The Ghost of Shapley Hall

  Copyright 2016 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

  Dark Season Books

  First published: March 2016

  This edition: August 2016

  This book's front cover incorporates elements licensed from the Bigstock photo site.

  “Georgette Shapley died outside this house. Her ghost has spent the past century trying to get back inside so she can be reunited with her child.”

  James Spence doesn't believe in ghosts, so he has no worries about going with his girlfriend Rachel to visit an old, abandoned country home.

  Rachel, meanwhile, is convinced that a weekend at Shapley Hall will make James change his mind. After all, she knows from bitter experience that the the house is haunted by a woman who once died in the most horrific manner possible, and who now waits to be reunited with her long-lost child.

  As the weekend continues, however, James starts to realize that maybe ghosts are the least of his problems. Rachel's behavior is becoming increasingly erratic, and it soon becomes clear that she'll stop at nothing to fulfill a promise she once made to a dead woman. Did Rachel imagine a terrifying experience during her childhood, or are the hallways of Shapley Hall really haunted by a terrifying, vengeful creature?

  The Ghost of Shapley Hall is a horror novella about two people who venture into a dark, abandoned house, and about the echo of a terrible crime that still haunts the Shapley family to this day.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  The Ghost

  of Shapley Hall

  Chapter One

  For the first twenty-four years of my life, I didn't believe in ghosts.

  When people talked about ghosts, I smiled politely and listened to their stories. Sometimes I even joined in a little. I mean, I appreciate a good scare as much as the next guy. Deep down, though, it never occurred to me that ghosts might actually be real, not for a moment. Ghosts seemed about as believable as Dracula and Santa Claus, and I'd stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was a kid. So for the first twenty-four years, I didn't believe in ghosts at all. Not until Rachel and I got together, and I accepted her invitation to visit Shapley Hall.

  Shapley was the ancestral seat of Rachel's family, which meant it had been in their possession for hundreds of years. I've got to admit, I was over-awed by the mere idea of a family owning such a place. In my family, people rented from the council, and no-one really knew much about our family's history beyond my great-grandparents' generation. No-one gave a damn. Rachel's family, however, was the complete opposite. They could trace their family line back through the ages, and a variant spelling – Shapperley – was even mentioned in the Doomsday Book back in the eleventh century. For a guy like me, born and raised in a two-up, two-down council house in south Kent, the Shapleys seemed like royalty.

  And Rachel was still very much connected to the Shapleys who'd gone before. She cared about where she came from, she talked about them constantly, which seemed unusual to me since I'd always been desperate to escape from my family entirely. Rachel knew the names of her direct descendents, going back hundreds and hundreds of years. I'd only known her for a few months, but I'd already come to realize that her family was the most important thing in her life. Not that I'd met any of the living members, of course. She'd kept me well away from her parents. It was almost as if she was more concerned about the Shapleys of old.

  Still, I had no idea just how deeply indebted she felt to her forebears. Not until she took me to her family's ancestral home and let me see for myself. Not until I learned the truth about the ghost of Shapley Hall.

  Chapter Two

  “This is a mansion,” I stammered as I brought the car to a stop on that first morning, in the driveway at the front of the house. “You never told me your family owned a mansion!”

  “It's not a mansion,” she said with a smile, already opening the door on her side. She clearly enjoyed my shock a great deal. “It's just a very... very big house!”

  “It's a mansion!”

  “It's a house!”

  I sighed.

  “Here's the thing,” she continued. “I'm telling you, it's just a big house. Honest!”

  I opened my mouth to argue with her, but she was already around the back of the car now, opening the boot to grab her backpack. For a moment, all I could manage was to stare in shock at the vast facade of the mansion. And yes, it really was a mansion, despite Rachel's insistence otherwise. At first glance, the place looked like Downton Abbey crossed with a crumbling old palace, and I was starting to think that maybe Rachel still hadn't been entirely honest about her family. I mean, I already knew they were wealthy, but this was a whole new level. This was... nobility-level grandeur.

  “Come on!” she said with a smile, banging the roof of the car as she hurried past on her way to the front door. “I want to show you around!”

  As she hurried up the steps at the front of the house and fished the keys from her pocket, I honestly considered making an excuse and getting the hell out of there. I felt out of my depth, as if some hidden sense of class inferiority was kicking in. I was starting to see, too, why Rachel always had such a confident, easy-going swagger. If her family enjoyed this level of wealth, it was clear they never really had to worry about money at all, and Rachel's sunny disposition was starting to make a whole lot of sense. It was almost as if she and I came from two entirely different worlds. For a few seconds, all I could do was sit and watch as she excitedly opened the front door. When she turned and waved for me to follow, I managed a smile but nothing more.

  “Come on!” she shouted again. “Get your ass inside!”

  Finally, figuring I was being dumb, I climbed out of the car and went to grab my bag from the boot, and I realized I had to bite my tongue. The last thing I needed was to become some kind of reverse snob and let myself be intimidated by, what...

  A big old empty house?

  Looking up at the windows, I began to see that the whole place seemed strangely dark. As I made my way closer to the steps, I started spotting plenty of cracks in the brick-work, and other tell-tale signs of a building that had long been left untouched and unloved. One of the steps out front was broken, and knotted weeds had begun to grow through gaps in the stones. The closer I get to Shapley Hall, the more I saw that the place was a ruin. Even my grandfather kept his council flat in better condition.

  “Isn't it fabulous?” Rachel called out a few seconds later as I made my way through the front door. She was over in the middle of the gloomy, high-ceilinged hallway, turning around and around with her arms out wide. Her backpack was resting on the floor, at the foot of a grand staircase with large, dusty oil paintings lining the wall. “My God,” she continued, “it hasn't changed a bit! It's exactly how I remember it from when I was a kid!�
��

  Setting my bag down, I stepped forward through swirls of dust that hung in the air. Deep down I knew I shouldn't let myself seem too over-awed, but at the same time I starting to feel a sense of relief. Spotting a light-switch on the wall, I headed over and gave it a flick, hoping to bring a little light to the gloom.

  Nothing.

  Even my parents remembered to pay their electricity bill on time, but apparently the Shapleys couldn't keep their country pile in decent order.

  “Look at you!” Rachel laughed, hopping over to me and putting her arms around my shoulders, hugging me tight. “What's up, James? Never been inside a place like this before?”

  “Once,” I replied with a cautious smile, “but we had to pay £2.50 at the door and a man kept trying to sell us English Heritage membership.” I tried the light-switch a couple more times. “No power?”

  “Huh. I guess not.” She kissed the side of my neck. “Who cares?”

  I flicked the switch again. “I can maybe fix it...”

  “Why?”

  “It's kinda dark in here.”

  “That's why we have candles, dummy,” she replied, kissing my neck again. “I told you, I came prepared!”

  I tried the switch a couple more times. “I still might take a look. Do you know where the fuse-box is?”

  “Let me guess,” she continued, stepping around me and looking into my eyes. “You're shocked that my folks own a place like this, right?”

  “Not just that they own it,” I replied. “Also that they left it locked up and unused for so long.”

  “Here's the thing,” she said, with a flicker of concern, “there's a reason for that, but it's dreadfully long and boring. I'll tell you over dinner tonight, although you won't thank me. It's a yawn of a yarn. Shapley Hall is -”

  Suddenly we both heard a distant bump, coming from somewhere much deeper in the house. Instinctively turning and looking along one of the dark hallways, I waited for the sound to return, before turning and seeing that Rachel was watching me with a puzzled smile.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What do you think that was?” she replied.

  I paused.

  “Pipes,” we both said at the same time, and then she laughed.

  “Pipes,” she said again, kissing the side of my neck. “It's an old house, right? I mean, that's what you're telling yourself, I assume. You still don't believe in ghosts, do you?”

  I flicked the light-switch a couple more times. “Doesn't seem like the place has been given much love.”

  “It's one thing for a family to own a house like this,” she continued, “but the upkeep's a whole other matter. Mummy and Daddy aren't that rich, and my uncle wasn't exactly houseproud..”

  “How much is a place like this worth?” I asked, before immediately realizing how bad that sounded. “I don't mean -”

  “A lot of money,” she replied, grinning broadly, “although Mummy and Daddy won't know for sure until it's been properly valued, and they can't get that done until they've found Uncle Henry's will. The thing is, Mummy and Daddy have got this crazy idea about opening a B&B in France, and they need the cash from this old pile to finance things. Since Henry died, there's not really anything stopping them and...” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and I saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes as she looked over at the staircase.

  “And you don't want them to sell it?” I asked.

  “It's not my decision.”

  “But you still don't want them to do it.”

  “If Mummy and Daddy want to sell off part of our family's history,” she continued, “then I really have no right to argue with them.” She paused for a moment, but I could tell she was unhappy, even if she refused to let it show. “Don't you remember,” she added with a grin, “what I said we had to do while we're here this weekend?”

  “Look for old documents?”

  “That,” she continued, biting her lip for a moment, “and make love in every room in the house.”

  “How many rooms are there?” I asked.

  She grinned. “Fifty-eight.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, before realizing I had absolutely no answer for that. A moment later I spotted something moving nearby, and I turned just in time to see a fat, juicy little black beetle crawling into a crack next to the door.

  “Come on!” Rachel continued, grabbing my hand and pulling me across the hallway. “Time for the grand tour first! Or would you prefer me to send you off exploring on your own?” She grabbed her backpack from the floor. “We can -”

  Gasping with pain, she dropped the bag and leaned against the wall.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Just my shoulder,” she muttered, rubbing the top of her arm. “Damn... gammy thing. It's never been the same since I broke it.”

  “Allow me,” I replied, hauling her bag up.

  “What a gentleman!” she said with a smile, even though she was clearly still in pain. “Did I ever tell you that good old-fashioned chivalry is one of my favorite things in the whole wide world? It's sexy as hell, too, but here's the thing... There'll be time for that later.”

  Chapter Three

  “This was the banquet hall,” she explained a few minutes later, pulling me by hand into yet another huge, high-ceilinged room. Sure, the place had clearly been neglected, with dust everywhere and furniture that looked as if it hadn't been used for a century or more, but the grandeur of Shapley Hall was impossible to ignore, even if its rooms all seemed abandoned and wasted now.

  The more I saw of the house, the more I felt a sense of pity that it had been left to fade away.

  Glancing up at an oil painting on the room's far side, I saw a stern-faced man wearing some kind of old riding outfit, with a white horse in the background. The craziest thing was that when I looked at the man's face, I could see a hint of a family resemblance. It was as if Rachel was in there somewhere, in that face that had been painted hundreds of years ago and which now – even from a distance – was clearly cracked and peeling.

  And crooked.

  Apparently the Shapleys couldn't even be bothered to keep their paintings straight.

  “A distant ancestor,” Rachel said, stopping next to me and looking up at the painting, almost as if she'd read my mind. “Can you imagine what it must have been like here in the good old days? The dinner parties must have been spectacular. You know, it's said that people used to travel from all over the country just to spend a weekend with the Shapleys. God, I would've loved to have been here back then, when people were so free and happy, and the parties were so massive! I read descriptions of huge feasts with wild boar, partridge, peacock, swan and so much more on the menu!”

  “Isn't it illegal to eat swan?” I asked.

  “Not if the Queen personally granted your family permission,” she replied, still staring up at the painting. “Or rather, the King, as I suppose it must have been back then. Apparently there were even royal visitors here from time to time. My ancestors entertained three Georges, two Edwards and a Victoria within these walls!”

  “Of course they did,” I muttered under my breath, still looking up at the oil painting. Large flecks of paint had already fallen away, and thick cracks ran through what was left. As Rachel stepped away from me, I couldn't help noticing that all the paintings seemed to be falling apart. So much for a family that gave a damn about its heritage.

  “Dust angels!”

  Turning, I saw Rachel on the floor, laughing as she waved her arms and legs through the dust.

  “You want to give it a try?” she asked.

  “I think I'll be fine,” I told her, turning and heading to look at some of the other paintings. After a moment, I saw that several of them had beetles sitting on the frames. Actual, live beetles, their little antennae quivering as if they'd noticed our arrival.

  “Is it too much?” Rachel asked a little breathlessly, getting to her feet and brushing dust off her sleeves.

  I turned to her.

  “I mea
n...” She paused. “Here's the thing, I know it's not exactly normal to have such a moneyed family. I know you said you grew up on a council estate.”

  “My family's entire house could have fitted in this room,” I pointed out. “Four times over.”

  “Exactly. I just hope...” Pausing again, she took a step toward me and placed her hands on my shoulders. “I hate inequality as much as anyone,” she continued, “and I certainly wouldn't condone such ostentation today, but looking back at my family as they were in the past... This house was like an explosion of color and vitality back in the day. Even when I was a little girl, Mummy and Daddy used to bring me to visit, and I used to wander the hallways, enthralled by little glimpses of the past. I can't ignore that side of my family's history. I just hope that seeing this place doesn't make you...” She paused, searching for the right word. “...hate me?”

  “Hate you?” I couldn't help smiling. “Are you insane?” Leaning closer, I kissed her on the cheek. “I couldn't hate you if I tried. I guess I'm just going through some culture-shock. It'll pass.”

  “If it's any consolation,” she continued, “Mummy and Daddy live in a small semi in Surbiton. The family's not exactly rolling in dough these days. When I used to come to the house as a little girl, I was always -”

  She paused suddenly, and I saw a trace of fear in her eyes as she turned and looked across the room. I waited for her to continue, but she seemed lost in thought, as if something had suddenly caught her attention.

  “You were always what?” I asked.

  “Huh?” She turned to me, almost as if she barely recognized me.

  “You said you used to come here as a kid,” I reminded her, “and then you kind of trailed off.”

  “Did I?” She stared at me blankly for a few more seconds, before forcing a smile that seemed no more genuine than mine from the car earlier. “Well, I...”

  Again, she seemed a little lost.