by Blake Croft
Guilt spread through Linda’s chest. They were here because of her.
It was true that Ashley had lost her job because of company downsizing, but Linda still felt a little responsible. By the time she had been let go, Linda was completely dependent on her sister for financial and emotional support.
“Sorry.” Linda muttered.
“It’s not your fault,” Ashley sighed, her voice full of regret. “It’s that bastard’s fault.” Her brow darkened, jaw clenched, and she frowned. Anyone glancing inside the car at that moment would fear the wrath of Ashley.
She was referring, of course, to Linda’s ex-fiancé Jackson.
The scars had mended, the bruises had faded, but the psychological damage was far from healed. She had made progress through the lengthy trial, but getting out of bed had been a mammoth task let alone caring for herself.
Unable to afford psychiatric counseling, Linda had met with abuse survivors at the local library. One of them had mentioned the Blackburn Healing Retreat in Pennsylvania where you could work to reduce the fees for counseling, and regain some sense of productivity in the world. The founder was Dr. Evelyn Blackburn herself, a psychologist who had retired from the life of academia to start a retreat to help women just like Linda.
“This will be good for us,” Ashley said. “I know I’m gloom and doom sometimes, but I have a good feeling about this. Now if only we can get there.”
“Oh, look! I can see rooftops.” Linda pointed at the horizon.
The road stretched on, the woods sentinels along its edges, but two houses jutted out of the landscape as afterthoughts. There were no other houses nearby, which seemed off to Linda. The twisting ball of anxiety that had rolled about in her stomach since they passed the barren beginnings of Keystone became still. It didn’t go away. Linda doubted it ever would, but that’s why she was here.
“Wow,” Ashley whistled as they drove closer.
Though they were divided by a single road, both houses looked drastically different.
The Blackburn Health Retreat was nothing short of a sprawling manor house. Victorian in design, it contained all the elements of gothic architecture Linda had read about in her H P Lovecraft books. An old stone structure, it had moss and ivy creeping up along one wall and a single spire like tower on the left side with large windows along its length. Linda thought of Rapunzel when she saw it, but the image that kept creeping into her head was the one in her childhood storybook of Dame Gothel, her hands twisted into a claw as she snatched out the eyes of the prince.
Linda shook her head. Get a grip. What’s with the spooks?
Ashley turned into the short driveway of Blackburn manor. Only one other car was parked in the drive.
“God, my legs are killing me.” Ashley stopped the engine and stepped out of the car.
Linda stayed inside for a minute longer, looking at the manor. It captivated the imagination, but why was her heart beating madly in her chest? Her breathing was shallow and she felt trepidation trip down her spine.
Not right now, she thought. I can’t have an anxiety attack right now.
“Come on, Lin,” Ashley knocked on her window making Linda jump. “Let’s go introduce ourselves, then we’ll deal with the luggage.”
Swallowing to moisten her dry throat, Linda stepped out of the car.
As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but an army of trees. This stretch of road continued to curve along a ridge of rocky hills in the distance. The other house was a slipshod structure of wood, dominated by a large porch and narrow front steps.
Linda smoothed her skirt and stretched her aching limbs. Her stomach was still fluttering. The sun was on its way down; shadows were building in the woods that surrounded the property. A screen door squeaked open and shut from behind them.
Linda swiveled around to the house across the street, her scalp prickling with nervous sweat.
An old woman in a loose summer dress and lumpy cardigan stood on the porch, squinting down at them through thick glasses. Her hair was cut short accentuating her thin neck. A couple of cats were meowing at her feet, with more rushing out of the trees and under the porch. The woman held two large bowls in her hand.
Linda smiled and waved. The woman scowled, placed the bowls on the porch, and huffed back inside. Cold fingers dribbled down Linda’s back. She flashed hot and cold, her skin peppered with goosebumps.
“Neighborly,” Ashley commented. “Come on, Lin, let’s get inside.”
Suddenly Linda didn’t want to go inside. The front doors were large and imposing. The windows were dark eyes staring down at her. Ashley had already climbed the steep stone steps to the front door. Linda wanted to scream at her to turn away.
Stop this, she scolded herself. You’re not going to jeopardize such an amazing opportunity because of some stupid trigger you don’t even recognize at the moment. Calm down, breathe in and out. Take it one step at a time.
Using the calming techniques she’d picked up at group meetings, Linda took shaky breaths and climbed the steps, her hand tracing the railing, feeling the rough sun-warmed stone beneath her fingers.
Ashley rang the bell. It gonged through the manor, deep and ominous. All calm abandoned Linda.
“Are you okay?” Ashley asked. “You look pale.”
Something shuffled behind the door. Linda heard footsteps, and a cough. The sound was too familiar. Jackson had coughed like that after a smoke.
“Lin?” Ashley held her arm.
She glanced nervously behind her, the spot between her shoulder blades tingling as if someone was watching her.
It couldn’t be possible. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be. He was in jail.
Her eyes grew hot and wet. She blinked away the sudden tears. The sun was bleeding out in the sky.
“Linda, is everything alright?”
A lock turned and the door opened.
A blade flashed, catching the last of the dying sun.
Linda screamed.
Chapter Two
L inda stepped back so fast in her terror, she trod on Ashley’s foot.
Ashley yowled in pain.
A man stood in the doorframe. He was tall, easily a head taller than Linda.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I startle you?” He stepped back, staring at Linda as if he’d seen a ghost.
He was well built and classically handsome, his face strong jawed and clean shaven, his eyes blue. There was a small cleft in his chin.
“Who are you?” Ashley hopped on one foot.
Linda’s heart was beating a tattoo in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off the knife.
“I’m Stewart,” he said, looking slightly puzzled. Then something dawned on him. “Oh, you must be Linda Green.” He looked down at the knife in his hand. He quickly hid it behind his back. “I’m sorry, I was just starting dinner.”
“We must have the wrong house.” Ashley touched Linda’s arm. “It must be the one across the street.”
“Oh, no,” Stewart said. “This is the house.”
“Really?” Ashley spat. “And is this how guests are greeted?”
Stewart flushed. Linda just wanted to get back in the car and get away.
“I’ve apologized for startling you. I don’t think I’ve ever apologized for making dinner before,” Stewart said. “Why don’t you come inside? You can meet Mom and we can have a bite to eat.”
Linda didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to get as far away as possible from the knife wielding man. Her basic instincts had taken over and she was like a deer in headlights, caught between fight and flight. Only Linda’s instinct for the longest time had been paralyzing fright.
Ashley must have read her mind. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hardly think it’s smart to walk into a stranger’s house like that.”
Stewart smiled. It was charming and boyish. He rubbed the back of his neck, a flop of his dark hair falling on his forehead.
“I hardly think we’re strangers. I knew your
name,” he pointed out. “I also know that you’re from Brooklyn. I even have your CV on my computer. Do you want me to get the account number it got sent from?”
As he spoke, Linda’s anxiety receded to the back of her throat. She was no longer biting it between her teeth. The tenure of his voice was soothing, and the facts he mentioned put him squarely as someone who knew her situation.
“Where’s Dr. Blackburn?” Linda asked.
Stewart turned his face from Ashley to look at her. The fading light hit his face so his eyes shone a deep blue. If she wasn’t careful she could get lost in those depths.
“Dr. Blackburn is my mother,” Stewart said. “Would like to meet her?”
“That’s why we came.” Ashley had her hands folded across her chest. She was not taken in by the man’s charm.
“Come on in. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”
Linda and Ashley exchanged glances.
Linda nodded. Ashley rolled her eyes.
Stepping into the front hall was like walking into a cavernous womb. The walls were covered in green wallpaper and imposing paintings in gilded frames. A teakwood staircase spiraled up to the second floor, its surface dark with age. The furniture was an antiquarian’s dream come true; the ceilings were high with intricate plaster moldings.
It was a little disconcerting. Linda had expected white walls and minimalist interiors to hone a sense of peace and calm. This was more cluttered, and more gothic than she had expected.
Doors lined the long hall. Stewart went to the only one on the left which was slightly ajar. The interior here was starkly different. It was cozy and looked like it had been furnished by a grandmother. There were crocheted doilies on the tables, hand embroidered cushions on the chairs, and a patchwork quilt on the back of the sofa.
Linda watched Ashley wrinkle her nose. She swatted at her sister’s arm.
“This wing is off limits to employees and clients. This is where Mom and I live. It’s another step to ensure clients are relaxed when they stay here.” Stewart walked through a narrow hall with built in stairs that led to the upper floor. Through a narrow arch at the end of the hall they reached a kitchen.
Unlike the front hall, this space was relatively new with modern furnishings. Linda could see a modest table in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by mismatched chairs. Something was bubbling in a saucepan on the stove, and vegetables lay on the draining board ready to be chopped. It smelled lovely.
Stewart didn’t stop. He placed his knife next to vegetables and opened the screen door to the back of the manor.
The back porch was another relic out of some fairy tale. Wide and surrounded by stone colonnades, it reminded her of old castles.
The back lawn was sprawling but it looked like the woods had encroached on it over the years. The woods climbed steadily, cresting the hill beyond. There was a vegetable garden in one corner of the yard and rioting flowers in the other. In the middle was a large swathe of grass, and at the very back was a tool shed.
In that circle of green was a wheelchair. On that wheelchair sat a woman in a long cotton nightdress. Her hair was iron grey, her chin wrinkling into her neck. She sat with her arms loosely crossed in front of her. The right index finger scratched at her left arm just below the shoulder. A woman in a nurse’s smock stood beside her. She was holding a book from which she had been reading to the old lady.
“That’s my Mom,” Stewart said. “That’s Dr. Evelyn Blackburn.”
Linda's knees wobbled.
“We were given the impression that she ran this retreat.” Ashley turned on Stewart as if he had been responsible for their long drive up here for nothing. “That’s why we chose this establishment, because of her expertise in rehabilitation.”
“She did.” Stewart’s face was suddenly stony. “She ran the retreat, but I have always been her assistant. She would deal with the therapy side of the operation, while I managed administration and accounts ensuring minimum interaction with clients.”
“You’re S. Blackburn?” Ashley pointed a finger at him. “You’re the recruiter who hired us. We’ve been emailing you thinking you were Evelyn’s daughter. I really don’t know why we’d assumed you were a woman.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not the first time, I’m sorry for the confusion. Evelyn… Mom had a heart attack almost a year ago. It wasn’t severe. She was making a quick recovery, but then the second one followed less than twenty-four hours later. She’s lucky to still be alive.”
Linda looked at the old, thin woman. Her body was slack and weak, but her blue eyes were sharp. They looked right back—direct, questioning, very much alive. They held all the power and knowledge she must have once exuded through every limb. Now it was only one finger that had any mobility.
Scratch
Scratch
Scratch
Evelyn’s finger kept moving over her arm.
Stewart walked down the steps toward his mother. She made a gurgling noise. Stewart bent down and smiled. “Look who’s here, Mom. These are Linda and Ashley Green.” He waved towards Linda. Linda waved back. “This is Cindy May. She’s Mom’s caregiver.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cindy said. Her skin was the color of milky coffee. She looked a little distracted. “They’ve come to work with us, Evelyn,” she said to the wheelchair bound psychiatrist. “And Linda here is going to make use of your excellent initiative and get counseling from Marissa while she works here. Remember I told you about them?”
Evelyn made a noise in her throat.
“Linda’s going to be our landscaper,” Stewart said. “She’ll get your rose bushes thriving again. And Ashley is going to be handling the books. I’m afraid they’re in dire states since Mom stopped handling them. I’ve never been good with numbers. Right Mom?”
Evelyn’s hand shook with great intensity.
“She’s been really animated today,” Cindy smiled. “I’ll keep her out here till my shift ends in ten minutes?”
“Okay, you can stay out here for a little while. I’ll take her in when dinner’s ready.” Stewart smiled apologetically. “The doctors suggested I put her in care but I couldn’t do that to her. I prefer continuing her work and caring for her.”
Ashley’s frown dwindled a little. Linda managed to smile a little.
“I know how wary abuse survivors are of any male contact which is why my tasks were kept administrative, limiting any contact with female renters, but I must clarify that we have male clients too who are housed in a separate wing. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I’ll completely understand if you don’t want to continue on. However, we won’t be returning your registration fees. It’s company policy.”
Of course it was.
Blackburn was a private retreat; a fact advertised on their website. They had no affiliations with large medical shelters or state sponsored half way houses. It was a hands-on experience for victims of abuse to build themselves up with regular counseling as they got back on their feet. Linda had read the reviews of previous guests and all things considered it was worth the fee.
“I don’t think that would be necessary,” Linda said. Her voice was naturally low and most people slouched low to better hear her, but Stewart didn’t.
He smiled and clapped his hands. “Great. Let me show you to your apartments.”
Linda started following him back inside the house when Ashley touched her arm and held her back.
“Are you sure about this?” she whispered. “It isn’t exactly how you thought it would be.”
“I know,” Linda nodded. “But I can’t live depending on you forever. I’m ready to try and go into the world again, and the world isn’t always what you expect.”
On the inside, she wasn’t as confident. The past few months had been a harrowing whirlwind. She still felt like she was riding on the tail winds of that storm. Jackson had controlled her life to such a degree she often caught herself suspended between two choices, waiting for him to decide thing
s for her.
All that was going to change now; this was the first step to taking control of her own life. This place might just be the answer to all her problems after all.
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The Wishing Box
When your secret dreams become real-life nightmares… there’s no waking up.
Diana McCullough has been waiting. Watching. For the one thing that can change her life. The one thing that’s always been just out of her reach. Until now.
When Diana McCullough comes into possession of a magic wishing box, she believes her luck has finally changed. But soon she’ll discover that the distance between her expectations and a disturbing reality is rapidly narrowing.
She’s unearthed something dangerous. And it wants more than Diana’s life. But how do you outrun and outsmart what isn’t really there?
The macabre comes to sinister life in this small Scottish village in October 1976. Gothic horror, suspense, and a haunted possession will leave you sleeping with the lights on until your own Wishing Box arrives. Then you won’t be able to sleep at all.
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The Abandoned House
(exclusive story for members of my readers’ list)
On Halloween night, Scott just wants to go trick-or-treating but his older brother has other plans. He is having a party in an abandoned house on the wrong side of town, and he insists Scott remains outside.
As the drinks flow so do the stories, until one of them starts to sound too familiar… and a night of fun turns into a night of terror.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and places are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author has taken liberties with locales, including the creation of fictional towns and places, as a mean of creating the necessary circumstances for the story. This book is intended for fictional purposes only.