Winterwood

By Drew Lindsay

The mansion, WINTERWOOD was built many years ago over a disused and mostly forgotten graveyard in Katoomba, New South Wales. A malevolent spirit with dangerous power is on the loose in the mansion. A police detective has already been savagely attacked by this spirit and is now in a mental institution. Ben Hood is hired to protect those who live in the mansion, and deal with the dead, if he can survive the task.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Lindsay
• Release date: Oct 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005852634

Drew Lindsay

Drew Lindsay is a dynamic Australian Novelist and Writer. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia and the world. His background includes working as a Policeman and detective, then managing his own private investigation business as well as working in Fraud Investigation Management positions within the insurance industry.Drew is a PADI Divemaster and holds a private pilot's license. He has a great love of entertaining others with his vivid imagination. His novels allow the reader to escape into worlds of romance, excitement, humour and fast paced adventure. Drew lives in northern New South Wales with his wife.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Iris Hume clutched the handle of the long-bladed kitchen knife so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Many times, she had wished she owned a gun, but guns weren’t allowed to be owned by most people in Australia, and especially not a 66 year old spinster like her, even if she was in fear of her life, and she was very much in fear for her life. She would have to rely on the knife. She knew that she had retained strength of body because she often walked through the rugged mountains surrounding her home in Katoomba, west of Sydney, Australia. Sometimes she lifted weights so her arms were strong. Her back was strong. She used to move and roll large rocks in the extensive garden which surround her heritage listed, two storeyed mansion close to the escarpment, half way between Katoomba and Leura…at least she had in the past. The massive and quite overgrown garden should have been a place of repose for her, but increasingly, being in the garden made her somewhat nervous, and she had no idea why.

It was just after 11 pm but she knew he, or it…or whatever it was, lurked outside. If it was a ghost, she could probably deal with it one way or another and not with the knife. If it was one of the two lunatic boys from the property which adjoined hers, it might be a different matter. They were very nasty boys, especially the peeper, 19 year old Timothy. Iris had caught him several times, staring through the downstairs windows of her house at night as she worked in the kitchen or relaxed in the huge, timber lined loungeroom. She had confronted him on one occasion, much to his surprise and he ran off into the darkness, laughing. The elder brother, Edward, had befriended her granddaughter, Monique Quinn, much to Iris’s disgust. It was an on/off relationship between the two that seemed to be headed for disaster. Both boys hated her as did their father, Matthew Jones.

Matthew Jones, as far as Iris was concerned, was a horrible wart of a man and they had exchanged aggressive words many times. He had threatened her with physical violence but it had never come to that. Matthew Jones was small in stature, notwithstanding the high heeled boots he wore whenever he was away from his house, whereas Iris was a tall, buxom woman, who looked like she could beat the shit out of anyone who crossed her path, either male or female. The fact of the matter was that Iris was not an aggressive person by nature. She could put on a very confident front if that was required, but in the main she kept to herself and was somewhat of a recluse because of deep fear. This fear was the result of four issues which continually occupied her mind.

The first fear revolved around the unfortunate existence of her neighbor, Matthew Jones and his two wretched sons, as has been outlined briefly.

Her second fear resulted from the fact that the home in which she resided, had been built, in part, over a disused graveyard. Much of the house had been constructed by convict labour in 1849, using hand cut sandstone blocks. The builder, a wealthy Englishman, had acquired 4 acres of prime Katoomba land in order to construct the building, notwithstanding the existence of a small, disused cemetery on the eastern side of the property. Many of the graves were allegedly Aboriginal babies and children. Some graves were purported to be hanged or shot bushrangers. There were no headstones or grave markings…just strong rumours, lost in a jumble of history, weeds and broken pieces of cement. Money and contracts had been exchanged under a cloak of secrecy. Iris strongly suspected the existence of ghostly presences of children in her house during the night from time to time. Some of her things were moved. Taps in the bathrooms were occasionally left running and curtains which she had left closed, were partly open when she woke the next morning.

Her third fear was for the safety and well-being of her granddaughter, 24 year old Monique Quinn. Everyone other than Iris called her Mon. Iris’s daughter, Rosemary Quinn had distanced herself from her rather wild teenage daughter following her divorce. Mon found herself with no place to live and reluctantly moved in with her grandmother. In the following years this arrangement had proved beneficial for both parties as Mon took care of Iris when the need arose and they provided good company for each other from time to time. Mon’s mother and father moved to Queensland somewhere. They never bothered to contact her. She didn’t know what had happed to them actually, and eventually…didn’t care.

Unfortunately, the rather wild natured Monique seemed to be slightly infatuated with Iris’s neighbours; the Jones’s, and in particular, Edward Jones. This irritated Iris to absolute exasperation.

Iris’s fourth fear related to her husband, Mark Hume. If Mark remained alive, he would now be almost 75, but in 2010 he just walked out on her…simple as that. Didn’t pack a bag or take spare clothes. Left his wallet behind and quite a lot of cash. He was there one day, and gone the next. Left his car behind. He simply vanished off the face of the earth. They had fought now and then in the months before he left and the police named her as a ‘person of interest’ in their initial inquires. Nothing was ever proven. The disagreements were minor and never of a physical nature as far as could be determined. The police thoroughly searched her house a few weeks following his disappearance…or as thoroughly as they could, bearing in mind that the original owner of this house was quite neurotic and in the mind of some, completely mad, and had created inclusions which were literally impossible to detect. These inclusions were apparently missed by police who had been instructed to search every nook and cranny of this huge, rambling, partly decaying, mansion, in order to find Mark Hume’s body.

Two years after his disappearance, the police put the file in the ‘too hard’ tray and that was that. The Coroner eventually ruled that Mark Hume was either dead or missing under circumstances which could not be legally determined.

Iris told a few close friends that she thought she could hear Mark wandering around inside the house during the evening hours. She felt it may have been his ghost and was convinced that he was dead…somewhere. She claimed she could smell his favorite aftershave, a leather and smoke concoction which she hated, but he managed to pick up from time to time in a tiny store in nearby Leura.

Her fear was that Mark’s ghost would return and do something dreadful to her while she slept, as he had done to her in their bed from time to time while they were living together. She hated him when he was alive and she hated his memory now that he was gone and probably dead. He was a heavy whisky drinker. She knew that one day the whisky would take him out. She didn’t expect him to simply walk out and vanish into the night.

Iris knew she needed professional help to sort through her fears and she was smart enough to realise that doctors would be of little assistance, other than giving her calming pills and taking her money. She’d been down that track many times before.

Her bedroom was on the second floor of the mansion and windows on two sides of the room commanded views over vacant property and gardens where the graves were supposed to be…gardens that she had attempted, unsuccessfully, to keep under some kind of control.

The main entrance to the house was directly beneath her bedroom. A huge slate tiled roof covered the entrance, blocking it from her view. The outside lights on the driveway and in the gardens were activated by passive infra-red movement detectors. The lights remained off. She wished that Mon would come home. Her granddaughter was obviously no longer a teenager and had developed into an extremely beautiful, voluptuous woman, desired by most men who saw her. She was now out and about more than at home…as was to be expected.

Iris sat on the end of her huge canopy bed and lay the knife on the pink quilt beside her. Night birds cried. Bush creatures scurried about. She was jumping to conclusions. There was no-one outside, or at least she hoped that was the case. Jeffrey Pope, the local builder, had just that week, at her request, constructed a six feet high barbed wire fence strung between solid metal posts, from the top of her property to the edge of the escarpment at the southern end of her property, creating an extremely effective intrusion barrier between her home and the house occupied by the undesirable Jones family. The fence extended along the top of her property and down to the electronically controlled gates on the western side, at the sheer drop of the escarpment. Her home and property were guaranteed completely secure by Mr. Pope. Passive infra-red movement detectors had been installed on each side of the house, connected to numerous flood lights.

The outside lights were not on. Iris should have felt safe, but something still frightened her. She felt that if someone had managed to get past the fences and the security devices, she could be in danger, although she knew this was unlikely. She clung to the slim belief that if it wasn’t human intervention, but perhaps from the world beyond…the world she feared almost as much, all the barbed wire fences and passive infra-red movement activated flood lights in the world, wouldn’t protect her.

Nor would the kitchen knife.

She knew she needed help. Someone strong, either male or female, preferably male. Someone who would take the time to listen to her and make sensible suggestions and if necessary, stand up to those horrid neighbours…especially the peeping tom, Timothy Jones. She needed a bodyguard…a protector, but where does one find such a person?

Her lawyer was a very sensible person who was very knowledgeable in matters of the law and also, so she had learned, was very proficient in karate and self-defense as a practical mechanism for exercise. Her lawyer resided, and had her offices in Sydney and had only visited her on one occasion over 6 years ago. She was no bodyguard but perhaps she might know one. Iris would contact her lawyer first thing in the morning.

****

CHAPTER TWO

‘Once again Rose’, said Ben Hood, ‘that was an absolutely delightful dinner.’ He glanced at Rose’s husband, Rodney, and smiled. ‘Is she the best damn cook in the world Rod…or what?’

‘I wouldn’t say that exactly,’ said Rodney, sipping his beer. ‘She’s up there with the best but I wouldn’t say she was the absolute best.’

‘She’s my favorite cook,’ said Rae Miller, Rodney and Rose’s 19 year old ward. She waved her fork at Ben. ‘I agree with you with all my heart.’

‘I’ve never eaten that chicken Indian thing, whatever you call it,’ said Rodney. ‘It tasted a bit odd.’

‘There was nothing odd about it,’ said Ben. ‘I wish I could cook Chicken Tikka Masala like that. I loved it Rose.’

‘Thank you my darling and you can sit at my table any time you like,’ said Rose. She looked at Rodney. ‘You, on the other hand, may need to apply for permission to sit at my table from now on.’

‘Our table Rose,’ Rodney replied. ‘We jointly own this house and also this table may I remind you.’

‘Where’s Hunter?’ asked Ben as he cleaned up the last of the balsamic rice.

‘On a date somewhere,’ said Rae. ‘She’s highly over-sexed.’

Ben laughed.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Rodney. ‘You try living with her. ‘I swear she’s got hormones oozing out of her ears.’

‘She’s smart,’ said Ben. ‘She’ll sort things out, just like my darling Rae here.’

‘The spiritual one,’ said Rose, smiling. ‘Probably knows more about Ben than Ben does.’

‘He can take care of himself,’ said Rae, ‘just like he will on his next assignment.’

Ben stared at her. ‘I’m not doing another assignment darling. I’ve already told Rodney that I’m retired.’

‘He’s retired,’ said Rodney, lowering his fork into what was left of his uneaten Chicken Tikka Masala. ‘Washed up.’

‘I’m not washed up exactly,’ said Ben.

‘He’s far from washed up,’ said Rae. ‘He’s a big strong wave just waiting to curl down on some poor unsuspecting lady and sweep her off her feet.’

‘Or more likely drown her,’ said Rodney.

Ben’s eyes met Rae’s dark brown eyes. Neither of them spoke. Ben wanted to look away, but something almost hypnotic, forced him to stare into her eyes.

‘Who would like more chicken?’ asked Rose.

That broke the spell. He looked at Rose. ‘Pardon?’

‘More chicken for you Ben?’

‘No, thank you,’ Ben replied. ‘That was absolutely delicious Rose.

‘I swear she reads my mail,’ said Rodney. ‘She knows nothing about any new assignment and I’ve said nothing of it. I knew how Ben felt. I was going to give it to another operative.’

‘I don’t read your mail,’ said Rae. ‘Sometimes your mail just…just sends me little messages, when I’m asleep.’

‘Rubbish,’ Rodney exclaimed.

‘Most of your mail is rubbish,’ Rae replied.

‘Then you do open it...! You’ve admitted it.’

‘I don’t need to open it,’ said Rae. ‘Sometimes I can just feel things that come out of your mail…especially your emails.’

‘I’m more convinced that you need to see a specialist,’ said Rodney. ‘You say weird things.’

‘So do you Rodney,’ said Rose as she collected the plates from the table.

‘Be that as it may,’ said Rodney. ‘I’ve never been able to figure out how Rae knows what’s inside my mail and especially my emails, before I’ve opened the damn things.’

‘I’ve got a gift,’ said Rae, smiling at Ben.

‘She’s got a gift,’ said Ben, grinning at Rodney. ‘You also have a gift mate?’

‘Oh yeah? What gift?’

‘Rae can see things that other people can’t. That’s pretty special.’

‘And my gift?’

‘You can still walk and you have one foot missing.’

‘I hate you. Rose…can I have another beer.’

‘Please is what you say darling.’

‘Bloody please!’

Ben stayed the night at Rodney and Rose’s home in Castle Hill, as he had done on many occasions after dinner and drinks. He had a very strict rule about driving and drinking alcohol. If you were going to drive; it wasn’t one or two drinks only, it was NO alcoholic drinks whatsoever.

It was almost midnight when she came into his room. A tiny kerosene night lamp flickered on the dressing table near the window. Rose had bought it for Ben at a second-hand shop in Drummoyne for $5, and he loved it. It gave off a tiny kerosene odor which reminded him of his childhood and numerous blackouts in Sydney. It was always burning on the dressing table when he stayed over with Rodney and Rose. It burned all night and hardly used any fuel. Ben always kept the bedroom curtains open although the house was set so far back from the street amidst tall trees and thick shrubs, that outside lights rarely penetrated.

‘You’re not asleep?’ asked Rae. She was wearing a black silk Japanese kimono with long sleeves, and buttoned to just under her chin.

‘Na. I’ve been expecting you.’

‘I have only the purest intentions.’

‘And so you bloody well should. Get over here.’

She lay beside him and pushed her head against his bare shoulder. ‘You should really find yourself a wife you know.’

‘How about you look around and find one for me?’

‘Okay. How do you like them?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Would you like someone of ethnic background?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Aboriginal?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Indian?’

‘Maybe. I’m very fond of Brenda Grant…the American movie actress.’

‘She worships the ground you walk on,’ said Rae.

‘I hardly think so,’ Ben replied.

‘You know she does. You keep pushing her away.’

‘I’m a bit partial to women who live in Iceland.’

‘Why?’

‘They are very strong and they like fish. I’m partial to strong women who like fish. They also know how to sew polar bear furs together into the warmest and fetching coats.’

‘Putting women from Iceland aside, this may be your last assignment if you give it some consideration, but you can’t give up just now,’ said Rae, changing the subject. ‘I don’t think you should just stop doing what you do best, if you know what I mean.’

Ben didn’t reply for a long moment. ‘You know how close I came to being shot dead on the last assignment, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I lost a perfectly good underwater LED torch on that assignment.’

‘But I got you back in one piece,’ said Rae, hugging him.

‘Get back on your own side of the bed.’

Ray made no attempt to move away from him. ‘I know what can easily wreck a beautiful friendship,’ she said softly.

‘Do you now?’

‘And I don’t intend on wrecking our relationship.’

‘Then move away a bit if that’s okay.’

‘You can’t resist me, can you?’

‘No, you are completely irresistible.’

‘I’m into older men actually.’

‘There’s a nursing home just down the road, I think. You might get some action there.’

Rae slapped him on the arm and rolled away. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ said Rae. ‘Extremely voluptuous…just the way you like them. I saw her in my dreams.’

‘No.’

‘In real life however, she might be as ugly as sin. There’s two of them actually. The granddaughter is a bit of a mystery. Then again, my dreams can be fairly unreliable from time to time.’

‘Most of yours aren’t,’ said Ben.

Rae propped herself up on one arm. ‘The granddaughter living with the client, is a bit messy. The granddaughter is hot, if you know what I mean. You’d like her.’

‘No.’

‘It’s a beautiful old house in the mountains somewhere. I’m not sure where. It was built over a very old graveyard.’

‘No.’

‘There are lots of ghosts in the house. One isn’t very nice. Some are children…black children.’

‘No.’

‘The beautiful lady is frightened almost out of her wits. She has enemies.’

‘No.’

‘Yana told her to make contact with the company you work for.’

Ben sat up. ‘Yana?’

‘Yes…Yana.’

‘Yana who?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rae. ‘Wears snappy clothes. A lawyer perhaps?’

Ben nodded.

‘You know this Yana, don’t you?’

Ben nodded again.

‘Hot tomali eh?’

Ben looked at her in the dim light of the flickering flame. ‘What’s a tomali?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rae. ‘Whatever it is…it’s hot.’

‘You’ve got that right. Are you sure you haven’t been opening Rodney’s mail?’

‘Most of his delivered mail is from fruit-cakes. He reads some of them out aloud to Rose. Some are just emails with attachments. He ignores most of them. Some he might pass on to the other operatives. The most interesting ones he holds back for you.’

‘The most dangerous ones you mean.’

‘They don’t always seem dangerous at first. Just different.’

‘I’m surprised that Yana didn’t contact me if she had recommended me for an assignment.’

‘Do you keep regular contact with her?’

‘No,’ said Ben.

‘Did you break her heart?’

‘Of course not!’

‘I bet you did.’

‘We just drifted apart. Nothing nasty happened.’

Rae slid off the bed and stood up. She walked towards the tiny lamp and stared at it. ‘Rose knows I came to see you tonight.’

‘That’s smart,’ Ben replied.

‘She knows how we do stuff together.’

Ben didn’t respond.

‘You don’t have to take on this assignment if you don’t want to. Rodney expects you to reject it when he talks to you in the morning.’

‘Does he now?’

‘Yes he does.’

‘Do you think I should take the assignment Rae?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Okay…I’ll do it.

‘You don’t have to do it because of me you know.’

‘I know,’ said Ben.

‘You have a gift Ben. You always know how to handle these tough assignments.’

‘I’m not too sure about that young lady.’

Rae walked to the door, stopped and turned. She was just a black shadow in the dimness of the bedroom. ‘There is something else you should know.’

‘Fire away,’ said Ben.

‘Something in this house where the lady lives is very angry.’

‘Perhaps it’s just her,’ Ben volunteered.

‘No…she’s frightened of it but it doesn’t seem able to touch her for some reason, or perhaps it is reluctant to touch her for whatever reason. It is a malevolent presence, full of hate.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rae. ‘That’s it. You’ve picked my brains. Now I’m going back to bed.’

Ben lay on his back, staring at the dim, flickering light beams from the kerosene lamp, dancing on the high ceiling. He rarely slept while laying on his back but it was a good thinking position…very comfortable.

A currawong bird woke him the next morning with its magnificent, warbling song. He was still on his back. The tiny kerosene lamp was still burning but only just visible as the morning sun streamed into his room.

He showered in the ensuite, quickly dressed and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. Freshy brewed coffee was happening there and Rose was getting ready to make pancakes and thick toast smothered with honey or jam or whatever one’s heart desired.

Ben kissed her on the side of her head and leaned back against the preparation bench. ‘Coffee smells delicious.’

‘Strong, just how you like it,’ said Rose. ‘I know you don’t like pancakes but I’ve got thick toast ready to go.’

‘With cheese slices and tomato?’

‘Of course. Wouldn’t you prefer honey?’

‘Not today. Cheese and tomato and lots of black pepper and pink salt and I’ll be in heaven.’

‘He’s out in the sunroom already,’ said Rose. ‘I don’t think he slept a wink all night. Perhaps you can take him another coffee?’

‘What’s his problem?’ asked Ben.

‘He’s got a job he wants you to undertake. I think you know that from recent discussions. It’s one of those jobs involving a very rich spinster with all kinds of problems that he knows only you can solve.’

‘So, it’s all about the money eh?’

‘He’s been offered an obscene amount of money, if you, in particular, will accept this assignment. He also knows you will refuse to take it on. He understands that you want to retire and live quietly on your farm near Richmond.’

Ben nodded. ‘I’ll take him another cup of coffee, along with mine.’

‘You don’t have to listen to Rae,’ said Rose. ‘She’s a bit of a dreamer.’

‘Yes, she is,’ said Ben as he accepted two cups of coffee from Rose.

‘You’re going to take the assignment, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

Tears welled in Rose’s eyes. ‘You’ll never learn, will you?’

‘Learn what?’

‘Get out of my kitchen. I’ll serve breakfast directly.’

‘Thanks for the coffee,’ said Rodney. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

Ben sat opposite Rodney in his favorite cane chair with frangipani print cushions. ‘Did you?’

‘I had a shit of a night,’ said Rodney. ‘I couldn’t get comfortable and I think Rose is starting to snore.’

‘You snore, from what I’m told.’

‘I’ve never snored in my life.’

‘Rose thinks you have sleep apnea.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s when you stop breathing at