The Haunting at Hawke's Moor

by Camille Oster

  There was a slight thump downstairs, as if someone had walked into furniture. She was just going to ignore that. It could be robbers ransacking the house for all she cared; she was not getting out of her little cocoon of safety.

  Then there was a distinct scrape. She heard Lisle's voice somewhere above. Lisle. Anne flung the covers off and sat up, listening intently. Maybe the spirits were bothering her. Footsteps and Lisle's voice again. "Lisle?" Anne called, but received no reply.

  Getting up, Anne grabbed her dressing gown. She needed to check on Lisle. If spirits were toying with her tonight, she might have to… She didn't know how to answer that question. Maybe Lisle was remiss in burning her sage. That had to be remedied. It was very important right now. Forgoing the sage had done Alfie irreparable harm. They could not make that mistake again.

  Thunderous steps were heard down the stairway. Anne ran to the door and watched as Lisle ran past, calling for Alfie.

  "Lisle!" Anne called, running after her into the darkness of the house. Lisle was at the door, frantically trying to unlock it. "What are you doing?"

  "It's Alfie. He needs me."

  "No, it's not."

  "I saw him. He spoke to me."

  "No, Lisle," Anne said, trying to pull her arm away, but Lisle refused to give, shaking her off with surprising strength. The crazed girl managed to unlock the door and throw it open. A blast of cold air hit. It froze Anne to the bone. It was snowing out, patches of it covered tussocks of grass. "Lisle, stop."

  "He'd cold. He doesn't want to be in the dark," she said as she ran outside.

  Anne ran after her. She couldn't let Lisle go, grabbing her by the waist and slowing her down. Lisle fought to free herself, but Anne refused to let go. "Lisle, it isn't him," she beseeched. "It is the house playing tricks on you."

  "It's him; I saw him. He spoke to me."

  "Lisle," Anne said sharply, drew her near with as much strength as she could manage. She slapped the girl across the face, the sound dissipating in the stark darkness around them. The shock took Lisle aback as Anne hoped it would. "Alfie would not want you to run across the moors at night in your nightgown. That was not the Alfie you knew. He would not put you at risk like that."

  Lisle only stared at her. The mad, haunted look in Lisle's eyes was slowly receding. Lisle nodded absently. "You're right. Alfie would never hurt me." Lisle looked around, anxiety written all over her face.

  "It is the spirits. They are toying with you. They toyed with Alfie and now they're toying with you. Let's go back inside. I think you should sleep in my bed tonight. We'll face them together," Anne said more bravely than she felt. "And in the morning, we'll think what to do."

  "He said he was cold," Lisle said in a whimper. Her face crumpled and fell forward into her hands, crying as she sunk down on her haunches.

  "Alfie would never hurt you," Anne said with more conviction that she felt. Alfie had hurt Lisle quite severely when he'd been alive. Still, Anne doubted it was Alfie that was tormenting Lisle. "Alfie would protect you."

  Grudgingly, Lisle let herself be taken back into the house. Anne pushed the heavy door closed and turned the lock. "Come. Let's sleep and this night will be over." Lisle was cold. Anne had no idea how long the girl had been out of bed, tormented by spirits.

  Lisle slumped against Anne's shoulder as they walked up the stairs, back to Anne's room. Lisle crawled under the blankets and cried. Walking around the room, Anne burned more sage, letting Lisle cry in solitude for a moment.

  The snowflakes fell outside the window. It was the first time she'd seen it snow here. The flakes meandered to the ground in an unending dance. Snow had always been a happy occasion during the rare times it had happened. They would go out and revel in it, but here if felt ominous. It felt as if the spirit world was encroaching, taking over, dragging them deeper into the dark and cold. Civilization felt even further away.

  Lisle's words haunted her. It was nauseating to think Alfie was cold and in the dark. Anne prayed—for them, and for Alfie. Maybe prayers kept the spirits at bay. She didn't know, but right now she'd take anything.

  The house had gone quiet again. Perhaps the spirits had had enough sport for one night. Lisle was sleeping now; Anne could hear her breathing. The girl must be exhausted from grief and the madness it brought.

  In the morning, Anne would have to consider what to do. If the spirits were attacking Lisle as they had Alfie, Anne had to send her away. But Alfie had invited them; he’d purposefully doused the sage and welcomed them. Dark images crept into Anne's mind. She didn't want to think it, but perhaps the spirits had seduced him.

  A new level of terror confronted Anne. This was on a whole new level. Small noises, whispers and the odd creaking floorboard were one thing. It was frightening, but it was still at a distance. But seduction suggested something else entirely—that the spirits could do more than creep around and cause distress.

  A chill traveled up Anne's spine and she put another log on the fire. How was she to cope without Lisle? How was she to cope without Alfie? Lisle could secure another position, but it would take time. Neither of them could afford to place her in a boarding house. Maybe the Turners could take her in until such time as she had somewhere to go.

  As for herself, there was no choice. She had nowhere to go. She would have to tell the vicar of her problems and maybe he could help her find a solution—some way of removing these spirits. Even as she thought it, she knew he would think her mad. That was not what clergymen did. She'd end up in Bedlam, which was probably a worse situation than living in a house full of ghosts. Maybe she needed to find an actual priest, she considered, but their interests lay in the demonic rather than with restless souls.

  She had to write to Mr. Harleston again, see if there was anything further she could do to the house. There was the possibility that everything would calm again. The dramatics of the last few days would calm, and so perhaps would the house. Anne could only hope.

  A noise was heard behind her and she turned, seeing nothing out of the ordinary as her eyes darted around the room. "Enough tonight," she pleaded. "There has been enough."

  She watched for a response, but there was nothing. Nothing moved, nothing creaked. It was just silent. The snow continued to fall silently out the window and Anne returned to the bed, slipping under the blankets, which were welcoming and warm. Lisle slept peacefully as if she was too exhausted to worry anymore.

  Sighing, Anne tried to calm her mind. For a moment, she felt safe, as if the spirits had agreed that there had been enough. Rest was needed by everyone.

  Chapter 15:

  Lisle wasn't there when Anne woke up in the morning and she sat up sharply, the cold air of the room rushing about her body as she did. Had something happened during her sleep? Dressing quickly, she rushed downstairs, seeing sunlight gently filtering through the windows. Nothing seemed out of order and Anne continued to the kitchen, finding Lisle baking like she did every day.

  "I milked the cow," Lisle said. "I haven't taken her out to pasture. I think that's a task we need to share until we can get another field hand. Now, I can take the cow after I finish here, or do you want to do it?"

  Anne didn't know what to say. She'd been thinking more of how to work through Lisle departure, but Lisle was acting as if nothing was wrong. Lisle was even discussing replacing Alfie. Last night, Lisle had been acting like devils were after her, or rather Alfie, and today, she acted as if it'd had never happened.

  "Lisle, I've been wondering if perhaps it is better you find a position elsewhere."

  "Whatever for?" Lisle said, staring at her as if it was the most outlandish suggestion.

  "It is just that things get difficult in this house, particularly at night."

  "It's just imagination and flights of fancy," Lisle said dismissively. Well, at least she was acknowledging the dramatics of the night before. "Besides, you can't get rid of the staff because you fear whispers in the night. How are you supposed to live here without a maid?"


  "Alfie died."

  "He had a bad heart. It was unfortunately, but there was nothing anyone could do. These things cannot always be foreseen, the doctor said."

  Confronted with such rationality, Anne felt ridiculous, but not enough to ease her worry. In truth, she still didn't know what to think, and she needed to work through her feelings and thoughts on the events of the last few days. Maybe it was the shock that was making both of them act strangely. "I will take the cow," Anne said.

  Grabbing her coat, Anne walked out into the yard. The air was fresh and cold. The snow had melted, leaving a clear, sunny day. Maybe some fresh air was just what she needed.

  Anne stood by the window biting the tip of her thumb. Everything was calm in the house. To Anne though, it felt like the calm before the storm, the reprieve before the coming night. She could be completely wrong. Everything that had happened could be a reaction to the shock they'd suffered. She'd know tonight. If things went back to normal, that was that. The house creaked, the wind whispered and Alfie's death had been an unfortunate tragedy. Or not…

  With a sigh, Anne chewed on her nail again. The sun was going down. Relentlessly, it kept sinking in the distance. There was something to be said for the winter sunsets on the moors. A mist was starting to rise and the pale sunlight showed its wisps. The temperature would be plunging soon. It was cold enough that it might snow if clouds rolled in.

  Lisle popped her head out of the kitchen, saying supper was ready and Anne went to join her. The kitchen was warm from the fire, especially as the temperature in the house was cooling quickly.

  They ate the soup in silence. Lisle seemed her usual self, typically sullen. At least Lisle was returning to normal, or seemingly so. All the hurt she felt was now hidden away. Perhaps that was for the best. They needed to put this behind them.

  After supper, Lisle stayed in the kitchen as Anne left, taking this time to burn sage around the house before Lisle had a chance to see her and possibly ridicule her.

  The house was dark and the sparse light didn't stretch into the shadowed corner. The peaceful feeling during the day was dissipating and the house felt ominous again. It felt as if the paintings on the walls were watching her, distant and disapproving, staring blankly when she paid attention. Maybe she needed to get rid of those paintings. They had seemed better than bare walls, but she wasn't sure now, particularly the portraits. The landscapes and even the battle scenes were not as worrisome perhaps.

  The smoke filled the room. Anne walked around the parlor, pausing by the large mirror which had damage stains marring its surface.

  "It won't do any good," a voice said and Anne froze, her breathing stopping. She knew that voice, but she was too afraid to look. Iciness crept up her spine and her skin contracted. Her hair from the back of her head and down her arms stood painfully. She didn't dare look.

  Closing her eyes, she wished it would go away, but she'd heard it so clearly. Drawing in a breath, she opened her eyes again, seeing Alfie in the mirror. He was looking straight at her. It wasn't a friendly look, direct and challenging. He looked pale, almost blue. "Oh, I'm not the one you need to worry about," he said slowly.

  Anne's mouth had gone completely dry and she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. Her knees threatened to give, but she was too scared to even fall down. Alfie moved closer, standing behind her. He was tall. He leaned over to her ear, still watching her in the mirror. "He's coming for you." He grinned, then faded.

  Panic soared through Anne. She felt like running, like screaming. Her only instinct was to find Lisle, the only other person around. Her feet moved and she slipped before recovering and pushed her way into the kitchen.

  "What's the matter with you?" Lisle said. "You look like you've seen a ghost, which isn't really all that wonder in a house like this." Lisle snorted.

  "I saw him, bright as day," Anne said. "Alfie; he spoke to me.”

  "Don't be stupid," Lisle said sharply. "You're imagining things. It's this house. It's so lonely, it drives people mad."

  Anne didn't know where to put her hands and they shifted around her, before settling tightly to her chest. "I think he threatened me."

  "Then it couldn't be Alfie."

  "He wasn't the saint you made him out to be," Anne said harshly, not interested in Lisle's rose-colored view of the boy.

  "Well, you didn't know him. I did."

  "I think we need to leave."

  "And go where? It's dark and we're miles from anywhere."

  "We could go to the Turners’." Mr. Turner's warning came back to her, not to go running around the moors at night. They would get lost and wander aimlessly, probably freeze to death on a night like this. Maybe that was what the spirits wanted, to maliciously drive them out of the house to face their demise on the cold moors.

  "You're being ridiculous. Go to bed. Don't be so weak and give into your paranoia." Lisle said it with such finality it was clear she didn't want to listen to anything Anne said. Anne felt offended and scared. Lisle was the only person who could listen and she refused to. She'd seen Alfie the other night and had now dismissed it as some cocked up delusion, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes and heart had told her.

  But then maybe Lisle was right. They had to stay calm and to stay put. This house was the thing that kept them warm and alive—perhaps not safe, but leaving was certain death. Maybe there were spirits and their threats were merely idle words, designed to terrorize. If it wasn't for the fact that Alfie had died, she would be quite happy to believe that. Saying that; Alfie hadn't died of fright, shivering under his blankets. He'd invited them, maybe even invited them to take his life.

  Marching out of the kitchen, Anne found the burning sage where she'd left it. She wasn't going to trust the words of a spirit. It might not even be Alfie, instead something taking his form—something that wanted her to stop burning the sage.

  With steel in her spine, she walked around the rooms and the hallways with shaking hands, even Lisle's room, and let the smoke wisp its way into every part. The idea that the sage did nothing was terrifying. It meant she had no protection. Then again, the spirit that resembled Alfie had appeared while she was burning it. It may be useless, but it was all she had and she wasn't ready to give it up.

  Anne returned to her room and coaxed the fire in her grate. It kept the worst of the cold away. Frost had started creeping up the bottom of the window panes, sparkling with the light of the fire and candles.

  The sad truth was that she had nowhere to go. What money she had was practically gone. She could barely afford a bed in the cheapest boardinghouse in London, let alone the fare to get there. Placing herself as a burden on Harry was unfair. He had no means and would have to use his pocket money to support her, forgoing even the simplest pleasures. His regard would soon turn bitter and he might cut ties with her altogether. This house was all she had, and apparently she needed to fight for it.

  Wearily, she crawled into bed and drew the blankets up. Alfie's words returned. 'He’ was coming for her. Who? She searched her mind for the things Mr. Harleston had said. According to him, there were spirits in this house protecting her. She prayed for their strength, but also knew that the inherent implication was that she needed protection.

  Chapter 16:

  Anne woke in the dark, returning from a dream full of anxiety and worry. Keeping her eyes closed, she refused to open them, refused to let anything in the room see that she was awake. Now the natural assumption was that there was always something in the room with her. There were no safe places—except maybe under her blankets.

  She just wanted to sleep again, preferring the horrid dreams to lying there listening to any noise in the house. She shifted in the bed. She'd been sweating during the night and now felt clammy and cold. The new spot was cold, but it would soon warm—better than the damp that would continue to rob her of warmth.

  The bed shifted and Anne froze. There was a distinct shift as if someone had sat down. With her breath held, she didn't want to look, but
she had to. Peering over the blankets, she saw nothing, just dark space. Everything was where she had left it.

  A crash sounded on the floor across the room and she startled. Something had dropped off her desk. Whatever it was, a piece of it was rolling around the floor.

  Anne sat up and she felt the shift again. Sheer panic flared through her. There was someone there. Maybe Alfie's warning had been right, maybe 'he' was coming for her, or maybe Alfie was trying to cause trouble again. Frozen, she couldn't get her mind to work. It refused to tell her what to do.

  A heavy pressure came down on her chest, pushing her back into the mattress. Desperately, her hands searched for the source, but there was nothing she could fight, finding cold air. The pressure was harsh and she felt as if she couldn't breathe. Her legs kicked, tangled in the blankets. The pressure was even too hard for her to scream.

  Using all her strength, she pulled herself to the side and fell to the floor, hitting the wooden planks hard. Again, she couldn't breathe, her lungs aching with the impact. Without thinking, she pulled herself under the bed, turning onto her stomach. The pressure hadn't followed her there.

  Aching, ragged breaths finally returned and her lungs burned as if on fire, unable to still her breath as she wanted to listen to what was in the room. She saw nothing but darkness.

  The idea that these spirits couldn’t do anything to her was out the window. This spirit had held her so hard, she couldn't breathe. She felt the plank next to the bed depress and pure fear made her breath falter. Then nothing, as if it was waiting for her to emerge, or to do something.