The Curse of the
ghost
Written by
marie o’regan
Hersham Horror Books
Hersham Horror Books
Logo by Daniel S Boucher
Cover Design by Mark West 2015
Copyright 2015 © Hersham Horror Books
Story copyright Marie O’Regan 2014
All rights belong to the original artists, and writers for their contributed works.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Cursed Series No. 3
First Edition.
First published in 2015
Also from
Hersham Horror Books:
Alt-Series
Alt-Dead
Alt-Zombie
PentAnth-Series
Fogbound From 5
Siblings
Anatomy of Death
Demons & Devilry
Dead Water
The Cursed Series
The Curse of The Mummy
The Curse of the Wolf
Series Foreword
I love monsters. There I’ve said it. As an author, editor and publisher I love a good story with a monster in it. I’m not saying I don’t like other types of horror, but the fear of something under your bed; in the wardrobe, or shuffling across a misty graveyard fills me with equal measures of fear and glee.
Where did this love spring from? Firstly from old horror films, before I got heavily into reading at twelve. I feel sorry for my boys who don’t know the names Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney Jr, Elsa Lancaster and James Whale. I used to stay up to the wee hours with my portable telly turned down, so my mother would not hear it. Waiting for a double bill of horror, headed by the RKO Radio Picture logo.
This is where my love began, before moving onto the colour pleasures of Hammer films.
This series of six little books will take you back to the time of the mummy, werewolf, ghost, zombie, monster and vampire. Where nothing sparkled in black and white, and the odd child got thrown into a lake. The local villagers had a bountiful supply of pitchforks and flaming brands, and the vampires never came out until after dusk.
The graves are empty, the tombs open wide, and the moon is full and high. Prepare to shiver.
Peter Mark May
Series Editor
December 2014
.
The Curse of the ghost
(The Curse of the lost – a ghost story)
Lily screamed in pain as a sudden nip to her ankle drew blood. She was standing in the middle of a jungle overgrown with plants; roses, hydrangea – the strange but suddenly aptly named snapdragons: all were attacking her. The roses bore down from a height no normal flower would reach as they tried to impale her flesh on their thorns, their scent – usually so beautiful – now so thick it did little but inspire nausea; the hydrangea bushes sought to ensnare her even as they capered and shuddered in the wind, branches slapping into her with ever-increasing force; snapdragons nipped at her heels, drawing blood as she passed. But she couldn’t stop.
“Darren!”
No answer. She pushed deeper into the undergrowth, searching for her husband, sure that some terrible fate must have befallen him – he’d have answered her otherwise…wouldn’t he? “Darren! Answer me!”
Silence. The wind sobbed and moaned through the trees that loomed ahead in this morass of a garden, and there was still no sign of her husband. She was alone, and she was utterly lost.
She heard a splash somewhere nearby, and something laughed; a soft, lunatic sound from the depths of the surrounding vegetation that froze Lily where she stood. She remained motionless, shuddering in the cold as she searched for a glimpse of Darren in the bushes, but nothing seemed familiar. This was their dream home, sold to them as a ‘fixer-upper’ opportunity, and they had fallen in love with it at first sight. Now it was trying to kill her; had probably already killed Darren.
Two ice blue orbs blinked into existence a few feet in front of her, accompanied by that gibbering laugh once more – and she understood somehow that they were eyes. She was surrounded by the smell of stagnant water, and worse than that – something rotting.
Lily opened her mouth wide and screamed until her throat was raw…
“Lily!” Someone was shaking her, their fingers digging deep into the meat of her arm in an effort to keep hold as she struggled to escape. She heard her name again, and the panic in the speaker’s voice… Darren’s voice. Her eyelids flickered, the pressure on her arms increasing as she was shaken once more.
“Ow!”
The hold on her arms eased immediately, and she felt the rush of blood to the sore spots, points that she knew would bruise within hours. As she opened her eyes she rubbed her arms, tears threatening. “Jesus, Darren, what was that for?”
Her husband sighed, and she saw embarrassment start to overtake the fear that had been etched on his face just a moment before.
“You were screaming again, Lily.” He sat back, rubbed a hand across his face, still shaky. “I’m sorry about…” Darren gestured at her arms, where the marks of his fingers were rising quickly; a dark, purplish red that would be almost navy blue by morning. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you wouldn’t wake up.”
“I know you didn’t, love.” She lay back down, relieved to be back in the here and now, safe. The pain in her arms began to subside as she rubbed them.
Darren lay down beside her, hooked an arm under his head and pulled her close, the tension apparent in his voice as he asked, “So what were you dreaming?”
Frowning, Lily replied, “I don’t know, not properly. It was dark, and I was in a garden. It felt like it was our garden, but I couldn’t get my bearings; I was completely lost. The plants were huge; I couldn’t fight my way through them, and there was something...” Her mind shied away from that detail and she curled up to Darren, relishing his warmth. “I couldn’t find you.”
Darren’s voice was calm, and somehow she knew he was smiling; she could hear it. “Doesn’t sound too scary now, does it? Big plants and I wasn’t around? I mean, we haven’t even got a garden!”
“Well, no,” she said. “But it wasn’t just that. There were these eyes, all cold and blue and scary. And a smell…”
“So far, sounds like me after a bad night.”
Lily snorted laughter against his chest, and relaxed against him as he pulled her close. His voice was growing lazy as he said, “Sleep now, babe. I’ve got you.”
She was already halfway there, and fell asleep quickly in his arms. There were no more dreams.
The day dawned bright and warm, as far opposed to Lily’s mood as it was possible to get. She kept quiet while Darren got ready for work, and pulled the curtains closed the minute he was gone – it felt better to be in the gloom, away from the light that hurt her eyes and made them itch. Maybe she was coming down with something, she thought – or then again, given her dreams, maybe she was just plain tired. She went through the motions of cleaning the flat, shopping for groceries (her poor eyes protected from the sun by a hat and sunglasses, even though the day wasn’t anywhere near as bright as it felt to her) and starting dinne
r, ready for when Darren came home. In the three months since the doctor had signed her off work following the… as usual, her mind tried and failed to refuse the word miscarriage… first to allow her to recover from that, then from the near-breakdown that had followed, she’d grown quite used to her own company, her own schedule, and was no longer sure she wanted to go back. She had no wish to face her colleagues’ sympathetic glances and comments. She was happier at home, by herself.
Lily was just setting the table, clattering the cutlery down in a huff because Darren was late (it was half past six; he was never this late), when she heard the scratches at the door.
“Very funny, Darren; just come in for dinner, will you?”
No answer. The scratches came again, somehow craftier this time, and it crossed Lily’s mind that perhaps someone – or something – other than Darren was outside the door. She smoothed her skirt flat with her hands, picked up a knife from the table, and moved closer to the door. The scratches grew louder, more insistent, and she realised she was gripping the knife so tightly that her fingernails were embedded in her palm. Forcing herself to loosen her grip, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, surprised at how shaky that breath was. “Darren?”
There was a snuffling sound, and the scratches stopped for a moment. To Lily, it seemed as if those few seconds stretched out for ever, and she nearly cried with relief when the scratches returned – this time followed by the unmistakeable sound of a key rattling in the lock.
The door swung open to reveal a rather sheepish Darren swaying in the hall, keys dangling from his hand. “Sorry, pet, had a pint with the lads on the way home.” His gaze took in the knife still clutched in his wife’s hand, and the fear on her face. “Whoa, love. It’s just me, okay? I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Lily quickly hid the knife, forced a smile. “I wondered what the noise was, that’s all.”
She turned and headed back towards the kitchen, her hand shaking. What was wrong with her?
Darren followed a little more slowly, banging into the wall now and again. He pulled out a chair and sat at the little table, but said nothing. He watched Lily as she went through the motions of dishing up their meal, clearly nervous at the change he saw in her.
She clattered the plates down on the table, fetched glasses of water, sat down opposite him and started eating, reluctant to say anything that might make things worse. It made for an uncomfortable meal, as Darren, in turn, said nothing – and she knew that was his way of avoiding anything that might provoke her.
Finally, Lily relented. She put her fork down, smoothed an errant curl behind her ear, and stared up at him. “What was the occasion?”
“Sorry?”
“The pint you went for, remember? What was the occasion, something special?
Darren opened his mouth to speak, cleared his throat, then closed his mouth again – he seemed unsure of what to say.
Lily said nothing, just waited, a little frown creasing her forehead.
He tried again. “I’ve got good news.”
She smiled now, and finally her face relaxed – the warmth that expression brought with it enough to erase all the worry of recent months, if only for a moment. “That’s great. What is it?”
Now he smiled. “I’ve found a house.”
Lily stared at him, the frown back. “Don’t joke about it, Darren. You know we can’t afford a house.”
“We can afford this one, love.”
Lily snorted. “Why? Is it falling down?”
Darren’s smile slipped a little, but he didn’t say anything. Lily waited – sure there was something here that wasn’t being said. Something important.
“Besides,” she said, and now she was struggling to keep her voice even, “we don’t really need one now, do we? Not yet, maybe not…”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t know that we’ll…”
“We’ll have a family, Lily. I know we will.” Darren’s voice was firm; he wouldn’t brook any dissent on this point. “We just need to give it some time.”
Lily said nothing, not willing to open the door to hope; not yet. Not on that. It hurt too much.
In the end, Darren sighed and took her hands in his, pulling gently when she resisted. “It needs some work, that’s all; but it’s beautiful, Lily. You’ll love it, you’ll see. And we can take our time doing it up.” There was a wheedling tone in his voice that she didn’t like, and found herself questioning.
“What’s the catch?”
Now Darren let her hands go, and returned to his dinner. He wouldn’t look at her, visibly annoyed that his surprise hadn’t been welcomed with open arms. “There is no catch, for God’s sake. It just needs a bit of TLC, that’s all.” He sawed angrily at his steak and blood flowed onto his plate, making Lily feel sick. “We’re viewing it on Saturday, okay? Just try and keep an open mind till then.”
Silence fell, punctuated only by the sound of cutlery on china – Lily nodded, wary of aggravating him further. Maybe she’d been unfair. He’d only been trying to do something nice for her – just like always, and especially so since… “Okay, love. I’m sorry.”
He grunted, but didn’t reply; just concentrated on his food. Conversation, and along with it all hopes of a pleasant evening, were over.
Wind howled outside their window, and Lily tried to ignore the keening sound the trees made as leaves were ripped away by its gusts – Lily lay and stared at their skeletal fingers scratching across the moonlit ceiling and tried not to cry. She was badly frightened, though if asked she wouldn’t be able to say why – she just had a feeling something was wrong.
And was going to get worse.
Saturday dawned clear and bright, and Darren was annoyingly upbeat no matter how much his wife dragged her feet. “Come on, Lily; we’re nearly there!”
They turned another corner, and Darren stopped before a rambling Victorian cottage. “We’re here!”
Lily said nothing, just took in the building he was clearly so excited about. Made of Derbyshire stone, it was a pleasant, buttery yellow cottage – with crimson roses climbing a ramshackle trellis that was bowing under the weight of its burden. The windows were old-fashioned, small panes of glass with what looked like a bubble in the centre – Lily felt herself start to smile, and as she did, became aware of Darren relaxing beside her.
“You like it?”
She nodded, then looked sideways at Darren, squinting against the sunlight. The effect was oddly disconcerting. “I’ll reserve judgement until we’ve seen inside, though.”
“Of course.” Darren rushed to open the front door, fishing a key out of his pocket as he went. The door swung open with a creak, and they stepped over the threshold to find themselves in a pleasantly cool, dim hallway. Yellowing wallpaper peeled slightly at the edges, a pattern of roses – now so faded they were barely visible – splashed across the walls. They certainly loved roses, Lily thought, and smiled. She peeked into the rooms that led off the hallway as they made their way to the back of the house, and saw nothing that perturbed her. It needed some care, that was true, but she knew they could give it that. She felt no draught, despite the fact it was a windy – if sunny – day, no doors or windows creaked or banged in the breeze.
Darren pushed open a door at the back of the house, and sunlight streamed towards them, bathing them in warmth. Lily exclaimed in delight as she rushed forward, finding herself in the kitchen.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!”
Darren stared at her, a little bemused. “It is?”
Lily looked around her, seeing the things he saw – cracked and peeling pale yellow paint, tatty cupboard doors in a hideous avocado green formica (Thank you to the sixties, she thought), and a big, cracked old butler sink in front of the huge windows. It needed a complete overhaul. Nevertheless, she loved it – the whole room was filled with light, and there was plenty of space. In her mind, she’d already started planning how she could bring this room up to da
te, make it hers. She moved to the window and peered out – her face falling as she took in the view. The windows looked out onto a huge, overgrown garden; roses, hydrangeas and clematis grew in abundance everywhere she looked, their heady aroma filling her senses – and to say it was overgrown was an understatement.
“Darren, I…”
He moved to her side, slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He looked down at her, and she saw his face stiffen when he recognised the fear in her eyes. His face fell. “Not this again.”
“But it’s…”
“It’s not the garden you dreamed about, Lily. How can it be?” His expression hardened, became stubborn.
Lily chanced another look out at the wilderness outside the kitchen window, and took a deep breath. She forced herself to take in the whole of the garden – the plants, the grass that needed cutting back… she couldn’t be sure it was the same garden, no. She just knew that looking at it filled her with foreboding.
Lily turned to Darren, trying to keep calm. He’d leap on any sign of what he viewed as hysteria. “I know it can’t be,” she said, “but it looks so much like it.”
She waited, fearful of Darren’s reaction. She knew how much he loved the house, and worse, how much he wanted her to love it.
His reaction, when it came, surprised her. “How about we get it cleared first?” he said. “Once it’s all cleared and tidied you might feel differently.”
She thought about it. Much as she wanted to say no, it was the same garden, she knew that was neither fair nor even realistic. It wasn’t fair to project a dream onto a place like this. She stared out at the jungle that seemed to be slowly encroaching upon the house, and took a deep breath. Gardening had never been her strongpoint, nor had it been Darren’s – but they could find someone, easily enough. It wouldn’t take somebody who knew what they were doing long to put things to rights.
The Curse of the Ghost (The Cursed Book 3) Page 1