The Haunting of Ashburn House (12 page)

Adrienne made herself a promise as she collected the broken glass shards and used the tablecloth to mop up the water: she wasn’t going to be the girl who investigated creepy noises in the basement at the start of horror movies, nor would she be the one who said,
It’s probably just the wind,
while a serial killer tried to kick his way into the house.

The combined events from the previous days—the sunset phenomenon, Marion’s accident and change in personality, the intruder the night before, and the sliding tablecloth—weren’t enough to definitely say there was something wrong. But they were warning signs, and she suspected she’d already ignored them more than was wise.

She had no idea what those warning signs might be pointing towards, though. The rumours circulating about Ashburn focussed on ghosts, but she didn’t put much stock in that idea. She’d watched her fair share of ghost-hunting documentaries and had ultimately concluded that if the professionals couldn’t gather clear, definitive proof, then ghosts either didn’t exist or were so intangible that they wouldn’t bother anyone who wasn’t looking for them.

But that didn’t mean there was nothing to worry about. She was a somewhat unfit, unarmed woman living alone. Her only knowledge of self-defence came from a two-hour class she’d taken as a teenager and could barely remember. And as idyllic and calm as Ipson seemed, bad things could happen in the most unlikely locations.

As a child, she’d read about a German family who had been murdered with a mattock in their remote, snow-bound farmstead. The police investigation had revealed that someone had been hiding in the barn for days before the murder. The story had lingered with her, and she wasn’t keen on experiencing a re-enactment.

And so, as she dropped the last glass shards into a bag, she promised herself she would face the situation with equal doses of caution and pragmatism. There was a good chance her fears were unfounded. Coincidences were common, and strange things happened every day.

But she would be careful.

Adrienne threw the bag into the outside bin she found near the fuse box. She dried her hands on her jeans as she re-entered the house and checked the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was a little after four, which meant she had a few hours until sundown.

That would be the first stage of her investigation. It was too late to risk walking to town and making it back before night, but she would document the phenomenon that evening as carefully as she could and then speak to the townspeople about it the next morning. There was a good chance they wouldn’t know what she was talking about, but even that was valuable data. It would mean the situation was localised.

Next, she wanted to learn everything she could about the Ashburn family. Not just Edith, who was an enigmatic paradox in her mind—hostile yet kind, reclusive but welcoming—but also Edith’s parents, aunt, and uncle. She wanted to know when they’d moved to Ashburn, whether they’d built or bought the house, and how they’d died. Beyond that, there wasn’t much she could do except be cautious and wait until she could afford a mobile phone.

Adrienne returned to the kitchen and chewed at her lip as she surveyed the bare table. She didn’t think there was anyone in the house—she’d been careful to keep all doors locked since the encounter the night before—but the horror story of the snow-bound family unwittingly harbouring a killer flashed through her mind again, so she took the largest, sharpest knife she could find in the kitchen drawer and began to search the house.

She checked both ground-floor doors and any window a human could fit through as she passed them. They were all still closed and locked, and none showed any signs of forced entry. Keeping the windows closed had the unfortunate side effect of making the house stuffy and claustrophobic, but she would have to live with that until she was certain she was safe.

As she passed through the rooms, Adrienne looked inside wardrobes and cupboards as a precaution and hunted for any signs that someone other than her and Edith had been in the house. She found nothing.

The last room she checked was the attic. Just like the first time she’d seen it the message cut into the huge black door made chills ripple along her back.

LIGHT THE CANDLE

YOUR FAMILY

IS STILL

DEAD

What happened, Edith? What made you write these messages?

She slipped into the room and gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. It looked different during the day; the wax-coated candleholder was easier to identify, and the shadows felt less suffocating. Even so, the black curtains hung over the windows did a good job of blocking out the sun’s warming effects.

Adrienne skirted around the room, checking behind the candle boxes, before returning to the table that held the matchbox and photo. Child-Edith stared up at her, eyes widened in slight surprise, a mischievous upturn to the corners of her mouth, long hair swinging behind her as she explored the garden. It was amazing how well Charles Ashburn, her uncle, had captured her likeness. Beth had said he had been a famous artist and in high demand, and Adrienne could see why. The child in the portraits hung along the hallway below was almost a perfect copy of the photo.

Adrienne moved to the only window without a black cloth cover and looked towards the town. It was harder to see during the day when the lights weren’t glimmering like beacons in the black. Ipson had a lot of trees along its streets, and while she could make out roofs and even a few roads, the town almost looked like an extension of the woods.

There didn’t seem to be an easy way to climb up the house’s exterior to reach the attic, but she locked the windows just in case before returning downstairs and putting the knife back into its drawer. Searching the house had taken nearly an hour, but there was still time to burn before nightfall. Adrienne tried to distract herself by tidying the already-clean rooms, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering towards the windows every few minutes.

She finally gave up, threw down the cloth she’d been mechanically rubbing across a shelf, and went back to the lounge room. It was early for a fire, but she started one anyway. She’d considered watching the phenomenon from one of the upstairs rooms where she would have a better view, but she doubted it would reveal much. She’d been in the attic during the second night’s sunset, and the only thing she’d seen were the birds scattering from the trees. And if the phenomenon caused the same panicky sensation she’d felt the previous three nights, she wanted to be somewhere safe and familiar.

Once the fire had caught on a larger log, Adrienne turned the room’s light on, collected a pen and paper, and drew her seat close to the window. She sat patiently, watching as the sun dipped closer to the treetops, and waited to feel the creeping, anxious sensation she’d learned to associate with nightfall.

Shortly after the pale-blue sky started to fade into dusky purples, Wolfgang sauntered into the room and flopped in front of the fire. Adrienne flashed him a tight smile. “Aren’t you worried? Sun’s almost down.”

He ignored her but stretched out to his full, impressive length to expose maximum belly surface to the heat. Adrienne tried to chuckle, but the laughter died quickly as she turned back to the window.

Nightfall was only a few minutes away. If the previous days’ routine repeated itself, the woods outside would fall still and quiet, and the anxiety would begin any second. Adrienne searched her emotions, but she felt nothing except nervous anticipation. She tapped her pen on the paper, impatient, as she watched the sunset fade into darkness.

The birds continued to chatter as they settled down for the night. Wolfgang remained sleeping on the rug. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, and day transformed into night.

Adrienne stayed seated for nearly ten minutes more, held in suspension for the event that never came. By the time stars began to spread over the sky, she was forced to drop the pencil in disbelief.

“I didn’t imagine it,” she said to the sleeping cat. “It really happened.”

He flicked his ear. Adrienne gave the forest one final, confused look, frowning at the placid trees and quietening birds. “I didn’t imagine it,” she repeated in a softer voice. “Did I?”

Adrienne ate her dinner in silence. She’d tried to prepare herself something special by boiling two of the remaining eggs and dipping biscuits into them, but the result was a sad, lonely meal for one.

She wished she had company. Anyone would have been welcome—Jayne and her friends, Peggy the vet’s receptionist, or even chattering June from the grocery store. Without the laptop, she couldn’t even visit one of the forums she haunted. She had never felt so thoroughly
alone
.

The biscuits tasted like sand, and she dropped the final one back onto the plate half-eaten. She would have given her right arm for some form of mindless distraction. A TV, some light-hearted romance novels, or even a radio would have provided a welcome relief from her thoughts. But Ashburn offered no diversions except to wander its halls and gaze into the empty, musty rooms that had housed a woman who had dedicated her life to solitude.

“Pull yourself together, Addy.” She shoved away from the table and made a conscious effort to keep her eyes off the now-familiar inscription carved into its wood. “You’re tired. You’re stressed. That’s all this is. Get some sleep, and things will seem a million times better in the morning.”

She dropped the eggshells and uneaten biscuit into the bin and began washing the plate and spoon. Moonlight dappled over the yard outside, and Adrienne leaned forward to admire it through the window while she waited for hot water to run through the taps.

The yard and forest beyond looked hauntingly beautiful that evening. As the moon edged closer to full, it brought the shapes into sharper relief. Adrienne could make out the individual branches in several trees and one bush that stood a little ahead of the woods’ edge that looked like a hunched, twisted woman.
It’s amazing how much night-time can change something. I never noticed that shrub before; it probably looks just like any other plant in the daylight.

Hot steam misted up from the sink, and Adrienne turned her attention to scrubbing the dried scraps of yolk off her plate and cutlery. It was still early in the evening, but her lack of sleep the night before was starting to weigh her down.
I’ll go to bed early and wake up in time to walk to town just as the shops are opening. Ipson is bound to have a local historian or similar—someone who collects newspapers and maintains records of the town’s occupants. I’ll just have to ask around to find them.

She lifted the clean plate, shook the excess water off it, and glanced towards the window. The odd, human-shaped shrub was gone.

Adrienne’s heart lurched unpleasantly. She dropped the plate back into the sink and pressed close to the glass.

It was right there; I’m sure of it.

The patch of weedy grass she scanned was empty. She leaned farther forward, pressing so near the window that her nose bumped the cold glass and her ragged breathing spread plumes of condensation.

It must be one of the children. Who did Jayne say it would be? The Crowther boys, wasn’t it?
Adrienne stepped back from the sink. Sweat beaded over her palms, and she rubbed them against her jeans.
I’ve got to make them leave. Show them this is no joke.

But even as she turned towards the hallway, an anxious voice began chattering in the back of her mind, reminding her not to take risks, not to ignore the red flags. It was almost certainly the Crowther boys. But there was also a tiny chance it was something else. And she couldn’t afford to take chances.

Adrienne retrieved the long, serrated knife from the kitchen drawer and clutched it close to her chest as she entered the hallway. Ashburn was ponderously quiet around her. She could hear the grandfather clock’s ticking interspersed with her own quick, panicky breaths, but the house itself lay still, silent, and waiting.

The moon is bright but not bright enough. I need some stronger light.

She kept her attention focussed on the front door and the two little windows on either side as she backed up the hallway till she reached the little lamp beside the stairs. The match caught with a quiet hiss, and she transferred the flame onto the wick, replaced the glass top, and began pacing back towards the door.

She couldn’t see any motion through the windows or hear any telltale creaks from the porch boards, but she still wasn’t able to shake the thought that someone might be lingering on the other side, hidden in the blind spot between the windows, waiting for her to unlock the door. She slowed as she drew closer and held her breath, listening, waiting, then pressing near the distorted windows to see through.

With only the moon to light it, the porch appeared as a ripple of muted blues and greys. There didn’t seem to be anything outside the door, so Adrienne braced herself, raised the knife, disengaged the lock, and turned the handle.

The lamp’s yellow glow pressed against the shadows, forcing them back into the forest and lighting up the lawn. She wished it were brighter. Its circle wasn’t strong enough to reach through the trees to where the dark coagulated like an impenetrable wall.

She searched for any motion or human sounds, but the air held nothing except insect songs and the groaning trees. Adrienne swallowed, took a deep breath, and prepared to call a warning.

A strange hissing, whining noise stopped the words in her throat. She twisted towards the house in time to see its lights flicker and fail. Suddenly, her lamp became her only source of illumination, and its circle of influence felt claustrophobically small.

Adrienne tried to speak, but fear squeezed the breath out of her. With its windows cold and black, Ashburn no longer felt like home but seemed to transform into a monstrous, incomprehensible shape towering over her. The forest lost any sense of familiarity she’d developed for it, and its sounds changed into a slow, ponderous, threatening symphony.

Stop it! You’re going to be fine. Think this through—the lights are out. You can turn them on at the fuse box just like Jayne showed you yesterday.

But the fuse box was around the side of the house. She would have to wade through the blackness to reach it.

You have a lamp. You’re not blind.

Something was out there, though—something that had come back for the second night in a row to rob her of light.

It’s just kids. They probably think this is hilarious. It’s frankly surprising that you can’t hear any laughter.

She turned in a circle to survey the area. She couldn’t see far; the porch was a small haven of light, but the lamp’s glow only brushed the edges of the forest, and long stretches of yard to either side were invisible.

It was probably just children. But
probably
wasn’t
certainly
. She clutched the knife closer.

She had two options: turn the lights back on—which would involve circling the house—or retreat inside and wait for dawn.

Adrienne squeezed her lips together at how unappealing the choice was. She’d locked every door and window, but that didn’t guarantee the house was impenetrable. And although the lamp gave her a small measure of protection at that moment, it wouldn’t last more than an hour before needing to be refilled.

Take a risk to regain the light, or hide and wait in the darkness?

It wasn’t a fair choice. She couldn’t survive another night like the one before, when she’d sat stiff and cold during the early hours as she waited for dawn. Adrienne forced her spine to straighten, lifted the lamp a little higher, and yelled, with every ounce of force she could muster, “I know you’re there! And I’ll call your dad if I catch you coming back! Don’t think I won’t!”

Good job sounding like a cantankerous old woman. Maybe you should shake your cane at them while you chase them off the lawn.

Adrienne held still, listening and searching, but neither heard nor saw any sign of motion.

They might have already left. Or they could still be out there, watching. They’d be well hidden in the dark, but thanks to the lamp, I must stand out like a beacon.

She filled her lungs with air again and took a chance on a lie. “I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it. Tell your friends—I’ll shoot the next person who comes here without an invitation!”

Again she waited and again heard nothing but creaking trees and bat chatter. She blew air out through cold lips, locked the front door, and stepped into the yard.

The weedy grass reached her knees, and Adrienne was suddenly struck by how easy it would be for someone to blend into the shadows if they crouched in just the right place. She tried not to dwell on it as she hurried around the house’s corner.

She hadn’t put her jacket on, and the wind bit as it swirled past her. Adrienne kept her eyes moving, scanning the space surrounding her, but her thundering heart and the scrape of her feet through the grass drowned out all other noises.

The fuse box, a plain grey square against the house’s dark wood, was still closed. She waded through the weeds and shrubs surrounding it, put the knife between her teeth, and raised the lid.

Just as the day before, all of the switches were off. Adrienne glanced behind her a final time then rested the box’s lid on her head so that she could flick the switches up. As power returned to the house, lights appeared in the windows, and the squares of gold helped bring the outside world into relief. Adrienne felt as if she could breathe again as she lowered the lid back into place.

She would have liked a padlock to keep the fuse box closed but didn’t know if Ashburn had any. Instead, she put the lamp on top of the box, bent, and pulled the shoestring out of her sneaker. It fit through the little hole in the lid that had been designed for a padlock, and Adrienne threaded it through several times before tying it into a tight, complicated knot. It wouldn’t stop a dedicated vandal but should at least discourage them. Her shoe no longer fit properly, but that was a small price to pay for keeping the lights on.

Adrienne retraced her path back towards the porch. She felt calmer now that the windows created regular blocks of lighted sanctuary. The house was no longer a foreign entity; it was her home. She climbed the porch, unlocked the front door, entered, locked it again, and tucked the key safely into her back pocket.

Wolfgang crouched at the end of the hallway. His eyes were flashing circles, his ears flattened to his head, and his fur had bushed out.

“Hey, buddy. Shh.” Adrienne kept her voice soft and gentle as she approached him. “It’s all right. It’s just me.”

Wolfgang’s mouth opened as he expelled a low, rumbling yowl. The fur along his back prickled up even farther, and he shuffled backwards into the wall.

Adrienne stopped walking. She’d never seen her pet so frightened before; he looked as if he was about to start frothing at the mouth.

“Hey,” she whispered and lowered herself to the floor. She put the still-lit lamp and knife to one side and stretched her hand towards her pet so that he could sniff it. “It’s just me. Everything’s all right. Shhh.”

That was when she realised Wolfgang wasn’t focussed on her, as she’d first assumed. His round, bulging eyes stared at something over her shoulder.