Manor House - That Haunted Anthology part 1

Hello! I hope you're doing well and as always my names Lou and welcome back to That Haunted Show! And a very happy new year too, let's just hope it's nowhere near as haunted as the last.

Today's episode is something I am very excited about though, this is my first piece of fiction actually, something I've been working on, since being off for Christmas and I'm super happy with how it's all come together. I've never shared anything like this, reading has always been a passion of mine, yet writing is a whole new experience for me!

If I were to describe it, I'd say it's turning into a quaint little gothic novel,  So if you're a lover of all things paranormal, this will be a good one for you!

Let me know what you guys think, any suggestions for future episodes or any feedback will be greatly appreciated. Just come and drop us a message on our socials.
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If you enjoy the show and listen each week there is one thing you can do to really help us out and that is to review it wherever you listen. As a new show out in the void, having reviews generates interest and targets like-minded people to hopefully enjoy and join our little community.  I'm not sure about Spotify but a review on Apple would certainly help us out a lot. Or if you have friends who love a good ghost story send them our way, we definitely don't have a shortage over here. 

So grab a drink, sit back, relax while we try to explain the unexplained...

Stay spooky

Goodnight.

Transcript

The moon illuminated the moors as it does with its mystical nightly glow, complemented perfectly by the crescendo of the wind howling throughout swaying the tall grass in tow. It was a night like any other, there was nothing more special about this night than there was the night before, or the night even before that one. Through the ever-darkening moor trailing down the narrow and dishevelled road following its meanders as if it were a river flowing, its bank that of the tall grass on either side. One final turn remains before the road disappears into a cobbled driveway, the driveway rises high towards the overbearing stone courtyard full of prim and well-kept green hedgerows. Spiked iron fencing surrounds the perimeter, a deterrent to keep out unwelcome visitors, atop the fences by the main entrance of the driveway you’ll bear witness to two protectors as they sit guarding the only way in or out. Ornate gargoyles chiselled perfectly with eyes narrowing down feeling as if they’re watching your every move.

Following the harsh incline of the driveway, however, the sights of Manor house will begin to appear cutting through the horizon effortlessly with its sharp and crooked architecture. But don’t let the name confuse you, Manor and house, two very similar meanings yet in this case exceedingly different. A manor purely by definition is a large country house with ample land, which this house does proceed to fulfil these requirements yet its name comes from a different significance. The house was named after the original landowner or so it’s said, some believe the house has always been there but others tell tales of a man so dastardly and unbewildering, a man named George Manor. George was a very solitary older gentleman who preferred his own company than that of others, a fact that echoes through the very halls of Manor house. He was exceedingly well off but due to the fact he was a businessman by all accounts, ruthless and tough throughout, he worked tirelessly his whole life amassing an incredible fortune yet with no one to ever inherit it. He supposedly had no family, and no children to leave his wealth too so as he aged his interest rose, as did his money. The last Manor of the lineage.

Inside hang intrepid portraits of him depicting him as a tall, skinny, and almost frail-looking man, with a gaunt lost expression in his face with angular wild eyebrows. Thin wisps of hair embrace his balding skull, his eyes fading their ever dark colour yet remaining still fierce with intensity. He was a clean-shaven man with a chin sharper than any razor, fading down he wore a dark tailored three-piece suit with a golden pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat pocket. Mr Manor was the sole proprietor of the land and he oversaw the construction of the house atop the highest hill in the moor, supposedly so that he could look down and oversee the poorer community down below. That community being the town of Ravensborough, a quaint and hard-working town who prided themselves on the crops they grew in the ever ensuing fields that surrounded the village, only a few hundred souls populated the town but it thrived well, due to the kindness of the community itself. Everyone looked after each other, and everyone wondered upon the mystery of Manor house too. The construction of the house began modestly, but as time passed such as time has the tendency to do, the house expanded with it. Door by door, room by room, and floor by floor. Stacked together in this grand expressionate angular fashion, twisted and torn like the very demeanour of Mr Manor himself. The stone architecture flourished with dark granite and various shades of grey and silver. The final act as it were, was the completion of the observatory at the tallest peak of the house. It was this very watchtower that if you got close enough, something that many refused to do, you could catch a glimpse of George himself looking down at everyone, rather ironic as now he could literally. The construction took its time and toll on George though as these years passed by like the pages of a book, he began to look more frail taking to walking with a stick now. Not an ordinary stick that either you or I would have mind you, of course, it was nothing but the very finest for Mr Manor. The ornate stick was made bespoke by one of the finest woodworkers in the country, a man named James Bulger. The very craftsmanship was incomparable, the very best carvings complimented aptly by ornate gems and stones embedded within the solid oak shaft. The cane itself became part of him and was always by his side, this thunderous cane would slam down upon the wooden floors that were ensued within the walls of Manor house, with each step George took a following resounding thud from the cane echoed intrepidly. There truly was no hiding within the walls of the house, the thud from that cane would resonate wildly down the halls, penetrating the walls and flowing until the very energy diminished. Due to his ill health and old age, his eyesight began to fail too, which in a way only accentuated his usage with that very stick. As a bat echoes out a sonar wave, with each slam of the cane Mr Manor could feel the vibrations, sensing their directions, and when they seemed to stop and penetrate a fearful staff member hiding out of view.

George grew weary and stopped speaking altogether, not that he spoke much to anyone in his later years at Manor house. With his health and mental state in anguish, he appeared to take a drastic decline. The sound of silence would hum perfectly still and clear throughout, though were anyone to make a noise out of place it would ring out like a thunderous clasp. A deep wheezing sigh would resonate followed by a solitary twisted bony finger pointing to the nearest exit, should you interrupt the silence you were to take the rest of the day off unpaid. There were no warnings in Manor house, once that ice-cold finger pointed towards the door, through that door you went, no one ever grew the courage to say anything or argue back in fear for their job, and possibly even their life. Albeit to say he was a frail older gentleman, he was powerful and looked after his staff exceptionally well. All the staff members were paid a large guaranteed salary, with accommodation on the land too. Out to the rear of the property stood four large thatched-roof cottages, these were the homes to all the staff members who dedicated their lives to the running and maintenance of Manor house. From the cooks to the cleaners, the gamekeepers to greenkeepers they all remained on the property in cottages so beautiful and well built they could never afford themselves. There were rules to living on the lands though of course, no one aside staff could enter the house, and you were permitted a maximum of two visitors, but only on days that other staff were not having guests. And strictly no overnight stays. It was very rare that people would visit the property, the most use the gates ever beheld was that of the staff members walking down the driveway each and every day to collect and post that may have been delivered. And when I say post, there was no social invites, no relatives checking in, purely just a collection of bills and formal documents.

Absolutely no one was privy to what happens inside that very house atop the hill, of course like any village they all had scary stories and speculations from every corner shop down on Jameson street to the local pub, the Crown, and the markets surrounding the town square. Manor house was a subject for all to join in and speculate upon. The house and even George himself grew to become a local legend, a legend that no one dared to ever question or seek the truth themselves. You’d steer clear of Manor house, and stay clear you will. Yet children would play on the surrounding moors, games of tag and make-believe, exploring the woods that ensued the moors. On occasion children would claim to see Mr Manor looking down from his observatory watching them play, his expressionless face never moving, never reacting to whatever stimuli may come his way. Children returning home stating what they had seen to their mothers which of course turned into gossip to be spread around the town, poor George longed to have a family, longed to have an heir, even someone to love. Alas little did they know, gossip and hearsay were all that befell him.

Far from the property at the very rear, down the twists and turns of the cobbled stone paths, through the barns and lawns, the paddocks and the dairy. You’d reach the very end of the land, or so inclined by the deed. There stood a large circular black iron fence that shrouded around a cemetery. Twisted gold metal spikes donned the top of the perimeter fence and the dark metal gates swayed and creaked with age and time. A single mausoleum stood in the centre of the circular stone flooring, with grandiose stairs leading down to a single door, twelve steps down to be precise. Descending down upon the stairs, you were greeted with a dark wooden floor that screamed with age through years of abuse from the outside elements. Scanning the intricate craftsmanship you’d be faced with an etching central to the panel. The initials G.M.

The final resting place of George Manor, and where our very story begins. 

A single droplet of rain landed gracefully upon his head, finding its way through his dark black and silver slicked back hair and down his youthful forehead before coming to an untimely stop in his eyebrows. A cause for concern arose in his mind, the forecast was to be rather good today, spotted sunshine with zero chance of showers, how unreliable. He was wearing a black jumper with a minimalist pattern across the front left side, his lower half covered black jeans, slim-fitting, and possibly too tight for his size. With a single hand, the man pulled the hood over his head causing strands of silvery black hair to fall upon his face. He sighed and looked up to the sky, a somewhat dreary looking sky was beginning to emerge over him, a stark contrast to the blue skies that befell him this very morning.

“It’s raining, where is it?” A voice interrupted his thoughts as he took a step back and turned around, a figure, smaller than he was clambering over a fallen tree branch. The voice that emitted was delicate yet fierce, a rare mix, a beautiful well-spoken with a grand range of tone. As the figure swung open what remained of the metal gates with a rusted creak she ran up to him holding her hood over her head. He scanned her with his eyes for a moment looking down at her flowing straight red hair, an impossibly natural colour, brighter than any postbox in town. Her blue eyes met his deep brown pools, complimented by his darkened circles due to his lack of sleep the night prior. The two embraced in a hug as he wiped some leaves stuck to the top of her hood. 

“This is it, we’re here.” 

But where is here exactly you may ask, the two stood in the most central point of the circular patio, to their rear the rusted metal gates, and straight ahead of them lay the mausoleum, it’s harrowing steps leading down to the very crypt they had been searching for. The clouds were getting darker with every second that passed, they were losing light now as the moors around them seemed to fade into a darkened blur. He pulled a device from his pocket with its screen emitting a bright digital glow. “Still says no rain, weird huh?” He placed it back in his front jean pocket and took a few steps nearer the mausoleum. “Amy, grab the camera, look at this place” his voice calm and deep, well-spoken yet almost gritty. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the large professional-looking digital camera, checking it over and popping off the lens cap.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I had no idea it would look like this. I thought it would have collapsed by now.” Amy called out over the now heavy falling rain, she began to take pictures of different angles and frames of the crypt, the flash from the camera lighting up and accentuating the shadows occasionally. He left her to take the pictures as she so loved, while he pulled out his bottle of water, taking a brief sip before placing it back in his backpack. He leaned upon some of the fencings feeling the cold metal sweep across his back, watching her spiral from spot to spot gracefully as if she was a dancer in motion. His show was soon interrupted as a clap of thunder slammed the sky above, with that very instant the heavens opened causing an unprecedented torrent of rain. Jumping up he ran over to her almost slipping on the moss-covered stone beneath his feet. The rain battered off them, luckily Amy was wearing her bright red waterproof jacket that complimented perfectly her bright post box red hair, the drops of rain just bounced off dropping away onto the ground below, a smirk grew across her face before her mouth opened softly. “Told you to bring a jacket didn’t I?” Amy paused before letting out a smile and chuckling. “Idiot.”She was right, as she so often was. He sighed and nodded in tow.

“Get all the pictures you need? You coming in?” he snapped back in a quick manner, partially still annoyed over the jacket remark. Amy was placing the camera away in her rucksack as he spoke, zipping it up and turning around.

“Wait what?”

“I said are you coming in?” he replied to her almost shouting over the rainfall.

“That... That wasn’t part of the plan. I thought you were joking when you said we’ll go inside.”

“Well, we’ve got all the exterior shots of the house and crypt, why not get some internal shots to add to the portfolio?”

“Yeah of the house, I’m not setting foot in that crypt. Are you mad?” The downpour increased evermore, and a look of stubbornness and fear accentuated Amy’s face.

“Well look, you can’t stay here look at the rain, we’ll be washed away before long. I want to see what’s inside here before we go to the house. So you coming or not?” As he spoke he was already stepping carefully down the stairs, in between the cracks of age holding onto the steel handrail feeling it zap his body of any heat that remained. Amy watched as his head disappeared down the stairs, thoughts of ghosts and endless horror movies she had watched ran through her mind.

“Cass... wait...” The rain bore down upon her as she stood in the darkening cemetery, she sighed audibly exhaling and cursing under her breath.

The once ornate door stood before them, smelling of damp musky rot. With a single effortless push, the door swung open wide crashing down upon the ground completely ripping away the screws from where the hinges once sat. Dust surrounded the darkness causing them both to cough, waving cautiously with their hands to try and clear the air. Cassius jumped back almost knocking Amy over, he reached an arm to steady himself and support her softly.

“Scared, tough guy?” She remarked sarcastically as yet another smirk grew ever wider on her face. He tried to hide his embarrassment and continued onwards, heading into the darkness that sat looming and empty before both of them. “I can’t see a thing” Amy’s voice resonated in the dark, it was hard to even pinpoint a direction that the sound itself even came from. With an arm behind him, he reached to his backpack, fumbling around the interior pushing away bottles of water, snacks, and the such, searching for a torch he could use to illuminate the room, something cool and sharp protruded through the seemingly endless mess of his bag and caught the top of his finger instantly feeling the warm sensation of blood flowing he immediately pulled out his finger swiftly and cupped it with his other hand. Cursing loudly he pinched it together as blood pooled in his hands. An ever-growing tingling and numbness became to form down his finger growing into his hand. Light began to illuminate him from behind as Amy shone a torch in his direction from the darkness. He stood there blood pouring down his hand, causing Amy to scream in fright.

“What happened are you okay?” She yelled out in an affectionate high pitched squeal. The typical response anyone would make in such a situation, knowing perfectly well if she was in his shoes she would clearly not be okay.

“I’m fine, it’s just a nick, my bloody knife.” he smirked noticing what he had just said before adding “literally.” Chuckling away to himself at his poor attempt of a joke trying to lighten the situation, or to simply distract himself maybe unknowingly from the pain he was experiencing. She pulled out a small green fabric first aid kit from her bag and propped the torch on the floor illuminating them both softly accentuating their shadows across the whole crypt, she proceeded to wrap the bandage around his bloody hand tying it into a small knot at the tip.

“Not my best work but it’ll do, I don’t like this, look we’ve been here two minutes and you’re already bleeding, it’s a sign Cass. Let’s go.” Amy had always been fearless on the outside, her tattoos on show, bright red hair, yet once you knew her and broke that tough exterior she had always been a worrier, about every little thing.

The two of them stood there for recuperating after the whole knife ordeal, Amy constantly checking to make sure he was okay, Cass shrugging it off making a joke of the whole situation. It wasn’t until Cass accidentally knocked the torch over causing the light beam to tumble across the room illuminating a path through a narrow corridor. Cobwebs hung from the very top of the room, the earthy smell was putrid and hung thick in the air. “Well, look what we have here.” Taking a few steps towards the corridor taking Amy’s hand behind him leading her with him safely. “I think this is it.” Cass paused taking it all in, the reality of the situation finally affirming itself upon his very psyche. “The late great George Manor.” The excitement could be felt thudding in his chest, this was the whole reason they took this venture up towards the decrepit Manor House after all. He could feel his heartbeat ever-growing as he explored the ever-darkening corridor, brushing tangles of cobwebs out from his face and watching his footing as he stops atop the uneven ground. Amy’s hand lay in his own, her fingers interlocking his feeling her pulse shooting rapidly around her body as her heart now working overtime, due to the fear of the unknown resonating deep within her body.

They approached the coffin which sat upon a large stone table, the coffin was beaten with age and the dampness of this room, Cass imagined how it must have looked when it was first built, a beautiful design, however morbid that sounds. Can you describe the final resting place of someone beautiful? Cass contemplated within his head. A smooth dark potentially cherry ebony wooden coffin, detailed in fine gold hardware. A fitting resting place for the ever luxurious George. He felt Amy’s hand tug behind him now as he tried to step nearer yet her body stood still, any other time he’d stop to ask if she was okay, but this way what he had been waiting for. For so long now. Using the torch he scanned over the coffin looking at all the detailing, taking it all in, the legend of Manor House resides a mere few inches before him, it was tough to take in. But where the legends of George really true? So much time had passed since he lived, the Manor now lay in ruins, the grounds unkempt and wild, no one had dared to venture on the lands for decades, possibly even centuries now. As time passes around the town of Ravensborough and the ensuing towns that were constructed near the legend only grew more and more.

He first heard of it when he was in school, young but not too young, around secondary school he believed. Cass stood in the library one evening after school had ended on one of his usual weekly detentions. Fed up of waiting for his teacher to come back he decided to explore the ever-expanding isles of the bleak beige library. Silence surrounded him, even most of the teachers had gone home by now, it was just Mr Williams who stayed back to keep Cass in detention, of course, he had nothing better to do. They had never quite seen eye to eye ever since the super glue fiasco in his previous year. Cass walked down an aisle sweeping his fingers across the spines of the books as he did so, hundreds, thousands of books even lay here, all that knowledge that could be learned if he had the time and interest to actually read some of them. His thoughts were soon interrupted by that of the door slamming at the entrance of the library, then a pause, Cass imagined exactly what was happening trying not to laugh as he did so. “Cass!” a bellowing deep voice echoed out in the silence, one single move and it could be game over. He stood exceptionally still, holding his breath and peering through some of the books parting them ever so slightly. He could just about see the navy suit of Mr Williams, his face flushed and red like it so often was when they spoke. After a brief minute that seemed to be eternal, he walked out of the room slamming the door shut behind him hearing the key turn in the lock.

“Shit.” Cass exhaled and tried to run to the door, the realisation of what has just happened hit him like a wave crashing upon the shore. As he darted down the aisle coming to the end, he placed an arm on one of the shelves to aid himself while swinging around, his formal dress shoes slipping for grip on the ancient worn blue carpet. Swinging around he bumped into a figure face to face for a brief second before falling over, an onslaught of books go tumbling into the air around them. Cass lay there on the ground books everywhere trying to catch his breath watching the dust particles fly as the reality of the situation fades back into nothingness in his mind.

“Watch where you’re going, dick.” Came a voice from beside him, an unfamiliar voice, but compelling nonetheless. Shaken he pulls himself up sitting across the aisle from her looking over at her long blonde hair, and bright brilliant blue eyes. He didn’t recognise her at all, which was strange as he thought he knew near enough everyone at this school, granted he didn’t know them personally but he was good with faces at least. She sat there her school black school blazer unbuttoned, with her white collared shirts sleeves rolled up, cuffs hanging over the arms of the jacket, with a tie so short that if she were caught it would be detention for sure, an experience he had gone through so many times himself.

“I…” he scanned for the words to say in his head, fumbling through the awkwardness of the situation, not to mention the fact that she was incredibly good looking, another tick in the box as to why he cannot find the words to say. Speaking to girls had never been his forte. He got by though, barely. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you where there. The door, it’s…” Before he could even finish his poorly constructed sentence she did him the favour of finishing it for him.

“Locked, I know. No thanks to you, now we’re stuck in here, look.” She pointed over to the shutter covered windows as they lit up brightly from the outside. Cass perked up and ran over to the window looking down at the schools' car park below. There stood Mr Williams at the gates, locking the padlock behind him before getting into his silver hatchback, the car jumping into life as he pulled away and of onto the main road, the faint rumble of his engine fading into the distance ever so subtly.

“Shit.” Another curse, if his mother were here right now she’d probably hit him over the head for cursing so frequently. A wave of panic began to rush over his body now, thousands of thoughts and questions ran through his mind like words in a book or leaves on a tree before stopping at one finally.

“What do we do?” Out of all the questions, he falls short on the broadest and most useless one he could imagine. Teenage hormones and panic ravaged his body looking for whatever way out of this situation, yet coming to no conclusion. Cass looked over to the girl who was now pulling herself up and dusting herself off, she seemed so cool and collected, an act that he had always tried to pull off himself, yet never quite could.

“Phone, dumbass.” Two words, simple as that. How did he not even think of that? He reached into his jacket pocket before a sinking feeling arose in his stomach.

“Shit.”

The two of them sat there in that library the whole night, it was a Thursday night if Cass could remember correctly, whatever day it was he knew it was a weekday because he had school the next morning. After the initial awkwardness settled the two hit it off quite well talking and chatting and sharing a cigarette out the window. Cass never smoked himself but tried to play it cool in front of her. “Sure I’ll have a drag,” he said it his smoothest voice. He reached for the cigarette taking it from the tips of her fingers looking down at the red hot embers at the tip. Placing the filter on his lips he breathed in, possibly too much. He began to cough as the smoke felt thick in his throat blocking his airwaves, she laughed and took the cigarette back of his hand before patting him on the back.

“Idiot.” A single word that would never leave him.

Time passed slowly during the first few hours of their unplanned sleepover, as they spoke about themselves, turns out her name was Amy and she was new to the school. That would explain why he hadn’t seen her around before, she was studying in the library after hours, a thought that just seemed alien to Cass. Between awkward silences and small talk, the two came up with a game, hide and seek. Boredom seemed to overwhelm them as they had now resorted to childlike games, but it was the best type of entertainment they had in here at least. Cass was up first, counting to ten with his hands over his eyes, hearing the feet of Amy run away down some of the isles before coming to a stop.

“Ready or not, here I come” Cass announced in the most sarcastic way he could possibly. The backup lights were on, the library wasn’t fully lit but lit enough so that he could see what he was doing at least. He took a few steps down an aisle, listening for any slight movements trying to see if he could place her anywhere. His thoughts were interrupted by a delicate sneeze coming from a few isles down followed by a resounding swear word. He couldn’t help but laugh as he walked casually over, finding Amy crouched down dust surrounding her from the books atop the shelf. “Well, that was easy.”

“Shut up, I sneezed it was this stupid book” she pointed to a book on the shelf. A strange dark burgundy book that looked aged and out of place even for this library. Reaching out a hand to help her up, Amy took it, her fingers interlocking his as she did so. “Thanks, my hero,” she smirked and fluttered her eyelashes. Cass was taken by the book though, something about it drew him in, letting go of her hand he reached out and pulled it off the shelf blowing the dust off causing him to cough and Amy to sneeze once more before snapping back with a sarcastic “thanks.”

Scanning through the front and rear of the book Cass looked intently trying to make out what it said in the dimly lit aisle yet he couldn’t quite see. He walked slowly not taking his eyes of the book towards the blind, luckily a street light stood just outside and with the right angle he could see clearly. The book simply titled My Cursed Life, with initials scribbled below. G.M. The book itself was looked surprisingly handwritten it didn’t look like a mass manufactured book which caught them both by surprise. Scanning through the chapter titles and pages they learned about the life at times of George Manor, a name that sounded familiar yet they were not aware of. Learning of who he was, a generous kind and considerate young banker who had just began an apprenticeship in the big city. His girlfriend of many years of whom in which he proposed to in later life, their wedding being one of opulence and filled to the brim of friends and acquaintances. George began to make a lot of money now, pay rise after pay rise, living a life he could only ever dream off. Yet he gave back constantly, running fundraisers with the neighbours and donating a partial amount of his salary every single month without fail. But something changed, during this page, he spoke of his business trip up north. A trip that could make him a deal worth so much money that he could retire working and spend the rest of his days in luxury with his wife, the early retirement dream. The fine calligraphy that once donned the pages turned into crude scratches and scrapes of a pen on paper, his whole demeanour of how he wrote changed before their very eyes, and they both felt it. It was becoming uncomfortable, almost morbid Amy and Cass glanced eyes at each other both of their faces filled with disgust and worry. Everything changed since that business trip and his life turned upside down, he turned rude to his friends, getting into fights and telling them all to never make contact with him again. He fought and argued with his wife, before telling her he wanted a divorce, a statement that left her heartbroken. He crushed and destroyed everything around him, seemingly deciding all of a sudden he wants the life of solitude, a stark contrast to the man that he once was.

Only a few pages remained and they both felt on edge reading them, it was so descriptive it felt like they were experiencing what was happening in real-time, leaving them feeling anxious and depressed as he once did. On the penultimate page, he wrote that he found out that his wife, Victoria had, in fact, committed suicide since the divorce, resorting to taking her own life as she could not deal with the situation. A once-loving man turned as cold as ice within an instant would do that to you, she was in love, and so was he. A love that seemed so pure and eternal that nothing could break it. Unlike his prior entries to this journal, he did not write how he felt upon hearing this news, just that he found out, and depicted the way that it happened. She had hung herself from the staircase of their previous home, she was found there hanging in her wedding dress pale and lifeless. A long thin line scratched down the page leading to the final page. Cass turned it finding that there were only two words, simply written over and over.

Manor House.

With a single aching hand, Cass reached out to feel the coffin before him, the grainy texture of the wood creating welcoming friction as he dragged his hand over the surface. The golden hardware reflected the light from the torch with a majestic shimmering glow, dazzling the darkened room around them. His chest still beating rapidly, he took a deep breath weighing in on the situation. This is what he had been waiting for all these years, finally coming to fruition. With his bandaged hand he wiped some loose strands of hair hanging down from his face and took off his hood, flicking the hair behind his ear. Amy stood there in silence, the faint outline of her waterproof jacket was all he could make out. He tried to lift the coffin yet it remained solid, the wood creaked in pain yet remained sealed, unshaken by the force. Cass placed another hand of the coffin hopefully trying to get some more leverage on it, trying with all his might to pry it open. Still no movement. He beckoned over to Amy to try and get her to help, yet once again, no movement at all. 

Scanning the torch over the surface of the coffin he noticed some odd metal spikes, presumably nails that looked out of place. They did not match the ornate coffin one bit, and stook out like a sore thumb. The rusted nails protruded on the surface and looked to be hammered in hastily, a sickening feeling began to rise in Cass' stomach. He knew deep down that this wasn't going to be easy, a lover of all things horror and paranormal, yet his darkest thoughts are appearing between his very eyes. The legends must have been true, he battled with himself in some kind of inner debate, locked away like this, nailed in. It must be the curse. It's real, it has to be. Amy had a look of sheer terror on her face, she was having the same thoughts, they had spent so much time together over the years since their first insight to the mystery that they almost thought as one these days, it was very rare that they were not on the same page as it were. 

"I don't like this Cass, the nails. Who did this? It can't be, can it?" The silence was all that befell them after Amy searched for the words to say in her mind. He was mulling it over, lost for anything to say, he didn't want to agree out of fear yet lying was not his style. 

"I... I don't know." He exhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling with the following deep breaths, trying to get his heart rate to simmer down. "I've got to know." His eyebrows furrowed as he focused on the coffin that lay in front of him, the look of determination and intent was all he could muster. A plan began to come together like a puzzle in his mind, all the pieces layout before him, the coffin, the nails, himself, his bag. His bag. The knife. Swinging an arm round he pulled off his rucksack searching frantically for his knife, the knife that has once already sliced his finger. Searching around, moving items aside he found it once more, feeling the cold steel of the blade smooth to the touch against his skin. This time though no warm sensation. Reaching further he found the leather grip, wrapping his hands around it he carefully slid it out of the bag. It was a simple knife, nothing special, something he ordered online a few years ago as something that just simply looked cool. Something to tell stories about, should anyone ever actually see it that was. "We'll use this, I'm going to pry open the nails, hopefully, get some leverage, then pop this thing open." There was a sudden pause and his facial expression turned to that other determination to a more stern serious manor. "When it opens, whatever happens, don't run. Okay?" Amy returned a puzzled glance back over to him. What did he mean don't run, what was going to happen when he got this open? 

Thousands of thoughts and questions began to surge around Amy's mind, from the books and horror movies she had watched to the endless nights studying that diary with Cass looking through all the resources she had to prepare herself for what was to come. Surely nothing she reassured herself, this was real life, this isn't Hollywood. Look at them, about as far away from Hollywood as one can be, deep in the southern English countryside. Yet that fear still remained, buried deep in the furthest recesses of her mind and she couldn't quite shake it. Don't run. It circled her, making her feel dizzy as her brain worked overtime on the verge of burning out. It's been a long day, she was overtired, the drive out here took hours this morning, then the hiking through the moors and climbing over debris surely had taken the energy from her. She was just overtired and overthinking. Nothing bad could happen. Nothing bad can happen, she repeated once more mouthing the words to herself silently. Nothing bad can happen.