Wyndham Hall

by Midge Cline

  “Sometimes life is the best teacher.” He said. “The gift of life is not worth anything if you don’t use it to benefit someone. Sometimes that someone is yourself. The secret to happiness is learning to know the difference.” He said.

  She pulled her feet out of the water quickly, turned her face to meet his and unabashedly placed her lips on his quickly before racing away. “Thanks for lunch!” She yelled over her shoulder as she raced back to the Hall.

  Alex McHenry smiled broadly as she ran from him.

  ****

  Pippa found Seriah in the library, searching through a stack of books on the medieval history of the local area.

  “Duchess, do you have a moment?” Pippa asked as she entered.

  “Of course, Pippa.” Seriah smiled and closed the book she had been working with. Her well-manicured hand patted the sofa beside her, indicating that Pippa should have a seat.

  “This morning’s experience, it changed me.” Pippa explained.

  “The most powerful ones in our lives usually do.” Seriah agreed.

  “My father is not going to like what I am about to do,” Pippa told her. “And as much as I hate to ask for help, I’m afraid I may need it.”

  Pippa went on to explain her new, life changing plans to the woman who had the knowledge and the power to help her most.

  ****

  “Let me get this straight.” Dexter’s mind tried to wrap around what his wife had told him. “She is going to finish this terms classes, then change majors?”

  “Yes.” Seriah nodded.

  “From Sciences to Social Services.” He said.

  “Yes.” Seriah nodded again.

  “Pippa?” Dexter’s brows furrowed, “My assistant, Pippa, Penelope Atkins, wants to learn to help, people? But she doesn’t like people!”

  “Yes,” Seriah assured him, “And you,” she placed a beautiful nail on his hardened chest. “Are going to show her every ounce of support you can muster.”

  “I am?” He swallowed, “Of course I am.” He said with resignation. His face a gambit of confusion and bewilderment. He knew better than to argue, Seriah had set her heart on a project person. Someone she could help. And little or nothing would stand in her way.

  “The ghost children have opened this need in her, this path for her to follow. And we, as in you and me, are going to be her guides along that path.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Dexter said obediently.

  ****

  Colt shifted the knapsack on his back as he pedaled the bike along the narrow concrete path. Green Alkanet with vibrant blue flowers mingled at the base of Fuchsia shrubs with their rich greenery and decadent red blossoms, lining the trail along with a plethora of Trefoil and other wildflowers peeking through the foliage, emitting a powerful aromatic force as they rode past them.

  “Slow down, Colt!” Binne yelled. “I want to enjoy the flowers.”

  “Yeah! 4 million shades of green are passing by us in a blur!” Mille laughed as she brought her bike to a stop.

  “Ten-minute break!” Harry announced as she stopped beside her sister.

  Colt turned his bike and joined them, Malcolm arriving from behind them, panting with exuberance. He climbed off his bike and face planted himself comically in the grass.

  “Where are we?” Binne asked as she sprawled herself on the grass with her friends.

  “We are still on your estate.” Colt answered. “The ruins of the old church are at the end of this path. The Hall is only a few miles that way. “He pointed into the dense wood.

  “Where exactly are we going and --?” Millie asked.

  “Why the hell are you in such a hurry to get there?” Harry finished for her.

  “We are heading up to the old Wallace farm.” He said with a large grin.

  “What!”

  “YES!”

  “No!”

  “Where?”

  Colt’s friends responded at once before stretching his long legs out in front of himself in the cool grass.

  “The Wallace place used to be a sheep farm, but when the farmers died out, they left it to Rissa, she is the leader of the gypsy clan who lives there now.” Colt explained. “They put on acrobatic and juggling shows and sell crafts, grow the best vegetables in the village, and have a fortune teller.”

  “Crap! I wish you had not kept this a surprise, I would have brought some money!” Malcolm sad with disappointment. “They make this really great sweet tart, it is the best.”

  “I have enough on me for those, and some cold teas as well.” Colt laughed. “And some money for the fortune teller too, which is the point of going, I understand she has a great ability to rid one of angry ghosts and evil spirits.”

  “Really? What a great idea!” Millie said, “Rissa might be a great help.”

  “Yeah, we just have to remember to tell the folks, after we get back. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission.” Colt added with a laugh.

  The teens followed the bike trail until they came to a crossroads, following the one to the East, Binne noticed the trees began to thicken on either side of them, when they came upon a wide dirt road that led into the dense forest.

  After a mile or so they saw signs posted on the trees. “Wallace Farm”, “Private Property” “No Hunting” “Fortunes told 10 Euros” “Sweet tarts” “Show times: 4pm and 8pm Mon-Fri”.

  Near the end of the road the trees broke, revealing a large flat glen. Scattered around the glen were modern camper vans, interspersed with canvas tents. All centrally located around the large stone fire pit in the approximate center of the glen. A wide brook separated the glen from another line of trees, fields of green and yellow just visible through the tall conifers. Binne could see men and women and children in the field working. The glen itself was a busy hub of activity. Two young boys practiced juggling as they walked around a pair of teens on unicycles ‘jousting’ with soft ended poles. The scent of fresh baked bread turned Binne’s attention to a line of cob ovens where women were pulling bread out, to be placed on a low table, only to be replaced by another loaf waiting to be baked. Musicians wandered around playing soft, lively music on a variety of stringed instruments, not all of which were recognizable by Binne.

  They parked, locking their bikes up against a tall tree and wandered the encampment on foot. Stopping to buy tea and tarts from a young woman in a pair of flowered shorts and matching tank top. Once they had eaten their treats and watched the jousting for a few moments the group followed Colt to a small black canvas tent sitting slightly away from the others. Glass, wood and crystal wind chimes made soft music in the breeze as Colt rang a bell that had been suspended from a short pole outside the tent.

  A woman came out, her long black skirt had been painstakingly embroidered with flowers and designs, which matched the designs on the red flowing tunic she also wore. Her long grey hair was piled high atop her small head.

  “Young Colt! Welcome!” She greeted with a large toothy smile.

  “Good afternoon Rissa,” Colt greeted. “My mother sent these for you.” He said as he knelt to the ground and pulled two wrapped roasted chickens from his knapsack.

  “Wonderful! Your mother is a good woman. Give her my love.” Rissa said with genuine joy. She took her eyes off Colt and the chickens to look at the guest he had brought with them. Her deep brown eyes rested on Binne, widened slightly and then motioned for the group to enter the tent.

  “You, young lady.” She said politely. “Come stand here.” She motioned to a place at a tall round table with a small round surface, on the surface was a silk cloth, which only covered the top of the table and did not extend to the sides. On the cloth was a black stone low sided bowl about the size of a tea saucer. Beside which stood a short ceramic pitcher. “You have something good following you, as well as something evil.” Rissa informed her.

  “You live at the Hall, don’t you?” Binne nodded silently. Rissa continued, “The Hall has a history of great darkness, but in its core, there is a light, you m
ust help that light eliminate the darkness.” She lifted the pitcher and poured a dark liquid into the black bowl, from a small leather bag at her waist she drew some colored crystals which she placed in the center of the dish, allowing them to be covered by the liquid.

  “You must avoid the evil man, be on your guard young child, be aware of your surroundings. You are strong and can depend on your family and friends to be there for you. Some of those friends you may not even be aware of. Yet.” Rissa said, Binne noticed her dark brown eyes appeared nearly black as she stared intently into the crystals. “But make no doubt, you are in danger.” She suddenly looked up at Malcolm, “And you, young Master Winter, you need to avoid the Hall, your blood makes you a target of the evil which lives there, it will try to consume you. You must avoid the Hall until the evil has been vanquished.”

  “Vanquished? We can vanquish the ghosts?” Millie exclaimed.

  “Yes, child.” The woman stood, walked slowly to a chest in the corner of the tent and retrieved a dark colored cloth bag. She gave each child a smaller leather bag suspended from a cord. “Wear these, keep them close to your heart. They will help protect you from the evil.”

  “Rissa, can you tell us what the evil is?” Binne asked. “I mean, we think it was a man named John Wyndham, but we want to be sure.”

  “Wyndham was only one, he was not the beginning of the evil at the Hall, and he will not be the end. The gypsies knew then to keep their bairn far from the reach of the Hall.” She told them.

  The ride home was made in a silence created by fear.

  ****

  “I forgot to ask you two, how did your lunch go with Dr. Sharpe?” Nigel asked as he joined Dexter, Tate, Seriah, Bonnie and Gwynn at the patio table with a tray of sandwiches.

  “Oh lord,” Bonnie sighed. “That man is a trove of information.”

  “And a quick little demon with those hands!” Gwynn added with a laugh.

  “In between the not so subtle hints and innuendos, he did tell us quite a bit that we did not actually know.” Bonnie said. She excused herself from the table and got her notes from her handbag.

  “So, the Hall was built in 1445, the land had been granted to an Englishman named Winston Charles Milford Wyndham, a cousin of some kind to Margaret of Anjou, by order of her husband King Henry the VI.” Bonnie read. “There were some scandalous rumors about him.”

  “What kind of rumors?” Seriah asked.

  “There were some records indicating that if you were a nobleman with enough money and clout, you could come here to the Hall to have your perversions catered to. If those perversions included immoral and disgusting sexual acts with children.” Gwynn added.

  “Allegations only. But they were pretty well spread allegations.”

  “Children went missing from the village for decades.” Bonnie said, her face a blend of disgust and sorrow.

  “In 1462, a child and her family were passing through the village, the child was abducted, and the father, who happened to be a high-ranking Lord and Knight, tracked her to the Hall, slaughtered Winston and rescued his 8-year-old daughter, as well as several other children. The lady Wyndham and her four sons were not held responsible for his actions, as they claimed they had no knowledge of his activities since they lived in London, apart from Winston at the time. His youngest John Wyndham finally took over the running of the Hall. It is suspected that he carried on his father’s ‘work’, with a bit more discretion.”

  “MY HOUSE was a freaking child sex trafficking base! Oh dear God!” Nigel screamed.

  “600 years ago, honey, not anytime recently.” Seriah assured him.

  “My stomach hurts.” He admitted. “Thinking about the chamber under the tower.”

  “Well, the chamber under the tower will be a huge draw for the museum, it is a part of history which needs to be let into the light. People need to know what really happened and learn from it.” Seriah said. “That is how we keep it from repeating itself.”

  “I think the ghosts we have been experiencing are the children.” Dexter said softly. “And maybe the ghosts of Winston and John Wyndham are keeping them here.”

  “Do you think that is possible?” Nigel asked. “Do you think that if we can get rid of the ghosts of Winston and John the children will be free to crossover?”

  “I do.” Seriah said with confidence. “I think that has to be the plan.”

  “But how? Seance? Ouija board? Call in the local witches?” Tate said sarcastically.

  “Rissa.” Bonnie said.

  ****

  Sleep had eluded Binne most of the night, she stretched her muscles and decided she needed more. Slipping on a pair of yoga pants, and two layered tank tops in pink and soft blue, she found her flip-flops and gathered the dogs. Stopping by the quiet kitchen she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and made her way to the pond. Tai Chi by the water’s edge would give her the stress release she needed, she was certain.

  Huey, and Dewey lazed about in the early morning sun while Stan joyfully played a game of chase with a butterfly in the grass.

  Binne began the routine she had practiced since she was a small child. Stretching and reaching, waking her muscles with slow practiced movements made her feel alive.

  She inhaled the scents of the morning, enjoyed the knowledge that she and the dogs were delightfully alone in the morning light. The sun, low in the sky as it too had only been awake a short time, cast a red glow over the pond, causing reflections on the water which took her breath away in the simplistic beauty they created.

  A low growl from Huey made her aware that she was no longer in solitude. Turning she found Bob Wyatt leaning against a tree, watching her. A rock formed in the pit of her stomach as she watched him move closer, all three dogs on alert now, standing between the intruder and the girl they claimed as their own.

  “You are a pretty little thing out here in the morning, doing all them fancy exercises.” He said as he neared her, Binne took an involuntary step backwards. “Those moves sure keep your body tight and firm.”

  “Mr. Wyatt, you are not supposed to be here. I have to ask you to leave or I’ll be calling my Dad to escort you away.” She said, a firm defiance mingled with the fear in her voice.

  “Ah now, Lassie, we don’t want to disturb your Daddy this early, now do we?” He said as he lunged for her, “We need a little time alone to enjoy all that work you have put into your body.”

  Binne screamed before slamming her elbow into the bridge of Wyatt’s nose, dropping to the ground, using her leg to sweep him to the ground just as the dogs attacked, growling, snarling and biting, they would defend her with their last breath. Binne took off toward the Hall, hearing him roar before the sound of a dog’s yelp of pain caused her to look behind her in time to see him gaining on her. Two of the dogs on his heels. He was too close, she would not make it to the Hall. She veered suddenly and made for the tower door. Diving inside she slammed it behind her and raced for the trap door. Pulling it with her as she began to descend, she nearly had it closed when it was suddenly ripped from her grasp, Bob Wyatt’s deranged face inches from hers before he shoved her down the steps with great force. Binne felt the pain searing through her as she landed, before she could react he was on top of her, lifting her to the large stone slab in the center of the room.

  “So, you want to do it in the dungeon, eh? Kinky. I like kinky.” His voice was hoarse with exertion and excitement, his breath stank of whiskey and cigarettes. He tore at her clothing, trying to rip the yoga pants off her body, failing because the stretchy material was made to resist tearing.

  Binne screamed louder as she saw him pull a knife from some hidden place and begin cutting her pants away from her body. As she fought against him the knife bit her flesh, searing pain shot through her and the fear caused her head to spin.

  Binne could hear voices, crying, sobbing, angry voices in the depths of the chamber, in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes tight to make the room hold still as she tried to wriggle fr
ee from him his vice like grasp.

  Binne did not see the dark room, nor did she see the ghostly white child figures as they appeared in the room, nor did she see the piece of broken, rusted rebar as it rose slowly from the floor and shoot, as if it had been shot from a gun, into the dark evil heart of Bob Wyatt. Binne felt the sudden weight of Bob Wyatt as he slumped onto her shaking body. Eyes staring wide into the chamber, his blood pouring out upon her partially clad form.

  With unexpected force, his heavy, stench-ridden body was removed, and she was engulfed in the arms of her father. Safe.

  ****

  “You heard the dogs at the tower door?” Albert confirmed what Nigel had told him.

  “Yeah, I've never heard them so worked up before, I heard them as I was getting out of the shower.” He indicated the pair of nylon basketball shorts he had slipped on in a hurry. I rushed out the front door and found them trying to dig their way through the tower door. I opened it, saw that the trap door was open and heard Binne screaming.”

  “You could not hear her screaming before then?” Albert asked.

  “The way the dogs were barking, I am not sure I would have heard a tanker troop.” Nigel admitted. “Anyway, I raced down the steps in time to see a piece of rebar fly from one end of the room, straight into Bob Wyatt’s chest. That fucking bastard.”

  “You don’t know who threw the rebar?” Albert’s brows form a ‘v’ on his wrinkled forehead.

  “I don’t know if it was thrown or if it maybe fell from the ceiling.” Nigel answered. Not mentioning the ghost children, he had seen surrounding his daughter, or the rebar lift from the floor and aim for the black heart of Bob Wyatt. He knew how this would have to be played out. “There are a lot of things in this old dungeon. Many of those things have been in those rafters for a very long time. Look, can I get back to my daughter now?” Nigel nodded to Binne who sat on the steps of the Hall, wrapped in a blanket, loyal pups at her feet, a fresh bandage on Stan’s front paw, her Mother and Godmother at her side.