THE APPOINTMENT: A chilling ghost story of malevolence and death Read online

  Sadly, both of her parents were killed in a freak road accident whilst travelling to Sweden to trace their roots on her father’s side of the family. And, having no siblings, Kelly found herself very much alone at the age of twenty one. In the years which followed, since that traumatic time in her life, and during which she had suffered a devastating nervous breakdown, her emotions had been left vulnerable - and she was only just coming to terms with it. She had thrown herself into her newly acquired job at the estate agents, which had enabled her to occupy both her mind, and her time, whilst on the difficult road to recovery.

  Kelly’s interest in period buildings seemed to slot in well with her fixation about the past. History had been her favourite subject at school, and in which she had excelled. She was often accused of placing more importance on past events, than in the future, and to a certain extent it was probably true. There was so much to uncover of the past, whereas the future was still untold, so she never failed to get excited when visiting a property which was centuries old. And so she knew instinctively that The Grange would not disappoint.

  Sitting in her car in the company car park, she took one last glance at the paperwork. It revealed very little about the history of The Grange, which Kelly thought was odd for a property so steeped in history it could boast origins back to the fifteen hundreds. The information in the file gave only a brief history of ownership since the late nineteenth-century, and nothing before, but it did contain some very interesting notes on the history of that period. One of its predecessors was a Captain De Wolfe, a seafaring man, who acquired the property in the late eighteen hundreds, after it had been standing empty for at least a decade. He spent considerable amounts of money refurbishing it, extending it, and adding the four castellated towers which were still in situ to-day. Sadly, his ownership of The Grange was short-lived as he was lost at sea before the work was completed, and so he never reaped the benefit of his efforts and investment. His grief-stricken family fled to America, and the property remained empty for many years, until it was sold again to another wealthy family called the Sherbournes. Although the house remained in the same ownership for the remaining years, mysteriously none of them ever stayed in the property for long. Subsequent family members moved in, but left again after very short periods - and there were many unoccupied intervals.

  During the First World War the property was assigned to the war effort for use as a convalescent hospital, housing wounded soldiers recovering from their injuries. Soon after the war ended, the house was reclaimed by the Sherbournes, who continued to inhabit the property once more.

  As it was handed down to each generation, persistent family members endured living at The Grange for brief periods only. During the ensuing years, there were many more gaps in between its occupants, until it was finally abandoned towards the end of the nineteen hundreds. It was left empty until the last known relative had died.

  At the turn of the twenty first century it went to probate, where it remained until distant members of the family, who were scattered around America and other parts of the world, were traced. Now, after more than a decade of searching, the property was to be offered for sale by auction.

  Armed with all this information and barely able to contain her excitement, Kelly drove out of the car park, leaving the pretty market town of Skipton behind, as she headed for the top road which would take her to Lunt and the borders, better known as the ‘high road’ to the locals.

  The first few miles passed through a number of picturesque villages which were very popular with tourists, before widening out to a more remote landscape where sheep from the moors wandered aimlessly and without interruption.

  To her left the scenery was rugged and hilly with low shrubs and heather, whilst to her right was a softer view of rolling countryside which spread out to the valleys below. A reservoir could be seen in the distance, with the Keeper’s house standing solitary at its side. Dense forests also dotted the landscape.

  After several more miles the road became increasingly desolate and isolated, with panoramic scenery stretching for miles across dramatic moorland. It was wild and rugged, a photographer’s dream, but clearly not for the faint-hearted. To Kelly it was heaven and one of her favourite vistas, but to another it could be bleak, lonely, and threatening.

  In the distance ahead Kelly could see that the views were becoming obscured by a white mist, which she knew was caused by low cloud - and it was drifting in her direction. It wasn’t unusual to experience such dramatic changes in weather or temperature, as some parts were close to the Lancashire borders and therefore shared their climate, whilst others were truly Yorkshire - and their climate could differ entirely.

  The sun still continued to shine along her journey so far, and she hoped that it would last until she reached The Grange - just long enough to complete her work at least. She turned on the radio and by the way the conversations were going from listeners ringing in, the weather seemed to be the same throughout the country - cold, but dry and sunny. It was just her luck to be heading in the wrong direction.

  Travelling along she couldn’t help but think of Fee – ‘Feeble Fee’ the staff often teased. Fee made it clear that she hated the thought of going into an empty house alone. Nothing would tempt her, in fact viewing properties was not part of her job and she was glad of it.

  Her fears were possibly made worse by the company’s five safety rules. They were pinned to the office wall for all to see and headed Stay Safe at all times. Those safety rules had been in place ever since a female estate agent had disappeared, years ago, whilst viewing a vacant property with a male enquirer. Her body – she was presumed dead – had never been found.

  This was enough to make any member of staff nervous, but it wasn’t just that in Fee’s case. Her fear was something more sinister – supernatural perhaps, or of a ghostly nature. Her colleagues often suggested that she should try her hand at writing ghost stories, instead of the romances which she continually failed at. But the thought of that only filled her with dread and horror. As for Kelly and Fee, they couldn’t be two more opposites. Kelly was fiercely strong in her belief that ghosts and spirits do not exist. Once we are dead, we are well and truly dead – and that is it! Those were her true convictions and could not be shaken.

  She had to slow down to a standstill to let a ragged looking sheep nonchalantly saunter across the road, whilst others peered at her suspiciously from the roadside. Dotted along the journey were large dirty boards for all to see, their backgrounds, once white, had blood-red writing sprawled across them warning of: SHEEP CROSSING. So she had no choice but to drive steadily along for about a mile.

  Finally, the start of the Fir Trees which marked the location of the uphill journey to The Grange could be seen in the distance ahead, so she knew she was nearing her destination. But where she would normally be able to see the castellated towers protruding above the tree tops, they were now hidden by low cloud.

  The skies ahead were gradually turning black and angry, and the road was becoming far more isolated. There wasn’t another vehicle in sight, and even the sheep seemed to have retreated to some secret refuge - abandoning her to complete solitude. The sun behind her had long since disappeared, and she could hear the faint sound of rolling thunder somewhere in the distance ahead. She became strongly aware of her vulnerability, as she travelled further and further across the bleak and forbidding wilderness.

  The road was slowly becoming enveloped in mist, and visibility was on the decline. The harsh and windswept Yorkshire moors were known to be unyielding and challenging to the most ardent of travellers, and this occasion was proving to be no exception. Her headlights, which were set to auto, came on as the skies darkened.

  Heavy rain began all at once, hampering her progress and almost obliterating the landscape. She had to slow down to a speed of only ten miles an hour, as her windscreen wipers struggled to cope with the sudden onslaught. Gripping her steering wheel tightly and gradually leaning more towards the windscreen,
Kelly struggled to see where she was going.

  Without warning, a loud piercing crack broke the atmosphere, and a streak of lightning lit up the black skies as it zigzagged towards The Grange, revealing the hidden outline of its tall chimneys and castellated towers. It resembled a scene out of a horror film, as the shadowy mansion loomed above the trees, looking dark and menacing against the raging heavens. And at the same time, her satnav failed.

  Battling against the elements and still unfazed, she continued to follow the road until she finally reached a left turn at the end of the forest, identified only by an old faded milestone which was dirty and worn with time, and barely visible. The harsh weather was making it almost impossible to judge whether or not this was the correct turning. According to her instructions she should turn at the end of the forest, but the mist was obscuring the landscape so badly that she simply couldn’t be sure. She slowed to a halt to see what else was ahead, but it was hopeless. She decided to risk it and turn.

  She soon found herself bumping along a lane, which was little more than a rough dirt-track. The hedgerows to her right were matted with unruly hawthorn and brambles, tangled with mixes of well-established and overgrown thorns and thistles which had been left to flourish over the years. To her left was dense forest mixed with a variety of trees, which were half-hidden by the swirling mist. Somewhere between them she was supposed to find an entrance which would lead her up through the woods and to the house. It was a daunting thought, but she persevered. It didn’t look as if anyone had used this track since the days of horses and carts. It was bleak and solitary, and in truth - unfit for a car, and it didn’t appear to lead anywhere. But now she was on it, there was no choice but to continue.

  She thought about the many people who had travelled along here in the early eighteen hundreds. Their mode of transport and these inhospitable conditions were far more ill-matched than her vehicle. Kelly had a particular interest in nineteenth century social history and she had read that a local figure, Charlotte Bronte, once she had become a famous writer, visited many influential people in their mansions and stately homes around these areas. Maybe this could have been one of them. It fascinated her to think that she could be following in her footsteps. As she momentarily lost herself in those intriguing thoughts her journey became more tolerable, but it would have been much grimmer back in those days.

  Although the heavy rain was easing off a little, the gathering mist was still preventing her from knowing how far the road stretched ahead. If she had any doubts that she was on the right track, it was too late. She would not be able to go back until she found somewhere to turn. Carrying on was the only option and it seemed like an endless journey, being unable to see where, or what she was heading into.

  Then the rain suddenly came on again without warning, and to make matters worse a fierce wind had erupted from nowhere.

  The trees began to rustle their branches, the road was becoming rougher and she found herself being jolted along more rigorously. Struggling to see out of the rain-pelted window, she persisted - albeit with less vigour – and doubts of having taken the right turning were starting to nag. Neighbours obviously didn’t exist in this god-forsaken place, and so there was no-one to ask. A few old farmsteads scattered over the moors along the way, had long since been abandoned, and she knew from experience that this part of the world was too bleak for habitation.

  Finally she stopped her car and opened the passenger window. Leaning over, she tried to get a clearer view of an entrance which she had spotted at a gap between the trees. It was sealed by an old five barred gate. The rain got the better of her, and she wound the window up again. There was only one solution - she was going to have to get out of the car and have a proper look.

  She’d left the regulation wellies and raincoat in her car boot, which she took everywhere with her, but there was hardly any point in trying to retrieve them now in this weather – it sort of defeated the object. At least she was wearing a trouser suit, but her heeled shoes would be less than a match for the muddy, potholed ground below her feet. Nevertheless she ventured gingerly out of the car and into the driving rain, her feet slipping into muddy rain-filled holes as she struggled to get over to the other side of the track, in order to inspect the gate. But it was old and decrepit and was wedged between two ancient stone posts, and it was being held together with a rusty chain and bolt. The gate was so sunken into the ground that it was obvious that it hadn’t been moved in years, and beyond the gate was a narrow winding path which was littered with dead branches and debris. It was clearly not useable. She had ventured out of the shelter of her car for nothing.

  She decided to trudge along on foot for a further stretch to see if she could find any signs of another entrance close by, already saturated it couldn’t get any worse. But she soon found herself battling against the force of the wind, and had to hug her jacket to her body in an attempt to shield herself from the biting rain. It was futile to go any further, as she couldn’t see anything at all ahead of her. She tucked her chin firmly into her chest to avoid the rain stinging her face, and headed back to the refuge of her car.

  Soaking wet and with muddy shoes, she sat for a while pondering as to whether or not she should try to turn her car. She checked the time. She had three minutes left to get to The Grange, otherwise she would be late for her appointment. She turned the heating up and put the blower on full, in an attempt to dry herself off whilst she trundled on regardless.

  Further along the road she arrived at two derelict gate-lodges, flanking yet another entrance and approached by a sharp turn. But as she slowed down, she could see that the opening was obscured by overhanging trees and shrubbery making it impossible to get through. Gate-lodges were not mentioned in her directions anyway, so she ignored them and drove on.

  Overwhelmed by a feeling of hopelessness, Kelly made up her mind that the next stop would determine her resolve - to either turn around no matter how difficult that was, or to continue.

  A quarter of a mile later she arrived at yet another entrance, which this time looked more promising. A large set of wooden gates were positioned some distance back from two old stone posts which must have once supported the originals. The road beyond appeared to be nothing more than a dirt track leading through the forest, but it looked wide enough for a car. As dirt tracks were all that she had come to expect by this time, it didn’t present her with a problem. She could see a name etched into the stonework which was too old and faded to be able to decipher, but as the gates were open Kelly determined that Mr Midgley must have opened them, which meant he would be at the house already. So she ventured through.

  The track was narrow and winding as it led uphill through the trees. Kelly had no idea how far up it went before it would reach the brow of the hill, but she seemed to have little choice but to continue - albeit reservedly - into the depths of the forest.

  The torrential rain and the gusting wind howled through the sanctuary of the trees, but even so there was a heavy, almost tangible silence which penetrated the atmosphere. The dark, storm-laden sky which loomed above her felt eerie and intimidating, and she was gripped by a strong sense of foreboding. But she ploughed on regardless.

  The further up she travelled, the more surreal it all became. The trees looked tall and hostile. Their overhanging bare branches resembled outstretched arms with gnarled fingers clasping hands with one another from each side of the track, cradling her along the journey. She felt hemmed in, trapped, and strangely threatened.

  There was some form of communication going on in her subconscious, warning her of something chilling. The trees were fencing her in, and she should go back down the track whilst there was still time.

  She shrugged it off as being caused by the gloominess of the woods. Nevertheless, she hoped that she would soon reach her destination, and hopefully human contact.

  The thunder seemed to be rolling away into the distance and leaving the stormy skies behind, but the rain and wind were uncompromising. At
least for now the worst of the electric storm seemed to be over.

  As she continued uphill the journey became more isolated, and she became increasingly aware of her exposure in this lonely and desolate place. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live somewhere as secluded as this. This was by far the most isolated place she had ever been to, and it was certainly not for the faint-hearted. It had to be an acquired taste - perhaps a bunch of Benedictine hermits, or some other religious cult, or maybe a very wealthy recluse; but whilst The Grange still held a fascination for her as a historic building, the thought of people having actually lived in this wilderness, was mystifying. Evelyn was right to voice her concern – now Kelly understood. The only form of life around her would no doubt be the wildlife darting through the dark undergrowth, sharp eyes peering at her from their shrouded abodes, as they watched evasively whilst evaluating the threat.

  Then as sudden and as startling as a crash of lightning, a large black crow landed on the bonnet of her car, almost causing her heart to stop and the engine to stall. It was so big it almost blocked the windscreen, and for a moment or two she was stunned into silence. Finally she thumped her fist several times on the windscreen to scare it away, but it was undeterred. Its piercing eyes held her in its stare, it was unnerving and she was forced to look away. She activated the wiper blades, squirted the washers, and sounded the horn several times, but it continued to glare at her. She restarted the engine and moved the car backwards and forwards in an effort to jerk it off, but it still stubbornly clung on. And no amount of banging on the windscreen would move it. She knew she would have to get out of the car once more.

  But the minute she opened the door, it flew off.

  She sank back in her seat trying to regain her composure before setting off again. She had been quite shaken by the experience. The two sharp eyes which had stared back at her from those jet black sockets had been quite riveting and almost human. And for a few moments she had felt seriously threatened, as if her mind were being invaded.