Going Back

Suspense Stories | Feb 7, 2013 | 6 min read
8 Votes, average: 3 out of 5
Edenbrook House looked strikingly similar to the place Rosemary remembered from all those years ago, a little sprucer now, with its brightly painted façade and well maintained lawns. As she walked along the water's edge, soft powder sand stretching for miles around, the house could be seen from its perch on the top of Taylor's hill. The imposing structure peeped out between the large Yew trees standing sentinel around the perimeter of the two acre garden.

Thirty years earlier, then in her twenties, Rosemary had stayed here. It had been at a vulnerable time in her life. She had just split up from the man she thought she would marry. Standing in this fairytale setting, brought home to her, how real life, was far from a fairytale. There were aspects of her life that Thomas decided the he couldn't ever accept. God knows she found her own life hard to make sense of, and certain things about it she could not change, no matter how much she wanted to. So for that reason, she found herself in this idyllic setting, then and now.

As she sat drying her feet on a mound of rocks, near the exit to the beach, she was reminded of the afternoons she spent on this very strand with Betsy, a young girl of a similar age that she had met and befriended on her stay here. Betsy had been quite secretive and never revealed much about herself or her family and when asked a personal question, would just say that she was here to get away from it all, for a while. That was good enough for Rosemary. Betsy was funny, vivacious and full of life. They were good company for each other, as it seemed they were both escaping from something. They became close and when the time came for them to go their separate ways, they promised to keep in touch. Every Christmas and birthday they sent cards. Betsy continued to go to Edenbrook, whenever she could, as she found it so peaceful and reviving. She would always speak fondly of it in her letters. One day the cards stopped coming. Rosemary continued to correspond for a while, but no letter was ever returned. She was upset, but as life was busy for her, she dwelt on it only for a while and concluded that as Betsy had always been private, perhaps she had something going on in her life at present, that kept her from keeping up her correspondence.

One evening as Rosemary lay in bed unable to settle, a sensation that had become more frequent and familiar to her, over the years, visited her again. It was as though and invisible string was pulling on her chest, keeping her in a state between sleep and wakefulness. She squeezed her eyelids tightly together, in a vain attempt to fight the feeling, but she knew better. Her experience told her, it would be a while before she slept again. She sat up and rested her back against the softness of crisp cotton pillows. She felt a slight chill surround her and cursing herself for forgetting to latch the window, was about to cross to shut it when something stopped her. The cold air was not coming from across the room but very close to her, at the foot of the bed. Wearily, she called out "Who's there?" No answer.

"Who's there?" she called, a little more forcefully this time. The answer came,in the form of a strange incorporeal shape, close enough for her to almost touch it.

"Who are you?" she asked, a little irritated.

"You have to go back," the form said in answer.

"Who is this? Back where?"

It seemed with every word spoken, the shape strengthened its ethereal edges, into something more solid, but still not solid enough to be called human.

"Oh my God, Betsy, is that you?"

"You have to go back to Edenbrook." The figure pleaded.

As Rosemary struggled to make sense of what she was hearing, the spirit, clutched at its delicate white throat.

"Rope", the figure said, in a whining tone.

Rosemary wasn't frightened, as the situation she found herself in was not new to her, but this apparition had a more personal dimension, in the form of her dear friend. All the more shocking, as she now knew her friend's fate. She was dead. But her spirit had not managed to cross over. She was troubled.

"Betsy, what happened at Edenbrook?"

The spirit of her tortured friend stood at the end of the bed, still clutching her throat. Betsy, then withdrew her hand and standing out against the white alabaster softness of her skin, was a series of dark pinkish welts. Rosemary recoiled at the sight.

"Betsy, what happened to your neck, did you… did you, take your own life?"

The spirit opened its mouth to speak again, but what came out was a piercing protestation of "Nooooooooooooooooooo."

The image stood softly sobbing and seemed to become weaker until Rosemary had to strain in the darkness to see it.

"Betsy were you… murdered?"

But it was too late, the weakening form spoke as if grasping for air "Rope … You have to go back," and then she was gone.

***************

Rosemary reached the front door of Edenbrook Guesthouse and tentatively pressed the door bell. A few moments later, a small plump woman with a pretty, open face greeted her with a smile.

"Ah you must be Rosemary. I'm Catherine. I have your room ready. Room 9 over looking the beach."

"Lovely, I stayed here a long time ago, nearly 30 years ago in fact."

"Oh, it's so great that you have come back to us. Hopefully you will find it a little improved now. We've given the place a little face lift since then."

As both women walked towards Rosemary's room, they chatted about how the place hadn't changed much at all since she had visited last. Catherine recollected how she must have been around 10 years old when Rosemary had stayed here last and that she had been away at boarding school at the time.

"One thing that you will find unchanged, is my father's beautiful rose garden of course, he's so protective of it," chuckled Catherine.

As Catherine turned the key and opened the door to room 9, it was as though Rosemary had stepped back in time to when she and Betsy would spend hours lying across the bed, giggling until the small hours. It even had the same fresh sea breeze smell wafting through the open window.

"Oh your father lives here with you?" Rosemary enquired, still lost in memories.

"Yes, he's wheel chair bound now. He passed the house over to me about 15 years ago. My husband and I run it now. He and my mother were probably running things when you stayed here last.

Ah, perhaps, What's your father's name?

"Roper, Gerald Roper. Rosemary, are you ok? You look a little shaken."

Rosemary grasped the arm of the wicker chair at her side. As she eased herself into it, her eyes were drawn towards a vase of fresh red roses on the table by the open window. An unexpected rush of air whispered through the stems and a lone petal fell onto the table top.

Rosemary breathed deeply and let the horrible truth sink in. She promised Betsy that she would not stop until she found out what had happened to her. Her sixth sense told her, the rose garden would provide the answer.

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Caleb Jun 17, 2013

This was really nice..A sequel maybe?

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