The Ash House Read online

  Copyright 2017 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: May 2017

  Why would anyone ever return to a haunted house?

  For Diane Mercer the answer is simple. She's dying of cancer, and she wants to know once and for all whether ghosts are real.

  FROM THE AUTHOR OF ASYLUM, HAUNTED AND THE NIGHT GIRL.

  Heading home with her young son, Diane is determined to find out whether the stories are real. After all, everyone else claimed to see and hear strange things in the house over the years. Everyone except Diane had some kind of experience in the house, or in the little ash house in the yard.

  As Diane explores the house where she grew up, however, her son is exploring the yard and the forest. And while his mother might be struggling to come to terms with her own impending death, Daniel Mercer is puzzled by fleeting appearances of a strange little girl who seems drawn to the ash house, and by strange, rasping coughs that he keeps hearing at night.

  THE ASH HOUSE is a horror novel about a woman who desperately wants to know what will happen to her when she dies, and about a boy who uncovers the shocking truth about a young girl's murder.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  The Ash House

  Chapter One

  Diane

  And then the house comes flickering into view, just about visible behind the thousands of poplar trees that line the side of the road. I hadn't realized we were so close already, but then I guess my head isn't very clear these days. I've got to admit, just seeing the house silhouetted against a gray sky is enough to put a little extra weight in my chest.

  The opposite of how I felt when I left all those years ago.

  “Hey Daniel,” I say, glancing over my shoulder and seeing my son engrossed in a comic book on the back seat. “Ask me again.”

  He glances at me.

  “Ask you what?”

  “The question you've been asking every ten minutes since we set out this morning.”

  He pauses, as if he doesn't remember, but then he turns and looks out the wrong side of the car.

  “Are we there yet?”

  “We sure are,” I reply, starting to slow the car as we come to the turning. The weight in my chest feels heavier than ever, and my hands are trembling slightly as I grip the wheel. I'm about to do something I once swore I'd never do. “We're finally at the house where I grew up.”

  ***

  “Leave your bags,” Mum says as she comes down the porch steps, looking pretty sprightly for a woman who recently entered her eighth decade. “I can bring them in later.”

  “I'm fine,” I reply, hauling the first bag from the boot before feeling a sudden loss of balance. For a moment I think I might actually faint, which would definitely not be a very good re-introduction; fortunately I manage to pull myself back together pretty quickly, and I make a mental note to take an extra pill as soon as I can get to a bathroom.

  “I'll bring those in for you,” Mum says again, coming over to join me at the back of the car. “Or the boy can do it. He looks like a strong young man, let him take the strain.”

  I nod, feeling weak and useless. “Okay.”

  I think that might be the first time in my entire life that I've agreed so easily to one of my mother's suggestions. Usually I fight her tooth and nail, even if she's right.

  She puts a hand on my right arm and grips tight, as if she wants to make sure I'm real. It's been a few years since she last saw us, and that was when she visited London.

  “How was the drive, sweetheart?”

  “It was fine.”

  “Do you need to rest?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I'm sure.”

  “You can have a nap, if you want.”

  “I don't need a nap.”

  “You can snooze on the sofa and -”

  “I'm not an invalid,” I snap. “I'm fine, Mum. If I need to rest, I'll go and rest. Don't worry, you'll be the first to know.”

  “And where -”

  She looks past me. Following her gaze, I see that Daniel is already exploring the edge of the forest, trudging past the side of the road.

  “He looks well,” Mum continues, but with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Healthy.”

  “Why wouldn't he?” I ask, turning back to her. “Do you think I don't know how to look after him?”

  “I didn't mean that. It's just been a few years since I last -”

  “Because I do. He eats well, and he gets lots of exercise.”

  “I never doubted that you -”

  “I'm a good mother!”

  As soon as those words have left my lips, I realize I'm getting a little prickly. I guess that talking-to I gave myself on the way here hasn't quite taken effect yet. Reaching into the boot, I start lifting out another bag. My red hold-all, this time. I just need to get these bags inside and then I can rest.

  “Don't strain yourself, darling,” Mum says, trying to take the hold-all from my hands. “I told you -”

  “And I told you,” I reply, giving up on any attempt to sound like I'm not irritated, “don't fuss over me. Do you remember me telling you that in my last email? Don't act like I'm an invalid. I'm fine.”

  That's not true. The truth is, I feel extremely breathless, but there's no way I'm going to let that show. As soon as I've got the second bag out of the car, I reach in to take another, although I can't help wishing Mum would stop standing there and staring at me. Doesn't she have anything better to do? Like getting to know her grandson, perhaps?

  “Can you go and make some coffee or something?” I ask.

  “Would you like coffee?”

  “I would like you to go and make some.”

  “But is it okay for you to have coffee? I mean, is it safe?”

  “It's safe, Mum,” I reply through gritted teeth, as I set the third bag on the ground. I take a deep breath – or as deep as I can manage, anyway – and try to perform a little mental reset. “Cancer doesn't make a person suddenly allergic to everyday items. That's not how it works.”

  I glance at her, and I immediately realize that I'm being mean. I've been here for all of tw
o minutes and already I feel like I'm being mean. At the same time, I really want her to stop fussing. If she's going to be like this for the whole visit, I think I might lose my mind.

  “Coffee it is, then,” she mutters, turning and heading back inside, and now she looks a little less perky, a little more like an elderly woman. I guess when she came out, she wanted to make a good impression. “And juice for the boy,” she adds. “I think I have some biscuits somewhere. Hopefully they're still good.”

  “I'm sorry I snapped,” I call after her, before turning to check on Daniel.

  For a moment, I can't see my son anywhere. Before I have time to panic, however, I hear the tell-tale sound of feet crunching across old leaves, and I look over my shoulder just in time to spot him making his way past the line of trees. I know exactly what's caught his attention, so I tie my shawl around my shoulders and double-check the scarf on my head before making my way over to watch as he ducks down and peers into the little stone building.

  “What's this?” he asks asks after a few seconds, turning to me.

  “That's the ash house.”

  “The what?”

  Smiling, I step closer.

  “The ash house,” I explain, “was used in the olden days, when people had fires inside their houses and they were worried about stray embers.”

  Reaching the ash house, I stop and place a hand on its cold stone side. I swear, I remember every mottled grain of this damn thing from when I was a kid, and I can't help smiling as I look down and see that my intrepid, unafraid little boy is already crawling inside on his hands and knees. I used to play in the ash house when I was his age, and now he's following suit.

  “Every night,” I continue, “someone from the main house, usually one of the children, would have to carry the ash from the fire out here and set it inside the ash house. That way, there was no danger of the house or the forest catching light. It wasn't exactly the most exciting job, but it had to be done.”

  “Cool,” he replies, his voice booming inside the confined dome of the little house. “What's it used for now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No-one needs ash houses anymore.”

  I pause, listening to the sound of him clambering about in there. I remember how much fun it used to be, back when I'd crawl through the entrance and hide away from the world. Sometimes I'd have friends over and we'd play for hours, acting like we were completely separated from everyone and everything else. The best thing about the ash house was always the fact that adults couldn't really get inside. We were children. Our rules were the only rules that mattered.

  “It's like a house for a little person,” Daniel says after a moment. “An elf or a goblin.”

  “I guess. Sorry it's not. Sorry it's just a boring old ash house.”

  “It's not boring. I like it. I think it's cool.”

  “You and me both,” I reply, before glancing toward the house and seeing Mum watching from the kitchen window. She turns and hurries away as soon as we make eye contact, but I wish I hadn't seen her at all.

  I told her not to act all sad around me this week.

  I warned her.

  Deep down, I'm starting to wonder whether this visit is a good idea. At the same time, I also know that I have two very good reasons for coming here. For one thing, I need to make sure Mum's on the right page, and that she's willing to take Daniel in when I'm not around anymore. And for another, I need to find out if the stories about this place are true.

  Everyone else saw ghosts here in the old days. Everyone except me. So if I want to see a ghost for myself, to know that they're real and that there's something beyond this life, then I figure this house is the best place to start.

  Chapter Two

  Daniel

  This ash house is kinda cool, I guess, but it's also kinda stupid. Why would anyone need a separate place for ashes, when they could just leave them in the fireplace? People in the old days were weird.

  Crouching down so that I don't bang my head, I head over to the other side of the confined space and get down onto my knees. This place is pretty small, only a couple of meters across and not really very much taller, with an opening on either side. There's a lot of dirt and rubbish on the floor, but I'm pretty sure Nana doesn't actually put ashes out here, so I don't know why she doesn't knock the little house down. It's really just a weird little hut filled with dirt and straw.

  Then again, it would make a pretty good hide-out during war-games. You could totally build a base here and defend the two entrances against enemies. In fact, as I peer out one side and look toward the forest, I start imagining what it'd be like to get a really good game going. Anyone who had control of the ash house would basically be invincible.

  Of course, for that to work, I'd need to have some actual friends out here in the middle of nowhere, or I'd at least have to know somebody. And as far as I can tell, there's not another family living anywhere for miles and miles around.

  Hearing footsteps crunching across the ground outside, I turn and look over my shoulder. Somebody's coming closer to the ash house, from the direction of the main building. I wait for Nana to tell me to get out of here, but the footsteps simply make their way around the little ash house a short way before suddenly stopping.

  I wait.

  Silence.

  It's probably just someone being weird.

  Or maybe, just maybe, it's Mum.

  “What do you want?” I call out.

  Silence.

  “Do I have to come inside now?”

  The only reply is a faint very rustling of nearby trees.

  I look out one of the entrances, then out the other, but there's no sign of whoever's out there.

  “Can I stay out 'til dinner's ready?” I ask. “I don't wanna come inside yet.”

  When there's still no answer, I start crawling toward the nearest entrance. Just as I get there, however, I hear footsteps around the other side of the ash house. I stop and turn, looking over my shoulder just in time to spot a flash of movement passing the other entrance. I hear the trampling footsteps for a moment longer before they stop again, and then there's a very faint bumping sound, as if somebody is tapping a hand against the outside of the ash house.

  “Nana?”

  No reply.

  I wait, and now I can feel a faint tingling sensation in my chest. I quickly push the sensation away, but at the same time I definitely feel a little uncertain. I hate the way I get scared so easily.

  A few more seconds pass, but now I don't hear anything outside.

  “Mum?”

  Silence.

  I wait just long enough for the person to say something, and then I start crawling out of the ash house. Once I'm through the little doorway, I get to my feet and turn to look around, but there's no sign of anyone. I even walk all the way around the ash house one whole time, just to double-check that nobody's crouching down to hide, but I really seem to be alone out here. Which is odd, since I heard someone walking over here, and I heard them walking around the little house, but I didn't hear them leave.

  Still, there's nobody else out here in the yard, and there's no sign of anyone in the forest, so I guess I must have been wrong.

  Chapter Three

  Diane

  I start unzipping the red hold-all bag, but then I hear footsteps out on the landing. I turn and look toward the door, but there's no sign of anyone. I guess maybe Daniel came up to fetch something.

  Looking back down at the hold-all, I realize that this isn't the right moment to do what I have in mind. Figuring that I'll get a chance later, I zip the bag shut and take care to push it well under the bed, where it won't be found by anyone.

  Damn it, my stomach isn't good. I feel like I'm going to have to throw up soon.

  ***

  “You could have given me a little more warning,” Mum says as she carries yet another foil-covered plate from the fridge. “This isn't London, you know. One can't just pop down to Sainsbury'
s at the drop of a hat.”

  “I saw Doctor Issa yesterday,” I reply, watching from the doorway.

  “You're lucky,” she continues, setting the plate down and removing the foil, revealing a quiche. “I try to always be two or three days ahead. They don't do home delivery in this neck of the woods, so I stock up whenever I'm in town. I get a taxi there and back. I used to ride my bike, but my hips are a little sore these days.”

  “I got the results of my last scan.”

  “Does Daniel like quiche?”

  “It's not good, Mum.”

  She leans down and pokes the top of the quiche.

  “Did you hear what I said?” I ask.

  “We have plenty of salad,” she replies, before turning and heading back to the fridge.

  “I need to know if Daniel can stay with you.”

  “He's a lovely boy.”

  “Can you look after him?”

  “How long for?”

  “How -”

  Sighing, I watch as she takes yet another plate from the fridge. Seriously, how much food does this woman have just sitting around? She lives alone, she doesn't need a massive fridge stocked to bursting point. At the same time, I need to stay focused on what's important. If my mother wants to store enough food to feed an army, that's her problem.

  “Forever, Mum,” I say after a moment. “Or until he's sixteen. Eighteen. I don't know, whenever. He needs somewhere to live.”

  I wait for a reply, but she's muttering to herself as she examines several more plates. I can't quite make out what she's saying, but I imagine it's something to do with pies. Seriously, my mother could win awards for forced, determined obliviousness.

  “You realize I'm dying, don't you?” I ask.

  Damn it, that's not how I wanted it to come out.

  She freezes, but she doesn't turn to me.

  “Or did you think I just look a little yellow because I ate too many carrots?” I add.

  No, don't joke.

  She won't respond well to that, and I can already see that she's upset.

  “There's nothing else to try,” I continue, feeling a tightening sense of nervousness in my chest and shoulders. “It's just a matter of waiting now, and managing the final months. They said I could go into a hospice, but I remember the place Uncle Pete was in when he died, and I don't want that. I don't know what I do want, except that I need to figure out who's going to look after Daniel, and you're really the only option. You're his grandmother and he knows you pretty well. Coming here would at least give him some stability.”