With a pounding head made worse by his confusion, Joe opened and closed the door over and over. He closed it slowly, then yanked it open; nothing was there.
Okay, Joe, too much booze, or one too many horror movies? Now get a grip. He opened the door cautiously and grabbed his shaving gel. Squirting some into his hand, he pushed the door shut with his elbow and as the magnets clicked together, he glanced up to see a grey shadow cross his peripheral vision.
He whipped around with his razor raised, frantically scanning the room as the hairs on his arm all stood to attention. Once again, he found it empty. Behind him, the door was closed and a black towel hung neatly on a rail.
Am I going nuts?
His second thought was that maybe one of the guys was playing a prank on him, rigging something that would cause a shadow to appear and disappear. He stared into all four corners of the room, but nothing was there and nowhere was big enough for the guys to hide.
He opened the bathroom door and peered down the lengthy hallway which was littered with wood scraps from his unfinished projects, but no intruder lurked in the shadows.
Splashes of light reflected back at him from a selection of tiny mirrors on the wall. They were cut into the shape of stars and arranged into constellations scattered over the hall walls and ceiling. Once he had finished all his projects, it would be amazing. Looking down at his hand, Joe saw shaving foam all over the door handle. He waved his razor at nothing and ducked back into the bathroom, grabbing the flannel to wipe up his mess.
Pumping more foam, he finished his shave, feeling decidedly spooked and strangely chilly. It was that someone walked on my grave feeling and he tried to shake it off. Maybe it was not the shadow; maybe it was worry about Lara. He rubbed a hand through his hair and he smiled at himself.
Vain. How dare she say I’m vain? And sensitive. Is this the face of a sensitive man? I think not. He pulled a mean mug. Bloody baby-blue eyes. What was she on? Yeah, but she also said you were an asshole.
He stared at himself in the mirror, his hangdog eyes hard to avoid. On that one, he had to agree.
With his arms resting on the sink, he stared down at the plughole, letting the despair overwhelm him for just a few moments. He wouldn’t give into this; they had come so far and Lara meant none of the things she said; she just liked to tease him. He raised his head back to the mirror.
“Shit.”
Black, nefarious eyes stared back at him. Surrounded by a mane of black hair, they looked out of a grey face from hell.
Joe jumped in shock and turned around. Fear gripped his chest and fueled his turn. His fist came up ready to fly forward and smash into—nothing. The bathroom was empty.
He ripped open the door and rushed into the hallway. The emptiness mocked him; both ways, the hall was still barren. What the f … is happening?
He retreated back into the bathroom and peered into the mirror. A tired, weather-worn face stared back at him, but nothing more. With a shaky hand, he pulled down his lower eyelids, just to check. Red, bloodshot eyes stared back, but what was he looking for? Drugs? Could one of the guys have slipped something into his drink that was making him hallucinate? No, they wouldn’t do that. They enjoyed a joke as much as the next guy, well, probably a bit more, but nothing that extreme.
Only there had been hallucinations before; little things visualized out of the corner of his eye … but nothing like this. It always had to do with snakes, not … what exactly had he seen? Could he describe it? The word ghost came to his mind and he had a vision of Patrick Swayze. No, not that type of ghost, but it had looked like a spirit, like something out of The Grudge—only male and vindictive. The look in those black eyes had been pure venom.
There was something translucent about it too, as if it was slightly out of phase and slightly porous. This was crazy. He was crazy; this couldn’t be real. Then he imagined the pit-black eyes and skin the color of funeral ash. A shiver passed through him but he forced it away. This was not real; he must be imagining it. A chuckle formed in his throat and he bent over the sink with his head down.
You are really going over the edge this time, ol’ boy.
He took in a couple of deep breaths, settling his nerves, and told himself it was all in his mind. This was just exhaustion from working long hours, combined with his lack of sleep since the separation, maybe even a healthy dose of guilt.
Feeling more confident, he stood up and opened his eyes tentatively. Relief washed over him. Nothing was there; only the reflection of the bathroom he was so proud of. He grabbed the razor and reached up to open the cabinet.
As his fingers touched the door, a frisson of fear spiked his nerves. Oh, for God’s sake, man, get a grip. With a forced smile, he pulled the door open and returned the razor to its rightful place. A sigh escaped him as the doors clicked shut. Nothing. As he turned to leave, a flash of grey crossed the mirror. He turned back with his heart in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears, and electric currents raced up his arms.
There, in the mirror, was the man, a grey spirit man, with black, sunken eyes and coal-black lips.
Joe was caught in his gaze like a spider in a web and his mind struggled to comprehend. What is this?
At last he could move and spun around with his arms raised and ready, but the bathroom was empty. Punching his fist out into nothing, he overbalanced then spun back to the mirror. Empty eyes stared back at him from a translucent face. He could see the bathroom through the … man … spirit … ghost over his shoulder.
He whipped around again, but nothing was there, He looked back to the mirror and the man winked at him with a big black eye. It was momentarily covered by a thin grey filament that reminded Joe of rotting flesh. As the skin on his back crawled with revulsion, he spun around. Again, nothing was in his field of vision. He glanced back to the mirror and it, he, was there, reflected as clear as a grave.
Fear clouded his mind. He must be going crazy. The urge to drop to the floor was strong, but he wouldn’t give in. Looking in the mirror, he worked out exactly where the figure was and then spun around with his arms closing on thin air.
“We can do this all night.”
Joe saw the man’s lips move. As the mouth opened, there was nothing but black, but his ears weren’t hearing any sounds; instead, the words permeated inside his head. The voice reminded him of a card shark he had once known. The man was always one step ahead of you, always calculating, and as slimy as frog’s spawn.
“What?” Joe asked, and turned around to once again find nothing there.
“Eyes forward, jackass. You can only see me in the mirror.”
“No, this is wrong; I must be dreaming.” Joe ran his hands through his hair and hugged his head as if he could squeeze the words out.
The man opened his mouth and a blackness came out of it like a mist fanning out from the river. Cold seeped up Joe’s neck and into his bones. It was the worst feeling he had ever experienced. It was like death touched him and tainted him with despair.
“This is no dream. I have a message for you.”
Joe turned again, grabbing with his hands, but he fell forward as he connected with nothing. With a sense of dread, he turned back to the mirror.
“What … what … I know I must be crazy, but what are you?”
“My name is Malum, but you can call me the Spirit of Death.”
Joe’s heart thrashed against his chest like a frightened child trying to escape a nightmare. “Spirit … what?”
“You woke me.”
The words were like slithering worms in Joe’s brain.
“And so soon, thank you.” Malum bowed slightly in the mirror. The light seemed to slide off his skin like mud off a dead fish.
Joe felt confusion tug at his mouth. “No problem. Wha …what?”
“I’m going to have some fun with you.” The words inside Joe’s head were insistent as they wormed their way in and he had to listen; he had to believe. The black eyes blinked again and Joe could swear they sparkle
d with glee. As the grey man’s mouth moved, showing the black hole that resided inside, the words appeared inside Joe’s mind.
“Your friends say you’re a real asshole, so listen and listen carefully.”
Joe shook his head, trying to jar the words out of there, trying to regain control of his mind. Nothing happened, so he slapped his face. The spirit, ghost, Spirit of Death, was still there, so he hit harder. The blow hurt but nothing changed and once more he spun around to find the bathroom empty.
This couldn’t be happening, but the words just kept coming as that thing’s lips moved over that empty black hole. Joe feared that mouth, feared that he could be sucked into it and lose his soul. It was stupid and childish, but every time it opened, the room got darker. It was as if death was escaping from that mouth and Joe feared it would touch him and take him with it.
“You have one week to live.”
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The Haunting of Seafield House – Preview
30th June 1901
Seafield House.
Barton Flats,
Yorkshire.
England.
am.
Jenny Thornton sucked in a tortured breath and hunkered down behind the curtains. The coarse material seemed to stick to her face, to cling there as if holding her down. Fighting back the thought and the panic it engendered she crouched even lower and tried to stop the shaking of her knees, to still the panting of her breath. It was imperative that she did not breathe too loudly, that she kept quiet and still. If she was to survive with just a beating, then she knew she must hide. Tonight he was worse than she had ever seen him before. Somehow, tonight was different, she could feel it in the air.
Footsteps approached on the landing. They were easy to hear through the door and seemed to mock her as they approached. Each step was like another punch to her stomach, and she could feel them reverberating through her bruises. Why had she not fled the house?
As if in answer, lightening flashed across the sky and lit up the sparsely furnished room. There was nothing between her and the door. A dresser to her right provided no shelter for an adult yet her eyes were drawn to the door on its front. It did not move but stood slightly ajar. Inside, her precious Alice would keep quiet. They had played this game before, and the child knew that she must never come out when Daddy was angry. When he was shouting. Would it be enough to keep her safe? Why had Jenny chosen this room? Before she could think, thunder boomed across the sky and she let out a yelp.
Tears were running down her face, had he heard her? It seemed unlikely that he could hear such a noise over the thunder and yet the footsteps had stopped. Oh my, he was coming back. Jenny tried to make herself smaller and to shrink into the thick velvet curtains, but there was nowhere else to go.
If only she had listened to her father, if only she had told him about Alice. For a moment, all was quiet, she could hear the house creak and settle as the storm raged outside. The fire would have burned low, and soon the house would be cold. This was the least of her problems. Maybe she should leave the room and lead Abe away from their daughter. Maybe it was her best choice. Their best choice.
Lightning flashed across the sky and filled the room with shadows. Jenny let out a scream for he was already there. A face like an overstuffed turkey loomed out of the darkness, and a hand grabbed onto her dress. Jenny was hauled off her feet and thrown across the room. Her neck hit the top of the dresser, and she slumped to the floor next to the door. How she wanted to warn Alice to stay quiet, to stay inside but she could not make a sound. There was no pain, no feeling and yet she knew that she was broken. Something had snapped when she hit the cabinet, and somehow she knew it could never be fixed. That it was over for her. In her mind, she prayed that her daughter, the child who had become her daughter, would be safe just before a distended hand reached out and grabbed her around the neck. There was no feeling just a strange burning in her lungs. The fact that she did not fight seemed to make him angrier and she was picked up and thrown again.
As she hit the window, she heard the glass shatter, but she did not feel the impact. Did not feel anything. Suddenly, the realization hit her and she wanted to scream, to wail out the injustice of it but her mouth would not move. Then he was bending over her.
“Beg for your life, woman,” Abe Thornton shouted and sprayed her with spittle.
Jenny tried to open her mouth, not to beg for her own life but to beg for that of her daughter’s. She wanted to ask him to tell others about the child they had always kept a secret, the one that he had denied. To admit that they had a daughter and maybe to let the child go to her grandparents. Only her mouth would not move, and no sound came from her throat.
She could see the red fury in his eyes, could feel the pressure building up inside of him and yet she could not even blink in defense. This was it, the end, and for a moment, she welcomed the release. Then she thought of Alice, alone in that cupboard for so long. Now, who would visit her, who would look after her? There was no one, and she knew she could never leave her child.
Abe grabbed her by the front of her dress and lifted her high above his head. The anger was like a living beast inside him, and he shook her like she was nothing but a rag doll. Then with a scream of rage, he threw her. This time she saw the curtains flick against her face and then there was nothing but air.
The night was dark, rain streamed down, and she fell with it. Alongside it she fell, tumbling down into the darkness. In her mind she wheeled her arms, in her mind she screamed out the injustice, but she never moved, never made a sound.
Instead, she just plummeted toward the earth.
Lightning flashed just before she hit the ground. It lit up the jagged rocks at the base of the house, lit up the fate that awaited her and then it was dark. Jenny was overwhelmed with fear and panic, but there was no time to react, even if she could. Jenny smashed into the rocks with a hard thump and then a squelch, but she did not feel a thing.
“Alice, I will come back for you,” she said in her mind. Then it was dark, it was cold, and there was nothing.
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Also by Caroline Clark
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Newest Books
The Ghost Behind You - Trapped in the dark, revelling in the taste of death, a spirit waits for release…
Daddy Won’t Kill You - A rocking chair, relaxing, comfortable, soaked in the blood of its victims.
The Spirit Guide Series:
The Haunting of Seafield House - Gail wants to create some memories – if she survives the night in Seafield House it is something she will never forget.
The Haunting on the Hillside - Called From Beyond – The Spirit Guide - A Woman in White Ghost Story. A non-believer, a terrible accident, a stupid mistake. Is Mark going mad or was his girlfriend Called from Beyond?
The Haunting of Oldfield Drive - DarkMan Alone in the dark, Margie must face unimaginable terror. Is this thing that haunts her nights a ghost or is it something worse?
Standalone Books
The Haunting of Brynlee House Based on a real haunted house - Brynlee House has a past, a secret, it is one that would be best left buried.
The Haunting of Shadow Hill House A move for a better future becomes a race against the past. Something dark lurks in Shadow Hill House and it is waiting.
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©Copyright 2018 Caroline Clark
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Caroline Clark
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License Notes
This e-Book is licensed for personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others. If you wish to share this book, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this book and it was not purchased then, you should purchase your own copy. Your continued respect for author's rights is appreciated.
This story is a work of fiction any resemblance to people is purely coincidence. All places, names, events, businesses, etc. are used in a fictional manner. All characters are from the imagination of the author.
The Ghosts of RedRise House Page 55
