MAGDALENA'S GHOST: THE HAUNTING OF THE HOUSE IN GALLOWS LANE (10 page)

She wasn’t short of ideas to fuel her imagination, so she could do without any strange happenings during the time she was out at work – and whilst Anton was away. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that the cushion must have accidentally been dropped that morning when Anton moved the rocker into the scullery, the more she doubted it. She knew Anton, he was a stickler for tidiness and organisation, which held her in check too because by nature she was just the opposite – or had been until she’d met him. So if Anton had been moving the rocker, which she still doubted, and the cushion had dropped on the floor, he would’ve picked it up – she knew he would. Or perhaps he just hadn’t seen it because his mind was too busy worrying about leaving her on her own? After all, no-one is infallible – couldn’t he just for once have made a mistake?

But her mental wanderings just wouldn’t let her be, because there was the matter of that old woman again and that rocker. Her imagination was being tried and tested to its limit, and Anton would definitely think she was going slightly mad if he knew. It was bad enough telling him about the old woman she had seen in the first place, he’d never quite let her live that down. Then came the snoring lark – he definitely wasn’t amused by that! If she attempted to mention the old rocker having moved by itself into the scullery – well, she wouldn’t care to think what his reaction would be. But she was still certain it wasn’t there when she’d left that morning. Maybe she
was
going slightly bonkers! Thoughts of madness brought back the memory of what Anton had been told by the local authority. Hadn’t he said that the last two occupants had been driven mad? What if the same thing was happening to her? Could that old adage:
everything happens in threes
, be true? Could she be number three occupant who would be driven insane? It didn’t bear thinking about. Then her nervous thoughts turned into angry ones. She’d always known there was something strange and sinister about the house. She’d felt it from the first time she’d peered through that dirty old pane of glass and seen some peculiar old woman staring back at her. And why should it be presumed that it was
her
feeble imagination? Why could she not be given the benefit of the doubt and presume that there
was
really someone at the bottom of the stairs at the time? After all, the pub landlord and the old man had certainly reacted when she’d asked them who she was. And there was something rather strange about that old man too – after all, why had he suddenly disappeared after palming the keys off to a naïve and gullible Anton?

In fact there was something fishy about the whole thing!

There was no doubt in her mind that Anton was becoming possessed
by the house, or something in it, which was much more disturbing than his obsession on first seeing it. Because being obsessed by it, and being possessed by it, were two entirely different things and somehow it was taking him over, she was sure of it. He wasn’t quite the same old Anton she knew – it was as if he was becoming someone else. And the more he seemed to get sucked in, the more, it seemed, that she was being pushed out and she didn’t know why. Was it a ploy to get rid of her so that the house could have him all to itself? But now her mind was rambling incoherently and she was bordering on becoming neurotic. If she didn’t watch herself the house might possess her too, but not exactly in the same way as it seemed to want to possess Anton. Did something sinister want to possess her mind? It didn’t bear thinking about, because surely that route could only lead to the asylum, which would be to follow in the footsteps of the previous occupants. She shuddered at the idea.

She desperately needed to drive the nonsense out of her head and pull herself together otherwise Anton wouldn’t be the only one to think she was mad. There were only two options as far as she was concerned, either she was right, or she was wrong. Maybe time would prove it one way or another.

She walked determinedly towards the old rocker and dropped the cushion onto the seat with a vengeance, and then immediately stepped back from it again. She didn’t even dare touch it, let alone move it back into the sitting room. What was it about that stupid old rocker that could have such an effect on her? She had a mind to throw it in the skip which was out in the garden. And the more she allowed herself to dwell on that idea, the more she was tempted to do so. She could do it whilst Anton was away, but what would he say when he returned? After all, he had become rather attached to it. And she knew he would never forgive her, so the idea was more than her life was worth. So she had no choice but to leave it where it was, and where it evidently wanted to be. She kept a wide berth each time she had to pass it, and eyed it suspiciously when doing so. It might be just an old rocker, but strange things had happened to her each time she got too close to it. Better not to think about it again, otherwise she risked becoming paranoid.

She already had too many unanswered questions in her mind, to which she preferred not to seek answers. She was nervous enough at the thought of being left alone in a house which was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to call home, without looking for additional excuses to become a raving lunatic. If her earlier thoughts were right and Juniper didn’t want her there, and for some unfathomable reason it wanted Anton, then surely she should be strong and not let it get the better of her. And anyway Anton belonged to her, why should she give him up without a fight, after all she found him first. But she stopped herself from going any further with her bizarre notions, otherwise she risked falling victim to the wayward and melodramatic thoughts of a phobic woman. And wasn’t it a bad idea to be concentrating on such disturbing thoughts when she had to sleep alone in the place for the very first time – and in just a few hours? She was already feeling jittery and had butterflies in her stomach as she dreaded the oncoming evening. She really did need to get her act together and come to her senses otherwise she wouldn’t last the night on her own.

Soon the darkness of the evening began to cast its eerie shadow around Juniper and Lucy began to feel the first serious signs of unease. She had heeded Anton’s advice and switched on some lamps, and she’d also dug out a couple more from the unpacked boxes in the hall. Although there were no spare shades for them, at least they would give some extra light and they were better than nothing. She plugged one in to an old socket which she’d spotted in the main hall, but when she switched it on the vast hall and staircase took on an even spookier and more eerie atmosphere. On reflection, it was better left in the dark so she couldn’t see it. She felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine as she wondered whether she should unplug it again. However, she chose to leave it where it was hoping she’d get used to it. Having found an extension lead in Anton’s box of tools and paraphernalia, she plugged the second one into a socket in the sitting room; it helped a little and it was the best she could do, and as she wasn’t planning on staying downstairs any longer than need be, it hardly mattered. She intended to leave them all on through the night, as Anton had suggested, so she wouldn’t feel so nervous.

She decided to leave the two bedroom lamps switched on and close the curtains early so that it would look welcoming and warm when going to bed. She’d also found an old hot water bottle in an empty cupboard in the scullery, and checked it for punctures before filling it up. She placed it in the bed early on in the evening with her nightdress wrapped firmly round it. At least it would be nice and warm before she got in later. Thankfully the atmosphere of the bedroom felt different to the rest of the house, and she was certain that she’d feel less nervous once she’d shut herself in there for the night.

Anton had left her with sufficient fuel for the sitting room fire and the range. He had stacked up large quantities of wood in the porch, as well as in boxes in the scullery. He’d shown her how to bank up the fires so that they would still be in the following day. So having followed his instructions she was quite happy that her organisational skills were taking on a new dimension.

At eight o’clock that evening she decided to go to bed, so she prepared herself a hot drink to take with her and a book to read. As she walked through the dismal hall and mounted the stairs, she couldn’t help but feel increasingly nervous. It had been touch and go all day, ever since she arrived home. The spooky atmosphere of walking into an empty house alone had already given her palpitations, and it had taken all the courage she possessed to face the oncoming apprehensions of being alone. But surely if she got through the first day and night, the rest would be easier. Or could that be wishful thinking?

She rushed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her. She immediately locked it with the small bolt that Anton had fitted for her in order to help her feel more safe and secure, and it worked to a certain extent. She got undressed, donned her nice warm nightie and climbed into bed. She propped up the pillows having used Anton’s to give her extra support, and breathed a sigh of relief that she’d got so far. She was hoping that by reading a book she was less likely to imagine noises, and anything else which could possibly spook her. It was important not to allow her imagination to be fuelled by the fact she was now truly alone in a house which, in its present condition, would freak out the most ardent of sceptics. She closed her mind to the empty rooms above and hoped that she wouldn’t hear a single sound from any of them.

She settled down at nine o’clock hoping to get a good night’s sleep. She was drowsy and feeling reasonably relaxed, so once she was asleep she would be dead to the world – at least that’s what she was hoping. She repositioned the pillows, put her book away, and slid under the duvet. She slipped her arm around Anton’s pillow and snuggled into it, and with the lamps left on she felt quite comfortable and safe – for the time being!

She was just drifting into a slumber when she thought she’d heard the floorboards creaking. It sounded as if someone was walking on them, and she very quickly re-entered the land of the living. Her eyes flicked open, and she stopped breathing in order to silence the excessive thumping in her chest which she felt certain could be heard by any potential intruder. She gripped Anton’s pillow evermore tightly and listened. The creaking stopped right outside her door. She felt that she was going to be physically sick, and she struggled to breathe because her terror was so intense.

“Are we having a cup of tea?” a frail but sinister voice called outside the door.

Her body seemed to go into paralysis mode and she couldn’t move. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t really happening, that she was in a doze and had only
thought
she’d heard it. Maybe she was having a nightmare. Maybe she would wake up properly soon and breathe a sigh of relief on finding it was just a bad dream. But deep down she knew she was kidding herself in the hope that the horrible sound wouldn’t come again. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, as she continued to clutch at the pillow. She allowed only sporadic moments in which to shallowly breathe, for fear of the sound exposing her whereabouts under the bedding. She waited and waited as time seemed to stand still, and even her thoughts weren’t allowed to interrupt the silence. But she eventually relaxed her breathing once sufficient time had passed to convince her that she hadn’t heard anything after all.

But the gruesome reality came to fruition when she heard the dreaded sound again.

“Are we having a cup of tea?”

There was no mistaking it this time and all her wishful thinking and hopes of discovering it was all in her mind, brought on by a nightmare, were eliminated in that split second. The brutal truth that someone, or something, was outside her bedroom door hit her hard, and her fear was exacerbated knowing she was alone in the room with no-one to cling to and no hope of escape.

She almost shrieked out loud but as quickly as the sound tried to exhale from her quaking body she pulled it back in again, as she tried desperately to keep quiet in the hope that whatever was outside her door might go away if she remained silent.

But in those few excruciating moments, her reasoning burst into action and reminded her that it obviously knew she was there or it wouldn’t be hovering outside her door.

She crawled under the duvet and began to cry in terror, burying her face in the pillow to try to muffle her sobs. She was so petrified that even her brain seemed to have shut down.

“Are we having a cup of tea?” the voice called again, but this time it was more threatening.

But worse was to come. Within seconds, to her horror, she heard the door handle turn as the perpetrator tried to get in.

Lucy was so horrified that her reasoning seemed to have frozen, leaving her in a state of limbo as if in a trance. She lay there helpless and desperate in a state of complete shutdown. She was unable to imagine ever seeing the light of day again, because surely these were her final moments as nothing stood in the way of whatever was outside that door. 

She was now wishing that she’d turned the lamps off, because she felt suddenly exposed with them on. Perhaps in the dark she wouldn’t be so obvious. She hoped against hope that Anton’s bolt was strong enough, because if not the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. She was filled with a feeling of doom as she waited for the next move but not quite sure of what to expect.

But as her thoughts began to unravel in her mind once more, she tried to come to terms with what was happening:
Could it be that old woman – the voice was frail enough? Could she have been hiding all the time somewhere inside the house and Anton hadn’t seen her when he’d searched? Did he search the top floor thoroughly, and was it really just a number of empty rooms with some odds and ends lying around as he’d said? He’d told her it was uninhabitable, but maybe she’d never moved out and had continued to squat in the place. Maybe she occupied the top floor. Maybe she was the one who had moved the rocker in front of the warm range, perhaps to use whilst no-one was at home.
Her head was full of maybes and was spinning with the strain of her imagination running rampant, but nothing made sense.