It’s getting late, and I’m tired. The act of writing has drained me, and I need some sleep. It’s a weird way to live, knowing how close you came to death. It gives a person a new outlook on life and fills it with optimism. I’ll take that. Hell, if this is a semi believable ghost story, this one at least has a happy ending. Considering what happened to some of the other people who lived in that place, things could have worked out very, very different. And besides, if this is like the scary movie, the one we rent and know from the cover what is going to happen, maybe, just maybe this story has one of those false endings, the ones where everything seems happy and resolved until we get one last scare as the dormant demon makes its triumphant return just to justify another sequel to the franchise. I like to think not, but you never know.
I suppose time will tell.
Vanessa.
THE PROBLEM WITH WILLIAM
December 2nd, 1820
Rose was worried about William. He hadn’t been himself for some time now, his mood growing darker with the days as the cold drew close. He had seemed distracted, and despite her best efforts to enquire about his well-being, he had insisted that he was merely tired and that she should not fluster. But she had been his wife for eleven happy years and was determined to find out just what was troubling him. She paused from the toil of cleaning the sheets in the clear cold waters of the creek and looked at him over her shoulder. He was sitting in one of the dining chairs which he had brought out of the garden. At a glance, he looked to be reading his newspaper, but she had been keeping a close eye on him and he hadn’t turned a page for at least an hour. She looked closely at him. Thin face with high cheekbones, brown hair immaculately parted to the left and short narrow moustache sitting neatly above his top lip. His eyes, brown and usually filled with love, stared listlessly over the topmost edge of his newspaper, and his brow was unusually furrowed. He seemed distracted, and as she watched she saw his lips moving softly, as if in quiet conversation, which was preposterous as he was quite alone. Despite the warmth of the sun on her face, a chill quivered down her spine, and she felt an uneasy, light feeling deep in her stomach.
She absently wondered if he was having an affair. Indeed, she knew well enough the short attention span that men in general had, although some instinct, perhaps stemming from the length of time that they had been married, told her that it was not the case. He wouldn’t do it to her, and certainly not to the children. She could see them now, playing up by the kitchen door to the house. William junior, who would be five that coming February was sitting cross legged and playing with a large red ball which he was barely separated from of late. His sister, Elizabeth was at the delicate stage between crawling and being able to walk, and now as Rose watched, her daughter crawled with excited urgency towards her brother's red ball. Rose allowed herself a smile and felt suddenly ashamed for even considering the notion that William had been in any way unfaithful. She was sure it was as he had told her, and had just been working hard. Indeed, his demeanour had been the same as it always had up until the previous two weeks. Whatever it was, she was glad he was outside and getting some much needed sun on his skin. For too many long hours he had sat in that infernal rocking chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames as he swayed gently back and forth. She didn’t like the way he looked during those times. It was something in the almost grimace-like fixed grin that he wore or the way the flames danced and licked within his eyes as he stared, sometimes for hours.
Even for a wife as tolerant and loving as her, Williams’s strange behaviour was something that she had found within her to grow used to, despite her discomfort. She still, however, could not get used to the way he would sit and stare with that same grin, staring into the fireplace when there was no fire to stare at. She often wondered if he could still see the flames where she only saw black-grey ash and soot. Fire or no fire, still he would sit there, sometimes for hours on end, staring into oblivion. She snapped back to the present and saw that he was looking at her. She smiled, the expression feeling awkward, and making her slightly ill at ease at the manner in which he now looked at hr. she saw no love in his gaze, no affection. It was blank, and barren and somehow terrifying. She turned back to her duties, washing the bed linen in the cool waters of the creek, rubbing the fabric together with soap in an effort to get them clean. She never heard William stand, or slowly walk towards her, and later he claimed that he didn’t remember it himself. The first knowledge that she had of something being untoward was when he grabbed her roughly by the back of the head and pushed her head towards the water. She had kicked and screamed, but he was strong, and despite her pleas, he had that waxy, blank gaze on his face. The same gaze that overcame him when he looked into the flames. He pushed her head under the surface, holding it firmly in place. The icy water bit at her skin as it surged past her, her lungs burning with the need to breathe. She wondered what was happening, and why he would do such a thing when she had gone to every length to be a good, faithful wife. Numb warmth began to envelop her, and the desperate fight for breath seemed somehow distant, as did the icy cold of her environment. In a distant part of her dying brain, she thought that she could hear the children, but was unsure if they were laughing or crying. She was tired, and as her arms stopped flailing and she felt herself begin to drift away, she realised it was not the children that she could hear but the wind. The wind as it blew and whispered through the trees.
THE EXPLORATION
(This story originally took place as a subplot in the alternative version of Voices. In this world, ten years have passed since the events of Echoes, and Oakwell has long been abandoned and sealed off by the government. Sadly this whole section was cut from the final version due to the extensive rewrite so to revisit it here is really good. Although this is a complete and standalone story, you may recognise a scene or two which were reworked in what would be the final version of Voices. This was the original incarnation of those scenes. I hope you enjoy the story. )
Dani Foster was filled with the familiar excitement she always felt ahead of a new exploration. She sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep as it rumbled through the countryside.
“How far is it David?” She said to the driver, a hulk of a man who was the leader of their urban exploration group.
“A few miles,” he replied his Scottish accent as heavy as he was.
In the back, Kelsie and Lucy watched the countryside roll by, eager to get going.
“I hope this place is as good as you said it is, Dave, or we’ve come a hell of a long way for nothing,” Dani said, checking her watch for what felt like the hundredth time.
The practice of Urban Exploration was a relatively new one. Groups of people would visit forgotten or abandoned locations which in some cases had been sealed off for years and gain entry in order to document their findings. Often, the shells of abandoned theatres, cinemas, and even office buildings or stately homes were a treasure trove of information, a time capsule of sorts giving a great insight into the recent past. Although most investigations took place solo or in small groups, often large groups would convene to take part in the not quite legal hobby.
“I read up on this place,” Dave replied. “It was abandoned a few years ago due to the threat of underground sinkholes opening up. An entire town. Think of the exploration we can do.”
“It’ll make for a hell of a blog for the website with the history of this place,” Kelsie said from the back as she grabbed the well-thumbed paperback from the pouch in the back of the driver’s seat and turned to the page she was last on.
“That’s all bull,” Dave said. “Stupid ghost stories made up by the locals.”
“Still,” Dani cut in. “You never know. It could well turn out to be true.”
“Alright, then let me ask you this.” Dave went on. “How many explorations have we done since the group first started?”
“I don’t know, maybe, fifty? Sixty?” Dani replied.
“Ninety three,” Kelsie said without bothering to look
up from her book. “Not including this one.”
“Right, ninety three,” Dave agreed. “Now, we’ve explored abandoned mines, hospitals, fairgrounds, asylums, hotels. Everything you would imagine creepy paranormal stuff to take place, right?”
“What’s your point?” Dani said, tucking her brown hair behind her ear as she looked across at the driver, a half smile in place.
“My point is, we’ve never experienced anything paranormal or unusual. The odds say that if such things as ghosts existed, then we, of all people might have seen one.”
“Fair point,” Dani said, squinting as the sun broke through the trees and slipping on her sunglasses, hiding her inquisitive, blue eyes. “What about that mill we explored? We all felt something off about that place.”
“That was just the wind blowing through the place and making us imagine things. No ghosts, no dramas.”
“It felt like more than the wind to me,” Lucy said, taking out her earphones and shutting off her iPod. “There was a presence.”
“Crap,” Dave said as he switched lanes. As the oldest member of the group by seventeen years, the forty one year old wouldn’t let anyone else get a word in until he had made his point, believing his seniority gave him the right to force his opinion, often to the frustration of his younger colleagues. “It was dark, cold. Granted, the place had a certain sinister vibe, but it was nothing I would call unusual. Back when I was a lad in Scotland, my ma always used to say the dead can’t hurt you.”
“The living definitely can. Remember that homeless guy we stumbled on in that abandoned school in Detroit?” Lucy said, grinning at Dani who responded in kind. “Scared you half to death, Dave.”
“I didn’t expect to see him,” their plus sized driver said irritably. “Besides, this is going off the subject now. We were talking about ghosts.”
“Not really,” Kelsie said, again not looking up from her paperback. “You were talking about if you believed in them.”
“So what do you think?” Lucy asked.
Kelsie folded the corner of the page over and closed her book, looking across the seat to Lucy, then to Dani, who was half twisted towards her in the front passenger seat. “Well, I’ve never seen one myself. When I was little, I remember my sister telling me she saw something she couldn’t explain.”
“What happened?” Lucy asked, still grinning, eyes bright and inquisitive.
“When she was twelve, my sister used to babysit for this family. They lived in this crummy little apartment, bottom of the line kind of place. Anyhow, they had this kid. It was only three or so, not that old. Every other Saturday the couple used to go out. Not to get hammered or anything, but just to get a break from the kid and spend some time together. Anyway, so my sister used to go around and watch the kid. As you can imagine, it was a free ride. The kid was too young to cause any trouble, and so once she had put it to bed, the rest of her night was spent sitting in front of the TV and waiting until the parents came home. Easy money.”
“This isn’t a very scary story,” Dave chimed in from the driver’s seat.
“Give me a second, I’m getting to it.” She snapped, staring at the back of Dave’s head. “So, the night is going like any other. She watching TV, eating junk food and waiting for the parents to roll on in when she hears the kid spouting all kinds gibberish from the bedroom, which is unusual, as she normally slept right through. She goes into the room, and the kid is sitting up, laughing and pointing at the wardrobe. The room is cold, right? Like one of those rooms that never seem to warm up no matter how long you have the heating switched on. Plus she gets this feeling like someone is watching her. My sister wanted out of the room, so she put the kid back to bed and went back to watching TV. Five minutes later, she hears the kid out of bed again, laughing and talking gibberish. My sister goes back into the room, and sure enough, that feeling of being watched was still there, and the kid is still pointing at the wardrobe and talking. Kids at that age are garbled as is, but she could pick out enough words to give her the creeps.”
“What did she say?” Lucy asked. Kelsie noticed everyone was paying attention now. Even Dave, who was giving the occasional glance over his shoulder as he drove.
“She just caught snatches of a few words amid the babble. Man. Neck. Hurt. Sad. My sister was pretty freaked out at this point and took the kid out of the room until the parents came back. When they did get home and asked why she wasn’t in bed, my sister explained what had happened. Rather than surprised, the parents gave each other this look, like they weren’t even shocked by it. It turns out years earlier before they moved into the apartment, it was owned by an old man who hung himself in the wardrobe that was in the baby’s room.”
“No way!” Lucy said, eyes wide. “Why the hell didn’t they throw it out?”
“They rented the place furnished. The wardrobe was in there when they took the apartment.”
“Sorry, but I don’t believe it,” Dave said, still keeping his eyes on the road.
“Are you calling my sister a liar?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“Look, all I’m saying is, your sister was probably imagining it. Being alone in the house, also being freaked out by the baby waking up and breaking the usual routine. Stories like that have been around for years. Old wives tales.”
“What’s your point?” Kelsie asked.
“My point is as I said earlier. Ghosts don’t exist. Neither do demons, or things that go bump in the night. If they did, someone would have discovered solid proof. Science would have found it.”
“Sorry, but I don’t agree,” Kelsie replied. “I think it’s pretty narrow minded to think things don’t exist just because science says they can’t.”
“And you’re entitled to your opinion. My point is that the law of averages suggest if such a thing as ghosts existed, then someone would have seen one by now and we would have documented proof.”
“What about this place where we’re heading now? Something weird happened up there. Even you can’t deny that.”
“Oh, I acknowledge something happened, but I don’t think it was supernatural. I think it was some kind of mass hysteria. Nothing unexplainable.”
“So explain it,” Kelsie said, unsure why she was taking his opinion so seriously and getting so angry about it.
“Hey, look, this must be it!” Lucy cut in before Dave could reply.
Ahead of them, partially hidden by the overgrown forest, was a faded blue sign by the side of the road.
WELCOME TO OAKWELL
A Small slice of tranquillity
Est. 1901
They flashed past it, leaving it in their wake. Kelsie glanced over her shoulder, Goosebumps rising on her skin as she read the graffiti scrawled on the rear of the signpost. Amid the lewd comments and badly drawn scrawls, two pieces of graffiti stood out as the sign drifted away from them. One, daubed in red spray paint said. Death lies ahead. Beneath it, in larger and much more dramatic penmanship, were the three words which had initially drawn out the Goosebumps on her. It was less a warning than a command, the trio of exclamation points was intended to ensure the words were heeded.
TURN BACK NOW!!!
“You okay?” Lucy asked, watching her friend.
“I’m fine, just…eager to get there and see what’s left of the town.”
Kelsie and Lucy had known each other the longest of anyone in the group, first meeting at Art school and forming a strong friendship. They were, in some respects, polar opposites. Kelsie was strong and outspoken and would voice her opinion without fear of reprisal. Lucy, on the other hand, was quiet, softly spoken. Naturally pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes, she was a naturally shy girl who was happy to stand in the shadows as much as possible. Her interest in joining the group had come from the artistic side of her nature. She was interested in architecture. The study of form and shape, the way older buildings were constructed differently to their modern day counterparts. Her p
artnership with Kelsie even extended to this aspect. Kelsie was a keen photographer and would snap countless images during their investigations. Later, Lucy would create drawings and sketches based on her friends work, often in her favourite medium of pencil or charcoal. Her talent was undeniable, and yet she responded to praise with an almost uncomfortable and apologetic way.
“Maybe we might not be going anywhere yet,” Dave said, bringing the vehicle to a halt in the middle of the road they hadn’t passed any traffic coming in the opposite direction for some time, and now it was clear why.
Dave climbed out of the car and walked towards the chain-link fence which stretched across the length of the road. To the left, on the edge of the forest, was a dilapidated shack like building, its sagging walls and roof long beaten down by the relentless march of nature. At the front of the fence, two gates were securely chained shut, blocking further access. A sign, as faded and worn as the one at the town limits was attached to it at eye height, ensuring nobody could mistake the instructions daubed in red on white.
Whisper: The untold stories Page 9