The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  The locksmith wasn’t immediately available, and while that bothered Alison a bit, it was not a game changer. She went back to work. She grabbed the keys, and she determined which key went to which room. Then, she searched for tags.

  She wanted to label the keys before they disappeared again although she didn’t think they would disappear from her pocket. She found some labels in the kitchen and then worked out a system for identifying the rooms that the keys opened.

  She supposed that after she made some additions, she would name the rooms. And the room names would be added to the keys. She found the whole key thing a big unnerving. Who would have guessed that keys would pose a problem? Armed with labels and keys, she worked out a system. “rm 1, ls” translated into “room 1, left side” as one moved toward the master bedroom. That worked. Once she had labelled the keys, she put them in her pocket and returned to the master bedroom to start flushing the pipes.

  She opened all the taps and let the water run for some minutes. She thought the water looked clear enough, but she wasn’t absolutely sure. She did the same for every tap on the top floor. They all ran clean, and she was happy. Then, she descended to the bottom floor and went to the kitchen as the only loos on the first floor were in the servants’ quarters.

  She turned on the tap in the kitchen and smiled as the water rushed out clean and pure. Then, it seemed to pink right before her eyes.

  Pink?

  The pink grew darker, and her mouth opened wide—because the pink soon became red, and the red, well, the red looked like…blood.

  Too afraid to touch the tap, she stared as blood gushed into the sink and swirled away. She bit her knuckle as her body shivered. What the hell was happening?

  The small voice inside her head told her that she had to shut off the tap, shut off the blood. But she couldn’t move. She was terrified. It was blood, more blood than she thought possible. Yet, she had to do something.

  She inched forward, as if the blood were about to leap out and coat her. She stretched her hand out, her fingers quivering. Her hand hovered an inch above the tap handle. Taking a deep breath, she moved as quickly as she could. She shut off the tap and jumped back, as if nipped by electricity.

  From some distance, she watched the last of the blood disappear down the drain. She stared, not sure what came next. She knew she would have to try the tap again.

  Because there really couldn’t be blood in the pipes. Maybe rust, and she could handle rust, but not blood. She needed to make certain of that. But that meant turning the handle again, and she couldn’t bring herself to do that…not yet.

  Instead, she backed away. What she needed was a cup of tea. She kept a wary eye on the tap as she brewed her tea, and she sat at the table, still afraid to get too close.

  The doorbell chime made her jump.

  Who could that be?

  The locksmith smiled from beneath a plaid hat. Older than Alison, his white moustache made him look like someone’s grandfather, which he probably was. And Alison had never been so happy to welcome someone into the house. She needed company, even if it was only a tradesman. And while she offered tea, he turned her down. He had other calls to make.

  So, she showed him the locks she needed changed, and he set to work. She returned to the kitchen—and the bloody tap.

  She faced the tap and steeled herself. She assured herself that what came out earlier could not be blood. It was some sort of rust-and-something mix that looked like blood.

  Nothing more. Yet, turning on the tap was not easy. She edged up to it, as if trying to be a fake or something.

  Then, she moved quickly, twisting the handle and jumping back. She knew she looked silly, but she was taking no chances.

  No blood.

  Nothing but clear water, not even a hint of pink or anything. She stared, and not for the first time, she wondered if her mind was working properly. Everything that had happened to her could be explained by some sort of brain tumour or malady. Because she was scared, she was making up the events. It was as if she didn’t really want to open the manor. But she had to open the manor. Her life was now entwined with it, and if she didn’t open it, she would face long years of poverty. She reached out and turned off the tap. Her brain, perhaps her brain needed more sleep.

  The locksmith finished faster than Alison thought possible, and he presented her a bill. She paid with a cheque, and he left with a smile. She smiled also as she locked the doors. Pocketing all the new keys, she could now make certain she was totally alone. While that sounded good for determining the answer to the key mystery, it didn’t sound particularly safe. Yet, she felt better, and that was a good thing.

  She looked around a moment while she decided what to do next. There were many, many items that required attention, and she wasn’t quite sure where to start.

  She supposed the kitchen would be a good place. She needed to know exactly how much of everything she had acquired. As she pushed through the swinging door, she heard the voice.

  “There you are.”

  Chapter Ten

  Alison yelped and turned, her hands balled into fists. And there stood Paul.

  “What are you doing here?” Alison asked.

  “You asked me to help, remember and we are an item, aren’t we?”

  He tossed his duffle bag into the corner. Alison felt a rush of relief, with Paul here things might not be so crazy.

  “Of course, but how did you get in?”

  “I walked right past the old guy working on the lock. By the way, why are the upstairs bedrooms locked?”

  “I didn’t hear you come in. You frightened me.”

  “Relax, Alison, I’m not the bogey-man.

  And as soon as I’ve put my stuff away and had a cuppa I’ll do whatever you want me to do. But I have to tell you right now that the larder is bare. I’ll have to shop if I’m going to fix a decent meal.”

  “I think I would prefer the pub tonight,” Alison said. “But you certainly can go about setting up your kitchen.”

  He grabbed his bag and marched off upstairs, “Pour a cuppa for me, I’ll be right at it as soon as I’m done.”

  Alison poured his cup but took her tea with her as she went to the parlour that would be her office. She set down her cup and went upstairs, unlocking all the bedrooms and leaving the keys in the locks.

  She encountered no odours or icy pockets or voices, and she felt immediately better. Perhaps, all she needed was another person around. Paul was here, things wouldn’t seem so strange now.

  She returned to her office and went about moving the narrow table that would become her desk into position jostling it around for the best view of the front walk and the hall. Satisfied, she sat back and smiled. It was beginning to look as if all the issues were inside her head, not in the manor.

  Then, she heard Paul bellow.

  She found Paul at the sink. He was holding his hand under running water, and she could see that he was bleeding. At the sight of the pinkish water, Alison almost vomited. It was like… well… like what she had seen earlier, but this was real. Paul was bleeding.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Bloody knife moved.”

  “What do you mean the knife moved?”

  “I was arranging the knives, and well, I wasn’t paying much attention. I laid one down, blade at the top, as I always do. When I grabbed it, the blade was down, and the damn thing sliced me right open.”

  He held up his wet hand, and she saw a wicked gash on his palm. “You need stitches, and probably some kind of shot. The knives haven’t been washed in some time.”

  “Just my luck. But what I really need is a bit of whiskey. Did you find any?”

  She shook her head. “Wrap up your hand. I’ll take you to hospital.”

  She watched the water as he wrapped his hand in a napkin. It hadn’t turned red, and she counted that as a good thing.

  The doctors didn’t want to put stitches in Paul’s hand. Instead, they applied some sort of glue and
a wrap. The told him not to try to use the hand right away because the glue might not hold. In which case, they would be forced to use stitches. The also gave him a vaccine against tetanus even as he protested. Alison had the impression that he was a bit of a baby.

  As soon as they left the dispensary, Paul insisted on a pub. He said he could not go back until he had taken something for the pain. Alison wasn’t about to argue. But it wasn’t just one nip of whiskey. It was a bit of whiskey and then a pint, and then another nip of whiskey…and a pint. They wiled away the afternoon, and by that time, Paul needed something to eat.

  He finished his plate despite the fact that he criticized the food from beginning to end. Of course, he could do better, but he didn’t have to carp the entire time.

  By the time Alison got Paul back to the manor, he was in no shape for anything but sleep. He wanted to take some anti-pain medication, but she said it might react with all the alcohol. That would be a bad thing. Instead, she took him to the master bedroom and helped him to flop on the bed.

  Dark had arrived, and she was certain he would remain where he was for some time. She certainly wasn’t going to wake him.

  She turned off the lights and closed the door. Even then, she could hear him snore. For a moment, she thought crawling in next to him to sleep, but it was too early. And she had other things to do. Besides, Paul was not her favourite right now.

  The first was to put the kitchen in some kind of order. She was pretty sure, she would find dried blood that needed cleaning.

  The kitchen was cold, much colder than the rest of the house, and for a moment, Alison wondered if the fridge had been left open. It hadn’t. Blowing on her fingers, she wondered where the cold came from. The manor was not air conditioned, and it was not particularly close to the sea. The air outside was cool but hardly cold. Where was it from then?

  Since the outside was warmer, Alison opened a window, letting in air. There wasn’t any sound. Then, she grabbed a towel and started cleaning the tap. The sink was spotted with Paul’s dried blood, and she cleaned it vigorously. Then, she traced his steps from the butcher block table where he had been working to the sink.

  She mopped up all the spots and looked around. Then, she carefully wiped off the sharp knife that had caused the damage.

  She wondered just how Paul had made the mistake. That wasn’t like him, not in a kitchen.

  That was his workplace. She left the knife on the block and decided sleep sounded promising. The pints weighed heavy on her eyelids.

  She trudged to the servants’ quarters. But the key wasn’t in the lock.

  She bit her lip as her knees quivered.

  The door was locked.

  Swallowing hard, she checked her pockets. She was certain she had left the key in the lock.

  She ran upstairs and stopped at the first bedroom.

  No key, locked door.

  All the bedrooms were the same — no key, locked doors.

  Alison stood in the middle of the hall and shook. She knew, knew that she had left the keys in the locks. But they weren’t there, and that was bonkers. Where were they?

  She went to the master bedroom, and the door was unlocked. She heard Paul through the door, and she was certain he had not gotten out of bed and moved the keys. The new locks on the outside doors meant that no one could have entered and move the keys. How did the keys move?

  She opened the door and went straight past Paul to the mantel. There were the keys — one extra from the servants’ quarters.

  The same as earlier, and she tilted her head to the side. Her tags (had she actually tagged them?) had been removed, leaving bare keys. She swallowed the scream inching up her throat. What the bloody hell was happening?

  Chapter Eleven

  She snatched the keys off the mantel and shoved them into her pocket. Then, marched past the sleeping Paul and down the stairs to the servants’ quarters. Entering quickly, she went inside and locked the door behind her. Alison wasn’t at all sure that she would sleep, but before she tried, she needed to do something with the other keys. She did not want them disappearing and reappearing in the master bedroom.

  Rubbing her temples in circles, Alison knew she had to solve the mystery, but her brain ached. There was no way she would be able to get it done this night. Putting all four keys in a drawer of the bedside stand she turned the stand toward the bed. That should stop the drawer from opening. Satisfied that the keys were secured she slipped into her pyjamas.

  Even as she shut off the light, she wondered if she should stay where she was, or sneak in quietly beside Paul. Would be able to sleep? Her eyelids were fluttering when she heard the laugh.

  It was an evil laugh, the evil laugh of a witch. At least, it sounded that way to Alison. Shooting upright in bed, eye’s wide, she stared into the dark.

  “Who’s there?” Alison asked.

  She received no answer. The air was still and quiet. Alison’s heart was pounding. Like a child, she slowly sunk back down into the bed and under the covers.

  Under the safety of the covers, Alison thought. It had been a harrowing day, perhaps her mind had conjured up the laugh. and her besotted brain had slipped over the edge and decided to placate the fear that ran through her body.

  Many things were running through her head. Paul’s injured hand, the wandering keys, the stench, the cold, the fear that she had sold her soul for a house that drove her crazy. She held the blanket tighter and waited for the laugh. The air was getting stuffy and Alison was holding her breath now without realising it, and then she had to breathe, she poked her nose out and gasped.

  Panting, she breathed in deep and waited. In the blackness she had no idea how long she waited. Sleep came like a thief.

  When Alison woke the next morning, she immediately looked at the bedside table. It hadn’t moved. She thanked heaven for that. Then, she pushed out the table and checked the drawer. All the keys were there, and she breathed easier. Perhaps, with some help, she would determine how all the oddities occurred. She didn’t want to think it was her brain, but she wasn’t willing to countenance some unearthly explanation…not yet.

  Sunshine filled the room, and she slipped to the bureau in a good mood—that quickly disappeared. She stared at the bureau, and her stomach flipped.

  What the hell was Paul’s wallet doing on her bureau?

  In her pyjamas, Alison grabbed the wallet and marched to the door. Locked, just as she had left it. She unlocked the door and rushed out. As she headed for the master bedroom, she examined the wallet.

  How had it made it to her bureau? It wasn’t there when she went to sleep. She was certain of that — well, almost certain. She didn’t bother knocking on the master bedroom door. She ran right in and found Paul still sprawled across the bed.

  “Wake up,” she said. “Wake up.”

  Paul groaned and turned. “What’s up? What do you want?”

  “I want to know how you managed to put your wallet in my room.”

  He blinked, clearly confused. “My wallet? Why it’s right…” He felt his pocket and frowned. “Where is it?”

  Alison dangled the wallet in front of him. “It was in my locked room.”

  “Well, don’t blame me for putting it there. I was asleep.”

  “And I never left my room.”

  “Of course, you did. It’s not like I can pass through a locked door.” They stared at each other. Alison knew there had to be a rational explanation, but she couldn’t come up with it at the moment.

  “Get dressed,” Alison said. “I’ll put on the tea.”

  “I am dressed,” he answered. “And I need something for my hand.”

  “You know what I mean. Change clothes.” She whirled and left the room. In the kitchen, Alison started the tea and turned the wallet problem over and over in her mind. The doors and windows were locked. Yet, the wallet had arrived somehow.

  It wasn’t like a science fiction movie where things materialized out of thin air. She was sure she had not left t
he room in the middle of the night and collected the wallet from Paul’s pocket. Then, how it did come to be on her bureau?

  “How did it get there?” Alison asked out loud.

  “But you know.”

  The woman’s voice came from behind, and Alison spun as quickly as she could. The kitchen was empty. For a moment, she was confused. She had heard the voice as plain as day. But there was no one there. Her hands quivered. Now, she was hearing a woman, a younger woman from the sound of her voice. But how in the devil had it gotten into her kitchen? And the voice had answered her question, which meant it was somehow listening, and that was utterly impossible.

  “I’m shaken up,” Alison said to herself. “Now, I’m hearing what isn’t there. Maybe I did sleepwalk.”

  She turned back to her work, and a puff of cold air raced across the back of her neck, making her hair rise. She turned again. No one. Was she imagining the cold too? Could people imagine touches? Could people invent entire scenarios that never took place?

  She knew the answer to that question. The asylums were filled with people who claimed to be Napoleon or Shakespeare. Hadn’t she read something about a man who claimed to be from the distant future? Stranded here because his time machine broke? Hadn’t he passed a lie detector test?

  That was blotto as far as she was concerned, and yet, she had no doubt that the man was totally convinced of his story. Was she slipping out of reality and into some realm that would land her in an institution?

  “Where are the pills?” Paul asked as he entered.

  “I’ll get them,” Alison replied. “Did you hear anything on your way down?”

  “No, was I supposed to?”

  “I thought I heard something. I must be mistaken.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Well, first, you didn’t remember pinching my wallet.”

  “I did not pinch your wallet.”

  “Second, you heard something that wasn’t there. Are you doing drugs?”

  Anger surged through her. “I have never done drugs, not like some people I could name.”