Ghostly Games

by K. E. O'Connor

  “Something terrible did happen.” I handed some money to Marie, my hands shaking as I did so. “But it wasn’t the family’s fault. It was a tragedy.”

  “I never saw her as a natural mother,” said Marie.

  “Did you see her mistreating the children?”

  “She was always too clever to make a mistake in public,” said Marie. “But I could hear the children crying sometimes when I passed the house. Such thin, pitiful sobs that it broke your heart to hear them.”

  “And you’re sure those noises were coming from the Bellamys’ house?” I’d also heard crying when I was in the nursery, but it wasn’t from children who were alive. Perhaps Marie had also heard the ghostly crying. The children seemed to be audible to everybody.

  “There's no one else who would make those noises,” said Marie. “And there aren’t many children in the village. We like to keep an eye on our own. And I know several people asked Mrs. Bellamy about the crying, but she denied it. She would always say the children were happy and never got upset. But that’s not natural. Children fall down and skin their knees and cry. Silent children are the scared ones, the ones you need to watch closely.”

  “Do you have any proof Mrs. Bellamy did harm her children?”

  “I don’t need any proof. I know what I know.” Marie folded her arms over her chest and frowned at me. “Anything else?”

  I grabbed the tray. “No, I’ve gotten everything I need.” As I walked back to the table, my mind was in turmoil. Could it be true? Did people in the village think Jasmine had something to do with the deaths of Mirabel and Michael? I’d thought it myself, but she seemed so sad about their deaths. Was she covering up something? Her intense grief could be because she harbored a dark secret about what really happened to the children.

  I set out the cake and tea, although my appetite was now gone. A few seconds later, Jasmine returned to the table. As soon as she sat down, I sensed something was wrong. Her face was devoid of all color, and her hands shook.

  “Here’s your scone.” I pushed a plate towards Jasmine.

  “Thank you.” The words came out wobbly. “I’m not sure I can eat anything.”

  “Are you feeling unwell?” I poured the tea and tried to repress the tumbled thoughts that ran through my head. Was I sitting opposite the children’s killer?

  Two women walked into the cafe, their gazes locking onto me and Jasmine as soon as they saw us, and their expressions hardening.

  I leaned closer to Jasmine. “Do you know those two women who have just come into the tea room?”

  Jasmine glanced over briefly before grabbing her cup and taking a sip of tea. “I know them.”

  “They’re not giving us friendly looks.”

  “They wouldn’t,” said Jasmine. “Perhaps coming here wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “We’re here now.” I glanced over at the women, who sat at a table on the other side of the cafe. They were still looking at us with grim expressions on their faces. One of them saw me looking, and her frown deepened.

  Jasmine pulled off a piece of scone and shoved it into her mouth. “I thought people would have stopped spreading vile rumors by now.”

  “Did those women say something to you?”

  Jasmine gave a nod. “They were in the bathroom when I entered. What they said to me was not kind.”

  “What did they say?” I imagined it was along the same lines as Marie. And I knew how quickly unpleasant gossip would spread in a small place like Combe Martin.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jasmine pointed to my untouched tart. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

  I cut off a small slice of tart, despite not wanting to eat anything. I placed it in my mouth and chewed. It was delicious, but even the sweet, rich combination of cream and strawberry, couldn’t settle my concerns.

  Jasmine continued to pull pieces off her scone, but she placed them on the plate, rather than eating them, and her fingers trembled as her gaze darted around the cafe.

  “If you don’t like your scone, I can get you something else,” I said.

  Jasmine looked down at her plate and pushed it away. “My stomach’s unsettled. The scone is fine.”

  “If you’re feeling unwell, we can leave,” I said.

  “I’d like that,” said Jasmine. “I’ve overexerted myself.”

  “We can come here another day when you’re feeling better.”

  “Yes, perhaps.” Jasmine fumbled her grip on the cup she held, and the contents spilt across the table. We both jumped up to avoid being soaked in hot tea.

  I grabbed a handful of napkins and soaked up the liquid. “No harm done. It's just tea.”

  “I need some fresh air.” Jasmine grabbed her purse and dashed out of the cafe.

  I cleaned up as best I could, and then collected the cups and plates and returned them to the counter.

  Marie took the tray from me and glared at our barely touched food. “Something wrong?”

  “We lost our appetites,” I said.

  Marie shrugged. “Best if Mrs. Bellamy doesn’t come back here. She’ll only get upset again if she does.”

  “She wouldn’t get upset at all if people didn’t spread malicious rumors about her.” I glared at Marie and then looked over at the two women listening into our conversation. “Jasmine is a good woman. She’s done nothing wrong. It’s not a nice thing to do, spreading evil gossip about somebody who has suffered such a terrible loss.”

  “You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” said Marie. “We were all here when it happened, and we doted on those children. They shouldn’t have died like that.”

  “I agree. It’s a terrible tragedy,” I said. “But Mrs. Bellamy didn’t have anything to do with it.” At least, I hoped she didn’t.

  Marie dumped the cups and plates into the dishwasher before slamming the door. “Evil rubs off, and you should be careful who you spend your time with.”

  “You’re telling me Mrs. Bellamy is evil?”

  “It’s not just Mrs. Bellamy,” said one of the women sitting at the table behind me.

  I turned to look at the woman, her piggy eyes were focused on me. “You’re saying her husband is evil?”

  “The husband seems nice enough,” said the woman, “but it’s the house that’s the problem.”

  I moved away from the counter. “The house?”

  “Darkness encourages darkness,” said the woman. “There’s something wrong with Mrs. Bellamy, and there’s something wrong with the house she lives in.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’re saying the house is evil?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” The woman stared at me for a few seconds before turning her attention to her coffee.

  I realized I was gripping the back of a chair so tightly my hand hurt. An evil house! Was that even possible? “Why do you think the house is evil?”

  “Those children are not the only ones to die there,” said the woman.

  Marie tapped the counter to get my attention. “No-one knows for sure, but another child vanished from that house. She died.”

  “Or was murdered,” said the woman at the table.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “What else could have happened to the poor little thing?” said Marie.

  “When did it happen?”

  “A long time ago,” said Marie, “but a stain like that seeps into the fabric of a house and taints it forever.”

  “You can’t believe that.” Before the words were even out of my mouth, I knew that’s what I believed. I’d been in houses that had given me such bad vibes I’d had to leave instantly. Houses soaked up the atmosphere in them. Bad events in a house made for a grim place to live.

  “Believe what you like,” said Marie, “but you’re living with a bad family in a house where terrible things have happened. You need to watch your back or you’ll get caught up in the evil history of that place. No good will come of it.”

  “Thanks for the advice, but Mr. and Mr
s. Bellamy are nice people.” I grabbed my jacket and headed to the door. “You shouldn’t persecute them without proof.”

  Marie snorted. “Time will tell. You won’t last long in that place. If the crazy Mrs. Bellamy doesn’t drive you away, then the evil in the walls will do it for her.”

  I glared at Marie before turning and leaving the tea room. An evil house, more dead children, and now Jasmine being called a crazed killer. What had I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 15

  I left the cafe feeling dazed as I hurried to catch up with Jasmine.

  She barely spoke on our walk back to the house, and went straight to bed, ignoring my offer of company.

  I tried to focus on my work, but my thoughts were a scattered mess. Not only did the locals think there was a problem with Jasmine, but they also thought the bricks and mortar surrounding me were cursed in some way.

  I was happy enough to believe in ghosts, but malevolent houses? I hated that I was considering it.

  Having unsuccessfully tackled a number of tasks, I tidied my work and went to find Helen. She would help me to unpick this mess.

  She was in the annex, already starting on our evening meal, Flipper by her side, begging treats as she prepped for dinner. It looked like Helen was determined not to suffer one of Francis’s awful dinners again.

  The smile on Helen’s face faded as she looked at me. “I hate to say this, but it looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I slumped into a seat and kicked off my shoes. “Worse than that. Someone told me today that they think this house is evil.”

  Helen looked slowly round the room. “It feels alright to me.”

  “And that’s not all,” I said. “I met some of the local residents today when I went out with Jasmine, and they all think she killed the children.”

  Helen stopped chopping the carrot in front of her and walked over to me. “How do they know that?”

  “It’s nothing more than idle gossip,” I said. “But they were giving Jasmine a hard time. She got upset and left the tea room we were in. Then they started on me, saying that being around evil will make me bad too and that there was something wrong with this house. Apparently, another child vanished when she was living here.”

  “Another child?” Helen wiped her hands on the dish cloth slung over her shoulder. “Can a house be evil?”

  I nodded. “There’s a theory that buildings, and the materials they’re made of, can absorb some of the energy and atmosphere in the environment. It is possible that, if something truly awful happened inside this building, it may have retained some bad essence.”

  “You mean to say, if the children were murdered inside this house, the building absorbed the bad vibes and now gives it back to other people?”

  “It sounds ridiculous,” I said.

  “Says the woman who can see ghosts,” said Helen.

  I smiled at Helen. “I have noticed a few cold spots as I walk through the house. And I have seen three ghosts and heard noises from what could be more ghosts. That could be what the locals are picking up on. If anyone is sensitive to ghosts, they may think they’re feeling something bad when they’re in the house.”

  “Have you experienced anything scary in here, though?”

  “Just the usual ghost stuff,” I said. “What about you?”

  “Nothing odd,” said Helen. “But I’m not the sensitive one when it comes to ghosts. If you really think we are living in an evil house, then perhaps we should leave.”

  “And abandon the ghosts?” I asked. “That’s not like you.”

  “I don’t want to get caught up in some horrible encounter when the house stirs its evil intentions to life,” said Helen. “It could come after us.”

  “It won’t come to that,” I said. “I don’t think we are the house’s preferred choice of food.”

  “So, what is?” asked Helen. “And don’t say innocent children.”

  I gave her a tired smile. “No, I can’t believe that. But it won’t do any harm to investigate all the deaths, and this house. I’ve been meaning to look into any newspaper reports on the Bellamy children’s deaths. Let’s see what else we can find out when I do that.”

  “I’ll get on with finishing dinner, and you can do a bit of research,” said Helen. “I’m doing a curry tonight. We can carry on when we’re eating if you like.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” I settled Flipper on the seat next to me and then set to work on some online research. For the next half an hour, I scrolled through a dozen newspaper articles about Mirabel and Michael’s deaths.

  “Got anything useful?” asked Helen.

  “Looks like Jasmine was held and questioned for two days over their deaths,” I said. “But she was never charged with anything. The deaths were ruled as natural causes. Jasmine and Chris didn’t have anything to do with their deaths if these reports are to be believed.”

  “And what do you believe?” asked Helen. “What impression have you got from Jasmine?”

  “She’s a grieving mother,” I said. “And it makes sense now why she behaves the way she does. Jasmine has lost her children. She’s in a mess, and doesn't know how to get out of it.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything bad about her,” said Helen. “From the time I’ve spent with her, she just seems lost.”

  “There’s still the mental health question,” I said. “Perhaps Jasmine has episodes, and we’ve yet to see one. She could be a completely different person then.”

  Helen set the table and placed a bowl of salad in the center along with some condiments. “Is there anything in the reports you’re reading about Jasmine’s mental health coming into question?”

  “Nothing I can see so far,” I said, “but the medication she takes suggests there’s some instability there.” It didn’t sit well with me that I was doubting Jasmine. But with her possible instability, and the comments from the mean-spirited locals, I was having some worries of my own.

  “Have you found anything useful about the house?” Helen carried a pot of rice to the table.

  “I’ll have a look at that over dinner.” I moved from the sofa to the table, bringing my laptop with me. I typed in the address of the house and found hundreds of entries.

  “Food is ready.” Helen passed me a plate full of steaming vegetable curry.

  “That smells amazing.” I inhaled the spicy aroma of ginger, cumin, and cayenne pepper.

  “Don’t worry; it’s not too hot,” said Helen. “I know you’re a wimp when it comes to the spicy stuff.”

  “I like it well enough,” I said. “I just don’t like getting the face sweats when I eat.”

  “That’s not an attractive look.” Helen passed me a plate of poppadoms. “Make sure you never go out for a curry date with Zach. Your sweaty face may put him off.”

  “Noted.” I helped myself to a poppadom and returned to the information I was reading on the house. “I can’t find any pictures from when it was built.”

  “It was much smaller than this, I’m guessing,” said Helen. “It could have been a farm worker’s cottage.”

  “It has been extended,” I said. “Maybe even two cottages were knocked into one to make this bigger.”

  “So, plenty of opportunities to hide bodies in the walls,” said Helen.

  “Don’t even joke about that.” I gave a shudder as I ate a mouthful of curry. “I’ve got details about a husband and wife who lived here with seven children.”

  “That’s a lot of kids,” said Helen.

  “It is. But hundreds of years ago, childhood mortality was much higher than it is now. It’s a grim thing to acknowledge, but people had lots of children, knowing some of them would die.”

  “Plus, the fact there was no contraception back then,” said Helen. “So, women didn’t have many options but to have lots of babies.”

  “Other than closing their legs, they really didn’t.” I opened another web page and scanned through it. “This could be a picture of that family.” There was
a faded black-and-white picture of a husband and wife and seven children. I stared at the faces of the adults, but they were too grainy to see clearly.

  “Have you found our ghosts?” asked Helen.

  “It’s too hard to tell from this photo,” I said. “They may be the adult ghosts that are haunting the house, but if they won’t communicate with me, I’m not going to be able to help them.”

  “Can you find out more about that family?” asked Helen.

  “Let me see.” I scrolled further down the page. “It looks like they were the Baker family. Gwen and Saul Baker. And you’re right; they lived in this house when it was a farmer’s cottage. It had two rooms upstairs, two rooms downstairs, and an outside toilet.”

  “And seven children!”

  “Looks like it,” I said.

  “That must have been a fun experience, sharing one outside toilet with so many people. Any information on their children?”

  “Not that I can find,” I said. “Looks like Saul worked on the land, and Gwen looked after the children, though. There is a note here about some of the children working with their father.”

  “Maybe Jasmine isn’t being haunted by her own children, but the ghosts of other people’s children.”

  “You think there could be seven children’s ghosts in this house?” I could feel a headache coming on. That would be too much to handle.

  “It may not be all of them,” said Helen, “but as you said, childhood mortality was high back then. One of them could have died and still be lingering here. Maybe when the Bellamys moved in and had children of their own, it stirred up some old energies, and the Baker children's ghosts appeared.”

  “You could be right,” I said. “Maybe we’ve been looking at this all wrong. Just because the Bellamys’ children died doesn’t mean they'd automatically come back and start haunting their parents. The adult ghosts I’ve seen could be parents of the children in this photograph, and they are returning to the house to try to get their own children to join them.”

  “That would explain that child ghost you saw when we were outside,” said Helen.