The Ghost of Longthorn Manor and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  So I can't forget that particular night, or any of the nights like it, no matter how hard I try. They come to me in nightmares. And even if I put them out of my mind for the longest time, eventually the memories break back through and I see that awful sight from above.

  Jennifer's screaming face, as she's ravaged on her bed in the part of me where she should be safest.

  Five

  Now Kelly is in that same bedroom, fast asleep. Her inflatable bed is next to the window, in the exact same spot where Jennifer's wooden bed once stood. Just sixty years apart.

  And the gray woman is standing right next to Kelly's bed, watching the child's sleeping face. After several hours of hiding, the gray woman has finally seen fit to approach the new family. She's getting braver.

  If I could speak, I would ask the gray woman why she's watching Kelly. In truth, I'd have spoken to her long ago and asked her why she's still here when all the other souls have left. Perhaps I'd even have been able to help her. I don't know how, I can't even begin to imagine what I might have said or done, but I could at least have tried. Instead, all I can do is watch as she in turn watches Kelly.

  And finally, a little after midnight, the little girl's eyes flicker open in the dark bedroom, staring straight up at the ceiling.

  I wait, watching as Kelly blinks a couple of times. She seems completely unaware of the ghostly figure standing next to her bed, although after a moment she props herself up on her elbows and starts looking around at the darkness of the room. It's almost as if the little girl has sensed something, as if maybe deep down she realizes that there's some extra presence in the room. She doesn't look directly at the gray woman, of course, and finally her eyes settle on the door, which has been left ajar so that a crack of the landing light can reach into the room.

  She waits.

  She looks nervous.

  “Mommy?” she calls out finally, after several minutes have passed.

  Silence.

  The gray woman is still looking down at her.

  “Mommy?” Kelly calls out again, just a little louder than before.

  Again, silence.

  Kelly hesitates, before suddenly settling back down on the bed. She rolls over, turning her back to the gray woman, but she keeps her eyes open as she stares at the wall. I think she's trying to go back to sleep, and she stays in position for a few minutes before rolling onto her back and turning to look once more across the room. Again, she doesn't look directly at the gray woman, but this time her attention seems focused on the area close to the bed. Perhaps, deep down, she's becoming a little more aware of the unseen presence.

  Finally, Kelly sits up on the bed again, and then she pauses as if she's listening to the silence of the house. The gray woman is right next to her, only inches away, still unseen.

  “Hello?” Kelly whispers suddenly.

  Silence.

  “Is...”

  The girl's voice trails off for a moment. Her eyes, sleepy just a few seconds ago, are now wide open and unblinking.

  “Is anyone there?” she asks cautiously, keeping her voice low.

  The gray woman doesn't respond, instead preferring to simply stare down at the top of the child's head.

  “Is someone in my room?” Kelly continues, and now her voice is trembling just a little as she turns and looks almost directly at the gray woman. Is she getting closer to actually seeing her? “Is there anybody here?”

  Kelly waits, and then she slowly swings her legs over the side of the bed and sets her feet against the cold, bare floorboards. Standing, she stays next to the bed for a moment, standing right next to the gray woman, and then she grabs the stuffed bear from next to her pillow. Holding the bear in her right hand, she starts walking cautiously toward the crack of light that's coming through the door.

  The gray woman lets out a faint hiss.

  Kelly freezes.

  Did she hear?

  After a moment, the girl turns and looks around the room, but now the gray woman simply watches in silence.

  Finally Kelly heads over the door, which she pulls open a little more before leaning out into the well-lit landing. She looks both ways, before her eyes settle on the stairs. She seems unaware of the gray woman, slowly stepping up behind her, edging ever closer.

  Suddenly the gray woman steps on one of the loose boards, causing a creaking sound.

  Kelly immediately spins around and looks back across the darkened bedroom, but she still seems unable to actually see the woman. Apparently the figure is visible only to me.

  “Is somebody in my room?” she asks defiantly. “Mommy? Daddy? Are...”

  Her voice trails off.

  She waits, still unable to see the figure that is standing right next to her.

  A moment later, she turns and heads out to the landing, and then she shuffles toward the door that leads into the master bedroom. Pushing the door gently open, she peers through to see her parents sleeping soundly on their double inflatable mattress.

  “Mommy? I can't sleep.”

  She waits, but nobody wakes.

  “Mommy, I can't sleep!”

  Behind her, the gray woman is stepping out of the other bedroom, into the light of the landing. Her dead eyes are fixed firmly on the back of the child's head, and slowly she starts walking after her. As she does so, I can feel the air around her getting so much colder.

  “Mommy?” Kelly continues, her voice sounding just a little more desperate now. “I can't -”

  Suddenly she turns and looks over her shoulder. For a moment, I wonder whether Kelly has seen the gray woman, but I soon realize that the little girl's fearful eyes are simply darting all around, as if she merely expects to see someone. Still clutching the bear, she seems frozen for a moment, and her mouth is hanging slightly open, but finally she turns again and looks back into her parents' room.

  And the gray woman steps even closer.

  “Mommy?” Kelly says a little louder than before, as the gray woman stops right behind her. “Mommy, can I come in with you and Daddy?”

  She waits, so patiently and politely, but still nobody answers. It's so clear that she wants to run into the room and climb into the bed with her parents, but she seems convinced that she has to wait for permission. I want to tell her to go and do it anyway, but her bare little toes still won't cross the threshold.

  “Mommy?” she hisses, as the gray woman reaches a hand out toward her shoulder. “Can I come in with you? I don't like my room.”

  If I could do anything, I would do it now. I'd push Kelly into the room, or I'd force the gray woman back, but instead I can only watch as that ghostly hand edges closer to the child's shoulder, and as the woman opens her mouth to let out a low, guttural growl.

  “Mommy!”

  Suddenly Kelly runs into the dark bedroom, just before the gray woman's hand touched her shoulder.

  “Mommy, I can't sleep!” the child shouts, stopping at the foot of the bed. “I don't like my room!”

  Finally, Patty sits up dazed on the bed and looks toward her. Evidently she can't see the silhouette of the gray woman standing in the doorway.

  “Kelly?” she stammers, rubbing her eyes. “What's wrong, honey? Can't you sleep? It's just a new house, that's all. You'll get used to it. Go back to bed.”

  Kelly says nothing, simply sobbing as she stands at the foot of the bed.

  “Let me help you back to your room,” Patty mutters, getting to her feet and shuffling over to take her hand. “I'll show you that there's no -”

  Stopping suddenly, she crouches in front of her daughter.

  “Oh honey,” she continues, sounding a little concerned now, “did it happen again? Do you need new pajamas?”

  Kelly nods, and at the same time she's starting to cry.

  “Do you need new sheets in your bed too?”

  Kelly shakes her head.

  Behind her, the gray woman steps into the dark bedroom.

  “Okay,” Patty continues, standing again and taking Kelly by the
hand, before leading her past the gray woman and back along the landing. “Mommy's going to fix everything.”

  “Will you sleep in my bed with me tonight?” Kelly whimpers.

  “Of course I will. It'll be a tight squeeze, but we'll manage somehow. We have to clean you up first, though. Just stop worrying. Everything'll be alright.”

  “I'm sorry I messed.”

  “It's okay,” Patty continues, turning on the bathroom light and leading her inside, before pushing the door shut.

  Left in the bedroom, the gray woman makes no move to follow Patty and Kelly. Instead, she steps closer to the bed, and then she stops to look down at Brian as he sleeps. The ghostly figure must be Jennifer, I am sure of that. But why would poor, dear Jennifer Marsh want to harm this family?

  Six

  There's something in the basement, isn't there?

  Something I've forgotten.

  Seven

  Another nightmare. I remember how the sound of Jennifer's constant sobbing used to fill the house whenever her father was out.

  There was a day, not long before the end, when Jennifer was all alone and I saw the first stirring of true resolve in her eyes. She spent the entire morning performing her chores, washing her father's clothes and mopping all the floors. Doing, in other words, exactly what he expected of her. She was a good girl in that regard, and she seemed able to separate her duties from her hatred of her father. No matter how cruelly he treated her, she would always be up early the next morning to make sure that her chores got done.

  She remained a good girl, right to the end.

  Well, almost to the end.

  And that was morning was no exception, of course, except for what happened once she was done. With her father away from the house, Jennifer finally ended up sitting for almost an hour on the stairs, sobbing with her hands over her face. I remember looking down at her and wanting so desperately to reach out, to comfort her and to tell her that she was not alone. I could not do so, but I would like to think that in some way she sensed my presence, and that perhaps I even contributed to the strength she must have possessed.

  She could not have done what she did next, not if she lacked strength.

  “You'll be fine,” I wanted to say. “You can leave.”

  Would those words have helped? It's impossible to say, and there's no point speculating. After all, I cannot speak to the people who live in my rooms. We are so close, yet divided by a wall of silence.

  Once she finally got up from the stairs, Jennifer went back to the kitchen and made dinner for her father. She left a pot bubbling on the stove, all ready for him to eat upon his return. I remember noticing that she had started a little early, but I supposed that she was simply making something that would take a long time to be ready. That, at least, was correct. It was what happened next that really surprised me, however, because Jennifer went up to the bathroom and filled the tub with water, and then she took her father's newest razor blade from the cabinet and set it next to the faucets.

  I remember wondering what she was up to.

  One thing that people often hide from one another is the silent moments. When they're around one another, people seem to have this compulsion to talk, or to at least look like they're doing something. When they're alone, however, they are often more willing to just sit, or stand, and do nothing at all. I remember how, on that awful day, Jennifer sat on the edge of the bath and did absolutely nothing for a couple of hours. I'm sure her mind was racing, even though her face appeared calm, but she just sat staring into space. Not crying. Not doing anything. Just staring.

  And then finally, as if some inner switch had been flicked, she suddenly climbed into the water, fully clothed, and lay back in the bath.

  And then she took the blade and held it to her wrist, although she did not cut immediately.

  No, she waited. I think she was trying to summon the strength from somewhere, and perhaps to be absolutely sure that she was doing the right thing. I wanted to scream at her to stop, to tell her she could open the front door and run far away, but all I could do was watch her eyes and hope that she might decide to carry on. I spent maybe two hours searching her expression for some flicker of hope, but I think during that time I saw her eyes become colder and narrower, as if she saw nothing in her future but death.

  The whole process, of drawing a bath and then getting into the water, must have taken four or five hours in total. Perhaps she was constantly thinking of changing her mind. Perhaps she wasn't even sure that she'd go through with her plan.

  And then, after a couple of hours of silent contemplation, another of those quiet inner switches seemed to get flicked. She suddenly sliced the razor along her arm from the wrist to the elbow, before letting out a long sigh and letting her bleeding arm sink into the water.

  “Forgive me,” she gasped, leaning her head back. “Forgive me, please forgive me. I know it's a sin, but please don't hate me, please take me into your kingdom. Lord, I know I'm weak, but I... I...”

  Her voice trailed off.

  She stared up at the ceiling, and I stared down at her, and I almost let myself believe that at that moment she was aware of me.

  That would have been the end of it, but by the cruelest stroke of fate her father returned to the house just minutes later. I can only imagine that he saved her with mere seconds to spare, although in truth she was not really spared at all. Her father tore her clothes away, shouting her name over and over. He called for help, and eventually some men came running from the next house along. So much blood had already spread out across the floor, soaking into the old boards. And still Jennifer stared up at the ceiling, as if she was waiting for her life to ebb away as her father and two other men worked to save her. One of those two men, it turned out, just so happened to be a doctor.

  But as her arm was patched up, and as she stared at the ceiling, Jennifer's eyes changed forever. Her pupils became smaller, and would remain that way for the rest of her life. And I believe, though I am not certain, that her once blue eyes became much cooler and lighter, like ice.

  And today, so many decades later, there is still blood soaked into those wooden floorboards. It might not be visible to anyone, because it's too deep. But I feel it.

  More and more, I'm starting to think that these nightmares might be something else. I think they might be a reminder of things that I have forgotten.

  Eight

  “Just keep bringing stuff inside!” Patty calls out on the new family's first morning in the house, as she continues to fiddle with the pipes that connect the washing machine to the wall. “Brian? I'll be up soon! I just really have to get this working as soon as possible!”

  While the rest of her family helps the delivery men with the newly-arrived furniture, Patty attaches the last of the pipes and then plugs the machine's power cord into one of the wall sockets. Then she taps at a few buttons on the front, and the machine comes to life.

  “Bingo,” she says with a faint smile. “I told him I'd manage.”

  She sits back for a moment.

  “Oh, you can't plug the machines in,” she adds, affecting a jokey voice. “You keep busy in the kitchen, Patty. I'll do all the hard work.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Idiot.”

  I don't think she likes her husband very much.

  Once she's double-checked the machines, she heads over to the basket, where Kelly's soiled pajamas have been waiting since last night. After tossing them into the machine, she starts adding various powders, while humming to herself. Voices can be heard calling to one another upstairs in the main part of the house, but down in the basement Patty is getting on with things. She seems very calm and level-headed, as if she prefers to just work through jobs rather than fussing. Unfortunately, she also seems rather oblivious of the true nature of the space around her, and she has apparently not noticed the gray woman watching her from the corner of the basement.

  There's a crack on the basement floor. Running across the concrete. I can f
eel a kind of tension coming up from below, forcing the crack wider. I wish I could remember what had caused the crack.

  Patty is still quietly singing to herself. She's finished loading the machine and it's now rumbling as it starts the wash, but still she doesn't go back up the steps to join the others. Instead, she sets some pots on the large bookcase at the far end of the basement, and then she crouches down to start attaching some pipes that connect a dryer to the wall. And all the while, she's being watched by the gray woman.

  I don't like the basement. There's something here. Something I've forgotten.

  “Mommy, are you down there?” Kelly calls out suddenly from the top of the wooden staircase. “Mommy, are you coming up?”

  “Just give me a few minutes, honey!” she replies. “Ask Daddy if he needs any help!”

  “But you're coming soon, aren't you?”

  “Real soon. I'm just plugging some of the machines in!”

  “Isn't that Daddy's job?”

  “Daddy's busy in the kitchen! Some of this stuff can't wait!”

  A moment later, the little girl starts coming down the wooden stairs, and I feel a sudden rush of panic. I want to cry out to her and tell her to stay up in the main part of the house, but of course I can't cry out to anyone. I have no mouth. Still, I hate the idea of her coming down to the basement, although I don't know why.

  “Don't come down here, honey,” Patty says to her, thankfully. “It's a bit of a mess.”

  Kelly stops, halfway down the stairs, holding her toy bear in her right hand.

  “Daddy's busy,” she complains.

  “You're bored, huh?”

  The child nods.

  “I'm sorry,” Patty continues, “but there's really nothing down here. Trust me, the basement is the most boring room in the whole house.”

  “Why's there a crack on the floor?”

  “Huh?”

  Patty looks around for a moment, and then she spots the crack. Maybe she hadn't noticed it before.