The Haunting of Blackwood House (12 page)

Neil went to his car and retrieved a stack of papers from the passenger seat before they returned to Blackwood. Mara couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the space under the stairwell as they passed, but it was, of course, empty.

Mara led Neil to the bedroom. He started the heater while she settled cross-legged on the sleeping bag and waited for him to join her. His face was still pale, and a haunted look lingered in his eyes. He smiled when he caught her watching him then sat opposite her and unfolded his papers.

“How do you want it?” he asked. “Piece by piece or in one big lump?”

“Give me the lump first.”

“Right.” Neil clasped his hands under his chin. “With the exception of Chris’s, every single family to live in Blackwood experienced some sort of violent death. In most cases, the entire family died.”

Mara raised her eyebrows, but Neil’s face was serious. She cleared her throat. “Okay. I can see how that would make you worried. Want to tell me about them?”

Neil began spreading pages out. Many were handwritten, but some were printed. “Chris’s story this afternoon worried me, so I started researching as soon as I got home. What I found was really, really awful. I called Jenny to ask why she hadn’t told us—because there are laws about disclosing things like these to prospective house buyers—but her excuse was that you’d signed a form saying you were okay with the house’s history.” Neil shook his head. “Of course, you only signed the form based on the Robert Kant business.”

“To be fair, I did kind of scream at her that I didn’t care about the building’s past.”

“Even so—she should have told you. I think she was a little too eager to sell the house.”

Mara shuffled closer. “Okay. What’d you dig up?”

“Jenny gave me a list of all of Blackwood’s previous owners. There were eight in all.” Neil sorted through the papers and pulled out a handwritten list. “The first, of course, was your great-great-grandfather, Victor Barlow. He’d not long built the house when Robert Kant, travelling across country, murdered him. Yesterday, I told you Kant stabbed him, but it turns out he actually used an axe—his signature weapon.”

Images and voices flashed through Mara’s mind. The dream of the red-haired woman, cradling her dead child while her husband lay with an axe imbedded in his back.
Run, run, run. The axe man is coming.

“I couldn’t find an accurate account of what happened to Victor’s body, but it seems Robert buried him somewhere on the property. Robert then took up residence in Blackwood without anyone knowing. Over the next four years, he lured five children back to the house, where he butchered them with the same axe he’d used on Victor.”

Sweat stood out on Neil’s forehead. Mara sensed how difficult the discussion was for him and scooted around to sit at his side. She leaned against his arm. “Take your time.”

“Thanks,” he murmured. He took a deep breath then continued. “Robert’s last target, a girl, managed to escape. She ran back to town and alerted the police. By the time they arrived to arrest Robert, he’d hung himself from the bannister in the foyer.”

A chill travelled up Mara’s spine. She hoped Neil wouldn’t feel it. “It’s weird he didn’t try to run away. He would have had a great head start.”

“True. Maybe he couldn’t live with himself anymore.”

“What happened afterwards?”

“The house was cleaned, of course. Some people talked about demolishing it, but it was a sturdy, new building and was eventually bought by a large family. They lived there for a total of twelve years. During that time, all six children died. Two drowned, one cracked his head on a post, one was splashed with boiling water in the kitchen and died from a resulting infection, one cut her chest open on their gardening equipment, and the youngest climbed into the chimney and suffocated.”

Mara closed her eyes.

“The parents, grief-stricken, apparently killed themselves in a suicide pact. Their bodies weren’t found until a full month later. Again, there was talk of destroying Blackwood, but it was sold to a young couple instead. Their story is less clear, but it seems the wife went insane, and her husband locked her in their room to keep her from harming herself. There are records of doctors visiting her and trying to cure her. The couple lived in the house for a little less than two years before the husband also succumbed to insanity, possibly induced by the isolation and stress of caring for his wife. He killed her. Just like Robert, he used an axe. A doctor, on a routine visit, found the husband sitting beside his wife’s body in the master bedroom.” Neil cleared his throat. “She’d apparently tried to claw her way out of the locked door and left deep scores in the wood.”

“You’re joking,” Mara said.

“I wish I was. The house was meant to have been cleaned—again—and the door removed.”

Mara shook her head. “That lends credence to my theory: someone was obsessed with the house’s history and replicated some of its more noteworthy attractions.”

Neil moved on without agreeing. “The husband was taken to an insane asylum. After that, the house was empty for a while. It was next bought by a couple with a young child. That was shortly after World War II. They lived here for a year. The wife killed her husband with, believe it or not, an axe. She then smothered her child. They found her dead in the rocking chair, holding her baby. No one’s really sure what killed her; she wasn’t injured in any way and had no poison in her system. The main theory is either a heart attack or an aneurism.”

Mara fixed her eyes on the floor. Her head buzzed.
I dreamed that. How did I know? How could I have possibly known?

“Again, it had a long period of being empty. A new, large family took it in the sixties. Much like Blackwood’s first family, the five children began dying one by one, a few months apart. One became tangled in cords and was strangled. Another fell into the water tank and drowned. A third was, apparently, bludgeoned to death by his sibling. That very same sibling then had a seizure and passed in the middle of the night. The family, reduced to the husband, wife, and one remaining child, fled the house. I can’t find any records of where they ended up or what happened to them.”

The heater felt far too cold for what Mara needed. She pressed closer to Neil, and he tightened his arm in response. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she grunted. “Keep going.”

“There’s not much left. Blackwood’s reputation of being a haunted house was thoroughly cemented, and no one wanted to touch it. It was ultimately bought in the eighties by a man who was strongly interested in the paranormal. He, his wife, and their two children took up residence. Police records indicate he had diaries filled with notes about his paranormal experiences in the house. He wrote about dark impulses coming over him. He believed the house demanded violence to sate its appetite, and he was frightened that his hand might be turned against his family. He began trying to find a buyer for Blackwood. Too late, though.”

“He killed his family,” Mara breathed.

“Not quite. He and his family were found dead from axe wounds. The children had been killed in their beds and the parents downstairs. It was clearly murder, but no suspect was ever identified. It’s still listed as an unsolved crime.”

Neil, having shuffled through his notes, placed them to one side. “The final family was, of course, Chris’s. They all escaped with their lives, though the short duration of their stay and Chris’s story are certainly concerning.”

“That’s it?” Mara asked. “Only one family left Blackwood intact?”

“That’s it.” Neil massaged Mara’s shoulders, trying to ease the tension from them. “That’s why I’d like you to leave. I understand you don’t want to feel obligated to anyone, but if there’s any sort of help I can offer that you’d feel okay with, consider it given. I just want you safe.”

“Give me a moment to think.” Mara chewed at her thumb, but her mind was filled with a rush of hectic, frightening pictures and ideas. She groaned. “No, I need caffeine first. Would you mind making us some tea?”

Neil glanced at the door then gave her a sheepish smile. “Would you come with me?”

They held hands as they went to the kitchen. Neil’s eyes were constantly moving, scanning Blackwood’s shadows as though a monster could leap at them at any second. As they passed the bannister, a pale patch in the wood caught Mara’s eye.
It almost looks worn away. Possibly by a rope.
She hurried past it and tried to put it out of her mind as they entered the kitchen and put the kettle on.

Mara perched on the kitchen bench and crossed her ankles. Neil leaned on the bench opposite and was polite enough not to stare at her as she let her thoughts consume her.

When I moved into Blackwood, I decided that a violent history was no reason to reject a house. Does it make a difference if there was one murder or twenty?

I suppose that depends on how much impact they have on Blackwood in the present. Five out of eight families were entirely wiped out inside this house, and another two lost multiple family members. Does that mean I’m in danger, like Neil clearly thinks I am? Or can I believe it’s pure bad luck? Statistically, there are going to be houses with far more than an average number of deaths—in the same way that there will be hundred-year-old buildings with
no
deaths. You can assume an average number of deaths occur in every old home, but there will be outliers in both directions. Is Blackwood nothing but a statistical anomaly? If so, I could almost argue that I’m safer here than at other houses. Each death beyond the average makes it increasingly unlikely that there will be further murders.

But that’s assuming the deaths are based on nothing but happenstance. Blackwood could be a statistical anomaly, but it would have to be a very, very uncommon one. I need to explore other options. I’ve checked EMFs and gas, but they’re worth checking again, as well as doing a mould inspection and getting a botanist to see if there are any insanity-causing plants in the forest around here. It’d be expensive, but it’s either that or moving.

The kettle finished boiling. Neil crossed to it and opened his box of tea leaves. “You said you wanted caffeine, but I also have chamomile if you’d prefer it.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Neil wants me to move. I can see it in every fibre of his being. I don’t know what he believes caused the deaths, but he’s clearly frightened I’ll suffer the same fate. Poor Neil. He’s a fixer, and he can see a problem, but he’s not allowed to solve it. That must be killing him.

He handed Mara her mug with a smile that was a little too tight to appear genuine. She sidled closer to him. “C’mere. I want a hug.”

That earned her a genuine grin. They stood with their backs against the bench as Neil wrapped his arm around Mara’s shoulder and pulled her close.

If I
did
leave Blackwood, what would that mean for me? I don’t want to stay in Neil’s house. I can’t afford a hotel. I’m past the buyer’s-remorse grace period for Blackwood, so I can’t reverse the sale. If I ever wanted to see even part of my money again, I’d need to sell this house. And it’s been on the market for twenty years without any interest beside my own.

Mara raised her eyes to the walls and the ceiling. The aged, dark-grey wood had never looked so beautiful.
I love this place. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to sell it. Despite a couple of weird nights, and despite a repeat intruder, I’ve never felt as comfortable as I do here.

“Neil?” Mara nuzzled against his side. “You’re not going to like this.”

“Oh boy.”

“I want to stay. No, don’t try to argue; just listen. I recognise that there may be a cause behind Blackwood’s repeated deaths. Don’t think I’m ignoring that. But I’m going to hire inspectors and experts until I either find the source or I’m certain that Blackwood is safe.” Mara placed her cup on the bench and wrapped herself around Neil. His heartbeat was quick. She rubbed his chest in an effort to comfort him. “This is a good house for me. I don’t want to lose it because of some gnarly history.”

Neil didn’t speak for a moment, then he chuckled. “
Gnarly
. That’s a word I haven’t heard in the last decade.”

“Oh, shut up.”

His arms circled around Mara as he dipped his head to kiss hers. “Damn it, Mara. I’d give anything to get you out of this place.”

“Yeah, I know.” Mara inhaled his scent and smiled. “But I’m staying.”

An attic floorboard creaked.

Both of their heads turned upwards so quickly that Mara was amazed they didn’t get whiplash. They held still, coiled in their embrace, as they listened to the house. It was quiet for a moment, then the creak repeated, moving across the ceiling.

Mara swore, and Neil’s arms tightened around her. She squirmed out of his grip and darted towards the staircase.

“Slow down!” Neil hissed as he followed.

“Shh!” Mara raced up the stairs, keeping to their edges and fighting to make her footfalls as quiet as possible. Her heart raced, but it was an excited, exhilarated emotion, reminiscent of the bravado she’d felt on the first night. She had Neil with her. She had her surveillance camera. This time, the intruder was the disadvantaged party.

She made it to the top of the stairs without much noise, but Neil had to follow at a slower, more careful pace. He was nearly twice her weight, and the steps complained under his feet. Mara waited on the landing with mingled impatience and fierce anticipation. The attic’s creaks were following their familiar pattern: the stranger moved through the building with even, slow strides, passing over their heads, turning at the end of the house, and retracing the path. The last two nights, they’d only paced for a handful of minutes.
That’ll be enough for us, though.

Neil appeared at her side. Mara grabbed his hand and pulled him into their bedroom and towards the laptop. She glanced at the alarm clock as she passed it.
Quarter past eleven. That’s the same time as before, too.

Mara nudged the mouse to wake the laptop up, and the pair of them huddled close to the screen.

The familiar, night-vision-tinted image was just as confusing as before. The shapes blended together into a twisted mosaic of light and shadow. Mara scanned the image for signs of movement and held her breath as she listening for the footfalls.

A board not far above her head creaked, and Neil prodded at the screen. “There!”

“What is that…?” Static bloomed over the lower half of the screen. “Did you see them?”

“I saw
something
.” Neil shook his head. “I… I dunno…”

The static flared further as something behind it moved, and Mara smacked the laptop. “Piece of crap webcam. I should’ve bought one of the billion-dollar monsters like you wanted me to.”

“It shouldn’t be distorting like that. I don’t understand why it’s—”

Another creak, another hint of motion quickly hidden behind a flare of digital noise. Mara swore. “We can’t see anything like this. One of us needs to go into the attic.”

Neil’s expression made Mara feel like she’d suggested they hug a grizzly bear.

“Relax; I’ll go,” she said, patting his chest without taking her eyes off the laptop. “You stay here and watch the screen. I’ll be able to hear you through the floor; call out instructions, okay?”

“No. Cripes, Mara, no! I’ll let you live in the damn house, but I’m not letting you go into the attic alone. I’ll do it.”

“Jeeze, all right, take the fun job if you really must.”
Damn
was about as close as Neil ever got to a legitimate swearword, so Mara guessed the situation had to be serious. “Take a knife and your bug zapper; I’ll watch the creep.”

Mara bent low over the screen. Two pairs of footsteps competed for her attention: the intruder’s, which were cycling close to the place above her head, and Neil’s, which moved down the hallway and towards the attic stairs.

“Stupid camera,” Mara growled. All she wanted was to see her intruder’s face.
Is it a man or a woman? Young or old?
But static buzzed about the figure with every step and never quite faded enough for Mara to make out any details before they moved again.

“There’s something tied onto the trapdoor,” Neil called. “Like… a white cloth?”

“Yeah, that was me. Cut it.”
That’s strange; how did they get into the attic without going through the house? I couldn’t see anything that could be used to climb the walls when I was outside yesterday…

“Is it safe to open the door?” Neil called.

Mara’s heart ached at the stress in his voice. If it had been up to him, they would both be twenty miles from Blackwood and still moving. She bent slightly closer to the screen as the static spread outwards to swallow the image. “The distortion’s gotten worse, but last I saw, they were about halfway through the room. I think they’re by the hole in the wall. Hang on, the static’s fading—”

Mara frowned. The distortion had disappeared. In its place was nothing but furniture and pooled white cloths. She studied the image, but she couldn’t see any signs of movement.

The attic was still for all of a second before the trapdoor swung open and Neil’s torso appeared in the screen. He turned towards the hole in the wall then began creeping into the room. “Where are they?”

“G-gone.” Mara cleared her throat and called a little louder. “They were standing by the hole, but then the static got really bad, and when it cleared I couldn’t see them anymore. Be careful.”

Neil slunk through the room. Mara could hear his footsteps above her head. They were slightly deeper and quieter than the mystery intruder’s. She kept her eyes roving over the screen, searching for any signs of motion so that she could warn him against a potential sneak attack. He cycled through the attic, hunting behind furniture, then faced the camera and shrugged.

“Can you see anything outside the hole?” Mara called. She was starting to feel frustrated. The static had resolved itself a moment too late for her to see the uninvited guest. Now that Neil was in the attic, the picture was clear.

Neil moved to the hole and extended his head and shoulders through it. She could see his body twist as he looked over the ground, the walls, and the roof. Then he pulled back inside. “Nothing.”

“Hang on; I’m coming.” Mara jogged down the hallway and climbed the stairs. Neil came to meet her and pulled her through the trapdoor.

It felt surreal to see the actual attic after watching the screen. The furniture, although shrouded in darkness, was at least identifiable. Mara scanned the room, but it was clear they were alone.

“This guy is really starting to bug me.” She patted Neil’s arm. “Thanks for coming up here, by the way. I know you’d rather be literally anywhere else.”

“I want to be exactly where you are.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Though I’d be lying if I said I was glad you’re
here
.”

Mara turned in a slow circle, skimming her torch’s light over the crowded storage area. “I don’t get it, though. Where’d they go?”

“Want me to search through the furniture again? There might be something we missed before.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Mara went to the hole in the ceiling, leaned as far out as she dared, and pointed her torch towards the ground. She could barely make out the indent in the grass, which didn’t seem to have been disturbed since the night before. Then she turned her torch across the roof in case the stranger had managed to climb on top of it. It was empty.
Of course it is; we would have heard them otherwise.

“Hey, Mara, do you have a minute?” Neil was crouched next to the collapsing box of videotapes Mara recognised from their first trip to the attic.

She went to him. “What’s up?”

“I think these might be from the second-to-last family that lived here. Remember how I told you the husband was interested in the paranormal?”

Mara’s skin prickled. “Yeah?”

“The police found his diaries, but what if he filmed things as well?” Neil ran his finger over the fading, aged stickers. “There aren’t any titles on these, just dates.”

He was right. Each tape had two dates written on it, presumably to mark the start and the finish of the recording. Some covered spans of several days, but others had been completed in one day. The only tape that didn’t match was the last one, which was jammed awkwardly into the box’s corner. It had a start date, but where the end date should have been was a dark smear.

Neil hissed as Mara plucked the tape out. “I know that day. That was when the family was killed.”

Mara poked at the stain. “Really? Huh. Maybe this isn’t a juice spill after all.”

“Put it back.” Neil stood and dusted his hands on his jeans as though trying to purge himself of the attic’s taint. He looked uneasy.

Mara tapped on the tape’s side. “It’s been up here a while. I wonder if it still works.” She squinted at Neil, who maintained a stony silence. “There’s a television downstairs. Do you think it has a VCR?”

Neil sighed and crossed his arms. “Probably.”

“Then let’s get it hooked up to the generator and see what’s on this thing.”

“I don’t like this.”

Mara sidled up to her partner and gave him a searching look. “I know you. You’re not going to be able to sleep tonight if you don’t see what’s on this tape. And neither will I. So let’s stop being stupid and just watch the damn thing. It probably doesn’t have anything on it anyway.”

Neil grimaced. “My friends say you’re a bad influence. I’m starting to think they’re right.”

“Pshh. It’ll be fine.” Mara wove her way towards the trapdoor. “Pretend it’s a spooky Halloween movie or something. I think we even have some marshmallows left.”