The Haunting of Blackwood House

by Darcy Coates

  Mara returned to the bedroom, turned off the gas heater, and disassembled the cooled cooker. She washed the cooking plate and cutlery in the bathroom then laid them on top of a box to dry. The plastic plates went into a garbage bag. She then tore a spare bag off the roll, found the gloves Neil had told her about, and went downstairs.

  She found the dining table’s abandoned settings fascinating and almost wished she could leave them as they were. Rather than throwing the plates out one at a time, she picked up the starchy, crunchy tablecloth’s edge and wrapped the whole setting up in a bundle before shoving it into a bag. She tied the bag off and dropped it into the foyer.

  The tablecloth had protected the table from most of time’s aggression, and the surface looked almost new after a quick wash. Mara then worked her way through the eight wooden chairs, taking frequent trips into the kitchen to rinse the dust off the cloth. When she finished, she had a dinner table not even Neil could be squeamish about.

  “What next?” Mara muttered then sighed and turned towards the kitchen. It was the natural choice but also the dirtiest room in the building. She grudgingly put on one of the facemasks, collected a new bag and stack of cloths, and spent the next four hours throwing out anything too dirty to salvage and cleaning everything else.

  “Cripes.” Mara leaned her back against the still-wet tile wall and flexed her shoulders as she surveyed her work. She liked to think of herself as decently hardened against gross things, but the kitchen had been a graveyard for cockroaches and mice in various stages of decomposition. She hoped the critters had only congregated there because of the plentiful spilt food and weren’t indicative of what she could expect in other rooms.

  There were two cooking options in the kitchen: a gas stove, which Mara suspected had been installed by the house’s last owners or not long before them, and an ancient wood oven. Mara had tried the stove and was delighted to find it still worked. The oven was halfway to falling apart but still looked like it would be functional provided the vent wasn’t blocked.

  Mara reached into her pocket to check the time on her phone then remembered she’d left it, dead, upstairs. She looked through the window and guessed it might be early afternoon. Neil said he’d come around three. What else can I get done before then?

  She was trying to work through the house in the most logical order, which meant recreational and spare rooms would be left for last. We’ve now got somewhere to eat and somewhere to cook, so I guess next on our list are the bathroom and bedroom.

  Mara returned upstairs and cleaned out the sink and the toilet as well as she could. She didn’t bother cleaning the mirror or the bathtub as they both needed to be removed. Next was the bedroom.

  Their temporary beds needed a quick kick back into place, after which Mara packed away the cooker and gave the floor another sweep. She was about to leave when the tattered wallpaper caught her attention. I wonder if it would be hard to pull off? The wood underneath should still be intact, right?

  Neil’s knife sat with the cutlery that was drying on top of the box. Mara took it and approached the wall beside the door. She carefully scored the paper and tried pulling it back. To her delight, the glue had deteriorated over the years, and the paper came away more easily than she’d expected. She caught sight of wood underneath and began tugging harder. The paper pulled free in long shreds. Mara stepped back to throw a wad aside and caught sight of the paint underneath.

  She hoped it was paint, at least. A dark brown something had stained words onto the wood. Mara could make out “R HOUSE THIS” and fragments of other letters. Frowning, she continued tearing the paper away until the wall was clear. She wished she hadn’t.

  THIS IS OUR HOUSE THIS IS OUR HOUSE THIS IS OUR HOUSE THIS IS OUR HOUSE THIS IS OUR HOUSE THIS IS OUR HOUSE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Chopped

  The words repeated across the wood in a variety of sizes and levels of legibility. Mara scowled as she scanned them. “It’s my house now,” she muttered then kicked the pile of wallpaper scraps to one side. The words were faintly scuffed, making Mara think someone had tried to scrub them off before covering them with the tacky wallpaper. “Damn it; I’m going to need a different bedroom now.”

  The faint rumble of an engine drew her attention, and Mara crossed to the other side of the house to watch Neil’s car pull up the driveway. She didn’t know what time it was, but she suspected he’d come earlier than he’d promised.

  She hurried downstairs and was just in time to open the door for Neil so he could back through it. His arms were filled with new boxes.

  “Hello, beautiful.” He set the boxes down and kissed her cheek. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

  A clump of garbage bags filled one corner of the foyer, and Mara nodded at them with almost maternal pride. “Got the kitchen clean, and at least one of the ovens is functional. How’d work go?”

  “One of our employees—we still don’t know which one—finished a wall before the wiring was put in. We’re going to have to tear it down and start over. Can’t complain otherwise.”

  “I dunno; that sounds like something I’d get fantastic complaining mileage out of.” Mara tweaked open the lid of one of the boxes and saw a jumble of tools. “You came prepared.”

  “And I can guarantee that the only tool I’ll really need is the one I forgot to bring.” Neil knelt and pulled a handful of objects out of the box. “I bought you a few things, too. Here.”

  Mara held out her hands. Into them, Neil dropped a compact USB flashlight, a canister of pepper spray, and a taser. “You bought me a bug zapper?” she asked, raising the last object up to see it more clearly.

  “Just in case.” Neil’s hand wrapped around hers. There was a flicker of worry in his eyes, but he quickly covered it with a smile. “I can’t stay here every night, as much as I would like to. So I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Worrier,” Mara said fondly. She squeezed his hand and pocketed the equipment.

  “I got you something else, too.” Neil’s smile widened into a more relaxed expression as he turned towards the door. “Come and have a look.”

  Mara stood on the porch and crossed her arms as Neil opened the back of his car and began working a two-seater couch out. “What on earth…?” Mara muttered. “How did you even fit that in there?”

  “I played a lot of Tetris as a child.” Neil freed the chair from the car and flipped it over his shoulder with a grunt.

  Mara shook her head as he carried the couch past her. “Hold up. I never agreed to this. Did you buy it? How much did it cost?”

  “A friend was throwing it out. I thought you might like it. It’ll give you somewhere to sit.” Neil crouched slightly as he wormed the chair through the front door. “Where do you want it? In the sitting room?”

  “A friend was throwing it out, huh?” Mara narrowed her eyes as she followed Neil. “I guess he was sick of looking at his brand-new couch.”

  Neil lowered the chair in front of the sitting room’s fireplace. “You’re not accusing me of lying, are you?”

  “No.” Mara pursed her lips. “But you’ve stoically refused to look me in the eye since you first announced this.”

  “Hah.” Neil finally turned towards her. His sheepish grin was all the answer she needed.

  “Take it back.” Mara fought to keep her irritation from creeping into her voice. “I don’t need charity.”

  “Mara—”

  “No. I’m sorry you had to go to all of the trouble of bringing it here, but I can buy my own furniture, thank you very much.”

  Neil sighed and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Well, what a pain. I guess if you don’t want it I’ll take it to the dump.”

  “Don’t play dumb. Just return it to whichever store you bought it from.”

  “My friend was throwing it out anyway. And I don’t know of anyone else who needs a couch, so—”

  “Ugh.” Mara pinched the bridge of her nose. Neil was determined to be stubborn; she could tell he was fully pre
pared to carry through with his threat and throw the chair out. And it would be nice to have somewhere comfortable to sit. And it’s a nice pattern, too… “Fine, leave it. But don’t think I’m happy about this.”

  “Love you too.” Neil pecked her cheek before she could bat him away. Mara failed to contain her grin.

  “Now, is there anything I can help you with, or would you like me to start patching holes?”

  “Holes, please. I’m going to clear out one of the upstairs bedrooms.” Mara felt an unpleasant lurch as she remembered the writing on the upstairs wall. He’s going to find out about it one way or another; he’ll cope better if he hears it from me. “I got the wallpaper out of our room, and there’s a bunch of graffiti underneath it.”

  “What sort of graffiti?” Neil had fished a pair of gloves out of his back pocket and was pulling them on.

  “Eh… mostly gibberish.”

  He glanced at her, and his eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing important.” Mara beamed at him, but that only deepened Neil’s frown. He abandoned the box and climbed the stairs. She sighed and followed close behind.

  “Cripes,” Neil breathed as he read the message. “Who wrote this?”

  Mara threaded her arm through his. “My guess is a vandal. This place was notorious for being haunted, yeah? I’ll bet some kid came in during one of its vacant phases and painted that message over the wall to enhance the atmosphere. The next owners obviously didn’t appreciate it, but they couldn’t afford to remove the wood, so they put wallpaper over it instead.”

  Neil squeezed her hand. “Move to a different room. One with bare walls.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  Mara searched through the upstairs while Neil began work below. The remaining empty rooms all had broken windows, so she eventually settled on a furnished room with intact panes. It would be a lot of work to clear the furniture out, but she decided she’d eventually need to do that either way.

  Her new room also faced the backyard. It must have had a blue theme, but the bedspread and curtains were all badly faded. Mara bundled the loose cloths into a bag then worked the mattress off its frame. She’d dragged it halfway down the stairs before Neil noticed and ran to help her. “Don’t put your back out,” he said, pulling the mattress out of her hands.

  “My back’s fine, but thank you.”

  Neil threw the mattress onto the porch where they wouldn’t trip over it, then Mara followed him into the dining room and whistled at the sight of the enlarged hole in the wall.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Neil took up the crowbar and began working another damaged plank free. “I’ll have this one done before I go home tonight. It won’t match the other wood, I’m afraid—there’s no way to fake the super-old aesthetic you’ve got going on—but you can stain it a similar shade.”

  “I’ll be happy as long as it looks more like the before photo of the Titanic rather than the after.”

  Neil snorted and turned back to his work. Mara squeezed his shoulder on the way past and returned upstairs.

  Deciding what furnishings should stay and what should go was difficult. Once the organic, decayed items—the rugs, curtains, and mattress—were gone, Mara examined the wooden bed frame, wardrobe, and bureau. To her surprise, the latter two were empty and solid. The bed, on the other hand, had suffered from its burden. The mattress had become wet at some point and rotted through several of the slats. She kicked at one of them, and it snapped. This is definitely older than twenty years, and it was probably a cheap bed when it was bought, too.

  It wouldn’t fit through the doorway whole. Mara tried to prise it apart, but the wood had fused together. Grumbling, she returned downstairs.

  Neil had worked quickly. The damaged part of the wall had been removed, exposing the support beams, and he’d moved on to measuring cut marks on the fresh wood he’d bought.

  “I’ll pay for that,” Mara said, nodding towards the wood. “Just give me the receipt.”

  “Don’t worry; I got it.”

  “Neil.” She narrowed her eyes and put a hint of threat into her voice. “I’ll accept your help, and I’ll even take your couch, but only as long as you’re not out of pocket at the end of this. Give me the damn receipt.”

  “Okay, okay. Stubborn thing.” Neil double-checked a measurement then sat back on his haunches. “I’ll get it for you later. Did you need any help upstairs?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah—did you happen to pack an axe in one of those boxes?”

  Neil’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t, but I found a cupboard full of tools in the laundry last night. You might have some luck there. What do you need an axe for?”

  “I want to dismantle a bed, and an axe seems like the easiest way to do it.”

  Neil jumped to his feet and hurried after Mara as she wove through the kitchen. “Whoa, what? I’m sure there’s an easier way to pull a bed frame apart—”

  She wrenched the cupboard doors open and caught sight of a large axe sitting in the corner. “No, this’ll do nicely.” She flicked the cobwebs off it and hefted it to head height.

  Neil made a faint noise of alarm and nudged the axe so that the blade wasn’t pointed at Mara’s face. “You’ll lose a limb with that thing.”

  “Naw, lumber jacking runs in my blood. Apparently, some of my great-grandparents were woodcutters.”

  “That’s not a reassuring resume.”

  “You need to worry less.” Mara tried to lower the axe and use its blunt head to nudge Neil’s chest, but the shifting centre of gravity threw her off balance. Neil had to step backwards to avoid being bludgeoned. “Keep patching the walls. I’ll have the bed sorted before you’re done.”

  “Jeeze,” Neil muttered. “Let me do it at least.”

  Mara clutched the axe close to her body and ducked out of the laundry. “Not a chance!” She raced up the stairs, ignoring Neil’s pleas for her to slow down, and skidded down the hallway and into the bedroom. The bed waited under the window. Mara approached it, raised the axe above her head, and let gravity swing the heavy metal towards the wood. The blade hit the brace near the headboard and became lodged. Mara strained to pull it free then tried wiggling the handle, but the axe wouldn’t budge. She turned to find Neil standing behind her, arms crossed, and gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. “I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to free it for me?”

  “Mara.” Neil seemed to be fighting to keep a smile off his face. “I have a moral obligation to prevent you from decapitating yourself. Yesterday you promised you’d compromise sometimes. So—let’s compromise. We can butcher the bed if you like, but let me do it.”

  Mara gave the axe a final tug then sighed. “All right, okay. Have at it, Mr White Knight.”

  Neil’s calloused fingers brushed a strand of hair away from Mara’s face as he passed her, and the simple gesture was enough to fill her chest with a bubbly, giddy feeling. She settled back against the wall and watched him pull the axe free with one hand.

  Why was I arguing again? A grin grew as she watched Neil swing the axe in a smooth, practiced motion. His muscles bulged under his shirt, and there was something deliciously attractive about the way he stood, legs braced and head high, that Mara found irresistible. This is way more fun.

  Neil made quick work of the bed. He seemed to have an innate sense of where the fragile sections were and attacked them efficiently. Within a minute, Mara was left with a headboard and bed end, and a mess of splintered braces and slats.

  “Don’t touch the wood,” Neil said as he leaned the axe against the wall. “It’s full of splinters. I’ll cart it downstairs.”

  “Or…” She stepped closer and examined the slats. “It’s dry. I have a fireplace now. Why don’t we have a fire?”

  Neil considered the idea, as though testing it for Mara-killing-potential, then nodded. “That could be nice. If you can wait until tomorrow, I’ll bring some hot chocolate and marshmallows.”

  “Heck yes.�
�� Blackwood House was proving to be a series of firsts for Mara. First proper home. First basement. First cosy fire. She kicked at one of the broken planks, and a flicker of white caught her attention.

  “What did I just say about not touching the wood?” Neil moaned as Mara plucked the square of paper out from the kindling. It was a small black-and-white photo. She held it up to the window’s light and choked.

  The photo showed a middle-aged man with a heavy brow, bushy white moustache, and sideburns. The cut of his coat, and the picture’s blurry, faded quality suggested it had been taken either in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.

  “What the hell?” Mara muttered.

  Neil peered over her shoulder. “Ha, he looks like he’d be fun at a party.”

  “That’s my great-great-grandfather.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Victor Barlow

  Neil was silent for a moment then cleared his throat apologetically. “Sorry. I’m sure he was a very nice man.”

  “Nope.” Mara dropped the picture and shook out her hands, as though simply touching the paper would taint her. “He was a famous spiritualist. The first in our family, if you want to listen to my parents. Where the hell did it come from?”

  “Probably wedged into a crack in the bed frame. It must have come loose when I cut it up.”

  “But… but… why’s it in my house?” A horrible, panicky feeling was building in Mara’s chest. Her throat felt too tight to draw breath, as though a pair of cold hands had wrapped around it and were slowly squeezing. I’m suffocating. Mara clawed at her neck, trying to pry away the invisible influence, as she staggered back from the slip of paper that rested on the floor.

  Neil was at her side in a flash. His hands, large and warm and firm, fixed over hers and pulled them away from her throat before she could mar the skin. He dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Shhh. Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right. Relax.”

  “Okay,” Mara gasped. “I’m okay.”