The Folcroft Ghosts

by Coates, Darcy

  She lay on the floor as she caught her breath and waited for her shaking legs to recover. Her shoulder and ribs hurt where they’d hit the stones, but at least she was inside. Even better, she couldn’t hear any movement in the house.

  Tara pushed herself up then squinted to make out the space in the moon’s glow. Everything was smothered in shadows except the glint of blue light on a pair of bright eyes.

  23

  The Locked Room

  Tara couldn’t make a sound. She pressed her back into the wall as her heart missed a beat. The eyes, pit-black, stared down at her. Then they blinked and faded into nothing. Just a ghost. That’s all.

  She’d never thought she would be relieved to see a spirit. Tara clamped a hand over her mouth to quiet her frantic breathing. Her fingers were numb from cold, and her head buzzed with the stress. She waited in case the ghost reappeared, but the room stayed still.

  The space was crowded with old wooden furniture. Shelves and wardrobes covered the walls, and large wingback armchairs were arranged in a circle in the centre of the room. Strange, lumpy shapes had been arranged in the chairs, almost like human-sized dolls. Tara shifted forward, her curiosity winning out over nerves.

  The shapes had been wrapped in blankets and propped against the chairs’ sides. Only their outlines were visible in the dark. As Tara crept closer, she thought she could see curled hair poking out from the nearest bundle.

  She looked down. Shoes had been laid on the ground in front of each chair: a pair of boots by the nearest and smaller women’s shoes in front of the one past it. As she lifted her eyes, light caught on a gold wedding ring threaded around a skeletal finger.

  Tara’s whole body convulsed as a near-silent whine escaped her. The lumpy shapes nestled in the blankets were skulls propped on top of collapsing skeletons.

  “You’re too curious.”

  Tara swivelled so quickly that she hit one of the chairs, making the skeleton huddled in it rattle. She stepped back, wide eyes fixed on the shadowed chair where May sat. The older woman reclined with her hands braced on the armrests. Tara couldn’t detect any anger in her face, but there was an awful, overwhelming finality in her expression.

  “I have forgiven you time and time again. I have tried—” Her voice broke, and she took a shuddering breath to steady it. “I have tried so, so hard to be a good grandmother. I took you in, though you weren’t my flesh and blood. I fed you. Bought you gifts. And you’ve repaid me only in insolence.” Her mouth tightened, and the wrinkles that had once looked so cheerful seemed to be severe lines.

  Tara couldn’t control her shaking. She knew she was stuttering, but the words spilled out in an uncontrolled rush. “W-We didn’t ask for any of that. We didn’t sign up to be a part of your crazy family. We didn’t ask you to s-sabotage Mum’s car. And we de-definitely didn’t ask for this insanity.” She thrust a hand towards the shrivelled shapes in the chairs.

  “Hah.” May’s expression softened a fraction. “This was my mother’s idea, initially. My younger brother, Christopher, died before his fifth birthday. She couldn’t bear to bury him. To leave him encased in cold, wet dirt while worms and insects disintegrated him… she found the concept intolerable. So she wrapped him in his favourite blanket and kept him in the spare room. That way, he could stay warm and dry and surrounded by people who loved him.”

  Tara swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. She wrapped her arms around herself, sickened to even be in the building.

  May’s slow, soft voice continued, its easy cadence at odds with the words. “When my father died, she did the same. She would sit with him in this very chair every evening. She wanted to keep him company, she said. And, finally, on Mother’s passing, Peter asked me if I wanted to bury her. I did not.” She reached a hand to the chair to her right and caressed the exposed arm bone. “I’ve gotten used to seeing their ghosts. Normally, they don’t appear often—they’ve been more active since you’ve been here—but it was a comfort to know they hadn’t left. Not really.”

  A sickening idea occurred to Tara. “They can’t rest unless they’re buried.”

  “I think you’re right.” May’s whisper-soft voice held notes of delight. Her eyes shone in the moonlight as she smiled up at Tara. “Your mother’s parents never showed themselves once we gave them graves.”

  “This is wrong.” Tara’s back hit the wall. “You’re demented.”

  May only smiled. “Am I? All I ever wanted was to keep my family close. I was robbed of my sweet little Christine, but now I have you and Kyle to take her place. Don’t worry. You’ll learn to be happy here soon enough. Kyle is already taking steps in the right direction.”

  “What did you do to him?” The anxious, helpless thorny feeling was digging at her insides again and making her want to scream.

  “He was being quite stubborn.” May tilted her head to the side, as carefree as if she were discussing the weather. “He broke out of his room. So I took him somewhere more secure. He’ll be much more settled after a night in the bunker.”

  No. No. No. No. The scream built but strangled in Tara’s throat. She understood May was distracting her; the slow, easy monologue was erasing precious seconds, each one costing Kyle more oxygen.

  Tara dashed past the swaddled corpses and grabbed at the door’s handle. It was locked, so she slammed her body into it, no longer caring who heard. It didn’t budge, so she stepped farther back and hit it hard enough to bruise her whole side. She cried out in relief when the lock broke and the door banged open.

  She didn’t wait to see if May was following. Her legs carried her to the end of the hallway and down the stairs three at a time. Her pace was too hectic. She tripped over the last stairs, hit the ground hard, scrambled back to her feet, and kept moving.

  By a miracle, the key ring was still on the hook beside the kitchen. She yanked it off hard enough to bend the metal then burst out the front door.

  Long grass swayed in the icy breeze. Its colour had been distorted by the moonlight, and the motion made it look like an undulating ocean. Tara aimed herself towards the bunker’s concrete entrance and ran as fast as her legs could move her.

  I can’t be too late. How long has he been in there? How long until he runs out of oxygen? How long until brain damage?

  Tears stung her cheeks, and her breathing became laboured, but she didn’t slow until she hit the bunker’s door with a heavy clang. “Kyle? Kyle, I’m here!”

  She fumbled the keys. The first one didn’t fit. The second wouldn’t turn. She sifted through them, trying each shape in turn, her mind being swallowed by panic as seconds passed without a reply.

  The fifth key worked. She wrenched the door open and jogged down the stairs, one hand running over the concrete wall and the other held ahead of her. She stumbled as the stairs evened out into the hallway. Another four steps forward, and her hand hit a wall. “Kyle?”

  A door creaked, then slammed. The sound shook the room and left a dull, reverberating echo to fill the space long after the original noise faded. Fear hit Tara. She turned back, feeling her way towards the stairs, but her hand hit the cold metal of a door instead. “No—”

  The bulb above her head hissed as it turned on. Tara swivelled to face the tiny room. May sat in the chair against the opposite wall, her long fingers clasped on her lap.

  “Wh—” Tara shook her head. “Where’s Kyle?”

  “Not here.” She exhaled, looking pleased with herself, and reached her hands towards Tara. Even though they were at opposite ends of the room, Tara had to press herself into the door to avoid the touch. “It’s funny, you know. You’re angry with me now, but deep down, we’re so much alike.”

  “We’re nothing alike,” Tara spat. Her chest hurt from the run, and her head buzzed with stress. All she wanted to do was collapse onto the floor, but she kept her feet.

  “Oh, but we are. Look at how quickly you ran here on the mere suggestion that Kyle was in danger. You love your family just as much as I do.”
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  “You’re not my family.”

  May’s smile cracked. She stared at Tara, and an intense, near-fanatical light seemed to shine in her eyes. When she spoke, it was clearly an effort to keep her voice soft and warm. “Let’s not argue tonight. I don’t like seeing you distressed.”

  Tara nearly choked on her fury. “Well, it’s your fault if I am!”

  “Shh. Be calm, my dear. I want your last hours to be peaceful.”

  The gravity of the situation finally registered. Tara gaped at May for a second then turned and felt for a handle to open the door. There wasn’t one; instead, a small keyhole waited for a key—the key that would be on the key ring she’d left in the upper door.

  “Let me out,” Tara said. She fought to keep her voice level.

  “I wouldn’t even if I was able to.” May rose and took a step closer. Tara refused to look at her, but she could feel the older woman hovering just behind her shoulder. “Believe me. It’s better this way. I’ll stay with you until it’s over. I can sing to you, if you like.”

  Tara rested her head against the door. She was painfully aware of her breathing. She was using the air too fast, but her lungs didn’t want to slow. “You’ll die, too.”

  “It’s a little too late for that, I’m afraid.” May laughed as Tara turned towards her.

  The woman’s form didn’t seem as solid as it had before. Her white nightdress swirled in a wind that didn’t exist. She extended a hand to caress Tara’s shoulder, and the touch was like an icy wind.

  Tara licked her lips. “You’re dead.”

  “Very recently, yes.” May sighed. “My heart has been giving me trouble for such a long time. I knew I didn’t have long, which was why I asked Peter to… to take care of your mother. I wanted to have a family around me again, even if just for a short time.”

  Tara struggled to inject confidence into her words. “Not trying to lie about the accident anymore, huh?”

  “No. There’s no point now. I had hoped to make you love me… to make you love this house and this family. My will leaves the property to you after my death. You and Kyle could have stayed here, happy and safe, where Peter and I could watch over you every day.” May’s smile dropped. “But you’ve been so stubborn. So rebellious. The stress and the frustration were too great to bear. My heart failed last night. And that signalled the end of my opportunity to win your loyalty.”

  She settled back into the chair, hands folded neatly in her lap, and shrugged. “Now, the only way to keep my family intact is to tie you here. Peter will bring your body to the upstairs family room tomorrow morning. He’ll wrap you in a nice warm blanket and arrange you next to your relatives. And we can stay together, living past death, forever.”

  “No.” Tara shook her head, but May only laughed.

  “It will be easier if you don’t work yourself into a frenzy, my dear. This is not the worst way to die. The carbon monoxide will poison you before you run out of oxygen. It’s a gentle end; you’ll feel tired and eventually fall asleep. And I’ll be here the whole time to keep you company and to comfort you. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to sing?”

  The words came out as a whisper. “What about Kyle?”

  “He’ll join you; don’t worry. He’s taking a different path to the next life, but you’ll be able to see him soon.”

  May’s smile was clearly intended to seem warm and motherly, but in that moment, with the bulb’s harsh light warring with the shadows over her semi-transparent face, she looked like a wolf.

  24

  Restless Dead

  Tara’s legs wanted to collapse, but she refused to show weakness in front of May. Instead, she kept her back pressed against the door. Her mind raced, but she couldn’t see even a sliver of hope. Bargaining wouldn’t work when May was getting exactly what she wanted. She didn’t have any threats to wield. And even if there was some way to bring May on to her side, the dead woman wasn’t physically capable of opening the thick metal door.

  She turned back to the structure, her fingers scrabbling over the smooth surface and its indented keyhole. She squirmed a finger inside and tried to pull, but a latch had fixed the door into place.

  Her lungs ached. She tried to tell herself it was from fear, not impending suffocation, but her body wasn’t convinced. Chilled sweat coated her, and tears burnt her eyes.

  The metal under her hand felt cold—far colder than it had been a moment before. Tara pulled her fingers away and frowned as tiny frost crystals appeared on the surface. Then a translucent form broke through the door. Its long nose was inches from Tara’s, and she gasped as she staggered back.

  May rose out of the chair, her voice suddenly harsh. “Why are you here? What have you done?”

  The spirit was familiar. The woman’s sunken cheeks were heavily shadowed, and her black mourning dress swirled in a wind that Tara couldn’t feel. Her eyes searched Tara’s face, and an intense sadness filled their depths. Then they hardened as she looked towards May. The spectre’s voice was a whisper like long-dead leaves scraping together. “She isn’t ready for death.”

  May laughed. The noise was nearly hysterical. “Is anyone, Mother? Were you?”

  “Death is not ready for her.”

  Neither spoke for a moment. Eileen’s form was weaker than May’s. Even while Tara watched, it started to fade as the colour bled out of her. May’s face froze into hard angles. “What have you done?”

  Eileen smiled. Her lips moved, but the words were barely audible. “I am fortunate that my son is not as ruthless as my daughter.”

  “No,” May hissed.

  A rhythmic pounding noise became audible through the airtight door. Tara looked from Eileen to the exit, scarcely allowing herself to hope. As the pounding drew nearer, it resolved into heavy footsteps. May clamped her hands over her head and shrieked in frustration and fury.

  Metal clanged as a key was fit into the door. It scraped as it turned, then the metal frame pulled open. A gust of fresh air rushed around Tara, and Peter stood in the opening. He looked aged since the last time Tara had seen him; his long face was grey and furrowed by exhaustion. Even so, he smiled as he saw his sister. “Here you are, May. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Don’t let the girl escape!” Desperation infused May’s words. “You promised, Peter.”

  “I promised to give you a family one last time. You’ve had five days with them. That’s enough.”

  “No, please. They can stay with us. I’ve already taken care of the boy. We only need to leave the girl here—”

  “No, May.” His voice was sad but firm. “This is enough. You need to let go.”

  May’s eyes flashed with anger. The older ghost, Eileen, appeared behind her. She wrapped her arms around her daughter. Her whisper made shivers crawl up Tara’s spine. “Death is not a blessing. Let her go. Let us all go. We need to be free, my dear.”

  “Please—no—” Tears streamed down May’s cheeks. She looked between the two of them but didn’t try to shake her way out of her mother’s arms.

  Peter finally glanced at Tara. His expression was unreadable. He nodded towards the stairs. “Go on.”

  Tara didn’t hesitate. She flattened herself against the wall to squeeze past him then dashed up the stairs. Her footsteps echoed off the walls like drumbeats. She drew a gasp as she burst into the yard and dropped to her knees.

  Where’s Kyle? She said she took care of him. What does that mean? He can’t be dead yet—he can’t be. She didn’t have enough time to kill him, surely.

  She forced herself back onto her feet. The house looked strangely alien in the moonlight. Lights were on in a couple of rooms, and they spread blocks of gold across the moon-tinted grass. Tara scanned the windows as she jogged towards the house. She couldn’t see any movement inside.

  The bunker door screeched as it was closed, but Tara didn’t look behind her. She was wholly focussed on finding Kyle. Everything else had to come second until then.

  As she burst through th
e door, she was struck by how quiet the house seemed. Outside, she’d been surrounded by animal calls and the trees’ whispers. But the house felt dead.

  “Kyle!” She bellowed as loudly as her lungs could manage and began darting through the rooms without waiting for an answer. She took the stairs to the second floor and skidded to a halt at Kyle’s room. The door was open. He’d stacked his books at the base of the bed, and his suitcase sat open by the door. It had been hastily filled with clothes.

  He was hoping to escape, too.

  “Kyle?” She wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t any answer. The room had the still, sedate atmosphere of a place that hadn’t been disturbed in a while. Tara returned to the hallway and shoved open every unlocked door. Some led into empty rooms. Others were spare bedrooms, where the furniture and bedding apparently had been untouched for decades. None held any signs of life.

  A floorboard creaked on the lower floor. Tara’s heart leapt into her throat as she ran back to the stairs. She stopped on the lower landing. A figure moved down the hallway towards her.

  Peter emerged from the shadows, May’s body cradled in his arms. She looked impossibly small and frail as her long grey hair shimmered in the lights. Peter didn’t even glance towards Tara to acknowledge her before he carried his sister’s body past the stairs and through the front door. They disappeared into the night.

  Tara’s mouth was dry. She backed away from the door then turned to search the lower level. Many of the doors were still locked, but Tara beat her fist on each of them and listened for a response before moving on. The farther she moved, the more she became convinced that Kyle was no longer inside the house.

  Where is he? What did May say earlier? ‘Kyle is already taking steps in the right direction’? She couldn’t mean—

  Tara ran back into the night, towards the paths wending into the forest. They were unrecognisable at night. She had to guess which one led to the lake.