Malevolent Hall 1666AD (6 page)

Mike laughed as she cursed Parker for shaking mud all over her.  Matilda glanced over her shoulder at his laughter, and Mike’s heart did a little skip as her green eyes caught his.  He smiled at her.

She was unlike any of the girls he had attempted to date; he said attempted as all his dates had turned out to be complete disasters.   Since he met Matilda three years ago, there was not one date that had gone further than dinner.  He always managed to blow it one way or another.  His consent chatting about Matilda and the renovation plans for this Hall probably didn’t help, but he couldn’t help himself.  Matilda was all he could think about, Tilly, Tilly, Tilly, what was it about her that controlled him so and made him incapable of loving anyone else?

“Well there it is,” she said, gesturing with her hand to the dilapidated looking wood store.

He shook himself from his daydream and looked.  Ivy and brambles covered and almost camouflaged it from their vision.  He could just distinguish the dirty glass windows and the ramshackle door.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” he said. They approached the door, and began tearing away at the ivy, and pulling back the brambles.

“Ouch, shit,” Matilda, cursed, immediately pulling her thumb to her mouth.

“What have you done?” he asked, anxiously.

“It’s a bloody thorn,” she groaned, sucking at her thumb.

“Let me see,” he requested, and he held out his hand expectantly.  She hesitated.

“Show,” he said, with a grin.  Matilda huffed giving him her thumb.

“Hmm, that’s a huge one.  Let me see if I can get it out,” he offered.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, attempting to reclaim her thumb.

“Hold still, I can feel the end; I can get it,” he said, gripping her hand tighter.

“Ouch,” she complained, as he picked at the thorn.

“I’ve got it, stay still, Matilda,” he complained at her fidgeting.  “There, here it comes,” he declared euphorically, and he held it between his finger and thumb to show her.

“Thanks,” she said gratefully putting the tip of her bleeding thumb back into her mouth.  He flicked it away.

“You’d better put some TCP or something on it when we get back inside.  Do you have a first aid kit?”

Matilda shook her head.

“No, but I have an alternative.”

“What?” he asked.

“Thyme,” she replied.

“What the herb?”

“Yes, I have some in my medibox.  I can make something herbal up, and I’ll be fine, thank you.”

He gave a shrug turning his attention back to the door.  Heaving it a few times, it eventually gave and opened.

“Yuk, I bet it’s full of spiders,” she groaned peering into the dark, wood store.

“Probably,” he agreed stepping inside.  “However, it looks like you’re in luck as it’s completely dry in here.  The wood will be fine to use.   Hey, there’s a wheel barrow over there,” he said, walking to it.

Matilda actually thought she ought to give him a hand, so entering the dark and braving the ominous spiders she helped him throw some logs in the barrow.

“Matilda,” he said, unexpectedly.

“What?” she asked brushing the sawdust off her hands and glancing to him.

“Spider,” he yelled, throwing something at her.  A tiny shriek escaped her lips and she stumbled backwards, brushing her hands frantically all over herself.

“Only kidding,” he laughed.

“Oh, my God,” she yelled at him, “that was not funny, Mike.”

“Yes it was,” he chuckled back, picking up another log, and throwing it into the barrow.

“Seriously, if you do that again, you’re fired,” she warned, frowning and wagging her finger at him.  “I hate spiders.”

“Oh, come on, Matilda, you know you could never replace me,” he said, lifting his head and giving her an impish grin.  She gave into a smile.

“No, well maybe not, but I’m sure I could think of something else to get you back.”

“Fair enough,” he accepted.  “There that should be enough to keep you going for a few days,” he said, at the overflowing barrow of logs.

“Well, you can wheel it back in punishment for the spider,” Matilda said, raising her hands to her hips.

“I would have done it anyway, so you’ve wasted your revenge,” he declared, taking hold of the two handles, and lifting the barrow.

“Oh bugger,” she groaned playfully, following him out of the woodshed.

Parker was barking.

“Parker,” Mike shouted, looking into the trees.  The dog continued to bark.  “Parker, come here,” Mike yelled again.

“What’s he barking at?” Matilda asked.

“Probably rabbits,” he replied.  Parker shot out of the trees and bounded towards them.

“You been rabbiting, boy?” he asked fussing him.  The dog barked in reply.

It was hard work getting a wheelbarrow through the overgrown garden. Mike cursed a few times as not only did he have a wonky wheel to contend with, it also kept getting stuck in the brambles and mud.  Eventually getting the barrow to the back door, they took the logs in the kitchen and stacked them in a pile at the back of the kitchen.

“Do you have any kindling, or firelighters? If so, I’ll lay it for you,” he offered.  She shook her head.

“No, but I have to go into town later I can pick some up then.  Thanks for your help,” she said gratefully watching him brush his hands down his trousers.  Mike’s walkie talkie went off and he unhooked it from his belt.

“Hello,” he said.

“Mike, we need you on site,” Steve’s voice came back.

“Okay, I’m on my way,” he replied.

“Oh, Mike, could you just give me a quick hand to move this?” Matilda asked, hurrying out of the kitchen.  Mike put his walkie-talkie on the table and followed her.

“It’s my mother’s old butcher’s block, I thought I could use it to put a TV on for now,” she said, walking into the utility room.

“God it’s huge,” he said, as he saw the solid pine block.

“I know it’s ancient and bloody heavy.”

“Push or pull?” he asked.

“Push,” she replied.  Putting her weight behind the block, Mike grabbed the iron rail running down one side of the block and pulled.

“Thanks again, Mike,” Matilda said, as they finished manoeuvring it into place in the kitchen.

“You’re welcome, just give me a shout if you need me to do anything else,” he offered.  “Parker,” he called.

“I will,” she assured, watching him leave, Parker as always at his heels.

Matilda was dreading her next job.  Grabbing some black bags and her bucket of cleaning materials she walked into the day-lounge and began clearing out old magazines from the shelf underneath the coffee table.  Most of them were country homes and interior magazines.  She knelt on the rug flicking through a few to see if there was anything worth keeping.  Not much had changed in eleven years, and it seemed most of the features and designs were back in fashion. Spotting a box, she pulled it out, and brushed off the dust, knowing immediately what was inside.  She sat crossed legged on the rug, making herself comfortable and opened the box.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, and she began pawing through the family photos of their last holiday.  It was in Scotland, the summer before they all died.  She and her mother were planning to stick them into a scrapbook; it was going to be their rainy day project.  Matilda was amazed they had survived after all this time.  She knew all their other family photographs had been in the loft in the west wing and therefore destroyed by the fire.

Ten minutes later, she wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand and swept it across the tears streaming down her cheeks.  It was strange how with the help of a few photographs, the memories of a holiday previously forgotten flooded back to her.

Her father hired a motorhome and they started in Inverness and worked their way up to John O’Groats, travelling all over the highlands and islands.  She remembered it being such a fun holiday.  Her brother went horse riding for the first time, and he loved it so much her mother enrolled him in proper riding lessons when they got home.

After an hour of wading through her memories, her heart was unable to take anymore, and she put the lid back on the box.  If it weren’t for the fact it was only three o’clock in the afternoon, she would have braved her father’s wine cellar to see if there were any in there to drown her sorrows with.  Instead, she decided to take a break and go outside to see how the work was going.

Walking into the kitchen to grab her jacket, she stopped to pick up an orange on the floor.  Putting it back in the fruit bowl on the kitchen worktop, she turned her body towards a noise, coming from Mike’s walkie-talkie, which he had left it on the table.

Crackle – crackle, the walkie-talkie went, crackle – crackle – ‘
He’s
coming,” a voice whispered across the airwaves.  Crackle – crackle – crackle.  The words gave her a chill, and she reached a tentative hand towards the walkie-talkie.  Crackle – crackle – “Get him,” a different sounding voice said with menace.  Matilda grabbed it.

“Hello is anyone there,” she asked, pushing the button and then releasing it.

Crackle – crackle – crackle - crackle.

Matilda waited, listening.

“Hello,” Matilda said, pushing and releasing the button.  “Mike, is that you?” she asked.

Crackle – crackle – crackle – “Kill him,” the menacing voice whispered, so quietly she barely heard it.

“What the hell,” she muttered.  “Who’s is this?” she demanded, pushing the button.

Crackle – crackle – crackle – crackle – “Death.”

“We need two more twelve foot oak beams,” Steve said, as he and Mike stood in front of the west wing.  The scaffolding was starting to go up, and the men were removing the charred remains of the interior.  Mike jotted it down in his blue note pad.

“What about the fireplace?” Mike asked, his pen edging on his lower lip as he thought.  He was really hoping they could save it, as it was such a beautiful piece of late medieval architecture and he knew he would have a real hard job replacing it.

“We should be able to restore it.  The stone work is perfect, it’s just smoked damaged that’s all.”  Steve eyes lifted to movement above him.

“Move!” he yelled, and he shot forward shoving Mike hard.  Mike, fell backwards, his pen and pad flying out of his hands as he landed with a heavy thud on the ground.

Bang!  The floor shook with the impact.

“Fucking hell,” Mike gasped balancing himself with his left hand on the grass.  He glanced up at Steve and back to the head of the stone gargoyle that had just missed smashing him to smithereens.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked his voice shaky, as he offered him his hand.

“Yeah, thanks to you.  God thanks, Steve,” he replied, allowing him to pull him to his feet.  They both looked up to the eves of the old hall.

“That would have killed me,” Mike muttered, his heart still pounding from the shock.

“We must have disturbed it with all the scaffolding going up.”  Steve theorised.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, but Mike was not entirely convinced.  He was sure that there was something strange going on with this Hall.  Whether it was paranormal or not, he couldn’t be sure but it was something he was determined to find out.

He glanced to Steve.  “Can you get some of the lads to go up there and check the other gargoyles, just in case any more of them are loose?  We don’t what that happening again,” Mike asked.  Steve gave a nod.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks, Steve,” Mike replied.  Steve nodded and walked away.

Mike picked up his pad and pen, stepping back a few paces, he stared up at the eaves, and a shiver ran down his spine at what had nearly happened.  His eyes ran across the front of the building, checking to see if he could see anything else that might have caused it to fall.  He was just about to walk away when his eye caught movement in one of the windows.  He focussed back on it, but whatever it was, had gone.  He gave a shrug, it was probably just light reflecting on the window, and headed back to his cabin.

***

Matilda knocked on the door and waited anxiously.

“Come in,” Mike yelled.   Entering his Porta cabin, she saw him sat at his desk.  Parker barked and lifting his head from where he lay in his basket, his ears pricked up.

A warm smile enveloped Mike’s face as she approached.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Me, sure why?” he replied putting his pen down on the desk.

“Steve just told me about the gargoyle.  I’m so sorry,” she rushed, running her fingers anxiously across Mike’s desk.

“Why, it’s not your fault, Matilda.  We probably knocked it loose when we put up the scaffolding,” he replied.

“But – It could have killed you,” she stuttered.  Tears welled in her eyes at the thought of something happening to him.  It was bad enough she lost her entire family to this sodding Hall, but to lose him too would have destroyed her.  Matilda fought with every ounce of self-control to hold them back.

He frowned, stood, and walked around his desk towards her.

“Hey, it’s okay it’s a hazard of working on a building site.  These things do happen.  Rarely, thank God, but they do happen.  It’s no one’s fault especially not yours,” he insisted, and he lifted a hand and rubbed her arm.

Her gaze roamed his face.  Their eyes met and as if locked in time and space, the intensity of his gaze held her. She felt the heat, like molten lava build up between her thighs, and he was so close to her his warm breath kissed her face. For a moment, she imagined his lips soft against her own, his hands touching her, caressing her body.

Captivated by her, Mike swore he could see straight into her soul, and it was so beautiful he was really struggling to hold back his urge to take her in his arms and kiss her.  He forced himself to look away

Matilda took a breath of composure as he walked back around his desk.

“Steve’s going to check the other gargoyles to make sure it can’t happen again so please don’t worry okay,” he insisted.  He leaned both his hands on his desk towards her.  “I’m fine.”

Matilda felt awkward as he looked at her, and she sucked in her bottom lip in order to hold her emotions in check.

“Good. Oh you left this behind,” she said, putting his walkie-talkie on the table and walking towards the door.

“Matilda,” he called.  She glanced over her shoulder and caught his smile.

“Thanks,” he said.  She returned his smile and left.

****

Unable to face the rest of the day room, Matilda decided to do a few jobs in the kitchen.  As she finished washing the last kitchen window an unexpected shiver ran down her back, and she turned around.  A man was leaning against the fridge staring straight at her.

“Erm excuse me, but are you actually going to do any work? I don’t think I’m paying you to stand there and stare at me,” she said sharply, lifting an ominous eyebrow at him.

The man nearly fell over with shock almost as if he thought she was unable see him.

As he caught her eyes, her heart shook.  He was gorgeous, if dressed a little strangely.

She spun around startled as Parker barked.

“Parker, shut up,” Mike said, “sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump,” he apologised.  “I did knock,” he added.

“Oh I didn’t hear you,” she replied, frowning as Parker barked again.  He stared past her, his head moving as if watching something or someone move towards the back door.

She glanced over her shoulder, assuming he was watching the stranger, but the man was gone.  She thought it strange, as she hadn’t heard the back door open.

“Matilda, the new boiler will be here tomorrow, I’m sorry but I can’t get it here any quicker,” Mike said, walking to her.  She turned to him.

“That’s okay, I’m sure I can manage one night without hot water, thank you.  I suppose you want more tea?” she asked, turning back around to fill the kettle.

“Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble,” Mike replied.  “We should have the t-caddy up and running by tomorrow, so I won’t have to bother you anymore.”

“Oh, that’s okay I don’t mind.  In fact, I’m glad of the company, even if it is just while we make tea,” Matilda said glancing over her shoulder as she walked to the fridge to get some milk. 

Mike stared at her and could not help but smile. Covered in dust she had a smudge of dirt on the end of her nose.  With her hair pulled back off her face, and secured in a bun with a pencil while the rest fell about and framed her face, she looked gorgeous.  He deliberated whether to tell her as he watched her making the tea.

“Do they want any sandwiches?” she offered.

“No, biscuits will be fine thanks Matilda.  Erm, Matilda, you have a…” he rubbed the tip of his nose.

“A what?” Matilda cried in horror, her hand flying to her nose.

“Dirt on the end of your nose,” he finished.

“Oh,” she replied letting out a relieved breath and thanking the heavens it wasn’t something else.

She turned the tap on and splashed some water over her face.

“Gone?” she asked turning to him. 

“Yep,” he confirmed, wanting so much to peel back the wet hair stuck to her face.

“Right, we’d better take this tea out before it gets cold,” she said, pulling the pencil from her hair and shaking it loose.

Mike gave a shudder as he watched her - she was so sexy.

She grabbed her coat from the back of a chair and slipped it on.  Mike helped her to carry the two trays with seventeen cups of tea, a huge pot of sugar and a barrel of biscuits outside to the workforce and as always Parker followed at his master’s heels.

As Mike drank his tea, he opened the plans for the Hall and laid them on the bonnet of a car.

“Okay, it’s going to look a lot worse before it starts to look better, Matilda, so be prepared.  We are going to have to pull this part of the Hall back to the bare skeleton in order to repair the fire and weather damage,” he said pointing.  “Of course, we will try and salvage as much of the original interior as we can,” he added.

“I will leave it all in your capable hands, Mike.  I know you will do a great job.  Honestly this just looks like a load of chicken scratches to me,” she confessed looking down at the plans.  He gave a chuckle and rolled them up knowing it was pointless showing her any more.

She looked at the Hall, still undecided whether or not she would actually be able to live here even after all the work was finished.  Matilda was hoping more of the good memories would return to her, so she could put the horror of her family’s murders behind her.

Her eyes scoured the crew of men but she couldn’t see the man who had been in her kitchen; maybe he was embarrassed and keeping out of her sight.  His face, however, was haunting her, it was as if she knew him from somewhere, but was unable to place where.  He was a little older than she was, at a guess, around twenty-four.  He was at least six foot, broad, muscular, with short, dark hair, and a beautiful face.  The more she thought about him, the more she needed to find him.  Matilda glanced back at Mike, and gave a frown as the image of the stranger looked back her.

“Are you okay, Matilda?” Mike asked, touching her arm.  Her body felt charged by his touch, and she took a breath.

“What, yes fine, sorry, I was miles away.  I will leave you to your work,” Matilda muttered.  Feeling confused she spun around, leaving Mike staring at her as she walked away.

Matilda watched the scaffolding continue to go up, looking at the men there, but he was not among them.  Where could he have gone?  He had to be here somewhere.  Some of the men were only here today to put up the scaffolding and set up ‘camp’ as it were, so if she was unable to find him today he may never come back.

Matilda found herself wandering to the overgrown gardens.  Passing the fountain, she pulled out her note pad from her pocket, flipped it open to her, ‘to do list’, and added, repair fountain, under the garden section.

She carried on with her meandering making her way to the walled, kitchen garden.  She stopped at the old oak door, the entrance to her mother’s garden, but found it locked.

“Damn it,” she cursed, she needed the key.  Matilda checked over her shoulder, making sure there was no one around. Lifting her finger, and looking around once more to be doubly sure no one was observing her, she pointed it at the lock. 

“Aperi,”
she chanted in a whisper.  White magic left her finger, it fizzled in the keyhole, and the lock clunked and opened.  She looked around once more and opened the door.

Inside was wild and overgrown, and the brambles kept tugging at the bottom of her dress as she walked.  The individual vegetable beds her mother had painstakingly kept meticulously were now just one big mass of brambles and weeds.  She opened her notepad and added, ‘clear out, and re-establish mummy’s vegetable garden.’

Hitching her dress, and climbing over the brambles, she made her way to the old summer house tucked away in the far corner of the garden.  It was looking a little worse for wear, so Matilda added the summer house to her list.  Pulling back the ivy covering the door, she kicked away with her booted foot at the scrub preventing the door from opening.  Matilda heaved it open and looked inside.  It was a big summerhouse, with an old stove at one end, and seating and a table at the other.  She remembered a water tap fixed to a wall outside.  She smiled at the memory of filling the kettle for her mother so she could make tea while they gardened, and there were always little cakes to munch.

It felt good in here, and sitting on the bench, she reached down to the side of the seat, picked up an old doll, and brushed her down.

“Hello Lulu,” she said, stroking through her old doll’s hair.  “Long time no see.”  The doll appeared to blink, and she held it frozen in her hand.

“No. You did not just do that,” she muttered, with a shake of her head.  “I did it when I tilted you.”  She theorised as the doll stared back at her.  A cold, shiver rippled down her spine, and Matilda hastily put her back down the side of the chair.  Looking up she glanced through the window and her heart jumped.  Wiping her hand across the dirty pane, she thought she saw someone out there.  She stood, staring out of the window, she could see a man.  Matilda picked up an old poker from beside the stove, and gripped it tight, as she was not sure if what she was seeing was real or something more sinister. 

Matilda moved to the door and stepped outside.  She walked towards him as he walked towards her.

“You,” she said as they stopped in front of each other.

“Hello,”
he said, with a smile that sent her heart racing.  He looked at the poker.