P.A. Lewis Brown
GHOST OF LONGLEY HALL
It was Halloween and the film crew were at Longley Hall to capture the ghost of the Earl of Longley that had haunted there for over three hundred years.
At their arrival, they'd been shown around the Hall. As they entered the portrait gallery, Megan, a junior within the crew, paused at a portrait of a handsome aristocrat that hung majestically against a red wall. His long, dark wavy hair gave him a rakish, predatory look.
"That's him," said the housekeeper. "That's Lord Longley. I've never seen his ghost, but I've felt his presence. He's the reason we can't keep staff. He loves wenches." She gave Megan a cursory glance.
As the rest of the crew walked down the long gallery, Megan took her time observing the many portraits and it wasn't long before she got the distinct feeling of being observed from afar. Maybe it was the eyes of the many paintings, or the one. She felt spooked and upped her pace to catch up with the others.
The paranormal investigator, a small, twitchy, nervous man turned and waited for Megan. "Have you seen something?"
"No….Not really, just a feeling, that's all."
"Describe it."
"I can't. It just felt weird, strange." She shook her head.
He nodded his head in silent understanding and caught up with the rest of them. Megan came up the rear with her thoughts dwelling on the portrait of Lord Longley. She'd sensed a brutality in those dark, searching eyes that resembled polished coal. The artist had done his job, captured him to perfection.
Megan hadn't told them why she'd requested to be on the assignment. That was her business. Her great-grandmother had worked at the Hall and narrowly escaped the licentious Master's clutches. She'd been a golden haired beauty, a trait that had been passed down through the generations of women, including Megan. The Master had sworn to ravage her offspring if he couldn't have her. Terrified, her great grandmother had left service with her daughter in tow, never to return.
Megan had always been intrigued by the story that she felt had been much embellished over the centuries but needed to find out for herself. She wasn't sure whether she believed in ghosts or not, but had an open and enquiring mind.
As darkness fell, the crew and the paranormal investigator were filled with anticipation as they took up their positions in the dank, dark basement, the hotspot of the house.
Midnight came and everyone was eager except for Megan who'd been up and down the stairs to get coffee and nibbles so many times, she knew every groove on the stone steps. She was tired and couldn't shake of the strange feeling of being watched, no, stalked. The portrait in the gallery had got to her more than she cared to admit.
"More coffee, Megan. This one's got cold," said the director. "Boil the kettle next time."
Up yours, thought Megan.
"And watch out for the ghost," laughed the cameraman. "He likes leggy blondes."
Megan wasn't amused as she climbed the stones steps for the umpteenth time, her mind in overdrive. Had the family's stories of the Hall made her over sensitive? Did buildings store memories like a brain? Could you get carryovers from a past life? Maybe it was the place or the fact it was midnight, but Megan felt uneasy and expected something to happen.
She didn't have long to wait. At the top of the stairs, Megan felt an icy draft rush at her. She went rigid as she saw a young girl, not of this century, dressed in a long black gown with a white, frilly pinafore. Fear was etched onto the girl's face, her mouth open in a silent scream, her face distorted with fear as the man from the painting with eyes as black as coal, pursued her with obvious intent.
Megan froze, feeling the girl's fear and braced herself as they approached her at speed, expecting to be knocked off her feet. But they run straight through her, leaving a residue of cold that went bone deep. "Christ! Did you all see that?"
"Who? What? We caught nothing on camera," said the director.
"Two ghosts!" she exclaimed in horror. "I can't believe you didn't see them. They run straight through me."
"Was it him? The Master?" asked the paranormal investigator, his eyes lighting up with glee.
"I think so." In that moment, she felt the first real stirrings of gut-wrenching fear. She turned around slowly, feeling sexually charged energy all around her, and knew it was male.
"Stay calm, everyone. Act normal," said the director, his voice raising an octave in excitement.
"I don't feel well and I want to go home. Do you mind?" said Megan, her voice shivering with fear.
"Yes, I do mind," said the director. "You begged for this assignment. Have you forgotten that you were chosen from hundreds of applicants for this job?"
Megan stared at him unhappily, feeling like a bird trapped in a cage.
Look, if you're scared, don't be. Ghosts have no substance and can't hurt you." said the director. "They ran through you. So chill."
"That's not strictly true," said the paranormal investigator, pausing to stare up at Megan with his hands behind his back. "There have been well document cases….."
"That'll do," said the director. "She's jumpy enough and I need coffee to keep me awake. I need Megan to do her job. So shut up."
Filled with resentment, Megan turned to walk up the last remaining stone steps and paused as coldness descended like a wall of ice. She turned around, her eyes patrolling the mouth of the basement. Something was wrong. She could feel it, taste it and it was gathering in momentum. It was coming for her.
"Megan, why are you dithering like a spare dick at a wedding? Either go home or get us more coffee. It's not a big decision, but it will affect your prospects."
Thoughts of Megan's great grandmother's story punched to the surface. She should never have come. She was going home. Blow the job. But, as she tried to move, it was like trying to wade through water. Her legs felt like lead. She went rigid with terror.
The director picked up on her fear. "What is it, Megan?"
"I can feel something…There's something here with me, but…"
"What?
Megan tried to move, but came up against an invisible barrier. She pushed against it, but to no avail. She started to panic, feared hyperventilating, fainting. She tried to calm down, but couldn't.
"Help me!" she whimpered.
"Look," said the paranormal investigator in excitement.
"I've got it," said the cameraman. "I can see mist. It's all around her life a fog and it's swallowing her up."
"ACTION," yelled the director. "Make sure we get this. Nice one, Megan. Glad you didn't go home."
Megan froze with fear as the basement went blurry, fading in and out like an old photo. She swayed and gasped for breath, witless with fear as she witnessed another century overlap, busy with people scurrying around like worker-ants.
She tried to move, but the icy chill wrapped around her like a tourniquet. She screamed, but no sound came out. The menacing energy was getting tighter and tighter. Megan realised that she was slowly being smothered. She fought the invisible energy, but it was like punching fog.
"MEGAN!" called the director. "What's happening up there? Are you alright?" There was now genuine concern in his voice.
Megan heard the shout but it was like an echo in an empty room. She was starting to feel out of sync and sick. She tried to move, but felt hemmed in by an invisible, ubiquitous force that was gripping her so tightly, she feared passing out.
The evil Master slowly materialised, grinning, his eyes burning with desire and intent. He inched in closer, blasting her with alcohol filled breath before reaching out to grope her slender body with hands as cold as ice.
"At last," said the Master, his eyes devouring her slender body. "You will make excellent sport."
"Nooooo!" she screamed, but her voice was snatched into a void of nothingness, a parallel world, another dimension that was sucking her in, devouring her.
In that moment, she knew energy didn't die, it just changed.
The crew watched Megan fight an invisible adversary and stared in helpless horror as she was thrown down the stone steps head first, snapping her neck on impact.
The camera rolled and the only image was of Megan getting up, leaving her lifeless body and merging with the past, not quite in focus like an old brown photo fading in and out with the Master lurking in the shadows watching and waiting….
The End.