The Ghosts and Hauntings Collection

by Cat Knight

  Willard was bald, and while that didn’t bother Alison in the abstract, Willard’s version of baldness was less than flattering. He wasn’t content with a bare pate. He insisted in combing over long hair from one side of his head to the other. It had never been a good look on any man that she could name, and it certainly didn’t flatter Willard. Still, she didn’t come to look stylish with a stylish man. She came to haggle about Blakely Manor.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some fish?” Willard asked. “That salad wouldn’t keep a rabbit alive.”

  “It’s quite adequate,” she answered. “I suppose we should get to the bargaining.”

  He smiled.

  “Yes, I suppose it’s time for that.”

  Alison smiled and pushed an envelope across the table.

  “That’s my offer.”

  Willard opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He opened it and read the amount. Then, he put it back in the envelope.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll recommend this to the owners.”

  “When might that be?”

  “This afternoon. And if I know the owners, you’ll have an answer by tea time.”

  “Sounds great,” Alison said. “And is there anything I need to know about the manor?”

  His smile faded just a smidge.

  “I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that the Earl died there twenty years ago.”

  “In the manor?”

  “Yes, of a heart attack. As I heard the tale, he was climbing the stairs, and then it hit. Was dead before he hit the steps.”

  “That’s important why?”

  “Some people don’t like the idea of people dying in the house they’re buying. And then, there are always the ghost stories.”

  “Ghost, what sort of ghost stories?”

  “The gossipy kind. I think every hundred-year-old house in England has a ghost or a ghost story.”

  “I understand. One more point. You said the house is furnished? I get the furnishings also?”

  “Clever girl. Yes, you get the furnishings, such as they are. As far as I know, everything works. Before closing, we’ll have an engineer inspect the place and list any material defects.”

  “That sounds reasonable. Might you have someone produce an inventory also? I’d like to know just what is included.”

  “Yes, but you can do that if you wish. I mean, after the offer is accepted, you can have access and produce your own inventory.”

  “Keepsakes, might they want something from the place?”

  “To tell the truth, I’m not sure they know what’s been left behind. But they might like a painting or something.”

  “If they do, we’ll negotiate a price.”

  “Precisely.”

  He drank off what was left of his pint before he continued. “I have to tell you that I’m happy for you. I can’t think of a better use of the old house. You’re going to be wildly successful.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Willard sat back and half smiled.

  “If this deal goes through, I’ll be your first customer.”

  “I won’t let you forget that. I need all the customers I can get.

  Chapter Four

  “Congratulations are in order,” Paul, still in his chef smock, said as he filled the three wine glasses.

  “Indeed, they are” Alison said.

  “To the best bed-and-breakfast in all of England.” Jeff said.

  Paul handed out the glasses.

  “To a successful venture.”

  Since the hour was late, the pub was mostly empty. They sat at a table away from the bar and its few remaining patrons.

  “Look,” Paul said. “We have to take over the place immediately. And we’ll have to work very hard.”

  They toasted with their glasses.

  “When do we start?” Jeff asked.

  Paul pointed to Alison.

  “Ask her. I’d say tomorrow unless there’s something she’s not saying.”

  Alison frowned.

  “I’ve told you everything. Why would I hold back?”

  “Because you think it’s too trivial to mention. It’s simply inattention. You don’t know what you know.”

  “I’ve told you everything,” Alison repeated. “And if you don’t believe that, you can always back out.”

  Paul smiled, his good smile. “Don’t get riled. I know you think you have revealed everything, but that doesn’t mean you have. It’s one of your annoying little idiosyncrasies.” He smiled his good smile again. Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “In any case,” Paul continued. “I’m definitely in. I don’t know if I can take another month of this place.”

  Alison wanted to continue the argument, but she bit her lip instead.

  “Is it haunted?” Jeff asked. “That would be cool.”

  “There are no ghosts, so just drink,” Paul said. “Then, you’ll have an excuse for talking like a dunce.”

  “You’re not a dunce,” Alison told Jeff. “And Paul doesn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do,” Paul said.

  Alison gave Paul a keep-your-mouth-shut look. “When we get there tomorrow, we’ll do the inventory and decide what has to be replaced.”

  “I still say a ghost would be bracing,” Jeff said.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Alison said.

  “But there are no ghosts, just hard work.”

  “Blast,” Jeff said.

  Chapter Five

  Alison was unhappy when she arrived at the manor. Paul was supposed to accompany her, but he had begged off at the last minute, something about a banquet that has lost its original chef.

  While she didn’t like the excuse, she couldn’t deny Paul the extra pounds the banquet would generate. With the bed and breakfast project, they would all need as much money as they could gather.

  If she couldn’t make a go of it, she would be out on the street. As soon as she stepped out of her car, she spotted Willard standing by the front door. The older man pulled out a key. She would rather he smiled, but he didn’t. His face remained unreadable. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

  “Good day, Miss Alison,” Willard said. “Was the trip down good?”

  “Fine, fine, how is the manor?”

  He held out the key.

  “I’ve not been through the house; both the water and electricity have been turned on. I think you can light a fire in any of the fireplaces, but you never know where a bird might nest. I’m sure it needs a proper cleaning. No one has lived here for a bit.”

  “I’ll see to that. Know of anyone who would want to clean the manor on a regular basis? I’m looking for housekeeping.”

  “Meg Delaney might want a job, but I’m not sure. You can ring her.”

  “Besides me,” Alison said. “Who has a key?”

  “I have a spare, and I believe the owners have several which they are gathering up.

  “Works for me. Anything else, I should know?”

  He looked off for a moment before he looked her dead in the eye.

  “I believe the engineer, a chap named Browning, will stop by this afternoon for an inspection. If everything passes muster, we can close by the end of the week.”

  “That would be wonderful. Do you know someone who might take care of the grounds for me?”

  “There’s a man named McKnight who could do for you. I believe he is somewhat familiar with the property. He worked here for a year or two if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Will you ask him to stop by?”

  “I’ll make a note of it.”

  “One last thing, where can I get a decent meal in town?”

  “Well, as I see it, Three Gentlemen is fit for you. I would avoid the Poor Boy unless you’re willing to watch a brawl or two. And Favourable Winds has jumped over the wall if you catch my drift. That’s all purple, black, and tattoos.”

  Alison laughed.

  “I’ll remember
that.”

  She watched Willard walk away, and for a moment, she wondered just what she had gotten into. This was a huge step for her. No, it was a huge leap into the dark. She had no idea where she might land, and that was a frightening proposition. She unlocked the front door and stepped into the entry. Why did she suddenly feel cold?

  Inside the manor, dust covered everything, even the sheets protecting the furniture. Alison walked through the main rooms of the first floor. There was a small parlour that she thought would make a perfect office as it was by the front door. Next to it was a formal dining room. It could easily accommodate the ten or twelve guests she might have. The main room featured windows that looked upon the garden, and that meant it would be a wonderful reading room. There was a smaller library that felt cosier, more intimate. In all, the rooms seemed well suited to her needs.

  The kitchen wasn’t the one that Paul wanted. He had already told her he needed more ovens in order to keep up with meals and desserts. She said he would have to learn to be more efficient in his use of the ovens that were already there. Simple meals, simple was Alison’s watchword. Nothing fancy, nothing too difficult to achieve, nothing too expensive to produce.

  She told herself she would take baby steps. Walk before run. But she had to get walking. Her future depended on it.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  The sound was strange. No, not strange, just unexpected. Someone, someone inside the house was calling out. Calling out? Alison, stopped what she was doing and listened.

  “What on earth? Alison muttered to herself. “Hello, Hello.”

  No one answered, but the noise continued. In low miserable drone. The words were muffled, unrecognizable. Turning her head every which way, Alison tried to hear from which direction the sound came from. It seemed to be far away, yet around her. In the end Alison had to admit she no idea. Not from the kitchen, that was obvious.

  But it was inside the house. Who was inside the house? That was the idea that zipped through her mind. Someone was in the manor, and she was certain that it wasn’t Willard. She had watched him leave.

  But someone was inside.

  Who?

  Where?

  Alison spun and headed out of the kitchen. In the dining room, the voice sounded louder. Yet, it was impossible to pinpoint. Was it downstairs or up? She returned to the entry and frowned. The voice was there, but was it a man or a woman? She couldn’t tell. It seemed to echo through the manor, both here and there. But who? And why?

  A tiny voice inside her head told her to be careful. Someone was in the house, someone who shouldn’t be there.

  Did Alison really want to meet up with an interloper? Shouldn’t she call the bobbies? She needed someone with her, didn’t she?

  She stood still and wondered. Telling herself not to be a wuss, she left the entry and started for the stairway. She was reasonably sure now that the voice came from the second floor.

  Who could it be? Irritation turned to a small anger and Alison ascended the stairs, quietly, slowly, ears peeled.

  When she found the person, she would be certain to make sure that he or she would leave forthwith and not return unless invited.

  In the upstairs hall, she paused again. The voice had faded. But it had not moved. Alison wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. The actual words were still unknowable. Frustration raced through Alison.

  “Come on,” she said out loud. “Show yourself.”

  But the person didn’t answer. No one stepped out of a room. Alison had no choice but to go room by room.

  You’re making a mistake, the little voice in her head said.

  Alison ignored the voice. She decided that her first choice would be the master bedroom.

  She wasn’t sure why that seemed like a good choice, and it really didn’t matter. One room was as good as another — or so she thought.

  As soon as Alison opened the door to the master bedroom, the cold draft hit her. In fact, it stopped her in her tracks. Cold air? Icy air? Where had that come from? The manor did not possess air conditioning because it didn’t need it. Summers weren’t so hot, and the manor had plenty of windows. Icy air? It was impossible.

  And as quickly as it had come, it stopped.

  Alison stood in the doorway, and she shivered. But not from the icy air. What was going on? Fear echoed through her mind and her bones. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

  With the end of the draft came silence. Complete, utter, silence. No muffled voice, no words, nothing. The absolute quiet seemed more eerie than the voice.

  Alison fought the urge to run, to turn and race out of the room. Something was not right. Something was absolutely very wrong. Her mind couldn’t quite fathom the switch of the moan to the silence. More than silence. Dead. Quiet. Nothing sound. The world didn’t work that way there was always some kind of sound wasn’t there.

  But she didn’t run. She shook for a full minute, hanging onto the door knob for support. She realized that she was panting, sucking in air as if she was about to run a race. But she wasn’t going to run a race. She wasn’t going to run at all. Grinding her teeth, she willed herself to slow her breathing. She was in command of herself. She was not going to be spooked by some person who wanted to scare her. Besides, the dead silence was only because she was used to sound.

  There was always a clock ticking, electrical sounds of something whirring, things, appliances, to lift mute silence.

  Here in the still of the manor, with its thick walls, absence of recent habitation and old furnishings, it was simply eerie, and someone, someone, was having a lend of her.

  “I’m going to search this room,” she announced. “When I find you, and I will, when I find you, I’m going to make your life hell. Do you understand?”

  Alison half expected someone to slide out from under the four-poster bed and beg for forgiveness. Some local kid perhaps, or maybe even Paul or Jeff. She wouldn’t put this prank beyond them.

  They would get a good laugh out of scaring her.

  But no one slid from under the bed or out of the loo or closet. No one popped up. Nothing happened.

  “All right,” Alison said. “I warned you.”

  She started with the bed. She got on her knees and took a deep breath before she pulled up the skirt and looked under. Nothing but dust bunnies. She made a mental note to tell whoever cleaned for her about the dust bunnies. Alison imagined that the bunnies had taken up residence under all the beds in the manor. Satisfied that no mugger hid under the bed, Alison stood and marched into the loo.

  A hundred movies had made millions of dollars hiding the villain in the bath tub, behind some kind of innocent curtain. If Alison pulled aside the curtain, a deranged clown with a meat cleaver would leap out with murder on his mind.

  That caused Alison to hesitate a moment. What if there were some monster hiding behind the curtain?

  “Don’t be silly,” she told herself. “If there was a monster, it would have eaten you by now.”

  She grabbed the curtain and pulled it aside.

  No clown.

  No person.

  Nothing.

  Alison didn’t know whether to be happy or unhappy. Someone had to be making the sounds, right? She spun and left the room.

  The closet came next, and it was just as unoccupied as the rest of the master suite. Alison stood in the middle of the room and looked around.

  She spotted the doors that led to a balcony. She had missed them before, and to her, that was the sure solution.

  Access and escape came through the balcony doors. She walked across the room, grabbed the handles, and pulled.

  Nothing happened.

  The doors were locked.

  She stared a moment before she unlocked the doors and pulled them open. She stepped onto the balcony and looked out over the garden which was laid out well but needed plenty of hard work.

  She went back inside and looked around one last time. She had been so certain that the voice came from this room. And yet….And yet, sh
e had work to do.

  She would worry about the voice… and the icy blast… later. Right now, she had things she had to accomplish.

  What if it’s a spirit? The small voice in her head said. What if It’s supernatural? It could be, you know it could. And you know it’s not going away.

  She ignored the voice, the fear, the small animal that nibbled at the sane parts of her brain. It was silly, juvenile, and ridiculous.

  Alison worked through the other bedrooms on the second floor.

  They were all decently furnished and in need of cleaning. The loos smelled all right. The windows needed washing, and Alison thought Meg Delaney might know someone who was up for the job. Alison was certain she wasn’t going to climb a ladder and wipe glass — unless she ran out of money. There was that; she didn’t have deep pockets.

  On the first floor, Alison pulled a pad of paper from her bag and started writing entries. She wanted as complete an inventory as she could produce. She started with the coat rack by the door and added the small table and lamp. Next, the painting on the wall.

  It was a landscape, and a very nice one.

  The kitchen was the most difficult to inventory. Alison counted the silverware and the knives and the plates, bowls, cups, saucers, and glasses. She didn’t bother trying to catalogue everything. She didn’t know the names of the patterns to begin with.

  This was a sheer number count, and it was exhausting. She counted the pots, pans, skillets, and cooking utensils too. For a moment, she chided herself for not hiring someone to do the counting. But then, she reminded herself that a pound saved was a pound earned.

  “Hello there.”

  Alison spun, half expecting no one to be there. But to her relief, a man stood in the doorway.

  “I’m Browning,” the man said. “I’m here to inspect the place.”

  “I’m Alison, the new owner… pending your inspection. How long have you been here?”

  The last words rushed out short and sharp, and Browning’s features hardened just slightly. He crossed the room and shook hands.