The Haunting of Hill House? Except Not Really

The Haunting of Hill House? Except Not Really

I pull up to the rickety old mansion, me tiny little blue Citroen looking like a toy car in the shadow of this beastly estate. The paint's all chipped and the stone work's crumbling away, giving the place a right old haunted house look about it. But I know better. Just gotta spend one night here for this experiment at uni, no biggie.

I get out, grab me duffel, and amble up the overgrown walkway, cracked stone steps nearly tripping me up a few times. Wouldn't fancy a tumble down these on a dark night after one too many at the pub, I'd say.

The heavy oak door creaks open with a squeal, and I'm met by a friendly elderly lady - Mrs. Dudley, the caretaker.

"Chris! So pleased to have you, dear. Please do come in," Mrs. Dudley says warmly. As she welcomes me inside, I can't resist a joking remark.

"Blimey ma'am, this place is proper ancient! I hear it's haunted, in'it? Any ghosties or ghoulies about?"

Mrs. Dudley smiles patiently. "Perhaps, dear. Old houses have their share of oddities. But we needn't fret ourselves over imagination and superstition."

"Blimey, what a place this is. Proper massive, in'it?"

"Yes, Hill House is quite large. But don't you worry, I'll show you around and you'll feel right at home."

She leads me through the foyer with its dusty chandelier and up the grand staircase. My footsteps echo on the marble steps, amplified to sound like an army marching through this hollow old place.

We walk down a long corridor with worn carpets and peeling wallpaper. Old paintings of grim-looking people stare down at us as we pass. If I didn't know better, I'd say their eyes seemed to follow me. But nah, just me imagination playing tricks, right?

"This will be your room for the night," Mrs. Dudley says, opening one of the many identical doors lining the hall. Inside is a large but spartan bedroom with heavy velvet drapes and antique mahogany furniture that looks hundreds of years old. There's a four poster bed with embroidered hangings, a bookcase, wardrobe, writing desk and chair. Blimey, bigger than me flat back in London!

"Cozy little spot this is!" I say.

Mrs. Dudley chuckles .

"I'll leave you to get settled. See you downstairs for tea in an hour?"

"Too right, ma'am. Looking forward to a nice hot cuppa."

She leaves and I plop my duffel down, sitting on the edge of the bed. It's firm yet surprisingly comfortable. I give it a bounce and the old springs creak beneath me.

"Yep, gonna sleep like a rock tonight," I say to myself with a chuckle.

I unpack my stuff, stow me bag in the cavernous wardrobe, and lie back on the bed. It's been a long train ride from London and I'm knackered. A little kip before tea would do me right I reckon. I close me eyes and doze off...

Next thing I know, I'm jolted awake by a bloodcurdling scream! I sit bolt upright, heart racing. Blimey, what the hell was that? Sounded like a woman getting murdered!

I look around the room nervously, but see nothing amiss. Adrenaline pumping, I go over to the window and peek out through a slit in the heavy curtains. The overgrown gardens are cast in moonlight but all seems quiet. Probably just hearing things, I tell myself. Mrs. Dudley did say there'd be odd noises in an old creaky mansion like this.

I take a few deep breaths to calm meself and head downstairs to find Mrs. Dudley setting tea out in the dining room.

"Did you hear that horrible scream a minute ago?" I ask.

"Scream, dear? Can't say that I did. These old walls do make all manner of sounds," she replies.

"Hmm, right. Well it fair startled me, it did!" I say with a nervous chuckle.

Ah, there she stands, lips curving into a grin—a contemporary Mona Lisa, if I may be so bold. I reckon she's found the philosopher's stone or some such, the way her eyes briefly light up. Meanwhile, here's yours truly , aimlessly wandering like a vicar at a rave. Stuck in my own woolly universe, where little old ladies stick to knitting and steer clear of mischief and pranks. Ah, the ignorance—it's almost poetic.

Mrs. Dudley pours me a steaming cup of Earl Grey. "Here you are, nice hot tea will soothe your nerves."

I smile and take a sip, letting the warmth calm me rattled soul. As I nibble a biscuit, I glance around the room. More giant oil paintings on the wall, gilded frames glinting in the firelight. A huge stone fireplace with ornately carved mantelpiece looms at the far end. Above it hangs a massive portrait of a stern but beautiful woman in an elegant Victorian gown. Her piercing eyes gaze down at me from the canvas. They seem...alive.

I shudder and look away. Trick of the light, I tell myself. Mrs. Dudley's gentle voice pulls me from my unease.

"Feeling relaxed now, Chris?"

"Yes ma'am, much better," I reply. The tea has steadied me nerves and Mrs. Dudley' presence is comforting.

We chat pleasantly as the old grandfather clock ticks away. After tea, she suggests an early night and I eagerly agree. I follow her up the shadowy staircase, lit by the occasional oil lamp on the walls.

At the top she wishes me goodnight and I head down the corridor to my room. Once inside, I change into pyjamas and slip into the four poster bed, pulling up the embroidered covers. The mattress is still blissfully comfortable.

Feeling more relaxed, I drift off to sleep. Some time later, I'm awoken by a chilling cold draft. My eyes flutter open and I see by the moonlight that the bedroom door is open, curtains fluttering in the breeze.

That's odd...I know I closed that door tight. Must be the old house settling and pulling it open somehow. Still, it gives me an uneasy feeling. I get up and firmly shut the door, turning the iron latch until it clicks locked. After poking at the dying fire, I climb back under the covers.

Just as I'm nodding off, an earth-shattering CRASH jolts me upright! It sounded like a bomb went off downstairs. Heart pounding, I leap out of bed and throw open the door.

I hear Mrs. Dudley' panicked voice call out. "Hello? Is everything alright up there?"

I rush to the landing. "I'm fine! But did you hear that massive crash?"

"Yes, it sounded like it came from the kitchen. Want me to come have a look with you?"

I hesitate. The last thing I want is to go poking around this creepy old mansion in the dead of night. But I've got to show I'm not scared for this experiment.

"No need, ma'am, I'll take a peek meself," I call down, hoping I sound braver than I feel.

I creep down the shadowy staircase and make my way to the kitchen, guided by the moonlight streaming through the windows. As I approach, I hear a faint scraping sound within. Is someone in there?

Hands shaking, I push open the door. "H-Hello? Anybody there?"

Silence. I flip on the light and gasp. Pots, pans and broken plates are strewn all over the floor. Cupboard doors hang open, contents dumped out. Looks like a bleeding tornado hit this place!

As I gaze around bewildered, the scraping starts up again. It's coming from the pantry. Gulping hard, I grab a poker from next to the stove. Slowly, I creep toward the pantry door. The scraping gets louder...and is that a growl I hear?

Steeling meself, I take a deep breath and whip open the door. "Gotcha!" I yell. But there's nothing inside except shelves of food. The scraping has stopped. Huh. Everything seems perfectly normal.

"Blimey, I'm losing me marbles," I mutter. Must've just been a mouse or some critter making that racket. Feeling relieved yet confused, I start cleaning up the mess on the floor and putting things back in order. Once the kitchen is tidy, I drag myself back upstairs.

Mrs. Dudley peeks out from her room down the hall. "Oh, there you are dear! Is everything quite alright?"

"Yeah, nothing to worry about, ma'am. Just a wee mouse, it seems. Gave me a fright at first, but no harm done."

"Very good. Sleep well, see you in the morning." I see that sly smile again.

"G'night, ma'am."

Back in my room, I slide under the covers, body and mind exhausted.

I'm jolted awake by an earsplitting SHRIEK from somewhere inside the house! I nearly hit the ceiling, it scared me so bad. That's no mouse making that bloody awful sound.

Before I can react, I hear Mrs. Dudley cry out, "Help! Oh please, someone help me!"

In a flash I'm out of bed and bolting down the hall toward her screams. I find her cowering in the foyer, staring up in horror at the top of the stairs.

"What is it, ma'am? What's happened?" I ask frantically.

"Th-there! A woman in a long black cloak was floating down the stairs toward me! Her face was so pale and she made the most dreadful moaning sounds!" Mrs. Dudley says, shaking.

I look up the staircase but see nobody there. "Blimey! You sure, ma'am? Maybe just a bad dream or somethin’?"

"No, no, she was right there clear as day! This house...I've always felt a dark presence here. We must leave at once!"

"Now steady on, Mrs. Dudley," I say gently. "Could be this rickety old place playing tricks, like you said. Why don't we get you sat down with a nice spot of tea?"

She nods shakily and I lead her to the parlour, stoking up a fire in the grate. As she sips her tea, Mrs. Dudley still seems quite rattled. I'm trying me best to remain calm, but I'll admit - this night is getting proper freaky!

We pass the remaining hours until sunrise, chatting nervously by the fire. When dawn finally breaks, Mrs. Dudley appears completely relieved. After a spot of breakfast, she helps me gather my things.

"So glad you're not staying another night, dear! This house, I tell you - it isn't right," she says with a shiver.

I glanced at Mrs Dudley. For a tick, I could swear I see a faint smile cross her lips...

As I drive off down the overgrown lane, the sagging roof and broken towers recede in my rearview. I chuckle quietly. Guess I can tell me mates back in London I'm a real ghost hunter now! Wait'll they hear all about the haunting of Hill House.

For a moment, I wonder about that faint smile I saw cross Mrs. Dudley's lips. Some old duffers have weird senses of humour... Or maybe she was just having me on all night for a laugh! Wouldn't put it past the cheeky ol' girl. I shake my head and laugh as I hit the motorway back to London. What a night! The lads at the pub will get a right kick out of this tale over a pint or two. Just hope I can get a bit of shut-eye first after all that nonsense. But blimey, what a story I'll have to tell!