Haunted
Copyright 2017 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: April 2017
Twenty years ago, the ghost of a dead little girl drove Sheriff Michael Blaine to his death.
Now, that same ghost is coming for his daughter.
FROM THE AUTHOR OF ASYLUM, AMERICAN COVEN AND THE FARM.
Returning to the town where she grew up, Alex Roberts is determined to live a normal, quiet life. For the residents of Railham, however, she's an unwelcome reminder of the town's darkest hour.
Twenty years ago, nine-year-old Mo Garvey was found brutally murdered in a nearby forest. Everyone thinks that Alex's father was responsible, but if the killer was brought to justice, why is the ghost of Mo Garvey still after revenge?
And how far will the residents of the town go, when Alex starts getting closer to the truth?
HAUNTED is a horror novel about a woman who has to face her past, about a town that would rather forget, and about a little girl who refuses to let death stand in her way.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
HAUNTED
Prologue
August 30th, 1997
I want to be brave. Why can't I be brave?
“Please come with us,” I whimper as I step closer to the bedroom door. My hands are trembling and tears are running down my face. “Why won't you come with us?”
I flinch as I hear another bump from the other side of the door. I think something just slammed into the wall, causing the whole house to shudder. Something heavy. Something that then full to the floor with a thud.
Please let him be alright.
Please, God.
“Alex!” Mommy screams from the stairs. “Leave him! We have to get out of here!”
I reach for the door handle.
“Alex, we have to run!” she shouts. “Alex, forget about him! We have to get out of the house!”
I listen for a moment to the crashing sound that's still coming from the other side of the door. It sounds as if something very strong and very powerful is smashing the main bedroom to pieces. The door's rattling, and I'm scared for Daddy being in there with whatever's causing so much damage. I know Mommy thinks we have to run, and that we can't wait for Daddy to come with us, but I can't just leave him here. Even though I'm almost too scared to breathe, I tighten my grip on the door handle, ready to give it a turn.
“Alex!” Daddy's voice gasps suddenly, from just on the other side. “Run! Alex, you have to...”
He lets out a faint groan.
“Daddy?” I stammer, with my fingertips resting on the handle.
“Run!” he says again, as the banging sound continues. “Alex, don't -”
Suddenly I hear a brief, sharp crunching sound, and Daddy's voice is cut off mid-sentence.
My heart is pounding faster and harder than ever before. I wish so badly that I could be brave, because then I wouldn't be scared. If I could just be brave, this would be easy.
“Daddy?” I stammer, and now my voice is trembling with fear. “Are you okay? Please come out of the bedroom. We have to get away from the house.”
I wait, but he doesn't reply. After a few seconds, realizing that maybe he's hurt, I slowly turn the handle and then I start pushing the door open. At first I just see the darkness of the bedroom, but a moment later I feel the door bumping against something heavy, something that's in the way. I think something's resting on the floor. It's almost as if someone is sitting on the floor, trying to stop me opening the door and going through.
Stepping forward, I press my shoulder against the door, which at least allows me to start forcing it open a little further. At the same time I can feel that the air in the bedroom seems very cold, almost icy. So cold, in fact, that I'm starting to shiver, although I know that I can't turn back, not now I've come this far. If I'm cold, Daddy must be cold too. Whatever's on the other side of this door is heavy, and I can barely push it out of the way at all, and after a moment I stumble and drop down to the floor. Immediately getting back up, I start pushing again, still desperately hoping that Daddy will suddenly come rushing out. All he has to do is come out, and come with me and Mommy, and then everything will -
Suddenly I spot something moving in the room, and a hand reaches out from the darkness, stopping to rest on my shoulder. The hand is so cold, it only takes a couple of seconds before I can feel the icy fingers through the fabric of my dress.
It's her.
It's the girl with no eyes.
Looking up in the darkness, I realize I can see her face staring down at me.
“Leave her alone!” Mommy screams, suddenly grabbing me from behind and pulling me away from the door.
“Daddy's hurt!” I shout, but she ignores me and drags me down the stairs. I try to grab the banister so that I can go back up, but this time Mommy's too quick and she bundles me out through the front door and across the porch. She's running so fast, each of her steps sends a strong jolt through my body.
“Forget about him,” Mommy sobs. “He's gone, baby. Daddy's gone.”
I scream, trying to pull away and go back up, but I can't break free.
There are other people outside, neighbors who seem to have heard us shouting. They're asking what's wrong as Mommy, sobbing and limping, carries me across the lawn. When she finally sets me down, I immediately turn to rush back into the house, but Mommy holds me tight even when I cry out. I kick and scream, but still I can't get away. Some of the neighbors are telling me to calm down, and I can hear sirens in the distance. As tears stream down my face, I reach out toward the house, still desperately trying to get back inside so that I can find Daddy.
He can't stay in there.
Not with her.
Before I can run back inside, however, one of the police officers picks me up off the cold grass and holds me tight. He's telling me that everything'll be alright, but I know he's lying. I have to go and help Daddy.
And then I see the silhouette
of a figure in one of the upstairs windows, calmly watching us. Whoever's up there in the bedroom, whoever's looking out at us, I can already tell that it's definitely not Daddy and it's not the bad man, which means it must be the no-eyed girl. I can still feel the freezing touch of her hand on my left shoulder, burning all the way through to the bone.
She has Daddy now.
Chapter One
Alex Roberts
Today
“Okay, so here's the thing,” Brad says as we sit in the car, looking out across the driveway toward the house. “We don't have to do this.”
Everything's so calm and sunny and still out there. A bird is hopping along the house's roof, tweeting as it goes. Trees in the garden are rustling slightly in a morning breeze, their branches reaching toward the windows but not quite touching. Everything seems so normal.
And nobody's screaming.
“We can turn around and leave,” Brad continues, with a hint of concern in his voice. “There are other houses in the country, there are millions of other houses, and we can take a little more time and find one that suits us better. One that's less... Well, one that's more...”
His voice trails off.
“Alex,” he continues finally, turning to me and taking my hand in his. “Honey. This might be a really bad idea. You know what I mean.”
He waits, as if he hopes those few words might be enough to make me crumble. After a moment he squeezes my hand a little, and when that doesn't work he sighs.
“Babe. We don't have to do this. You don't have to do this. We can go to plan B. We can -”
“You take the boxes from the trunk,” I say suddenly, slipping my hand from Brad's and opening the door, climbing out before another wave of doubt can hit me, “and I'll get the ones from the back seat.”
“Babe -”
“They're marked with which room they're for.”
“Babe, listen -”
“Let's just get them into the house and then we can unpack tomorrow.”
“Alex -”
“There's no plan B.”
I swing one door shut and open another, and then I reach into the rear of the car.
“Are we really doing this?” he asks. “Seriously?”
“We should try to find kitchen stuff as soon as possible,” I point out, as I start lugging a box of books from the seat. “We can't eat take-out forever. Then we need things for the bathroom. Once we've done that, we can start worrying about stuff for the front room. And then your comic book collection.”
“Sure, but -”
“And we don't have time to sit around all day,” I add, struggling a little with the box but finally managing to lift it out of the car, “so come on, let's get this show on the road.”
With that, I kick the door shut and then I turn to start carrying the box toward the house. Before I can manage more than a couple of paces, however, the bottom of the box gives way and books tumble out, landing in a pile at my feet.
“Great,” I mutter with a sigh, as Brad steps out of the car and uses a hand to protect his eyes from the bright morning sunlight. “Couldn't you have taped the boxes a little tighter?”
“You taped the boxes,” he points out. “I was in charge of suitcases and backpacks.”
“No, you -”
Damn it, he's right.
Crouching down, I start gathering the books together. As I glance at the covers, however, I realize that I'm deliberately avoiding looking at the house itself. I hesitate for a moment, before looking along the driveway and seeing the front door waiting for us to walk right up and put the key in the lock and then step through and enter the house itself. I feel a very brief, very faint ripple of concern at that prospect, but I quickly and forcibly push that sensation away. This is not the moment to get irrational and superstitious. This is the moment when I start living like a normal, sane person again.
So why are my hands trembling?
***
“It smells like peaches,” Brad says as he wanders to the bottom of the stairs and looks up toward the landing. “Is that normal? Do houses smell like peaches when they've been locked up for twenty years and nobody's set foot inside?”
“It smells like peach-scented cleaner,” I reply, gasping as I set the pile of books on the floor. They were heavier and harder to carry than I want to admit. “That would be from when the cleaning agency was here last week. And plenty of people have set foot in the house over the past two decades. Cleaners, decorators, surveyors... It's just that nobody's actually lived here. And that's the part that we're going to change.”
“Seems sturdy,” he continues, making a show of checking the banister. “Solid.”
“That'd be thanks to the carpenter who came and checked the place last month,” I remind him, feeling a faint twinge in my back as I contemplate going to fetch the rest of the spilled books from the driveway and then another box from the car. “He said there was nothing major, but that he had to do a lot of little jobs. And before you ask, no, he didn't mention any weird bumps or noises. Just some loose boards and panels here and there.”
“I still don't get why you hired that guy,” he replies. “I could have fixed the place up just fine.”
“Honey, he was a professional.”
“So?”
“I didn't want to stress you.”
“I put up that bookshelf in our old place, remember?”
“And it was a lovely bookshelf,” I reply, heading back toward the front door, “until it started leaning to one side. Even then, it had a certain charm. Until it collapsed completely, at which point -”
He touches my arm. “Alex.”
“I'm just saying carpentry might not be your thing.”
“Alex...”
Stepping in front of me, he places his hands on my shoulders and looks deep in to my eyes. Damn it, I think he's going to try to initiate that big conversation he's been so blatantly preparing for the past week.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Why wouldn't I be okay?”
“This house is -”
“We have so much to do, Brad.”
“And one of those things is making sure that you're not -”
“Bananas,” I reply, interrupting him. “Don't forget those bananas that're in the car. We should put them in the fridge.”
With that, I gently move his hands from my shoulder and slip away, heading back to the hallway and then through toward the front door. All I can think for a moment is that I really, really want him to get the message and stop asking if I'm okay.
“Don't you think we should talk about this?” he calls after me.
“I'll fetch them!” I reply.
“Alex -”
“We'll have plenty of time to talk later! We're busy right now!”
As I step out toward the porch, I knock my right hand against the wall. I was hoping to remind Brad that the house is well-built, although the knocking sound actually spooks me a little and I force a flat smile as I reach the top of the steps and look out across the sun-drenched front garden. For a moment, just a brief second or two, I feel as if I remember playing on the lawn as a little girl. I blink and the half-memory is gone, but for a fraction of a second there it felt so very real.
“Just tell me you're okay,” Brad says suddenly, having stepped up behind me.
“I'm okay,” I whisper, still watching the lawn.
“Tell me you're not scared.”
“I'm not scared.”
“And tell me you're not doing this to prove some kind of point. Tell me we're moving here because it's something you really want to do, rather than because it's something you think you have to do.”
“You talk too much,” I tell him, before making my way down the steps, trying to ignore the tightening sense of anxiety in my chest. “Did anyone ever tell you that? Do you want Chinese for dinner?”
“I thought you said -”
“I changed my mind. We'll find a place online.”
I only manage a coupl
e of paces before I stop and see that somebody is watching us from a window in the house next door. I squint, trying to make the person out, but they quickly pull back of sight and let the drape fall straight again. I guess I should have expected something like that. After all, Railham's a small town and word's going to travel fast when people realize the house is occupied again, and who it's occupied by. People are going to gossip.
My father's name is still mud in this town, and with good reason. No-one wants to be reminded that Sheriff Michael Blaine ever even existed.
Chapter Two
Sheriff Michael Blaine
20 years ago
“Goodnight, Alex,” I whisper, leaning down and kissing my little girl on the forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
She mumbles something in her sleep, but she doesn't wake up. To be honest, I shouldn't even have come in here. It's gone midnight and I should have left her sleeping, but after everything that's been going on today, I just needed to see her with my own two eyes and to make sure that she's okay. I guess deep down, I needed to be reminded that there are still good things in this world, that there are still sweet, innocent, safe children.
Still, I don't want to wake her, because then she might ask me if I'm okay, and then I'd have to lie and tell her that everything's fine. I don't want to lie to her, so I gently get up off the bed and make my way out to the landing, and then I carefully bump the door shut before turning and seeing that Louisa is waiting for me. Fortunately my wife knows better than to ask about what I've seen today, and I know better than to tell her.
“She's asleep,” I explain, still keeping my voice down as I wander over and give her a hug. “She looked so calm and peaceful.”
“You need to sleep too,” she replies.
“Later.”
“Honey, you look exhausted.”
“I just need to grab a few things,” I continue, still holding her tight, “and then I have to get back out there.”
“Can't the others keep you posted?”
“I have to be with them,” I reply, stepping past her and heading toward the top of the stairs. “We need all hands on deck.”