The Haunting of Blackburn Manor

by Blake Croft

  I’ll get you proper burials in consecrated ground, she thought, hoping the miners would get the message. I promise.

  As if in response to her promise, the ethereal lights winked out one by one.

  Chapter 45

  The storm was still going strong, but the cold wind was nothing compared to what they had encountered inside.

  A host of police officers and paramedics came to their aid, lifting Linda off her limping feet to deposit her in the back of an ambulance. Scott needed immediate medical attention so he was sped away to the hospital leaving behind a disgruntled Hackridge Chief of Police, and a grinning Milo who was plying him with coffee and sandwiches. Cindy, mystified, stood next to the porch steps. She’d come back from her lunch break to find the house surrounded by police cars.

  Ashley was lying down in the ambulance behind her, having her heart rate monitored.

  Evelyn had been taken to the hospital before they had emerged from the basement.

  The police officers had had a tough time removing furniture from the basement door.

  Linda shuddered. She watched the house. It was still as malicious and brooding as before, but the edge to it had gone.

  “Meow.”

  Linda looked down the road. Cats, at least ten of them, had converged in the middle of the street. They stood looking at the manor. Fear pulled at Linda, and she followed their gaze.

  Men emerged from Blackburn Manor, their faces somber. They were wheeling a gurney between them. A black body bag rested on top.

  Grady.

  Linda’s lower lip quivered.

  She had escaped the jaws of death, but some hadn’t.

  Grady, Tara, and Shannon. They had all died.

  Deep sorrow and the enormity of her experience crashed down on her, and all of her adrenaline left her body. She began to weep, letting the realization that she had survived sink in, and that the guilt would never go away.

  Epilogue

  “You nearly got me killed,” Scott complained.

  Monitors beeped. A tiny TV groaned in the corner. Nurses went about their business in the halls. Scott sat up in his hospital bed, eating green Jell-O.

  “Oh, please,” Ashley rolled her eyes. “You love the attention you’re getting.”

  “And a promotion.” Scott grinned.

  “That’s great,” Linda said.

  She was truly happy for Scott, but her mind was still at Grady’s funeral. Her two daughters had come, and it had been hard to explain to them what had happened. Linda could still feel the skeptical, angry gazes of Grady’s loved ones.

  They had returned to their room at the local motel because the manor was now a crime scene. She had dreamt of nothing, no moaning lament, no bodies in underground lakes, no disturbing portraits, and certainly no blonde or brunette girls haunting her dreams.

  That, more than anything else, had convinced her that it was all over. When they destroyed the creature, Shannon’s ghost ceased to exist as well. Her soul was now at peace somewhere in the Beyond.

  “So, did you manage to convince the Mayor?” Scott asked. “You said you were going to talk to him yesterday.”

  “Yes,” Linda nodded, grateful for a change of subject. “I told him it was the town’s responsibility to recognize a great injustice done by one of the prominent members in their history. Plus the church had no problem burying the miners in the graveyard.”

  “The mayor kept grousing about the town budget until his assistant reminded him it was an election year and it would look good on his campaign. He’s even going to get a special plaque and all.” Ashley stole a spoonful of mashed potatoes off of Scott’s tray.

  “What about the girls?” Scott asked.

  “Tara’s stepfather came forward and claimed her body,” Linda said, suppressing a shudder. “He wasn’t very upset to learn what had happened to her. They didn’t get along; hadn’t spoken to each other in years.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t like him much.” Ashley nodded. “Marisa’s brother signed out her body immediately after her death.”

  “Shannon’s remains were claimed by a distant aunt,” Linda said. “They have a family vault so she’ll finally be with her loved ones.”

  “I’m glad,” Scott said. “She was smart, wasn’t she? Figuring out Stewart’s diabolical nature?”

  “She was very clever.” Linda nodded. “More so than I would have been in that situation. There was no signal in the attic, but she didn’t let that stop her. When Stewart found her she recorded their conversation and hid the phone.”

  “She would have made a great investigator.” Scott sighed. “Speaking of investigations, the case has been closed. Milo told me this morning.” He took a sip of water. “Stewart’s been posthumously convicted of the murders of Tara, Shannon and Grady. I told the Chief of Police in Hackridge that Stewart had drugged and trapped Ashley in the basement before he came for you. Things went south for him, and he was killed in self-defense; which clocked his body in the apartment and why we were in the cavern under his house.”

  “Grady?” Linda asked. “He didn’t kill Grady.”

  “Well,” Scott grimaced, “I couldn’t really say it was a grey shadow that pushed Grady down the stairs and have it pass muster could I? They’re more than willing to pin that on Stewart too.”

  “It isn’t true though,” Linda murmured.

  “Whatever. It's much more honest than you thinking it’s your fault,” Scott scolded.

  “Isn’t it?” Linda snapped. “I forced us all to go on the ‘witch hunt.’ You guys could have just left.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Ashley said. “And you know it. That… ghostly thing wasn’t going to let us go. And if anyone is responsible for Grady, it’s me.”

  “No!” Linda said. “You can’t be held responsible, you were possessed by the entity.”

  “And you didn’t force Grady to be there,” Scott said decisively. “She chose to be there. She chose to fight. If I know Grady, and I knew her pretty well, she would have wanted to die trying, rather than stick in her comfort zone, safe and secure.”

  Linda didn’t press the point. No matter what anyone said, she would always feel deep regret about Grady’s death.

  “Speaking of old women,” Ashley said breaking the awkward silence. “What about Evelyn? Is there anyone to care for her?”

  “No known relatives.” Scott shrugged then winced in pain. “Her lawyers will be instructed to sell the manor to pay for a care facility that Stewart designated in his will. She’s in Pine Grove. It’s a few miles away from Hackridge.”

  “I feel sorry for her. The poor woman had to witness so much and could do nothing about it.”

  Ashley shrugged. “I’m just glad we’re getting out of here.”

  “Wait, what?” Scott asked. He let his spoonful of Jell-O drop back in its tray.

  “We’re leaving this afternoon.” Linda smiled.

  “My truck is fixed, and free of charge, thanks to Milo,” Ashley said. “We had to stay for the purpose of investigation, but we are now free to leave. I can’t wait to get back to civilization.”

  “I thought you were staying for a few months,” Scott said to Linda. She could see the confused sparkle in his blue eyes, the dismay and the longing.

  She blushed. “The retreat is the scene of a crime. I have nowhere to stay and no job to stay for. Plus, I decided to leave a few days ago, actually. But we’ll keep in touch. I have your number.”

  “You better call,” Scott warned. “Or I’ll be forced to stalk you across the country like some psycho.”

  Ashley glared at him, but Linda only laughed.

  “I’m sorry,” Scott went red. “I wasn’t trying to remind you of your ex.”

  “Actually,” Linda said after a moment of reflection, “I haven’t thought of Jackson in a while. And after what we’ve experienced here, I don’t fear him as much as before. I’m ready to move on with my life.”

  “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” Ashley sa
id. “I guess this place did work for you after all.”

  It felt good to be rid of her old shackles. The trauma was still there, like the memory of an old bruise, but she was now well equipped to live her life in spite of them. It helped that she was no longer living a lie. She recognized that she didn’t suffer from sleep paralysis or hallucinations, but her true potential was as a conduit for restless spirits bound to a place of trauma. It was heartening to know, finally, who she was, though it opened a whole door of uncertainties and she knew one day she’ll have to deal with that.

  “We better get going if we want to get home by sundown,” Ashley said. “Bye Scott. Be good.” She shook hands with him. “I’ll be outside,” she said to Linda on her way out.

  Linda gave him a sheepish smile.

  “I wanted to thank you, Scott,” she said, clasping his hand. It was warm, comforting and dependable. “I haven’t had many friends in life, but I count you as one of the best. You’ve done more than help me through this time. You’ve returned my faith in myself. Thank you.”

  “Any time, Linda,” Scott said, placing his hand on top of hers. “Don’t be a stranger now.”

  “I won’t. I’ll keep in touch. Good bye,” she said, pulling her hand back. She stepped away, but then on impulse lunged back and hugged him.

  “Ouch,” he said. “Watch the bandages!”

  “Sorry.” Linda laughed. Her insides roiled at her own bold outburst. She whipped around and walked out the room, blushing.

  “You okay?” Ashley asked when she joined her. “You look like you’re breaking out in hives.”

  “I’m great.” Linda smiled. “Let’s go, shall we?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Ashley grinned.

  They walked down the hall, ready to put Blackwood County and its horrors behind them forever.

  — ∞ § ∞ —

  Thank you for reading the novel. If you enjoyed it, please consider signing up to my Readers’ Group mailing list. You will receive a free copy of The Abandoned House, a short spin-off of The Haunting of Blackburn Manor featuring Scott and Stewart some twenty years earlier. This story is not available anywhere else.

  Click here to read The Abandoned House, and to get notification when the next book is available. You will also hear occasionally about other good things we give to our readers.

  1995. On Halloween night, Scott just wants to go trick-or-treating, but his older brother has other plans. He is having a party in an abandoned house on the wrong side of town, and he insists Scott remains outside.

  As the drinks flow so do the stories, until one of them starts to sound too familiar… and a night of fun turns into a night of terror.

  Blake Croft & Ashley Raven

  www.blakecroftauthor.com

  www.facebook.com/BlakeCroftAuthor

  Note from the authors

  Thank you for taking a chance on the Haunting of Blackburn House.

  Did you enjoy the novel? We hope so, and we would really appreciate it if you would help others enjoy this story too and help spread the word.

  Please consider leaving an honest review today telling other readers why you liked this book, wherever you purchased this book, or on Goodreads. It doesn’t need to be long, just a few sentences can make a huge difference. Your reviews go a long way in helping others discover what we are writing, and decide if a book is for them.

  We appreciate anything you can do to help, and if you do write a review, wherever it is, please send an email at croft.raven@blakecroftauthor.com, so we could thank you personally.

  Thank you very much,

  Blake Croft & Ashley Raven

  Other books by Blake Croft & Ashley Raven

  Click here to browse all Blake Croft’s Books.

  The Haunting of the Creole House (excerpt)

  Summary

  A desperate move to secure their future becomes a descent into hell for a young family.

  Abbie Coltrane and her husband Richard know their financial situation is dire, so when Richard decides to take the whole family on vacation in Louisiana, Abbie is baffled.

  It doesn’t take long for her apprehension to prove founded. Something dark lurks in the old Creole house.

  Abbie and Richard’s young sons are the first to witness this phenomenon. When Aiden, the youngest, treats the teddy bear he found in their room as a friend, his brother Dave senses something terrible. Constant nightmares and fighting take a toll on them all, and what begins as a strange occurrence takes an ugly turn that spurs them to run for their lives. However, the sinister entity has other plans.

  Can the Coltranes bring an end to the madness before tragedy strikes?

  There is something in the Creole house. Ever watching, always hungry… it waits.

  Prologue

  June 9th – 4:45 PM

  Lakeshore Drive, Mandeville – Louisiana

  The sun kissed the surface of the blue waters before it began its slow sink into Lake Pontchartrain. In the quiet, old Creole house overlooking the creek, you could hear the hiss at the exact moment sun and water collided. The roar of an engine pierced the waiting quiet like a knife, stirring the stale air into the beginnings of energy. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped when the family car parked close to the colonial house. The quality of the stillness in the house changed from melancholia to anticipation. When the car doors opened, little children’s voices mingled with their parents and It knew that a serious change had come.

  In the fast fading daylight, the sound of closing car doors echoed through the house, like thunder rolling across an immense empty plain. The floorboards creaked with expectation, and doors stood ajar with attention. The house braced itself for the new occupants. But in a room on the upper floor, It sat very still by the window, trying to make out the faces of the young children running about in the short driveway.

  The windows were streaked with grime, blurring the children’s faces. They were a neat family of four, a set of parents and two young boys. The perfect nuclear family. It hungered for a closer look, a whiff of scent, a snatch of song, and presently it was rewarded.

  “Bumble, bumble,

  My busy bee,

  Buzzing around,

  The mulberry tree.

  From hither to tither,

  From blossom to bush,

  Making up honey,

  For Mummy and me!”

  The giddy words were half chanted, half sang by the child with a head of yellow sun. His small legs pumped up and down as he ran around the garden, a tantalizing blur of yellow and green.

  The elder of the two chased the little one, his arms outstretched. The squeals of delight rippled up to the window where the shadows shifted, and the glass fogged briefly under a splayed hand. It had to see their faces. It had to be sure.

  The children ran closer to the house. The youngest, no more than five, stopped to look up at the house. The older brother, twice his age, came to stop beside him. They shaded their eyes with their little hands, their faces twisted in concentration.

  Two little boys. Finally returned.

  It waited.

  Chapter One

  June 9th – 5:17 PM

  Lakeshore Drive, Mandeville – Louisiana

  “They’re excited,” said Richard.

  Abbie Coltrane smiled and squeezed her husband’s hand. The sand felt cool, wet, and alien beneath her toes. The foamy surf looked like aggressive fingers clawing ever nearer, to grasp unsuspecting passersby.

  The laughter of her two boys pierced the air, competing with the shrill call of the seagulls. Dave the eldest at ten, with his mop of brown hair, and his broad slopping shoulders was running on ahead. Aiden, the baby of the family, tried his best to keep up, his yellow curls shining like a halo in the setting sun. He looked back often, his big blue eyes making sure Abbie and Richard were close by, then flitted behind them to the house they had just come from.

  “This’ll be good for our boys.” Richard fished out a cigarette and lighter, and cupped his h
and around the flame to protect it. “Two months on the beach, under the sun, and they’ll be as brown and brawny as me.”

  “Hmm.” Abbie bent down to pick up a seashell letting her hair curtain her face.

  “Two months is all I need, Abbie.” Richard’s voice was urgent, a precursor to an argument. “I have the perfect story. I just need to get most of it on paper, and this place is going to do wonders for my block. I’m sure of it.”

  “I just can’t see why we couldn’t have gone up to a cabin in Ridgway.” Her voice dropped lower. “Ali said she’d lend us the place free of charge for the summer.” Abbie was still bent low, her fingers sifting aimlessly through the sand.

  “This is not the same as Ridgeway.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. The weather was warmer, the houses had that tempered beauty you only get with really old places, the people were more colorful, and Lake Pontchartrain itself was mercurial. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe this was the place he needed to be to write his breakthrough novel. Goodness knew he was struggling back in Colorado. His agent was at his wit’s end and had confessed to Abbie that the royalties were more of a drip than a steady trickle.

  Standing up straight, Abbie brushed the sand off her hands and looked back at the beach house they had rented for the summer. It was built atop a narrow strip of rock that acted as a natural barrier to the beach and the sea, insuring the children would have a modest walk before they got anywhere near the water’s edge. The house itself was built in classic French Creole style with wide porches and galleries, and several colonnettes that supported a wide roof. The whole structure had been painted azure blue.

  While the front garden was blooming with hibiscus and iris flowers, the inside was dreary. The furniture pieces were mismatched. The windows were choked with dirt, and the whole place needed to be aired out. As for the owners, Abbie hadn’t laid eyes on them at all. They had found the keys dangling by a hook next to the front door. The owner hadn’t even bothered to leave a note.