The Haunting of Berkeley Square

By Dangerous Walker

Based on the terrifying 'true' stories.
Four students enter the fabled 50 Berkeley Square in order to spend the night and gain enough research to write their Masters theses. They want to find ghosts, want to prove the existence of them. They do not cower at the things that go bump in the night, but run to them. Wish to document them.
And they find what they are looking for, more than they could have dreaded. For as the night stretches on and the ghosts of the House torment them, something else is coming.
An ancient evil that makes that House its home.
There's something in the cellar and IT is rising.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dangerous Walker
• Release date: Jan 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310005039

Dangerous Walker

WELCOME.Welcome to the Library of the Universes.In it you will find many tales; adventures and horrors; love and loss. You will find heroes and heroines of all temperaments and backgrounds. You will fly through space; fight in wars; face beasts and ghosts.And as you read, you will find yourself drawn into this place, this Library of ancient Lore, and discover the truths that lie in the Universes and between them. Tales of ancient Evil that may still rise again and the Good that opposes it.Through the words and the pages will you lift the veil and then, O weary traveler, you might find that which you seeked, though I warn you, you might find more than you wished.But come then, find a seat, make yourself at home. Let me show you some books that might take your fancy and let's go on some adventures, you and I.

Book preview

Epilogue

‘Once the Morning Comes’ (short story)

EXTRACTS FROM OTHER NOVELS

The Walkerverse (learn more and connect with the author)

Books by the Author:

Adventures in Space

1. The Trimedian

2. Tears of War

3. Strangers

4. Pray for Rain (part 1)

The Book of Five Worlds

1. The Foreshadow of Balance

2. Five Tasks

3. The Road between Gods and Monsters

Southern Hunter

In the Valley of Elah

The Haunting of Berkeley Square

The Library of the Universes (and Other Tales of the King Imminent)

PROLOGUE - 1840

It is a cold night in London, the fog hugs the streets and wise people stay inside enjoying warm fires and families.

Others find themselves enjoying ale and friendship in any one of the city’s many pubs. It is in one of these, in the Holborn area, that Sir Robert Warboys and his two friends sit drinking.

And do you believe it? Jeffery Anderson asks him.

Of course, I don’t, Sir Robert replies taking a large swallow of beer. Merely native myth.

I know of a story closer to home, Michael Roberts tells them leaning in. That of Berkeley Square.

The Thing? Anderson asks and Roberts nods.

They say that a man, a Mr. Dupres, lived there and his younger brother had gone mad, perhaps from war, violently mad, Roberts takes a sip.

Get on with it, man, Warboys tells him.

Well, he took over charge of his brother and had to lock him in the utmost room. They could not but let him out so they fed him through a hole in the door. Poor chap died in there, some say from lack of eating, others say he tore himself apart over many years. Fingers off, then toes, Roberts shudders at the thought.

It is entirely plausible, Warboys offers, but what is the point of this yarn?

They say, Anderson joins, that it has been haunted ever since, perhaps even before. Neighbours tell of strange noises as if things are being dragged along corridors or down stairs, of doors banging and the signal bells ringing though no one lives there.

Oh, what unadulterated poppycock, snorts Warboys. You two are young and foolish, hiding behind your mother’s skirts rather than adventuring.

Fine, you go and stay in that upper room, the haunted room, see how brave you are, Anderson challenges angrily.

My dear boy, I am merely twenty years of age and I need not tell you the things I have seen and done. You think I believe in ghosts? I don’t, but I believe in money.

One hundred guineas, Roberts says for his pride is equally hurt.

Then I wholeheartedly accept your preposterous harebrained challenge! Warboys raises his flagon of ale into the air with a grin full of gusto.

They pay for their beers and stumble out into the street. The cold air hits them and Anderson realises quite how drunk he has become and wonders briefly whether this was a good idea after all.

They reach Berkeley Square as the lamps are being lit and find the house. It is tall and adjoined to those each side. The square is quite lovely and upmarket except for this house, this house has seen a much better day and is in good need of a clean and paint. Anderson shudders, not for the cold, but for the truth. Why else would no one want to buy and live in such a luxuriant square in the heart of London?

After knocking a man opens the door. He is a tall, thin man with greyish skin, but black, black hair.

Are you the owner of this property? Sir Robert asks. He has sobered up somewhat, but is still drunk enough to be belligerent. Even sober he is quite belligerent, but it has got him so far so young that he sees nothing to change.

No, sir, I am but the landlord of the residence.

And no one lives here?

No, sir.

Very well then, I would like to sleep in your upper room for the night.

That is not a good idea, sir.

Why? Because it is haunted? Warboys laughs.

Because it is not a good idea, the man merely replies.

Come, let us go, this was a foolish idea, Anderson tries.

Hush, replies Sir Robert. "Look, my good man, there is no such thing as ghosts and this is your chance to prove it. Maybe sell it on.

Plus I will give you a nights rent and some pounds to do the place up, it is in a dreadful state.

Very well, sir, it is you not I that will be sleeping there, the landlord says and steps aside.

They walk into the front room which is cosy enough and the landlord wanders off.

Very well, Roberts says. If we are doing this then we will do it right. You will ring the service bell once if you see anything and we will come and see it as well. You will ring it twice if you need help.

This is nonsense; do not come on the first bell as you might scare the spirit off. But I will ring it if I see something, which I will not because I will be fast asleep.

Take this with you, the Landlord says re-entering.

What is this? A pistol? I need not a pistol for sleep, my good man.

There will be no staying up there tonight nor any night if you take it not.

Very well, sighs Sir Robert and takes the pistol. Good night, gentlemen.

With that he and the landlord take to the stairs while Jeffery Anderson and Michael Roberts take chairs.

The landlord joins them and they talk about the area, about how London is growing and the price of properties. Until forty-five minutes past the stroke of twelve when they hear the tinkling of a service bell in the kitchen.

He sees something, Anderson jumps from his chair.

Or he is jesting with us, Roberts replies sleepily.

Come let us look, Anderson says and so the three walk out to the bottom of the stairs.

As they get there the service bell rings twice and then starts ringing continuously. The three men run up the stairs, (the bell falls silent) to the landing and up to the next floor. As they reach the third and top floor a gunshot rings out from the front room and they speed up, slamming the door wide open.

Sitting wedged into the corner of the room sits Sir Robert Warboys, gun in one hand, the bell pull, ripped from the ceiling, in the other. His lips are pulled back in a rictus of terror and eyes popped out so that they dangle upon his cheeks.

His friends run to him and the landlord looks across the room to see what he had fired at. There is merely a bullet lodged in the wall.

Sir Robert Warboys is quite dead.

Dead from terror.

CHAPTER I

The van drives around the small park in the centre of London’s famous Berkeley Square. The park is empty of people and of greenery at this time in winter and the sky hangs low over the branches, the clouds almost willing to reclothe the naked limbs. The flowerbeds lay empty, their inhabitants wrapped up warmly deep in their bed of soil, waiting for life to return to the toiling city.

The van pulls up to the curb and two young men get out. They stretch in the dull warmth of the sun and look around the square. Then back to the house that they stand before. It is well kept, tall like the other houses, joined on both sides by its neighbours. There is an iron railing and above that, on the wall by the door, a sign reads the name of an antiquarian book seller’s.

Scary, Jon Baker sarcastically shivers and then smiles.

We’ll see, was all Jack Benson replies and with that he pushed the door open.

►▼◄

The walls of the large front room were covered in books and there were four free standing bookshelves that ran across the room, blocking any view of the back wall. The two men walked between these looking at the old books.

Never heard of any of them, Baker whispered.

Me neither.

Surely if they were any good they would have stayed in publication, why would anyone pay good money for this stuff?

Jack Benson shrugged and walked around the last bookcase.

Beauty, it is said, is in the eye of the beholder, an old, thin man said from behind the counter at the back of the room. Like that, might the greatness of wisdom not be amongst the masses?

Point being? Jon asked.

That popular books stay in print, not necessarily good ones.

Please ignore my friend; Jack Benson, he said holding out a hand.

The old, thin man looked at it and then looked at Benson.

I will not greet you, for if it were up to me you would not be here to greet.

OK, Jack replied dropping his hand. So you’re not the owner.

I am not. I am merely head book merchant, my name is Ralph Higgens.

Pleased to meet you, sir.

So, Ralphy, you wouldn’t let us stay here if it was up to you? Jon asked. Why not?

We do not discuss such things.

Don’t we? I mean, how’d you know that? We’ve only just met. No one told me, he looked at Jack. Anyone tell you?

It is not for me to discuss. I am not the owner, Higgens said with empty distain.

Sorry, what is not for you to discuss? Jon pushed.

Leave it, Jon, Benson warned.

His companion liked to push people for his own amusement. Friend would be too strong a word, in truth he didn’t know him all that well. Nor did he particularly want to.

This is a respectable booksellers, Higgens said. That is my interest here and my interest only.

Hard to get an audience with the owner though, Jack said.

A mysterious man, Jon said eyes wide and smiling.

I am not one for gossip, Higgens replied shortly, looking back down at his paperwork.

I don’t think he likes us, Jon grinned at Jack.

I do not. Closing early to let you in, losing business. I shudder to think what our clients would think, letting ghost hunters in here.

I wouldn’t say that we’re ghost hunters, Jack said seriously.

And what would you call yourselves?

This is for our Master’s Degree thesis.

On ghosts? Higgens snorted. A fine educational system it has become.

Not quite, we’re psychology students; our theses are on parapsychology and the effects of myth and fear upon the mind.

Fascinating, I’m sure, Higgens said looking down at his paperwork.

Would you like to join us then? Jon smiled.

Here? At night? I am old, but I am not a fool.

So you do believe the stories, Jack probed.

All finished, Ralph, a young woman said as she walked out from the back. She was pretty with her blonde hair tucked under a hat. Ahh, are these the ghost hunters?

I wouldn’t call us ghost hunters, Jack repeated.

More ghostbusters, Jon said and flashed her a smile. She laughed.

Whatever you want.

It’s a film, Jon said dejectedly.

I don’t watch many films, too silly, she replied. What of you two? Are you two silly or serious?

I can be anything you want, beautiful, Jon replied.

Really? And what about you? she asked Jack.

I just try and be myself.

Now that’s a little more interesting.

Enough of this, you young people would get further in this world if you spent more time thinking with your brain and less time chasing ghosts.

But you won’t stay here tonight, Jack pushed.

No, I won’t. I have better things to be doing than bloody foolish escapades.

I, however, am always up for an escapade, Jon winked at the girl who smiled coyly.

Come, Adeline, time to go. Get your things.

Adeline disappeared once again into the back of the shop.

Here are the keys, including one for the top room, he handed them to Jack. "And be careful, no mucking about, these are very expensive books.

I will be back in the morning and have keys to let myself in. I expect everything to be back to normal and you all gone before opening hour.

It will be. Thank you again for letting us stay.

Ralph Higgens barked a laugh.

Don’t thank me, thank Mr. Du Pré. If it were up to me I wouldn’t let your sort set foot in here. Day or night.

And with that Adeline came back into the room and she and Ralph Higgens walked to the door.

I hope not to see you in the morning, he said and left.

Have fun tonight, boys, Adeline smiled impishly and followed him out.

Well, he seemed nice, Jon said.

You mean she.

Yes. Yes I do.

Shut up, Jon.

►▼◄

They went back out to find Amanda Boden and William Smith at the back of the van unloading equipment.

Well, about time, Smith commented setting down a monitor.

Oh, Billy Willy, we had to make sure it was safe for your sensibilities, Jon goaded.

Screw you, Jon.

Enough already, we’ve got a long night together, Jack told them.

He didn’t know how this was going to work out, Jon was a prick and William hated him. It didn’t help that they sat on opposite sides of the fence. But it was William’s fault; he had let Jon goad him into inviting him to join them. To prove himself. To shut Jon up once and for all.

And I’d like to get this stuff in there before then, Amanda said.

They all grabbed equipment and carried it in through the shop and out to the back. Back and forth they went, setting the equipment up in a small back room that seemed to be used mainly for making refreshments.

Put the kettle on would you, Mand? Jon said.

How about I shove it up your arse?

Kinky.

She merely sighed and Jon went over and filled the kettle.

We can relax later, help plug these monitors in, William said walking into the room.

Whatever, he walked over to the monitors and picked up a lead. Where does this one go, Billy?

William, he said from the door.

Bill.

William.

Just where does it go? F’fucks sake.

Into TV 4, red into red, yellow into yellow, think you can handle that?

You’re beautiful when you’re angry.

Someone remind me why he’s here? William cursed as he walked out.

►▼◄

They built up a wall of monitors and plugged in a laptop to control them. Then they began running leads out. First into the bookshop and then up the stairs that stood in the short hallway between the bookshop and the back room.

Amanda walked into one of the rooms on the first floor. It was at the front and was appointed as a living room. No doubt it was for entertaining rich clients or letting people sit and peruse books before they bought them. She had done some research on the book shop and there were a number of very expensive books here. You would want to have a flick through before you dropped over ten grand on a book.

The wallpaper was simple, as was the furniture. Simple yet elegant. On the walls were three paintings, two were of the house itself, one at night, one in daylight, both from the park. The third was of a woman