The Ghosts of RedRise House

by Caroline Clark

  As the door opened more torches came in carried by two figures in dark cloaks behind them were a number of children their heads were down. They looked dirty and solemn, he got the sudden urge to help them. Maybe these were the children Shelly had spoken about. The ones she wanted to free, the ones Rosie had promised she would free. Would they help him? It didn't matter he couldn't risk it, letting out a scream of anguish he ran toward them waving the torch through the air. Like a murmur of swallows, they moved out to surround him.

  The flame whooshed as he parried, creating crazy shadows and bringing his dizziness back to full force. He hit the adults first expecting a kickback as the torch thrashed into their bodies, but it never came. The flame went straight through the figures He stumbled forward as the torch went through them, they were insubstantial, they couldn't hurt him, and so he ran on. Head down giving everything he got he swung the torch in front of them as he charged at the group.

  He expected to dive straight through and to run on down the hallway only this time the torch was yanked from his fingers and floated off into the air.

  "No," he screamed, but it was too late, for though he ran as fast as he could his feet were no longer on the floor and he was getting nowhere. The children threw back their heads, he could see the terrible wounds at their throats as they started to make an inhuman keening sound.

  Something held him high above the ground — suspended — paralyzed. The children circled around him. Though he tried to fight to thrash his arms and feet, to roll his head and body, he couldn't move. Paralysis held him perfectly still except for his racing heart and the bead of sweat that ran down his cheek to drip onto the floor. Inaction and immobility heightened the fear until he thought that his heart would burst.

  Gently he was carried across the air with the children walking beneath him they circled the altar, and he was placed down on top of it.

  The two robed adults appeared on either side of his head, and then he saw the knife. And he started to scream.

  61

  Shelly braced for impact. It was just a fraction of a second, but she closed her eyes and clenched her fists and waited. Every part of her knew that this was the end and yet her life didn't flash before her. Instead, she saw Jack's sweet face. Saw him blushing and knowing how she felt, now it was too late. She had killed him, killed them both.

  The spirit hit her. There was nothing but cold. A cold, disturbing feeling as the spirit passed right through. Shaking, dropping to her knees she scrambled around on the floor to see him behind her.

  “Get up,” she shouted and hauled herself to her feet.

  Though her heart pounded and her knees were weak she was filled with a feeling of power. She had faced it down, it... he couldn't hurt her. Now all she had to do was send him away. She knew many banishing rituals, had even brought a book of them here, but hadn’t managed to read it. It didn’t matter, she wanted to use the one that Rosie had used when she was trapped here. None of the ones Shelly knew had ever been tried. They were just words on a page. Rosie had done this with no knowledge. She had survived this house when Matron was here, Shelly was determined to survive too. She wouldn’t give up, not even on Jack there was more of the house to search. She would search it, she would find him, and they would get out of here.

  So what was the releasing ritual? The more she searched her mind, the more elusive it became, and she knew she didn't have long.

  The air was freezing, her breath misted before her face, and her arms were covered in goosebumps. The spirit stood, his hands at his side, his head down hiding that awful skull.

  What was the ritual? “I rebuke you.” No that wasn’t it. “In the name of the Lord,” her voice was shaky and unsure.

  The spirit raised his head only this time the skull was gone, she recognized him. It was the old man. The white hair was hidden by the hood, but she would never forget those eyes. Cold, dark, they filled her with despair. This was the one who had welcomed her here. It was Mr. Duncan. Had he tricked her? Had he known she would be stuck here, he must have. Where was the woman?

  Once more she tried to think of the ritual, it just wouldn’t come to her mind. Everything was happening so quickly, and she just kept worrying about Jack.

  Shelly felt the grey-haired man's eyes on her. Like insects pattering all over her arms, they made her skin crawl. That wasn't as bad as the look he gave her. Those dark, desolate eyes bored into her soul and saw only the worst. Beneath his gaze, she felt shallow, foolish, inexperienced, and naïve. They made her out to be nothing, and she shrank beneath their black hated stare.

  This seemed to please him, for the first time, he smiled. It was not a nice smile but one that could curdle milk and crush children.

  At first, it had the required effect, pushing her back, crushing her down. Shaking her head she fought against it, she was made of more than this, he had no right. He had no right to trick her, no right to judge her. At last, the ritual came to her mind. “In the Name of Jesus, I rebuke the spirit..."

  Rage crossed his face and once more he flew at her. In the blink of an eye, he crossed the distance between them becoming incorporeal for just a moment. As he re-materialized wind rose in the hallway and Shelly was blasted off her feet and sent tumbling down the corridor.

  Her back hit a door frame, and she crashed to a halt bruised, battered, and disoriented. But the pain sparked her anger. She clawed herself back to her feet. That was when she remembered something that Rosie had said. It was not the words of the exorcism or the releasing prayer that were as important as the intention. So far her intention had been fear and escape, that wouldn't do. So she clenched her fists so hard that her nails dug into her palms and with all her heart she wanted this spirit gone.

  “In the Name of Jesus Christ, I rebuke the spirit of Clive Duncan."

  The spirit roared and rushed toward her but she stepped lightly aside, and that was when she saw the bottle of Holy Water. Somewhere along the way she had lost her own but there was Jack's lying, unbroken, and waiting for her. She stepped to the side and scooped it up. Without stopping she turned around so that she was behind the spirit and unscrewed the top. Before he realized what she was doing, she threw half the bottle over him.

  Clive roared with rage and turned toward her. Smoke rose in silky tendrils from his cloak, and suddenly he was not as intimidating.

  Pulling himself to his full height and throwing back his head he showed her the skull once more.

  Only Shelly was no longer terrified, afraid yes, wary, sure, but she was more determined, more angry. She was having none of it. She had nothing to lose and everything to fight for, so she advanced toward him and saw him shimmer slightly.

  "You not so sure now, are you?"

  The wind rose in the corridor swirling around her pushing, pulling, shoving but she held her feet and held her ground. Another step toward him and she splashed more Holy Water and watched with delight as it sizzled on his cloak.

  “In the Name of Jesus Christ, I rebuke the spirit of Clive Duncan." The name had come to her the first time she said the words and this time she knew what she wanted from the releasing prayer. She wanted this beast gone from this place, from her sight. She wanted him back in the hell he came from.

  "I command you leave this place, without manifestation and without harm to me or anyone..."

  Before her, he began to fade. At first simply becoming more translucent. It filled her with a power she could not believe. Though she had always wanted to do this, up until now, it had always been make-believe. Just a childish dream but nothing real. Now she understood, she had the power, she could get rid of spirits, and she would do. Taking one more step toward him, she held out the bottle of Holy Water as a threat.

  The spirit shrank before her and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

  If only she had done this before, if only. She knew the power of the releasing ritual, it didn’t matter... he was gone, and there were more important things to do. She had to find Jack.

  Taking
a moment to catch a breath and savor what just happened Shelly looked down the corridor. It was short and had shrunk back to the normal size that it should be. There were four doors on each side in front of her and four on each side behind her. So far she had checked just two of them. Now she would search the rest, the third floor, the rest of the house, and she would find Jack.

  Quickly she ran to the next door and pushed it open. It was an empty room filled with eight wooden bunk beds. There were stains on the walls, stains on the wooden floor and the room felt desolate and full of despair. Bad things had happened here. Was this where the children were hurt, where they were murdered? Clive had said they weren’t murdered here and had put emphasis on the here. She had been a fool, he meant the spot they had been standing on, not the house.

  She stood for a few moments longer than she should have, there was something about the room that made her want to stay.

  "I'm here to help you, will you help me?"

  A gentle breeze swirled around her hair lifting her ponytail and tickling her neck. It was warm and smelt of summer flowers and was nothing like the wind she had felt before. Maybe now it was time for a dialogue.

  So she stood and listened and waited... nothing else happened. Turning she closed the door and ran to the next one.

  This room was much like the last one filled with bunk beds. Sat on the top of one at the back of the room was a young girl. Leaning against the wall she had her knees up and her arms around them, her head relaxed forward. The sound of sobbing came from the room, and Shelly was filled with sadness.

  "Hello, my name’s Shelly, I'm here to help you... what is your name?"

  The sobbing continued and filled her with such despair that it crushed her chest. Shelly took a step toward her but as she did the girl faded away.

  "No, no don't go, don't leave me."

  A final sob filled the air and then there was nothing but silence.

  Shelly could breathe once more, she wanted to stay there, wanted to try and communicate, but she knew that time was short. So she walked over to the bed and put a hand on the dirty blanket where the girl had been sat. It was cold, damp, and as she pulled her hand away, it was covered in blood.

  Shelly let out a scream and stepped back rubbing her hand. When she looked again her hand was clean, there had been no blood — it was just an illusion.

  She left the room, closed the door and continue down to the next one.

  As she approached the door, she could hear the sound of whispers and the hair rose on the back of her neck. Part of her wanted to run, but she had to know. The sibilant sounds continued, harsher now and more threatening, but still she would not turn back. She pushed the door open, a shadow crossed in front of her. The air was cold, her breath frosted in front of her and shadows moved across the furthest corner.

  "I'm here to help you. To give you peace. Will you help me first?"

  The whispers rose and fell in the air. Though she couldn't hear the words, the tone was angry, and a strong wind rose in the room. It filled her nose and clogged her throat with the scent of decay. Swallowing bile, she ignored the smell of something long dead and opened her arms. In response, the wind hit her hard and pushed her back to the corridor. The door slammed, and the air was filled with cruel laughter.

  Shelly tried to control her breathing, but it was difficult. Taking gasp after gasp, she calmed herself as much as she could and turned toward the next door.

  She waited outside and listened, there was nothing to hear. Opening the door, she found nothing but an empty room. Dark stains marred the painted walls. It looked like it had once been white but was now a horrible cream covered in what she knew to be blood.

  As she turned to leave she saw a young boy peeking his head around the next door. He smiled and beckoned for her to come to him and suddenly she was filled with hope.

  62

  Jack was lying on the altar surrounded by children and three adults in heavy cloaks. The children's heads were down their eyes sad for they knew what was coming. Somehow he knew this was where they had died. That they had lain here afraid, terrified, and that someone, probably one of these three had ended their lives.

  Though his own fear was beyond his control a part of him felt for them, and another part could think of nothing but Shelly. Would she blame herself? He knew she would. That was her, always thinking of others and more than anything he hoped she didn't find him.

  The chanting began again, it was Latin, he couldn't understand any of it, somehow that made it worse.

  Two adults stood at his shoulders facing him, the third one stood at his feet. Their heads were bowed, the hoods covering their faces and he was afraid to see them. Afraid of what was beneath the dark material of those hoods.

  The children spread around in a circle, and all joined hands.

  "Let me out of here," Jack shouted. "Just let me the hell out of here. I won't tell anyone what you've done."

  The only answer was a shrill keening sound. It started low, just on the edge of his hearing, and yet it scraped across his nerves like a bow across a badly tuned string. Gradually the noise increased in volume until it filled the room and sapped away his strength. What was he to do? How could he get out of here?

  "There is no way," a deep, gruff voice said. "We lost her, the one we worship, maybe if we take enough souls she will return to us."

  The words chilled Jack to the bone. They were not just going to kill him they were going to keep him here, like these children, forever. Maybe they would even force him to kill, just like Rosie had been forced to kill.

  The children walked clockwise around him. He tried to watch, tried to struggle, but the adults clasped hold of him. One on each shoulder one on his legs. No matter how hard he tried, though he bucked, kicked, and rolled his body, they kept him pinned to the hard cold stone. Bony fingers dug into his flesh so hard that he knew they would bruise and still he kicked and fought but it was all to no avail.

  Round and round the children went and he found he was watching with them praying they kept moving because somehow he knew when they stopped it was time. They changed direction and circled the opposite way.

  "Help me, please help me," he called into the darkness, it was of no use. No one was listening, no one was helping him, he would die here tonight. Die by the knife that he had seen earlier where was it now?

  As if in answer to his question the cloaked figure next to him pulled the knife from beneath his cloak and held it high above him. It caught the light of the flames and flashed orange light like the fires of hell.

  Fear knelt on his chest like a sumo wrestler forcing the air from his lungs and crushing his spirit. Tears fell from his eyes and ran down his face to land on the cold stone.

  This was it.

  The children stopped and turned to face him. Jack knew it was coming. This was it his time. What could he do, how could he save himself, how could he escape?

  He didn't have the Holy Water he didn't know the rituals, didn't know anything. What was he doing here?

  The keening noise still filled the room and one by one the children raised their heads until they were looking up at the ceiling.

  Jack let out a scream when he saw what was making the terrible, ear-splitting noise. Ugly, bleeding, crusty and repulsive gashes marred all their throats. All of them were different. Each wound was long and deep. Some showed bone, some just flesh. They moved like obscene mouths, ragged lips flapping as the sound went past them.

  They had lain here on this stone bench, on this altar, and sometime, many years ago, that knife had ripped out their lives.

  Now it was his turn.

  Shelly walked toward the young boy slowly and calmly. Putting a smile on her face, she tucked the Holy Water in the back of her jeans and showed him that her hands were empty.

  He smiled a sweet, cheeky grin that lit up his dirty face.

  It was hard to tell what he looked like, but she imagined he was around six years old. However, he was thin and covered in dirt
and looks could be deceptive. Blond hair was matted to his head and stuck out in places, but he had rosy lips and sweet eyes.

  “I’m here to help you,” she said as she got closer and closer. “Can you help me?”

  A light laugh floated across the air between them, and he nodded, turned, and disappeared into the room.

  Disappointment flooded through her but maybe he just wanted her to follow, and so she did.

  As Shelly got to the door, it swung shut toward her, she put out her foot to stop it closing. It jarred right up her leg and crushed her toes, she pushed it open.

  The lights dimmed, going off for a moment, and then coming back on but not to full strength. The room was dull, filled with shadows and cold so very cold. She peered across the threshold, she couldn't see the boy hidden within the gloom.

  That same light laughter trickled across the air. It was such a happy sound, one that she couldn’t be afraid of. Without another thought, she entered the room.

  "Are you there?"

  Another trickle of laughter.

  "I want to help you, but I'm in a hurry to know where my friend is?"

  He is in the bad place. The words were spoken in her mind in the voice of a young boy.

  "Can you help me find him?"

  Then she saw the child, sat in the corner, an old wooden top spinning on the floor before him. His eyes wouldn't leave it as it twirled slower and slower before falling with a clatter to the rotted floorboards. As it stopped, she could see it was crudely made and wondered if the boy had carved it himself.

  "I like your toy," she said and moved closer toward him. "May I sit and play with you?"

  He looked up at her, and a big smile came on his dirty face. A grubby hand picked up the piece of wood and handed it to her.

  It was cold in her fingers and heavier than she expected. Every fiber of her knew she should be looking for Jack knew he didn't have much time, but this boy was her only lead, and part of her also knew she was meant to be here.