“Rosie what is it?” Amy backed away a little and the room turned cold once more. Behind Rosie, a shadow formed in the doorway. A misty shape loomed toward them and then was gone so quickly she wondered if it had been real.
Amy wanted to run, wanted to rush forward and hold Rosie; instead she stood rock still on the spot. Something strange was going on here, but what?
Rosie got up. “You should be going now, but before you do I have something for you to do.” Rosie walked across the room and picked up a pen. Then she searched through the kitchen drawer until she found out some postcards. Pulling one out, she wrote on it and handed it over with a wink.
Amy took the card and held it in her hand. The moment was surreal. Rosie was trying to tell her something but she didn’t know what. At last she glanced at the card. It read,
Computer for sale £3000. Call Rosie.
Amy opened her mouth to say something, but Rosie gave her their secret wink once more. The one that said I know I’m telling a little white one, but work with me. They had used this code so many times, but never like this. It was always to hide something from someone else. Never anything bad. It was usually when Rosie was mentoring a youngster and she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
Again Amy tried to formulate a question. This was obviously not a real advert. There were no details, no phone number, £3000, so what was the purpose of it?
“Can you put it in the window of the high-street post office? You know the one you pass on your way home, she asked Amy?”
Even that didn’t make sense. Amy’s way home was in the opposite direction, but suddenly she felt excitement surge through her. Rosie wanted her to see something in that post office window and this was the only way she could tell her. Amy nodded. “Sure. Do you want me to come see you tomorrow?”
“Ye... no...” Rosie’s face contorted again. It was as if she was trying to stop the words. For a moment she looked old and Amy gasped, but the visage was gone as quickly as it appeared and once again it was just her friend, looking pale and exhausted. “No, why don’t you come back when you have some news from the card?”
“Of course,” Amy said, and she headed to the door. In the hallway, she looked at the bloodstained handprint on the wall and she knew she had to go. “See you soon,” she called, and rushed through the door.
Once outside, she let out a big breath. It was dark now and cold, but not as cold as it had been in the kitchen earlier. What in the world had just happened?
For a moment she hesitated on the spot. Should she call the doctor, and ask him to come out and see Rosie? Should she go back in? Something was dreadfully wrong and yet – the card weighed heavily in her hand. Rosie had tried to tell her something.
Climbing into her car, she drove in the opposite direction to home, straight to the post office.
When she got there she pulled up outside and sat in the car. The post office was already closed for the night but she had to assume that Rosie wanted her to see one of the advertisements in the window. Now all she had to do was work out which one. For a moment she closed her eyes and tried to go back through the whole visit. It was surreal, creepy even.
Had the temperature really dipped? Had she seen a shadow in the corner? What was it? Why was Rosie acting so weird?
Nothing made sense, and the more she thought, the more her head hurt. In exasperation, she got out of the car and went to the window. There, on the left-hand side, was a panel with cards like the one Rosie had given her. Each one was an advertisement for second-hand goods or for services.
There was a cleaner advertising her services and Amy wished she had the money to hire her. A smile crossed her face as she imagined coming home to a clean and sweet smelling house. She let out a breath and looked at the other cards. There was a sofa for sale, a chair and some tables, two cars, two bikes, and a handyman offering his services. Then at the bottom she saw it, and her heart nearly stopped. Could this be what Rosie wanted her to see? She thought about the shape, the darkness that formed and looked like a... like a shadow... like a ghost.
The advert read:
The Spirit Guide
Are you dealing with unexplained encounters?
Cold spots, whispers, feelings of dread.
With a PhD in paranormal studies, we can help you.
When no one else believes you, we will.
Call Jesse and Gail
On 07739 xxx xxx
Or email [email protected]
For a moment she shook her head and went back to the other adverts. One by one she went over them all, but this was the only one that could be relevant. Suddenly she was laughing. The more she laughed the more ridiculous it seemed. This advert relevant, how could those two thoughts be in the same sentence? She laughed some more and bent over holding her side.
Rosie couldn’t really expect her to call this pair of charlatans, could she?
In her mind she saw the handprint and the shadow in the corner. She felt the chill on her skin and saw how her breath had misted before her. What was going on?
Quickly she took a photo of the advert with her phone and then she was back in the car and driving home. It seemed so surreal, and the further she drove from the post office the more she thought it must have been a joke. That had to be it. Rosie was playing a prank on her. The incident at her house must have been staged – and yet, Rosie was not like that. What was going on?
33
All around her was darkness. Fear rushed in from all sides. It surrounded her. Pressed down on her. Crushed her chest and forced the air from her lungs. Panic, like a wild bird flapping against a window – trapped, terrified – it consumed her.
Where was she? How had she got here?
The thoughts were fleeting and she tried to shrink down inside herself. To be so small that she would not be seen, not be found. Inside she could hear Matron, stirring, waking. Had the woman brought her here? She must have, and yet Rosie was back in control, even if only for a little while.
The beating of her heart was like a fist against her chest. Blood rushed through her ears and for a moment, the world swam before her. Closing her eyes, she fought for control and steadied herself.
Gradually she was becoming accustomed to the darkness and she recognized where she was.
This was the passage beneath RedRise House. Behind her she could hear running water from the underground stream. To her right would be the alcove where she had found the book. The one that told her all about Matron, the Old Hag who now possessed her. Which meant, in front of her was a door.
As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the door. From beneath it, light flickered and taunted her. Fear reared inside her like a terrified horse; she reined it in and rode it down. If she let her fear win then she would die here, or worse than that she would kill.
The sound of chanting came from behind the door. For a moment she looked behind her. Should she run or should she go forward? It was an impossible choice and yet she felt pulled toward that door.
Before she knew that she was moving forward, her hand touched the cold handle. It opened easily, much smoother than she expected. Dipping her head, she walked through. The sacrificial chamber was just as she remembered. Dark and dismal, but lighted by four flaming torches.
Across the room, two tall figures were cloaked in black. All around them over a dozen children of all ages stood facing away from her. Torchlight danced across the walls, making shadows of the figures trace over the cold and dismal stone.
They were chanting. It was in Latin and she could not pick out the words, but the meaning of the chant was clear. It was an offering. Rosie knew that behind the figures was a sacrificial stone. On top of it, somebody would be tied. Their life would soon be over, their last moments, filled with terror.
"No!" the word was out before she could stop it.
Silence descended on the cellar.
Monstrous shadows loomed at her as the figures turned. Their gaze pinpointed her in the darkness like a spotlight on
Karaoke night.
Why was she here? What was she doing?
Rosie wanted to run, to flee from that place and to never come back, but she knew that was not an option. The last time she was here she couldn’t leave. The house wouldn’t let her leave. Why would it be different this time?
The children surged forward and crowded around her. It was hard to see them in the flickering light but her mind filled in the blanks. She had met them before. Their bodies would be thin and dirty. Their eyes, sunken into their heads, would reflect the torture they had suffered. But that was not what she feared to see.
Pulling her eyes from the children, she looked at the two hooded figures. They stood back waiting, their heads bowed as if in respect. They thought she was Matron.
Maybe she could use that to her advantage. Maybe she could save whoever was on the altar.
As she had the thought, a high pitched keening sound started in the cellar.
Rosie knew it was the children, but she refused to look down.
The noise grew louder, higher, so piercing that it hurt her ears.
With her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst from her chest, her eyes were pulled down to the children. Though she didn't want to look, she had no choice.
One by one each of them looked up at her. Their heads back exposing their throats.
Rosie let out a scream. Each of their throats had been slit. The noise was not coming from their mouths. It was coming from the gaping wound in their necks that opened and closed in time to the terrible noise.
"No," Rosie let out the word and dropped to the floor. It was cold, wet, and slimy. It felt like skin covered with blood – she jumped back to her feet.
Now the two cloaked figures stared at her strangely. They moved toward her along with the children.
Hands reached out to touch her. They grabbed her clothes, reached for her hands, and clawed at her body. Some were so small that she wanted to hold them. To pull the children into her arms and to tell them all would be well, but she couldn't. All was not well. She had to save whoever was on the altar. Then she would send as many of these children to peace as she could before Matron regained control.
She shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. Putting a neutral expression on her face, she stood and walked toward the altar.
The way cleared before her. The children and the two acolytes drew back, with reverence, to let her pass.
Rosie's chest tightened with fear. It was hard to breathe, hard to walk, hard to keep up the ruse – but she had to. There, tied on the altar was a young girl. She looked about eight. Her body so thin, her clothes merely rags.
Behind Rosie, the two acolytes began to chant once more and the terrible keening noise dropped down to a mere whisper.
Rosie could see the fear in the girl’s eyes. They were as wide as saucers and they pleaded with her for mercy. She wanted to let the child know she would save her but she couldn't… not just yet.
Somehow she had to get the girl out of here and then a plan formed in her mind.
Turning suddenly, she let fury cross her face.
"How dare you bring me one who is impure!" she shouted at the acolytes.
The chanting stopped and they backed away from her. It was working.
"I will not have her defiling this sacred place. Will not have her blood spilled. Get her away from here... now!"
The two cloaked figures looked at each other and then back at Rosie. She kept her face screwed into a snarl. Kept the anger clear in her eyes. It was going to work.
The two acolytes cleared a path through the children and to the altar.
Rosie felt a sense of joy knowing that she had done something good. She searched her mind for the releasing ritual she had used before. The one she had used to send the children to peace. The one she would use now for as long as she could.
But, something was awakening inside of her. Like a slippery snake it curled inside her mind. Growing, pushing, and forcing part of her away.
A laugh echoed within her and she knew that Matron was back.
Not now, she said inside her mind. Not now; I won't allow you to come back now.
You have no choice. I am stronger than you and growing even stronger by the minute.
Pain ripped through her mind causing her to scream and drop to her knees. Clenching her teeth she pushed the pain away and fought against Matron. It was like a pushing match, like arm wrestling between minds. Rosie pushed, Matron pushed back. Rosie ground her heels into the ground and pushed. She gritted her teeth and gave it all she had.
It was no use. A ripping, tearing seemed to split her head in half and Matron surged through. Rosie was floating in a sea of pain. Watching as Matron grinned and took control.
"Stop!" the guttural voice came out of Rosie's mouth. "The girl is pure and her soul is mine."
Rosie felt the warm slick leather of the knife in her hand. Watched as it was raised above her.
The acolytes were chanting now. Rosie thrashed against her mind, fighting to regain control of her arm, but to no avail. She was screaming, "No, no, no, no!"
Over and over again she screamed as the knife plunged down into the young girl. Her hand hit flesh and was covered in blood as the knife went clean through the girl’s throat. Creating an extra mouth just like all the other kids had.
Rosie screamed and fought, she was lying on her back. Back in control again, she searched the darkness in confusion. Was it too late for the girl?
As her eyes adjusted, she let out a long breath. She was lying on her bed, drenched in sweat. Had it all been a dream… just a nightmare, or was it a memory?
As the dream left her, faded, she lay on the bed, panting. Little by little her heart returned to a normal beat and she could breathe more easily.
Had Matron done this to her? Was it another form of torture, or had it just been a nightmare?
She sat up and pulled the covers tight around her shoulders. The house was cold. Maybe she should get up and change. As she had that thought, Matron awoke in her mind and the battle for control started once more.
Rosie was tired, weak, and still vulnerable from her dream. Her body convulsed and shook so hard that she bounced off the bed. As she hit the floor, Matron surged into her mind, and she felt herself slipping.
It was different this time: Matron was stronger, and she was weaker, so she was pushed back further than before. She was in darkness, looking out, but her life was so far away. She was fading inside her own mind, her own body. If this carried on, there would be little of her left, and Matron would win.
I always win, Matron said in her mind, and Rosie blacked out.
34
The first thing she was aware of was a headache. It was not the splitting pain that she had felt the day before but a dull and persistent ache. Along with the pain, was a deep and overwhelming exhaustion. Rosie didn't want to wake up, so she snuggled down beneath the duvet and turned her back to the window. There was nothing to get up for and another half an hour, or even an hour, really wouldn't matter.
The bed was deliciously comfortable and, despite the pain in her head, she really wanted to sleep. But something was nagging at her mind. Was it that her night clothes felt stiff? Or that her legs ached as well as her head. She wasn't sure, but every time sleep was about to claim her, she was jerked back awake. Maybe she should get up and take a couple of paracetamol. Hunger gnawed at her stomach but she pushed it away. She must not eat. She could make a cup of tea and sit up in bed. That way she was bound to sleep. It always happened. Whenever she had tossed and turned all night, the minute she made herself a drink and was ready to get up, sleep would claim her.
Rosie threw back the duvet and stepped out of bed.
She had taken a few steps before she realized she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Had she been so tired that she forgot to remove them? She pulled back the curtains and the room was flooded with light.
"No!"
Rosie dropped to the floor as she saw that her
clothes, her hands, were covered in blood.
For long moments she lay on the floor staring at the crusty blood that covered her hands. What had happened? With a gut-wrenching flash, it all flooded back.
Matron, the house, the previous murder, the nightmare last night and then passing out.
She must have relinquished control to the spirit inside of her and something dreadful had happened.
The urge to scream was overwhelming and she ripped off her clothes, throwing them to the floor as she ran to the bathroom. There in the corner was another pile of bloodied clothes, but the knife was not on it. The knife she had killed Mary with had been moved. Had that knife ripped through more flesh? Had she killed again?
Rosie rushed to the toilet as her throat was filled with vomit. She dropped to the floor and lifted the seat as a hot stream of water and bile poured from her. Again and again she vomited until tears filled her eyes and her throat and chest ached from the effort.
She was naked on the cold floor. Covered in blood, with tears running down her cheeks. In a daze, she crawled into the shower and switched on the water. At first it was freezing cold, but she did not move from under the stream. Blood ran from her, swirling down the drain like a red river. Gradually, the water warmed and she scrubbed at her hands, at her arms, and her skin with the back brush. Soon the blood was all gone but she could not stop the scrubbing. She scrubbed until her skin was red and sore and the tears kept falling.
What had happened?
What had she done?
Who had she killed?
Rosie slumped to the floor in the shower and sat there until once again the water ran cold. Still she could not move. Every time she tried to, her stomach flipped and the world spun before her. So she sat and she cried and she hoped that it was all just a terrible dream.
Eventually, Rosie reached up and turned off the water. She stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her freezing body.
Then she stumbled from the bathroom and down the stairs. There was one way to find out what she had done. With a shaky hand, she grabbed the television remote and turned it to the news channel.
The Ghosts of RedRise House Page 18