The Haunting of Blackwych Grange

by Amy Cross

  “I have never quite made up my mind,” Matthew replies, taking a step toward the foot of the stairs, as if he means to go up and investigate. Indeed, he places his right foot on the bottom step, although then he hesitates. I rather think he's struggling to find the necessary courage.

  “I suppose there's nothing to do down here,” I mutter, stepping past him and making my way up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. “We should all just go back to bed.”

  When I reach the top, I turn and smile as I see the expression of shock on Matthew's face. Still, I need to prompt him, to make him act. We've all waited long enough to see what this ghost wants.

  “You're a guest,” I point out. “Nobody expects you to help clean up a mess. You should return to bed and try to rest. Morning will be along soon enough.”

  Even as I say those words, I know he won't be able to sleep. Whatever is waiting for him, it will make itself known tonight.

  “My daughter is right,” Dad tells him. “Please, Mr. Marringham, think nothing of this unfortunate mess. Everything will be neat and tidy again by morning.”

  Matthew hesitates, as if he no longer wants to be in the house at all, but after a moment he starts making his way up. He walks slowly and cautiously, and it takes almost a full minute before he joins me, by which point he looks positively terrified. He glances along the corridor, and I'm quite certain now that he expects to see something untoward. Following his gaze, however, I spot nothing except the gloomy doors on either side.

  “I saw her up here once,” I whisper. “Right over there.”

  I point toward one of the farthest doors, where I did indeed once spot a shadowy figure in the darkness. At the time, I doubted my senses. Now I know she was real.

  “I think she was watching me,” I continue. “I think she watches me a lot. Maybe she has nothing better to do while she waits, or maybe she thinks I can give her what she wants. But I don't know what she wants, so it's difficult.” I pause, just to make him feel a little less comfortable. “Can you imagine what she might want?”

  Instead of answering, Matthew steps past me, keeping his eyes fixed on the door ahead.

  “Forgive me,” he whispers.

  “For what?” I ask, before realizing that perhaps he's not talking to me at all. “Are you talking to her?” I continue. “Are you asking Elizabeth to forgive you? Is that -”

  Before I can finish, I hear a faint scratching sound. I look around, and finally I see that something seems to have cut through the glass of the nearby mirror. Stepping closer, I see a set of letters scratched into the surface.

  “Leave this house?” I whisper.

  I swear, I would have noticed if those words had been on the mirror before.

  A moment later, I hear more scratching, and I see fresh lines being carved in the glass. Stepping closer, I try to make out more words, but this time the pattern seems more random. After a couple of seconds, however, I realize that they have formed a crude image of a human face.

  “What the -”

  Suddenly the face twitches and screams, and I stumble back until I bump against the wall. The scratches are still again now, but I know what I saw.

  “I think we should leave,” I stammer, suddenly filled with a sense that the ghost isn't fun anymore. “We have to get out of this place!”

  I turn to Matthew, but he's already at the far end of the corridor, heading toward one of the rooms.

  “Stop!” I call out. “I think she's angry!”

  He doesn't respond. Instead, he continues to approach the door, and I hurry after him. I can still hear Mum and Dad cleaning the mess downstairs, but I have no intention of going to them. The floorboards creak under Matthew's footsteps, and under mine too as I get closer, and finally he reaches the farthest door.

  “Here?” he says cautiously. “This is where you saw her?”

  “Right where you're standing,” I reply. “And inside the room, too. Why? Was this her bedroom?”

  Without saying anything, he reaches out for the handle, but then he hesitates, as if he's scared to actually push the door open.

  “We don't have much furniture in here,” I explain. “We don't really use this room much at all. There's a funny feeling about it and -”

  Before I can finish, I realize I can hear a baby crying. I tell myself that I must be wrong, but while the sound remains soft and quiet, it seems most definitely to be coming from the other side of the door.

  “I didn't do that to you,” Matthew whispers. “You must remember, I was only a child myself. I obeyed my father, but I didn't partake of the worst. I held back, I knew it was wrong, and I have spent the rest of my life trying to make restitution. Elizabeth, please...”

  I wait for him to continue, but his voice trails off. His trembling hand still rests on the door handle, and the child can still be heard crying on the other side.

  “Did Elizabeth have a baby?” I ask.

  No reply.

  “Did she?”

  “My father was a terrible man,” he replies, turning to me with wild, fearful eyes. “There. I said it. He was widely respected across the county, he knew how to buy influence, but at heart he was a cruel and monstrous abomination of the human soul. He was tormented, he thought he saw visions and creatures in the house. In turn, he recreated those visions, and he drove my poor cousin insane. There were no ghosts here, not at the start, at least not that I ever saw. But now... The things he did to my poor cousin Elizabeth...”

  I wait, but he seems unable to say any more.

  “What?” I ask. “What did he do to her?”

  He opens his mouth, before shaking his head.

  “Tell me!” I continue. “Please!”

  “I cannot,” he whispers. “Suffice it to say that he subjected Elizabeth to untold horrors, both before and after she disrespected him. The night she killed Sir Bernard Lardsley was the last night she ever knew freedom. After that, my father's fury knew no limit. I retreated, I stayed in the farthest part of the house, so that her continued screams would not seem so loud. I was just a child, you understand, but...”

  I wait.

  My throat is dry now.

  On the other side of the door, the baby is still crying.

  “But that is no excuse,” Matthew continues finally. “When a man came to free Elizabeth, my father was forced into action. He killed Elizabeth and he killed the man, but then my cousin returned and caused his heart to stop. I fled the house, but I always knew that one day I would have to return. My father's business associates saw to it that the bodies were cleaned away, and that the matter was covered up, but the guilt has been gnawing at my soul all these years. And now tonight...”

  He pauses again, before suddenly I hear a faint creaking sound.

  Looking down, I see that he is slowly turning the handle.

  “What does she want from you?” I ask.

  “Not just from me. From my entire family, I imagine. I can only hope that by facing her, I can save my own children the horror of her vengeance. She was a kind, loving person once. Perhaps in death she is not entirely changed. Perhaps she can see past her anger. If I give myself to her, perhaps her lust for vengeance will be satisfied.”

  I wait for him to push the door open. Desperate to get into the room and see the ghost baby, I finally reach out and grab the handle, only for Matthew to gently push me back.

  “I must go in alone,” he says firmly.

  “But -”

  “It's me she wants,” he continues. “I've known all my life. I've felt her waiting for me. I sometimes thought she might come for me, wherever in the world I tried to hide, but now I understand that she needed me to return to Blackwych Grange. The guilt has eaten away at me, but now at last I am going to face her. Perhaps if I make peace with poor dear Elizabeth, she will be able to leave the house and rest in peace. And even though you are young, I'm sure you understand that I must do this alone.”

  I want to argue with him, but I know he's right.

 
Stepping back, I watch as he pushes the door open all the way, revealing the bare room inside. The baby's cries seem louder now, as Matthew steps into the room.

  “Elizabeth?” he says cautiously, his voice trembling with fear. “I know it's you. I know you've been waiting for me. I know you deserve restitution for what my father did to you.”

  Reaching the middle of the room, he stops for a moment.

  Instinctively, I take a step back from the doorway.

  “Elizabeth?” he continues.

  The baby is still crying.

  “Elizabeth,” Matthew says again, “you must -”

  Suddenly the door slams shut. I let out a gasp and take another step back. At the very last moment, just before the door hits the frame, I spotted a figure stepping toward Matthew, but now the door is shut and I see nothing at all. After a moment, however, I realize I can hear Matthew's hushed voice, and I force myself to take a step closer.

  “Youth is no excuse,” he is saying, and now there is more fear in his voice than ever before. “Elizabeth, please...”

  He lets out a faint groan of pain, and seconds later I hear the dull, unmistakable bump of two knees dropping to the floor.

  Although my heart is pounding, I step toward the door and slowly lean down toward the keyhole. I can still hear the baby crying in the room, and footsteps too, and I think I can just about make out Matthew's whispering voice.

  Leaning closer to the door, I put my eye to the keyhole.

  At first, all I see is the back of Matthew's head. Indeed, he is on his knees and facing the window, and I am certain now that he is mumbling something under his breath. In fact -

  Suddenly a figure walks past, briefly obscuring my view of the man.

  Gasping, I pull back a little. There should be nobody in the room with Matthew, yet now I am certain that the ghost of Elizabeth Jane Marringham is with him. My heart is pounding, but I force myself to put my eye back close to the keyhole, and now I see that Matthew has moved slightly, facing away from the window. I can see the side of his face, and his mouth is indeed moving, and I can just about tell that his eyes are wide open.

  Before I can say anything, however, some unseen force pushes me back, slamming me against the wall with such power that I immediately slump down to the floor.

  “Clara?” Mum calls out from downstairs. “What are you doing up there?”

  Too scared to say a word, I stare at the door, but the sound of the crying baby seems to have stopped, and now all I hear is silence.

  And then a very faint click.

  I watch as the door handle slowly turns.

  “Clara?” Mum yells. “If you're not going to bed, perhaps you can come down and help us clean? There's an awful mess all over the place.”

  I watch as the door begins to creak open. My whole body is tense, and the air feels cold around me as the door swings all the way, revealing Matthew still on his knees. I wait for him to say something, but a moment later I realize that he is holding something in his right hand, with one end of the object aimed at his forehead.

  A gun.

  “Wait,” I stammer, “don't -”

  Before I can finish, there's a loud bang and I watch in horror as one side of his head explodes.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “You must think of it no more,” Mum whispers, leaning down and kissing the top of my head as she strokes my neck. “Oh my poor darling girl, you must put the whole awful business out of your mind.”

  The tears have dried on my cheeks now, leaving me to stare at the cold hearth. A moment later, however, I hear a bumping sound in the hallway, accompanied by muffled voices, and I realize that the men from the village are coming down the spiral staircase.

  “Wait,” Mum says as I pull away and get to my feet. “Carla, darling, stay with me. You don't need to see!”

  Ignoring her, I hurry to the door and then stop, watching as the men carry a covered stretcher down the last of the steps. They have set a white sheet over Matthew's body, although blood has already begun to soak through and stain the fabric. His right hand is dangling down, too, almost brushing the floor, although at least the gun has been removed from his fingers. A moment later, I see that Dad is walking with the men, watching ashen-faced as they carry the stretcher out through the open front door.

  “Go to your mother,” he says solemnly, and I can see that he's in shock.

  I know that I should obey him, but instead I follow him out through the door and to the steps at the front of the house. Matthew's motorcar is still parked outside, but the men from the village have brought their own vehicle, and now they're loading the body inside. Morning has finally arrived, casting a warm glow across the scene and picking out drops of rain that I never heard falling during the night. The wind has picked up, rustling against my clothes, but the cold is as nothing compared to the freezing air that has filled the house since last night.

  “May God have mercy on his soul,” Dad whispers, closing his eyes for a moment. “It is such a terrible thing when a man takes his own life.”

  “She was waiting for him,” I reply, watching as the men adjust Matthew's body in the back of their vehicle. “He said as much himself. She must have been waiting all this time.”

  Dad sighs. “Carla -”

  “He believed me,” I continue, turning to him. “He saw her last night. I saw her!”

  I wait for a reply, but I can see the fear in his eyes.

  “You've seen her too, haven't you?” I ask. “I know you've denied it all these weeks, I know you've told me to hush, but Dad... You must have seen her at least once. And you must have noticed how cold the house has become. What more proof do you need?”

  He hesitates, and for a moment I think he might actually tell me that I'm right.

  “Regardless of anything that might have happened in the past,” he says finally, “I think we can all agree that this horrible business is best forgotten. This is still our home, and we -”

  “We can't stay!” I tell him.

  “We have a tenancy agreement and -”

  “A man just killed himself in one of our rooms!”

  “A terrible tragedy, but we can't very well afford to pack up and move on a whim. We're not rich people, Carla. I'm sorry, but we're here for the duration.”

  I open my mouth to argue with him, before stepping forward and looking up at the windows of the house. I half expect to see the woman again, for her to be watching as Matthew is taken away, but at least there is no sign of her at the moment. A few seconds later, I hear the motorcar's engine starting, and I turn just in time to watch as Matthew's dead body is driven toward town.

  “And that,” Dad says somberly, “is the end of it.”

  He turns and heads inside. I start to follow, but I stop for a moment as I reach the door. Looking through into the hall, I see the dark spiral staircase rising up toward the house's upper floor, and I feel the cold air already biting at me through my dress. And still, despite everything that happened last night, I am certain that Elizabeth Jane Marringham is still watching me.

  ***

  “It's not over,” I whisper, sitting at the kitchen table a few hours later and staring at the portrait in the hallway. “Matthew wasn't the only one.”

  “What are you on about now?” Mum asks, ashen-faced as she sets a bucket down next to me. She's been upstairs cleaning the room all morning, having told me to stay away since she wanted to spare me the horror. “Clara, dear -”

  “He has children,” I continue, looking up at her. “Matthew, I mean. He has a family of his own. She won't stop with him. She'll want revenge on them all.”

  Mum sighs.

  Dad is over by the window, looking out at the gray garden. He has said very little since the body of Matthew Marringham was taken away.

  “Of course she'll want revenge!” I tell them, trying but failing to hide my agitation. “She'll want to lure them all here, one by one, so she can end their lives! She's waited more than half a century, but can'
t you feel it in the air? She's still here! He offered himself to her, he hoped it would be enough, but it wasn't! She wants vengeance!”

  “Clara, you're overreacting.”

  “If I was her, I'd want to get them all,” I tell her, before looking over at the door as Dad comes through. “I'd want to get their entire bloodline.”

  “The man committed suicide,” Mum says, sounding more exhausted than ever. “It's horrible, it's tragic, but evidently the guilt of his earlier actions simply got to him. There's nothing other-worldly about the whole thing, and -”

  “Dad believes me,” I continue, interrupting her. “Tell her, Dad. You believe me, I know you do!”

  I wait for him to reply, and I can see the answer in his eyes, but he says nothing.

  “Tell her!” I hiss, getting to my feet. “Dad, I know you believe me!”

  “We've all had a very difficult night,” he replies weakly. “Clara, you must stay calm and avoid these flights of fancy. You're still just a child, and your immaturity is showing very much right now. Matthew Marringham was clearly a troubled and disturbed -”

  “Why won't you admit it?” I ask, starting to panic. “Are you scared? Do you think that by pretending there isn't a ghost in this house, you can somehow make her go away? She's not going anywhere! I can feel her presence, even now. She wants their entire family, and she won't rest until she's lured every last one of them to this house and ended their lives!”

  “Clara -”

  “We have to leave!” There are tears in my eyes now, and the sense of desperation is creeping through my entire body. “She won't rest!”

  He sighs. “Clara, please -”

  “Why won't you listen to me?” I shout, as the tears start streaming down my face. When he doesn't respond, I turn to Mum. “This house is haunted by the vengeful spirit of Elizabeth Jane Marringham, and she won't rest until -”