The Ghost of Longthorn Manor and Other Stories Read online

  I think I was almost at the door by the time I heard the first creaking sound from the other side.

  I froze, staring in horror, expecting the door to come flying open at any moment.

  “She's there!” Stephen whispered. “Quick! Open the door before she has a chance. If you let her open it, she'll be able to come into the room. If you open it first, she'll have to go away.”

  I shake my head.

  “Don't be a little baby, Penelope! If you want to be saved, open the door!”

  “I can't.”

  “It's your only chance!”

  “But -”

  “Open it!”

  This, too, went on for quite some time. I must have stood there, shivering in the cold, for several minutes with my brother urging me to turn the handle and pull the door open. I was so scared, it was as if I couldn't even think straight, but I was quite certain that the ghostly woman was on the other side of the door, and that she'd make her appearance at any moment. Finally, somehow, Stephen persuaded me that I had no choice, so I took hold of the handle, turned it slowly, and pulled the door open. I was so awfully frightened.

  There was nothing on the other side.

  “There's no ghost,” I remember saying, feeling a sense of relief as I stared out at the dark landing. After a moment, I turned to my brother and saw him still watching me from his bed. “There's nothing!”

  “That's because you opened the door,” he replied. “She vanished. But if you hadn't, if you'd waited even a second longer, she'd have got you! See? I told you I was right!”

  And I believed him with all my heart.

  Five

  The handle sticks slightly, and for a moment I'm not even sure I'll be able to move it at all. Finally, however, something gives in the mechanism, and I manage to push the handle up, causing the dumbwaiter's metal door to grind open.

  Peering into the dark little chamber, I'm shocked by how small it looks. Did I really fit in there, all those years ago? Or did Aunt Dottie perhaps have a new one installed, one that's smaller?

  I reach a hand into the cold space, and I immediately know the answer to that question.

  This is the same chamber. The same dumbwaiter. And I remember how terrified I was on that awful day. It's all coming back to me in such vivid detail.

  Six

  “Why are you such a pussy?” Stephen asked, as we stood and stared into the chamber of the dumbwaiter. “Just get in!”

  “I don't want to,” I replied, taking a step back.

  “Because you're a scaredy-cat?”

  “Because I don't want to!”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don't!”

  “Because you're a scaredy-cat!”

  “I just don't want to!”

  “Look, it's totally safe. I'll show you.”

  He climbed up and squeezed into the chamber. Since he was a few years older than me, Stephen was barely able to fit at all, and he only stayed inside for a few seconds before clambering back out.

  “See?” he continued, sounding a little breathless. “There's nothing scary about it. I did it, so why won't you? Don't you trust me?”

  “I just don't want to go in there,” I told him, turning and looking at the window. I remember seeing Mummy and Aunt Dottie out in the garden, strolling in the bright sunshine. “I want to go out and play on the lawn.”

  “I'll tell everyone you're a pathetic little scaredy-cat.”

  I turned back to him.

  “Everyone!” he continued. “At school. At home. Everyone.”

  “You wouldn't do that!”

  “Why the hell wouldn't I? If you're a scaredy-cat, everyone needs to know it, so they don't make the mistake of relying on you later.” I remember the way he stared at me, and he made me feel as if this was the most important decision in the whole world. “If you want to be a scaredy-cat, Penelope, then I can't stop you. But if you just climb into the dumbwaiter, you can prove to me that you're brave. Don't you want to do that? I think you're a scaredy-cat. Prove me wrong.”

  “I might get hurt.”

  “I'm here to protect you.”

  I remember looking into the chamber and persuading myself that maybe I could be brave. Stephen always used to be able to make me do whatever he wanted, and in truth I never protested very much. He was my brother, he was older than me, and I had absolute faith in everything he said. And so, after a little more discussion, he helped me climb up and into the chamber, and then he grabbed the handle and began to slide the hatch shut.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, panicking as I tried to turn and stop him.

  I didn't have a chance. The hatch slid all the way, sealing me in the dark little space.

  “Relax!” Stephen called out from the other side, giggling at the same time. “I'm just having fun!”

  “But -”

  “Are you ready to go downtown, Penelope?”

  “What do you -”

  “Going downtown!”

  “Wait!”

  Suddenly the chamber shuddered and began to drop. The whole dark space shook around me as the dumbwaiter moved down the shaft toward the ground floor, and I remember screaming as I felt a heavy thud at the bottom. As soon as the chamber had come to a halt, I tried to force the hatch open, but I had no luck at all. It could only be opened from the outside.

  “Coming back up!” Stephen yelled from high above me. “Ready? Coming uptown!”

  “No!” I shouted, but of course he didn't listen.

  The chamber began to rise again. I could hear gears and pulleys straining all around me, and I was certain that something was wrong. It seemed as if, at any moment, the chamber was going to break free and plummet back down to the bottom of the shaft, and I'd be killed.

  “Let me out of here!” I screamed, banging my fists against the metal sides. “Mummy! Help me!”

  As soon as the chamber reached the top of the shaft again, I was able to hear Stephen laughing on the other side of the hatch.

  “You're such a baby!” he chuckled. “Can't you just calm down and enjoy the ride?”

  “Let me out!” I sobbed, trying once again to force the doors open. I remember how the chamber suddenly started to fall again, and my fingers caught against the bottom of the hatch. I cried out as the flesh on one fingertip was sliced open, and I'm sure I screamed and screamed over and over again as the chamber finally bumped back down to the bottom of the shaft.

  The terror I felt during those few minutes was extreme. When the chamber rose again, I felt certain that at any moment one of the pieces of machinery would slice through the metal wall and cut me in half. Although I was probably only in the chamber for a couple of minutes at most, it felt like an eternity until finally the hatch opened and I slumped forward, falling into the arms of Aunt Dottie.

  “It's okay,” she said, kissing the top of my head as she began to carry me along the corridor. I was sobbing wildly. “You're safe, Penelope.”

  “It was just a game!” Stephen shouted.

  “You've scared her half to death!” Dottie yelled, turning to him. I'd never heard my aunt sound so angry, and I remember that Stephen looked as if he was about to cry. “She's your sister, for God's sake!” she continued. “What the hell's wrong with you?”

  “It was a game!” Stephen whimpered, as tears streamed down his face. “It's not my fault she got scared!”

  I remember Dottie carried me to the kitchen and put a plaster on my cut finger. Mummy came in from the garden and asked what was wrong, but Dottie didn't really say much. I heard them talking later, though, and it sounded as if Dottie was angry at Mummy.

  Seven

  “It's actually rather cozy,” I say with a forced smile, as I stand in the doorway and look at the bed I've made up. “I found some sheets in a wardrobe, so I've got a nice bed. And the central heating is still on, so I shan't be cold.”

  “And the painting's okay?” Stephen asks over the phone.

  “Yes, the painting's fine.”


  I glance over at the painting, which is still hanging over the fireplace.

  “You haven't tried to move it, have you?” he continues. “I don't want you tearing a hole in it with your clumsy hands.”

  “I haven't tried to move it.”

  “I'm a bundle of nerves,” he mutters. “Until that thing is safely under lock and key at the auctioneer's office, I don't think I'll be able to sleep.”

  “And is it really worth as much money as you said?” I ask, wandering over to take a closer look. “It's almost too much to believe. I mean, it's not unpleasant to look at, but I never -”

  Before I can finish, I hear a bump over my shoulder. Turning, I look toward the open door and see the dark landing, but now the house is silent again.

  “You never what?” Stephen asks.

  “Nothing,” I reply, “I just -”

  Suddenly I hear it again. More of a bang than a bump, I think, as if something hit one of the house's many metal pipes.

  “What's wrong, Penelope? Did something happen to the painting?”

  “Nothing happened to the painting,” I reply, heading back over to the door and peering out. There's no sign of anyone, of course. “I just thought I heard...”

  My voice trails off.

  Silence.

  “You thought you heard what?” Stephen asks. “You locked all the doors and windows, didn't you?”

  “Of course I did. I just -”

  There it is again. It's coming from somewhere up here, although it seems to be in a slightly different spot each time. I tell myself that this is simply an old house, and that it's settling in the cool evening air, but I can't deny that my heart-rate is a little higher than usual.

  “Stephen, can I ask you something?” I continue finally. “When we were children, and we were here, we used to talk about a ghost.”

  “I've told you a thousand times,” he says with a sigh. “That was all just childish nonsense. I was winding you up.”

  “So did you never actually see or hear anything?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You said you did, though.”

  “I was winding you up!” He sounds utterly tired of the conversation. “You claimed to see things, and I sort of egged you on. Come on, move past it and keep a calm head. If you can't even spend one night alone in an old house, then God help you!”

  I wait, listening to the house, but now there are no more unusual sounds.

  “So it was all in my head?” I whisper.

  “It was all in your head, Penelope,” he replies matter-of-factly. “You were always rather impressionable as a girl. Remember? You drove Mum crazy with all your silly talk. To be honest, you were something of a nightmare for a while, old girl. Not that very much has changed. You're still a bag of nerves, aren't you?”

  “I just -”

  “Now listen,” he continues, “it's time for bed. Marjorie has made my cocoa and we're going to watch Casualty, so I don't have time to sit and hold your hand over the telephone. Just sit tight, try to get some sleep, and I'll let you know when the man is coming tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay,” I reply, although I don't feel very happy about the idea. “Just one more thing, Stephen. Is -”

  The line is dead.

  Sighing, I'm tempted to call him up again, but I suppose it can all wait until tomorrow. I wait in the doorway for a moment longer, just making sure that the house is quiet, and then I tell myself that it's time to go to bed. I'm a fully-grown woman, and I most certainly intend to prove to my brother that I can spend a night in this place. After all, I'm not some scared little girl. Not anymore. And I'm certainly not a scaredy-cat.

  But once I'm in bed, I can't help thinking about the past. In particular, about the day the letter arrived for me.

  Eight

  “Oh, it's just a load of bills,” Aunt Dottie said as she wandered into the kitchen, sorting through a stack of letters that she'd just been handed by the postman. “Bill. Bill. Bill. Bill. Charlie always used to deal with these. Oh, and there's something for Penelope!”

  I remember looking up from my cereal and seeing that Dottie was holding a letter out for me.

  “For Penelope?” Mummy said cautiously, reaching over and taking the letter from her. She looked at the envelope for a moment, and I remember her quizzical expression. “That's no address or stamp. It must have been hand-delivered.”

  “It wasn't with the others,” Dottie explains. “It was on the mat. Someone must have dropped it off earlier.” She smiles at me. “Perhaps you have an admirer in the village, young lady. Are you excited?”

  I wasn't excited. I was scared. For one thing, I could see that Mum was doubtful about the letter, and for another I was scared of most things back then. When Mummy handed the letter to me, I remember wishing that I didn't have to open it.

  “Go on, then,” Stephen said, watching me from the other side of the table. “What's it about? I want to see!”

  “Open it, sweetheart,” Mummy muttered. “I'm sure it's nothing.”

  “Can't you open it for me?” I asked her.

  “Don't be such a baby!” Stephen laughed. “Why are you scared of a letter?”

  “I'm not scared!” I mumbled, although I still hesitated for a moment before starting to tear the envelope open. “You're stupid!”

  “Don't say things like that to your brother,” Mummy said firmly. “Penelope, just open your letter and see who it's from.”

  “I'm sure it's nothing,” Dottie said under her breath.

  I slipped a folded piece of paper from the envelope and then opened it flat, placing it on the table. It was handwritten, and to this day I still remember every word.

  “Dear Penelope,” I read out loud, so that the others could hear. “I'm coming to -”

  I froze.

  “What does it say?” Mummy asked, before reaching over and taking it from my trembling hand. “Dear Penelope,” she read out,” I'm coming to get you. Tonight you'll see me again after everyone else is asleep, for I am the cruel ghost of Longthorn Manor and I intend to eat your soul.”

  “Huh?” Aunt Dottie replied. “It doesn't really say that, does it?”

  “What in God's name is this thing?” Mummy stammered, before holding it up for Dottie to see. “Is it some kind of joke? Do you think it's funny?”

  “I just found it on the mat!” she protested as she buttered some burned toast and then took a big, crispy bite.

  They continued to argue, while I sat on my wooden seat and fell quiet. After a moment, I realized that I'd begun to soil myself again. I felt so dirty and ashamed, and at first I thought I'd be able to cover it up so that Mummy would never have to find out. A moment later, however, I heard some of the pee dribbling down onto the floor, and I remember Mummy furrowing her brow as she looked over to see what was causing the noise.

  “What's that?” she asked.

  “Nothing!” I stammered, feeling breathless and close to tears.

  “I can hear a kind of dribbling sound,” she continued.

  Stephen ducked down to look under the table, and he was grinning when he sat back up.

  “She's wet herself!” he shouted. “Mummy, Penelope's wet herself like a little baby!”

  “Quiet!” Mummy hissed, getting to her feet and stepping around to take a closer look. “Oh Penelope, you mustn't get like this. There's nothing to be afraid of! When are you going to stop having these little accidents?”

  I remember I was sitting completely rigid, gripping the edge of the table. I was trembling a little, and tears were already rolling down my cheeks as everyone stared at me. Mummy tried to get me to stand up so she could take me to the bathroom, but I simply looked down at my knees and wished that I could disappear. And all the while, Stephen was laughing so hard and so loud.

  Finally, Aunt Dottie took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom, and there she began to clean me up.

  Over the years, Stephen has told that story so many times. At dinner parties, family gathering
s, even work events, he's always delighted in embarrassing me by telling everyone about the time I soiled myself at breakfast because of a scary letter from a ghost. And I always have to sit and take it because, well, I suppose it's true. Sometimes, I even dream about that awful moment.

  Nine

  Opening my eyes suddenly in the dark, I stare up at the ceiling above the bed and listen to the sound of something banging far off in the house.

  I wait, convinced that I must be dreaming, but finally I realize that it's real.

  There's something here.

  I sit up, hoping against hope that some reasonable explanation will suddenly present itself, but this time the banging is loud and persistent. Something is definitely in the house with me, and it sounds as if it's furiously hitting the pipes.

  Almost as if it wants to be heard.

  For the next few minutes, I sit completely still, listening as the banging sound continues. Occasionally, the horrible din seems to slow for a few seconds, but it never quite stops. My heart, meanwhile, is racing so hard that I feel it might burst from my chest.

  And then the sound stops.

  The house falls silent, and I'm left sitting on the bed in complete silence. I want so badly to believe that I imagined the whole thing, that there was no sound at all, but I'm afraid I can't delude myself so easily. Even as I sit completely still for several more minutes, I know without a shadow of a doubt that what I heard was real, and that it was coming from one of the other rooms in the house.

  Finally, slowly, I settle back down against the bed, although I already know that I shan't be able to get back to sleep.

  A moment later, the banging returns for a few seconds, before fading once more.

  Gripping the top of the bed-sheets, I look toward the door. I don't hear footsteps, but it's quite clear that something else is with me in this dark old house, and my mind is racing as I think back to my childhood days. I definitely heard a few odd bumps and bangs when I was a girl, although they weren't nearly as frightening as the footsteps.