❝Strange things did happen here. ❞

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SIX |  CRIMSON PEAK

I actually didn't sleep that night. I stayed in bed, staring at the darkness, listening to the sounds of the city, remembering and comparing them to the silence of the countryside, except for all the creaking, moaning and the lullabies in the middle of the night in the old house.

When the clock struck five in the morning, I got up and got into the shower. The water ran making its way down my aching and bruised body, I would have loved to stay in longer than five minutes but I wanted to leave as early as possible to get there before midday.

After getting dressed and getting rid of the bandage on my finger, I got a backpack with some stuff. The piece of wood on my vanity made me stop right before opening the door. I walked towards it and took the hand-carved rocking-horse in my hands, I still had it. My thumb stroked the horse's neck as the flashback came to my head again.

Me, standing by a table with tools and toys and a blue-eyed man placing it in my hands.

I shook my head to get back to what I had to do. At those hours Josh was still in bed so I left him a note on the kitchen counter telling him that I had to go back there to finish the book and that probably he was right in the sleepwalking thing, that way he wasn't going to bother me.

During the entire trip, I battled to get rid of fear. I didn't want to go into the house and get attacked by a ghost again let alone be murdered but, I was on my way to the haunted house anyway. When I arrived at Cumbria, I stopped at a small and old café to get my thoughts together and eat something of course, I hadn't eaten anything since the day before. I got the brilliant idea of asking the guy who brought me a slice of pie, if he knew something about the old house. He placed the pie onto the table and I began:

"Oh goodness," he smiled, "this looks delicious! Can you bring me another slice for later? I know my friend would love this." I lied, trying to create a connection with the waiter.

"Sure," he said and with that he disappeared through the door to the kitchen. I began to eat and sip from my coffee as I waited. The café wasn't as full as one in London would have been at those hours, there were just two people apart from me, an old man in the corner by the window and a woman scribbling in a notebook in the table next to mine.

A few minutes had passed when the guy -that looked not older than twenty years- showed up again and placed the pie onto the table inside a funny small box, I looked up at him and tried to make a conversation before asking what I really wanted to know, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. It is is, indeed," he rubbed his hands with the apron, "actually, these might be the last few days we have with a little bit of sun," he sighed, "winters over here are very severe, it turns into a gigantic freezer and it's worse in the highlands."

"I can only imagine it," enough chit-chat, "Sorry, can I ask you something?" He gave me a smile and a nod, "I'm obviously an outsider and I don't quite know like anything about this place . . . so, I've heard some stories about the old house on the hill . . . do you, know what is it about?" His lips parted, but hesitated to speak, he looked at his watch and then at the counter where an old lady was at, reading a book.

"I'm sorry . . . I don't know anything about that," he said softly, "can I help you with anything else?"

"Uh, no . . . thanks, I guess. I'll need the bill, then, please." He nodded and left again. I gulped the rest of my coffee and waited for the bill. The guy walked towards my table again and with a swift move he placed the bill by the empty cup and left without saying a word, "Thanks," I muttered under my breath and rummaged into my bag for my wallet. I put the money on the table and stood up, that's when I saw another piece of paper under the actual bill with a note scribbled on it: Meet me in the alley.

I normally wouldn't have gone into an alley with a guy that I barely knew, but I wanted answers so I rushed to the door and walked to the alley by the café in which was no sign of the guy. I startled when a door swung open and closed by the second.

"So, what do you know and why didn't you tell me inside?" I asked as he straightened his coat.

"I've got a few minutes before they look for me, but . . . we can't talk about that here, she might hear us."

"She?"

"My grandmother, the lady behind the counter," he said and began to walk, "she doesn't like anything related to that place." I tried to walk next to him but he was walking very fast.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Another place." He replied.

"Alright, just stop there," he didn't until I grabbed his arm, "you told me that you'd tell me in the alley, now you tell me here." We ended up standing by my car, talking in low voices. I rubbed my hands together to get warm, the temperature was falling with every minute it passed.

"I don't quite know if a friend or member of the family served as caretaker in Allerdale Hall, but someone did by the time it all happened. I've asked my grandmother about this but she never talks about that . . . I don't know a lot about this, only what I've heard in my family and the things that people say, that is what most of people know too; it's kind of a taboo to talk about these things in this place. I've heard there's a book about that place, the woman he married was an author," he said, "have you ever gone to the hill?"

"Well . . . yes, I haven't gone into the house, though," I lied again as I hid my bruised hand inside my coat pocket, "actually, my father bought the property," he gaped at me, "I've been told by the locals to stay away from there."

"Never go there. The people who went never came back," I only nodded, I had heard all that before; he kept silence for a moment, staring at the ground and when he spoke, his voice came out in only a whisper, "they keep on killing people."

"Who?"

"Lady Lucille Sharpe and Sir Thomas Sharpe," he said, folding his arms over his chest, "the ghost siblings as some call them . . . they were orphans and long story short, the brother married to several ladies, then they killed them to get their money."

"Is it true?" He nodded, "How many women did they . . ." Even to say the word was hard.

"I'm not sure. You know how a story can be distorted with the years and it happened a century ago, but they killed them, probably this feminicide would have continued if the American woman, that was his wife by the time, hadn't stopped them."

"And by 'stop them' you mean she killed them?" He shook his head.

"I don't know who killed who but the siblings were more than siblings, you know? And, they loved to spend time 'together' if you know what I mean," he said, "and the wife found out. They also put poison in the tea to kill their victims, the American survived and went back to New York, I believe, she and the friend that came to help her . . . men from the post office took them to a hospital, since both were injured, mostly her friend."

"How can a person do that? It's not, human to do . . ." I said softly, leaning on the car and saw the guy shrugging.

"The police found the sister's body outside with a blow to the head, surrounded by snow and the brother's in a bedroom, lying on the bed . . . he was stabbed three times, rumour has it that he was murdered whilst sleeping because he was found lying on the bed . . . that's actually what people say, yet the police never said that." I was too shocked to say something, that was the worst thing I had ever heard. Then I thought of the book, the guy was helping but maybe I could find more in that book.

"What about the book?" I asked.

"It's an old book . . . only one hundred copies were published, a century ago,I don't think you find a single copy let alone in Cumbria."

"Who knows," I shrugged, "How's the book called?"

"Crimson Peak," he said looking up at me, "you know why, don't you?" He asked and I shook my head, "Every winter, the snow bathes the hill but instead of remaining white the ore of the clay leach up from the ground and stain the snow, turning it red, that's the reason why, people in town have become quite superstitious so they like to believe it represents all the blood of all the people who have lost their lives in there."

"It makes sense, though." I folded my arms and took a deep breath, still not believing what the siblings had done.

"This is everything I know," I raised my gaze at him whilst smiling, "I hope to have helped in any way . . . you're a very curious person, aren't you?"

"Just sometimes. Thanks for telling me all this."

"No problem," he smiled, "sorry, but I have to go back inside . . . I'm Sam by the way."

"Adeline," we shook hands, "tell your grandmother that the pie was delicious." He chuckled.

"Will do." He said and returned to the café. I took a deep breath and got in the car. So the ghost needed my help? What for? In that moment I was decided only to go to the house only to get my stuff, either of them didn't deserve any kind of help.

I drove to the house and I saw the white car in the distance, parked by the closed gates. I slowed down and parked behind it and walked towards the brunette and the man with the camera, as soon as she saw me, she put down the microphone and muttered something to the man.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, who in their right mind would go to a place that's haunted, well apart from me. She smiled widely and approached, her hand searching for mine for a handshake and I followed her lead.

"Hello, I'm Camile Beaumont and this is my partner, Elijah, we're broadcast journalists-"

"Yeah, I saw the camera," I said pointing at it.

"We are in the middle of something here-" I shook my head before interrupting her.

"I'm so sorry but that's something you can't do and I'm gonna ask you to stop recording," her blue eyes shot me a confused look, "I'm the owner and I will not let anyone let alone journalists into this property."

"Hey, we're just doing our job," the man said.

"Go do it somewhere else then! There are plenty of places you could go to."

"Yeah, but not haunted ones like this one," he said.

"I understood that this place was abandoned, I see I was wrong . . . so you're well known about everything that happened here, are you a Sharpe?" Her red lips began to shoot questions in a row, not even letting me answer them. I spoke until she had that pretty mouth shut.

"No, I'm not a Sharpe and yes I know something about this old house which is not more than a bad investment . . . now I'll ask you to leave or I'll have to call the police." Actually I didn't have my phone.

"Alright, we'll leave-" the man said but Camile scoffed, interrupting him.

"What? Elijah, you know this would be a great story!" I rolled my eyes and listened to their chattering, "You're saying this because you're probably scared, those are just stories!" he was trying to convince her. I kept quiet, to tell them that those were not only stories would have been a bad idea, though, "Fine! We're leaving." She stormed to the car and shut the door loudly while the man apologised again and then walked to their car. Everything was for their own good, they could have been the next deaths.

I opened the gates and drove to the house, trying to keep calm and think that nothing was going to hurt me, I just needed my stuff and then I'd leave and I'd never come back, helping wasn't in my plans anymore, at least it was what I thought.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE :

helloo! I'm not dead but I was drowning in books and papers, university is killing me, that's why the incredibly late update, I'm so sorry! But, like I said before, I'm not planning to stop writing this story. So, Adeline is back now we'll see what happens once she runs into Thomas again. I hope you had liked this chapter. If you liked it please donate me your votes and thanks for reading!