Escape and other Spooky Stories Page 2

  “Oh, hello Sarah. I’m fine thank you,” she replied. “How can I help you?”

  “May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

  “Oh,” she laughed. “It’s Mary Gallagher.”

  “Thank you, Mary.” Again, I spoke the lines that had been said a million times before. “I was calling to speak with Tina. Would she be your daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok great. And was the lovely young man who answered the phone your grandson?”

  “Yes, he is such a dear little thing.”

  “James,” a woman called in the background. “Did the phone ring?”

  Footsteps echoed of the distinctive sound of hardwood floor, followed by a sigh. “Hello? I’m sorry, my son answered the phone. Who is this?”

  “Oh, that’s alright. I’ve been having a chat with your mum,” I replied.

  Silence and then, “My mum? That’s impossible.”

  “Um, she told her name was Mary? Maybe I misunderstood.” I answered back. A distinct unease was rising inside me.

  “That was her name, but I’m telling you it’s not possible.”

  Unsure of what to say, I’m about to end the call with an apology and leave it at that, but her next words left me chilled.

  “My mum is dead. She died three weeks ago.”

  Frozen in shock, I cannot say a single thing.

  The receiver goes dead and the familiar beep-beep-beep rings in my ears, as my brain comes to unbelievable conclusion that I just had a conversation with someone’s dead mother.

  A ghost answered my phone call.

  The Hanging Man

  AS A YOUNG CHILD, I saw something that no child should ever see.

  An apparition.

  A vision.

  The past of some unfortunate soul.

  I never knew exactly what it was that I saw that day.

  I WALKED OUT IN THE field behind my grandfather’s aging homestead, cutting through the long weedy grass. With no destination in my mind, I ran, jumped and skipped merrily avoiding the make-believe monsters, ghouls and dragons of my imagination that were lying in wait for me, hidden within the depths of the grass.

  The oak tree was in sight, I turned left and made a dash for it. This was to be my tower. Perhaps there was a maiden waiting to be rescued from an evil queen. I’d climb the thick limbs all the way to the top and rescue my fair lady. What I would do with her afterwards was beyond me. The fun was in the rescuing and vanquishing the foes.

  The tree was getting closer.

  But something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t explain it exactly, but goosebumps rose on my arms, and the air fairly crackled with an unknown energy.

  I should have turned around and went back to the sanctuary of my grandfather’s home, but something propelled me forward, almost a physical push from an unseen hand.

  As I drew closer, I could see something hovering beneath the largest limb. Squinting to make out the shape, I edged closer. My curiosity was insatiable, and there was no way I was turning back now. Not until I had moved close enough to see what it was. Danger was not something that I really understood yet. Adults talked about it, I could sense it now like I never had before, but it was still an undefined concept in my mind.

  With a deep steadying breath, and a shake of my head, I pushed forward until at last I stood beneath the tree.

  Not a single sound came out of my mouth, although I can tell you without the slightest bit of embarrassment, that I opened my mouth to scream like a little girl, but no sound came forth. The air surrounding me had been sucked from the atmosphere. I was in a bubble of horror. My vision narrowed to the man in front of me.

  The man hanging from the tree.

  I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was dead.

  And I knew that he wasn’t real.

  A ghost or something else. Something that all parents tell their children aren’t real.

  But I had witnessed the ‘not real’ thing with my own eyes.

  Paralysed with a depth of previously unknown terror, the hanging man started swinging, back and forth in the air. The rope stretched and taut beneath his weight, began to make a creaking sound.

  Legs shaking, I managed to stumble backwards and tripped, falling flat on my behind. It was enough to shake me out of the trance that I was caught in. I drew myself up and ran without looking back. The creaking of the rope followed me all the way home.

  I never told anyone what I had seen that day. And after many years, it began to become a distant memory, something that I had buried and forgotten about.

  If only I hadn’t though...

  FORTY YEARS LATER

  As I stand here with the noose around my neck, balancing myself, until the precise moment that I am ready to jump. I close my eyes, and with vivid clarity remember that day forty years ago in this very spot. It all came back to me with startling clarity.

  I was the hanging man.

  I had witnessed my demise forty years before it happened.

  Was I destined to die this way?

  Was it a warning?

  I’ll never really know.

  And with that final thought, I jumped.

  Lady Morwenna’s Ghost

  THE ASSIGNMENT – THE Ghost of Lady Morwenna

  Location – Port Isaac, Cornwall

  Activity Level – Allegedly high

  I stared at the blinking cursor; how the hell had I ended up here? I started investigating the paranormal because I truly believed that there was another world, another space that we couldn’t see, but was just as real as the reality around us. Now after two years of chasing crap leads from jumpy teens, I was at my wits end. This wasn’t what I’d had in mind when I was approached by my friend, now boss, to join his paranormal team as an investigator/writer.

  What I thought was going to be a job where I could investigate credible leads that might one day provide undeniable proof of the spirit world, turned out to be a job chasing leads that had no activity—despite very strong claims that it was the most haunted location they’d ever been to—but no matter if I spent a week or a night at these places, it was all the same. A floor board might creak if I was lucky.

  So, this is how I find myself in Cornwall, with a decidedly pessimistic view of the few days that lie before me. So far, the strangest thing that I’d encountered was the owner of this property. Strange woman and the definition of spooky, however, she was very much alive.

  I shook my head as I recalled the incident. When she’d opened the door of the main house, she looked right at me and screamed before slamming the door in my face.

  With a raised eyebrow and a ‘what the hell’ expression on my face, I gingerly knocked again.

  “Be gone demon!” she screeched through the door.

  “What the shit is going on?” I grumbled to myself, then spoke louder so she could hear me through the thick wooden door. “Um, not a demon; just a guest trying to book in.”

  A moment of silence stretched into what felt like an eternity before slowly the door began to open. Not much more than a crack, but it was progress.

  “Who are you?” she whispered to me.

  “Jared Holmes.” I answered, trying my best to appear non-threatening; not that I really knew what I possibly could have done to scare her before and then be called a demon. “Villagers,” I muttered under my breath.

  Still studying me intently, like a mouse waiting for a cat to pounce, she said, “I do have someone booked in under that name.”

  I fought to keep the agitation from my expression. “Then perhaps you might consider letting me in?”

  I watched the struggle on her face and groaned internally. Finally, she must have come to a decision for the door began to open further.

  “My apologies,” she said without the slightest bit of remorse and indicated with a sweep of her hand that I should enter. I didn’t hesitate in case she changed her mind and started screaming, “Demon, Demon,” again.

  Honestly, if this were happening to someone
else, and I’d heard the story, I’d be rolling on the floor in laughter, but it wasn’t happening to someone else; I was the schmuck.

  She walked to the large wooden table that dominated the entry; I say entry, but you could fit my entire studio apartment in it. She opened a book that looked as ancient as the table, and the rest of the house, but that wasn’t what caught my eye. Hanging on the burgundy wall beside me was a portrait of a breathtaking woman from the 1800’s judging by the clothes she wore. This had to be Lady Morwenna.

  “I’m not surprised she caught your attention,” stated the strange owner.

  I started, lost in the green eyes of the exquisite Morwenna. “Why is that?”

  “She catches the eye of every man that walks in here.”

  I didn’t know exactly how to reply to that, but it seemed that she wasn’t expecting one as she kept talking. “That’s what she was famous for around these parts. Men were driven mad by her beauty. One man in particular would not rest until she belonged to him.”

  “Love will do that I guess,” I said, unable to take my eyes from her hypnotic gaze.

  She snorted. “This wasn’t love. It was obsession and a need to possess.”

  I mouthed an O.

  “And that’s how tragedy struck.” She said with gusto.

  Of course, I wanted to know more. I was a curious person by nature after all. “What happened?”

  “There was a man from the north, and he wouldn’t accept that Morwenna was not his and never would be. She was in love with another; and it wasn’t just any love but a great love. She was meant to marry him a month before the death occurred.”

  “Who died?” I jumped in. “Morwenna?”

  “No, he didn’t kill her. The man from north thought that if he got rid of the competition, then Morwenna would be all his. But he underestimated Morwenna’s love for her fiancée, Gareth. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was alive or dead, she would never have anyone else.

  “So, the man from the north lured Gareth out to the cliffs outside this manor; that was the really cruel part; you see this was Morwenna’s house, and he knew that the first person to see his bruised a battered body would be Morwenna.”

  “How did he kill Gareth?”

  “There was a fight, and the man from the north pushed Gareth from the cliff, down to the jagged rocks below. But the plan hadn’t gone exactly as he wanted it to. Morwenna was never supposed to come out and witness him pushing her beloved one to his death. But she did. And in her grief, she wailed, I’ll be with you again my love and threw herself off the cliff.

  The man from the north ran off into the night. There was talk that the villagers caught him trying to flee and dealt with him in their own way, but that was never anything more than a rumour. But dead or not, the man was never seen or heard from again.”

  I was so pulled into the story, my heart caught in my throat, that I couldn’t form a response.

  Barely a minute later, the key to the cottage was being placed in my hand. “I suggest the local pub for dinner. If there is anything else, you know where to find me.”

  I nodded vaguely and walked out the front door, turned left and walked half way down the hill to where the cottage sat. I let myself in and dropped my bags in the hallway and looked at my watch; it was time for dinner.

  Midnight

  Apart from a very unsettling feeling that had permeated the cottage, there was no activity to report. After the story that I heard, I was quietly optimistic; this had all the makings of a haunting—violent deaths, unfinished business and tragedy.

  Feeling exhausted, I was about to give up for the night when I heard a woman crying. I whipped around. Seeing nothing, I could only grab my digital recorder, hit record and follow the sound to its source.

  “Hello?” I said in a reassuring tone. “Is that you, Morwenna?”

  The crying was getting louder. I had to be going on the right direction. “Morwenna?”

  The crying ceased, and I cursed softly. “I’m not here to harm you, my lady.”

  The whisper of voice came from behind me. “Gareth? Where are you?”

  The recorder slipped from my hands as a I jumped. “Shit,” I swore grabbing the recorder and giving it a quick inspection. It seemed fine. With a quick thank you to my lucky stars, I kept investigating. “Morwenna, are you still with me?”

  “Gareth,” the voice came from behind me again, but this time I was ready for it. “Have you come back for me?”

  My brow furrowed. Did she think I was Gareth or was this just residual energy? I decided to ask a direct question and see if I got an intelligent response. “Are you waiting for Gareth?”

  Holding myself perfectly still and silent, I waited. “Yes.”

  I wanted to scream with the rush. She was here, and she was an intelligent entity, not just residual energy playing repeatedly. “Are you alone?”

  “No.”

  As she spoke, the energy took on a darker more sinister feel. It was such a menacing presence that I was almost choking on the atmosphere. “Who is with you?”

  “The bad man.”

  “The guy from the north?”

  “Yes.” It was barely a whimper.

  “GET OUT!” The booming growl filled the room. I took an involuntary step back.

  “No,” I told him defiantly. “I’m here for Morwenna.”

  Another growl, lower and immensely more threatening.

  “Morwenna, come to my voice.”

  “She can’t,” the evil entity bellowed at me. “I couldn’t control her in life, but I control her in death.”

  “Woah,” I breathed. I was tempted to pinch myself to make sure that I was awake, and this wasn’t a dream. I couldn’t believe the material that I was getting. That and I was beyond terrified, but I wasn’t going to let that stand in my way. I could finally prove the existence of spirits; both good and bad.

  “Get out of here, Gareth.” Morwenna’s voice carried like an echo. She sounded so far away.

  Holy crap! Gareth was here too? “Where is Gareth?” I demanded.

  The entity laughed. “You don’t remember?”

  “What?”

  “You are Gareth, you fool!” The gravelly voice, was super eerie, and yet I can only imagine the vision was so much worse than the voice.

  “Nope, I’m Jared.”

  “Run, Gareth!” Morwenna cried again.

  Before I could react, the unseen presence had me by the throat and was dragging me outside towards the cliffs. I fought and struggled with everything I had, but it was useless.

  I was going to die.

  “Once again, I get the pleasure of killing you, Gareth.” It chuckled. “Try not to reincarnate again, or if you do stay the hell away from Morwenna. She belongs to me.”

  “Noooooo!” I screamed.

  Before another second passed, the entity let go, and I plunged down into the darkness below.

  Jared Holmes, paranormal investigator, has tragically lost his life while on an investigation into the ghost of Lady Morwenna. His body was found at the bottom of the cliff outside the location he was investigating. In a strange twist, local legend has it that this is the same spot that Lady Morwenna’s fiancé was thrown to his death by a spurned suitor from the north. Perhaps the ghost of the spurned man still roams the cliffs, looking to banish any competition for his lady ghost. In another strange twist, we found a picture of Lady Morwenna’s fiancé, Gareth and the resemblance between Gareth and Jared is remarkable. If we didn’t know better, we would say that they were the same person. Was Jared murdered by the ghost because of his resemblance to Gareth? I guess we will never know. In happier news, there have been recent sightings of Lady Morwenna and an as yet unidentified spook walking together along the cliff. I will let you decide what you think of that one for yourselves, dear readers.

  The Dare

  “ARE YOU SCAAAARED OF the big bad ghosts, Derek?” Brad taunted in a childish voice.

  “No, Braaaad,” I retorted, in an equal
ly childish tone. “Don’t you think we’re a little too old for ghost crap?”

  “We’re only sixteen, and no I don’t.” He smirked at me, and for the hundredth time I found myself wondering why I was friends with him. He really was a giant jackass. “I think you’re just scared.”

  He stared at me, waiting for me to admit that I was scared. Of course I was! But was I going to tell him that? Nope. Not even on pain of death. So, I’d just have to do this ridiculous dare, try not scream like a girl and get out of here. I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine, I’ll do your stupid dare. What are the terms?”

  Brad grinned at me like an ape. “Right, one hour in there all by yourself.”

  “Do I get a torch?” I asked inspecting the house more closely. “It’s ready to fall down. I need a light source.”

  Grumbling, Brad handed me his torch. “Now the other thing is you have to record the whole thing and then we get to watch you squeal like a little girl later on, and if it’s really funny, it’s going on my YouTube channel.” He dragged a handheld camera out of his bag and passed it to me.

  I gave him my death glare. He just grinned wider. “Ape,” I mumbled under my breath. “Right, one hour and recording the whole thing.” I viewed the dilapidated double story once more and repressed a shiver. “I hope you’ve got some back up content, Braddles, because I doubt you’ll get anything from me.” Imitating his grin, just to annoy him, I grabbed the torch and camera, and went up to the front door. “See you in an hour,” I called over my shoulder before I forced myself inside.

  It was darker inside, almost pitch black; my eyes couldn’t seem to adjust no matter how hard they tried. I turned on the torch. A chorus of flapping burst through the silence and I ducked, but thankfully managed to hold in the girlish scream. It was bats, I repeated to myself, just bats; perfectly normal. What wasn’t normal, was the feeling that I was being watched by more than one pair of eyes—and none of them belonging to the bats.

  Breathing like I’d run a marathon and my heart beating erratically in my chest, I put my hand through the safety grip on the camera, opened the screen and hit record. “Hey Braddles,” I said, moving the camera around the room. “Here we have what I assume was once a lounge room. I think I see a couch under all the dust and cobwebs. Real renovators delight.”