Soon they were sneaking from the room, their bare feet silent in the darkness. Alice knew her way to the kitchen. She had practiced counting out the steps for the last month. So she took Mary’s hand and began to walk. The fingers clasped in hers were hesitant. They began to shake as the door closed behind them and the darkness settled over them like a shroud.
“It’s ok,” she whispered, “trust me.”
Mary’s arm shook as she nodded and Alice smiled into the darkness and began to count her steps. It was important that she kept her stride at the same length or she would miss the door. Twenty, then thirty just four more steps and she reached out for the door. Her hand banged into the wood and the slight sound seemed so loud in the darkness. Alice froze and listened.
There was nothing there and yet she thought she heard whispers from far away. Was someone else awake? Or were they already coming for her?
Quickly she searched for the handle and found it. Turning it in the darkness she slipped into the kitchen and reached behind the door. There on the side should be a lamp and flint. At first she could not find them and started to panic. She had never been in the basement. It was off limits. No doubt because of the escape route. Without the lantern she would never find her way and she would disappear tonight!
Then her fingers hit something hard and there was the sound of scraping. She had the lantern and then the flint. Almost letting out a yelp of joy she grabbed them and turned away from the door.
“Hold tight to my dress,” she whispered to Mary. “I need my hands now. So hold tight and stay quiet.”
“I’m frightened,” Mary’s voice was but a whisper.
Alice leaned in close to her and moved her hair so she could reply right into her ear. “Don’t be, we will soon be free.”
Then she turned and felt Mary’s hand pulling on her dress. Together they snuck across the huge kitchen. The door to the basement was another twenty-two steps to their left. But she had to make sure she was central to the door before she started counting. Feeling the frame she got her position right and then with her eyes tightly closed she set off across the slate floor. At first she was rushing and knew the strides would be too long. Slow down, she told herself and adjusted her strides. She had counted this so many times she would not get it wrong.
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, they were so close she paused and listened. Her breath was coming fast and shallow and she was feeling a little dizzy. They were so close and soon they would be gone from here. Soon they would be safe. Twenty-two. She reached for the door. The unlit lantern in one hand the flint in the other. The flint scratched against the handle and she knew they were there. With the flint in her tiny hand she could not turn the handle and so she pushed it into the pocket of her dress and turned the handle. As she did she thought she heard whispers come from behind the door but they were gone so soon, she thought maybe it was just a gust of air.
Quickly, she pulled Mary through the door and onto the steps. They were stone and narrow and it was so dark but she knew she must shut the door before she lit the lantern. So she eased inside and felt Mary gasp as her foot missed a step. Using her body she stopped her falling and eased in a little further. It was so difficult in the dark. Before she had practiced, walking along the corridor with her eyes closed but here she was truly blind. Still it was not the time to turn back. She eased in a little more and felt Mary follow her. Reaching back she pulled the door closed and felt it click into place. They were safe. They had made it.
Feeling suddenly euphoric she pulled the flint from her pocket and struck it near to the lantern. It was something she had done a thousand times and light filled the stairwell.
She gave Mary a smile and was pleased to get one in return. Though the girl's face was pale and drawn she looked better than earlier.
“We just have to go down the stairs and to the left. There we will find a passage out of here.”
Mary nodded and Alice led her down the stairs. They seemed to go on forever and she estimated that they were at least three levels below the house. Occasionally she thought she heard voices but decided it must just be the echoes from their footsteps. She tried to ignore the fact that they slap, slap, slapped on the steps as they climbed down and down. Matron was in bed, she had to be if they were to escape.
“How much further,” Mary asked.
“Just a little.”
Soon the sound of their feet was replaced by the rushing of running water. There must be a river beneath them and then they were at the bottom. There was a wide passageway and she could see water running through it directly across from them. She turned to her left and could have sworn she saw a flash of light. Maybe it was a reflection off the water. It didn’t matter she was not turning back when they were so close.
Up ahead she saw a door and knew that must lead to the passage. Quickly she hurried towards it ignoring the cold and the ache in her legs. They passed an alcove filled with shelves lined with ancient books. With hardly a glance she rushed on, Mary still clinging to her dress. They both were afraid but it would all be worth it once they were free.
They reached the door and she turned around to smile at Mary. “We are nearly there. Soon you can sleep.” As she said the words she knew she should have brought their blankets. Thin as they were, they were better than nothing. Why was she such a fool? Maybe she could get Mary to safety and come back.
Pushing the thought aside she reached out to grab the handle, before she could turn it she felt it move in her fingers and the door pulled away from her.
She stumbled into a large room. It was lit by flickering torches and rough hands pushed her into the center. Mary let go of her dress and she turned to search for her but fear dropped her to her knees.
They were surrounded by over a dozen men in long black cloaks and hoods. She had run straight into the very thing she was trying to avoid. As she turned to try and escape she noticed something behind the men. There were bones. Small bones about the size of her arm and legs and further around was something she couldn’t believe. Was it real? Behind the men, in the darkest reaches of the room only just touched by the flickering light was a pile of skulls.
The men stepped back as if herding her towards that grisly pile.
Next to the skulls was a stone bench surrounding by flickering torches. What was it for?
Alice was grabbed from behind. One man clutching onto each of her arms and hauling her from her feet.
“Run, Mary, run,” she screamed as they carried her to the altar and lay her down on top of it. She tried to look for Mary as they held her down by her arms and legs, but it was not possible. No matter how she kicked and struggled she could not pull free. Their hands were so big around her skinny flesh.
Where was Mary, if at least she was safe then it didn’t matter. As she tried to look for her friend, all she could see were two hooded creatures looking down on her. There was just a black emptiness inside the dark hoods.
For a moment she could not breathe and then they both raised their hands up to the hoods. The light flickered and all the lanterns seemed to dim at once. Alice knew that it was over for her and yet she was intrigued. She wanted... needed to see into their eyes to let them know that she was not afraid. That she had accepted this and that she would hate them for all eternity. As she had the thought she wondered where it came from. Was it even her own.
It didn’t matter, slowly they pushed back the hoods.
Two pale faces were revealed. One a man of probably sixty the other was Matron. There was nothing remarkable about them until she looked up to their eyes... there was nothing there, just empty black hollows that seemed to suck her in and pull her down into a horror so great she heard herself wail.
In his left hand the man pulled a knife from beneath his cloak. It glinted in the darkness and suddenly she understood where all the girls had gone. They were here forever and soon she would join them. As the knife raised up above her she began to scream.
1
August 31st 2017
RedRise House
Yorkshire Moors
England.
10 O’clock
The journey seemed to take forever and the longer the taxi drove down the winding lanes further and further away from reality, the worse Rosie felt. And yet in the same breath she also felt a great weight lifting from her shoulders. Why had she let Amy talk her into this?
“It’s about another two miles,” the cab driver called.
Rosie grunted non-committedly and kept looking out the window. It was beautiful countryside, rolling hills and gentle dales. They passed a dark green thicket of trees and a babbling brook ran alongside the road. The last house they had seen was over thirty minutes away but she had been told that the house she would be looking after was fully stocked and that she wouldn’t need to go shopping.
It was a good job, she couldn’t afford the taxi fare too often.
“You wouldn’t catch me staying at that place,” the cabby said.
Rosie half heard his words and assumed he meant because of the location. “I’m looking forward to some peace,” she replied as a vision of anger and hatred filled her mind. It was followed by pain and her right hand reached up to the scar on her left cheek. For a moment she felt dizzy and a little sick. It was not just the ugly red blemish that just missed her left eye and traced down her cheek almost to her lip. That was bad enough but her right hand was puckered with burns. They no longer hurt so much that she wanted to scream but still they stung at times. She dropped her hand and pulled the fleece sleeves over it.
“Not sure you get it, did they tell you what happened there?”
Rosie hardly heard the words and she didn’t want to talk. Nausea was overwhelming and the cab was hot and claustrophobic.
“I’m worried about leaving you,” the cabby continued. “With what happened and all.”
Rosie felt a jolt of anger. Yes she was a mess, scarred both physically and mentally but she could look after herself. This man had no right to judge her... how did he even know? Did he think she was having a breakdown? Or maybe that she was just too weak to cope. He had no right!
“I’ll be fine,” she managed through gritted teeth.
“You’re not the first,” he said as he pulled off the road and down a long driveway.
In the distance she could see the house. It was large and impressive if a little imposing. For a moment it reminded her of a stately home but as they pulled closer she realized it was smaller than that... though still very large. There were eight windows on each floor. Four either side of the door and the house stretched up three stories into the heavens.
The grounds were like a country park. All grass dotted with the occasional tree. There were copper beech, sycamore, a few massive and wizened old oaks and a few horse chestnuts. It really was beautiful. Then her eyes were drawn back to the house. The sun passed behind some clouds and for a moment it looked like a prison. Dark and foreboding. The windows were black and full of shadows and she felt a shiver go down her spine.
What was wrong with her? She was safe here. Clive would never find her. He would never even think to look.
“Like I said you’re not the first. Maybe you should...”
“I don’t need your interference,” she snapped amazed at his audacity. She knew she was not the first woman to be attacked by their boyfriend. Not the first to be scarred but what right did he have to mention it.
“Lady, I just wanted to warn you.”
Rosie felt her anger grow and as he stopped the car and looked back, the fire in her eyes stopped him in his tracks.
He nodded. “You have my number, call me if you need a ride. Don’t worry what time of day or night it is I’ll come for you.”
Rosie didn’t know what to think and she sat open mouthed as he got out and unloaded her cases. Before he was done she stepped out onto the gravel drive and fumbled in her purse. Before she could find any money he shook his head and climbed back in the car.
“It’s on the house, be safe and call me if you need me.” With that he wound up the window and drove away. The wheels spinning in the gravel as he drove away a little too quickly.
For a moment all she could do was stand there and look down at the three suitcases and her laptop bag. This was now the sum total of her life and it felt a little pathetic. How had she let it come to this?
Then she was back in that night. It was almost exactly six months ago that her then boyfriend Clive Peters had forced his way into her flat. He had been getting more and more jealous over the preceding month and she had already decided that it was time to end it. That night, he turned up convinced that she was seeing someone else. Ranting as he pounded on the door. Her first instinct had been to not let him in. Only she was scared of complaints from the neighbors. Her rent review was coming up and the last thing she needed was to lose her home. So against her better judgment, she had let him in.
He was drunk. His dark good looks ruined by the angry red scowl that dominated his face.
“Where is he?” he yelled as he opened doors and ran through her place.
“Who?!” Was all she could manage.
The flat was not too big, just one bedroom, a kitchen come living area, and a bathroom and closet. Before long he had opened all the doors and checked every room. She was cooking up a pot of soup in the kitchen when he arrived. It simmered on the stove, just over boiling and the smell of chicken and stock seemed so at odds with such irate behavior.
“I know he’s here,” Clive ran into the kitchen once more.
“There’s no one here.” Rosie was unsure whether to be afraid or angry and was bouncing from one to the other.
“The man you’re cooking for.”
“Clive, that’s just soup for the week. I cook up a big batch, and freeze some. You know this you’ve had it before.” The anger was winning. She was tired and still had work to do. Placing a hand on his arm she started to guide him toward the door. “Why don’t you go home now and we will talk about this tomorrow.”
Before she even had time to think, he grabbed her hand off his arm and shoved it straight into the soup. The pain was white hot and seared into her very soul. In her mind, she was screaming as flesh melted down to nerves. Still, he held her hand in the pan forcing it down and down until it touched the bottom.
The world seemed to have narrowed down to just that arm. It filled her with an agony like none she had ever felt. For long seconds she was in a shocked and fugue state. Fighting against the hand that held her to no avail. Then she lashed out with her leg. It connected with his knee and he went down pulling her arm from the pan but also pulling the pan over and so it tipped down her chest and side, covering her in hot soup. In agony she fell to the floor kicking and punching out at the pain that controlled her.
Clive thought she was attacking him and reached for a knife. He slashed at her connecting with her cheek.
There was more pain but she also felt as if she was drifting. Sinking down and down into a nice and comfortable warmth that would soon cocoon her from the world. She closed her eyes and let go. There was one more pain, when he sunk the knife into her chest. Aiming for her heart the knife hit her sternum and bounced off, slicing down the side of a rib and into her lung. It collapsed the lung and she started to drown in her own blood.
As she gasped for breath, choking and coughing on her own blood, she saw him leave and closed her eyes. It was time to go, to leave the world.
Shaking her head she came back to the present and the reason she was here. Not two minutes after Clive had left, her best friend, Amy, came over and found her dying. She had saved her that night and now she had offered her a lifeline once more. Rosie had given up her flat. Clive had escaped custody and there was no way she was going back there. She couldn’t stay with Amy, he knew where that was. So she had burned through her savings on hotels. Moving every few days since she had left the hospital.
Now her money was gone and she had nowhere to live. As an author, well she still didn’t quite
believe that, she could work from anywhere. Her first book had done ok and the deadline for the second was only two months away. Yet she could not write. Every time she heard a noise, a voice, footsteps, a car door, anything, she was a nervous wreck. That was why Amy had suggested this job. House sitting in a remote location meant that she shouldn’t hear any of the sounds that normally turned her nerves to mush. At least that was what she hoped.
She closed her eyes and listened. The sun was shining and it felt warm on her face. There was the sound of a slight breeze and nothing else. Shouldn’t there be birdsong? Maybe that was just in the books. Maybe the birds couldn’t sing all the time. With that thought she picked up one of her cases and pulled the key from her pocket. It was time to see what her home for the next few months would be like.
Excitement coursed through her and it was the first time she had felt like that since the incident. Looking up, she nodded. The house had character. For a second she imagined a carriage and four horses drawing up outside. It would be black and beautiful with a crest on the door. The four matched gray horses pawed the ground impatiently but the driver handled them with ease and experience. A footman jumped down from the back and came around to open the door. In a beautiful yellow gown, a young woman was helped down and looked around. Her face lit up into a smile as she saw the house and the handsome gentleman waiting for her on the steps.
Yes, this house was going to be ideal. As a writer of historical romances, she knew it was perfect and would do wonders for her creativity.
Feeling better than she had in ages, she climbed the steps, unlocked the great oak door and stepped into a large and airy entrance hall. She wouldn’t let the cab driver’s words upset her. This was a new beginning and it was going to be great.
2
As she stepped through the door she let out a delighted gasp. The house was magnificent. A large entrance hall spread out before her. The floor was hardwood blocks polished to perfection with hardly a speck of dust in sight. How could she be so lucky?
The Ghosts of RedRise House Page 2