by Cat Knight
“I’ve looked at the outside, and so far, I’ve not found anything other than some minor fixes. I can see that you’re busy, so I’ll go about my business.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you off, it’s just that, I thought I heard someone earlier, and well, if it had been you, it would have solved the mystery.”
She gave a silly laugh. Browning’s expression softened.
“These old places can seem a bit lonely, and of course there’s always rumours but I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s just to be expected with an old one like this isn’t it?”
“What rumours?” Alison’s voice was rushed again, “The agent told me about some kids’ gossip, that was all.”
“That’s about right, gossip is all it is. Local kids were caught years back for breaking in and going on an illicit ghost hunt. They hightailed out and ran screaming home. But it’s got a reputation now.”
A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. Alison felt heat on her cheeks, just a little.
“Right you are. If you don’t mind, would you find me when you’re finished and give me the good or bad news? I’ll be taking inventory somewhere in the house”
“No worries, I’ll be happy to, and of course, you’ll get a written summary also. “With that, he waved and she watched him disappear. She told herself that any voice she might hear came with an explanation. Then, she turned back to the pots and pans. The inventory was turning out to be much more than she had bargained for.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She felt the hand on her shoulder and jumped. When she turned, expecting Browning, she found no one. She frowned. She had felt the hand, hadn’t she? She looked around, telling herself she was far too nervous. When people felt hands that weren’t there… she didn’t complete the thought. Back to pots and pans. Alison had finished with the kitchen and was in the master bedroom when Browning found her.
“Good news,” Browning said. “The house is sound. I found no structural issues. There are some things that require repair, but nothing that will keep you from opening a bed-and-breakfast. I’ll detail everything in my report. By the way, you haven’t come across a tape measure, have you?”
Alison shook her head.
“Generally, it hangs on my belt, as I use it all the time. And frankly, I can’t remember the last time I used it here. I must have dropped it somewhere — or mislaid it. That happens.”
Alison looked around the room and spotted something on the mantle.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Browning went to the mantle and plucked off his device.
“It’s mine. Funny, I don’t remember using it here. But not remembering is par for the course, isn’t it?”
“It is for me.”
With a wave, Browning left, leaving Alison staring at the mantle. She stared because she had already inventoried the fireplace with its poker and shovel and brush and thongs. Funny, but she hadn’t listed the device on the mantle.
She had added the two photos on the mantle, but not the device. How had that happened? She could have sworn she wrote down everything. ‘You did write everything down’ a small voice told her. She chased the voice from her brain. People overlooked the obvious every day. She was no exception.
But you KNOW you wrote EVERYTHING down.
Chapter Six
What do you mean ‘voice’?” Paul asked.
Alison stirred dressing into her salad and looked across the table at Paul. She wasn’t that thrilled with the meal, but it was late, and Paul had prepared it. He expected her to gush over his food, even if it wasn’t so good. If she didn’t praise it, he would pout like a child. In some respects, he was more childish than a real child. She thought that in time he would learn better. At least, she hoped he would.
“What did he or she or it say?” Paul asked as he sipped a pint.
“That’s just it. There were no distinct words. It was just sort of yelling or something, or maybe crying. Now that I think about it, it could be crying. It was miserable for certain.”
“My day has been horrendous. I sent an idiot to buy some fish, and what he brought back wasn’t suitable for a cat.”
“My salad is perfect.”
“Of course, your salad is all right. There’s nothing to a salad. A monkey can make a salad. It’s nothing but greens and croutons.”
Alison fought the urge to tell Paul he was acting like a dolt. He simply liked to complain. He thought carping made him sound more chef-like.
“Obviously,” Paul said, “someone doesn’t want you to open a bed-and-breakfast. So, they put some sort of speaker thingie that is supposed to scare you.”
“No one but you and a few others know what I’m doing.”
“I know.”
“Besides, I don’t think anyone has a reason to stop me.”
“If you ask me, it’s someone from the family. They’re trying to hide something.”
“But they’re the ones selling it.”
“Sure, but not all of them can be happy about it.”
“What would they be hiding?”
“How would I know?”
Alison wondered just how much help Paul might be when it came to fixing up the manor. She supposed that no matter what happened, he would circle back to himself. It seemed ‘Paul’ was all he ever thought about. She was beginning to wonder if he could learn to think of someone else. It didn’t seem likely.
Ready for bed, Alison checked her email. She was delighted to find a document from Browning. She spent the next half hour digesting the gist of his inspection.
In short, the manor was in remarkable condition. She would need to spend a minimum in order to ready the house for tourists.
That made her exceedingly happy. She sent a message to Willard, saying she was satisfied with the report. Time to close.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The closing was anticlimactic. Alison sat across the table from the attorney for the Earl’s family. He executed the documents for the family and accepted Alison’s check. Willard handed over all the keys and accepted his fee. His smile was truly genuine. He would see to filing the deed, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t move in.
Alison smiled and considered how much time she had to turn her new house into her new business. Not that many.
Paul was supposed to come with her, but he begged off at the last minute. Alison faced the old house all alone. In fact, she knew there was a good chance that Paul would flake out. Reliability wasn’t his forte.
She smiled as the unlocked the front door. She was now a proud homeowner. No, she was a manor owner. That sounded impressive.
“I’m home,” she called out as she entered and laughed. There was no one to hear, but it felt good anyway. She paused in the entry and considered where she should start. All the rooms needed attention, but which did she need.
“Too late now.”
She spun to the voice, but there was no one there. Alison knew she had heard the voice, was certain she had heard it. But that wasn’t possible. Her lip quivered.
“Who are you?” she asked out loud.
She received no answer.
She bit her lip and knew what she had to do first. She had to make sure she was alone in the house. Because voices didn’t appear out of thin air. She locked the front door.
Then, she went to the kitchen and made sure the door there was locked grabbing a small yet heavy cast iron frying pan.
There was a door in the servants’ quarters that led to the outside, and she checked that. Satisfied that the house was secure, she checked the small servants’ quarters. She found no one. As she left the quarters, she closed the door. Old, the door featured an antique lock. She locked the door and put the key on the moulding over the door.
She checked every room on the first floor holding tight to her frying pan. Except for the kitchen, no room had a door, and the door to the kitchen had no lock. So, she couldn’t be absolutely certain someone wasn’t playing some sort of ‘catch-me-if-you-can’ g
ame. But she was reasonably sure she would notice someone scampering from room to room. Then, she went up to the second floor.
She followed her method on the second floor. When she finished searching a room, she locked the door and placed the key on the moulding above. She did that so she wouldn’t confuse keys. She made a mental note to attach tags to the keys and signs on the doors so customers could find their rooms.
She had found no one as she approached the master bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room and closed the door behind her.
She searched the master as thoroughly as she had searched all the rooms. Again, she found nothing.
The doors to the balcony were locked, and she unlocked them to see if someone hid outside. Not a chance. She relocked the door and wondered if she was having a breakdown. If she was starting to hear people that weren’t there, she would have to consult a doctor. That was bonkers stuff. She stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Then, her knees shook.
Chapter Seven
Her knees shook because on the mantel was a key. She plucked it off the mantel and examined it. The key looked exactly like one of the keys she had placed over a door, which was insane. Clutching the key, she stormed out.
The key didn’t belong to the master bedroom. That was still in the door. The keys to the other bedrooms sat mutely above their respective doors. She raced down the steps to the first floor, and she headed directly to the servants’ quarters. She looked over the door. The key wasn’t there. She ran her finger along the moulding. No key. Then, hands shaking, she slid the key into the lock and turned. The key worked.
For some moments, Alison tried to process what had happened. She had locked the door and placed the key on the moulding.
She had then searched the entire house without finding a single person. And yet, somehow, some way, the key had magically appeared on the mantel in the master bedroom.
Either she had managed to take the key with her without knowing it, or there were two keys and a prankster about.
The small voice inside her head told her there was no prankster but there was another explanation, an eerie explanation. That voice whispered… ghost.
A cold blast of air whipped past her, and Alison shivered. Where had that come from? Hands shaking, she locked the door to the servants’ quarters and put the key in her pocket. She wasn’t going to let someone play the same trick twice. As she backed away from the door, she wondered how she could logically explain what was happening. She was sure she could, but it required another person, not anything else. Then, she got an idea. She ran up the steps to the second floor, straight to a bedroom still gripping her cast iron pan.
The key was still over the door.
In fact, all the keys were in place. When she reached the master bedroom, she went straight to the mantel. It was empty. Alison frowned. What was going on?
She felt the key in her pocket. She needed an explanation, and it had to make sense. But nothing she came up with made sense.
She was certain she was alone, and yet, was she? It was nuts that she was hoping she was not.
But, what more could she do to make sure she was alone? She didn’t know. So, what should she do? Alison took stock.
It’s a stressful situation, you’re forgetting things. It’s because your mind is everywhere and you’re not concentrating. And Paul is giving you the shits. He should be here and he’s not. You’re upset.
“There’s only one thing for it, get to work.” She said aloud.
If someone was around they would show up and she would keep her weapon handy.
Alison went downstairs, but only after locking the master bedroom and putting the key atop the moulding.
She started in the small parlour, and her work consisted of pulling the dusty sheets off the furniture. What she found underneath was a collection of pieces she could and couldn’t use.
Some pieces would have to go to the ‘toss it’ heap and others would do nicely. She folded the sheets and placed them in the hall. When she had finished the downstairs, she went upstairs where she repeated the work. But upstairs, she unlocked each door before she went in. When she walked out with her sheets, she relocked the door.
And as she walked out, she chuckled. She was removing ghosts, wasn’t she? Taking away all those white sheets that made the rooms so spooky.
She unlocked the master bedroom and went inside the last room still filled with white-sheet ghosts. She hadn’t taken three steps before the stench made her gag.
Chapter Eight
Alison had run across foul odours before but nothing like this. This smell was worse than any pig farm she had ever been downwind of. It was less animal than rotting carcass. It was something from the grave, from a body dead and forgotten. Holding her hand over her mouth, she backed away. She thought she would be lucky to keep down her food.
In the hall, there was no scent, which made no sense. The odour would seep out, wouldn’t it? How could it be limited to the master bedroom? That was crazy. Pinching her nose closed and breathing through her mouth, Alison entered the bedroom a second time. After four steps, she stopped and risked a small sniff.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing, there was a stale smell. But there was no stench, nothing that made her gag. Again, she was stumped. That wasn’t logical either. A smell that bad wouldn’t dissipate in a matter of seconds. What was wrong? She turned around, looking all about, searching for someone or something that could explain the stench. She found nothing.
Shaking her head, she went about her work. She pulled off the sheets and folded them as the dust filled the air.
She needed a vacuum. She added the sheets to her pile and locked the master bedroom. She felt silly locking the door, but she thought it would be wise since she was all alone — or was pretty sure she was all alone. Downstairs, Alison put the sheets in the laundry room that was part of the servants’ quarters. She would wash them later and store them somewhere. As she relocked the door, she heard the voice.
“You’ll be sorry.” She spun from the door, and the hall was empty. How…
“Who are you?” she asked.
Alison received no answer, even as cold fear rippled through her body. Something was wrong. Someone was talking to her.
Someone was blasting her with cold air and throat-burning stench. Someone?
Afraid, Alison reasoned that she had done enough for one day. Being alone made her feel terribly vulnerable. She told herself that leaving was a good idea. She needed more help anyway. Putting the frying pan back in the kitchen, she hurried to the front door and ran out.
She locked it and stepped back. Looking up, she spotted a face in a window. A face? She blinked twice, and when she looked again, the face was gone. Had there been a face? Or was she predisposed to see things that weren’t there, hear things that were never said, smell odours generated inside her own head?
She needed someone else who could confirm her observations. As she backed away, she stared at the window. The face did not appear.
In her cramped flat, Alison worked through the spreadsheet that listed all the tasks that stood between her and a real bed-and-breakfast. There were more than she needed, perhaps more than her meagre budget could execute. Telling herself not to worry, she packed her bags. While she had the flat to the end of the month, she was moving into her new home.
Alison didn’t bother ringing up Paul before she left for the manor. She didn’t expect him to be ready, and she didn’t have room in her car which was filled with her clothes and some small items from her flat.
In the morning sun, the manor looked almost inviting. Then, a dark cloud passed over the sun, and the manor became a sort of brooding behemoth. Alison blinked at the transformation.
Alison was pleased to find the key to the servants’ quarters exactly where she had left it. And the quarters appeared the same. As she arranged her clothes in bureau and closet, she chided herself for forgetting towels. While she had brought bedding, towels had e
scaped her notice. Perhaps, she might find some left over from before, although that seemed unlikely. She would probably have to run to town and buy some.
What she did do was go into the bathroom she chose to use and turn on the spigot in the tub, just to make sure the water worked. And just as Willard had promised, water gushed out — dirty water. She would have to flush the pipes, and that would begin immediately.
She had no idea how to go about flushing the system, but she supposed she should start at the top. Water flowed down, didn’t it?
She left the servants’ quarters and as her habit, she locked the door and kept the key. Upstairs, she paused at the first bedroom.
No key.
She stood in front of the door and literally shook. She was certain she had left the key on the moulding. She tried the door, and it was locked. She tried every door, and every door was locked, with no key in sight. She reached the master bedroom and frowned. Its key was exactly where she had left it. She unlocked the door and went inside. She didn’t have to look twice. The missing keys were on the mantel. She looked all around, but she saw no evidence of anyone being there. Someone had moved the keys. Who? And the keys were arranged in a line.
Chapter Nine
Alison stared. Who would do that? She looked down the line of keys and they pointed to the bed. What did that mean? Who would go to the trouble to line up the keys? And who moved the keys?
She looked around the room, and as before, she didn’t sense anyone. She looked at the dust on top the mantel, and it was undisturbed except for the keys. That seemed utterly bonkers. What if no one moved the keys?
The thought popped up inside her head. If no one moved the keys, then she had done it before she left, and she did not move the keys—that she could remember. Then, it had to be Willard or a family member who had kept a key. And she could fix that. She pulled out her mobile and called a locksmith. She would put an end to unannounced visits.
