Panting heavily she found she couldn’t move. Shock had frozen her muscles and she kneeled over the grave. Her head close to the stone then a flash of lightning lit up the sky.
A scream escaped her as she read the faded inscription.
Father Nickolas Aubrey
1725 – 1752
It couldn’t be? It couldn’t be the same priest, the one who had visited her and yet she knew it was.
Where could I run now?
11
Rosie knew she could not go back. Something was happening there and she had to escape it. Logic told her that if she just kept going forward, then sooner or later she would come to somewhere and someone. She would find help and so she carried on in the same direction, tearing back into the trees and running as fast as she could.
Though she knew she would have to slow down eventually she could run for a few miles. Panic and adrenaline meant that she could maybe run for longer and yet tiredness was already sapping the strength from her legs. They ached and felt wooden. Maybe it was a lack of food. She hadn’t eaten well since she had got here. When was that? The days seemed to have drifted together and she wondered if it was just a couple of days or longer. When was Amy coming?
The storm seemed to have eased and as she slowed to a walk the rain stopped and all was silent. Holding her breath she listened. Was anyone chasing her?
There was no noise from behind her, no noise at all. Not even the dripping of the water from the trees. At first that seemed creepy. One moment she was running through torrential rain the next it was just so still. The calm after the storm! Maybe she was safe, maybe she had outrun her followers. That gave her a boost and she let out a big whoosh of air.
Setting off at a steady walk she searched for signs of life. For lights in the darkness, or the sound of traffic. Anything that would tell her people were close. Anything that could lead her to safety.
There was nothing for as far as the eye could see and so she bit down on her disappointment and just kept walking. Patting her pockets she searched for her phone. Maybe she would have a signal and if not it would give her a welcome light. The phone wasn’t there. It must be on her desk. Without it she felt more alone and more vulnerable than she had felt in a long while. For a moment her scars itched. The one on her cheek throbbed and those on her arm and chest burned. It happened whenever she was reminded of her past, whenever she thought about Clive. Only tonight that boosted her. She had survived him against all the odd, she could survive a walk in a wood... forest?
Feeling better she set off at a jog. Moving faster but still being careful that she placed her feet with caution. It would do her no good to fall again. A vision of her as a corpse, sat against a tree with a broken leg flashed into her mind. What was wrong with her and her damned creative mind?
Barely containing her panic, she weaved through the trees always going towards the lightest cloud whenever it peeked through the tops of the branches. It had to be the one that hid the moon and so she had to be going in a straight line. Trees brushed her already soaked arms and covered her in even more cold water. She would have done anything to be warm, dry, and safe. To be sat on Amy’s sofa with a big steaming mug of hot chocolate and a blanket.
Up ahead she saw some lights. A beacon in the darkness, they lured her to them. It looked like a single house but it took a weight off her shoulders and she picked up her pace. Weaving through the trees her legs were lighter and faster. She was able to duck more easily and eventually came out of the darkness and approached the dwelling.
As the clouds cleared she let out a wail of anguish. She was back at the house. Back where she started. Only every light in the place seemed to be on. It glowed without warmth. The light mocked her, taunted her almost and she wondered if she dared approach.
How could she be back here? Had she run in circles? That wasn’t possible. She was always going towards the moon, of that she was sure and yet... It didn’t make sense. For a moment she felt her knees buckle but she would not give in. Would not let it beat her. As she stood wondering what she should do next she saw movement up at the house.
The door swung open and there was something wrong about it. It was a dark wooden door but there was something darker on it. Fear clenched onto her heart and she wondered just how much more she could take. After all the exertion and the shock how much could her poor body cope with before it simply gave up the ghost? For a moment her own thought caused her to giggle and she realized that she was close to hysteria. It was understandable. This had been one hell of a night.
Her eyes flicked back to the woods and the possibility of escape but she knew it was no use. If she ran again then she was sure she would end up right back here. Exactly where she started only more and more tired each time. Maybe she could go in and get her phone. Maybe she could get far enough away to get a signal? Next time she would ignore the woods and try the driveway. It had been a long way to the road but she was young and fit, she was sure she could make it.
Knowing she had no choice, she approached the house. At least inside she could get out of her wet clothes and into something warm and dry.
The closer she got to the house the more dread she felt and the more she wanted to turn and run. When she was just a few feet away she looked down at her arms. They should have been covered in scratches from the nails of the children earlier and from her desperate flee through the woods. Yet her skin was not touched. She still had the ugly puckered scar from the burn, but that was all.
Had she imagined this? Had she imagined it all? With her head down inspecting her skin she walked up to the door and then looked up.
A scream was ripped from her throat.
Pinned to the door was the black cat. Its lifeless eyes stared at her accusingly. Its pink tongue peeked from between sharp white teeth and soft pink gums. Blood ran from the paws that were nailed to the wood and its fur was roughened with dried blood.
The beast’s stomach had been opened and its entrails were hanging down like some macabre decoration.
Rosie screamed and the world began to fade. This was it, she couldn’t go on. Though she tried to stagger backward her knees buckled and she hit the floor. As she lay before the door she welcomed the blackness that came over her.
At least I escaped for a little while.
12
Rosie jerked awake, cold sweat running down her back as she bolted up in the bed. A mournful meow pulled her eyes down to the covers. There, curled up beside her, was the cat. Its sleek black fur looked perfect. For a moment she had a vision of the mottled animal hanging from the door. Then she blinked and could see the cat before her. Its orange eyes chastised her for waking it and Rosie let out a gasp.
It was all a dream, all just a bad dream.
She reached over and grabbed her phone. It was 9.45 and she had overslept. Quickly she checked and the alarm was set. She must have slept right through it.
Stretching, she got out of bed and was pulled to her writing room and the laptop. As she approached she noticed that the laptop was still on. That seemed strange. The screen usually went into sleep mode after ten minutes without activity. It had to have been a lot longer than that since she last sat at the desk. Clicking the mouse pad she flicked to an open document and began reading.
Somehow it was open on a paranormal romance. A girl, Susan, was lost in a time warp where she kept returning to the same spot over and over again. A ghost, Ben, was trying to help her but he couldn’t quite break through the vale. He had to watch her being tormented by his brother, an evil spirit out for revenge on her family. As Ben tried to save her, his brother Graham wanted to harm her all because her great, great, grandfather had stolen the woman he loved. Ben found himself falling further and further in love with her and yet to save her he had to destroy his brother. Could he do it?
Susan did not know that the two men were spirits until half way through the book. By this time, she had already fallen for Ben. As he saved her life she had to decide whether to free him and never se
e him again or whether to cling selfishly to his love.
Rosie stopped reading just as she was about to make the decision. That was as far as she had written and she wanted to read the end of the story. It was obviously her own writing and yet it was like nothing she had written before. It was much better and much more real. Was this what her nightmare had been all about? If it were, she would cope with a few nightmares just to finish this story. So, how would it finish?
Closing her eyes, she tried to get inside the characters but nothing would come and then her stomach gave an almighty rumble. She was hungry. When was the last time she had eaten? It felt like days ago and maybe it was. She had been unable to face food after the maggot incident. But there were cans in the pantry and bread in the fridge. That had to be all right, didn’t it?
Knowing she must eat she set off to the kitchen. The cat followed and she opened it a can of tuna. It meowed its thanks and tucked into the food.
Rosie took the bread out of the fridge and checked it thoroughly before popping 2 slices under the grill. Then she took out some cheese and checked it over too. It looked fine and so she cut some slices while the toast cooked. Then she smothered the bread in cheese and put it back under the grill, while the kettle boiled. Once everything was done she took her tea and toast back to the bedroom.
Eating, she reread the last chapter of the book and tried to get inside the characters once more. Nothing happened. It was as if they wouldn’t talk to her and she was getting frustrated. She closed the laptop, took a quick shower and got dressed. Then she grabbed her phone and took her plate and cup back to the kitchen. Her plan was to wash them, make a list of food she needed and then go for a walk. She could walk down the driveway and see how far she had to go until she got a signal. It couldn’t be that far and at least if she knew then it would be something to comfort her the next time she had a nightmare.
As she walked into the kitchen she could hear whispering and then she noticed the door in the corner was open. The one with the note on it telling her not to enter. How had that happened?
Slowly, cautiously she approached it. As she looked into the door she could see steep steps leading away into a dark hole. About five steps down was a young girl. She looked about eight. Her unkempt hair was ruffled and flat as if she had just got out of bed.
Their eyes met and the girl brought a finger to her lips. The sign for silence.
Rosie nodded.
The girl gave a slight smile and beckoned her to follow.
Rosie looked behind her. There was no one there so the girl must mean her, but could she follow? Could she go down those stairs, and to where?
“Be quick before Matron finds us,” the girl whispered.
Rosie nodded and followed her onto the stairs. The door closed behind her and the stairway was plunged into darkness. Rosie felt her chest tighten and the breath catch in her throat. Then a match flared and light filled the passageway. The girl was holding an old-fashioned oil lantern. With a quick nod, she turned away and began to descend.
Rosie wanted to ask who she was and what she was doing but her throat would not work. It was dry and blocked by a lump she just could not swallow.
Down and down they climbed and soon she could hear the sound of rushing water. What am I doing? Why am I following? Then she wondered if it was another dream, but when had she slept.
She felt into her pocket, her phone was there. Pulling it out she activated the torch but the light was so harsh that it stopped the girl. They stood on the stairs, so close they were eye to eye.
“Who are you?” she managed to ask.
“My name is Alice, and we must hurry. They want to keep you. Maybe, I can help you escape but we must hurry before Matron finds out.”
Alice turned and carried on going down and down the stairs.
A tingle of goosebumps rose on Rosie’s arms, she wanted to go back but she knew she must follow. At the bottom she could see an underground river racing past. There was a path alongside it that headed both left and right. Alice turned left as if she knew exactly where she was going. They came to a room and in front of them was a door.
Alice raised her finger to her lips again and stepped to one side. There was a small alcove filled with shelves, filled with books. Alice scoured the titles raising the lantern high and then stretched up on her tiptoes and pulled down a book and handed it to Rosie.
“Maybe this can help you. Matron is strong, she does not want you to leave. Maybe if you understand you can escape.” She handed over the book and lowered her head.
Rosie took the book it was cold and heavy in her hands. Leather lined, the cover felt slimy from the dampness in the air and she almost dropped it. Glancing down she read the title.
“The Sacrifices of RedRise House and the Resurrection of Old Hag.”
“What does it mean?” she asked but Alice had already turned away.
She was walking back towards the door and there was a look on her face which spoke of both hope and torture.
Rosie followed and watched as Alice approached the door. It opened as her hand touched the handle and she was pulled inside. Light flickered from the room and Rosie rushed forward to see the young girl surrounded by cloaked individuals. They did not look at Rosie. Maybe they couldn’t see her. Though she knew she should turn and run she felt drawn to watch. Somehow she knew this was not happening now. Maybe it was another nightmare and she was safe and sound in bed. Or maybe this was an echo from the past. One she had somehow tuned into. One she could watch but could not interrupt or alter. Though this made sense, she did not think about the book that weighed so heavily in her hands. If she had, she would have felt the full force of terror that knowledge would bring.
Stealthily she crept up to the door.
Alice thrashed desperately as two of the figures lifted her from her feet with practiced ease. With their thick heavy cloaks and dark hoods it was impossible to see any details of their features, just that one was shorter and not as broad. A woman?
The room fell silent as they carried Alice to a stone altar and laid her on top. Though it was dark, flickering torches chased ghostly shadows across the walls and Rosie noticed a grisly cache of bones behind the altar. It was piled with human skulls.
Her stomach heaved and her breakfast came back and onto the floor. No one looked her way, no one even flinched and she knew that she was invisible to them. Should she run, should she shout out... what could she do to save this girl, to save Alice?
Alice thrashed against the hands that held her but she had no hope. They were strong and bigger and Rosie knew that they had done this before. As the child tried to escape, they locked eyes. There was a silent plea in the terrified child’s glance. Her whites so wide her eyes seemed to fill her face.
“No,” Rosie screamed but no one moved, no one even acknowledged that she was there, except for Alice.
The young girl shook her head and gestured with her eyes for Rosie to go.
Frozen to the spot, Rosie could do little but nod her agreement. Somehow she knew that the child wanted her to escape. Maybe it was to bring justice to this place. Maybe if she told of what she had found, if the bones were buried then the child would finally have peace.
In the flickering light, a knife was pulled from the cloak of one of the figures. It flashed in the darkness. Capturing what little light there was and amplifying it like some beacon of hope. Only there was no hope in the terrified child’s eyes. Now all they focused on was the sharpness of the cutting edge. It would slice through skin, sinew, muscle and maybe even bone without a moment’s hesitation.
Alice was shaking now, her body almost convulsing with fear and Rosie felt her own flesh quake in sympathy. The knife raised high above Alice and then it stopped. It was as if they wanted to prolong the terror, to draw out every second of fear and amplify it to the limit. Poor Alice was still now. Her face showed that she had given in, that all she wanted was for this to end. But it wouldn’t would it? How many times had she played out th
is very same scene?
Rosie wondered if she was the first housekeeper to see this or if there had been others. If so what had happened to them? Had they escaped? No, if they had, then the police would have come... stop it… this is just a dream. Her logical mind tried to interrupt but she knew it was lying. This was not a dream; this was real.
Breath held, she waited for the killing blow, just as Alice did before her. Only the figure pushed back her hood and the child’s eyes opened even wider.
“Matron,” she said.
The woman turned and looked at Rosie, Thin lips curled into a semblance of a smile yet there was nothing warm about the gesture. “You’re next,” she said just before the knife fell.
Rosie jerked at the blow and let out a mournful scream.
13
“Noooo!” Rosie screamed and tried to run forward to stop the fall of the blade.
It was not possible, she wouldn’t make it and yet she had to try. The cellar seemed darker now and the blade hung in the air as she kicked off from a standstill. Heart in her mouth, she reached out with her arms, shouting and screaming to try to make them turn. Something caught onto her legs. Held them tight and she started to stumble, to fall.
Had they got her? Fighting against them, her arms were pinned to her sides. The knife hit the apex and began to fall towards the terrified child. Alice was not moving now. She lay there as if she was paralyzed by the arc of the blade.
Rosie thrashed and fought against the unseen hands as the blade began its fall, sweeping through the air as she kicked and punched her unseen assailants. It was darker now and panic clawed at her throat and crushed her chest. Breath could not get to her lungs as she started to hyperventilate.
The Ghosts of RedRise House Page 8
