Haunted House Tales

by Riley Amitrani

  Liz left for the UK, leaving both Emily and Sam to follow in a few days once they had arranged for all their various gear and equipment on a cargo transport.

  “I want to take a first-hand look around on my own before having you guys arrive and get set up for all the specific shooting,” Liz told her partners as she prepared to head to LAX for the overseas flight.

  “All the details and arrangements are set, so don’t worry. I just need to get a feel for the site before we spend any time filming the story.”

  With that, she grabbed her luggage and her laptop and tried to settle her nerves as her Uber driver shuttled her to the airport. She was simultaneously excited and terrified, as her ride inched along the typically packed freeways of Los Angeles. Even with all her bravado and outer mask of confidence with Sam and Emily, Liz still fretted over this decision to go independent. She wondered that maybe if their first project had been in the States, it might not have been so nerve-racking. The international aspect was just one more layer of anxiety for her to try and control. But in the end, Liz realized the location did not matter so much as just all the unknowns of having to handle an entire project by herself. She knew she could, but with no real experience as the one in charge, it still made her stomach fill with butterflies.

  As the plane lifted from California, Liz was feeling a bit better. Once at a cruising altitude, she pulled out the details of the old mansion as well as all the background material she had unearthed on Threlkeld. From all the photos and news stories, Threlkeld seemed the perfect spot for a film of this kind. It was still nearly as isolated now as it had been for generations. As to the mansion, its sheer magnitude, and impressive façade, along with the overall eerie and creepy appearance—mainly due to years of neglect and lack of use—gave her the same goosebumps that all those houses in films of the paranormal and horror genres she loved as a kid gave her. She had only a rough backstory on the mansion itself and why it had gone vacant for so long, but nothing of any specific details. There were legends and innuendo, of course, but Liz knew all places such as this carried that weight as well. Knowing she could do little more to prepare before landing, she turned off her computer and tried to catch up on some of the sleep she had deprived herself of over the last week or so.

  After gathering her stuff at Heathrow, Liz hired a car to get her from London to the Shudehill Exchange where she boarded the Transpennine Express rail to Penrith. After the long flight and car ride up north from London, Liz called it a day and booked herself into a small inn there before heading out the next day to get her feet on the ground in Threlkeld. An e-mail from Sam was awaiting her as she checked into her room, letting her know all was set back in California and that he and Emily were set to leave the next morning and would see her at the mansion once they arrived and got a transport—one big enough to handle all their gear—to Threlkeld. Though exhausted, Liz smiled at the note and fell asleep quickly, looking forward to assessing the film site the next day as well as meeting her star, Clara, soon.

  The morning dawned cloudy and cool with a low, heavy bank of mist hanging over Penrith as Liz awoke early. She had slept on and off, attributing her slight insomnia to being too keyed up over the upcoming project to get her brain just to shut down. She made her way into the small pub that was attached to her inn to grab some breakfast, and though sparsely populated, all heads turned as she entered the small café portion of the pub and took a table by the window. Liz had never lived in small towns in her life, and as such was unaccustomed to the atmosphere of having talk among the locals spread like wildfire.

  But it seemed apparent that someone somewhere had alerted them to who she was and why she was here. The stares were not lingering, but it was a palpable feeling to her as to what those looks meant. Having worked in such a cutthroat industry as Hollywood for so long, Liz had grown a healthy thick skin and just ignored the small group of onlookers. She gazed out at the thick fog and shook her head in amusement, only shaken from her thoughts when a young waitress appeared at her elbow to take her order.

  “Mornin’ Miss…” the girl said as she handed Liz a menu, her look toward Liz as guarded and tentative as all the other customers in the café.

  “Good morning…” Liz replied.

  “Some tea? Or being American, maybe a coffee?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Aye, Miss…Penrith is small. We don’t get many visitors these days. If you don’t live here, you tend to stick out. No offense meant.”

  “No problem. I get it. Coffee would be great, thanks.”

  “Anything to eat?”

  “Just some toast and jam, please.”

  Liz’s stomach was still feeling the effects of her anxiety over the trip and being the object of so much interest in the café was not helping. The girl nodded primly and dashed off to the kitchen. Once the waitress departed, everyone in the café seemed to either go back to what they had been doing before her arrival or left to begin their day. In just a minute or two, the girl returned with her coffee and toast.

  “Here you go, Miss…anything else I can get you?”

  “This will do for now, but could I ask you a question?”

  “Certainly, Miss, as long as you are not too picky about the answer.”

  Liz laughed, appreciating her sense of humor.

  “When I came in…everyone seemed to be giving me the once over. Just being a stranger in town?”

  “I suppose that’s part of it.”

  “But?”

  “Well…”, the girl began, “word got around as you might imagine.”

  “Word?” Liz asked as she sipped her coffee.

  “Yeah…you’re the Yank…I mean American woman…come to film over at the Carroway Mansion, right?”

  “Apparently not a secret. Yes, I am.”

  The girl smiled weakly as if afraid to go on.

  “That a problem?”

  “That depends on your beliefs, I guess.”

  “I’m not following…”

  “The old Carroway. It’s…well…it’s a fixture here.”

  Liz just looked at her waiting to hear more.

  “It’s been empty a long time, Miss. As you might imagine, there are lots of stories that have floated over and around it for generations. No one much goes out there anymore.”

  “Haunted?” Liz asked, figuring the direct approach might be best.

  The girl shivered at her question.

  “As I said, it depends on your beliefs.”

  “How about you?”

  “Me? Well, all I can say is I’ve heard some things about it. Things that seem to have no rational or logical explanation.”

  “Like sounds and odd lights…maybe creepy voices?”

  Liz was just curious at this point and led with what little she knew of this sort of thing. Mostly from the movies.

  “So they say…”

  “But you have not seen or heard anything yourself? I mean, first-hand…”

  “Hearing the stories from others was enough for me, Miss.”

  Liz nodded.

  “Do you know anything specific? Like…maybe who or what might be haunting the place?”

  “Sorry, Miss…just kind of generic talk I guess you would say.”

  Liz thanked her for her time and settled back into her seat to finish her breakfast. She had no idea what if anything about the Carroway might be factual versus just a legend to entertain people passing through. She did know England was loaded with such attractions, and from what she had seen online of the mansion, it certainly fit the bill. She finished up her meal and paid the waitress and looked outside with a sigh. She had been hoping the heavy overcast would lift as the morning went on, but it appeared as if that was not to be. Oh well, Liz thought to herself, just adds more to the atmosphere I need anyway. And more importantly, she knew she was on a tight schedule and could not just hang around waiting to see if there might be a sunny day later.

  Before leaving the café, Liz went to the waitress who
was meticulously wiping down and polishing the rich dark wood of the bar.

  “Can you recommend a good taxi service to get me to the Carroway?”

  The girl stopped her work and paled a bit…at least it looked that way to Liz.

  “You might have some trouble with that, Miss.”

  “Just need a lift. People that wary of it?”

  She just nodded weakly.

  “Let me make a call, Miss. I know one guy who might be willing.”

  Liz sat at the bar as the girl disappeared into the back. She never came back, but in a few minutes, this old beat-up sedan pulled up in front of the inn and an older, weather-worn man walking as though he was on his last legs came into the bar.

  “Are you the one looking to get over to the Carroway?”

  Liz nodded, and he motioned for her to follow him outside. He loaded her luggage in the back, looking as if he might collapse at any minute under the weight of her bag.

  “I appreciate the ride…Mr.?”

  “Proffer. But call me Ned.”

  “OK, Ned. I’m Liz.”

  “My pleasure, Liz. But just one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I can drive you to Threlkeld. Even drop you at the Carroway. But I am not hanging around. That still alright?”

  After what the waitress had told her, Liz was not shocked, but was still taken aback by how strongly the aura of the Carroway seemed to be here. No one was saying much in terms of exactly why, but for sure, the place was making the locals cautious.

  “That’s fine, Ned. Mind if I ask you why?”

  “Aye, Liz. No problem. I’ve lived here a long time as you might imagine by my appearance.”

  He chuckled as she smiled.

  “That place? The Carroway Mansion? The locals all say it is cursed and won’t go anywhere near it these days.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. And that is all I have to say on that. Ready to go?”

  Liz nodded and got into the car with him. It was a bit off-putting that everyone in the area seemed to hold the mansion at arms’ length, while at the same time not saying why. She would have thought that a good ghost story—for lack of a better descriptor—would add to the allure and draw of the site. But she also could see from Ned’s expression and tone of his voice that any further prodding would be useless.

  “Let’s roll, Ned…”

  The Carroway Mansion…Just as Advertised

  Lake District

  The Carroway Mansion, Threlkeld

  Cumbria, England

  November 2017

  As Liz sat back and watched the scenery go by on the short 20 minute or so ride from Threlkeld along the A66, she mused on how odd Ned’s response to her questions about the mansion had been. He was old, and what her mother used to call a curmudgeon, she supposed, but it was not like he had been rude or unfriendly. His whole reply had been offered with the same smile as when he had pulled up at the inn, just short and to the point and making it clear to her that there was nothing more to be said…or at least nothing more from him, anyway. He was quiet during the short journey, which suited Liz fine as she was in no mood for a tour guide as they approached Threlkeld. Her mind was gravitating more toward the project and was beginning to wonder if all the secrecy and possibly notoriety of the Carroway was going to open up her creative approach in another way that she was not already considering.

  Ned turned off the A66 and onto a series of bumpy, but relatively well-maintained dirt lanes until they passed through the outskirts of Threlkeld and the mansion came into view. All the material she had seen on the place had given her a basic impression of the mansion, but as is often the case, seeing something live for the first time is a whole different ballgame. Her photos and newspaper clippings and videos had not done the Carroway justice. It was an enormous stone and timber structure, just as she had anticipated, but it was much more imposing and daunting…maybe even intimidating than Liz had expected. The surrounding grounds were rough and browned grasses with a few dying shrubs scattered about. The deeply etched stone walls were home to lots of ivy, and other creeping vines that had long ago lost the will to live, giving the old place just the creep factor Liz had been hoping for.

  Considering its age and how long it had been vacant, she was amazed that it looked as intact and well-preserved as it did. The windows, though glazed over with a cloudy appearance, partly from age and partly from weather, were all still in place. Wide wooden gables shot out in various angles from the top of the house which was topped with a sickly-looking green tiled roof. And as a final touch…one that Liz could not have asked more for unless she had put them in place herself…were a trio of truly ugly gargoyle sculptures set at irregular intervals over the front entrance, high on the second floor, as if acting as unpaid guardians of the mansion.

  Ned came to her side as he brought her bag from the trunk and gently lowered the heavy valise to the ground next to her feet. He said nothing, but Liz could see he was in no mood to linger.

  “If there’s nothing more, Liz…”

  “No thanks, Ned. I know you are not keen on hanging around. What do I owe you for the lift?”

  “It’s on the house, Liz.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. I just hope you know what you are getting yourself into out here and all. Are you going to be on your own?”

  “For maybe a day or so, Ned. Then my sound and lighting gurus from America, as well as an actress from London, are arriving so we can get this thing on film.”

  He looked at her with concern, but just nodded as he returned to his car and took one last uneasy look up at the façade of the Carroway and the leering, weather-worn gargoyles. Liz waved to him as he looked over and he tipped his head in response as he hopped in the car and wheeled away from her disappearing in a cloud of dust down the lane through the trees that overhung the narrow roadway. Liz had never been one to get the willies over a place like the Carroway before, but the combination of Ned’s reticence to talk about it on top of what was a truly creepy place gave her an unexpected shiver, despite the warm sun of the morning.

  She shook off the feeling and carted her bag to the front portico where she plopped it down again as she took a longer and more detailed look around, trying to replace her own personal eye of the mansion with one that belonged to her as a director. A director…Liz could still not quite wrap her head around that one yet. She supposed the title would get more comfortable as she got more experience under her belt, but at the moment it felt unnatural…like it did not quite fit her. She had planned to get a lot of film in the can both inside and outside the mansion before she was done with the site, but just then she wanted to get a better feeling of the lay of the property surrounding the massive structure.

  Once Clara arrived, she knew more interior shots would be on tap, so for now, she wanted to get some filming done outside to use either without actors or as perhaps a backdrop to the actors either live here or added in via CGI when she got back to her studio in California. A mild breeze sprang up as Liz retrieved her assortment of hand-held cameras and began to walk around the perimeter of the mansion. The grasses blew wildly as the wind picked up, slapping at her legs as she moved along. Liking the effect, she stepped back from the house and took a long series of panoramic panning shots, framing the house against the blowing vegetation and growing clouds over the roof. Despite the warm and sunny morning, Liz knew the weather in England was highly changeable, and she wanted to move it along in case the inevitable British liquid sunshine caught her off-guard.

  She left the recording function of her camera on as she stepped carefully along as she was noticing a soft, but unmistakable echo-like sound as the wind ran through the desiccated grass and around the corners of the stone slabs of the mansion. When she passed around the corner of the Carroway, she dropped the camera from her eye as she got her first real clear view of the River Glenderamackin that wound lazily behind the mansion. It sparkled and shone in the sun as small whitecaps formed
in the growing breeze. As a river, it was quite extraordinary to her eye, especially the large, wide bend of the river that came close to the mansion proper forming what might have been a small lake had Liz not known better.

  The open land of the mansion’s acreage spread beyond the far bank of the river eventually giving way to thick stands of both evergreen and deciduous trees which were hanging onto the last of their leaves like grim death as the change in weather took them away. Just as Liz had thought when she had first come across the Carroway in her research for a film location, it was a forbidding and stark scene despite the allure of the scenic river. For her project of a horror film, it could not have been more ideal, and she was sure once she saw the interior of the mansion that would only add to the atmosphere. She walked closer to the water as the wind gusted strongly and turned to look back at the Carroway. The growing cloud cover gave a perfect backdrop to the eerie-looking monolith, and she raised her camera again to get one more battery of shots before what looked to be an approaching storm was upon her.

  After a few more minutes of filming, Liz had enough footage and began to pack up her gear as the rumble of thunder in the distance was indeed a warning sign of rain. However, as she hefted her pack on her shoulder and was preparing to head inside, Liz stopped in her tracks. She had never had a high degree of intuition or premonitions, but suddenly she felt as if she was being watched. She peered across the open fields surrounding the mansion and scanned the area carefully, but she saw nothing but blowing grass and scraggly vegetation bending in the wind. Acceding to her memory of stereotypical scenes from horror films of her youth, Liz also looked up at the windows that sat along the back of the mansion. But like the surrounding grounds, there was nothing. No creepy, sullen face was gazing down on her from the clouded over glass.

  She was not sure if seeing nothing was comforting or if she might have felt better if she had actually seen someone or something watching her, as she could just not shake the sense of being under surveillance. There was a definite chill creeping along her spine, which had nothing to do with the falling temperature of the day, and the fine hairs along her neck were tingling. But when she could see no evidence for her nervousness, Liz shook her head and laughed at herself.