The Haunting of Ashburn House Page 18

  The handle twitched as Edith tried to turn it, then a pale, grimy hand pressed against the window. The head rose beside the hand, and a single bulging white eye peered through the glass and fixed Adrienne under its repulsive stare. Edith held the pose for a moment then slid out of sight, leaving a hand’s outline made of condensation.

  31

  A Night of Hiding

  Adrienne woke and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  She ached all over. The worst was her leg, which was caked in drying blood and mud and felt as though it had been shredded. But a thousand secondary pains dragged her away from sleep as well; scrapes from tree branches, exhausted and strained muscles, a dull but persistent stress headache, and the throbbing in her chest that came from a taxed heart and exhausted lungs.

  It was still dark. Two rectangles of moonlight cascaded through the front door’s twin windows, but they were her only illumination. Adrienne tried to swallow, and a horrible acidic taste reminded her that she’d thrown up before passing out.

  A small, fluffy shape danced around her legs. Adrienne had to squint at it for a moment before she identified it as Wolfgang’s tail waving in the moonlight. Something prodded at her injured leg, and she groaned. “Get away, Wolf. You’re not allowed to eat me unless I’m dead.”

  Wolfgang turned his sea-green eyes on her and made an innocent chirruping noise. Adrienne stretched an aching arm forward and scratched his head.

  “Is she gone, buddy?” The question came out as a whisper. Wolfgang appeared calm. She hoped that was a good sign; he’d warned her against the corpse’s presence before, hadn’t he?

  She turned towards the door and the windows set on either side. She could still picture the hand pressed there, just below the bulging eye. She wanted to come inside. That’s the only reason she didn’t kill me: so that I could let her inside.

  Adrienne leaned back against the wall. She felt sick, cold, and miserable. Too many thoughts were pressing into her at once, and she didn’t have the energy to face them all.

  Ashburn House is haunted.

  She shifted forward and tried to check her leg. The light was too dim to see anything except a mess of blood, torn cloth, and dirt.

  I have no phone, no laptop, no way to contact the town.

  Adrienne reached a hand behind her and ran it along the wall until she felt the light switch. It turned, but the bulb hung from the ceiling didn’t respond.

  Of course. Now I have no light, either.

  She’d dropped the torch outside, and there was no way she was unlocking the door to retrieve it. She groaned and pulled herself up to standing then, using the side tables and furniture as support, hobbled down the hallway. Her ankle screamed even though she held it above the floor, but she limped to the stairs, to the lamp, and rested her forehead against the shrivelled wallpaper as she lit the wick.

  The golden glow spread down the hallway as the flame grew. Adrienne waited for it to stabilise before picking up the lamp and hobbling back the way she’d come.

  Wolfgang, his feather-duster tail twitching, followed. He was hungry and made little purring cries as she entered the kitchen.

  “In a minute. Be patient, buddy.” Adrienne placed the lamp on the table then filled the kettle and put it on to boil. She fetched a bowl from the cupboard and found an assortment of dishtowels in one of the drawers. She sniffed them. Except for being a little musty, they seemed clean.

  She eased into the nearest chair, moved the lamp to the floor, and bent over to examine her leg. It was a mess. She clenched her teeth as she prised the sneaker off. Blood had run into it and soaked the sock, which she took off and discarded as well.

  The drawers were close enough that she could lean across the walkway and open them. She hunted through until she found a pair of kitchen scissors designed to cut bones and used them to trim the jeans’ leg to a little below her knee.

  She reached for the kettle, but its water was still cold. Of course—no power means no boiled water. All right. I’ll work with what I have.

  Adrienne poured the water into the bowl, dipped a washcloth into it, and set to cleaning her leg.

  When she was done, she slumped back in the chair, panting and trying to ignore the wet tracks running down her cheeks. The idea of cleaning the cuts had seemed straightforward enough when she’d started. She’d watched plenty of movie stars clean themselves up in blockbuster action films, but hands-on experience had forced her to admit that the reality was a lot messier and involved considerably more crying and whimpering.

  “I’m a total baby,” she told Wolfgang. He waited in the room’s doorway, tail thrashing and good mood dissipated now that he had realised food wasn’t Adrienne’s top priority. “Don’t cast me in a survival movie. I wouldn’t make it past the first twenty minutes.”

  He opened his mouth in a silent, cranky meow, and Adrienne sighed.

  “Okay, okay, I know. Food’s coming.”

  She took three clean, dry towels and wrapped them around the ankle. She’d had very little experience treating injuries, but the cuts didn’t go too deep. The area had swollen and turned red, and if she cleaned too deeply, it just started bleeding again. She knew infection would be the biggest risk, but with so little to work with, she would have to wrap it as well as she could and wait until she could get to a hospital. She’d heard that human mouths contained a huge amount of bacteria, and she could only imagine how bad a dead human’s mouth would be.

  Adrienne choked on a thin, strangled laugh at the idea. I can’t believe I’ve accepted the idea of ghosts so easily. I can’t believe there are ghosts. Oh hell, this is such a phenomenal mess.

  She tied the makeshift bandage off and stood. It still hurt too much to put weight on the injured foot, so she carried the lamp in one hand and used one the other to brace herself on furniture and walls as she hopped out of the kitchen and into the lounge room.

  Wolfgang, infuriating as always, wove about her legs and threatened to trip her until she’d found his food. Adrienne was past the point of worrying about her cat’s waistline and emptied the entire tin into his bowl. It overflowed the sides and created a little mountain of kibble. She watched the tabby mash his face into the feast and sighed. At least now, if anything happens to me, you should have enough food to last until you’re found.

  Provided Edith doesn’t get you first. An image flashed across Adrienne’s mind: Wolf, writhing and yowling, being squeezed in Edith’s long, bony fingers as she bit through his fur.

  Adrienne bent over, certain she was about to be sick again, but there was nothing left in her stomach. She stayed doubled over, one hand braced against the piano, as she sucked in ragged, painful breaths.

  No one’s going to hurt Wolf. I won’t let them.

  She blinked, trying to clear her stinging eyes, as she watched the cat eat. His bushy tail flicked happily as he attempted to drown himself in the food, and Adrienne managed a shaky, uneasy smile.

  As much as she complained about him, Adrienne loved Wolfgang. She’d found him as a straggly, half-drowned clump of wet fur on the side of the road one rainy autumn afternoon. He’d only been a kitten and so malnourished that not even his thick fur could hide it. She remembered staying awake well past midnight, watching the sleeping kitten with his newly bulging stomach, and promising herself he would never go hungry again.

  “And look where that got us, tubby,” she said fondly. One ear flicked in her direction, but Wolfgang’s priorities were firmly cemented on his meal.

  The room felt too gloomy, and the windows were too dark for Adrienne to feel comfortable. She shuffled to the fireplace, dragged the chair close so that she could keep her foot off the ground, and busied herself with building up a fire. The task kept her hands busy but not her mind.

  Ashburn really is haunted. Imagine that—the rumour that everyone laughs about but no one really believes is true. At least… I think it’s haunted. That wasn’t exactly the picture-book variety of ghost. She was dead, sure, but not transparent
. Not intangible. Nothing like those orbs, cold spots, and flashes of light that they chase after in the ghost-hunter shows.

  She continued feeding sticks into the little blaze and watched the flames eat through them and reduce them to ash.

  She’s closer to a zombie—undead and hungry for flesh. But that doesn’t fit, either; zombies are mindless. Edith clearly wasn’t. She spoke and was startled by the mace and wanted to come into the house.

  Adrienne sighed, shoved a new log onto the flame, and shuffled her chair back so that her legs didn’t get too hot. After a moment, Wolfgang sidled up to her, gave her good leg a single headbutt, then lay down on the rug at her feet.

  Whatever Edith has become, she used to be dead. Or maybe she still is dead but just never stopped moving. And she hunted me. And hurt me. Why?

  Against the townspeople’s advice, Adrienne had built up the idea of a quirky but benevolent great-aunt who had longed for a family as strongly as Adrienne had. But the signs that Adrienne had taken as welcoming—being bequeathed Ashburn and finding a room prepared for her—had started to take on a sinister light.

  All right, I'm going to have to assume a few things. Firstly, that the corpse outside is Edith. It’s got to be. She’s the right age, has the right hair, and responded to her name. And if the corpse is Edith’s, we can assume the grave was hers too. I discounted that earlier because the headstone was decades old, but what if she prepared it as a burial place when she was younger? What if it’s a special location that’s enchanted to raise the dead? She snorted and massaged her closed eyes. Not too long ago I would have laughed at myself for thinking this sort of stuff. It’s amazing how much a brush with a corpse can change you. I didn’t even believe in ghosts yesterday. Now—curses, spiritual hotspots, the Loch Ness Monster, whatever. Bring it on; I’ll believe it.

  Adrienne twisted in the chair. The aches and pains were making it difficult to get comfortable, and her reeling mind didn’t help.

  If we can assume all that to be true, then we’ve also got to think there’s a very strong possibility that Edith was responsible for her family’s murders and Eleanor Ashburn’s exhumation. Maybe it ties into whatever brought Edith back from the dead. Some kind of satanic sacrifice, possibly.

  And all that rolls together to suggest Edith wasn’t a very nice person. She frowned at her leg, where blood was staining the towels pink. Not that it’s a surprise or anything. But if all of that logic is sound, I’ve got to accept that Edith wanted me here for a reason. She prepared a room for me. She left the house to me in her will. All to lull me into a false sense of security while she dug her way out of her own grave.

  Why me, though? Does she need me to complete whatever messed-up sacrificial stuff she did to the rest of her family? Is it because I’m a relative? No, not just a relative—I’m her only remaining living blood relative. That’s got to be significant.

  A memory surfaced: thunder crashing and heavy raindrops beating on her arms as her mother—wide eyed, mascara running, and cheek dotted with blood—carried her out of Ashburn.

  That has to be related to what’s happening now. But what did Edith do? Was she trying to hurt me? My mother? Both of us?

  She remembered being thrown into the car and the door slamming behind her. She’d watched Ashburn in the rear-view mirror and seen Edith, tall and proud and dressed in one of her heavy black dresses, come and stand in the doorway. The woman’s stately, composed stance gave the impression that she could have stopped them from leaving if she’d wanted but had voluntarily let them go.

  Because she knew I would move into Ashburn after her death? Why didn’t Mum ever talk about Edith or mention Ashburn or tell me what happened that night? What did she see inside these walls?

  Wolfgang startled and sat upright. Adrienne’s nerves were so tense that she stood up with him. She hadn’t thought to bring a knife with her, and her clammy hands felt unpleasantly empty, so she limped to the fireplace and took up the poker.

  Adrienne turned back to her cat and watched him for telltale signs of distress. There were plenty: his eyes dilated, his fur bristled out, and he exhaled a long, low warning yowl as he backed towards the room’s shadowed corner. His eyes were fixed on the farthest window, and Adrienne turned towards it. The moon had passed over the house, and she couldn’t see anything through the dark pane.

  But she could hear the clicking.

  Edith moved outside, shifting around the building’s exterior, hidden in the infinite blackness that engulfed everything beyond the lounge room. Her bony fingers touched the house’s walls and windows, prodding and tapping much as she’d prodded and tapped at Adrienne. The noises blended with the clicking bones. Adrienne rotated to keep her attention focussed on the sound. It moved along the lounge room’s wall, drawing closer until the women were no more than two metres apart, then it was passing by and grew fainter until Adrienne couldn’t hear it at all.

  The clock in the hallway chimed one.

  Adrienne wanted to remain standing, but her balance was shaky and her muscles exhausted. She kept a tight grip on the poker as she slid back into the chair.

  After a few minutes, Wolfgang crept out of hiding and returned to his place beside her. She scratched his head to comfort him but could feel the tension lingering in his muscles. He was just as frightened of the walking corpse as she was.

  We’re going to be okay. The doors are locked and the windows bolted. There’s no way for her to come inside.

  It wasn’t the only time Edith came by that night.

  Every hour, just before the clock’s chimes, the clicking noise returned. The first two times, Adrienne rose and Wolfgang scrambled into a dark corner, but as the night wore on and their exhaustion mounted, they both learned to keep their place and silently listen as the tapping passed them by.

  32

  A Morning of Choices

  Adrienne managed to sleep in patches of thirty and forty minutes between Edith’s visits. Her naps were fitful, though, and she dreamed repeatedly of her mother, her eyes wild as she clutched Adrienne close and fled Ashburn, six drops of red glistening on her chin.

  By the time dawn rose, the physical and mental tiredness weighed so heavily that Adrienne felt as though she might drown under it. One minute, she was watching the blood-red sunrise creep over the treetops; the next thing she knew, she was startling awake as the grandfather clock chimed. The sun’s angle had changed. Adrienne held still, breathing quickly as she counted the rings. Eleven. How did I sleep so late?

  She looked down. Wolfgang napped at her feet, his back to the dying fire embers. He looked languid and content.

  Edith must have left at dawn. Maybe light hurts her. Maybe it’s her weakness.

  Adrienne peeled herself out of the chair. The pain in her ankle had settled to a dull ache, but she was careful not to put weight on it as she clambered into the kitchen.

  She hadn’t eaten since the previous day’s breakfast and suspected hunger was responsible for the lingering nausea and weakness. She collected two packets of instant noodles, a pot, more dishtowels, a bowl, and a fork and bundled them in one of the crocheted tablecloths for easier carrying. She then filled the metal whistling kettle with water, looped the tablecloth’s tie over the crook of her elbow, and carried the kettle in her other hand as she brought them all back to the lounge room.

  The fire was nearly dead, but some kindling and careful tending revived it. Adrienne waited for the blaze to grow then hung the kettle on the metal rod to boil. She slumped back into the seat and ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to think.

  Wolfgang stretched, flexing his claws, then sauntered to the overflowing food bowl. Adrienne watched him eat. He seemed happy again, which she assumed meant they were alone.

  We’re safe right now, but I can’t assume that will last.

  She turned towards the nearest window. The woods shifted and rocked in a gentle wind. The glass was too dirty to pick out details, but it was easy to imagine a hunched, angry figure wait
ing just inside the forest.

  Adrienne felt as though something inside of her had broken the night before. She would have thought she’d be a hysterical, shivering mess over the idea of having a dead—or undead or whatever she is—woman stalking her. But she felt as though the entirety of her tears and fear had been burnt up during the night, leaving behind a small, smouldering coal: single-minded determination to get herself and Wolfgang out of Ashburn.

  I need to decide on my priorities. Top of the list is physical safety. Edith wanted to get into the house; the fact that she didn’t, despite circling Ashburn all night, suggests she can’t break through locked windows or doors. Thank mercy. But it means I’ll need to be cautious when going outside or not leave the house at all.

  The kettle was hissing. Adrienne pulled it off the fire, took the lids off both noodle cups, and added the liquid. She was supposed to leave them to cook for two minutes but began scooping food out of the first cup immediately. The noodles were crunchy and the water hot enough to burn her tongue, but she was too hungry to care.

  The second priority is to get out of this place. Maybe someone in town will let Wolf and me stay with them for a night or two until I can find a more permanent place to live. With no money. No relatives. Very few friends. She grimaced around the noodles. We’ll figure it out somehow. Anything’s got to be better than staying here.

  She discarded the empty noodle cup and picked up the full one. How I’m getting out of here is a different kind of puzzle. Edith might not like light, but I don’t know how badly it affects her. Am I safe during the day, or is she still out there, waiting for me to emerge?

  That came back to the first priority: physical safety. For the time being, until she had evidence suggesting otherwise, she needed to assume Edith was still active during daylight.

  She was able to chase me down while I was flat-out running, which makes me a sitting duck with this leg. I need transport to get out. If I’m lucky, someone will drive up here to check on me. Both Peggy from the vet’s clinic and Sarah are expecting to see me within the next few days. How long will I have to be absent for them to worry?