The Body at Auercliff

by Amy Cross

  “I thought I spotted someone out there,” her voice says, echoing in my thoughts, “standing and watching us. It was the most frightful thing, I think it was a woman with no garments on her person.”

  “Foolish old woman,” I mutter, feeling rather angry that her careless words have had such an effect on me.

  Reaching the door, I look through into the dark library, but there is no sign of anything amiss. In fact, the room seems rather tame and I can't help smiling as I realize how easily I allowed myself to become startled. All it took was one silly old lady with failing eyesight, plus a few bumps in the middle of the night, and I almost came to believe in ghosts and ghoulies. So frail and delicate is the human mind, and so prone to flights of fancy.

  After taking one more look around the dark, empty library, I pull the door shut and turn to go back upstairs.

  Stopping suddenly, I feel my heart jolt in my chest as I find myself face-to-face with the dead, bloodied corpse of Matilda Granger.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Charles, wake up!” I shout, clambering onto the bed and immediately shaking my husband's shoulders. “Charles, she's back! Charles, she's downstairs!”

  Grumbling and groaning, he turns and looks at me, although it's clear that he is not yet fully awake.

  In the distance, Jonathan is crying louder than ever before.

  “She's back!” I stammer, climbing over Charles and then turning to look back at the bedroom door. “She's downstairs, near the library. Oh Charles, I saw her! She was staring straight at me!”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, sitting up. “Catherine, have you been possessed by some vile nightmare or -”

  “I saw Matilda!” I shout, even though I know my panic is causing Jonathan to keep bawling in his nursery. “She was standing right in front of me, and she was looking at me, and when I took a step back she came closer, and she reached her hand out and -”

  I freeze for a moment, replaying that horrific image over and over in my mind.

  “She almost touched me,” I stammer, with tears in my eyes. “She was nude, Charles, and I saw blood all over her belly, and she still had the wounds from where I...”

  My voice trails off for a moment, and I honestly feel as if my head is about to explode with sheer horror.

  “What are you on about?” Charles asks, grabbing my arms. “Catherine, you're delirious. I buried Matilda in the -” He pauses for a moment, before sighing. “I buried the body in the forest,” he continues, lowering his voice even though there's no-one around to hear. “I told you we must speak of it no more. You agreed!”

  “I must confess,” I whimper, with tears in my eyes. “God has sent her back to torment me, and I must go to the police and -”

  Suddenly Charles slaps me hard on the side of the face. Pulling away from him, I collapse weeping against the bed, although after a moment I turn and look over at the door again, terrified that at any moment Matilda will make another appearance. She's after me. She means to have her revenge.

  “I must confess,” I stammer again. “That's all there is for it. She will not leave me alone, not until I make my peace with the Lord.”

  “Catherine,” Charles replies, “you must get a grip. This is most unlike you.”

  “I must go to the village at once,” I continue, climbing off the bed, “and raise the alarm. Even if I must walk, there is no -”

  “You shall do no such thing!” he snaps, pulling me back onto the bed. For a moment he seems utterly flustered by my panic, but then finally he gets to his feet. “You will wait here while I go downstairs.”

  “Charles, please -”

  “You will wait here!” he shouts, as Jonathan continues to cry in the nursery. “You will do as you're told, Catherine. I don't know what kind of madness has gripped your soul, but I will not have you running around like this!” He takes a deep breath. “I shall go down and take a look around, to set your mind at ease, and then I shall come and deal with you appropriately. Is that clear?”

  “Please don't leave me up here alone,” I whimper, reaching out to grab his hands, only for him to step away. “Please, Charles, I can't bear it! What if she -”

  “You have no say in the matter,” he says firmly. “As God is my witness, Catherine, you will wait here until I come back.”

  He pauses for a moment, before turning and heading to the door.

  “Be careful!” I stammer. “She's down there, Charles! If you should pass her on the stairs, you mustn't let her come up here! I shall die of fright if I have to see her face again!”

  “I buried the girl,” he replies as he heads out into the corridor. “That was the end of the matter. Anything more is simply a product of your feeble mind.”

  Still sobbing, I listen to the sound of Charles heading downstairs. I know he thinks I have taken leave of my senses, but I know what I saw and I am quite certain it was real. I have never been prone to fits of delusion, and even Charles must realize that I have a strong, reliable soul that has never before caused me to panic in such a way. Even as I listen to him making his way from room to room downstairs, however, I can't help wondering whether the ghost of Matilda Granger is hiding from him, preferring only to be seen by my eyes. Either that, or...

  Or they are in league together.

  Feeling a sudden shiver in my bones, I realize that I only have my husband's word that he buried Matilda. In addition, I can't be absolutely certain that she was dead. Her unborn child cannot possibly have survived, but now it occurs to me that much of the shed blood might have come from the child, and Matilda herself might have come through relatively unscathed. In my mind's eye, I suddenly see Charles and the slut plotting together in the forest, and arranging for her to come back to Auercliff under cover of darkness. They might have decided to drive me mad, so that Charles would be able to end our marriage and take Matilda into his bed as his new wife.

  Frozen by a sense of shock and betrayal, I finally look over at the window and realize that there is only one way I can be certain.

  ***

  Stumbling through the dark forest with a shovel in my hands, I can't help glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, just in case Charles might be coming after me. There's no sign of him so far, but he must have realized by now that I've left the bedroom. If I'm lucky, he'll still be searching the rooms of the house.

  It takes only a few minutes for me to reach the clearing near the mausoleum, which is where Charles said he'd buried the corpse. Sure enough, I spot a section of disturbed soil in a patch of moonlight, so I quickly get to work digging, determined to discover whether I have been tricked.

  By now, of course, I feel certain that I have discovered the extent of their deception, but I must know for certain.

  “Foul liar,” I whisper, my voice trembling with fury. “Plotting against me...”

  My arms ache as I continue to dig, but pure anger drives me onward and I keep going long after most women would have collapsed. I know not how deep Charles would have buried a body, but as I dig further and further, I start to feel that my suspicions are being proved correct. Three feet down, four feet, then five, then six or even more...

  There is no body here.

  “He means to replace me!” I scream, slumping down against the ground as violent sobs break out through my body. I start stabbing the shovel into the soil, barely able to contain myself. “He lies and -”

  Suddenly the shovel's blade strikes something hard. Reaching down, I use my hands to scoop more soil out of the way, and finally I see glistening blood not only on the blade but also seeping out from beneath a black cloth bag. It's as if, while digging, I inadvertently cut straight through part of the corpse, although I still don't quite believe that I shall find Matilda down here. With trembling hands, I pull more soil aside and then I start ripping the cloth bag open, at which point I see the chest and neck of a dead woman. Charles mentioned having removed her clothes so they could be burned, but I keep tearing at the fabric, determined to -


  I stop and let out a gasp as soon as I see Matilda's face.

  It's her.

  Of that, there can be no doubt.

  Falling back against the muddy wall of the pit I have dug, I stare at the dead woman. Her eyes are closed and her mouth hangs open, but her features seem a little shrunken now, as if the flesh has begun to cling tighter to her skull. For a moment, I can do nothing but stare in utter horror at the sight of her corpse, while I desperately try to understand how I could have seen her a few minutes ago in the library.

  And then, slowly, I start to realize that her face is moving slightly.

  At first I tell myself I'm wrong, that once again I'm imagining things, but her lips are twitching and beginning to form a very faint smile. I tilt my head, so as to get a better view, and a moment later I see that it's not only her lips that are moving.

  Her eyelids are very slowly opening, and the eyes beneath are staring straight at me.

  “No!” I stammer, turning and trying to climb out of the pit, only to find that the walls crumble whenever I try to dig my fingers in for purchase. I try again and again, but each time I simply slip back down to the bottom.

  Forcing myself to look back over at the corpse, I see to my horror that her eyes are now fully open, and she appears to be slowly getting to her feet. I can hear the clicking of her bones as she pushes mud aside, and her gaze is fixed firmly upon me, as if she means to gain revenge for her death.

  “Charles!” I scream, trying once again to climb out. “Charles, help me! Charles, please, she's alive!”

  My hands cling to the mud as I attempt to haul myself out, but every time my fingers simply slip through the crumbling dirt. Finally, managing to locate a tattered root, I drag myself a little further up, but again I feel myself starting to fall.

  “Charles!” I shout. “Please -”

  Suddenly a hand reaches down, grabbing my wrist and pulling me in one swift move straight out of the grave. The force is so great, I feel almost as if my arm is to be torn from its socket.

  Collapsing against the ground, I turn breathlessly and see Charles towering above me, silhouetted against the distant house.

  “She's alive!” I stammer, looking back down into the grave. “That infernal woman is -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see that the body of Matilda Grander is now back in its resting position, barely visible through the hole in the cloth sack. The eyes are closed, the head is facing down, and there is no sign of the body having moved at all.

  “Catherine,” Charles says cautiously, “what madness is this? Can you not even leave the poor girl alone in her grave?”

  “She rose,” I whisper, taking a step back as I feel a wave of fear clawing at my chest. “Charles, she lives...”

  “You have lost your mind,” he mutters darkly, already starting to kick dirt back into the grave, covering the body. “Now I shall have to re-bury her.” He turns to me, and I see pure hatred in his eyes. “Is your guilt going to drive you to madness, woman? Is this how feeble your mind has become?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Jonathan is crying, but I dare not go to him.

  Instead, I remain by the window in the reception room, next to the piano, watching the dark lawn. It has been several hours now since I came back into the house. I insisted upon watching while Jonathan refilled the grave, but now he has retired to bed and I can tell he is furious with me. For my part, I cannot possibly go upstairs or even turn my gaze from the window for one second, lest that horrific corpse might walk back across the lawn and bedevil me once again.

  Finally, in the distance, I see a flickering light between the trees. My body tenses, convinced that some fresh wickedness is headed this way, but after a few minutes I realize that the light is rising slowly from the east, and that it is nothing cruel or monstrous at all.

  It is simply the sun rising after a hellish night. And as light returns to the world, my haggard reflection fades from the window and I am left watching the empty lawn, and everything suddenly seems perfect once more.

  ***

  “No, man, are you blind? It is still not straight!”

  Stopping in the hallway, having just returned from feeding Jonathan, I find that Charles is directing the activities of two local villagers who are busy hanging the new portraits. I can't imagine what possessed my husband to invite strangers into the house on this of all days, but I know he has been keen to get the portraits on the walls, so that they might take their place among his ancestors.

  “Mark it against its neighbors,” he sighs, clearly struggling to deal with workers who lack basic common sense. “If its neighbors are straight, then use those edges as a guide! I promise you, if I have to come up there myself and perform the task, I shall pay neither of you for your paltry efforts!”

  Stepping closer, I look up at the painting that shows my own face. There is something rather calming and reassuring about seeing oneself raised into position like this, as if one's place in the family is finally being confirmed. Perhaps Charles does not, after all, intend to have me driven out or otherwise replaced. After all, why would he go to all the trouble of commissioning and hanging a painting of me, if he intended to tear it down again? Then again, perhaps that is precisely how he intends me to think...

  “Do not bite your fingernails,” he mutters, glancing at me.

  Having not even realized I was doing such a thing, I look down at my hand and see that the nails are indeed bitten to the quick.

  “I'm sorry,” I whisper, edging a little closer and watching as the two workmen try to straighten my portrait. The painting of Charles is already in place, but evidently mine is proving a little more difficult, and the two oafs turn it first one way, then the other, then the first again, as they attempt to wriggle it into place.

  Honestly, the entire endeavor is rather distasteful.

  “I sent word to the village,” Charles explains, “that I would pay two men to come and perform a simple task. It had not occurred to me that I might receive the help of two idiots.”

  One of the villagers glances down at us, as if offended by those words, but he quickly gets back to work. At least the ruffian knows his place.

  “Last night,” I say after a moment, turning to Charles, “I am quite sure that Matilda opened her eyes and -”

  “Quiet!” he hisses, grabbing my arm. “Are you insane, woman?”

  I open my mouth to continue, before realizing that he worries about us being overheard. He is probably right, although when I look up at the two villagers again, I cannot help feeling that they already have some inkling of recent events at Auercliff. It is hard to believe that such horrors could have taken place here, but that everyone in the nearby village is at peace.

  “You!” I call out to the closest, less ogreish of the two men. “Is there gossip in the village?”

  He turns to me. “I beg your pardon, M'am?”

  “Is there gossip?” I ask, stepping over to the foot of the ladder and looking up at him. “Are people talking about Auercliff?”

  “Not...” He frowns. “Not as far as I know, M'am.”

  “Catherine, quiet!” Charles hisses. “You are making a spectacle of yourself.”

  “And what of Matilda?” I ask the workman. “Is there gossip about her?”

  “I have heard nothing, M'am,” he replies, although he seems a little uneasy. “Might I -”

  “You must forgive my wife,” Charles says firmly, placing a hand on my shoulder as if he means to lead me away. “She is under a great deal of stress at the moment, and she knows not what she asks. Please, get on with your work and have it completed as quickly as possible. We should like to be left in peace for the rest of the morning.”

  Stepping back, I watch as the workmen continue their struggle with my painting. For some reason, however, they seem to be having a great deal of trouble, and after a moment it occurs to me that they might be mocking my recent struggles.

  “Are they doing this on purpose?” I whisper.r />
  “I think perhaps you should retire to bed,” Charles says firmly. “Catherine, please -”

  “Are they hinting at something?” I ask, close to tears now as the infernal idiots continue their work. “Have they been told to act in such a loathsome and incompetent manner, to undermine my place at Auercliff?”

  “You are not of sound mind this morning, my dear,” Charles continues. “I am sure a rest would do you good.”

  “Are you in league with them?” I stammer, as the first tears trickle down my cheek. I allow Charles to lead me back toward the foot of the stairs, yet still I watch as my portrait is turned into some form of joke. “Is this a burden that is placed cruelly on my soul?”

  “The only burden,” Charles mutters, clearly angry, “is one that you place there yourself.”

  “And why must they make that awful scratching sound?” I ask. As the workers continue to struggle with the painting, the frame keeps rubbing against the wall, and I feel as if the resultant scratches are being carved into the interior of my skull. “Make them stop, Charles,” I whisper. “For the love of God, the point has been made, but make them stop.”

  “My dear, you must -”

  “Make them stop!” I hiss.

  “Catherine, you are becoming hysterical. You must come and -”

  “Stop!” I scream, pulling away from his and rushing back over toward the workmen. “Enough with this merciless mockery! Leave me alone!”

  The two men both turn to me at once, looking down with shock from high up on their ladders. At the same time, they loosen their grips on the painting and it begins to tip forward.

  Too stunned to move, I watch as the painting crashes down toward me, although Charles pulls me out of the way at the last moment. The frame shatters as it hits the floor, sending broken chunks of wood skating across the floor.

  “Idiots!” Charles shouts, pushing past me and lifting the painting. The frame is indeed ruined, although the canvas itself it unharmed. “Are you incapable of even the simplest of tasks?” he continues, as the two men climb down the ladders. “Now I shall have to go into town and have a new frame fitted!”