The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller by Betsy Reavley

Author:Betsy Reavley [Reavley, Betsy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books
Published: 2016-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

June 3rd

We’ve been back in London for over a week. Our time away in Brighton did us the world of good. Seeing Sophie was like having an injection of fresh air, despite the tepid addition of Rory.

Now, I am sucked back into the real world. Yesterday, I received a call from the executor of the will. Since I am the sole beneficiary, everything has to come through me. Mr Potts, my parents’ stuffy old lawyer, suggested that I thought about packing up and selling the estate. He said the sooner it was done, the quicker he could get the ball rolling. I had to agree to do it but hate having the responsibility on my shoulders. I just want to crawl under my duvet and die. The last thing I want to do is return to that house. There are too many bad memories and far too many ghosts.

I talked to Charlie about it two nights ago. He offered to come with me, to take more time off work, but I told him to stay. I’m sure it is going to take at least a week to work my way through every room. He can join me there at the weekend. There is no point in antagonising his arsehole boss any further. He had a good idea, which was to rope in Margaret to help me. She’d be grateful for the extra cash, no doubt, plus she has insider knowledge of the place and, also, that way, I wouldn’t be alone. I love how Charlie’s mind works. Sometimes he can be so practical.

I called her yesterday morning and put forward the offer. She jumped at the chance to earn some money. She’s a nice lady, who ‘did’ for them for as long as I can remember but I suspect the idea of going through their personal belongings also appealed to her. The world the rich live in is somewhat of a mystery to most people.

I will definitely get her to go through my father’s stuff. The idea of handling his clothes or anything that smells of him repulses me. At some point, I will have to choose the outfits they are to be buried in, but not yet.

So today, on this bright Monday morning, I am driving back to the house I grew up in. But, unlike most people, I don’t enjoy the prospect of returning home. It fills me with dread and I felt this way long before it was the scene of a murder. I used to feel the walls were watching what my father did to me. As if, in some way, the house itself was complicit. Silly I know, but because of the size and age of the place, I was sure it was haunted when I was little and convinced the ghosts witnessed my abuse.

Now, I have to return to those ghosts again. Only now, there are two more who haunt the corridors. I shudder behind the wheel and turn the radio on, determined to drown out my ghoulish thoughts.

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