Malevolent Hall 1666AD

by Rosemary Lynch

  Matilda looked through the dimness, at the dirt and grime covering the parquet flooring and at the peeling remnants of blue, floral wallpaper that lined the walls. An old oak hall table, with a dusty lamp and tattered shade sat against the wall. She glanced to the dead, shrivelled plants sitting in terracotta pots on the window ledge. And then her gaze shifted to the magnificent staircase rising ominously to her left, which swept to the right as it climbed into the darkness.

  Matilda looked back to the hallway ahead of her.

  “Mummy,” she muttered, as transported back in time she saw her mother chasing after her brother, laughing and giggling as they ran down the hall. She ventured towards them, but reaching her father’s study Matilda stopped, turned her head, and saw him sitting at his desk. He glanced up at her.

  “Hello, silly Tilly,” he said, with a grin. “What are you up too?”

  “Daddy,” she mumbled, leaning on the doorframe for support.

  “Matilda, tell daddy dinner’s ready,” her mother yelled, swooping her brother into her arms. “Come on mucky pup, time to wash up for dinner,” she said. Matilda glanced back down the corridor, just as they disappeared in a cloud of mist. She looked back to her father, but he was gone, his desk now covered in cobwebs and his papers scattered everywhere. She gave a sob and wiped her tears, as this was even harder than she feared.

  Walking down the hallway, her footsteps echoed back at her. Stopping at a door, she pushed it open and stepped into the kitchen. Switching on the light it flickered for a moment, before it came on. She glanced around at the mess and gave a sigh as it was filthy, but it was at least habitable.

  She dropped her suitcase on the terracotta tiles, and placed her bag and holdall on the pine kitchen table in the middle of the huge kitchen. Wandering to the green Aga she ran her fingers through the dust, and lifting up the four hot plates one by one, she checked on their condition. They all seemed okay. One of her main tasks tomorrow was to clean it and try to get it started. As not only would she need it to cook with, it would be a good source of heat for the approaching winter.

  Mike filled the oil tank for her when he did the electrics, and at the same time, he checked the Aga over for her, and he reckoned it would work. She walked to the fireplace and leaning a hand on the oak surround, her fingers traced the simple artisanship of the rose carvings decorating it. She would get Mike to have a look at the chimney tomorrow, and if it were safe to do so, she would light it for some extra warmth.

  Walking to the larder at the rear of the kitchen, she opened the door and inside found tins and packets of food just as it was the day it happened.

  “Tilly, pass me the flour, pet,” her mother called from the end of the table.

  “Can I help mummy?” she asked, picking up the tin containing the flour and giving it to her.

  “Of course you can,” she said, with a smile. “It’s your birthday cake after all.”

  Matilda watched her memory as she helped her mother make her birthday cake. Why did it have to happen to them, what was it that had killed them all? Whatever it was it had left her an orphan, and the pain of being alone never went away.

  “I’m going to find you and destroy you,” Matilda said aloud, wiping yet more tears from her cheeks.

  “Tilly.” She froze; shivers went down to her feet and back up again. Taking a sharp intake of air, she spun around.

  “Who’s there?” she yelled, releasing her breath, certain the voice was not in her head. Matilda noticed a broom leaning against the kitchen wall. Grabbing it, and lifting it defensively, she walked to the kitchen door and glanced down the hallway towards the spacious foyer.

  “Who’s there?” Matilda called again. No one replied and only quietness echoed back at her. She drew a breath, were her nerves getting to her, maybe she just imagined it. Walking back in the kitchen and telling herself she needed to get a grip, she leaned the broom against the wall.

  Opening her holdall, she took out a kettle, mug, milk, and teabags and walked to the butler sink. Staring out of the window that ran the entire length of the wall, the back garden looked an overgrown mess. She turned on the cold tap letting it run for five minutes to get the old, stale water out of the system before filling the kettle and switching it on. Mike had done a temporary repair on the old boiler, so she walked over to the emersion and switched in on. The red light came on, it clank and groaned, and eventually started up.

  Taking her mug of tea, she began to wander the Hall. Last time they were here, Mike and his crew put up a temporary partition, separating the burned half of the Hall to this side, making it safe and secure. Turning the handle to what used to be their day-lounge and pushing the door open, she walked inside. Despite the windows being filthy dirty, a glimmer of the failing afternoon light streamed through, brightening it just enough for her to see. The sofas in front of the fire were moth eaten. She forgot they were green, and, in fact, looking at the green curtains and matching cushions, she had forgotten her mother’s favourite colour had been green.

  Walking to the fireplace, and looking at the dust-covered family photographs lining the mantle, tears coursed down her cheeks. As she stared at one of her brother, she picked it up and gripped it in her shaking hand. Teddy would have been fourteen this year.

  All Matilda had were vague memories of them and a worn out newspaper clipping with a photo tracked down from article written about her family’s murder in the local newspaper. No one from the fostering agency had bothered to collect her belongings, or any family mementoes. Matilda arrived at her first foster home with just the clothes on her back.

  Beside the fire was an old box of his toys, and on the coffee table was something that belonged to her. Matilda sniffed, put the photo back on the mantle, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She walked to it and picked up the book. It was a first edition Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, a gift from her father for her birthday. Putting her mug down and wiping off the dust, she opened it, and read the inscription inside.

  ‘To my darling Matilda

  Happy 11th birthday.

  May your world always be filled with magic.

  Lots of love and hugs.

  Daddy xxx’

  Closing the book and holding it to her heart Matilda’s lower lip juddered. She missed her family so much and there wasn’t a day went by she didn’t think about them or that terrible day. Picking up her mug, and leaving the room, she walked across the foyer to the stairs. Beyond the stairs, there were three more receptions rooms, including hers, and Teddy’s playroom. The stairs going down to the basement were at that end too. Even as a child the basement scared her, so there was no way she was going down there yet.

  She put the book and mug on the hall table, flicked the switch, and waited for the upstairs landing light to come on. As it illuminated the dusty, cobwebbed chandelier, she wandered up the stairs. Her hand slid up the banister rail as each stair tread creaked underneath her feet, making her even more uneasy.

  Reaching the top, she looked over the bannister rail to the spacious foyer below and remembered. Teddy used to spend hours playing with his toy cars across that parquet floor, or kicking his red ball into a goal made from two of the chairs. Pushing off the bannister and continuing along the hallway, she passed a hall table on top of which was a pair of silver candlesticks, and some photographs in silver frames. Lifting them one by one, and wiping the dust, she smiled at the images of her family. As she continued she passed complete suits of armour standing to attention against the wall, and she gave a shiver.

  Her father had been an avid collector of anything medieval. The Hall was full of antiques and artefacts, including swords and shields hanging all over the walls. It was amazing really that they were all still here. Thankfully, rumours of the demon creature and the Hall’s proximity of being out in the middle of nowhere kept the kids, thieves and the vandals away for the first few years. Then it became forgotten with time. Mike had removed the boards covering and protecting the windows the last ti
me he and his team were here.

  Her family’s bedrooms, including hers were in the west wing and were all destroyed in the fire. In a way, she was glad, as she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle seeing her old bedroom, or that of her brother’s. This side of the Hall was the guest quarters.

  Certain it would be exactly as it was the day they died Matilda’s hand hovered on the latch to one of the rooms. It was where her aunt and uncle were staying before they were murdered. They had no other family; there was no one to come and claim their belongings.

  Gathering her nerve, Matilda lifted the latch and pushed it. As the door opened with an ear-piercing squeal, she cringed at the noise and stepped inside, giving a shudder and quickly brushing away the cobwebs sticking to her face and covering her hair. Apart from the webs and dust, the room was immaculate. Walking to her aunt’s dressing table, her hand glided over the items. Her make-up and perfume still sat as if waiting for her. She picked up her aunt’s silver-backed hairbrush, and with tentative fingers, touched the dark strands of hair. Tears stung her eyes as her mind flashed back. She remembered sitting on the floor in the day lounge while her aunt brushed and plaited her hair for bed. Her aunt loved Matilda’s long dark hair, and not yet having a child of her own, her Aunt May adored her, and she in turn remembered loving her aunt dearly.

  Her aunt and uncle moved into Malevolent Hall when Teddy was born. Her father was often away at a lecture somewhere, sometimes taking him away for weeks at a time. Her parents thought it was a good idea when Aunt May suggested they moved in to help her mother. After all, the Hall was easily big enough to accommodate them all.

  Her aunt had been like a second mother to Matilda. When her own mother was busy with Teddy, her Aunt May was the one to take her to her ballet lesson, or to school. Who played dressing up with her, and took tea with her and her dolls. Her aunt had been a darling really, and a sudden wave of joy swept through her that she was able to recall such a fond memory.

  Putting the brush down, she noticed something was missing. Her brow furrowed trying to recall what it was. Then she remembered it was a wedding photograph of her aunt and uncle in a silver frame. Dust now covered the space where it would have been, and her gaze roamed the room checking in case her aunt had moved it before she died, but she didn’t see it anywhere.

  The four-poster, oak, bed decorated with blue drapes still had the antique floral quilt her aunt made covering it. She stood for a moment in the eerie silence. At the sound of rain hammering on the window, she glanced to it, before venturing towards the wardrobe and pulling it open.

  Her stomach turned sickeningly when she saw her aunt’s clothes still hanging there her shoes, and boots still sitting at the bottom. Next to hers, and neatly hung, were her uncle’s shirts but strangely there were no trousers. Matilda pushed the shirts along the rail, checking to see if his trousers were under the shirts, but they weren’t. Looking along the line of his shoes, there were two gaps. One was obviously for the pair he had been wearing on the day, but she wondered what had been in the other gap.

  She closed the wardrobe door, finding it too painful. There would be a few things she would keep as mementos, such as the hairbrush and quilt, but Matilda knew she was going to have to clear most of it out, and that she found heart-breaking.

  “Tilly.”

  Spinning around, certain it was the same male voice she heard earlier, Matilda hurried towards the door. She peered out and glanced up and down the hallway. There was no sign of anyone.

  “Hello,” she called, positive she heard something this time and the hairs on the back of her neck and all down her arms stood up. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  “Tilly,” his haunting voice called. Something about his deep, smooth voice pulled at her heart and drew her like a magnet. Matilda moved along the corridor, each step quicker than the last.

  “Tilly.”

  Stopping at the door to the east tower and her fists clenched unsure if to go up. You know when you watch a film, and you are like yelling at the ‘soon to be a victim’ don’t go - don’t go - but they still do. Well, even though she was scared, her curiosity took over her sense. Matilda pulled the small door open, peered up the dark, spiral stairs, and flicked the light switch.

  “Damn,” she muttered, glancing back up to the darkness when it didn’t turn on. Matilda wasn’t stupid enough to go up there without a light. She didn’t have a torch, but then she didn’t always need one.

  “Lluminare,” Matilda whispered, holding out her hand and an orb of light materialised, hovering a few inches from her palm. She learned that spell a few years ago. During her search for the truth, she came across an ancient bookstore and discovered an even older witch’s spell book. Matilda devoured it, every word, and every spell. Since then she used a few in secret, just to see, and this one was particularly useful. Perhaps she was a witch, or maybe she was something else. This was another reason why she had come home, to seek out the truth about who she really was and where this ability to perform magic came from.

  Matilda lifted her hand and the orb of light hovered in front of her, lighting her way. Gripping hold of the metal rail running up the side of the stonewall she began to climb to the tower.

  She knew the room at the top was beautiful, and had never feared it. In fact, she hoped after her eleventh birthday, she would have been old enough to have it as her own bedroom.

  “Hello, is there anyone here?” Matilda called, reaching the top of the staircase. Nothing but silence came back at her. Despite everything, something about the room still filled her heart with happiness and walking in she ran her hand over the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. She remembered her father telling her the bed frame was probably as old as four hundred years.

  Matilda was full of excitement when a new mattress arrived at the Hall a couple of weeks before her eleventh birthday, and she thought for sure her father had decided to let her have it as her bedroom. She looked at the bed and the original plastic film still covered the mattress. Placing the orb of light on the side table, she wandered to the arched, mullion window and looked outside. The rain was lashing down now, thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind toyed with the window making it rattle.

  As a flash of lightning lit up the wood, Matilda’s heart jumped to her throat. There was the dark shadow of a man, - at least she thought it was a man standing right on the edge of the tree line. She ducked tight against the side of the wall and caught her breath. As another flash of lightning lit the sky, she peered back outside, her eyes searching but seeing nothing.

  “Jesus girl, get a grip,” she said to herself. Her imagination was as crazy as this old Hall.

  Matilda turned to the large oak wardrobe and giving a nervous groan, walked towards it. Her shaking hand lifted and slowly she pulled it open, leaning back apprehensively as if waiting for someone or something to jump out and scare her. It was empty, and giving a relieved sigh, she closed it and walked back to the bed.

  She sat for a moment, and then swung her legs on top and lay down looking to the domed glass roof above her. Her father installed the roof when he and her mother were first married; the original roof had been wooden.

  Now dark outside, the moon’s shimmering light flooded the room and rippled across the bed. Matilda laid there for a moment closing her eyes and listening to the rain hammering on the glass. It was by far the best feature of this room, and was why she always wanted it..

  “Tilly,” his voice whispered.

  Her body stiffened as she felt an icy breath on her cheek. “Tilly,” he said again. Her hair lifted from her face, and she felt a cold breeze run down her cheek. “He’s coming,” he whispered.

  Matilda was unable to open her eyes, nor breathe; her insides shook, and her hands gripped the plastic covering the bed as something enveloped her body.

  As the feeling left her, she forced herself to breathe slowly, and deeply, and as her body warmed, she opened her eyes.

  “Holy shit,” she mu
ttered sitting up and glancing around the room. Did she just hear and feel a ghost? Was he warning her that the demon was coming?

  “Hello, are you still here?” she asked, surprisingly unafraid and swinging her legs around to the side of the bed.

  “Find the book, my love,” he whispered in reply. Staring into the darkness, her eyes widened.

  “Book, did you say a book?” she asked, standing. “Who are you?” she asked. “What’s your name? How do you know me?”

  A rush of cool air came at her from the left. It swept around her throat, caressing her neck, making her whole body tremble, and her breasts heave at the sensation. As the cold chill left her body, the room fell quiet.

  “Are you still here?” Matilda asked, holding her breath and listening.

  “Shit,” she mumbled, reaching for her orb, her heart galloping in her chest. Raising her hand, she illuminated the room around her, but saw nothing. Her body quaked, and rushing for the door she quickly made her way downstairs. Entering the upper hallway and putting out her orb, she turned slightly catching a peripheral glimpse of a shadow darting into one of the bedrooms.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and Matilda hesitated for a second, uncertain if she really wanted to go and look. Picking up one of the old dusty candlesticks from the hall table, and discarding the candle she edged towards the bedroom. Leaning against the doorframe, she peered inside but it was pitch black. Her other hand reached around the corner feeling for the light switch.

  “Oh come on,” she whispered frustrated, and holding the candlestick in front of her, crept inside the door, her fingers urgently searching the length of the wall for the light.

  Bang!

  Matilda screamed, her fingers found the light switch, and she whacked it on. Her eyes wide she scanned the room, her breathing quickening.