The Ghost of Molly Holt

by Amy Cross

  Copyright 2017 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: June 2017

  “Molly Holt is dead. There's nothing to fear in this house.”

  When three teenagers set out to explore an abandoned house in the middle of a forest, they think they've found the location where the infamous Molly Holt video was filmed.

  They've found much more than that...

  FROM THE AUTHOR OF ASYLUM, HAUNTED AND THE NIGHT GIRL.

  Tim doesn't believe in ghosts, but he has a crush on a girl who does. That's why he ends up taking her out to the house, and it's also why he lets her take his only flashlight. But as they explore the house together, Tim and Becky start to realize that something else might be lurking in the shadows.

  Something that, ten years ago, suffered unimaginable pain.

  Something that won't rest until a terrible wrong has been put right.

  THE GHOST OF MOLLY HOLT is a horror novel a boy who refuses to believe in ghosts, even as the evidence mounts all around him. But as darkness creeps into the house, will he be able to hold his nerve? Or will he finally have to accept that Molly Holt has risen from her unmarked grave in search of revenge?

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  The Ghost of Molly Holt

  Prologue

  Bright morning sunlight streams down through gaps in the forest canopy, as two cars rumble closer along the dirt road.

  Rolling onto my side, I open my eyes and see that night has passed in an instant and the sun is high in the bright blue sky. I immediately start to sit up, before stopping and looking around as I realize that I'm out on the porch at the front of the house. My mind is a little foggy, but I quickly look around for Freddie, only to find that there's no sign of him.

  I turn and look back through the open doorway, into the gloomy hallway, but there's no sign of anyone at all.

  Nearby, the cars come to a halt and I hear their doors opening.

  Turning, I see police officers climbing out of the two vehicles. Their radios are crackling, and one of them is speaking to somebody on a cellphone.

  “So she's sure this is where the lights were coming from?” one of the officers is saying as he looks up at the front of the house. “There don't look to be any lights on now.”

  “There isn't even any electricity out here,” another officer mutters.

  “We've got three missing kids to find,” the third officer says, leaving the other two behind and hurrying across the yard.

  “Help,” I stammer, looking over my shoulder again to make sure that there's no sign of Molly Holt, before turning and reaching out toward the officer. “She's here. I saw her. You have to help me!”

  The officer comes over toward me and makes his way up the steps. The other two quickly catch up to him, and I feel a rush of relief as I realize that I've been found.

  “Thank you!” I call out, trying to get to my feet but quickly feeling a sharp pain in my side. “Molly Holt is here! I saw her ghost! She's real!”

  I don't know how I'm going to explain any of this, but I can't help breaking into a series of convulsive sobs as I realize that I survived the night. I can figure everything else out later, but right now I'm just relieved that I made it through to morning. And I'll figure out a way to make them understand what happened, just as soon as I've figured it out myself.

  “Thank you,” I sob as the officers reach me. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Thank you for finding me. I saw her. I saw Molly Holt's ghost. She's really here! She was always here!”

  Chapter One

  Twelve hours earlier

  “It is.”

  “It isn't.”

  “It is!”

  “It isn't.”

  “IT IS!”

  “No, it isn't!”

  Sighing, Freddie turns and stamps his foot before turning again to look at us. He's already in the hallway, whereas Becky and I are still out on the porch.

  “IT IS!” he yells. “Are you blind? It's blatantly the right house!”

  I turn to Becky and see that she's not even paying attention. Instead she's rubbing her hands against her bare arms, and a moment later I realize I can see her breath in the cold night air. She didn't say much while we were trekking through the forest, apparently preferring to just chew her gum, and now we've reached the abandoned house it's clear that she regrets tagging along.

  I immediately start taking off my coat, so I can offer it to her.

  “Don't,” she mutters.

  “Don't what?”

  “I don't want your coat. I'm not cold.”

  “But -”

  “This isn't the eighteenth century,” she adds, rolling her eyes even though she isn't looking at me. “If I'm cold, I'm cold. I don't want your coat.”

  She casts a dirty glance in my direction before quickly turning away again. As she does so, I swear I can see her shivering slightly.

  I hesitate for a moment, with my arms half in and half out of my jacket, before taking it off all the way. I should probably just put it straight back on again, especially since I'm now cold myself, but finally I simply fold it carefully and place it on a dusty old table next to the door. I'll put it on again soon, but I don't want to appear indecisive.

  Or do I?

  Maybe she'd like it if I'm indecisive. Maybe she'd think that's a sign of intelligence.

  “Well, it's there if you want I,” I mumble finally.

  “Can we get some lights on in this place?” she says with a sigh, heading over and flicking the switch on the wall several times, to no avail. “Are we really so far out of town that there isn't even any electricity? I mean, what is this, the Stone Age?”

  “I think this place has been abandoned for years,” I point out.

  “Right,” Freddie says triumphantly. “Exactly. It's been abandoned for ten whole years, ever since Molly Holt was slaughtered here.”

  Turning to him, I raise my flashlight until I can see the broad grin on his face.

  “You know it,” he continues, “and I know it, and Becky knows it. You might not like to face the truth, my plucky friends, but I – the great Frederick Aloysius Barnes – have done what no man, or woman, or police officer has managed in over the past decade. I might only be sixteen years old, but I have outsmarted the minds of experts and scholars.”

  He trudges over to the foot of the stairs, makes his way up a couple of steps, and then stops and turns to us. At the same time, he holds his hands out as if he expects applause.

 
“I've found the house where Molly Holt was murdered. This is it!”

  He waits for us to agree with him.

  “It isn't,” I say after a moment.

  “IT IS!” he yells.

  “Freddie, it isn't! Why would it be?”

  “It just is! I've done my research!”

  “Your so-called research isn't worth a damn.”

  Before I can go into any more detail about why he's wrong, I hear Becky mutter something, and I turn to see that she's heading back toward the front door.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, panicking at the thought she might leave.

  “Where do you think, dumbass? I'm heading back into town.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this -” She turns to me. “This, believe it or not, is not my idea of a fun Saturday night, okay? Trekking three miles out of town to an abandoned house, just so Freddie Barnes can ramble on about something that happened years ago? Yeah, thanks, but I don't think my heart can stand the excitement. I might end up bashing my own brains out because of all the fun.”

  I open my mouth to ask her to stay, but she quickly pulls the front door open and steps outside onto the pitch-black porch.

  “We can't let her walk home alone,” I tell Freddie.

  “Wanna go running after your girlfriend, do you?”

  “She's not my girlfriend!”

  “But you want her to be.”

  “I'm going after her,” I reply, grabbing my jacket and heading toward the door. “She's right, this is just a house that somebody left behind and never bothered to sell. Shit happens.”

  I step out onto the porch, where I stop and look around for any sign of Becky. I half-expected to find her waiting for me, but she's nowhere to be seen, not even when I take a couple more steps forward and shine my flashlight across the barren clearing that leads toward the forest. I turn around, looking for even the slightest hint of her, but I guess she was in a real hurry to get out of here.

  Far away in the dark night, the lights of town are just about visible beyond the trees.

  “Becky?” I call out, figuring she wouldn't be crazy enough to walk all the way home alone. “Hey Becky, where are you? Do you wanna walk back to town together?”

  I shine my flashlight all around, but all I see is the empty clearing.

  “Becky!”

  Great.

  She's gone.

  That was probably my one and only chance to impress her.

  “Oh Becky!” Freddie calls out from back inside the house. “I love you, Becky! I want to have babies with you, Becky! I want you to notice I exist, Becky!”

  “She notices I exist!” I say firmly, heading over to the door and shining my flashlight back inside. Freddie's still on the stairs. “She wouldn't have come out here tonight,” I add, with a hint of pride, “if I hadn't asked her.”

  “Technically I was the one who asked her, when we bumped into her.”

  “She wouldn't have agreed if it'd just been you.”

  “Yeah, well, she was probably bored.” He shrugs. “Or she hoped it'd be a crack house and she could score some crack.”

  “Don't say that about her!”

  “Why not? Are you gonna defend her honor?”

  I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but I know that's exactly the reaction he wants. Instead, therefore, I turn and look back out toward the clearing. As usual, I'm going to be the more mature member of our little two-man gang.

  “I should go after her,” I mutter.

  “Why?” Freddie asks.

  “She's walking home alone!”

  “I don't think she appreciates the chivalrous type,” he points out. “If she got pissed at you offering your jacket, she'll hate it if you run after her like she's some damsel in distress.”

  “Will she?”

  “Hell yeah! That's not what girls like these days.””

  “But what if she gets hurt?”

  “Are you kidding?” he scoffs.

  “There might be someone dangerous lurking in the dark between here and town.”

  “There is someone dangerous lurking in the dark between here and town,” he replies. “It's Becky. Face it, man, she'll probably mug some old lady for the bus fair home.”

  “Becky's not like that.”

  “I heard she pulled a knife on Johnny Hinnerman at school last week.”

  “Johnny Hinnerman's a liar,” I point out.

  “And Becky Wallace is a freak,” he counters. “I don't even know why you like her. And she'd never like a guy like you. You're too vanilla.”

  I turn back to him.

  “Or is that the problem?” he continues, shining his flashlight directly at my face, causing me to have to turn away for a moment. “Are you scared, Tim? You were all mouth earlier, saying how you weren't scared of coming out to a haunted house, but now you're peeing your pants 'cause you know that I'm right about this place. It's the house where Molly Holt was murdered.”

  “No, Freddie,” I say with a sigh, “it really isn't. If it was, the police would've found out by now.”

  “The police are doofuses,” he replies, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of creased, crumpled papers covered in handwritten notes. “This is the house where Molly Holt was murdered. And if you'd care to follow me upstairs, I'll prove it.”

  Chapter Two

  “See?” Freddie says as he holds up the crumpled print-out up, showing me a screen-grab from the Molly Holt video. “It's the exact same house.”

  I stare at the print-out for a moment, and then I shine my flashlight over at the far corner of this cramped little room. I've got to admit, there are definitely some similarities, especially with the way a wooden post emerges from the wall and runs up toward the ceiling, but after a few seconds I start to realize that the dimensions aren't quite right. For one thing, the post in the print-out runs further across the ceiling; for another, the window on the right-hand side isn't quite the same.

  Oh, and for another, there's no way Freddie would have be able to stumble on something like this. Not when the cops never made any progress.

  “No,” I say finally, shaking my head slowly. “It's not the same room.”

  “What is wrong with you?” he yells, stepping forward and shining the flashlight right into the corner. “It's exactly the same room!”

  “The window isn't right.”

  “So?”

  “So what are you saying? That somebody brought Molly Holt here, tortured her and murdered her, and then changed the window before they left?”

  “Maybe,” he replies, and for the first time there's a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He looks down at the print-out, then at the window, then at the print-out again, and then at the window. “Maybe they wanted to throw people off the trail.”

  “The police searched everywhere to find out where that video was filmed,” I point out. “Like, everywhere! Do you seriously think they didn't think to check out creepy abandoned houses up and down the country? I guarantee they sent someone out to take a look at this place.” I wait for him to admit that I'm right. “Face it,” I add finally, “you're not smarter than the cops, Freddie. This isn't where Molly Holt was killed.”

  “You're just mad that Becky left.”

  “I'm just cold,” I reply with a sigh, “and we're here for nothing.”

  I wait for him to admit that I'm right, but he seems too busy examining the print-out. It's kind of sad the way he was convinced he'd made some major breakthrough, although I've got to admit I was skeptical from the start. He came rushing over to my place earlier today, blathering on and on about how he was smarter than everyone else who'd been working on the Molly Holt case, but I knew he was probably just full of hot air. Everyone knows Freddie's a little crazy, and that his enthusiasm often spirals wildly out of control. I swear, he has a different wild plan or crazy scheme each week.

  “Okay,” he says finally, stuffing the print-out into his pocket before unfolding another and coming over to jo
in me in the doorway, “I've still got some back-up proof to show you. Then you'll believe me.”

  “I won't believe you, Freddie,” I say with a sigh, “because I know it's not the house.”

  “And how do you know that? Were you one of the murderers?”

  “Don't be gross!”

  He holds the second print-out up, and this time I see a blurry freeze-frame showing a bare, bloodied arm. I immediately turn away, but Freddie tries to push the piece of paper in my face and I have to push him away several times before he gives up.

  “The video was filmed in multiple rooms,” he points out finally. “Okay, so maybe I was wrong about this room, but I'm not wrong about this being the house. Look!”

  “I don't want to look.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it's disgusting!”

  “You've seen the video, though, right?”

  Again, I have to push his arm away.

  “Tim?” He pauses. “Tim, you have watched the Molly Holt murder video, haven't you? Everyone's watched it. It's, like, all over the internet.”

  “That doesn't mean I want to see it.”

  “Oh my God!” he shouts. “You haven't seen it! What's wrong with you, are you a little pussy?”

  “There's nothing wrong with me!” I yell. “I just don't want to watch a video with stuff like that happening in it!”

  “Everyone's seen it, dude! Everyone in the whole world!”

  “Well, I haven't, and I bet loads of other people haven't either. Not everyone's sick like you.”

  “Are you for real?” He starts laughing, but it's a kind of fake laugh that seems totally put-on. After a moment he even leans down and puts his hands against his knees, as if he can barely stand. “That's priceless! You came all the way out here, you listened to me banging on and on about this thing, and you never even had the guts to watch the video! You're such a wuss!”

  “Why would I want to watch a video of someone getting murdered?” I ask. “Why would anyone watch it?”

  As he straightens up, he's still chuckling.