Marie’s footsteps crunched a soft
fanfare through the leaves as she walked towards the old farmhouse. It had been
a warm autumn so far and she was quietly hoping that it would stay that way for
a while; it wasn’t that she hated the cold, per se, she just rarely invited it into her life. Sadly, in her experience, it never waited for such a courtesy –
the winter’s manners are terrible. Anticipating the kind of unannounced visit that
she’d come to expect of chills in the air, she wore her long wool coat, but
left it flapping open to avoid a disastrous thermal runaway incident. Arriving
to interview someone whilst soaked with sweat wasn’t likely to set a good first
impression.
The farm was a few miles away from the village of Stineway, sitting as an agricultural surprise at the end of a perilously winding gap in the hedges which someone had imaginatively labelled a ‘road’. Marie was quite accustomed to such journeys; in her line of work the majority of locations tended to be remote and unwelcoming. It was on the frequent occasions when the people she went to interview had shared those characteristics that it became difficult.
The farmhouse ahead of her was the quintessential rural English structure – grey stonework, slate tiles, and various outbuildings scattered around like structural confetti. The kind of wedding which might necessitate such confetti was an event that Marie someday hoped to attend. Until then, she’d have to satisfy herself with the humdrum events of her life as usual – seeking out the paranormal wherever it may be reported, and investigating it personally. The term investigation, she would be the first to admit, was a loose one at best. Sometimes it would require an examination of clues, evidence and testimony to discern the truth of a situation, but other times it was a simple case of closing the window. Subsequent notes that the ‘poltergeist terrorising the living room’ became coincidentally lethargic brought such investigations to a close. Her conclusions, howsoever they were drawn, then made their way into The World Outside Ours – the monthly magazine with which she was forced to associate herself to pay the bills.
Marie considered herself to be open-minded, but not an idiot. She wasn’t going to accept any old nonsense at face value, but by no means did she consider the existence of supernatural beings to be ridiculous. Every time she read of a sighting or a ‘famously’ haunted location, she headed to the source with optimism and eagerness. It was simply unfortunate that she was yet to be convinced by any of the ‘ghosts’ she’d visited so far.
She was nearing the end of the driveway and the beginning of the path to the house – grandly named Rosa’s Sanctuary – and she could already sense the history shrouding it. This time, things might be different. She might have finally stumbled upon the supernatural event of her life and times, the first investigation to yield a positive result. A tremble of excitement swept through her body; although, given that the farmhouse also reminded her of home-made chicken pies, such trembling may not have been an artefact of the supernatural after all.
The sound of her footfalls changed suddenly as her boots landed upon wet flagstones rather than leafy earth – a rhythmic tap, tap, tap, tap. They were a metronome for her symphony of discovery, striding onwards ever closer to a connection with another plane of existence. She reached the door, and saw that the knocker was beaded with water droplets. ‘That’s odd’ she thought, ‘it hasn’t rained in several days. Maybe it’s just a late-drying dew.’ Marie also noticed that the knocker was in the shape of a pig’s head, and it made her smile. Her hands shivered with anticipation as she lifted the old cast-iron knocker and struck the door thrice in an even tempo, shaking the water off to the floor.
Whilst she waited for an answer at the door, Marie glanced around herself. Behind her were the flagstones leading towards the road, damp and glistening in the overcast light. To her right and left the farmland stretched away, roughly level at first but giving way to undulating hills, checker-boarded with walls and hedges. There was a large wooden barn a few dozen yards away to her right, showing signs of age and wear with its door hanging open. The roof was intact but blanketed in moss, which hung over the slipped and tilted planking of the walls, dripping steadily. Marie wouldn’t have kept cattle in there herself, but her experience of bovine care was minimal. She didn’t even know if this was a cattle farm anyway, so she thought she’d keep her opinions on barn suitability to herself.
Without so much as a muffled footstep from within the house, the front door slowly swung open. Marie span around startled, and was confronted by the sight of a gentleman who appeared to be somewhere between a concierge, a magician, and a 1920’s silent film villain. His black suit was immaculately pressed and starkly contrasted by his white shirt. The bow tie tied perfectly around his neck was somehow comforting and reassuring, and it offset some of the revulsion Marie was experiencing at the hands of his thin pencil moustache. The existence of such unholy facial hair, and the unfathomable motivation to sculpt it, were enough evidence to confirm the presence of something otherworldly here. Perhaps there really was more to find. Perhaps this moustache is what Rosa sought sanctuary from in the first place.
“Hello sir. My name is Marie Lamb, I’m a writer for The World Outside Ours. I hope you don’t mind me knocking unannounced, but I was wondering if you could spare some time today to talk to me about this place?” she asked, gesturing around the farm. In the back of her mind, Marie was concerned that she’d bombarded the poor man with rather too much information before giving him a chance to say hello back. This was conversational sloppiness, a poor start.
“Hello Miss Lamb,” the man replied slowly and calmly, his smile growing as the words freed themselves from the pencil-lined nightmare. “It’s very nice to meet you. Please don’t be concerned with your unannounced knocking and arrival. After all, what is a door knocker for, except to announce the person on the other side?” The smile was now a full grin.
“Thank you.” Marie replied brightly.
“Not at all, Miss Lamb. But to return to your request, I’d be delighted to speak to you at any length about ‘this place’. Rosa’s Sanctuary is one of those precious pieces of local history whose treasures mustn’t be kept secret, but whose secrets must be treasured all the same.” His voice was slow without sounding ponderous – it was more like it was calculated. Each word was the next delicate building block in a house of cards – each one taking its position to support the whole, and placed with care enough not disturb the others. “Please, do come in.”
“Thank you, Mr… I’m very sorry, I don’t think I’ve asked your name yet.” Marie said as she stepped through the doorway.
“Victor Profanero.” He replied, with a shallow bow.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Profanero.” Marie replied, losing some of the Spanish inflection in the name. ‘Victor Profanero – definitely more like a failed magician than a concierge’ she thought. Victor waited patiently while she crouched down and unzipped her boots.
“This way” he said when Marie stood back up, taking a door immediately on the right of the narrow hallway. ‘Ah, that’s the concierge side coming out. I wonder if he’ll tie me to some train tracks to add ‘villain’ and complete the trinity’ Marie thought, following him as instructed. In doing so, she found herself in a somewhat dated and dim living room. The walls were all bare stonework, the occasional painting or tapestry, holding a silent and unnecessarily archaic vigil across the room. The furniture was worn without being threadbare – two faded red armchairs sat facing one another at the far end of the room, with a couch running along one of the longer walls. The windows were unobstructed, but somehow didn’t allow quite enough light through for bare glass; instead, they cast a grey pallor across the already dark room. Maybe the window had just been fitted with under-achieving glass, Marie considered. In any case, this was already feeling like the most promising lead of her career.
Victor sat in the armchair closest to the front window, and gestured towards the companion chair facing him.
“Please, have a seat.” He said to Marie, who softly padded across the room in her socks to accept the offer. She sank into the soft upholstery, and although it was comfortable, she was anything but. A numb sensation welled in her stomach. ‘Maybe this is what successful leads feel like. I’m not so sure I like it. But I’m being silly, I’ve not seen anything yet. I won’t get a good article out of feeling out of place in an old house, even if I am here with a failed magician. It’s probably just his moustache making me feel creeped out. Suck it up, Marie’ she thought to herself.
“Now, what is it you’d like to ask me about Miss Lamb?” Victor asked, the friendliness of his tone feeling like a life-ring in a dead sea of foreboding.
“Well, I’m an investigator of the paranormal and the supernatural, and to put it simply I’ve heard rumours tying this farm to unexplained goings-on. I was hoping to get some information on that, really.” Marie flicked her eyes to the window and noticed that the inside was covered in condensation.
Victor’s smile faded momentarily, and then returned as he asked “What, if you wouldn’t mind me asking, is it that you’ve heard?” The house of cards was getting a meticulously planned annexe.
“Nothing too specific, truth be told, but a few people in nearby villages said that this farm has something of a mysterious quality to it. I don’t normally pay visits to potential sites based on a vague air of mystery, but I happened to be nearby anyway and I had some free time, so I thought ‘why not’. Between the slight hesitance of anyone to give me directions and my intrigue at the name, I thought it might be worth a look around.” Marie told Victor frankly, whilst fishing a notebook and pen out of her bag.
Victor sat back thoughtfully.
“OK,” he finally said, “I think I can help you, Miss Lamb. The rumours you hear of my home’s mysterious qualities are quite well placed, for it is indeed also the home of a lost spirit.”
“A spirit? You mean that this farmhouse is haunted?” Marie asked with a twinkle of excitement.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s haunted. We live together. We share this place in peace; I’m not haunted at all.” Victor corrected. He crossed his legs and rested his arms on the chair. “And it isn’t just the house, it’s the whole farm. We share all of this sanctuary with one another.”
“I… I apologise, Mr Profanero. I didn’t mean to accuse the spirit of any malice.” Marie told him with forced sincerity. She needed a story, so she had to keep the magical Mr Profanero on her side.
“Not at all, Miss Lamb. It’s a simple turn of phrase, but I do like to set people’s ideas straight right away. And please, call me Victor.”
“Thank you, Victor. Could you tell me about this spirit you share the farm with? How do you see it, what does it do, that sort of thing?” She started scrawling notes as Victor began to speak, never taking her eyes off him.
Victor shifted slightly. “She’s a calm, quiet soul. Not like the rumours I’d expected you to have heard. The locals never understand – if they hear anything about her they rise up in arms and ignorance. They whisper false truths of death, violence, and evil. She detests the accusations that she might do anyone harm – a quiet existence is all she has ever wanted.”
“That’s equal parts reassuring and saddening, if you get me.” Marie dropped in.
“I’m glad you understand, Miss Lamb. But to answer your previous questions, she appears as she wishes to and when she wishes to. Sometimes she’ll walk the farm with me as a maiden in white. Other times she’ll float among the treetops, watching the birds and spiralling through the leaves. I’ve seen her take the forms of crows, cats, rabbits, hounds - any shape she desires as the mood takes her.”
“You keep saying ‘she’ - how do you know she’s female?” The pen was scratching furiously.
“I just know. It’s… complicated to explain, but I think it’s perfectly plain once you get to know her that she’s a she.” He brushed the edge of his oiled-down black hair with his fingers.
“Fascinating - you speak to each other often?”
“Why, of course we do. It would be least pleasant feeling the world to live with someone and never speak, don’t you think?”
‘That’s an odd sentiment to express about the relationship between a man and a ghost.’ Marie thought. ‘And he’s not exactly living with her if she’s a ghost - that tends to mean being dead. Bite your tongue for now, Marie. This could be it, don’t offend Victor now.’
“Yes, I suppose it would be.” Marie replied at last.
“Would you like to meet her?” Victor asked suddenly.
Marie, of course, replied “Yes.”
The farm was a few miles away from the village of Stineway, sitting as an agricultural surprise at the end of a perilously winding gap in the hedges which someone had imaginatively labelled a ‘road’. Marie was quite accustomed to such journeys; in her line of work the majority of locations tended to be remote and unwelcoming. It was on the frequent occasions when the people she went to interview had shared those characteristics that it became difficult.
The farmhouse ahead of her was the quintessential rural English structure – grey stonework, slate tiles, and various outbuildings scattered around like structural confetti. The kind of wedding which might necessitate such confetti was an event that Marie someday hoped to attend. Until then, she’d have to satisfy herself with the humdrum events of her life as usual – seeking out the paranormal wherever it may be reported, and investigating it personally. The term investigation, she would be the first to admit, was a loose one at best. Sometimes it would require an examination of clues, evidence and testimony to discern the truth of a situation, but other times it was a simple case of closing the window. Subsequent notes that the ‘poltergeist terrorising the living room’ became coincidentally lethargic brought such investigations to a close. Her conclusions, howsoever they were drawn, then made their way into The World Outside Ours – the monthly magazine with which she was forced to associate herself to pay the bills.
Marie considered herself to be open-minded, but not an idiot. She wasn’t going to accept any old nonsense at face value, but by no means did she consider the existence of supernatural beings to be ridiculous. Every time she read of a sighting or a ‘famously’ haunted location, she headed to the source with optimism and eagerness. It was simply unfortunate that she was yet to be convinced by any of the ‘ghosts’ she’d visited so far.
She was nearing the end of the driveway and the beginning of the path to the house – grandly named Rosa’s Sanctuary – and she could already sense the history shrouding it. This time, things might be different. She might have finally stumbled upon the supernatural event of her life and times, the first investigation to yield a positive result. A tremble of excitement swept through her body; although, given that the farmhouse also reminded her of home-made chicken pies, such trembling may not have been an artefact of the supernatural after all.
The sound of her footfalls changed suddenly as her boots landed upon wet flagstones rather than leafy earth – a rhythmic tap, tap, tap, tap. They were a metronome for her symphony of discovery, striding onwards ever closer to a connection with another plane of existence. She reached the door, and saw that the knocker was beaded with water droplets. ‘That’s odd’ she thought, ‘it hasn’t rained in several days. Maybe it’s just a late-drying dew.’ Marie also noticed that the knocker was in the shape of a pig’s head, and it made her smile. Her hands shivered with anticipation as she lifted the old cast-iron knocker and struck the door thrice in an even tempo, shaking the water off to the floor.
Whilst she waited for an answer at the door, Marie glanced around herself. Behind her were the flagstones leading towards the road, damp and glistening in the overcast light. To her right and left the farmland stretched away, roughly level at first but giving way to undulating hills, checker-boarded with walls and hedges. There was a large wooden barn a few dozen yards away to her right, showing signs of age and wear with its door hanging open. The roof was intact but blanketed in moss, which hung over the slipped and tilted planking of the walls, dripping steadily. Marie wouldn’t have kept cattle in there herself, but her experience of bovine care was minimal. She didn’t even know if this was a cattle farm anyway, so she thought she’d keep her opinions on barn suitability to herself.
Without so much as a muffled footstep from within the house, the front door slowly swung open. Marie span around startled, and was confronted by the sight of a gentleman who appeared to be somewhere between a concierge, a magician, and a 1920’s silent film villain. His black suit was immaculately pressed and starkly contrasted by his white shirt. The bow tie tied perfectly around his neck was somehow comforting and reassuring, and it offset some of the revulsion Marie was experiencing at the hands of his thin pencil moustache. The existence of such unholy facial hair, and the unfathomable motivation to sculpt it, were enough evidence to confirm the presence of something otherworldly here. Perhaps there really was more to find. Perhaps this moustache is what Rosa sought sanctuary from in the first place.
“Hello sir. My name is Marie Lamb, I’m a writer for The World Outside Ours. I hope you don’t mind me knocking unannounced, but I was wondering if you could spare some time today to talk to me about this place?” she asked, gesturing around the farm. In the back of her mind, Marie was concerned that she’d bombarded the poor man with rather too much information before giving him a chance to say hello back. This was conversational sloppiness, a poor start.
“Hello Miss Lamb,” the man replied slowly and calmly, his smile growing as the words freed themselves from the pencil-lined nightmare. “It’s very nice to meet you. Please don’t be concerned with your unannounced knocking and arrival. After all, what is a door knocker for, except to announce the person on the other side?” The smile was now a full grin.
“Thank you.” Marie replied brightly.
“Not at all, Miss Lamb. But to return to your request, I’d be delighted to speak to you at any length about ‘this place’. Rosa’s Sanctuary is one of those precious pieces of local history whose treasures mustn’t be kept secret, but whose secrets must be treasured all the same.” His voice was slow without sounding ponderous – it was more like it was calculated. Each word was the next delicate building block in a house of cards – each one taking its position to support the whole, and placed with care enough not disturb the others. “Please, do come in.”
“Thank you, Mr… I’m very sorry, I don’t think I’ve asked your name yet.” Marie said as she stepped through the doorway.
“Victor Profanero.” He replied, with a shallow bow.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Profanero.” Marie replied, losing some of the Spanish inflection in the name. ‘Victor Profanero – definitely more like a failed magician than a concierge’ she thought. Victor waited patiently while she crouched down and unzipped her boots.
“This way” he said when Marie stood back up, taking a door immediately on the right of the narrow hallway. ‘Ah, that’s the concierge side coming out. I wonder if he’ll tie me to some train tracks to add ‘villain’ and complete the trinity’ Marie thought, following him as instructed. In doing so, she found herself in a somewhat dated and dim living room. The walls were all bare stonework, the occasional painting or tapestry, holding a silent and unnecessarily archaic vigil across the room. The furniture was worn without being threadbare – two faded red armchairs sat facing one another at the far end of the room, with a couch running along one of the longer walls. The windows were unobstructed, but somehow didn’t allow quite enough light through for bare glass; instead, they cast a grey pallor across the already dark room. Maybe the window had just been fitted with under-achieving glass, Marie considered. In any case, this was already feeling like the most promising lead of her career.
Victor sat in the armchair closest to the front window, and gestured towards the companion chair facing him.
“Please, have a seat.” He said to Marie, who softly padded across the room in her socks to accept the offer. She sank into the soft upholstery, and although it was comfortable, she was anything but. A numb sensation welled in her stomach. ‘Maybe this is what successful leads feel like. I’m not so sure I like it. But I’m being silly, I’ve not seen anything yet. I won’t get a good article out of feeling out of place in an old house, even if I am here with a failed magician. It’s probably just his moustache making me feel creeped out. Suck it up, Marie’ she thought to herself.
“Now, what is it you’d like to ask me about Miss Lamb?” Victor asked, the friendliness of his tone feeling like a life-ring in a dead sea of foreboding.
“Well, I’m an investigator of the paranormal and the supernatural, and to put it simply I’ve heard rumours tying this farm to unexplained goings-on. I was hoping to get some information on that, really.” Marie flicked her eyes to the window and noticed that the inside was covered in condensation.
Victor’s smile faded momentarily, and then returned as he asked “What, if you wouldn’t mind me asking, is it that you’ve heard?” The house of cards was getting a meticulously planned annexe.
“Nothing too specific, truth be told, but a few people in nearby villages said that this farm has something of a mysterious quality to it. I don’t normally pay visits to potential sites based on a vague air of mystery, but I happened to be nearby anyway and I had some free time, so I thought ‘why not’. Between the slight hesitance of anyone to give me directions and my intrigue at the name, I thought it might be worth a look around.” Marie told Victor frankly, whilst fishing a notebook and pen out of her bag.
Victor sat back thoughtfully.
“OK,” he finally said, “I think I can help you, Miss Lamb. The rumours you hear of my home’s mysterious qualities are quite well placed, for it is indeed also the home of a lost spirit.”
“A spirit? You mean that this farmhouse is haunted?” Marie asked with a twinkle of excitement.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s haunted. We live together. We share this place in peace; I’m not haunted at all.” Victor corrected. He crossed his legs and rested his arms on the chair. “And it isn’t just the house, it’s the whole farm. We share all of this sanctuary with one another.”
“I… I apologise, Mr Profanero. I didn’t mean to accuse the spirit of any malice.” Marie told him with forced sincerity. She needed a story, so she had to keep the magical Mr Profanero on her side.
“Not at all, Miss Lamb. It’s a simple turn of phrase, but I do like to set people’s ideas straight right away. And please, call me Victor.”
“Thank you, Victor. Could you tell me about this spirit you share the farm with? How do you see it, what does it do, that sort of thing?” She started scrawling notes as Victor began to speak, never taking her eyes off him.
Victor shifted slightly. “She’s a calm, quiet soul. Not like the rumours I’d expected you to have heard. The locals never understand – if they hear anything about her they rise up in arms and ignorance. They whisper false truths of death, violence, and evil. She detests the accusations that she might do anyone harm – a quiet existence is all she has ever wanted.”
“That’s equal parts reassuring and saddening, if you get me.” Marie dropped in.
“I’m glad you understand, Miss Lamb. But to answer your previous questions, she appears as she wishes to and when she wishes to. Sometimes she’ll walk the farm with me as a maiden in white. Other times she’ll float among the treetops, watching the birds and spiralling through the leaves. I’ve seen her take the forms of crows, cats, rabbits, hounds - any shape she desires as the mood takes her.”
“You keep saying ‘she’ - how do you know she’s female?” The pen was scratching furiously.
“I just know. It’s… complicated to explain, but I think it’s perfectly plain once you get to know her that she’s a she.” He brushed the edge of his oiled-down black hair with his fingers.
“Fascinating - you speak to each other often?”
“Why, of course we do. It would be least pleasant feeling the world to live with someone and never speak, don’t you think?”
‘That’s an odd sentiment to express about the relationship between a man and a ghost.’ Marie thought. ‘And he’s not exactly living with her if she’s a ghost - that tends to mean being dead. Bite your tongue for now, Marie. This could be it, don’t offend Victor now.’
“Yes, I suppose it would be.” Marie replied at last.
“Would you like to meet her?” Victor asked suddenly.
Marie, of course, replied “Yes.”
Marie and Victor walked slowly
around the house, side by side. Marie had her notepad in her hand, and was
making brief notes on everything that Victor said, whilst taking care not to
slip on the wet ground. She was sure it had been drier when she’d arrived.
“I expect she may take a few moments to appear. She can be very shy around people these days. I must ask that you please try to remain calm, and be welcoming to her when she does arrive. Over the years, so very many people have behaved… well, they’ve been ugly towards her, and she’s rather lost self-confidence. It’s a great crime, it pains me to say.”
“I’ll do my best, you have my word.” Marie reassured. “I would love nothing more than to meet her.” ‘For a metamorphosing ghost, she certainly sounds like a delicate little flower’.
“I appreciate your kind intentions, Miss Lamb.”
The pair of them kept walking for a few minutes, staying reasonably close to the collection of ageing farm buildings as they weaved an aimless path through Rosa’s Sanctuary. A gentle breeze carried leaves on an idle migration around their legs as they went.
“She must be feeling very shy today. Why don’t we try the barn? She likes it in there.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Marie agreed. Scepticism was beginning to deflate her mood, optimism trickle away into the back of her mind. ‘Even if the most occult thing I see today is Victor’s facial hair, it’s still a damn sight better than the rest of my leads’ she consoled herself.
The barn was imposing when viewed up close. It loomed over her in its partial decay, the timbers darkened with the dampness of the day, and faintly slimy to Marie’s touch. Victor led the way through the open door and Marie followed, into the murky darkness. Despite the large door being wide open, the daylight seemed not to penetrate into the barn as far as it should. The remains of some sort of pens or stables lined either side of the structure. Abandoned to time and decay, they cast broken silhouettes in the gloom. The smell of damp wood filled the air.
“Has this been abandoned for long?” Marie asked.
“It’s not abandoned at all; there’s just no livestock kept here anymore.” Victor told her.
‘Oh whatever. Keep playing with your semantics you old coot’ Marie thought, but remained silent in answer. Victor was looking around slowly but distractedly, searching for the spirit he’d been speaking of, and she didn’t want to disturb him. Scepticism was rising slowly in her mind, just as it had done every time before. She mentally prepared herself for the familiar disappointment and awkward goodbyes which would surely follow. She glanced around for any small pieces of farm equipment she could purloin as compensation.
“Where are you?” Victor called out kindly and softly, stooping a little and peering into the back of the barn. “Are you in here? I’ve brought someone for you.” It was an odd turn of phrase, Marie thought, but everything about this man was a little odd. “Don’t be shy, she’s lovely.” He added, with a wink to Marie.
“I’d love to meet you.” Marie joined in, reasoning that she may as well try to help. She just hoped that treating the spirit like a shy child or a lost puppy was less patronising than Victor had just been.
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Victor told her. There was the slightest hint of worry in his voice, however, which betrayed the pessimism behind his assurances.
‘It seems the magician is doubting his own tricks.’
The seconds passed and there was still no sign of anything in the barn. This was around the time that people usually started trying to pass off shutters moving in the wind or the rustling of animals as supernatural phenomena, in Marie’s experience. Thankfully, Victor made no attempt to fob Marie off with such nonsensical claims or amateur illusions. He didn’t need to either, because the spirit suddenly made itself perfectly clear.
A dim white glow started to appear in the centre of the barn, like a powerful light shining behind a thin cotton sheet. Quite unlike bed-lighting, the glow expanded gradually outwards, casting a sickly irradiance over the decaying interior.
“Here she comes.” Victor whispered excitedly, like he was welcoming a lost love home.
Marie scrabbled to retrieve her phone from her bag, in an attempt to capture what was occurring on film. This was real, this was happening, and this was what she’d searched for throughout her career; she almost regretted thinking of Victor as a failed magician. Her hands were shaking, and she fumbled clumsily through the contents of the bag, but she eventually managed to free her phone and direct it towards the light. The glow was drawing itself out, morphing from a ball into a tall thin streak with wispy, steaming edges. It was like looking through a gap in the curtains on an overcast day, with fog blowing in through the window.
The light slowly drifted towards Marie, who was pointing her phone directly forwards. She stiffened in anxiety as the light grew closer, but remembered her promise to Victor that she’d remain placid. With a deep breath she forced herself to relax. ‘If you can stick out the moustache without screaming then you can deal with this.’
The light regarded her, and she regarded it back. The light stared at her, and she stared back. The light drifted towards her, and she leant back. The steaming periphery brushed Marie’s cheeks, leaving them spattered with a tepid dampness. She felt her phone becoming slick with the condensed ichor coming from Victor’s pet spirit as the light engulfed her outstretched arm, and shivered as her courage began to fail her. The light was still creeping closer, moving perpetually forwards into Marie’s body. She held her head back as far as possible, leaning it away from the encroaching glow which seemed to cast far too little light, given how bright it was. Onwards it drifted, merely a hands width away from her face; a finger’s length; a hair’s breadth…
A cacophony of rushing air erupted around Marie’s head, and she screamed as the light shot forwards - passing around her like smoke flowing through the shattered wreckage of crashed car. The light swept up into the air violently and coalesced into an expanding ball of grey-white fury in the centre of the barn. It grew suddenly brighter like headlights piercing a final veil of mist, and Marie shut her eyes. The noises stopped.
Tentatively, Marie opened her eyes again, and was confronted by Victor’s pet spirit. Towering in front of her, heaving vast, deep, spectral pseudo-breaths was a gargantuan hog. Soaked lichen and moss coated its back, hanging down its sides like a ruined cloak. The spirit’s huge black eyes were focused directly on Marie, looking through its own translucent snout, and she felt its shattered, blood-stained tusk press against her cheek as it leaned forwards into her. In a panic she threw herself backwards, landing hard on the floor of the barn and staring up wide-eyed at the titanic phantom in front of her.
“VANDEROSA!” she heard Victor shout angrily. “STOP THIS NOW. TURN BACK INTO YOURSELF, NOT THIS BEAST. THIS WOMAN DOES NOT MEAN TO DO YOU WRONG.” He commanded whilst approaching the hog. The beast shook its head angrily and leaned its face closer to Marie.
“PLEASE! STOP! LEAVE HER BE. YOU’VE MADE YOURSELF CLEAR NOW LET ME TAKE CARE OF THIS.” The jaws of the hog opened, revealing rows of blackened, ruined teeth and a mouthful of brown fluid.
“VANDEROSA!” The hog thrust its head forwards to engulf Marie’s cowering frame, then burst into a grey-white cloud and dissipated. Marie could have sworn she heard cackling laughter as it went.
Marie remained where she was, flat on her back, breathing heavily though the terror and staring at the roof. Her mind was misfiring, attempting to understand what had just happened to her, and she felt cold. Slowly, the volume of the world rose back up and she could hear Victor speaking to her.
“Are you alright Miss Lamb? It’s over, she’s gone for now.” He was stooped over her, a look of extreme concern carved onto his face.
Marie simply stared at him for a few moments.
“Miss Lamb? Speak to me, if you can.”
“I… I’m OK, I think. I wasn’t expecting… I don’t know what I was expecting” she told him.
“Let me help you up.” Victor offered, taking her elbow in one hand, and her hand in the other. With surprising strength, he hauled Marie back to her feet, then picked the phone up from the ground and handed it back to her. As she stood there, Marie realised that the spirit, ‘Vanderosa’ Vincent had called it, had drenched her as it passed around her.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Lamb. I didn’t expect that she would react so… unfavourably. Oh, but you’re soaked through; come back inside and we’ll get you dried off. I insist.”
“I… OK, thank you.” Marie replied, still in shock.
“I expect she may take a few moments to appear. She can be very shy around people these days. I must ask that you please try to remain calm, and be welcoming to her when she does arrive. Over the years, so very many people have behaved… well, they’ve been ugly towards her, and she’s rather lost self-confidence. It’s a great crime, it pains me to say.”
“I’ll do my best, you have my word.” Marie reassured. “I would love nothing more than to meet her.” ‘For a metamorphosing ghost, she certainly sounds like a delicate little flower’.
“I appreciate your kind intentions, Miss Lamb.”
The pair of them kept walking for a few minutes, staying reasonably close to the collection of ageing farm buildings as they weaved an aimless path through Rosa’s Sanctuary. A gentle breeze carried leaves on an idle migration around their legs as they went.
“She must be feeling very shy today. Why don’t we try the barn? She likes it in there.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Marie agreed. Scepticism was beginning to deflate her mood, optimism trickle away into the back of her mind. ‘Even if the most occult thing I see today is Victor’s facial hair, it’s still a damn sight better than the rest of my leads’ she consoled herself.
The barn was imposing when viewed up close. It loomed over her in its partial decay, the timbers darkened with the dampness of the day, and faintly slimy to Marie’s touch. Victor led the way through the open door and Marie followed, into the murky darkness. Despite the large door being wide open, the daylight seemed not to penetrate into the barn as far as it should. The remains of some sort of pens or stables lined either side of the structure. Abandoned to time and decay, they cast broken silhouettes in the gloom. The smell of damp wood filled the air.
“Has this been abandoned for long?” Marie asked.
“It’s not abandoned at all; there’s just no livestock kept here anymore.” Victor told her.
‘Oh whatever. Keep playing with your semantics you old coot’ Marie thought, but remained silent in answer. Victor was looking around slowly but distractedly, searching for the spirit he’d been speaking of, and she didn’t want to disturb him. Scepticism was rising slowly in her mind, just as it had done every time before. She mentally prepared herself for the familiar disappointment and awkward goodbyes which would surely follow. She glanced around for any small pieces of farm equipment she could purloin as compensation.
“Where are you?” Victor called out kindly and softly, stooping a little and peering into the back of the barn. “Are you in here? I’ve brought someone for you.” It was an odd turn of phrase, Marie thought, but everything about this man was a little odd. “Don’t be shy, she’s lovely.” He added, with a wink to Marie.
“I’d love to meet you.” Marie joined in, reasoning that she may as well try to help. She just hoped that treating the spirit like a shy child or a lost puppy was less patronising than Victor had just been.
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Victor told her. There was the slightest hint of worry in his voice, however, which betrayed the pessimism behind his assurances.
‘It seems the magician is doubting his own tricks.’
The seconds passed and there was still no sign of anything in the barn. This was around the time that people usually started trying to pass off shutters moving in the wind or the rustling of animals as supernatural phenomena, in Marie’s experience. Thankfully, Victor made no attempt to fob Marie off with such nonsensical claims or amateur illusions. He didn’t need to either, because the spirit suddenly made itself perfectly clear.
A dim white glow started to appear in the centre of the barn, like a powerful light shining behind a thin cotton sheet. Quite unlike bed-lighting, the glow expanded gradually outwards, casting a sickly irradiance over the decaying interior.
“Here she comes.” Victor whispered excitedly, like he was welcoming a lost love home.
Marie scrabbled to retrieve her phone from her bag, in an attempt to capture what was occurring on film. This was real, this was happening, and this was what she’d searched for throughout her career; she almost regretted thinking of Victor as a failed magician. Her hands were shaking, and she fumbled clumsily through the contents of the bag, but she eventually managed to free her phone and direct it towards the light. The glow was drawing itself out, morphing from a ball into a tall thin streak with wispy, steaming edges. It was like looking through a gap in the curtains on an overcast day, with fog blowing in through the window.
The light slowly drifted towards Marie, who was pointing her phone directly forwards. She stiffened in anxiety as the light grew closer, but remembered her promise to Victor that she’d remain placid. With a deep breath she forced herself to relax. ‘If you can stick out the moustache without screaming then you can deal with this.’
The light regarded her, and she regarded it back. The light stared at her, and she stared back. The light drifted towards her, and she leant back. The steaming periphery brushed Marie’s cheeks, leaving them spattered with a tepid dampness. She felt her phone becoming slick with the condensed ichor coming from Victor’s pet spirit as the light engulfed her outstretched arm, and shivered as her courage began to fail her. The light was still creeping closer, moving perpetually forwards into Marie’s body. She held her head back as far as possible, leaning it away from the encroaching glow which seemed to cast far too little light, given how bright it was. Onwards it drifted, merely a hands width away from her face; a finger’s length; a hair’s breadth…
A cacophony of rushing air erupted around Marie’s head, and she screamed as the light shot forwards - passing around her like smoke flowing through the shattered wreckage of crashed car. The light swept up into the air violently and coalesced into an expanding ball of grey-white fury in the centre of the barn. It grew suddenly brighter like headlights piercing a final veil of mist, and Marie shut her eyes. The noises stopped.
Tentatively, Marie opened her eyes again, and was confronted by Victor’s pet spirit. Towering in front of her, heaving vast, deep, spectral pseudo-breaths was a gargantuan hog. Soaked lichen and moss coated its back, hanging down its sides like a ruined cloak. The spirit’s huge black eyes were focused directly on Marie, looking through its own translucent snout, and she felt its shattered, blood-stained tusk press against her cheek as it leaned forwards into her. In a panic she threw herself backwards, landing hard on the floor of the barn and staring up wide-eyed at the titanic phantom in front of her.
“VANDEROSA!” she heard Victor shout angrily. “STOP THIS NOW. TURN BACK INTO YOURSELF, NOT THIS BEAST. THIS WOMAN DOES NOT MEAN TO DO YOU WRONG.” He commanded whilst approaching the hog. The beast shook its head angrily and leaned its face closer to Marie.
“PLEASE! STOP! LEAVE HER BE. YOU’VE MADE YOURSELF CLEAR NOW LET ME TAKE CARE OF THIS.” The jaws of the hog opened, revealing rows of blackened, ruined teeth and a mouthful of brown fluid.
“VANDEROSA!” The hog thrust its head forwards to engulf Marie’s cowering frame, then burst into a grey-white cloud and dissipated. Marie could have sworn she heard cackling laughter as it went.
Marie remained where she was, flat on her back, breathing heavily though the terror and staring at the roof. Her mind was misfiring, attempting to understand what had just happened to her, and she felt cold. Slowly, the volume of the world rose back up and she could hear Victor speaking to her.
“Are you alright Miss Lamb? It’s over, she’s gone for now.” He was stooped over her, a look of extreme concern carved onto his face.
Marie simply stared at him for a few moments.
“Miss Lamb? Speak to me, if you can.”
“I… I’m OK, I think. I wasn’t expecting… I don’t know what I was expecting” she told him.
“Let me help you up.” Victor offered, taking her elbow in one hand, and her hand in the other. With surprising strength, he hauled Marie back to her feet, then picked the phone up from the ground and handed it back to her. As she stood there, Marie realised that the spirit, ‘Vanderosa’ Vincent had called it, had drenched her as it passed around her.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Lamb. I didn’t expect that she would react so… unfavourably. Oh, but you’re soaked through; come back inside and we’ll get you dried off. I insist.”
“I… OK, thank you.” Marie replied, still in shock.
With her arm in his own, Victor led Marie back into the house and sat her down in one of the arm chairs. He then crossed the room to a storage ottoman, and dug through for a towel.
Marie was shaking – the after-effects of a dream-come-true morphing into a nightmare. For years she’d sought evidence of the supernatural, anything to confirm her beliefs in the existence of something beyond the veil of everyday life. So many wasted trips to old hotels and burial grounds; fruitless hours poring over newspaper cuttings of unexplained hedge formations; interviews with deluded fools who mistook foxes for ghouls. A chance visit to an old farm had superseded all of it, and replaced her misty-eyed wonder with something far less comforting – sentient fury. “The light – the spirit – whatever it was, came close to me and looked at me – looked into me – and it was angry… and then...” she shivered, not daring to let the thought form. Even the moustache was better than this.
“Vincent,” she said finally “Rosa’s Sanctuary, is it Vanderosa’s sanctuary? Was that… I mean was she Rosa before…” Marie noticed some dark patches of wet stonework on the walls.
Vincent paused. “Yes” he replied simply. “People called her Rosa.” He resumed his rifling through the ottoman.
“Has she ever told you… I mean, do you know what happened to her?” The dark patches were spreading out slowly.
Vincent stood back up with a towel and handed it to Marie. Concierge Vincent was back. “Yes, I know what happened to her.”
“Would you be able to tell me?” Marie probed, drying off her face.
“Give me one moment, and I will.” Victor replied, before leaving the room briskly.
Marie took her phone out of the pocket of her wet, muddy coat, and played back the video. Clear as day, there was the white light morphing in front of her, drawing itself into a streak and moving closer. She could feel its damp embrace all over again as she watched, the camera’s field of view now fully obscured by the curiously dull white light. The speakers then erupted, before the out-of-focus visage of a giant hog appeared on screen. A second or so more and the phone fell to the ground, offering a new perspective on the underneath of the hog’s head before it lunged forward and disappeared.
Vincent re-entered to the room, and sat in the chair facing Marie.
“I’ve taken the liberty of running you a bath – it’s the least I can do to apologise.”
‘Concierge is out in full force now. He’s nearing butler territory.’ “Thank you very much, but you didn’t need to trouble yourself. I’d much rather hear about Rosa than sit in the bath.”
“It’s no trouble – I insist. You’ll meet with a terrible fate if you catch a chill.”
‘And now he’s a creepy magician again.’ “Honestly, I’m fine. But please, you were going to tell me about Rosa.”
Vincent sighed. “Rosa was the daughter of a farmer, as you could probably surmise yourself. She lived here with her parents, back before it was called Rosa’s Sanctuary.”
“So her parents renamed it for her?”
“Yes, that’s about the right of it.” Vincent looked down at his feet. “Rosa was quite happy living here as far as I understand, reading her books and tending to the animals. But once she got older… well, her father had ideas about her getting married and she didn’t necessarily agree with them.” Vincent shifted. “He invited the sons of other farmers and other families in the village to meet her, but she never really warmed to them. Honestly, I think she could have been happy with many of them if she’d tried – she’s a real sweetheart – but her stubbornness got in the way and she never accepted the idea that she could want to be with any of them. She liked her life as it was and didn’t understand that growing up just has to happen. Everything changes; everything comes to an end.”
“So, she never married? Never found herself seeking love because of her stubbornness?”
“Oh, far from it. It took an awfully long time, but she found someone eventually. But that comes later, where was I? Yes, after years of trying to match her up, her father came into a sizeable sum of money and bought a townhouse for himself and his wife to retire to. Rosa was given the farm to keep as her own, and they renamed it after her – it was her safe place to live alone or in company as she saw fit. With enough money to support himself, his wife and Rosa without working, her father didn’t see the need to press the issue any more.
“The flow of bachelors had slowed up to this point but then, when she was given the farm, there was a resurgence. Vultures, the lot of them, trying to win the farm for themselves using Rosa’s heart. She did an admirable job of sending them all away for a while, but one day, all of a sudden, the bachelors stopped returning. Most of them were from outside the village by this stage, so no-one paid much attention at first; it was assumed that they’d simply left after being spurned. After a while though, people began to take notice and grow suspicious. Young men continued to visit Rosa, but none were ever heard from again. Rosa, bless her heart, gained a reputation in Stineway and the surrounding area as a murderous spinster, and soon she was feared and reviled. None would visit Rosa’s Sanctuary, and suitors were warned away. Those who still persisted never returned.”
The dark wet patches on the walls were still growing larger, and a ring of water was appearing around the dim light fixture on the ceiling, but Marie was too enraptured by Victor’s tale to notice.
“Eventually, the police were called to investigate. Much to their surprise, they did not find Rosa living in the farmhouse, but a young man. In fact, it was the first of the young men to have failed to return to Stineway, but they had no idea of that. According to him, he and Rosa had fallen in love and married immediately, and he’d lived here ever since. The officers then enquired about Rosa herself, but she was reportedly in the bath and unable to come to the door. Finally, they asked about the many young men who had not been seen since coming here for Rosa’s hand.
“The man at the door obviously didn’t like it when the vulture bachelors were mentioned. The mere thought of these other men trying to win Rosa’s affections – well, it raised impressive ire within him, but he kept himself contained. When the officers insisted on entering the house and speaking to Rosa directly he allowed it, and showed them up to the bathroom. They protested that Rosa would not want them to enter whilst she bathed, but the man told them she would be covered and really wouldn’t mind.”
Water was now dripping from the light fitting onto the floor. The corners of the room welled up. The walls were running streams, tears flowing from the house itself.
“The officers entered the bathroom on his behest, and found the door slamming shut behind them. In the bath, as promised, they found Rosa – drowned, bloated, and long dead. The door was locked, naturally, so they couldn’t get themselves back out. And that’s when Vanderosa drowned them.”
“She… what?”
“Drowned them.” Victor stared at her. “Are you ready for your bath, Miss Lamb?”
Marie leapt to her feet, panic gripping her. “No, no. I need to go. I’ve heard enough, thank you.” She ran towards the doorway but Victor was faster.
“I insist, Miss Lamb.”
Marie screamed, slipping on the waterlogged floor, and Victor grabbed her in a bear hug from behind. He was strong – too strong.
“I’m sorry, Miss Lamb, but I have to give you to Vanderosa. It’s only fair.” Victor was dragging her through the house.
“GET OFF ME!” Clearly enough, Vincent was already aware that she didn’t wish to be manhandled. He ignored her.
“We were in love, Rosa and I. It was a whirlwind when we met. She was so perfect; so unspoiled. We barely had a day together.”
“YOU’RE A MANIAC LET ME GO!” Reiteration of Marie’s request did nothing to sway Vincent.
“The day I arrived, we spent hours just talking about ourselves, each other, our lives, our dreams – anything that came to mind. We were in love. We were perfect. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything changing – not a single thing.”
Marie struggled and shrieked.
“So I preserved our relationship forever, as we were in that moment, the most perfect day of our lives. Oh, but she was so angry at first. For years, in fact, she refused to speak to me. Since then, though, we’ve moved on; we’ve grown together. She understands why I had do what I did.”
The walls around Marie were waterfalls. She lifted her legs and braced them against one, desperately trying to escape the hospitality of the insane concierge.
“And whenever anyone comes here to try to steal her away from me I deal with them, so that they can never spread those vicious, vile rumours about my Rosa being evil.”
Vincent whipped Marie’s torso hard to one side in his crushing embrace, slamming her head into the wall. Her legs went limp for a moment, and Vincent span around, dragging her backwards instead.
“She didn’t like the accusations made by those officers - their insinuations that she’d killed all those other men. That’s why I let her take them. That’s the only other time I’ve ever seen her quite as angry as she was today.”
Victor pushed the bathroom door open with his back, and threw Marie inside. As she crashed into the bathtub, she heard the door shut and lock.
“LET ME OUT OF HERE! HELP!” Marie hadn’t considered who would be around to help. It was no-one.
“I’m sorry Miss Lamb, but Vanderosa has clearly taken a disliking to you. I’m sure she would have scared you right away if I hadn’t intervened – she gets a little careless in her temper sometimes, bless her. You’ve soiled her sanctuary by coming here, just like those men did. You’d tell the world foul lies about my Rosa being evil, just because she was angry with you.”
Marie hammered on the door, screaming. Vincent did not open up like a welcoming host this time.
“Maybe this is my fault for not sending you away, and then for letting you meet her, but I thought that maybe she’d like to talk to someone open-minded. I gambled and lost on this one, it seems. Goodbye, my sacrificial Lamb.” Silent-film villain Victor had made his appearance at last, just in time to chuckle and walk away.
Marie banged on the door and wrenched at the handle, but it was locked fast. The bath was full and the taps were running hard; she turned them off, but saw that the water level was still rising - quickly. The floor felt wet under her feet, water was flowing freely out of the walls. There was a window above the bath, and she leapt in to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. In a matter of seconds the water in the room was at waist height, and it flowed in ever more rapidly from the walls and ceiling. As it rose above her head she choked down a scream, battling the urge to open her mouth and suck in a breath.
A light appeared outside the window, and Marie saw the face of a hog looking in at her. She floated next to it, banging on the glass frantically with her palm, but it wouldn’t yield. The hog transformed smoothly into a young woman, and Vanderosa smiled at Marie.
Vanderosa smiled as Marie tried to crack the glass.
Vanderosa smiled as Marie tried to scream, filling her lungs with water.
Vanderosa smiled as Marie’s world went black.
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