The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  They took the first steps up the stairway when a keening started at a low pitch and then picked up in volume reverberating through the house. A gale had gathered outside, a redundant thought crossed Rick’s mind.

  There were no squalls on the way in. Each step became harder as the wind swept through the house and around the open doorways yet it seemed to collect at the base of the stairs behind them, to the sides of them and above them.

  “It’s Maggie.” Sarah shouted holding her hair out of her face with her one free hand.

  “I told you she could harness energy from the storms.” Looking at Dean she yelled pointlessly “She couldn’t do that before.” Sarah was pleading “Maggie, please calm down, please.” But the force rushed the house blowing newspapers, magazines and photos. The railing of the stairwell shuddered and shook, the walls vibrated and somewhere a door crashed shut. Sarah looked behind. It was as she thought; the front door. “I think she’s making a point” she screamed. But her voice was lost between the keening and howling of Maggie. Half blown, half dragged they reached the top of the stairs. As they came off them the small still figure of Maggie stood before them.

  Dean screamed but didn’t move, or try to run. A fierce angry glow burned from her eyes, and her fury picked up the wind to a greater energy. Sarah and Rick tried to hold onto Dean but were buffeted and forced backward against the wall. The old man shook them free and stood with his legs apart and arms outward trying to hold his stance and finally held the railing for support. He clambered his way forward and the ghost of Maggie Jackson screamed full force in rage.

  Through the screams Dean kept walking. As he neared her the screams died and the little girl ghost stood silent. Rick and Sarah clung to each other as Dean spoke.

  His voice was wretched with sobs. The old man knelt down in front of her, meeting her at little girl height.

  The gust gathered around him, forcing his grey hair out in a thin whirling mess. Over the roar, Dean’s voice carried to them.

  “I haven’t lived a day without regret. Maggie, I can’t take it back. But I’m here for you now.”

  His arms reached out and surrounded the ghost. A loud crack sounded and a blinding flash caused Rick and Sarah to shield their eyes. A deafening silence descended.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sirens screamed and lights flashed through the streets of the small town. Rick and Sarah stood outside their house, wrapped in blankets holding each other tight. Sarah’s face was white, her freckles stood out like little orange beacons. Rick looked like a wild man, his hair stuck up at all ends and the start of a good beard over his face. The first responders pulled up into the driveway followed closely by police.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The team of men picked their way through the debris staring in astonishment at the scene before them. Dean was dead at the bottom of the stairs, and it seemed as though a hurricane had been through the house. Trying to explain it had proved impossible.

  The answer was always the same. ‘We didn’t see it.’ Finally, they were allowed to wait outside while Deans body was examined. They retreated to their car.

  A rat-a-tat sounded on the window. Chief Inspector Dyson opened the back door and got in.

  Even through the darkness, it was obvious how very shocked the scene had left him. “It was hard to see the old man like that. I hated him alright, but I never figured on how the years could eat away at a person. He was a shadow of the man he used to be.” He paused a moment and then in more of a statement than a question he said “It was Maggie that did it, wasn’t it.” Rick and Sarah both went to speak.

  After a brief silence Sarah said “No. I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe. LOOK We don’t know – it was chaos in there. We already told them, it was practically storming inside the house.”

  Rick added “Something flashed blindingly bright. Power surge maybe? Like Sarah said we don’t know.”

  Dyson harrumphed. “The medical examiner says it looks like he threw himself down the stairs, the official record is probably going to rule suicide. It’s the angle his neck broke at. What was he doing here anyway?” Rick ran one hand above his eyebrow wishing the interview was over.

  “We tracked him down. We found him and told him, the same things we told you. But we had something else too.” Rick pulled out his mobile and showed him the pictures of the ghost. The old policeman’s face collapsed in shock.

  “In all my born days…” Rick took the camera back and added

  “Dean was carrying a heavy load, he wanted to come back, so we brought him. I suppose you’re gonna want my phone now.”

  “No son. Let sleeping dogs lie, my old man always said. Got some merit to it that old saying. Let little Maggie rest now.”

  As he stepped out of the car he motioned to the broken windows. “Looks like you got a fair bit of repair work since that storm hit you so hard. It’s nothing a few of us spring chickens about town couldn’t help you with. What say I get a working bee on it?”

  He clapped Rick and Sarah on a shoulder each and left them alone again. Rick half smiled.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Do you think Maggie did it?” He lay his head on Sarah’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know. She was playful, sad, sometimes vengeful. Maybe ghosts are just like the rest of us.”

  Quietness enveloped them for a moment until Sarah spoke again. “I hope she didn’t do it. Dean was broken at the end of his life. I hope Maggie forgave him. Maybe Dean went of his own will to be with her, help her cross over. That’s what I choose to believe Rick. And I don’t know if you felt it – but didn’t you think it seemed, sort of… lighter… empty, like a shadow wasn’t there anymore?” Rick closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

  “Yeah, I felt it. It does feel different.” He was starting to mumble with tiredness.

  “We can be rid of the house if you want to Rick. It really wasn’t your true choice. There’s no reason to stay. We’ll just fix it up like we were going to and get our money back. Maybe we’ll even make a bit extra and we’ll choose another place, together, I mean properly together.”

  Rick burrowed over toward Sarah across the gear shift. “It was my true choice Sar… a home is what you make it. This is as good as place as any to make one. I say we stay.” Sarah caressed his forehead, already his eyes were closed. She looked at the busy-ness going on at the house. Deans body was being lifted into the ambulance and the police cars were pulling out. Dyson was making his way back over toward the them.

  “You kids OK? I got a spare room for the night.”

  She shook her head.

  “No, we’re OK.”

  “Alright if you’re sure. Give us a bell if you change your mind.”

  The last of the cars left. It was just her and Rick now. She was sure of it.

  THE END

  THE HAUNTING OF WEAVER HOUSE

  CAT KNIGHT

  ©Copyright 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  Prologue

  7th July 1968

  Blackawton

  Devon

  United Kingdom

  Adam Weaver sat in his parlour sipping the tea that young Parker had brought him. He’d told him a dozen times to make it good and sweet and this time the half-witted boy almost got it right. He should have left him in the pathetic hovel with his mother. That boy would do well to consider that he was damned lucky to be here. He ought to behave with a bit more gratitude. Adam Weaver rubbed his eyes. What was that thing flying by?

  Shaking his head to ward off the strangeness that was overcoming him, an ungodly shrieking reverberated through his ears.

  Standing up and throwing off his jacket, for it had suddenly become unbearably hot, Adam Weaver began to pace.

  His legs were itching like the devil. Looking down to scratch at the terrible prickling, he balked and stared. A monkey like creature was crawling up and onto him. It’s four legs curled around Weavers and it was inching its way upwards. Two devil horns poked out from its head and its ey
es glowed orange.

  The monkey hissed out words of a demon tongue. As he watched mesmerized, another spawn of Hades rose in front of the window. Running to find his wife he stopped abruptly. On her shoulder, caressing her hair, sat a scaly horned and naked demon with his spiked tail swishing back and forth contentedly. Another winged sprite circled above her head.

  Wild eyed he beseeched her “What have you done?” A crazed expression came over his face. “I’ll save you, I’ll save you.” Weaver grabbed his wife, hitting out at the terrors that were claiming her. He dragged her into the family chapel and threw her in front of the alter. A horde of demons followed her in. Weaver’s grip tightened on his wife.

  “Adam!” she screamed, “What’s wrong? Let go of me.” A bruise was developing over her eye from the struggle. “Adam, let go. What’s the matter?”

  He held his face centimetres from hers.

  “Did you call these creatures?” He swept his hands up and outward indicating the rafters.

  “There isn’t anything there. You’re seeing things.” She reached up to his face to calm him and bring him back to her. But he screamed in rage and hit her.

  “Curse your devil hands. Look at your claws! Spawn of the devil.”

  Flinging himself at her, Adam wrapped his hands around her throat and began to squeeze. His daughter ran in screaming for her mother and flung herself at him.

  “Stop! You’re going to kill her. Daddy, stop!”

  From his hiding place between the pews, the boy watched his father give his sister a backhand that sent her sprawling to the floor while their mother writhed in his grip. Ignoring the scream as the girl hit the floor he continued his task. The effort of it squeezed his face into a snarl while his eyes bulged wider until her neck was crushed and she slumped at his feet, looking almost peaceful, except for the bruising.

  The girl lay staring at her mother too stricken to run. Slowly he turned. His face aghast at the other-worldly creature that now sat upon his daughter’s shoulder. And the one that circled above his boy hiding under the pew. He reached his hand over to his daughter.

  “It’s alright, I’m going to save you now.”

  Chapter One

  24th March 2017

  Blackawton

  Devon

  United Kingdom

  It was late in the evening when Joanne’s case worker dropped her off to the Weaver house. The entire trip had been tense and uncomfortable. And the case worker made no bones about her situation. This was the last time she would do anything to help Joanne out. If she ran away again or caused any problems she would find herself a resident of a juvenile detention centre.

  Joanne had mumbled “Thanks a lot bitch.” Yet, in her heart of hearts Joanne didn’t blame her. She had lied and conned them before and the last time wasn’t any different. She’d made up a dumb story about being beaten up by bigger girls in the house. It wasn’t a complete lie – there had been fighting alright. Despite her straight boyish frame and small stature

  Joanne could hold her own, she was quick and tough. Life had taught her that when you get knocked down, you get up and keep on going. But, to get her own way, she had embellished the story.

  If that’s what it took to keep herself out of trouble for running away, for the umpteenth time then that’s what she’d do. This last time she had taken off with a boy from school, except he actually had parents, and they raised bloody murder with the department. Because of it the department was compelled to do something with her.

  But in the years before social services got a hold of her, Joanne had spent much of her young life taking care of herself, doing what she wanted. Eventually, social services had made the choice to remove her from the danger of her often, drunk and absentee mother’s care and place her in the foster system.

  Settling down to rules, schedules, curfews and school life had proven very difficult for Joanne. That was why they decided to send her way out into the country.

  Somewhere that she would have an opportunity to experience a different pace of life. It was their hope that she would be able settle down, learn responsibility and grow up; because she only had another two years before she would be out on her own for good. And, although they hadn’t verbalised it to her, they were looking for somewhere it would be more difficult for her to run from. In the end, after all her arguing, the case worker had told her it was a place of last resort and she needed to make it work or she would ‘wind up, locked up.’

  The sounds in a new home were always the worst.

  Worse than the mattress, worse than the food, and worse than the roommates. It usually took at least a week before Joanne felt easier in a strange house and she still never got used to the sounds of night time. It was something she’d never admit, but the dark scared her. And especially in this house.

  The pipes that knocked in the walls and the tree limbs that scratched against the window’s shutters were scary enough. But the sounds that were missing were just as bad. No traffic, no sirens, no people. The emptiness of the countryside was unnerving. It was times like this, she wished that she had tried to settle down. Not all of the homes were bad ones. There was Mrs. Jenkins who sewed at night and the warm humming and whirring of the machine had warmed the apartment.

  Mrs. Adams who hummed tunes to herself as she cleaned the kitchen at night. Her favourite house had been the one with the muffled opera that used to dominate the evenings; it had been foreign and full of life and exotic places.

  At night-time, the good sounds lulled her to sleep and she’d even have sweet dreams sometimes. That had been three homes ago, or was it four? Time and locations had started to twist together in her mind. The last one had been horrible. The sounds of fighting had dominated the nights.

  Not lively word play, but knock down drag outs, the kind reserved for boxing rings. And basically, the kids in the house were unsupervised. Fights broke out between them all the time. Joanne got sick of looking over her shoulder so she decided to take off.

  The worst part of her plan was that she’d told a boy at school she was headed out of town.

  He wanted to come with her, and he had money, so she’d let him. If wasn’t for that…… Joanne had remorse, for it.

  Once they had spent all his money he hadn’t been able to handle the streets. She had been around long enough to know what would happen to him if he didn’t toughen up. In the end, Joanne called the police and given an anonymous tip. It was only so as they could find him, but he ratted her out and they found her too.

  All the agencies knew Joanne Williams and she had burned her bridges with the case workers. Now she was stuck here, at a creepy old stone house in the middle of nowhere. The man who ran the foster home, David Weaver, aka ‘SIR’ hadn’t seemed the kind type. Joanne decided that he thought was a bit high and mighty and he looked down his nose at everyone. His air of superiority dripped everywhere he went.

  On the moment of her first arrival he’d given her a written list of rules and with the next words told that her lights would be out by 9 p.m. Since it was her first night, and it was already after 9 p.m. he had been considerate enough to tell her breakfast would be served at 7 a.m. in the dining room; and at that time, she could become acquainted with the house and other residents.

  Martha, the housekeeper led the way to her room. A timid woman, she nonetheless seemed a good deal more human than Weaver.

  “Come along dear, you’re on the second floor.” Her voice, was at least genuine, even if thought it seemed like she was as obedient as an old sheep dog.

  “Breakfast really is at seven sharp and Mr. Weaver won’t tolerate late comers at the table so be sure to get a good night’s sleep and be on time. There’s a good girl.”

  A thunder storm had been threatening the area since before she had arrived.

  And now, it finally broke as Joanne undressed and climbed into bed watching drops of rain race down the old pane of bubble glass. Large rumbles sounded in the distance, miles away deep in the heart of the storm cl
ouds.

  She focused her attention on that because it was familiar. No matter where she was, which ever home, the rain was comforting. The drops began pattering harder on the window, bringing with it a wind that jangled and shuddered at the frame. The shadows of the room that reflected in the glass were only occasionally erased by a flash of lightening in the distance.

  Pulling up the blanket around her shoulders she hunkered down. Finally, her eyelids began to have some weight to them, and dreams flitted across her mind. Just as her eyelids began to twitch a loud BANG jolted her awake. The shadow of a girl reflected in the corner of the window.

  Chapter Two

  Joanne’s eyes shot open and she watched in disbelief as the shadow moved closer to the bed. Her heart started to race. Who is that? She tensed her muscles and remained still. Whoever this girl was she had better be ready for Joanne.

  Her eyes were trained on the shadow outlined in the dark and she strained to hear the intruder over the drum of the rain, but she had to keep completely still for the moment, or she would alert them that she was awake. If she was going to be attacked Joanne would wait till the last moment to give herself the advantage of surprise.

  From her half-closed eyes, she watched the figure move silently toward her. Watching her steps, she held her breath until the girl was at the foot of the bed. NOW she yelled to herself.

  Flinging the blanket off she sprung up in her bed and landed on her knees poised to pounce upon the girl in her room. But the figure stood grey and motionless at the foot of the bed, no longer moving toward her.

  Joanne stopped in her tracks, holding back the fist of knuckles she had ready for her, for the girl was a strange sight. Long fair hair hung around her shoulders and clung to her in damp matted clumps.

  Sodden clothes hung heavy on her slight body. In the light of the moon Joanne could see that she was so wet that puddles formed on the floor.