The Ghost of Shapley Hall Page 7

  I opened my mouth to reply, but she was already out of sight and I figured she was lost in a world of her own. I'd hoped that she might cut out the games, although I was starting to realize that she seemed genuinely a little caught up in the whole thing. For a moment, I even began to wonder whether she'd gone a little nuts at the window, whether she'd actually believed that she was possessed. I quickly told myself that I was being paranoid. Sure, Rachel could seem pretty weird and intense, but I knew she wasn't insane.

  “Back to work, then,” I said with a sigh, heading through to the next room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How do you even know for sure that Edward Shapley hid the child's body in the house?” I asked a few hours later, as I pulled up another of the floorboards. “Don't get me wrong, the guy sounds like an asshole, but hiding a dead baby seems a little... dramatic. And gruesome.”

  “He basically confessed on his deathbed,” Rachel replied, working on some other floorboards on the far side of the study. “I've done a lot of research over the years, and apparently he called for a priest on the night he died. I guess maybe he'd spent long enough living with the ghost of Georgette, and he'd begun to realize the horror of what he'd done. He told the priest he'd killed the baby because it was a bastard, and he said he'd put it somewhere in the house to torment Georgette.”

  “But he didn't happen to mention where?”

  “That'd be too easy.”

  “And you said Georgette didn't really commit suicide?”

  “That was another of his deathbed confessions,” she continued. “He said that when she came back to the house after escaping the institution, he stopped her on the lawn. He poured some kind of cleaning solution, I think some kind of acid, down her throat. The priest said he seemed delirious when he was explaining it all, so the details aren't entirely clear. I only know about it because I managed to track down a diary that the priest kept. Sometimes I even wonder whether Georgette found a way to preserve that diary as a record of what really happened.”

  “What happened to Georgette's body after she died?” I asked.

  “She was buried in an unmarked grave somewhere on the property. Her parents were too ashamed to put her in the family plot. Her soul stayed here, close to her child but unable to get into the house. Can you imagine what that's like? To yearn for something for centuries, and to be so close, but to never find it?” She paused, glancing around the room for a moment. “And since Edward Shapley died inside the house, his soul was trapped within the walls of the place. Two ghosts, so close to one another yet so far. One haunting the house, the other haunting the garden.”

  Pulling up another floorboard, I looked down and saw nothing underneath except a small, dusty crawlspace. I didn't want to admit what I was thinking to Rachel, because I liked the fact that she seemed calmer now, but I had absolutely no faith in the idea that we were going to suddenly come across the bones of a baby. In truth, I was just going through the motions, while letting her tell me these crazy stories so she could get them out of her system. I was basically trying to manage her mental state, keeping her calm until I could get her out of the house for good.

  “If -”

  Before I could finish, there was a loud bump from over by the window, as if something had hit the glass. We both looked over, and then we glanced at one another.

  “That was her,” Rachel said matter-of-factly. “She's still trying to get into the house after all these years, but she can't.”

  I sighed.

  “It was her!” she continued.

  “You'd think she might have figured out the front door by now,” I muttered.

  “Something's keeping her out,” she continued. “I think it's because she died out there, she can't cross the threshold. Edward Shapley was interested in the dark arts.”

  “There's a surprise.”

  “He had some books on the subject,” she added. “One of his other main interests was bugs. He kept colonies of different insect types in special glass cases.”

  “Hence the beetle infestation?”

  “When I was a girl, I tried opening all the doors and windows so that Georgette's spirit could get inside, but it didn't work. That's why we have to find the child for her, and take its bones outside.”

  “That's completely ludicrous,” I wanted to tell her, but I bit my tongue.

  “Sounds like a plan,” is what I actually said.

  She smiled, as if she was grateful for my support, and then she turned and got back to work, trying to pull up the next floorboard.

  Heading over to the window, I peered out, half expecting to see that a bird had hit the glass, but there was no sign of anything or anyone. Just the vast lawn, spreading to the distant tree-line, and the village in the distance under a darkening late afternoon sky. Given all the terrible things that Rachel claimed had happened at the house, the scene actually seemed remarkably peaceful. After a moment, a plan began to form in the back of my mind, and finally I turned to Rachel.

  “Hey,” I said with a smile. “How about we head into the village later? Just for a couple of hours.”

  “We don't have time.”

  “We can get dinner at that pub we passed on the way here. It's on me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Maybe a drink or two?”

  “James -”

  “Please,” I continued, “for me. I'm helping you out here, the least you can do is come out with me for a few hours. It might do us good to shake off the dust from this old place.”

  “I'm not going into the village,” she replied. “It's a stupid idea. Please don't suggest it again.”

  “There's a Chinese take-out place, isn't there?” I asked. “If you won't come in with me, then why don't I go and pick up some -”

  “Can we just get back to work?” she continued, clearly irritated by my suggestion. “I just want us both to stay here and try to help Georgette. There'll be all the time in the world for pubs and take-out food once we get back to London.”

  “Sure, but it'd be fun to -”

  “No!” she shouted, turning to me with a flash of genuine anger in her eyes. With the hammer in her right hand, she actually looked a little deranged, but the anger faded after a moment and she offered a faint, unconvincing smile. “Sorry,” she stammered, “but... This might be my only chance to help Georgette, and I don't want anything to interrupt it.”

  “But I could just -”

  “Please, James,” she said firmly, as if the anger was in danger of returning. “Just leave it, okay? We're here, and we're staying here until tomorrow, and we're not going to the village. Is that understood?”

  I opened my mouth to argue with her, before realizing there was no point. “Understood, M'am,” I muttered, feeling just a little annoyed by her tone.

  “Get back to work,” she continued, turning and starting once again to pull on the floorboard. “I mean it. No-one's going to that stupid village. Those people can go screw themselves.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Yeah,” I muttered a few hours later, taking a bite of the sandwich I was 'enjoying' for dinner, “this beats Chinese take-out or pub food any day. Good choice, Rachel.”

  I was sitting alone in the kitchen, but Rachel could still be heard banging and hammering in one of the far-off rooms. She'd resisted all my attempts to lure her downstairs for something to eat, and as I checked my watch I saw that it was now almost seven in the evening. The sun had begun to set outside and I had a couple of candles burning, and deep down I was starting to regret my decision to stay for another night. Despite everything I'd told Rachel, I was finding the house more than a little creepy. Not because I believed in ghosts, but simply because of the tales she'd told me about things that had happened there.

  If even half of those stories about Georgette and her uncle were true...

  Suddenly I heard a loud clattering sound from upstairs, followed by a series of bumps. I waited, but the bumps were getting louder and after a moment I began
to realize that Rachel seemed to be running around up there like a goddamn lunatic. I waited a moment longer, before sighing and setting my sandwich down. Climbing off the stool, I wandered through to the hallway and looked up the stairs, but I could still hear her slamming around. I told myself she was just working really hard, but finally I realized that she seemed almost frantic.

  “Rachel?” I called out.

  No reply.

  “Are you okay up there?”

  I waited, but it sounded as if she was throwing herself into the walls.

  Sighing again, I made my way up the stairs. By that point, I'd begun to seriously question Rachel's sanity, and I was starting to wonder whether I should give her a little space and time alone once we got back to London. We hadn't been together for that long, and I was worried that maybe she wasn't ready to be in a relationship. I was also starting to think that maybe I'd been used, that she'd started dating me purely because she wanted someone she could drag along with her to Shapley Hall.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, I looked along the dark corridor and realized I could hear her bumping about in the distance. I began to make my way along, but suddenly she appeared at the far end, slamming into the wall and then racing toward me.

  “Hey,” I said as she got closer, “what -”

  “I saw him!” she shouted, thudding into me and then looking back the way she'd just come. Her whole body was trembling and she gripped me tight, as if she was waiting for someone to step into view at any moment.

  “You saw...” I paused, before realizing what she meant. “You saw the evil uncle?”

  “Edward Shapley,” she stammered. “I was in one of the bedrooms, I'd just gone in there to start taking the wall panels off, and when I glanced at the window...”

  I waited for her to finish. “When you glanced at the window... What?”

  “I saw my reflection,” she continued, “and then I saw his too, standing right behind me.”

  I sighed.

  “I saw him!” she hissed. “I thought I'd trapped his spirit in the basement all those years ago, but somehow he must have got out.”

  “Rachel -”

  “He's out!” she stammered, holding me even tighter. “I don't know how, but he's out. It doesn't make sense, he shouldn't have been able to come up into the main part of the house, but I saw him!”

  “Okay, sure.” I paused, before reaching down and taking hold of her trembling right hand. “Why don't we go and take a look together?”

  “I'm not lying!”

  “I didn't say you were,” I continued, “just... Why don't we go and see? You trust me, don't you?”

  She stared along the corridor for a moment longer. “I was in the bedroom at the far end, just around the corner,” she said finally. “I couldn't get the door open at first, it was like he was trying to trap me in there. It was like before, it was...”

  Again her voice trailed off. Despite my doubts, I could tell that she genuinely believed what she was telling me.

  “Come on.” Still holding her hand, I led her along the corridor until we reached the end and turned right. Sure enough, one of the doors was wide open and I could see the light of a candle flickering in the room. “In there?” I asked, before leading her to the door and looking through. The room inside was bare, with just an old four-poster bed, but I quickly spotted Rachel's hammer on the floor in the corner. “This is where you saw him?”

  “I'm not making it up.”

  “Are you okay to go back in?” I asked. “With me?”

  “I saw him...”

  “That's fine,” I continued, stepping forward while still holding her hand. She hesitated, but finally she began to follow, although she was trembling with fear. “See?” I said after a moment. “It's just a room. No ghosts.”

  “I know it's a room,” she replied, “but I also know what I saw.”

  “In this window over here?”

  I led her to the far side of the room. Looking out, I saw the dark lawn and then, after a few seconds, I saw my own reflection, and Rachel's too. I waited a moment, before turning to her.

  “I think it really is just a room,” I told her.

  Still trembling, she looked around, but I could tell she was terrified.

  “Maybe it's a sign,” she said finally.

  “A sign?”

  “We've been in lots of the rooms since we got here,” she continued, “and he didn't appear. Why would he suddenly show himself now, just after I came into this one?”

  “You think maybe this is where the baby is hidden?” I asked, avoiding all mention of the basement door so as not to worry her unduly. I figured the whole thing was clearly just a coincidence.

  “It has to be a possibility,” she replied, turning to me. “I want to focus on this room for now. I want to take all the wall panels away.”

  “Rachel -”

  “You promised!” she hissed. “You said you'd help me!”

  Sighing, I realized there was no way I could reason with her. “Let me grab some tools and candles,” I told her, trying to slip my hand from hers, “and then I'll be back and -”

  “I'm coming with you,” she replied, squeezing my hand tighter than ever. “I don't want to stay in this room alone. Not after what I saw!”

  “Okay,” I said with a smile, “that's fine. Maybe we should find something to eat first and -”

  “You're sure you didn't leave the basement door open?” she asked. “That's the only way his spirit should have been able to get out!”

  “I'm sure I didn't leave it open,” I told her, lying again. “Let's go downstairs and relax for a while.”

  “We have to get started,” she continued. “The baby's in here, I can feel it. It's right here in this room, and that's why Edward Shapley appeared to me. He's angry that I'm getting closer and he wants to stop me!”

  I paused, feeling as if she was jumping to conclusions, but once again I bit my tongue. By this point, Rachel was clearly so delusional, I figured my best bet was to just steer her through the next twenty-four hours and then get us the hell out of Shapley Hall. At the same time, I'd started to wonder whether I'd even be able to manage that. Spending a night in a haunted house wasn't a problem, but spending a night with a haunted girl...

  Somehow, I already knew that Rachel wasn't going to make things easy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Did you hear that?” Rachel asked suddenly, looking over toward the door.

  I glanced at her, and then at the door, but all I heard was silence. Apart from the constant scuttling of bugs behind the walls, at least, which I'd more or less managed to filter out. We'd been working for a few hours now in the room, and Rachel hadn't said a word until just a moment earlier.

  “Never mind,” she muttered, turning back to the wall-panel she'd been pulling away. As she lifted one edge, a couple of beetles scurried out across her hand, but she didn't even seem to notice.

  “What do you think you heard?” I asked, as I started pulling on the floorboard again.

  “Nothing.”

  “But -”

  “Forget it,” she stammered, “it was nothing and -”

  She gasped and stopped to rub her shoulder, but then she immediately got back to work and I knew there was no point even suggesting that we stop for another break.

  “At least there's no sign of Edward Shapley showing up,” I pointed out. “Maybe he's stopped following us about the house.”

  “Don't joke,” she said darkly.

  “But if -”

  “Just don't joke,” she continued, and once again she sounded irritated. “James, please, this is serious. I think we're really close. I just want to find the child.”

  “Before the ghost of Edward Shapley tries to stop us?”

  She muttered something under her breath, but after a moment she looked over at the door again. Her expression seemed a little different now, as if some of the hysteria had left her.

  Hearing a few small pitter-patter sounds nearby
, I turned and looked at the window. Sure enough, the candlelight picked out some spots of rain that were being blown against the window by a strengthening gale.

  “I think we might be in for a stormy night,” I said with a smile, but when I turned to look at Rachel I saw that she was hard at work. Her lips were moving slightly, as if she was muttering to herself, but this time I figured there was no point disturbing her. She was already disturbed enough, without my help. In fact she -

  Suddenly I heard a cry from outside, as if a woman had briefly screamed. By the time I looked at the window again, the sound had faded, but I paused for a moment before turning to Rachel. To my surprise, she didn't seem to have noticed the scream at all. Instead, she was still muttering away, still trying to pull one of the panels loose. I waited for her to say something, to at least react, but finally I realized she seemed far too caught up in her own world.

  I got to my feet and walked stiffly across to the window. The last thing I wanted was to risk stoking Rachel's fears any further, so I kept my mouth shut and instead peered out at the darkness. For a moment, all I saw was my own reflection, lit by the candle, so I moved the candle away and finally I was able to see the dark lawn below. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but finally I realized I could see something on the grass. I blinked a couple of times, hoping to clear my vision, although at first nothing seemed to change. I could just about make out rain falling, but the shape on the lawn...

  With a growing sense of concern, I realized there was a figure down there, staring at the house.

  I instinctively turned to Rachel, but she was engrossed in her work and I didn't want to do anything that might set her off again. Turning back to the window, I watched the figure for a moment longer. I told myself it had to be someone from the village who'd just wandered out here, but even that explanation didn't entirely sit well with me. The last thing I wanted was for some local asshole to go all Straw Dogs or The Wicker Man on us.