Father Abbott smiled – it was both kindly and patronizing.
“Father, perhaps Millie is right,” Cecil said gently. “Would you think of blessing the house? Of asking for peace and quiet for Millie?”
“Certainly not,” Father Abbott said, shaking his head. He closed his bible and tucked it safely into his pocket. “If Ms. Pointer doesn’t want to hear the truth, then I am no use to you.”
“Father, wait!” Millie yelped. “Please, you must help me!”
Father Abbott sighed.
“Millie, I ask you to look within yourself and find the Lord there. He is waiting – He wants to help you. But until you let go of the idea that your house is filled with spirits, I’m afraid the Lord will be able to do very little.”
“Father, be reasonable,” Cecil said. He narrowed his eyes. “I have known you for years, trust me!”
Just as Millie was about to cry out once again, a ghostly sound filled the kitchen. Millie felt a cold stab of panic in her chest and she began shivering uncontrollably.
Father Abbott’s eyes grew wide and Millie saw as his grip tightened on the bible he held until his fingers were white at the knuckles.
“Millie,” Father Abbott said in a tense voice. “What did you do?”
Had Millie not been terrified, she would have felt almost smug.
“I didn’t do anything, Father,” she said in a shaky voice. “I told you. This house – it’s haunted.”
Father Abbott frowned and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“Nonsense,” he said. “I am sure it’s just the pipes, or the wind outside.”
Millie pushed back the curtains, revealing a lovely view of the picturesque garden outside.
“Father,” she said in a small voice. “It’s still outside, see?”
Father Abbott turned and reluctantly looked out the window. His face went white as he observed the trees and the grass, still in the late-afternoon sunshine.
“Perhaps it was rats, or mice in the attic,” Father Abbott said. He cleared his throat. “Now, take my hand, Millie, and we will pray.”
Millie stepped closer to the old priest and offered him her hand.
“Our Lord in Heaven,” Father Abbott began. As he talked, the sounds of crying grew louder and louder. Soon, the priest was visibly trembling. He swayed and shook with fear as he gripped Millie’s hand all the tighter.
Millie caught Cecil’s eye. He believes me now, she thought, narrowing her eyes and biting her lip. Although the crying sounds were quite familiar to Millie now, they were no less frightening than they had been when she’d first heard them. She shivered with fear as they grew louder and shriller. Soon, the hysterical crying was impossible to ignore.
“Evil spirit, leave this house!” Father Abbott thundered. He slammed his bible shut and thumped it down on the table. “Leave Westbridge Mansion in peace!”
The crying continued. A series of thumps and bangs started – it seemed like the house was full of goblins and warriors, charging through the halls and banging on the floors with pots and pans. Millie shivered and shook with fear – the haunting had never been this angry before. She felt desperately sad, almost as if the spirit were imbuing her with its own sense of malevolent anger.
“It’s getting angrier!” Millie cried loudly. She turned to Father Abbott in desperation, clawing at the sides of her face. “Please, do something!”
Father Abbott was white in the face. He, too, was trembling with fear. He cleared his throat and began to pray louder. But it was no use. The thumps and bangs grew louder and louder until Millie’s ears were ringing with the sounds of pans clattering and heavy thuds. Worst of all, the crying was reaching a fever pitch. It was so shrill and high that it pierced Millie’s eardrums. She cried out in pain as she slapped both hands over her ears.
Father Abbott dropped his bible to the floor.
“I’m leaving,” he yelled over the commotion.
“What?” Millie shrieked. “You can’t go!” She gestured to the ceiling and walls. The noises were still coming – louder than ever – and her heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice grip. “The house, what am I going to do?”
Father Abbott looked at Millie with a wild look in his eyes.
“Forget you!” He yelled. “Find another priest!”
Millie watched in horror as the priest grabbed his leather bag, clutched it to his chest, and ran out of the kitchen.
As soon as Father Abbott had gone, Millie turned to Cecil in despair.
“What are we going to do,” she wailed. “This house!”
Suddenly, a still silence fell upon the kitchen. Goose bumps broke out over Millie’s arms and she shivered, rubbing her hands over her body. Somehow, the silence was even more chilling than the racket of crying and thumping that had caused her to panic.
“I don’t know,” Cecil said quietly.
Millie bit her lip. She closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer. “I don’t know, either,” she said in a soft voice. “But I’ll think of something. I just have to!”
Cecil eyed her carefully.
“Are you sure?”
Millie felt fear and dread well up inside of her chest.
“No,” she admitted. “But I know I have to try.”
Chapter Six – The Face in the Glass
Cecil left not too long after Father Abbott had fled Westbridge Mansion.
“Are you sure you’re all right,” Cecil asked, narrowing his eyes at Millie. “You seem a bit upset.”
Millie shrugged.
“I am upset,” she said. She bit her lip and sighed. “But I don’t know what to do, Cecil. Father Abbott obviously didn’t even believe me until it was too late!”
Cecil nodded.
“I know,” he said. He winced. “I do apologize – perhaps it wasn’t the brightest idea.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Millie said. She yawned. “I think I’ll lie down for a while.”
“Good, good,” Cecil said. “Shall I pop round later, to check on you?”
Millie smiled.
“No,” she said. “That’s sweet, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Cecil raised an eyebrow, as if to suggest otherwise.
“Really,” Millie said, trying to make herself sound calm and convincing. “I promise.”
Cecil nodded.
“All right,” he said. “I should be getting back home, anyway – I’ve got loads of casework just waiting for my approval.”
Millie forced a laugh. How can anyone think about doing something as ordinary as work, she thought as she watched Cecil turn on his heel and stride crisply out of Westbridge. Perhaps it’s just his way – these Brits, they’re so damn calm all the time!
Darkness was beginning to fall. It had a tangible, palpable feel – almost like a dark cloak falling over Millie’s head and obscuring her vision. She shivered as she went ‘round the kitchen, making sure all of the doors and windows were latched. The kitchens seemed so dark and gloomy – Millie wondered if they’d been bright and bustling when Westbridge was full of servants and a happy, young family.
Although Millie wasn’t hungry, she fixed herself a small meal of roasted carrots and a pork loin sandwich with apricot jam and a piece of cheese. She forced each bite down with a grimace. Eating had become a chore – it seemed that in the gloom of Westbridge mansion, everything had become a chore.
After dinner, Millie went around in a systematic fashion, making sure all of the chimneys were closed. She felt an unwavering sense of dread as she made her way from room to room. The air was heavy and almost cloying – it seemed to whisper to Millie, to call at her, to pluck at the fabric of her clothing and tug at her seams.
“Now I’m getting the creeps,” Millie said irritably. “Whoever’s here, please, I beg you – just give me one night of peace!” It occurred to her – and not for the first time – that whatever the haunting of Westbridge Mansion was, it wasn’t as bad as her own mind, her own fears, her own paranoia of
being left alone in the cold darkness.
Perhaps it’s not really haunted at all, Millie thought as she climbed the stairs and switched off the downstairs lights. Maybe it’s just me – maybe I’m doing this! She recalled her desperation with Father Abbott, her pleas for help. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one. It made her think of old American horror films about poltergeists. But it can’t be me, Millie thought, narrowing her eyes as she entered her bedroom and checked the sashes of the windows. I was in America for months after the accident, and nothing happened there!
Millie shuddered. There was one incident that she’d worked to push from her mind, but it stayed there as crisp and firm as a new photograph. Shortly after the accident that had taken the lives of her husband and son, Millie had begun the habit of sleeping with her arm wrapped around a pillow.
When she and Nathan had first married, Millie had been unable to sleep without the loving arms of her husband around her. Sleeping with a pillow alleviated some of the nighttime anxiety, and usually with a sleeping pill or a glass of wine, Millie found that she was able to rest.
That is, until one night. Millie had a horrible dream – she and Nathan were together in a car, careening down a highway in the middle of the night. Rain lashed from the sky and lightning flashed overhead. Millie had screamed in fright when she saw that although she and Nathan were on the front bench of the car, there was no steering wheel. There were no pedals, either, and the more Millie shrieked and screamed with fear, the faster the car seemed to go.
“Hold on!” Nathan had yelled. “Millie, hold on to me!”
So, Millie had done as her beloved asked. She’d wrapped her arms tightly around Nathan, clinging to him for dear life. When the car spun out of control and skidded off a high cliff, Millie didn’t let go. The car collided with raging waves below, and water began to flood inside from the cracks of the windshield.
That was when Millie had turned to Nathan for the first time since the car had fallen. When she saw Nathan’s body in her arms, she screamed. Nathan was dead – and he had been for quite some time. His face was rotten and bloated. His full lips, which Millie had so loved, were parted and there were chunks of flesh missing.
His eyes were gone – all that remained of Nathan was a dim blue light in his eye sockets. As Millie screamed and struggled to pull away from the corpse of her husband, his body stiffened and held her closer. She tried fighting – kicking and scratching, biting at the decaying body that was so close to her own living, breathing flesh.
Nothing worked. Millie shrieked and kicked until water filled the car and she found herself drowning. When she woke, the pillow she’d cuddled was on top of her. Millie screamed and pushed the lump of cotton and down away from her body. She was sweaty and shaking, and she couldn’t rid herself of the image of Nathan’s bloating, dead body.
Now, Millie could hardly stand to be touched in her sleep. Just the thought of going to bed was making her feel sick, and she bit her lip as she walked to the windows and looked out over the acreage of Westbridge.
Tomorrow I’ll call another priest, she thought, twisting her hands in front of her. Maybe someone from London – maybe someone who actually has experience with this kind of thing.
She paced from one end of the room to the other, looking at the elegant painted walls and scrolled shelves. There was a large walnut armoire at one end of the room that had originally been in the room – Millie had found it so beautiful that she kept it. Something about it seemed melancholy and sad, almost as if it had taken on the quality of Westbridge’s haunt.
Millie’s heartbeat quickened in her chest and she strode forward, opening the doors of the armoire. Before, the doors had been stuck shut. But tonight, they opened with ease. A cloud of dust greeted Millie, and she coughed and choked as the air was filled with fine particles of dirt and grime.
When the dust had cleared, Millie pulled her shirt over her mouth and nose and stepped forward again. She began pawing through the contents of the armoire. Most of it was ruined – moth-eaten silks and satins – but Millie gasped when she realized the clothing she held was very likely the evening clothing of Baroness FitzWalter.
It’s like holding a piece of history in my hands, Millie thought. A shiver ran down her back and she trembled, gently setting the clothes down on a nearby chair.
At the bottom of the armoire, Millie saw a small, scuffed leather book. Frowning, she picked it up and wiped the cover clean. It’s probably a family bible, Millie thought. She opened the book, expecting to see a list of initials and dates of family events – marriages, births, deaths.
Instead, Millie saw something infinitely more fascinating. In elegant, scrolling handwriting, Millie saw a name printed very clearly.
Julia Clowther FitzWalter.
Why, it’s her diary, Millie thought. She tucked the small book inside the back pocket of her jeans and practically ran over to the bed, turning on her lamp to the brightest setting and curling up with a blanket over her legs.
23rd January 1866
Edward, away again. I do wish he would realize how badly his travels affect me! I feel as though I can hardly breathe when Edward is gone! Mrs. Playfair – the ill-tempered cook – makes no attempt to cheer me during these times. Why, this very evening she sent up a huge tray of my least favorite dishes. When I confronted her after they were served, she tutted and told me that these are the best foods for those hoping to conceive.
Ha! How I wished I could have laughed at her. How am I to possibly conceive when Edward is away, and for such long periods?
Millie felt a chill run down her spine. Despite the dated tones, Millie felt as though she were listening to the woes of a close girlfriend. She flipped ahead a few more pages and continued reading.
4th March 1866
Edward has returned! I have not found the time to write at all, as I have been so happy with my darling. He brought me a great many presents from the Continent – all silks from France, even a daring little hat that perches at a saucy angle on my head – but I have not yet found the courage to ask him for what I want most in the world: a trip to the Continent, with Edward by my side.
Best of all? Edward has given me free reign to fire Mrs. Playfair. In fact, he laughed when I told him of my dislike for her…he chastised me, for not taking the initiative to release her on my own!
But Edward does not understand. Being a lady of a great house such as Westbridge is not an inherited skill. I am still learning, and I do wish he wouldn’t laugh at me!
Millie’s found herself smiling as she read over the words. Julia’s happiness was practically radiating from the pages. Skipping ahead, she read yet another entry.
30th September 1866
I have been weeping for hours.
Edward is leaving again – he is to leave for the Raj tomorrow morning, at dawn.
I had hopes my news would convince him to stay.
I am with child.
A deep sadness filled Millie and she flipped through the little book, eager for more news.
4 November 1866
For the first time in days, I have left the confines of my chamber.
There is a new assistant to the new cook, her name is Mary. She may only be a girl, but she is wise beyond her years. Last night, she brought me warm milk and biscuits and stayed until I had finished the meal. She told me the milk would help me sleep. I am not sure why, but she was correct.
This morning, Mary brought me toast and tea in bed. She said that I am to spoil myself until the wee babe is born, that I am to take good care of my own self.
It is difficult, feeling so sad. Edward is still away, and I have not yet had a letter.
But Mary is making it possible for me to see a glimpse of sunshine, in these dark winter days at Westbridge.
Millie blinked. She flipped through the rest of the book, but the pages were blank. The entry on November fourth was the last one.
Outside, it had begun to rain. Winds whipped and swirled around Westbridge, and wate
r pelted the thin glass windows. Millie gasped as one of the windows burst open, sending the curtains flying. As she put the book down on her bedspread and got to her feet, she screamed.
There was a face in the window. A ghastly pale face, with long blonde hair in tangles around the chin.
Millie’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted to the ground.
Chapter Seven – Mary Chambers
In the morning, Millie woke in a daze. She was soaking wet, as was the floor around her and the thick Turkish rug that lay at the foot of the bed. For a moment, she was dazed and sore. Her head ached and her body was racked with chills.
Then Millie remembered the storm…and the unsettling face in the window. She got to her feet and rubbed her temples before stepping forward to close the window and latch it securely shut. Outside, the weather was bright and the sun was shining. The storm seemed to have brought on a beautiful day.
Millie shed her soaked clothing and reached for a dry robe heaped on the bed. She belted the sash around her waist and stuck her feet deep inside the fur-lined slippers that had once been a Christmas present from Nathan. She frowned as she pulled the sheets of her bed back, searching for Julia’s diary.
But the little black leather book was nowhere to be found. Biting her lip, Millie tore the sheets of the bed. She even dropped to her knees and peered underneath the massive wooden frame, but the diary was nowhere to be seen.
Millie tapped herself on the head and winced as pain filled her temples. Maybe I imagined it, she thought glumly as she paced out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Considering how crazy this house is making me feel, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.
Millie was relieved to find the kitchen was just as she’d left it the night before. She warmed some coffee for herself on the stove and sat down with a piece of dry toast. The toast made her think of Julia’s entry – all about Mary, the little kitchen skivvy who had brought cheer to Julia in her long days of depression.
Haunting and Scares Collection Page 19