The Haunting of Highdown Hall

by Shani Struthers

  “I promise I won’t be a nuisance or anything. I’ll just observe. I could, I don’t know, hold a crystal or something. Please, I’m really interested.”

  Please? It was nice he had added that at least. Tired as well as lightheaded, she sensed he’d be difficult to turn down. And, in a way, she was flattered. No one had ever asked her if they could come along as politely as that. And she might even get a website out of it.

  “Okay,” she said at last. “Not tomorrow though, Wednesday. I’m going to visit a large house up country a bit, near Framfield. It’s presided over by the movie star who used to live there, apparently. One of my team has already surveyed it; I’m going along to get a ‘feel’ for the case myself before deciding on a course of action. You can come with me if you like.”

  “It’s lucky that December’s a quiet month for me, I’ll rearrange my work so I can join you, I’d hate to miss out,” he answered, smiling at her – a rather spine tingling smile, she had to admit.

  After giving him the address of her office and telling him to meet her there at nine sharp on Wednesday morning, she stood up, swaying she was sure as she bent to collect her coat. Forcing herself to get a grip, she squeezed round the side of the table furthest from him, saying goodbye as she did so.

  “See you Wednesday!” he called after her, his rich, deep voice sending shivers down her spine once more.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, as she twisted her long brown hair into a neat chignon and pulled some tendrils down to frame her face on either side, Ruby could not believe what she had done. She blamed that third rum and coke entirely for clouding her judgement, for making her think it was okay to allow a non-psychic, an almost complete stranger, to accompany her on a survey – and one that might draw public attention too. But Cash had been persuasive, she’d give him that, dangling the carrot of a website in front of her nose. He certainly knew how to tempt a girl.

  Slicking mascara onto her already long enough lashes, she wondered what harm it could do, him tagging along. None really, she supposed, it was a survey, nothing more. He’d get an insight into what she did and hopefully she’d get something more concrete from him.

  And she had to admit, Cash was nice – very nice. It had been a long time since she’d met someone as nice, a member of the opposite sex that is. Aside from a few awkward moments at the start, they had got on well. She couldn’t deny it; it felt good to think she’d be seeing him again. But she hoped he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about her. As attractive as he was, she wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend. The last serious relationship she’d had, a couple of years ago, hadn’t ended too well. Although she always tried to keep her professional and personal lives separate, sometimes they overlapped; she couldn’t help it, particularly if she had to deal with an emotionally traumatised spirit. Cases like these not only drained her, they upset her too. Although initially they had got on well, Adam had always found her job hard to come to terms with and certainly never wanted to deal with any fallout from it. He had preferred to ignore it, brush it under the carpet, and would get annoyed with her if she even so much as hinted to any of his friends what she did. She’d always suspected that he was embarrassed by her, though Adam had never admitted it. After a while, she’d grown tired of his attitude – she had nothing to be embarrassed of – and they’d spilt up. It was easier to be alone.

  Applying lipstick, a plum shade, only slightly darker than her natural lip colour, Ruby checked her appearance before heading, once again, to Brookbridge. Dressed in boots, smart jeans and a fitted v-necked sage green jumper that leant warmth to her skin tone and hazel eyes, she decided she looked just the right side of ‘smart’ – not office-type ‘smart’ but casual ‘smart’ – a look carefully cultivated over the years to put her clients at ease. She was sure most of them expected some raging ‘New Age’ hippie to turn up, complete with flowing skirts and tie-dye bandana. She could see the relief in their eyes when she arrived and they saw that she was not some nut job after all; that she was, in fact, just like them.

  Grabbing her navy three-quarter length coat off the hook beside her and shrugging it on, she left her ground floor flat, the lower half of a Victorian house in De Montfort Road, set one street back from the main thoroughfare through town. Almost immediately outside was parked her dark blue Ford Focus. Not a glamorous car, by any stretch of the imagination, but a reliable one and, more importantly, cheap to fix when it broke down, which to its credit and her relief, it hardly ever did.

  Brookbridge was thirty minutes from Lewes: a pleasant drive, down a succession of country roads, some narrower than others, flanked either side with green fields and trees, many of them bare, having shed their leaves as autumn deepened into winter. Passing through the tiny village of Cromer, which had given the old asylum its name, Ruby turned left onto another country road, a road that eventually led to Heathfield if she continued along it. Instead, she turned off at the estate, bypassing a billboard which proudly informed anyone interested that highly desirable houses were still available to buy, with 2, 3, 4 or 5 bedrooms to choose from. Highly desirable? It was not how she’d describe them, and not just because of their former residents. The estate looked hastily thrown up, profit being the obvious motive. Windows and doors in cheap white plastic – no character whatsoever, just a series of bland boxes built side by side. What’s more, old asylum buildings still lay dotted around the estate’s fringes. They were boarded up now, except for the odd gap where local kids had torn down the chipboard panels looking for cheap thrills – and no doubt sometimes getting more than they’d bargained for. And there were usually billboards outside these buildings too – this time advertising the site’s development potential. Future work at least, mused Ruby, and it wasn’t the developers she was thinking of. Beside the estate lay extensive woodland, part of what was known as the ancient Forest of Anderida during the Roman occupation of Britain. Cool and leafy, Ruby had been for a walk there once but the atmosphere was oppressive; nothing to do with the Romans, more the pain of the asylum inmates reaching far and wide.

  Turning into Rowan Drive and noting some of the residents had already placed heavily decorated Christmas trees strategically in their windows, Ruby parked neatly in front of No.13. She was standing on the pavement, admiring No.15’s Christmas tree, the lights switched on despite it being daytime, a warm red and green glow reaching tantalisingly outwards, when a woman with dyed-blonde hair scraped mercilessly back into a ponytail came rushing at her, shouting, “At last! At last!”

  Grabbing hold of Ruby’s arm, the woman, her client Ruby presumed, practically dragged her up the garden path and into her house.

  Shivering dramatically as she closed the door, Sarah Atkins spoke hurriedly.

  “I don’t know what’s in this house, but I hate being alone here. Not that I ever am – alone that is – he watches me, everywhere I go. In the shower or when I’m getting undressed, that’s when I sense him the strongest, the bloody pervert. I used to love horror movies I did, the scarier the better. You know them Hellraiser films, Saw, that sort of thing. He’s put me right off them!”

  Ruby could tell as soon as she entered the house that there was no spiritual presence whatsoever and she was surprised. On this estate, calls to Psychic Surveys were normally well founded. So many of the people incarcerated at the Cromer Asylum had ended their pitiful lives on this ground and, on passing, had found themselves trapped between two planes: unable to believe that only love waited for them from hereon in, they were still reeling from the pain and terror that dominated their former existence. In dealing with them, she, Theo or Ness would often call upon spirit guides to come forth, to encourage them home – the battle-scarred, as she often thought of Cromer’s former inmates, limping onwards, bloodied and bowed by the horrors and confusion of mental illness and the surprising many who had chosen to abuse rather than help them. The atmosphere at No.13, however, was unusually light and unencumbered.

  “So, what or who do you thin
k it is?” Mrs Atkins continued. “A former inmate or something? A schizo, perhaps? A mass murderer?”

  Blimey, thought Ruby, she really has watched too many horror films.

  Finishing the tea that had been offered to her, Ruby said, “I really can’t say Mrs Atkins, at least not right now. I need to do a walk-through first, if that’s okay, examine every room in the house, see if I can sense something.”

  “Oh, you’ll be able to sense it alright,” Mrs Atkins declared, “he’s relentless!”

  It didn’t take long to do the walk-through, Mrs Atkins’s house was one of the smaller ones on the estate; two bedrooms only, the second bedroom a guest room, plainly furnished, so no evidence of children either. Walking into the main bedroom next, Ruby winced. Not so plainly furnished, it resembled a tart’s boudoir: three walls painted deep red, plus a wallpapered feature wall; its flocked monochrome pattern a somewhat stark contrast. A pair of black fluffy handcuffs had been left brazenly on the dressing table alongside a packet of condoms – the ribbed variety, for extra sensation apparently. As Mrs Atkins shivered downstairs, Ruby shivered upstairs at the thought of the antics that went on in here.

  Returning to the kitchen, Ruby calmly met Mrs Atkins’s almost gleeful eyes. “I can sense no presence in your home at all, Mrs Atkins. You are not being haunted.”

  “Rubbish!” the woman screeched, as though she’d been expecting Ruby to say such a thing all along. “I feel him everywhere, I’m telling you. Do it again.”

  Normally, Ruby would do everything she could to appease a client: burn sage sticks in every room, recommend the use of crystals and the regular burning of candles or oils – eucalyptus, pine, lavender, all meant to cleanse and purify. Windows too, she would tell them, open them regularly; let the stale air out and fresh air in, keep the energy in the house moving. But she didn’t like Mrs Atkins’s attitude, it was no better than those who had failed the emotionally disturbed all those years ago.

  “Mrs Atkins, there is no need to do it again. I have carefully surveyed every room and there is no spiritual presence in any of them. I’m sorry to say I think your imagination might be the culprit here – perhaps from viewing one too many horror films? If you’re not happy with my assessment, I apologise, but there are plenty of other psychics you can call on for a second opinion. In my opinion, however, all is clear. As for today, I won’t charge, call it a goodwill gesture.”

  “Charge? Of course you won’t charge,” Mrs Atkins seemed to be unravelling before her, “you haven’t bloody done anything!”

  “The reason I haven’t done anything,” Ruby countered, edging her way towards the door and freedom, “is because there’s nothing to be done. Something to be grateful for, I should think.”

  Mrs Atkins quickly followed after her, her voice shrill in Ruby’s ear. “But other houses on the estate, they have ghosts. Why haven’t I?”

  Ruby faltered at her words. It was never the dead that bothered her, always the living.

  “Goodbye, Mrs Atkins,” she sighed, before getting the heck out of there.

  ***

  “Hi, Ness,” said Ruby, pulling up outside the house of the ghost dog in Heathfield.

  “Hi, Ruby. Bad morning at Brookbridge?”

  “You could say that, but nothing to do with the dead.”

  “Oh, a wannabe.” Ness was immediately sympathetic.

  “Yep, a wannabe,” confirmed Ruby, also using the nickname she and her team had for those who ‘wannabe’ haunted. “Anyway, next up. Let’s go and see if we can send ‘Rover’ to join his friends at the Rainbow Bridge.”

  Knocking on the front door, solid oak this time she was glad to note, it was a couple of minutes before it opened rather hesitantly.

  “Psychic Surveys?” said the occupier, another young woman, but this one looked embarrassed rather than manic – a slight improvement.

  After confirming their identity, Ruby and Ness were ushered in; following Miss Mills to the kitchen, they were offered more tea. Depending on how many houses she visited in a day, Ruby sometimes felt awash with the stuff, unable to face any more once the working day was over. After explaining the procedure and asking a few questions, Ruby and Ness drained their mugs and made their way upstairs to the landing.

  “This is it,” said Miss Mills, lingering behind them, “where the noise comes from.”

  “Have you ever seen him?” asked Ruby, wondering about the dog’s energy levels.

  “No, of course not,” blushed the woman before beating a hasty retreat downstairs.

  Ruby turned to face Ness. She could definitely feel a presence – a wagging tail, a wet nose, a creature that sensed her right back. Initially worried it may have been a Rottweiler or a pit bull, she was relieved to sense a Labrador instead, a usually more amenable dog.

  To test if she was right, she murmured, “Black?”

  “Aha,” nodded Ness.

  “Labrador?”

  “That’s what I’m seeing.”

  “Male?”

  “Male.”

  “Hey boy,” whispered Ruby, closing her eyes and tuning in, “stop barking at me and listen up instead.”

  The dog immediately hushed, although its tail continued to wag expectantly.

  Surprised by his obedience, Ruby continued. “You’ve been a good dog, I can tell; a cherished family pet. But the family you were a part of, they don’t live here anymore. A new family live here and they’re not exactly appreciating your efforts.”

  Sensing confusion, she kept talking. “Yes, I know that seems strange. But it’s their house now, the new family, and their wishes count. You’re a great guard dog, one of the best, but you don’t have to guard anymore. You can rest awhile, in the light. You’ll love it there. Listen, Jed is it, is that your name?” Ruby looked at Ness who nodded that she thought it was too. “Listen, Jed, the light that’s shining, go towards it. That’s home now.”

  “His tail’s stopped wagging,” Ness pointed out.

  “I know, I think we’re getting through to him,” Ruby replied, somewhat amazed.

  “He’s turning to go,” continued Ness, “he’s walking away from us. He’s still not wagging his tail though.”

  “He will, once he’s in the light.”

  “He’s looking back, he’s unsure.”

  “Go on, boy,” Ruby encouraged, “it’s okay, there’s nothing to worry about. Walk on.”

  After a few moments, Ness said, “He’s gone.”

  “Good,” said Ruby, hoping Jed was indeed furiously wagging his tail again and that he’d be amply rewarded on the other side for his gentle and loyal nature.

  They rejoined Miss Mills in the kitchen and told her what had transpired.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Miss Mills exclaimed. “I can’t bear dogs, dead or alive.”

  After handing them a cheque, Ruby and Ness were promptly shown the door. Clearly Miss Mills wasn’t overly fond of mediums either.

  Walking to Ruby’s Ford, which was parked next to the older woman’s equally insalubrious Vauxhall, Ness said, “Our first encounter with an animal, huh? Went well, didn’t it?”

  “It did indeed,” said Ruby, as pleased as Ness was, “surprisingly well.”

  “Are you off to meet Theo now?”

  “Yes, in Hove. And then that should be it until Highdown Hall tomorrow.”

  “Oh yes, I’ll be interested to see what you make of Highdown.”

  “What we’ll all make of Highdown soon enough.”

  After saying goodbye, Ruby drove on to her next appointment. The journey, via Lewes, then past Brighton and on into Hove, was trouble-free, the roads clear, but still she felt uncomfortable, unable to shake off the feeling that she wasn’t travelling alone. She knew it was possible for spirits to attach themselves to humans but such an occurrence was rare – normally they preferred to attach themselves to places rather than people. Rare, but not impossible – hence the need to visualise yourself wrapped in a blanket of white light before a cleansing, a prote
ctive shield to ward against such things happening, psychic armour almost. Ruby and her team never failed to do so; they had done so today, what had gone wrong?

  Confused, Ruby chanced a surreptitious glance at the seat beside her; she then looked into the rear view mirror but could see nothing, no outline, no manifestation enjoying a scenic ride, just empty space. Or was it the illusion of empty space?

  Driving past the Greyhound Stadium, past the traffic lights at the intersection of Old Shoreham Road and into Sackville Road, Hayes on the corner selling an abundance of Christmas trees, glorious even in their pre-adorned state, Ruby continued under the railway bridge before taking a right into a popular residential area known as Poets Corner – a series of streets named after Shelley, Wordsworth, Livingstone and their ilk.

  Pulling up behind Theo’s rather more stylish Fiat 500, pearlised white with Italian side stripes even though Theo claimed not a drop of Mediterranean blood, she felt the sensation of something wet brushing her hand. Surprised, she looked down and there he was, only just visible – Jed, the black Labrador, looking up at her eagerly with love, adoration and, yes, she was sure of it, unswerving loyalty in those soft canine eyes of his.

  “Oh, Jed,” she said as his manifestation faded, “what am I supposed to do with you?”

  Chapter Four

  Jed had in fact come in very useful during the cleansing of the house in Hove. As in life, so in death; children respond well to animals and this particular child had been no exception, playing enthusiastically with his new-found friend. Jed dutifully rolling over, allowing his tummy to be tickled, jumping back up again, nuzzling the boy, licking his face profusely. The spirit child had laughed and laughed – a wonderful sound. But, as heart-warming as it was to hear, Ruby had reminded herself that this was not a happy child they were dealing with, far from it. He was sad, lost; he wanted his mother, a mother he couldn’t have again, not in this world anyway. A mother who, according to the new owners, had moved away shortly after his death from meningitis, unable to bear these four walls without her living child there with her. The owners had been quick to point out that the boy hadn’t died at the house, but at the local hospital. It didn’t matter though, if spirits returned, they tended towards places significant to them, places they were happy in during life, places where they felt they belonged.