I put the note in my coat pocket and headed straight upstairs. I sprinted my way to the bedroom and I stopped in my tracks. The suitcase was on the bed, that's good. I went to the draw and the key was in there. Then I went to the vault and opened to find nothing. I sighed in frustration and slammed the vault shut. What I didn't expect was the slams echo vibrated through the walls. I waited silently for something else to happen, but nothing did; no cold presence, no scraping chair. I checked under the pillow and nada.
I grabbed my a5 note book and pen and went into Dad's room. I found the plans for the Ashford estate flopped on the dusty table by the window. I put it on the bed and drew out a mini sketch in my notebook. I wasn't going to wander around the estate with the big plans in my hands so I condensed it to size. As I finished drawing the last part I heard a crash in my room, like if someone knocked over a glass object and it crashed onto the floor. I put the a1 sheet under dad's suitcase and crept silently to my room.
I peeked in and looked at everything. The floor was spotless, no broken glass anywhere. I was confused, maybe I was hearing things. I strolled towards the window and looked outside. And that's when I saw something very odd. I never noticed that there was a cemetery out in the massive acres of land. But what was most odd was that I saw a shadowy figure creep into the cemetery. I glanced at my note book and turned the page over. I wrote a peculiar sighting. I felt a story brewing inside my bones as I wrote in bullet point, creeping shadow in Ashford cemetery.
I turned away from the window and glanced up to see the door creak slightly back and forth five times. My eyes popped out of my sockets. I don't believe in ghosts, I told my mind thousands of times. For the next bullet point; swinging door in need for repair. Then I heard a deep rumble, like the sound of a monster's belly, from the vault. But then my eye came across the chair. I witnessed the chair isolate itself from its desk, it actually scrapped back, like physically scrape back as if it had a mind of its own. I was horror-struck to the floor. I gulped and decided to make it for the door.
I got out safe and sound, always repeating I don't believe in ghosts. I mean there has to be a reasonable explanation as to the grumble sound, moving chair, the shadow figure - oh gosh I complete forgot about that. I calmed myself down, breathing in deeply and headed downstairs. I glanced at my mini map and followed the route out to the back door. I glimpsed at my watch as I reached the back, 10:01.
I calculated that electrician Bob Brown would be coming in two hours so I decided to go out exploring. I opened the door to welcome the crisp December wind whip past my face. I shuddered with the cold as I wrapped my coat tightly around me. I didn't have the faintest idea as to what I was doing. I mean there was a cemetery out in the massive acre of a back garden waiting to be explored and I didn't care about the ghosts, because I don't believe in them and well think about it, if the locals around here said that the Ashford estate was 'haunted' then what better way to prove them wrong by actually going to the most 'haunted' part of the Estate; the family cemetery.
So I made my way through the one foot deep of crisp white snow, admiring my monstrous footprints along the way and I saw the cemetery coming closer. I felt my hot breath against the winter cold and strived with all my might till I arrived at the huge iron gates that read in faded script The Ashford Cemetery. I got my breath back and I was just about to pull the gates when I noticed a rusty bulky padlock joining the gate together and on top of that, a heavy rusty chain wrapped around six times. I looked around for anything to break in but all I found was snow and more snow falling lightly on my head. With frustration I looked back at the Estate and my conscience told me to get back but my heart was telling me to get inside the cemetery without fail.
I thought about picking the lock, but I didn't have a safety pin or anything like that. Then as a last resort, I decided to climb the four metre gate. I took my long coat off and slipped it though the bars and then checked the time, 10:24. I shivered with the cold but that didn't stop me from climbing the darn thing. Thankfully my long boots had really good grip and they were wedge. So I got to the top and I was petrified to find spikes, well blunt spikes from the gate, repeating every ten centimetres. I didn't want to look down as I was slightly afraid of heights so I concentrated on not cutting myself and so I climbed over to the other side, closing my eyes and relying on my legs to safely lead me the way down.
YOU ARE READING
Aspiring writer Freya Telford has a lot on her plate: mum left, her house caught fire, Uncle Johnny died: plus she's inherited Ashford Estate in Kent that's apparently haunted like a horror show. With her father Steve and younger brother Ryder, they...