The Forgotten Cottage (8 page)

Callum shrugged. ‘I’m not going back inside; that’s it. First of all the tools kept moving on their own and a couple of times I heard voices telling me to leave, which I just put down to you lot messing around. But that scratching sound and the breathing is just too much… I’ve never had so many bad dreams in my life as I have while I’ve been on this job.’

Eric nodded. ‘Phone Paul and tell him to get here pronto and then we better go back inside and tell Annie she needs to leave; it’s too dangerous in there.’

Callum phoned their boss and began relaying the events of the last ten minutes to him. He ended the call and turned to look at Eric, whose face was still white.

‘Well, is he coming?’

‘He called us a pair of fucking fannies, said we were winding him up and if we thought it was a good excuse to knock off early we can think again.’

‘Cheeky bastard—is he coming or not?’

‘Yes, said he was already on his way here and only a few minutes away.’

They sat in the van in silence, both watching the upstairs bedroom window, where Annie was busy painting away, too scared to go back inside unless she started screaming for help. Five minutes later the sound of tyres crunching on gravel made them both turn their heads to see Paul park his van up behind them. They jumped out and walked towards him, ready for an argument, but he took one look at Eric,, who had been working for him for the last ten years, and changed his mind.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost; are you winding me up or is it for real?’

‘I’m telling you now, Paul, there’s something in that house and, whatever it is, it tried to choke me. I’ve never been so scared. I’m not going back inside but the woman who owns it is still in there; someone needs to tell her it’s not safe in that house, not on her own.’

Paul nodded. ‘And do you think she’s going to pay us for not finishing the job because you got spooked over something? I promised her the kitchen would be finished today, ready for the units to be fitted, and if it isn’t I’ll lose money because I gave her a set price. What if I come in with you and all three of us get the job done—is there much to do?’

Callum looked across at Eric, who was shaking his head. ‘Not really, boss, just a couple of bits. I’ll go back in with you to finish off and Eric can wait out here. Whatever it was, it didn’t touch me, just him. It was probably your aftershave; I told you it stunk.’

Eric gave him the finger then stuck his hands in his pockets and watched them walk back into the house. He realised that he didn’t really want to be stuck out here on his own either. Safety in numbers and all that, so he followed them in and they began to finish off what it was they were doing. The house was quiet now; there was no raspy breathing coming from out of nowhere and the house didn’t feel quite as cold as it had before. Eric stayed close to Paul, who mucked in and pretty soon the last bits of plaster were smeared on the wall. Paul told Callum to start cleaning up and gathering the tools together; he went to the staircase and shouted to Annie. There was no reply and Eric looked at him with panic across his face.

Paul began to climb the stairs with Eric close behind. Callum took the tools out to the van and began loading it up, not wanting to be inside any longer. The two men reached the master bedroom, where Annie was so engrossed in her painting with her headphones firmly in place that she hadn’t heard any of the commotion. Paul stepped in and touched her arm to catch her attention. She jumped off the floor and both Eric and Paul jumped back, scaring themselves.

‘Jesus Christ—you gave me a heart attack.’ Annie pulled the headphones out and started to laugh.

‘Oh, my God… Sorry—I never heard you; did you shout me?’

‘Yes, and I think you’ve almost killed me off—bloody hell, my heart’s racing. We just wanted to tell you the kitchen is finished, the plaster’s going to need a while to dry out but this weather should speed it up.’

‘Eek, I can’t believe it! Thank you, guys. You’ve been great.’ She grinned at them and Eric smiled back at her.

It was Paul who spoke. ‘You’re very welcome. There’s something the lads have asked me to talk to you about; have you got a minute?’

‘Of course. It sounds serious; what’s the matter?’

The two men looked at each other and Paul gave Eric the chance to speak, but he didn’t.

‘Well, they’ve told me that there’s been some strange things happening in the house while they’ve been working—tools keep getting moved and all sorts. This afternoon Eric felt as if someone was choking him and he couldn’t breathe.’

Both men held their breath and waited for the backlash from Annie. Instead, she put the paintbrush down and nodded.

‘What else? Have you heard anything like the sound of nails scraping against a chalkboard or glass?’

Eric nodded frantically. ‘Yes, all the time, and breathing, heavy breathing, and it filled the room; even Callum heard it. At first I thought I was going mad but when he heard it I guess it sort of made me think it had to be real.’

Paul looked at her. ‘You don’t seem too surprised or shocked.’

‘I am, but not too much, and I don’t want you to think I’m nuts because this isn’t common knowledge and I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourselves…but I have a bit of a psychic streak and I’m used to seeing and hearing things. A couple of times I’ve had a cold shiver and heard the nails being scraped but not much else. Nothing has ever made itself known to me. Shit, I don’t want a house that’s haunted by something that wants to hurt people. I’m sorry and I hope you’re okay.’

He nodded once more. ‘What are you going to do? We need to get going now. Are you going to be okay here on your own?’

Annie looked around; she loved this house and wouldn’t let some unhappy spirit chase her from it, especially one that was scared to show itself.

‘Thank you, yes, I’ll be fine. I’m not scared and I have a friend who is a priest; he’ll come and bless it for me.’

The men looked at her as if she was completely insane and shrugged. She thought about the painting and the woman who was hanging from the front porch. They turned to leave and she walked to the window to watch them get into their vans. Callum waved at her from the front seat and she waved back. A shiver ran down her spine but she crossed her arms over herself. They left and Annie was truly alone in the house for the first time since they’d bought it. She looked over at the picture on the chair and wondered if she should take it out of the house—maybe show it to Father John and see what he said—but could she drag him into something again? Although last time it had been him who had dragged her into a fight with a Shadow Man, who had terrified her. Still, she had managed to defeat the thing that collected souls for pleasure and save Father John, so technically he owed her.

She put the lid back on the paint and picked up the painting and the paintbrush, then she ran downstairs to the sink in the utility room to wash the brush. She placed the painting on the side and washed it and her hands; she dried them on an old towel then turned to pick the painting up. She walked around the house, checking the doors were locked and the windows were shut. The last thing she wanted now the house was almost done was someone getting inside through an insecure door or window. As she reached the front door she heard the scrape of nails against glass and turned around.

‘I don’t know who you are or what you want, but this is my house now. It hasn’t been your home for a very long time and you shouldn’t be here; it’s time for you to leave. I want you to get out of this house and go to wherever you should be. Why are you haunting my dreams? You won’t stop me from living here and if you don’t leave of your own accord then I’m bringing in a priest to bless this house and have you removed.’

There was nothing more so she walked out of the front door and shut it, locking it, and trying her best not to look above her head at the beams, where the woman was hanging in the painting, just in case she was hanging there now and she was about to walk straight though her. She walked across to her car and opened the door, putting the painting on the back seat; she needed to show it to Will, John, Jake or anyone really.

She drove off and as she began to make her way along the winding road she wondered if Jake and Alex were still in the village, though it was Will she really wanted to talk to. She passed a dense wooded area and thought she saw a flash of white darting through the trees. Slowing down, she looked again. The woods looked awfully familiar and she saw the flash of white again. It was a woman and she was running, holding onto her side as if she had a stitch. Annie gasped and wondered if she was dreaming, pinching herself to make sure that she wasn’t. She remembered that she was driving and brought her attention back to the road in front of her, grateful she hadn’t wandered across the single white line into the oncoming path of a tractor.

She rounded a steep bend and saw the same woman, who was now standing in the middle of her side of the road. She was wearing the familiar white cotton gown, her head was bent forward and her long dark hair hung around her face, covering it. Annie slammed the brakes on, afraid it was too late and she was going to hit her. She turned her wheel sharply to the left and screamed as her car ploughed straight through a hedge and down a steep hill. She tried to put her brakes on but there was no traction and the car spun around on the damp grass. The oak tree which loomed in front of her car was enormous and her last thought before she hit it head-on was
, I’m going to die
. There was a crunch as the metal hit the trunk and a loud squeal. Her head slammed forward against the steering wheel and she saw the woman out of the corner of her eye, with her head held high and her piercing blue eyes staring straight at her, and then the world went black.

1782

Betsy woke up late the next day; she had fallen asleep after her little angry outburst and not moved an inch all night. The sun was shining through the window and she stretched out. She had a headache from all the ale she had drunk but it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. How perfect would it have been to wake up next to Joss? She had never been in love but he was so kind to her that she thought that she was falling in love with him. The only thing which spoilt her chances of being with him were his children, but she knew that they could be taken care of. She would continue to work on him; it was only a matter of time before he gave in. He was a man and they had needs, or so her mother always used to tell her. She wanted to be out of this cramped house, the sooner the better, and the only way that was going to happen was if Joss asked her to stay with him. She would offer her services as a maid to his brats if she had to—anything to escape. She had been told she didn’t need to go in to work today but if she didn’t she might miss seeing Joss and that would serve no purpose at all. It was all about the timing; she wanted to be a lady of a house, his house, and not have to work in a smoke-filled, stinking pub for ever.

She rolled onto her side, thinking about Joss, when a loud knock on the door made her jump from her bed and look out of the window. He was standing outside her door, as if her thinking about him had summoned him to her doorstep. She was naked and grabbed the sheet from her bed, wrapping it around herself, then she ran down the stairs. She opened the door a crack, to see him grinning at her like an excited schoolboy and she smiled back.

‘Good morning, Betsy. I trust you slept well and are not feeling too ill today?’

‘I did, thank you, Joss. I would have slept better with you beside me, though.’ She noted the faint redness that worked its way up from his neck to his face. ‘Oh, come now, Joss, do not tell me you are that shy. I find that hard to believe.’

She stepped away from the door so he could come inside the house. She had the sheet wrapped around her naked body so tightly he could not miss the soft curves it was hiding. He stepped in and shut the door behind him, taking off his flat cap.

‘No, Betsy, I am not that shy and I have come today to tell you that I have hardly slept a wink all night for thinking about you. I lay in my cold bed yearning to have your soft, warm body next to mine and I kept on telling myself I was a fool for walking out last night. But I have my sons to consider and I still love my wife, even though she died more than a year ago now.’

Betsy tried not to growl at the mention of his boys. If Joss noticed the look of distaste which darkened her pretty face for a moment he didn’t speak of it. She made herself smile at him then walked towards him, letting the sheet drop to the floor and exposing her naked body. Joss paused then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his lips finding hers. She ran her fingers through his hair then held it tight so that he couldn’t pull away and this time he didn’t. He groaned and then scooped her into his strong arms, carrying her to the bed in the corner, in which her mother had died only five days ago. Betsy didn’t stop him and lay there on the clean sheets, waiting for him to undress and come to her.

That the front door was unlocked did not bother her one bit; she would quite like it if someone had walked in on them. It would have made Joss squirm and he would have had to ask for her hand in marriage so he didn’t ruin her reputation in the village.

After they had finished and Joss was breathing heavily from the exertion he rolled off her and lay next to her, stroking her hair. ‘That was wonderful, thank you, Betsy.’

She laughed at him. Thank you? Do you thank all the women you sleep with?’

‘No, I do not… You are the first one. Well, except for my…’

He didn’t say anything else, pushing the guilt and betrayal to the back of his mind. He was too young to spend his life a widower and he had to think of his boys. Betsy was only young but she would make a good wife and mother, given time. He shut his eyes and began so snore ever so softly.

Betsy stood up and went to wash herself and get dressed, humming the whole time. There was no way he wouldn’t fall in love with her now; she had given him what most men wanted. She would tell him when he woke up that it had been her first time and watch him think about proposing to her there and then. Of course, it wasn’t her first time but he wouldn’t know that; her first time had been with the travelling preacher who came to the village four years ago. Her mother had welcomed him into their home, offering him food and shelter, and while she was asleep Betsy had offered him her bed. He’d left after four days, telling Betsy he was becoming infatuated with her and he had a wife and children at home. She had laughed at him and watched him saddle up his horse, leaving the village with his head hung in shame when she had told him her age. There had been a few more since then—some of the village idiots and the occasional traveller who came into the pub for refreshments. Her mother would have been distraught to know her daughter was nothing more than a brazen whore but Betsy didn’t care; she did whatever it was she wanted and sometimes having a man was exactly what she wanted.