The Haunting of Emily Stone

by Amy Cross

  “Don't say that,” he replied. “You always tell me to do what I think is right. It's your way of tricking me into agreeing with you!”

  “I have to go and call my husband back.”

  “What am I supposed to do, then?” he asked as she turned and walked away. “Jenna? I won't let you guilt-trip me into doing this! There's no way I'm heading off up the country to talk to some little girl whose mother has lost her mind! It'd be completely pointless!” He waited for her to look back at him, to stop and say something, but she just kept on walking. “Jenna! This isn't going to work! If you think for one moment that you can manipulate me like this, you're wrong!”

  He waited, but she was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Twenty-four years ago

  “Emily! Get your lazy arse out of bed!”

  With the curtains still closed, the room was mostly dark despite the sunlight outside. After a moment, footsteps could be heard thumping up the stairs, and finally the door was flung open as Joyce Stone burst in. She immediately headed over to the window and pulled the curtains open, letting sunlight stream through as she breathed out more smoke from her cigarette.

  “Come on, you,” she continued, turning to look over at the bed, “that's enough laziness for one morning. Up.”

  She waited half a second.

  “Are you deaf?” she shouted, grabbing the bottom of the duvet and pulling it away, to reveal Emily on her side, curled up in a ball as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. “Downstairs! Now!”

  She waited, with her cigarette still in her mouth, but Emily didn't even turn to look at her.

  “Alright,” Joyce continued, stomping over to her, “listen, I've had enough of your -”

  Stopping suddenly, she sniffed the air, before taking a closer look at the sheets.

  “What the hell's going on in here?” she barked. “Have you pissed yourself?”

  ***

  “Bloody hell,” Joyce muttered a short while later, as they sat at the kitchen table with the washing machine running nearby. “What a lovely way to start the day. Pulling wet sheets off a bed.”

  “I'm sorry,” Emily whispered, staring down at the bowl of cereal she still hadn't touched. There were tears in her eyes, but she knew she shouldn't cry.

  “What's wrong with you today?” Joyce asked. “You look all pale.” She grabbed the remote control and used it to turn up the volume on the TV in the corner. Switching the cigarette to her right hand, she reached over with the left and felt the girl's forehead. “You're a bit clammy too. Are you sick?”

  Emily stared at her, but didn't say anything.

  “I can't be doing with this today,” Joyce continued, putting her cigarette back in her mouth. “Of all the days for you to start fucking about, girl, why'd you have to choose today? You know I've got a date tonight, and I've gotta sign on before I pick up something from the shop. There's no way you can stay home from school, not even if you've got bloody dengue fever, so you'll just have to pull your britches up and get on with it. You're gonna be on your own tonight, so -”

  “No!” Emily said suddenly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You can't go out!”

  “What's wrong?” Joyce asked, with a faint smile. “Scared?”

  “No, but -”

  Looking up at the ceiling, Emily paused for a moment, with fear in her eyes.

  “You're not half acting queer this morning,” Joyce continued, “it's putting me right off my breakfast. You know that, yeah? Are you doing it on purpose? Did you decide when you woke up that today was gonna be the day you'd just start pissing me off? Bloody hell, if your dad was still around, God bless his soul, I don't know what he'd make of you.”

  “I don't want to be by myself tonight,” she replied, still looking up at the ceiling. “Not here.”

  “What's wrong with here?”

  “Haven't you -” Turning to her mother, Emily paused again. “Don't you ever hear it?”

  “Hear what? The sound of your whining voice?”

  “It's...” Another pause. “Mum, do you think...”

  “Do I think what? That you're a pain in the arse? Sometimes, yeah.” She laughed at her own joke, before glancing over at the TV.

  “Do you ever think there's a ghost here?”

  Joyce let out another laugh, before taking the cigarette out of her mouth so she could eat a spoonful of cereal. “Pull the other one,” she muttered, with her mouth full. “It's got bells on.”

  “I'm not lying,” Emily continued. “I've been hearing weird noises for a while, and then last night...” Her voice trailed off as she realized that her mother thought she was an idiot. Frowning, she tried to work out how she could get anyone to believe her.

  “Last night what? Did you see a sheet hovering over your bed?”

  “No, I -”

  “Did it have piss stains on it? 'Cause then we know it's one of yours.” She laughed again.

  “I mean it,” Emily said firmly, still struggling to keep from crying. “It's like... I saw something in my room last night, something moving. At first it was standing in front of the window, and then...” She paused as she remembered the moment the figure had climbed onto the bed. “Then it got on the bed with me,” she whispered, “and it started crawling up, and I couldn't stop it, and it got all the way up and it started whispering in my ear. It was a woman.”

  “There was a strange woman on your bed?” Joyce replied skeptically.

  Emily nodded.

  “Maybe you really have got a fever, kid,” Joyce continued, checking her temperature again. “Hallucinating, are you?”

  Emily shook her head.

  “Then what's all this guff about?”

  “She told me about the place she was from,” Emily replied, “and she told me she wanted to get out. She called it the dead place, and...” She paused yet again, as a shiver passed through her body. “She told me she wanted to get out through me, like I'm some kind of door, but I didn't really understand what she meant. She said she'd be back, and she said that time didn't pass the same way for her as it does for me, but that she was going to find a way to break through. She told me she'd climbed up to reach the inside of my soul and that she'd been watching me for a long time, waiting for the right moment...”

  She sat in silence for a moment, trembling as tears ran down her face, desperate for her mother to believe her.

  “So when did you piss yourself?” Joyce asked finally, with a grin. “Before she got on the bed with you or after?”

  “Mum -”

  “Pull the other one,” she continued, “for God's sake. Bloody hell, kid, you've got quite an imagination, I'll give you that. Must be all those stupid cartoons you watch, they've warped your mind and made you a bit simple. I'll tell you something right now, my girl, and you'd do well to remember it, there ain't no such thing as ghosts. Ghosts are just stories people tell to scare each other.”

  “I saw her,” Emily whimpered.

  “You saw her? Like, what, a gray lady? In this house? Place was only built in the 70s, there hasn't been time for anyone to start haunting it.”

  “I saw her,” Emily said again, although she could tell there was no point.

  “Yeah, well...” Joyce sighed. “Bollocks,” she muttered under her breath. “The only people who actually believe in ghosts are bloody idiots,” she continued. “You see 'em in the paper sometimes, selling their stories, or trying to. Always with these ropey photos and talking about sheets flying through the air. It's never exactly believable, but people lap it up.” She tapped the end of her cigarette on the ashtray, before turning back to Emily and seeing the look of terror on her daughter's face. “You're more convincing that most of 'em,” she added, “but -”

  She paused suddenly, and finally a faint frown crossed her brow.

  “Do you really believe some spooky old cow was on your bed?” she asked finally, grabbing the remote again and using it to mute the TV.


  “I saw her,” Emily replied, her voice tense with fear. “I heard her talking to me.”

  “Yeah, but...” Joyce paused again, watching Emily's expression with a growing sense of interest. Glancing at the silent TV, she saw that Eamonn Holmes was interviewing a woman, and the caption on the bottom of the screen said the story was about someone being bullied at school. “People get a lot of money for stuff happening to 'em,” she muttered after a moment, before turning back to Emily. “Real life experiences, that kinda thing. You know, you'd look good on the front page of a paper. You've got that slightly gormless but very cute thing going on. People'd believe you.”

  “You don't believe me,” Emily whispered.

  “I don't have to, sweetie-pie, it's more about...” She took another drag on her cigarette and glanced at the TV again, before looking over at a pile of old Take a Break magazines by the phone. “There's money in that kind of story, you know. Aunt Pat got fifty quid for a story about her Barry eating a hamster, and I bet you they pay more for stuff about ghosts. Barry didn't even eat the bloody hamster, he just bit it, so we're already one up on him. We'd have to pad things out a bit, of course, maybe get some proof, but there might be a market for a story about ghosts.”

  Emily frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean... Do you think you could tell that same story to someone else? Maybe to lots of people?”

  “Why?”

  “Because they'd be interested.”

  “Do you think they'd be able to help?” Emily asked. “I just want the woman to go away.”

  “That's good,” Joyce replied. “Just like that.”

  “Just like what?”

  “People love ghost stories, don't they? Dunno why, I've never been a big fan myself, but the big London papers'd definitely pay out a few hundred quid, maybe more.” Getting up, she dragged her chair around the table and set it next to Emily, before sitting down again and putting an arm around her daughter. “Come on, it'll be fun. We'll just mess around a little with the whole thing and give people a nice fright. You just have to tell 'em what you told me, make it all spooky like, and we might even make enough for a holiday this year. You've always wanted to go to Majorca, haven't you?”

  “Where's -”

  “Do it for me,” Joyce continued. “You love your old mum, don't you? I wouldn't get you to do something if it was wrong.”

  “What about...” Emily paused for a moment. “She told me about the dead place where -”

  “Keep it simple,” Joyce added. “You don't wanna go complicating it too much, let's just get some blurry photos, add some detail, and then I'll ring round the local papers. You'd like to be famous, wouldn't you?” She leaned over and kissed the side of Emily's head. “We can even buy you a new dress, just for the occasion. Wouldn't that be nice, eh? Come on, Em, don't be so stiff about the whole thing.”

  Emily opened her mouth to reply, but she was starting to feel uncomfortable. She wanted her mother to help her, to make the woman in her bedroom go away. Instead, she felt as if she was going to be paraded in front of people.

  “I need to get hold of a camera,” Joyce said finally. “We're gonna need photos if we wanna pull this off. Don't worry, Em, it'll just be a bit of fun. It's not like anything can go wrong”

  Chapter Twenty

  Today

  “Where is she?”

  Getting up from the chair on the far side of the interview room, Emily hurried to the door as her lawyer entered, only for him to hold his hands up in order to keep her back. Two police officers were out in the corridor, evidently ready to force her back into the room if necessary.

  “She's fine,” the lawyer said. “A doctor has checked her over. You can't see her right now, but -”

  “Then when?” Emily asked. “Is she okay? Have they fed her? She can't eat chocolate, it gives her headaches, and you have to tell them not to let her use too much salt on her food, because if she's allowed, she'll cover everything in salt, she loves it. And they -”

  “Emily -”

  “She'll eat salad, but only if -”

  “Emily, calm down.”

  “Don't tell me to calm down!” she shouted. “Where's my daughter?”

  “She's being looked after.”

  “By who?”

  “By...” He paused for a moment, clearly feeling uncomfortable. “She's been taken to a center that specializes in looking after children when they've been through... experiences...” Sighing, he checked his watch. “Please, just take a seat and we can talk things through. We have a lot to cover and I have other clients to see today.”

  “I want to see my daughter,” she said firmly.

  “That's not going to be possible right now.”

  “I want to get out of here and see my daughter!”

  “We need to talk about that. Emily, please -”

  “I haven't done anything wrong,” she replied, pushing past him and heading to the door, only for one of the police officers to stand in her way. “You have no right to keep me here!” she shouted. “I haven't done anything!”

  “Come and sit down,” the lawyer told her.

  She turned to him, infuriated by his calmness. “Why?”

  “Because we have a lot to talk about.”

  “No, we have nothing to talk about. I have to go to my daughter, she needs me, she'll be scared without me!”

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding up a collection of papers.

  “I don't care. I just have to -”

  “It's a doctor's report,” he continued, “written by the man who examined Lizzie a few hours ago. He took a look at the bruises on her face, and it's good news, Emily.”

  “What -” She paused for a moment. “What do you mean? What's good news?”

  “I mean he determined that her bruises were definitely not caused by fists or any kind of beating. This helps your case.”

  “Why do I need a case? I would never hurt her!”

  “Sit down.”

  “What exactly does it say?”

  “It says that the bruises seem to have...” He paused, before looking down at the papers. “Well, I know this is going to sound a little strange, but he says he needs to get someone else to look at her because at the moment the bruises seem to have come from the other side of her skin.”

  “The other side?”

  “As if someone hit her from inside. The medical term he used was subcutaneous trauma, but to be honest, I don't think he quite knew what to make of it.”

  “That's -” Suddenly, she thought back to the moment when Lizzie had been standing in the dark bedroom.

  “They're going to run some more tests,” the lawyer told her. “They need to rule certain things out.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just some medical things, conditions that might cause spontaneous bruising.”

  “Is she...” Pausing, Emily tried to stay calm. “Is she in pain?”

  “I don't believe so, no.”

  “Has she been asking for me?”

  “Why don't you sit down,” the lawyer continued, “and tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened to you and your daughter last night?”

  “I can't.”

  “You have to.”

  “You'll think I'm...” Her voice trailed off.

  “I can assure you, I'm not going to laugh at anything you tell me. The situation is far too serious.”

  Pausing for a moment, Emily finally began to make her way back to the chair.

  “If I tell you the truth,” she said as she sat down, “you'll have me locked away.”

  “You're already locked away,” he pointed out, as the police officer shut the door and left the two of them alone. “No-one's going to punish you for telling the truth, Emily. The truth sets us free, always and all ways. Sometimes, though, it takes a great deal of courage to tell the truth, and I suspect that's the position you're in right now.”

  “But the -”

  “I need the truth,” he sai
d firmly. “Just strip it down, bare bones and all, and let me worry about what it means. For now, you just have to tell me, in your own words, what really happened.”

  “Did they contact him?”

  “Who?”

  “Doctor Slocombe.”

  “I believe someone has been in touch with him, yes. I don't know whether he agreed to get involved in the case, and frankly I don't think it's relevant at the moment.”

  “He's the only one who'd understand,” she replied. “He was there when it happened before.”

  “When what happened before?”

  “The -” She paused again. “I can't...”

  “Just tell me the truth, Emily. And remember, I'm on your side. Everything you tell me is strictly confidential, nobody's recording our conversation and nobody's listening in. It's just you and me.” He checked his watch. “Come on, let's get this show on the road.”

  She took a deep breath. “You'll think I'm crazy. Or lying.”

  “I won't, I promise.”

  “But I...” She paused, close to tears, before managing to pull herself together. “What happened to Lizzie is the same thing that happened to me,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly. “She's twelve now, and I was twelve back then. I can't explain it, I don't know the details, but I swear to God, it's the same.”

  “You're referring to the events that were featured in several national papers when you were a girl?”

  She nodded.

  “But I was under the impression that those events were part of a hoax,” he continued. “Your mother admitted as much, did she not?”

  “That's the problem,” he replied, “it was a hoax, except... Not at the beginning. At the very beginning, the first few times, it was real.”

  “So the hoax was built on top of something that you perceived to have really happened?”

  “It did really happen,” she hissed, leaning forward before remembering that she had to stay calm. Sitting back again, she tried to focus. “Something really happened, I didn't make up the first couple of times, or the part about there being a voice that told me things.” She paused, remembering the morning, long ago, when her mother had first suggested the hoax. “She twisted it,” she added with a shiver. “She made it something else, something wrong. She got me to lie, and to pose for those photos, and it blew up and became something massive. All the stuff about things flying around the house and figures in the doorways, all the photos and the videos... They were all staged by my mother, but there was a core of truth at the heart of it all, and that's the part that has come back and...”