Haunting and Scares Collection

by Rosemary Cullen

  ‘I’m going for a walk, Miss,’ said the little girl. She had a thick accent to Aisha’s ears, like perhaps she hailed from one of England’s northernmost counties, perhaps even from Scotland.

  ‘You’ll catch your death out here in this mist,’ said Aisha. The little girl just chuckled.

  ‘Are you from the Orient, Miss?’ said the little girl.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Daddy told me about the noble peoples who come from the Far East. He says they have much darker skin than Englishmen.’

  Aisha decided to humor her. ‘I am as English-born as you, girl. But my father was born across the Channel. All the way across the continent in fact.’

  ‘That is all so far! However did he make it?’

  ‘Listen here, girl,’ said Aisha grimly, ‘I want you to tell me where you’re from. And where are your parents.’

  ‘Oh, we live here!’ said the girl cheerfully.

  Aisha frowned. ‘What are you talking about? Wretched thing. I live here.’

  ‘They come and go. Nobody ever stays for very long.’ The little girl shrugged.

  ‘Very well. If you’re going to be difficult, I’ll just ring Cassius and tell him there’s an intruder on my property and he’d better come and do something about it.’

  She turned around and began to march back to-ward the house. She had hoped that the threat would just make the child run away and she could be done with her, but instead the little girl followed her.

  ‘Oh no!’ protested the girl. ‘Don’t call Cassius! He gets so angry with me!’

  Aisha turned around, intrigued. ‘You know Cassius?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘Oh yes! We’ve known Cassius since before I can remember!’

  ‘Well,’ said Aisha, turning back toward the house, ‘then that’s an even better reason to ring him. He’ll certainly know what to do.’

  Aisha went inside and found the telephone. The little girl came in after her. While she dialed, Aisha noted the little girl’s wardrobe. She was wearing a white frock and a bonnet which had slipped from the top of her head and now dangled behind her shoulders. It occurred to Aisha that she looked oddly similar to the girl in her grandmother’s painting. Perhaps a family around here had some very prominent, well-bred traits. Cassius would explain everything.

  ‘Hello?’ said Cassius across the line.

  ‘Hello, Cassius, darling. I have a small problem.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I found a little girl trespassing on my property.’

  ‘Did you say a little girl?’ He sounded very serious.

  ‘Yes. A little blonde girl. Funny thing. The little brat won’t tell me where her parents are, but she says she knows you. Is this true?’

  Cassius coughed, then sighed. ‘Yes. I think I know who it is. I’ll be right there. For God’s sake, keep an eye on her.’

  He hung up the phone abruptly. Aisha frowned. She set the phone down and looked at the little girl. The child smiled at her, then ran.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ muttered Aisha and bolted after her. She caught up with the child in the foyer. She reached out and grabbed her by the wrist as she ran, but immediately recoiled when she felt a sharp, searing pain in her palm.

  ‘Ow!’ she shouted. The little girl stared at her, a bit frightened it seemed. Had this little girl just burned her? Aisha thought.

  ‘Come here!’ said Aisha, commanding. ‘Do you have a temperature?’ She crouched down and felt the little girl’s forehead. Again she withdrew her hand as if she had touched a hot stove. ‘You’re burning up! Don’t you feel sick?’

  At that moment the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Eight Warkwickshire

  Aisha opened the door and in stepped Cassius.

  ‘What happened to the wall?’ he asked, referring – Aisha supposed – to the charred paint on the facade.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Aisha. ‘Do you know this girl?’

  Cassius looked at the girl and sighed. ‘Yes. I’m afraid so. She’s – ’ he and the girl looked into each other. ‘She’s my sister. Grace.’

  ‘Your sister?’ said Aisha.

  He crouched down to the little girl and grabbed her by the shoulders. He seemed to be low on breath as he spoke.

  ‘Now, Gracie. How many times have I told you? You can’t run off like that. It makes Daddy and Mama worry.’

  ‘But!’ the little girl started to complain.

  ‘Hush now!’ Cassius cut her off.

  ‘Hasn’t she got a temperature?’ said Aisha.

  ‘What?’ Cassius looked at her.

  ‘Her skin was so warm I could barely touch her.’

  Cassius contemplated this for a moment, not sure how to respond. Then suddenly he shook his head and nodded.

  ‘Ah! Yes.’

  ‘Cassius!’ said Grace.

  ‘You’ve obviously come down with a cold, darling,’ he told Grace.

  She stared at him. ‘Isn’t that right, Gracie? From running around in the rain!’

  He seemed to be instructing her. Finally, the little girl caught on.

  ‘Oh yes! That must be it. You’re such a good brother, Cassius.’

  Cassius stood up, took Grace’s hand in his, and faced Aisha.

  ‘I thought you lived alone, Cassius,’ said Aisha, narrowing her eyes. Something very strange was happening here. Someone was or had been lying to her.

  ‘I do.’ Cassius stuttered a bit. Aisha could tell he was making it up as he went along. ‘But . . . but our parents live nearby.’

  ‘Quite an age difference,’ said Aisha.

  Cassius cleared his throat nervously. What was he hiding?

  ‘Ehem. Yes,’ he shrugged his shoulder meekly. ‘Well, I’m going to take Gracie home now. I’m so sorry about this. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ mused Aisha. ‘No trouble.’

  Cassius turned toward the door. ‘What happened to the tree? Was there a fire?’

  Aisha noticed Grace’s eyes light up.

  ‘A lightning bolt struck it. During the storm last night.’

  Cassius nodded. ‘Well, you see something new every day, I suppose.’

  Aisha glared at brother and sister. ‘Indeed.’

  She and Cassius stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. Finally, Cassius broke the silence. ‘Well, have a good evening, Miss.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Aisha responded coolly.

  The pair showed themselves out. Aisha heard Cassius’s car crunching over the wet gravel and speeding away down the road. She stood frowning in the foyer for a long time, considering what had just happened. What were those two hiding? A thought dawned on her. It was unsettling. More than that, it was impossible. But she knew her mind would not rest until she satisfied this nagging curiosity.

  She worked up the courage and began ascending the stairs. The door to her grandmother’s bed-room loomed above her.

  There, above the dresser: her grandmother’s portrait. And the little girl in the vanity mirror. Aisha stood, not believing her eyes. There was no mistaking it, however. Grace didn’t just resemble the girl in the painting, the two were identical, right down to that warm, angelic face.

  What had seemed an uncanny coincidence at first was now a disturbing phenomenon for which Aisha had no answer. What could this possibly mean? And what did Cassius know that he was hiding from her? It occurred to Aisha that Cassius had been acting erratically since she mentioned her sleeping troubles. Perhaps it was all connected!

  This house harbored some secret that Cassius and his ‘sister’ were in on. Aisha thought about what to do. She remembered Harcourt’s History of Warwickshire. The house had been built in 1801, she knew. Perhaps Harcourt would have something enlightening to say about it.

  Aisha marched down the stairs to her grandfather’s library and switched on the lonely lamp. The old King James Bible was open on the desk. She didn’t remember having opened it.

  Must have been that awful child, she thought.

 
; Harcourt’s was on the shelf where she had put it. She sat down in her grandfather’s chair to read it.

  The book was divided by periods in English history. She opened the book to where she guessed the late-Georgian era would fall. She flipped back and forth until she found the beginning of the section. One chapter began in the year 1775 and detailed how the county had been affected by the American Revolution. This section of the book was no more interesting to Aisha than the first chapter had been, but she was determined now with a purpose and forced herself to muddle through the dry recitation of facts on the page.

  The day drew slowly on, and Aisha got lost in the long history on the page before her. Occasionally her mind would wander. She supposed it was getting late. Perhaps it was dark out now. She shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable. It was stuffy and warm here in the insulated center of the house. More than once, Aisha caught herself beginning to fall asleep.

  ‘No!’ she shouted allowed. ‘Mustn’t fall asleep!’

  For she knew that her dreams would be haunted by the red face of her accuser and his jeering cackles. She knocked her knuckles hard against the desktop to wake herself up. Her breathing was short. The air around her felt hotter.

  Finally, after several hours scouring the chapter, she came to a paragraph about the years in question. Apparently the county had a population boom around this time, as well as a resurgence of medieval superstition. Several witch hunts and burnings had taken place at the command of one Reverend Lord Harcourt, who, the author admitted regrettably, was an ancestor of his.

  Then she read an account which intrigued her, about a family who had moved from Coventry to the countryside near Warwick:

  One of these aforementioned immigrant families were the Ogilvys, formerly of Coventry, who established a sizeable estate on the outskirts of the village. A Mr. Frederick Ogilvy and his wife Bronwyn took up residence in what is colloquially known as ‘Witches Manor’ (the white house with the ancient Chestnut tree) in the year 1778.

  ‘Oh, this must be it!’ Aisha exclaimed to the empty room. Her voice echoed back at her as she eagerly read on.

  Though the family contributed greatly to the economy of the region, they are said to have always remained to a large degree out-siders, and little is known of them after the turn of the century. Bronwyn gave birth to six children beginning in 1779: Cassius Thaddeus in 1779, Mary Flannery in 1781, Wynona Jane in 1785, Constance Genevieve in 1788, and twins, Grace Geraldine and Robert Bishop in 1793.

  A chill went down Aisha’s spine when she read the names Cassius and Grace. Could it be? No! That was impossible.

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ she scolded herself.

  The youngest daughter, Grace, was stricken was a horrible disfigurement according to contemporary accounts. It was said she had ‘the face of a de-mon’, and ‘features not even a mother could love’. It can be assumed, I think, that the people of this time had a tendency to exaggeration. Still, the disfigured child was regarded as a blight on the whole community.

  Aisha was rigid with suspense at what it all could mean. The next paragraph was even more mystifying and frustrating.

  The older son, Cassius, was still referred to as living in the area throughout the early 19th-century, but the rest of the family seems to have been lost to the annals of history. What is known is that the property on which they lived was destroyed at some point, and a new house built on the same sight, completed in 1801 with different residents. This is the house that is known to you all today as ‘Witches Manor’, though the origin of the infernal nickname is as mysterious as the fate of the original owners.

  Just then, Aisha heard a scream – not the quiet, sullen whimpering she had heard in the night throughout the week, but a loud, anguished, bone-chilling shriek. Aisha jumped up from her chair, dropping the book on the floor. The screaming continued, and more voices joined in.

  She listened. It seemed as though the noises were coming from beneath the floor! Then a loud, persistent banging started. Aisha was both terrified and fascinated by what was happening. The rug covering the floorboards began to move, as if someone was pushing it up from underneath. She ran to the corner of the rug and rolled it away, revealing a trap door, perhaps a square meter in area.

  ‘What is this?’

  The door was rattling and shaking, like someone was trapped underneath, trying to get out. The screams, the cries, the sobs grew louder in Aisha’s ear. She shouted, hoping whoever was stuck underneath the floorboards could hear her.

  ‘Don’t worry! I’ll get you out!’ Aisha lifted the trap door and saw . .

  Nothing! A ladder leading down into the pitch dark.

  And still the agonizing shrieks and howls could be heard.

  ‘Who’s down there?’ she called. No answer, but the continual cries of pain and sorrow. Against her better judgment, Aisha began to descend the ladder into the dark.

  Now she could hear voices – the sound of a man praying and crying out to God. ‘O Lord, thou givest and thou takest away. Blessed forever be thy holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, thou art very great; who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire.’

  It sounded like the verses of a psalm, Aisha thought.

  ‘Hello?’ she shouted, still climbing. The screaming only got louder and louder. It was very, very hot down here too, Aisha noticed, like it had been in her bedroom. She was sweating now, and her heart pounded in her ears.

  Finally, Aisha reached the bottom. It was a dark and cramped cellar, it seemed. Little more than a dungeon. She could see only a few feet in front of her, using the light from her grandfather’s study. She took a few steps in the dark and then jumped back in fear!

  She screamed. Against the wall lay a dusty, charred, black skeleton, crouched in the fetal position. It was about the size of a five-year-old child. At that moment, there was a flash from above and a crash. Then all the light went out.

  The bulb in the lamp must have burst thought Aisha frantically.

  She made for the ladder, but flailed around in the dark for a long time before finding it. Finally, she brushed up against the wood and began to climb as fast as she could. It was like her dream, being chased once again. There was a faint light coming from above, she noticed.

  Cough. Cough cough! Aisha started hacking and wheezing. What was this? Was it smoke? Yes. Very distinctly, the smell of burning and the smell of smoke. Aisha moved even more quickly and began to scurry up the ladder as if her life depended on it.

  But she was careless, and her foot slipped. Her face collided head on with the upper steps of the ladder. She lost her grip, toppled, and fell tum-bling down the ladder to the cellar floor. She felt the impact against her skull.

  And then there was blackness.

  Chapter Nine Message From Beyond

  It was Cassius who found her. Driving past the house that night he saw what he thought looked like flames and smoke.

  ‘Not again!’ he cursed under his breath.

  Forcing his way into the house, he went straight for the study. He knew just where to look. Aisha was found unconscious on the floor of the cellar, clutching two books: Harcourt’s History of Warwickshire, and The Holy Bible, Authorized Version. He sighed, sadly. His secret had been discovered, her was sure. Then he took her in his arms, carried her from the flames, and drove her to the hospital.

  ~~~~~

  Aisha awoke surrounded by the white, sterile walls of a hospital bedroom. She felt woozy and groggy, but not bad – peaceful, actually. There was a nurse standing over her, administering something into an IV attached to her.

  ‘Where am I?’ said Aisha.

  The nurse looked up, surprised to see her awake. ‘Good morning, Miss!’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’re in the hospital.’

  ‘Why do I feel so light?’ said Aisha.

  ‘You’re on a lot of drugs, Miss,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ve had a nasty fall and close encounter with a fire. We don’t want you to be in pain.’

 
‘A fire?’ Aisha was confused. Then it dawned on her. ‘Oh!’ she said out loud. ‘The light bulb! It must have set the whole house aflame!’

  ‘About half of it is still standing.’ Aisha heard a male voice to her right and turned her head to see Cassius sitting in a chair across the room looking at her.

  ‘Cassius!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I suppose you two have a lot to talk about,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll just be leaving you alone.’

  ‘Thank you, nurse,’ said Cassius.

  The nurse finished up her business and left the room. Aisha looked at Cassius eagerly. He felt her gaze.

  ‘Well, Aisha,’ he said. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Cassius,’ she sighed, ‘how old are you?’

  Cassius stood up and groaned. He walked to Aisha’s side and hung his head. He spoke very quietly.

  ‘Two hundred and thirty-eight this September.’

  Aisha shook her head. ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know. After my family died I simply . . . kept on living. And living and living and living.’ He sounded old now, and rueful.

  ‘How did they die?’

  ‘You read, I’m sure, about my sister Gracie.’

  Aisha nodded.

  He continued, sadly, ‘She was born with a severe disfigurement. Hardly anyone would look at her or approach her. We had always been out-siders there, but that made it worse. God have mercy on me! I could barely make myself look at her most of the time.’

  Aisha wondered whether this was real, or a hallucination brought on by the medication.

  ‘My father, he prayed so hard. So fervently for a healing. And my mother too. I thought it was all very silly and hopeless and moved away. But one day, unlooked for, my little sister woke up and she was perfectly normal. More than nor-mal. She had the most beautiful, angelic face you have ever seen.’

  ‘That’s fantastic!’ Aisha said.

  Cassius just shook his head mournfully. ‘The townspeople had the fear of God hammered into them by –’ he stuttered here, it was hard for him to say the name, ‘- Reverend Harcourt.’ He sighed, holding back tears. ‘Those filthy hypocrites. One would think they would have had more faith than that. But they all said it was witchcraft.’