Willow Hall

By Maree Kennedy

Darcys life is in tatters. Just when things were starting to look up for him, his life takes a backward step. For the first 16 years of his life during his incarceration at the orphanage his name was Edward Willow.

He tells a story of how he and his friends were treated while living under the Mother Superiors rules. While there, he was befriended by an entity who manifested itself as a ghost. Her name was Tilly, she played with him, and treated him like a brother. At first he thought she was one of the orphans. He grew up learning she was more than a ghost, she had the power to tell him the truth about the history of the building and one of its past inhabitants sinister secrets through his dreams.

He tried to escape when he chased the priests car but the gates closed shut in his face and almost broke his nose. Later he started suffering dizzy spells and recurring head pain that may have been the result of the incident. He vowed that one day he will find a way out of Willow Hall if it killed him. In the meantime took the gardeners to make new friends. To occupy himself he decided to take on a tour of discovery in the attic with his best friend. Together they began to unravel the secret of the mansion before it was an orphanage. They thought they stumbled on some treasure until they discovered a large wooden sign that said Ledderman Manor.

It was when two other friends he was introduced to, go missing. Darcy began his search for them but it was futile. He asked the senior bullies of their whereabouts however Darcy was made fun of and told to mind his business. He didnt want to let go because he and his mate vowed their circle of trust and feared they may have been killed. When he was in the middle of waxing the balustrades and bannister of the grand staircase, his best friend told him the boys turned up. Its when Darcy hopped into his bed he noticed strap marks on the torso of one of the victims but he didnt quiz him yet. Later the boy caved in and told him what happened and cautioned Darcy and his friends to be aware of the Mother Superior because she caught them out during their discovery after the boys heard noises above their dormitory during the night. Darcy heard them too and began a deeper discovery of the mansion and found out how the nuns lived a luxurious life in their living quarters while the orphans ate measly meals a dog wouldnt touch. They suffered malnutrition, sicknesses, and other diseases. Sister Bernadette was the only nun who really cared about them but when she had had enough, she left Willow Hall to live out her years in a convent.

Darcy had all ready been reprimanded and severely punished by the Mother Superior and Father Delaney had a stern talk with him but Darcy told him a few home truths about the Mother Superior. Father Delaney has the new girl removed from the orphanage because he has located her next of kin a little while after the accident where she lived but her parents died. Darcy thought he took her away because they were getting too close for his liking.

Darcys other two friends who were the youngest twins were taken from the dormitory after they were seen by a passing stranger who claimed he was their father. He tried to take his boys back but the Mother Superior conceded they were better off staying with her where they were protected from their mother. The gardener recognised who the Mother Superior really was but he and her secretary sister Lucia couldnt do a thing about it. He later solved the mystery of the passing stranger and was frightened something bad was going to happen. He asked the Mother Superior but she denied anything was wrong.

She put a plan into action to have the children removed from the premises to have them driven to the church rectory when Father Delaney lived. A bus was delivered and hidden among the shrubs so that sister Lucia could quietly usher the children on and away to safety. They were given a specif

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483610498

Maree Kennedy

I have lived in Ballarat Victoria with my husband Anthony and two daughters for thirteen years. Prior to that we lived in an outer suburb of Melbourne called Endeavour Hills. For as long as I can remember I have had a unique passion for writing. At first it was a hobby until I ventured out on a serious vocation of novel writing. I applied almost everything I learned from courses, books magazines and everything I could get my hands on to better my skills toward the craft I love best.

Book preview

Chapter One

I ’ve been told we choose our lives before we’re born. I sit in wonder whether there’s a purpose in the logic. If I could prove it’s correct, then I have lost all comprehension of life all together. I mean, I’m lead to believe I chose to be born to a mother who decided she didn’t want me. Then why would I allow myself to be punished if it could’ve been avoided? Let me tell you my story.

The first sixteen years of my life were spent in an orphanage. Since then I have been battling my search for answers to questions about my true identity, and the mystery of Willow Hall.

I lived alone until a blind boarder wanted advertisement I lodged in the only newspaper in this puny community was at last answered. It was a meagre twenty page rag called the Morning Star, with a red emblem of the rooster on the top; and with more classified ads and puzzles you could poke a pencil at. Many people applied but none were suitable until I shook hands on a house sharing deal with a six foot tall hunky man of about twenty five years old with raven locks, striking blue eyes and perfect teeth. Usually it would take more than just a handshake to convince me, but for a reason unbeknown to me, he was the one. Even though we led different lives, our philosophies were identical, except of course when the subject was about women.

The actual day Tommy moved in, I held the door open as he passed by me and flung his white Persian cat in my arms before I could tell him No pets allowed. Obviously he failed to acknowledge the rules I set out about domestic freeloaders. I was forced to make an exception. I was in no mood to have the finger pointed at me for suggesting the feline be gassed to death due to my selfish behaviour. Besides I couldn’t live with a lie I was allergic to animals. Fortunately for Snowbell our temperaments blended well. He became an excellent companion and our garbage disposal unit. Most times he’d wait beneath the table for our leftovers. Tommy said Snowbell was the only cat he knew that sat to a worm tablet and his annual vaccinations. As we whiled the night hours in quiet slumber, Snowbell hunted every crevice of the house. Most mornings he’d surprise us with a headless rodent of some sort… then later found bigger animals to drag through the cat flap Tommy crafted in the back door.

A few months sailed by since he first moved in. Everything was going swimmingly until one night my nightmares made their viscous return since I left Willow Hall.

Tommy came bounding through my bedroom door. Slightly dazed, I could feel his sweaty palms tapping on my cheeks, begging me to wake up. He reached for the pitcher of ice water on the chest of drawers, threatening to drench me with it. He even had the audacity to tell me he saved me from choking myself with the bed sheet I discovered wrapped round my neck. The yelling and shouting at what seemed to be in my nightmares, started to piss him off. I certainly wasn’t the sort of house mate he bargained for when he agreed to sign the lodger agreement.

He said, ‘the least you can do squire, is thank me for saving your miserable life.’

Although I was half dazed, I stared hard at him, mainly because I tried to focus against the bright light beaming into my eyes.

‘Yesterday night you were yelling and cussing; you woke me up man. ‘You,’ he said, pointing his finger at me. ‘You need to get help.’

I glared at him and pleaded with him, ‘So… I had a bad dream. He set the jug down, and like Paul Henreid in Now Voyager he lit two cigarettes simultaneously; instead of passing it to me, he shoved one in my mouth. I took a long drag, and did my favourite thing; puffed smoke rings into the air. Tommy watched me then told to stop showing off and finish it, so we both could at least get some sleep.

That morning I woke to Tommy’s grandmother’s clock. I wondered how it still barely functioned, considering the number of years she held it in her possession before she surrendered it to Tommy. It took pride of place on the mantel above the chimney. Fortunately he listened to my plea to get a new one. I nearly got my marching orders for being late for work several times.

The bed covers were on the floor but the worst of it was when I found myself butt naked and had no idea how I got that way. Between the short time it took to pick up the covers from the menacing chill of the timber floor beneath my feet, and throw on a robe, the kettle began to whistle loudly. Tommy frantically opened and closed cabinets. Obviously he still hadn’t grasped the concept of memory yet. I thought it best to help him. His big hands plus the lack of patience and the fatigue alarmed Snowbell, sending him into a scampering fit. He jumped out through the hole in the laundry door and hid in the garden.

‘I trust you’re finding your way around the kitchen Tom.’ I said impatiently.

‘Hello mate, did I wake you? Time to get up anyway, take a seat, I’ve got a surprise for you; bacon and eggs for breakfast. Yummy.’

Tommy’s rambling was merely in the distance as my thoughts reverted back to how I came to be in this house…

As I looked back on my life thus far, a distinct memory of my time at Willow Hall snuck back in my mind. I was told never to lie, especially to my elders. I began to notice that most times the other orphan children and I were left to our own devices. The Mother Superior was more involved in her own matters and that of her colleagues to be worried about our welfares. Who then would supervise us little savages? I thought I wised up to the old hag.

I let my best pal Caleb in on a deep secret. He agreed, since he refused to be left behind. When Neale and Kirk eventually caught wind of our secret, nothing, not even the fear of the Mother Superior could keep them in her lair, so together, the four of us liars marched out the gates of hell to freedom.

My five foot ten inch height blended well as I walked among the seniors. I thought every step through my escape. I was almost seventeen and I recall arguing with sister Lucia that I was intelligent enough to sit the exams. I learned fast to arrive to where I was when I left Willow Hall. I told a white lie; surely God wouldn’t condemn me to hell because I added a tiny year, just for the sake of saving my hide.

After making it past the steel barriers of Willow Hall I came to realize I was on my own and needless to say, homeless. I figured that if I was to make it on my own, I needed to find a way to survive, even if I had to beg borrow or steal. What did I know about life outside the confines of the orphanage? I was akin to a refugee with no knowledge of time and could care lesser about what day it was. Like soldiers, my closest mates and I fell out of line with the others. I wished them luck; we shook hands and parted company. I was blinded by the tears welling in my eyes; however I proceeded to walk toward a street sign that pointed anyone to the direction of the town’s main street. I began to leg it down to the five mile length of dusty dirt road to civilization. I turned once more, watching my friends growing smaller and smaller in the distance. I kept my eyes on the trio as they disappeared round the corner.

That same afternoon I learned how a boy could stand at a busy corner for hours, flogging newspapers to people passing by, and drivers stopping their automobiles for a mere second at the traffic lights, eager to grab an issue hot off the press. If that was risking one’s young life from being reduced to road kill or be paid a measly bob at the end of the day; any boy could do it, as I was about to prove to myself. I stopped to exchange a few sentences with the lad. A Half hour later I found myself in a corner on the opposite side of the main road flogging my bundles of the Morning Star to every Tom, Dick and Harriett.

That year winter soon turned to spring and spring to summer. At nights I hid in the park bushes and slept. I made the park my home until I was able to scrounge enough dough to board with an old lady whose advertisement I found in the newspaper for a lodger. All I had were the clothes on my back and soon I was able to buy more with the measly amount I was earning. Later I got through my nursing course working part time in a supermarket. If it weren’t for Mavis to take on her grandson Jack, he would’ve been made a ward of the state. It was a mystery how his parents disappeared. Their remains were never found; Jack thought they were still alive somewhere. He was the laziest fat moody person I’d ever met and if he earned a sixpence for every time Mavis told him so, he would’ve been rich.

I myself never dared to utter a word against a youth who easily measured the height and the width of a door. He more than towered over Mavis’ five feet one inch stature. Not that he scared her; she knew how to keep him calm and coax him to chop wood for the fire. During breakfast I would watch her comb her long gray strands and twirl them into a rope between her long thin nimble fingers, ravelling it up into a tight bun on the top of her head. On the day of her 80th birthday she lay perfectly still and unresponsive. I hadn’t kept in touch with Jack since the funeral. He left and never returned. One thing that stuck out in my memory of Mavis was as she once said in casual conversation that being psychic is truly a gift and should be treated with respect. I begged to differ and thought of it as a burden. I never bothered to ask who she was referring to as being psychic. I was about ready to leave the house when suddenly I received an unexpected surprise in the mail. A letter from Mavis revealed the property would be willed to me. She added that I was like a son she never had. I was touched to tears and above all lost for words.

Tommy interrupted my subconsciousness by slipping a bowl of bacon and eggs beneath my chin. ‘You know Squire, when I first met you I thought I was in for a better chance than living with that screwball who thought I was his wife in his past life, but you and your nightmares make her look like a lazy stroll in the park.’

I wasn’t surprised when I saw as I picked the eggs up with my fork, a hairline crack in the middle of the plate and chipped off bits from the edges. I wasn’t going to let the usual day to day wear and tear spring tears to my eyes, but Tommy being careless with my new crockery was putting a large hole in the lining of my wallet.

Then one day Tommy brought a large wooden crate of second hand crockery from his mother when she did a major sort out in her kitchen. That same night we went a little crazy in our kitchen. He told me there was more crockery on its way. I thought all my birthdays and Christmases had come at once.

Chapter Two

I apologized to Tommy for my behaviour the night before. I lit a cigarette, and concentrated on my first puff then looked at him. ‘Why do you keep calling me squire?’ He didn’t reply. ‘Look at my kitchen, you’ve been living under my roof long enough to know your way around it surely.’

‘And look at you squire, you look like you spent a night in a tumble dryer.’

I despised it when he changed the subject. I didn’t admit it, but I felt like I’d been through the wringer as well.

He loaded the toaster with a couple of slices of bread. ‘You hear voices in your head, you’re having nightmares.’

‘Don’t make any toast for me, Tom; the bacon and eggs have filled the void. Soon after I headed straight for the shower and dressed for work. When I returned to pick up my keys I found Tommy sitting at the breakfast table, perfectly still, both feet on the table. It was kind of surreal.

There was a report on the radio about an old mansion; Tommy remained perfectly still, as if hypnotized, watching a huntsman spinning a web. A spooky incident concerning a pair of youths, who got a nasty surprise after spending a night in what used to be an orphanage, claimed they were molested by an invisible energy.

I interrupted Tommy’s concentration when he intended to listen to the report to the end. ‘Where’s Snowbell?’

‘Shush, listen to this. Don’t worry about him, he’s on my bed.’ The newsman mentioned a haunted house. Tommy gazed at me, I said nothing. ‘Bloody Hell, that sure sends shivers all over my body squire.’

I took my last drag from my half spent cigarette pressing it in the glass ashtray till I snuffed it flat. ‘I’m off to work, want a ride?’ Tommy took his with him and followed me to the garage. On the way there he craned his head to see if Snowbell had moved himself off the bed. Still huddled up in a ball he scooped his frail old body and carried him over to the old lady next door. She enjoyed Snowbell’s company during the day and spoiled him with the best food her budget allowed, but she never complained.

As we drove, my thoughts had moved onto a discussion I previously had about my friend at Willow Hall. ‘Tom, about the other day, when I told you about Caleb, were you telling me he didn’t exist, that he was a figure of my imagination, a dream?’

He pleaded with me not to test him. ‘Aw, not now Darcy, there’s a difference.’

‘Caleb is real, he was my best friend.’

During the drive to the building site there was no discussion about the squatters at Willow Hall until I pulled over to the sidewalk. ‘By the way Tommy, don’t mention a word about the mansion in the news to anyone, okay?’

‘Yeah, I gotcha, I’ll light up a fag and puff on it instead and not let a word of it pass my lips, not even as a smoke signal, have a good day squire.’ He threw the door shut without as much as a care to the fragile state my vehicle was all ready in, and that he often described it as the Rust Bucket. As I pulled away from the curb I made a mental note to remind him it was his turn to cook dinner that night.

I strolled the wards, busy checking on my patients. On top of every bed in every room the newspapers were turned to the page about the squatters; how shaken up they were while spending the night in that god forsaken orphanage. I supposed it may have been Tilly, playing spooky tricks on them. As I quickly glanced at the article I read that an apparition of a woman was seen wandering the halls and passages of the mansion carrying a kerosene lamp. My patients made comments about the article giving me their opinions and beliefs about ghosts. Some said they don’t exist. I pondered that if they dared to spend a night in hell manor, they would no longer be sceptical.

To avoid arguments, I made no comments about my beliefs in the supernatural. I was fighting my battles alone; I found a way to keep myself busy. Even when I wasn’t on hospital duty I found the garden an excellent diversion. Although at first I found gardening to be a hobby, I later classified it as hard work because I pulled every single bush, shrub, tree, weed and flowering plant. It remained barren for several months until my neighbour presented me with an assortment of flowering bulbs. That’s when I thought of a theme and later decided to turn the front yard into an English Country Garden. I transformed the rear of the property into a fruit and vegetable garden.

I also joined a gardening club and therefore turned my hobby into a frenzy of swapping my surplus vegetables for cuttings with many of the members.

My next task was to renovate the interior of my house. That’s when Tommy went crazy with ideas; sure we had a few disagreements along the way. Although in the end I caved in on most of them. I became concerned with the noise of hammering and sawing that I conceded would have driven my neighbours to utter hysteria. I became paranoid when Tommy began detaching cabinets from the walls in the kitchen, replacing them with new ones. Money was the problem for me therefore it took longer than Tommy anticipated; nevertheless we continued to plod on.

Chapter Three

S ince my promotion in the postoperative ward I didn’t need the haunted mansion story to hinder my position at the hospital. My neck grew tense and my shoulders ached. I collapsed on a cushy recliner in the lounge, flinching from the discomfort. I conceded it to be from a hard and steamy game of squash with a work colleague the night before. We met again in the lounge.

I recalled what he said. You know what’s wrong with you Darcy mate? You don’t prioritize your rest and recreation. You tend to throw yourself into extra hours in the O.R leaving less or no time for exercise.

Although I felt I was being patronised, I had to admit he may have been right. I used to take my fitness seriously. I slacked off and started feeling like a lazy sack of spuds. I vowed I’d revert back to exercising more and stop being a yes man every time anyone ordered me to jump. I also conceded the tension to be due to the Willow Hall article in the newspaper.

The news hadn’t reached any of the hospital staff yet, or maybe so; I didn’t know, however it was early days. If it did they weren’t talking about it. That morning after the news I hadn’t heard any comments about it when I was in the staff room kitchen during my lunch hour.

I finished work for the day and drove to the pub where I met Tommy for a counter tea. The company utility was parked under a tree so I assumed he’d be taking himself home.

Once on the road, and like usual, he had little regard for speed. He’d been an excellent driver and unlike his friends and colleagues he was always able to evade the law when it came to a police chase. He left me way back at a standstill when he floored the amber light. Finally I turned into my street; I could see Tommy carry Snowbell home from our neighbour’s property. If only we could get our garden to look as immaculate as hers and keep it that way. The weeds in my patch were starting to shoot through the sod. Hers was neat and nothing out of place; like how Gamble used to keep the gardens at Willow Hall; only hers was on a much smaller scale.

No sooner had I arrived home Tommy gave orders. ‘Darcy I’m going to bed. I hope Snowbell is on mine and not in the roof by the time I finished showering, which reminds me, you forgot to re-cover the man hole. I intend to have a good night’s sleep and squire I suggest you make yourself a mug of warm milk and brandy before you retire to your bed.’

What did he think I was, a five year old? I couldn’t remember opening the manhole. I racked my brains trying to recall my steps. I climbed out of my bed and went for a leak whether I had the urge or not and took Tommy’s advice to fix myself the nightcap after all. I stood barefooted on a cold floor, staring hard at the milk coming to the boil over the flame. I liked how it bubbled and rise to the top of the pot.

While I was seated at the table sipping slowly, I randomly grabbed a scrap of reading material and began perusing it, recalling Tommy’s voice to cover the man hole. I noticed him strolling toward his room with a towel wrapped round his waist; his lean body still dripping wet. I reckoned he thought I was in my bed because he didn’t bother to look and see me reading the paper. I didn’t fancy making a habit of drinking a nightly beverage of milk with brandy although I was enjoying the numbing tingling relaxation I was feeling.

In my peripheral vision I swore I saw a dark shadow hover by. I shot up from my chair to chase it; nothing. I didn’t tell Tommy, he would’ve said I was tripping. I had this belief that entities cannot follow a person from previous haunts and end up in another location with them. A portal through a mirror perhaps… then I thought of Tilly. There was a lot I didn’t know about the afterlife although I wasn’t prepared to find out just yet.

I supposed it would be great to be a disembodied spirit; to have the ability to visit anywhere in the world or anyone; as akin to a guardian angel. Again; my thoughts were reverted to the manhole. I gulped down my last couple of mouthfuls, replaced the cover and retired to my room. I managed to read a chapter of Gone with the Wind I borrowed from hospital library. Judging by the condition of the pages within, they were turned by a number of avid readers.

I woke to the alarm at six o’clock and found the book open to the page I left it on when I fell asleep. I found the back door wide open; Tommy was still in his bed and so was Snowbell. At breakfast without intention my thoughts were cast back to the nightmares of Willow Hall. No! I told myself, don’t go there. Instead I told Tommy the warm milk worked wonders.

He too seemed happy;