by Amy Cross
Copyright 2017 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
First published: February 2017
Table of Contents
Part One
Today
Part Two
1888
Part Three
1900
Part Four
1906
Part Five
1996
Part Six
1996
Part Seven
Today
Epilogue
The Curse of Wetherley House
Part One
Today
Rosie
“I'm cursed,” I say with a sigh, stepping back from my broken-down car as I realize that not one, not two, but three whopping coincidences have conspired to leave me stranded at the side of the road. “I have to be. Nobody can be this unlucky.”
Cars rush past just a few meters away, heading home in the evening gloom, but at least I've got my hazard lights flashing to minimize the risk that someone'll plow straight into me and just end everything right now. Checking my phone, I see that it's almost 6pm, which means that at this exact moment I'm supposed to be walking through the front door at Lorna's house, ready for her baby shower. Like, at this exact moment. I even have a gift wrapped and ready to go on the back seat, but I'm still a couple of hundred miles from her place and there's no chance I'll make it now. Not after this litany of disasters.
First, my alarm didn't go off this afternoon. And since I was on a night shift until eight this morning, I slept through until two hours after I was supposed to leave the house.
Second, the friend who was supposed to watch my cat suddenly took off on her own little trip, leaving me frantically scrambling to find someone else to take the job.
And now, not long after setting off, my car has ground to a halt with several flashing warning lights, and I'm starting to seriously think that some kind of hidden force has just decided that today is the day when everything goes to hell.
Maybe I really am cursed.
Sighing, I reach into my pocket and take out my phone, so that I can call Lorna and let her know I'm not coming, and then get the number for a garage. After tapping the screen a couple of times, however, I find that nothing happens. It's as if my phone has died, which just seems so completely perfect on an evening like this.
Yep. I'm cursed.
“Ugh!” I mutter, leaning against the side of the car and trying to get my head straight, as cars roar past.
Okay, I can do this.
I can figure something out.
Worst case scenario, I'll walk five or six miles back to the service station I passed a while ago, and I'll ask for help there. I'm sure I'll end up with a massive repair bill, but it's not like I have a choice. This entire evening officially sucks. Already, my mind is racing as I try to work out how I'm going to dig myself out of this unexpected financial hole, but I guess I can pull overtime for a few weeks at the hotel and then maybe by the end of next month I'll break even. I shouldn't complain, really. As my foster parents always used to remind me, worse things happen at sea.
“Rosie?”
Startled, I turn and see that a car has pulled over just ahead of mine, and a figure has stepped out. I can't really see him very well, since he's silhouetted against the lights of passing traffic, but he's coming this way and not only does he apparently know my name, but his voice seemed weirdly familiar.
“It is you!” he says, as he finally comes close enough for me to see a handsome, smiling face. “Rosie, right? Is this a hell of a coincidence, or what?”
***
“After school I just drifted from job to job,” Toby says as we sit in the service station's almost-deserted restaurant, overlooking the motorway. “Nothing really stuck, and university wasn't for me, so I just did a little of everything. Cook. Cleaner. Office monkey. Drummer in a band. Charity sign-ups. You name it, I tried it. But what about you? It must be five years since the last time I saw you. What've you been up to?”
“Night shifts on the front desk at a hotel, mainly,” I reply, still warming my hands on the sides of a polystyrene coffee cup. “Nothing too glamorous.”
“You didn't go to uni or anything like that?”
I shake my head. “Didn't fancy the debt.”
“And now here we are!”
“Here we are.”
We sit in silence for a moment. This impromptu reunion keeps teetering on the brink, between comfortable and awkward. I knew Toby pretty well at school, but those days are long gone and I'm not sure we have that much in common anymore. As I force a smile and then look down at my cup, I can't help thinking that we should get going soon. Besides, there was that one time Toby and I shared a kiss at lunch break, and I'm feeling just slightly embarrassed. After a moment, just for something to do, I reach down and check my phone, which is charging in a socket beneath the table. I now have precisely 4% battery.
“I still can't quite believe it,” Toby continues finally. “I was just driving along and I saw someone pulled over at the side of the road, and as I passed I got a glimpse of your face and I just immediately recognized you. Like, snap, there you were in my rear-view mirror. I mean, I often wondered what had happened to you after we all left school, and I looked you up on Facebook a few times, but I just figured you'd dropped off the grid or something.”
“No such luck,” I mutter.
“And then fate threw us together like this.”
“I guess.” I can't help smiling. He's right, this is one of those once-in-a-lifetime coincidences.
“Well, it's good to see you,” he adds. “Really good. I mean, we should never have lost touch after school finished.” He hesitates for a moment. “I've got to admit, I didn't really keep up with anyone at the time. I was way too into my own thing and life was pretty chaotic. I definitely went off the rails for a while, but eventually I realized there were a few people I wished I'd still seen now and again. Tom Bradley and Jake Hughes and Martin Wilson, to name a few.” Another pause. “And you.”
“So where were you off to tonight,” I ask, changing the subject, “before you stopped to rescue me?”
“Oh, I think if I tell you, you'll think I'm nuts.”
“I already think you're nuts. I remember when you swung from the roof of the science block and landed in a bin.”
He bursts out laughing.
He has a nice, infectious laugh.
“So where are you going?” I ask again. “A party? A gig?”
He shakes his head, but he seems a little reluctant to tell me.
“Where are you going?” I ask for the third time.
“I'm going to...” Again, he hesitates, and he really seems a little uncomfortable. Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an old-fashioned key. “Believe it or not, I'm on my way to check out a haunted house.”
I wait for the punchline, but after a moment I realize that he actually seems serious.
“Yeah,” he continues with an embarrassed laugh, “I know, right? I told you you'd think I'm nuts.”
I open my mouth to tell him I don't think that, but I can't quite get the words out.
“A little,” I say finally.
“And I don't blame you,” he continues, “except this house is, like, one of the most notorious places in the country. I mean, it's got a real reputation, it's the kind of place that a lot of people don't even like to talk about. I guess you could call
it the Macbeth of the ghost-hunting world. A lot of people lower their voices when they talk about this house. I don't suppose you keep up with ghosts and the paranormal and stuff like that?”
“Not really.”
“Not into that kind of stuff at all?”
I shake my head.
“People talk about Wetherley House a lot,” he continues. “Like, a lot! It's been abandoned for years. Fifteen, twenty, something like that. I'm part of this online group that talks about haunted properties, and sometimes we organize visits to these places.”
“You break in?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“No! Definitely not! We always get permission from the owners. That's not always easy, and in the case of Wetherley House it seemed impossible for a while. I mean, we were completely stonewalled. It was kinda rude, really. They could at least have just told us to go screw ourselves, but we never even got a reply from the executors of the estate. Until...”
He sets the key down on the table between us.
“Until this little beauty showed up in the mail.”
“The owners finally gave in?”
“Beats me. It just showed up without so much as a note. The only reason we know it's the key to Wetherley House is 'cause of some fine, dedicated research by yours truly. Now, as the more practical member of the online group, I've always been the one who contacts property owners to get permission to go inside, so I guess I finally reached the right person and they mailed the key to me. Either way, I think this counts as permission, so I'm finally heading over there. The house is just half an hour from here. I was on my way when I spotted you.”
“Huh.” Picking up the key, I find that it's surprisingly heavy, and also a little rusty. “So you're meeting a bunch of ghost-busters, are you?”
“I was, but the others had to drop out. Kieran came down with flu yesterday, Marty had to take some overtime, and Bobby's wife wouldn't let him come.”
“So you're going to this haunted house alone?”
“I was all ready and geared up,” he continues. “I figure I'll just check it out, and then the others can get their asses along some time next week.” He watches for a moment as I continue to examine the key. “Do you believe in the paranormal, Rosie?”
“Me? No. Not really.”
“Not even a little bit?”
I open my mouth to tell him that I've never been into that kind of thing, but suddenly as I stare at the key I get this really strong mental image of an old wooden door swinging open, and for a moment I swear I can see an old, dirty hallway with a set of stairs leading up into darkness. The image goes away as quickly as it came, but for a fraction of a second there it was really strong and really clear.
I quickly set the key down.
“No,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “I mean, it's crazy. I like horror movies, but that's as far as it goes. I'm pretty sure that if there was anything to all that stuff, it would've been proven by now. It's not like there haven't been a ton of people trying to find evidence. I remember hearing about some nutters at an old hospital near my place. They spent a few nights there a while back, trying to catch photos of ghosts, stuff like that. Of course, they came away with nothing. I mean, when you really look at it, the whole thing's crazy.”
I wait for him to admit that I'm right, but suddenly I realize that I might have been a little insulting.
“Not that I'm saying you're crazy,” I stammer. “I wasn't -”
Before I can finish, he bursts out laughing.
“You know what I mean,” I continue, trying to find a more tactful response. “I just don't think there's anything to it. Real life can be spooky enough, and creepy enough, without having to drag ghosts and all that bull into the mix.”
“You don't believe?”
“I don't believe in ghosts.”
“Alright, then,” he says, picking up the key and holding it between us, letting it glint under the restaurant's low lights. “It seems you've missed your friend's baby shower, and we know each other so it's not like I'm some weird stranger who's trying to lure you into a dark building. So how about it?”
“How about what?” I ask, feeling a faint tingle of nerves as I realize that I might have inadvertently talked myself into something.
“Wetherley House is half an hour away,” he explains, still holding the key up as if he's trying to tempt me. “I'll drop you off at your place when we're done, I'll drop you off anywhere you like, but first... Why don't you put your money where your mouth is, and come with me? Let's go explore Wetherley House together. If we're lucky, we might even meet Evil Mary herself.”
Rosie
I don't like this, but I guess it's way too late to back out now.
As Toby parks the car, I look out the window and see the faint, dark shape of a house just a couple of hundred feet away. There are no lights on at all. Like, zero. I don't know what I expected, but just the appearance of the house is so cold and remote, and I'm already wondering whether I could just sit here and wait in the car while Toby goes inside. At the same time, I don't want to seem like a total wuss, and I guess we'll be in and out pretty fast. Besides, I don't believe in ghosts, so there's no need to be nervous. I just have to keep reminding myself of that fact.
I don't believe in ghosts.
“Ready?”
Turning to Toby, I see that he's smiling at me.
“Sure thing,” I reply, forcing a smile.
He reaches over to the back seat and grabs a thick, padded jacket.
“For your warmth, my lady,” he explains.
It's the ugliest jacket I've ever seen in my life, but right now I'm insanely grateful.
“Thank you.”
“Bet you didn't think your evening would end up like this, huh?” he continues.
“Never in a million years,” I admit, and for a moment I can't help thinking back just a few hours, to when I thought I was on my way to a baby shower. Funny how a few little incidents can change everything.
“You can stay in the car if you want,” he tells me. “I can turn the engine back on so you're warm, and you can have the radio on. You don't really have to come inside that cold, haunted place with me.”
“Are you kidding?” I reply. “I've come too far to back out now.”
Even though I desperately, desperately want to back out.
“You must really not believe in ghosts, then,” he says, as he takes what looks like an old toolbox from the back seat. “Either that, or you genuinely don't know anything about Evil Mary or Wetherley House.”
Sighing, I realize that he's mentioned the name Evil Mary several times now, and he clearly wants me to ask what he means.
“Fine,” I say, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Out with it. Who's Evil Mary?”
***
“Her name was Mary Carmichael,” Toby says as he struggles for a moment with the key, trying to get the door open, “and they say that even now, she haunts this house and waits for her chance to strike again. To see her face is to know pure evil, and to feel her touch on your shoulder is to feel the chill of death itself.”
“Oh yeah?” I reply, still shivering slightly despite the thick jacket.
“She'll be waiting for us inside.”
“Sure she will.”
“If I can get this goddamn door open, anyway.”
“Maybe it's not the right key after all,” I point out.
“Oh, it's definitely the right key.” He wiggles it in the lock for a moment. “Something seems stuck, though.” More wiggling. “I guess this door probably hasn't been opened in a long time. You know, it's possible that some kind of residual psychic energy is trying to keep the damn thing locked. Or another explanation might be that the house itself, or something inside the house, would prefer us not to enter. I've read theories suggesting that every negative spirit has an equal or opposite -”
“Oh, for God's sake,” I mutter, nudging him out the way and giving the key a good old-fashioned heavy twist, which causes the door
to immediately click open. “It just needed a bit of brute force.”
“Huh,” he replies, as I step back. “Well, that does seem to have done the trick.”
After taking the key out, he pushes the door all the way open. The wood creaks in the process, and I swear I immediately feel even colder air coming from the hallway. Just as I start peering into the darkness, however, Toby switches on a flashlight and steps inside, and I check that my jacket is zipped all the way before heading in after him. Before I've managed even a couple of steps, however, I feel a board flex under my feet, accompanied by the groan of old, rotten wood.
“Careful,” Toby says, as he shines the flashlight's beam around the hallway. “Remember we're intruders here.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he continues to shine the beam all around, and I take a couple more steps inside until I reach the bottom of a set of stairs. Reaching out, I place a hand on the curved section at the bottom of the stair-rail, and I take a moment to look up at the dark landing. The first thing I notice is that the interior of this house is covered in a very detailed, floral-patterned wallpaper, the kind of thing that'd drive me nuts if I had to live with it. Some of the paper is peeling away slightly, and when I touch one of the frayed edges I'm immediately surprised by how cold the wall feels. This house is like an icebox.
“Is it really that chilly tonight?” I ask, immediately seeing my breath's vapor in the air. “It must be, like, minus degrees in here.”
When Toby doesn't reply, I turn and see that he's over on the far side of the hallway, seemingly lost in wonder. I guess he's built himself up for this trip, and it's kind of cute to see how seriously he's taking the whole thing. Figuring I shouldn't disturb him too much, I look away, toward the door that leads through to a dusty, abandoned old dining room. I'm about to point out once again that this is a very cold, very pointless waste of time, when I suddenly realize that I've seen this exact hallway before. I look around again, and suddenly it strikes me that this is exactly the place I saw earlier in the restaurant, when I touched the key and got a strong image of a house. I know that's not possible, of course, but it's still a little spooky.