The Rattler (Rattler Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

1

It
was 3.30 am by the time Zoe arrived back in her bedroom. She turned on the light,
closed the door, placed her laptop on the bed, and got under the duvet. The
first thing she did then was to connect her iPhone to the laptop and transfer
the video files across. Whilst the phone was transferring the data, and
updating software, Zoe continued reading the newspaper article about the
Manor
Murderer
. After a swig of hot chocolate, she put the paper down.

“Time
to find out about this
Manor Murderer,
and who he actually was,” she
said, moving the laptop up onto her thighs. She definitely wasn’t tired now;
her head absolutely buzzed with the night’s experiences, and she was desperate
to know...

Zoe
had loved history during her school years and enjoyed researching and studying
historical events. Every summer, Zoe, James and Aunt Sally, would visit the
vast beach at Holkham Bay, Norfolk. The trio would spend hours roaming in the
fresh air and digging in the sand, hoping to find some buried treasure. They
never discovered anything of great importance, but it didn’t stop them
searching.

“Right.
Here we go.
Internet
search.
The
Manor Murderer
.
That was
quick!” The website results flooded onto the screen. “Where shall I start?” She
quickly scanned the list before clicking on the first link. The website was
solely about the
Manor Murderer
. It covered locations, victims, and
timelines, all with their individual tabs on the menu bar.

Zoe
read the well-documented reports of the Mather and Clifford families and how
they had perished. There was only a small article referencing the demise of Charles
St Claire. The website also had disturbing pictures of Victoria, taken in
Whitechapel. Zoe covered her mouth in horror.
“Poor woman;
what a way to go.
I hope you found peace,” she said, as her mouse
scrolled further down the screen. It was a very interesting article and
detailed the whole case. Zoe rested her head against the headboard, and
breathed slowly through her slightly opened mouth whilst her eyes wandered over
the room. She drank the final mouthful of hot chocolate.

2

It
was a dark night; the rain was lashing down. Detective Dryden knocked on the
front door of a guesthouse at number 10 Wyne Tree Square. His partner,
Lockhart, stood behind him, glancing up and down the dark street. “Hurry up,”
said Dryden, gruffly, banging more forcefully. “We’re getting soaked out here!”

“Alright, alright.
I’m on my way. Who is it?”
shouted an old woman from behind the door. “Open up. It’s the police,” replied
Dryden. They heard the door being unlocked, and a small, elderly woman, wearing
an old robe hastily thrown on over her nightclothes, appeared. She peered at
the two men over the top of her glasses. “Yes?” she said. “What is it? It’s
almost 10 o’clock!”

“Do
you have one Sydney Ellwood staying here?” Lockhart demanded. “Yes,” replied
the woman, as she opened the door wider and allowed the men to enter the dark
hallway. “He rents the attic room. Why do you ask?”

“It
doesn’t concern you,” replied Lockhart.

“As you wish, gentlemen.”
The two men started to climb
the stairs when the woman pointed to a room next to the front door. “I’ll be in
there if I am needed.” She wasn’t a nosey person and didn’t particularly want
to get involved, but she had the feeling this concerned the recent murders.
She’d already had that month’s rent in full from Ellwood, and that’s all she
cared about.

3

The
two Detectives walked quietly up the stairs towards the attic, not knowing
whether Ellwood would be there or would already have bolted. “Nothing rash,”
said Dryden, as he placed his hand on the doorknob, nodded to his partner, then
gradually opened the door. Inside they found Ellwood, sitting on his bed,
elbows on knees, head in hands, and a look on his face as if he’d been
expecting them. Ellwood was their biggest arrest, and it was the pinnacle of
their careers. Ellwood knew that his life would end on the gallows, but at
least he believed his death would bring an end to the travellers’ killings.

4

“Wow,”
said Zoe, “where did all that come from? Did I nod off? Did I actually dream
it, or is my mind playing tricks?” she went back to the laptop and clicked on
an icon that profiled the infamous Sydney Ellwood. When the page loaded, it
gave a brief history of the former butler, and detailed how he had eventually
been arrested at a guesthouse in Wyne Tree Square. “Shut-up!” gasped Zoe, “this
is exactly what I have just seen. What the hell is going on? I wish Vana was
here.”

She
scrolled further down the page and found, to her horror, a picture of their
house with a headline describing it as
the Chelsea Guesthouse where the
murderer
was arrested.
Zoe’s heart sank. “No freakin’ way! Our house was the
guesthouse! Wait ‘til I tell Vana!”

Zoe
wasn’t in shock, far from it, but she wanted to know more about her new home.
She searched the address and found more than a thousand hits that related to
the building being linked to the
Manor Murderer
– and a few hundred
stating it was haunted. “This just gets better and better,” she said. She found
one website that listed the house as being one of the most well-known haunted
buildings in and around London. She read on. There were ghost stories about the
house, told by guests who had stayed there over the years; apparently it was a
very popular guesthouse until after World War II when the house was sold and
reverted back to a private property. She already knew that Ellwood’s room was
in the attic, and the tales all mentioned the ghostly activity that occurred on
the second floor. “This is too much! Why does it have to happen when I’m on my
own?”

5

Once
Zoe’s software update was completed, and the videos uploaded to Facebook, she
disconnected the iPhone. What she’d learned tonight had got her thinking; Aunt
Sally’s cryptic words before she left for Florida now seemed to make sense.
What she couldn’t get her head round, though, was why had Ellwood guided her to
find the newspaper? What was he trying to say? Did he have a message for her?

Zoe
sat and thought about her discoveries for a good ten minutes. As a former
A-Level history student she knew that the question to every good story always
started with
WHY?
It was whilst Zoe was considering this that she became
aware of thumps on the ceiling. She plucked-up the courage, got out of bed,
turned on her video recording, and went out of the room. She turned on the
landing light.
OK, peeps.
Another video.
It’s 4.15
am, and well, you’ll never guess what – I’ve just found out that my house has
history! Fill you all in on it later, but for now – there’s movement in the
attic.

1

The
second floor was pitch-black. The only
light, that
from Zoe’s iPhone, led her across the landing and towards the stairs to the
attic. Floorboards creaked with every footstep. The atmosphere was not, by any
means, normal or perfect. Was that all in Zoe’s imagination, though, after what
she’d just discovered about the place?

As
she reached the stairs, her heart started to beat a little faster. With one
hand on the handrail, and the other filming, she slowly made her ascent.
The wind outside shook the windows in their frames.
She
pushed open the door, tentatively. It was completely dark.
This is where a
man called Sydney stayed, and where he was arrested as the Manor Murderer.
Zoe slowly moved the phone around the room, the light cascading from it gently
illuminated every particle of dust. “Hello? Sydney, what do you ask of me?” she
asked, sitting down on the floor in the middle of the attic. Then she had a
strange sensation, as if someone had run a cold ice-lolly down her spine. She
turned the phone towards the door.

The
girl sensed she wasn’t alone. She heard the stairs creaking. “Hello? Sydney
Ellwood? Is that you?” The sounds stopped.
Silence.
The cold sensation disappeared. “How spooky was that?” She waited.
Nothing.
Well, folks, it looks like that’s all there is
for tonight – I don’t want this to get boring so, it’s back
to bed.
Alone!

2

Zoe
was walking towards a popular supermarket when her mobile started to ring. Vana
was displayed as the caller.
“Hello you!
How’s it going?
Is it still alright to come round tonight, hun?” Vana was on her bed,
surrounded by text books and paperwork. The room was small and cluttered, with
clothes, a rucksack, and A4 folders stacked neatly on the floor.

“Hey, Vana.
Course it is.
Just getting the supplies in.
Want anything special?”

“Just
the usual, crisps and chocolate,” giggled her friend. “Vana, you’re so
predictable – and easily pleased.”

“Only when it comes to food,
yes!”

“See
you later then.”

Inside,
the supermarket wasn’t busy – just a few old-aged pensioners, and a couple of
young mums, with toddlers in tow, plodding along the aisles. Zoe pushed her
trolley, thoughtfully, down the well-stocked aisles, picking up favourite
items, along with the normal essentials such as bread and milk. She noticed an
old lady, with tangled black and white hair, who seemed to be following her.
“No, it can’t be, it’s just my mind playing tricks,” murmured Zoe; “must be
getting paranoid.”

After
Zoe got the crisps and chocolate as requested by Vana, and helped an elderly
lady to get a box of Cornflakes off the top shelf, she was almost done. She was
just about to head off for the checkout when she was aware of the wonderful
aroma of freshly baked bread and cakes. “These managers certainly know what they’re
doing. If they don’t get you with their tasty samples, they get you with a
whiff of freshly made cakes. We’re all just suckers.”

She
followed the tantalising smell to the area of the supermarket (situated at the
back of the store so that customers had to walk past all the other goodies on
sale, and be tempted to buy what they didn’t need – more psychology!) that was
a dieter’s nightmare! What was it the diet leader had told one of her friends –
smell all you want, just don’t touch.

“Rubbish,”
said Zoe, and placed two bags of jam doughnuts into the trolley, followed
quickly by some vanilla slices.
“Hm, two for a pound –
heaven!”

As
she turned towards the checkouts someone bumped into her. It was Hagatha.
“Whoops, sorry,” said Zoe. The old woman, with her matted black and white hair,
stood there. She stared straight into Zoe’s eyes, and then gawped down at the
contents of the trolley. “
Little Miss Piggy
,” she said, loudly. Zoe,
stunned with fear, didn’t know what to do – run? Hide? Or, yell for help? However,
it didn’t take long before everyone in the store stopped what they were doing,
turned around, and joined in, shouting, “
Little Miss Piggy!
Little
Miss Piggy!”
It got louder and louder. Zoe began to cry. “It’s in the
past,” she sobbed, covering her ears to block out the chants. She collapsed on
the floor, coughing uncontrollably.

3

Zoe
woke up from her nightmare, struggling for breath and clutching at her throat.
She jumped out of bed, charged out of the bedroom, and dashed up the stairs to
the bathroom. She came to a stop over the toilet, slumped to the floor, stuck
two fingers down her throat, and made herself sick. “Just a bad dream, just a
bad dream,” she mumbled. Her breathing became a little more controlled and she
got to her feet. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and started to
splash her face with cold water.

Zoe’s
emotions were everywhere. Her heart was still pounding, and she was sweating
from head to toe. She splashed her face again, and scrubbed her teeth. She
slowly calmed down. As she dried her face, she felt something in her right eye.
She bent down to the washbasin and rinsed her eye with water. Then, as she
looked back in the mirror, there she was – Hagatha, her matted black and white
hair all over the place.

Zoe
freaked out, screamed, and fell to the floor. Her heart was pounding, and sweat
poured from every pore. She frantically and hysterically looked around the
bathroom.
No-one.
She was alone. Hagatha had
disappeared. Zoe’s nerves were pushed to the limit; tears ran down her face and
fell onto the floor. “It’s not real, and she’s not real,” she said, shaking her
head. A ghostly voice whispered around the room, “But I am, dear, and I know
you can hear me.” Zoe covered her ears. “I’m not listening! I’m not listening!”
she repeated over and over again. Panic well and truly set in as every part of
her body began to shake. A loud
click
from behind her made her turn,
horrified.
No-one there.
But then, unnoticed by Zoe,
the black shadow of a man glided past the door.

The
atmosphere eventually started to change; there was an air of calm and peace.
Zoe stumbled to her feet, and peered out of the door. She was alone again. She
ran across the landing, down the stairs, pulled the bedroom door closed and
jumped into bed. With the duvet over her head, she willed herself to sleep...