Lost Souls

17

Innes MacBlaine had fled the bedroom as quickly as his legs had allowed. Several times, he'd tripped and fallen down stairs, over furniture legs, but somehow he'd made it to the front door of the house, only to see it slam in his face. Frantically he'd yanked on the handle, but it hadn't opened even an inch.

​Screaming frantically, he'd spun around fully expecting to see the little girl, with two holes where her eyes should have been, creeping downstairs towards him, but he had been alone.

​MacBlaine had sunk to the floor, and cried like a baby until his eyes hurt, and his chest ached from his constant heaving. 

Wiping snot from his face, he'd finally managed to climb back to his feet. Once more he tried the door, again he found it locked, and despite pulling hard on the handle, he couldn't budge it.

​He was a rational man, and knew that what he'd witnessed wasn't real. He understood that the little girl must be a ghost, but that hadn't made him feel any less terrified.

​As he'd wandered across the hall towards the lounge, he'd heard the faint sound of distant sobbing. At first he'd thought it was the little girl upstairs, but as his had ears become attuned to where the sound came from, he'd realised it was more in the direction of the kitchen.

​Slowly, and with his heart in his mouth, he'd ventured towards the sobbing. As he'd approached, his knees had been knocking, his teeth had been chattering, and his throat had been so dry, it felt like it had been cut. A river of sweat had poured down his spine, and his clothing stuck to him, making his every step uncomfortable.

​Once inside the kitchen, he'd gone straight towards the far wall where he'd been certain the sound had come from. As he'd edged closer, it stopped. Silence had descended like death, and the room had fallen eerily quiet.

Mac Blaine had reached out to touch the wall, and had found it was cold and clammy. As he'd pushed a little harder, his jaw slackened and a gasp had escaped from between his lips. As he'd pushed, his fingers slowly slid deeper into the brickwork.

​Instead of being afraid, MacBlaine had stood watching with fascination as his whole hand was swallowed into the wall.

​Leaning in closer, he'd placed his other palm onto the surface and pushed gently. He'd been shocked to find that no matter how hard he'd pushed, this hand wouldn't break through the flaking paintwork, let alone the brickwork beneath.

​Frustrated, he'd pushed the hand that was inside the wall deeper until it had been sucked in up to his shoulder, and then he'd turned his head to the side to avoid having that sucked inside too.

​He'd fumbled about, trying to touch anything, that might give him a clue as to what was happening. Then he'd felt it. Somebody else's hand had stroked the back of his own.

​An army of Goosebumps had sprung to life on his skin, and started to march over every piece of his body. Now terrified that someone was actually behind the wall, he'd frantically pulled his arm out, and checked to make sure he still had all his fingers.

​A child's voice filled the room. "Don't be afraid. We aren't here to hurt you."

​MacBlaine lost control then, and had bolted for the nearest window. Once there, he'd picked up a chair, and smashed his way out of Dovecot Manor, swearing he'd never set foot inside again.

​As he'd jogged back to the safety of his house beside the church, he'd run through what had happened. He knew for certain it was a haunted house. What he hadn't known was what haunted it.

​As he'd reached his front door, his wife Gladys was waiting for him. She looked confused. "You're back early," she'd said, clearly puzzled by his return.

​"Early!" he'd replied, surprised by her remark.

​"Well, you're supposed to be going up to Dovecot Manor. You can't have been already!"

​"Why not?" MacBlaine had asked, his head swimming with disbelief.

​Gladys had smiled at him and moved closer to hug him tightly. "You've only been gone five minutes you dope," she'd pointed out lovingly.

​Behind her back, MacBlaine had checked his watch. She'd been right. Barely five minutes had past since he'd set out for the house. It had taken him at least fifteen minutes to get there, he'd been in the house for what seemed like hours, and now here he was standing outside his own home minutes later.

​As his wife had continued to hug him, he'd reached a startling conclusion. How could he tell anyone the house was haunted? By the sound of things, he'd never even been there!