‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
She was relieved when the door of Bluebell Cottage opened, and her mum, Jackson and Lark appeared. Within moments, her dad came through the darkness too from the other direction.
‘Welcome,’ Finn said, rising to greet everyone, and putting his top hat back on.
Amelia stared at her mum who was laughing and clapping, smiling up at Jackson, so excited. She was no longer wearing the wig she’d worn at dinner – it made her head itch, that’s what she’d told Amelia – and she’d pulled on a beanie hat, a khaki-coloured parka, and a navy scarf was wrapped around her neck and covered most of her face.
Amelia straightened her shoulders and smiled. ‘OK. Let’s do this thing!’ she said, surprising herself.
‘Right, ghost hunters, follow me.’ Finn strode off into the darkness, his torch lighting the ruins. And, as they set out following him, yet another shiver ran down Amelia’s back. This place was creepy, and Finn hadn’t even started to tell stories of ghosts and ghouls.
He led the way round to the front of Drummondale House, where it had been restored. New windows had been put in, and the façade had been repointed. It looked every bit as it would have in the eighteenth century.
‘This was all in ruins when I was here last,’ Caroline said.
Finn nodded. ‘Michael Collis had it renovated. He occasionally rents the front section out for wedding and parties.’ Finn shone his torch towards the windows. ‘But not today,’ he continued, moving the beam across the building, rays of light bouncing off the glass. ‘Some say they have seen a face at one of the windows, when nobody is in there,’ Finn continued, his accent giving his storytelling an eerie feel. He brought the torch down and rested it under his chin, and Amelia jumped and clasped her hand to her mouth to prevent an escaping laugh.
‘Over one hundred years ago, a young boy was locked in his bedroom by his mother. His mother fell down the stairs and broke her neck, leaving the boy alone. By the time they were both found, the boy had starved to death.’
‘Oh God, that’s awful,’ Amelia said, her laugh evaporating.
‘The mother has been seen roaming the grounds, looking for her son.’
‘Christ, this is way too freaky,’ Lark said. ‘Mum, can I go back now? I’m never going to sleep tonight.’ It was an odd thing for her to say. Nothing normally scared Lark.
‘Chicken!’ Jackson said. He grabbed Lark from behind and began tickling her waist.
‘Stop,’ she cried, a painful laugh escaping. ‘Stop, Jackson, please.’
Amelia stared as Lark fell to the ground, and he toppled down on top of her. Her mum rarely got angry, but now her eyes narrowed and her fists were clenched. There was an awkward tension as Jackson clambered to his feet. ‘Stop teasing Lark,’ her mum whispered close to his ear. ‘Please.’
Amelia offered her hand to help Lark up, but she didn’t take it, her face flushed as she jumped to her feet and straightened her clothes. The moment was odd and uncomfortable – something wasn’t right.
Lark hurried towards Finn, who had moved away, her dad beside him, asking in a loud voice about the bird life in the area as though nothing had happened. Amelia looked over at her mum once more, wanting to take her in her arms and squeeze, but she didn’t – too afraid of making too much of the last few minutes. This was meant to be so perfect, but was far from it. What the hell did her mum see in Jackson?
They all followed Finn, and as they rounded the other side of the building, the ruins came back in view.
‘Who lives down there?’ Amelia said, pointing down a steep slope at a large farmhouse some distance away. A porch light was on, but otherwise the place was in darkness.
‘Michael Collis, the estate’s owner,’ Finn said. ‘But I’m pretty sure he’s away right now. He turned towards the woods. ‘Right, let’s go,’ he said, his torch beam picking out the twisting trees with branches like witches’ fingers. The heavy moon hung low in the sky, and the wind whistled through the forest. Amelia shuddered. This really wasn’t her idea of fun.
It was as they all set off in front of her, disappearing into the wood, that Amelia looked down the hill one last time. Her heart jumped into her throat. Someone was sitting on a bench at the foot of the hill, the moon picking out her fair hair. Was it a young woman? A child? It was impossible to tell. But whoever was down there, she was now staring up at Amelia.
Amelia raced to catch up with everyone else. She wanted to return to her cottage, but over her shoulder the thick darkness was eerie, like swirling black smoke, and trees sighed and swayed in the wind. There was no turning back alone.
Shadows ignited by the beam from Finn’s torch gave the illusion of movement of something in the trees. It was as if ghosts were watching them, conjured by their human presence – angry their peace was being disturbed.
Finn continued down a well-used path, pushing through brambles, everyone keeping up – except Lark.
Amelia hung back for a moment, waiting for her, wanting to attempt to bond with her estranged sister. Why had they drifted so far apart? They had been close when they were younger, the gap of thirteen years never a problem. Amelia had adored her little sister when she was a child. Been like a second mum.
‘So what have you been watching lately?’ Amelia began, feeling her cheeks flush as she realised how far removed she was from the teenage scene. At thirty, words she’d used in her teens, clothes she’d worn, even
