by Amy Cross
“Rachel, there's no -” I paused for a moment. “Wait, on the lawn? I thought you said she died in the house?”
“She died out there,” she continued, looking toward the window, “and I don't think it was suicide. Everyone says she killed herself, but I know that's not true. He killed her out there, and now she can't get into the house. Her baby is in here somewhere, that monster killed it and hid its body, and then he killed Georgette but he made sure she was trapped outside! He knew certain tricks that could be used, he had books in his library about the occult and the supernatural. Don't you understand? Even in death, he wouldn't let Georgette be with her child!”
“Rachel -”
“And I promised I'd reunite them,” she added. “I promised I'd do it, but everyone said I was crazy. I was only eleven years old at the time, no-one listened to me, not even after...” She sniffed back more tears, while wiping her nose on her sleeve. “When they took me away, I swore that one day I'd come back and give Georgette what she wanted! I swore I'd put things right!”
I sighed.
“It's true!” she hissed, her eyes wild with anger now. “Every word of it!”
“We're not here looking for documents, are we?” I asked.
She paused, before shaking her head.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn't want to come alone,” she replied, before glancing over her shoulder and looking across the gloomy kitchen. “I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have tricked you, but the thought of coming here all by myself...”
Her voice trailed off for a moment.
“I really, really think we should leave,” I told her again.
She shook her head.
“We've been here less than twenty-four hours,” I continued, “and already you're -”
“The baby's in here somewhere!” she said firmly. “Its body is hidden in this house, and all we have to do is find it! That's all! It's simple, please, if we can just do it for Georgette...”
I shook my head.
“Then she can rest in peace!” she added. “James, she just needs to be reunited with her child! You can understand that, can't you? Her soul has been trapped outside, lost, unable to get inside and find the child for herself! She scratches at the windows, night after night and -”
“Bullshit!” I replied, before I could stop myself. Glancing at the nearest window, I thought back to the scratches I'd seen earlier, but I quickly dismissed the idea. “It's all bullshit,” I muttered. “All of it.”
“I've seen her out there,” she continued. “There are scratches all over the -”
“I've seen the scratches,” I snapped, “but they weren't put there by a goddamn ghost!”
“Then what -”
“A bird or something,” I continued, “or...” Pausing, I eyed her with a hint of suspicion. “Or someone who wanted to make other people believe that a ghost was out there. Someone who has so much invested in all of this, they'll do anything to make it real.”
“You think I made the scratches?” she asked, as more tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You dressed up the other night to freak me out.”
She frowned. “I did what?”
“And the sobbing.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sighing, I realized she wasn't ready to confess just yet.
“Come on, Rachel,” I continued, feeling as if I was on the verge of losing my temper, “I know what you've been doing! You think you can trick me into believing all this stuff, but it's just childish crap! The ghost of Georgette Shapley is not haunting the corridors of this house, making little banging noises every so often!”
“The only ghost in this house is Edward Shapley,” she replied. “Georgette's uncle is still here, I saw him too when I was...” She paused, her eyes wide with fear. “I saw him when I was here as a little girl,” she continued. “Only once, but...”
Her voice trailed off, as if she was lost in a memory.
“You said you saw someone in the house,” she whispered finally, with tears in her eyes. “It must have been him.”
I shook my head.
“It must have been!”
“And the sobbing?” I asked.
She opened her mouth to reply, but I could see that I'd caught her out.
“That was you, wasn't it?” I continued.
“James, I just wanted to freak you out...” She sighed, with tears running down her face. “Okay, I admit it, the sobbing was a mistake, I shouldn't have done it, but I thought if I just opened your mind a little, you'd start to notice other things. I thought you just needed a little push.”
“And the figure I saw?”
She paused.
“Just admit it,” I continued. “It was you, wasn't it?”
“I was doing it for your own good,” she replied. “I was doing it to open your mind to the possibilities. I see now that it was dumb, but I really thought it'd be good for you.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, turning and walking over to the window. For a moment, I truly felt as if I was ready to rip into Rachel, to tell her how dumb she sounded. After a couple of seconds, however, I realized I couldn't quite be that mean. Bullshit or not, she was clearly emotionally invested in this bizarre, cliched set of claims, so finally I turned and saw her still sitting at the counter, waiting for me to say something, with teary, sore eyes. At that moment, all I cared about was getting her the hell away from Shapley Hall and saving her from herself. “We need to leave,” I told her. “Right now.”
“Do you hate me?” she asked.
“We need to leave!” I shouted. “Now!”
She shook her head.
“Why not?” I asked. “Because you need to rip the place apart and find the bones of a little kid?”
“If Georgette and her son -”
“They're long dead,” I pointed out, interrupting her. “If they even existed in the first place, they've been dead for a long, long time. The story you told me was tragic, Rachel, but even if it's true -”
“It is.”
“Even if it is, there's nothing you can do about it now. It's time to shut the door on this place and head back to London, and stop playing games.”
Again, she shook her head.
“Rachel -”
“You can go if you want,” she said firmly. “I'll be fine here. Just leave me.”
“I can't do that.”
“You can,” she continued. “If you don't believe in ghosts, then there's absolutely no reason to worry about me.”
“And leave you here,” I continued, “in the middle of some kinda melodramatic... episode?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice still trembling with fear. “If that's what it takes, then so be it. I won't blame you and I won't hate you. I'll understand completely. I'm sorry about the sobbing thing, truly, but the rest is real.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but all I could see at that moment was a scared, slightly crazy girl sitting on a stool with abject fear in her eyes. Stepping over to her, I realized there was no way in hell I could just abandon her in this house, even after she'd lied to me and tried to fool me. Even by that early stage in our relationship, I cared too much to turn and walk away.
“I've waited twelve years to come back and help Georgette's spirit,” she stammered. “I'd have come sooner, but I couldn't. Now I'm finally here, and I swear to God, I will find that little boy, or little girl, whatever it was. Even Georgette probably didn't know whether she had a son or a daughter, the bastard probably didn't let her hold her own child. So I'll find the bones and then I'll reunite the child with Georgette outside the house, and then they can both be in peace. And maybe you don't believe any of that, maybe you can't believe it, but you haven't seen Georgette for yourself. I have.”
I paused for a moment, before putting my arms around her and holding her tight. I could feel her shivering, and I'd begun to realize that there was no way I could talk her out of this delusion. Part of me wanted to abandon her there
and then, but another part of me knew I had to wait for her.
“If you're leaving,” she continued, “you should get going before four, so you get back to London at a decent hour.”
For a moment, I was tempted. I hated the fact that she'd lied and tricked to trick me.
Still sniffing, she looked down at her trembling hands.
“I'm not leaving,” I said finally, even though I hated the idea of spending another second in the house. I looked across the kitchen for a moment, still trying to think of something I could say that might make Rachel see sense. “Let's just -”
Suddenly I spotted a flash of movement, something dark walking past the door at the far end of the room. I looked over, but the doorway was still and empty again. My heart briefly started pounding, but I quickly told myself that there'd just been a trick of the light. The very last thing I needed at that moment was to add any more fuel to Rachel's craziness.
I still believed, deep down, that ghosts weren't real.
“When I was here as a little girl,” Rachel said finally, her voice trembling with fear, “I tried to...” She sniffed back more tears. “I tried to trap Edward Shapley out of the house, the same way he'd trapped Georgette out. I know it sounds dumb, but I read something in one of the books in the library, so I... Eventually I managed to trap his spirit in the basement, or at least I think I did. That's why it's important that you shut the door after you came up. You did shut it, didn't you?”
I paused for a moment, still watching the door where I'd seen something a moment ago. Or rather, where I'd imagined I'd seen something.
“Sure,” I told her, lying again. “The basement is exactly how you left it.”
“I know you think this is all baloney,” she continued, “but to me it's... I really think I can do something positive for Georgette, and I've been waiting twelve years for the chance to come back to this house and finish what I started. Maybe there are ghosts here, or maybe the only ghost is my eleven-year-old self still lost in a fantasy, but either way I have to get some kind of closure. That makes sense, doesn't it? Or do you think I'm completely insane?”
“I'll help you,” I said after a moment, stepping back and looking into Rachel's teary eyes. “How's that for a deal? I'll help you look for this kid and do whatever you need, in order to put this whole thing behind you.”
She smiled, while wiping away more tears. “Thank you.”
“But no more lies.”
“No more lies.”
“And no more tricks.”
“I promise.”
“And if we get to tomorrow evening and we still haven't found anything...”
“We'll have found the child by then.”
“But if we haven't...”
“Then we'll leave,” she said, almost as if she was starting to be reasonable. “If we don't find the baby's body, then I'll just have to accept that I was wrong.”
I glanced at the open doorway for a moment, half expecting another trick of the light, but there was nothing.
“And thank you,” Rachel said suddenly, putting her arms around me and holding me tight. “Thank you for not thinking I'm crazy.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I never said I don't think you're crazy.”
Chapter Twelve
After Rachel had gone back through to resume her work, I told her I had something to do before I could join her. I made sure she was nowhere around, and then I hurried down to the basement and shut the door that I'd earlier left open. I felt a little foolish, but at the same time I didn't want Rachel to come down and find that I'd lied to her.
It took a moment to get the damaged door back into its frame, but finally I stepped back and listened to the sound of beetles scuttling on the walls and ceiling and floor all around. I double-checked the door, just to be absolutely certain that it was shut again, and then I headed back upstairs.
Chapter Thirteen
“Rachel?” I called out, wandering through to the old banquet hall. “Are you in here?”
Stopping, I listened out for some hint of a reply, but there was nothing. Just the beetles.
“Is this another game?” I shouted. “Rachel, I thought we agreed you wouldn't do that anymore?”
I waited.
Silence.
“If this is another stupid game,” I muttered, heading through to the next room, “I swear -”
Stopping suddenly, I realize I could hear a faint scratching sound from over by the window. I paused, telling myself that the sound was just caused by more beetles, but slowly I began to realize that it was different somehow. A moment later, I spotted a hint of movement outside.
Making my way over, I saw that Rachel was out there, furiously scratching at the frame.
***
“Busy?” I asked as I walked around the side of the house and finally joined her.
Standing on an upturned plastic crate, Rachel was still working on the frame, using her fingernails to chip away at the edges of the glass panels. She was frowning, as if the task was consuming her.
“I thought we talked about this,” I continued, waiting for her to at least acknowledge my arrival. “Rachel, you promised you wouldn't do stuff like this anymore. No more games, no more tricks, no more weird-ass behavior.”
I waited, but finally I realized she was muttering something under her breath.
“Rachel?”
Stepping closer, I tried to hear what she was saying.
“Let me in,” she whispered. “He's mine. I won't let you keep him from me.”
“Are you okay up there?” I asked.
“I'll find him,” she continued, still ignoring me. “As God is my witness, I will hold him in my arms before I rest.”
“Right,” I said with a sigh, “so now you're possessed by the spirit of Georgette Shapley, huh? Is that what this is about?”
I waited.
“Let me in,” she hissed, still digging her nails into the frame. “Let me -”
Suddenly she let out a gasp, and I saw a broken nail slipping away as a patch of blood dribbled from her damaged fingertip.
“Jesus,” I muttered, stepping closer, “Rachel, you're going to hurt yourself.”
She turned to me, her eyes wide with shock, almost as if she hadn't realized I was nearby.
“Don't you think you're taking this too far?” I asked, watching as a bead of blood ran down her finger from the spot where her nail had been torn away. A splinter of wood was embedded in the fleshy pink nail-bed, although Rachel seemed not to have noticed. “Please, if I'm going to help you look for this supposed dead baby, then the least you can do in return is cut out all the ghost crap.”
I waited for a reply.
“Please?” I added.
She stared at me for a moment, before looking back at the window-frame as if she still wasn't quite sure what had happened.
“I'm sorry,” she muttered finally, stepping down from the crate. Staring at her finger, she watched the blood for a moment before wiping pulling the splinter out.
“So this is the last time you'll pull a stunt while we're here, yeah?” I asked. “Do you promise?”
She paused, but finally she nodded.
“What exactly were you trying to achieve, anyway? Were you hoping you could convince me that you'd been possessed by the ghost of your dead ancestor?”
She paused. “I...”
“It doesn't matter,” I added. “Come on, let's just get back inside and carry on with the search. That's what matters to you, isn't it?”
She nodded, still seeming a little vacant.
“Rachel,” I sighed, “please, can we -”
“I'm sorry,” she stammered suddenly, wiping her bloodied finger against her jeans. “Really, I didn't mean to freak you out, I don't know why I even came out to...” She took a deep breath, as if she was trying to mentally reset herself, and then finally she forced a smile. “I was just joking, that's all. I guess I thought it'd be funny, but...”
She glanced up at t
he window for a moment, and then she turned back to me.
“I was being dumb. Forgive me?”
“Of course, but -”
“Let's get inside,” she added, grabbing my hand and leading me back around to the other side of the house. She seemed in a hurry now, almost panicking. “We don't have time to mess around out here.”
“You're the one who -”
“Just forget about it,” she muttered, damn near pulling me along as we reached the steps. She grabbed my arm, as if she was worried I might loiter, and then she shoved me inside before stopping for a moment and looking back out at the lawn. She hesitated, then finally she swung the door shut and took a step back.
“No more games?” I asked.
She turned to me. “Absolutely not. No more games.”
“Because the games annoy me,” I added.
She nodded.
“And they're completely unnecessary,” I continued, stepping closer to her and putting my hands on her waist. “How about we head up to the bedroom for a while?” I asked, kissing her forehead. “There's one thing we still haven't done since we got here. How many rooms did you say there were again?”
When she failed to answer, I began to move my right hand up to the front of her shirt, cupping her breast.
“How about it?” I whispered, kissing her again. “I bet it's been a while since anyone made some real noise in this house.”
She paused, before stepping back. “Not right now.”
“But I thought -”
“I'm not in the mood,” she added. “I've got a headache, and I just... Can we get back to work? This is really important to me, James, and I don't want to waste time.”
Sighing, I realized that yet again I wasn't going to have any luck. When we'd first met, a little over a month earlier, she'd been like a sex machine, constantly demanding more and more. Since arriving at Shapley Hall, however, she'd seemed completely disinterested, almost as if she'd simply used sex as a means to hook me and get me to the house.
“Fine,” I muttered, “but -”
“I'll meet you through there,” she said, turning and heading across the hallway as she began to examine her damaged finger. “I need to go to the bathroom for a moment. This really stings.”