The Haunting At Barry's Lodge (Gripping Paranormal Private Investigator Suspense Novel): Unexplained Eerie Story of the Supernatural and A Dark Disturbing Psychological Thriller with a Killer Twist

by Annie Walters

  “What?” I blurted out. “Why didn’t you tell us, Frank?”

  “Oh, come on. It’s nothing to be worried about. You two have got plenty on your plates, already. And please, don’t fret over it, Alfred. The doctors have told me that it’s stage 1 and they’ve got it under control. Now listen, this is what I’m saying. I can’t look after you or my daughter forever. My business is not what it was five years ago. I won’t be surprised if I got the news tomorrow morning that all my financial revenue has collapsed overnight. I’m running on limited resources and, God forbid, if something happens to me you know how Harold is?”

  “Yeah,” I said uncertainly. Harold was Ellen’s elder brother.

  A big lousy drunkard!

  “I’ve to look after him too, you see.”

  I kept looking at Frank as the flames illuminated his face, every now and then. I’ve always known him as a careless person; full of life and laughter. And yet here he was sitting across me looking tired, worried, and puffy eyed. Perhaps the harrowing discovery of his ailment had indeed shaken him hard.

  “How can I help you, Frank?”

  “Oh! my dear boy. I don’t need any help from the two of you. Especially you. I want Ellen and the kids to be happy. That’s all I want. But for that you need to stand on your feet and start solving your problems.”

  Anger and embarrassment rose inside me as I looked away from him. I knew where all of this was coming from. Ellen and I had an argument yesterday about the recording studio, and how I could make use of my MIT degree in a better way. She shouted and broke some crystals while I stood there, gaping at her. This made her even more cross, always did; my inability to retaliate.

  “So, like her, you want me to apply for a permanent job?” I asked dryly. A lump as large as a tennis ball had formed in my throat.

  “Nah, son. That will be like asking the mouse to live in harmony with the cat. I don’t go for improbable solutions. We need something…something which can promise us a better sense of security for your kids and, of course, Ellen.”

  “What exactly do you want me to do, Frank?” I asked, annoyingly.

  “Look here, son,” he said as he tucked his hand in the left pocket of his khaki pants and withdrew a small battered looking card. Giving it a quick scan, he placed it in my hands.

  I straightened it and read loudly, “BARRY’S LODG—”

  “Shhh,” muttered Frank furiously, looking once again at the kitchen door. “Keep it down will you? I told you, I haven’t spoken to Ellen about it. She wouldn’t agree.”

  “You don’t want me to work as a janitor over there, do you?” I sneered, trying to keep my mind away from what was coming ahead.

  “You’re taking this as a joke, aren’t you?” Frank glared.

  “Sorry. Please, go ahead,” I said quickly.

  Clearly looking perturbed over my trifling sense of humor, he shot me a cold stare and spoke, “I’m giving you one week, Alfred. One week…that’s all it’s going to be. I want you to go to this motel…it’s usually empty by this time of the year. I’ve talked to Barry. He’ll take care of everything. You won’t have any problems over there. This is your last chance, I’m telling you. After that don’t expect any more favors from my side. This is the best that I could manage. And you just do what you are best at.”

  “You mean write?” I gulped as my heart began to hammer against my chest.

  “That’s precisely what I want you to do,” muttered Frank, pulling himself forward in the arm chair. “One week should be enough. No more excuses. Go over there and focus. Try your luck. And if you fail,” he added in a rather stern voice. “God help you all, my son.”

  I didn’t speak for a while after Frank had left. I sat in the arm chair and looked at Ellen. She was placing the cutlery back in the closet, looking exhausted.

  “Do you need anything else, Alfred?” she asked politely.

  “No, thank you, dear,” I said in a small voice. I knew it in my heart that it would have been very cumbersome to explain to my wife that I would be disappearing for a week but Frank, like always, had taken care of it. He’d given me a thousand pounds, while I was bidding him farewell and had said:

  “Just tell her that you’re heading to Bristol for a week. But if she asks you the reason for the advance payment...that can be a problem…err… Oh God! You make something up, Alfred. I know what sort of wild ideas authors are brewing up in their minds. Ah— wait a minute, yes…I think this would fit…you tell her that some crazy company hired you. But first, hand over the cheque. Money always calms them down…women, you know— it keeps them wondering that their lousy husbands are at least up to something good. Take care of yourself. And… oh, I need to see that first draft in your hands when we’re meeting again. Till then, farewell, my son.”

  I had laughed. For once in many months, I’d felt that my insides were alive again. I was going to do it, at last. One week of peace was enough to teleport my ideas from my mind to paper. And now I looked forward to convincing Ellen, a difficult task; but I was up for it.

  Now I had a plan!

  I cleared my throat loudly and said nervously, “Err—Ellen—I was thinking if you could come and sit with me. I’ve a surprise for you.”

  I knew my words had done the trick on her. Ellen stopped in her tracks. She placed the bowl back on the table and looked at me rather vaguely.

  “What surprise?” she asked blankly.

  “Come over here, dear,” I said, smiling sheepishly at her.

  She strolled past the dining table and stood beside me.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh! Sit down,” I said as I gently pulled her inside the opposite arm chair.

  “Get it done with, Alfred,” she said tiringly, “The kitchen still needs some cleaning.”

  I slowly pulled out the cheque from the front pocket of my coat and placed it with trembling hands on her lap. She looked at it. I could see her eyes narrowing as she let out a gasp.

  “W-what? How?”

  I laughed. My arrow had hit its mark.

  Frank was right. He always is. Women are women, after all.

  “I signed up a deal,” I said, making sure not to give away all the details at once.

  “What deal?” she said briskly, raising the crisp piece of paper to her eyes, scrutinizing it with excitement.

  “Well-urm- you know, the studio? The one you were complaining about yesterday?”

  “What about it?” she said sharply and I felt her searching eyes piercing through me.

  God please help me his time! Let her not see through me!

  My heart began to race again. Trying hard to keep my face straight, I smiled and said:

  “Well, some big company emailed me yesterday about a printing shop in Bristol that is currently short of good managers, and they offered me a thousand pounds for working as a relief manager in their firm for a week. They explained that they were hiring a lot of people and paying all of them in advance… I thought…err...maybe I should give it a try at least before all the slots got filled. So, I accepted their proposal and that’s the cheque right there!”

  “For a week they say?”

  “Yes, for a week, honey. And if I did okay over there, I might get a deal— a lot bigger than this one.”

  Ellen kept staring at me. I tried hard to make sure that she didn’t notice my Adams apple move upwards as I tried to gulp down the uneasy sensation in my throat. It was no use. So, instead, I resorted to coughing violently.

  Then without warning and to my surprise, Ellen rose from the chair and gave me a tight hug.

  “That’s great news, Alfred,” her eyes were shining with tears. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you, yesterday. You know me— I just worry a lot about the kids and you. Thank God… you got promoted.”

  “It’s not a permanent promotion. It only depends on how well I do over there,” I said quickly, clearing any misunderstandings that might pose future conflicts.

  “Oh, you’ll do great,” she said, as
she mopped her eyes with the turquoise apron which hung around her waist. “It’s one of my best days in years.”

  “Mine too,” I said, grinning.

  “Wait till father comes to know of it,” she muttered, her chest swelling with pride. “He’ll be very happy to hear about all of this.”

  “I’m sure of it,” I mumbled, forcing my tongue between my teeth to prevent myself from rolling on floor and choking myself to death from laughter.

  “So, you’ll be leaving tomorrow? We’d better get your luggage packed, then.”

  “Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “I suppose they need me over there by tomorrow evening. I think I’ll leave in the afternoon. We’ve got plenty of time to pack stuff. Are you sure you guys will be okay without the car?”

  “Yes...I think, we’ll manage something. You don’t have to worry about us. We can take the cab or the subway. You just make this work, honey.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Ellen pecked me once again on the cheek and hurried towards kitchen as I rose from the chair. Yawning loudly, I began to walk towards the warmth of my bed. I had not thought that the day would end like this. Not at all!

  Chapter 3: At Barry’s Lodge

  I had quite a restless sleep that night. I woke up several times to find myself drenched in cold sweat and shivering from head to toe. My dreams were hijacked by Frank who shouted expletives at me for my failure, while Ellen and the kids laughed in the background. The dream dissolved into a more vivid one, and I found myself trapped in a dark cellar with two hooded men who dragged me from my knees towards a large, glistening hook used for hanging meat.

  It was by six in the morning that I finally dozed off.

  “Honey, it’s eleven. Breakfast’s ready.”

  Ellen’s lips brushed lightly against my ear. I jumped out of the bed. A mistake, I realized immediately; my whole body throbbed with pain as if someone had beaten it with a thick rod.

  Rubbing my eyes and cursing myself, I started towards the bathroom door.

  In less than five minutes, dressed in black trousers and a brown jumper, I was sitting at the breakfast table. Ellen appeared through the kitchen door, carrying two half-done eggs with sausages and bread.

  “Here… you definitely need some feeding up. God knows when you’ll have time for lunch,” she muttered gently.

  “Yeah,” I said, pulling the tray towards me as one of the sausages gave a loud sizzle.

  I quickly finished my breakfast and nearly burnt my tongue as I tried to guzzle down the sweltering hot coffee.

  “What’s the hurry, dear? You’re on time. I’ve packed up all your stuff already,” said Ellen, raising her eyebrows.

  “You have?” I asked as a sense of relief washed over me.

  “Yes, dear. Your laptop, clothes, everything,” said Ellen, smiling. “I’ve even re-filled the car’s tank when I went to drop the kids at school.”

  “Oh! My dear, you’re a life saver, indeed.” The sense of urgency inside me eased a little as Ellen helped herself to some orange juice. “I’ll call you when I get there. Any problems, let me know. All right? Do the kids have any idea where I’m going?” I added, as I took another swig from my mug.

  “I’ll explain it to them. Just inform me when you get there. And make sure you’re formal. I don’t want them to kick you out on your very first day!”

  I burst out laughing. She still hadn’t forgotten my first job experience at ‘The Fans’. It was a private firm that made cheap quality fans and I was hired as a chief manager, thanks to Frank once again. On my very first day, I joked about the director’s tie. An old toad! He overheard it as the room filled with the laughter of his employees. A pun that he took too seriously at heart, and I was fired before I could utter the word ‘Fan’. I never cared for the job, and I was sure that I would’ve gotten home before they were even done with the morning round.

  “Don’t worry, honey,” I said, still cherishing the memory at the back of my mind. “I’ll try to act more sophisticated around the bosses.”

  Ellen laughed heartily.

  “I think I’ll go and make sure that you haven’t missed anything,” I said, getting up.

  She nodded and began to clear away the plates.

  I moved to my room and saw an enormous, red trunk placed neatly near the foot end of the bed. I lifted it. The trunk was so immensely heavy that a Rhincodon would have sunk under its weight, and it was at least a decade old. I’d always longed for a luggage that wasn’t so damn painful to carry, but Ellen adored it. She had a point. After all, it was a gift from our common friend in Mexico on our first wedding anniversary.

  Panting, I opened it and began to go through the stuff that Ellen had packed; six pairs of woolen socks, seven jumpers and matching trousers, a shaving kit, three colognes and the thing that I needed the most, my laptop. I picked it up and switched it on.

  Time to update my blog! I thought.

  It had been five years since I’d last opened it. I scrolled to Mozilla Firefox and typed the URL of my blog in the address bar. It took some time to load, but soon a familiar looking page loomed in to view. Without wasting another minute, I immediately logged in. The idea of running an independent blog had originally come from a friend named Mark, who was now a renowned horror genre author.

  Trying hard not to think about him, my eyes fell on my last post “2011 New Year Resolutions”. I clicked it open, scrolled to the end of the long post and discovered that no one had left any comment.

  Feeling a little down, I clicked on “Make a new post” and began typing freely. I’m super excited. My life has taken a big turn. I’m going to an isolated Motel to complete my book which I’d started about five years ago. If anyone of you is interested, please leave a comment below or subscribe to my newsletter to get the first draft as soon as I’m finished with it. I’ll keep you guys posted with the progress of the book. Love you all. I paused for a little while and then, heaving a sigh, went on to type my pen name: “Robert Elliot.”

  I re-read the whole post, making sure that there weren’t any grammatical errors. Then thoroughly convinced, I was about to close it when I heard a popping sound from the speaker and the notification bar turned red.

  Confused and excited at the same time, I clicked the red bar which read:

  “You have a new comment.”

  I opened it, feeling a nervous twitch in my stomach and went straight to the bottom of my short, recent post.

  “Mr. Alfred, we’re waiting eagerly for your arrival at Barry’s Lodge. Can’t wait!”

  I frowned at the comment. My public profile never displayed my actual name because I was always of the view that writing career and private life should never blend together. The user profile was anonymous. I clicked it open as the screen began to load once again.

  “This profile was created about 10 minutes ago.”

  That’s weird, I said to myself. It was created around the same time when I’d made the post.

  “Who was waiting for me so eagerly at the lodge that they had to create a new account to comment on my post? And how did they come to know that I was going to update my blog?”

  Thinking that perhaps it was an error, I closed the browser and shoved the laptop between the thick pair of trousers, making sure that they would provided the appropriate cushion effect.

  By the time I was finished, Ellen walked inside the room.

  “Any problems?”

  “You did your best, dear,” I said absentmindedly.

  “Not forgetting anything, are you?” she asked as she picked the towel off the sofa.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve double checked everything,” I murmured.

  “Would you like some sandwiches before leaving? You still have about three hours left.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “All right. Corned beef and some orange juice, huh?”

  “My favorite.” I beamed at her as she left the room without another word.

  My thoughts were all over
the place, when I finally bade Ellen good bye and found myself sitting behind the wheel, driving swiftly on the highway, edging away from the town. The rain wasn’t coming down anymore, but it was still gloomy and I could see the trees swaying under the spell of cold breeze.

  Now where is that place?

  I took out the card which Frank had given me last night and studied it.

  Barry’s Lodge, 15 miles west of Skiddaw Forest.

  I fed the directions in my phone and waited.

  A cool female voice rang inside the car:

  “You are about 400 miles away from your destination.”

  Fear struck me as I sneaked another glance on my phone’s screen in disbelief. I loudly cursed myself for not looking at the card a little earlier in the day. I should’ve left by noon, and now it was four already. I revved the engine, making up my mind rather sulkily that I would have to stop at a gas station multiple times to get the tank filled.

  By half past eight, it was completely dark. My ocular muscles were aching from the constant straining. I turned the heater off as specks of rain began to fall on the windshield.

  “Great! That’s exactly what I was looking forward to,” I hissed.

  I was driving persistently at 120 mph, but I still had more than a hundred miles to cover. The spring roll, I ate at the gas station a few hours ago, squirmed inside me while I tried my best to quench the stale, corny taste in my mouth by taking smalls sips from my water bottle. At least, I had managed to refill my tank and got my wheel pressures checked.

  I did speculate correctly that the terrain would no longer be smooth after a few more miles as giant, unkempt trees began to line the driveway. I took a sharp turn towards the left and eased my foot on the accelerator. The car lurched forward on the winding passage lined with bumps and potholes. I felt sorry for the car which had only rarely seen such jerky roads.

  The trees began to grow thicker, taller, and gaunter as I drove deep inside the woods. The shadows flitted aimlessly in the golden beam on the road ahead, and I could only appreciate about two feet of twigs, rocks and amber leaves through the windshield. I rolled down the car window just enough to let some fresh air pour in. Smell of damp earth and floral wild flowers filled the whole car as the chilly wind made its way through the gap in the window.