The Haunting of Wakefield: Part Two (special preview)

He shakes his head. “I would say this is her own private collection,” Charles answers. “Sophia was known to mourn the loss of her siblings greatly.” He then points to the window right where the baby mound starts. “Look.”

I move forward, cautious of the toys scattered all over the ground. Below the window, there is a graveyard covered by vines and decayed leaves. In the very back, there are two angels stood facing one another, one feminine and the other masculine. The other tombstones are small little hills of stone.

“The Wakemans are buried out there?” I gasp.

“It was a belief Emelia’s family held that if you build a home and die there, you need to be buried with it.” Charles stands beside me as we overlook the graveyard. “Which is worse for you? The graveyard, or the collection?”

“I’m not sure,” I whisper breathlessly. “Honestly, all of it is horrible.” I motion to the bedroom. “There is a hole in the closet ceiling.”

“Not surprised.” Charles walks out of the nursery and stands in the hallway. “They say that after her parents died, Sophia was made a prisoner in her own home. Magnus kept her locked up here so he could run the business himself, but Sophia always found a way to get out.”

I close the door behind me. I then go to another and, as I jiggle the handle, I find the door is locked.

“Oh, that’s the attic,” Charles murmurs. “They kept it locked up ever since Frederick, well, I’m sure Ms. Hasch told you.”

“She did,” I whisper as I step away from the door. 

Charles looks back into the bedroom. “They say Magnus kept her up here and sold her to his friends and rich businessmen he dealt with.” He points to the bedroom. “There was once a story that she had lain with every man in Wakefield.”

“What?” I am utterly disgusted. “He did that to her? For what reason?”

Charles shrugs. “No idea. But my father used to come over here at all hours. Any time Magnus rang, my dad would be out the door without a word. Didn’t matter what time it was or what we were doing. He would just...leave.” He sniffs. “Mom said you could hear screaming from this house no matter what time of day it was.”

I shake my head. “I don’t need to hear any more of this. This place is grotesque enough without the stories heaped upon it. This Magnus fellow sounds like a monster. I hope he’s dead.” I make my way back downstairs and head out the front door with Charles close behind me. I stand outside, taking in deep breaths, but still feel that ghost of a scent all around me. 

“Is there an Inn or somewhere here I can stay?” I huff as Charles walks out.

He sighs as he closes the door. “You don’t want to stay in your house?”

I give him a withering look, hoping he understands I have no intent of staying in that madhouse ever. “Please, just anywhere else will be fine.”

“You can stay with me,” Charles replies. “I’ve got a spare room that’s not doing anything for me.”

There is a thud from inside and the front door rattles. Again, there is the crashing and rumbling of things falling. Charles opens the door and a head comes out. It plops down the stairs, rolling until it stops at my feet.

“God! No!” I scream, turning around and hitting my forehead against Charles’ car.

“Oh boy,” Charles scratches the back of his neck. “Those things were just waiting to fall.” He opens the door, showing me that every single figure that had been lined all around the edge of the ceiling has fallen from their place. They lay broken and shattered on the floor, bent at horrible angles, their bodies morphed into sharp, gnarly shapes.

“Should we do something?” Charles asks.