Georgie stared out of the lounge window, holding a mug of lukewarm tea. Ever since her meeting with Mr Goldman, she felt an overwhelming sadness.
She had left his office intending to drive back to 111 West End. Instead, Georgie had driven to the town's church. Nestled within a small residential area the ancient church had stood for over 740 years. Its quaint, immaculately kept, churchyard wrapped around the building and had long since run out of space for burials. Georgie wandered from one headstone to another, reading the names, dates, and ages.
Henry Turner aged three,
Emma Shipley aged ten,
Alice Boyes aged thirteen,
Edward Wise aged nine,
Joseph Harker aged fifteen.
Georgie read until she could stand no more, and huddled on the wooden bench outside the church, she wept for a generation lost to illness. And then she drove home.
As if the house could sense her misery, all afternoon 111 West End creaked and groaned around her.
Mr Goldman had insisted the house was just old, and he had made her feel foolish for asking questions. Georgie would never bother him again... unless it was urgent. He clearly thought she was delusional. But her thoughts persisted, What if I am right? What if the children want my help? She needed to find out.
"Hello," she whispered into the ether.
Georgie set down her mug. "Is there anyone there?" A wisp of a breeze rustled her hair. Encouraged by this, Georgie said, "Do you need help?" She waited for a reply.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Are you stuck here?"
Georgie tried to locate the sound. It seemed to resonate from the walls, although where she couldn't tell.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Children, where are you?" Georgie followed the tapping into the hallway.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Georgie climbed the stairs to the first landing. The ornate chandelier above her swung gently, the crystal drops tinkling, as though caught in a slight draught. "Don't be afraid." She climbed the rest of the stairs, and with her heart racing she walked along the gallery. "I won't hurt you."
In response, a blast of cold shot through her. Georgie's skin prickled and every hair on her body rose. Behind her, the soft rustle of fabric made her turn to face the stairs.
Startled, she clamped her hand over her mouth. She wouldn't call out and scare the children... the poor, sweet souls.
YOU ARE READING
111 West End
ParanormalBen Goldman is a successful estate agent with a keen eye for refurbishments. But when he buys the derelict, 111 West End, no one mentions its dark history or the local tales of its ghostly inhabitants. After extensive renovations, Ben develops an un...
