Free MAGDALENA'S GHOST: THE HAUNTING OF THE HOUSE IN GALLOWS LANE by PEPPI HILTON

tea?”
    Beryl squealed in terror from under the bedclothes, and the noises from the top floor became louder as the voice repeated itself over and over again at her door:
    “Are we having a cup of tea?” followed by shrieks of unnerving mirth which bounded along the landings and the hallway, and travelled through the large unoccupied rooms before disappearing into the distance.
    Beryl’s entire body became a shaking frame of pain-racked bones. And then, as if the horror wasn’t great enough, she heard the sound of her bedroom door opening slowly. Her heart momentarily stopped, her throat muscles tightened, and her voice was non-existent as she tried to scream. Her breathing had become a series of rasps. She knew such intense fear could cause a heart attack, and so she prepared her mind for death once more as she writhed in pain and terror.
    “Are we having a cup of tea?” the frail voice whispered above the bed.
    “Go away!” Beryl managed to shriek back in utter desperation, too terrified to move as she gripped the bedding to stop her, or it, from pulling it away and exposing her to whatever purpose the demon had in mind.
    “Are we having a cup of tea?” it cackled.
    Beryl clutched the hot water bottle and slid further down the mattress, her body now in the foetus position as she sobbed in fright. But life continued to cling on forcing her to witness whatever evil was to be bestowed on her, when immediate and sudden death would have been the desired choice. Her throat muscles, having suffered paralysis, ensured that even her panic-stricken gibberish was unable to be uttered. Now she knew how it would feel to be suffocated – or even throttled.
    “Are we having a cup of tea?” The sound was relentless.
    “Are we having a cup of tea?” followed by a sound of mirth as the voice trailed away out of the bedroom door and along the creaking floorboards. Loud laughter echoed through the building – mocking and taunting. It continued for what seemed to Beryl to be for hours, but in truth it lasted only a few moments. But in Beryl’s mind her life was coming to a close, and she hoped against hope that it would be quick and so put an end to this slow tortuous punishment which she seemed doomed to have to endure.
    And then the music stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The sounds from above died down and soon everything was silent. Only the emptiness of the building seemed to echo in her mind, but her fear wouldn’t abate and she remained hidden under the bedding a shivering, shaking wreck. All that could be heard was the cat mewing outside her door. But nothing could entice her out of her place of refuge at the bottom of the bed, where she remained until she finally fell into a troubled sleep.
    She awoke the next morning in the same position, with the dim recollection of the night’s experiences slowly returning. She pulled herself to the surface and sat up in bed and could see the wintery sun shining in through the windows. She began to wonder if she’d perhaps had a nightmare. She dragged herself off the bed, walked over to the door, and opened it stealthily. She inspected the empty corridors and glanced down to the main hall. The sun streamed through and everything seemed to be deserted and quiet, but for the faint mewing of the cat. She concluded that she must have had a nightmare after all, as everything in the house seemed normal. She felt confident that it was safe to go downstairs.
    But when the evening arrived Beryl couldn’t brave the stairs. Her bones ached more than normal, which made her question if the previous evening’s events had really happened and her aching bones were suffering from the aftermath. The fear of spending another night up there got the better of her, so she decided to keep a low fire in the grate of the range and sleep in the rocking chair. Wrapping her mother’s old blanket around her she settled down for the night, but she had difficulty sleeping so she rocked the chair slowly in