The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  By the end of the day, she was drained, more so than usual but it was understandable. There was a lot on her plate now, with the responsibility of the renovations.

  But never mind tiredness she would pay a visit to her new house on her way home. After all, it hadn’t really been off her mind all day.

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” Ronnie was alone now, his men gone already and Ronnie just about to enter his vehicle. “Here are your new keys.”

  Lucy accepted them. “This is all of them?”

  “I kept one for myself, of course, but that’s all. Same key for both doors.”

  “Great, thanks. Everything go well today?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Ronnie rubbed his face for a moment. “We had a plumber who had a bit of a row with the house. He was installing a sink, and while he swore it was properly anchored, it fell off the wall and hit him in the head. A bit of blood and a lump, he should be OK. I’m guessing he’ll be back in the morning.”

  “That’s disturbing, but I suppose it’s part and parcel to the trade?”

  “Accidents happen. Are you going in?”

  “I’d like to see the progress.”

  “Want me to go in with you?”

  “No,” Lucy said. “I’ll be fine. Any spots to avoid?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. There is no water yet, and while we have electricity, there are no lights so watch your step.”

  “I have my torch.” Lucy waved her phone. “I’ll be fine.”

  “In that case, lock up when you leave. Some of the blokes left their tools behind.”

  “I’ll make sure.” He turned away. “One more thing, Was there any evidence of someone living inside the house? I mean if someone has been living here and they did hightail it out, did they leave things?”

  “No, miss, nothing like that. I don’t think you’ve got to worry. It doesn’t seem like anyone’s living here. Well, not recently. And you’ve got new locks now anyway. In the attic, we found some old bedding and several books, but no food or evidence of. And the bedding we got rid of. The books are still up there. Do you want us to bring them down?”

  “Would you? I might keep them, but I’m not certain I will.”

  “Tomorrow, we’ll get them tomorrow.”

  “Goodo. I’ll see you later then.”

  With a nod, he turned and walked away. Lucy watched him for a moment before she turned to the door. Keys in hand, she pushed it open, locking it behind her. Now, she was going to do a quick inspection and determine progress. She supposed that while the contractor would no doubt stay on top of the repairs, it was her job to stay on top of the contractor.

  The house was indeed dark. Lucy started her torch app before she locked the door behind her. With new locks, she felt much safer than she had felt the day before. And as she had been assured that the house was empty, there was no need to fear a squatter or intruder. Absentmindedly she hummed a little tune as she began to inspect.

  The first thing Lucy noticed was the lack of stench. The awful carpet had been ripped up and removed, and for that alone, Lucy was glad. She flashed her torch over the walls, and while the graffiti hadn’t changed, there was no sign of the warning from the day before. Perhaps, it had never been there at all. If that were true, Lucy had to wonder about her faculties. She knew what she knew, but perhaps, her brain had played a trick on her. And the wet paint on her fingers that she had to wash off?

  Well, she supposed that if she could hallucinate a message, she could hallucinate paint. That was possible, wasn’t it? And did it matter anyway? The warning was gone.

  Time to move on.

  Other changes were obvious. In the downstairs loo, she found a toilet and sink. Under the sink, she noticed a stain. Blood? She supposed that was not only possible but probable considering the accident. When the flooring was replaced, the stain would disappear, and perhaps, the plumber would check twice before he slipped under a wobbly sink. Once bitten, twice shy.

  In the kitchen, a sink had been put in place, the stainless steel one she had chosen. She was going to have a modern kitchen no matter what. Upstairs, the carpenters had taken down several walls, right to the studs. In a way, the bare walls stunned her. It was like seeing someone without clothes. The naked facts belied the surface beauty.

  While she knew the walls were filled with wires and pipes and ducts, she, like most people, preferred to keep those facts out of sight. This was no doubt, the type of ‘behind the scenes’ talk that Ronnie had given her. Except now she was seeing it. In all, she was pleased with the progress. This was what she was paying for. If progress continued apace, she would be hosting a housewarming party in no time at all.

  The dropdown ladder in the upstairs hall reminded her that there were books in the attic. She wondered what they were, and what type of person had placed them there. Who was living in the attic? Who had been sleeping and reading there? Whoever it was she hoped that person didn’t come back. But a person that read books couldn’t be all that dangerous, could they? A person who read books was usually smart and not some hopeless tapped out drug addict or maniac.

  Anyway, whoever that person was, they had moved on – hightailed it out if not recently, then earlier. Why that person had left behind books would probably never be known. They might have been too heavy to lug around.

  Once read, they might not hold the same value that they had before they gave up their secrets.

  Books were like that. They arrived full of secrets and promise, and they pleased one as they gave up those hidden gems. But – once the secret was given up the book didn’t beg to remain with you, at least, not most of the time. Books were her life, and she understood.

  She passed back through the kitchen but not before she insured that the back door was securely locked. The new, shiny lock smiled back at her.

  In the front room, she paused. Standing in the middle of it she wondered if she should check the walls. There had been no message just minutes before, and she had no reason to believe someone had sneaked through the keyhole like a fairy to paint warnings on them. Yet, she thought she needed to look. Just to test herself. If she didn’t, would she count herself a coward? She was many things, but she had never thought of herself as a milksop. Why did she hesitate?

  Because she was silly.

  Silly, silly, silly.

  She checked the first wall.

  Nothing.

  She checked the second wall.

  Nothing.

  She checked the third wall.

  Nothing.

  She breathed more easily. The walls were still clean, but she wasn’t sure that was such a good thing.

  That meant she had probably hallucinated the message of the day before. She supposed she was mature enough to forgive a single hallucination. Now, if she started seeing angels and demons, she was going to check into the nearest mental health facility. Everyone was allowed a single mental episode, weren’t they?

  Moving forward to unlock the front door, the torch shone down to the floor. That was when she noticed the drops, the red drops.

  Red drops? From where?

  Slowly, almost as if forced, she looked up. Two red streaks ran over the trim. They looked fresh, shiny, new. She stopped, staring. She knew she had to trace the streaks higher, but she also knew she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to look. She felt as if she was in some dark theatre where the comely girl was stripping in her bedroom, unaware that the axe murderer was hiding in the closet. No one wanted to watch, and yet, everyone knew they wouldn’t turn away.

  The light drew her eyes over the trim and onto the wall where she found the message.

  ONE DOWN. YOU TO GO.

  Chapter Four

  Lucy automatically took a step back. She stared at the shiny red message over the door. Breathing fast and shallow, Lucy forced herself to take stock. After a few slower deeper breaths, she managed a rational thought. She was scared, in a way, but, was
she really scared? The truth was, she just got a fright.

  What should she be scared of? Some crackpot who could only threaten her with paint? One of the workmen had done this. But why? Probably just to get a rise from her and piss himself laughing with his friends. She would have a chat with Ronnie, he must’ve said something to his crew, let them know she was worried about a squatter. Nonetheless, she had to admit, they got her.

  But would Ronnie stand for it. Letting them taunt her like that. She didn’t think so. It was one thing to let his men slack off a bit, but he didn’t seem like a man that had much of a sense of humour. Even a bad one.

  Lucy shook her head. No. It wasn’t him. He would stand to lose a lot of work if she reported him, and no one but a mad man would do that to themselves.

  She only had to let the council know and he would be gone. They wouldn’t hire him for anything else.

  Lucy’s mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips and lowered the torch. Her hands shook as she checked the door. Luckily, it was still locked. Despite that reassurance, her legs wobbled. Had there been a place to sit, she would have found it. Raising the light, Lucy half prayed that the message had disappeared, hoping that it was merely the product of an overactive imagination.

  Perhaps someone had slipped something into her afternoon tea, some substance that plied the brain with the wherewithal to conjure up things that weren’t there. Of-course they hadn’t. Her insides felt twisted, and she doubted she could lift a kitten. Biting her lip, Lucy stepped forward and touched the red streams on the door moulding. Like the day before, her fingers came away wet and shiny red.

  “No,” she said out loud. “No, no, no.” She pulled a tissue from her purse and cleaned her fingers. “It can’t be,” she said. “It can’t be.”

  A small voice inside her head told her to slow down. The small call of sanity reminded her that since she hadn’t checked over the door when she entered, there really was no way to be certain that the words had been scrawled while she was upstairs. Lucy fought to rationalise. What if they had been there all day and it was just that nobody noticed them. What if they had been done overnight after-all.

  The trouble was, that if Lucy were honest with herself she was pretty sure they weren’t from the day before because the paint was still fresh.

  But they could have been there while the men were working. They could be an hour old, not fifteen minutes. What if someone had slipped in unnoticed? Wouldn’t they need a ladder though?

  A tingling in her nose gave her pause and her patchy breath sounded loud in the quietness of the house. Lucy’s throat became painfully tight as she studied the message again. Was it new or was old? In cold damp weather, maybe paint took a long time to dry.

  The truth was Lucy was clutching at straws and she didn’t have a clue. Blast, she wished she had checked over the door when she came in. But she hadn’t noticed the spots then. In fact, she wouldn’t have noticed them now had it not been for the light shining down instead of straight ahead.

  What are you going to do? The little voice in her head asked.

  Lucy took another step back and aimed her phone. She was going to take a photo of the it. If the message disappeared off the walls like the last one, she would have digital evidence to prove that she wasn’t losing her mind. In fact, she snapped two photos and made sure they would serve before she stepped forward—careful to miss the spots on the floor—and let herself out.

  Locking the door behind her, Lucy shivered anew. But it was a different kind of shiver. Now, she felt as if some great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was out and she was happy. Her entire body shook as adrenaline pumped through her. This was not the kind of happiness she had expected to feel about her new house. She backed up several steps, until she stood on the road looking over the door for evidence of the message, as if the paint had somehow bled through the wall.

  She might have stared for another ten minutes if some cabbie hadn’t tooted behind her.

  Startled, she did a little jump, looked around, and hurried away to the footpath. For one very brief moment, she considered turning around and walking back inside to confirm the message, but that silly moment passed. She didn’t need another dance with insanity. She needed a drink.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The pub was filled with usual after-work crowd. Lucy wove her way through the bodies and was just about to order when someone gripped her arm.

  “Come with me.” Lucy turned to face Mia who smiled and tugged. Without hesitation, Lucy allowed Mia to lead them to a back booth where two pints waited.

  “Expecting someone?” Lucy asked as she slid into the booth.

  “Yes. And you’re here,” Mia answered.

  “But you didn’t know I was coming. I didn’t even know I was coming.”

  “That’s two of us then. I didn’t know I was coming either till 15 minutes ago. And I didn’t know you would be here in the sense that I was sure. I just felt you might show up, and if you did, I’d be here. If you didn’t, I’d drink a second pint.”

  Lucy looked at her agog. “You’re truly mad Mia, but I think I’m heading that way myself and I’m so glad you came. I’ve just, well, I’ve just had the most harrowing experience of my life. I’m not even sure it happened. Is that bonkers or what?”

  “Tell me.”

  Lucy told her story, from the first message the day before, to the missing list of needed repairs, to the new message she had just left. As she spoke, she found herself feeling more and more the fool. Who wanted to hear about disappearing messages or bum-deleted phone notes? She knew just how off she sounded. Did she expect Mia to take the tale seriously? Well, if anyone would, it would be Mia, so she continued.

  “But today, I took pictures. I wanted documentation, if you know what I mean.”

  Lucy pulled out her phone and opened the camera app and stared. But no picture of the message stared back at her.

  “What the?” She swiped the screen, searching for the photos. “Where have they gone?” she muttered. “They’re here, they must be. I’m sure they’re here somewhere.”

  With grim determination, Lucy paged through the photo files.

  Like most people, she had hundreds of photos that she hadn’t found time to delete, but she found no photos of the artless paintings. “I took them, I KNOW I took them.”

  “It’s OK,” Mia said. “I believe you.”

  “No,” Lucy protested. “It was real. I took PICTURES!”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  Lucy stared at Mia whose face betrayed nothing. If Mia thought Lucy was a blithering idiot, it didn’t show.

  “You’re not sure,” Lucy said. “You can’t be. Because now that I can’t find them, how can I be sure? And I’m bloody damn sure I took them!” Mia reached out and touched Lucy’s hands.

  “Deep breaths,” Mia said. “Deep breaths.” Lucy took some. Lucy’s hands immediately warmed. A sense of calm billowed up inside Lucy. The tide of panic receded — for the moment.

  “That’s better,” Mia said. “This is not a world of black and white. This is not a world of absolutes. This is not a world where everything can be explained, where every little titbit of everything can be reduced to ones and zeros. This is a world where many, many phenomena cannot be explained at all. It’s a place where objects disappear and reappear regularly, where chaos overwhelms order.”

  “This world sounds very unstable to me Mia. I’m not at all sure I like it.”

  “Even so, it is what it is. I believe you saw it. I believe you took photos of it. I believe all that — because I believe those messages were meant for you… and you alone. They are not available to the people who are not you.”

  “You mean the photos are really here but no longer visible because I’m with you?”

  “No, I believe that once you saw them, it was enough. Like a singing telegram.”

  “Singing telegram? They still have those things?”

  “Perhaps, maybe, as a novelty. Anyway, once the �
�message’ has been sung, it’s over. There is nothing more. The singer doesn’t wait around for an encore.”

  “But it was on my phone!”

  “I’m sure it was, and I can’t tell you how the photo disappeared. But I’m sure it was there, and I’m sure it’s gone.”

  Lucy grabbed her glass and took a pull of ale. While more calm, she still didn’t feel good. Her world didn’t operate like some carnival funhouse — here today, gone tomorrow.

  No, her world was built on knowledge, on books. Stories yes, but stories immutable.

  “OK,” Lucy said. “Tell me what is happening. And if you don’t tell me I’m mad as a hatter, I’ll doubt your sanity.”

  Mia laughed.

  “That’s the Lucy I love. All right, what do you know about the house you bought?”

  “What’s to know? It’s small, badly in need of repair, and grabbed by the council because the last owners didn’t pay their taxes. What else is there to know?”

  “Well, what if whoever lived there before, sort of went away, but never left?”

  “What do you mean sort of went away, but never left? Like a squatter? I wondered about that with the messages and all that…”

  “No, Lucy, NOT what I mean. You KNOW that’s NOT what I mean.” Lucy wanted to cover her ears, stick her fingers deep within and block out what she knew Mia was about to say.

  “It’s entirely possible that you’ve got a ghost. Likely even. Remember that house I had to do a cleansing for last year?”

  Lucy did remember, it was one of the occasions they had laughed at Mia, secretly, and all in good fun of-course.

  But it had almost gotten out of hand when she’d rattled on telling them that there was a stubborn lady from the 1920s making mayhem in a house in Liverpool ‘because, honestly, she didn’t know she was dead. The poor thing thought she was just lost and so when she found her way into this lovely house, well she decided to stay. She was barely aware of the other people that lived there.’