The Ghosts of RedRise House
Page 14
“I’m fine, well as well as I can be here,” she spread her arm to indicate the room.
“I know you hate these places but I’m hungry and thirsty. We won’t be long and you will be home in an hour or two.”
“Really, that’s the best news I’ve had in a while.”
“You look a little shaky, why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get us both something?”
Matron smiled and nodded but where would she sit? Then she saw a quiet corner and made her way over. Once there she closed her eyes and rested. This was so much more exhausting than she’d imagined. It had taken years of planning to make this escape and now it was all failing because she couldn’t kill Amy. Anger flooded her and she knew that her face was red. Clenching her fist tightly, she dug her nails into her palms until they drew blood. It centered her and she opened her hands and licked away the red fluid.
It tasted of life, of strength and it was a start, but she needed more.
Amy put a tray down on the table with bacon and eggs which she pushed across to Matron as well as a large mug with what looked like hot chocolate. Her own food was some orange colored sauce and Matron felt her eyes widen.
“I know, I always eat curry but this looks really good,” Amy said as she tucked into her food.
So that was curry; it didn’t smell like real food. Matron ate her bacon and sipped at the drink. It was very sweet and very strong and she couldn’t stomach it.
“Tell me what’s wrong?” Amy tilted her head and smiled sweetly.
Matron knew she had to do something to stop the woman’s suspicions so she searched Rosie’s mind once more. Picking away until she found something to use but it was exhausting. “I’m just so tired. The house was so lonely and every noise I heard I thought it was Clive. Then when you come and tell me he’s been caught... I guess it’s all just too much. I have this terrible headache and I just want to sleep for a week.”
“I’m sorry. Well you have your place back now and you can go home. Get some rest and I will come see you in a day or two. Okay?”
“All right, that would be nice.”
Soon they were back in the car.
“Do you mind if I sleep?” Matron asked.
“No, you go ahead. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Matron closed her eyes and searched Rosie’s mind. Slowly she went through every nook and cranny she could find for she knew that Rosie was hiding. It was exhausting work and would take her a long time, but she would find the girl and she would root her out. Then she would have total control.
With her eyes closed and sweat running down her face she searched and probed, but it was all to no avail. Rosie had hidden well.
“We’re back,” Amy called and reached over and shook her friend.
Matron started out of her search and opened her eyes. She was weak, rundown and struggling to stay awake. Yet she must for if she lost consciousness then Rosie may regain control.
“Are you okay? You’re soaked in sweat,” Amy asked.
“Maybe I have an infection,” Matron said. “A few days’ rest and I’ll be as good as new. If not, you can send for the physician for me.”
“What?”
“I just need a little bed rest and maybe a leech or two.” Matron gave her best smile.
“Good joke, but I think we’ll just get you inside and into bed. I have some paracetamol which will help with the fever. Come on.”
Amy helped her out of the car and into a small residence. It was neat and tidy, if a little sparse inside. Amy left her staring around while she fetched in the case and placed it on the table.
Matron gasped as her hand went to the zip.
“Leave that!”
“What?”
Matron was so exhausted it was hard to hold on. She was losing control and if this stupid woman didn’t go soon she feared she would. Then what?
“Let me help you unpack,” Amy said.
“I will unpack later right now I just need to lie down...” She hadn’t meant to say that and she tried to walk to the case to grab the knife, for now that she was here she could kill Amy.
“No!” Matron didn’t know whether she had shouted the word or whether it was just in her mind. Amy was staring at her but didn’t look too bad. It must have been in her mind.
Again she tried to walk to the case, but her legs wouldn’t move. She felt her mouth opening and couldn’t stop the words that came out.
“You have done so much for me but can you leave me for a few days?”
Amy nodded and came over and pulled her into her arms. Matron bristled at the hug, but the body she was in relaxed into it and she felt tears prickling at her eyes. She will die,” she said in Rosie’s mind. Today or another day, it doesn’t matter… she has to die.
No, I won’t let you, I will die first, Rosie managed in her mind. “Then she pushed Amy away a little more aggressively than she intended.
“Rosie what is it?”
“I don’t want you catching whatever I’ve got. I’ll ring you when I’m better. Now please, just go.”
Amy nodded, her face creased into a frown, but she turned and left.
As soon as the door closed, Matron and Rosie battled inside. It was like a hurricane inside Rosie’s head, one of pain and fear and desolation. Before she realized it, she dropped to the floor and lay on the wooden boards, convulsing and shaking. Image after awful image was forced into her brain and she felt the pain and fear of all of Matron’s victims. The children that she had left at the house had been sacrificed every few years. Each one adding to the powers of the beast, and she knew that Matron was desperate to kill again. The only thing stopping her was Rosie. So she had to be strong, had to stay in control, but bit by bit, she was weakening.
Again and again Matron lashed at her mind, but there was another thought. Amy was safe. At least for now. Maybe it was time to rest.
That one thought gradually took over and Rosie let go of the pain and the exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep. After all, while she was asleep what could Matron do?
24
22 Clay Pit Lane,
Leeds,
Yorkshire,
England.
Matron regained control lying on the cheap wooden floor. It wasn’t even hardwood, just made up of badly varnished floorboards with a worn rug thrown to one side. The harsh light above her was like a needle in her brain but none of that mattered. What mattered was that she was weak, so very weak, and she needed souls to make her whole again.
She hauled herself to her feet and from the window could see that it was already dark outside. That was good. It was always easier to hunt in the darkness and yet she was afraid of leaving the house.
Maybe she should just stay there until Rosie awoke?
Such a thought shocked her; it must be the remnants of Rosie’s mind and she must be careful. This one was tricky.
Standing in the cold room she could feel her clothes were damp with sweat. The shirt stuck to her back and armpits, but that also didn’t matter. A wave of dizziness and pain in her stomach drove her to the sofa. There she clung onto to the faded pink material until it passed.
This was not good; she must hurry. On the sofa was her case. It called to her and she staggered around and sat down beside it. With a shaky hand she reached for the zip but it was hard to grip. Looking down she saw Rosie’s hand. The woman was almost thirty and yet the hand changed before her eyes. The smooth skin wrinkled. The elegant fingers contorted. The joints swelling and twisting and then the worst happened: Matron was wracked with a painful lung wrenching cough.
The frail hand raised to cover her mouth as she endured the attack. Each cough tore through her lungs and chest and filled her body with fever. The consumption was back.
A sense of despair pushed her down like the weight of all her victims. Leaning back against the sofa she closed her eyes and bit down on her lip. “No!” The word tore out of her and echoed around the room. She must not give in. This was to be expected.
As quickly as it started the attack passed, but it left her exhausted, and when she drew her hand away it was once more the delicate hand of Rosie, only it was covered with blood.
Mabel, the child she originally possessed, had died of Consumption. That thought took her to her happy place as she remembered Bartholomew’s desperation. His need to save his daughter. It had been her salvation, her entry into this world, but nothing was without consequences. Every ten to twenty years she needed to take a soul to heal her body of the disease, to restore her. Without it, this body would die and she would return to the hell that she had so desperately escaped from. That was not an option. She had to find souls, to restore her body and to boost her strength. Then she would have some fun.
She drew in a tentative breath. If the consumption still had control, then it would be like breathing in needles. The air found its way into her lungs and there was no pain, just a little tightness. She had time—but she must hurry.
Unzipping the bag she saw her book there. Delicately, she lifted it out and placed it on the sofa. She would need to update it soon. A lot had happened since she last wrote an entry that she had a plan to escape.
Beneath the book was her knife. The thought of the blade increased her pulse and drove away the last vestiges of fever. As she clasped the handle, the leather felt warm and moist in her palm. It filled her with strength and she knew she was ready. She could do this and soon she would have all the power she needed. Soon she would heal this body and build up a collection of souls. Then she would be invincible and Rosie would simply be her plaything.
With a new spring in her step she walked to the door, pulling it open and stepping through. Just before she closed it, she remembered the keys that Amy had used to get in. Picking them up, she grabbed a jacket from a rack near the door and slipped the keys into a pocket.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the street.
A cold wind stuck the shirt to her body and chilled her to the bone. The knife was in her right hand and she tucked it inside the jacket. The wind made the handle feel so cold, not soothingly warm like the blood that had stained it.
She had to be quick, to find someone to kill before she didn’t have the strength.
Turning to the right, she began to walk. The street lamps gave some light, but there were long shadows between them. It was ideal, but there were very few people that she could see. This may take time and she was already growing weak.
A car went past and the lights lit up a couple across the road. Matron licked her lips and felt her throat ache for the taste of blood. They were walking hand in hand and laughing as they looked at each other. They would be perfect, but they were too much for her tonight. She would have to find one person alone, preferably a young or old person.
25
Walking past the couple, Matron pulled the coat around her. As the cold air hit her chest and was pulled into her lungs, the urge to cough was overwhelming. Swallowing, she fought it down. Now was not the time to succumb to the wasting disease. Now was the time to stalk, hunt, and to sacrifice.
And yet the empty streets mocked her. For what seemed like forever, she walked down dark and dreary streets. They were all the same and so confusing. The houses set in little crescents which were too open for her liking. From time to time she heard the sound of footsteps or laughter. Occasionally she saw a curtain twitch as she went past, but she never found the right person.
Everyone she saw was strong or in a group, and that was no good. No good at all. Then she came to the edge of the estate and the houses changed. The street lights were further apart. The houses rundown. The gardens full of debris, and there were dark passages and alleyways for her to hide in.
Finally, a cough escaped her and she bent double as it wracked her body. Rosie was a nicely shaped woman with meat on her bones and yet when the cough hit, Matron felt thin and frail. It was as if she was shaking her very core and she feared something would tear lose or break. She had to stop thinking that way; the cure was close at hand and in these new surroundings, these new hunting grounds, maybe her luck was changing.
Then she saw what she needed. An old woman was struggling down the street with a heavy bag. Matron crossed the road and fell into step behind her. For a moment the woman turned around. The flare of a cigarette lit up a wizened and tired face surrounded by long gray hair that drooped over her shoulders. There was fear in her eyes but it relaxed when she saw Rosie.
Matron gave her a smile.
The woman pulled her threadbare pink jacket around her shoulders and walked on so slowly that Matron had to slow her own pace and shorten her stride. It was too cold to be walking so slovenly but she didn’t want to rush this. She had to wait for the right time.
So she followed and cursed inside. Step by step her body failed and still the woman walked on. Struggling with her shopping and occasionally puffing on the cigarette. Matron hoped that soon this gift would turn down somewhere quiet, somewhere lonely enough for her to make her strike.
The woman tossed her cigarette down and it flared as it hit the ground. Matron had the urge to rush over and stamp it out but she hung back, for it seemed that at last luck was shining on her. The woman turned up a narrow alleyway with no street lights.
Matron’s breath caught in her throat, only this time it wasn’t the consumption but excitement that held it there.
As she reached the entrance to the alley, she paused. Should she follow straight away? If she did, would she risk her prey becoming scared? Would the old coot flee?
The thought was amusing. The alleyway was long, narrow and dark. There was nowhere to run. In this new younger body she could easily chase her down and complete her sacrifice, and yet she felt so weak—could she?
Turning up the alleyway she began to walk slowly and carefully, placing her feet with precision so as to make not a sound.
The woman passed out of sight and a burst of adrenaline had her heart pounding and her breath coming too fast. She rushed forward, only to hear the creak and groan of a rickety old wooden gate being opened.
This would not do. How dare this bitch escape her!
Forcing her aching and exhausted body into a trot, she covered the darkness as quickly as she could. Luckily for her she had always had good night vision. The rough and broken tarmac gave her feet no problem, and as she rounded a bend she saw a gate closing onto the alleyway.
The woman had gone.
Sprinting forward she reached for the gate and forced the knife into the gap just before it closed. Grinding to a halt she gasped for breath as the old woman slammed the gate once more.
“What the devil is wrong with this thing,” a frail voice gravelly from too many cigarettes, came from behind the fence.
Matron felt a flush of victory and knew that her prize was close. The gate was made of old boards. At about six foot tall it guarded the secrets behind it but it looked tired and old. Ready to give in and let the devil pass.
Matron kicked at the bottom board. The gate sprang back and a loud yelp brought a smile to Matron’s face.
The gate was shoved back and Matron kicked it again. This time a board came free and the gate flew open.
The woman bent over holding her nose as hot red blood poured out and ran through her fingers.
Matron could almost taste it, the coppery sweetness on the air, and her throat ached.
The knife was hot in her hand and she raised it above her head. This wouldn’t be the perfect sacrifice but it would do.
The woman’s eyes widened so much that they were like dinner plates in her face with just tiny dots of brown sauce in the middle. Just like some posh meal, Matron thought
Matron began her downward swing facing east. In her mind she imagined a bright blue light, the color of Satan, ente
ring her finger and charging her body. In her mind she sent praise to Lucifer.
The knife arched through the air and down toward the woman’s neck. The idea was that she would slice from the left side, at a 45-degree angle. It would sever the carotid artery and she would drink the blood while completing her ritual. Without helpers, it was the best, quickest, and safest way.
Euphoria was already hers as she imagined the energy she would take from this woman’s spirit. Then she would harness her soul and force her to power her existence for all eternity. It was a delicious moment, less than a heartbeat away, but with her adrenaline pumping so fast time seemed to slow down so much that she could be moving through treacle.
Just before the knife hit its point, the woman stepped back and at the same time she kicked out with her right leg.
The blow contacted with Matron’s left kneecap and forced it back knocking her off her feet.
A scream was ripped from Matron and she dropped the blade as she fell to the floor.
Anger surged through her and she screamed out her frustration, “Damn you!”
The pain sliced through her knee and ripped up into her groin. Tears came to her eyes and she felt an awakening inside her head. No! She shouted to herself. No, you will not take over!
Only it was too late. The pain freed Rosie from her prison and she could see through her eyes once more, could move her body, and as she looked out she saw the fear on the old woman’s face.
What was happening?
26
Shock, fear, confusion, and pain hit Rosie like a herd of bulls. They collided with her mind and bowled her off her feet. She was falling backward as her knee gave way and she jumped with it in an attempt to escape the world in which she found herself.
Matron cursed in her head, swearing and tearing at her mind. Determined to regain control, and Rosie knew she wanted something, needed something.
What can it be?