The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The sky outside turned from grey to a darkish blue as night set in and dust motes spun through the air in the beams of the modern lightbulbs. Belle stood for a moment in the middle of that great room, deliberating for a moment before reaching into the display cabinet, cradling ornament after ornament in her hands, blowing away the dust. Whether it was a tinge of guilt for disregarding her aunt’s wishes or something else undefined, Belle couldn’t shake the feeling she was being observed. So much so, she kept looking over her shoulder and around about. Nothing stirred in the room. Nothing obvious, in any case.

  Chapter Three

  There was no frost yet, but it would come soon. The gardens provided plenty of spaces to hide away where Belle could drink her morning coffee. Cocooning herself in a blanket she’d brought as a shield against the bite of the cold, Belle looked out over the stretching expanse of woods and breathed it in, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in months. The steam rose from the cup in curling strands of vapour, not unlike the clouds of mist that clung to the grass as far as her eyes could see. Positioning herself on a stone bench, she tucked the blanket under her thighs to shield against the freeze that came up, but the discomfort wasn’t much of a deterrent for her. The cracked and ivy-strewn space with its overgrown trees and bushes, was her perfect habitat.

  It wasn’t just the marks that humanity left on the world that fascinated her. It was the way in which nature reclaimed it long after they were gone.

  Elements that seem as minor as wind, water, and creeping vines, could eventually crack rock and wear down monuments.

  Even the faces of the stone busts that were scattered around the garden, had been eroded until the features from one to the other were much the same. Change was comforting. Things moved on, and so would she.

  The memory of ‘that night’ returned. Rowan had come home late, after wasting the afternoon at the local pub. His dark eyes were brewing with his own personal pain, sneering again at her latest photo shoot. Belle had precipitated the next events by telling him, if he spent less time drinking and more time developing his own style, he might do much better than he was. He lunged at her pushing her backwards, hard. Belle fell to the floor. Rowan ran over to her shock on his face, he opened his mouth to say something but then turned and fled the house. Belle got up and ran to their bedroom.

  That same hour, she was gone removing only her personal belongings and left the rest of their household to him. The most unfortunate event occurred the following day, when she found he had cleared out their bank account. Of course, she had involved the police, but they told her – it was a joint account and she must accept that the money was gone.

  If she were smart, they said, she would get out now and count her blessings nothing more serious had happened.

  Humiliated and sure none of her fancy friends would believe what Rowan had done, she hid for almost a week in her room at her parents’ house. And then the phone calls had started. Rowan asking her to come home, saying that they could work it out, that he was sorry he’d lost his temper, he’d been drying out at a facility for the last week, and that is why he needed to take the money, for his medical bills.

  He pleaded that Belle was his inspiration and he would never be able to recover if she wasn’t willing to give him another chance.

  Belle had started crying hysterically at the kitchen table saying she didn’t know how she felt anymore, maybe, Rowan had learned his lesson, and after all he was clearly trying to get well. It was then that her mother suggested she stay with Aunt Camille ‘just give your head time to clear sweetheart, don’t rush back to where angels fear to tread’.

  Suddenly, now alone in the old, wandering, country garden she was crying again. Big, gulping sobs wracked her body and she buried her face into the rough material of the blanket to smother them. It did very little to stem the onslaught of grief that broke through the calm without warning and threatened to pull her under.

  There was a clink as the coffee mug in her hand slipped and dropped to the ground splitting perfectly in half at the base of the stone bench. Luckily, she had already had her fill of the contents, so the last lukewarm dregs that spilled out were no loss. A jagged snivel left her mouth as she picked up the fragmented pieces and stood, wiping her eyes as best she could manage.

  “Coo-ee!” came Camille’s call from the house, followed by a clattering of claws on stone as Rolf lolloped out for his morning business. Belle turned and waved briefly at Camille before scrubbing her eyes once more and wandering back to the house.

  “Morning, Auntie. Sorry, I dropped one of your cups.”

  “Oh, not to worry dear. I’m terribly sorry I’m up so late, I must have overslept. Have you had breakfast?” There were dark rings under the older woman’s light blue eyes.

  Belle tilted her head at her in concern. Belle had heard her aunt wandering in the night, as she had every night since her arrival.

  “No, I’m fine Auntie…… but without wanting to sound like a worrywart...” Belle hesitated, she seemed to be imposing quite a lot of opinions on her aunt since she’d been here… “maybe you should consider going to the doctor about your sleeping problem.”

  “Sleeping problem? I don’t have a sleeping problem, dear.” Camille waved her hand vaguely. “On a cold morning like this, I just take a little bit longer to get out of bed. That’s all.”

  Belle’s brow furrowed, her own sleep had been disturbed by the shuffling of her aunt’s feet in the wee morning hours. The first two nights Belle got out of bed and peeked out of the door to see her aunt disappearing down the corridor. “No, I don’t mean you got up late Auntie. But at night time - I’ve heard you wandering the house at all hours of the night, it’s no wonder you fall asleep in the day. Maybe pop into the surgery see what you can get on prescription?”

  “Oh, Belle, I’m fine dear, I don’t need any prescriptions, I’ve been sleeping like this for years.” Camille shifted slightly in her suede slippers, “A little cat nap during the waking hours never hurt anyone. Look, what do you say we do something together today?” Maybe we could visit one of the stately homes in the area?”

  Belle’s eyes lit up “That would be GRAND, let me get my face on, and the girls shall hit the town! We can head out to Lanhydrock for tea and scones. I’ve been dying to look around there and oh, the trees look so pretty this time of year…”

  They walked back to the house, and before Belle barely touched the handle, the door swung open a crack. Camille seemed not to notice, pushed it wide and walked through. Belle puzzled, but emboldened by her aunt’s familiarity with the odd experience, followed her in.

  Chapter Four

  The old Rover, rattled along the winding road toward Lanhydrock house just a few miles away. Camille drove like a bat out of hell, having the confidence of familiarity, gained over twenty years of negotiating the twists and turns. Belle found herself clinging to the hand holds above the doors of the Rover with her booted feet stretched as far into the foot-well as she possibly could. What was almost as disconcerting as the speed at which they seemed to be going was the sharp turns on the route, that Camille took at a single speed. Heavy metal blared out from the vehicle’s ancient CD deck.

  “Slayer was always so much better back in the day!” she called over to Belle, who nodded and gave a nervous smile in response. Finally, after what seemed like hours spent in nauseating limbo, they arrived.

  Camille almost instantly insisted on getting breakfast at the café, as neither of them had eaten. They dined on devilled egg sandwiches and Cornish cream tea before setting off on a leisurely wander around the building, admiring the beautiful interior and perfectly preserved antiques.

  Belle had her camera out whenever she was allowed (and at certain points where she wasn’t), but couldn’t bear to face the guided tour.

  “If you’re really set on it, Auntie, you go ahead. I’m going to check out the gardens. Meet you back at the café?” she ventured, eyes flitting hopefully to the window beyond. Camille rel
ented and allowed her niece to explore. Belle almost skipped out of the large, heavy doors of the main building and out to the foggy stretches of green beyond.

  She found herself in a small sub-section of the gardens, marked with winding paths and perfectly pruned greenery, the smell of autumn was all around. Because of the stiflingly damp weather, she seemed to be the lone visitor wandering this sub-section of the garden, a welcome respite from company.

  The almost pristine antiquity of this garden was a stark contrast to the crumbling disrepair of Camille’s. How lovely it would be to nurture them back into what they once were. Bringing her camera up she snapped images of every angle.

  As she aimed her camera to focus on a bed of roses she almost fell backwards onto her behind as a figure literally rose up from nowhere out of a nearby hedgerow.

  A young man, maybe a little younger, maybe a little older than herself, broke through the uniform green of the hedges clutching a large and rather unhappy-looking rat in two gloved hands. Twigs and leaves were tangled in his thick black hair, the sweater that he wore bearing the name of the stately home, covered in peaty mud.

  “Aha! Gotchya,” he cackled, holding the squirming creature up high as though it were some grand prize.

  With a deft move he stowed it in a carry cage by his feet. He stood in pride and victory not noticing Belle’s presence, for a moment before turning around and jumping. “Oh! Bugger. Sorry.” A hand rose to his ear and fiddled with a small device nestled under his raven locks - a hearing aid.

  Belle blinked and cracked a grin. “That’s alright.”

  “We don’t have a rat problem, I promise,” the other insisted as he took big, careful steps out of the hedge and onto the path. “Just this particular rat, he tends to be the problem.”

  “That’s okay.” Belle put a fingerless-gloved hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle at the sight of him.

  Slightly shorter than herself but broad in the chest, the man was obviously used to outdoor work. Despite the lateness in the year his tan was still showing, and his hands were visibly calloused when he removed his gloves after wrestling the large rodent into the cage. “Sorry I startled you.”

  “Aw, no worries. It’s my fault really. Shouldn’t have turned my ear off. I tend to do it so the boss won’t call me over for something. She feels guilty yelling at a deaf guy.” He gave a wink. Belle, delighted, stepped a little closer.

  “How long have you been working here?”

  “Oh, I don’t really work for the estate. I’m an independent contractor. I’ve done most of the period gardens in Cornwall,” he explained with a half-humble shrug, digging around in the pocket of his workman’s trousers. “Here. He withdrew a small, dark green business card, which Belle inspected. ‘Samuel Nan arrow.”

  “Good strong Cornish name.”

  “And yourself?”

  “Belle Pitney.” She extended a dainty hand, swamped in his own as he shook it. “And you might laugh, but what if I told you that I was having my morning coffee wearing slippers in an Edwardian garden, just this morning.”

  “Edwardian’s my forte.” The cage that Sam carried, tilted backwards toward the ground as the rat scuttled around it. “Do you want to accompany me while I rehome this devious little bastard? I’m not supposed to let them go if I catch them, but who’s gonna know?”

  They took a walk across the grounds, the toes of their boots darkened from the dew, the hapless rat scuttling from one side of the cage to the other.

  “This garden! Is it yours? You don’t look like the kind of girl to own a stately home. No offence, it’s just, nobody above millionaire paygrade can afford to buy a tin can in Cornwall these days.”

  Belle shook her head apologetically.

  “No, it’s my Great Aunt’s, and to be honest, it’s pretty small as far as they go. Nowhere near as big as the house here. It’s just - the garden’s in such a state. It’s kind of a shame. Usually I’m all for things looking old and rusty, but it would be nice for my aunt to just have something to be proud of, you know?”

  “Is she not a gardener herself?”

  “No, not really. She’s not the gardening type. And I think she’s up most of the night playing computer games.”

  “Breaking the stereo-type, is she?”

  “A little bit. I guess that’s a luxury of older age. Doing what you want, instead of what’s expected that you want.”

  They stopped at the edge of the line of trees, stopping for a moment to admire the wall of dark, lush woodland, before Sam knelt down and busied himself unlocking the cage.

  “And what about you, you don’t feel like getting your hands dirty?”

  “Oh, I get my hands dirty plenty,” she said, quick to defend herself, “But no. I tried to look after a cactus once. It died within a week.”

  “Did you water it?”

  “Obviously. It’s a plant, isn’t it?”

  Sam chuckled throatily, not replying as the door to the cage swung open.

  “Oh no! No, no, no…” he half-wailed as the rat hopped out of the cat box and, scampering at impressive speed for something so small, ran straight for the direction back to the gardens. He slumped, looking defeated. Belle couldn’t help but laugh, her sides aching by the time she recovered.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… it’s just…”

  “Don’t worry, it was pretty funny. More fool me. Next time I’ll have to take him over the county line, or something.” He got up, dusting his hands off. “Well, you have my card. My rates get pretty pricey when it comes to big institutions like this, but I’m sure I can come take a look and see if we can’t get something sorted. What’s the name of the place?”

  “Ferncoombe. Ferncoombe Manor. It’s over in Cardinham.” No sooner than the words were out of Belle’s mouth, Sam turned pensive.

  “Ferncoombe. Ferncoombe...” A tiny frown played over Sam’s features. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that name before, but I’ve never worked on it. Oh – that’s the old house they say it’s haunted.” Sam gave her a wicked grin. You know it was empty for years really - it’s only been occupied again the last couple of decades or so… Belle shoulders stiffened and she gave him a withering look. He stopped midsentence a sheepish expression on his face.

  “I wouldn’t have any idea about ghosts or things like that, you’d have to ask my aunt. But I don’t think she’s the type to worry about spooks.” An awkward silence fell between them momentarily and Belle sought to end the conversation. “I’d better get back, I ducked out of the guided tour earlier, and told her I’d meet her by the cafe.”

  They began walking back towards the main buildings as the sky began to crack and part, allowing the first beams of sunlight seen over the county that week, to filter through. Sam shuffled in his pocket

  “Ah, here’s my card. If you want to arrange a meeting, that is.” Belle held her hand to take it.

  “As long as you promise not to rouse up any of the old ghosts then…” Sam winced.

  “I’m sure there’s not….” Belle waved him off ignoring the trepidation niggling at her mind. Of course there’s not, it’s ridiculous...forget it

  Chapter Five

  It was the creak of a stair that woke her up.

  At certain points throughout the building, the hallways would dip by three steps worth outside of the doors of certain rooms. Hers, in particular, boasted a stair outside that managed to hit a high E minor when stepped on.

  Belle was wide awake in seconds. She looked to the clock on her bedside table, an old gold-plated thing that still ran just fine. It read three A.M.

  She sighed, laying on her back with her hands clasped, but it was no good; as had transpired every night in the week she’d been here. Once again, she’d woken to the sound of Camille wandering through the house. Belle turned her side to the wall and sighed, lamenting the loss of her sleep. It was no wonder Camille couldn’t sleep at night when she was napping in her chair half the day.

  A long low creak on the floorboard
s caused Belle to turn back toward the door. It sounded like soft footsteps had halted right outside. Surely Camille wasn’t hovering there.

  She knew her aunt had some strange ways about her, but it was truly unnerving to think of her walking hallways and stopping right outside her door in the midnight hours.

  Feeling for the bedside lamp, Belle flicked the switch, it burned bright for a moment then fizzled out. Damn. The room was in velvet black, not a slither of light shone through. Belle fumbled on the nightstand for her phone and turned the torch function on. Slipping her feet into the sheepskin slippers she padded through the large, mostly empty room toward the heavy oak door, stopping to listen for sounds.

  Nothing.

  Grabbing the knob, she turned and pulled the door open and ventured out into the hallway. Camille was not there. A puzzled frown appeared over her face as an unwelcome tingle of fear shuddered over her. Belle shone the torch in every direction. Camille was nowhere.

  “Auntie? Auntie is that you?” Turning the light along the corridor, she held the torch forward and followed it towards Camille's room. No light or sound showed from underneath it, so perhaps Camille had gone back to bed.

  An annoying tickle began in Belle’s throat, instinctively she put a hand to it and sucked at the dryness forming in her mouth. Seeking a drink of water, Belle turned away from the door, and walked the steps back to the stairwell and headed for the kitchen.

  The smell of undisturbed dust filled the air as she began stepping down the stairs by the light of her phone. The silent night acted like a megaphone, amplifying any sound made by her careful descent.

  Perhaps it was the layers of dust affecting her as the parching dryness continued to rage in her mouth and throat. A gentle commotion at the bottom of the stairs alerted her to Rolf and she focussed her beam on him.

  He sat whimpering at the foot of the stairs and backed away as she approached. “Rolf. Rolf, what’s the matter fella?” The constriction in Belle’s throat began to increase to the point where Belle couldn’t swallow. Gasping loudly Belle pulled at her throat as her phone clattered to the ground. Confusion fogged her brain until a pulsating rush filled her head and she felt herself begin to fall. Wildly she grabbed at the railings as her legs went from under her.