As she approached the door the inside of the house seemed dark and threatening and Rosie felt her feet start to drag. This was ridiculous! There was no choice, she had to go in there and clear out the mess. Of course she was dreading it, who wouldn't be?
Quickly she almost ran through the door. The house was cold but that was all she felt.
Dropping the bay leaves on the kitchen table, she then found some plastic bin bags and headed for the pantry. The house was quiet as if it was waiting and the air seemed charged with static.
Of course, it would just be her imagination. The thought of eating something that was alive... wriggling and squirming. Something that was dirty and rotten. Something that was more at home in decaying meat and food. It was going to take her a while to come to terms with that. An ache in her throat and a tightness in her chest brought it all back but she would not be controlled. She was stronger than this, she’d better get started on cleaning. Throwing out the food was the most productive thing she could do.
Once in the pantry, she tossed the coffee cake into a bag. Part of her wanted to open it up and see what was inside and yet if she did and it was riddled with maggots would she ever sleep again?
So she simply dumped it into the bag and then walked along the pantry throwing away anything that wasn't sealed in either tin or glass. There were flour and biscuits, currents and dried fruit, ham and some sausages, and a great big bunch of onions as well as many other items she did not even know what they were.
Once that was done she took the two full bags outside and dumped them in the rubbish bin. Now she could start cleaning.
With lots of soapy water she took everything off the shelves scrubbed everything down and then put it back. While she was working she felt better. As the time flew by all her problems were forgotten and just this simple movement seemed to ease all her troubles.
Occasionally, she thought she heard the piano. Only, when she stopped to listen it was gone. Once or twice she heard whispering and footsteps in the corridor. Again, when she stopped to listen there was nothing there. It had to all be in her head. Auditory hallucinations were all she could put it down to. After all, the medication she was on, along with the lack of sleep, was bound to mess with her head.
Once everything was cleaned, she filled a bowl with vinegar and peppermint oil, which she had found in a cupboard, and wiped everything down once more. The pantry smelled a strange mixture of the acidic vinegar all overlaid with what seemed like polo mints. It wasn’t unpleasant.
Next, she spread the shelves and the floor with the bay leaves and then she put everything back.
It had taken several hours, her back was aching, her throat was parched and she was hungry but she could not face the thought of food. So she made herself another pot of tea and went back out to the garden.
The sun had risen past its apex and was sinking slowly down the horizon. The day was still not cold and it was pleasant enough to sit outside. So she closed her eyes, sipped on the tea and tried to get back into her story. Soon, she would be writing again and once the story took over she could forget everything else.
It didn't take long for the characters to talk to her. Miles and Henrietta were corresponding by letter and each was describing the person they were expected to court.
Miles described her as an insipid and haughty creature who couldn't hold a conversation with a pack mule. The description delighted her and she could just see the handsome Duke penning the words in an elegant and yet, masculine script.
How could she have Henrietta describe him? Screwing her eyes tight she put herself inside the woman's head and transported herself back 200 years to Regency Britain.
In her mind, she was Henrietta who sat at a writing desk having just taken off her bonnet and gloves. She was breathless with excitement as she opened her correspondence and began to read. The letter delighted her and brought her out of her current gloom. Henrietta was chuckling aloud to herself at the thought of this poor insipid creature unable to keep up with the mule's conversation. She could almost see the mule raise its brown head. Big expressive eyes focused on the girl as it opened its lips in conversation.
The letter formed in her mind and she read it just as clearly as if it was handwritten in front of her. Then in her mind, she took a breath and pulled down an expensive piece of paper. Taking a bottle of ink and a quill, she began to write back. The first part of the letter was just Henrietta thanking him for his correspondence and telling him a little bit about her day. As the words formed, she couldn’t resist describing the Duke that she was being forced to marry. The description flowed from her as if she was Henrietta and was in fact writing it at that very moment. The Duke is pompous and conceited, she wrote, and more stubborn than any man I have ever known. He could possibly even be that Mule you write about.
Rosie opened her eyes excited at the story. The words and images were flowing faster than she could remember and she knew it was time to start writing. Picking up her cup of tea, she rushed back to the house. This time there was no hesitation on entering. She was in full creative flow and it took over all of her thoughts. She almost ran to the writing room opened her laptop and navigated to the document. It was hard to keep everything straight in her head and her eyes were hardly on the screen until the document was open. Even then, she looked down at her notepad and began to scribble notes. Little bits about the conversation, bits about the dress and the house the atmosphere about how Henrietta was feeling. When she thought she had enough teasers to remember all she had imagined, she looked up at the laptop screen and almost fell off her chair.
Written across the page was just one word repeated over and over again and it chilled her blood to the bone. Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die
There were pages and pages of it. Rosie felt a sharp pain in her chest and the hairs rose on her arms. She pushed her chair back wanting to get away from that awful sight.
What was happening? Who was doing this to her and why? Every instinct told her to run. To leave that place and run to the priest's house. Or to run back to the road and just get away from there. Almost in a daze, she began to stand but something stopped her. She had never run away from anything and she would not run now. There had to be a logical explanation for this. Maybe she typed one die and somehow the computer had just copied it. Maybe she was going mad or maybe somebody was messing with her. It didn't matter, she had run far enough, and it was time to make a stand.
Reaching out, she slammed the laptop closed intending to go do something else but what else was there to do? The house had no television. She had a phone with the Kindle app so she could read but she couldn't call anyone and right now she needed to talk to someone. The only people she could talk to were her characters so she had to face the story.
Her fingers were shaking as she reached out to lift the laptop up. The touch of the cold plastic sent a chill through her. Maybe she should go, maybe she was being foolish but she was stubborn and proud, and she would not give in. With a jerk, she opened the screen and stared defiantly at the page.
The words had gone. Staring back at her was a blank sheet with the simple words Chapter 7 at the top. Panic reared up inside of her and her arms prickled as blood raced into them. Touching the mouse pad, she scrolled up and down. There was nothing but normal words and normal writing. All the way through the document she scrolled and then she checked her other documents but everything she opened was just as she had written it. Dropping her head into her hands, she sobbed. It was all in her mind. Nothing was wrong here except her.
It just had to be the medication. Only, if that was true how could she trust anything she did? Right then she wished more than anything that she could speak to Amy. Maybe she should walk across to the priest's house and ask if he could give her a lift to town. Yet, she felt so tired and decided all she could do was relax in the bath and get some sleep. Mayb
e tomorrow things would be better.
8
It was only three in the afternoon and yet, the thought of a bath drew her like a hungry dog to a bone. Maybe it would help her relax and she could get some sleep afterward. Maybe that was what she needed and all of this foolishness would drift away.
Hoping that she was right, she made her way back to the sumptuous bedroom and then into the bathroom. It was a small but lovely room. The walls were half paneled and painted in a battleship gray. A cast iron roll top bath stood on claw feet and dominated the room. The bottom was painted to match the walls, the floor covered in gray quarry tiles. It all gave the room a somber feel.
The sink and toilet looked old and antique and stood like soldiers supporting the bath. Next to them was a rack with towels, it all looked like a posh hotel room in some bygone age. Waiting for her, a lady, to enjoy the waters.
Quickly she turned on the taps and was pleased that the water ran clear. For one awful moment she imagined the black gunk that had come out of the kitchen taps the first time she used them. Luckily, that had gone.
As the water ran, she sat on the edge of the bath and poured in some bath salts. They turned the water almost blue, but again, it seemed to match the gray of the rest of the room. It amused her and yet also felt a little threatening.
What was wrong with her?
Even the color of the bath salts could make her ill at ease. Maybe she was having a breakdown? Maybe she should get help?
As the water ran, she pulled towels from the rack and put them to her nose. They smelt of mildew and rot and when she opened them up she could see where mold had grown in black dots across the cream thread. Dropping them to the floor she pulled back with disgust. Could things get any worse?
Tears formed in her eyes and she wanted to sink to the floor but she would not. She was stronger than this, so she went to the bedroom and pulled a towel out of her case. There was always a way around things and the easiest way here was to bleach the towels... or bin them.
That sounded like a good choice so she scooped them up and went to the back door. It was unlocked.
Had she left it so?
Unsure, she took the towels out and threw them on top of the rotten food. The bin was almost full and she had only been here such a short time.
For some reason that made her chuckle. What would her employers think? Here she was throwing away such a large amount of their stuff? There again, what should she think... when everything in the house was rotten? It seemed sinister and yet maybe it was just that Matron had been ill for longer than they realized. She had simply let things get on top of her.
Locking the door, she went back to the bedroom and stripped off her clothes.
Stepping into the bath, she sank down into the luxurious heat of the water. It cradled her in soft warmth that lulled away the stresses of the day. Closing her eyes she slipped even lower and let her body almost float. The water caressed her shoulders and eased out the knots she hadn't even realized were there. Bit by bit, she began to relax and let go of all the things that had happened. It was foolish to dwell on them when they were probably all in her mind. It was time to recuperate and start again.
Before long, her mind wandered back to her book and the up-and-coming scene she was about to write.
Henrietta was preparing for a ball where she would have to dance with the mule of a Duke. Suddenly, she imagined the animal all dressed up for the ball. He would be wearing cream breaches with black boots and a crimson tailcoat. An extravagant cravat hung around the jackasses’ neck and he batted his eyelids and twitched his big, brown and furry ears as Henrietta walked in.
She found herself laughing. It was good to escape into fiction and maybe she could use this scene to add a little humor to her book. Only it was time to get serious. The ball scene was one that needed careful thought and so she relaxed back and emptied her mind. Gradually, she worked her way into her character and became Henrietta. With her maid, she had chosen an empire gown in a royal blue with metallic trim. With the extremely high waist and narrow shape it would suit her perfectly and would be matched with long white gloves that came past her elbows and a necklace of large stones that matched the color of the dress.
Rosie concentrated on creating a picture of the gown in her mind. Committing it to her memory so that when she returned to her writing desk she could describe it perfectly.
Henrietta was excited about the beautiful dress and going to the ball, but at the same time she wished she could share it with her secret pen pal. That, she would not have to spend time with the jackass.
Rosie laughed again and almost opened her eyes. The house was perfect for her writing and in between the patches of madness she was having so much fun. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the house. Or maybe she was just relaxing more but her mind seemed more creative and the words were flowing quicker than ever. If she could just keep control of her paranoia and these annoying hallucinations then she would soon finish this book.
It was only two more days until Amy arrived. Surely, she could hold it together until she did, then all of her problems would be solved. Amy had promised to stay for a few weeks. In that time, surely she could chase away these nightmares and return to some semblance of normality.
Dragging her mind back to the story, she began to plan the carriage ride to the ball.
She could almost hear the footsteps of the footman as she waited in the carriage full of excitement.
Something cold touched her head. At first she thought it was in her imagination but before she could react she was pushed beneath the warm water. Taken by surprise she opened her mouth to shout and hot water ran down her throat. Instantly, she was transported back to the present and a world of terror. Her lungs contracted and forced her to cough. At the same time she kicked against the bath trying to find something to push against. Her arms flailed against the side. Her legs against the base of the slippery tub as she tried to force herself upward and out of the water. It was all to no avail. Her lungs were bursting as she tried to keep her mouth closed all the time struggling against the force that kept her down.
The hand on her head was so cold. Ice traced down from that touch and threatened to send her into shock. Yet, she must not let it. Thrashing and kicking, punching and clawing she held her breath for her life and yet she knew at some point she would have to breathe in. When that happened her lungs would be flooded with warm scented water and she would drown.
At some point she opened her eyes and she could see dark figures above her. They surrounded the bath.
Kicking with all her might, she managed to raise her head above the water. At first she coughed and spat out a great stream of hot liquid. They were coming back at her and she knew she would be pushed beneath the surface so she drew in a long breath and held it.
Before she was pushed back under she could see they were wearing dark gray hooded cloaks and they were chanting. She could not understand what they said but she remembered it from her dream. She tried to see their faces but just before she was plunged back beneath the hot water she could see that there was just a dark hole beneath the cloaks. Fear squeezed her heart and filled her veins with ice just as she was forced back beneath the surface.
Once more, she was in a fight for her life. Thrashing from side to side kicking and clawing at the hand that held her. Nothing seemed to help, nothing seemed to work and the lights were growing dim. Her nails clawed at the heavy cloth but to no avail and despite her best efforts, she drew in a lungful of water. As it hit her lungs her body spasmed and tried to expel it. This was it! She was drowning. Her lungs screamed, her muscles ached and terror clenched tight on her heart.
Hot water filled her lungs and eased away her panic. Instead, she felt warm, as if she was floating. Was this it? Would she die here in this bathtub not knowing why? Not knowing if this was real or all in her mind?
The pressure was released and she floated back to the surface coughing and sputtering. The bathroom was empty. There was no one the
re.
Rosie sat up and leaned over the side. Retching so hard it felt like her lungs would come out with the water. All she had swallowed streamed out of her and onto the floor. Tears were running down her face as she coughed and spluttered and tried to draw in precious air. Gasping desperately, she leaned on the bath. Though she couldn’t see. The room was black and filled with terrors. It took a moment or two before she could pull in enough air and the gasping slowed down. Gradually her vision returned and she searched the room.
It was empty, she was all alone.
Exhaustion took over. The adrenaline that had kept her alive was gone and she was beat.
Had she imagined this? There really was no one there.
As soon as she felt able to stand she climbed out of the tub and grabbed her towel. Stumbling, she ran to the bed and threw herself on it. Leaning back, she looked up at the ceiling. What was wrong with her? Had this happened? No, it couldn't have... there was no one here. Then something came to her mind. Was this a haunting? Was she just attacked by ghosts? For a moment she contemplated such a thing and then she began to laugh. It had to have been a hallucination. After all, it was still daylight. If these were really ghosts then surely they would wait until nightfall. Hot tears streamed down her face as she wondered if she really was going mad.
Part of her wanted to run from the house, to do anything to get out of there, yet she was so tired. Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep and for the first time in a while she did not dream. It was an exhausted, deep sleep and she woke a few hours later hungry and feeling refreshed.
At first she could not remember what happened, but it soon seeped back into her mind. As it did, she heard something above her. The sound of whispering, of soft footsteps. Was someone up there? Were they playing tricks? It seemed the obvious answer and she knew she had to find out. Part of her still wanted to run but she wouldn’t. If someone was there then she would confront them and she would find out what was happening once and for all.
The Ghosts of RedRise House Page 6
