Where there is a will, there's a way. By Patrick G Moloney.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Tales of the macabre from beyond the shadows.

Submitted: March 08, 2017

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Submitted: March 08, 2017



Carlton Jessop saw himself differently than most others did, he saw himself as a go getter, a hard-nosed business man. The vast majority of other people saw him as ruthless, mean and vindictive man. From the time he was a child he wanted everything for himself, his only sibling was a younger sister Martha. Carlton would take anything that meant something to her even if he no use for it, even down to her favourite dolls, which he would break or throw in the deep pond in the grounds of the house. Martha on the other hand was a frail and gentle soul; she would remain in the background shyly while he screamed for everything he wanted. By the time their father was on his death bed, Carlton was already a man of wealth and prestige. However this did not prevent him from badgering his dying father day and night until he became the soul beneficiary of his father will, it never even entered his head that his ailing sister was entitled to something. The morning that his fathers will was read, Carlton Jessop was absolutely furious. He had been left almost everything, which amounted to quite a valuable inheritance. However Martha had been left the country home and a small allowance for its upkeep and her living expenses.

In Carltons greed obsessed mind this was tantamount to him being robbed, he had employed a firm of solicitors to go through the will with a fine tooth comb, with a view to having his sisters inheritance turned over to him. However short of declaring that his father had not been of sound mind, which might just have called his own inheritance into question. There was nothing he could do; his only solace in the end was the fact that his sister had never been a healthy person. The fact that his mother had passed away when they were children, meant he was Martha’s only living relative. So eventually he would get what was rightly his; however the greed soon began to eat away at him. Every passing day that Martha remained on this earth became another thorn in his side; he began to find himself waking in the middle of the night, his mind racing with ways to expedite Martha’s demise. Carlton had even taken to eating breakfast in the study beside the phone, here he would wait in hope that news of her passing would come through. On the morning that it did eventually ring during breakfast his heart soared, although it quickly plummeted again when he heard her frail voice.

The dark skinned woman that answered the door to him had a dower expression on her face as she stared into his eyes. For some unknown reason he felt uncomfortable in her presence, perhaps it was those dark eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul. Carlton was a man who had grown accustomed to people disliking him; however this woman at his sister’s door was something entirely different. Her expression was one of deep mistrust and maybe even hatred, Carlton wondered just what Martha had been telling this black woman about him. He was beginning to regret agreeing to call over to see Martha, however all this left his mind when he saw Martha in the drawing room of the big house. She had become much frailer and looked like death warmed up; she sat in a wheel chair with a tartan blanket over her legs. He bony knees like points beneath the blanket, her hair was lank and lacklustre and her eyes were sunken in her skeletal features. Carlton stared at the ailing woman before him, and he felt happier than he had done in many a long day. The dark skinned woman left them alone in the drawing room and went to fetch tea, Martha told him the woman’s name was Cassandra and she was her carer. Martha prattled on about being unwell and mending bridges, but all the time he just sat there and marvelled at how ill she looked. Now that the time was drawing near for him to get what was rightly his, he felt a little more benevolent towards his sister and agreed to call around again the following day.

Carlton left later that day with a renewed spring in his step, even the cold feeling of Cassandras stare on his back could not dampen his spirits. Besides as soon as he had possession of the house, the black woman would immediately be out on her ear. The black woman had gone to town to some spiritual service, the following morning when Carlton arrived. Martha pleaded with him to take her for a walk in the grounds as the day was fine, as he pushed her in the chair Martha prattled on about wishing they had been closer and other such drivel. But Carlton was too busy making plans in his head about what he would do with the old place, so he didn’t even listen to what she said. “I hope that doesn’t make you angry, after all she has been very good to me during my illness” they were by the deep old pond when he heard this snatch of her conversation. Something about this caused alarms bells in his head, when he asked her to repeat what she had said the fury erupted. The sick old bitch was going to leave their family home to this black woman, a red mist settled over him and he was not aware what he doing until he heard her scream. Then came the splash and he was watching her still in the chair as she sank below the murky waters of the pond, well at least she will have the company of her dolls he thought as she sank out of sight.

Carlton was the epitome of a concerned sibling as he gave his statement to the police officer; he kept it nice and simple so he could not trip himself up at a later state. He had arrived this morning as arranged the door was open and his beloved sister was missing, the black woman was distraught and wailed like a banshee. The only unfortunate thing was that Cassandra had witnesses to say where she had been; still he wouldn’t be letting her back in the house and when the will turned up it would be easy enough to dispute Martha’s state of mind. After all she was a very ill woman and was in fact dying, so she could not have been thinking straight. A thorough search of the grounds yielded no clue as to the whereabouts of his beloved sister, a woman alone in a wheel chair could never make it all the way to the old pond, so this was immediately ignored. That old pond was where they had quarried the stone for the house, it was extremely deep, and so like her childhood dolls Martha would not be resurfacing any time soon. Carlton begrudgingly paid up the black woman and told her to send for her things, still he rationalised, you sometimes have to spend a little to gain a lot. Carlton decided that he would move into the house that evening, he was in fear that Cassandra had a key and would steal any valuables she could when he was gone.

Carton spent the rest of the evening nosing around the big old house; there were quite a few valuable pieces that would make good money at auction. All in all he was quite happy with his mornings work; it should have been his at the start anyway. One of the small attic rooms was locked so he broke in; it had obviously been Cassandra’s room. A small altar had been set up by the window, strange effigies and trinkets adorned it. This made Carlton a very happy man; he could use this to make the black woman look bad. Whatever heathen mumbo jumbo she was involved with could certainly be used to discredit her, everything was falling into place nicely for him. Carlton sat by the fireside and treated himself to a few Brandies from her liquor cabinet, the heat in his belly from the brandy and the heat from the wood fire soon lulled him to sleep. He was dreaming about dolls when the sound woke him, he listened intently and a sound like tiny feet running in the hall came to him. Vermin was his first thought as he grabbed the poker, a row of tiny human like foot prints left a muddy trail to the drawing room, someone was playing tricks on him. Cassandra was his first thought and his rage grew; Carlton stormed into the drawing room and screamed. Cassandra was here alright but the thing that sat beside her in the wheel chair, pointing at him was what made him scream. His last vision before his heart gave out was of Martha pointing accusingly at him; she was covered in pond slime and on her lap sat the dolls.

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