The Apparition - An Andromache Jones Mystery

by Sammi Cox

The return journey to Steping turned out to be just as difficult as all the other parts of this case.

  Mac drove as they had left Jean's car parked outside the haunted house, and Jean was playing up. Again. She quite simply didn't want to go back and thus she was trying her hardest to get out of it.

  However, Mac wasn't standing for any more nonsense; she had to put her foot down. At this point in the case there was no other alternative. If Jean wanted the problem fixed so she could remain in the house, it needed to be done.

  'But I don't see why we have to.'

  'I have explained this already.'

  'Then please explain it again. It makes no sense. None whatsoever,' Jean snapped.

  'To determine what is exactly connecting you to the ghost, you both need to be there.'

  'And you're just going to ask it?'

  'Do you know what, Jean, I just might,' Mac shouted back.

  The rest of the drive took place in silence. When they arrived back at the house, Mac again parked behind Jean's blue Vauxhall, and immediately got out of the car, and walked around to the passenger door.

  'Come on. OUT.'

  'But Miss Jones, I don't think -'

  'OUT!'

  'The dangers far outweigh - '

  'Look, Jean Pottersworth. You pestered me to take on this case. I have only done what you asked of me. Now get out of this car and start walking up that drive,' Mac yelled, her arm outstretched, pointing towards the house.

  There was nothing else to say, no other argument that Jean could think of right there and then. So, however reluctantly, she did exactly as she had been ordered.

  Side-by-side, they approached the house. Mac appraised the outside, but nothing stood out to her. Her intuition told her, that at that very moment, the house was as silent as the grave. Amusing choice of words, she thought.

  On entering, Jean became very jumpy, very quickly. Mac could understand that and she felt for her, but in her heart she knew this was the only way to resolve this situation.

  'So where do you want us to go?' Jean whispered.

  Mac thought for a moment. 'What's on the first floor? Has anything happened up there?'

  'The library is on the first floor. I had an encounter in there and so did a couple of the workmen.'

  'Let's try there first then.'

  'Couldn't we pick a room closer to the front door?'

  'Jean. Have you ever heard the saying, sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better?'

  'Well, yes, of course, but-'

  'Just trust me. Things will get better. Eventually.'

  Together, arm-in-arm, they ascended the stairs. It was a beautifully wide staircase, and the steps were gently graduated. Everything about the house spoke of grandeur and riches. It was a shame that what should have been such a well-loved home had stood empty and neglected for so long.

  When they reached the first floor landing a wide balcony swept above the hallway. A door stood closed directly opposite them, and the corridor branched out to both the left and the right. Mac heard Jean take an audibly loud deep breath.

  'This way,' she said, pulling Mac towards the left.

  They stopped outside the next door they came to.

  'This is it. The library.' Jean leaned over and pushed the door open but she didn't move any closer to it.

  Mac noticed as they started walking on the first floor that the atmosphere of the house seemed to change. There was a slight tingle to it, but for the moment that was all she could detect. She took a couple of steps and found herself standing in the library; she had to pull on Jean's arm with a bit of force to get her into the room too.

  Andromache took a quick look around. The wall opposite the door was full of sash windows, lighting the room. However, there were also a number of lights set into the ceiling; Mac counted four dotted along the room's length. An open fire, recently restored, stood set in one of the walls. All the wallpaper had been stripped away, and along one side of the room, stood numerous paint tins. Some old furniture that looked original to the house was grouped together, next to which were a few lidless boxes of yellowed papers and photographs.

  'How long do we need to be in here?' Jean asked. From the look on her face, she was on the verge of freaking out.

  'Tell me about the room.'

  'It was the first one on this floor that I wanted to renovate. It will make a great office when it's complete...and the ghost has gone.'

  'Come on, there's more. Tell me the rest. What happened to the workmen?'

  'They were working on the fire place...and...they said they saw a white mist come out of it. Then one of them said he felt something like an electric shock pass up his arm. His hair was still standing on end when they brought him down the stairs.'

  'And what happened to you in here?'

  'I heard singing in the hall one morning when I was tidying up. I was surprised not only because I thought all the workmen were working out in the garden, but also because it sounded like the voice of a woman. I left the room but couldn't see anything, so I came back in here. Suddenly, I felt as if I was trapped and couldn't get out. I couldn't breathe. The door had clicked closed behind me when I returned, and it was stuck fast. It wouldn't budge.'

  As Jean recounted her tale, Mac moved around the room full of boxes containing mainly books from what she could see. One of the original bookcases had been stripped and given a fresh coat of varnish, but no one had returned to it to fill it with books. Listening, Mac began to move volumes from the boxes to the shelves. Just to see what happened.

  'How did you get out?'

  'I ran to the window, flung it open and screamed to one of the workmen. He ran up here, but when he tried the door it opened with no effort at all on his part. He said his touch on the handle had been as light as a feather. I didn't mention the singing I had heard. I only said that I must have twisted the door knob too far the wrong way without realising. He must have thought I was so stupid.'

  A cold breeze from the fireplace raised a little dust in the grate, and caused and few sheets of paper to flap. The long-expected guest had finally arrived.

  'Oh, gosh...' Jean whispered. Mac walked over to her purposefully and placed her hands on her shoulders.

  'Jean be strong. Hold it together. You have come too far to turn back now.'

  The breeze got stronger and gave flight to papers and photographs that started moving through the air. It was beginning to get harder to see, as the wind swirled their hair in front of their faces.

  'Return to me what is mine!' a voice called out slowly and deliberately.

  'What does that mean?' Mac asked, raising her own voice so that she could be heard over the din.

  'I don't know. I swear I don't.'

  The books that Mac had just put out on to the bookshelf flew across the room one at a time.

  'Return to me what is mine!' the voice said again.

  'Who are you?' Mac asked. There was no reply.

  The atmosphere was charged with anger, and it was only getting worse. At the same time that the books were being thrown, boxes started rising into the air. One after another they hit the far wall, breaking open due to the speed and force behind them.

  'Return to me what is mine!'

  'Please, tell us what it is you want. Then we can fix it,' Mac said calmly.

  'If I don't know what it is you want back, how can I give it to you?' Jean called out to the paranormal energy, turning in circles as she did so. But no explanation was forthcoming.

  This wasn't particularly helpful, Mac mused, as she stood in the middle of the room, composed and quite still as if she was oblivious to the chaos all around her. Pondering on where to go from here, as it was obvious that they and the apparition had reached an impasse, she caught sight of Jean and her terrified expression. It was time to get her out of here. This little excursion had served its purpose. At least now they had some clue as to what the problem was.

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nbsp; A white mist materialised out of the fireplace. As Mac squinted, she could just make out the top half of the apparition. A woman, of indeterminate age. As she tried harder to see the definition of the ghost, more and more things began flying across the room. Mac and Jean were forced to raise their arms to protect their faces.

  'Return to me what is mine!' the voice called out. 'Give it to me! It is not yours!' The voice said once again, but this time the threat of anger boiled over and all the light bulbs in the room burst as the negative energy rose exponentially.

  'Come on. Time to go,' Mac said, pulling Jean towards the door. However, just as she was about to leave the room, a small pile of papers caught her eye and she returned to collect them.

  Mac caught Jean up at the bottom of the stairs, where light bulbs and glass were now shattering. They wrestled with the front door as the voice again made demands of them.

  'Return to me what is mine or else I shall be forced to deal with you severely, if you dare cross the threshold of my home again!'

  Mac understood only too well what that meant.

  Chapter Nine: Putting a Name to the Ghostly Face