The Haunting of RedRise House: Ghosts and Haunted Houses

by Clark, Caroline

  It didn’t matter, slowly they pushed back the hoods.

  Two pale faces were revealed. One a man of probably sixty the other was Matron. There was nothing remarkable about them until she looked up to their eyes... there was nothing there, just empty black hollows that seemed to suck her in and pull her down into a horror so great she heard herself wail.

  In his left hand the man pulled a knife from beneath his cloak. It glinted in the darkness and suddenly she understood where all the girls had gone. They were here forever and soon she would join them. As the knife raised up above her she began to scream.

  Chapter 1

  August 31st 2017

  RedRise House

  Yorkshire Moors

  England.

  10 O’clock

  The journey seemed to take forever and the longer the taxi drove down the winding lanes further and further away from reality, the worse Rosie felt. And yet in the same breath she also felt a great weight lifting from her shoulders. Why had she let Amy talk her into this?

  “It’s about another two miles,” the cab driver called.

  Rosie grunted non-committedly and kept looking out the window. It was beautiful countryside, rolling hills and gentle dales. They passed a dark green thicket of trees and a babbling brook ran alongside the road. The last house they had seen was over thirty minutes away but she had been told that the house she would be looking after was fully stocked and that she wouldn’t need to go shopping.

  It was a good job, she couldn’t afford the taxi fare too often.

  “You wouldn’t catch me staying at that place,” the cabby said.

  Rosie half heard his words and assumed he meant because of the location. “I’m looking forward to some peace,” she replied as a vision of anger and hatred filled her mind. It was followed by pain and her right hand reached up to the scar on her left cheek. For a moment she felt dizzy and a little sick. It was not just the ugly red blemish that just missed her left eye and traced down her cheek almost to her lip. That was bad enough but her right hand was puckered with burns. They no longer hurt so much that she wanted to scream but still they stung at times. She dropped her hand and pulled the fleece sleeves over it.

  “Not sure you’ll get it, did they tell you what happened there?”

  Rosie hardly heard the words and she didn’t want to talk. Nausea was overwhelming and the cab was hot and claustrophobic.

  “I’m worried about leaving you,” the cabby continued. “With what happened and all.”

  Rosie felt a jolt of anger. Yes she was a mess, scarred both physically and mentally but she could look after herself. This man had no right to judge her... how did he even know? Did he think she was having a breakdown? Or maybe that she was just too weak to cope. He had no right!

  “I’ll be fine,” she managed through gritted teeth.

  “You’re not the first,” he said as he pulled off the road and down a long driveway.

  In the distance she could see the house. It was large and impressive if a little imposing. For a moment it reminded her of a stately home but as they pulled closer she realized it was smaller than that... though still very large. There were eight windows on each floor. Four either side of the door and the house stretched up three stories into the heavens.

  The grounds were like a country park. All grass dotted with the occasional tree. There were copper beech, sycamore, a few massive and wizened old oaks and a few horse chestnuts. It really was beautiful. Then her eyes were drawn back to the house. The sun passed behind some clouds and for a moment it looked like a prison. Dark and foreboding. The windows were black and full of shadows and she felt a shiver go down her spine.

  What was wrong with her? She was safe here. Clive would never find her. He would never even think to look.

  “Like I said you’re not the first. Maybe you should...”

  “I don’t need your interference,” she snapped amazed at his audacity. She knew she was not the first woman to be attacked by their boyfriend. Not the first to be scarred but what right did he have to mention it.

  “Lady, I just wanted to warn you.”

  Rosie felt her anger grow and as he stopped the car and looked back, the fire in her eyes stopped him in his tracks.

  He nodded. “You have my number, call me if you need a ride. Don’t worry what time of day or night it is I’ll come for you.”

  Rosie didn’t know what to think and she sat open mouthed as he got out and unloaded her cases. Before he was done she stepped out onto the gravel drive and fumbled in her purse. Before she could find any money he shook his head and climbed back in the car.

  “It’s on the house, be safe and call me if you need me.” With that he wound up the window and drove away. The wheels spinning in the gravel as he drove away a little too quickly.

  For a moment all she could do was stand there and look down at the three suitcases and her laptop bag. This was now the sum total of her life and it felt a little pathetic. How had she let it come to this?

  Then she was back in that night. It was almost exactly six months ago that her then boyfriend Clive Peters had forced his way into her flat. He had been getting more and more jealous over the preceding month and she had already decided that it was time to end it. That night, he turned up convinced that she was seeing someone else. Ranting as he pounded on the door. Her first instinct had been to not let him in. Only she was scared of complaints from the neighbors. Her rent review was coming up and the last thing she needed was to lose her home. So against her better judgment, she had let him in.

  He was drunk. His dark good looks ruined by the angry red scowl that dominated his face.

  “Where is he?” he yelled as he opened doors and ran through her place.

  “Who?!” Was all she could manage.

  The flat was not too big, just one bedroom, a kitchen come living area, and a bathroom and closet. Before long he had opened all the doors and checked every room. She was cooking up a pot of soup in the kitchen when he arrived. It simmered on the stove, just over boiling and the smell of chicken and stock seemed so at odds with such irate behavior.

  “I know he’s here,” Clive ran into the kitchen once more.

  “There’s no one here.” Rosie was unsure whether to be afraid or angry and was bouncing from one to the other.

  “The man you’re cooking for.”

  “Clive, that’s just soup for the week. I cook up a big batch, and freeze some. You know this you’ve had it before.” The anger was winning. She was tired and still had work to do. Placing a hand on his arm she started to guide him toward the door. “Why don’t you go home now and we will talk about this tomorrow.”

  Before she even had time to think, he grabbed her hand off his arm and shoved it straight into the soup. The pain was white hot and seared into her very soul. In her mind, she was screaming as flesh melted down to nerves. Still, he held her hand in the pan forcing it down and down until it touched the bottom.

  The world seemed to have narrowed down to just that arm. It filled her with an agony like none she had ever felt. For long seconds she was in a shocked and fugue state. Fighting against the hand that held her to no avail. Then she lashed out with her leg. It connected with his knee and he went down pulling her arm from the pan but also pulling the pan over and so it tipped down her chest and side, covering her in hot soup. In agony she fell to the floor kicking and punching out at the pain that controlled her.

  Clive thought she was attacking him and reached for a knife. He slashed at her connecting with her cheek.

  There was more pain but she also felt as if she was drifting. Sinking down and down into a nice and comfortable warmth that would soon cocoon her from the world. She closed her eyes and let go. There was one more pain, when he sunk the knife into her chest. Aiming for her heart the knife hit her sternum and bounced off, slicing down the side of a rib and into her lung. It collapsed the lung and she started to drown in her own blood.

  As she gasped for breath, choking and coug
hing on her own blood, she saw him leave and closed her eyes. It was time to go, to leave the world.

  Shaking her head she came back to the present and the reason she was here. Not two minutes after Clive had left, her best friend, Amy, came over and found her dying. She had saved her that night and now she had offered her a lifeline once more. Rosie had given up her flat. Clive had escaped custody and there was no way she was going back there. She couldn’t stay with Amy, he knew where that was. So she had burned through her savings on hotels. Moving every few days since she had left the hospital.

  Now her money was gone and she had nowhere to live. As an author, well she still didn’t quite believe that, she could work from anywhere. Her first book had done ok and the deadline for the second was only two months away. Yet she could not write. Every time she heard a noise, a voice, footsteps, a car door, anything, she was a nervous wreck. That was why Amy had suggested this job. House sitting in a remote location meant that she shouldn’t hear any of the sounds that normally turned her nerves to mush. At least that was what she hoped.

  She closed her eyes and listened. The sun was shining and it felt warm on her face. There was the sound of a slight breeze and nothing else. Shouldn’t there be birdsong? Maybe that was just in the books. Maybe the birds couldn’t sing all the time. With that thought she picked up one of her cases and pulled the key from her pocket. It was time to see what her home for the next few months would be like.

  Excitement coursed through her and it was the first time she had felt like that since the incident. Looking up, she nodded. The house had character. For a second she imagined a carriage and four horses drawing up outside. It would be black and beautiful with a crest on the door. The four matched gray horses pawed the ground impatiently but the driver handled them with ease and experience. A footman jumped down from the back and came around to open the door. In a beautiful yellow gown, a young woman was helped down and looked around. Her face lit up into a smile as she saw the house and the handsome gentleman waiting for her on the steps.

  Yes, this house was going to be ideal. As a writer of historical romances, she knew it was perfect and would do wonders for her creativity.

  Feeling better than she had in ages, she climbed the steps, unlocked the great oak door and stepped into a large and airy entrance hall. She wouldn’t let the cab driver’s words upset her. This was a new beginning and it was going to be great.

  Chapter 2

  As she stepped through the door she let out a delighted gasp. The house was magnificent. A large entrance hall spread out before her. The floor was hardwood blocks polished to perfection with hardly a speck of dust in sight. How could she be so lucky?

  The floor spread out before her leading up to a large central staircase. It was carpeted in rich deep burgundy. A three-foot spread of carpet was sentineled by two feet of dark wood, mahogany she thought. There was a thick crimson rope strung across the stairs as if to bar entry.

  It made her chuckle for a moment but she passed over it and looked further around.

  The walls were a rich cream and large portraits hung all around. There were several of a severe looking man and woman with lots and lots of children. Must have been before television, she thought with a chuckle.

  Stepping a little further into the room, her footsteps echoed all around her and she did a little twirl, feeling rather ungainly with the suitcase. This place was just amazing. Perfect for her writing and so different to everything she was used to, it would surely ease her nerves.

  Either side of her across the great expanse of the hallway was a door leading into a room and then in front of the stairs was a passageway, with the same wood block floor. She decided to explore those later, for now she turned to the door on her left. As she did, she noticed a small table to the left of the entrance. There was a large vase of flowers on it. What a wonderful treat. Quickly she walked across and admired the white lilies and pink and red roses that made such a beautiful display. Reaching out she took one of the blood-red roses in her hand. A sharp prick caused her to cry out before she could pull the rose to her nose. Ignoring the pain she breathed in deeply expecting the scent of a country garden. With a grimace she pulled the rose away. The scent was sickly, and reminded her of rotting flesh. Shaking her head she looked at her finger to see a drop of blood. The rose must still have its thorns. An old Chinese proverb came into her mind. “A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom.”

  Maybe the house thought she was stealing from it... where had that thought come from?

  The doctor had told her that the anxiety medication she was on could make her feel, one a little drunk, two confused, and three possibly suffer hallucinations. It had been a really reassuring conversation! Was this medication supposed to help or make things worse? Only, that was just her control issues talking. She hated to feel out of control and sometimes the tablets made her feel that way. Maybe she should ease up on them for a few days and see if the change of circumstances was enough to get her mojo back?

  Still sucking the blood from her finger, she noticed an envelope in front of the flowers. It was cream, heavyweight paper with her name written in an extravagant script.

  Miss Rosie Benson.

  Picking it up, she turned the envelope over to see that it was sealed with a round red circle of wax with something stamped into it. Peering at the wax and feeling a little giddy at such a formal form of correspondence, she stared at the seal. That was what it was. One of those that used heated wax. Just like she wrote about in her own stories. Suddenly the idea came to her that she would have a romance through correspondence. Her hero and heroine would not know who they were conversing with until after they had fallen in love. It could be a historical version of You’ve Got Mail. She loved that film. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, there was just so much chemistry between them. Again she tried to discern the shape in the seal. It looked like a human skull but that couldn’t be possible, could it? A shudder ran through her and her eyes would not leave the seal. What sort of people would have a skull as their seal?

  Pushing the thought away, she slid her finger under the seal and broke the wax. Why did it look like blood? What was wrong with her? First she sees blood red roses, then she pricks her finger and now a blood red seal. It looks like she has become obsessed. Then she remembered back to the incident. There was plenty of blood and maybe it was understandable that she now saw it everywhere.

  Deftly, she pulled the single sheet of paper out of the envelope. Once more it was written in an ornate script with a real fountain pen. Such lovely penmanship gave her an entirely new feeling. This one was of romance and old time courtesy. It took her back to an age where life was different, and in her mind, so much better. There were no cars polluting up the planet. No computers and phones constantly demanding your attention. It was a world where you could relax and be yourself. A world of charm and manners, of ball gowns and garden parties and suddenly she wanted to write again. Already this house had done her such wonders. Amy was right, this was the perfect place to finish her book and to escape the past.

  The letter was still in her hand and as she looked down, blood from the rose prick had soaked into the beautiful paper. It looked like a crimson ink blot and filled her with despair. Such a beautiful letter and she had destroyed it. Was Clive right? Did she destroy everything she touched?

  At the mere thought of him the scar on her cheek throbbed and the burns on her arm and chest flamed with heat. She had to stop this. It was simply the rantings of a bully and one who knew that she was about to let him go. It was just a way to hurt her and by allowing it to do so she gave him a power he didn’t deserve.

  Raising the letter she began to read.

  Dear Miss Benson,

  As you may well be aware, the house is owned by my wife and I, we are The Duncan’s. We do not visit it regularly but Matron has been checking in on occasion. She is getting weaker now and needs to rejuvenate, hence your position here. Your job is to give the house a litt
le life. To live here and ensure that its needs are met.

  You have been carefully selected and we are sure that you will make the house happy. However, there are rules that we hope you will follow. As it is such a large house the upper floors are off limits as are the outbuildings. You are to live on the ground floor only and not to force any doors that appear locked. Matron has prepared a room for you to sleep in and one to write. They are opposite the library. The kitchen is stocked and will be kept filled with adequate supplies. Write anything you need on the list on the fridge door.

  Matron looks after the place. She may pop in from time to time but it is unlikely that you will see her. If you do, please do exactly as she says.

  Though I doubt we will meet on this side of the vale we hope you enjoy your stay and know that we will.

  Yours sincerely,

  Jeremiah Duncan

  Rosie held the letter in her hand and almost let out a laugh. What a strange document. It was also a little creepy, but she had heard from Amy that this was not unusual. Amy spent her life house sitting for rich clients. She loved the job. Was always in a different location, always in a fantastic house and all her needs were paid for. Though she had mentioned that some of the clients could leave the strangest of requests. She had been asked to sing to the house plants. Only Gilbert and Sullivan songs. She had also been asked to put flowers on a pet's grave and read a chapter of a book a day to another grave, but at that job they never told her whose. It was creepy but she was paid well and the job was soon over.

  Rosie turned the letter over in her hand. There was no mention of how long they wanted her here. She had been told it was an open assignment and that she would get more details as time went on. Well if Matron was ill then she guessed it would depend on when she was well enough to work again.