The Writing Desk
The Writing Desk murder stories
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bettyv
bettyv Anything Might Happen
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Trust me, I bought a house and had it converted. It was perfect except for one little problem. It seems I gained a resident spook.

The Writing Desk

Trust me, I bought a house and had it converted. It was perfect except for one little problem. It seems I gained a resident spook.

When I looked the place over I realised that there must be an apse. A little room on the side of the house. The outside wall​ was curved but the inside one was flat.

Someone had deliberately blocked it off. I'm an architect and a nosy sod, so I had the builders find the original door and bash it through. What we found was a time capsule, a little window onto a lost world.

An iron bedstead bolted to the floor, a green wicker chair rotted through with age, and a beautiful mahogany desk covered in dust . I had the windows unbricked, made it my study and enjoyed the view of the park and the hills beyond.

I kept the desk and had the bedstead converted to hold architectural plans. It was going great until he turned up. I noticed him one night when I had been working late. He was standing in the doorway staring at me. I stared back.

Maybe 35 years old, good looking with full lips. He had a habit of licking them like he was hungry for something. The eyes were heavy-lidded and smoky, they made him look sly.

After a while I got used to it, then it got irritating so I shut the door on him and went to bed. Big mistake! Next morning my study was a car crash. Totally ripped to shreds. Somehow he had taken a compass and driven it into the desk.

A single word was carved into the wood. Leave! I was as mad as hell , but I had to laugh! 'You have More Ham than a Pigs Bum' I told him as I walked off in disgust.

A lightbulb shattered above my head. 'Naughty' I said,' You won't get rid of me with your cheap theatrical tricks. Try harder!'

I called Kate, a friend who knows about all this stuff. She came right round. 'He's trapped in that room' she said 'you seriously pissed him off but he lacks the energy to get through the doorway.'

I moved my study to the kitchen and did a little house research. My spook finally got a name. Hugh! Hugh Darnley— beloved in Victorian writing circles. He was also highly unstable for long periods of time.

The Apse had been his padded cell- his family wanted to avoid a scandal. When he was well he went back to writing again. Kate told me to block the room off after having it blessed by a Priest.

I called the church and arranged the builders. I was hoping that we could both find some peace. Two priests turned up, one old one young. They gave it the works. We did the blessing. A Mass for an unquiet spirit.

When a piece of broken desk flew though the air the old Priest tutted! ‘Got yourself a lively one here’ he said. My phone kept ringing during the ceremony, but I wanted to watch so I ignored it.

The older Priest said quietly as he swigged from a hip flask. 'It may take a bit of time for the smoke to go but the fire is out'. Eventually, everything will calm down. I saw them out and went back inside. It did feel better, more settled.

I left the door shut and poured myself a large drink. The doorbell went, it was Kate. 'I have been trying to ring you' she said. I told her it was all over and not to worry. She shook her head. 'I have been trawling the newspapers' she said. 'His family got it all wrong.'

I thought she was talking in riddles. 'He wasn't dangerous when he was manic,' she said 'He was dangerous when they let him out.' she shoved a printed newspaper into my hand. My jaw dropped!

'Yeah,' she said 'nothing was ever completely proven, but 14 women went missing while he lived in this house, and the dates all fit.' 'Looks like you got yourself a genuine Victorian serial killer!' I was glad that he had gone. Kate stayed the night and I hoped that we had finally seen the end of the ghost.

A week or two later after heavy rain the cellar floor collapsed with a huge crash in the middle of the night" That was where workmen found the bodies of 14 women.

Which was a shame because that was exactly where I was going to bury mine!

Kate my nurse says it's in my head. There was no ghost. The psychiatrist told me I won't get better until I admit to myself that I killed them all. The Priest stopped coming after I hit him with a wooden lamp stand. I am no longer allowed a lightbulb​.

It is too dangerous-I can still read the word I cut into my arm with the glass. Pain is the only way that I can feel anything. I was going to write 'leave me alone' but they caught me after the first word. Cool scar LEAVE!

I'm not lonely The cellar ladies see to that. 14 of them constantly in my head. Angry and bitter at the brutal way their lives were snuffed out.

So I sit in my room scribbling, but there is never enough space. Sometimes I scratch words into the walls. It's hard when nobody lets you have anything pointed. I could really do with a desk, one of those lovely big Victorian ones.

Happy Halloween! Gotcha!

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