The Ancient Curse

I decided to leave it at that, so I said, “Yes, you’re probably right.”

For the rest of the day, we plodded our way through what seemed like endless lists of items to be checked. Boring as it was, the cheerful companionship of Peter helped to make the task less onerous, but by late afternoon, we were still not half way through.

“Time to call a halt for today,” Peter said.

The sun had not yet set, but a late afternoon gloom began to pervade the generally dismal house. If one went outside, one was bathed in the late afternoon sun. Going back into the house, it was as if night had already descended upon it.

Peter was gathering his things together prior to leaving, and I felt a shiver of apprehension pass through me. I would be alone in the house all evening and night, and with the telephone unconnected, no outside contact. I suddenly did not want to lose Peter’s company.

I spoke to him cautiously. “Peter, have you got a wife to go home to, or something you have to do?”

He looked up at me from his paper shuffling and smiled. “No, I don’t have a wife, unfortunately, and I have nothing in particular I have to do. Why?”

“Well, I know it’s a bit impertinent, but I don’t want to spend all evening alone in this dismal hole. I wondered, if I offered to pay, and if there’s anywhere decent to eat, you would have dinner with me?”

He looked at me with frank amazement for a moment, then seemed to recover and said, “I’d love to have dinner with you. The local pub, “The Orb and Sceptre”,” turn on a very good meal, but I don’t know about you paying. I mean, I’d be very happy to pay for the company of such a pretty lady.”

That began one of those fruitless arguments that often arise in such circumstances, but we finally settled it by agreeing that if I paid for the meal, Peter would buy the wine.”

I raced up to the bedroom and put on the one decent set of clothing I had brought with me, a fawn slack suit, did a quick makeup job, then deciding I looked satisfactory, muttered, “Thank God I’m out of this place for a few hours.”

There was a rustling behind me. I did not turn round, but went hastily out of the door to the waiting Peter.

We went to the village in his car, and although I am normally a fairly independent sort of woman, I felt secure in his presence.

The Orb and Sceptre proved to be one of those low beamed, “Queen Elizabeth the First slept here,” sort of pubs. As Peter had said, it turned on a very good but plain meal.

Peter bought a very expensive bottle of red wine, which, while pleasant enough to drink, did not live up to its price or pretentious label.

Yet, even if the meal had been mediocre, which it wasn’t and the wine less pleasant, I would still have enjoyed the company of the cheery Peter. He regaled me with the history of the pub (“First opened in 1586”). Then went on to details of village life, what he thought of the political scene both national and international, and then wanted to know how many novels I had written, was I working on one now and, “I’d better read one of them hadn’t I?” He was one of the most entertaining companions I had ever had, even though he hardly flattered my writer’s ego.

Towards the end of the evening, the landlord of the pub came across to have a word. Peter introduced us, and at the sound of my name, the landlord sucked in air through his teeth.

“You baint astoppin at the Manor, be ee?”

When I answered in the affirmative, he shook his head. “You baint there alone, be ee?”

When I again answered in the affirmative, he said, “I baint afeared of man nor beast, but ee wouldn’t get me astoppin there alone. ‘Ave ee seed the mad footman yet?”

“No.”

“Here, stop it Fred,” Peter laughed, “You’ll have the lady frightened going on like that.”

“Ah well,” said Fred ambiguously, “I’ll bid ee goodnight then.” He retired to the saloon bar still shaking his head.

“Take no notice of Fred,” Peter said, “He just likes to revel in the gory details of local history.”

I almost told Peter about my dream, if it was a dream, of the night before, and of the rustling sounds I had so frequently heard, but I thought he might be like most males, and write me off as an “hysterical female.”

He drove me back to the Manor, and I think even the cheery Peter sensed something of what I now felt to be its sinister brooding quality.

“Ushas,” he asked with a note of concern in his voice, “would you like me to come in with you for a while?”

Had it been most men and in other circumstances, I would have suspected that this was an attempt to get into my bed. With Peter, I felt no such suspicion. He was so open and honest. Had he decided to try and bed me, I felt sure he would come straight out with it, saying something like, “Could I have a sexual intercourse with you?”

The thought flashed through my mind, “If only a man like him would love me.” Then I stamped on the thought. “You’re being ridiculous, my girl, you’ve known him less than a day. It’s all this dreaming and talk of mad footmen that’s getting to you. Pull yourself together, you’re living in the twentieth century, not in the Dark Ages.”

Putting on the mask of the “Now” woman, I thanked Peter for his offer, but said I would be perfectly okay, then felt constrained to soften the refusal by saying, “I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight then,” he said. “And thank you for the evening. I really enjoyed being with you.”

I got out of the car, bade him good night, then as he drove away I put on a bold front and strode into the house. Immediately I felt as if I was being watched.

“Imagination, Ushas, imagination,” I told myself, but I made sure I switched on all the lights I could find as I proceeded to the bedroom, and left them on.

As I entered the bedroom, the feeling of being watched intensified. I settled for a hasty bath, then with the curtains left open, and all the lights switched on, I put on my underwear as if cladding myself in a suit of armour, and lay on the bed.

I did not read, but lay there, determined that if what I had experienced the previous night was a dream, I would not dream tonight. If it was not a dream, and the story of the ghost was true, it would not find me such an easy victim.

I struggled to stay awake, and several times, I almost dropped off to sleep, jerking myself awake again just in time.

The house was silent – oppressively silent. Then, after what seemed hours, the lights flickered. I became alert, but they steadied up again.

“Power fluctuation,” I thought.

Then they flickered again, and this time they began very slowly to dim until the room was in total darkness.

I had noted that the night was moonlit but no moonbeam penetrated the windows. It was as if they too had been blackened to exclude all light.

I tried to leap from the bed, but the frightening paralysis had me in its grip again.

Then the echoing voice or voices began, “Carstairs…Carstairs.”

The light hovered over me. The underwear I had put on seemed to drift away from my body. The irresistible bondage, the cold, malevolent penetration, the icy venomous sperm thrust into me. Then the light hovered over me briefly, then it faded and I was released from my confinement. The lights slowly came on to illuminate the room.

I was terrified and exhausted by the ordeal, but I gathered enough of my scattered wits to penetrate my vagina with my fingers, feeling for any trace of sperm. Once more, there was nothing.

“I’m going mad!” I thought. “If I told anyone what I was experiencing, they’d have me put away.” I wanted to telephone someone – Peter – but even if the telephone was working, I did not have his number.

I recalled the stories of the Carstairs women who had been driven insane, and now I knew why.

I huddled in the bed until morning trying to fight off sleep, but towards the dawn I was overcome and went into a fitful doze.

A thunderous knocking awakened me. “Peter!” I had overslept. Utterly drained I dragged myself from the bed, and having no dressing gown, I put on my coat. I staggered down to the front door and opened it.

Peter started to say, “Saw your car and knew you must still…” He stopped, then, “My God Ushas, you look terrible. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I longed to tell him what had happened, but knew it would sound crazy, so I said, “Had a bad night. Couldn’t get to sleep.”

“Do you want to cancel our work today?”

I wanted to get out of the house as soon as possible. If we didn’t continue the trek through the inventory, it would only delay my departure.

“No Peter. If you can give me half an hour I’ll be ready and we can carry on.”

“Are you sure, Ushas?”

“Yes. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

We continued our task, but by mid-afternoon we had only completed a little over half the house. As I thought ahead about the night to come, I felt a creeping dread start to take control of me. In desperation, I turned to Peter.

“Peter, I don’t want to stay in the house tonight. Is there somewhere I could get a room?”

He looked at me with a quizzical smile. “Haven’t seen the ghost of the mad footman, have you?”

“No,” I replied, not willing to reveal what I had seen and felt. “It’s just that the place is so gloomy and oppressive, I feel I must get out of it.”

“Well,” he said, “There is the Orb and Sceptre. They have rooms there…”

“Somewhere else, Peter. Fred might start his talk about ghosts again.”

“If you don’t mind travelling a bit further, there’s the “Ploughman” in Colford. That’s quite good and it's only ten miles away. I live in Colford, so I could drive you there and bring you back with me in the morning.”

“That will be fine, Peter. I’ll just get my things, and we can be off.”

I wanted to be out of the house before the evening, when night seemed to enter the house long before it was evident outside.

I hastily packed and looking around the room, as I was about to leave it, I said aloud, “I’ve spent my last night in here.”

There was a sound. Not the rustling this time but a sinister laugh. I fled from the room and down the stairs, but the laughter seemed to follow me, reverberating round the walls, in the air all around me.

I almost rushed past Peter, but he grabbed me saying, “Hey, what’s the hurry?”

“Did you hear anything?” I quavered.

He looked puzzled. “Not a thing. The place seems as quiet as a tomb. Why, did you hear something?”

“It must have been the wind,” I lied.

We went outside and I hoped Peter would not notice that there was no wind. I locked the door with a sigh of relief and we left for Colford.

Arriving at Colford, we went straight to the Ploughman. It was much more elegant than the Orb and Sceptre and I was soon ensconced in the warm embracing environment of a pleasant room.

Peter had come with me to the room, carrying my luggage, and he asked, “Could we have dinner together again tonight?”

I was at first inclined to say no as I was so tired, but thought, “You must eat something, Ushas, so why not in the congenial company of Peter?” So, I replied:

“I’d love to have dinner with you Peter, but I am very tired, so if we can just make it the dinner with no long conversation after, yes.”

“Fine,” he smiled, “I’ll book a table here and as soon as we’ve finished eating you can go straight up to bed.”

We arranged that I would meet him in the foyer at seven o’clock. I had a shower, and feeling a little refreshed changed into my pants suit, and went to meet Peter.

As we had planned, we ate our meal and after arranging for him to pick me up in the morning, we parted company, he to where he lived, me to my room.

I stripped off and fell into bed, and looking at the illuminated bedside clock, I noted it was nine p.m. Turning off the bed reading lamp, I was instantly swallowed up by sleep.

I came awake slowly, blearily wondering what the time was, and I glanced over at the bedside clock, but could not see it. I reached for the switch of the reading light and flicked it on. Nothing happened.

Safe in what was virtually a public building, with people sleeping in rooms around me, and a night staff on duty, I had no fear of a repeat of the past two nights, but then I heard malignant laughter seeming to hang in the air.

I tried to scream, “Oh God, not again, please.” But the numbness had already taken hold of me. I could neither move nor speak of my own volition, a prisoner of whatever power was assailing me.

Once more, I was forcibly spread-eagled on the bed, the cold, hard shaft thrust into me, working itself in and out of me until the explosion of the freezing sperm, smashing with relentless force against the top of my vagina.

Whatever it was that penetrated me was withdrawn and a voice whispered, “No escape, Carstairs, no escape until the day you die…unless…unless…”

The voice died away and having turned on the light switch before my ordeal, the light slowly flickered on, gradually increasing in intensity, and the clock re-illuminated.

I broke out into hysterical weeping. “No escape” the voice had said. I knew now. Once I had entered that frightful house, the ghost, spirit, power or whatever it was had united itself with me. Now, wherever I went, it would be with me until the day I died. Every night from now on, I was to be defiled by that cold penetration and icy ejaculation.

Still weeping, I seemed to fall into a black hole, and was mercifully engulfed by sleep.

Next morning Peter was waiting for me in the foyer. He took one look at me and asked, “Another bad night?”

“Yes.” I didn’t tell him how bad.

I didn’t care now whether I went to the Manor or not. There was no escape for me, except in death. I even began to contemplate suicide and recalled the ravished serving girl who had flung her self from an upper window of the east wing.

We continued the interminable task of going through the inventory and when we called a halt, we still had not completed the task.

“A three or four hours tomorrow should see it done,” Peter said.

I no longer cared. My life, what ever was left of it, would from now on be a perpetual hell. I was destined to live in a constant state of stygian emotional darkness, dreading the coming of every night.

Peter asked me to have dinner with him again, and in my state of not caring one way or the other, I agreed.

I must have been a wretched companion for him. I could not converse or engage in any of those niceties that go with being with an attractive man.

Peter was very concerned for me, asking if I felt unwell, was I just tired, could he help.

I made lethargic responses as my mind was now focused on the night to come and what I must endure.

I heard Peter say, “If you’re still around tomorrow evening, I’m afraid we won’t be able to have dinner together, as much as I’d like to. I’ve got a club meeting, and I’m the secretary, so I can’t miss it.”

“What club,” I asked, not really caring.

“It’s an athletic club, running. You know, racing round the track or over the fields. Helps to keep me fit. It’s called, ‘The Footmen Fliers’.” He grinned. “Corny, isn’t it. The members are called a ‘Footman’. I’m Footman Gresham, would you believe?”

Something seemed to explode in my head. “Footman Gresham”!

“May all Carstairs women be defiled as my sister has been defiled, until the day a Carstairs women surrenders her body to a footman.” The words resounded in my head.

My apathy dropped away from me – “Surrenders her body to a footman”. If…if I were to…if Peter would…How could I ask him? What would he think of me? Would he be…” What did it matter, I had nothing to lose except his good opinion of me, and in the face of my nightly torment it was worth the risk.

I looked over the table at him, struggling to find the words I needed.

“Peter, would you do something for me?”

“Of course, if I can Ushas.”

He looked so caring and in earnest, it seemed a pity that he must soon think ill of me, but I must ask him.

“Peter, I know this may sound awful, but would you come to my room and have a sexual intercourse with me?”

He stared at me, for a moment he seemed unable to find the words to respond. Then he began to stammer:

“Ushas, did…did… you say…have a…a sexual…sexual…”

“Intercourse,” I said finishing his sentence for him.

“But Ushas…I mean…I don’t…we’ve only known…”

He seemed to recover some degree of composure and spoke more connectedly.

“Ushas, I don’t want to sound pompous, but I probably will, but, you see…Well, I know about one night stands, casual and so-called recreational sex, but I don’t…I mean it’s important…or it is to me…it’s…er…well…its love.”

“Peter, you do like me, and you don’t find me repulsive, do you?”

“Well no. I think you’re lovely…and…and if I’d dared to I might have hoped that…Well, we might one day…”

“I’d like to tell you why I’m asking this of you, Peter, and I might be able to in the future, but if I say it’s absolutely vital that you have sex with me…”

“I can’t imagine why it’s so important to you, Ushas, but of course, it would be easy for me…I mean…I’d want to…if…”

“I’m begging you, Peter.”

“Ushas, you don’t have to beg. You would never have to beg any man. I’ll come with you to your room.”

We went together to my room, and rather shyly took off our clothes. Peter looked at me appreciatively and said, “You are lovely, Ushas.”

When we got on to the bed he started to kiss me and fondled my breasts, but I wanted him to penetrate me quickly. I needed to break the curse in that instant.

“Please, Peter, just come straight into me. Take me quickly.”

He penetrated me and I lay there, submissive, waiting to receive his seed.

He shot into me, and as he did this, I heard a hissing sound, “Sssss,” that faded away into the distance. I am sure Peter did not hear it.

After waiting about a minute I said, “Thank you, Peter. I hope one day I shall be able to tell you what a wonderful thing you have done for me.”

I felt that the poor man would find that hard to understand, having had sex with something resembling a lifeless rag doll.

Realising he was being dismissed he rose from the bed and dressed. I wanted to tell him I was not always so unresponsive and ungiving, but I dared not at that moment. I wanted him to leave me alone to face the night, so I could discover whether the curse was broken.

“I went to him and kissed him on the cheek, thanking him again. He left me, I believe, a very puzzled man.”

I lay awake, the light on, waiting to find out what would happen. Would my malevolent spirit come once more to invade me, or had I broken the curse?

In the early hours of the morning the light began to flicker, then fade. I wanted to scream with terror and frustration. The curse was not broken and only complete insanity or death lay in front of me.

There were no echoing voices this time, only the faint rustling I had heard before. The light came to hover over me, and although I could not move or make a sound, I was not spread-eagled to receive the penetration of my sex organ.

The light continued to hover for some time, and I felt it was looking at me, scrutinizing my body with unseen eyes. Then, with the hissing sound I had heard before, it seemed to dissolve, the electric light came on and I was freed from restraint.

Weak from fatigue, I slept.

Next morning I joined Peter in the foyer and we were off to the Manor. We started plodding our way through the remaining inventory items. We had hoped to finish by lunchtime, but there were still a few more items to check.

Peter suggested we went to the Orb and Sceptre to eat, and I agreed.

During the lunch the landlord came and spoke to us.

“Still baint seen the mad footman, then?”

“No.”

T’was a vile deed and terrible curse, so t’was. How’d in go now, ah…”

I quoted it for him.

“May all Carstairs women be defiled as my sister has been defiled, until the day a Carstairs women surrenders her body to a footman.”