Ghosts, Ghouls, and Haunted Houses

by Carrie King

  Erica nodded. It was a pleasant story so far. She could imagine how beautiful the grounds and gardens would have looked in their prime.

  Yvonne hesitated. “But in the 1880s there was an incident.” She bit her lip.

  “What kind of incident?” Erica prompted.

  Yvonne sighed. “Look, a lot of this is hearsay, but apparently there was an old book on witchcraft kept at the monastery. It seems that one day one of the young monks got his hands on the book and after that someone was killed inside the monastery. There are rumors of black magic, spirits and even demons but …” Yvonne flapped her hand dismissively. “It’s all very unbelievable.”

  “But I don’t understand what this has got to do with the house at Briar Park.” Part of Erica wanted to stop there but she knew she had to unravel the puzzle.

  “The monk was banished from the monastery and sent to live his life in solitude at the Briar House. According to the rumors, a young nun visited the house one day and she was assaulted, raped, and brutally murdered.”

  Erica gasped, remembering the sightings of the nun around the property. She leaned forward. “Whereabouts was she killed? I have seen a nun, but I have never seen her inside the house. I’ve seen her fleetingly in the grounds, and the man who delivered our furniture also saw her. He was quite shocked, as he thought he had hit her with his truck.”

  Yvonne flicked through the papers. “I don’t know; it’s not recorded here.” She looked up at Erica. “But that’s not all. The monks sent a party of men to execute the young man at Briar Park, believing that he was possessed by a murderous spirit. They hoped that by killing him they would put a stop to the haunting and terror. However, according to legend, they were chased from the property by demons wrapped in a cloud of yellow mist.”

  Erica placed her hand at her throat. “I’ve seen the mist too,” she whispered. “And so has Nigel.”

  Yvonne looked down and cleared her throat, her hand was shaking on the table but she clenched it tight and continued, “when the monks ran back to the monastery, toward safety, they found the monastery on fire, it was well ablaze. No one ever found out how the fire started. Everyone inside perished, dying horrible and torturous deaths in the flames as the monks who’d just returned from Briar Park watched on helplessly.”

  Erica sat back in her chair feeling as if she might faint. “What the.... That’s a terrible story, you should have told us, should have disclosed this... A lot of the things that I’ve seen and experienced make sense to me now. I’m sure the house is haunted. Nigel didn’t believe me in the beginning, but he is starting to come around. He’s seen and felt strange things too.”

  Erica looked up and felt the tears in her eyes. “Our cat was killed in awful circumstances yesterday. We’re sure that no human could have done such a thing,” Erica’s voice caught in her throat at the memory. “What do we do now?”

  The man at the other desk spoke up for the first time. “Perhaps you need to find yourself an exorcist.”

  Erica swiveled to look at him, anger flaring, but she bit it down. “Do you know anything more about the house? Anything more than Yvonne has just told me?”

  He shook his head. “Not much more.” He looked over at Yvonne then back to Erica. “The house was also used as a lunatic asylum for some years in the early 1920s. It was all above board, by all accounts, but ….,” he trailed off. “Some people in the village certainly believe the place is haunted. Folk have spoken about the yellow mist and sightings of the nun. Others have told of a threatening and unpleasant whispering whenever they are near the property. Most folks just choose to stay away.”

  Erica nodded. “I’ve heard the whispering too. It fills your head and chases all rational thought away.”

  “That is exactly what I’ve been told.” He stared at her for a long moment. “Do you want me to give you the name of a priest who performs exorcisms? My cousin knows someone. He’s supposed to be very good.”

  “I want our money back, I want to leave.”

  “I’m sorry that’s not possible. If you took this to a court they would laugh you out of the building.”

  “But surely you have to tell us about the deaths?” Erica felt her hope fading.

  “They are nothing but rumors and if true they happened in the grounds not the property, so no, we didn’t have to disclose them.”

  Once more tears prickled at the back of Erica’s eyes. What were they to do? They couldn’t afford to leave and start again. All she wanted to do was curl into a heap and sleep without that terrible whispering. To put things down and not have them moved. To stop things breaking and shadows and that terrible feeling of being watched. All she wanted to do was hug Toby and Nigel and feel safe.

  “I guess we will have to have the house exorcised if we are to continue living there.” Erica placed her hand protectively across her belly. “And I have the baby to think about now.”

  Chapter 14

  The priest held a cross in the air and sprinkled drops of holy water over the floorboards. “Go to the light. Go in peace and love. Go with goodness and tenderness,” he intoned. “Leave this house and all who reside in it. Take the Lord’s direction and move to his side, away from the darkness and into the light.”

  Erica and Nigel stood to one side of the bedroom, arm in arm, watching closely. Father Michaels had explained to them exactly what they should expect while he performed the exorcism. He had told the young couple that he expected the demons to fight back and refuse to be moved on. He said that in difficult cases the exorcism had to be performed multiple times, and that sometimes after the first exorcism the dark activity in a house could worsen.

  Erica felt Nigel’s fingers tighten reassuringly on her own. She turned and smiled at him, glad of his support. This whole thing felt weird and unfamiliar, and sometimes she still didn’t believe it. Maybe she was going mad after all?

  Whispering came from behind her.

  She whipped around but nothing was there. Nigel squeezed her fingers and she turned back, it was just nerves.

  They watched as the priest continued his chanting. And then she heard it again, stronger, louder this time. The terrible whispering. She looked quickly at Nigel, clearly seeing that he could hear it too. His face was set in a fixed mask of fear and anxiety.

  Father Michaels continued on his steady walk through the house, unmolested and calm. Could he not hear the whispering? As he stepped out onto the threshold of the upper landing, the whispering grew in pitch and intensity. Erica shivered and shook her head, attempting to clear it of the voices. “Can you hear it?” she whispered to her husband.

  “Yes, I can hear it. And I don’t like it one bit,” Nigel whispered back.

  Erica pulled her hand out of his grip and placed both palms over her ears. Still, the whispering penetrated her eardrums, nearly driving her mad. It had never been this bad before. Why was Father Michaels showing no reaction? The priest continued his methodical movements and chanting across the landing.

  The whispering suddenly rose to a crescendo, transforming from whispers to shrieks. In front of Erica’s appalled gaze rose a massive column of yellow mist, completely obscuring her view of the priest. She turned to her husband, her face disfigured with pain from the shrieking.

  His eyes were closed, and he too held his hands tightly over his ears. Erica reached out with one hand and touched Nigel’s face. His eyes flew open and he stared at her.

  “I’m scared,” she mouthed over the sound of the shrieks.

  A sudden crashing sound out on the landing caused them both to turn. The chest of drawers in the spare bedroom flew out of the bedroom and toward where Father Michaels stood beside the stairs. Without any recognizable concern, the priest quickly and calmly stepped to one side and the drawers crashed into the rails of the banister rail.

  Erica watched in horror as several more items flew through the air, clearly aimed at Father Michaels. The shrieking stopped suddenly and settled once again into loud, indiscernible whispers. A lam
p, flying through the air from one of the smaller bedrooms, bounced off the banister beside the priest and tumbled, end over end, to land on the floor in the room where Erica and Nigel stood.

  “Oh, God. This is awful,” Erica breathed. “They’re really trying to hurt him!”

  Father Michaels slowly raised his hands above his head. The volume of his chanting increased. The very air in the upper landing rolled in turmoil and agitation. Erica gripped tightly to her husband, praying that this would soon be over.

  The priest turned suddenly and began to walk downstairs.

  Erica held her breath, expecting some unseen hands to push him. He continued to the bottom of the stairs, unscathed, never letting up with his incantations as he walked.

  “Come on. We’ll go downstairs too. I don’t want to stay up here by ourselves.” Erica pulled Nigel forward and they hurried after the priest.

  The whispering and shrieks suddenly stopped.

  Father Michaels stood in the middle of the living room, sprinkling holy water about and chanting his prayers. The house was peaceful and quiet. Nothing was flying about the room, and everything stayed in its place.

  As Erica watched, a thin mist began to seep from the fireplace, gradually building in intensity and spreading low across the floor. She grasped Nigel’s hand tightly and moved backward, never taking her eyes from the priest. The mist continued to billow from the fireplace, gathering itself around Father Michaels, except for a slight space around his body which allowed for the sprinkle of holy water and the swinging of the cross in his hand.

  The whispering started again, but it was faint, and not painful to the ears.

  Father Michaels continued his ritual, seemingly oblivious to his changing environment. He paced through the living room, then turned and walked out into the entrance way.

  The mist curled and rolled, dispensing and reconsolidating itself. As the priest left the living room, it pulled back into a dense cloud, then thinned, following Father Michaels out into the hallway but retaining a safe distance from the spin of the cross and the sprinkling of the water.

  Father Michaels continued into the kitchen, methodical and steady. Erica watched as the mist hovered in the doorway, then suddenly pulled in on itself to create a compact mass. As she watched, it sped up the hallway and poured itself through the small gap under the locked door leading to the basement. The door Nigel had been unable to open. The house seemed to settle and sigh.

  Father Michaels sighed too and crossed himself. The flask of holy water, now empty, dangled in his hand. He turned to Erica and Nigel. “God bless you, my children. I wish you well. I don’t know how useful my visit has been, but we can only pray.” He inclined his head. “Please, don’t hesitate to contact me if you need further assistance.”

  “Thank you, Father Michaels. You have no idea of how much better I feel. I’m sure your visit has been valuable. The house feels different already.” Erica reached for his hands and squeezed them before letting them drop, though she really wanted to throw her arms around the man and kiss him with unabashed gratitude.

  “Thank you.” Nigel reached out his hand and shook the hand of the priest firmly. “You have no idea how much this means to us.”

  The holy man smiled. “May God be with you.” He gently removed his hand and moved away. He pulled off his white, gold-trimmed robes, revealing a mundane pair of trousers and a patched jersey underneath. “I must go. I promised a friend I would meet up with him for dinner.

  Erica smiled despite herself. She had to remember that this man was a person, just like everyone else, and he had a very human life despite his profession.

  Father Michaels climbed into his car and drove out the driveway, toward the road. Erica watched him for a moment then turned away, shutting the door behind her.

  No one saw the angry yellow mist that billowed up in the wake of Father Michaels’ car, the thick resentful cloud that covered the mud tracks leading to the house, or the yellow mist that boiled and raged in incensed displeasure as the priest drove away.

  Chapter 15

  Three weeks later.

  The house had been quiet since Father Michaels’ departure, much to Erica and Nigel’s relief. They had noticed no trace of the yellow mist, nor had they heard the slightest evil whisper. Finally, the house felt at peace. And tonight Erica planned to tell her husband about the baby. She had waited until she was three months pregnant to share the news with him. Nigel had been so loving and supportive after her last miscarriage at 10 weeks, carefully hiding his disappointment from her even though she could still see it, and this time she had wanted to wait until she reached the crucial 12-week point before celebrating the fact that they would finally be parents.

  She hugged the thought of Nigel’s excitement to herself. He would make a wonderful father, and she had been working on the nursery for months now.

  Nigel popped his head into the room several times to check on her progress, but he had said nothing to her about the reason for the room’s redecoration, no doubt worried that Erica’s obsession with the nursery would end in disappointment when she did not fall pregnant.

  A sudden movement caught Erica’s eye and she turned. Where a shaft of sunlight shone through the window and onto the floor, she swore she could see the faint outline of a young woman in a nun’s habit. As she stared, the figure appeared to solidify for a moment.

  “Run!” The word was distinct.

  Erica blinked, and the figure was gone. All that remained in the beam of sunlight were a few spinning dust motes. Outside, the birds sang loudly from the treetops. She rubbed at her head. She needed to eat a cookie or something. Her blood sugar was clearly getting low and her imagination was running away with her.

  “Guess what? I finally managed to get that basement door open. Do you want to come with me and discover what delights are hidden beneath the house?” Nigel walked into the kitchen, looking as excited as a child.

  Erica laughed. “Of course I do. Wait, I’ll get a torch.” She opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out an old torch, kept there for emergencies or power cuts. She had placed two torches in the drawer when she’d unpacked all their things, just in case. Leaving the other torch where it lay, Erica shut the drawer and followed her husband out of the room.

  The door leading to the basement stood wide open for the first time since they had entered the house. Erica switched the torch on and shone it onto the stairs which descended into the darkness below. It flickered for a moment and then suddenly went out.

  “Oh, darn.” Erica hit the torch with her open palm but the bulb didn’t rekindle. “The battery must be flat.”

  “Wait here for a moment. I’ll go and get the other torch.” Nigel hurried back to the kitchen to pull open the drawer. He had just reached out his hand to clasp the item when the air was suddenly rent with a bloodcurdling scream.

  “Erica!”

  Nigel ran out of the kitchen and back down the corridor to where he’d left his wife.

  The door to the basement was firmly shut. He looked around wildly. There was no sign of his wife.

  “Erica!”

  He pulled at the door handle, but it refused to budge. Dropping the torch to the ground, Nigel ran outside to where he’d left his toolkit and grabbed a crowbar. Returning quickly to the door, he pushed the point of the tool into the small gap between door and frame and leveraged it with all his strength. In a splinter of twisted wood, the door burst open.

  Nigel snatched up the torch and switched it on, aiming the beam over the stairs leading down into the depths of the house. “

  Erica!”

  From the darkness below, he could hear a rapid whispering and something else. Something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Taking the stairs two at a time, he bounded down into the basement, still calling for Erica. At the bottom of the stairs he stood for a moment, breathing heavily, and quickly shone the torch around. In the small beam of light, he could see several large pieces of old machinery.

&n
bsp; “Erica!”

  He whirled quickly as something flew past his ear, causing the hair on his head to stand on end. There was a small movement in the corner and he quickly shone the torch at it. A large rat skittered across the floor and ran under a pile of discarded clothes, its claws scrabbling on the stone floor.

  “Erica? Are you down here?”

  He walked quickly to the far wall, the torch beam wavering in front of him, and shone the light at what lay in front of him.

  “Nigel?” Erica opened her eyes. Her head hurt. Her voice sounded small. She raised her hand to her forehead and gasped as she felt warmth and wetness. Was she bleeding? It was impossible to see clearly in the darkness. Her hip felt cold as it lay against the floor. Putting her hand down to rest against cool flagstones, she pushed herself upright. What had happened? One moment she had been standing at the top of the stairs to the basement waiting for Nigel and the next moment she’d felt someone push her. She struggled to her feet, holding her hands to her belly. Was the baby all right?

  Erica could see the dark bulk of the stairs a short distance away. She took a cautious step, testing herself for injury. Her ankle hurt, but she could walk. A sudden whispering started up behind her, and she whirled around, her eyes becoming more accustomed to the dim light. She frowned. What was that? Erica stepped across to the shape sprawled across the floor and bent forward.

  “Nigel!” she gasped. Her husband lay on the stone tiles, one arm thrown over his head. The torch lay beside him, its light now off. Quickly, her hands shaking, she reached down and picked it up and switched it on. She crouched beside her husband and shone the light over his face. And screamed.

  Nigel’s face was completely gone. In the light of the torch she could see exposed bone, muscle, and teeth. His eye sockets were empty and red with gore. Blood pooled on the floor behind his head.