Saving Ellie

By David Bartels

We are moving house but leaving someone behind: someone who no longer wants to face the future in our beautiful Victorian home.

Ellie has never been a problem for any of the previous occupants, yet now she is agitated. Since we have been here, we have known of the lost, gentle soul who is unable to move on. Trapped here, somehow.

Ellie has never been a problem for any who have resided in Meadowgate. It has always been a happy home. However, as my family have decided to leave, things change, for something evil is approaching. A mysterious character wants to buy our property. To Ellie, he represents a terrible danger because he has no interest in the house. It is Ellie's cupboard he wants, for he knows what lies within. It is Ellie.

This is a record of all my family went through during a few summer weeks.

We were desperate to save Ellie, but there was no way our buyer would ever let her leave. He wanted the soul of a child and made sure that what he wanted would never leave the house.

Eyes were everywhere, and the house we left was undoubtedly not the one we had once loved.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Smith
• Release date: Nov 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393327769

Book preview

SAVING  ELLIE

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My eyes shoot open into the dark world of my bedroom. A dream evaporates. I glance towards the slight glow drifting through the barely open door. A noise. I must have heard a noise. Why would it wake me? I raise myself up to rest on an elbow as if this would help me hear whatever it was again. My ears and eyes strain in the dark and silence. Nothing. There must have been something, or was it part of my now gone dream? I wait, glancing at the clock. It’s 2:54. I want the noise to happen again, yet also I don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear anything, and I certainly don't want to get out of bed to open the door wider to listen. At the most, I want to hear Mum's bare feet pad along the landing.

It’s now 2:59. Nothing. My head is on the pillow. I pull the cover up to my nose and mouth, but my eyes will not leave the light in the doorframe. They stare, occasionally blink to soon fight the returning sleep. I try to stay awake until 3:10, but I don’t see it. I have been dragged away from the dark and the door and the missing noise. I do not know I have fallen asleep until there’s a gentle call from the now open door. Daylight streams in, daring my eyes to open. It’s Mum, Come on, Stevie, it's time to get up.

Have you ever woken, thinking you heard a sound in the night? There are some sounds we might like to hear as you try to get off to sleep: your parents coming to bed, pleasant music being played downstairs, or the sound of laughter. Yet, there are also sounds that might upset us: people shouting angrily outside, arguing, perhaps even in your house, slamming doors, loud thumping music or cars screeching, leaving tyre marks on the tarmac. But what if you heard crying inside your home? A child crying, when no other youngster lived in the house?

Imagine now waking in the dark to hear a child crying somewhere in your home. Would you dare to leave the room? Would you think you were still dreaming, or might you suffocate the sound with a pillow, covering your ears, with your eyes tightly shut, because you knew it wasn’t real?

Houses have their own sounds, mainly to do with heating up or cooling down of pipes, floorboards, window frames, and the like. Many buildings also give off feelings that our senses can pick up. Some properties feel good, almost friendly and warm. A few are not happy places. You may feel this as soon as you walk through the door. Sometimes this feeling could be even menacing, where you know you would not be happy being alone in this house, or even in a particular room.

Some pets, especially dogs, can sense whether a house, room, or even a corner is not right. They might moan or growl, their tail between their legs, and even their hackles might rise. They just want to get away.

People can pick up good and bad feelings when they go to view a new house. Adults may be looking for better living rooms, more bedrooms or a lovely kitchen. Kids want a bigger bedroom of their own and plenty of space to play. Yet these things would count for nothing if the house did not feel like a happy one.

Have you ever moved house? Some of you will know it can be one of the most stressful things anyone can ever do, especially for adults who have all the decision making and packing to do. Many children find it a very worrying time, yet it can also be incredibly exciting. All manner of questions may spin around in your head. Part of you wants to leave, yet most of your brain tells you to stay in the safety of your known home. If you have moved, did you worry about what your new home or area would be like? Would you be happy in your new home? Would your parents? Would there be exciting new places to explore? Would you get on with new neighbours? Would you make new friends or miss your old ones? These are all natural concerns.

But what about the house you are leaving behind? Would you ever give it any real thought? You might miss your old room, or the woman next door who gave you sneaky sweets or the strange man over the road who rode a unicycle in wellies and every Sunday, at two o’clock, stood at his front door ringing an old school bell, shouting out Playtime’s over! Everybody back inside!

Would you really miss the old house when there’s such an exciting future ahead? Well, surprisingly, many people can feel upset, even guilty, for leaving their old home. It’s like deserting an old friend.

Then there’s the big worry about leaving anything behind. Those of you who have moved will know how many times those rooms are checked just to make sure that everything has been packed away before the front door is worryingly pulled closed and locked for the last time, as you all walk away into an unknown future.

But what would it be like if there was something you left behind and forgot to bring with you? What if there was something you wanted to take to your new home but just couldn’t?

Or even worse.....

What if.....

It was you.....

They left behind?

How would you feel then, knowing somebody new was going to move into your house, with you still there, and that somebody.....

Was absolutely.....

Wicked.....

Or even downright evil?

I didn’t know where it would go when I started my daily recordings of our house move. I really hope that nobody has to move house in the same circumstances as us. It was an impossible race against time and against the approaching, and quite terrifying, character who wanted to buy our house.

He wanted something we could neither see nor touch, but we knew she was there. He also knew she was there, yet, seemingly, there was nothing we could do to save her. He was of little direct threat to us, but to a lost soul within the house, he was a terrifying tormentor.

This is Ellie’s story.

This is also my story, recorded daily as the summer holidays went by.

I am Stevie. I will be fourteen in a few months.

If you think moving house would be boring, then please read on.

I will prove you to be very, very wrong.

CHAPTER 1

An estate agent calls

The estate agent came just three days into the first week of the summer holidays. I should have been looking forward to a break: getting on a plane for sun, sea and fun. But not this year. I’ve packed all right but packing stuff into cardboard boxes, getting ready for the move. I’ve been told I have to be ruthless and discard at least two crates of my things during the first week. Dad said I could have £10 for every box that went to the charity shops. It might sound like a good idea, but I've struggled. To be devious, I shoved an old winter duvet into the first box and sprinkled some old comics on the top to hide it. That filled a box pretty quickly. I was very pleased with myself. An easy £10, I thought, until Mum became quickly suspicious at the speed in which I had filled it. ‘Far too light for a box of comics,’ she declared, opening the lid. So, to that first box, I considered adding ten bricks from the pile in the garden.

The estate agent was a Mr Barley, I think, or was it Wheat or Corn? Something like that. He was in our house for over an hour, taking details, photographs and measurements. He used an App on his phone and called it his 'electronic tape measure'. It seems to mark one point on a wall, and then he clicks the button to mark another on the opposite side to give an exact length, or width, of each room. I fancied one myself but couldn’t think of anything I could use it for except for going around the house measuring the length and width of each room. So, I don’t want one now, thanks.

I’ve come to terms with moving now, though at first I was rather angry about it as I like this house and I've lived here since I was three. I know Mum and Dad gave good reasons for moving: this house is too big; it's old, so always needs expensive work on it, and Dad doesn't have time to do the maintenance himself. Also, Sophie, my older sister, who's away at University, already has a job lined up. As a result, she's declared she's not planning on returning home. So, there'll soon be three unused bedrooms. Dad's firm has moved to a different location, meaning further for him to travel. It all makes sense. I haven’t got to move school, but it will mean an earlier start for the school run, as we will be seven miles further away. I thought I would have to change schools, which filled me with dread, but, somehow, everything seems to be fine.

We’ve found a new house. Well, I say 'we', but Mum and Dad found it. I just got dragged around and was asked if I liked it. I gave a grunt, with which they assumed I had said, 'Wow, this place is absolutely amazing,' and that was it. We’re going, even though this one isn't sold yet. Apparently, they put down a considerable deposit to secure this new place. I think the money came from the sale of Gran's old home.

This new place is actually quite cool. It’s got a mysterious cellar, which was only found when workmen were trying to find a broken drain or waterpipe or something. They knocked out a few bricks, and there it was, in the dark, needing torches to illuminate an old farmhouse table, two chairs, plates, cups, and cutlery, but no treasure.

The other great thing about this new place is that it’s got a pool in the garden constructed from the remains of a Second World War bomb crater. How cool is that?

Anyway, I got distracted from a game I was playing on my iPad when I heard Mum at the bottom of the stairs with Mr Barley Wheat Corn.

We’re not taking any of the carpets or curtains with us, Mum stated, We’ll take the rugs, of course, but these other things can stay. It all suits the house and probably won’t fit into the smaller rooms of our new house.

Well, said Mr Barley, I’m sure whoever buys this beautiful Victorian home of yours will be pleased to inherit all the fittings. It’s so large, with so many rooms. You can imagine the house over a hundred years ago with servants and a cook. It would cost several thousand pounds to put in new fittings to replace them.

Yes, I'm sure, Mum replied. Oh, we'll leave the large cupboard on the top of the stairs. We love it, but we've no room for it, and it really belongs here.

This was a shock to me. I didn’t know anything about this plan. I could feel my mouth open as my eyes widened. Perspiration broke out on my arms and the back of my neck. 'What.....?’

I heard my mother continue with, It was here when we came, and I believe it was here when the previous owners bought the house, and they were here for over thirty years. I think it needs to stay where it is.

This was too much for me. The iPad lurched to a thump on the floor as I dashed to the door. Within what seemed a microsecond, I was leaning over the banister rail calling down.

But, Mum..... We can’t leave it here. It needs to come with us. You never said anything before....

Mum looked taken aback by my sudden appearance, either that or she thought I was going to send myself sprawling over the banister through the speed of my momentum.

Stevie, we can’t take it. It’s too big. Too big for our new place. We’ve really thought about this and would love to have room for it, but.....

Mum, please..... We have to take the cupboard. I could feel an unusual emotion in my voice. I may have to admit I could even feel a tear welling up in the corner of my eye.

Mr Barley could see an awkward situation was about to happen, so he spoke directly to me.

This cupboard must be exceptional. I can't say I've ever known any youngster to be attached to a large piece of furniture before. He gave himself a chuckle to support his words.

I wasn’t quite sure whether this clever dick was about to make fun of me. I felt like dropping something on the top of his head. But then he may have realised I was a little distressed about the situation.

Perhaps you could take me to it, please Stevie, he said. I need to make a note of it to put it in the details. I must have seen it before but can’t recall it.

I stared down at him, then Mum spoke.

That would be a good idea, Stevie. Let’s let Mr Barley look at the cupboard.

I could see my mother's eyes sparkle and then I understood the slightest of smiles she gave me with that little twist of her head. I nodded. I hadn't seen this phenomenon for a while, so a minute later, all three of us were standing in front of the cupboard at the end of the landing, which wound three quarters of the way around the top of our staircase. I leant against the banister, with the drop-down to the hall at my back. I wasn’t going to miss it this time!

Ah, yes, it is a linen cupboard, or ‘press’ as they are sometimes called. Quite an old one really, Mr Barley informed us. It really is quite large. No wonder you have nowhere to put it. He stepped forward to run his hands over the two beautifully marked walnut doors that stood from his stomach level to way above his head. His hands then dropped down to the top one of three large drawers that made up the base of our magnificent piece of furniture. I say ‘our’ but Mum and Dad don’t seem to want it, so I think I’ll claim it for myself.

This nosey estate agent then clasped the two hand-smoothed wooden knobs saying, May I to Mum. She gave a little nod, and the drawer was pulled open. Heavy as it was, it just slid towards him, revealing magazines, books and various bits and pieces.

Just look at that mess, smiled Mum. Our eldest one is off in university now, so this must all be Stevie’s.

It’s not all mine! I shouted out, but Mum gave one of her little laughs.

Mr Barley smiled, closing the drawer. Everyone needs a cupboard like this to hide away all the stuff that needs sorting. We can just close the drawers or doors and hide it all away, where it will wait for that day in the distant future when it will actually get sorted. This, though, is a magnificent piece. His hands now moved up towards the wooden knobs on the two doors. Do you mind?

No, have a look, said Mum. Now, normally, I would have thought 'What a nosey parker,' but my eyes flickered to the decorative surround just above the doors. This could be it. This could be the first time I would actually catch sight of the initial movement.

The doors opened, revealing bed linen, duvets, plastic lidded storage boxes, two towers of boxed games and jigsaws, most of which had not been used in years. I hadn’t done a jigsaw since I was about five.

Mr Barley Wheat Corn said, Do you know this is a lovely piece of furniture. Are you sure you want to leave it here? It must be worth over a thousand pounds. You’ll be giving it away for nothing.

Mum..... Please, we’ll take it with us.

No, it stays here, she said. We’ll never get it down the stairs. We have no idea how they got it up here in the first place. It must weigh over a ton.

The estate agent scratched his chin with a thoughtful look upon his face. Well, I tell you what. I’ll give you eight hundred pounds for it and I'll have the bother of getting it out from here. I'll employ four burly characters to get it down the stairs without causing any damage. With this, he pushed the doors closed, forcing out a draught of box-scented air.

Why leave it here? Eight hundred pounds will help with the cost of moving home.

And then, would you believe it, movement caught my eye and I knew what was happening before I really saw it. Immediately, I was annoyed with myself. I had missed the beginning again, because of this intruder and his talk of eight hundred pounds.

The piece of paper floated down from the top of the cupboard as if dancing in the draught. Mum watched, with the touch of a smile. The intruder just stood with his mouth slightly open. We all watched the paper flutter towards the rug on the polished wooden floor. Mum let Mr Barley pick up the dry, dusty paper, and we both watched as he turned it over before reading out the one word.

Ellie, we all said together, with perfect timing.

Mr Barley gave a little laugh before saying, It just says ‘Ellie’. Is that one of your children? He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing with, No, it looks like it was written some time ago. Many years. Old fashioned handwriting and the paper looks almost brittle.

I watched Mum reach over, taking the paper carefully from between his fingers. It was as if she was fearful damage may occur to the fragment from decades ago.

No, Ellie is not one of ours. This piece of paper was here when we moved to this house. It lives on top of the cupboard, and that is where it should stay. And this exact place here is where the cupboard should stay. For you see, this is Ellie’s cupboard. It needs to stay here. Thank you for your offer to buy it, but I’m afraid I must decline. Thanks, though.

I looked at Mr Barley to see what he would do. He shrugged his shoulders. Ah, well. I tried. The offer is still there. Think about it overnight. He smiled and made to turn but stopped short. But who was Ellie? It was obviously written by a child.

Mum glanced straight into my eyes before lying. We don’t know. We don’t know who she was, but we believed she lived here.

Mum and Dad have told me before that there are some people who can be told about Ellie and some who cannot. Some close friends and some relatives can be informed, but not all. I don’t really know how the rule works, but if I get a warning glance off Mum, it generally means, 'say nothing.' However, I can understand that someone like a visiting estate agent is not the sort to be trusted with the truth, or even a little part of the truth, about Ellie. In fact, if Mr Barley knew about her, it might in no way help with the sale of the house. It could put some people right off. Wouldn’t put me off, though. I’d love to come and live in this house.

I remember my Mum telling me how much it hurt every time she refused to talk about Ellie. It was as if she was denying her existence. My Mum’s not very good when it comes to lying. Nothing like me. I’m Grade A. I get this skill from Dad, I think.

But denying Ellie's existence pains Mum. She explained to me that she felt Ellie was just saying hello to a stranger by sending the paper down. It hurt when Mum felt she couldn’t then say to the visitor, George, this is Ellie. She explained to me how sad and guilty it made her feel. Sadness is not something I often see in Mum. She also told me that whenever this happens, she has to mentally say, I’m sorry, Ellie, before she can carry on.

I looked at her, wondering if she was now saying those three words.

Mr Barley Wheat Corn could see he had no more to gain from any further discussion about Ellie or the linen cupboard. Right, I’ll just go in the garden and record a few details. He raised his eyes, What about the loft? Anything up there?

I decided to answer at this point. I wanted to tell him there were three skeletons and a five-eyed alien chained to the wall, but the words came out as, It’s great up there. It’s boarded all over the floor. Dad’s got the remains of a massive train layout. Then there’s boxes and boxes of all sorts of stuff.

Mr Barley replied with, And I bet none of it is yours.

That’s right. I’ve got nothing there. I’ve got nothing anywhere. All my stuff has to go to charity shops. I pulled a half-face at Mum. I’m not sure what a half-face is, but I pulled one anyway.

Mum laughed. You know how it is. If you have an attic, you just fill it with stuff and never throw anything away.

Unless it’s mine, I added, And then you can.

I followed the estate agent down the stairs and out into the garden. I sat on a bench and watched as he took photos and a bit of a video. He packed away his stuff, shook Mum's hand, got in his car, and Mr Barley Wheat Corn-on-the-cob was gone.

Chapter 2

Ellie’s Things

I came back onto the landing to look down at Mum climbing the stairs. Her steps were slow, and her head was bowed, as if deep in thought. I could see Ellie's delicate piece of paper held between her thumb and finger.

Can I put it back this time, Mum.....please? I might never get another chance if we have to leave the cupboard here.

Mum looked into my eyes with a weary smile, Okay, Stevie, you do it this time. I’ll get the steps.

From the side of the cupboard, she pulled out the set of folded steps, opened them up, and placed them in front of the large drawers. In seconds I was at the top, peering upon the dusty, hidden top. This was the first time I had been allowed to return the paper. I had a feeling of pride and responsibility. Of course, this was not the first time I had seen up there. I’ve been up the steps many times when my parents haven’t been around, so I knew exactly where the paper should go. In the centre of the top sat a smooth block of wood, about the size of two packs of playing cards.

I pretended I wasn’t sure where the note went. Does it go under this block of wood, Mum?

Yes, you can see where the note goes. You can see its shape in the dust.

I lifted the block. This piece of wood is really heavy for its size. It’s solid. I placed the note in its own dust-less shadow. Mum, this block of wood is quite a weight compared to the note. How does the paper slip out from underneath and flutter away?

"Oh, gosh, Stevie. We don’t know. But you know what happens. Someone visits the house, stands before this beautiful old linen cupboard, looks inside, closes the door, and the paper flutters down. It especially happens when we have a new visitor. It’s almost as if Ellie is saying, ‘Hello’.

We need to fit a camera up here to see what happens.

That’s actually a good idea, Stevie. I’ll tell your Dad when he comes in.

I was just about to step down when a little swirl of dust caught my eye. It reminded me of a tiny tornado. It moved from near the back wall, twisting over the block of wood, ruffling the note beneath before evaporating over my face, depositing fine particles of dust. I needed to close my eyes and hold my breath so as not to sneeze. Now here’s the weird thing: in that fraction of a second, I heard my name. Just once. Stevie. I am sure it was a girl's voice, but I can’t be sure.

Suddenly I heard, Stevie, again, but this time it was Mum’s voice. What was that? I saw your hair flutter about.

I told her it seemed to be a little breeze blowing some dust around. Then I asked her if she had said my name twice.

What are you on about?

You know, like Stevie, Stevie.

Why would I do that? Once is enough, isn't it?

Oh, I don’t know. I thought I heard it twice, but the first time it wasn’t you.

Mum then said, You been eating too many worms, again? You know they do funny things to you!

We both smiled, but then I said to Mum, Do you know what you say every time you climb up these steps to return Ellie’s note?

She nodded, saying, I suppose I do. I stared into her eyes, and together, word for word, we said, Look at all the dust up here. I shall have to get a brush to it.

Mum clapped her hands with a laugh, grabbed hold of my legs, giving them a playful shake.

I continued with, But, you’ve never been up here with that brush, have you Mum?

I saw Mum’s smile slip. No, I haven’t, Stevie. Never done it.

I asked her why not, and she stared straight at me before answering.

Because, Stevie, I believe there is a chance that at least some of that dust is from Ellie’s time. And that some of those particles may even have landed there as a result of Ellie running and playing along this landing. A particle or two may even have come from her. I cannot dust it. I cannot sweep her away. It must all stay here.

I must say I was amazed by these words. I hadn’t even thought about that. I could see that Mum was looking a bit emotional. I almost started another argument about taking the cupboard with us, but instead I said, Mum, how many times have you put Ellie’s note back up here? 

Oh, Stevie, I've lost count. Fifty? Sixty? I just don't know.

I then asked her if she really believed it was Ellie who moves the paper.

You know we don't know. Part of us wants to think so, but another part says there must be a logical reason for the paper moving. It could be something to do with closing the doors. They close so tightly, driving air out as they push together. There may well be a crack in the top board, underneath the paper. The escaping air lifts the block slightly, allowing the paper to slide out and is blown by the air.

And you believe this? I asked.

It’s logical, but I don’t actually want to believe it.

I then asked Mum how many times she had closed the doors herself, and the paper had fluttered down from the top.

I heard Mum sigh before answering. Only the once: on the day we moved in and discovered the cupboard had been left here.

And how many times since then have you opened and closed these doors hoping for it to happen again?

Hundreds, Stevie. You may not know it, but I must do it at least twice a week, just wishing to see Ellie’s paper tumble over the edge. But the thing is, the paper only seems to fall for first-time visitors.

I stepped away from the steps, waving an arm forward, inviting Mum to check my handiwork with the paper. She climbed the ladder and peered onto the top. I smiled when I heard the familiar words.

Look at the dust up here. I shall have to get a brush to it.

Dad came home a little later than usual. He said there was a delay on the train. It was almost time for me to go to bed when he got in. I think Mum was relieved to see him. He’s got a great job, my Dad: he works with Artificial Intelligence. His firm produces machines and software that work in manufacturing goods in factories. I’ve asked if I could go to work with him one day. But he said no outsiders are allowed in, as most of their work is top secret. Anyway, he laughingly said my intelligence was