The Ghost of Longthorn Manor and Other Stories by Amy Cross

Author:Amy Cross
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Genre Fiction, Horror, British, Ghosts, Short Stories, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Dark Season Books
Published: 2016-12-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

“This is such an unusual house,” Rebecca says as she crouches next to one of the flowerpots and digs her trowel into the dirt. “There are so many different, overlapping styles. Have you noticed? So many owners over the years must have added their own individual stamp to the place. Either that, or the place has had to be repaired a lot.”

“I thought it looked kind of ordinary,” I tell her, although I quickly realize that I should probably sound more enthusiastic. So I add that I like the house overall, and that I've noticed a few weird things, like the scratches all around the door in the kitchen.

“Huh,” she mutters, furrowing her brow as she looks toward the back door. “I never noticed those.”

“Can I grab a moment with Polly?” Dad says suddenly, coming along the path and stopping right in front of me. From the tone of his voice, I can tell he's annoyed about something.

“Sure,” Rebecca replies. She knows something's up, too. “I should go unpack in the bedroom, anyway. I'll check out those scratches you mentioned, too.”

Dad stays quiet until Rebecca's all the way inside the house, which means he doesn't want her to overhear us, which means he's annoyed at me for some reason.

“So are you taking your pills?” he asks finally.

“Of course,” I reply, not looking up at him.

“Really?”

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?”

I wait for him to tell me what's wrong, but deep down I already know he's onto me. The only question is whether he merely has a suspicion, or whether he's got solid evidence. I've been trying to hide the evidence, but I guess I could have gotten sloppy. Or maybe he did the one thing that nobody is allowed to do. Maybe he took a look at one of my notebooks while I was away from my bedroom.

“The car journey here was twelve hours,” he says after a moment. “In that time, you should have taken two anti-anxiety pills. And guess what I found tucked between the seat covers?”

He holds his hand out, and I spot two pills in his palm.

“You need to take your pills, Polly. Don't you want to get better?”

“They don't make me better.”

“It's not an instant thing. You need to take them over a period of time.”

“I've tried that,” I tell him. “They don't work. They fog my head.”

“They don't fog your head. That's just an excuse you use. Are you seriously going to just hide them away and spend the rest of your life scribbling in those notebooks?”

“Of course not. This is just for now. I'll stop. I'm just not ready now.”

“How about you take a break for five minutes?” he continues. “Just five minutes. Do you think you could do that?”

“I'm busy right now. Another time.”

“I don't understand you, Polly. I've tried so hard to figure out what's going on in that head of yours, but you really don't make it easy. Sometimes I feel like I'm making all this effort, and you won't even try to put your notebook down for five minutes and meet me halfway.

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