Ghosts, Ghouls, and Haunted Houses
9 Book Box Set
Carrie King
Caroline Clark
Contents
Ghosts, Ghouls, and Haunted Houses
Something Evil This Way Comes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
With Wicked Intent
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Silent Screaming
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
The Darkness in the Shadows
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
The Haunting of Greyfield Manor
The Dark Secret
Prologue
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Spiritual Awakenings
Paranormal Activity
Prologue
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Child’s Play
The Unseen
Prologue
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue
The Soul Taker
The Soul Taker
Prologue
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Epilogue
The Haunted Gallery
A Grandad’s Love
Prologue
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Don’t Close Your Eyes – Preview
Also by Carrie King
©Copyright 2019 Caroline Clark & Carrie King
Ghosts, Ghouls, and Haunted Houses
Welcome to this box set. It contains 9 books. Two complete series and one new book. The first series is:
Briar Park
I first wrote the Briar Park books some years ago. I was told the story by one of my friends! Well he was until he scared me to death and had me sleeping with the light on for the next week.
Briar Park wouldn’t leave me alone and I knew I had to write it all down and soon characters were coming into my mind. They wanted to visit the Park... little did they know.
I so wanted to share these stories and have been trying to get them published for some time. This from a gal from New York who knows very little about anything but my black cat, Samantha, books, and yes you got it creepy houses.
Well I had a go at putting the books up on Amazon and then went on a ghost hunting trip to the United Kingdom. There I met another author Caroline Clark and we got talking.
Caroline is a very successful author and she liked my books. Woo Hoo.
So, she offered to work with me to improve them and bring them under her publishing umbrella. There you have it. These books have been rewritten and edited and I hope you will enjoy the creepy spookiness of two very dark ladies.
Enjoy,
Carrie King.
Something Evil This Way Comes
The Haunting in Briar Park – Book 1
By
Carrie King and Caroline Clark
©Copyright 2019
All Rights Reserved
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Chapter 1
England, 1888
Brother Thomas bent over his work, the quill dancing elegantly over the page was making inky cursive loops on the paper as he scratched the point of the feather across the surface. For a moment he stopped and ran a hand through his thick black hair. All the monks kept their hair short and without style. Such things were mere distractions and Thomas knew, that as usual, his hair was too long.
It didn’t seem to matter how often he cut it, it would grow and soon he would be receiving disapproving looks. Deciding to cut it tomorrow he went back to copying the text.
It was a beautiful book but complicated in places. The message was one of hope and it inspired him as he wrote. Deep in concentration, he did not hear the scrape and scrabble of claws on the stone floor behind him. So busy was he that he failed to notice the sudden deathly drop in temperature, and the stench of rotten meat that pervaded the air. None of this crossed his mind until it was too late.
The creature sprang from where it was crouched in the shadows, a terrifying blur of teeth and scaly limbs, and fixed itself to Brother Thomas’ back.
Agony opened his mouth to form a scream, and his hands flew to his throat in an attempt to claw away the excruciating pain. His scream was cut off before it even began, dying to a gurgle as the creature’s talons sliced through his voice box and a stream of hot blood gushed forth. The last thing Brother Thomas’ horrified gaze glimpsed was the sight of a pair of evil yellow eyes peering intently into his own. Pain seared through him as well as fear and disbelief. Holding onto his faith he gratefully surged forward to meet his Maker. With one last gurgle, the monk’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body fell heavily to the ground.
Viciously, the creature dragged its claws across Brother Thomas’ face, laying his flesh wide open. It leaned forward and sniffed deeply at the scent of fresh blood. Crouched over the monk’s body, it was a horrible and hellish sight. Scabby dun-colored skin covered a bony body, and the ribcage and shoulder blades were clearly visible through the thin, parchment-like covering. Long black talons protruded evilly from each curled paw. Two dark, horn-like bumps poked up from above its heavy brows. The mouth was wide, rimmed with sharp yellow fangs, and a long drop of drool hung from one tooth.
The creature hooked its claws into the monk’s shoulders and proceeded to drag his body away, into the shadows, a trail of blood glistening on the flagstones as it pulled the monk into the gloom of an alcove. The small room was soon filled with the dreadful sound of ripping flesh, gnashing teeth, and dripping blood.
Brother Luke balanced the boxes of beeswax candles in his arms and strode along the corridor towards the kitchen. His stomach was rumbling, and he hoped that he might find something to eat. Some cheese, a slice of cold meat, or an apple, perhaps. His mouth watered at the thought.
A tinge of guilt came and wen
t. Yes, he’d eaten more than his share at lunchtime, and he had both seen and felt Father Matthew’s frown as he’d helped himself to his third bowl of soup, but he was a big boy. He needed a little extra. Sure, some might look at his swelling belly and traces of a double chin with slight condemnation, but he did enjoy his food and didn’t like to restrict himself. At the thought of some tasty morsel he licked his lips in anticipation.
A sudden noise, a frenzied whispering, reached his ears and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. What was that unholy sound? Stopping mid-stride, he looked behind him. The corridor was bare, except for… he squinted his eyes. Was that a movement?
Something unseen and hidden was scrabbling in the shadows?
“Who is there?” he called, his voice slightly unsteady as his heart pounded in his chest. The sound of his voice echoed in the empty corridor.
Brother Luke waited, breath held, trying to hear over the blood that rushed through his ears. Every inch of his body told him something was wrong and yet his mind rejected such a thought.
The whispering grew louder.
Tendrils of fear curled around him like a vine. Deciding he didn’t want to find out what was there he turned and hurried on his way, towards the warmth and safety of the kitchen.
A sudden chill crept into the room and curled around Brother Ian’s ankles. Shaking off a shiver, he pulled his cloak closer around him. Being thin and a little older meant that he always felt the cold, though he should be used to it by now. Ian had been at the monastery since he was a boy of 5.
The candle on his desk flickered and died before springing back to life. Brother Ian started and then sniffed the air, at the sudden distasteful smell. Where was it coming from? The same place as the chill? He looked around, uneasy. Something didn’t feel right. Quickly, he crossed himself and murmured a short prayer.
Placing both feet firmly on the ground, he climbed down from his high stool and stood beside the desk for a moment. His room was stark, as each of the monk’s living quarters were, a tiny space with just a narrow bed, a cupboard for his few clothes, high desk and stool, and a large wooden cross hanging from the wall. Brother Ian glanced at the cross and then quickly looked back again, frowning. Somehow the decoration had fallen and pivoted and was now hanging upside down from its hook.
Heart pounding at such an omen, Brother Ian hitched up his cloak and removed his sandals. Climbing on top of the thin bed covering, he reached up and righted the cross, once again whispering a prayer. Something, a breath of wind or a premonition, scudded across the back of his neck. Shivering again and unable to quell the heavy sense of dread, he climbed back off the bed and replaced his sandals. For just a moment he was transported to his childhood, and he was sure that something was about to reach from under the bed and snatch at his ankles. Shaking his head to clear the thought, he picked up the candle from his desk and pulled open the heavy wooden door. He would go and find one of his brothers. He had clearly spent too much time alone.
Father Matthew pushed his rimless glasses back on his head and sighed. Raising his hands he rubbed at his eyes, he had been reading far too long, and they ached. Carefully he marked his place and closed the heavy tome and then scratched his bald head. Though he had lost his hair some twenty years ago, sometimes it still surprised him. Who wouldn’t lose their hair looking after all these monks? He chuckled to himself remembering some of the incidents over the years, though sometimes the memories were harder to find these last few months.
The candles in the sconces in the wall flickered and darkened, and he glanced towards the door, expecting to see it standing open and allowing a draught to flood into the room. The door remained firmly closed. A sudden chill, and an uncomfortable feeling inched its way up his spine. He shrugged his shoulders and wiggled on his seat. He needed to move about. It did a man of his age no good at all to sit for so long.
“Father Matthew!”
The door banged back on its hinges, slamming into the stone wall.
Father Matthew jumped, startled, and frowned crossly at the man who had just interrupted him with such impudence. The brothers knew they had to knock before entering a room. And the way the man was shouting at him… silence was golden in the monastery. “What in the Lord’s name is it, Brother Keith?”
The younger man’s face was white. His blond hair was stuck up and messy as if he had raked his hands through it, and his pale blue eyes were wide with shock. For a moment, Father Matthew thought the boy would turn and run from the room. He softened his tone. “Brother Keith, tell me what it is,” he coaxed.
“You must come. Something terrible has happened. You must come at once.” The words stuttered and stammered from the monk’s blue lips. His entire body, though stiff, seemed poised to flee.
Father Matthew stood up, pulling his robes around him, and collecting himself. He picked up his candle. “Show me.”
The two men hurried down long narrow corridors, the candles on the walls flickering and dancing as they breezed past. A commotion, a loud murmuring, reached Father Matthew’s ears as they turned another bend. He quickened his step, a feeling of utter foreboding taking hold of him. Something appalling had happened; he could sense it. He whispered his prayers quickly to himself as he strode along the hallway after the younger monk. Though he felt something awful was afoot, he knew he must remain calm.
Brother Nicholas was crouched low over a circle chalked on the floor of his room. His robes were discarded in a pile on the floor beside him and his sandals were cast carelessly beside the bed. A thick head of black hair was bent low over a fit and young body as he kneeled in the circle.
Behind him his desk was pushed up against the door, barring entry to anyone.
A ring of candles embraced the chalk circle and the monk murmured low, a repetitive chant of unfamiliar words falling from his lips. He rocked slightly on his haunches, his puckered genitals swinging loosely, and his skin raised and goose-bumped in the chill of the room. He stared, unblinking, at the symbols contained within the circle, and lifted his arms high.
From under the bed, red eyes watched him closely. A demonic cackle seeped out from the darkness, cutting through the air like a blunt knife. Claws scrabbled on the flagstones, and the candles flickered and then went out completely.
“Rise up, man-being,” a cold and monstrous voice filled the room, assaulting the monk’s ears and causing them to burn hotly. He stood up, dazed, unsure of where he was for a moment or two.
“You have summoned us. There is no going back.” The voice took on an almost humorous edge, the sarcastic and measured tone of a sadist who was pleased to witness someone else’s misfortune.
Brother Nicholas shivered, bone cold. He could see nothing in the now, pitch black room. If he reached out a hand, he was sure he could grasp the darkness, it was such a palpable thing. What was he doing? He rubbed his hands down his body, confused as to why he wasn’t wearing any clothes. A sudden whip-like impact stung him across his back, and he leaped forward, peering fearfully over his shoulder and into the absolute darkness.
The abhorrent voice continued speaking, wrapping itself around his skull and squeezing tightly as it echoed inside his head. “There is no going back.”
Chapter 2
Father Matthew sat at the head of the table, his face drawn and his demeanor old beyond his years. The monastery elders, Brother John and Brother Eric, sat with him. They appeared suddenly smaller, their grey hair thinning and their faces were drawn. Huddled in the far corner of the room, looking dazed and confused and too small for his robes, was Brother Nicholas.
Father Matthew exhaled deeply. This was all his fault. He should have ensured the door to the crypt was locked at all times. He had been careless. Ever since he’d first placed the Book of Khyra inside the dark basement room, he’d kept the key on a chain around his neck and it had never left his person.
The book was a legend and he knew the lure it could have, the way it could sing and enchant and draw young men near as su
re as a siren on a sea-splashed crag. He’d been in the crypt several days ago, and he remembered now that he had left suddenly, leaving the door unlocked for just a brief while as he’d answered an urgent call of nature. Those short minutes had been long enough for the book to call Brother Nicholas, one of the weaker and more inexperienced monks, to its side.