Malevolent Hall 1666AD

  Malevolent Hall 1666AD

  Contains some adult scenes and strong language

  Copyright Rosemary L Lynch 01/10/2013

  www.rosemary-lynch.weebly.com

  Cover art by Rosemary L Lynch

  Photos courtesy of Shutterstock

  Editor Jaimie Hope

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means. This includes information storage or retrieval systems, or given free without permission from both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  All places and names within this book are fictitious and any resemblance to places or persons either living or deceased is purely coincidental

  I hope you enjoy… but remember…

  ‘They’re always watching – death is just the beginning.’

  Chapter One

  As Matilda cruised down the last stretch of country road, the sky was dark and heavy with ominous rainclouds. Mirrored either side by ancient oaks their autumnal leaves drifted like snow across the front of her van and deposited on the windscreen. She flicked on her wipers in an attempt to clear her vision.

  “You have arrived at your destination,” her sat-nav announced.

  “Great,” Matilda muttered, indicating right and pulling into the start of the drive. Stopping in front of the iron gates that blocked her way, Matilda turned off the engine, pulled up the handbrake and stared at the stone pillars framing the entrance to Malevolent Hall. It had taken her three years to build the courage to get this far. The hairs rose on her arms and her stomach churned in dread as covered head to toe in ivy and creepers she could hardly see the ten-foot, block-stone wall encircling the entire estate.

  Taking a determined breath, and grabbing her handbag from the passenger seat, she opened it and took out a small key. Opening the van door, she jumped out and as her feet hit the ground, a sudden rush of wind caught her long, dark hair and swept it in the air. Her heart skipped a beat, her body shivered, and her eyes glanced nervously in every direction.

  “It just the wind, get a grip, Tilly,” she said, shaking her head, and scolding herself. “You can do this,” she muttered approaching the gates pensively. Peering through the wrought iron bars, her eyes searched from one side of the drive to the other. The thick woods surrounding the Hall seemed even denser than she remembered. Her eyes lifted to the squawking of the rooks gathering in the trees above her. With a bad feeling niggling in her gut, they were just adding to her state of unease.

  Her leather-gloved hand trembled slightly as brushing away eleven years of grime and muck, her eyes settled on the old sign.

  “Malevolent Hall 1666AD,” she read, and as the words rolled off her tongue, an involuntary shudder rippled through her body.

  Eleven years later, Matilda saw the irony of the name and the numbers and after everything that happened here, there was one thing she knew for sure, she was going change its hellish name.

  She put the key in the padlock, and after a wiggling it a little, it opened, and she removed it. With the lock in one hand, her other held the iron bar of the gate, and her mind went back eleven years. Tears welled in her eyes, and blinking, they ran cold down her cheeks.

  “What the hell am I doing here,” she mumbled, lifting her hand and wiping them away as the memories of her past came flooding back.

  XXX

  Eleven Years Previous

  Gathered in her mother’s ‘best room’, which was only used for special occasions and important visitors, Matilda stood with her hands clasped together in excitement.

  “Happy birthday dear, Matilda, happy birthday to you,” her family sang in unison. Clapping her hands, and glancing with a beaming smile to her family, she blew out her eleven candles, and made her wish. As an avid Harry Potter fan, she wished for what most kids wished for, magic.

  “What’s that noise?” her father asked, startled by a sudden loud banging coming from somewhere within the Hall. Matilda’s parents exchanged strange glances, and a look of anguish covered her father’s face.

  “Oh God no, not now,” he said.

  “Do you want me too?” she asked. Her father shook his head.

  “No, I’ll deal with it, you see to Tilly.”

  “Be careful,” her mother replied. He gave a nod, turned, walked quickly out of the lounge, and disappeared into the hallway. The lights in the Hall dimmed, and a sudden rush, like an arctic wind, swept through them all.

  “Are the French doors still open, Tilly, can you go and take a look dear?” her mother asked, and she began to cut and plate slices of her birthday cake.

  Matilda skipped to the back of the living room. It was a spacious room, with a huge medieval stone fireplace taking up most of one end. There were floor to ceiling windows, framed with heavy, green velvet curtains and double French doors leading to the garden.

  She stopped briefly to look in the ornate mirror, carved out of oak, and gilded in gold hanging on the wall. She lifted her hand, and admired the pentacle her mother had given her for her birthday. It had once belonged to her mother, her grandmother, and hers before and so on. Her mother had worn it every day, and now she was eleven, it was Matilda’s turn.

  The Hall began to shake, and an odious rumble penetrated their eardrums, causing her to pull her hands to her ears.

  “Mummy,” her younger brother Teddy cried, and as her mother grasped him to her, he dropped his red ball on the floor. Matilda watched as it bounced across the highly polished floorboards and came to a gradual stop in front of her.

  “Edward, where are you, what’s going on?” her mother yelled.

  “Mary,” her father gasped, he had been running and was out of breath. As his hand grasped the doorframe, Matilda knew she would never forget the look on his face as long as she lived.

  “It’s him, He is here, get the children, get out, I can’t stop him!” he yelled.

  Matilda stood frozen, her eyes wide, her heart stopping.

  “Edward!” her mother screeched, stumbling backwards in horror. The demon came like the wind behind him. It swooped down like a bird and swept her father inside its black cloak. Her father screamed a terrible, terrible sickening cry, and was gone.

  “Edward!” her mother wailed. Pushing her son behind her as the demon lifted a scythe towards her; she held the cake knife towards it defensively.

  “Mummy,” Teddy cried, clinging to her, his face buried in her skirt.

  “Eric!” she screamed. “Eric, he’s here, help her!”

  “Mummy,” Matilda screeched, having no idea whom her mother was screaming for, who Eric was. There was certainly no one called Eric in her family.

  Without warning, It lunged, slicing the scythe into her mother, and just missing the top of Teddy’s head. Her skin burst open; fresh red blood gushed from her body, hitting the floor; seeping into the cracks between the polished oak floorboards. Matilda shrieked, tumbled backwards, and landed on the floor, flat on her back.

  “Matilda!” her mother cried. Choking and coughing blood spewing from her mouth, Matilda’s mother pointed at her daughter. “Meorum, mea lux amica,” she chanted. A beam of light shot from her fingers and connected with the pentacle around Matilda’s throat. It illuminated, and as Matilda glanced down at it, a shockwave of something hit her body and coursed through her veins.

  Her mother’s body broke cleanly in two; and thumped lifelessly to the floor, her blood creeping like a river of red wine across the floorboards. Teddy stood ridged to the spot howling, and covered in his mother’s blood, his little hands clutched at her skirt.

  Matilda wanted to grab her brother, to pull him to her and save him, but frozen to the spot, all she could do was wat
ch in wretched agony as the demon of darkness moved towards him. Her heart died that day, as at barely four years old Teddy’s pleading eyes wracked with tears and fear stared at her. The hooded creature lifted its cloak, as with her father, it swept Matilda’s brother within its dark folds, and he disappeared forever.

  Instantly the black cloaked demon darted to the left swiping his blade across her stunned uncle Joe. Stumbling backwards with his hand clutching at his throat, and blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers, her uncle dropped to the floor. The demon’s mouth opened, and jaws wide it blew a swarm of black creatures towards her aunt. Screaming in terror, her arms frantically swiping at them, her aunt May tried to defend herself, but within seconds, they devoured her.

  Fire erupted all around, and as the Hall began to burn, Matilda cowered on the floor watching the demon glide across the living room towards her. The demon had eyes that appeared to bleed and a face so twisted and cruel she was not even able to scream, for fear had rendered every part of her entire being immobile.

  “You are mine,” he growled drawing near her. Wisps of foul odour filled the air, burning her nostrils as his clawed fingers grabbed at her arm, and dug deeply into her flesh.

  From nowhere came a shadowman of brilliant light. He shot in front of them, seizing the unsuspecting demon, and hurtling him up into the air. The shadowman of light grabbed Matilda, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her to his chest. Feeling such a sudden rush of love as he held her, he made her gasp and even though he glowed with a strange, magical light she felt his flesh against her own, and she embraced the warm sensation it gave her.

  “No!” the demon roared in fury, his black cloak billowing in the air as the flames around them grew fiercer. “I will have her.”

  As he came for her, the shadowman of light held her tight, protecting her, loving her.

  “You shall never have her,” the shadowman of light yelled, lifting his hand and emanating a powerful beam of white light towards the demon. “She is and always will be mine. Go back to the hell you came from!”

  “I will come back for her,” he threatened, his hands lifting in retaliation, and sending a beam of darkness spitting and crackling towards him.

  “And I will stop you again,” the glowing man retorted, his power connecting with the demon’s causing sparks to fly, and spit across the room.

  “I will have the power of the dark, I will be complete. She is mine.”

  The Hall shook; there was an almighty bang, and the whole room became bathed in a glorious light before it all went terribly dark.

  XXX

  Present Time

  Matilda blinked back to reality. The horror that overwhelmed her that day now haunted her every night in her dreams. No one believed her when she told the authorities what had happened. Instead, they insisted it was some crazy man who had broken in to rob them. They concluded he murdered everyone, burning the Hall in a desperate attempt to hide the bodies and make good his escape. It was shock that caused her to make up such a story in order to block out the horrible truth. Matilda insisted her story was the truth that it was something else, something terrible, dark, and sinister.

  There was no funeral, just a memorial service. There were no bodies, her mother, and uncle having burned to ash in the fire. Matilda’s father and brother had simply vanished, and her aunt, had been eaten - hadn’t she?

  Since the death of her family, Matilda merely existed. Initially recovering from her ordeal in a hospital, she spent the next six years in and out of therapy. At fifteen, and close to being committed to a secure hospital by her psychiatrist, Matilda finally realised no one was ever going to believe her story. She needed to stop talking about demons or risk spending the rest of her life in an institution.

  Over seven years, she had five foster homes. Most of her foster parents were unable to cope with her mood swings and her, as they called it ‘weird ways and supernatural obsession’. Although her bedroom was a shrine to the occult, Matilda didn’t practice the black arts, but merely studied it. Matilda spent her life absorbing books and searching the internet for information on the paranormal, in the hope of finding out what had killed her family.

  After receiving her financial inheritance and officially inheriting Malevolent Hall, Matilda left her last foster home when she turned eighteen. She bought herself a flat in London, which gave her the independence and solitude she longed for. After toying with the idea for months, she finally made the decision to renovate the Hall and bring it back to its former glory.

  The company Matilda contracted were specialists in medieval restoration, and the owner Mike Tovenaar went with his team to assess the state of the building and to draw up the renovation plans. Unable to face the Hall Matilda never went with him on this occasion. Even now, three years later, she was not sure if she was completely ready, but the building approval had come through and if there was any chance of her having some kind of a normal life she had to put this part of her life behind her. Until she could figure out what happened in her past, Matilda knew she had no future.

  Matilda pushed the gates, but they refused to move, which surprised her as the contractors had only been in a month ago to repair the electricity for her.

  Putting her back to one of them and leaning against it, she heaved.

  “God damn it!” she cursed aloud, and kicking out at it in anger. Hearing a sudden rush of movement from above her, she looked up, and squealing in panic, dropped to the ground. Her hands covered her face protectively as the rooks took off in frenzy at her noise, squawking and screeching, and swooping by her as they flew.

  As the noise died down, she peered through her fingers.

  “Shit,” she swore, giving a shudder and glancing around checking to make sure they had all gone. On seeing no more birds, Matilda rose to her full height and ran her fingers through the front of hair before sweeping it back behind her shoulders.

  She looked back to the gates and saw brambles and vines gripping hold of the bottom, which was preventing them from opening. Taking hold of the gate, Matilda closed her eyes.

  “Et dimittam te, et custodiam aperire,” she chanted, sending a wave of power through it. The gate rumbled, and shook. Releasing it, she took a step back, waiting, and watching as the gates opened, noisily scraping across the overgrown driveway. Matilda smiled. She never told anyone about her powers, especially not her psychiatrist, who was already in half a mind to lock her up and throw away the key. Matilda’s powers started the day after the demon slaughtered her entire family, and since her eighteenth birthday, they were getting stronger.

  Once the gates were fully open, Matilda got back in her van and drove the long mile up the drive. She thought back to the shadowman of light who appeared from nowhere and saved her life all those years ago. Even though only eleven years old at the time, she knew he loved her and they shared some kind of connection. Although the thought both thrilled and frightened her, she hoped she would see him again.

  She pulled the van hard right swerving around the weeds that were so overgrown they lifted the brickwork. After ten more minutes of navigating around the dilapidated driveway, her eyes finally looked upon her ancestral home.

  “Holy shit, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled as she pulled up in front of the huge, medieval hall. For a moment, all she could do was stare at it, having forgotten how big the old Hall was. The two front turrets, separated by the main Hall were covered top to bottom in ivy, and the west wing had partially collapsed from the fire. The builders were due to start tomorrow; ideally, they wanted to start in the summer, but as they had problems with planning, the build was on hold until now, the end of October.

  Mike, her contractor, re-connected the power back to the east wing, and he had made this side of the Hall safe and secure for her to use as her living quarters. He never mentioned anything weird or strange happening to him while he was here. As far as he, his men, and the rest of the world were concerned, her family were murdered.

  Chapter
Two

  She was still staring at the Hall, her hands gripping the steering wheel of her VW T5. It looked bloody creepy, and that feeling of dread still clung in her mind. Matilda glanced at her watch; it was nearly three thirty, and in another hour, it would be dark. Taking a breath, she released the wheel, pulled off her gloves and threw them on the passenger seat. Grabbing her bag and opening the door, she swung her legs around and jumped out of the van, groaning as her feet landed in a muddy puddle. Opening the side door of her van, Matilda took out her suitcase and holdall, the rest of her belongings could wait until later. She slammed the door shut, turned about and took a pensive step towards the front door.

  The wind was picking up, and inhaling the mixed scent of damp autumn leaves and fresh rain wafting in the breeze she gave a shiver and took the large, antique key from her bag.

  Climbing the final six stone steps leading to the porch Matilda glanced to her right as she reached the top, her eyes settling on the stone bench in the alcove of the porch. Her eyes dropped below it and her heartbeat trebled as a wave of cold heat rushed through her. Still there, lying discarded and entangled with brambles and weeds where nature had possessed them for herself, were her brother’s red wellington boots. Her hand lifted to her mouth as her eyes wandered to the apex above her, to the broken, tattered pumpkin lights that once decorated the porch. Her eyes moved left, to the remains of a mannequin grim reaper, banging back and forth in the wind.

  “Shit in hell,” she muttered, as her eyes returned to the weathered and worn oak door in front of her. Putting the key in the lock with a shaking hand, she turned it. The door clicked, and pushing it open, it squealed with rusted age.

  Steadying her breath, and trying to keep the nausea rippling in her stomach under control, she stepped inside. Her nose twitched at the stale, musty smell of smoke still permeating the air. Closing the door behind her, and slipping the key in her bag, she turned around. Tears immediately welled in her eyes, and for a long moment, all she felt was sorrow.