The Haunting Place

Important Author's Note: The Haunting Place has returned censored and semi-clean. I still defend my writing; no one can convince me that I'm any worse then Danielle Steel and her stuff is available in the public library for crying outloud! (I'm ranting, I'm sorry, I know it's childish of me and don't get me wrong, I still have a lot of respect for and appreciate everything the mods do) I've decided to repost on because I have so many readers here and let's face it, the Story and Author Alert options kick ass!

Important Censor Note: However, I will not change one page of my plot line for anyone, so this is what I'm gonna do: The explicit chapters in which actual sexual contact occurs will simply consist of a brief summary of the chapter's plotline and a chapter teaser. Those who wish to read those chapters should visit www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net (I'm not saying these sites are any better then they're just different and variety is the spice of life) Keep in mind, the Haunting Place is still rated a strong R even with the deleted chapters.

Warning: Mature themes, bad language, and drug use…why do I even bother with a warning when the people who should read it never do?

Disclaimer: I don't own, you don't sue.

Note: If you want Shakespeare, go to the library! If you want a fun and entertaining piece of fanfiction, take any spelling and grammar errors with a grain of salt and relax! This is a hobby for me not a living, so there will be mistakes. I promise to try my damnedest to keep such mishaps to a minimum.

The girl quivered under the amused scrutiny of the dozen nobles that lounged before her. Their upturned noses seemed grotesquely enlarged as they peered down their nostrils at her. Every now and then, one would lean into another and whisper, why they bothered to quiet their voices was beyond her, their hushed comments on her clothing and her father's hygiene carried through the room as loud as a shout, always followed by deep chuckles and piercing giggles. She blushed in embarrassment, while her father's always questionable sobriety didn't help matters much.

'Why did'n I wash me face before I come?' she wondered to herself. 'I know very wells how theses posh parties go. Ah bloody hell! Why did'n I patch this hole in me dress yesterday? Now them hobnobs all staring at me like an animal that don't know no better.' She idly picked at the offending tear in her wool worn skirt, wishing for the umpteenth time that Kristy would hurry back.

Vaguely she became aware of her father, slurring his way through his familiar speech meant to present her as the ninth wonder of the world. Instead it sounded pathetic and fraudulent coming from his painfully rehearsed projection, "Even de all mighty Church o' de Lord hiself closed deir doors to her, humbl'd and frighten'd by her powers of de beyond dhey were. And now I begs to present, de legendary medium whom have astound'd kings and bishops, known droughout all of Europe as de seer o' seers-," the lord of the house and host of the party, gave an exaggerated yawn, which the others chortled at. Only his wife, a grand lady who always seemed to be smiling but never with her eyes, had the decency to look ashamed.

Granted, her father was, in all truth, exaggerating. The church didn't really turn her away, Father Whitmere only told them he could not accept tithing money that paid for communication with the dead, which the Bible said was witchcraft. He was nice about it at least, still welcoming them to Mass every Sunday. She'd never met kings or bishops. And she wasn't famous throughout Europe, just through the lower-east side of London, but her father insisted with pride and liquor in his eyes that she was getting there. Everyone who witnessed her abilities agreed she was the genuine thing, a true medium.

The sudden silence in the room awakened her from her musings. The gentles were glaring at her expectantly. A tinge of panic, which must have shown upon her face because more of those cursed giggles wafted towards her, surged her into action. 'Kristy?' she spoke in a voice that did not come from her mouth, 'Kristy, where ye be? Ye got anything for me?' On the plains in which the girl was listening, Kristy did not respond…but there was another.

In a meek voice, she turned her large eyes to the hostess and said, "M'lady, your brother wishes to speak to ye."

The lady became visibly shaken and paled, that queer smile that never touched her eyes disappeared. Others began to whisper anxiously, this time taking care to mask their voices from the strange child before them.

Still, the lord scoffed, "Ridiculous!" he leaned over to his wife, patting her hand impersonally, "Everyone knows your dear brother's missing, they've probably bribed the servants for details to fool you." Her father ground his yellow teeth, attempting to look humbly innocent rather than righteously insulted.

A maddening well of frustration bubbled in the girl, she hated these types. So smart, so self-assured, so bloody blind to the world around them. She decided, perhaps foolishly, to continue without the safety of Kristy. Anything to wipe that pompous smirk off the gentleman's face.

Her mind opened over the house and spread over the grounds. At first, she only felt the feelings and emotions of those living in this vast manor. The bitterness turned everything grey and there was so much pitiful regret that that the lines of life began to blur. Greed as yellow as gold turned to bile in her mouth and in every doorway fantastic promises of lustful earthly pleasures tickled her sensitive ears. But as underlying as it was prominent, was sadness, and the girl knew it didn't take a physic of her caliber to surmise that this heartache belonged to the distant lady before her.

Yet, all these emotions remained below her expanding consciousness. She could easily keep them at a distant, examining them at her leisure. However, there was a more pressing matter to explore, a voice called to her from the horizon becoming evermore insistent. She would have to take a closer look.

To anyone who inquired, she could never explain the exact happenings of her gift to her satisfaction. Like now, in the extravagant sitting room of a powerful lord in his London winter home, a part of her stood, breathing deeply and seeing the transfixed gazes of those around her, she even felt the all too common pang of hunger, reminding her that breakfast had been a very long time ago and pitifully small. And then there was the part of her that was weightless and soaring upwards, through the five floors of the manor, straight through the roof, and into the vast night sky, clouded but bright with moonlight. The girl stayed chilled in the air, admiring the view for a brief moment, before laying her mind downwards, letting herself be pulled faster and faster, until a dizziness told her she was falling straight towards a nearby lake, made black by night…the haunting place.

The side of her that remained in the sitting room closed her eyes and welcomed it to spill forth…

"He was a right terror to ye when ye was children, teas'd ye without mercy he did. He was jealous of ye, bein' the baby o' the family and all. Did'n think he cared a lick for ye, did ye? 'Til that winter that is. Ye was nine at the time, he was twelve. Sick something awful, ye were in bed with fever for weeks. The doctors came, told yer momma and papa ye'd never see spring, be dead in a month. Ye pretend'd sleep, when ye brother came to yer bedside. He cried, how scar'd he was! Never thought he'd be weepin' for the likes o' ye, but that night was the first time he ever said he lov'd ye, called ye 'his wee sis' and kiss'd ye on the head. Every mornin' after, he would seek violets on the moors and brin' them to yer room til' ye was well."

The girl opened her eyes and waited for the haziness to fade.

"No one knew," the lady's voice was cracked as tears brimmed, "We were alone, everyone had been sent away so I could rest. No one knew what he said to me…" Only now did the spectators really begin to believe. Those in the back rose in their seats for a better look, the women's eyes widened like dolls. Upon their faces, looks akin to amazement and fear. The lady of the manor composed herself as best she could, ignoring the derogatory snort from her husband next to her, before asking, voice still wavering, "What does my brother wish to tell me, child?"

The girl's mouth opened before she knew what she was going to say. When she spoke the words were not hers, "He was murdered, that is why he haunts the lake."

Several things occurred all at once. Shadows began to grow like weeds around her, but she was the only one to see them. Then Kristy burst into the room, shouting more curses then was her usual conversation and the girl was the only one to witness this as well. The audience before her was in an uproar. Several ladies had shrieked and one appeared ready to faint. Many of the gentlemen stepped forward to calm the lord of the house who was screeching at her father, accusing him of 'malicious fabrications'. All her father could answer with was feeble stuttering. Others were yelling for silence so they could hear the end of the 'show'.

But all these things faded as the shadows overwhelmed her and her senses were consumed.

She felt only the slightest distraction as Kristy screamed her name. It was too late, she had no choice, she was too far-gone, and the ghost was no longer a separate entity. For a flicker in time, they shared the same existence and existence cannot be analyzed and conversed upon at a distance, it must be experienced.

The figures of two men startled her.

"He never made his journey to Manchester, two men were waiting for him by the stables," the girl's voice had changed and her eyes were like crystal glass, empty and cold. It was so disturbing that it immediately silenced the nobles better than a gunshot would have. They didn't even dare to breath as they listened to this voice, no longer the whine of a girl from the gutter, but a voice that spoke clearly, concisely and became ever more masculine, even more familiar with each word sounded.

There was a flash of steal across her throat, oh Lord the pain! And the blood! It was warm as she tried to close the wound with her hands, but it was too slippery. The ground, it was slippery as well! The panic was like lead in her bones, so slow, so clumsy in her attempt to escape. She vomited, blood mixing with the retch like her fear was paralyzing her cries for help.

"They overcame him and slit his throat, but he was not dead yet."

'Lie still,' the terror told her, 'make them think you're dead, they'll go away.' She went limp, appendages dangling as her murderers dragged her roughly downhill. And then it began to rain. Beautiful heavenly tears that soothed the burning that was even now fading from her neck. 'The pain is going,' she wept in her delirium, 'God is healing me.'

"It rained that night, the rain washed the blood away."

Rough hands tied her arms and legs together so tightly she felt her skin tear and her bones grind painfully. Splinters went straight through her clothes when they dragged her down the wooden pier that scenically berthed the lake. Somehow, through the fear and pain, she realized she had become very heavy as they hoisted her body like so much garbage. Weights, she was weighted. A new surge of hysteria crashed upon her spirit. She had meant to scream, but only blood seeped from her mouth, copper and thick to the taste and she choked on it. The two men were alarmed to see her movement and hastily pushed the weights into the black water, there was a horrific splash before she was pulled after.

"They bound him to two iron wheels, rusty from an old carriage. Then cast him into the lake," her arm stressed and straight as a board, rose, pointing through the fancy papered wall, across the moonlit pasture, and to the mass of water beyond.

The shock of the cold lake by winter was greater than the shock of pain prior. Somehow she reserved the strength to struggle against her restraints. When the rope that bound her wrists slipped away, her hopes soared. But the water was getting darker, and her body colder. Blood became a milky red cloud surrounding her and her lungs blazed under the pressure. Spots danced before her eyes, all she needed was one breath. One tiny breath of fresh air and she could free herself. Water leaked up her nose, she felt it filling her head. Soon reflex overcame common sense and she gaped her mouth, freezing water spilling into her lungs. She convulsed once, violently, before slipping into oblivion. There was no pain, no water, no blood, only the beloved scent of violets…

"He drowned," she revolved her unseeing gaze upon the lady, arm still pointing straight to the lake, "he thought last of his wee sis."

"Let her go, ye son o' a slut nun!" It was Kristy, swearing and clawing the girl out of the overwhelming embrace of the spirit! Her mind spun in confusion as she willed her powers to close the connection over the house and grounds. She pulled her thoughts inward, racing against the ghost around her to lock him out. But she hadn't completely regained control when she heard the lady ask one question:

"Who murdered my brother?"

Dread turned her body numb, she had no choice, the ghost compelled her to answer, they were still linked! Without her permission, the girl swiveled her arm from the lake to the lord, "He did." Then chaos erupted…

Ten years later…