Malevolent Hall 1666AD

by Rosemary Lynch

  “No, it should never have happened. I’ll get my electrician to take a look at it to make sure it’s safe, and I’ll order you another one.”

  “Thanks,” she said, watching Mike stroll over to the fire and move the safety guard out of the way. Switching on his torch, he crouched down, leaned into the fireplace, and shone the torchlight up the chimney.

  “Would you like lunch, a sandwich, or something?” Matilda offered.

  He glanced to her.

  “No, thanks, I’m good at the moment, maybe just a biscuit?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she replied, opening the box of biscuits she bought at the shops that morning, and taking them over to him.

  “This looks okay,” he said, backing out of the chimney. He unwrapped something, threw it on the grate, took out a box of matches from his jacket pocket, and lit one.

  “What’s that for?” she asked. He glanced up at her and stood.

  “It’s a smoking log, it will show me if the flue is clear. We use them all the time to check chimneys.” Mike took out his walkie-talkie.

  “Steve, I’ve chucked in a smoke log, can you tell me if you see some?” he asked. The radio crackled.

  Steve’s voice came back, “Nothing yet. Give it a minute or two.”

  “Okay.” Mike smiled at her as they waited. Offering him a biscuit, he perused the box and took out a chocolate wafer.

  “Thanks,” he said, stuffing it into his mouth.

  “Here it comes,” Steve called back.

  “Great, thanks, Steve,” Mike acknowledge. He turned to her.

  “We’ll let that burn out, just be sure, but it looks safe enough to use and there’s no smoke backing up. What about wood, what are you going to burn?” he asked.

  “I’m sure I can gather some wood from the forest.”

  “It will be wet after all this rain,” he pointed out.

  “Oh, um my dad had a wood store out the back, would the wood in there still be any good?” Matilda asked, thumbing to the window.

  “Maybe, if it’s dry. I tell you what, after we take the lads their tea, how about we go and have a look?”

  Matilda lifted her hand and touched his arm, feeling the softness of his cable knit jumper beneath her fingertips.

  “Thanks, Mike,” she said.

  “No problem,” he replied, smiling at her as he put the fireguard back in place.

  Matilda made tea and put the mugs on a couple of trays. Slipping on her jacket, they took the tea and box of biscuits out to the crew.

  “Right,” Mike said, finishing his mug of tea and yet another biscuit. “Where’s this wood store?”

  “It’s around the back of the Hall. It will be quicker if we go back inside and out the back door,” she replied.

  “Parker,” he called to his dog, who was taking a nap. At the sound of his master’s voice, the dog jumped to his feet and followed them back through the Hall, into the kitchen and out the back door.

  Overgrown with brambles and thick with weeds, the ground beneath their feet was soggy and muddy from all the rain, making it difficult to walk to the shed. Matilda was glad she had her black, knee high boots on and hitched her dress up to avoid it drooping in the puddles.

  “God, this is going to take so much work,” she grumbled, surveying what was her back lawn once.

  “You’ve got Rosemary Oskins coming in to do the landscaping right?” he asked.

  “Yes, you said she was the best,” Matilda remarked back. “There’s a team coming in to start stripping out all these brambles in a couple of weeks.” She bent down, picked up a stick, and threw it. Parker scampered off after it.

  “She’s the best, so don’t worry, by the summer it will be back to its former glory. The Hall and the grounds are going to look stunning when it’s all finished.”

  “It had better, it’s costing me a bloody fortune,” she said with a laugh in her voice. Matilda estimated around three to four million to get the place back to how it was, including furnishing it all.

  “Do you think you will get lonely, living here all by yourself when it’s finished?” he asked. She glanced at him.

  “I haven’t decided whether I will live in it yet. I might turn it into a business, a hotel, or one of these open houses like the National Trust has.”

  “Oh,” he replied.

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “Well, it seems a shame, that’s all. It would make a lovely family home.”

  Matilda looked away from him, her mind clearly elsewhere as she felt judders in her heart.

  When she finally spoke again, it was just a whisper.

  “It was once.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said horrified realising what he had said. He put a hand on her arm pulling her to a halt. “I wasn’t thinking.” She turned, looking at him, her eyes falling into his.

  “It’s okay,” she assured, with a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “Sometimes when you least expect it, reality just hits you in the gut.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he apologised, stroking her arm with a gentle touch.

  “You didn’t, really I’m okay,” Matilda assured again.

  Despite the sudden wave of sadness, the way he looked at her caused her heart to flutter, and she lowered her eyes embarrassed and continued to walk.

  “Good boy,” she said as Parker dropped the stick by her feet. She picked it up and threw it again.

  Mike looked on after her, kicking himself for being such an idiot. Having recently lost his own parents, he of all people should have known better. Especially with the horrific way they had died, he hated to think he had just reminded her of it. He watched her as she bent down and picked up the stick Parker had dropped by her feet. Her long, dark hair was wavy and it lifted gently in the breeze.

  Mike laughed as she cursed Parker for shaking mud all over her. Matilda glanced over her shoulder at his laughter, and Mike’s heart did a little skip as her green eyes caught his. He smiled at her.

  She was unlike any of the girls he had attempted to date; he said attempted as all his dates had turned out to be complete disasters. Since he met Matilda three years ago, there was not one date that had gone further than dinner. He always managed to blow it one way or another. His consent chatting about Matilda and the renovation plans for this Hall probably didn’t help, but he couldn’t help himself. Matilda was all he could think about, Tilly, Tilly, Tilly, what was it about her that controlled him so and made him incapable of loving anyone else?

  “Well there it is,” she said, gesturing with her hand to the dilapidated looking wood store.

  He shook himself from his daydream and looked. Ivy and brambles covered and almost camouflaged it from their vision. He could just distinguish the dirty glass windows and the ramshackle door.

  “Okay, let’s take a look,” he said. They approached the door, and began tearing away at the ivy, and pulling back the brambles.

  “Ouch, shit,” Matilda, cursed, immediately pulling her thumb to her mouth.

  “What have you done?” he asked, anxiously.

  “It’s a bloody thorn,” she groaned, sucking at her thumb.

  “Let me see,” he requested, and he held out his hand expectantly. She hesitated.

  “Show,” he said, with a grin. Matilda huffed giving him her thumb.

  “Hmm, that’s a huge one. Let me see if I can get it out,” he offered.

  “No, it’s okay,” she said, attempting to reclaim her thumb.

  “Hold still, I can feel the end; I can get it,” he said, gripping her hand tighter.

  “Ouch,” she complained, as he picked at the thorn.

  “I’ve got it, stay still, Matilda,” he complained at her fidgeting. “There, here it comes,” he declared euphorically, and he held it between his finger and thumb to show her.

  “Thanks,” she said gratefully putting the tip of her bleeding thumb back into her mouth. He flicked it away.

  “You’d better put some TCP or something on it when we get back
inside. Do you have a first aid kit?”

  Matilda shook her head.

  “No, but I have an alternative.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Thyme,” she replied.

  “What the herb?”

  “Yes, I have some in my medibox. I can make something herbal up, and I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  He gave a shrug turning his attention back to the door. Heaving it a few times, it eventually gave and opened.

  “Yuk, I bet it’s full of spiders,” she groaned peering into the dark, wood store.

  “Probably,” he agreed stepping inside. “However, it looks like you’re in luck as it’s completely dry in here. The wood will be fine to use. Hey, there’s a wheel barrow over there,” he said, walking to it.

  Matilda actually thought she ought to give him a hand, so entering the dark and braving the ominous spiders she helped him throw some logs in the barrow.

  “Matilda,” he said, unexpectedly.

  “What?” she asked brushing the sawdust off her hands and glancing to him.

  “Spider,” he yelled, throwing something at her. A tiny shriek escaped her lips and she stumbled backwards, brushing her hands frantically all over herself.

  “Only kidding,” he laughed.

  “Oh, my God,” she yelled at him, “that was not funny, Mike.”

  “Yes it was,” he chuckled back, picking up another log, and throwing it into the barrow.

  “Seriously, if you do that again, you’re fired,” she warned, frowning and wagging her finger at him. “I hate spiders.”

  “Oh, come on, Matilda, you know you could never replace me,” he said, lifting his head and giving her an impish grin. She gave into a smile.

  “No, well maybe not, but I’m sure I could think of something else to get you back.”

  “Fair enough,” he accepted. “There that should be enough to keep you going for a few days,” he said, at the overflowing barrow of logs.

  “Well, you can wheel it back in punishment for the spider,” Matilda said, raising her hands to her hips.

  “I would have done it anyway, so you’ve wasted your revenge,” he declared, taking hold of the two handles, and lifting the barrow.

  “Oh bugger,” she groaned playfully, following him out of the woodshed.

  Parker was barking.

  “Parker,” Mike shouted, looking into the trees. The dog continued to bark. “Parker, come here,” Mike yelled again.

  “What’s he barking at?” Matilda asked.

  “Probably rabbits,” he replied. Parker shot out of the trees and bounded towards them.

  “You been rabbiting, boy?” he asked fussing him. The dog barked in reply.

  It was hard work getting a wheelbarrow through the overgrown garden. Mike cursed a few times as not only did he have a wonky wheel to contend with, it also kept getting stuck in the brambles and mud. Eventually getting the barrow to the back door, they took the logs in the kitchen and stacked them in a pile at the back of the kitchen.

  “Do you have any kindling, or firelighters? If so, I’ll lay it for you,” he offered. She shook her head.

  “No, but I have to go into town later I can pick some up then. Thanks for your help,” she said gratefully watching him brush his hands down his trousers. Mike’s walkie talkie went off and he unhooked it from his belt.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Mike, we need you on site,” Steve’s voice came back.

  “Okay, I’m on my way,” he replied.

  “Oh, Mike, could you just give me a quick hand to move this?” Matilda asked, hurrying out of the kitchen. Mike put his walkie-talkie on the table and followed her.

  “It’s my mother’s old butcher’s block, I thought I could use it to put a TV on for now,” she said, walking into the utility room.

  “God it’s huge,” he said, as he saw the solid pine block.

  “I know it’s ancient and bloody heavy.”

  “Push or pull?” he asked.

  “Push,” she replied. Putting her weight behind the block, Mike grabbed the iron rail running down one side of the block and pulled.

  “Thanks again, Mike,” Matilda said, as they finished manoeuvring it into place in the kitchen.

  “You’re welcome, just give me a shout if you need me to do anything else,” he offered. “Parker,” he called.

  “I will,” she assured, watching him leave, Parker as always at his heels.

  Matilda was dreading her next job. Grabbing some black bags and her bucket of cleaning materials she walked into the day-lounge and began clearing out old magazines from the shelf underneath the coffee table. Most of them were country homes and interior magazines. She knelt on the rug flicking through a few to see if there was anything worth keeping. Not much had changed in eleven years, and it seemed most of the features and designs were back in fashion. Spotting a box, she pulled it out, and brushed off the dust, knowing immediately what was inside. She sat crossed legged on the rug, making herself comfortable and opened the box.

  “Oh my God,” she muttered, and she began pawing through the family photos of their last holiday. It was in Scotland, the summer before they all died. She and her mother were planning to stick them into a scrapbook; it was going to be their rainy day project. Matilda was amazed they had survived after all this time. She knew all their other family photographs had been in the loft in the west wing and therefore destroyed by the fire.

  Ten minutes later, she wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand and swept it across the tears streaming down her cheeks. It was strange how with the help of a few photographs, the memories of a holiday previously forgotten flooded back to her.

  Her father hired a motorhome and they started in Inverness and worked their way up to John O’Groats, travelling all over the highlands and islands. She remembered it being such a fun holiday. Her brother went horse riding for the first time, and he loved it so much her mother enrolled him in proper riding lessons when they got home.

  After an hour of wading through her memories, her heart was unable to take anymore, and she put the lid back on the box. If it weren’t for the fact it was only three o’clock in the afternoon, she would have braved her father’s wine cellar to see if there were any in there to drown her sorrows with. Instead, she decided to take a break and go outside to see how the work was going.

  Walking into the kitchen to grab her jacket, she stopped to pick up an orange on the floor. Putting it back in the fruit bowl on the kitchen worktop, she turned her body towards a noise, coming from Mike’s walkie-talkie, which he had left it on the table.

  Crackle – crackle, the walkie-talkie went, crackle – crackle – ‘He’s coming,” a voice whispered across the airwaves. Crackle – crackle – crackle. The words gave her a chill, and she reached a tentative hand towards the walkie-talkie. Crackle – crackle – “Get him,” a different sounding voice said with menace. Matilda grabbed it.

  “Hello is anyone there,” she asked, pushing the button and then releasing it.

  Crackle – crackle – crackle - crackle.

  Matilda waited, listening.

  “Hello,” Matilda said, pushing and releasing the button. “Mike, is that you?” she asked.

  Crackle – crackle – crackle – “Kill him,” the menacing voice whispered, so quietly she barely heard it.

  “What the hell,” she muttered. “Who’s is this?” she demanded, pushing the button.

  Crackle – crackle – crackle – crackle – “Death.”

  Chapter Five

  “We need two more twelve foot oak beams,” Steve said, as he and Mike stood in front of the west wing. The scaffolding was starting to go up, and the men were removing the charred remains of the interior. Mike jotted it down in his blue note pad.

  “What about the fireplace?” Mike asked, his pen edging on his lower lip as he thought. He was really hoping they could save it, as it was such a beautiful piece of late medieval architecture and he knew he would have a real hard job
replacing it.

  “We should be able to restore it. The stone work is perfect, it’s just smoked damaged that’s all.” Steve eyes lifted to movement above him.

  “Move!” he yelled, and he shot forward shoving Mike hard. Mike, fell backwards, his pen and pad flying out of his hands as he landed with a heavy thud on the ground.

  Bang! The floor shook with the impact.

  “Fucking hell,” Mike gasped balancing himself with his left hand on the grass. He glanced up at Steve and back to the head of the stone gargoyle that had just missed smashing him to smithereens.

  “Are you okay?” Steve asked his voice shaky, as he offered him his hand.

  “Yeah, thanks to you. God thanks, Steve,” he replied, allowing him to pull him to his feet. They both looked up to the eves of the old hall.

  “That would have killed me,” Mike muttered, his heart still pounding from the shock.

  “We must have disturbed it with all the scaffolding going up.” Steve theorised.

  “Maybe,” he mumbled, but Mike was not entirely convinced. He was sure that there was something strange going on with this Hall. Whether it was paranormal or not, he couldn’t be sure but it was something he was determined to find out.

  He glanced to Steve. “Can you get some of the lads to go up there and check the other gargoyles, just in case any more of them are loose? We don’t what that happening again,” Mike asked. Steve gave a nod.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks, Steve,” Mike replied. Steve nodded and walked away.

  Mike picked up his pad and pen, stepping back a few paces, he stared up at the eaves, and a shiver ran down his spine at what had nearly happened. His eyes ran across the front of the building, checking to see if he could see anything else that might have caused it to fall. He was just about to walk away when his eye caught movement in one of the windows. He focussed back on it, but whatever it was, had gone. He gave a shrug, it was probably just light reflecting on the window, and headed back to his cabin.

  ***

  Matilda knocked on the door and waited anxiously.