The Burning Web: Haunted Mind Mysteries, #1

I wrote this story for the A to Z Blogging Challenge 2014, for which I chose a theme of ghosts. I wanted to share my own ghost story with my blog visitors during the challenge and I'm a fan of traditional ghost stories, like M R James and Susan Hill. Thus, I decided to try my hand at my own traditional -style story with its own haunted house. However, I wanted to put a modern spin on it as well, which I hope comes through my characters and their situations.

I've modified the story from its original 26-part delivery and added in some more colour that can be afforded in novel format. I hope you enjoy my offering.

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Payment Due

Tris blinked into the bright afternoon light and shielded his eyes with one hand as the natural shine was joined by dozens of flash bulbs. He'd tried to prepare himself for the glare he knew would be outside, but his head was thumping, had been since he'd been called back into the courtroom to hear the verdict. He was so tired he just wanted to get home and collapse next to Xander on the sofa. Yet, from the way Xander was gripping his hand and pulling him towards the top of the court building steps, Tris knew it wasn't to be. He meekly followed his husband in front of the melee of reporters.

Each burst of camera light was like pins poking into his retinas, so Tris watched the back of Xander's left ear. All he could really see was a dark patch of hair and his husband's chocolate skin rather than any detail, since his eyesight was shifting in and out of focus. He had no more words, no comments for the horde that had been dogging him since this whole tragic, horrible business had begun, so he let Xander speak for him.

People were yelling questions from all directions and calling for them to turn this way and that, but Xander held up one hand in what to most would have looked like a very confident gesture for silence. Since the other one was clasped around Tris' hand like a vice, Tris knew better. It worked though, and the crowd rumbled into mostly silence.

Tristan and I, Xander began, since it had been a long time since anyone reporting on the case had called him DC McCall, would firstly like to thank everyone who has stood by us through the last eighteen months. It has been a difficult time, when Tris has been tried both by the media and by the law, and finally, justice has been done: as has always been maintained by Tris and I, he is innocent of any crime.

He still shot an innocent boy! someone yelled from the back of the crowd and more flashes went off.

Tris kept his attention on Xander, forcing his face to stay straight, despite the knot of sickness that knowledge kept in the bottom of his stomach. Xander had to have felt him tremble though, because he squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

As Tris has stated on many occasions, he wholeheartedly regrets the awful sequence of events that led to this terrible incident, but Abdi San ran at him holding a gun during a night of terrible violence on the New Cross estate, Xander added, tone firm, authoritative. A jury has now agreed with us that under those conditions, Tris had no chance of telling that gun was a replica and he reacted lawfully while defending his own life, those of his fellow officers and members of the public.

A whole wave of more yelled questions started at that and Tris cringed. He rubbed his face, eyes half closed and chill sweat running down his back under the smart suit that was becoming unbearably tight at the collar. He didn't want to think about this now, not any more. What had happened had been dissected every which way by two enquiries and, finally, thanks to public pressure, his trial for manslaughter.

Yet, then one question cut over all the others, a shrill, young voice demanding, McCall, would you still have shot Abdi San if he'd been white?

Tris couldn't help it then, he reacted to the shock of that accusation and glanced around, wide-eyed, for its source.

One thing my husband is not is racist! Xander barked back defensively, sounding a lot less in control this time.

People were yelling at him again, but Tris needed to find that one accuser, to meet his eye and tell him exactly where he could shove his stereotypes. He winced at the daggers of light exploding in his face as he scanned the crowd, but most of the pain was inside and it had to come out. Everything was pretty much a blur, a mess of pinks and greys and brilliant white, but, suddenly, Tris' world clarified on a face that still haunted his dreams.

Tris froze as, between the ranks of the unknown reporters, his gaze fell upon a frozen, cold stare. Abdi San, paler than that fateful evening when the Asian teenager had surprised him, no scream on those thin lips now, but the boy needed no voice to challenge Tris right then. Conscience did a much better job than any reporter and all his grief and fear hit Tris at once. Heart hammering, body shaking, the rest of Tris' world exploded in brilliance a hundred times worse than any flashbulb and he was left with that lifeless, denunciatory scrutiny boring into his soul. Nothing could take away the pain then, sharp and clear as it was, and the worst part of it was Tris knew he deserved it. He had taken a life, a young life that stood before him, phantom accuser, and there was only one price. Tris surrendered to the agony and everything went black.

New Beginnings

From the passenger seat, Tris watched the trees go by. Like a latticed tunnel, they lined the single-track road that Xander was navigating, most of the leaves now gone after the early Autumn storms, but their branches tangling overhead. Tris found himself leaning back in his seat and looking up at the way the frosty light broke through in thin shards. He'd never have even taken the time to notice before, but he smiled as the beauty of the morning rippled by.

The dappled world only added to the excitement building in Tris and he could feel his smile getting wider and wider the closer he and Xander came to their future. He looked across at his husband, who was concentrating on the road. Apparently, though, Xander still had half an eye on him, because, without even glancing over, Xander immediately told Tris, Easy does it today. It's a house, not an excuse for a marathon.

Yes, Dad, Tris teased back, petulant-teenager strong in his tone.

I mean it, Xander carried on and he did glance at Tris this time, worry in his dark eyes. Promise me, if you feel anything, you'll let me know.

That anxious glance tempered Tris' excitement and he shifted in his seat at the reminder all was not as it had once been with his health.

I promise, he mumbled, his hand rubbing over the top of the walking stick that was resting against his right thigh.

Look, I don't want to rain on your parade, Love, Xander rushed on and reached over to squeeze Tris' knee as he steered them round a long bend. This is important to me too, and I'm as pumped as you, but let's take this visit one step at a time. The place is going to be a mess with all the work that's going on. Don't be disappointed.

Tris laughed gently at the ever so slight condescension in Xander's manner. He'd become used to it in the last five months, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to call his husband on it.

One thing this bloody aneurysm didn't break was my sense of perspective, Xan, he quipped, determined not to let his mood slip.

Oh really, Xander teased right on back, the corner of his mouth twitching. I'll remind you of that when you-

Tris didn't hear the rest of what Xander said, because just then they turned right between a pair of rusted, but ornate iron gates and, as soon as they were past the hedge of trees, not fifty yards away, up rose all three Victorian Gothic stories of Berwick House to greet him. Tris sat forward a little, dropping his gaze under the top edge of the windscreen to get a full view of their soon-to-be home as it loomed over their approach and, blood pressure be damned, Tris couldn't help it, he was excited by what he saw.

The place actually had four levels if you counted the cellar; he'd poured over all the pictures that he'd made Xander take on the previous visits he hadn't been fit enough to attend. He'd seen those images so many times that he knew the layout by heart, but this was his first view of the place for real and it was breath-taking. She wasn't a beauty. If she had been a woman, she would have been what the Victorians referred to as 'handsome', if somewhat shabby at the present. The surrounds of her bow windows, once a gleaming cream stone which contrasted with the grey of her walls, were green with moss and mould and some of the external sills were missing pieces. Still, Tris had seen past the decay from years of neglect as soon as he'd seen the advert in the paper and it had been love at first sight.

As soon as Xander drew the car to a stop on the weedy gravel in front of the house, Tris pushed open his door and put out his good foot. A little more hastily than he knew was advisable, he reached up to the top edge of the door and then hauled himself out of his seat, dragging his gammy leg and walking stick after him. Looking up, he let the door swing shut behind him and shifted his weight as he shoved the foot of his stick into the gravel and leant on it. This was it, the moment he'd been planning for so long, the reason he had been pushing himself to get fit. Months of rehab and a lot of dreaming had gone into Berwick House and finally he was here.

As Xander crunched round the back of their car and joined him, Tris grinned widely and felt the first flush of real hope he'd had in a long time. He grabbed for Xander's hand, squeezing tightly, and breathed, Finally.

Xander smiled too and took his own glance upward, his profile revealing at least a tinge of disbelief.

Y'know, renovating an old pile like this is somewhat beyond the gentle rehabilitation recommended for those recovering from a subarachnoid haemorrhage, Xander murmured and slipped a protective arm round Tris' waist.

Tris continued to grin though: nothing was going to ruin this moment.

You know me, I'd have died of boredom without all the planning to keep me going, he countered, knowing he had to be sounding like an over-excited schoolboy.

Just remember you did almost die, okay? Xander sighed and tightened his hold for a moment.

Tris shrugged, but didn't reply, there was no need. Instead, he turned his attention to the large door with peeling paint, but with what looked like an original lion-headed knocker. It had once been grand, just like the house, but now there was something not quite right and it took Tris a few seconds to realise what it was: the door wasn't straight in the frame, in fact, it was so twisted there wasn't a hope in hell of it opening. Tris glanced sideways again, and from Xander's squint he knew his husband had come to the same conclusion.

Round the back? he suggested.

Xander nodded and so they headed past the right rank of bow windows and followed the gravel round the side of the house. The path was uneven, fading into grass at times, so Tris took it slowly, or