The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (14 page)

But then maybe Lisle was right. They
had to stay calm and to stay put. This house was the thing that
kept them warm and alive—perhaps not safe, but leaving was certain
death. Maybe there were spirits and their threats were merely idle
words, designed to terrorize. If it wasn't for the fact that Alfie
had died, she would be quite happy to believe that. Saying that;
Alfie hadn't died of fright, shivering under his blankets. He'd
invited them, maybe even invited them to take his life.

Marching out of the kitchen, Anne found the
burning sage where she'd left it. She wasn't going to trust the
words of a spirit. It might not even be Alfie, instead something
taking his form—something that wanted her to stop burning the
sage.

With steel in her spine, she walked around
the rooms and the hallways with shaking hands, even Lisle's room,
and let the smoke wisp its way into every part. The idea that the
sage did nothing was terrifying. It meant she had no protection.
Then again, the spirit that resembled Alfie had appeared while she
was burning it. It may be useless, but it was all she had and she
wasn't ready to give it up.

Anne returned to her room and coaxed the
fire in her grate. It kept the worst of the cold away. Frost had
started creeping up the bottom of the window panes, sparkling with
the light of the fire and candles.

The sad truth was that she had nowhere
to go. What money she had was practically gone. She could barely
afford a bed in the cheapest boardinghouse in London, let alone the
fare to get there. Placing herself as a burden on Harry was unfair.
He had no means and would have to use his pocket money to support
her, forgoing even the simplest pleasures. His regard would soon
turn bitter and he might cut ties with her altogether. This house
was all she had, and apparently she needed to fight for
it.

Wearily, she crawled into bed and drew
the blankets up. Alfie's words returned. 'He’ was coming for her.
Who? She searched her mind for the things Mr. Harleston had said.
According to him, there were spirits in this house protecting her.
She prayed for their strength, but also knew that the inherent
implication was that she needed protection.

Anne woke in the dark, returning from a
dream full of anxiety and worry. Keeping her eyes closed, she
refused to open them, refused to let anything in the room see that
she was awake. Now the natural assumption was that there was always
something in the room with her. There were no safe places—except
maybe under her blankets.

She just wanted to sleep again,
preferring the horrid dreams to lying there listening to any noise
in the house. She shifted in the bed. She'd been sweating during
the night and now felt clammy and cold. The new spot was cold, but
it would soon warm—better than the damp that would continue to rob
her of warmth.

The bed shifted and Anne froze. There
was a distinct shift as if someone had sat down. With her breath
held, she didn't want to look, but she had to. Peering over the
blankets, she saw nothing, just dark space. Everything was where
she had left it.

A crash sounded on the floor across the room
and she startled. Something had dropped off her desk. Whatever it
was, a piece of it was rolling around the floor.

Anne sat up and she felt the shift again.
Sheer panic flared through her. There was someone there. Maybe
Alfie's warning had been right, maybe 'he' was coming for her, or
maybe Alfie was trying to cause trouble again. Frozen, she couldn't
get her mind to work. It refused to tell her what to do.

A heavy pressure came down on her chest,
pushing her back into the mattress. Desperately, her hands searched
for the source, but there was nothing she could fight, finding cold
air. The pressure was harsh and she felt as if she couldn't
breathe. Her legs kicked, tangled in the blankets. The pressure was
even too hard for her to scream.

Using all her strength, she pulled herself
to the side and fell to the floor, hitting the wooden planks hard.
Again, she couldn't breathe, her lungs aching with the impact.
Without thinking, she pulled herself under the bed, turning onto
her stomach. The pressure hadn't followed her there.

Aching, ragged breaths finally returned and
her lungs burned as if on fire, unable to still her breath as she
wanted to listen to what was in the room. She saw nothing but
darkness.

The idea that these spirits couldn’t
do anything to her was out the window. This spirit had held her so
hard, she couldn't breathe. She felt the plank next to the bed
depress and pure fear made her breath falter. Then nothing, as if
it was waiting for her to emerge, or to do something.

Nothing on God's green earth could
persuade her to leave her hiding place. As she watched another
plank depressed ever so slightly, the wood groaning as though
weight had come down on it. Then nothing. She listened until there
was only ringing in her ears. Her lungs again burned for air, but
she was too scared to breathe.

Shattering glass made her jump sharply, the
sound crashing into her ears. Something else had fallen, or been
thrown. This spirit was intent on destroying all her things. Better
her things than her.

And then banging started. Shutters, doors,
chairs. She didn't know what, but the sound assaulted her. She
covered her ears, trying to block it out as if she didn't hear the
sound, it wasn't happening. Her heart was beating so hard, she
couldn't think. She had to get out of there. This thing was teasing
her, waiting for her to emerge.

Iciness gripped around her ankle and finally
she screamed. Tumultuous sensations formed around her before she
knew what was happening, until she realized she was sharply being
pulled out from under the bed, exposed to the danger taunting her.
She kicked wildly but hit nothing.

Then quiet. She couldn't tell where
the creature was. She scrambled up on all fours, crouched and
expecting assault. Her mind flashed to Lisle, but she didn't dare
call out.

Again the banging started, growing louder in
her ears until she couldn't hear her own thoughts. Untethered panic
set in and she watched as the door repeatedly slammed. This thing
was everywhere, banging the shutter and the door at the same time.
Either there were more than one or this thing was capable of being
in more places than one.

"Lisle!" she finally called, but the
banging didn't stop. The floorboards shifted and she spread her
arms wide to keep herself from falling over. They bucked as if they
wanted her off them.

Pumping her legs, she flew to the
door, taking its edge, fearing her fingers would be slammed into
the jam. With all her strength, and there was resistance, she
forced it open. "Lisle, get out of the house!" she screamed, in a
panic throwing herself toward the stairs.

A hand on her back pushed her and she flew
over the stairs. She couldn't die like this, she thought
resolutely, desperately reaching for a hold. Her hand touched
something and she gripped with all her might, almost jerking her
arm out of its socket. Her knee descended hard on one of the steps,
and pain flared up her leg, but she arrested her motion. The stairs
bucked underneath her and she crouched down, too scared to
move.

The sound was like an endless supply
of planks being poured into the floor. With a desperate grip, her
arm was around the balustrade as she continued down the stairs,
unable to trust the stairs under her feet, which bucked and
shifted. Her breath ragged, she moved to the bottom and ran for the
door, throwing it open to the snow flurries outside.

Out in the cold, there was nothing but
stillness. The noise in the house stopped the moment she crossed
the threshold.

She was still too panicked to feel the
cold, standing in bare feet and in nothing but her nightgown.
Turning, she gazed at the house which looked like a dark monolith
with snow trimming its edges, the moon making the snow glow. Her
mind was still trying to understand what had just happened. She'd
been chased out. Attacked until she had fled. The door was still
open and she saw only darkness inside.

Lisle
, her still panicked mind thought. Anne walked around the
house to where Lisle's room was, calling as loudly as she could,
but no light came on in her room. There was no noise either. If
this thing was attacking Lisle as well, Anne couldn't hear it.
"Lisle," she called as loudly as she could, but still there was
nothing.

Snow was falling on her and she started
feeling the cold now, seeping into the soles of her feet. Crossing
her arms, she tried to fight the cold off. Goose bumps covered
every part of her, but she didn't know it if was the cold or the
impossible events of the night.

Now that the immediate threat was
gone, her mind turned to her situation. She was standing out in the
winter cold in her nightgown. Obviously, she would freeze to death
before long. Fleeing to the Turner's farm occurred to her, but she
clearly remembered his warning not to go running across the moors
in the dark. She could well imagine his expression if she
considered doing so in a thin cotton nightgown. They would find her
frozen solid somewhere along the way.

The cold was invading her body now.
She looked around and considered taking shelter in one of the
outbuildings, huddling in some corner somewhere, hoping the cold
would not kill her. She could seek Alfie's bed, but she feared that
there was something contagious in his sheets. Perhaps irrationally,
but she could not bring herself to using the bed where a man had
died.

The only course was to return to the
house. She returned to the front where the door was still open,
exactly as it had been before. Snowflakes were the only things
moving.

This thing, this spirit, had chased
her out, but this was her house now. Her death was certain if she
remained outside, and plausible if she returned inside. It wasn't a
choice she relished making, but then it wasn't really a choice at
all. Every part of her strained against moving inside, but she
forced her feet to take the steps.

Her breath held in her chest as she
stepped through the door, expecting a return of the banging, but
there was only silence. How much of her strength was taken became
clear as she shoved the door closed. Again there was only silence.
Perhaps the thing had depleted its energy, too. The only sound was
the clock in the parlor.

She didn't know if she dared return to her
bed, wondering if she might be better off staying in the parlor.
Lisle returned to her mind. She had to go check on Lisle, ensure
she was alright, but part of her feared it, feared learning things
she didn't want to know.

Her arms tight into her chest, she
considered what to do. Nothing in her wanted to walk up those
stairs, but she had to. She took a first step and waited, but
nothing happened. Taking the next, she ran up as quietly as she
could, refusing to let her mind consider the world around her other
than her objective, to get up to the servants' floor.

Lisle's door was closed and Anne tried the
handle, which gave with a slight creak. Lisle's form lay under the
blankets in the cot. "Lisle," she called and got no response.
"Lisle?" Dread crept up her spine again. No, she couldn't take
anymore. Then Lisle shifted. "Lisle?"

"What?" Lisle said, annoyed she was being
pulled out of her sleep. Had Lisle slept through the whole thing?
Had she heard nothing of the entire house banging as if the earth
was undulating beneath it? "What's the matter?"

"The house is being difficult," Anne
said.