The Ghosts of RedRise House

by Caroline Clark

  “No, not this time.”

  Rosie felt herself fall and could see her own eyes looking down at her. Her own hand over her mouth and nostrils and then the figure was gone.

  Had she won?

  20

  For a moment Rosie felt sweet relief. She took in a huge breath and felt the sweet air fill up her lungs. The urge to choke was strong. How she wanted a drink to ease the soreness on her throat but the children were crowding around her once more. Their faces were wild, their eyes wide and their lips curled back over sharp teeth in a snarl.

  Rosie tried to swallow. Once she could speak she would say a prayer for each of them and she would release them and yet the way they looked at her sent a fission of fear into her heart.

  Why were they still like this? Why was it as if they were still under Matron’s control?

  “Because I’m still here,” a voice said in her head and then Rosie understood.

  Matron had not gone. Somehow she was inside her and she was about to have the battle of her life. A searing pain sliced into her brain. It was like hands ripping and clawing at her cerebral cortex and she had no way to fight against it. Each rip caused a spike of pain and a little bit of her will was torn away. She was being clawed out of her own body and she could not resist.

  First Matron ripped out the part of her brain that controlled speech. Without that she couldn’t formulate thoughts and so she couldn’t say the exorcism even in her mind.

  Rosie felt her body go weak as the part of her brain that controlled her spinal cord was shredded. Now something was replacing her. Something was filling up the place where she had once been and she wanted to ask a question but didn’t know what it was.

  Then the pain stopped, everything stopped and she was just a cell floating on a dark ocean of nothingness.

  A voice came out of the sky, maybe it was a God, or maybe it was the universe. She didn’t know what those things were but it spoke to her. As she listened she felt a cold darkness and a feeling of such despair. What had she done?

  “I have been trapped in this house for so long but I have learned my lesson. If I killed you, I gained another acolyte for my army but I was still trapped here. This time you will be my host. You will be my way into the world and all the delights that have been hidden from me for so long. Thank you Rosie, for I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  Rosie knew she had lost but she also felt her self returning. Her mind was not lost it had just been suppressed. Now, Matron was securely in control of her she allowed her to be once more and Rosie began to wail inside her own mind. She could see what Matron had planned. How she intended to kill and torture and to spread her reign of terror as far as she could and Rosie would not be able to stop her.

  It was two days later when Amy arrived.

  “How are you doing?” she asked as she bounded into the house all full of smiles and pulled Rosie into a hug.

  Matron smiled but Rosie was screaming, shouting and rattling on the inside of her skull. Anything to make Amy see the danger before her. Only none of it could be seen.

  “I want to leave,” Matron said. “I contacted the owners and they say it is fine. I’m just to lock up and post the key.”

  “Don’t you want to hear the good news?” Amy asked and gave that cute little smile that said she was teasing.

  Matron was impatient, “Can’t it wait?”

  “Hey, Rosie, what is it?”

  Rosie felt Matron crawling through her memories and she tried to shut them down. Tried to make it hard for the spirit to learn from her but it was no use.

  “Sorry, I’ve just been having nightmares. About Clive. I think he may have found me.”

  Amy laughed and pulled her into a hug. “That’s just it. He’s been arrested. They found him trying to get back into your old place and he’s in jail. You’re finally free.”

  Inside her prison Rosie started to cry. She would never be free, not ever again.”

  “That is such good news, now let’s go celebrate I could kill for a decent Mocha.”

  “You and me both,” Amy said.

  Soon they were in Amy’s car and as she drove away Rosie looked back at the house. What was currently beautiful fell rapidly into a state of disrepair. The garden was filled with weeds. The house lost roof tiles and the windows were broken. The front door was hanging off the hinges and the place looked as if it had been abandoned for decades. Maybe it had, maybe it was only Matron keeping the place going. Surrounding the door were the children. They tried to follow but each time they got more than twenty feet from the door they would disappear and snap back to the front of the house. It looked like they would be trapped there forever.

  “I will release you one day,” Rosie said in her mind.

  “No, you won’t,” a cold voice replied. “You will stay here and watch me murder your best friend.”

  Rosie screamed and shouted and raged at the prison that was her mind but the only response she got was a deep and evil chuckle. She had lost and the world would pay for her foolishness.

  The Battle Within

  The Ghosts of RedRise House Book 2

  By Caroline Clark

  ©Copyright 2018 Caroline Clark

  All Rights Reserved

  Prologue

  RedRise House

  Yorkshire Moors

  England.

  The battle raged inside Rosie’s mind. Time and again she fought for control against the darkness that slithered, cold and demanding. Matron, the evil within, was like a snake curling around her mind and controlling her. Like smoke she seeped into the deepest recesses and filled her thoughts with despair.

  Fear ruled her almost as much as the spirit. Sometimes she would gain control and get to her feet but before she made it to the door, her limbs would go weak and she would drop to the floor. There she would lie, convulsing as the battle between them raged. Eventually she would lose, and a feeling of cold, dark despondency took over. It was like the deepest depression she had ever known, and Matron loved it. The smile that pulled her lips into a grimace displayed the woman’s joy.

  Whenever Matron took full control she would talk at her, gloating and exulting in her new found power.

  “You are mine now,” her voice hissed inside Rosie’s mind. “You have no free will, no control. I will find all those you love and I will make you watch as I tear them apart. Then they will worship me. They will add to my power and you will be nothing but my puppet.”

  No! Rosie screamed in her mind but her voice was fading. It was getting harder to talk, to think, and she could no longer control any of her limbs.

  Inside her mind she beat against the walls of her own brain, beat against the evil that held her trapped. It was exhausting, and many times she wanted to curl into a metaphoric corner and give in. Only she couldn’t. She wouldn’t give in on the only real friend she had.

  Amy.

  That one thought kept her going, kept her fighting. No matter what, she would save her friend.

  For two days she fought for control but she was getting weaker. Matron was winning, and as her anger subsided, fear took its place.

  During that time they sat in the corner, in the dark. She hadn’t eaten, drank, or slept, and she was tired, hungry, and exhausted. Now this morning, Matron forced her to move. Stiff-legged, she walked her to the bedroom and there she began to prepare.

  Rosie knew she had to do something. The images Matron flashed within her own mind were terrifying. She would not allow the spirit to use her to kill others; she would die first. That thought was like a light bulb going on in the darkness. She nurtured it, hid it, and allowed it to give her hope.

  Hour after hour she kept the thought away from Matron, looking for the perfect time. Gradually she was dressed and her clothes were packed, along with a few books and what looked like a silver pentagram necklace and a black cloth. Rosie tried to gain control of Matron’s thoughts, tried to find out what they meant, but she couldn’t. Then she pulled out a knife. It was mad
e of a bright silver metal. The wickedly curved blade was as thick as her hand at the hilt and curved down to a sharp point.

  The leather of the handle felt moist against her fingers. It was once the purest skin cut from the untainted white belly of a day-old calf. Years of use had darkened the leather. It looked black, but if she squeezed it tightly enough, it would release the blood of all her victims.

  There was no time for that now. She turned the blade. It glinted in the light as if winking at her. Giving it a smile and a nod of gratitude, she buried the sacrificial knife in and amongst her clothes.

  The last thing that was packed was the book. It was one she had found in the basement, the one about the life of this house. It was called, The Sacrifices of RedRise House and the Resurrection of Old Hag.

  A groan escaped Rosie and she was surprised that her body, her captor, allowed it. Maybe she had a little control left. Carefully, she hid her joy by expressing even a little of the fear she felt.

  The book was shoved on top of her clothes and her own hand stroked lovingly across the cover before closing the bag, careful, so that the cover was not damaged.

  Rosie knew the book was written by various people who had been part of Matron’s story. The first was Bartholomew Matthews, the man who had unwittingly unleashed her onto the world. He had a daughter named Mabel, a sickly child who was dying. One night, in a fit of despair, he had asked for help. The spirit that answered him was not kindly, not of this world, and desperate for escape. It got what it wanted, taking the soul of his daughter in exchange for saving her life.

  Matron was thinking about the book, about her own story and how far she had come. She was so happy with herself and so secure in her hold over Rosie that she let her guard down.

  On the dresser, Rosie spotted a pair of nail scissors. They were small, but sharp and would puncture her jugular if she acted quickly enough. Gradually she let go of the fight, let go of control of her body. As she did, she felt a smugness within. Matron was proud and powerful; she wasn’t used to dissension.

  The spirit thought she was weakening, that she was giving in. Trying hard to hide her thoughts, she concentrated on her legs and right arm. The dresser was just two feet away.

  She knew all Matron wanted to do now was leave this place. She would let her think that she had won.

  As Matron used her body to pull her top over her head, Rosie waited. Once the top was clear, she stepped to the side and reached down. Her fingers clasped onto the scissors. They were small and cold. She was so close now. Her intention was to slam the scissors into her own throat. She waited, relaxed, and then moved with all the speed she could muster. Hoping that the surprise attack would be over before Matron could understand what she was doing.

  The world slowed down and her hand arched through the air, the silver scissors gripped tightly in her sweaty palms. As they traveled toward her neck, she thought about Amy and tears ran down her cheeks.

  It was a strange thought, taking place in a fraction of a second.

  The scissors raced toward her throat, whistling as they rushed through the air. Just as they touched her skin her hand stopped.

  The scissors pressed against the skin. All she had to do was move her hand a few centimeters and it would be over. If she did it fast enough she could pierce her own jugular vein and she would bleed out here in RedRise House. She would die, but Matron would once again be trapped and her friend would no longer be in danger.

  Sweat coursed down her back as she willed her hand to move.

  It was like pushing against a battleship. No matter how hard she tried, her hand wasn’t going anywhere. In her mind she gritted her teeth and pushed with all she had. The fight was exhausting. Her arms bulged and sweat broke out and ran down her face, but nothing happened.

  Panting, she relaxed for a moment and waited for that little smugness to return inside of her. Once it was there, she tried again.

  The scissors rushed a few millimeters closer, indenting the skin, but her hand was stopped once more. The scissors were pushing into the delicate skin of her neck, but never piercing, never drawing blood. Just a little bit more and she would perforate the flesh, but it was not to be.

  A vicious pain sliced through her head. It was as if the scissors had been plunged deep into her brain. As if they were open there and cutting into her cerebral cortex.

  No! She screamed inside her head, but her lips never moved. She had no control over them, and then she felt her arm move and the pressure against her throat was gone.

  Still she strained against the invisible force that held her arm which stopped her from ending this.

  No, you are mine and I am your master, the words commanded inside her head. You will do as I say. You are mine for all eternity.

  A vision of Amy slashed to pieces filled her mind and Rosie screamed, “No!” She would never give in and she swore that she would never hurt anyone. Though her own life may be over, she would do everything she could to stop this creature from killing again. She would do everything she could to end its life.

  Her fingers opened and the scissors fell to the floor with a small clatter. Against her will, her foot kicked them away and an evil laugh curled around her brain.

  Get out of me! She screamed in her head, but she was answered with another laugh.

  Her body turned and faced the dresser, staring at the mirror. She knew the person reflected back was her as she bore the same scar across her left cheek. The same brown eyes and the same long brown hair. She knew if she looked at the skin on her right forearm that there would be burn marks. Despite all of this, she didn’t recognize the person in front of her. The eyes were malignant and cruel. The face pulled down into an expression that reflected superiority and dominance. There was no warmth and no hope.

  Rosie knew the mistake she had made and that there was very little she could have done to prevent it. When she ran from her past life; when she took the job house sitting in this remote haunted property, her fate was already sealed. The house had been occupied for many years by the evil spirit, by Matron, her acolytes, and the poor suffering children.

  It had been brought to this property by a desperate father, a man who simply wanted to save his daughter. Now that spirit, that entity, wanted out and Rosie was to be its transport host. All she could do was sit within her own mind and scream out her protest.

  It was two days after she was possessed that Rosie’s best friend Amy arrived. Rosie was tired and weak and had almost given in. Matron had changed her clothes but she had not showered and she knew that she smelt of stale sweat. Would Amy notice? Would she say anything?

  Her friend would never mention it, though hopefully, she would think it strange. Maybe she could use that. Maybe she could trick Matron into doing things that would give her away. It was all she had, and she kept the thought deep inside.

  “How are you doing?” Amy asked, as she bounded into the house, her dirty blonde hair stuck up at all angles and yet, as always, looking perfect. With a big smile she pulled Rosie into a hug.

  Matron shrank back, disgusted at the contact, amazed at Amy’s scruffy, albeit fashionable look.

  It gave Rosie a chance and her mouth opened. Run, get out of here, formed in her mind and she could have sworn that she spoke the words as Matron pulled away from Amy.

  “You look tired. How’s it going?” Amy asked, her eyes drawn down with concern.

  You have to run, to get away from me, Rosie tried to say, but this time she knew her lips hadn’t moved.

  A smile curled onto her face while she was screaming, shouting and pounding on the inside of her skull. Anything to make Amy see the danger before her, only none of it could be seen.

  “I am. This just didn’t work and I want to leave,” Matron said. “I contacted the owners and they say it’s fine. I’m just to lock up and post the key.”

  “Don’t you want to hear the good news?” Amy asked, as her pink lips gave that cute little smile that said she was teasing.

  Matron
was impatient. “No, can it wait?”

  “Hey, Rosie, what is it?”

  Rosie felt Matron crawling through her memories, like so many worms crawling through her brain, and she tried to shut them down. Tried to make it hard for the spirit to learn from her, but it was no use.

  “Sorry, I’ve just been having nightmares. About Clive. I think he may have found me,” Matron said with Rosie’s voice while in the darkness of her mind Rosie screamed.

  Amy laughed and pulled her into another hug.

  Matron squirmed inside and Rosie was sure that Amy would feel the way she was backing off. Her friend had to know her well enough to know that something was wrong.

  Amy pulled back and smiled her big goofy smile. “That’s just it. He’s been arrested. They found him trying to get back into your old place and he’s in jail. You’re finally free.”

  Inside her prison, Rosie started to cry. That was great news and yet she would never be free… not ever again.”

  “That is such good news. Now let’s go celebrate. I could kill for a decent... Mocha.” Matron stumbled on the word ‘Mocha’ as she didn’t know what it was. Could Rosie use this? Could she use the fact that this spirit, this thing, had been trapped here for decades, perhaps centuries? It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  “You and me both,” Amy said. “But before we do, I bought you something to celebrate. I knew you had been looking at it and I wanted you to have it… kinda a new beginning gift. Here.”

  Amy handed over a black velvet bag.

  Matron held the bag in her hand and searched through Rosie’s memories. She was trying to find the right thing to say but Rosie fought against her. It was no use. “Thank you so much. I know what it is.”

  “Then open it, quick!” Amy was back to her old excited self. Her brown eyes sparkled with joy.