Chapter 3

“The Haunting”

Once my  eyes open, I blot up in bed, confused. But after one good look around the room, I come back to remembering that I’m home, that this is my new home. 

But then I remember something else. What had happened in the middle of the night, was it real? 

I laid awake in the huge bed for hours, trying to fall asleep but sleepy just didn’t seem to come. It seems as though everything hit me at once; memories of Mom, memories of getting suspended from school for cutting class to play the flute at a festival two counties over, memories of Michele and other friends, you name it, I thought about it. I’d also listen to every creak and groan coming through the walls of the castle which didn’t help my find sleep any faster. 

The, just as my eyes had finally drifted shut, I’d heard it. At least, I think I heard it. So soft, I’d nearly missed it. Could I have even dreamed it? I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

“Be gone! Leave here at once!”

My eyes flashed open. It was a deep, scratchy voice-a guy’s voice-with a thick Korean accent. The words were so clear it was as if someone had spoken them right into my ear. But how could that be? I got up, the lights and searched the room, not sure what I was expecting, but certainly something unnatural lurked close by. I never found anything, but the feeling never went away, either.

Finally, I had fallen asleep.

And now it’s morning. Though it’s not as bright and airy as my house in California was, the mansion feels much less gloomy in the light of day. Slipping from the bed, I pull on a pair of jeans, my All Stars, and a thick pumpkin-color sweater. I also drape my coat over my arm, stuffing my beanie into the pocket. Maybe I’ll take a walk after breakfast.

When I got downstairs, I run into Rachel coming out of her room. “You’re late,” she says, and her jaw tightens. “I will not tolerate lateness” 

I stare at her, speechless. “For-for breakfast? I. . .didn’t know there was a specific time-”

“There’s always a specific time,” Rachel interrupts. Although she’s petite, in her black heel, we are eye to eye.

So quickly, I almost miss it, Rachel’s cold eyes change. In color? Or size? Something undefined about them shifts.

Whatever it is, it’s. . . frightening.

“And you’d best not be late again,” she says and then lowers her voice. “Or else”

I recoil, mostly out of shock that she’s being so harsh. The corner of lifts in a grin that reminds me of the gargoyle’s, and with that, she  turns and struts to the dining room.

Did Park Rachel, who might be close to a hundred, just threaten me?

“Lost, miss?”

I jump at this new voice. A young maid that looks 2 years older than me stands near me, looking at me with wide, questioning eyes.

“Ah, no,” I respond. “Just heading to the dining room. Thanks, thought” 

The maid gives a nod, and crosses the great hall. When I push through the swinging oak doors, everyone is seated. Waiting.

Great. I slip into my seat. As we eat, Dad and Mom discuss their plans for their day, something about taking care of things around the house, and Rachel just stays silent. Stone-faced. I make short work of the eggs, sausage, and toast, then announce that I’m stepping outside to go explored the grounds. Mom and Dad waved to me, and I’m relieved to escape Rachel withering gaze.

The minute my feet crunch against the gravel outside, I startle the peacocks and their high-pitched screeching pierces the air. The sound rattles me clear to my bones. The birds peer angrily at me from the treetops, and I quickly change course. Who knows if they’ll charge and peck me to death? I head cross the big stretch of grass that’s on the courtyard, until I reach another path that leads to an old rectory.

I button up my coat, and slip in my ear-buds, cracking up the volume on an Adele song.

The cold air makes my breath puff out like white smoke. Behind me, the mansion looms. I can picture the gruesome little gargoyles watching me as I walk.

Soon, I’m really close to the rectory, and my heart quickens. What clearly used to be a grand arched entrance is now yawning black mouth, the old gray stone swallowed up by vines and vines of gnarled, twisted ivy. I think it looks sort of beautiful. I’ve always loved ivy.

It’s not until I duck inside and glance up that I notice the roof isn’t really a roof at all. the wood has rotted away, and the entwined ivy has formed a lattice covering. Hazy light and mist filters in between the vines.

“Hello?” I say out loud, and instantly admire the echo the building produces. I can’t wait to bring my flute here. I turn off the music on my iPod, and I try to echo out once more. “Hellooooo. . .”

“Leave here at once!”   

My heart stops. It’s that voice from last night. The one I heard as I was falling asleep. I’m sure of it. Adrenaline races through my body, and I look in every dark, shadowy corner but find nothing. Just me, standing in a cavernous, musty rectory more than two centuries old.

Then the ivy moves.

Slowly it begins to untwine and stretch toward me, like long, knobby witch’s fingers. I’m certain it must be a play of the dim light.

Until one lifts a piece of my hair.

I scream.

“Leave this place or you shall die!” the voice says. It’s real.

I run straight out of the rectory, and nearly collide with another body. I look up, gasping. I realized how hard I’m trembling.

I see a tall gardener in scruffy brown clothes and boots. Light-brown eyes set in a young face, his hat sits crooked on his head. He’s holding a small shovel, and he has a pair of old gloves stuffed in his pockets.

“What’s the hurry, miss?” he asked.

“In there,” I say, catching me breath. “Vines”

Bending his head toward the rectory, he looks inside and stiffs his weight.

“Yes, there’s a heap of them in there. Watch yourself. You don’t know what sort of dangers you might encounter here”

And with that, he turns and disappears around the building, his large rubber boots crunching the dead leaves as he goes.

I turn and look behind me, in the rectory. The ivy vines are back as they were, tightly woven and I’m really starting to think I’ve lost my mind. The gardener’s voice had not been the voice I heard moments before, it wasn’t him.

So who is speaking to me? I wonder as I hurry back towards the mansion. And why?  

Maybe I should leave. But where would I go?

There has to be a logical explanation. For a half second I even consider e-mailing Michele about it, but she’d just freak out and insist I keep the webcam on all day. Pointed at the room to catch any movement of any sort. She’s a total Ghost Hunter fan. I’d never hear the end of it.

Besides, there’s no such things as ghosts.

Right?