The Ghosts of RedRise House

by Caroline Clark

  Pain seared through her mind and she lost control. At the last moment, she flung herself at Amy and pulled the girl into her arms. Matron screamed as Rosie took control. She screamed against the pain and the impotence of the moment, but it didn't help. Rosie was back in control.

  "It's so good to see you," Rosie said, and hugged her friend tightly, the knife clasped behind Amy’s back.

  Matron could feel her joy and it sickened her, but she knew that this wouldn't last. She would regain control and next time Amy would die.

  Rosie fought the pain, controlled it, mastered it, and sent it back at Matron just at the last moment. Surging forward she widened the arc on her arm and pulled Amy into her arms. Hiding the knife behind her friends back. How could she get Amy out of here? How could she explain and get her help? Whatever she did, her friend would be in danger and would no doubt think her mad.

  It didn't matter for now. Amy was safe, and maybe she could get her help; she just had to work out how.

  "Are you going to tell me about this and the mumbling?" Amy said pointing at the bloody hand print.

  "Mumbling?" Rosie said the word before she could stop it. Matron was testing her. She bit her lip and forced her back.

  "Rosie, Your lip!"

  "I'm just so nervous, so wired." Looking at the hand print and she almost cried. If she told Amy the truth then Matron would come back, would kill her friend. How she knew that she couldn’t say but she did. “I fell, cut myself,” was all she could manage as she led her friend to the kitchen.

  Soon they were seated in the small kitchen drinking tea. Rosie clung to her cup as if it were a lifeline and she was drowning. She could see Amy was worried, but her friend waited, expecting her to talk. What could she say?

  Rosie bit her lip once more and let out a breath.

  “Your lip!” Amy said.

  Rosie reached up and touched her lip. It was damp she stared at her fingers. They were covered in blood. Both hands covered in blood, so much of it. Running over her fingers and dripping onto the worn oak table.

  Rosie jerked to a stand and the flimsy chair fell back and rattled as it hit the cream tiled floor. There was blood everywhere. Of course there was… she had killed a woman.

  “Rosie!”

  Amy’s voice pierced through her panic and Rosie looked at her hands. There was a small droplet of blood on her fingers from her lip. The constant biting of her lip was making it sore and that was all she had seen, wasn’t it?

  Tears came to her eyes and she lowered her head to hide them. Picking up the chair, she slumped back into it and laid her head on her arms. “You should go,” she mumbled. “I’m not feeling well.”

  A hand touched her arm and Rosie jumped.

  You need to kill her, she suspects, a faint voice said in her head.

  Rosie looked up and Amy was leaning over her. She looked so concerned; her big, brown eyes were drawn down and her pink lips clenched with worry. “Tell me what’s wrong. Who were you talking to?”

  “Nothing... it’s... something happened at RedRise House.” Pain lanced through her brain and she let out a cry of anguish.

  “Rosie what is it?” Amy asked, still holding her arm.

  “Headaches. I just keep getting headaches now. Why won’t you go and leave me alone.”

  “Because I care for you and you’re not telling me everything.”

  You need to kill her, do it now, Matron’s voice was stronger, more insistent, and Rosie shook her head to drive it away.

  She had pushed the knife down the back of her jeans and she could feel the cold of the blade against her back. She wanted to reach around and grab it. To plunge it into Amy – No, no, no what was wrong her?

  “You have to go,” Rosie said and she looked up at her friend, her eyes pleading with all she had.

  Amy just smiled.

  “I’m not leaving you when you need me.”

  Kill her, if she finds out you will go to jail, do you want that? Matron asked and pushed against Rosie’s mind.

  Rosie felt her right hand move. It twitched and slid off the table. She tried to stop it but it wouldn’t obey. Sitting up, she pushed Amy’s arm away.

  “You have to leave!” Rosie shouted, and she watched Amy shy back. “I am dangerous. Something happened at that house, something bad and I...” Rosie intended to say I killed someone, but the words had frozen in her throat. She was losing control. Matron was coming back. “I want to hurt myself when I’m alone.” No, this was the last thing she wanted to say. It would make Amy stay, and the longer she stayed the more danger she was in.

  “Rosie stop talking like this,” Amy said, coming around the table, she crouched next to her and pulled her into her arms. “I know you have been through so much, but I am here for you for as long as you want. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Matron smiled inside of Rosie and she knew that she would soon lose control. Would she kill her friend and wake up covered in her blood? She had to do something. Maybe she could take her own life. It would be awful and Amy would never forgive herself but at least she would be alive.

  Matron was fighting in Rosie’s mind, trying to work out what to say and trying to gain control. The knife stuck to her back and she knew it had nicked the skin. She could feel a trickle of blood as it ran down between her buttocks. It was warm and she so wanted to feel it in her hand. She licked her lip in anticipation, but caught herself and turning the lick into a bite, she chomped down on her lip. The pain brought her back a touch of control but blood ran from her lip.

  “Stop it,” Amy said. “Stop this and talk to me.”

  Matron laughed inside and Rosie felt her control slipping just a little bit more. “Run,” she shouted, “Amy please run.” Only the words never passed her lips, for Matron was getting stronger.

  31

  Rosie felt the blood run from her lip and she could see the concern in Amy’s eyes. Her friend had stepped away from her and for the first time since they had met, she looked unsure.

  Rosie fought for control and she knew she was shaking. She must look strange as she shook her head to get rid of the influence of the spirit. “I won’t give in,” she said. “You can’t have her I will never kill for you again.”

  “Yes you will. I am in control and you will worship me,” Matron replied her voice deeper more, guttural in Rosie’s mouth.

  “Rosie what are you saying?” Amy asked. “Stop this and talk to me.”

  Rosie looked at her friend. “You have to leave for your own safety. You have to go.”

  “Don’t be silly. You need my help.” Amy took a step closer to Rosie.

  This is not me, Rosie shouted, but the words were never spoken aloud; they stayed inside her mind as Matron took control. Rosie waved her arms wide and shook her head.

  Amy’s eyes were wide as she stared in horror.

  How she wanted to tell her friend everything. To tell her that she had killed. To tell her to call the police that they would find the knife in the back of her jeans and her bloody clothing upstairs—but she couldn’t. Instead, she sat in the chair and shook. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her body convulsed as Matron fought for control.

  Rosie knew she was losing, that Amy would be killed, and a tear escaped her eyes and ran down her cheek. What could she do?

  The temperature dropped in the room and Amy’s breath steamed before her. Rosie watched as her friend rubbed her arms. Her mouth opening and closing, Amy took out her phone. For a moment she stared at it. “Let me take you to to the Doc’s,” she said and held the phone out as if it would somehow help.

  Behind Amy, Rosie saw a shadow, a darkness, and she understood. Inside the shadow was the faint tinge of pink. The faint outline of a faded pink jacket. The padded kind that keeps you warm. The type a poor old lady would wear. The type Mary had worn last night.

  As the spirit manifested, Matron lost a little of her grip. Rosie let out a breath that misted before her and she pointed.

  Amy turned around.r />
  In the corner of the kitchen there was a darkness, a smoky outline that coalesced and wavered, and then a faint figure emerged from the shadow.

  Amy let out a breath and stared, her jaw dropping almost to the floor.

  Rosie knew it was the old woman, Mary. Had she come to help her? Her arrival seemed to create a static charge in the air and Matron had shrank away. That made no sense. Matron had bragged that the souls she took gave her strength.

  The shadow moved like insects swarming, changing shape and size. Now it was just a moving black cloud… and then a face appeared. It was contorted into a scream, and Rosie felt her stomach flip as she knew that was the moment the knife had hit home.

  It felt like she was there forever, but the apparition was gone within milliseconds and the room returned to normal.

  “You have to go,” Rosie said, and Amy turned around to look at her. There was confusion and fear in her eyes. Rosie was pleased with that. If she could frighten Amy away, that was a good thing.

  “What... what was that?”

  Rosie felt another tear leave her eye. She knew she had to help Mary, had to send her back like she had the children, and to do that, she had to stay out of prison. Maybe prison wouldn’t hold Matron anyway. She had to stay strong and destroy this bitch who had ruined her life, and to do that she had to get help.

  “It was a ghost; it came back with me from RedRise House.”

  Amy sat back down in her chair. Her mouth opening and closing but she said nothing.

  “Amy, I need help,” Rosie said, “and I need you to believe me.”

  “Rosie, you’re making no sense. A ghost, these crazy words, is this about Clive? If it is, you are safe. He’s in jail and he will never hurt you again.”

  Rosie wanted to scream. To shout, listen to me, but she could feel her control slipping and she could feel her right arm inching around to the knife. Clenching her jaw tightly, she fought it and the urge to stab was gone. But, Matron was still here, and the battle inside was in full flow. It was like a banshee inside her head. Wailing and clawing and shouting at her. The noise, the pain, the clamor was too much and suddenly, all she wanted to do was sleep.

  “I need your help,” she managed and then her control slipped. “I need you to understand I’m just tired and distressed. Maybe if you stay with me for a while I will feel better,” Matron said, and gave Amy a sickly smile.

  “Of course,” Amy said. “You go into the living room and put on a DVD. I will make us a couple of mochas and we can order a curry. What do you say?”

  Rosie shook her head and shouted go, go, just get out of here, but the words never left her mind. She felt her lips pull back into a smile that felt more like a snarl. “That sounds great,” Matron said.

  Rosie collapsed onto the worn pink sofa and fought a silent battle. Matron was pushing, fighting, and clawing for control, but she managed to retain at least partial use of her limbs. Leaning back she relaxed as much as she could, pretending that she was tiring, for she had a plan.

  Amy came through a few minutes later and put two cups on the coffee table. “What are we watching?” she asked.

  “Watching?” Matron’s guttural voice asked. Rosie kept quiet, let her show her ignorance.

  “What film do you fancy?”

  “Film?”

  “If you’re too tired we can just sit and read or talk.”

  “No,” Rosie managed, and whispered in Matron’s head. “We should watch a moving picture. I’ve seen one of them before.” Matron smiled at Rosie’s cooperation and grinned at Amy as she repeated the words.

  “Which one?” Amy asked her eyebrows drawn down in confusion at the term.

  Doubt filled Matron’s mind, she really didn’t understand but Rosie had drawn back into her vault. She would watch and monitor. She would ensure that Amy stayed safe, but she wouldn’t assist. For a moment, there was pain and Rosie let out a yelp.

  “Rosie what is it?” Amy asked.

  “Nothing, just flashbacks.”

  “I understand, why don’t I choose the film?”

  Matron nodded, and Rosie was engulfed in the sense of smug satisfaction.

  Amy put on the latest Star Wars DVD. It was one that Rosie had been looking forward to watching, but she could hardly hear a word. The constant battle for control was exhausting. But if she let up on her guard, then she knew that Matron would kill Amy, and she couldn’t allow that.

  After twenty minutes the curries arrived. They went to the kitchen and Rosie stood back while Amy got plates from the cupboard. Once more she could feel her hand itching to go around for the knife.

  It took every ounce of control to stop it, and she knew that she was shaking again.

  Amy pulled her into her arms and hugged her tightly. “Oh Rosie, I’m so sorry that this is so bad for you. I’d really hoped that you would be better away from everything. Now I think it has caused you so much stress. I will never forgive myself for making things worse.”

  Rosie wanted to hug her back but she remained stiff in Amy’s arms. The urge to stab Amy was overwhelming, and she had to bite down on her lip to stop her right hand from reaching out for the knife. Little by little she regained some control and when she did, she pulled away.

  “Just give me a moment,” she said, and ran from the room. Once up the stairs, she pulled the knife from her trousers and threw it onto the bloody clothes which lay crumpled in the corner. Tears ran down her face. What could she do?

  Should she just sit in the corner and hope Amy would leave?

  No, that was no good. She had to get her friend to go, and if she stayed here, then Amy would come up to help. Then she remembered her plan. It was weak but it was all she had.

  Wiping her face, she went down the stairs and together they would eat the curry.

  Rosie let her exhaustion pull her back to her vault. She let Matron take over, for she was sure that the curry would not be something she would want.

  32

  “What is that awful smell?” Matron asked as she came into the kitchen.

  “It’s your favorite,” Amy said. “Jalfrezi and a garlic naan.

  Amy was busy serving up the dishes and arranging them on trays. She tried to be upbeat and friendly, but the strain was showing and exhaustion hung heavily on her. Finally grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge, she opened the bottles and placed one on each tray.

  Rosie was staring at the tray, her lips curled back in either disgust or a snarl. It was hard to tell.

  “What’s wrong?” Amy asked, as she picked up her own tray.

  “Wrong? Why do you keep asking what’s wrong?”

  “Because you are acting so strangely. Rosie, talk to me. Why don’t we forget the film and sit here and talk? Maybe I can help you.”

  Amy watched her friend waver on the spot. Quickly, she put her own tray on the table and grabbed Rosie’s arm. It was cold and stiff. “Come on, take a seat.” She guided Rosie to the small table and sat her down.

  Bringing both of the meals over, she took a seat opposite Rosie. “You need to eat; you look as if you’re losing weight and frankly you look haggard.”

  Rosie had been staring at the curry as if it was something a dog had left on the pavement. She lifted her head and the malice in her eyes almost pushed Amy from her chair. There was something cold, something cruel in that look, and it was the exact opposite of what she expected from her friend. For a moment, Amy thought about leaving and never coming back. She shook her head and let out a sigh.

  “Damn it Rosie, talk to me!”

  “What do you wish me to say?” Rosie asked.

  “Tell me what is wrong?”

  “I just wish to be treated with more respect... with the respect I deserve.”

  Amy shook her head again. It was a strange thing for her friend to say. “I’m sorry, I do respect you and I worry... I heard you talking earlier... about killing, and I’m really worried about you.”

  For long moments Rosie just stared and Amy felt her
stomach tighten. It was as if her friend was staring her down, like she was challenging her and expecting her to back down. Then Rosie relaxed.

  “I’m a writer, remember. I was just doing a bit of character work. Plotting out aloud.”

  Amy smiled, that made sense, but it didn’t ring true. Rosie wrote sweet historical romances and she was quite sure there had never been a murder in any of her books. “Okay, but if anything else is bothering you, I can help.”

  “I know, and I will inform you when I need your assistance.”

  Once more the tone was so cold, formal, calculating, and downright insulting. What was wrong with Rosie?

  Amy picked at her food and watched as Rosie did the same. Each time Rosie took a mouthful she grimaced. They had eaten this meal on many occasions and Rosie had always loved it.

  Amy opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but for some reason she decided it was best to let it be. Maybe Rosie was just tired, maybe it was something more, but pushing her wasn’t going to help.

  So they ate in silence, and the longer it went on the more uncomfortable the silence became. In the end, Amy knew she was best to leave and come back in a day or two. Maybe her friend would be more herself then. Yet she also had a strange feeling that she shouldn’t leave. That Rosie really needed her—but it didn’t make a lot of sense.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Amy asked, as she tidied away the plates.

  Rosie sat at the table and started to shake. Her hand went around behind her and she snapped it back. Staring at it, as she held it out in front of her. All the color had run from her cheeks and she looked deathly ill.

  “Rosie?”

  Amy ran to her side and touched her.

  Rosie struck out and pushed her away.

  “Rosie, damn it, talk to me!”

  Rosie looked up, her face contorted and morphed. It was as if two people inside of her were battling. One wanted to smile the other was angry. They fought for control of her face and her whole body went stiff. She clenched her fists and teeth.