The Haunting of RedRise House: Ghosts and Haunted Houses

by Clark, Caroline

  A shadow crossed her face and she opened her eyes with a scream.

  “I’m so sorry.” Standing over her, silhouetted by the sun was a man.

  Rosie pushed her chair back and almost toppled over as she scrambled to escape. Why was she seeing him?

  A hand reached out for her and she stepped back to avoid contact.

  “I’m so sorry if I scared you. Please be calm. My name is Nickolas, Nick Aubrey. I’m the local priest.”

  “Priest!” Rosie stopped backing up and looked at the man. As her eyes began to focus, she stepped to the side to see through the sunlight. The man before her was around thirty with short dark hair and a friendly, if a little-amused smile. He was wearing an old fashioned black suit with a dog collar. He was a priest. “I’m sorry,” she said and walked back to the table. Her hand went to the scar on her face but she quickly pulled it away. “I must have been dreaming and I never expected anyone out here. It is so remote you see.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Can I invite you in, offer you a tea? Or perhaps some cake?”

  Nick looked up at the house and something crossed over his face. “Tea and cake would be lovely... but why don’t we sit in the sunshine.”

  Rosie nodded. “Just give me a moment then,” she said as she pointed to the seats.

  Rosie almost ran back into the house. What was wrong with her, screaming because she had a visitor and all these nightmares? Maybe she had made the wrong decision. Maybe she should call Amy and leave? Yet it was only a few more days until her friend would come and see her. She could surely manage until then.

  With the tea made and two slices of cake on plates, she took a breath and went back out to the garden.

  “Here we go.”

  “Thank you,” he said as he took the tray from her and placed it on the table. “How are you finding the place?”

  “It’s beautiful. I’m a writer of historical romance so a house like this is a dream for me.” Though she said the words with confidence, she shuddered a little as she remembered just what those dreams were filled with.

  “The taxi driver told me about you,” Nick said. “I live not too far from here and so I just wanted to walk over and see how you were.”

  “That was very kind. I didn’t know there were any properties nearby. It makes me feel a little better actually.”

  “Oh, has there been any trouble or anything strange happen?”

  Rosie took a sip of tea and raised her eyebrows. Did he know? “No, nothing,” she said and pushed the vision from her mind. “Please, eat your cake.”

  Nick picked up his cake and took a tiny bite.

  Suddenly, Rosie was hungry. She guessed it must be stress or maybe the tablets she was taking. Though she had just had her toast, she took a bite of the cake. It was moist and delicious, but as she chewed, something wriggled in her mouth. Her throat tightened and the food lodged against her larynx. There she could feel something moving and she began to choke. The more she coughed the more her throat tightened and soon she was struggling to breathe. Tortured lungs screamed as tears came to her eyes. Though she tried to suck air nothing happened and her throat constricted even further.

  Before she knew it Nick had put his arms around her and performed the Heimlich maneuver. As he squeezed, the cake was ejected from her throat and landed on the table. Crawling around inside of the gooey mess was a black maggot.

  Rosie saw the insect and turned throwing up her toast and tea over the lettuce plants. Shakily she sank down into the chair. All she wanted to do was cry and yet, she would not break down in front of a stranger.

  “Here.”

  She turned to see him handing her a crisp white handkerchief.

  “Thank you... I ... I’m so sorry... what is that?” Clutching onto the handkerchief she wiped her mouth.

  “Here, sip your tea. It will help.”

  He was kneeling at her side and holding the cup. Rosie took a sip but found it hard to swallow. There was a maggot in the food! She couldn’t stay here, she wouldn’t stay here... and yet she must. If she ran away again she got the feeling that she would be running for all her life. She had to make a stand. Maybe the food was just old.

  “I know this was very traumatic,” he said. “However, it is not as bad as you think. That was just a pantry moth larvae. They are harmless. All you need to do is throw away any food that is not sealed and wash the pantry with a mixture of water, vinegar, and peppermint oil. Then if you put bay leaves on the shelves it will help to deter the moths. Country living... I’m afraid it can be colorful.”

  “Bay leaves,” was all she could manage as she thought about how her throat had closed up. How she had almost choked to death.

  “Yes.” He pointed across the garden at a green bush with rubbery looking leaves. “That is a bay, grab handfuls of the leaves and leave them around the pantry. You look quite pale, have you had any other strange experiences?”

  Rosie wanted to tell him. To confess about the dreams and yet she didn’t want to be judged. So far she had done nothing but scream in his presence and it mattered to her that he didn’t think she was neurotic. “No, nearly choking to death on a pantry moth and being scared by a priest is enough for one day.”

  His laugh was a nice sound in the sunshine. “I imagine it is, but as I said, you are not the first and this is not an uncommon event in the country.”

  Rosie took another sip of tea and then topped up both of their cups. How could he say that? How could such creatures be in the food in the 21st Century? “Can you tell me a bit about the house?”

  The smile slipped off his face and he returned to his seat. “What would you like to know?”

  “As I said, I’m a writer and so any history could give me a flavor and an authenticity to add to my book.”

  “What did you say you wrote?”

  “Historical romance.”

  “Well the house has a colorful history, but I’m not sure that it would suit your genre. You see it used to be a children’s home, an orphanage I guess you would call it. Though from what I’ve heard a work house would be a better description. There are those who say that dark sacrifices were made in the basement. That it was a place used for devil worship.”

  “It has a basement?”

  “Yes I believe so.”

  “Perhaps you can tell me more,” she asked, for she felt that it was important. Maybe these dreams were her picking up on the energy of the house. Picking up on the residual pain that had been left there.

  “I don’t know a lot more to tell you, I’m afraid. I really just came here to make sure that you were all right. That nothing strange had happened. I was worried, you see.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Rosie said and yet she was strangely disturbed by his manner. It was almost as if he wanted something strange to have happened.

  “Then I should go and leave you in peace.” He stood and looked a little ill at ease. “My home is less than a mile in that direction,” he said pointing across the garden. “If you need anything, anytime day or night, come and see me.”

  “Of course, thank you and I’m sorry about the cake.”

  “Do not let it bother you. If I may, before I go, may I say a blessing?”

  Rosie felt disturbed that he would ask and she did not know how to answer and so she simply nodded.

  Nick turned and walked up to the house. As he stood before it, he made the sign of the cross and closed his eyes. “Bless this house, o Lord, we pray. Make it safe by night and day. Bless these walls so firm and stout, Keeping trouble and spirits out. Amen.”

  Rosie found the poetic rhythm of the blessing amusing. For a moment she had to suppress a giggle and yet as she watched him turn and walk away... the day felt just a little colder.

  Chapter 7

  The priest hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes and yet Rosie could not face going back into the house. She had already thrown away the cake and the remains of the maggot ridden piece. It was not as easy to discard the t
aste... the feeling, and her stomach constantly gurgled at the very thought of it.

  The priest’s manner had upset her. He seemed obsessed with there being something wrong. If she let herself dwell on it, she would wonder if there really was something wrong with the house. Was there somebody here? Or was it something worse… was something wrong with the place… dare she think... was it haunted?

  Shaking the thoughts aside she knew she had to do something. One problem with the creative mind was it liked to create. If she did not keep it busy her mind would find problems where there were none. She had been through so much. It was understandable that she was having nightmares. Maybe, it was even understandable that she was hearing and seeing things that simply were not there. Yet, as she sat here in this deadly quiet garden she could not shake the thought that she was being watched. Where were the birds? Why were they not singing?

  Once more, she turned to look around. Trying to be as casual as she could and yet there was no one there. Why would there be?

  Movement in one of the upper windows jerked her from her thoughts. She searched, where had it come from? It seemed to be the right corner of the house. Looking at it she felt uneasy. As if someone was looking back. As if they were hiding and yet it was impossible to see in. The light seemed to reflect off the window as if it meant to prevent her from discovering the secrets behind. Only this was just a foolish fantasy created by a tired mind. A mind that had been pushed to breaking point. Occasionally she saw shadows moving in the glass. The first time she had gasped and clutched onto her chest and yet soon, she discovered, it was just the clouds reflecting on the mirrored surface.

  What was she to do? She sat there a few more moments and decided that there was at least one job that had to be done.

  Getting up she walked across to what she hoped was the bay tree. It was shaped like a triangle. Neatly clipped and obviously looked after. The glossy leaves all perfectly cared for and it seemed a shame to pull them from such a beautiful plant. Then she thought about the maggot, the larva and how it wriggled against her tonsils. Reflexively, her body retched.

  Ignoring the feeling she reached out for the bay leaves and pulled a few from the bush. The air was filled with the gentle fragrance of oregano or at least something a little similar. There was something about it that was clean and refreshing and she pulled off more and more leaves. Holding the bottom of her T-shirt, she filled it with leaves. The action of ripping them from the tree was cathartic and she started to feel better. Once she could hold no more, she set off back to the kitchen.

  As she approached the door the inside of the house seemed dark and threatening and Rosie felt her feet start to drag. This was ridiculous! There was no choice, she had to go in there and clear out the mess. Of course she was dreading it, who wouldn't be?

  Quickly she almost ran through the door. The house was cold but that was all she felt.

  Dropping the bay leaves on the kitchen table, she then found some plastic bin bags and headed for the pantry. The house was quiet as if it was waiting and the air seemed charged with static.

  Of course, it would just be her imagination. The thought of eating something that was alive... wriggling and squirming. Something that was dirty and rotten. Something that was more at home in decaying meat and food. It was going to take her a while to come to terms with that. An ache in her throat and a tightness in her chest brought it all back but she would not be controlled. She was stronger than this, she’d better get started on cleaning. Throwing out the food was the most productive thing she could do.

  Once in the pantry, she tossed the coffee cake into a bag. Part of her wanted to open it up and see what was inside and yet if she did and it was riddled with maggots would she ever sleep again?

  So she simply dumped it into the bag and then walked along the pantry throwing away anything that wasn't sealed in either tin or glass. There were flour and biscuits, currents and dried fruit, ham and some sausages, and a great big bunch of onions as well as many other items she did not even know what they were.

  Once that was done she took the two full bags outside and dumped them in the rubbish bin. Now she could start cleaning.

  With lots of soapy water she took everything off the shelves scrubbed everything down and then put it back. While she was working she felt better. As the time flew by all her problems were forgotten and just this simple movement seemed to ease all her troubles.

  Occasionally, she thought she heard the piano. Only, when she stopped to listen it was gone. Once or twice she heard whispering and footsteps in the corridor. Again, when she stopped to listen there was nothing there. It had to all be in her head. Auditory hallucinations were all she could put it down to. After all, the medication she was on, along with the lack of sleep, was bound to mess with her head.

  Once everything was cleaned, she filled a bowl with vinegar and peppermint oil, which she had found in a cupboard, and wiped everything down once more. The pantry smelled a strange mixture of the acidic vinegar all overlaid with what seemed like polo mints. It wasn’t unpleasant.

  Next, she spread the shelves and the floor with the bay leaves and then she put everything back.

  It had taken several hours, her back was aching, her throat was parched and she was hungry but she could not face the thought of food. So she made herself another pot of tea and went back out to the garden.

  The sun had risen past its apex and was sinking slowly down the horizon. The day was still not cold and it was pleasant enough to sit outside. So she closed her eyes, sipped on the tea and tried to get back into her story. Soon, she would be writing again and once the story took over she could forget everything else.

  It didn't take long for the characters to talk to her. Miles and Henrietta were corresponding by letter and each was describing the person they were expected to court.

  Miles described her as an insipid and haughty creature who couldn't hold a conversation with a pack mule. The description delighted her and she could just see the handsome Duke penning the words in an elegant and yet, masculine script.

  How could she have Henrietta describe him? Screwing her eyes tight she put herself inside the woman's head and transported herself back 200 years to Regency Britain.

  In her mind, she was Henrietta who sat at a writing desk having just taken off her bonnet and gloves. She was breathless with excitement as she opened her correspondence and began to read. The letter delighted her and brought her out of her current gloom. Henrietta was chuckling aloud to herself at the thought of this poor insipid creature unable to keep up with the mule's conversation. She could almost see the mule raise its brown head. Big expressive eyes focused on the girl as it opened its lips in conversation.

  The letter formed in her mind and she read it just as clearly as if it was handwritten in front of her. Then in her mind, she took a breath and pulled down an expensive piece of paper. Taking a bottle of ink and a quill, she began to write back. The first part of the letter was just Henrietta thanking him for his correspondence and telling him a little bit about her day. As the words formed, she couldn’t resist describing the Duke that she was being forced to marry. The description flowed from her as if she was Henrietta and was in fact writing it at that very moment. The Duke is pompous and conceited, she wrote, and more stubborn than any man I have ever known. He could possibly even be that Mule you write about.

  Rosie opened her eyes excited at the story. The words and images were flowing faster than she could remember and she knew it was time to start writing. Picking up her cup of tea, she rushed back to the house. This time there was no hesitation on entering. She was in full creative flow and it took over all of her thoughts. She almost ran to the writing room opened her laptop and navigated to the document. It was hard to keep everything straight in her head and her eyes were hardly on the screen until the document was open. Even then, she looked down at her notepad and began to scribble notes. Little bits about the conversation, bits about the dress and the house the atmosphere about how Henriet
ta was feeling. When she thought she had enough teasers to remember all she had imagined, she looked up at the laptop screen and almost fell off her chair.

  Written across the page was just one word repeated over and over again and it chilled her blood to the bone. Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die, Die

  There were pages and pages of it. Rosie felt a sharp pain in her chest and the hairs rose on her arms. She pushed her chair back wanting to get away from that awful sight.

  What was happening? Who was doing this to her and why? Every instinct told her to run. To leave that place and run to the priest's house. Or to run back to the road and just get away from there. Almost in a daze, she began to stand but something stopped her. She had never run away from anything and she would not run now. There had to be a logical explanation for this. Maybe she typed one die and somehow the computer had just copied it. Maybe she was going mad or maybe somebody was messing with her. It didn't matter, she had run far enough, and it was time to make a stand.

  Reaching out, she slammed the laptop closed intending to go do something else but what else was there to do? The house had no television. She had a phone with the Kindle app so she could read but she couldn't call anyone and right now she needed to talk to someone. The only people she could talk to were her characters so she had to face the story.

  Her fingers were shaking as she reached out to lift the laptop up. The touch of the cold plastic sent a chill through her. Maybe she should go, maybe she was being foolish but she was stubborn and proud, and she would not give in. With a jerk, she opened the screen and stared defiantly at the page.

  The words had gone. Staring back at her was a blank sheet with the simple words Chapter 7 at the top. Panic reared up inside of her and her arms prickled as blood raced into them. Touching the mouse pad, she scrolled up and down. There was nothing but normal words and normal writing. All the way through the document she scrolled and then she checked her other documents but everything she opened was just as she had written it. Dropping her head into her hands, she sobbed. It was all in her mind. Nothing was wrong here except her.