Ghosts, Ghouls, and Haunted Houses

by Carrie King

  It was over. They were over. She felt it, deep in her bones. Her marriage was gone and so was the love they once shared. Wylie might not ever be able to forgive or forget. Could she blame him? How would she feel if the shoe was on the other foot?

  She reached the front door of the manor house and turned the knob. Stepping inside, she slammed the door behind her, leaning back against it, hands pressed palm down against the roughhewn wood. Tears flowed and her chest heaved with her cries of despair.

  A myriad of emotions raced through her until she noticed the oppressive atmosphere in the house once more. Everything looked like it had only a short while ago, but the air felt so heavy, filled with electric tension, it was hard to breathe. Not for the first time, she felt as if the very house reacted to her presence. As if in some way, she was not welcome.

  Something touched the back of her neck and she jerked away from the door with a startled cry. It felt like someone had flicked her there and yet no one could be behind her for she was leaning on the door. Maybe it was a fly... only she hadn’t seen any in the house.

  Stepping away from the door she searched the room, there was nothing to be afraid of and yet she was.

  What could she do now? She didn't want to go upstairs. Her gaze darted upward as she recalled the incident and the attic stairs. Come to think of it, she had had an unusual experience in nearly every room of the house; the creaking floorboards, footsteps, dark patches, doors opening, the chairs... and the incident on the stairs. Then she remembered the pressure on her bed the night before. There was no way she was staying another night in this house. If Wylie wanted to stay she would get a taxi.

  Maybe she should just do that now, leave him a note?

  "Tiffany!"

  She bit back another startled cry. The voice came from inside the house, down the short hallway that led to the kitchen. At first she wanted to run but then she realized it was Wylie.

  She started moving toward where she thought it had come from.

  "Wylie? Where are you?" She didn't see him.

  “Tiffany come and see this.”

  His voice sounded muffled.

  Still afraid, she passed along the wall under the staircase and heard a muffled thumping. She froze and turned toward it.

  "Wylie?"

  She heard a click and the wall shifted. A panel pushed outward and she took a step back, eyes wide with surprise. There on the other side stood Wylie, a cobweb hanging from his hair, his eyes wide with excitement, pupils dilated, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

  For several moments, she couldn't speak. And then the realization hit.

  "It is a tunnel! An old smuggling tunnel!”

  "And something else," he said. "Come and see."

  Shaking her head she did a double take. After telling her to leave him alone he turns up full of excitement and wanting to show her something. Though his mood swings were dizzying she guessed she deserved them.

  "Wylie, are you all right?"

  He nodded. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Your moods … they're all over the place," she commented softly. "You were mad at me just a minute ago."

  "Don't be so sensitive," he said and reached for her.

  For a moment she thought he would clasp her hand, but instead his hand wrapped around her wrist.

  "Come on. There's something you have to see," he said tugging her toward the secret passage.

  "I don't want to go in there." Beyond the door the darkness frightened her, even with the beam from Wylie's flashlight. Sticking her heels down she resisted as he pulled her toward the tunnel. It smelled putrid, of stale air, dirt, rotting wood, and death.

  "Come on," he insisted, tugging on her wrist.

  "Wylie, I don't want to!"

  He turned on her so fast that she gasped. Anger twisted his features. For the first time ever, Tiffany felt afraid of him. Of course, it was all her fault. The affair. Insisting that they come to spend this weekend together. This house had done nothing to help bridge the gap between them. In fact it felt as if it had widened it.

  Wylie tugged on her wrist. "You want so much from me, Tiffany. You expect so much from me. But just for once, can't you do something for me?"

  "What?"

  "You owe me, Tiffany. You want me to simply forgive and forget, but it’s not that easy."

  He was talking about the affair, not her hesitance to go into the tunnel. She had waited all weekend for him to say something, for the opportunity for them to talk about where their marriage stood, and he chose this moment to say something? To demand her attention?

  "What do you want from me, Wylie?" she asked tremulously. "I told you how sorry I am, how I want to rebuild what we used to have..."

  "You mean like trust? Loyalty?" He slowly shook his head. "That's funny, considering where we are."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You brought me to the house of a man who was cuckolded and then murdered by his own wife?"

  He offered a slight shrug.

  "Forgiveness takes time. I need time."

  He didn't wait for her to respond but continued, his voice calm, almost cold.

  "This place has just brought all of it back—your secrets, your betrayal, your lies… all of it. If we’re to move over it I have to work through it. You understand that, don’t you?"

  She swallowed, guilt laying a heavy shroud around her shoulders. Her stomach churned with nausea and her head pounded. "Wylie …"

  "But in the meantime, there's one thing I think you have to see. It’s so fitting, I think, for the situation we find ourselves in. I think it could help us resolve our problems."

  Tiffany felt hope but there was something in his expression that warned her. This was not the sweet man she knew but a colder, crueler version... but maybe that was to be expected and in time her sweet man would return.

  Again, he tugged on her wrist and this time she followed. It was tight and dark. The light giving only a small circle of safety so she kept close, so close she nearly tripped him several times as her feet brushed up against his heels.

  Wylie walked in silence as cobwebs grabbed for her face and something skittered in the darkness. Once more her heart was in her throat and she felt suffocated by fear. Keep calm she told herself. See this treasure, or mystery he has and be enthusiastic. Men loved things like this. Secret tunnels, things to be found and discovered but what dark secret was trapped down here?

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  He said nothing, normally he would have teased her.

  The flashlight cast a narrow beam of light on the tunnel that dipped ever so slightly downhill, then every ten meters or so a few steps led downward, every set of steps took them deeper underground, potentially to the doorway that he had found on the beach.

  Before they got that far however, they arrived at a crossroads. Wylie paused and shone the light into another tunnel, the one on the left. He headed for it even though Tiffany tried to pull back. This had to lead further under the cliff and she didn't like being down here. She hated the dark, hated underground places. He knew that. He knew it! He was just being cruel.

  Trying to stay in the spirit of reconciliation she calmed her breathing and followed silently.

  A door appeared at the end of the short tunnel, and she realized it was no more than fifteen meters deep.

  Peering over his shoulder, in the meager light, she could see the door was old but looked strong and impenetrable. A flat iron bar slid into braces on either side ensuring no entry. A padlock locked one side of the bar to the doorframe.

  Wylie paused before it, looked back and winked in the dim light. Then he moved his flashlight so it shone upward between them. He looked at her, the grin back on his face.

  "Ready?"

  Ready for what? The door was locked. There was something in the grin on his face that made her blood run cold. Maybe it was just the way the flashlight made him look all spooky. He was just messing with her.

  Tiffany shrugged her sh
oulders to show him she was not afraid. Turning away he pulled a skeleton key from his pocket and her heart almost stopped. Whatever was behind that door was best left there. The idea of going through it stopped her breath and turned her knees to jelly.

  "Where did you get that?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

  "The Lord’s little box,” he said with a chuckle. “Here take this.” He handed her the flashlight and then slide the key into the lock. It creaked ominously. It was probably just encrusted in rust from the damp salt air that had leached inside from the ocean over the years.

  "Wylie, I don't want to go in there.”

  He pushed the door open. It groaned softly on its rusted metal hinges, protesting the movement.

  "Don’t be silly, take a peek."

  She swung the flashlight beam into a small chamber and screamed.

  Chapter 44

  Tiffany stared in horror as the beam of the flashlight illuminated the eye sockets of a skull. It was all her eyes could focus on for a moment and she thought that she would drop to her knees.

  Had Wylie known it was here?

  Then she heard him chuckle and he moved her hand splaying the light so it lit up the full skeletal remains of a woman.

  Tiffany was gasping for breath once more but she took in the yellow old bones and the dust-encrusted, formerly burgundy full dress the woman had been wearing. It looked like a ball gown, with a low bosom, ruffles, full sleeves, and yards of fabric of the formerly full skirt —now lying flat against the bones of her legs.

  "Guess who that is," Wylie said, his voice filled with humor.

  Tiffany spun toward her husband, mouth opening and closing at the horror of the situation. His face was a mask of contempt and she stepped back. "Who?" was all she could manage.

  "It’s none other than Beatrice herself, Greyfield’s wife," he said, his tone light-hearted, jovial almost.

  Heart pounding, she frowned. "Why are we here and how in the world would you know that?"

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Because he told me."

  Before his words even registered in her brain, Tiffany felt the shove in her back. This one didn’t burn but it knocked her off balance. Circling her arms she fell into the room. The flashlight jarred from her hands, landing close to the dead woman's skirt.

  Tiffany kept her feet for a few more paces but then her foot came down on a bone. Shock traveled through her body raising the hair down her arms and she tried to jump away. Her balance gone, she was falling and she landed on her hands and knees, her face precariously close to a skeletal hand still wearing a garnet ring.

  Fear had her scramble to reach for the flashlight and turn to face Wylie at the same time. Boy, was he going to get a piece of her mind.

  The door slammed shut.

  "Wylie!" she cried, panic swelling inside. "Wylie! What are you doing?"

  To her horror, she heard only a laugh muffled through the heavy door.

  "The Lord had the right idea. She might've murdered him, but he got his revenge. And so will I. This is where your secrets have gotten you, Tiffany, and now you're right where you belong. Here with the Lord’s dark secret.”

  "Wylie!" she shrieked, lunging up from the floor and flinging herself against the door, pounding on it with her fists. "Wylie, this isn't funny! Let me out!"

  "You want the key?"

  She wasn't thinking. "Yes! Let me out!" her voice choked with panic, her heart pounding hard against her chest. The room was dark but for the sliver of torchlight, and her mind was spinning with disbelief. How could he do this?

  Taking a breath, she knew it was just a trick. Just punishment and soon he would let her out.

  “Let me out or give me the key,” she kept her voice as calm as she could and waited for the sound of the key in the lock. Instead, she felt something brush against her toe and aimed the flashlight beam downward.

  There, from beneath a crack between the door and the silky dirt of the floor, she saw Wylie shove the skeleton key into the cave-like room.

  "There. Are you happy now?" he called but there was something smug about his voice. Something cold and cruel.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  With her heart leaping against her chest, Tiffany reached for the key and then focused the flashlight on the door. A scream trapped in her throat, her eyes wide with disbelief, as she realized there was no lock on her side.

  "No! No, Wylie, please don't leave me!"

  Muffled, cruel laughter came from the other side.

  "Wylie, here, take the key. Open the door!" She shoved the skeleton key back underneath the door, sobs wracking her chest.

  "You have fun now, Tiffany, visiting with Beatrice. After all, you two have so much in common."

  "Wylie!"

  She screamed his name over and over again, but she heard no further sound. No movement, no laughter, no nothing. No! He couldn't leave her down here. He would come back. He would!

  The light flickered and she gazed down at the flashlight. Just then, the beam of light went out. Desperately, she shook the flashlight and it came back on, but she knew the batteries would die soon, and she would be left down here in total darkness.

  With the corpse of another adulteress. She turned, her back to the door, the waning beam of light riveted on the skull of Beatrice Greyfield. The jaw bone was set so that she was wearing what looked like a perpetual grin. Those empty eye sockets were a taunting reminder of her own betrayal.

  Tiffany screamed for Wylie until her throat was so sore and swollen that no sound would come out. She beat her hands against the door, and kicked the door until her body ached and gave in.

  Then she sunk down onto the sandy floor. It was cold here and she was only just out of reach of those skeletal hands. Tears stained her cheeks, her heart throbbed so hard she wondered if it could still beat.

  “I damn you to hell for this betrayal.”

  Tiffany didn’t know if the words were in her tortured mind or if Lord Greyfield was here with her.

  She'd never been so frightened in her life.

  Until the flashlight died.

  Spiritual Awakenings

  Paranormal Activity

  The Haunting of Greyfield Manor – Book 2

  By

  Carrie King and Caroline Clark

  ©Copyright 2019

  All Rights Reserved

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  Paranormal Activity

  Welcome to a haunted house that holds a secret. Be careful you do not wake the evil that is sleeping beneath its hulking mass…

  Greyfield Manor has a secret, one you do not want to discover.

  Jessica, a medium, and her friend, Mindy a psychic are hired to investigate the claims of paranormal activity at the remote Greyfield Manor.

  What starts off as a routine investigation into a haunted house soon becomes something unimaginable – could they really be in danger?

  Jessica and her friend find old documents hidden in a secret tunnel. What they discover changes everything.

  The two paranormal investigators capture voice phenomena, experience physical attacks, and even worse, realize that their investigation has stirred up a malevolent entity in the house.

  Can Jessica and her friend solve the mystery that surrounds Greyfield Manor?

  Will they be able to communicate with Lord Greyfield and finally learn the truth of his demise?

  Even more important, will they be allowed to leave and expose the secrets hidden for centuries?

  Jessica's gift is tested, as is her determination to uncover the mysteries held within Greyfield Manor.

  Find out if Jessica and Mindy can escape this powerful spirit in Spiritual Awakenings.

  Prologue

  Greyfield Manor, Solway Firth, Northern England, 1732

  As the vehicle pulled up in front of the house, he could sense something, something strong. This one was different, he knew that immediately.
Power prickled the air around him. She could sense things beyond the visible. A glimmer of hope grew in his heart. Maybe he could communicate with this one. Maybe she could help him…

  "Don't be a fool."

  Anger pulled his visage into a frown. "Go away, Beatrice."

  A chuckle answered him.

  "Now, why would I do that, Angus? I'll never leave you. You made sure of that, didn't you?"

  Would this torment never end? Would he forever be trapped with the woman who had murdered him? He had gotten his revenge, yes, but at what cost?

  A low growling erupted from below. Fear and anger sparked where his stomach used to be. No. There was no escape until that one was gone. He would remain trapped in the home he had so lovingly and proudly built for his bride. A home and wife he had taken the greatest pleasure and pride in.

  Until she betrayed him.

  Until she murdered him.

  Before his soul had been trapped by his own thirst for revenge. If only he had known that his fury could trigger the creation of such an evil entity, one he called 'the Soul Taker'… but he hadn't.

  Back then he had been so angry. So fixated on revenge that he had given no thought to the repercussions. Those repercussions had endured centuries. He didn't know where the Soul Taker had come from, but after he was murdered, the entity had appeared, promising to help him take his revenge.

  Angus had taken his revenge but at a handsome price. That of his own free will. In a fit of fury, he’d entered into a contract with the Soul Taker. It seemed a small price to pay at the time. When the heart is crushed and the mind is enraged, anything is acceptable. Now he understood that price.

  To be released, he must provide the Soul Taker with twenty souls. The fury had been so great the betrayal cut so deep that he didn’t think twice, but simply agreed. Only later, only now. The sweet taste of revenge had corrupted on his lips as the centuries of torment continued. Now, three centuries later, he wanted nothing more than release. Release from his torment, his guilt, and his enduring pain …