The Legend of Martha Kempe ( PM to apply )

[DeliciousMaiden]

OOC:

Cast to be decided via PMs only.
Please do not just jump in.
The scene set is very open, but negotiation of roles and storyline may be necessary.

This is intended to be a ghost story based on an East Anglian legend, which is still spoken about today. The action focuses on the tragic life of a squire’s daughter and is a tale of murder and mystery.
Hopefully the story will unfold as the new “buyer”/ “buyers” for the house become aware of Matha’s “presence”.

My idea was that the new occupant(s) could be American and therefore totally unaware of the local history.
How he/she/they react to this tragically lonely “ghost” is open to negotiation.
Please PM with offers, ideas.
Cast may be added to at any date, as characters appear.
Characters may be mortal or ghostly as the story unfolds.
Again PM as the story progresses.

Martha Kempe – 20 years of age when she met her death

Prologue:

The house had stood empty for months now.
They never stayed long.
It wasn’t that the old curse was a threat.
It wasn’t that they feared the apparitions.
It was simply the feel of the place, the loneliness, the sadness, the despair.
It hung, tangible even to those who prided themselves on possessing no intuition whatsoever.
And so it had remained empty a full nine month.
And then many had visited, attracted by the location, the price.
Those who did not know better were attracted.
They entered the house and exclaimed about the architecture, the original fittings, a great Georgian style manor house.
They walked the boards, ascended to the rooms above, and yet …
None had seen fit to buy the property… until now...

Martha moved listlessly through the house, retracing the same path,
The same path, the same tread, the repetition of decades, centuries…
It was never ending...
Each time she hoped, prayed that somehow, this one, this mortal would release her, help her find peace and yet … it was never to be.
Would it be a family, a couple, a single person who would move in this time?
How long would they stay?
Would their presence appease the spirits associated with this place or … ?

Martha stood, a mere shadow outlined at the window.
Watching, always watching … the tears standing out on her pale cheek...
It was always that sound, the sound of her weeping
that soft sadness that first alerted the occupants to her presence...

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Cast thus far:

Martha Kempe - DeliciousMaiden

Brad Kemp - IndigoSpirit

Melinda Farley - Madeleine


Thank you and welcome to the thread.

DM x

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Thank You DM , I can honestly state I now understand why you are called "Delicious"


IC:

"I don't CARE that the house was last painted only a year ago" I growled at the voice on the other end of the phone. "I want it painted NOW and again"

It wasn't the color that I needed, for no one in my experience cared what color it was anymore, but rather the smell that I wanted. To cover up the previous occupants smell and replace it with the fresh taint of paint, banish the sweat and old sneakers odor so I wouldn't have to live with it.

"What do you mean?" I thundered at the objections coming from the other end of the line. "No one will paint THIS house? NO, I can't paint it myself! Yes I have two good arms and legs!"

Snapping the connection off I turned to where the over whelming scent of Mrs. Hatchard's perfume was reeking from and nodded.

"You're quite right Mrs. Hatchard, it will be "difficult" to find painters, but not impossible" I acknowledged and refused to completely give in, straightening my shoulders so my entire six foot stood tall and proud. "Lead me to my new home and then you can go collect your commission"

I let her take two steps forward and breathed a sigh of relief as the pungent odor lessened, then followed until the rattle of the door and a set of keys were pressed into my hand.

"You're quite sure you can find your way around, Mr Kemp?" The stiff voice came to me as I stepped up the three short steps to the landing and grasped the round doorknob.

"Quite certain, Mrs. Hatchard, and call me Brad" I reinforced "The schematics your office were quite detailed, down to the placement of the furniture and light switches"

"Then good day sir and enjoy the house while you can, remember you have a six month lease on it" She bid me goodbye in a relieved voice and quickly moved away, much to my relief.

Shaking my head at the odd farewell and rude reminder of the lease I moved into the front room, smelling the dust as well as the faint odor of plastic.

"Did you leave a radio on, Mrs?" I called out and then knowing she was already in her car and moving, closed the door.

The sound came again and I moved towards it's source, sure that one of the movers that had brought my own belongings in had left a radio or TV on, for the house had come fully furnished and was a bargain as well.

Turning left and two steps, then right I walked a straight line towards the kitchen, listening for the sounds of a female and hearing it quit as suddenly as it started.

"Is someone here?" I asked of no one and expecting no response, got none. Shrugging I placed my laptop on the table top and moved to the counter, my fingers finding the coffeepot and then the tap.

Coffee and then I'd settle down to work, get the reports out I promised and catch up on my writing as well, then perhaps go exploring.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

OOC:

You are ohhh sooo welcome, hun... as well you know! x Shhhh... don't entirely blow my secret....::naughty giggles::

IC:

Martha watched as the man stood at the doorway.
She wondered what his reaction would be.
Would he look about the gloomy place and shake his head?
The last occupants, a family had been dismayed.
She had watched as the man had berated his wife, his voice raised in anger.
She had stood and smiled as she watched.
At least this new tenant was a man.
Men generally fared better in this house, at her hands …
If only it had been so in her lifetime.

She wandered to the top landing and watched as the man entered.
He had not switched on the lights although surely he must see how dim the hallway was.
He called a farewell to the person who stood outside, but made no comment about the house.

”You’ll soon understand and leave.
No one can bare this place.
Everyone leaves, no body stays..”

She whispered to herself, the loneliness of the centuries weighing her down.

"Is someone here?"

Martha gasped and watched as he seemed to be searching, no listening …
How could he have heard anything… it wasn’t time yet …
He mustn’t break the pattern.
He must not be aware of her until she was ready to show herself, that was if she chose to show herself at all…

Drawing away she left him to get settled.
Taking up her stance at the window, she watched the grounds feeling the void, the torture of his absence...

”Papa… “

She whispered fancying she could see him.
Just to glimpse him as she sometimes imagined she did,
when the moon was full and he rode his hounds...
But that could not be.
He would never return to this house, to her.
She was destined to ever mourn him and weep for him to return home.
But he would never come...

She wept softly now, unable to hold back the rush of sorrow.
The rooms seemed heavy and dark..
The arrival of a new male tenant always reminded her of that dreadful time…

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

Hours passed and the keyboard warmed to my fingertips, tiny patterns guiding me over the keys as I listened to the monotone voices coming from the small speaker and answered the questions. Report after report piled up and I was finished, my shoulders cramped and sore as I stood and reached for the cup od coffee only to find it empty.

It didn't matter. Closing the cover of the laptop I stretched and ran my fingers thru my hair, wondering if gray was now evident in it and reminding myself to find a barber and ask him tomorrow. Sliding the chair under the table I backtracked to the living room and skirted the large sofa, then up the flight of seventeen steps.

The rail was dusty but hinted of polish underneath the dust, as if many, many hands had at onetime moved up and down that very rail I did now and I wondered at the true age of the house.

Ten more steps and I stopped, then walked back to the steps and listened, slowing my breathing until I could hear....the creak of a tree outside, the sound of a car slowly moving in the light rain, the wheel swishing as it passed thru a puddle followed by another wheel, the sound of the rain as it hit the roof and washed into the metal gutter ouside before washing down the pipe.

"It must be the rain, Brad Boy" I convinced myself and turned, moving back to the door and my room. "Rain always makes you crazy"

Pants off and into the hamper I pulled a set of short from the second drawer, then moved to the bed and turning down its thin top cover.

Tomorrow I would explore the house perhaps and then order in a meal, so much easier the going out or making one for myself, a larger portion would feed me for days and leave me to my work.

"Good Night John Boy" I quipped to no one and laughed at the line from the "waltons" , then rolling over and not waiting to hear an answer.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Not until the stranger mounted the stairs, did Martha feel herself drawn towards him once more.
She watched as he moved his hand over the rail.
She could almost feel the warm touch of the wood beneath his fingers, the touch she remembered, had experienced countless times.
She watched him pause, ponder then continue.
She melted away, becoming one with the wall as he passed.

"It must be the rain, Brad Boy.
Rain always makes you crazy"

Still her eyes followed him.
It was as if he sensed… something… sensed her?
Many just stomped about the house with no appreciation of the chaos their careless presence was causing, but he …
She watched, curiosity building..
His movements down the hall way were cautious.
He moved confidently, yet did not seem to take heed of his surroundings.
Something about him was strange... different...
Martha followed, wondering which room he had chosen for himself.
His choice of room could make all the difference.

She stood back, unable to hold back a soft smile as she watched him turn into the room at the back of the house!
Why had he chosen that room?
Usually they chose the large Master bedroom, the room her parents had favoured, the scene of violent quarrels.

But he ... he had chosen her room ...

She watched him walk into the darkened room, watched the door close,
Her room...
It had always been a haven for her.
It had once been so airy and bright ... and then things changed ...
Nowadays the room was sombre, the atmosphere heavy.
Surely he could not fail to sense it?
The room was the scene of so many scenes in her life, scenes she replayed over and over ...
Did he not realise that he would be sharing that room…?

"Good Night John Boy"

Again the voice soft in the silent void of the great house rang out.
But it was the accompanying chuckle that drew Martha near.
How long was it since she had heard mirth of any kind?

Instead of moving to the window and keeping vigil,
Martha abandoned the watch for her father.
The curtains seemed to waft in the breeze as Martha released them and moved slowly nearer the bed.

He slept soundly.
She watched his face, peaceful in slumber.
His breathing was even.
She did not understand what had urged her to approach him.
She never had before, but then, none of the others had ever set themselves up in her room.

Withouth a thought, Martha found that she had extended her hand.
It hovered uncertainly, before reaching to brush a wayward strand of hair away from his cheek.

”Good night…”

The words were whispered, her soft tones like a benediction seeming to hang in the air long after her presence had left the room.

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

Dreams filled my mind that first night, dreams that took me back into the past and a vast array of faces greeted me, all unknown by me, all haunting in their eyes and drawn faces and all moving away from me in the haze as I tried to approach.

All save one, a small girl child, her eyes remarkable in the fact they were sober and yet intelligent, studying me as I moved towards her and asked her name. For a second it looked as if she were to answer and then she too fled, turning like a frightened animal and letting her tiny legs carry her swiftly away.

I awoke and touched my face, my hair, then feeling the heat of the morning sun in the room knew it was past daybreak and I had much to do. The first was to rise and cleanse myself, find the bathtub that they had promised and enjoy the feel of the water on my body as I tried to further recall my dream.

T-shirt, jeans and socks from the top drawer I padded on bare feet out the door and twenty three steps forward, then turned to my left and pushed open the door, hearing the creak of the hinge echo off the rooms "hard" surfaces inside and congratulating myself silently that I had found the bathroom first try.

Forward and to my right I found the edge of the tub and then the four finger handles and was rewarded with the gurgle of water when I turned them, turning I found the stool and used it, then a slight fumble as I rose and I found the towels, rolled as I had asked and stacked in a lazy pyramid, making it easy for me to use and count. Then back to the large freestanding tub and testing the water.... warm, but not cool, hot enough to last the hour I always gave myself to enjoy.

Shorts off and set next to the clothes I had brought I slid into the water, sighing as it wrapped around my lean figure, covering me to midways and spreading it's gentle, warm fingers over me.

Leaning back I began to hum an old tune, one my father had played and sung to me as a child, the sounds of "waltzing matilda" echoing off the rooms walls and back to my ears as I recalled the last of my dream, the part where she had turned and fled. It struck me then that as she moved away like a frightened animal she had changed, grown into an older version of the little girl, yet the eyes that looked back at me over her shoulder were the same, dark, intense and studying.

"You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me" I sang the words gently, the end to a love ballad I had never understood but enjoyed just the same, then laughed as the water tickled my chest and I slid underneath its surface to wash my hair.

I scrubbed myself then, letting my fingers play over my chest and abdomen, feeling the scars of thr crash that had healed but left their mark, and wishing that scars was all that was left.

"No pity, Brad boy" I reminded myself and lift my body from the tub with my arms, swinging my hips over easily as the water drained. "It could have been worse"

And then I dried myself, knowing at age 23 I had my entire life ahead of me and that after 5 years of blindness I now knew it wasn't the worse thing and could go on with my life. I dressed and collected the towel and shorts, moving back to the room and the hamper, placing the damp cloth over it to air dry and not mold, then moving down the stairs, brushing the last of the dust off the wooden rail..

"Good Morning, Matilda" I chirped to no one again and not expecting a reply, got none. "Time for coffee and exercise"

And in that order I moved thru my now established path and to the kitchen, placing grounds and water into the pot before going back to the larger area in the living room and beginning my morning exercises.

"Keeyaa" I whistled outward and thrust my leg and arm forward, hearing the sounds echo off a wall and absorbed by the heavy sofa in front of me, then grinned

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Martha ran down the stairs.
She had seen her father riding towards the house.
His horses travelled at speed across the common as she watched his approach from her bedroom, yet as they neared the house they slowed to a trot.
Had he planned a surprise for her?
What was he doing back so early?
Silently Martha ran down the stairs, reaching the front door breathlessly just as it opened to admit the tall, stern faced man who she idolised.

He stopped in his tracks as he saw her.
She froze, seeing his face livid with anger and shrank back against the banisters.
Schooling his features with effort, he approached the little girl and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.

”Now Mattie… be a good girl for papa… run upstairs to your room and stay there until I tell you to come down.
Do you hear? You must stay there Mattie…whatever happens…”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with questions.

”Yes papa, I promise…”

She agreed obediently.
Her father ran a hand through her tumbled fair hair and looked into the serious dark eyes of his daughter.
From the parlour the sound of female laughter rang out.
Both their eyes moved to the door.
Her mother had guests it seemed.

”Go.. now…!”

Not knowing why he insisted so urgently, Martha ran back up the stairs and to her room.
She sat on her bed, pulling her rag doll to her and waited… and waited…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning sun shone through the window as Martha sat huddled into the corner of the room.

It was over.
It had happened again.
She clutched her doll to her locked in a grief stricken trance.
She had done as she was told.
Always did what he had told her.
But …

The atmosphere in the room was heavy.
Despite the sun, the room was chilled.
Adult Martha sat and rocked, keening silently …

Oblivious to the change in atmosphere Brad bathed languorously enjoying the delights of his tub.

It was time.
It was time to go downstairs, to discover…
The doll discarded, thrown onto the bed, Martha moved to the top of the stairs.
She paused, steeling herself.
Over and over she performed this ritual.
The stranger had brought the memories of her father back to her.
She moved one foot slowly beginning to descend the staircase.

The sound of the hummed tune stopped Martha in her tracks.

“Waltzing Matilda”?

No… it could not be…
She moved away, pulling her foot back from the staircase,
drawn to the bathroom, hesitating just beyond the doorway.

Again the voice hummed the tune.
She stood transfixed.

"You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me"

Then the laugh and then silence.

”Papa…?”

Martha questioned.
He had sung that song to her so often.
He claimed it was her song.
His pet name for her fitting the title perfectly.
Martha smiled as she remembered being waltzed round the room, laughing and singing with her papa…


For once, the scene in the parlour had not played to its conclusion
The sun strengthened and the temperature rose.
The doll was not reclaimed this time.
It sat still on Brad’s bed: an ancient, rag doll.
Obviously it had been much used in its time, but could not possibly have been disturbed for years and yet …
There was no dust … no smell of mould or decay …
and if you had picked it up, the fabric would still have been damp,
damp from the tears Mattie had shed for her father,
shed just that morning …

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Brad gave his shout of "Good Morning, Matilda", the atmosphere throughout the whole house had lightened.
The feeling of Martha’s joyous, childish exuberance filled the air.
It seemed contagious as Brad moved to prepare his coffee.

As Brad’s voice echoed about the living room, the sound of
"Keeyaa"
bouncing off the wall to disappear into the furniture was followed by an intense silence.

Then it came.

The sound of female laughter,
laughter bubbling irrepressibly forth.

Light footfalls followed as someone seemed to dash across the room.

The door seemed to bang, yet there had been no draught.

Even if Brad had been sighted, there was nothing to see.

All he could do was stand in the living room.

The living room that had once been the family parlour.

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

The sounds intensified and I knew by the intensity and feel it was not my imagination yet not quite real either. Knew that the dream and the voices I heard were not figments of a delusional mind and each had it's own meaning, brought here by one of more beings who refused to let go.

It was a theory, nothing more in my mind but then that was what I made a living at, wasn't it? Chasing things other people couldn't see and few actually confessed believing in? But then I was a believer. The last repetition was useless to do, my concentration on the sounds of laughter that came from a room I had yet to explore.

"Why don't you come and talk with me?" I asked someone and expecting an answer. "Tell me what went on in this house and why it still is?"

Expecting an answer and not getting it, it seemed by the silence that greeted me, but there was more than just me and my suspicions in the house. My skin was tingling with the energy given off by another, a tiny bell ringing in the back of my brain reinforcing my theory as well, and for once I was glad I couldn't see.

"I have all the time in the world" I spoke again to the listening silence. "Why not share some of it with me?"

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Martha hovered in the hallway.
She heard him remaining silent then heard his voice calling out.

"Why don't you come and talk with me?
Tell me what went on in this house and why it still is?"

She stood beyond the doorway of the living room.
She would not enter that room, the room that she had know as the parlour yet.
If she did… things might be different..
She tried to stop the images, but her emotion crackled like static about the house.

"I have all the time in the world
Why not share some of it with me?"

All the time in the world?
He had no idea of what that meant?
He knew nothing of the endlessness of time …

”Papa!”

The cry rang through the room.
The living room door flew open.
This time the sound he heard was the sound of weeping …

The cycle was complete.
He had held it off but for a while…
The weeping was in the room with him, but Brad could not see Martha knelt on the floor, all he could hear was her soft sobbing …

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

”Papa!” The single word tore at me and echoed off the floor, the wall, the steps....a keening cry of a very young and very hurt child.

I turned towards it's source, then spun as the door opened and heard the sound of?

The sobs came to me next, a mournful, throbbing sound that came directly at me and slammed into my heart. I was disorientated, not sure where I was and I headed directly for the sound of her painful wail, wanting only to comfort her as I moved towards her. The edge of the table was painful and my momentum carried me over it, to land hard on the floor and drive the breath from my lungs.

It took a minute and still I heard the painful sobs, the wailing of a girl torn to pieces, the sound now coming from all around me.

"Who are you?" I gasped..."Who?"

I was floating in darkness, my head spinning from the sudden jar as I tried to figure out where I was and what was happening, the pain of her loss washing into and thru me.

"What happened to your papa?"

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Martha saw only the body of her father, the blood, the horror.
She sobbed piteously, all the more grief sticken because it had been so unexpected this time… like the first time … she’d been happy and expectant and then…

"Who are you? … Who?"

The voice called out to her drawing her head away from that sight.
The sight that only she could see,
That she could draw unwillingly from memory.
A sight she was forced to remember again and again…

Her sobbing slowed as she watched him sit up and right himself.
Her presence had taken form now, but he looked round not seeing.
It was then she realised… his sight…

"What happened to your papa?"

She watched him as he remained on the floor where he had toppled, the table was dislodged, she supposed he had fallen into it.
Kneeling just beyond arms length she spoke quietly, her voice full of heartbreak and reproach ...

”I thought… I thought you’d stopped it… you sang to me… but… it still happened… “

She wiped at her eyes and he heard her catching her breath.
Again he asked who she was.

”I thought you knew… “

From beside him he heard the soft crooning of the tune he had sung in the bath that morning … Waltzing Matilda … even as she rocked and comforted herself with the familiar melody, he reached out in the direction of the voice…
His hand buried in her hair momentarily before Martha melted away into the history of the room around her…

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

But I didn't know I realized sadly as I fingered the single strand of hair that had stayed with me.

Didn't know that the apparitions I studied were real, or perhaps I missed the entire concept of what one was, the soul of a human that couldn't or wouldn't leave this earth.


But why the connection with the song? And her voice, so full of pain and blaming me for what?

"I didn't know" I spoke out loud thoroughly confused and rattled but determined to find out.

Bumping from sofa to chair I felt myself around until my fingers met the edge of a doorway and then a knob, pulling it open I felt the welcome and reassuring carress of a breeze and the knowledge that I knew where I was.

"I don't know, but I'll find out" I promised softly, breathing the cool air and feeling it calm me again. "Then we can talk"

Tracing my steps thru the front room I moved into the kitchen and opened the top drawer, picking out the phone and dialing the real estate agents number.

"Mrs. Hatchard? I think you have some explaining to do?" I commented as the voice answered and then paused. "And if you can't then you better find someone that can!"

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

The child had accused him.
She had expected him to stop it all, to make it all better.
Then just when she thought he had freed her from the cycle …

But it couldn’t be that simple.
Still little Mattie couldn’t accept that.
He had let her down:
The kind gentleman had failed to help her, just like all the others…

But with the disappointment, came a reassurance, a security.
The rituals were predictable.
If the cycle was interfered with, broken, then what?

And he had already begun to upturn the way of things.
He had postponed the inevitable,
he had drawn Martha to him time and again and interrupted the normal course of events …

And now …


Martha looked up as his hand brushed through her hair.
She had felt him!
Actually felt his soft touch.
And she knew that she had been a physical reality to him.
A wave of emotion ran through her,
A half-remembered memory drifted into focus, only to dissipate again into the mists of time.

For mere seconds the woman emerged,
lifting her head from the child that guided her, from the child that protected her.
Then panic closed its grip
and Mattie hauled her back,
back to the safety of childhood...

Frightened by the power the man had, the threat he posed, Mattie ran.
She must keep Martha away from this man at any costs.
She had to ensure that he only ever saw the child and never released the spirit of the woman concealed beneath.

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

I was calm again, the real estate agent assuring me I would have answers, her tone suggesting she had dreaded telling me the truth about the "legend" of the house and relieved when I wasn't angrier at the fact she had omitted something before the contract was signed.

My bearings of the house and where I was were intact once again and I rearranged my schedule to explore the house first, searching for answers or at least clues to who still inhabited the house with me. Back to the bedroom I had chosen to change the shirt torn when I fell and once done "look" that room over first.

Five years ago I would have laughed at the idea of a blind man searching a room for clues, now finding myself in that position I was undaunted and as my fingers carefully traced each article in the room I forced myself calm and let my "sixth sense" to expand and collect the feelings in the room. Sixth because with the loss of eyesight my other senses were forced to become more sensitive and with that another showed itself as well, not psychic, not the feigned ability of telekinesis, but one that let me touch objects and gather small flashes of their previous owners and the emotions they felt as they held them.

And the first revelation was the small and ragged doll on the bed I had ignored the night before, not torn, not frayed but limp from years of a small child holding it and...Wet? Feeling the fabric of the spread beneath it I knew there was no other moisture other than on the doll itself and as I concentrated on it I became aware of two people and yet only one.

The pitiful cries of anguish as the tears rained down upon the doll, a young girls broken heart at the loss of her father, knowing with final certainty she would never see him again but not why and yet still holding on to a glimmer of hope that she was wrong.

And then the same girl? Girl? No. The same person only older, her presence on the doll as well, the feelings more bitter, yet wistful, not uncaring but afraid to care any more, the small hope she felt as a child gone buried under the pain she still felt many years later. And a name...

"Martha?" I spoke what came to me, a glimmer of understanding coming and the idea of what I might have prompted without being aware of it, how subconsciously I had picked up on the vibrations in this room of comfort and hummed a tune someone near to her had done as well in the past.

"Mattie, you were called Mattie as the child, weren't you." I spoke with assurance, knowing now the restlessness I had felt was not my own but hers, knowing there was a fragmented timeline existing inside the house and two pieces of it belonged to the same entity. "Your real name is Martha and yet you were called Matilda as a child, and when I felt the song and hummed it?"

I had triggered a response, something familiar to the child that drew her to me, and when she discovered I wasn't her "papa"?

The older version of her pulled her away and hid her, almost like a mother or older sister would to protect the child from further hurt, or heartbreak.

And then I began to understand, my mind expanding inside the room and feeling the despair and grayness of it, the utter lack of hope one has when you're sure all is lost and there is no tomorrow, a feeling I was quite aware of in my own past.

And fought it. Fought it to stop it from consuming me as I knew now it had her, using my own experiences to assure me there was a tomorrow and a life IF I wanted it, and with that assurance casting out the despair and stopping it from washing over me.

"So now I know something about you both, Martha" I spoke again and felt her "breath" wisp over me, as if she hovered near and gasped at my discovery. "I know a tiny part of the larger mystery, why a young girl still stays in this house, but not why the older one does or who she thinks she's protecting.

I would revisit the room again, not as a place to sleep but as if it were a library, a place to glean information from with each visit. But now I would move on and look for other past occupants and their traces, and with each fragment I found the puzzle would grow in clarity until I found the entire picture.

"I'm not here to harm you Mattie, or you either Martha, rather to help if you wish...and will let me"

The long strand of hair still with me I wrapped it gently around my ring finger, the slight touch of it somehow reassuring, I was a guest in someone’s home and if she was a gracious and warm host was yet to be found out.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

And so she hid.
She let herself be absorbed to become one with the history of the furnishings, she let the aura of her presence dissipate and disperse into the heavy atmosphere of the house.
The atmosphere was electric as Brad moved around the house, sensing and feeling.
Instinctively he returned to the bedroom, to her room.
He changed, but was ever alert.
He fell to searching, searching and trying to read, to gain knowledge of what it was that had led to the apparition he had just experienced.

”Noo…”

It was Martha who tried to call the child Mattie back this time,
but she broke away in search of the doll.
She hung in the shadows as she watched the man pick up her comforter and move his hands carefully about it’s surface.

"Martha?"

The two personalities conjoined instantly, as if clinging on to each other for security.
He spoke aloud, as if holding a conversation, as if he could actually see the form of the young woman who had taken shape but an arm’s length away from him.

"Mattie, you were called Mattie as the child, weren't you?"

With effort she bit back the reply that readily sprung to her lips, the reply and her own questions.
How did he know all this?

"Your real name is Martha and yet you were called Matilda as a child, and when I felt the song and hummed it?"

Her mother had favoured the name Martha, she remembered with a tremor.
She was torn.
The man was dangerous.
He was bringing memories, emotions back that were better undiscovered and yet, she stayed, unseen yet present beside him in the room.

"So now I know something about you both, Martha."

He seemed to look at her as he spoke, his voice gentle and unthreatening.
Martha gasped in shock.

"I know a tiny part of the larger mystery, why a young girl still stays in this house, but not why the older one does or who she thinks she's protecting…”

He queried out loud.

”Noooooo!”

The unspoken cry was panicked.
He must not meddle, must not disturb a course of events he did not understand!
She drew back then, on the point of fleeing once more.

"I'm not here to harm you Mattie, or you either Martha, rather to help if you wish...and will let me"

Again the word, but audible now as she begged him softly.

”Noooo… please…”

The voice was that of the woman and not the child.
It was the first time she had spoken directly to him and she pleaded him not to pursue it, not to interfere...
And yet he remained silent.
Was he listening? Was he aware of her quietly imploring him to leave all as it was.

And still she did not pull away.
Martha stood and watched as he wound the strand of her hair around his ring finger.
The gesture was strangely intimate, it stirred a deeply buried memory.
The fleeting glimpse made her shiver.
Her mind telescoped. … the ring finger … a ring …
Again she gasped … again he heard the soft exclamation
but again the child saved her older counterpart...

The loud bang cut across the silence of the room.
The window had jerked free of it’s clasp and was being wrenched open and shut as the frame blewn wildly in the wind,
a current of air that seemed to have come out of nowhere.
The suddenness of the sound made the man jump.
It drew him out of his reverie, breaking the contact between himself and Martha's troubled spirit.

It was as she had planned.
She drew away hastily, putting distance between herself and him.
For that instance, he gave up all communication with her and focused on getting to the window as quickly as possible.
Carefully he put his hand out to steady the frame as it flew back and forth making an alarmingly loud banging noise
He found the clasp that had broken free and fumbled to close it.

The sudden sound echoed throughout the otherwise empty house.
The otherwise unbroken silence announcing the fact that Martha had indeed fled and secreted herself out of his reach.

Finally he touched the strand of hair wound about his finger.
He could only guess what it was in that simple action that had awakened the glimmer of a memory to painful to bare…

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

Disheartened I drew the drapes shut and turned, knowing I stood inside the room alone, but not understanding why.

What kept this woman/child here in this house was beyond me, that it centered around her long lost "Papa" was the strongest possibility but not the only one I knew from experience.

And when I was close to making contact with her she resisted, her growing pleas for me to stop tugging at my heart as I listened to them but didn't obey.

I'd continue I knew and play what cards fate dealt me, recording the patterns she made inside the house and what triggered her responses to me and away from me, it was all I could do.

I made my way downstairs and the scent of coffee reminded me of my plans and the promise of the realtor to send answers as well this afternoon. If the Lady of the House wouldn't share her secrets with me maybe someone else would shed some light on them.

And if that failed I would follow her about the house, mimic her path and motions as she traveled and listen, wondering and curious to see if a human could haunt the ghost?

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe



Waiting.... searching ...
Never knowing, never quite understanding,
Hoping and then giving way to despair...
Such was the pattern of her life and death,
Such was the pattern of Martha's search …

Memories triggered by one of the house’s occupants would trigger a memory and habitually, early afternoon she would start her walk.
At first her step would be light and optimistic,
Ever seeking communion with another,
With one who loved her, or had once,
And yet, her search always proved fruitless,
Her optimism ever doomed to end in despair.

Over and over, Martha learned afresh that she was alone, abandoned…

And each time the knowledge broke her heart afresh…



It was not a person she sought this time.

As Mattie moved through the house, she was careful to avoid the rooms where she might be drawn to HIM, to the man who now shared her house, her room.

Pulling her mind back, to the matter in hand, Mattie paused in thought.
It could not have gone far.
How many hiding places could there be and besides, her mother was not very imaginative, surely she would not have put it anywhere too tricky to discover?

Her feet moved lightly over the boards as she moved, her footfalls swift and light as she darted from room to room with the heady excitement of one who plays hide and seek and is assured of success.

From the floor below, the occasional clicking of doors, the odd knocking, the sound of lightly padding feet sounded, evident only to those who cared to listen.
And then down the stairs, tripping along down the staircase to search and examine with a single-minded determination.

The time that lapsed before realisation began to sink in always varied.
But gradually the hope would fade and make way for anxiety and sorrow.
Gradually she would become more agitated and despondent.

Martha stood at the foot of the stairs.
She had persistently tried to hunt down the object she so treasured and had been, cruelly taken from her.
Such was the punishment accorded to her.
Punishment for accepting the gift, for receiving her father’s devotion.

Finally she sank to the step in despair.
She clasped her head in her hand and tried to think.
Where would mama have taken that musical box?
Surely she would not have been as spiteful as to destroy it, smash it apart?
Her heart contracted in pain at the thought of such wanton vandalism executed on such a treasured gift.

”Help me find it … “

She pleaded to the unseen spirits who surrounded her, knowing that she must retrace her steps and continue to seek out the precious item.

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

We were somehow linked and I wondered at that, was it the hair I still wore of hers? I was convinced it was hers, Martha's and that I had taken it from her head as I fell, and the idea she wasn't as transparent as most assumed an etheral spirit to be fascinated me.

But linked none the less as I felt her return and move about the second floor, playing a game perhaps? Hide and Seek? So was it the child that had returned now? The feeling was wrong for her to be there and as I concentrated I could almost feel the older woman above me...searching?

I was at the table typing frantically when I heard the words distinctly and my fingers stopped in midsentence as I wondered at the meaning of them.

”Help me find it … “

"Tell me what it is and I'll help you Mattie" I replied, instinct guiding me in the assumption of who I needed to talk to.

If I couldn't talk to Martha I would try her younger self and meanwhile I would explore the other rooms, the master bedroom that was being used as storage coming first to my mind.

If the object meant that much to "them" I would have a way to prove my offer was genuine and help, then perhaps trust would begin to be a factor?

Notes done I rose and moved swiftly up the steps and down the hall, towards the largest room in the second floor as I went over the blueprints I "saw" when looking at the house to lease.

Hand on the ancient knob I felt the coolness of the room and shivered, knowing again it wasn't the air temperature and wondering what I was about to walk into.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Mattie raised her head as Brad brushed past her.
She had not intended him to, but he was responding to her unspoken appeal.
She stood slowly, not questioning, but with a child-like acceptance that this man would be able to find her treasure.
Curious, she followed him as he carefully mounted the stairs and walked along the second floor landing. Standing against the doorframe of her own room, Mattie watched Brad extend his hand and slowly turn the heavy ice-cold doorknob, which opened her parents’ bedroom.

The door creaked open.
Mattie took a step forward, keeping her body behind the protective shelter of the man she followed.
The chill, the sudden change in atmosphere told Brad of the child’s reluctance to approach this room.
His turned his head his senses searching for answers.
And then he realised:
No matter who or what she sought, this was one threshold that Mattie never ever crossed.

” … Why?…”

She heard him question her out loud as he took a single step forward and paused just beyond the doorway.

” … not allowed … angry …”

He felt the defensive reply as, now exposed by his movement, she shrank as far as she could into that doorframe.
She tried to mask her terror of the room from him, but he sensed the depth of emotion, its intensity entirely disproportionate to the mere obedience of a little girl.
Sure now that this was where he would find the object she sought, Brad stepped forward, fully entering the room now and as he did so he felt her begin to pull away, as if the trespass was almost too much for her.

” … Mattie … “

Again he spoke aloud, a one-sided conversation as he questioned her.

” … show me how to help you … “

His words steadied her and held her there.
Leaning forward, despite herself, Mattie’s eyes never left him as she watched him search; his fingers running over the mass of objects stacked on the top of a tower of boxes.
Slowly, patiently as he explored, he continued to speak to her, not expecting to hear a response, yet knowing that she would guide him, if she could … if she chose to …

He emptied box after box, exploring the contents, only to have to repack and move on.
The hunt seemed endless.
Brad struggled to negotiate his pathway through the now untidy array of boxes and turning suddenly stubbed his toe on what felt to be a wooden crate.
The feeling of pain dissolved as he sensed the soft exclamation.
He felt her sudden excitement, before he heard the jingle of discarded notes.

” There !”

Her direction was as clear as if she had spoken it.
Encouraged by her sudden response, Brad began meticulously lifting object after object aside, smiling now as he felt her impatience and anticipation growing as she urged him silently to move more speedily.
He knew as soon as he touched it that this was what she sought.
Carefully he lifted the wooden box, hearing the drop of isolated notes as he drew it to him, his fingers tracing its shape carefully, then turning, he picked his way slowly through the now disordered room to return to where he knew she waited.

” … for you, Mattie … “

He spoke softly as he held the little musical box lovingly, then moved his hand to open the lid.

It was not the familiar childish cry of ” … Nooo…!” that startled Brad,
but the sensation of the soft adult hand capturing his own.
Momentarily he felt the warm fingers curl about his and grasp gently but firmly.
Then just as suddenly, she released her hold, easing her touch slowly away from him.

”Not here…”

Her voice was an urgent whisper as she spoke deliberately to him for the first time.

”Mattie..? Martha …?”

He questioned tentatively, wondering which of them had broken the silence to communicate with him.
Brad’s query was cut short as again he felt her reach out to him.
This time her hand rested on his arm.
Wordlessly she let him feel the terror that room held for her, the physical contact with him giving her courage, enabling her to reach out beyond childhood acknowledging a greater tragedy linked with that room.

But even as the images began to take shape the child returned,
Tugging at his arm, demanding to see the “gift!, wanting to play, to return to the safety of her own room and the relative security of her childhood.

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

Martha

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

It had taken time and as I stood inside the room and searched, guided by the tiny childs urgent exclamations I felt the coldness of the room and wondered at it.

What had happened here? Inside this room that was supposed to share the love of a man and a woman, what was so...not right?

But it was a question that must remain mute. Not one to be asked to a child who only understood fear and happiness, who shouldn't be forced to understand the cruel things that go on between the adults she looked up to.

” There !” The voice was clear as was the joy in it and I didn't need to turn and ask who it was as my hands found the tiny, delicate peice...my ears telling me of the capability it had and it's purpose, my heart telling me of the importance it had for the young child...

Holding it carefully I moved, wishing the child to take it from me before accident happened and her happiness ruined, and yet she did not...and again I opened myself and felt her loathing of this room and the memories contained in it, even as her small fingers touched mine and the box.

”Not here…”

And I felt the older presence as well, knowing they both stood outside of the room as I questioned who it was...

"Mattie? Martha?

This time as I stepped forward again it was the warmer and larger hand that touched me, and with that touch the dread of the room returned and I knew why the search had proved so fruitless before, why it had failed...

I stepped over the threshold and into the hall, then knelt, holding the delicate music box in my left hand for Mattie to take as I reached out with my right hand and concentrated on "seeing" Martha, to take her hand in mind.

The squeal of pleasure and happiness, the breif touch of tiny, fluttering hands and then a tiny arm as it wrapped around my neck. And a butterfly kiss on my cheek before she laughed and moved, the bos gone from my left hand as I felt Martha's own hand in my right and I stood.

"Martha, stay with me and talk" I implored, knowing Mattie was headed for the safety of her room and the temporary happiness init with her gift.

"Trust me if only for what actions I have done for you...Tell me what has happened here and how I can...help?"

I waited, feeling her sadness and hearing? Yes... a sigh as her hand clasped mine tighter, the warmth of it startling as I hoped for words from her to help me understand...

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

It was his touch, his contact that finally separated them.
Always they had moved as one, the child and the adult.
Each of them guarding the other:
the adult keeping the child company
and the child protecting the adult from the totality of the knowledge.
And yet now as Mattie reached out in gratitude and childish delight, the two separated and Martha smiled benevolently watching herself as Mattie run off totally enraptured by the toy, the toy she had not been able to play with for years and years…

And then she realised...

Her hand was held firmly, warmly in his.
His mind held her just as securely.
He reached out to her and although she knew she should go after Mattie and let herself be absorbed by that childish joy, she hesitated too long.

"Martha, stay with me and talk."

She felt torn.
She cast a glance towards her room, the room where the tune of “Waltzing Matilda” tinkled joyously and where she – Mattie - played, locked in memories of her papa and yet the touch on her hand stirred memories, happy memories that led to …

"Trust me if only for what actions I have done for you...
Tell me what has happened here and how I can...help?"

Martha sighed softly.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, it was merely that it was all over.
Nothing could be done.

”How long will you stay for?”

Her voice enquired, curious and yet detached.

”But you will leave… everyone leaves … always ... it’s always so … “

She heard him patiently explain the terms of the lease, but it meant nothing to her.

”He left … he never came back…”

Brad sighed believing that the child had returned and was bringing images of the father to Martha’s mind once more, but she continued.

”Papa would have liked him … he was…. “

She broke off looking at Brad a thoughtful expression on her features.

” … like you … kind… gentle…. I ...”

She bowed her head and Brad felt the tears falling, silent, painful tears, not the self-indulgent weeping of her childself, rather the wringing out of her pain.

”Everyone I love leaves me… and now… you will… “

If only he’d release her hand, let her draw away from him.
She had to escape; she couldn’t let herself feel again …
Couldn’t let herself revisit that time…

Silently she moved her head to his shoulder, seeking warmth and comfort.
She felt his comforting hand and knew he felt her body shaking.
Without realising it, her world telescoped.

”John… you do not know mama… “

She whispered, her voice taking on a slightly different tone.

”I cannot defy her … after all.. this house … “

She lifted her head and looked towards her parents’ room.
The door suddenly banged shut.
Martha had merely glimpsed the vision.
It was not yet time for that memory to be revealed.

The sound had drawn Mattie out of her play.
The sound had drawn Martha out of the timewarp she had entered.
Martha knew that she must break away from him.
This man ... so much like John.. for a minute she had thought ...

”It’s too late to help, my love …”

She whispered brokenly as she reluctantly began to draw away...

 

[Indigo Spirit]

Brad

I felt her pulling away and reality set in, the spirit of this woman had lived thru an experiance so traumatizing it stayed with her even in her afterlife.

"Martha, don't give up hope so fast" I spoke, knowing how incredibly weak the words sounded to someone that had existed inside a house for longer than I had lived.

What could I say to give this one comfort? To ease the troubles that haunted her and let her trust me enough to tell me what had happened?

"There's two of us to watch over Mattie now, and if you allow it, to watch over you"

And then she was gone. The feel in the hallway empty and somehow I knew I had failed even in my success, the toy I found for Mattie simply a minor revelation in a much larger puzzle.

My phone rang and I answered, the voice on the other end promising she would be right over. and I moved downstairs to wait. Somehow I dreaded the answers I would get from outside the house and felt uneasy...was it a forecast of something to happen...or a threat?

 

[DeliciousMaiden]

Martha Kempe

"Martha, don't give up hope so fast"

The words were spoken, but he let go of her hand and Martha slipped away from him once more.

"There's two of us to watch over Mattie now, and if you allow it, to watch over you."

Martha turned and drew away from Mattie.
The child in her needed company, but it was she, the adult Martha who needed watching over, only he didn’t understand that, he couldn’t understand that.
Martha herself was only faintly aware of the horror her cycle had kept away from her.
Locked in childhood, her existence was unhappy, but predictable and now he had come.
He had drawn her out of that safe pattern.
Freed her from the repetition of the days, but with that he had made her grow up.
He had made her begin to remember a life beyond being Mattie, a life after that terrible day …

”John…”

Now she had distanced herself from him, from the man who had touched her, who had held her hand, she searched her memory for “John”, the one who had re-entered her life so suddenly and left as abruptly.

Alone she walked away, to the far end of the house, away from the dreaded room, away from the child’s musical box, away from him as he moved down the stairs and went about his daily business.