Belle Manor Haunting

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  “I understand Farnsworth isn’t your favorite person,” he said. “Let’s not worry about him tonight. You get back to sleep now, and we can talk again in the morning after you’ve had some rest.”

  Or when she was a lot more doped up.

  “I don’t see what more there is to say,” Cecilia said. “I’m not changing my mind.”

  He stood and shuffled toward the door. “I’ll leave you now.”

  “Are you off to bed too?”

  “Not for a while. I’m going to watch the news on television first. Why? Do you need anything? I can bring you a cup of tea if you like.”

  “A hot toddy would be nice. A wee splash of bourbon sounds perfect right about now.”

  “I ... don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You don’t think anything is a good idea anymore,” Cecilia said. “You’re a stuffed shirt nowadays.”

  “I don’t want it to be this way. You’re in poor health. I’m only trying to do what’s best for you.”

  “We never sleep in the same bed anymore,” Cecilia said. “I don’t understand why. Why can’t things go back to the way they used to, the way they were before—”

  “We’ve been over this several times. You snore, which makes it impossible for me to get a decent night’s rest.”

  “So you say, although I can’t remember snoring a day in my life.”

  “You’re asleep. You wouldn’t know.”

  “Perhaps,” Cecilia said.

  “Goodnight, then,” the man said. “I’ll be up with breakfast in the morning.”

  “Yes, you will. Breakfast and my morning cocktail of pills. Nine o’clock on the dot. As usual.”

  He walked out, closing the door behind him. Cecilia jostled around in bed, and then the room went silent. Addison assumed Cecilia had forgotten about her and given in to sleep. It wasn’t long before she had an answer.

  “Feathered friend?” Cecilia said. “Are you still there? Come on out and let’s get a good look at you.”

  Addison hopped onto the bed. She stared into Cecilia’s eyes, vacant voids of nothing. What light she’d once had seemed to have been replaced with a sense of indifference.

  “This is a real treat,” Cecilia said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen an owl this close before. No, I’m sure I haven’t. Have you wandered far from your home in the forest? Have you lost your way? Is that how you ended up here tonight?”

  Addison’s eyes shifted to the plethora of pill bottles on the nightstand. In all, there were seven. Why did she need so many different prescriptions? It was no wonder Cecilia acted loopy. She couldn’t possibly have needed them all.

  “Lawrence is a pain sometimes, isn’t he?” she said. “I try talking to him, but it always proves difficult. Most days, he’s not up for conversation. Tonight is the most we’ve talked to one another in a long time. I think so, at least. In truth, I don’t know. I think I forget from one day to the next.”

  Addison blinked.

  Cecilia shook her head and laughed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m going mad in this old place. I mean, look at me. I’m talking to an owl, for heaven’s sake. You’re probably not even real. I’ll bet you’re nothing more than a figment of my imagination.”

  Without warning, Cecilia swept her hand through the air, knocking Addison off the bed. Addison flew through the air and fell to the ground, worried Lawrence would return to the room again. It was possible the television would be loud enough to spare her this time.

  “Oh no,” Cecilia said. “My goodness. What have I done? I’m sorr—”

  Cecilia poked her head over the side of the bed and Addison glanced up. Eyes wide, what little color Cecilia had drained from her face. In a mirror on the opposite wall, Addison learned why, gasping as she caught a glimpse of her pale, freckled skin.

  “Please,” Addison said. “I don’t want Lawrence to come up here again. I can explain.”

  But how?

  How could she?

  Cecilia’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

  “Please,” Addison said. “Don’t scream. Don’t call for anyone. If you could just allow me to—”

  Cecilia cupped a hand over her mouth and said, “You were just covered in feathers, and now you’re... I can’t ... I can’t believe it’s you.”

  Addison was naked—stark naked—and had somehow transitioned back into her human form after the force of Cecilia’s hand swatted her off the bed.

  “I must be hallucinating again,” Cecilia said. “None of this is real.”

  “I’m sorry,” Addison said. “I’m sure you’re confused. I don’t mean to frighten you.”

  Cecilia wasn’t listening. She was staring at her trembling hands, mumbling to herself. “I could have sworn there was an owl in my room just now, and yet, it’s you, the woman who visited us earlier. You’re lying on the ground in front of me like I could reach out and touch you. It’s been some time since I’ve imagined things that aren’t there ... unless you are real, and there’s some sort of explanation for all this. It’s just, you were a ... and now you’re ... and you don’t have any clothes on.”

  Addison didn’t have a clue how to fix her current predicament. She could feed into Cecilia’s theory of hallucination, she supposed. While an easier option, it seemed cruel to exploit her condition.

  Addison came to a sitting position and pulled her knees in front of her, crossing her arms over her breasts in an attempt to cover herself.

  “I’d like to explain,” Addison said. “First, do you have any clothes I can put on—something I can borrow tonight and return to you later?”

  Cecilia lifted a finger in the direction of the closet. “In there.”

  Addison walked to the opposite end of the room, pulled the door open, and stared at a row of nightgowns. They were similar in style but varied in color. She pulled one off the hanger and slipped it over her head.

  “I have imagined you,” Cecilia said. “Haven’t I? I’m in a strange dream. Right?”

  Addison was in two minds about how to answer. The ethical side of her wanted to confess, to tell the truth, but what would happen if she did?

  “Thank you for the clothes,” Addison said. “Do you imagine things often?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought I did. Lawrence swears the things I say I’ve seen aren’t real.”

  “What do you see?”

  “It’s not just about what I see, it’s about what I hear. There are strange noises in this house at night. Voices I don’t recognize. There’s a woman. Her tone is shrill and squeaky like a mouse caught in a snake’s fangs. It’s a miracle I can hear at all because of her.”

  “Other than yourself, how many people live here?”

  “It’s only Lawrence and me.”

  “Do you have any visitors?”

  “My friend Flora stops by every day.”

  “Where does she live?”

  Cecilia shrugged. “Not far. I can’t think of the name of the street.”

  “Have you told Lawrence about the woman’s voice you hear?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “I used to tell him. I don’t anymore. It’s a waste of time. He doesn’t believe me.”

  “I do. I heard a woman talking to someone downstairs when I arrived. Why does Lawrence have you taking so much medication?”

  Cecilia scooped a few of the bottles off the nightstand and inspected them. “It’s funny. I don’t even know what most of these are. He says they all do different things. One helps me sleep, another keeps me from losing my mind more than I already have, and another is supposed to help me feel better, even though nothing does. I almost died, you know.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ve tried to kill myself a few times. Once, I almost did. All I’ve ever wanted is to be with my daughter again. Sara was our miracle child. I was infertile. We tried to have a baby for years. I’d almost given up hope, and then the doctor gave me the best news of my life.”

  “Doctor Fa
rnsworth?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  Addison walked to the bed and sat down. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through.”

  Cecilia raised a brow. “Why are you here, haunting my dreams? What is it you want?”

  “To talk to you about Sara.”

  Cecilia stretched a blanket over her body and rested her head back onto a pillow.

  “I heard the person who crashed into Scarlett’s car was never caught,” Addison said.

  “You’re right.”

  “I have the box of evidence the police gathered at the scene of the accident. Forensics has come a long way. Maybe the person responsible for Sara’s death could be brought to justice now.”

  “Justice won’t bring her back to me, so why does it matter?”

  “Even after all this time, the person who caused the accident doesn’t deserve to get away with it.”

  “I’m curious, what did you find in the box?”

  “A locket,” Addison said.

  “What does it look like?”

  “It’s gold and shaped like a heart. It’s smooth on one side and has a series of smaller hearts embossed on the other. Have you seen it before?”

  Cecilia drummed her fingers on the bed, thinking. “Sounds similar to one our nanny wore the night she disappeared.”

  “Scarlett or Libby?”

  “Libby. She was a simple girl. She never wore much jewelry, so it stood out. I asked her about it. She said her best friend had given it to her the day before as an early birthday present. How would it have made its way into the evidence box?”

  “Good question.”

  “I feel for the poor girl’s mother. I don’t know which is the lesser of two evils—losing your daughter the way I lost Sara, or losing your daughter and she’s never found. I have a certain amount of closure, at least, not that it makes much of a difference. Pain is pain. There’s no getting around it. There’s no escaping it, either.”

  “Did you see Libby the night of the party?” Addison asked.

  “Of course. I spent some time with her before she put Sara to bed.”

  “How did she seem? What was her behavior like?”

  “No different than usual.”

  “Did many guests attend the party the night she disappeared?”

  She gave Addison a strange look. “I can’t even remember what I ate for dinner tonight, let alone try to recall who came to one of our parties all those moons ago.”

  “There was a man at the party the night Libby disappeared. He had a muscular build and wore a blue satin shirt and flashy white shoes.”

  “It was a dressy period of time. Sounds like every man who visited during those days.”

  “Do you keep any photos from your parties?”

  “I’m sure some still exist, although I’m not sure where.”

  Cecilia shifted her gaze to the door, eyeing it like she worried someone may have been on the opposite side. Had Lawrence returned? Was he lurking outside the door? She’d heard no footsteps in the hall, nothing to indicate he was nearby, listening. If he had been listening, Addison was sure he would have come inside by now.

  Cecilia grabbed Addison by the wrist.

  “What’s wrong?” Addison asked.

  “This isn’t a dream, is it? You’re here, now, talking to me.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Did I just wake up? I didn’t see you come in. I seldom have visitors at night.”

  It was like someone had taken an eraser and wiped the last thirty minutes from Cecilia’s mind. Addison snatched one of the pill bottles off the nightstand and studied the label. Donepezil. She’d never heard of it. She replaced it and went for another, stopping when Cecilia jerked her head toward the door again.

  “What are you worried about?” Addison asked.

  “The faceless man.”

  “Faceless? What do you mean?”

  “He stands over me, looming in the darkness while I sleep. I wake in the night and there he is, staring down at me. I never see his face, not all of it. But I see his expression. It’s ominous, like he wants to smother me with my own pillow.”

  “Is he alive or dead?”

  “Dead, I think. He’s something evil.”

  Some of Cecilia’s behaviors were starting to make sense. When Addison had transformed from an owl to a human, Cecilia hadn’t screamed like Addison thought she would. It seemed Addison wasn’t the only unusual visitor.

  “What do you think the man wants?” Addison asked.

  She rolled onto her side. “I don’t know. His eyes pierce the darkness. They’re unforgiving and cold. I feel we know each other.”

  “Has he ever harmed you?”

  She tugged the sleeve of her gown up a few inches, revealing a two-inch gash.

  “I wake up to these now and then,” she said. “They’re never too bad. Still ...”

  “Let me guess, Lawrence thinks you do this to yourself?”

  “Of course, he does. Anything else would suggest a belief in the afterlife. He’s an atheist and far too practical to consider such things. He believes when we die, we’re dead. End of story.”

  “Beyond scratches, does the man do anything else?”

  “He taunts me, feeds into my fears, and at times, he destroys things.” Cecilia tipped her head toward the dresser. “Top drawer. See for yourself.”

  Addison crossed the room and opened the drawer. Inside was a series of photos of Cecilia in a wedding dress. Every photo had been torn, severing Cecilia from everyone else. Addison placed the photos back in the drawer, returned to Cecilia’s bedside, and took her hand.

  “I believe what you say is happening to you,” Addison said. “If your mother was still alive, she would remind you that while Lawrence is your husband, he doesn’t own you.”

  “He may as well. I’m no good anymore, not even to myself.”

  “When your mother came to visit after Sara died, did you ever refuse to see her?”

  Cecilia shook her head. “Of course not. Why would I?”

  “Lawrence told Josephine you didn’t want to see her, or anyone else.”

  “Why would he ... no ... I don’t believe he would say such a thing.”

  “Your mother didn’t agree with what was happening here.”

  Cecilia closed her eyes and clenched her hands. “My mother thought if she took me away from this place, away from all of the constant reminders of Sara, I would start to heal. And then my mother was taken from me too. She died, and I was angry ... so angry ... I ...”

  Exhausted, Cecilia succumbed to sleep. Addison wanted to shake her, to hear the rest of what she had been trying to say. Instead she stood and draped another blanket over Cecilia. She reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and Cecilia’s eyes flashed open.

  “You must go,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Her eyes darted around the room. “I feel him. He’s almost here. Leave this place. Leave now.”

  Addison searched her mind, trying to recall the words of a protection spell she’d seen in the book of enchantments. She opened her mouth, but snapped it closed again when the window blew open and a dark mist flowed inside. A foul odor of rotting decay swirled around Addison, and with it, a thick, black fog coiled around Addison’s body like a boa constrictor.

  Fingers spread, Addison forced her hands through the mist. The haze of black dispersed throughout the room, forming again in the corner. It twisted back and forth, writhing and growing, and then molded into a silhouette of a man.

  Addison walked toward him.

  “Who are you?” Addison asked. “Why do you return to the manor night after night? What do you want with Cecilia?”

  Laughter echoed from within the silhouette’s core.

  He mocked her like she was nothing, no match for him.

  “You may be darkness, but I am light,” Addison said.

  “You lie,” he growled. “I feel the darkness inside you, and you feel it too.”

  “Your time pl
aguing the manor is over. Leave, demon.”

  “I’ll never leave,” he hissed. “But you will.”

  He shot forward, wrapped a hand around Addison’s neck, and squeezed. She swished a hand through the air in an attempt to break him apart, but he held firm, the pressure mounting.

  A woman’s voice rang through the wind, “Harness your power, Addison. Believe in it. Believe, and he cannot hurt you.”

  A shimmering orb burst through the window, plowing through the man’s hand.

  “Demon, be gone!” a woman said.

  The hand broke apart, dispersing into air until it was gone. Addison looked around, trying to locate the source of the sound she’d heard. Whoever the mysterious woman was, she was gone.

  Addison woke the next morning with an intense feeling of sadness. It had been a short time since she’d left Barry. He still hadn’t forwarded Briggs’ information, and she had a good idea why.

  She fed and dressed Amara Jane, gave her to Luke, and went for a drive. Two hours later, she parked in front of a yellow house with white trim. She walked to the door and knocked. A taller-than-average man in his early twenties opened the door and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah?” was all he said. He had bushy eyebrows and long brown hair, and wore a shirt displaying the cities Aerosmith had visited on their “Get a Grip” tour in 1993.

  “Does Barry live here?”

  “He can’t come to the door right now,” the man said.

  “I’d like to see him.”

  “He’s, uhh ... not well.”

  “I know. I heard.”

  “I mean, he’s too weak to get out of bed.”

  “Why isn’t he at the hospital, then?”

  The guy shrugged. “I’ve tried to get him to go. He refuses.”

  A young girl wrapped her arms around the man’s leg and poked her head out the side, grinning at Addison.

  “Hi,” she said. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Addison.”

  “That rhymes with my name. I’m Madison.” She looked up at the man. “She can come in, Daddy. She’s all right.”