by Jen Cole
‘Mum, you’re the most upbeat person I know. Nothing gets you down.’
She smiled. ‘A plus in this job. Anyway, the property seems to be jinxed. It’s 3-bedroom weatherboard house on a quiet street close to shops and transport. We’ve dropped the rent to $200 a week. It should have been snapped up by now but it hasn’t. The owner had it listed with three other agents before us and they had no luck either.’
‘Want me to take a look?’ I volunteered. ‘I might be able to figure out what people don’t like about it.’
‘Would you, Emily? That’d be great,’ said Mum, handing me the keys. ‘I’ve got to get this house leased. It’s dragging down my record and putting clients off looking at anything else.’
She gave me the address, which was just a couple of blocks away and I left my shopping with her and headed off. I was passing some street tables outside a cafe when the light grey bandanna caught my eye.
Chapter 5
It was the girl who’d returned the keys. She was sitting having a coffee. I stepped towards her. She hadn’t wanted to talk to mum, but maybe she’d open up to me.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I saw you in the estate agent’s just before. I’m about to go check out the house you knocked back.’
She looked up and actually shivered. ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you.’
‘Can you tell me what’s wrong with it? Maybe you can save me some time.’
She looked me up and down. ‘Aren’t you a bit young to be renting?’
‘I’m checking it out for my Mum,’ I said, not adding that she was the real estate agent.
The girl nodded to the empty chair opposite. ‘Have a seat. I’m Danni.’
I plonked myself down. ‘I’m Emily.’
‘Well Emily, I’ll tell you right now, that house doesn’t want people renting it.’
‘What do you mean?’
Danni leant forward. ‘Something’s very wrong in there.’
She sat back, took a sip of coffee and sighed. ‘I was so excited when I saw the ad – A three bedroom house in a great area for only $200 a week. I said to my partner, “Wow, this is too good to be true.” I raced to the real estate agency before someone could beat me to it. The agent was excited. She seemed really eager to give me the keys – desperate even.’
I made a mental note – tell Mum her anxiety about the house is showing in her body language.
Danni continued. ‘The house looked fine from the outside. The sun was shining and I thought again how it all seemed too good to be true. The first problem came at the front door. The damn key wouldn’t turn. I stood there for five minutes jiggling it before I got it to work.’
Mental note #2. Tell Mum to get a new lock.
‘I pushed the door open, but before I could take a step forward, it slammed shut in my face.’
‘Must have been a strong wind,’ I said.
‘That’s just it. There was no breeze at all.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t up to battling that door again, so I went round to the back of the house. The key turned properly in the back door, but the minute I stepped inside, I felt it. The place was ice-cold like a grave, and dark.’
Mental note #3. Open a few blinds. Strange, I thought. Some of the blinds should have been up. Mum always said that a light-filled house made a good first impression so she wouldn’t have closed them. Maybe one of the people who’d come inspecting the house had pulled them down.
Danni continued. ‘As soon as I stepped into the passageway, I felt as though an invisible force was pushing against me.’
I stared. ‘Pushing?’
She nodded. ‘It started to feel like I was swimming through honey. By the time I reached the first bedroom, I was finding it hard to breathe. The door was closed and suddenly the thought of opening it filled me with dread. I glanced across the corridor to the main bedroom. That door stood open but when I slid my eyes to the doorway, it actually hurt. That was it. I just turned and ran. As I bolted out of the house, the back door slammed behind me.’
She looked at me intensely. ‘Emily, it was horrible. I’ve never encountered anything like that before and I hope I never do again. That house does not want people there.’
‘Whoa,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I’ll just take the key back to the agent.’
She put her hand on top of mine. ‘Don’t go into that house by yourself. I’ll tell you right now, I wouldn’t go back there for a million dollars.’
I stood. ‘Thanks Danni. I’m glad I spoke to you. Guess I’ll just do some shopping and forget about houses today.’
She gave me a wave and I headed off, my mind full of questions. I could see how some of the things Danni had described could be explained away, but what about the sensations she’d felt? She didn’t seem like the hysterical type, but what other explanation was there?
I almost had second thoughts about visiting the house, but Mum was relying on me and no way was I ever going to let her think I was a coward. I’d do it quickly. Check out the lock, open some blinds and get out.
Chapter 6
The brisk walk to the house got my blood pumping and made me feel back in control. When I arrived and saw the place, I actually sighed in relief. It was just an ordinary house, sitting on an ordinary block on a warm spring day.
I strode to the front door, slipped the key in the lock and twisted. It turned smoothly and the door swung open. Hmm, no need for a new lock then. I stood on the porch for a minute, waiting for the door to slam. It stayed wide and welcoming. Perhaps Danni was the hysterical type.
As I stepped into the hallway I did notice the temperature drop. She’d been right about that. The place was an icebox… and gloomy. Easily fixed. The sitting room on my left had a number of windows, all with their blinds down. I walked to the first and tugged, then tugged again. It wouldn’t go up. The spring in the roller must be broken. I tried the three other windows. None of their blinds would go up. Well, I thought, that’s one thing Mum can fix.
The cold was making me shiver and I considered leaving. I could now honestly say I’d been here and even make a recommendation about the blinds. I glanced towards the front door, still wide open, and shook my head. Don’t be a wuss, Emily. You promised to check the whole house, so check it.
As I stepped from the sitting room something swept strand of my hair off my face. I spun, throwing up my hands. Nothing. I must have walked into a cobweb. It made sense if the place had been standing idle for months. ‘Get a grip, girl,’ I muttered.
Danni had said one of the bedroom doors was closed. She’d been right about that too and I could see why the closed door would put people off. I walked briskly down the passageway and turned the doorknob. A tingling sensation ran up my fingers and I let go with a gasp. For a second I just stared at the knob and had to will myself to stretch out my hand again, but when I finally closed my fingers around the smooth metal, I sighed in relief. No tingling.
I twisted and opened the door onto a small bedroom. There was something terribly forlorn about the single bed with its dusty side table. A vase of daisies, long dead, stood on it. Why hadn’t they been cleared away? Well, someone else could do that, not me. I took a step backwards and realized something was wrong. My hand was still clutching the doorknob. I couldn’t let it go! With a cry I began prying off my fingers with my left hand and finally managed to pull free.
I bolted up the passageway towards the front door, but as I passed the sitting room my legs seemed to tangle and I found myself staggering in. The first blind I’d tried to raise now flipped up by itself and a shaft of light hit the mantelpiece.
Set exactly in the middle was a small, silver-framed photo, and as I stared, a pressure at my back began pushing me towards it. I tried to scream, but my throat closed up and before I knew it, I was standing in front of the silver frame. Now a cry escaped. The photo was of me.
As I charged from the room towards the safety of the street, the front door slammed. I threw myself against it, yanking at the handle but it wouldn’t
open. Pounding at the door, I uselessly willed myself through the barrier but in the end was left sobbing, my cheek pressed to the wood.
A great stillness seemed to fall, and in it I gradually became aware of a new sensation. Someone, I was certain, was standing right behind me. Finally I could bear it no longer. I spun around, my back to the door. Ahead, the corridor stretched dark and empty. I gulped in relief and that was when I felt them. Brushing against my forehead – a pair of cold lips.
I screamed and grabbed the handle again. This time the door opened and I leapt out into the sunshine, not stopping to look back. I sprinted all the way to the estate agency and when Mum saw my face she went white.
‘Emily, what’s wrong? Has something happened?’
She took me to a couch in an empty office and sat holding me tightly. Then she started crying and I realised she thought the worst. It snapped me out of my frozen state.
‘No, Mum, it’s not what you think. No one’s hurt me. No one human, at least.’
She took my shoulders and looked into my eyes. ‘Emily?’
There was no point in pretending. She’d seen me terrified. I’d run into her arms like a coward. It was over. All those years of trying to prove I wasn’t like my father had been washed away in a minute.
‘The house is haunted. There’s a ghost, Mum.’
I waited for her disbelief and disappointment – for the realization that I had after all, turned out to be more like my father than her. Instead, she spoke in wonder.
‘My God, Emily. It makes sense. My own sadness on leaving the house. The fact that every prospective tenant has come back ashen-faced but won’t say anything. What happened?’
Chapter 7
I could hardly believe it. Mum didn’t despise me for my fear. She accepted it as justified. A huge weight lifted from my shoulders and I began talking, starting with my meeting with Danni.
She frowned at the end of Danni’s story. ‘Clearly the spirit doesn’t want people in the house. I wonder why.’
‘But it wasn’t the same for me,’ I said. ‘The ghost made it easy for me to come in. The front door opened straight away. It only slammed when I tried to get out.’ I shivered. ‘It brushed a strand of hair out of my face and kissed my forehead, but when Danni was there she felt it pushing her out of the house. It pushed me too, but towards a photo in the sitting room.’
‘A photo?’
‘It was on the mantelpiece in a silver frame. A photo of me.’
‘What? How could a photo of you get into a rental property?’
‘I don’t know, but it was weird,’ I said. ‘I was wearing clothes I’ve never owned, and I was standing beside a teenage boy I’ve never seen.’
My mother stared. ‘We have to get to the bottom of this. I need to find out the history of that house.’
She pulled out her mobile, flicked through the contact names and pressed a number. Then she lifted it to her ear and stood. ‘Mr Greenway?’
Mum paced the room as she talked. ‘Hi, it’s Susie Mackintosh from the estate agency… No, unfortunately we haven’t found a renter for your house yet. I was wondering if you could give me some background on the property.’
The conversation went on for a while and when Mum finally dropped the phone into her jacket pocket and turned to face me, she looked like a ghost herself.
‘What is it?’
‘This is unbelievable,’ she muttered. ‘Mr Greenway has only owned that house for a year. When I asked him if he could tell me anything about the previous owners, he…’
She stumbled to the couch and dropped onto it. Her lips were moving but no sound was coming out. I raced into the kitchenette, filled a glass with water and charged back, pressing it into her hand.
Automatically she took a sip and then closed her eyes.
‘Did he tell you who the previous owners were?’ I asked. At first I thought Mum wasn’t going to answer, but then her voice came out in a croaky whisper.
‘A Mr and Mrs Marjoribanks.’
‘Unusual name,’ I said.
‘Yes. They inherited the house when the owner, Mrs Marjoribanks’ mother, died, fifteen years ago. The old lady’s death was an accident. She’d been getting a bit vague and forgetful and one night she turned on the gas, probably to make a cup of tea, and got distracted. She ended up not making the tea, but just going to bed. Trouble was, she’d forgotten to turn off the gas.
‘Her grandson was staying with her, and both of them died in their sleep.’
‘Mum, that’s terrible.’
‘Mr and Mrs Marjoribanks never got over the death of their only son, Randal. They closed up the house, and for fourteen years it stood empty. It wasn’t until last year that they finally sold it to Mr Greenway.’
Mum raised her head and seeing me still standing, tapped the couch. As I sat beside her, she put down the glass.
‘Emily, there’s something I have to tell you.’ She stopped. ‘Your father. His name was Randal Marjoribanks.’
Chapter 8
‘Randal Marjoribanks? Are you saying the boy who died with his grandmother was my father? But you told me he was in England.’
‘I thought he was. Oh, my God,’ she muttered to herself. ‘All these years, I’ve been blaming him.’
‘You never knew?’
She turned to me, her eyes brimming.
‘Randal’s parents disliked me,’ she said. ‘They didn’t believe in our love – said we were too young to feel such things and that Randal had to forget about ‘flirting’ with girls and concentrate on his studies. They were hoping he’d become a lawyer and were convinced I’d got pregnant to trap him.
‘When I called around one day the two of them stood in the doorway and told me they were sending Randal overseas to study at Oxford University and that I could forget about ever seeing him again. Then they thrust some money into my hand, “To get rid of the baby,” they said, and shut the door in my face.’
‘Oh, Mum.’
She gave me a tight smile. ‘I didn’t worry, I trusted Randal. Sure enough, he phoned that night to say he’d moved out of his parents’ home. I wanted to go straight to him, but he said his grandmother was old and a bit frail and the excitement would be too much for her. He promised to come see me the next day.’
She sighed. ‘That was the last I heard from him. Randal hadn’t told me his grandmother’s name or where she lived. His parents refused to speak to me, and I was left believing he’d gone overseas after all – too cowardly to even say goodbye. All these years I believed he’d abandoned me.’
I pulled her close and for a minute we just sat there, holding each other. Then she stood, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. ‘I have to go to the house,’ she said. ‘I have to see where Randal died.’
I gulped. ‘You’ve been there before.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t know then, and I raced through the house so fast, all the while focused on my meeting, that Randal couldn’t get through to me. No wonder I felt so depressed when I left. I was feeling Randal’s failure. All this time he’d been keeping people out, hoping one day I’d come along and when I did, he couldn’t make me understand.’
She took my hands. ‘When you went to the house, he must have realised who you were. With a second chance to get his message through, he went all-out. Emily, I have to go there. I have to set his spirit free. He needs to know I understand now. That he didn’t abandon me. That he always loved me.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Together we locked up the agency and began walking to the house. When we arrived, the front door was closed, even though I’d run out without shutting it. Mum stepped forward and the door swung open. Hand-in-hand we walked inside.
Straightaway I saw it was different. The house was filled with light. All the blinds were up. I thought I’d be terrified, but a feeling of warmth and joy spread through me. Mum let go my hand and stepped into the sitting room. She walked straight to the framed photo and studied it. When she turned
her eyes were shining.
‘This isn’t a photo of you,’ she said. ‘It’s me and Randal.’
I stepped up to the mantelpiece, but as I reached for the frame it dissolved. The last thing I saw was the smiling face of the teenaged boy – my father.
Mum put her arm around my shoulders and spoke to the room.
‘Randal, I’m so glad you were able to show me the truth, and that you’ve seen our daughter. Isn’t she wonderful?
A fragrant breeze seemed to waft around us and I could hear the birds singing outside.
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About the Author
Jen Cole is an Aussie teacher who has only recently begun writing. So far she has completed one novel, Play or Die, and is working on a second, a YA science fiction adventure.
She has also written a number of stories for children and adults. Emily Mackintosh, Ghostbuster is one of her fun ‘scary’ children’s stories.