The Ghosts Of The Far Away Past

prologue

"Lucy!" My boss exclaimed in the phone as I answered the ringing phone. I could hear his voice clearly with it away from my ear, meaning he was in a deep, desperate need of my help. "I need you!" What did I say?

Well, yeah, my name is Lucy Marie Mcnaught. I am a archivist at a museum in London. Central London I might add. I grew up with an archaeologist as a dad and a librarian as a mother.

Dad was often out of town, always traveling around, discovering things or digging up some old bones from before humans even existed. But He was a good dad. Always there when I needed him. He never did let me down if I needed him. Never.

My mom died when I was six. She was diagnosed with cancer when I was five, but it had already spread. It had started in her cervix, before spreading up to her spinal-chord. The doctors had said there was such a small chance for her to ever get cancer free, that they only prolonged her remaining time and numbing the pain.

She died a year later.

I was devastated. I can still remember how I would lock myself up in my room, crying myself to sleep every night. The lonely feeling I was struggling and constantly battling with through out my childhood.

But dad was there.

After mother died, he took me out of school, and started homeschooling me. It was more convenient for him to take me with him to the digging sides, teaching me about what they where digging out, and do the normal subjects when he had time off from work.

And this is where I started thinking about working with old stuff. Yes, old stuff. The reason why I say old stuff is because, my job does not evolve around one thing, but a lot of different areas. Different objects from different time periods, and sometimes I would be called out to mansions that was several hundreds of years old to have a look at antique objects to name a price.

And this is where my boss comes in the picture. why he had called me.

"There is someone up in Cumberland wants someone to come and have a look at some objects in an old mansion" Ben explained, holding his professional tone. Just to have that said: If I was a guy and named Ben, I'd kill my parents because of my name. Seriously. I personally hate the name. But again, I guess it is different when you're born and named Ben.

"All the way up there?!" I exclaimed, running a pale hand through my ginger locks.

"Yes, all the way up there" Ben mimicked my complaining tone, making me groan back. "No, not any of that miss Mcnaught!"

"Fine, as long as you pay for my driving up there!" I demanded, before hanging up before the old creep could answer.

When I say creep, I don't mean that he is creepy. But he's old, and when he's grumpy, he sounds like a creep. Hence why I gave him that nickname. Besides, his curly white hair, long beard and glasses makes him look like an smelly old uncle. Or a mad scientist.

Ok, if you yet has to guess, those two references are from my favorite TV show, Doctor Who. But that is enough about me and my obsessions. Let us move on!

Around ten past five I had packed my car with a suitcase, holding my belongings. From what Ben wrote to me on an e-mail, the original owner had died, and the house had now passed down to his child.

The mansion was named Allerdale Hall, and was build somewhere around the 1700's. Nobody was living in it now, but then again, the former owner died.

As the now owners was looking to sell it, I was called out. And yes, it would be easier for them to get someone closer, but it appeared that Ben knew these people personally, so I guess that is why I had to go.

And it is only fair of me to complain, it is a well 5 and a half hours drive from London.

---

"Here is your key to your room" The young man said, handing me a key. I carefully took it and smiled at the him. "Although, I must say that it is awful late to check in"

"I've been driving all the way from London" I said, smiling wider at him. Tom, as his badge read, nodded once, before giving me the directions to my room.

Looking at the key card to see what floor my room was in, I read it out in a low mumble to myself. "County Hotel, 307". So third floor. Possibly close to the lift. But how did that matter? I was going on a one hour drive out of the city. Somewhere out on the country side, the mansion was waiting.

This was a doomed plan, I could feel it - like something was warning me from going there- like it was haunted. But I could not decide weather or not I should go, this was simply something I had to. "Oh come on, pull it together!" I said to myself sternly as I opened the door to my room. "It's not like it is haunted" I frowned at my own foolishness. Ghosts are not real. And if they were, then God had to be real to, right?

I stopped believing in God after my mother died. It seemed so unfair that she had to die from me. And I felt like God had taken her away from me.

But again, let us not dive into that horrible past.

A good night sleep was all I needed. Five hours driving was long, exhausting and not to mention: expensive.

I tossed the suitcase on the single bed and opened it, finding a set of underwear and my shampoo and conditioning. I had forgotten my favorite Lavender soap, so I would have to survive without it.

Walking into the bathroom with my clothes, I turned on the shower, before taking my clothes off. My back was stiff after all the sitting in the car, before I stepped in, letting the warm water run down my skin, soothing my muscles.

It felt good to have a good, long shower. Time to think, time to relax and just enjoy the moment as it went by slowly. I loved the feeling I got when I rubbed the shampoo and the conditioning in my hair, and giving my scalp a good massage.

Relaxed and tired, I pushed the suitcase down from the bed, before crawling under the cover, covering half of my face with it and closed my eyes from the harsh winter outside my window. It had been a light snowfall that day when I had been driving, and it seemed not to calm down either. It only seemed to get worse.

But, not getting time to give it a closer thought, I slipped into an very odd dream.