The Haunting of Ashburn House

by Darcy Coates

  The kettle finished boiling. She dropped two teabags into the pot, filled it with hot water, and lifted it slowly, aware that she held a small fortune in china in her shaking hands. She tried to take deep breaths as she followed the hallway back to the sitting room.

  The quiet murmur was audible from the hallway but fell silent when she bumped the door open with her hip. The ladies had arranged themselves around the lounge chairs, leaving the high-backed armchair for her, and all smiled as she entered. She felt as if she were stepping into some kind of Stepford social club.

  Adrienne directed all of her focus on not dropping anything as she placed the tray next to the scone basket and began arranging the teacups. “Sugar?” she asked and was answered by a chorus of “Yes, please” and “No, thank you.” She tried to remember who had answered what as she began pouring.

  “There’s no milk—sorry,” she said with a tight smile.

  The leader, Jayne, dismissed it with a wave of her manicured hand. “Black is fine. Thank you. Oh, I haven’t introduced my friends yet, have I?” She indicated to the shorter black-bob woman who sat next to her. “This is Beth. She works at the Cosmic Coffee Café. And”—she gave a nod towards the tall, thin-faced woman opposite—“Sarah, who works at the library. She’s been running a lot of fundraisers lately to help them purchase new books.” She nodded towards the pale, brown-fringed woman. “And Marion is studying to be a vet.”

  Jayne, Beth, Sarah, Marion. Adrienne tried to cement the names into her memory and not spill the tea at the same time. It was a mammoth task.

  Jayne leaned forward, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “It was Adrienne, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Or, uh, Addy. Most people call me Addy.”

  She held a teacup out for Jayne, and that was when their carefully orchestrated interaction fell apart. She wasn’t sure if it was her fault—she let go too early, perhaps, or her shaking hands making the cup difficult to grip—or whether Jayne herself fumbled the saucer, but the cup fell between their hands and crashed onto the coffee table.

  Tea and broken china exploded. Jayne jolted out of her chair and swore then turned an intense shade of red as she snatched the cloth off the basket and began dabbing at the spilt tea. “I’m sorry—I’m so, so sorry—”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” Adrienne tried to help clear the mess by picking up shards of the broken saucer and teacup and piling them onto the tray.

  “Oh crap, no, I broke it. I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for it—”

  Adrienne looked into Jayne’s pink face and saw embarrassed, shocked tears glittering in her eyes. And just like that, the perfectly cultured illusions sloughed away, and Adrienne was able to see the humans hiding underneath the women.

  None of them were perfect after all. Jayne’s lipstick was a shade too dark for what would have suited her and her skirt a little too tight so that the fabric bunched up. Beth’s hair looked as if it took at least an hour to straighten and style that morning, but the bob was a little messy and incomplete despite the effort she’d put into it. Marion’s laugh was anxious and tight. Sarah’s smile looked awkward when it stretched her long face. The flawless, superior exterior they’d presented on the porch was just that—an exterior.

  They weren’t all that different from her—teenagers who had found themselves classified as adults by virtue of too many birthdays and who were trying to fumble and bluff their way through the world without anyone realising how thoroughly underqualified they were.

  And they’d been trying really, really, really hard to make her like them.

  The relief was intense. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but Jayne was still spewing apologies punctuated with panicked swear words, so she took the towel out of the other woman’s hands as gently as she could. “It’s fine! It was my fault. Please don’t worry. Edith had a million of these things anyway.”

  Jayne was blinking the embarrassed tears back, but her face was still beet red. “Really, I’m so sorry. I can pay for it or get you a replacement—”

  “No, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll grab you a new cup. Just gimme a minute. No, don’t try to pick them up; they’ll cut you. Let me.”

  Jayne obediently sat back and gave her a cracked smile. “Thanks, Addy.”

  Friends, the voice in the back of her head sang as she scraped the broken china and soaked cloth onto the tray and carried it from the room. They could be friends.

  9

  Rumours and Tea

  When Adrienne entered the sitting room with a new cup and saucer, Jayne had regained her poise save for a pink tinge that lingered on her ears. She thanked Adrienne as she took the fresh cup of tea and then nodded towards a plate on the coffee table. “We made up some scones for you. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Thanks.” Adrienne took one and passed the plate to Beth on her other side. “You said Marion made the jam?”

  Marion, the fringe-haired vet student, nodded. “Yep, first batch of the season.”

  “Wow, it’s delicious.” Adrienne spoke around a mouthful of the warm scone. She wasn’t exaggerating; the jam was sugary and tart and tasted amazing.

  Marion’s whole face lit up with pride. “Ha, thanks! It’s my nan’s recipe.”

  The atmosphere was miles away from what it had been when they’d first sat down. The disaster with the teacup had broken the awkward formality of first introductions; she was no longer afraid of them, and they were no longer afraid of her. Adrienne found herself relaxing as she took another bite. “I really appreciate this, actually. Edith didn’t leave much food in the house, and I haven’t had a chance to go to town.”

  “Did you know her well?” The question came from Beth, who was leaning forward in her chair.

  “Not at all.” Adrienne wasn’t sure how much to share with her companions and settled on the simplest version of events. “I didn’t even know I had a great-aunt until she passed. I wish I’d been able to meet her while she was alive.”

  The four ladies exchanged a glance but didn’t comment. Adrienne looked between them as curiosity bloomed inside of her. “Why? Did you know her?”

  “We didn’t really know her.” Jayne spoke slowly and glanced at Beth, who gave her a small nod. “But we knew of her. The whole town did. I… I don’t want to be rude, but…”

  “No, no, go on.” Adrienne set her scone on the edge of her plate and leaned forward.

  Jayne gave an apologetic smile. “She was a bit eccentric.”

  “A bit.” Beth snorted but sobered when Jayne shot her a glare. “Sorry.”

  “Well, see, she wouldn’t let anyone into the house.” Jayne raised one shoulder in a shrug. “You probably saw the warning signs in the driveway. The last time anyone set foot in this building was when John McManus was brought in to repair her bathroom a decade ago. He says it took him two days, and Miss Ashburn stood in the doorway and watched him the whole time. Not speaking, not moving, just… watching.”

  Tiny chills ran down Adrienne’s arms.

  “That’s, uh, part of the reason we came today.” Jayne gave another apologetic smile. “Wow, you’re going to think we’re so unbelievably rude. We really did want to meet you, too—and I’m not just saying that—”

  “But you wanted to see the house.” Adrienne allowed herself a smile as she released her breath. They had come to gawk after all, but she couldn’t blame them. If a notorious house in her town had fallen empty, she’d have been curious to explore it too.

  “Hell yeah,” Beth said, her eyes blazing. “I wanted to see if there were really skulls decorating the hallways.”

  “Beth, please,” Jayne hissed.

  Adrienne snorted in laughter and had to cover her mouth so that she wouldn’t spit crumbs over the table. “Sorry, none that I’ve seen. Yet.”

  Beth shrugged. “Oh well. I always thought that was one of the stupider stories.”

  “There are a lot of rumours about Ashburn,” Marion said. “The kids in town love telling each other ghost stories about it.
Heck, even we did when we were younger. It was like this holy grail of mystery. Edith came into town every day, but she never spoke to anyone except to do her shopping, and she always wore these huge, heavy black dresses, even in summer.”

  Adrienne desperately wanted to know more about her mysterious great-aunt but took a detour into a more urgent issue. “She visited the town every day? How did she get there?”

  “Walked,” Beth said. “Always first thing in the morning, too, so that she arrived in town just as the shops opened.”

  “Wow, she must’ve been fit. It’s a long driveway.”

  “There’s a shortcut.” Jayne pointed towards the window and the trees that blocked their view of the town. “Through the woods—it’s only about fifteen minutes as the crow flies. We call it Ashburn Walk because she was the only one who ever used it.”

  Adrienne felt as though a weight had been lifted from her. Fifteen minutes was more than manageable. Provided she could find the walkway, she and Wolfgang would no longer be in danger of starving.

  “What other rumours were there?” Adrienne asked. “You made it sound like people were scared of this place.”

  Jayne shrugged. “Some were, I guess. Others said Edith was just eccentric. Mostly people avoided her because she avoided them. But yeah, there are some strange stories circulating about this house. I don’t know how true they are.”

  Adrienne raised her eyebrows in a silent request for more information. Beth was more than happy to oblige.

  “Not to brag, but I’m a bit of an Ashburn expert,” she said. “I used to inhale the stories when I was a kid, and I still keep an ear out now. The best-known mystery—and the only one that is undeniably true—is the Friday light.”

  “We all saw it,” Marion continued as she helped herself to another scone. “Every Friday, just after sundown, a light was lit in Ashburn’s highest room. Because this place is on a hill, it was hard to miss. It looked a bit like a lighthouse.”

  Adrienne’s mind flashed to the phrase carved into the dining table. IS IT FRIDAY LIGHT THE CANDLE. She suddenly felt cold despite the sunshine coming through the windows. “How long did that happen for?”

  “Since way before our time.” Beth’s dark eyes shone as she leaned nearer. “Dad says it’s always happened—every Friday—since Miss Ashburn moved into the house. That’s how we knew she was dead. Friday came, and the light didn’t appear.”

  “Oh.” Adrienne swallowed the unexpected nausea. She hadn’t expected to hear about her great-aunt’s death so soon.

  Jayne glared at Beth again then gave Adrienne a small smile. “I’m so sorry. She’s not all that great at tact.”

  “No, it’s okay. I want to know more about Edith.” Adrienne took a breath and returned the smile. “Do you know how… uh… how she passed?”

  Glances were exchanged. Beth looked desperate to answer, but Jayne stepped in first, speaking carefully. “Well, she hadn’t been to town at all that week. It was a bit unusual but not unheard of; sometimes she skipped days if she was feeling unwell, so no one really paid attention. But when the Friday light didn’t come on, people started to talk about going up and checking on her. No one really wanted to approach Ashburn at night, so they agreed to wait until morning. Sure enough, she didn’t come to town again, so they sent out a search party a bit before lunch.” Jayne licked her lips and squeezed her hands together in her lap. “She was… significantly decayed when they found her, so the post-mortem couldn’t be completely accurate, but the doctor said it was most likely a seizure or an embolism. He didn’t think she suffered.”

  “Okay.” Adrienne felt light-headed. “Uh, when you say significantly decayed—”

  “Black ooze leaking ev-er-y-where.”

  “Beth! Please!”

  A hysterical laugh was boiling in Adrienne’s chest. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she struggled to keep herself collected. “Do you know—I mean, I guess it doesn’t really matter—I know it shouldn’t—but do you know where—?”

  “Sorry.” Jayne shook her head. “I don’t know which room.”

  “Okay. That’s okay.” She inhaled deeply and took her hand away from her face. “It shouldn’t really matter. As long as she didn’t suffer.” She didn’t want to think of Edith’s corpse slowly oozing black blood across the floor, so she dragged the subject back to slightly safer ground. “So the light was the best-known mystery. You said there were others?”

  “Oh, heaps.” Beth, unrepentant, spoke around a mouthful of scone. “Kids would sometimes dare each other to go up Ashburn Walk and see how close they could get to the house before chickening out. A lot of them swear they saw a tall figure pacing back and forth, back and forth behind drawn curtains. Some say they heard manic laughter and hysterical screams. And of course, they all reckon the house is haunted. Terry said he was standing at the edge of the woods when he heard someone breathing behind him, but when he turned, there was no one there. And Michael claims he got right up to the porch when a ghostly face appeared in one of the windows then vanished before he could scream. Those could’ve been made up, though. Kids love to scare each other.”

  “Not just kids.” Jayne glared daggers at her companion.

  “I don’t think she was a bad person.” Marion was clearly trying hard to inject some lightness into the conversation. “A couple of months ago, I was volunteering at the vet’s clinic—I can earn extra credits in my course for practical experience—and Miss Ashburn came in carrying a dog she’d found. It’d been hit by a car and had a fractured leg. We were able to fix it up and find its owners, but it probably wouldn’t have survived if Edith hadn’t brought it to us, so… yeah. I think she liked animals.”

  “She came into the library every week too,” Sarah said. It was the first time the thin-faced woman had spoken since entering the room, and she seemed to have trouble meeting their eyes. “She never really talked, but she always returned her books on time. I’m not supposed to tell you what she borrowed—we’ve got confidentiality rules—but they were usually classics.”

  “Which is pretty much the entire extent of the library’s collection,” Beth said with an eye-roll.

  Sarah pursed her lips. “We bought three new releases this month. But, um, yeah. We were founded on donated books, which were mostly old ones.”

  “What was she like?” Adrienne couldn’t stop her curiosity. Her mental image of Edith Ashburn was gradually being filled in, like a jigsaw puzzle that became clearer with each piece of information. “She must have been quite old when she passed away.”

  “Sure was,” Beth said. “At least ninety. No one’s really sure when she was born, but Dad thinks she was closer to a hundred.”

  “And she lived alone?” The image of Edith walking the hallways, delirious or deranged as she carved messages into the walls, haunted Adrienne.

  “She was really independent,” Jayne said. “Some people in town went out of their way to be friendly to her, especially as she got older. My mum actually invited her to have dinner with us one night, and Mrs Western tried to give her a basket of groceries a couple of months before she passed. But she always rejected the offers. And not in a thank you I’m fine sort of way. She mostly glared at you then walked away.”

  “Like I said, she didn’t really talk much except when ordering groceries.” Beth finished her tea and slid the saucer onto the table with a gratified sigh. “It was like she had a finite number of words and didn’t want to waste any on you.”

  “Huh.” The mental representation of Edith Ashburn was coalescing into something far less grandmotherly and far more severe than Adrienne had been hoping for. She glanced around at the furniture—rose-pattern chairs, dark timber tables and bookcases, and the antique patterned wallpaper—and tried to imagine the gaunt, tall, cold woman stalking through the house, occasionally pausing to gaze out of the windows or stoke the fire.

  Then a new image interjected itself into her mind: Edith, dead, lying on the wood floor, her blank eyes staring at the
ceiling and her mouth hanging open as she bloated and decayed and oozed.

  Where did she die? Not her bedroom—the mattress was too clean. Was it the kitchen? The lounge room? Have I stood on the same floorboards that absorbed her rotting flesh?

  Adrienne put her teacup onto the table with a decisive clink that made Jayne jump. She didn’t want to let the morbid images stew and grow, so she latched onto a change of subject that she thought her companions would enjoy. “Anyone want a tour of the house?”

  Beth’s delighted gasp was all the answer she needed.

  10

  Tours

  The idea of showing her guests around the house had been spur of the moment. As she led them out of the drawing room and into the dim hallway, Adrienne found herself hoping the choice wasn’t disrespectful towards her late great-aunt. Based on what Adrienne knew of her, Edith wouldn’t have welcomed tourists perusing her halls as if they were on some novelty tour.

  But Ashburn legally belonged to Adrienne. She wanted to strike a balance between being respectful of Edith’s memory and feeling comfortable and confident in her own home.

  The hallways and stairwells felt so cold and empty last night. Maybe some fresh feet and voices will chase out some of the starkness. I won’t show the whole house—and certainly not Edith’s bedroom—but some of the downstairs areas and the hallway of paintings should be okay, right?

  She began by showing them to the lounge room she’d slept in, opening the door and stepping back so that they could enter. “This is where I’m living until I can sort out a proper bedroom. Sorry about the mess.”

  Beth moved into the centre of the room, her eyes darting about as she absorbed the details. “No skulls, but Edith had a stuffed cat. That’s pretty cool.”