A Pocket Full of Posies (Book 1)

Chapter Ten (Part 2)

Two days later, as I'm sitting on the minibus heading towards this so called haunted manor, never has regret raged so strongly inside of me. The president of the society is relaying to us what she refers to as the rules of respect, which apparently plan out how to behave in the presence of spirits. They claim we mustn't swear around them, which is as dumb as it is nonsensical. Annabel swears more than I do.

Mrs. President doesn't elaborate on why we can't swear around them, just that they find it offensive. Which they don't. The best rule is that communication attempts must only be made at night because only then do they feel comfortable, and I've no clue what section of her arse she pulled that out of. I realise I probably just sound like a cynical hag here, but these stereotypes have gotten pretty exhausting over the past ten years or so. No wonder there are so many poltergeists in the world. I'd be pissed off at the extent of this bullshit too.

Mrs. President must notice the sour look on my face because once she's finished her speech, she wanders over to me at the back of the bus. Her hair is dyed jet-black, and I can't tell if her face is that pale because it's her natural skin-tone, or because she's so busy hunting ghosts away from the daylight they apparently loathe. I keep imagining how funny it would be if we suddenly had to break, and she went flying down the aisle. Sadly, we don't.

"A sceptic, I see," she says to me as she stops beside my row.

"Two, actually," Jamie pipes up from the row opposite, and I want to high-five the guy.

Mrs. President turns to him and smiles, then glances between us. "You'll soon change your mind."

With that, she quickly turns back around--I assume to make the unnecessary lace cape she's wearing swish dramatically, and saunters back to the front of the bus. I turn to the row of seats behind me to slowly shake my head at Carmen and Tom, as if cursing them for dragging me into this pit of crazies.

I have to admit, I'm impressed when we see the manor. It's far larger than The Cavern, and while some of the bricks of that place look as if they're crumbling away, you can tell this is a tourist attraction. There isn't a blade of grass out of place. It's turning dark now, and based on the mindset of this lot, I assume we've come this late to avoid making the spirits uncomfortable.

There are floor lamps shooting white light up at the house, creating the illusion of it being mightier than it is. Oddly, I've never visited a haunted house before. I've been to places I was told were haunted, and they never have been, bar one with a ghost dog who was pissed at his owner for losing his ball. I've never been to a place like this though, where the entire reason for its being is harbouring ghosts. Whether there will actually be any is another story.

The tour begins in the main living quarters, which I think is old-timey talk for living room. I was never really into in history. Our tour guide is speaking in such a patronising manner that I can't quite tell if he thinks we're small children, or just idiots. Probably the latter. I would if I were him.

Annabel couldn't miss this barrel of laughs, of course, so she stands beside me uttering sarcastic comments about our tour guide, who she thinks resembles a mix between 90's John Travolta and this homeless guy who used to sell rocks he'd painted in an underpass in Sheffield. It's a pretty accurate comparison.

"The Lord and Lady, unable to produce children of their own, resorted to thieving street children in an attempt to mould them into perfect boys and girls. If a child dare step out of line, they would be no sooner banished from the house. Though we must bear in mind that those are the official claims..." Our tour guide pauses for what I assume is dramatic effect, and lowers his voice.

Give me strength.

"The truth may be far darker. Some reports claim that if the street child was anything but perfect, the Lord and Lady would murder it. Dispose of the child, move onto the next one."