Letter from Lucille Sharp to Thomas Sharpe. Date unknown. Unposted.

My dearest Thomas,

I know that they do not post these letters. Why would they? They think we are all steeped in insanity and wish to contain the contamination by any means possible. But if I do not at least pretend that this will reach you, I fear that I really will go mad.

They treat us here as if we are somehow the guilty ones. As if we brought this on ourselves by some wicked deed. But how can those things we do out of our greatest loves, be evil? Nature is wicked in her ways, cruel and unyielding; the fox eats the baby hare and the moth devours the butterfly. Only the strong survive, yet, no-one calls it madness or evil. It is simply nature. We are the strong ones, Thomas. And we will survive. No matter what.

Today, I had the smallest glimmer of hope. Dr Beyer mentioned in passing that after I reach my twenty first birthday I will no longer be bound to remain here. If this is true, the joy that fills my heart is too great to even begin to describe.

We will go back home. Both of us. We shall make that place our own. We shall raise the Sharpe name out of the dirt where Father left it and make it new again. There is everything we need right below our feet. The clay will make us our fortune back.

How I long to see you again, dearest brother. Perhaps it will not be so very long after all. And when we do see each other, at our beloved Allerdale, I shall sing you lullabies in the attic once more and together we be complete.

With great affection,

Lucille.

There was no way that I could return to my room, and there was certainly no chance of venturing back into my classroom. I needed to be with other people. Surely there was safety in numbers? Few ghosts in history have come storming into a room full of people.

If it hadn't been for the excited Friday chatter, I was sure that my entrance would have cause a commotion. In my haste, I'm sure I nearly crashed through the door. Other members of staff gave friendly nods as I made a beeline for the self-service kitchen. A fresh pot of coffee was only half empty so I grabbed the biggest cup I could find from the communal cupboard, dumped in two lumps of sugar and poured the fragrant black liquid on top.

I didn't even like coffee. But, these were unusual and frankly desperate times.

I collapsed onto one of the sofas and let my breath out for what felt like the first time since breakfast. I had spent the whole day teetering on the edge, rocking back and forth between exhaustion and hysteria. The seat next to me became suddenly occupied and a fresh wave of relief washed over me. I was very happy to see Linda.

"You don't look so good," she opened bluntly, "Rough day?"

"Something like that," I replied, not entirely wanting to start a conversation about it.

"Kids?"

I shook my head. "Didn't sleep well." I was mostly the truth. I just conveniently left out all the stuff about vengeful ghosts and ghosts who thought they were married to me.

"If you like, I have a wonderful lavender and camomile candle that I could give you? Works a treat for me."

Instead of immediately thanking and accepting her generous offer, I reproached her. "You leave a candle burning while you fall asleep?" It seemed like a recipe for disaster. She threw her head back and laughed. Her mirth seemed to chase away all the shadows that were looming in the corners of my mind.

"Of course that would be your first thought. I'm not a complete idiot. They're small candles so they never last long and I keep them in a glass jar with holes in the top. Safe as safe can be!"

"Almost," I countered with a raised eyebrow, "All the same, that's really kind. I think I will."

I remembered then his worse, said in such rush as our dreamland had begun to dissolve. Find something silver. Keep it with you. I racked my brains. Did I own anything silver? Most of my jewellery, the expensive real metals were boxed up at my parents' house. I didn't see the point in bringing them when I hardly ever wore any pieces. Besides, they were all gold. Always gold.

"Lin? Have you by any chance got anything silver you could lend me?" It sounded such a ludicrous and spontaneous request. But I should have known her better than that.

She reached out and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind my ear in her overfamiliar way. "For bad spirits? Are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded and offered a small smile. It felt weak and unconvincing. "I'll be okay. Just feeling a bit out of sorts."

"I have a charm bracelet that I could lend you. Real silver. I'll go get it and the candle for you now." She got up and disappeared out of the room. I gave another sigh. Surrounded by people in this way had a very cathartic effect. I didn't feel so trapped, so afraid, so alone. My mind wandered back to my dream. It had been so impossibly vivid. How exactly did it all work? How could he invade my dreams in such a sentient way? I was used to my night-time imaginings being complete nonsense. But this had been so all-encompassing, except that was, for very small details such as the too bright colours and the curious absence of background noise. All of a sudden, a horrible thought pounced on me and pinned me to the ground in fright. If he could get into my dreams, could she?

The feeling of relief that had been creeping slowly into my subconscious vanished in an instant. Could she hurt me? If I could feel the tender touch of Thomas' hand, if I could taste the salt from his lips, then what did that mean for pain? Could she drive a vengeful blade through my heart as she repeated that same haunting phrase, He is mine.

"Beth."

I jumped, suddenly wrenched from my grizzly thoughts. Joe was standing over me, his glasses low on his nose and a piece of paper in his neat hands. "Sorry, did I startle you?"

"My fault, I was miles away."

He sat down beside me in Linda's vacant place. He smiled at something unshared. "Is it bad that my first instinct was to ask you a question? It's something I always do to daydreamers. They quickly learn not to space out in my class or they'll end up answering all the questions."

"I prefer to go and stare at the ones who aren't paying attention. Get as close as I can without saying a word. The longer it takes the louder the rest laugh. It's the little things that keep us sane I suppose." I could feel myself beginning to calm again. Our conversation was so wonderfully mundane. It was comforting.

"This is a complete coincidence but this was dropped through the door of the boarding house yesterday." He handed me the typed yellow page. I was sure that this bright leaflet would have stuck out in the mail delivered to the male teachers lodging house. Men were notoriously bad at correspondence so it couldn't be a common occurrence to get mail.

The leaflet was advertising an exhibition in the nearby town of Thursby, on the History of the surrounding area.

"I thought you might be interested, especially after our conversation yesterday. If we're lucky there might be something on Allerdale."

"We?"

He shrugged. "I thought I might as well go. It's probably prudent of me to know at least something about the local area. Besides, it might be a good trip for the girls, they could do a project on it!"

"Sounds great." My heart gave a few excited flutters. Answers, perhaps, about the mysterious spectres who were tormenting both my waking and sleeping mind.

"Also, I'll enjoy the company, those country buses take a dreadfully long time. They seem to stop every few feet to pick up empty air."

"There's no need for a bus, I have a car!"

He clapped his hands together once in glee. "Excellent. You wouldn't mind driving, would you? Only, I never learned. I haven't ever had the need or inclination. The thought of having something that powerful in my hands doesn't appeal to me. Are you free tomorrow? It's very forward of me to suggest going straight away, but if we go early in the exhibition's run, it makes it more likely that I can get a trip organised for my classes."

"No, tomorrow suits me fine," I replied with a grin. It would be great to get out of the school for a change, especially in light of recent events. Most staff spend their weekends away from the actual school and it would save me the horror of being alone and waiting for the next small sound or ambush by the spirits.

"Shall we say, ten in the morning?"

"Sounds perfect. I'll meet you at the car. It's the slightly rusted blue Ford Anglia."

Joe made his goodbyes and left the room with the Latin teacher, John York. Linda was back in the seat beside me before the fabric on the sofa had even begun to recover its resting shape.

"What was that all about," she enquired with an overly excited tone. I rolled my eyes to abate her enthusiasm.

"Nothing much. Sort of a history project. Besides, he doesn't want to have to wait around on the buses, so I'm just doing him a favour." I don't know why I made the last part up. For some reason, I wanted to down play the whole thing. In reality, I should have been trying to talk about it with enthusiasm. Anything to take my mind off ghosts.

"If you need the sex book, I'll have to go back upstairs and get it," she teased without mercy at a volume which I was sure was nearing a shout.

"Lin! Shush!" I begged. She just smiled before passing me the bracelet and candle. I put the latter up to my nose and took in a lung full of the sweet and calming scent. Then, I examined the bracelet. It was a truly lovely piece. A thick curb chain with various small charms that were spaced unevenly along the length. I examined a few of the pieces. A flower, a butterfly a terrier dog and an umbrella. I supposed each thing told about a specific memory but without asking about each one individually I didn't think I would be able to get a full picture of the sentimental value. "Thank you so much," I said at last.

"I just hope it helps."

The evening bell rang and people began to move, making their way to the dining hall for dinner.

"Shall we?"

Wrapped in my nightgown with the bracelet on my wrist, I lit the candle. It was late, past eleven and my head throbbed with an exhaustion migraine. I had left it as late as possible before retiring to bed. Ms Hall expected the staff that lived on site to keep reasonable hours. We couldn't expect the students to follow our example if that was to roam the halls until the small hours. Or, at least, that was the excuse she gave.

The flame flickered a little at first, then settled into a strong flame. I put it in the jar that Linda had also given to me and secured the lid. Air holes let in the oxygen and gave somewhere for the calming vapours to escape, while allowing relative safety surrounding the open flame.

I slipped under the covers and turned out the lamp. The candle left me with only the smallest of yellow glows reverberating around the room. Reflexively, I fingered the charms on the bracelet. It was superstitious nonsense, I knew. Yes, silver was a useful metal. It tarnished slowly making it ideal for decoration. It had even been shown to have antibacterial properties. But as for keeping back the souls of the restless dead? Ridiculous. But then again, I would have said the same of ghosts until a few days ago.

For a long while I lay there, lost in thought as I stared at the hypnotic movements of the candle behind the glass. My heart felt as though it was taking up too much space as I anxiously waited for Thomas' promised talisman to fail. As if reading my thoughts, I heard a noise on the floor of the hall beyond my door. It was the quiet jingling of metal on metal. A bunch of keys, gently colliding against each other in time with someone's step. It was the exact same noise that I had heard before my first encounter with the black woman. I held my breath. The noise got louder, coming closer. I clutched at my blankets, though how I expected that to help was beyond me. The noise stopped. Was she outside my door? Waiting. Mocking. After what felt like an age, the noise began again, but this time it grew faint. Then, nothing. It had gone. I waited still longer, not daring to hope that I was free. Somewhere in that waiting I must have closed my eyes because the next thing I knew I was waking to the radio.

No interruptions, no hauntings, no visitors in my dreams. Nothing. It had worked. I almost couldn't believe it. But what about Thomas? Did the charm keep him away? Did the good disappear with the bad? I didn't have time to dwell. I had a busy day ahead of me.

Joe and I made easy small talk in the car. He told me a little about how he had ended up a teacher – it was the family trade – and what made him decide to work at Allerdale – the salary. We exchanged anecdotes about things that had happened in our respective classrooms. It was a welcome relief to get beyond the walls of Allerdale and Joe was good company.

When we got to Thursby we left the car in the carpark belonging to the small medieval church and made our way to the village hall where the exhibition was set up. We split at the door to spread out and ease our search for interesting things that his students could do their projects on. I made my way slowly down the left of the room, eyeing the displays. The first was one from the first and second world wars. Pictures of men, boys, who had fought and died from the village and a little bit about each one. Next in the line was a display about a priest from the village in the 1800's who had managed to solve several murders that had taken place in the village.

"Beth!" Joe's cry punched through the quiet.

I snapped my head up. Several people, also surveying the exhibition also looked around to see the cause of the disturbance. Up to that point, there had been nothing above a whisper. I crossed quickly. As I got closer, I saw that he was pointing at a display. Perhaps he had found one about Allerdale Hall after all. He turned and gawped at me, like someone that had just witnessed a magician perform an astonishing sleight of hand.

"Look," was all he said, redundantly. I had already spotted it. At first glance, my mind perceived it as a mirror. But it wasn't. The colour was wrong for a start. Everything appeared sepia. Then, I understood. It must have been a photograph. My eye's slid down the impossibly familiar face to the typed label below. Edith Cushing, widow of Sir Thomas Sharp of Allerdale Hall.

After a long while, Joe finally asked, "Why does she look exactly like you?"