The Haunted Mansion

The Haunted Mansion

or

The Tale of an Unlikely Ghost Hunter and

Her Even More Unlikely Colleague

Mark Forrest

Published by Ministry of Anxiety at Smashwords

ISBN 978-0-9928432-0-5

Copyright 2014 Mark Forrest

Front Cover Illustration by Deborah Simpkins

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Mum – For all your encouragement.

chapter one

Charlotte’s parents loved her very much. They loved her beautiful blonde hair, her bright blue eyes and the small scar on her left temple, but most of all they loved her quick, fearless and intelligent manner, which allowed her to solve almost any problem placed in front of her. Unfortunately, close on the heels of their love for their daughter came their love for money. They wanted to be the richest couple in Bowchester but, considering they were almost the poorest, this dream could only come true if they were somehow able to sell off their most prized, yet also most cursed possession, namely, the Entwhistle Mansion.

The mansion stood high on a hill overlooking the town. It had its own wood and a small stream, all of which was contained behind a high stone wall with a single iron gate leading in and out of the grounds. It seemed like the perfect house in every way, shape and form but nobody ever dared to visit it, no-one ever pushed open the iron gate and traversed the gravelled path which led up to the large, oaken, double front door. Even Mr and Mrs Entwhistle refused to visit their own mansion. Instead they looked at it from afar and watched as it fell into a gradual state of disrepair, and the reason why nobody would approach the grand old house? It was haunted, but not just by one solitary ghost, instead almost every room had its own spiritual occupant.

The nearest Mr and Mrs Entwhistle came to selling off their inhospitable property was one cold, winter’s day when a rich traveller from a distant city arrived in a large carriage pulled by twelve white horses. He had stopped at Bowchester’s only tavern, The Golden Hind, as one of his horses had thrown a shoe and whilst there he happened to look up at the hill where he saw the mansion. Immediately his eyes had lit up as he thought of all the wild gatherings he could have at such an isolated location and he had hunted out the owners, Mr and Mrs Entwhistle, who he found living in a small cramped house sandwiched between a funeral parlour and a butcher’s shop. He knocked on their door with a silver topped cane and as soon as the door opened, said, I want it and pointed up at the mansion with a thin, perfectly manicured, finger.

At those words Mr Entwhistle’s mouth had fallen wide open whereas Mrs Entwhistle simply collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. By the time she had been roused through the judicious use of smelling salts, her husband was pumping their visitor’s hand up and down so vigorously that one of their rich guests’ jewel encrusted rings had slipped off one of his fingers and bounced upon the floorboards to roll at Charlotte’s feet. Bending down Charlotte retrieved the ornate and heavily weighted band and returned it to its rightful owner who thanked her with a brilliant smile before turning to Charlotte’s father to state, Of course, I will need to view the property before I pay for it.

Are you sure? Asked a suddenly worried looking Mr Entwhistle. You can see it quite well from here. And he waved at the distant building being gradually obscured by a descending fog.

I am sure, replied the man gravely and with those words Mr Entwhistle’s shoulders slumped as he turned away from the front door and walked into the rickety kitchen where he pulled a sugar bowl down from a high shelf to retrieve a large brass key.

Gazing sadly at his wife Mr Entwhistle gently shook his head which caused her to look at the deeds to the mansion she held in her hands. So desperate was she to swap them for money, that the moment she had gathered her senses and remembered there was a potential buyer for their cursed mansion, she rushed to a wooden box kept under a loose floorboard where the papers had been stored, undisturbed, for several years. But now, with all hopes of a sale seemingly dashed she crumpled into a chair with her head in her hands and let the paperwork scatter about the floor.

Leaving his wife in her state of despair, Mr Entwhistle tapped his daughter on the head, indicating that she was to pull on her coat and accompany him as he led the rich man up the hill.

Once at the gated entrance to the Entwhistle grounds, Charlotte watched as her father pushed the rusted iron gate wide open, handed the rich man the brass key and indicated the mansion’s front door, situated at the end of the long gravel pathway.

Aren’t you coming? the man asked and Mr Entwhistle simply sighed a gentle no, to which the man shrugged and without a backward glance, crunched up the pathway, unlocked the front door and stepped inside. For a moment there was silence and then a high pitched shriek of utter terror split the misty air. The front door sprang open with a bang and sprinting through it, his eyes wide with fear and his formerly jet black hair now icy white, pounded the rich traveller.

Without even pausing to say goodbye or to shout no sale, the man raced past Charlotte and her father to vanish into the surrounding fog.

With a loud creak the mansion’s front door slowly swung shut and with an audible ping, the brass letterbox sprung open and out flew the door key, which flipped end over end down the path to land at Mr Entwhistle’s feet. With a heavy groan he bent down and picked it up before leading the way back down the hill. As they descended, the thunderous roar of the twelve horse carriage being driven from the village at high speed drifted up to them and as the sound gradually faded away, so with it went the Entwhistle’s last chance to sell their haunted mansion.

That night Charlotte and her parents sat around their large kitchen table. They sat in silence apart from the occasional slurp on their thin chicken soup until Charlotte put down her spoon and asked, Why are people so afraid of ghosts?

Because they are scary. Replied her mother.

And noisy. Added her father.

And smelly.

And ugly.

So what do they look like? Asked Charlotte.

How would we know? To look at a ghost would drive you mad. Answered her mother firmly.

Then how do you know that ghosts are noisy, smelly, or ugly, if you’ve never seen one?

You saw how fast that man ran from the mansion. You saw that his hair had turned white. Said her father.

Maybe he saw a mouse and was scared of that.

Gently Charlotte’s father laid his hand on her shoulder, I know what you are doing. You are trying to look on the bright side, trying to be optimistic about our plight. But the mansion is haunted, we will never sell it and so we will live in poverty and misery for the rest of our lives.

Charlotte thought about this for a few moments before saying, If there are ghosts in the mansion then why can’t someone just go in and ask them what they want?

You can’t talk to ghosts! Exclaimed Charlotte’s mother. They’ll eat you up and spit out the bones.

Well, said Charlotte, as she laid a large leather bound book onto the table, which had been resting upon her lap, I borrowed this book from the library and it says you can talk to ghosts.

Mr Entwhistle took the heavy volume in his hands and read the front cover aloud, The Scientific Analysis of Ghosts, Beasties and Bogles by A.E. Cronin. He paused and then, Charlotte, you shouldn’t believe everything you read.

But listen, said Charlotte and taking the book from her father she opened it to the first page and read:

Ghosts are a complex phenomena which need to be listened to with care and attention. It is quite possible to cleanse a haunted property through the use of the correct word or gesture and the appropriate suppression of fear, shrieking and hysterics.

Charlotte’s parents looked blankly at one another. Neither of them had been overly endowed with intelligence but after listening to Charlotte’s reading from the book and combined with the knowledge of their daughter’s bravery, perspicacity and tenacity, an idea dawned between them like an early morning sun rising between two hills. Yet even as they considered it, Mr Entwhistle was pushing it away. We cannot possibly allow her to take such a risk.

You’re right, replied Mrs Entwhistle. Even if it is our only chance to move out of this hovel.

All three of them gazed silently around their small home and with a sigh Charlotte gently closed the book. Why don’t you let me go into the mansion and talk to the ghosts?

Because, replied her father firmly, You are only twelve and that is no age to enter a haunted house on your own.

Then you could come with me.

Mr Entwhistle’s face drained of colour and it was Charlotte’s mother who had to reply, You know that both your father and I have weak constitutions and any type of shock could send us into a terrible state.

Then it is decided, said Charlotte in a way, which brooked no argument. I will go on my own to the mansion and I will talk to all the phantoms, bogles and ghosties living there and I will ask them to leave.

***

The following day dawned bright and early and found Charlotte and her parents standing outside the iron gate which opened onto the grounds of the mansion.

Charlotte was dressed in a solid pair of boots with thick trousers and a heavy woollen jumper over which hung her large, hooded coat. Across her back was slung a rucksack which, amongst other things, was packed with sandwiches, two flasks one of hot chocolate and one of water, and her book, The Scientific Analysis of Ghosts, Beasties and Bogles. This book was her most treasured possession as it was the words of A.E. Cronin that Charlotte felt would help her successfully complete her quest to clear the mansion of its unwanted occupants.

Turning to her parents she formally shook their hands before they swept her up into their arms and gave her a long hug.

You must be careful, choked Charlotte’s mother through a succession of tearful sobs, and if it gets too scary come out straight away, although, she added as an afterthought, if you do come out without getting rid of all the ghosts we will be destitute and despairing until the end of our days.

I know mother, I will do my best. said Charlotte bravely.

Carefully Charlotte’s parents lowered her to the ground and with an air of solemnity Mr Entwhistle retrieved the large brass front door key from an inside pocket and placed it in his daughter’s hand. Take care of yourself Charlotte, we’ll be waiting for you. As he said this he pointed at a small tent he had pitched just outside the mansion’s grounds; a small campfire was smoking in the early morning dew. Then he pushed open the iron gate and, without looking back, Charlotte stepped upon the gravel path and slowly walked towards the haunted house.

Charlotte had never before been within the Entwhistle grounds and so she had not realised just how large the building was until it loomed over her; nor how its very bulk seemed to suck the heat from the air around it, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms and legs, but she did not stop walking, instead she simply gritted her teeth against the cold and her own rising sense of trepidation.

Reaching the front door Charlotte hesitated only briefly before she pushed the key into the lock and twisted it full circle. A loud metal clunk told her the lock had opened and so, holding her breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Beyond the iron gate Mr and Mrs Entwhistle stared at the spot where their daughter had stood before the front door had closed. For a moment they drank in the silence and then jumped as a loud, piercing scream issued from inside the house. With a cry of utter misery, Mrs Entwhistle buried her face deep into her husband’s shirt. What have we done? she moaned.

I don’t know, her husband replied quietly. I really don’t know.

chapter two

When the door slammed shut it took Charlotte’s eyes a little while to adjust to the sullen gloom, which pervaded the mansion’s interior. When she was finally able to see her surroundings she realised that she was standing in a wide hallway with doors leading off to the left and right. In front of her was a large wooden staircase, which climbed up to the first floor, its walls lined with a strange, mottled wallpaper.

Nervous at having just entered the mansion, Charlotte decided to remain by the front door to gather her wits before starting to explore; this also allowed her to cling to the faint rays of sunshine, which issued through the door’s leaded windows. But seeing the tiny circles of sunlight pooling on the wooden floor made Charlotte remember that she had a lamp in her backpack and so she hurriedly retrieved it and once lit began to cast the beam in all directions. Finally she focused her attention once more on the strangely patterned wallpaper and followed it down the stairs, right to where she stood and looking at it closely she realised that it was no pattern but was instead a thick black fungus. Unable to resist Charlotte jabbed her finger into the fungal growth and felt it give beneath her touch with a horrible, twitching, warmth. Almost immediately the air was filled with a terrible screech of pain, which caused Charlotte to drop her lamp and throw her hands over her ears to cut out the seemingly, never-ending howl of anguish.

It was all Charlotte could do to not run straight out of the front door and back down the gravel path and into the arms of her waiting parents. But knowing she had a job to do, she gritted her teeth and screwed her eyes tight shut and refused to run away, instead she waited for the scream to descend into a low moaning sob.

Retrieving her lamp from the floor Charlotte played the beam back and forth in an attempt to find the source of that terrible noise but there was no one and no thing visible so finally she decided to call out. Hello? Is anybody there?

The moaning immediately stopped and an anticipating silence descended.

Hello! Charlotte repeated and then added, My name is Charlotte Entwhistle and I am not going to hurt you.

It’s too late to say things like that young lady, said a low rumbling voice behind Charlotte’s right shoulder, causing her to spin on her heels, but no-one was there, just the fungus covered wall.

Who’s there? Charlotte asked timidly as a fresh wave of fear and uncertainty swept over her. How could she hope to clear a house of ghosts if she couldn’t even see them? But before her doubts could completely overwhelm her the voice replied, I am here.

But I can’t see you. Replied Charlotte, shining her lamp directly at the fungus encrusted wall. No? Well I’m surprised I can still see you after you stuck your finger in my eye and are now trying to blind me with that infernal light bearing contraption.

Wide-eyed Charlotte peered closely at the wall and then at the spot where she had poked her finger and suddenly a single white eyeball on a tiny stalk emerged out of the fungus to give her a baleful stare. Charlotte suppressed a gasp of pure horror only to let it escape when a small toothless mouth appeared beneath the eye and said, See me now?

Y … Y … Yes, Stuttered Charlotte.

Then if you can see me, why did you insist on jabbing your finger into my eye? Grumbled the Fungus.

Because I didn’t realise you would take it so personally. Replied Charlotte quietly.

Then you are a very stupid little girl.

The sudden insult shook Charlotte out of her sense of fearful amazement that she was talking to a fungus and made her snap back, I am not stupid. I have simply never come across a talking fungus before, so if I hurt you I apologise only I just never expected, she paused, well, I just never expected you.

The single eye looked at her and the mouth appeared to twist thoughtfully before saying, Apology accepted. And I must say you are far braver then the fellow who came here before.

Did he -?

Poke me in the eye? Interrupted the Fungus, Yes he did.

You must be very unlucky then, to always be jabbed in the same place.

Not really, replied the Fungus, I just happen to have a lot of eyes.

With that hundreds of tiny eyeballs swivelled through the Fungus to stare at her whilst gently waving on their short stalks. Casting her lamp back and forth, Charlotte watched as the eyes blinked out of the light and then re-emerged once the light had passed.

So girl, what exactly are you doing here?

My name isn’t girl it is Charlotte, repeated Charlotte, and I am here to ask all the ghosts in this house to leave.

For a moment there was silence and then the Fungus started to laugh. Hundreds of little mouths opened across the walls and a variety of squeaking, gurgling and bellowing guffaws, spilled about the hallway, wrapping Charlotte in a web of condescending humour. But she stood her ground and waited for the laughter to stop.

Finally the Fungus controlled its mirth and Charlotte faced the eye she had originally poked and addressed it directly. I am not joking. This is something that I simply have to do, for my mother and father.

"Entwhistle. I thought I recognised the name. A family of