The Ghost of Longthorn Manor and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  “I guess maybe she's on the level after all.”

  “She'll be back,” he mutters. “She's just trying to be smart about it. Mark my words, a woman like that will have some kind of endgame in mind. Some way to get you to pay her.”

  “I think she might have been genuine.”

  “Balderdash!” he roars. “Perhaps she simply experienced a sudden moment of clarity, and she realized that she was preying on the fears of a vulnerable woman.”

  “I'm not that fragile,” I tell him, checking my watch. “I'm sorry, John, but I really think I need to get some sleep. Today has been kind of exhausting.”

  Glancing at the window, I see that there's a light in John's bedroom. A moment later, I spot a shape pass briefly into view, and I can't help smiling. I like knowing that John is so close, and I guess I've come to depend on him a little. His no-nonsense approach to life can be useful whenever I'm panicking over bumps in the night or weird scratching sounds. I know Jacqui meant well, but she does tend to add a dose of melodrama to situations. John's the opposite. He calms things down.

  “I think I'm going to see a therapist,” I say suddenly, surprising myself.

  “Out of the question,” John replies.

  “I think it'd be good for me,” I continue. “A psychologist, or a psychiatrist, something like that. I think I need to see a professional, to go through my issues.”

  “You don't need any such thing,” he tells me. “Those people just make situations worse. What you need is time, Beth. Time to draw your own conclusions and make your own decisions. You can't rush these things.”

  “I've made my mind up,” I reply, feeling for the first time since the accident that I've come to the right decision. “I should have done it sooner. Everything that happened over the past week has made me see that now.”

  “Beth -”

  “It's settled,” I add, interrupting him. “I know you don't approve, but I have to do this. For my own peace of mind.”

  We discuss the matter for a little while longer, and John tries keenly to dissuade me from this course of action. He's very much opposed to the whole idea, but deep down I feel certain that it's the best option. For the first time, I don't let him change my mind, and I stick to my guns. Eventually he seems to grudgingly accept that I'm doing this, although I can tell that he's still not entirely happy. Once I've said goodnight to him, I climb into bed and read for a while, just to settle my mind. And then, finally, I turn the bedside light off and settle down to sleep. I listen to the silence of the house for a while, before slowly drifting off.

  I think maybe I can get better.

  ***

  Opening my eyes suddenly, I realize that I heard something.

  I turn over, looking across the dark bedroom and toward the hallway, half-expecting to hear Hannah crying out or sobbing again. Instead, there's nothing but the silence of the house, and for a moment I'm actually tempted to think that I imagined the whole thing. After a few seconds, however, I realize that there was definitely a faint bump that woke me from my dreams, and my heart is racing at the prospect that maybe Hannah is going to appear once again.

  I sit in silence for several minutes, but nothing happens.

  Maybe I was wrong after all.

  Once I'm certain that there doesn't seem to be any kind of disturbance, I roll over so I can go back to sleep. I quickly realize, however, that I'm thirsty, so I climb out of bed and make my way along the landing. When I get to the door that leads into Hannah's room, I hesitate for a moment before turning to look at her bed. Again, I expect to see her sitting there, perhaps with a bloodied hand.

  But there's nothing.

  I look back along the corridor, but the house really seems calm and undisturbed tonight.

  Finally, I make my way downstairs and head through to the kitchen, where I leave the light off as I pour myself a glass of water. This night is actually starting to feel just a little normal, and I can't help wondering whether some combination of recent events might have inadvertently given me some kind of breakthrough. Between them, Louise and Jason forced me to confront a few of my greater fears, and I guess it's possible that a hidden switch deep in my subconscious mind has been flicked, allowing me to get past some of my long-standing fears.

  Setting the glass down, I turn to go back upstairs.

  And that's when I spot the figures on the lawn.

  Freezing, I stare out through the window, convinced that I must be mistaken. I wait for the shadows to change, or for a patch of moonlight to appear and show me that I'm wrong, but finally I realize that there really do appear to be two dark, silhouetted figures standing in the back garden. One of them is tall, around my height, and the other is clearly a little girl.

  It's them.

  It's David and Hannah.

  “No, please,” I whisper under my breath, still hoping that I'm wrong. The more I stare at the figures, however, the more certain I feel that it's really them.

  Finally, I make my way over to the patio door and look out, and now I can see the dark figures a little more clearly. From their silhouettes alone, I have no doubt at all.

  Suddenly the phone on the wall starts ringing. I hesitate for a moment, keeping my eyes fixed on the two figures, and then I head over to answer.

  “Hello?” I say cautiously, still watching the figures.

  “Mummy?” Hannah says on the other end of the line, her voice sounding slightly muffled. “Why can't we come inside anymore?”

  “We want to be inside,” David adds calmly. “You have to let us back in, Beth.”

  I take a couple of steps back, until I bump against the kitchen table.

  “Don't you love us anymore, Mummy?” Hannah asks. “Do you hate us?”

  “No!” I stammer, with tears in my eyes as I see the two figures still standing calmly on the lawn. “Why would you ask that? I love you, Hannah! I love you so much!”

  “Then let us come back into the house,” David says.

  “I never tried to make you leave!” I gasp. “Why are you out there? You can come in!”

  “We can't,” Hannah continues over the phone. “You put something there to stop us.”

  “I didn't, I swear!” I stammer, looking around the dark kitchen, trying to work out what she means. “Hannah, I'd never -”

  Suddenly I spot something glinting on the carpet. With the phone still pressed against one side of my face, I step forward and crouch down, and finally I realize that I've found the small crucifix that Jacqui tossed inside the other day. With all the madness that's been going on, I completely forgot about this thing. Now, as I hold it up to take a better look, I can't help wondering if this crucifix is the reason why Hannah and David can't get into the house. If that's the case, maybe it's also the reason why Louise couldn't sense anything here.

  “It's cold out here, Mummy,” Hannah whimpers over the phone. “I want to be in there with you!”

  “I know,” I whisper, still staring at the crucifix. “This wasn't my idea, it was -”

  “I'm scared!” she sobs. “Daddy's scared too! The longer we stay outside, the harder it is for us to be here at all. We might fade away, Mummy! We might fade away and never come back!”

  “No!” I gasp, getting to my feet and sliding the patio door open. Stepping out onto the top step, I feel cold night air blowing past me, but I quickly throw the crucifix as far as I can manage.

  Turning, I see that the two dark figures have disappeared.

  “Hannah?” I whisper into the phone. “Are -”

  Before I can finish, I realize that suddenly there's a dial tone. The call has been ended.

  I turn and look across the dark kitchen, but there's no sign of anyone. Still, feeling cautious, I set the phone back on its cradle before closing and locking the door. Did I just imagine the events of the past few minutes? I know there's a possibility that I might have let my thoughts run rampant, but at the same time it all felt very real. Looking back out at the garden, I stare at the spot where the tw
o figures were standing. Maybe I'm so desperate to believe that Hannah and David are here, my mind is turning against me and playing tricks.

  Just when I thought I was making progress, suddenly I seem to be slipping again.

  Grabbing the phone from the wall, I bring up John's number and wait for him to answer. The phone rings and rings, but he doesn't answer. Turning, I look out the window and see that all the lights are off in his house, so I cut the call and try Jacqui instead.

  “Hey,” she says, sounding sleepy as she picks up. “Do you have any idea what time it is? It's, like, three in the morning!”

  “I need to come over,” I tell her, trying to not sound too panicked or crazy. “I just need to get out of here for a few hours. Is that okay?”

  Five

  Although I spot a faint orange glow on the horizon as I get closer to Jacqui's street, I don't pay too much attention at first. After all, this is a pretty busy little town, even this late at night, and there could be plenty of things going on. By the time I take the left turn that brings me to within a few hundred feet of Jacqui's house, however, I've begun to realize that the glow seems very large and very close, and a moment later I spot several fire and police trucks up ahead.

  “What the hell?” I whisper, bringing my car to a halt at the side of the road.

  Climbing out of the car, I make my way past various neighborhood residents who have come out of their houses to watch the horrific scene. Flames are roaring into the night air, and with each step closer I start to realize that it's Jacqui's house that's burning. I tell myself that I must be wrong, that there has to have been some kind of mistake, but finally I get to the edge of her neighbor's lawn and I see that flames are tearing through her roof.

  “I'm going to have to ask you to step back,” a police officer says, coming over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “Please, you -”

  “Where is she?” I stammer.

  “M'am, please -”

  “Where's Jacqui?”

  Slipping past him, I step over a set of thick hoses as I make my way closer to the house. After a moment, however, two more police officers block my way.

  “You can't be here,” one of them tells me. “It's not safe. Please, get back behind the cordon.”

  “We're taking the body in now,” another voice says nearby, and I turn to see that two paramedics are carrying a covered stretcher toward a waiting ambulance.

  “Where is she?” I ask, trying not to panic as I look around.

  A moment later, I hear a commotion over my shoulder. Turning, I see that the sheet has somehow slipped off the stretcher, revealing a burned and charred corpse with its dead hands raised slightly and its mouth wide open. I push past the police officers, telling myself once again that this has to be a mistake. Just as the paramedics put the sheet back over the stretcher, however, I see enough of the corpse's face to realize without a doubt that it's Jacqui.

  “No,” I whisper, “this is -”

  Suddenly there's a huge crashing sound. I turn and watch in horror as the roof of her house collapses, bringing the rest of the place down and sending another rush of flames high into the night sky.

  “The fire started in the bedroom,” a police officer is telling one of his colleagues nearby. “I'll bet you any money we find it was caused by a cigarette.”

  “Jacqui,” I stammer, taking a step back as I start to feel a crushing sense of fear in my chest. Tears are welling in my eyes, and for a moment it's as if the whole world is pushing in on me from all sides. “Please, no...”

  ***

  “Come on, pick up!” I hiss, with tears streaming down my face as I park in my driveway. I wait, listening to the dial tone, but John still isn't answering his phone and the lights are still off in his house.

  Where the hell is he?

  It must be five or six hours since I last heard from him.

  Climbing out of the car, I bring his number up and try him again, convinced that at some point he has to realize that I'm trying to get in touch. I stop for a moment, listening in case I hear his phone ringing inside his house, but there's only silence. This time, once the line goes dead, I stick my phone into my pocket and hurry across John's garden until I reach his back door, and then I pound on the glass.

  “John!” I yell, choking back tears. “It's me! Please, I need you!”

  I try to call out to him again, but this time the tears are too much and I break down completely. My legs are trembling, so I slide down until I'm sitting on his dark step. In my mind's eye, all I can see is that brief glimpse of Jacqui's body on the stretcher, and the silhouette of her burned face against the police cars' flashing lights. Her mouth was open, as if she died screaming, but I refuse to believe that she'd be careless enough to fall asleep with a lit cigarette. Jacqui was many things, but she wasn't the kind of person who'd make such a simple and deadly mistake.

  “John, please,” I whimper, knocking again on his door. “Where are you?”

  Finally realizing that he's definitely not home, I manage to haul myself to my feet and stumble back toward my own house. I feel numb, completely in shock, and when I try to unlock my own door I find that my hands are trembling. It takes several tries before I'm even able to get the key into the lock, and I mutter a few curses under my breath as my useless hands struggle to get the door open. Once I'm finally inside, I push the door shut, and then I freeze as I realize that I can just about make out a very faint, very distant orange smudge on the horizon. The fire at Jacqui's house must still be raging.

  Pausing for a moment, I suddenly realize that the house is completely silent.

  I turn and look across the pitch-black kitchen, but there's no sign of movement. Still, I've learned over the past few months that a certain kind of silence is nothing more than the prelude to a bump, or to a creak, or to a distant whisper. Right now, I feel sure that I'll hear something soon, so I remain right by the back door, waiting for a sound. When there's nothing, even after several minutes, I step past the kitchen table and through to the dark hallway, and then I resume my wait at the foot of the stairs.

  Finally, after ten minutes or maybe even more, I start to accept that I might be wrong.

  Maybe, at least for tonight, I'm going to be left alone.

  “Are you mad at us, Mummy?”

  Startled, I turn and see two figures silhouetted in the doorway that leads back into the kitchen. Even without being able to see their features, I can tell that it's Hannah and David.

  A moment later, Hannah steps forward, allowing me to see her face in a patch of moonlight that's coming through the window.

  “Why didn't you come and see me?” she continues. “Why did you leave me all alone after the accident?”

  “I let you in,” I stammer. “I threw the crucifix out. That's what you wanted, isn't it?”

  “I'm not talking about that, Mummy. Not now. Now I'm talking about the night of the accident.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but I'm trembling too hard. Stepping back, I bump against the front door.

  “I was on a metal slab,” she continues, as David steps closer behind her. Their faces are clear and undamaged, and they look exactly how they looked when I last saw them alive on that awful day, although they're both shimmering slightly. “It was so cold,” she continues. “A man cut down my chest and cracked my ribs open. I felt it all. He took parts of me out, and he weighed them, and then he put them back. I felt the cold pan as he weighed my heart. Then he used a drill to cut the top off my head, and then he -”

  “I couldn't come!” I blurt out, filled with panic. “Your face... They said your face and your body were too badly damaged in the crash, they said I couldn't identify you. They used other methods.”

  “You still could have come to see me,” she replies.

  “I was waiting too,” David says. “Didn't you give a damn about us, Beth?”

  “Don't say that,” I whimper, backing into the front room. Terrified, I wait for them to reappear, but they don't follow. A
moment later, however, I hear a faint bump over my shoulder, and I turn to see that Hannah and David are now over on the far side of the room, lit by another patch of moonlight.

  “Didn't you want to see what had happened to us in the crash?” Hannah asks. “Is that it?”

  “Please,” I sob, “Hannah...”

  Suddenly one side of her face crumples inward, as if her skull has begun to collapse.

  “It was like this,” she continues, “and then -”

  Before she can finish, her head tilts violently to one side, and I hear a cracking sound as a section of bone bursts out through the flesh of her neck.

  “I tried so hard to stay alive until you came,” she tells me. “I was in so much pain, I could feel the darkness calling, but I forced myself to keep going. Finally a man reached into the car and checked my pulse, and that's when I realized you wouldn't be coming. That's when I realized you didn't care.”

  “No!” I shout. “Hannah, you -”

  “And then this happened,” she adds.

  The center of her face cracks open, obliterating her mouth and nose, leaving a brutal, bloodied hole where the tree branch impaled her during the crash. A moment later, her left arm and left leg spontaneously break in several places, causing her to stumble and almost fall. She tries to speak again, but her shattered jaw merely twitches as blood runs from what's left of her mouth.

  “No!” I scream, as I see that similar injuries are manifesting all over David's body. “Stop!”

  “Is this what you were scared to see, Beth?” he asks, stepping past Hannah. “Does the truth upset you?”

  “Please, stop,” I sob, backing away toward the hallway. “Please...”

  “It was so cold in the morgue,” he continues, reaching up and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “It's no fun undergoing an autopsy, Beth. Especially when you can feel every cut. Every incision. Every second that the bone-saw is grinding through your body.”

  Pulling the shirt open, he reveals a thick Y-shaped mark on his chest. He slips his fingertips through the loops of the black stitches and then he pulls, ripping the wound open and allowing the flaps of flesh to fall to the sides. I watch in horror as his liver slops out and falls to the floor.