The Haunting

  THE

  HAUNTING

  Raymond M Hall

  Copyright © Raymond M Hall 2017

  Raymond M Hall has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  To my wife and editor in chief, with gratitude as always for your constant support.

  By the same Author:

  ‘The Witchfinder’

  ‘The Water Maiden’

  ‘The Importance of being Roger’

  Chapter 1

  Sebastian cruised along the motorway heading North, leading him away from the city and the life he had enjoyed for so many years before his spectacular collapse onstage at one of London’s most prestigious venues. As one of the world's foremost pianists, he thought he had it all, but now he wanted a change. His new Mercedes had been purchased a few months ago when things had been so different. Now he felt like a fraud, the car, the Cartier wristwatch, the Armani jacket were all trappings of his old life, the life he no longer wanted or indeed needed. Sebastian had become the prisoner of his own success.

  Lost in his melancholy, he failed to notice the speed at which he was hurtling along the motorway and hadn’t seen all the traffic he was passing so quickly. The double glazed windows and sound insulation protected him from the outside world so effectively he had lost all awareness that it even existed.

  The flashing blue lights in the rearview mirror quickly brought him back to reality. He glanced down at the speedometer and was shocked to see he was travelling at a hundred and thirty. He swore and banged his hands on the wheel, indicated to pull over and prepared to accept his fate at the hands of the highway patrol officers.

  They slowly walked around the car, and he had the impression they were admiring the vehicle rather than subjecting him to the usual lecture about the dangers of excessive speed. Finally, they approached him and spoke through the window.

  ‘Licence please sir.’ Said one.

  Sebastian passed his licence to the officer who scrutinised it carefully.

  ‘Sebastian Carmichael?’ He asked as if to confirm that this was the man he had admired for so many years.

  It was Sebastian’s good fortune he had been pulled over by a classical music fan. The other officer cocked his head to one side,

  ‘Who?’ He asked.

  ‘Bloody hell Mick, don’t you know who this is? Only the most famous concert pianist in the world!’ The first policeman exclaimed.

  ‘Oh.’ Said the second officer, as if to say, ‘So what?’

  The first policeman handed the licence back to Sebastian.

  ‘I was very sorry to hear about your condition sir; please keep an eye on your speed in future, consider this a caution, unofficial of course.’ He winked as he made to leave the car and Sebastian relaxed in gratitude.

  ‘Thank you, officer, I promise it won’t happen again.’ He said, meaning every word. He really must get himself together, he thought, can’t go on like this.

  The musically inclined police officer commented as he climbed back into the patrol car,

  ‘I must say he looks pretty well now, last time I heard the news he was close to death’s door, the wonders of medical science, eh?’

  Sebastian needed an interest, something to take his mind off music altogether. Relaxing once again into travel mode, he mulled over the things he was capable of and settled on a past hobby he had as a teenager. His father had been a builder with not one musical bone in his body, and mother was a beautiful woman, but again no musical talent. Sebastian had no idea where his musical ability derived, perhaps some distant antecedent? His parents had been killed together in a road accident over twenty years before, just when his career was hitting the heights. He remembered helping his father when he was younger and enjoyed spending time around building sites, especially renovation projects. He thought at one time he would follow in his father’s footsteps, but that was before his old music teacher had realised the hidden talent he possessed in his fingers. A scholarship had developed, and things had progressed rapidly. He had won just about every award that was winnable and held honorary degrees from music colleges worldwide.

  By the time he had concluded that his present course of action might be the solution to his problem, he was driving through the flat fields of Lincolnshire. Spotting an off ramp approaching with signs to a place called Upper Marston, he indicated and pulled off the motorway to begin his search for a new life.

  He arrived at the village of Upper Marston and pulled over. The sun was shining for once, and he decided a walk would do him a world of good. He looked through shop windows and smiled to himself; it seemed that not everyone had turned to the out of town hypermarkets which now dotted the countryside. Those massive centres were all designed the same, and so sterile. They carried the usual major outlets and a collection of smaller stores. It was so impersonal and cold.

  But here, in villages such as this, the shops still retained their old world authenticity. Sebastian supposed that many of them had been handed down from generation to generation. One, in particular, caught his eye, the tiny glass windows in a traditional bowed frame had photos of properties for sale. He noticed an older man sitting behind a desk and on impulse walked in. The man was the owner and as he was quick to point out, the only estate agent in the village.

  They sat for some time chatting, and Sebastian felt himself relax into country life almost immediately. It reached the stage where he didn’t want to leave, but glancing at the clock noticed the agent would soon be closing. Asking where accommodation might be found, the man immediately recommended the pub next door, The Nags Head. Apparently, he knew the landlord well and often dined there himself. Sebastian said he would try for a room and perhaps they could share a meal and continue their conversation over a bottle of red.

  And so, it was later in the evening when the subject finally came up about suitable properties for Sebastian to look at buying; they arranged to meet the following morning to explore the possibilities.

  The next day Sebastian was at the agent’s office at precisely nine o clock. James laughed as he opened the door.

  ‘You’re keen.’

  ‘Keen as mustard!’ Exclaimed Sebastian.

  In fact, he had hardly slept. He was excited about the village and had already fallen in love with it. All his professional life everything he did was planned down to the last minute. Every concert and every venue had been marshalled like a military campaign. Now, at long last, he could be impetuous and do what he damn well pleased.

  He had never married, never had the time. There had been lots of girlfriends and casual friendships, but nothing ever meaningful enough to contemplate marriage. So here he was, footloose and fancy-free. For the first time since the performance incident, he felt like living again. The thought reminded him of the recent night when he had considered ending it all. The idea of not playing again had taken him unawares. He hadn’t even been drinking but still considered methods by which he might bring his agony to an end in the coldness of sobriety. It would have to be pain-free, of course, he hated the idea of a painful death. Something involving pills, or perhaps to end it all in the new Mercedes might be appropriate, the old hosepipe up the exhaust trick.

  In the cold light of the next morning, he metaphorically slapped his wrist. What idiotic thoughts to have when, apart from his music, the world was his oyster. He was still young, had buckets of money and was as free as a bird.

  He and James went through the various properties available, and Sebastian discounted most of them. They were all so ‘ordinary’, presenting no challenge whatsoever. Even the older cottages didn’t do it for him. Yes, they were beautiful and would suit him down to the ground, except that there would be nothing to do. They were all f
ully renovated, and he would be reduced to sitting around and drinking at the pub, not the life he wanted.

  He returned to the same listing time and again only to be met with a swift rebuttal by James.

  ‘No, you don’t want that old place, it's falling apart and needs a hell of a lot of work even to make it habitable. Besides, it’s a few miles out of the village, standing on its own at a set of crossroads. Not many people even use the roads anymore, they all use the motorway.’

  Sebastian replied with even more excitement,

  ‘But don’t you see, that’s exactly what I need. Something to get immersed in totally. We’ve talked about my old life and yes it was great while it lasted, but that’s over now, it’s time for a new beginning.’

  Sebastian’s eyes were burning with the light of an evangelist and James knew he would have to show him the property. He had already pointed out that it had been for sale for years and nobody would even make an offer. That merely excited Sebastian even more. He would buy it for a song and spare no expense to bring it back to life.

  James shuddered at the choice of words but said nothing. Sebastian would have to see for himself. Perhaps it would be a very short inspection, very short indeed, he reflected.

  He had shown the property several times over the past few years, well not ‘shown’ exactly. He gave the prospective buyer the keys and gave them directions. He had only been there once himself and that was quite enough for him.

  Now, he threw a set of ancient keys across the desk and drew a mud map for Sebastian.

  ‘Not coming yourself?’ Said Sebastian surprised.

  ‘No, I have a number of things to do today, you can keep the keys until tomorrow, no hurry.’

  Sebastian climbed into his car and put the keys on the passenger seat. He was tingling with excitement and drove off down the road to find his future.

  Chapter 2

  He had not driven very far when the crossroads loomed in the distance. The roads were not used very much anymore as the planners had cleverly arranged that almost all the old country roads fed onto the motorway. Indeed, it was impossible to stay away from the wide spacious highway, but very frustrating if one wanted to avoid it.

  Sebastian checked his dashboard and found he had only travelled three miles, however, the village had been left behind and nothing but flat fields filled his view now. The crossroads looked slightly menacing in a strange way; he couldn’t put his finger on it, they simply appeared unwelcoming. Sebastian shrugged his shoulders and continued up to the property for sale. It must be the one, he thought, for two reasons. The first was that it was the only building there and the second giveaway was the sad looking sale board. It had faded badly and leaned at an angle on a wooden stake; he thought it would only be a matter of time before the board met the ground. He should put it straight again was his first thought, but he didn’t want to attract any more potential buyers, so instead helped it on its way by gently pushing it downwards. The sign seemed to sigh in relief as the corner finally touched the ground it had been courting for so many years.

  He approached what he assumed to be the front door, although the building had been extended and played with over the years and it was hard to make out which was supposed to be the front or back.

  The key turned reluctantly in the lock; he thought it must be almost as old as the house. He pushed against the door, and it creaked open, revealing the musty interior. Stepping through, he narrowly avoided a cluster of cobwebs hanging over the top of the door; another sign nobody had been for quite some time.

  The room might once have been the kitchen. It was quite large in area although the low ceiling would challenge anyone over six feet. Sebastian was only five feet eight or so and could walk about easily. There were no exposed beams evident, and he wondered if someone had maybe covered them in the past. His imagination kicked in, becoming excited at what might be discovered. He would undertake all the work himself, after all, he had the skills from his father. His mind was working rapidly as he mentally made a list of tools he would need. He would buy every conceivable powered implement to make life easier.

  Sebastian had not moved from the first room, but in his mind, he was already planning. Throughout the house, all the rooms were much the same size. Each room had a fireplace, and he guessed that behind each small Victorian cast iron fitting, designed to burn coal, he would find some form of Inglenook fireplace from the time when fuel was almost exclusively wood. Returning to the first room he mounted the narrow set of stairs leading to the floor above. The treads were not very broad and unevenly spaced, making it a challenge to climb them without looking down. After only half a dozen steps they turned sharply to the left and continued up to a landing. Doors off opened to reveal two bedrooms, each with a narrow dormer window featuring small glass panes. He could barely see through them after years of collected dust and cobwebs obscured the light. Once again low ceilings were a feature, and this time only a couple of inches separated his head from the rough plastered finish. In what he thought of as his room a section of the plaster had fallen away and he could make out the laths. His curiosity got the better of him, and he went back to the car and fished a torch out of the glove compartment. Shining the bright light up through the exposed wooden laths he could make out the structure of the roof. It could be seen from the outside that it was made of slate, but from underneath he guessed at one time it had been thatch. There were still tufts of it between the rafters, which themselves were rough sawn and not one was the same size as any of the others. This indicated that the roof was very old, certainly preceding the age when every piece of timber had been cut to exact lengths and thicknesses.

  Sebastian was so absorbed in mentally renovating the house back to what it had once been that he hardly noticed the chill air which seemed to inhabit the place. Outside a thin sunshine warmed the surrounding countryside, yet inside, it felt cold. He put it down to years of lying deserted with no fires and no furniture, but mostly to the lack of human occupancy. He could soon rectify that.

  The outbuildings were next on his list, and he went into the first structure across the yard. The door was wide open and revealed a veritable Aladdin’s cave. There before him lay a complete baker’s oven with mixing bowls, tins and even the large poles with flat wooden sections at the end for pulling out freshly baked loaves. The cast iron door of the oven lay open, and he peered in shining the torch. The ashes of a long dead wood fire lay undisturbed; it was as if the oven had been used the day before when in reality he knew it had been many years since anyone had stood before the blazing logs. He looked about him dreamily; it was like the baker had walked out at the end of his day and never returned. Everything was as he would have left it.

  The next building was small and attached to the main house. Sebastian opened the door to a room out of the late Victorian era. It was, or what he supposed used to pass for, a bathroom. There was an old enamel bathtub, an art deco style sink together with a toilet. The cistern bolted to the wall above the bowl was cast iron, and he could clearly read the makers name, ‘Thomas Crapper’. He smiled to himself, this piece of history would certainly have to be integrated into the new bathroom already forming in his mind. He frowned as the vision of the original septic system crossed his mind; it would be neither pretty nor practical.

  He stood apart from the building and looked it over from top to bottom. This building would be the challenge of a lifetime; it would also be his personal salvation. He was so engrossed in the vista of his new home he failed to notice the shadow flitting across one of the upstairs dormer windows, the one which if he had his way, would quite soon be his bedroom window.

  As he walked past the for sale sign, he absentmindedly pulled it out of the ground and clicking open the automatic boot threw it inside. He was smiling as he turned the car around and headed back to the village, back to bail James up and make an offer.

  The dark figure in the bakery doorway wasn’t smiling.

  Chapter 3

  James wa
s sitting in his office when Sebastian pulled up outside. Almost running through the door he at first didn’t notice the lady sitting at the desk. He apologised, saying he would return later, but James smiled and introduced her.

  ‘Sebastian this is Briony, Briony my dear, meet Sebastian Carmichael.’

  She rose and put out her hand, Sebastian held it lightly in greeting but found he didn’t want to let go. He was lost for words, merely nodding and smiling. She returned his smile and didn’t withdraw her hand. Sebastian was lost in her eyes and felt himself falling into space, the sounds around him became muted, and it was as if he had entered a different world.

  A loud cough broke the spell, and he released her hand as she sat down again. He looked at James and just for a moment saw anger in his eyes, quickly replaced with his agent's smile.

  Briony got up, excusing herself,

  ‘I’ll leave you two to talk, it looks like it could be business and I’ll be in the way.’

  With that she walked out, closing the door gently behind her. To Sebastian, she appeared to be walking on air. She made no noise as she walked away and even the soft swirling of her light cotton dress was silent. Sebastian stared at her, totally enraptured. He had never met such a beautiful woman before, not only was she beautiful on the outside he instinctively knew she was just as beautiful on the inside.

  He sat down in the chair she had vacated and looked across the desk at the now smiling James.

  ‘Wow! Who was that? She’s lovely.’ Sebastian exclaimed.

  James put on his best smile.

  ‘Oh, that’s Briony, we’ve been friends for a long time, I’ve known her all her life. A beautiful young girl and now a beautiful woman.’

  ‘Is she married?’ Asked Sebastian, hoping for an answer in the negative.

  ‘No, she never did marry, I guess the right man never showed up.’ Replied James with something akin to longing in his voice.