Page 42 of The Silence of Hell

“I didn’t hear anything,” Emory stated a day later.

“No, but we’re at the other end of the house,” Harriet pointed out.

“Are you sure there’s no ghosts?” Heidi asked.

“Right now, I don’t know if my name is Lavender for certain,” I replied.

“Fair enough.” Harriet laughed. Greedily, I was on my third mug of coffee and was starting to become more human.

The kitchen door opened, and Chatter and Tatum entered.

It was funny, but four days had passed since my bike ride with Chatter and two since my date with Tatum. Throughout both nights, noises and footsteps had been heard. My sleep had been disturbed five times last night, and I barely felt functional.

“You okay?” Tatum asked, looking at me concerned.

“No, she’s not,” Emory said.

“What is wrong?” Chatter demanded curtly.

“Lavender keeps hearing footsteps and sounds above her bedroom,” Dan answered for me.

“Okay?” Chatter drawled.

“Except the room above her is rammed full of stuff, and nobody could swing a cat in it,” Emory added.

“So, what’s making the noises?” Tatum asked.

“Good question. I’d think I was going mad, but Jinx has heard them too, and when the students were downstairs, so did they,” I said.

“Jinx checked the bedroom out?” Chatter inquired.

“Yup, and it is jammed. You can’t move in it. Nothing makes sense. There’re definite footsteps but no sign of the dust being disturbed.” I shook my head.

“And the lights outside,” Kelly spoke up.

“What?” Tatum exclaimed.

“Dan and I saw lights in the trees at night. That’s rather spooky,” Harriet replied.

Tatum and I swapped glances but didn’t mention the light we’d seen.

“Okay, let’s get to work. I’ll do some research on Ravenberry being haunted later,” I said as I saw the look Chatter and Jinx exchanged.

Something weird was happening, but I’d not got answers for it. I didn’t sense a threat from inside Ravenberry. Instead, it felt like home. But there was something wrong, no doubt.

While the students had the weekend off, I had gone into the library yesterday and continued clearing the dolls. I’d finally reached the bookshelves I wanted. I’d not been able to access the Bloodsworth Journal, but I would today. The kids could work at the other end of the room, and I’d be able to examine my family history.

While everyone was finishing breakfast, I headed for the library. I moved to the standalone bookshelf at the far end and walked around it. The end panels of the bookshelves were intricately carved, and my finger’s memory traced the etchings and pushed the correct depressions. A section sprang open, and I reached inside and hauled out a package wrapped in an oil-skin cloth.

I carried the heavy tome over to a table where a book stand sat. Carefully, I laid it, easily two feet high and one foot wide, down and unwrapped it.

A brown leather cover was revealed with gold scrollwork and intricate writing. It simply read, ‘Bloodsworth Journal’. I pulled on some protective gloves and reverently traced the writing.

My ancestor Richard had created this tome. Anything of significance that happened to the family inhabiting the Manor it was written inside. Births, deaths, stories, celebrations, heartbreak, birthday parties were all recorded here. The book was four hundred years old and still used today.

There was a special ink we used that was virtually unfadable. The recipe was in the front of the book, and Aunt Aggie had ensured I understood I only wrote in this with that ink. I opened the cover and read Richard’s words, welcoming his descendants to their history and legacy. Rochard explained he wanted us to understand our heritage and what our blood had been worth.

In this huge tome was the secret of how we made our money, who had squandered it, and who’d grown it. All the deaths, births, hope, and dreams. Going back four hundred years, everything was recorded here. Excitedly, I was about to start reading when Dan appeared.

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