That was it, she had to get out of here. Grabbing her car keys, she locked the doors and ran through the trees until she could lock herself inside the secure comfort of the Volvo.
Soon she was in Castleton and sat in a coffee shop. With the sound of conversation all around her and the sun shining through the windows all of a sudden, it all seemed so silly. Yet she had to talk to somebody, and so she rang Lynn.
It had been so good to talk to Lynn and to catch up, her friend's words kept ringing in her ears.
“Go to the police,” Lynn had said. “This may be nothing, but you do not know. Let someone come over and check things out for you. And don’t forget, if you need anything, call me.”
Emma was on her 3rd cup of coffee, feeling more and more jittery by the second. She knew that Lynn was right, it would not hurt to go to the police. Maybe they knew of someone who was playing tricks in the area. Maybe it was Mark. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to get things checked out. It would make her feel better. So she finished off the work she had to do, checked her emails once more and then googled the local police station. It was just a five-minute walk, so she decided to leave the car. Yet the closer she got to the station the more foolish she felt. What had she actually seen? Would they laugh at her?
Chapter 6
Emma could feel the sun on her back as she walked next to a gentle stream. It burbled and glittered and looked so normal and so serene that she wondered if she was going mad. Had any of this happened?
It did not matter, Lynn was right, and she would report it and then see what happened. Maybe some teenager had broken into the house, moved the cat and then knocked on the door to scare her... maybe.
As she walked along a robin hopped onto the pavement in front of her. Its red breast was resplendent, and it cocked its head and gave her a cheeky look. For a moment she laughed. If only life was so simple as to be begging for scraps in the sunshine. The bird jumped at her laughter and then flew away as if it realized she was a lost cause.
Emma pulled her eyes from the stream and looked around. The stone houses were set close to the road, and in places, the path was very narrow. There was not much traffic, it was only March and the tourist season had not really started yet. So the village had a lazy feel, and she began to relax. Passing a shop offering cream teas, she decided to try one next time. Maybe she could persuade Janet to join her? Next was a shop selling souvenirs and then a hiking store. Emma decided that maybe she should get some boots, and why not a dog? The idea was a good one. A dog would keep her company and get her out of the house, maybe she would go to the pound, if there was one locally.
Suddenly, she thought of the creepy black cat. How had it moved into the kitchen? Someone had to be playing a prank.
The police station was an old building with big double doors that seemed to weigh a ton. Pushing through she saw a small room with a counter. A man in a slate gray suit was stood with his back to her.
“May I help you,” he asked as he turned around.
He was tall, with short and tousled rich brown hair. Blue eyes seemed to glow above dimpled cheeks and a nice smile.
Emma felt suddenly confused. “I was after a policeman,” she said and instantly blushed. What a stupid thing to say!
“At your service, ma’am, Detective Inspector Brent Markham.” He bowed and smiled even more.
Emma felt heat hit her cheeks and she wanted to turn and run. It was not an attraction that made her cheeks glow, but anger. How dare this man think he could charm her? Perhaps something in her expression warned him of her feelings for his smile slipped off his face and he pointed towards the door.
“Come this way, and we can talk.”
Emma followed him along a narrow and scuff-marked corridor to a small room. There were a few seats, a sofa, and a drinks machine. It smelt of stale coffee and cleaning fluid but looked clean if a little tatty.
“Take a seat,” he said. “Let me get you a coffee.”
Emma wanted to say no but thought that maybe it would be better if she had something to hold. As long as she didn’t throw it at him.
Brent placed two cups on the table and took out a notepad. “Now Miss, tell me what the problem is.”
Emma suddenly felt relaxed, and so she told him. About the strange feelings, that something had touched her leg, the screams she had heard, the knocks on the door, the smell of smoke and the moving cat. Once she had finished it all sounded so small, so inconsequential, and so stupid. She really was losing it and yet he just nodded.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” he asked.
There was something about his tone that made her want to talk. Maybe it was his training for she would never trust a man, not again. Yet she told him about Mark. How he had broken her collarbone and arm. How he had beaten her until she was unconscious and put her in the hospital. How he had tried to find her and swore that if he did she would pay. “He couldn’t have found me… could he?”
Brent looked up from his notes, and there was only warmth and understanding in his eyes. “I don’t think so, but I will have him checked out.”
Emma felt her heart jump in her chest. “Don’t do that, he will trace me here.”
“No, he won’t. No one will know where the inquiry comes from.” Brent smiled, but it was no longer flirtatious, just reassuring and calm. “Don’t worry, we have dealt with this sort of situation before. The call goes to a central station, and they pass information on to his local force. They will check on him and report back via the chain. There is no way he can trace you. Now, I will come back with you. Check over the house and surrounding area and see if I can spot if anyone has been playing pranks. Why don’t I drive you back to your car?”
Emma wanted to refuse. Surely, this was not the case for a detective inspector? Yet somehow she could not refuse for no one else would believe her.
The journey back to her car was difficult for Emma. Sitting so close to another man brought back all her old fears. Brent seemed to realize this, he didn’t speak much, kept his eyes on the road and just let her be. It was relaxing, and she appreciated the gesture.
Soon he was following her down the tight twisty roads and eventually she turned onto the lane that led down to Brynlee House. It seemed to rear out of the trees, and the moment she set eyes on the place, she felt a deep disquiet.
“This is my house, Detective Inspector Markham. What do we do now?” For a second she thought she saw amusement in his blue eyes, but he kept his face neutral and nodded towards the door.
“Let’s go inside and have a look around. You can show me what happened.”
Emma nodded and led the way beneath the trees, along the path, and into the house. The first thing she did was take him to the kitchen. The cat was nowhere to be seen! “There!” she pointed at the work surface. “The cat was there. I swear it to you.” Emma gulped down some air. She could feel panic growing inside of her. Maybe it was being all alone in the house with a big strong man. Maybe it was the fear that she was going mad. Maybe it was just worry that everything was too much for her and that she would never escape her past.
“I believe you,” he said. “Let’s have a look round.”
Emma shivered as a cold draft seemed to envelope her. She turned towards the wall expecting to see the stain growing there. There was nothing. Ignoring the feeling she led him back to the hallway. Then into the little lounge. There on the sofa, as if it had never moved, was the stuffed cat. She felt her breath catch in her throat. Had she just imagined it all? A shaky hand pointed towards the sofa. This time she was sure that Brent had to stifle a laugh, he didn’t believe her.
Brent moved towards the cat, and Emma felt a sudden fear. What if it attacked him? Then she realized what a stupid thing she was thinking. She must have imagined it. After all, the cat had really freaked her out. Maybe it was just a shadow on the counter, and she had seen what she wanted to see.
Brent reached out a hand and stroked the black fur. “It really does look real,” h
e said as he turned to face her.
It appeared to move beneath his fingers, Brent jumped back with a yelp. Emma didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. A chill went through her, and the room seemed so cold. As she breathed her breath misted before her. The cat jumped from the sofa, brushing her leg as it disappeared from the room.
Emma could hardly move. The feeling on her leg, where the cat brushed past. That was the exact sensation she had felt before. Could the damned cat have been alive all along? It didn’t make sense. The house had been empty for several weeks. Surely the cat would have died. Yet there it was, it had run away. How could she be so stupid?
“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” Brent said with a big smile on his face.
“I don’t understand.” Emma was pointing at the sofa feeling rather silly just stood there as she tried to comprehend what happened. “It wasn’t real. I swear to you it wasn’t real.” As she spoke her breath misted before her, and she noticed Brent looking at it. His right eyebrow rose, but he never said a word. Instead, he pointed to the door and led her back into the hallway.
Emma noticed it was warmer here. Suddenly, she was desperate for a drink, and she walked into the kitchen. In the fridge was the remains of the bottle of wine but it was too early for that and even if it wasn’t, she was drinking too much. “You must think I’m just crazy.”
“This house definitely has a vibe,” Brent said. “I’m a detective, so let’s detect, let’s see what’s going on. Apart from the moving cat you heard voices and said there were cold spots. It was definitely strange in that room, I saw your breath. Why don’t you put the kettle on while I go back in there and see what I can find?”
Emma nodded. Maybe he didn’t believe her but at least he wasn’t laughing, and it felt good to not be alone. While Emma made some coffees, Brent left the room. She could hear him walking about, knocking on walls, moving pictures, looking at books on the bookshelf. What did he expect to find? Emma had no idea, but maybe a new perspective on things would help.
Soon she had two steaming mugs of coffee, and she placed them on the table. Her back was to the window of the door. She was facing the wall that sometimes changed color, facing where the draft came from. The sound of laughter, child’s laughter came from behind that wall, and the air was filled with smoke. Emma froze. She had to know what it was, had to find out who was doing this and she tried to call Brent, but the words would not come. There was a lump in her throat, a tightness there, and she could not speak.
As she tried to swallow, the laughter changed to a scream, and the temperature in the room dropped at least 10°. Emma felt her teeth chatter, and she began to shiver and yet she could not move. The scream grew louder and then softer, she was almost in tears as Brent ran into the room.
“I heard it,” he said. “I heard it too.”
Emma was staring at the wall, for that was where she had heard the noise. “Maybe somebody is trapped… or outside… maybe this is just a recording... a prank.” She was fighting back the tears and trying to remain calm. Someone had heard it, she was not going mad... this was real.
Brent looked a little shaken, his face was paler, but it still held a smile. Then he turned away from the wall and looked towards the door. Unlocking the door, he pulled it open. The draft came in through the dilapidated old porch. Brent began to laugh.
Emma turned angry. What was he laughing at? Then she heard the noise again, it sounded different now without the door muffling it. There were trees and bushes growing close to the porch. The bare branches poked out towards the glass. Skeletal fingers were scratching against the window. As they shook in the wind, the noise rose and fell in time with the branches.
How could she have been so stupid?
Heat hit her cheeks, and she knew she was blushing. “I am so sorry to have wasted your time,” she said. Though she had an explanation for the noises she had heard, still she felt uneasy.
Brent opened the door from the porch to the outside. As he did, the black cat ran past him and into the house. It was fast, just a streak of fur, just a black shadow. Brent turned and gave her a smile, as he did, an almighty bang sounded behind him. Brent let go of the door and jumped around.
Again he laughed, only this time it was a mighty peel, and it sounded genuine. Emma peered around to see behind him. A sturdy tree grew this side and when the wind really blew it thumped into the side of the house.
“You must think I’m hysterical?” she said as she stumbled to the table and sat down.
“No, I don’t,” Brent said as he joined her in the seat opposite. “We have found explanations for some of the things, and I think maybe you were just a little scared. That is understandable, and there is nothing to be ashamed of. I’m not working this weekend, why don’t I come over and cut down some of those branches, and you can let me know about anything else that happened.”
This time he was smiling broader, more confident and she felt more heat warm her cheeks.
“Would you really do that for me?” she asked
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Emma was filled with relief. He would come back, and she would be safe, then another fear surfaced. The fear of trusting. The fear of being under the control of a man. “This is not a date,” she blurted out and felt her voice shake. “I want you to understand I’m not… I’m just not ready.
Chapter 7
The moment Brent left, the house felt empty and oppressive again. Emma grabbed herself a glass of wine and went into the small living room. The cat was curled up on the sofa. Once again it looked stuffed. Taking a gulp from her wine, she put the glass down and approached it. “So, kitty, are you alive?”
Emma almost laughed at the absurdity of her comment. The cat raised its head, opened its eyes, and stared at her. There was something creepy about its amber gaze, and she could not return it. She turned her back on the cat and set about preparing a fire. Soon it was burning nicely, and she picked up her laptop and sat down in the chair. There was still no Internet, and she did not feel like working, so she put on some music and closed her eyes.
As soon as her eyes were closed, the hairs on her arms stood up, her breath caught in her throat and her stomach dropped as her thoughts returned to the cat. Could it really have been alive all this time? She tried to think back, tried to imagine how it had felt, and she was sure it had been stuffed. The fur was soft but cold, and the body was hard and solid. It felt like… sawdust. Yet, when Brent touched it, it moved. It ran from the house and then it ran back in. Yet, if it was alive what had it eaten? Then she saw the absurdity of the whole situation. It was a cat, it probably had its own entrance and exit into the house. No doubt it spent the night hunting and didn’t need her to feed it. Only now, if it was going to live here, she would feed it. The last thing she wanted to do was wake up to find a mouse on her bed.
The nagging feeling that something was wrong was eating at the back of her mind. Only she didn’t want to hear it, not now, she just wanted a normal night, time to relax. So she pushed the sensation of touching the cat to the back of her mind. Maybe it was old, and that was the reason it didn’t move too much.
Emma decided to make herself some toast, she got up and went into the kitchen. The cat followed, and as it passed, she felt a cold draft against her legs. Shaking off the feeling she grabbed some bread and set about making the toast. The cat jumped onto the work surface. Emma gasped and jumped backward. Instinctively her hand moved out to bat it away. She touched its body and almost gagged. It was as if she was touching a sawdust-stuffed bag coated in cat hair.
What was happening to her?
The cat meowed and jumped back up onto the surface. Emma was not going to touch it again. The last thing she wanted to do was feel that solid, inanimate body. So instead, she reached into the cupboard and pulled out a can of tuna. Soon the fish was piled into a dish, and she placed it on the floor. The cat gave her a look of pure disdain and then hopped off the surface. It strutted across to the dish, its tail he
ld high like a flag. Emma watched as it sniffed the food and licked its lips. It turned to face her and gave her such a look of regret, of sadness… before walking out of the kitchen.
“I guess you don’t like fish,” Emma said.
Outside, the branches scratched on the window. They no longer sounded exactly like laughter or screams, but if she closed her eyes, they were so close. Now they no longer terrified her but still set her nerves on edge. The toast was done, so she scraped on some jam and went back to sit beside the fire. The cat was curled up in its normal place, and the room was cold. She stoked up the fire and sat down to eat her toast and finish her glass of wine.
Closing her eyes, she tried to think through everything that had happened. The more she thought about it, the more she knew it must be her nerves. What other rational explanation was there? Soon she had drifted off to sleep, and she woke to the feeling of something touching her leg. Instinctively she jerked away, but there was nothing there. Eyes wide, heart pounding, she sat up and searched the room. It was dark now, and there was just a faint glow from the fire. It didn’t chase away the shadows or show her the corners of the room and yet she could plainly see the cat sat on the sofa. It was watching her.
Could that be what touched her leg?
She reached down and rubbed where the feeling had been, pulling her hand up she could see cat hairs, and she almost laughed. Maybe she was just tired, it was time to go to bed.
Emma was dismayed that the cat followed her up the stairs. It wanted to come into the bedroom, but she would not let it, and firmly closed the door in its face. As she got into her night clothes, she could hear it meowing. Ignoring the plaintive cries, she jumped into bed, pulled the covers up over her ears and turned off the light.
The Haunting of Brynlee House: Based on a Real Haunted House Page 4