The Devil's Haunt

By Andrew Masters

A boring, wet, English summer holiday comes alive for twins Max and Charlotte Johnson. A mysterious letter arrives telling them they've inherited a ruined castle in France. What starts as a family holiday ends up as a race against time to solve the riddle of the Devil's Haunt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Masters
• Release date: Jan 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781800684003

Book preview

DEVIL’S HAUNT

By Andrew Masters

Illustrations by Scott Brady and Sue Neal

For George

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1: THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER 6

CHAPTER 2: LONDON AND THE OFFICES OF RATCHET, SPROCKET AND SPOONHANDLE 21

CHAPTER 3: THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF CLAUDETTE MARIE LETISSIER 28

CHAPTER 4: THE BOOK 37

CHAPTER 5: THE JOHNSONS PLAN A HOLIDAY 47

CHAPTER 6: THE CASTLE OF VAUX-SUR-DRANSE 55

CHAPTER 7: THE DEVIL’S HAUNT 71

CHAPTER 8: THE PUZZLE STARTS 79

CHAPTER 9: THE GRAVE YARD 91

CHAPTER 10: THE MAZE 96

CHAPTER 11: THE GOBLIN GUARDIANS 110

CHAPTER 12, THE SHRINKING HALLWAY 123

CHAPTER 13: THE BANQUETING HALL 128

CHAPTER 14: THE SAFE STONES 135

CHAPTER 15: THE EYES IN THE PAINTINGS AND GETTING PAST THE DRAGONS FLAMES 145

CHAPTER 16: MAX AND CHARLOTTE GO BACK IN TIME 156

CHAPTER 17: THE EVIL COUNTESS CAROLINE LETISSIER 163

CHAPTER 18: THE BATTLE OF GOOD AND EVIL IN THE DEVIL’S HAUNT 173

CHAPTER 19: THE FIRE IN THE CASTLE 180

CHAPTER 20: BACK IN THE VILLAGE 187

CHAPTER 21: MR. JOHNSON WAKES UP 194

CHAPTER 1: THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER

It all started with a letter that was nearly thrown away without ever being opened.

It was another wet and windy English weekday morning during the summer holidays. The rain was pouring down, the sky was dark grey and the temperature outside was more like October than July.

The Johnson family, dad Mr. David Johnson, mum Mrs. Jane Johnson and twins, Max and Charlotte who had only the week before turned 11, were arguing over breakfast about how to spend the day, when going outside did not appeal to any of them.

Max wanted to play video games, Charlotte wanted to go and have a play date with her best friend from school. Mrs. Johnson thought it would be nice to go shopping while dad, Mr. Johnson, was going through the local paper looking for any special deals to nearby indoor family attractions.

‘There’s a great new exhibition in the museum,’ he started, but nobody paid him any attention.

‘We should all do something together as a family’, he stated, again trying to take command of the situation. He was met with scowls from the other three.

‘Well, I think….’

He was interrupted by the sound of the post coming through the letter box.

‘Go and get that, Charlotte’ said Mrs. Johnson. Charlotte didn’t move. She just kept eating her toast while playing with her phone.

‘Max?’

Max didn’t move either. He was reading his football magazine.

‘Well, I’ll just go and get it then,’ huffed Mrs. Johnson standing up and heading down the hallway to the front door. She picked up the pile of letters on the door mat, looking through them as she came back into the kitchen.

‘Anything interesting?’ asked Mr. Johnson.

‘Usual rubbish, advertising, one that’s got our address but the wrong name on, nothing important. It can all go straight in the recycling.’

She dropped the letters on the table, plopped herself back down on her chair and continued eating her breakfast.

‘More tea, dear?’ asked Mr. Johnson, offering to pour her another cup. The pot was nearly empty. Mr. Johnson tipped it up so high to squeeze a last cup out, that the top fell out of the pot spilling tea all over the table.

‘Oi Dad, watch what you’re doing!’ shouted Max and Charlotte in unison.

‘Now, look at the mess you’ve made and I’ve only just sat down again.’ Mrs.Johnson started to get up.

‘Sit down dear, I’ll do it. You finish your breakfast.’ Mr. Johnson went to the sink to fetch a cloth. He wiped up the spilt tea as best he could. It had already seeped underneath the butter dish, underneath the cups and saucers, underneath all the plates and was now seeping underneath the pile of unwanted letters.

Mr. Johnson swept the letters off the table putting them down next to the sink. Once he had cleaned up the mess, he went to throw them into the recycling bin. Out of curiosity he went through them. His wife was right, it was all stuff that usually got thrown straight away. A waste of paper he would always say, shouldn’t be allowed.

However, the last letter caught his attention; the house details were correct, but it was addressed not to the Johnson family but to a Mr. Jean-Claude Letissier.

He turned the envelope over. On the back the name of a firm of solicitors was printed:

Ratchet, Sprocket and Spoonhandle, London. If undelivered, please return.

‘Ever heard of a Mr. Jean-Claude Letissier?’ he asked his wife, who just shook her head in response.

‘Neither have I. This letter’s from a firm of solicitors in London, they’ve got the address right. Maybe he lived here before we did.’

Neither Max, Charlotte nor Mrs. Johnson took any notice of what he said, they just kept on doing what they were doing.

‘I’ll send it back then.’

‘Whatever Dad,’ said Max without looking up from his magazine.

‘Ring them up, ask them if it’s important, if not you can put it in the bin with the others,’ said Mrs. Johnson. ‘Now then I’ve decided what we’re going to do.’

‘The museum...?’ asked Mr. Johnson.

‘No,’ replied Mrs. Johnson, cutting him off. ‘We’re going shopping. You kids can spend some of your birthday money and if you behave, we can go and have lunch at ‘Burgers and Shakes’ afterwards.’

‘Oh yes please Mum, Burgers and Shakes are the best.’ Charlotte held her hand up to high five Max.

‘You can forget that boring old museum Dad. Burgers and Shakes rock. I’m gonna have a Double Everything Burger with a Super Shake. Bring it on.’ Max high fived Charlotte in return.

‘Ok you win,’ said Mr. Johnson, disheartened that no one wanted to go to the museum. ‘Come on everyone, I’ll do the washing up while you get ready. If it clears up later perhaps we could go for a walk on the beach.’ He stood up taking his dirty plate to the sink.

‘I thought you were supposed to be clearing up your mess in the garage?’ asked Mrs. Johnson. ‘You promised the next time it rained.’

‘Yeh, Dad,’ joined in Max. ‘Sort the garage out. We can’t even get our bikes out with all your old stuff in the way.’

‘Anyway, you don’t like shopping and you hate burgers,’ added Charlotte.

So in the end, it was Mrs. Johnson, Max and Charlotte who drove off into town, leaving Mr. Johnson to clear out the garage.

But first he wanted to sort out the mysterious letter from the firm of Ratchet, Sprocket and Spoonhandle.

He went into his study, switched on his laptop then put the kettle on to make a cup of coffee.

Now you may be asking why neither Mr. nor Mrs. Johnson were going to work during the week, but this is very easy to explain. They were both teachers. Mrs. Johnson was a primary teacher, Mr. Johnson taught history and French at the local college. That meant the whole family had pretty much the same holidays so they had to spend all summer with each other whether they liked it or not.

Mrs. Johnson and the children had wanted to go abroad that summer, somewhere warm and sunny, but Mr. Johnson thought they should stay at home and enjoy the English summer with all it had to offer. So far, it had just rained and rained. His choice had not been very popular.

They lived in a pleasant enough house with a nice garden within a short drive from the south coast. With both parents being teachers, they were not rich but Mr. Johnson was always dreaming of writing a bestselling children’s book which he hoped would make their fortune. However, he could never quite find the right idea for a story.

Mrs. Johnson thought her husband should spend less time dreaming and more time doing extra work to pay the bills.

Mr. Johnson sat down at his desk, searching for ‘Ratchet, Sprocket and Spoonhandle’ in his browser. He found the names rather amusing. They sounded like they came from an era long before he was born. He couldn’t imagine anyone having those names today. However, nothing came up. This was strange. Everything was on the Internet these days. He tried again, entering ‘Solicitors London.’ This time a huge list of names came but not ‘Ratchet, Sprocket and Spoonhandle’.

He looked at the back of the envelope again, in case he had misspelled their names. The letter also asked to be returned if not delivered but there wasn’t an address. He wondered if he should open it, there must be something on the inside. To give him time to think he went to fetch his coffee. Also, as no one else was watching he took two chocolate biscuits from the kitchen cupboard.

He tried one more time with the computer to come up with the names but he still had no luck. So, he made his mind up. He opened the letter. Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper. He spread it out on his desk, put his glasses on and started to read.

The letter looked very important, headed with the firm’s name and a date from last week. It began:

Dear Mr. Letissier,

With reference to the last Will and Testament