The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2)

  Copyright 2015 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.

  Published by Dark Season Books

  Kindle edition

  First published: July 2015

  “She always said that if she could come back to haunt me, she would.”

  John Myers is a popular and successful novelist, but memories of his troubled childhood still haunt him. When his childhood home comes onto the market, he snaps it up and goes back, determined to find out whether the place is really haunted, or whether he simply imagined the events of twenty years ago.

  Soon, John finds his entire existence starting to fall apart, and he's forced to question some of his most basic assumptions. Did his grandmother's ghost really haunt him when he was younger, and if so, is she still around? After his wife and children join him unexpectedly at the house, John is forced to face the horrific truth, as it becomes clear that the events that happened twenty years ago were far more awful than he remembers.

  Meanwhile, those events are also leaking into the present day, and the dark forces within the house aren't finished with their plans. Just when it seems as if John and his family will be consumed by those forces, however, a mysterious girl named Hannah turns up, and it's immediately clear that she knows more than she's letting on.

  The House on Everley Street is the second book in the Death Herself series, about a dark figure who arrives in the night, promising to help deal with the forces of evil whenever they appear.

  The House on Everley Street

  (Death Herself book 2)

  Prologue

  “Daisy!” she shouted, hurrying through the door and racing to the cot. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”

  Reaching in and scooping the crying baby up, Deborah examined her daughter's screaming face before turning and looking around the dark room. Light from the moon shone through the nursery window, casting dancing, ever-changing shadows across the far wall, but as she turned she realized that there was no sign of anything amiss. Still, Daisy's screams were loud and urgent, and Deborah turned again to look around, convinced that she was missing the cause.

  “Is she okay?” Mike asked, hurrying through. “What's going on in here?”

  “What do you think's going on in here?” Deborah shouted at him. “It's the same as last time, but a thousand times worse!” She held the child closer, trying to calm her screams. “Come on, sweetheart,” she whispered, gently rocking Daisy from side to side. “It's okay, I'm here now.”

  “Let's just calm down,” Mike replied, taking a look at Daisy before glancing around the room. Heading over to the window, he tried to slide it open but found that it was still locked. “Nothing got in, she just... She must have had a nightmare, that's all.”

  “You heard the banging sound,” Deborah said firmly. “Don't you dare try to deny it this time.”

  “Can't you get her to be quiet?”

  “I'm trying!” she hissed, before kissing Daisy's forehead. “Sweetheart, please, Mummy's here now. Oh God, Mike, I think she's turning blue! She's crying so much, she's not breathing properly!”

  If anything, this only caused the child to scream louder than ever as tears rolled down her flushed face.

  “Maybe it was something in the garden,” Mike muttered, squinting a little as he peered out. Unfastening the lock, he slid the window open and leaned over the edge. For a moment, he studied the shadows below, but once again he quickly realized there was nothing that could possibly be to blame. Just darkness and light rain. Turning, he looked around for something else, anything else, that could have been the source of the sudden banging sound that had woken them a moment earlier and caused their daughter to scream.

  “We can't stay in this house,” Deborah continued, pushing past him and carrying Daisy to the door. “I can't do this anymore!”

  “Wait!” Hurrying after her, he grabbed her arm at the top of the stairs and pulled her back. “Where are you going? You can't let a few bumps in the middle of the night run us out of our own home!”

  “A few bumps?” Close to tears but too angry to cry, she stared at him in dumbstruck horror, unable to believe that he was still peddling the same tired old explanations. “It's not a few bumps, Mike. It's constant, it's every night and it's driving us insane! We can't let Daisy grow up in this environment!”

  “So what are you saying?” he asked. “That the house is haunted?”

  “I'm saying I can't spend another night here, and neither can Daisy.” She paused, frustrated by his refusal to accept the truth, before finally sighing. “I'll take her to my mother's. It's the only solution. I'll take her and we'll stay there until we can sell this house and buy another one.”

  “The market -”

  “Screw the market!” she shouted, before kissing the side of Daisy's head. “It's okay, sweetheart, Mummy's got you. We're not going to spend another night in this awful place. Please, try not to cry.”

  “If we sell now,” Mike continued, “we'll lose up to -”

  “I don't care!” she shouted. “If we don't sell now, we'll lose our minds!”

  “But if we just wait another -”

  Before he could finish, the door to the nursery slammed shut with sudden, violent force, before rebounding toward the wall.

  “I suppose that was the wind, was it?” Deborah asked.

  “I opened the window a minute ago -”

  “That's the problem,” she continued. “No matter what happens, you always come up with an explanation.”

  “Just because I don't automatically assume the worst -”

  “The worst? It's the truth!” She looked down at Daisy again. “Please, sweetie, stop crying. Everything's going to be okay. You have to take deep breaths.”

  “There's no such thing as ghosts,” Mike told her. “You never used to believe in them either.”

  “Not until we moved in here.”

  “Debbie -”

  “I mean it,” she said firmly, her voice trembling as she held back tears. “There's something wrong with this place.”

  He sighed again.

  “I'm sorry,” she added, before turning and hurrying down the stairs with her crying daughter still in her arms. “We're getting out of here,” she continued, kissing the top of Daisy's head as she ran to the hallway, grabbed the car keys and then pulled the door open.

  Rain was still falling outside but she didn't care, not as she raced barefoot across the gravel driveway and hurriedly opened one of the car's rear doors. Leaning in, she began to strap Daisy into the child-seat.

  “It's going to be okay,” she explained, hoping against hope that her daughter would stop crying now that they were out of the house. “We should have left weeks ago, but at least we're getting out of here now.”

  “Wait!” Mike shouted, hurrying after her. “You're being irrational!”

  “You didn't hear it!” she replied, turning to him as rain fell all around them. “You didn't hear it talking to her!”

  “Debbie -”

  “Don't tell me I imagined it!”

  “Did you ever actually see anything?” he asked.

  “I felt it!” she shouted. “There's something in there!”

  “Debbie -”

  “Don't you dare!” she hissed, before looking back toward the house. A light was still on in one of the bedrooms, but apart from that the house was shrouded in darkness, with rain falling faster and ha
rder with each passing second. “It was whispering to her. I heard its voice in there, saying the most awful things. I thought I heard it before, but I was never sure, not until tonight, but it's real.” She turned back to him. “I know this sounds insane, and I know you probably think I'm losing my mind, but... Are you seriously telling me that you can't feel that thing, whatever it is?”

  “Debbie -”

  “When you're alone in the house,” she continued breathlessly, as she moved strands of wet hair from across her face, “do you ever really feel truly alone? Or do you feel that presence, whatever it is, constantly with you? Like there's something in there, another soul.” She waited for an answer. “Be honest, Mike. Don't tell me what you think you should be feeling, tell me what's actually in your heart. Forget about explanations for now and just focus on what's happening. Do you really think we can continue to live in that house?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, before looking down and seeing Daisy still crying in her seat.

  “She's probably damaged already,” Deborah added. “Please, for all our sakes, let's just go.”

  “I..”

  He paused, still watching Daisy.

  “Get in and wait for me,” he said finally, pulling the driver's door open. “I'll go back inside and grab a few things, and then, fine, we'll go to your mother's. We can come up with another plan tomorrow, we can work something out, but you're right.”

  “You feel it too, don't you?”

  “I feel... something. Whatever's in the house, if there's something in there, I'm not going to let it hurt our daughter.” With that, he leaned forward and kissed Deborah on the cheek before turning and hurrying back inside.

  “Be careful!” she called after him, before getting into the car. Soaking wet and out of breath, she turned and smiled at Daisy, who was still screaming as loud as she could manage. “It's okay, sweetheart. We're going, do you see? We're leaving this house and we're never, ever going to have to come back. Mummy promises.” Reaching out, she used a trembling hand to wipe some of the rain from the girl's bawling face. “I don't know what you saw in your nursery, but I swear to God, I won't let it affect you. If you need help, we'll get it. Maybe you won't even remember this, but if you do, I promise everything'll be okay.” Spotting movement nearby, she turned just in time to see Mike pulling the front door of the house shut and then hurrying to the car with a hold-all over his shoulder.

  “It's all locked up,” he said as soon as he was in the passenger seat. Pulling the door shut, he turned to her. “I swear to God, Debbie, until tonight I never would have believed it was possible.”

  “But you believe it now, don't you? Please tell me you don't think I'm losing my mind.”

  “I don't think you're losing your mind,” he replied, staring straight ahead. Beyond the rain-soaked windshield, the dark house stood in brooding silence, as if it was waiting for them to change their minds and go back inside. “I think there really is something in there.”

  “Where do you feel it most?” she asked.

  “I... I don't know.”

  “Sometimes in the kitchen,” she continued, watching the house's dark upstairs windows, “I feel like I can almost hear it. Only almost, though. It's like it's on the very edge of my perception.”

  Mike nodded. “I know.”

  “Maybe we can get our money back,” she suggested. “No-one told us the place was haunted when we bought it, maybe legally we can force them to take the place back. Isn't there some rule that you have to inform potential buyers of this kind of thing?”

  “I'm not sure the law's really set up to take ghosts into account,” he replied, “but we'll see. If we can't do that, we'll sell it. Whatever happens, we'll find somewhere else to live, because I swear...” He paused, staring out at the house for a moment longer, and feeling as if in some strange way it was staring right back at him. “I am never going back into number one, Everley Street, again. If it wasn't for the money, I'd burn the place down right now.”

  Putting the key into the ignition, Deborah started the car and began to reverse out of the driveway, with Daisy still crying.

  “You don't think it's scarred her for life, do you?” she asked, stopping the car and then turning the wheel before hitting the accelerator. “What if it's done permanent damage?”

  “No chance,” he replied as they drove away. “Everything'll be okay. I promise you, honey, I promise both of you. We're not going to let that house destroy us. We got out in time.” He turned to Daisy, who was still screaming. “Jesus Christ, is she never going to stop? We have to get her to the hospital! I don't think she's breathing properly, she's starting to get blue lips!”

  “Wait, is she -”

  “Just hurry!” he shouted, climbing to the back seat. “Take us to the hospital! I'm going to try to get her to stop crying so she can breathe!”

  As the car screeched off into the night, the house on Everley Street stood silently in the torrential rain, with all the lights off and all the exterior doors locked. From the outside, the rush of rain was overwhelming; from the inside, there was a steady pitter-patter on the windows, but for the most part the rest of the house was completely quiet. Out on the landing, however, there was the faintest sound of a whisper coming from somewhere within the house, and a moment later the nursery's door swung slowly shut.

  Chapter One

  Today

  “I guess you're the expert when it comes to ghosts.”

  John turned to him, momentarily thrown. “I am?”

  “The big writer and all.” Smiling, Aaron stepped out onto the balcony, away from the party. A cool night breeze ruffled his hair as he made his way to the edge and looked out across the vast, starry city. “The man who knows how to really scare people. I must say, I thought it was a good wheeze to put an actual medical warning on the cover of your new book. I'm sure that'll shift a few more copies. That and the reassuring message about blaming one's parents for all of one's unfortunate experiences.”

  John frowned. “That's not the message at all.”

  “Are you sure? I finished it last night. Your protagonist basically suffers throughout his life due to having been raised by sadists. He blames them for everything.”

  “He doesn't blame them. He fights back, but their influence is too strong.”

  “Either way,” Aaron said with a grin, “I don't want to fight. I'm sure it'll be a hit.”

  “Maybe.” John paused, turning to look back at the crowd of people in the penthouse's main room. He hated book launches at the best of times, especially his own, but this one felt even more sickly than usual. He kept expecting something to go catastrophically wrong, as if some hidden danger was lurking just out of sight. This wasn't exactly a new sensation, in fact it was one he lived with all the time, but tonight it felt particularly strong. After a moment, he made eye contact with his wife Sarah, and she smiled at him before continuing her conversation with some minor C-list actor. Unlike John, Sarah knew exactly how to schmooze people. She was, in all respects, his better half.

  “How many people live in London again?” Aaron asked, nudging his arm. “Five million? Six?”

  “Something like that,” John replied, turning to look out at the city. “Too many.”

  “Misanthrope. How many would you prefer?”

  “One or two million would be about right. Then the place wouldn't be so crowded.”

  “And how many ghosts do you think there are?”

  John opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught. “I have no idea,” he said finally.

  “But there must be billions, mustn't there? If everyone who ever died is still floating about, where are they? If they're real, why don't we ever get a glimpse of them?”

  “I have no idea,” John said with a faint smile. “I don't really go into the science of it too much. I just make things up for a living, remember?”

  “But don't you think it's kind of juvenile?” Aaron continued, leaning against the railing and looking down at the bu
sy street far below. A coach was just pulling away from the front of the hotel, joining the sea of lights that criss-crossed the city. “What's the difference between believing in ghost and believing in... fairies? Or leprechauns? Hell, even unicorns! Aren't you basically a writer of fairy-tales?”

  At this, John allowed himself another smile.

  “What's wrong?” Aaron asked. “Not macho enough for you?”

  “I just don't know where to begin proving you wrong,” John replied, before wincing slightly as he heard someone guffawing with laughter nearby. He hated that about himself, the fact that he got so tense around loud people, and he was tempted to tell the next interviewer that the increasing gap between each book was entirely down to the fact that he loathed publicity events. He felt certain he could write faster, maybe even better, if people left him alone.

  “Jesus,” Aaron continued, “we have this same conversation every year, don't we?”

  “More or less,” John said quietly, sipping from his wine glass. “Every book launch, at least.”

  “And I guess I shouldn't have the temerity to challenge you on this subject. Like I said, you are the expert. If you say ghosts are real, then I suppose I must just take it at face value.”

  “Did I say they're real?” John asked.

  “More or less.”

  “I'm not sure about that.”

  “You couldn't write about them so convincingly if you had doubts,” Aaron told him.

  John smiled again, but he knew full well that Aaron was watching him intently. Every single time the pair of them met up, John ended up feeling as if he was under attack. Aaron had a tendency to enjoy chipping away at the beliefs of his friends, but whereas John had once enjoyed these discussions, now he was starting to tire of the whole thing. Truth be told, he felt he was getting a little sick of Aaron altogether, but he could never truly acknowledge that fact. After all, Aaron was by far his closest friend.

  “You never answered my question,” Aaron said finally.