The Haunting Of Hartley House : A Novella

by Eve Evans

  What if there was a chance to find out? What if there was a way to discover what really happened that night?

  The thought was quiet, creeping into the back of my mind. What if… But that would mean going back to the house. That would mean facing the memories that had haunted me for so long. Could I really do that?

  I glanced back at the article and the picture of Hartley House. It looked just how I remembered it. The house from my childhood. The house from my dreams.

  I breathed out a heavy sigh, reaching for the phone. I punched in the number written at the bottom of the article, and hesitated.

  What was I doing?

  I had a book to finish. A deadline to hit. I didn’t have time to waste chasing ghosts.

  I cradled my head in my hands, blowing out another frustrated sigh. Chasing ghosts…

  “You know what,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head. “This story’s going nowhere. I need a new one. Something different to the same old crime novels I’ve been writing.”

  I swallowed, my throat going dry all of a sudden. Something based on reality.

  A brutal murder-suicide. A lone survivor. Chasing ghosts to find the truth of what happened that night…

  “Hello? This is Amie from Ghost Search.”

  “U-uhm, hi,” I said quickly, clearing my throat. When had I pressed dial? “This is Nadia Owens. I… I have a proposition to make.”

  “Wait, Nadia Owens? You mean…”

  “Yes,” I interrupted, grimacing. “I used to live in Hartley House. It was… my parents who were killed there.”

  Amie said nothing for a moment, but when she spoke next, there was an excited quiver in her voice. “What proposition do you have?”

  “I’d like to join your investigation,” I said, barely thinking over the words before I blurted them out.

  “Join us?” Amie echoed incredulously.

  “Yes. I have a personal connection to the house. It was where I grew up. It might… help the investigation somehow.”

  “Of course! I can’t even imagine the kinds of paranormal responses we might get with you with us,” she said excitedly. “Your connection to the house will make it a lot easier to tap into its energies.”

  I said nothing. Amie seemed not to notice.

  “We’ve been struggling to find details about what happened to you that night. All of the reports of the incident were very vague.”

  I glanced down, realizing I’d clenched my fist, hard enough that my nails were digging little crescents into my skin. I quickly released it.

  “Yes, I’d be able to help you with that,” I said vaguely.

  “Uhm, I suppose I ought to ask if you’re hoping for anything in return? It’s not an easy thing to do, going back to the place where…” she trailed into silence, the unsaid words lingering heavily in the static of the phone line.

  I breathed slowly through my nostrils. “Yes, there is something,” I started. “I’m assuming you have the means to contact spirits?”

  “Uh-huh,” Amie said. “We have specialist equipment for capturing EVPs – uhm, electromagnetic voice phenomena – but we also have a resident psychic whose very adept at contacting spirits.”

  “Good. In return for my help, I would like to contact my parents.”

  Amie stuttered faintly, and the phone connection dipped, cutting off some of her words. “-have to talk… but… can be arranged.”

  “And one other thing,” I said as the line cleared again. “I would like permission to write and publish my experiences – including the investigation – into a book. And that is all.”

  The house was just as I remembered.

  Wreathed in the early morning mist, it had the same grimy brown bricks and, and nobody had trimmed the ivy that grew in twisted tendrils along the front façade. The windows were dark and vacant, seeming more so with the pallid light bouncing off them. I remembered, growing up here, that it had always been a dark house. Light seemed unable to penetrate its windows, leaving most of the rooms dank and gloomy.

  It was a strange feeling, coming home after eleven years. Even after everything that had happened here, I’d never felt like this about another house. Not once, in all of the foster homes I grew up in, did any place feel like home as much as this house did.

  Checking my watch, I realized I was early. I had another twenty minutes before the paranormal team got here. Being alone with the house made me feel uneasy, but I told myself I was being silly. It was just a house, after all. Even if people did believe it was haunted. I’d never experienced anything like that while living here, but then my memories of the place were vague. I couldn’t say I was an open believer of the paranormal, but nor was I quick to dismiss the possibility. I had a feeling that the next time I came out of this house, I’d finally settle on something.

  Leaving my bags in the car, I started towards the house. The grass was long and unkempt, crackling under my shoes as I walked up to the porch. The latticework was faded, and thick swathes of cobwebs hung from the corners. It clearly hadn’t been looked after in some time.

  The door had one of those old-fashioned brass iron knockers. I used to hate it as a kid when people used it; the sound seemed to echo for ages, ricocheting between each wall of the house like a stone striking an empty coffin.

  I absently ran a finger over the rusted metal. It was cold and slightly clammy, probably due to the frost in the night, and took some prying to lift. I let it go softly, hearing the small clank as it hit the metal plate.

  My eyes flicked down to the handle. Curiosity urged me to try it. It was doubtful the house would be open since the crew hadn’t arrived yet. But even as I touched it, the handle dipped-

  -and all of a sudden, I was twelve again. It was a chilly night, and I was shivering in my pajamas. The house was quiet. Darkness swelled to meet me. I called out my parent’s names. Nobody answered. I stepped further inside-

  A cobweb flitted down onto my face, bringing me back to the present. I was inside the house. The door had been unlocked, had opened at my touch.

  After eleven years, I was standing back inside Hartley House. The place stained with the blood of my parents. Haunted by the madness of my father.

  I glanced behind me. No cars were coming down the road, and it was all quiet out there. I’d always thought it strange, the lack of birdsong around these parts. Even now, the silence struck a chord of unease.

  Swallowing back my apprehension, I closed the door softly behind me. I was here. No going back now.

  The hallway was the same, only caked with dust and cobwebs. Damp had begun to fester in the corners of the ceiling, creating sickly yellow patches in the plaster. I shook away a cloud of dust that had stirred upon my arrival, coughing quietly behind my hand.

  I never found out what happened to the house after I had left. I’d assumed it had gone back up for sale, but I guess nobody had bought it. Who wanted to live in a house where a man killed his wife and then himself? And, as it turned out, many others did before him. Hadn’t the newspaper article mentioned something about a recurring pattern of murder and suicide? In a way, it sounded like a curse. I supposed the others would be able to tell me more when they arrived.

  More dust showered from above, and I flicked a glance to the ceiling. The naked bulb swung gently on its cord, and for just a moment, it sounded as though someone was walking upstairs. Was the house not empty, after all? It would explain why the front door was open.

  “Hello?” I called, my voice echoing dully. “Is anyone here?”

  Mom? Dad? Are you home?

  I went further in. A thin tendril of sunlight crept in from one of the rooms, highlighting the years of dirt and grime clinging to the skirting. Each footstep disturbed the dust from the carpet, making the air grow tight and clammy.

  “Hello? It’s Nadia,” I continued, but nobody came out to greet me. Maybe I had imagined it. “Is there anyone-”

  I froze, my whole body flushing hot and then cold, stirring the hairs on the back of my
neck. That smell…

  I had paused outside the door to the sitting room. The door was partially ajar, swinging on a gentle draught, and through it came the smell of blood. Just like that night…

  It wasn’t as strong, but it was there, a thin veneer beneath the house’s surface. Old blood.

  I turned away, trembling all of a sudden. What was I doing here? Why was I putting myself through this? Shouldn’t I leave the past where it belonged – behind me, in the back of my memories. Why was I here, pursuing something that would only leave me with more questions?

  A door creaked, and I looked up.

  The sitting room door had stopped swinging now, and the gap had widened. For a moment, it almost seemed as though someone was opening it for me. Inviting me in.

  I breathed sharply. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  Taking a tentative step forward, I peered through the doorway. The room seemed empty. Most of the furniture had gone – including the sofas, the television, my mom’s favorite lamp. It seemed forgotten and lonely. A place where only dust and shadows lingered.

  Pressing the tips of my fingers to the wood, I pushed the door the rest of the way in. It met no resistance, swinging easily.

  Bracing myself, I stepped inside.

  My eyes went automatically to the floor. For a moment, memory blurred over reality, and there was a figure lying there, caked in blood. I swallowed, shaking the image away. The carpet had been torn up, exposing the floorboards beneath. There was a dark stain in the wood, spreading like a puddle of shadow…

  A hand touched my shoulder, and I jerked round, startled.

  A young woman was stood behind me, her hand half in recoil. She stammered, her cheeks coloring. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said apologetically, lowering her arm and looking down. She was a small, petite woman with blonde hair tucked under a beanie. A large black bag was strapped over her shoulder.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I said, recovering my voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Nadia, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. Her voice was familiar, and I assumed she must be Amie – the one I’d spoken to on the phone.

  “Uhm, how did you get in here?” She asked, and I felt a small prickle on my neck. So, the door shouldn’t have been unlocked.

  “The door was open,” I said hesitantly. “I thought maybe you were here early.”

  She shook her head, looking perplexed. “Nobody’s been by to open the house, and the team travelled together,” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “I’ll have to double check, but that’s definitely an interesting development.”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I said nothing.

  “Oh, I’m Amie, by the way. We spoke on the phone,” she said, fixing her beanie with another sheepish smile. She was younger than I was expecting, and a lot more enthusiastic. “It’s really great to meet you. You don’t know how excited we are to have you here.”

  “Great,” I said, giving her a small smile.

  “Although,” she began, sobering slightly, “as much as we’d love to have you stay, if at any point you don’t feel comfortable or safe here, let us know. We’ll get you out as soon as we can.”

  I let my face soften into a more genuine smile. Her words gave me a small amount of relief. “Thank you. Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” I added.

  “Hopefully,” Amie agreed, nodding. “Anyway, come and meet the rest of the team.”

  I followed her back through the hallway to the front porch, where a small group of people were unloading bags of equipment from a black van.

  “This is Max, Sam and Trish,” Amie introduced, pointing to each member in turn.

  “Hey,” Max said, offering a hand. He was tall and well-built, with dark brown skin and dimpled smile, and his grip was firm as I returned the gesture. “Good to meet you.”

  “I’m in charge of all the technical stuff,” Sam said, also smiling. She was almost as tall as Max, with lighter skin and her hair pulled up into a bun.

  “Hi!” Trish said, her dark curly hair bouncing around her face as she nodded. “I do all the research for our investigations.”

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” I said. “Is there just the four of you?”

  “Nope! I’m just the pack horse, so I usually get forgotten about,” a voice spoke up from behind them. Max and Sam parted, letting through a young man with a beard. His arms were brimming with boxes, which he set down before offering a hand. “Nadia, right? I’m Joe. It’s good to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Right, now that introductions are over, let’s get set up inside,” Amie said, clasping her hands together. Despite her youth, I had a feeling she was in charge of the team. “There’s five main rooms that I want covered by surveillance: the sitting room, kitchen, and three bedrooms. A camera on the main hallway would be good too. You all know what you have to do.”

  Joe and Sam gave her a salute, while the others nodded, gathering their equipment to carry inside.

  Amie stepped aside to speak to me. “This is probably all quite strange for you, so if there’s anything you’re unsure about, just ask. And likewise, if you notice anything… unusual, give us a shout. It doesn’t matter if it seems small or petty. Sometimes even mundane things aren’t quite what they seem,” she said cryptically, and I nodded. I’d come here with no idea what to expect, but the crew seemed friendly enough, and something about them did seem legitimate.

  “Oh, uhm, you mentioned a psychic?” I prompted.

  “That’s Joe,” she said with a faint smile. “He doesn’t usually like to include it in the introductions. People tend to be pretty sceptic about the power of spirit communication, and he doesn’t like to give people preconceived notions of him.” I pursed my lips thoughtfully. That made sense. I didn’t necessarily have much faith in the power of psychics myself, but a small part of me was hopeful that maybe, somehow, I’d be able to contact my parents. And then I’d finally find out the truth of what happened that night.

  “What are you hoping to find here?” I asked Sam as she busied herself setting up the camera in the sitting room. I tried not to focus on the lingering apprehension of being back in this room. It’s not the same house, I told myself. It’s changed since then.

  “Primary, we’re here to cleanse the house,” she started, screwing in the camera to the tripod. “Our main work involves clearing the bad energy left behind by violent and tragic death. This energy is usually the cause, or work, of spirits. But we so try to collect evidence of the haunting too. Not many people believe in paranormal phenomena, as physical evidence is hard to come by. Human experience isn’t enough to convince people, so we try to capture the things we experience for others to see.”

  “Have you ever captured compelling evidence?”

  Sam grimaced. “We have evidence,” she said carefully,” lots of EVP recordings, some videos of items moving on their own. But it’s not enough. It’s rare for spirits to show up on camera. There are some things that only the human eye can see. But we’ve yet to get anything ground-breaking. The thing is people expect irrefutable proof. But with the paranormal, its very nature is vague and undefinable.”

  “So, people expect too much from spirits?” I said lightly.

  Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She turned away, testing the stability of the tripod. “Well, that seems secure. Guess we’re done here.”

  “That’s where I found her,” I blurted suddenly. “My mom. She was lying over there.” I pointed to the floorboards, where the dark stain glimmered mockingly in the mid-morning light.

  Sam schooled her features into a frown. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “This must be difficult for you.”

  I looked down at my hands, clenching them together. “It’s weird,” I admitted, “being back here, after so long.”

  “Is it how you remembered?”

  “In a way,” I said. “It’s the same house, but it’s also different
. It could be the missing furniture. Or it could be the memories I have of this place. My childhood suddenly seemed distorted after what happened.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like,” she said.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up so suddenly. I just… it’s a lot to take in,” I said with a dismissive laugh. “My head’s not quite thinking straight.”

  “I think Amie said this earlier, but if you ever feel like you want to leave…” She trailed off, gesturing with her hands.

  I tried a smile. “Thank you. I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Good,” she said, her eyes lingering on me for a moment. “You seem like a strong person.” With a faint shrug, she picked up the bag of equipment by her side. “Come with me. I’ll show you how to set up for an EVP session. Amie will probably want you involved in that.”

  “Electronic Voice Phenomena, right?” I said.

  “Yeah. We use technology to record sounds normally inaudible to the human ear. Most of the time we get duds – radio frequencies and the like – but we’ve also captured some very convincing, and rather unsettling, voices in the past.”

  I hummed thoughtfully.

  “Do you think we’ll capture anything here? Voices, I mean. Of… of spirits.”

  Sam smiled faintly. “Maybe. It depends on how the energy reacts and manifests to our presence.”

  I nodded, still not quite understanding it, but I couldn’t help but trust her.

  “Is Sam boring you with her tech-talk yet?” Max said, coming into the room with a grin.

  “It’s all rather interesting, actually,” I admitted.

  “Wait until you experience something paranormal,” he said.

  “You seem certain.”

  “Of course,” Max continued, unabashed. “Give this house’s history, there’s evidence to suggest the deaths that occurred here were unnatural in nature.”

  “Unnatural?” I echoed.