted the difficult ones, asked for ‘em. Case workers would check on ‘em a couple of times and the kids were always as good as gold.”
Joanna half shrugged. “Some weren’t I guess.”
“Never mind you, but Martha said he frightened the kids so they’d behave.” Dan ruffled her hair.
“Anyway, social services get so busy that if everything’s going alright they tend to let things lie. A lot of the kids at the house ran off, according to Martha. but she said didn’t know nothing about the books. Evette and Jasmine have been placed with a family. They’re still together, thought you’d like to know.”
The three were silent, not really knowing where to take the conversation next.
Dannielle wiped her hands down her jeans and made to go to the kitchen.
“I had a feeling there’d be good news about the job, so I made a feast for tonight. Mum’s on her way already.” Dan broke again into a huge grin.
“You women know summin before it's happened I swear. “He paused, there something on his mind, Joanne could tell. “Now, Joanne, you know how we as just sayin’ that some of the time I’m right..... I was thinking we could get you into one of those fancy horticultural courses.....”
They walked back into the house, Joanne did a couple of cartwheels over the lawn. Danielle teased her and said she’d better watch out, she was in danger of becoming happy.
It was true, sometimes she even forgot to be angry and hostile. And shock of shocks - she was even showing a sweet and thoughtful side to her nature.
Her new family was tolerant of her language. Except she had to put 20 p of her hard-earned pocket money in the jar every-time she swore. It was getting expensive so she was working on it. But if her new family ever needed it, the old tough Joanne would still be around. She could beat the shit out of one who worried them. Holy crap, she believed she could even summon a ghost or two. After-all she had friends in high places.
THE END
THE HAUNTING OF SEAVIEW CRAG
CAT KNIGHT
©Copyright 2017
All Rights Reserved
Prologue
Seaview Crag
Somerset Coast
England UK
October 1901
The view from the window should have been one to lift her spirits: the wide-open sky, the neatly cut grass stretching out from the house, falling away at the edge of the cliff to be replaced by the steel grey band of the sea, the froth of the waves like lace near the horizon. When he was a child, she had told Antony the foam was called ‘white horses’ and he had smiled up at her in excitement and asked if he could ride them. The memory of it sickens her now.
The drawing room door creaks open behind her but she doesn’t stir.
“Ma’am, I’ll be leaving for the night unless there’s anything else?” After a moment, the door shuts and hushed voices reach her from the hallway.
“She’s fadin’ away to nothing Sir. Doesn’t eat what a sparrow should.”
She hears the click of the front door and she watches the woman walk the trail away from the clifftop away from this house. She envies the woman her easy days. She knows what comes next.
“Maureen? Come to dinner, my love. Bridget has made squab pie.”
George pauses at the threshold. Her grief is like a disease; no-one, not even her husband, wants to come too close. He says again, his voice gentle,
“Maureen? You need to eat.”
But she doesn’t answer and after a while she hears the door close behind him.
She knows that before long he will try again to raise the subject of the house.
It’s been a week since he last took her hands in his and told her it was bad for her – ‘unhealthy’ he called it – to stand there at the window, eyes fixed on the edge of the cliff, reliving the last moment she saw her son alive.
“It’s been a year, Maureen,” he’d said, “We need to try to move on.”
She hadn’t tried to explain, because she knew he wouldn’t understand; but she will never leave this house. It is Antony’s home. She must never leave.
She brushes the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. She will never leave her son.
Chapter One
Seaview Crag
Somerset Coast
England UK
September 2015
Elizabeth took a last look around the room. Between them, Josh and Daniel had already taken a laptop, a rucksack and one of her larger suitcases full of clothes, a guitar, a box of books and a long cardboard tube out to the car. The blank spaces
on the walls were evidence of what the tube had contained – Josh’s favourite posters, carefully curated to create the right impression with his fellow students. If she stopped and thought about it, she knew she’d be able to identify which ones were missing; but there was no time for that now. She took a shaky breath, picked up a jacket from the end of the bed and made her way downstairs.
“All ready then?”
“Think so.” Josh looked around the kitchen as though checking he hadn’t left behind anything important.
Thank goodness, his student halls were catered, she thought – at least he wouldn’t be living entirely on takeaway pizza.
Daniel jingled the car keys in his pocket. “We should have left half an hour ago. The traffic on the M5…”
“You sure you haven’t forgotten anything, Josh?”
“Mum, for goodness sake…” She smiled as she held out his jacket.
“Oh, right. Thanks.” He laughed and took it from her with one hand, pulling her into a rough hug with the other. “What am I going to do without you?”
She pulled away and reached for her handbag to hide the sudden tears. It felt like only yesterday she’d been doing up his coat, sending him off to school. They’d been in London then, of course, in a pokey little terrace in Ealing, not this beautiful house overlooking the Somerset coast. It had been home, though. A bit cramped, often messy, but full of love.
How had the time passed so quickly?
She pulled the front door shut behind them and locked up as Daniel and Josh walked to the car. When she raised her head, she saw Josh heading for the front passenger seat. “I don’t think so, buster!”
He grinned back at her. “Oh, come on, mum. My legs are longer than yours!” But he’d already given up and was scrambling into the back seat, folding himself into the space like a complicated piece of origami.
