The “Cursed” Old Manor House

The Cursed Old House

All right, here we are! Off you get! The driver brought the lorry to a stop by the dilapidated wooden fence and cut the engine, the huge vehicle sighing into silence.

Clara nudged her daughter, Sophie, who was fast asleep, blissfully snuffling against her shoulder.

Darling, were here. Open your eyes, love.

Sleepy Sophie rubbed her eyes with a tiny fist and craned her neck to peer through the blurry window at their new home.

Mum, are we really going to live here?

Yes, poppet. Come on nowwe need to unload and work out whos sleeping where.

Clara clambered down the high step, setting Sophie on her hip. From behind the lorry strolled Charles, whod driven his own battered Ford behind them.

All good?

Fine. Where are the keys?

Here. Her ex-husband tossed her a bulky set. The papers are on the kitchen table. Ill be by Saturday for Sophie, as agreed.

Okay.

Ill help you shift the boxes, then Ill be offup to my eyes in work.

Clara just nodded. She still felt a battalion of cats were scratching away inside her chest, but since this was her new reality, she supposed shed better get on with itideally, minus the drama.

She and Charles had spent five years together. Just a month earlier, Clara had learned (not from Charles, of course, but the grapevine) that hed found someone else. Not just a fling, eithera serious new start. He was even planning a family.

For the first week after, Clara had felt as if shed slipped into a shadowy parallel universe. What now? Where to go, what to do, how to breathe? Just yesterday, shed had the safety net of a husband and predictability. Poof! All gone, taking with it her last shreds of faith in humanity. If Charlesher Charlescould simply move on, what hope was there for anyone else?

It wasnt just heartbreaking. It knocked her legs out from under her.

On autopilot, she had continued with the daily grind: looking after Sophie, cooking, cleaning, working. But pulling herself together mentally, even planning a week in advance, felt impossible.

The flat theyd shared belonged to Charless parents. Clara had only her elderly Aunt Edith in the next town over. The only close relative, really. Clara couldnt visit often, so she paid the neighbour, Mrs. Briggs, to look after Edith, do her shopping, keep her company. The flat Clara had inherited from her own parents, she rented out, splitting the rent between her own account and one for Aunt Edith. Shed offered a thousand times to swap Ediths cottage for a flat nearby, but Edith would have none of it.

When Charles confessed, hed probably guessed that there would be no thrown crockery or screaming. Claras not built for dramatics. So once keeping it secret was futile (those concerned friends made sure she knew), hed invited her to the kitchen after Sophie was asleep.

I know youve heard. I wont make excuses. It just happened. We have to think about Sophienot drag her through hell. Whats your plan?

I dont know Clara cradled her tea, stared at the table, feeling as if every thought was a startled rabbit ricocheting out of reach. But on the outside? Blank. She wasnt about to burst into tears in front of Charles. It felt as if her throat was closing, stifled by injustice. Yet in one thing, Charles was right: Sophie deserved better than their mess.

Well need to cancel the tenants.

No need. Its my mess, Ill deal with it. I spoke to Mum and Dad and Clara, what would you say to moving?

Where to? Clara actually looked up, surprised.

You know my mums parents left her a house in the next town. Old, nothing fancy, wants a bit of work, but solid. And your Aunt Edith is just round the corner. Mum wants to sign it over to you and Sophie. What do you think?

Bribery? Clara managed a wry smile. Still, she considered it.

Honestly, it was the least painful option. The idea of bumping into Charles arm-in-arm with his new life was more than she could bear. Familiar places hurt most of all now. Even a walk in their old park was torture thanks to old memories.

Time to look forwardfor herself, and especially Sophie.

What would she really lose? The town was small but had a good primary school, a surgery, supermarketsand family nearby. Sophie was young, far too little to be left alone. She doubted Charles would be popping round with soup and fairy tales any longer. Shed need work

Clara squared her shoulders. Fine. Ill do it.

Sorted! Charles half-smiled and stood. Sort things with Mum, shell ring you about the solicitor. Ill go now.

On the doorstep, he hesitated and muttered, Sorry. I didnt want this.

Clara only nodded, shut the door, then slid quietly down the wall to stifle a howl in her jumper. Not weeping exactly, but howling. She remembered a nature documentary about wolves, and felt more she-wolf than human in that moment.

She wept for ages, feeling as if every last bit of anger drained out with her tears, leaving only a strange, hollow space insidea scorched patch where nothing grew. Only one butterfly thought flittered there, crisped wings beating: Find something good, fill the emptiness. Otherwise, shed be stuck in that black hole forever.

The following weeks were such a blur Clara couldnt think of anything but the move, boxes, and all that went with it.

And now, she found herself outside the leaning fence of her new home, staring out over the mad overgrown gardenso overgrown, in fact, the house was almost hidden. Only a corner of the roof and the edge of the porch peeked out from behind tangled apple trees.

Sophie tugged her hand. Mum, are you going to stand staring all day? Lets go!

They followed the path round the apple treeand found the house itself.

It wasnt as bad as shed thought. Hag-ridden by years, perhaps, but solid, with a tiny attic and a wide porch set with rainbow glass. Nestled in the autumn garden, it looked happily photogenic, so Clara fetched her camera and snapped some shots.

Sophie stood slack-jawed, index finger in her mouth. Clara teased her pompom hat, grinning.

Take your finger out, little miss! Does our house surprise you?

Muuuum, its so pretty!

It is, isnt it? Now, lets see inside and pick where youll sleep.

Yes! Lets go!

The porch creaked underfoot as they passed into the halldoors led to the kitchen, two little rooms downstairs, one up top, and a sitting-dining room with a giant table under an ancient lamp draped in crochet. It was chillyclearly, the radiators hadnt been on in a whilebut for some reason it felt homely already.

Clara! The movers are done, and Ive settled up. Charles poked his head round the door. Come, Ill show you how the boiler works.

A whirlwind heating demonstration later, Charles took his leave.

Clara headed to the kitchen.

She put the kettle on, unpacked and fussed about, heating up some pies for Sophie, then started scrubbing the old table clean.

The kitchen was small but bright, with big windows facing the garden. Sophie swung her legs at the table, eyeing the vintage cupboards.

Suddenly, a great THUMP at the window startled them both. Clara jumped, only to see a massive ginger tom appear on the outside sill.

Hello there! Planning to give us a heart attack? Clara exhaled. Sophie, look at that handsome chap!

The cat regarded Clara unblinkingly.

Well, then, come in if youre so bold. Im sure I could rustle you up a treat.

The cat dropped from view, vanishing.

Clearly the invitation offended him, Clara grinned. Sophie, wash your hands! Lunchtime.

Clara turned to the doorand gasped. The cat sat outside. How had he

She checked: every door was locked, except for a little flap at the bottom of the back door. Ahaso thats how he gets around.

When Clara went back to the kitchen, Sophie was already nattering away to the cat as if they were old chums. For the first time in ages, Clara laughed.

Having a chinwag, you two?

Both child and cat looked round at exactly the same time. Clara could have sworn the tom even shrugged like Sophie. It was so comical she nearly snorted tea.

There was a knock at the door. Clara wagged her finger. Stay here, she instructed Sophie, and went to open it.

Hello there! Im your neighbourPatricia Green, but call me Aunt Pat. Here, a pint of fresh milk from my own cow. Good for you!

Clara took a second to process this wave of old-school hospitality, then remembered her manners. Thank you so much! Im Clara, pleased to meet you! Goshstill warm! Please, do come in.

Aunt Pat happily came in, too.

Clara placed the milk by the cooker; Sophie turned and piped up, Hello, Im Sophie!

Hello, love! And Im Aunt Pat.

So pleased to meet you! By the way, do you know whose cat this is?

How could I not! Thats my mischief-makergoes by George. If he eats too much here, send him packinghes spoilt rotten at home, and if youre not careful he wont bother catching any more mice!

Do you have mice? Sophies jaw dropped.

Of course. So will you, dear. Every house round here hides a few, especially come autumn. So

Mum, we definitely NEED George! I meana cat of our own! declared Sophie.

Clara smiled. Lets see, hmm? Aunt Pat, do you know anyone nearby looking for work? I need help with the garden and a few bits about the house. Im hopeless.

Oh, certainly! Visit Mr. MichaelMichael Carterthree doors down with the green gate. Handy as anything, charge you fair.

Thanks! And would you like a cup of tea? Weve biscuitsjust in from the move, but a treat nonetheless

Aunt Pat grinned. Dont mind if I do.

They had tea, Aunt Pat regaled her with gossip about the town, then asked, So, love, howd you end up in this place?

Inherited it, Clara said, keeping her voice neutral, forcing a smile. She didnt fancy pouring her heart out to the neighbourhood quite yet.

You know, this house has been locked up for decades. Young folk dont remember, but everyone used to saybad luck hangs about here.

Really? Clara blinked. Whatghosts, is it?

Not as such, love. Only, folk dont stay long. Two or three years, then off. Someone falls ill, loses a loved one, cant seem to find happiness and so on. Started when some merchant built it for his brideshe died of fever inside a year. After that, he sold up and left, and its been a revolving door ever since. Place is nearly a hundred years old, you know! Refurbished a few times but never had any luck.

Clara fiddled with her teaspoon. Well, its ours now. Well see how it goesSophie and I are made of sterner stuff. Right, Soph? We cant be scared off that easily. Lets find out what sort of house this is!

Months went by.

Clara settled nicely. Sophie started nursery; Clara snagged a job at the village photography studio, earning decent money snapping parties and such. Photography had started as a hobby, but after Sophies birth shed taken courses and begun freelancing. Now, it was her main giglucky, really, all things considered.

Gradually, Clara tamed the garden and mended the house, with much help from Mr. Michael. Tall, sturdy, and dependable, introduced by Aunt Pat:

Call me Michael, love. Everyone does.

He listened to her plans and got busy. Together, they cleared out apple trees and wild bushes. Clara realized with skipped heartbeats that if she kept at it, Sophie would have free fruit for years. Then came roof and porch repairsmessy, but necessary.

The house woke up. Every morning, Clarad stand on the porch with a cuppa, stroking the new handrail, feeling she might finally belong somewhere. Somewhere peaceful.

She took over caring for Aunt Edith, too. Every evening, she and Sophie stopped by Ediths for a quick check-in before heading home. It felt like the right choiceliving here. She was calmer, not so angry at Charles, now that the dust had settled.

He visited often, played with Sophie, which helped. He hadnt gone full deadbeat dad, after all. Sometimes, she even wondered if she had missed the signsperhaps shed been too wrapped up in work and Sophie to notice him drifting.

Aunt Edithalways the font of wisdomtold her, Dont let your heart be heavy, Clara. Even the smallest sorrow, if carried too long, grows into a mountain. Dont stewthink on the good you had, like little Sophie here! Thats what matters most. Let go of the rest. Resentment wont warm your soul, but Sophie needs a mother who shines. Remember, shes watching you, every single day.

Clara nodded, determined.

She soon knew the whole streetone neighbour dropped by with kids for Sophie, another with cake, yet another with seeds for her garden. Aunt May down the road taught Clara to bake bread, much to Sophies delight. No more fussing over milk, eithera crust of homemade bread and the glass was drained in a flash, leaving only a milky moustache and laughter behind.

Then Clara befriended old Mr. John, who came bearing a mountain of strawberries the size of golf balls:

Royal Jubilee variety, dear. When youve settled in, Ill show you how to grow them.

Once the porch was fixed, Clara scrubbed it top to bottom, adding a giant table and a beloved old armchair in the cornerSophies favourite. Each evening, shed curl there cuddling George the ginger cat, whod swiftly declared himself resident of both houses. Now Clara crept outside each morning, careful not to step on Georges canine trophies lined up on the step. Hed earned his keep, though Sophie adored him regardless.

One neighbour, however, made Claras skin crawl. Enid, just a bit older, was a world-class gossip. At first Clara didnt realize what was happeningbut soon, grew dreadfully skilled at steering conversation away from mean-spirited natter.

Aunt Pat, how do you get rid of Enid? Clara complained.

You dont, love. Stop letting her in and shell thrash your name through the mud! Shes been like that twenty years. I managed, because she has a terrible cat allergy and I have six. Easy!

Maybe I ought to get a cator a dog

Enid, however, was delighted to find someone so unguarded. Claratoo polite to shoo her awayput the kettle on, sang songs in her head, and let Enids monologues wash over her. Enid didnt need a conversation partner, only an audience.

But soon, Clara noticed something strangewhenever Enid visited, she suffered misfortune. First, she tore her new skirt on a mysterious nail (which definitely had not been there beforethank you, newly sanded banisters). Later, she sat straight off a chair, despite there literally being nowhere to fall. After this, visits became blissfully infrequent.

Clara, pruning the roses one morning, overheard Enid grumbling to Aunt Pat:

You dont see it, Pat! She claims shes single with a kidno man about, my foot! That house is immaculate, garden perfect, exactly as if she had help. Someones theremust be!

Tosh! Everyone knows Michael helps for pay. And besides, as for that housewhole town says its cursed, and yet she stays! Folk flock therenever to mine. Whys that, eh?

Because a good person makes a good home, Enid. Claras a goodun, and people know it. Now, off with you, my milks on the stove, or so Ill say!

Clara stifled a giggle behind the hedge. Humanswhat can you do?

Mum! Where are you? Sophie called from the porch.

Out here! You awake? Face washed?

Not yet! Waitlook!

Clara turned. Marching down the garden was George, dragging a small ginger kitten. He dropped it at Claras feet and gave her a stern look. Clara lifted the little squirming bundle, which protested loudly.

Thank you, George. Is this a hint?

George yawned, stalked away towards Aunt Pats house. Message delivered.

Well, Sophie, maybe George has a point. Whatll we name him?

George! Sophie announced.

Clara lifted the kitten to eye level. Right thenwelcome, George Junior. She grinned, All right, lets go inbreakfast time!

Sophie danced through the door. Warmth spilled out, filled with laughter and the promise of new stories in their cursed old house.