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Murder Unbeknown

A Ghost Story

By Davinia RidgwellPublished 6 years ago 7 min read
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It was pouring with rain as Brian Mallory got his suitcase out of the car. It was dark and cold, with no other living soul in sight. The only thing that was accompanying Brian was the whistling trees, the howling wind, and the icy atmosphere.

“I am home...Mum and Dad,” sighed Brian, a tear rolling down his wind-bitten cheek.

As he walked towards the door, an eerie voice echoed through the trees.

“Welcome, Brian.”

After looking around to see where the voice came from, with little victory, Brian entered the house and closed the door. The house was creaking all over, with the wallpaper peeling off the walls and the paint flaking off the ceiling. All the rooms were decorated in an old style with each one unique and different from the last.

“I had best take my belongings upstairs,” declared Brian, his voice echoing throughout the empty house.

So, he trudged up the rickety, windy staircase till he came to a room. He opened the door and came face to face with a dark, dreary bedroom with faded blue bed sheets and bedraggled cream curtains. Cobwebs were hanging in every corner and dust had settled on every surface. Brian walked up to the bed, sat on the end and cried. He felt a ghostly presence and an uneasy chill as his dead mother’s voice soothed his sobbing.

“Do not cry my love, I am here.”

Soon after the voice, came thudding like a reproduction of footsteps as though someone was running down the staircase followed by a blood-curdling scream. This confused Brian, as he was still sat on the end of the bed, amongst the etiolated sheets.

“Must be something outside, probably teenagers,” said Brian as he erased what just happened from his mind. He got up and proceeded to walk across the bedroom to the wardrobe opposite the bed. As he opened the door, a spider crawled out of the dark and crept up the wall. Dismissing the spider on the wall, Brian began to fill the wardrobe with his clothing. After he had done this, Brian shut the door and went back downstairs, to explore the house more.

“What strange portraits,” said Brian, examining the pictures hung on the wall. He asked himself this same question until he stood eye to eye with a photograph of his parents. Brushing away the unsightly flakes of dead skin, Brian stepped back and admired the image of his parents. The caption underneath said Mr. D Mallory and Mrs. A Mallory 1990. He recited a lullaby that his mother used to tell him as his eyes filled with sadness.

‘Hush my darling, no need to fret,The bogeyman will not hunt you.Sleep my baby, close your eyes,Frolic through your dreamland,Without a worry or a care.Just remember Brian,For you, I will always be there’.

Then the sorrow Brian was feeling turned to anger and he ripped the picture out of the frame. “EXCEPT YOU WEREN’T, BECAUSE YOU DIED!” Brian exclaimed as he hurled half of the photo across the room. Shortly after this came a giggle from the corridor. Brian went to see, but found no sign of life except for his own. Then the photograph that he had ripped started to float in the air. Except for the piece that had his mother on it, which flew out the room and down the stairs. Brian ran down the stairs and picked it up, but then it turned into a puff of smoke and vanished. This was followed by a whispering of his mother’s voice. It said, “Help me.” “Find out the truth.” “Find out how I really died.” But Brian did not hear this as he was reminiscing about life before the death of his mother. He was remembering his mother, pushing him on the wooden swing; the swing that now stood abandoned in the overgrown garden, round the back of the house. He was too busy thinking back to when his parents would take him to the cinema on the weekends and if he was good, they would buy him ice cream and candy.

He went upstairs and sat in the bedroom. He collapsed on the bed in agonizing sorrow, and wept until his eyes felt sore and dehydrated. As he was lying on the mattress with his head hanging off the edge, Brian noticed a small wooden box under the bed. He rolled off the duvet, onto the floor, and snatched the box from its dusty resting place. He clambered back onto the bed and emptied the contents of the box all over the sheets. After Brian had rearranged the pile so he could clearly see every object, he proceeded to investigate his findings. This is when he discovered a sheath of letters written by his mum, some dating back to the 1970s. Most of them were about how much she loved his dad and how happy he made her.

But then Brian read the letters from the 1980s and froze with shock.

February 16th, 1981. Do not tell anyone, but I hear voices. Not people talking, but eerie giggling and screeching. Dave thinks I am mad and maybe I am. Mam thinks it is stress due to marriage arrangements; it is not too late to change your mind, she says. Well, I do not want to change my mind; I cannot wait to become Mrs. Abigail Mallory.

Brian then went on to read another letter, this time from 1985. The corners of the letter were folded and the paper was very crumbly.

December 21st, 1985. I have been married now for four years and I could not be happier. Well, that is what I thought until I found out I was pregnant! Dave and I do not want to know the sex of our baby until she/he is born; I am so excited. But how can I bring up a baby in this house with all the constant screaming? Every night I hear someone laughing, running, screaming, shouting. It never stops, I have seen a doctor, but they cannot find anything wrong with me, which means…it is the house! Something is wrong with the house!”

"How weird," thought Brian. However, even though he was confused, Brian carried on reading.

August 27th, 1986. I brought little Brian Simon Mallory home today; he is so cute. He looks just like Dave but with my eyes. I wonder if he will hear the same noises I do. That will prove I am not crazy!

"Why was I never told?" wondered Brian. He continued reading the letters till he came to one that made him scream inside with terror. His sub-conscience was terrified and told him to put the letter down, but he continued out of curiosity.

September 14th, 1994. This house has a mind of its own! The bed sheets tried to suffocate me earlier; Dave said it was a bad dream, but I was awake when it happened. And I swear I felt someone try to push me down the stairs a few days ago. Dave was out, so it wasn't him. I wish he would listen and sell this house, it's so creepy. This house will be the death of me, I can sense it.

He tried to find the next letter, but they just stopped. It was as if the person writing them had vanished. Then Brian remembered the reason why he was taken into care. It was because around this time his mother mysteriously died after falling down the stairs and his dad was arrested for murdering her. The words from his mother’s letters echoed around his head, I swear I felt someone try to push me down the stairs; this house will be the death of me. Then Brian heard a scream followed by a thud. He left the bedroom and looked down the staircase. There at the bottom was a ghostly figure, and as Brian took a closer look, he realized it was his mother. He raced down the stairs to see her, but as he did, something tripped him up and he crashed to the floor.

A few days later, the house was boarded up and Brian was taken to a morgue. His lifeless body showed the exact injuries that his mother had. A funeral was arranged and Brian was put to rest. The house was left abandoned along with the swing that stood in the overgrown garden. The house is still there, untouched and all alone except for an eerie giggle and someone screaming as they fall down the stairs.

The End

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