The Imp House

A piece I grew tired of and subsequently didn't finish, maybe in coming days I shall. A ghost-hunter describes how he got into the buisness

Often times my friends and clients call on me to relate my first encounter with the supernatural. They are desirous to know how I found myself in the present misfortune of being what one would call a detective of the occult or a ghost hunter. The truth is far less glamourous than I would like. My first glimpse of and beyond the veil that divides this world with others, places of unutterable beauty and creeping malignant horror, showed me how dangerous the crippling foolishness of man can be. We seem like fish in the bowl of time, forced forever to go round and round in our ignorant little sphere, forever blind as to what strange terrors linger beyond the glass. Vague and indistinct figures move all about us, with nightmarish forms and unguessable agendas they watch us with hungry curiosity.

But I ramble. The story begins several years ago in a small town just beyond the view of London. My once esteemed friend from university, a certain Heathcliff Roller had invited me to stay with him in his new manor on the outskirts of the small community. The town itself was old and like all truly old things heaped in a dull haze of sepia coloured dust. A cheerless wind sighed through ancient gables and sagging roof beams, slowly rotting in the dry country air. I was fetched from the station by a rather sombre and above all tired looking servant, whose high and wrinkled brow betrayed an intellect quite foreign to others of his station. The aged man took my bags in soft gloved hands and I was transported via hansom through the dusty town.

Heathcliff was waiting for us when we arrived and walked me up the dull grey cobbles that led to the door. The house itself was a grand affair. Trails of thick emerald ivy clung to the edifice, obscuring the solid grey-black stones that supported the ancient timbers of the shingled roof. The marvellous size and solid engineering seemed simple however, in comparison to the abodes luxurious interior. The main hall was almost overwhelming to the senses: a ponderous stone floor laid thick with middle-eastern rugs terminated at the foot of a magnificently carved stairwell of polished ebony. Antiquated suits of Armor lined the hall like a dozen shining steel soldiers ready to defend the homes occupants and grandiose portraits showed bright and beautiful youths engaged in a number of sweet idle pastimes. Heathcliff led me to the drawing room where we engaged in small-talk and the other sundry formalities one is accustomed to when catching up with an old friend. Before we knew it the sun had set and the dinner bell struck and Heathcliff further guided me into the dining room.

The evening stretched on and we resumed our idle chattering over drinks in the parlour. Little beyond the stroke of midnight however brought with it a most extraordinary event, one that marked my first encounter with the outside forces. Heathcliff and I where reminiscing about the various romantic conquests made during our long years of study when, quite abruptly a loud scrabbling, clattering noise could be heard coming from upstairs. It was as though a scuffle or some form of loud and perverse dancing had broken out in the room above us, a dozen little hooves clattering upon the floorboards. In a moment Heathcliff went pale, his lips were drawn tightly shut and a silvery sheen of perspiration broke out upon his brow. “Good God man! What is that? Are your servants having a row! I say Heathcliff are you alright?” The scrabbling gradually faded as I waited for Heathcliff to reply.

 

His aspect was positively frightful and I knew better than to press him for a response. Eventually he moved quite stiffly from his position next to fireplace and sat down; taking a long draught from his glass he looked at me in wide eyed stupefaction. “It is at this point I must apologise to you Edward. The pleasure of your company was, admittedly not the only reason I had invited you over. You see, that noise has been troubling me for some time.”

“As it would anyone Heathcliff! But what in Gods name is it? Have you some manner of beasts locked in the room above?” I asked with an amused chuckle.

“No no, I can assure you the room is quite bare.” He looked at me with watery, questioning eyes. “Do you believe in the supernatural Edward?”

It was my turn to look shocked, “What do you mean? The afterlife, ghosts and that sort of thing? Well, I can’t say that I do, I’ve never really given it any thought. Do you mean to tell me that awful noise was some form of spectre?” I asked.

Heathcliff shook his head. “I’m not sure what to think Edward. Perhaps let me tell you a little more of this old place and then you can decide for yourself.” He got up and having poured himself another drink, began his story thusly: “As you know I’ve always been a man of more than modest means, my education and board being almost being fully provided for by the estate of my late grandfather. Recently it came to light that he had willed this lovely old place to my uncle, an oafish man who had estranged himself from the family for some or other reason. We were never close and the few times I have met him he has proven himself to be nothing more than an outright cad. As far as I understood he himself had never stayed here, having several splendid houses of his own in and around London he left the old place fall into disrepair.”

He paused for a moment as though recalling some unpleasant event. “As you know the airs of London have always disagreed with me and thus, upon learning that the fellow had property here, property that by all rights was tied to our own family and consequently I felt should be seen to, after much harassment on my part, I eventually persuaded him to sell me the old place at a greatly inflated price. What happened shortly after I fear is something that will condemn me to the sanatorium, yet I can recall the events with such plain and painful clarity. It was about two weeks after the builders had moved out, the workmen themselves seemingly never having encountered anything out of sorts. I was upstairs in my study, tallying the costs of the remainder of the work that needed to be done on the grounds, when suddenly the most frightful sound could be heard coming from across the hall. I strode into the passageway, burning taper in hand and perceived the noise coming from one of the bedrooms at the far end of the hall. I made my way to the chamber just as the noises seemed to subside. I attempted to fling open the door, ready to provide a mouthful to whomever was the cause of the uproar when I found the door suddenly slammed back into my face with an odious growl! I barely had a chance to glimpse into the room! Well it followed that I tried pushing the door back open, first with one hand, then two, then suddenly I was forcing my entire weight upon the damned thing, attempting to force it open… What followed was an intense struggle; I would succeed in prying it open part way before being forced back by some unknown person or thing fighting against the door! I had the impression some young and muscular brute, perhaps one of my new servants was hiding behind the door hell-bent on causing some disruption. This went on for some time until with a cry I succeeded in pushing the door open. I was pushing with such force at this stage that I fell clean over, blowing the faint candle out. My servants rushed upstairs to meet me in nightclothes and all!” He looked at me inquisitively for a moment, as though waiting for a response. I turned the situation over in my head for a second and asked “So did you find out who it was causing mischief in the room?” Heathcliff shook his head and resumed his story, apparently satisfied with my entirely rational response. 

“You see Edward, that’s just the thing; there was no one in the room! A thorough search of the chamber found it completely bare, the windows had been locked and bolted and there were no other points of egress into the small space! Suffice to say we now keep the room locked at all times, with myself being the bearer of the only key. This has however not stopped those hellish noises from occurring about every three weeks, sometimes for several nights in a row!” Pausing to catch his breath, he looked at me again, sincerity plastered over his features. “There is, of course, one more thing I haven’t yet mentioned during my struggle with, with the things… I say things because, well…” It was here that Heathcliff took a long and shuddering breath before continuing.

“As I was engaged in the struggle, shortly before falling over, I heard laughter Edward! It was as though the damn things were enjoying themselves! It was the most perverse sound I have ever heard and flowed out of the room like an icy wind that chilled me to the very marrow. I shall never forget that laughter, like that of a troop of young children mixed so terribly with the foul and exotic cackle of the hyena, sweeping past my very face as I plummeted to the floor. I cannot even begin to describe the cold malignancy I heard in that vaporous chuckling.” Heathcliff looked quite pale now; the same tell-tale silver sheen of sweat had once more resumed its place on his brow.

“Surely there must be some more rational explanation old chap? Maybe the sound you heard was the creek of the door giving way under your weight? And the struggle you had encountered was nothing more than a jammed door? A newly renovated house must surely have a lot of settling to do!” I said earnestly.

Heathcliff looked at me, his eyes betraying a sort of childish desperation “Please you must believe me!” he cried “Look, you heard the noises yourself! Come if you don’t believe me! You’ll see the servants all soundly asleep in their chambers as they have been for hours! And here! Here is the only key to room! Come I’ll show you.” Heathcliff took me by the arm and we quietly made our way past the servants’ chambers, each had been quite securely bolted from within. In my mind however this served as no proof that one may have, in all the time we had been talking, quietly stole upstairs and caused the terrible scratching, grinding noises. Heathcliff then guided me up the dark and creaking stairwell, guiding me towards the supposedly haunted room. By the door he paused, raising a shaking hand, he very slowly unlocked and opened it. With apparent little effort he left the door to swing gently inwards. I gazed, admittedly half spooked through the carven aperture. The theatrics displayed by my companion had unsettled me somewhat. “I had the servants clear out all of the furniture; I didn’t want to risk anything getting broken.” Heathcliffs voice sounded oddly hollow in the empty hallway. I stepped into the room while Heathcliff waited for me miserably at the doorway, he seemed to be peering in cautiously, alert to even the faintest noise. He was also almost imperceptibly shaking. Examining the windows I found them both locked. 

Turning once more I asked “Has anyone ever stayed the night in here?” At that Heathcliff went white, almost falling to his knees he pleaded that I not participate in such foolishness. He had only wanted my advice and that he would indeed deal with any matter of evil that had taken to living under his roof. I quickly rushed over and helped the old boy stand, promising him that it was just an idea and that it needn’t be taken so severely. Helping him downstairs I poured him another drink, hoping to restore, in part at least, some of his confidence.

Lying in bed that evening I could not bring myself to fall asleep. I had been placed in the guest bedroom just off the top of the stairwell and, although separated by another spacious room I could not help but feel that some dreadful presence lurked within the old house.

I heard, or at least fancied I heard, the soft padding of evil feet slowly creeping through the nighted hallway. Dark eyes peeking through the keyhole, silently watching, waiting.