Haunted Lancashire (The Haunting Of Books 1-3)

by Jack Lewis

  Alone.

  She was alone, but her arms were completely icy now, her whole body felt on the edge of trembling, and it took all her will to shove her fear back down. Whatever this thing was, she wouldn’t show it a trace.

  But that brought up another question.

  Should this thing be something she feared?

  “Do you want to hurt me?” she asked.

  And then she waited.

  YES

  “Holy shit. At least you’re honest.”

  She swallowed, but her throat was dryer than ash. She crossed the room, heading toward the door. I’ll take my chances with Alt.

  As she neared it, she felt something block her way. Not hands, not a person, but a force of some sort. Invisible, like a wall had just sprouted up in the middle of the room, blocking her off.

  A hand grabbed her throat. It squeezed. Not hard, but with enough pressure that she knew she wasn’t imagining it.

  She made a fist and swung, hitting nothing.

  The hand around her neck kept hold of her. Rather than squeeze harder, she felt it pushing her back, away from the door. Without any other option, she walked with it, taking steps backward until she was standing behind the desk again.

  The hand relaxed its grip entirely. Loe coughed. She touched her neck, expecting her skin to be hot where it had gripped her, but instead, it was freezing cold.

  This thing wanted to hurt her, but it had held back from doing anything other than pushing her away from the door. It clearly wanted her to ask more questions. Just five more, judging by the space left in the book.

  What then, when the questions were done?

  Well, she had five questions’ worth of time to think about that.

  Something occurred to her. There was a difference between having a desire and acting on it, and she might be wasting her only chance of getting answers by giving in to fear.

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  She stared at the page intently, ready for the word to write itself on the paper.

  A second went by.

  Another.

  So it wanted to hurt her, but it wasn’t going to.

  Maybe she was safe, then. Four questions left.

  “Do you know the way out of the woods?”

  YES

  Now she was getting somewhere.

  “Will you show me?”

  YES

  “Then let’s go. Now,” she said.

  She headed toward the door. Nothing blocked her way, but nor did she feel the presence following her. It was strange, how certain she was that it had not moved. That it would not move.

  But why?

  “Can you leave this room?”

  No answer.

  This thing was stuck here, then.

  “Then how are you going to show me?” she said. She realized this was not a question it could answer for her, but she was feeling both desperate and frustrated, and those were feelings that should never be mixed together. Like slugging down five expressos with an energy drink chaser, they were feelings that were too potent to be combined.

  Think¸ she told herself.

  What did she know so far?

  This thing wanted to hurt her, but it wouldn’t. It held some malice toward her but had enough self-control not to act. Why wouldn’t it act on its desires, if that was what it wanted to do?

  Maybe it needed her for something.

  “Do you need something from me?”

  No answer.

  Maybe it was something else, then. Maybe it was sick. Maybe it had an impulse to hurt her but knew that it was wrong to do so. It might be battling against its own impulses, against its own mind. Loe knew what it was like to fight her own mind.

  So what about the other questions?

  There was a way out of the forest, a way to escape the hall. It wasn’t one that Loe could find on her own, but it was one that the presence knew, and that it was willing to show her.

  But if it couldn’t leave this room, then how could it show her?

  Ah.

  Whatever it was that it needed to show her, it was in this room. The answer to the way out was somewhere inside here.

  The book only had space for two more yesses now, and she decided to save them.

  She began checking the shelves to see if the books could tell her anything. Frustratingly, none of the books had titles on their covers, and she had to take them out and flip to the front page to see what they were called. It took her ten minutes to look at just the first row of the first bookshelf, leaving way too many left to check.

  Then again, what else could she do?

  So she began checking the books again, one after another, tome after tome, title after title. There were books on land cultivation, forestry, winemaking, carpentry. Books on everything you could think of, as if the owner of this study was trying to build some kind of repository of human knowledge. But as much information as they contained, none held what she was looking for.

  She finished the first bookshelf, leaving a mountain of scattered books resting on the floor near the empty rows. Disrespectful, maybe, but screw this place. When had her father or his god damned house, ever shown her respect?

  She started on the second shelf now. After clearing the first row, she found nothing. But although she found nothing useful on the shelf, something changed in the room.

  It was the air. It felt thicker, almost. As if the air had taken on density and was pressing closer to her face. She felt the change when she breathed it in. Fouler air. She could smell it. She tasted it on her tongue, acrid and unpleasant. It gave her a feeling of being watched by stern eyes.

  The presence was changing. She could feel it now, the change in mood. The thing that had answered her questions, the thing that confessed it wanted to hurt her, it was changing.

  Losing control over its desires?

  Loe glanced at the door. Her way out.

  But the door would only lead to another part of the hall, and that wouldn’t help.

  The books…if she didn’t find what she needed, then she was stuck in this place. The presence had told her as much.

  She approached the desk.

  “Are you going to hurt me now?”

  YES

  “Can you control yourself for a little longer?”

  No answer.

  No reassuring words.

  Just thicker, fouler air, as if someone was pumping a misty evil in the room.

  And then a word appeared in the book.

  YES.

  She breathed out in relief.

  Need to hurry.

  She rummaged through the bookshelves at a demonic pace, opening the books, checking the titles for words that might hint of help, then flinging them aside when she found nothing.

  The second shelf gave her nothing useful. Neither did the third. Still the air grew darker. The presence’s gaze felt strong on the back of her neck. She sensed its tension, its inner battle with its own mind. She felt overwhelming pity for it, along with a gut-wrenching fear that if she stayed a second longer, it would lose its fight.

  She could make it to the door. She could take her chances with the siblings. Three against one. And the one had a concussion.

  One more shelf. I can do it.

  As she cleared the books from the first row of the last shelf, she found something.

  Not a book, but something beyond the bookcase itself. A door hidden behind it.

  And then she felt the presence lose its battle. It was as though someone had cut a chain and let a monster loose. She heard it stomp toward her. The room shook, the air smelled of fire and rotten eggs.

  She swept a whole row of books onto the floor with one motion. Then another, another, another. When it was light enough, she gripped the bookcase and strained every sinew she had in pulling it toward her, and finally toppling it.

  A passageway!

  As the presence reached her, she opened the door, strained to pull it far enough that she could squeeze through, and then she left
the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The study had seemed like the safest room in the house, with its comfy sofa and its lamps and the fact that their dad had obviously never spent any of his miserable time in here.

  Now, Mag had the curtains wide open, giving them a view of the night-time scenery surrounding the hall. Rather than revealing the trees of Harrow Woods to them, it felt like the opposite. That by opening the curtains after dark, they were revealing themselves to the forest, to the shadows, to the things that lurked in that maze of trees and shrubs.

  “Can you close them?” said Jay.

  “No. What if someone drives by?”

  “If someone drives by…what the hell are you saying? Nobody is driving through here.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “And you’re a bitch.”

  Jay regretted the words immediately. He wished he could gather them up and cram them back in his mouth, even if they tasted like whiskey and disgrace. Why had he said that? This wasn’t him at all. He felt so ashamed that his eyes began to sting a little, but maybe that was the drink.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really sorry, Mags.”

  “Sorry for now, sure,” she said, not even turning around, like she was unable to take her eyes off the road. “But sorry in three drinks time? Doubt it. You and Alt haven’t changed, but at least he has an excuse.”

  “And I don’t?” He stood up and threw the bottle across the room. It smashed on the wall, coating the wallpaper with whiskey and the carpet with glass. “You think I can control this?”

  Mag didn’t even flinch at the sound of smashed glass, as though she was used to it. She turned away from the window. He expected her to be angry, but instead, she had a kind look on her face.

  “Finally you admit it. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that you have a problem?”

  He said nothing then. There was nothing to say, because he knew she had him. That she’d coaxed him into a trap. All this time, as long as he never made the stupid mistake of admitting he had a problem, then the problem didn’t exist. He could drink as much as he damn well pleased as long as he didn’t do something as foolish as to admit he couldn’t control it.

  But the snake had grown too big and too venomous, and he had to admit to her and himself that he was scared of it now. That it had bitten him more than once, and there might be a time coming where it would bite him for the last time.

  He stared at the whiskey stained walls, at the glass covering the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Mags.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “For what? I’m the idiot, not you.”

  “True, but I’m sorry for letting us get to this point. The three of us, drifting apart. I knew that you and Alt were struggling, but it was an out of sight, out of mind thing, you know? If Dad hadn’t have died, I honestly can’t say that I’d have made any more effort than the occasional phone call.”

  “It’s not like you’re the only one to blame for that,” said Jay.

  “No, but…remember a few years ago? You turned up at my flat again. You were drunk or high, maybe both. You started ringing the doorbell, and then hammering on the door.”

  “I always took advantage of you. I knew you’d always give me a place to crash.”

  “That night, I just had so much going on with Pete that I couldn’t handle another stack of problems. When I heard the doorbell go and I looked out of the window and I saw you, I pretended that I wasn’t home until you went away.”

  Mag said nothing then.

  Jay stared at her, unblinking. He remembered that night. Drenched in rain, broke, drunk, tired, desperate. Well, he’d have to have been. He only sought out Mag when he was at his lowest.

  He remembered pressing the buzzer. Getting no answer.

  He remembered that night too well.

  “I knew you were in, Mag.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I saw you, you moron. You can’t hide for shit. You opened the curtain a little and peeked out, like you were being sneaky.”

  “You knew? And you didn’t mention anything?”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Mag. If anything, that night was a wake up for me. I’m not saying everything turned rosy, because…well, look at me. But at least I cut back a little. Enough to function, to get a flat, a job.”

  Again, they were silent.

  “I did owe you something,” said Mag, finally. “But you owe me, too. I owe Alt, he owes me. We all owe each other, and we’ve all welched on the deal over the years. Now we owe Loe, too.”

  “What about Alt? I’m worried about him.”

  “Let him cool down, and we can talk to him properly.”

  “What about Loe, then?”

  “Let her have some time alone. This would all be overwhelming enough, meeting us for the first time. Then factor in the forest, the bear trap, all the craziness. She probably needs a little time to herself.”

  “You’re getting soft in your old age,” said Jay.

  Mag flumped down on the sofa next to him, punching his arm as she landed. As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop himself wincing.

  “Not too soft to beat the crap out of you,” she said. She tapped the book on his lap. “Did you read this thing? Is it something Alt was working on?”

  Jay grimaced. “I haven’t even opened it yet. Couldn’t bring myself to. It’s one thing hearing Alt talk about this stuff but seeing it written down is like getting slapped in the face with it. It just makes me feel bad.”

  “Let’s take a look. Might help us understand it.”

  Thirty minutes later, they were sitting in silence. Altair’s book rested on Jay’s lap, the last page turned.

  Only, it wasn’t Altair’s book. Now that Jay had read it front to back, he knew it couldn’t have belonged to his older brother, couldn’t have been written by him. It wasn’t just a question of the handwriting not being Alt’s. That wouldn’t have proven much, really.

  No, it was the content. The tone. There was something about this book, an otherness, and a truthfulness. For some reason, after reading all fifty pages, Jay found himself utterly convinced by it.

  He looked at Mag. “You believe it?”

  “I do. You?”

  “Me too.”

  “But why?”

  “I’m asking myself the same thing,” said Jay. “I just do. I believe it more than anything I’ve ever read. I just feel it…”

  “In your gut.”

  “Like a stone. Heavy, but like it’s always been there, and I only just realized it.”

  The book had just fifty pages, each one containing a paragraph or two written in a rushed hand. It wasn’t a diary, nothing as personal as that, more like a notebook full of discoveries that kept getting added to one after another. None of the entries were dated, but Jay got the sense that it had taken a great deal of time for the person to fill the book.

  “Curses,” muttered Mag. “Really?”

  “It all fits. Everything in the book. Apply it to Dad, Mag, and tell me it doesn’t make sense.”

  He watched her staring at the book. He knew she was trying to come up with some way, any way to dispute what they’d just read. He understood why she’d want to. The horror of it was only just hitting him. He could feel it creeping up, a cold dread hiding under his skin, slithering through his insides.

  Every time he tried to think of a reason why all of this couldn’t fit together, he couldn’t. It was true.

  God, it’s all true.

  “Dad wasn’t abandoning us,” said Mag.

  “He was saving us.”

  “This guy I’ve hated for so long. So many times I wished he was dead. And then when he actually did die, I felt nothing. Now…”

  “It was the curse,” said Jay, absentmindedly drumming on the book. “As soon as he learned about it he sent us away from here, to protect us.”

  “Before we could get stuck here with him.”

  “It was after Grandp
a fell off the roof, remember? That’s when it all changed. When Dad told us we had to go.”

  Mag stood up.

  Jay grabbed her sleeve. “Where are you going?”

  “We need to be together. We need to tell Alt that he’s not…that we believe him.”

  Jay nodded. “I’ll get Loe. You go talk to Alt.”

  “Meet you back here.”

  They split up. Jay went out of the study, through the kitchen and then into the basement. He found The Door wide open, this time propped up by two bricks and a stone. There was no sign of Loe.

  “Loe?” he said.

  Ten minutes later, he was back in the kitchen. He was about to go upstairs to find Mag when he heard her footsteps stomping down the hallway, and soon she joined him in the kitchen, alone.

  “Loe?” she asked.

  “Gone. Where’s Alt?”

  “Gone.”

  Both of them left the kitchen and stood in the hallway then, where the front door of Harrow Hall was wide open, swaying in the night breeze. Outside it, the forest waited for them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The presence didn’t follow Loe away from the room with the books. Just like the girl in the cell, it seemed that it couldn’t tread beyond the room’s boundaries, though she knew it was watching her from the other end of the passageway.

  Loe felt its malevolent gaze on her back, staring at her with hate that it could barely control. She didn’t hate it in return. The only emotion she felt was pity. Pity for whatever its existence was, and for the internal struggle that even death – because she assumed this thing was dead – hadn’t freed it from.

  Now she had other things to think about. There was a way out of this, and all she had to do was see where the passageway led. Maybe it cut through the forest somehow, and it would take her out of the woods and into Eldike, where her car would be waiting, and she could just get in and drive.

  But first, the passageway.

  It was a tunnel of stone, tall enough to stand in yet so narrow that she had barely an inch of room either side of her. After walking down it for ten minutes, she became suspicious. After thirty, she was worried. After taking the twists and turns of this tight passageway for what she judged to be an hour, she realized that it stretched out impossibly long.