Urn & Willow by Scott Thomas by Dark Regions Press

Author:Dark Regions Press
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: horror, ghost, ghost stories, supernatural stories, paranormal stories, ghost book, victorian horror, ghost anthology, dark regions digital, dark regions press, erin wells, scott thomas, victorian ghost stories

The two cousins made their way from the little entry area through one of the parlors and into the kitchen. Mrs. Skeel, Cynthia’s aunt, was busy about her cooking, the table crowded with freshly picked squash and apples. She gave an inquisitive look.

Cynthia pointed to the far side of the room, at the unpainted batten door that led to the stairwell encased behind walls that separated the kitchen from the buttery on the right.

“Our little angel Egbert has thrown poor Keziah’s dolly into the stair passageway.”

Mrs. Skeel sighed. “He delights in the torment of his sisters, that boy. It is no wonder he flew so from the house.”

Keziah said, “I heard poor dolly fall down the stairs. He’s likely killed her.”

Cynthia was quick to comfort, “No, no, dear! She is fine and I will have her back for you now.”

Increase thumped through the house and reached the kitchen in time to see that the door to the cramped back stairway was open. He just glimpsed the tail of Cynthia’s pink skirt slipping from view. The door slammed shut behind her as if sucked by a powerful pull of air.

“Cynthia!” Increase called.

It was quiet for a moment. All eyes were on the door, watching for it to reopen and for the young woman to reappear. They waited, listening.

Increase called again, “Cynthia?”

Keziah looked up at her mother, who was smiling uncertainly. The woman called for her niece, “Very well, Cynthia, you’ve had your little joke, now let’s have you out from there before you get dust on your fine skirts.”

Everyone flinched at the sound of a loud wooden bang. Again it was calm but for the soft crackling of the logs in the fireplace. Increase crossed the room purposefully and took hold of the metal handle of the door. He gave it a tug, then another and another.

“It is locked,” he said, agitated.

To which Mrs. Skeel noted, “There be no lock.”

Increase jumped back involuntarily as the little stairwell filled with loud pounding, as if a horse were trying to kick its way out of the structure. This went on for what seemed a very long moment. Again Increase tried the door, but it would not budge. He dashed through the house and made the formal staircase that opened off the little front entry, then charged up from there into the rear bedchamber where the upper door to the back stairs could be found. He tried this, as the terrible banging continued, but found it too was stuck in place.

A final series of deep thumps came from within the compartment, as if a large, heavy pumpkin were tumbling down the stairs. Increase stood there trembling and pressed an ear to the door, hoping to hear some sound that might suggest life, but it was so still that he could hear the mourning dove outside making its sad calls from the roof.

Increase rapped on the door and shouted, “Cynthia?”

No voice answered back. The man spun from the door and rushed back downstairs and into the kitchen where he repeated the rapping and the call, but again received no reply.

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