Within an hour, the hard ground amongst the tall trees surrounding Shadbrook Hall was covered with a thin white mantle. A constant chorus of ghostly whistling alternated from whispering notes to loud wailing as tree limbs high up swayed back and forth. Despite this, snow started to cover the lower branches. The temperature was dropping toward freezing as the wind grew stronger, the snow blown horizontally as it neared the ground.
Damon eased his foot from the accelerator and struggled to see the white line in the center of the road. The wipers were next to useless as snow covered the screen after each pass. The glass started to mist. Pushing the quarter-lite, he shuddered as a gust of cold air blew across his face. A figure appeared in front of the car suddenly, barely visible. The car slewed to a halt.
“What the hell?”
“Very sorry, Sir.”
A young girl, her hair dripping wet and wearing a short coat over a bright yellow dress stood next to the window as Damon lowered it.
“Can you give me a lift, please. I live over there.” She pointed across the farmland. “Shadbrook Hall, Sir. It’s not far.”
“Goodness, you must be frozen.” He thumbed the back seat over his shoulder. “Get in out of the snow.”
She climbed in, shivering. “What on earth are you doing out at this time of night? Your mother must be worried about you.”
“I’m Bella. I work at the hall,” she offered. “There’s a driveway further up.”
“What do you do?” Damon was relieved to see it had stopped snowing.
There was no answer. As the car moved off, he looked into the driving mirror. Bella was curled up under his raincoat. A few minutes later, he turned the car into the drive and pulled up outside the Hall. The building was in darkness except for one small attic room. A candle glowed in the window. Damon climbed from the car and mounted the steps to the front entrance. He knocked loudly but got no response.
A voice startled him from behind. “Can I help you? Are you lost?”
Damon turned to face an old man in a raincoat and rubber boots. In one hand he carried a shotgun. “Thought you be a poacher,” he smiled.
“No, I found Bella out on the road. She’s in the car. Are you related?”
The old man smiled. “No, Sir. I’m the caretaker. The Hall is empty these past three years. No one lives here.”
Damon opened the rear door. The girl was gone. His raincoat lay on the seat, soaked. On the other side of the car, he found footprints in the snow - leading away across the field.
“I don’t understand,” he said, puzzled.
“There was a Bella worked here in the kitchen, but she’s long dead. They do say she was murdered in her attic room. Back in 1873, it was. Why not warm yourself in my hut. You're not the first to meet her.”
Writers: Anna Zhigareva (Scotland), Linda Alley (Australia), Linda Alley (Australia), Ray Stone (Cyprus), Ken Burns (NZ), Suraya Dewing (NZ), Anthony Smits (Samos Island), Hemali Ajmera (India), Abhimanyu Jamwal (India), Ray Stone (Cyprus)
Comments