The Ghosts of RedRise House

by Caroline Clark

  The blade hit the child in the heart and she heard a scrape as it hit the stone below. Horror threatened to overwhelm her, to shut her down just as it had Alice. Calm, she knew she had to be calm but how could she when she was held tight? It was no longer about saving Alice. The child must be already dead but she had to escape. She had to run from this house and never come back. Kicking and struggling she felt a little movement and launched herself forward with all she had. Maybe she could escape.

  Then she was falling.

  Landing with a thump her eyes flew open and it was light. A sharp pain in her hip bone had her scream out in pain and brought her back to reality.

  She had been dreaming again. It was just a dream.

  Wiping sweat from her face she looked around. She was lying on the floor of the opulent bedroom. The covers tangled all around her. The cat stood at the door, a sad expression on its face.

  Rosie laughed. “A dream, just a damned dream.”

  The cat came across and rubbed against her, meowing to gain her attention. Rosie lifted it up and stroked the animal. It was good to have company and she hugged it close. The cat leaped from her arms at such undignified treatment and went to the door, meowing pitifully.

  Rosie ran a hand through her hair and gingerly got to her feet. Her hip was bruised but it held her weight. Looking back at the room she had to laugh again. It looked as if she had launched herself from the bed and landed over four feet away. She was lucky to have not broken anything but at least she knew it was all just a dream. Maybe, if she was lucky, she had written some more of the story.

  Was the story real?

  She remembered reading it the last time she woke but had that happened? Standing, she found out her phone just as her stomach gave a massive rumble. She was hungry, in fact she was starving. Picking up her phone she looked at the time. It was 9.45 again. That was strange, wasn’t that the same time as yesterday? Shaking her head she pushed the fact out of her mind. It must have just been part of her dream, but as she looked at the phone’s screen, she almost dropped it to the floor. It was the 5th of September. Somehow, she had lost 2 days!

  A wave of fatigue and hunger drove Rosie to the kitchen. She must eat and yet, she did not want to. Was the cheese on toast part of her dream or had she actually eaten it? As she got to the kitchen she spotted the book on the table. It stopped her in her tracks and her blood ran cold. It was large, old, and leather-bound. It was the book from her dream! She remembered the weight of it in her hands, the feel of the leather and the way it was slimy against her skin and her heart missed a beat. How could this be? Where had it come from? If the book was real then was her dream and how had she got back to the bed?

  A shudder ran through her as her mind tried to think of a logical explanation. The door in the corner drew her eyes. It was closed and looked like it hadn’t been open in years. Should she take a look? What would she do if it opened onto those dark and cold steps? What was going on? Her hand reached out and caressed the leather. It felt just as she imagined. A little slimy as if it was damp. How could this be here when she woke on the bedroom floor? It didn’t make sense.

  Another grumble from her tummy took her mind away from the book and back to food. It was as if she had forgotten all about last night, all about the dream. Some part of her mind knew this was wrong but it was just a tiny voice in the distance and she pushed it away in her search for sustenance.

  Opening the fridge, she saw bread and cheese. They were untouched. She guessed eating it was part of her dream. Pulling them from the fridge she checked the food over. It looked fresh and was void of all creepy crawly bugs. Quickly she prepared herself a snack and boiled the kettle so she could make some tea.

  With the snack prepared she sat down at the table and put the plate next to the book. For a moment she was shocked to see it there and then she remembered.

  The title read, “The Sacrifices of RedRise House and the Resurrection of Old Hag.” It was exactly the same as in her dream. It was about this house, and it was real.

  Taking a bite of toasted cheese, she then opened the book and began to read. It seemed to be a journal and was written by a man called Bartholomew Matthews. He had been the butler to a wealthy family but he did not mention their names. There was a wife, husband, and five children three girls and two boys. Though he cared very much for them he loved his own family more and he was devastated when his wife died in childbirth leaving him with a sickly daughter. He named the child Mabel, Mabel Matthews and he doted on her as only a father can. When she was eight years old she developed a sickness, consumption, and gradually faded away.

  Rosie was reading the book faster and faster and felt transported back into his world. She could feel his pain and understand his desperation.

  I have to do something to save my baby girl, he wrote. She's all I have left and she is everything to me. I would give my life. I would give my very soul to keep her safe. If there is a God or anything out there that can help me, then I offer myself to save my beautiful Mabel.

  Rosie found she had tears running down her eyes as she read the words. How awful it must be to love someone so much and to not be able to save them. If only it was possible to swap your own life for that of someone else's… How many of us would make such a choice?

  She took another sip of tea, turned over the page, and read on.

  I did not expect an answer to my prayer and yet I got one. Though I do not know if this is God or something dark and insidious, it is my only hope. Day by day, hour by hour my baby girl fades before my eyes. The pain she is in rips out my heart and I weep for every agonizing breath that she takes. What can I do? Do I accept the arrangement I have been offered? Yet, the presence that came to me feels cold and sinister and still I am compelled to accept the deal. If I do not what sort of father am I?

  Rosie found she was reading faster and faster and she took another sip of tea just to slow herself down. Surely this was a story, a fabrication and yet it was written as if it was a journal. As if Bartholomew was telling the tale of what actually happened.

  A drawing filled the rest of the page. It showed a man and yet, his features, if you looked at them from a certain angle, were those of a gargoyle. Of a demon?

  Rosie stared at the drawing for long moments. It was like one of those computer-generated images that if you looked at it from certain angles you saw one thing and at other angles something else. Yet, this was pencil drawn, or at least it looked to be. How could something so intricate and complicated be made out of something quite so simple? Slowly, she turned the page, as she did the energy in the room seemed to change. Behind her the kitchen door slammed and she jumped in her seat as adrenaline sent spikes of fear through her veins. The door opened again and slammed shut. Once more it did the same thing but this time it was accompanied by other doors in the house. The cacophony of doors opening and closing, slamming against the jam and then flying back filled the house with a roaring chaos that was like a physical assault. Rosie cowered in the chair, her hand on the book. Her eyes searched the room and yet found nothing.

  The doors’ banging got faster and faster, the noise rising with the speed, and at the same time the air hummed with electricity. Rosie knew she must escape that she must get out of here but she was too scared to move. Where would she go anyway? She could not get through the door without being trapped in the wooden jaws which would break bones at the very least.

  Maybe it was the book? She should close it, but before she could, she was picked off the chair and sent spiraling across the room. The force, as she hit the wall, knocked the air from her lungs. Gasping for breath, she was sent back across the floor. Scraping and sliding, she slammed into the other wall, hitting her head with such force that darkness began to descend.

  Once more she was picked up and thrown, only this time she could see the children in the room. She hit the wall at head height. Crushing pain lanced into her shoulder before she slid down to the floor and the noise was gone.

  The pressu
re eased up and she thought it was over. Yet, huddling together in the center of the room were the children. They looked just as she remembered; only now, they were frightened. They clung to each other. Wide eyes searched the corners and pleaded for her help.

  What were they afraid of?

  14

  Panting desperately, Rosie lay on the floor and stared at the children. This couldn't be real, it just couldn't. Yet the pain in her back and arms, the pain in her head and neck told her that it was. She would be bruised tomorrow, if she made it to tomorrow.

  The children were staring towards the cellar door and she let her eyes follow theirs. The door opened and first one and then another cloaked figure came through it. The first one was tall and broad the second smaller, lighter. It was impossible to see their features and she imagined the worst; they had to be hideous beneath the hoods. Then she remembered the demon from the book. Was this what had come to get her? Would she join the children? To be here in this house for all eternity.

  “Matron,” the children whispered together and huddled even tighter.

  The pressure of fear pushed down on her chest, crushing her lungs. Rosie couldn't breathe. All she could do was stare at those two figures. The corner where they stood appeared darker. It was as if the very light was afraid to shine on them and it added to her fear.

  Her lungs screamed for oxygen. Her vision was going dim and her legs were too weak to hold her. Part of her knew she must escape, that she must get away from here. Yet how could she, when she couldn't even stand?

  The two figures moved into the room and threw back the hoods from their cloaks. Their faces were just as bad as the empty darkness that had been there before. Their skin was stretched tight over gaunt cheeks bones. Their eyes were sunken deep into their face. Thin lips were stretched over pointed teeth designed for ripping and tearing.

  She tried to remember a prayer and yet, nothing would come to mind as the figures turned to look at her.

  Gasping for breath, she slithered along the floor, hutching away from them as efficiently as she could. Her chest ached, her lungs screamed and still she could not breathe. Panic was like the weight of a car forcing down on her chest and crushing her lungs. Until she pulled herself out from under it, she could do nothing but succumb to its devastating weight.

  Then she remembered the Lord's Prayer. The most common prayer, the one everyone knew and it gave her a touch of comfort. She was able to draw in a big breath of air and felt much better as she started to repeat it out loud.

  “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

  The two adults let out a mighty roar and stepped toward her. Once more the pressure in the room grew and she had to stop praying and gasp for breath. It would have been so easy to just stop. To slump against the wall and to let whatever was coming come but she would not. Her eyes were drawn to the children. There was hope on their faces. Hope and encouragement and it was directed toward her.

  “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

  The two cloaked figures stopped before her, their faces curled into a snarl. Dark eyes pinned her to the spot. Fear snatched the very air from her lungs and she felt the room chill to freezing. A shiver ran through her and she held her breath waiting, waiting for them to do something. They stared at her. Their dark eyes shrouded in shadow. Their thin lips parted. They didn't seem to move, to breathe; they didn't seem to be alive.

  Just when she thought she could take no more the sound of her mobile ring snapped her back to normality.

  The phone’s ringing!

  The figures stood there, staring, and then with a slight upward curl of their lips, they were gone. Rosie looked for the children. They were staring at her. There was something in their eyes. Something they were trying to tell her. Before she could understand they too faded away to nothing and she was left with just the ringing of her mobile.

  Rosie fished the phone out of her pocket and pressed it to her ear. “Hello, hello,” she spoke desperately. Praying that this was real. That she finally had contact with the outside world.

  “Hi Rosie, it's Amy here sorry I missed all your calls.”

  “Amy, oh my God Amy. It is so good to hear your voice. Please, please come and pick me up straight away. There is something terrible going on here and I am so frightened. Please come get me today, now, for I do not think I will survive another night.”

  “I'm so pleased to hear you're enjoying it,” Amy answered.

  “Amy can't you hear me I'm frightened and terrified please help me.”

  “I know sometimes people can be silly but I'm pleased you're enjoying yourself,” Amy said. “I know I was supposed to be there tomorrow but I just called to say I won’t make it... oh that’s good... yes, I will only be three more days I hope you don't mind.”

  “No, no please Amy you must come collect me tonight or send someone or ring the police or anything, just get me out of here please.” Tears were running down Rosie's face as she tried to make Amy understand. It was obvious that her friend heard a completely different conversation. Maybe the spirits were interfering, maybe she was going mad but somehow she had to find a way to make Amy understand.

  “Amy!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “You have to come save me or I fear I will be dead by morning.”

  “That is fantastic. I’m so pleased you are writing again. Didn’t I tell you this house would be perfect? Now I have to go, you have fun and I will see you in three days.”

  The phone went dead in her hands. Rosie tried to call her back, then to dial the police, only she no longer had a signal. Had the spirits done this just to torment her? Or was it one more figment of her imagination. She no longer knew and yet she knew she had to get out of there.

  Making a decision, she picked up the phone and stood up. The house was deadly quiet, the air still and a little heavy. It didn't matter. She was leaving and she was never coming back.

  Yet, as she made the decision... she wondered if the house would let her go.

  15

  Rosie was surprised that it was easy to walk out of the house. She got to the door the cat meowed and seemed to be willing her onward.

  “Are you coming with me?” she asked.

  Wise orange eyes stared up at her and seemed to tell her to go and to not look back. So she opened the door and stepped out. Pausing, she held him and stared back at the cat. He looked at her, looked at the outside and then jumped from her arms. He turned slowly, then like the hunter he was, ran back into the house.

  Rosie closed the door and set off across the driveway. Her feet crunched on the gravel and sank deep into the stones. It was hard-work, hard going and she had a long way to walk. Though only the part near the house was graveled she still knew it would take some time before she reached the road. What she needed to know was how long until she could get a signal. Then she remembered the cab driver. Maybe he hadn't been questioning her past, maybe he understood this house. She knew his number was in her mobile and as she walked she tried to dial him.

  No signal.

  Trying to keep in mind what had happened, she looked out at the countryside. The grounds of the house were really magnificent. This side, the front of the house was like a country park. Long open spaces of grassland dotted with magnificent trees.

  It was very different to the back of the house, which was more sinister. A dark and dank forest surrounded the far side. Yet, as she walked down this drive the sun warmed her arms and she wondered if those things really had happened to her. Absentmindedly, she reached up to her head and felt a bruise. There were other bruises she could feel as she walked. Something had happened to her. Either she needed help or she was in trouble. It didn't matter which, she was not going back.

  Every 5 to 10 minutes she tried to ring the cab driver or the police or Amy. Each time she
couldn't get a signal and so she walked on again. She had been walking for over an hour and was tired and achy and yet the countryside hadn’t changed. Surely she should have come to the main road by now. If not it had to be anytime soon.

  Stopping, she tried to phone again and once more it flashed to tell her that she had no signal. Up ahead, the drive curled around a copse of trees and she hoped that when she got to the other side she would finally reach the road and get a signal.

  As she rounded the corner she dropped to her knees and let out a wail of despair. There in front of her, less than 300 yards away was the house. Somehow she had looped the estate and was back exactly where she started.

  Sitting on her knees, she let her tears fall. It wouldn't let her leave. They wouldn't let her leave. Would she ever survive this?

  Rosie sat at the kitchen table, a tuna sandwich untouched before her. Occasionally she sipped at her tea while she read as much of the book as she could. It was hard reading. A heart-wrenching tale of joy and then desolation as the father realized exactly what he had done. What he had given up for a short time with the daughter he knew.

  The demon came to me again tonight. It had the audacity to visit the bedchamber as I tended to my dearest Mabel. The sound of her tortured breathing plays like the bellows at the blacksmith shop. Each draw of breath could be her last. I am selfish for I wish it to go on and yet I wish it to stop.

  The demon asked me if I had made a decision, and I have. I told it I would give my life and my soul to see my girl healed. For her to be healthy and to have a long and happy life before her. It was a hard decision and I know my Mabel would not want this but I cannot let her die. Not like this, not so young and not in so much pain. When I told my visitor it seemed to make the demon happy and yet there was something... some smile that I did not quite trust. I believe I am being duped and yet what can I do?