The Haunting of Lannister Hall

  Copyright 2019 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: September 2019

  For many years, no living soul has set foot in Lannister Hall. High fences surround the property, and guards work 24/7 to make sure that nobody breaks through. Finally, however, something has changed. Finally permission has been granted to a small team who are going to go into the house and uncover its darkest secrets.

  Lannister Hall was once the scene of tragedy. Catherine Lannister was found dead, and both her husband and child were never seen again. It's said that Catherine's ghost still walks the empty rooms, searching for her daughter. But when three investigators arrive at the house, how will the ghost react? Will she welcome their help, or will she turn on them as they attempt to get to the truth?

  The Haunting of Lannister Hall is a ghost story about a haunted house, about a woman who will do anything for her daughter, and about a deadly warning once given by a dying mother.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part One

  Catherine Lannister

  Part Two

  Katie Sinclair

  Part Three

  Catherine Lannister

  Part Four

  Katie Sinclair

  Part Five

  Catherine Lannister

  Part Six

  Katie Sinclair

  Part Seven

  Catherine Lannister

  Part Eight

  Katie Sinclair

  Part Nine

  Catherine Lannister

  Part Ten

  Katie Sinclair

  The Haunting of Lannister Hall

  Prologue

  “We're all ghosts, until we die.”

  What did she mean by that? Was it the chemo drugs talking, or was Mummy actually trying to tell me something important? I'm used to her saying strange things now that she's so poorly, but those six words have stuck with me. For one thing, they seem to almost make sense but not quite. And for another, she was staring at me when she said them.

  Staring at me with those yellow eyes.

  I take a sip of water.

  “Katie?”

  Turning, I see Daddy standing in the doorway. He looks tired, with one side of his shirt tucked neatly into his trousers and the other side hanging out.

  “Katie,” he continues, “do you want to come up now?”

  I swallow hard.

  “I was just fetching some water,” I tell him.

  “I know, honey, but...”

  His voice trails off, and then he comes over to join me at the kitchen sink. He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I immediately feel a heavy sense of dread in the pit of my tummy.

  “I think you'll really be glad you did,” he continues, “after...”

  Again, his voice fades to nothing. He's trying to say certain things without actually saying the words. I'm glad of that, because I know I'll cry if he says the words.

  “It'll only take a minute, at most,” he explains finally. “She's too tired for any more than that, but I think you really need to just go and see her and say...”

  I stare up at him.

  There are tears in his eyes.

  “Okay,” I say, even though I hate the idea. I know I have to be brave.

  “Come on, then.”

  He guides me away from the sink. All the way to the door, I try to think of an excuse, of some reason why I can't go through to Mummy's room right now. Even as we reach the stairs, I'm still trying to come up with some kind of way out. I can see the door to her room up ahead, and all I want is to turn around and run away. I don't do that, of course, because I know that I have to see Mummy this afternoon. Even though no-one's said it in so many words, I can tell from the looks of everyone's faces. This is probably my last chance to see Mummy before she...

  Stopping in the doorway, I flinch as I see her in the bed with her head leaning to one side. She looks asleep, and I hate myself for thinking that maybe it's better if she's asleep. That'll probably be easier for her. If she talks, if she touches me and says things, we'll all only get sadder.

  “It's okay,” Daddy says, nudging me on the shoulder, encouraging me to go forward. “She's awake, she's just very drowsy. She knows you're here.” He leans down and whispers into my ear: “Don't be afraid. And even if you are, don't let her see it.”

  I still want to run, but instead I start walking forward. Gran and Grandad are still sitting on the far side of the room, watching me. They, too, have tears in their eyes, but they don't say anything. Ever since Mummy came home from the hospital yesterday, Gran and Grandad haven't left this room. I look at them for a moment, before making my way to the side of the bed and looking up at Mummy's face.

  Her eyes are very slightly open.

  She whispers something.

  I open my mouth to tell her that I can't hear, but at the last moment I decide not to bother her. I don't want to do the wrong thing, so I turn and look at Daddy, and then I turn to Mummy again.

  She whispers again, and this time I almost hear her.

  A moment later, she slowly reaches her right hand toward me. The bed sheets rustle as she moves, and I can't help staring at red plastic thing that's holding the needle in place near her wrist. Her skin is yellowy-white, and I can see her veins poking through.

  I reach up and take her hand.

  “Don't go,” she whispers.

  I don't know what to say, so instead I force a smile. I want Mummy to feel good.

  “Don't go,” she says again.

  “I won't,” I reply, even though I really want to go back downstairs.

  “Don't go, Katie.”

  “I won't.”

  She stares at me, and I can't shake the feeling that she looks a little worried about something. Then again, she's so poorly and so full of medicine, I'm sure she's very weak.

  “Don't go,” she says again. “Promise me you won't go there.”

  “Okay,” I reply, although I'm not quite sure what she means by there.

  “You mustn't go there,” she continues.

  “I won't.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Don't ever go there.” She squeezes my hand tight. “Promise me, Katie.”

  “I promise.”

  “If you go there...”

  She squeezes tighter, and now she's starting to hurt me.

  I instinctively try to pull free, but her grip is too strong. I turn to Daddy, but he doesn't seem to have noticed. Then I turn to Gran and Grandad, but they're simply staring at me. By the time I turn back to Mummy, she seems anxious and the sheets are rustling louder than ever.

  “Don't go there, Katie,” she gasps, opening her bloodshot eyes wider than before. “You mustn't!”

  “Mummy -”

  “Don't go, Katie!”

  “Mummy, that hurts!”

  I try to pull away, but somehow she's strong enough to hold me in place. I try again, and the bed shudders, but Mummy's grip is far too tight. I turn to Daddy, but he's still just watching me, and then I turn to see that Mummy is starting to sit up in the bed.

  “Mummy,” I whimper, “please...”

  “Don't go!” she shouts, as the cloth falls from her head, revealing her bald scalp. She leans closer to me and opens her mouth wide, and I'm horrified by the sight of her toothless, bloodied gums.

  “Mummy!” I scream. “Stop!”

&n
bsp; “Don't go!” she shouts, rolling across the bed and falling onto me, still holding my hand tight. “Don't go to the house with all the mirrors!”

  “Stop!”

  I pull back and feel her hand fall away from my hand, and then the entire world seems to swing around me and turn dark as I find myself sitting up in bed. Sweat is pouring down my face and chest, and I'm out of breath, and it takes a few seconds before I realize I was dreaming.

  I was having that same nightmare again.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, as I wait for my heart to stop racing. I don't know how many times I've had that nightmare about my mother's final moments, but it never fails to knock me for six. Except, this time, she was screaming about a house with mirrors. That's new.

  Figuring that I'm wide awake now, I grab my phone and check the time. Great, it's five in the morning, which means it's just a little too late for me to get back to sleep. Not that I could, anyway, so I swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet. Wiping sweat from my brow, I shuffle across the pitch-black bedroom, making for the bathroom door. I guess I might as well go in a little early this morning. If I'm there when the library opens, I can get on with some of my research. That beats tossing and turning in bed, at least, and it definitely beats having that nightmare again.

  “Don't go,” my mother's voice whispers suddenly, “to the house with all the mirrors.”

  Stopping in the doorway, I turn and look back across the room. It's too dark to see anything, of course, and after a moment I remind myself that sometimes dreams have a way of trailing into waking moments. Nightmares, doubly so. I take a deep breath, and then I switch the bathroom light on. Squinting in the bright light, I head to the sink and pour myself a glass of water, and then I take a sip.

  “We're all ghosts, until we die.”

  I wonder what Mum really meant when she said that, all those years ago?

  Part One

  Catherine Lannister

  I

  1899

  “Catherine! Wake up this instant!”

  Suddenly I open my eyes and let out a gasp of shock. For a moment I still cannot see properly, but I lean forward in the chair as I feel hands gripping my arms tightly. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and I blink furiously until I am finally able to make out Jonathan's face staring down at me with undisguised fury.

  “Where is she?” he shouts frantically. “I swear, if you've hurt her...”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, before looking around and realizing that somehow I am down in the drawing room. “Where is Milly? Where -”

  Before I can finish, he slaps me hard about the face. I cry out as I recoil, but he holds my arms tight and hauls me out of the chair.

  “I have searched all over the house,” he continues, “and there is no sign of our daughter. I will ask you one more time, Catherine, and by God this time you will answer truthfully. Where is our child? And if you have hurt her, if you have allowed any harm to come to her at all, I swear I will not rest until you hang!”

  I look around, utterly startled.

  “Where is she?” Jonathan roars, shaking me wildly.

  “She is here,” I stammer, still trying to remember how I came to be here in the drawing room. Looking over at the window, I see that not only has a great storm arrived, but somehow night has fallen. How did I lose an entire day? Or was it more than a day? “She was here a moment ago,” I continue, feeling a sliver of pain creeping through my head. “I swear, Jonathan, I have done nothing to her, nothing at all! I would never hurt our darling child!”

  “A likely tale,” he replies, before shoving me back until I collapse once more into the chair, “and one that I have heard too many times before. Catherine, I am going to find Milly, and then I am finally going to take her away from you. For good!”

  “No!” I shout, but he's already turning away. Scrambling from the chair, I rush after him, but I feel strangely dizzy and by the time I reach the doorway Jonathan is already halfway across the hall. I have to cling onto the jamb for a moment, trying to hold my balance, but then another rumble of thunder causes the house to shake and I feel for a moment as if I shall surely collapse. “Milly is safe,” I whisper, trying to persuade myself even though I feel a terrible fear growing in my soul. “She has to be. I would never hurt her.”

  “Millicent!” Jonathan shouts, stopping at the foot of the stairs. “Where are you?”

  “Perhaps she's frightened of the storm,” I suggest.

  “Millicent, come down at once!” he continues. “I am your father and I insist that you come!”

  I wait, desperately hoping that she'll appear at the top of the stairs, yet there is no sign of her. I know she must be close, that nothing bad can have happened to her, but at the same time I cannot recall the past few hours. I remember being in the kitchen and looking out at the forest, but at that juncture night had not yet fallen. Somehow I must have lost consciousness again, although it's clear that I managed to get myself all the way through to the study. How does this keep happening?

  “Millicent!” Jonathan shouts, starting to make his way up the stairs as another rumble of thunder shakes the house. “This is not the time to play games!”

  “She's probably just scared,” I say again, still trying desperately to convince myself. “She's so timid, and you're shouting at her so terribly. I'm sure she -”

  Suddenly I hear a banging noise coming from the kitchen. The sound returns just a moment later, and I immediately realize what is happening. Turning, I hurry back through the drawing room and then to the kitchen, where I see that I was right:

  Somehow the back door has become unlocked, and the storm is causing it to flap wildly in its frame.

  “Milly?” I whisper, making my way across the dark room until I reach the door and feel the gale-force winds blowing against me. Looking out, I see nothing but more and more rain lashing down, and I cannot believe that my clever little girl would be so foolish as to go out there. At the same time, I know that I did not unlock this door and I doubt very much that Jonathan did either, which means...

  Stepping out onto the back steps, I am immediately pounded by the pouring rain.

  “Milly!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Oh Milly, are you out here?”

  I wait, but there is no reply. A moment later, however, I heard footsteps over my shoulder and I am about to turn when suddenly Jonathan pushes me roughly aside and hurries out into the storm.

  “Millicent!” he shouts, his voice barely rising above the rustle of rain striking the forest. “Millicent, where are you?”

  “She can't possibly be out there,” I stammer, wiping rain from my face. I am already soaked through, and my wet clothes are clinging to my skin. “Whyever would she do such a foolish thing? She's a clever girl, not -”

  Suddenly a crackle of lightning streaks across the sky, momentarily bathing the clearing in a flash. The light is gone after less than a second, but in that brief moment I spot something swinging from one of the nearby trees. I stare, not believing that such a thing can have happened, and now all I see is darkness. Yet – deep down – I know that I did see something amiss.

  “Millicent!” Jonathan calls out, having evidently not seen what I saw. “Millicent, where are you?”

  Stepping down the soaking wet steps, I stare toward the trees. I can't see anything now, not in the pitch darkness, but I know that there was most certainly something up there. And although I keep telling myself that I must be wrong, that I am just a foolish and impressionable woman in the grip of some form of hysteria, I know deep down that the something was about the size and shape of a five-year-old girl. Still, I cannot bring myself to believe that this could possibly be correct, so all I can do is start wading out across the muddied clearing while staring up at the trees and waiting for another flash of light. That's all I need, a flash of lightning to prove to me that I was mistaken.

  It cannot have been her.

  “Catherine!” Jonathan shouts, turn
ing to me. His face is bathed in the light of the house. “What the devil are you doing, woman?”

  I don't reply.

  How can I?

  How can I tell him what I think I saw?

  Any moment now there'll be more lightning, and then I'll see that I was wrong. Nevertheless, my chest is tightening with fear and in my mind's eye that vision has become so much stronger already. Stumbling in the mud, I almost fall, but somehow I manage to keep going as I continue to watch the darkness above. I can hear Jonathan calling after me, asking what's wrong, but his voice is fading into the storm as I wait for -

  Suddenly there's another flash of lightning, and this time I see much more clearly. She's hanging by the neck, wearing her night-dress and twisting wildly in the wind.

  “She's in the trees!” I scream, pointing toward the darkness above us. “Jonathan, I saw her! Milly's in the trees!”

  II

  “Take it!” Jonathan hisses, shoving the soaking-wet night-dress into my hands. “For the love of God, woman, make yourself useful!”

  “I don't know how she got out there,” I sob, dropping the night-dress as I stare down at Milly. Her father is already wrapping her in blankets, but her eyes still haven't opened. “Is she alright? Please, Jonathan, tell me she's going to be alright!”

  “She is breathing,” he replies, before leaning close and kissing her on the cheek, “and her temperature is returning. It's a miracle, but somehow she seems to have survived being hung by the neck.” He turns to me, and I have never seen such anger in his eyes. “You have some explaining to do, woman, when this is all over. I left the pair of you alone for scarcely half a day, and this is what happens!”

  “Jonathan -”

  “She could have been killed!” he shouts, turning and pushing me away as I try to take hold of Milly's hand. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that she climbed up into that tree by herself? That she found a length of rope by herself? That she tied it around her own neck?”