The Haunting of Ashburn House

by Darcy Coates

  Adrienne was so focussed on tracking the footprints that she didn’t notice the path was opening up until she was no longer hemmed in by thick trunks. She stopped and straightened, breathing in raw, panting gasps.

  She’d arrived in a small, unkempt clearing. The trees grew tightly around its ragged perimeter, creating a natural wall, but the clearing itself was free of plant life; all that existed inside it was a layer of dead leaves and a strange, hulking shape in the centre.

  That’s not… it can’t be…

  Only the silhouette was visible through the mist, but the outline was strongly reminiscent of a gravestone. It rose out of the ground to waist height before curving into a rounded top and cast a long shadow ahead of itself. Adrienne, hugging her chest tightly and holding her breath, crept closer.

  The mist swirled around her legs, creating little vortexes and eddies as she pushed through it. As she drew closer to the shape, she began to make out the headstone’s terrible details, the little chips along its top, the stone’s rough texture, and the words carved into its front.

  But that was nothing compared to the nauseating squeeze of terror she felt as she saw the woman lying in the tombstone’s shadow like a corpse put to rest six feet higher than it should have been.

  “Marion,” she breathed. The word escaped in a small plume of mist.

  The lanky brunette was curled on her side, head turned so that her open eyes could stare at the trees above her. Long hair fanned around her face, which was a ghastly, waxy white save for a smudge of dried blood at her hairline.

  She’d dug herself a little indent in the grave. Rich, dark dirt was scattered over the leaves surrounding her, and her fingers were blackened with grime.

  Adrienne clamped her hands over her mouth, fighting against a scream that she couldn’t completely contain. It came out as a gurgling wail, catching in her raw throat and echoing in her ears.

  No, no, not Marion; she can’t be dead, please, she can’t—

  The body twitched, and Marion drew in a single slow, rattling breath.

  Adrienne was at her side in a heartbeat. She took the other woman’s hand, not caring about the grave’s dirt caking it, and rubbed at the fingers. “Marion? Can you hear me?”

  The eyes stayed wide and blankly staring. The skin was waxen, and the hand Adrienne held was ice cold. She looked like a corpse.

  Please no, come on, breathe again, please—

  Adrienne lowered her ear to Marion’s chest. She thought she could hear a heartbeat, but it was faint. She dropped the hand and struggled out of her jacket then wrapped it around Marion’s torso as well as she could. “Hang on. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you back to the house. Just hang on.”

  “Addy?”

  Adrienne turned. Jayne, shivering and pale, stood in a gap in the trees.

  16

  Clean-up

  Adrienne felt as though she were moving through a dream as she closed Ashburn’s door. She held a basket in hands that were still smeared with the dirt from Marion’s fingers. The peace that had fallen over the house felt entirely incongruous with the previous hours.

  The clearing had turned out to be only a few hundred metres from Ashburn. It had been so near, in fact, that Jayne had heard Adrienne’s scream from where she’d been searching the brush on the other side of the house. That had been a mercy; Adrienne didn’t think she could have carried Marion on her own even if she’d known which direction to take.

  They’d had a brief debate when they reached the yard. Adrienne wanted to bring Marion into the house, where she could light a fire while Jayne went for help, but Jayne said it would be safer to take Marion directly to town. Ipson had a doctor’s practice but was too small for any kind of hospital or ambulance service. Jayne said her friend would need to be taken to hospital in the next town by car, and the sooner she started the drive, the better.

  In the end, Adrienne bowed to Jayne’s judgement and helped load Marion into the car. The brunette’s eyes fell closed, but she was breathing evenly at least, and Jayne promised to put the heater up as high as it would go. Adrienne had then stood back and watched as the car disappeared down the driveway in a swirl of mist.

  She couldn’t help but feel that Jayne would have brought Marion inside if the house had been any other than Ashburn.

  Adrienne had waited at the head of the driveway for a long time just in case the car returned, but it didn’t. She’d turned to enter the house but couldn’t get the abandoned vehicle out of her mind. She knew it was a silly thing to worry over, but she hated to think of the seats being ruined by water damage.

  The car was easy enough to find; the headlights had gone out as the battery drained, but the sun had risen by that point, dispersing the mist and improving visibility. Adrienne had turned the car off, taken the keys, and closed the door. The bonnet was dented where it had impacted the tree, but it wasn’t an especially deep dent. Adrienne hoped the car wouldn’t be a write-off.

  She was climbing back towards the house when a rumble of engines announced new visitors. A police cruiser and tow truck rolled into Ashburn’s yard. It seemed Jayne had stopped off in Ipson to tell people what had happened.

  Charles Mackeson was a pleasant, jovial sheriff who slapped Adrienne’s shoulder every few minutes and kept laughing at his own jokes. “Nasty accident,” he said several times. “She must’ve lost control of the car.”

  “Yes.” Adrienne’s head was filled with a high-pitched ringing noise that made it difficult to think.

  The sheriff rolled on the balls of his feet as he tilted his head to look at the house behind them. “Well, this is a treat, anyhow. It’s been… oh, nearly two decades since I last saw this place. Was just a rookie back then, scared out of my socks. Can you imagine!” He laughed and slapped her shoulder. She thought she managed a smile in response, though it felt more like a grimace.

  The interview passed in a blur. By the time the sheriff tucked his notebook into his pocket, Marion’s car was out of the woods and being hoisted onto the back of the truck. Then the sheriff was pressing a basket into her hands and saying, “I think this was meant for you.”

  “Oh.” Adrienne stared at the basket. It had a little tag tied to the handle with her name on in. The food Marion was bringing me. “Thanks.”

  Then both the tow truck and the police cruiser were disappearing along the driveway, leaving Adrienne standing alone on the porch with the basket clasped in her muddy hands.

  She threw up. Then she went inside.

  Adrienne rested her back against the door and closed her eyes. It was early afternoon, based on the shadows, and she felt exhausted. An irritable mewl came from near her feet, and she blink down at Wolfgang. “Crap. Oh, buddy, you haven’t been fed yet, have you? Jeez, I’m sorry.”

  She staggered into the lounge room, placed the basket on the round table, and took the cat food off the shelf. Wolfgang waited by his bowl, his magnificent tail standing upright like a flag marking Adrienne’s destination, and she poured out an extra-generous portion.

  “Sorry, buddy.” The cat planted its head into the bowl as though he planned to drown himself in food. “Didn’t mean to leave you hungry.”

  Adrienne stood and returned the food to the shelf. She wished she could turn her mind off, but it refused to be silenced.

  She looked so much like a corpse. And lying there under the tombstone like that…

  Her fingers ached, and Adrienne realised she was squeezing the edge of the shelf as though it were a life buoy. She made herself let go.

  Why is there a grave on this property? Who’s buried there?

  She left the lounge room and crossed to the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, but she hadn’t eaten that morning, so she put the kettle on to make some tea and a cup of instant noodles. Then, on impulse, she took the last tin of sardines out of the cupboard, tipped its contents onto a plate, and brought it back to Wolfgang.

  “There you go,” she said. The cat’s tail twitched happily as he switche
d his attentions from the kibble to the fish. “I’ll be more careful from now on, I promise.”

  Are there other graves around Ashburn? Or was it a cemetery for one?

  Adrienne went to press her hands over her eyes then recoiled. Most of the dirt had brushed off, but her fingers were still coated in a layer of grime.

  “C’mon, Addy, pull it together.” Back in the kitchen, she washed her hands thoroughly, using hot water and scrubbing until the skin was raw and pink. Dirt was dirt, she tried to tell herself, but it didn’t feel right to be touching the ground above where a body rested.

  The kettle finished boiling and turned off with a quiet click. She poured some water into one of the dainty fine-china cups and went to fetch the instant noodles from the cupboard.

  Why did she crash? It couldn’t be a coincidence that it happened at the exact same time as that… I don’t even know what to call it. That phenomenon.

  She picked one of the containers that promised shrimp, pulled the lid off, and managed a chuckle at the two lonely dried prawns sitting on top of the noodles.

  It was some sort of pulse. Invisible but powerful. Strong enough that it frightened both the birds and Wolfgang. Sudden enough to make Marion swerve off the driveway. And localised enough that Beth, the expert on this house, must not know about it—otherwise, she would have said something yesterday.

  Adrienne retrieved one of the heavy silver forks from the drawer, sat down, and poked at her swelling noodles while she waited for them to soften.

  It’s happened twice now, just after sundown. Will it happen again? Is it dangerous? Is there anything I can do to stop it?

  Her head ached, and Adrienne abandoned the noodles to sip at her drink. She’d forgotten to add a teabag but didn’t care. She was thirsty enough to gulp down the scalding cup of hot water and pour a fresh one.

  The noodles were ready, and she made herself eat them. They tasted like cardboard.

  Will she be okay? She wasn’t talking or moving. I thought people shook when they had hypothermia, but maybe she was beyond that point.

  Her mind built a picture of Jayne driving to the next town, recklessly swerving around traffic, oblivious to the fact that her friend lay dead in the seat beside her…

  Stop it. Adrienne stabbed the fork into the container and leaned back in her seat. She’s going to be okay. She’s got to be okay.

  She let her eyes rove over the kitchen, trying to ground herself by paying attention to her environment. It wasn’t exactly a sunny day, but the light that flowed through the window was warming and comforting.

  IS IT FRIDAY

  LIGHT THE CANDLE

  Adrienne’s stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. She’d accidentally sat in Edith’s chair, and the scratched words were immediately in front of her, just past the cup of noodles. That was a problem. She’d covered the carvings with a tablecloth the day before.

  She rose slowly, hyperaware that the chair’s legs were scraping through the well-worn grooves in the floor. The off-white cloth had fallen in a crumbled pool behind the table. Adrienne picked it up, shook it out, and gave it a quick once-over.

  It’s too large to slide off accidentally. There’s no wind here, and I’m sure I didn’t bump it off myself.

  A wet, smacking noise brought her attention to the kitchen doorway. Wolfgang, finished with his meal, was licking his lips and looking very satisfied. Adrienne glanced from him to the cloth and sighed. Wolf must have jumped on the table and skidded the cloth off. Well, no harm done.

  She threw the covering back over the message, making sure it was centred and balanced, then took her noodles and hot water to a seat at the table’s side.

  17

  Listen to the Dark

  She finished drying the fork and slotted it back into the drawer. The grandfather clock had chimed three times during Adrienne’s meal, which meant she had another four hours to fill before nightfall.

  She went upstairs and unpacked her suitcase, slotting the clothes and spare sheets into the wardrobe and fussing over how to arrange her book and hairbrush on the bureau. She was low on possessions, and the task took less than twenty minutes. When she finished, she turned in a circle, surveying the immaculate room and feeling completely lost.

  Her next ghostwriting job was due the following week. The project was nearly finished and could be wrapped up in a couple of hours, so she grabbed her laptop off the desk and brought it to the second-floor study.

  She got as far as placing the computer onto the study desk and pressing the power button before hitting an obstacle. Her laptop was out of power, and there was no electricity on Ashburn’s second floor.

  Grumbling under her breath, Adrienne carried the laptop downstairs to recharge it in the lounge room. Not having power on the second floor was inconvenient but not completely disastrous for her plan of using the study. The laptop’s battery could last a full day; she’d just have to remember to recharge it on the ground floor at night.

  She plugged the computer in and watched the screen light up. The round table was at a bad height to write at, so she left the laptop there to charge and began pacing through the house.

  Edith didn’t own a TV or radio, as far as Adrienne could see, and most of the books in her shelves were printed before the turn of the century. She picked up a scrap cloth from the kitchen and dusted the rooms she passed through, but she didn’t know how much good she was doing. The particles just swirled through the air, making her sneeze.

  She ended up in one of the upstairs rooms, swiping the cloth over a floating shelf mindlessly as she stared out the window.

  Whose grave is it?

  Long, wine-red curtains created an elegant frame for the view: a patch of weedy yard, sloping gently downhill, soon merged with the gnarled, blackened trees. The woods were dense and sloped away for a distance before rising up again as the hill joined the mountain. The little clearing and its grave were just a dozen metres past the edge of the woods. Adrienne thought she could even see the narrow opening of the path she and Jayne had emerged from earlier that day.

  It’s getting late. The sky was darkening as the sun approached the treetops, but it was still a little way from true dusk. But the grave’s so close… there’s time to go there and back, surely?

  She glanced behind her, feeling a little like a naughty child about to break curfew, then threw the cloth down.

  It’s for my own good, she told herself as she jogged down the stairs. I’ll have enough trouble sleeping without a mystery on top of everything else. I need some closure about who’s buried on Edith’s property.

  She snagged her jacket off the back of the fireside chair. Wolfgang, full and content, was sprawled over the rug and gave her a lazy blink before going back to sleep.

  Isn’t that odd; I still think of this house as Edith’s, though it’s technically mine now. I suppose it’s hard to expunge a lifetime’s habitation overnight… but something tells me I’ll still be thinking of this as Edith’s house in fifty years’ time.

  She slipped through the front door and rounded the property. That morning’s search had been so panicked that she couldn’t clearly remember where the pathway was, though she knew they’d emerged near the back of the house. She approached the forest’s edge and began walking along its border, looking for the narrow opening.

  She found it between two patchy, dying trees. It was unidentifiable as a trail until she was facing it head-on and noticed the dirt track snaking between the great trunks for a few metres before disappearing from view.

  One final look at the sky reassured her that, although sundown had started, she still had time to make the journey before night fell. She stepped between the trees and entered the other world of the forest.

  The change was instantaneous. While she stood on the grass, the sunlight felt bright and warm. Inside the woods, though, it became muted and greyed. Many layers of shadows wrapped around the trunks and grew over Adrienne’s limbs, chilling her. She zipped up her jacket, folded her arms ov
er her torso, and began marching.

  It was hard to be certain whether the path had been intentionally created or if feet had worn down the vegetation over decades to create the track. It was too narrow to follow without ducking and weaving, and the tree roots criss-crossing the path were squashed and scuffed as though they’d been trodden on hundreds of times. By Edith?

  Birds cackled around her. They sounded angry and impatient, and she wondered if they feared sundown as strongly as she did.

  The path wasn’t long. It widened then abruptly opened into the clearing. Adrienne stopped at the edge of the natural border to stare at the gravestone.

  It poked out of the ground like an abomination, the only man-made feature in sight, isolated from the trees as though they bent away from it. No weeds or plants grew there; the only thing covering the clearing’s floor was a layer of decomposing leaves.

  Adrienne took a step nearer. The dirt immediately ahead of the stone was bare and raw, still dark with moisture from where Marion had scrabbled at it. The indent was shallow, but it really did look as though she’d been digging a hole for a coffin to slot into.

  It would have been a lot of work for a freezing and delirious woman, especially after walking so far.

  Adrienne pictured her friend lying there, skin waxy and empty eyes staring towards the interlaced boughs above. She shuddered then moved closer to the grave marker.

  The stone was deep, sombre grey and looked old, though the forest had protected it from most weathering effects. It had been built in the traditional rectangle-with-curved-top shape, and a decorative groove that ran around the edge kept it from looking too plain.