House Of Whispers

Further chapters of our haunting serial

Trying to discuss the supernatural in a cheerful coffee house flooded with sharp autumn sunshine was proving difficult, especially when Sarah and Jessica couldn’t take it seriously.

“First the house of your dreams and now the man of your dreams,” Jessica said with a wry grin.

“Joshua von Meyer is hardly the man of my dreams,” Judith grumbled, stabbing her carrot cake with a fork.

“But you were attracted to Nathan Meyers,” Sarah cut in.

“Not like that though, Nanny. I was… drawn to him, but it was unsettling.”

“I know what you mean,” Sarah conceded. “He is good looking, but he’s a Meyers, Judy – don’t get involved.”

“Why do you dislike him so much – all the Meyerses for that matter?”

Jessica nudged Sarah in the ribs, egging her on to confess.

“The thing is…” Sarah began, fiddling with her spoon in the foam on her coffee. “The Meyerses might not want you to go digging in the past.”

Judith looked back and forth between them impatiently. “Why?”

“The father of Sissy’s baby – your father – well, I always suspected it was Meyers… Nathan’s father, that is.”

“So you and Nathan Meyers are brother and sister,” Jessica interjected.

“Half brother and sister,” Sarah corrected. “And only if I’m right.”

“Have you found anything in the old house yet?” Jessica asked.

“No, but…” Judith’s face reddened as she pushed her tablet under her napkin.

Sarah saw her and scooped it up. “No, but she did photograph a ghost!” “Gosh, let me see!” Jessica cried. Judith made a grab for the tablet, but Sarah learned quickly and had already found the buttons to bring the picture onscreen and passed it to her friend.

“It’s nothing,” Judith insisted. “I was half asleep and the light was poor and my hands were trembling…” She thought of what Andrew might say about the crazy notion of digitally capturing ghosts! “It’s so blurred you can barely make it out – a trick of the light, that’s all.”

“She looks like Judy,” Sarah said. “She might be an ancestor.”

“It is blurred, but she does look familiar,” Jessica mulled. “I’m sure I’ve seen her in documents about the Salem witch trials – it’s hard to say because

She was still LIGHTHEADED and the PORCH SWING looked so INVITING

they were only wood cut prints.”

“Oh come on! I don’t believe in witches any more than ghosts!” Judith said, affronted.

“Those poor women weren’t witches,” Jessica corrected. “They were innocent victims of people using mass hysteria to point the finger at people they wanted rid of. Maybe that’s what started the feud between the Goodwins and the Meyerses.” She tapped the photo of the phantom. “Perhaps they accused this girl of witchcraft.”

“But why?” Sarah puzzled.

“Well, I’m not going to find out sitting here – pleasant though it is having coffee with you two,” Judith said briskly. “It’s time I got back to the house.”

By the time Judith climbed back down the rickety ladder from the attic she was covered in dust and cobwebs, but had found nothing other than old trunks full of discarded bric-a-brac. All that for nothing, she thought, heading for the bedroom. What she really needed was a long, hot soak in the roll-top bathtub.

She was about to push the bathroom

door open when a wave of nausea hit her like a fist to the stomach. She stood, head resting on the door, eyes blurring as she fought the feeling of falling, as if she had just stepped off a cliff. “No,” she pleaded softly. She slid down the door, her breath coming in rasps. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest, beads of sweat on her forehead and yet she shivered as if chilled. She knew – just knew – that the dark stranger of her dreams was on the other side of that door, waiting, malevolent, plotting. Against her?

She turned her back against the door, desperate for the sensation to pass, and slid to the floor. “Please,” she whispered. “Please go away…” Her chest was tight, as if something heavy was pressing her, making it difficult to breath.

As suddenly as it had come, the feeling was gone. Just like that. Gone. Relief flooded through her, leaving her legs trembling too much to get up, so she sat there on the floor until the tempo of her heart slowed and she could take a breath without gasping.

Nanny was right, she thought, this house is full of spirits. She shook her head; Andrew didn’t believe in ghosts and she agreed with him.

Yet he was reluctant to come to the house. When she’d spoken to him on the phone last night she’d felt excited at its potential. It belonged to her now and they needed somewhere bigger than the New York apartment. Nevertheless, he hadn’t been keen on her suggestion that they make this their home.

“What about my job?” he’d asked, that one sentence sweeping her excitement aside. “Can’t you sell it?” he’d asked. “We could use the money to buy something bigger here.”

She didn’t know why but she couldn’t contemplate the idea of selling it. And what if they started a family? Andrew did want family someday… didn’t he?

She had to find something in this old house that would solve the mystery of her dreams, perhaps mend the family feud; something that would convince Andrew this could be a happy family home. She got up and headed outside, intending to look in the summerhouse, but by the time she reached the porch she was still light-headed and the porch swing looked so inviting…

Dozing on the porch swing, Judith watched clouds float by from under its canopy. The sound of children’s laughter drifted from the yard. Sunlight played patterns on the wooden boards of the porch floor, dappled through the leaves of the oak and weeping willow that stood sentinel over the house.

She watched Andrew in the garden, his bare back to her as he chopped wood for the fire. Drops of sweat stood out on his skin, glistening in the sunlight – a sight that made her want him. Instead she rose and walked into the house. There was no hurry; she and Andrew had all the time in world.

In the blue gingham kitchen, light poured in through the window, flooding a huge pine table and dresser. The smell of home baking filled the room. Two bright-eyed children tumbled through the doorway, laughing. Judith settled them at the table, smoothing their hair, as golden as Andrew’s.

“Lunch is ready,” she called, beckoning him from the garden.

A tall figure appeared at the doorway. But it wasn’t Andrew.

The children clambered from their seats and ran to the stranger as if they knew and loved him, their golden hair now suddenly as raven as that of the man standing in the doorway.

He moved out of the shadows and his chiseled features and coal-black eyes held her entranced as he opened his arms. Instead of going to him, she turned and fled, the bright scene fading into blackness as she screamed, “No, no, no!”

Someone was shaking her shoulder violently. “Judith! Wake up, Judith!” She struggled upright on the porch swing, shielding her eyes from the low

afternoon sun, but couldn’t see who it was – it was a man’s voice.

“Are you all right? You must have dozed off, and you were calling out in your sleep,” Nathan Meyers said, his face a picture of concern.

“What did I say?” She was a little disorientated – and worried about what he might have heard her say.

“Just no, over and over. You were agitated; must have been a nightmare.” Nathan waited for Judith to right herself. “Can I get you anything?” He paused. “A glass of water, perhaps?”

“What are you doing here?” Judith demanded sharply.

“I heard you were staying at the old house, so I thought I’d drop by…” “Who told you?” “Oh, small town grapevine…” “What else are the town gossips saying about me?”

“Look, why don’t we talk over coffee? And – ” He held up a bakery bag and grinned broadly. “I brought doughnuts.”

Judith’s tension eased and she smiled. “In that case, you’d better come in,” she said, rising from the swing.

Once inside Nathan put the doughnut bag on the table – along with another box that clearly did not contain pastries. “I brought these too,” he said. “You were researching your family tree, so…”

Could this be what she’d been looking for – the answer to the conflict between their families – but how did Nathan come to have it?

“I found it in a trunk in the attic,” he explained. “I don’t know if you know, but there’s a centuries old feud between your family and mine.”

“I do know, although I don’t know much about it.”

“Me neither, but maybe these will shed some light on it.”

He pushed the box across the table. Judith took it and opened the lid. Inside were curls of paper as thin as onion skins. She was reluctant to touch them for fear they would disintegrate in her hands. Steeling herself, she picked one up. “What are they?”

“They’re letters written by Joshua von Meyers and Abigail Goodwin – to each other.”

His words hit Judith like a blow and her shaking fingers set the wafer thin paper trembling. “The family feud started with them?”

“I’m not sure.” Nathan nodded to the paper in her hand. “It’s obvious they had a relationship but there’s nothing to indicate family disapproval.”

Judith took a deep breath, unsure if he knew just how intricately connected their families might be. “There’s something I ought to tell you…” She took a deep breath. “Nathan, I think we might be half brother and sister.”

“Good God!” He stood suddenly. “Judith, there’s something I have to do. I have to go. Catch you later.”

Standing in the doorway of the summerhouse, Judith thought it unlikely she’d find anything of use; it was almost an empty shell. The floorboards were covered in a thick layer of dust that showed her footprints as she crossed the room to the solitary desk and chair. She gazed around the shabby magnolia room and traced a crack in the wall that snaked out from behind the desk and slithered up toward the ceiling.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that the key to her family’s story was here, despite the absence of any evidence to the contrary. Perhaps it was simply because the original house had stood here. Did houses have their own ghosts?

She let out a snort of self-mocking laughter. She was letting these spooky dreams get the better of her. There would be a perfectly logical explanation for all this. But what was “all this”?

Right now her two biggest problems went by the names of Andrew and Nathan. She had no idea what had made Nathan run off so suddenly like that, and she was annoyed at Andrew for not even giving her idea to move here any consideration at all.

Something else was niggling at her, too – something she could no longer put off telling Andrew, no matter the what the consequences were.

After numerous displacement activities, Judith finally pulled out her mobile to call Andrew. He was in a much better mood than the last time they spoke, and she dared to hope.

“You don’t have to commit just yet,” she said, treading carefully. “But I’d really like you to come and have a look at the old place.”

“It seems your ghosts do, too – I’ve been having my own spooky dreams.” “When? What about?” “The last couple of days,” he replied. “Some tall, dark and broodingly handsome bloke telling me I need to get my ass to Palmerstone pronto…” He laughed. “Is there anything you should confess, Jude?”

“Don’t be silly, Andy,” she retorted. “What did this man look like?” “The Heathcliff type, I suppose.” “That’s not much help… wait I’ll text you a picture…” She frantically searched her phone, sending the picture of Joshua von Meyers to his number.

“Other than ghosts, how’s Palmerstone?” he asked while he waited for the text.

“Palmerstone is fine,” she answered. “I’m not so sure about me, though…” “Is something wrong?” “You need to see the house. Nothing’s wrong, but… well, there’s something I ought to tell you, Andy…”

“It’s here,” he said and she heard the soft ‘ding’ of his phone telling him a text had arrived. “Yep, that’s him.” “Andy, are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure. Who is he?” “Joshua von Meyers. One of the town's founding fathers, a direct ancestor of someone who might be my half brother, and – ”

Was this what she’d been LOOKING for – the ANSWER to their family CONFLICT?

“Wait? What? Who? Why does he want me to come to Palmerstone?”

“Andy, it’s a long, complicated story,” Judith sighed. “Besides, it’s me who wants you here. Please, it would be so much easier to tell you this to your face.”

“How am I supposed to sleep after that? You have to tell me now, Jude.”

Judith told him something she’d suspected since she left New York but was now certain of, something she hoped might be incentive to get him to come to Palmerstone.

Unsettled after her call to Andrew, Judith poured a large glass of wine. She was about to take a sip but stopped. The smell made her feel suddenly queasy and she rushed to the sink to tip it down the drain. She ran the tap and splashed her face with cold water until her stomach settled. She made green tea instead, took it into the lounge and settled into the big squishy sofa.

The nausea returned and she let her head fall back against the sofa, closing her eyes. Perhaps she should get an early night, but there was so much she still had to do – not least, going through the box of letters Nathan had brought to find out more about Joshua and Abigail.

A sudden thought crossed her mind… was Abigail the girl she had seen, the ghost she’d photographed? That these letters were theirs put a whole new light on the characters that haunted her dreams. Was this a love story rather than a horror story?

It was no use – no matter how tired she was, she had to take a closer look. She heaved herself out of the comfy sofa and back to the kitchen, where the box sat on the table like a living thing, inviting her to get lost in its contents.

Two hours later, she reluctantly piled the fragile sheets back into the box and closed its lid. She fancied she heard it sigh in disappointment just as something flickered at the periphery of her vision…

It was Abigail, fading in and out as she seemed to levitate across the floor tiles. Judith suddenly realised the ghost had covered the distance remarkably quickly and, heart pounding, she leapt from her chair so quickly it toppled over.

The spectre stretched a hand out and half turned, looking back over her shoulder as if beckoning. The fading figure moved to the outside door and beckoned once more. It never occurred to Judith now to be afraid and without hesitation, she followed.

As if the ghost knew her intent, it disappeared through the door. She yanked it open in time to see the apparition, softly shimmering against the night, sweep smoothly over the rough stone pathway, so swiftly she had to run to keep up. At the door of the summerhouse the figure flickered rapidly and then slid into the floor, as if slipping into a pool of water.

Judith stood, gazing around the summerhouse, waiting to see if something else would happen. Why had Abigail led her here? She’d already found nothing here.

She took the few steps to the place in the floor where the vision had vanished. Nothing. Frustrated, she turned to leave – and the floorboard beneath her foot creaked. She stopped, rocked back and forth. The floorboard was loose! Dropping to her knees, she tugged at the end of it. It was stiff and reluctant, but after several attempts, she managed to pry it up and off. The hole was pitch black. She could see nothing. Flooded with energy now, she ran back to the main house for a flashlight.

Head and shoulders into the hole, she dug with hands, her nails splintering, until finally she hit something solid and pulled out a box. Triumphantly, she held it up in the torch light. It was old, like Nathan’s box of letters, but rougher, made of poorer materials. She stood up, clutching the box to her chest, preparing for a long, sleepless night of rifling through its contents.

Suddenly she became aware of the strong acrid smell of burning and when she turned thick smoke was already billowing in from under the door, flames licking the doorjamb as though impatient to get in.

Panic gripped her and she held the box to her face as protection from the heat as she tugged repeatedly on the handle. It wouldn’t budge! How could that be? She had left the door open.

She hurled the box at the window, but it refused to break. Impossible! How could the glass not break?

Terror welled up like bile in her throat. She strained to see out the window but smoke had laid streaks of black soot on the glass and she wasn’t sure… was that Joshua von Meyers out there? Surely not – he’d been dead for centuries! Nathan, then? They looked so alike. What was he doing? Why didn’t he help her? Then her stomach heaved when he started to laugh, deep, full of malevolence, and hurled words of hatred at her, vibrating in the bones of her skull: I will destroy you! Like your mother and the other Goodwin witch es!

Her eyes were smarting and streaming and she began to cough violently. Her mind was reeling. Had it been her all along? Was she the woman who stared in terror from the burning summerhouse in her dreams? With the thought that she had dreamt her own death, she screamed until she was so hoarse she could scream no more.

The APPARITION slid straight into the FLOOR as if it were a pool of WATER