Chapter Six

“You can pay the rest on delivery.”

The elderly owner counted the notes before slipping them into the till, his fat fingers stiff with arthritis yet still oddly nimble. He’d not let muscle aches and cramps interrupt his work and likely never would.

“I have a card machine, although it does incur a small charge. Damn banks.”

“It’ll probably be cash,” I said, stepping aside to allow him to pass. “Dad hates paying more for using or getting out his own money.”

“Bloody right,” the man grumbled, beckoning Sarah from the backroom. “Bloody banks. They earn a shedload and expect more.”

He chuntered on as Sarah led me away so she could write down the product numbers.

“He can talk for England,” she said with a wide smile. “But he’s a great boss, even if he can be a jerk sometimes.”

“Can’t they all?”

The comment earned me a smile. I liked her, I’m not going to lie. She was one of the first girls I’d felt comfortable around, nothing romantic but pleasant. I felt she would listen without too much judgment. 

It was one reason I dared raise the question of my new house. I could tell she knew something, but I didn’t like being kept in the dark.

“What do you know about that house?” I sucked in a breath, feeling somewhat foolish for the abruptness of the question.

Sarah stared at me, and I flushed.

“You know, you mentioned the previous owners' names and that there were stories about it. I’m just curious.”

“Well…the house and the land have a lot of history,” Sarah said carefully, her eyes focusing back on the wood as if the mahogany sheen was hypnotic. “Not particularly pleasant. One couple who owned it was going to make a small museum. The guy was a historian and produced a small book; I think you can still get it.”

I could take a hint. But I didn’t want to leave it at that. Why? Because I’m an idiot, for one thing, and I really didn’t want to be perusing shops.

“Can’t you tell me anything?” I handed over my father’s scrawled measurements for her to copy down. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine, but you know…” I shrugged, looking sheepish as she rolled her eyes. “It might not seem like it, but I can take no for an answer.”

“Except for when you want to know spooky stuff?” Sarah chuckled, her nervous countenance breaking. “Well, I only know a few stories told at school. So, take them with a pinch of salt.”

Her eyes flitted to the owner, who frowned at us and shook his head disapprovingly. Talk costs money, even if the shop is empty except for me. He tapped his watch, and I grinned.

“Meet me at the Copper Kettle at one this afternoon,” Sarah offered, lifting her voice to be heard over the bell as another customer entered. “Buy me a coffee, and I’ll forgive you for bugging me. And it gives me a chance to remember those stories better. I don’t know why I’m offering; I don’t like going over this stuff for many reasons.”

“That’s perfect, my name’s James, by the way. Can’t not tell you that.”

I agreed rather too quickly and felt myself flush, not even registering her last comment. Good grief, I was acting like a lovestruck teenager, even though that was hardly the case!

It still felt a bit like a date, though, and I knew my stomach would be churning by the time we met.

And despite my parents' continued jokes about me being grounded until I was in my twenties, they were surprisingly willing to let me go. Mind you, my loitering about was probably more annoying. I couldn’t hold my tongue when I was fed up, and painting was a damned chore.

And I hated the smell. It infiltrated every orifice in my head and took me back to that day. I could feel the bile churning again.

Mom didn’t want me throwing up on the new carpet.

“...that story is my favourite.”

Sarah set the latte mug aside, inhaling the smooth, silky scent that flowed from behind the counter.

The coffee shop had once been the post office and still displayed some old paraphernalia on its walls.

It wasn’t Starbucks's modern, chain decor; it was far more homely, with tablecloths and handmade cakes, which were gone once sold and not replaced with others from a packet.

Nor did they have a huge menu of various coffees at extortionate prices. In fact, the tea blends, all in their own unique caddies, outnumbered them.

We sat at a table for two near the window, the prying outside world concealed by a net curtain similar to the one my grandmother used to hang. Although this one was crisp white, not stained yellow from tobacco smoke.

“I liked the idea of love conquering a dark demon familiar, even if it led to his death. I guess I’m just a romantic at heart. The thought of defeating black magic, even with the barrier of death, is something you only read about.” Sarah smiled, shaking her head. The sunlight caught her eyes and made them sparkle. “It’s probably mostly myth or due to old beliefs, but it’s a good one. And the inn was on the same land where your house is.” She peered at me. “But I’m guessing that dark romance isn’t what you’re after. Why do you actually want to know? You obviously have some solid questions.”

“It was your fault in a way,” I said as I slurped my coffee. Even though it was chocolate-flavoured, I wasn’t fond of the taste, but I didn’t want to look juvenile by ordering a milkshake. “You mentioned the house first. Why would you mention it if there wasn’t something to know? And I don’t think you meant that Twilight stuff.”

Actually, the story she related wasn’t a bit like that teenage smut. But compared to what I would later find out, it was on a par.

Sarah bit her lip, playing with the crust on her sandwich, ham on rye bread, my favourite as well, minus the limp lettuce that oddly matched her posture at that moment.

“Your house has a history. It was built from the remains of the cottage that stood there before it. It was a lovely home, or it could have been. There are a lot of bullshit stories about why it seems to have a bad aura about it; none have any proof behind them, even the ones about curses. The people said to have cast them aren’t listed anywhere. The most believable was that it was the site of an old gibbet, and innocent souls hung there. Regardless, that land did seem to harbour bad luck.” She paused, adding hurriedly. “I’m sure you won’t have that.”

“If marks that can’t be removed and bad smells can be considered an omen, then it’s already started,” I said bluntly. “But go on, I won’t interrupt, and I promise not to push.” She looked nervous, and I knew I had come across as bolshy already. “I mean, the library might have that book you mentioned. I just wanted to hear it from someone who lived here.”

“Mmm,” Sarah gazed past me as if seeing history play out before her eyes. The mention of the oddities seemed to have rattled her. “The person who first built a home there died from an epidemic. She had lived with her sister and had hoped that living like hermits, they wouldn’t be touched. But her sister had a beau who visited, and he brought it in. They died and were buried together where the rushes used to grow near a stream. It dried up ages ago.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of disappointment. I would have liked a stream nearby. 

But Sarah continued, speaking like a tour guide, automatically but with enough emotion to avoid sounding robotic.

There was something strange about it, as if she’d related all this so many times that it had become habitual. She also looked very uncomfortable, almost like she was being forced to divulge her medical records.

“It sat empty for a while. Until another family moved in. I’m sure about the circumstances, but tragedy hit them. The same happened to three more. Then the most talked-about family arrived. They were from a more wealthy area of the country, and their father had recently bought one of the farms. This was just before the Victorian era, I believe. He had a son and two daughters. The son worked with his father, and the daughters kept the house and helped around the village.”

She paused, sipping her cooling coffee with a wistful expression on her face. I could barely blink, urging her with my eyes to go on.

“I don’t know if it’s true, but the story states that the son often said to his father that the house had an odd feeling to it. That it felt sad or angry. Whatever the mood, it felt unwelcoming, and most neighbours avoided it. If they came, they made excuses to remain in the garden, but even then, they said they felt like the plants wanted to reach out and choke them.”

I thought of the tendrils of ivy that weaved like a mosaic around the borders and over the compost heap. They had always resembled dark snakes, but now, they were even more so.

I shivered. It seemed colder all of a sudden. And I swore I caught a whiff of sulphur or something decomposing.

“I think the son was relieved when he was called to serve his country. In an old letter, he said the worry of a human enemy was preferable to what he couldn’t see. That the sensations within that house were worse than someone pointing a gun at him.” Sarah chewed her lip, lisping slightly as if the fear the man had felt was infiltrating her. “When I think of what happened, the real facts and not the spooky kid's story that we were told at school, he was lucky.”

She swallowed the rest of her coffee, growing pale. A strange expression masked her face, and her brows tightened as if she were listening to someone I couldn’t hear. Abruptly, she pushed the empty cup aside, looking up at the clock.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Her voice had turned cool. “I don’t want to talk about this; I’m sorry. I find it really hard. I should have told you that I have family links, and even though you might be centuries apart, the stories can still hit a raw nerve. I suggest you try the library. I don’t want to waste any more of your time; I only agreed because you’re new here, and I knew you weren’t some nosy parker from TikTok.”

I opened my mouth but quickly shut it like a guppy before saying something stupid. I collected my thoughts before I spoke.

“Can I at least talk to you about the older stories? They sound pretty interesting, and folklore is pretty cool.”

Not to mention, they might hold other clues.

Sarah shifted, her eyes darting everywhere. The other tables were occupied now, but I couldn’t see anyone openly listening in. 

“I’d rather. Let me be honest; sometimes, knowing less is better.”

Before I could ask any more, she’d darted out the door. Two girls giggled behind me, clearly thinking I’d been dumped.

As I got up to leave, the waitress approached. I smiled and left a couple of pounds on the table. I didn’t usually tip, but I liked to make a good impression when it was a new place. I’d got enough sour looks due to being a hoodie-wearing youth to last a lifetime. 

Stepping out of her way, I bumped the back of the chair behind me. “Sorry.”

“Girlfriend trouble?” The brunette snickered, and her friend snorted, covering her mouth to stop herself from spitting out her drink.

“No,” I glared at them. “I was asking her about something, and it hit a raw nerve. Not that it’s your business.”

Her friend’s face fell into an awkward smile. “Yeah…maybe lay off, Louise. You know Sarah. Fickle moods, and she’s even more fickle about what she talks about. And he’s not her type anyway. She’s into that guy who works in the shoe shop.”

Louise, as it seemed, was her name, shrugged. “Dunno why. Having an interesting family would be awesome. But,” she looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes alight with an unpleasant gleam. “Having a haunted house would be even better. Best watch out; not many people last there. The owners before you were lucky; they jumped before they were pushed, so to speak.”

“Haunted? Right.” I folded my arms. “Look, I might be unsure about things, but that’s one step too far.”

Or was it? When I thought things over, the supernatural seemed all too likely. Or perhaps I was looking for an easy answer when there was a more logical one, albeit harder to see.

“You’ve probably already seen that old mark. And maybe the remains of a memorial in the garden,” the girl contented airily, her smile never leaving her face. “A whole family was massacred there, and the suspect was killed and bricked up in the wall so her soul would never find rest.”

That caught my attention. And I felt cold again…and that smell…

“Walled up?”

“She’s winding you up,” her friend rolled her eyes. “It’s a load of rubbish. The murder is true, but all that stuff was never proven.”

“How’d you know? Papers were more monitored then; they might not have printed it.” Louise snapped. “Why ruin the innocent impression of the place? Anyway, that was one of Sarah’s relatives, so she’s funny about it. Too many nosey idiots who want to make a quick buck writing some tatty article.” She motioned to the chair. “Sit down; if you want, I can give you a run-through.”

“Seriously? And freak him out?” The other girl got up, dropping some money on the table. “Whatever, I’m due back home.” She looked at me. “Those stories are fun; we wind each other up at school with them, but that’s all they are. The mark on the wall is probably the outline of an old etching. I know for a fact that the owner before you used to paint and carve things. And smells? Well, they drained the stream that used to be there to divert a drainage area. You still get a whiff now and again.”

“She has no imagination,” Louise twiddled her fingers in a mock wave, receiving an amused smirk in response. “No wonder she flunks English.”

Tentatively, I’d sat down, a bit embarrassed about being seen with girls who were still at school, albeit in their last year.

“Anyway, Sarah was right about the book, at least if you’re into reading and don’t mind that Bronte-style stuff. I mean, I don’t mind it. The stories are different from the same junk you normally hear, but they’re still a bit flowery for me. Give me The Hunger Games anytime.”

“Oh?” I shifted in my seat, wishing she’d get to the point. “I saw the movie, but I never read the books. I liked Mortal Engines better. The film sucked, though.”

“Yeah.” Louise snorted. “I bet a movie about your house would be pretty cool, though.” She chuckled and got up. “Stay safe! Wandering ghouls can be dangerous!”

“Wandering ghouls…nice thought,” I muttered, loud enough for her to hear. 

I mulled over her words as I left, wandering slowly down the street. I didn’t want to believe any of it. Ghosts were creatures I wanted left in my childhood nightmares, with the creatures in the closet. But I couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation after last night and the tunnel.

I looked in its direction, a cold sweat dampening my brow. Maybe the road took longer, but it was safer.