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

the bar. The barman displayed a show of sympathy towards the woman, but the old man felt no compassion, his face remained expressionless and impassive.
    “She’s trying to destroy me. She’s paying me back for what I did to her and she’s hell-bent on terrorising me until I drop dead. I know what she’s up to she wants to lure me to where she is.”
    She drank the whisky more slowly this time before continuing.
    “She’s in hell,” she hissed, her face contorting with venom. “Why can’t she leave me in peace, my time will come soon enough. My punishment is in my bones, I suffer endlessly with the pain. She’s evil and I know she won’t stop until she’s got me in her clutches. She’s the devil, for sure she is.”
    She continued to babble uncontrollably, until the landlord finally lost his understanding of what she was saying. But it was clear to him that the woman had lost her mind. He ought to get in touch with the necessary authorities to take care of her, and maybe to-morrow he would do just that. In the meantime, he needed to get her back home and out of his pub. The old man seemed to be reading his mind, as he offered in a gruff voice to walk her back home.
    “That’s a good idea,” he said to him with a nod, relieved that he wasn’t going to have her in his bar ranting, and drinking free whisky for the rest of the evening.
    The man walked round to her and told her to follow him, which she did. He instinctively led her up Gallows Lane and to Juniper House. He entered the grounds and walked through the open door in the porch. She followed quietly but hesitantly, as she pondered on his soft footsteps down the long hallway which she knew weren’t loud enough to scare off any demons, or warn anyone of his presence. He walked across the main hall and into the sitting room, and stopped awhile as he surveyed the dilapidations which had taken control. His eyes lingered on the piano for a few moments before walking over to it. The dust and grime that clung possessively to the frame, and the keys, showed that no-one had used it for a very long time. He glanced at the mildewed music sheets and ran his fingers lightly across the keys, which allowed a sprinkling of dust to escape into the dank atmosphere.
    “This hasn’t been used for many years,” he assured her quietly. “You must be mistaken when you thought you could hear music playing. It’s plain to see that there’s been no music in this house for a very long time.”
    He ventured into the scullery. The rocking chair, positioned in front of the range, was quiet and still. He pushed it lightly with his hand, but it would take much more than a gentle shove to make it rock. A blanket lay strewn upon the stone floor, and he picked it up and placed it carefully on the rocker. He wandered in and out of each room before going upstairs to each floor, inspecting all of the rooms as he went along. He noticed one door on the first floor had been blocked up, he knocked gently on it – it sounded hollow. But there was no sign of a ghost.
    Once he had satisfied her that there was no presence in the house, he left her locking and bolting the door behind him. Once outside, he disturbed a cat in the garden which mewed as it disappeared behind the shrubbery. He wandered slowly back to the pub, and nothing more was mentioned about the incident.
    The damage to Beryl’s mind was long and calculated. She was beginning to look over her shoulder constantly, always fearing her mother’s presence. But her mother remained silent week after each prolonged and punishing week. And her silence was beginning to affect Beryl, who was now starting to question her own sanity. She had no peace of mind, she was afraid of the dark, and her imagination was rampant. She found herself waiting for the next time.
    And that time came soon enough.
    As the evening beckoned, Beryl lit a candle and its soft glow cast shadows in the room which flickered in the gloominess of the night. Darkness