An adult story of horror and the supernatural
The
Cameron men had abused women for centuries, and bullied and assaulted anyone
else standing in their way. But ever since 1830 when one of them was executed
in France for assaulting and murdering a young woman, they had been under a
curse. Now, the end of the family line was in sight and the curse was about to
become active. The remaining men of the family would suffer. Supernatural
forces were at work, taking them again and again as they slept to suffer pain
and torment at the hands of a cloaked woman, and each time returning them to
their lives in extreme discomfort and haunted by the sounds and visions of
those they had mistreated.
CHAPTER ONE
The year was 1830.
A woman hurried
towards the La Conciergerie prison with an urgent message for a
prisoner due to be executed. The woman
was only twenty-seven, and much responsibility rested on her shoulders. It was essential that message arrived in
time.
She knocked on the big oak doors under the
towers, and when one door opened she showed the guard a piece of paper. He examined it carefully before letting her
pass.
Immediately inside
was another guard, who greeted her and ushered her along a stone-paved
corridor. Their footsteps echoed as they
followed the long corridor passed passages to their right that led into the
centre of the prison, but they turned neither right nor left. Finally, they descended a narrow stone
staircase and stopped at a large interior door where the guard knocked and
called loudly, “The Marquise, Madeleine Leclerc, witness to the execution.”
The door opened and
she was allowed into the huge chamber with arched ceilings. In the centre was the guillotine, the blade
already raised and only a single rope preventing it from falling, and in the
corner, behind bars, was the prisoner.
The executioner stood ready at the side of the guillotine.
She approached the
executioner and said, “I would like to talk to the convicted person before you
carry out your task.”
As she spoke, she
noted that a clerk at a table in the corner was writing everything she said in
a leather-bound book. As she turned to
walk to her seat, the prisoner gripped the bars of his cell and said, “Madame
Leclerc, for what I did I deserve to die.”
She stopped before
she reached her seat and turned to face him again. “May God show you more mercy than you showed
your victim.” She then put a gold coin
in the executioner’s hand and said, “Make his death fast. There is no need for him to suffer.”
The executioner gave
a small nod and replied, “As you wish, Madame Leclerc.”
The prisoner was
brought from the cell and placed behind the guillotine. As he knelt down, a priest gave him the last
rites before he placed his head under the blade. No more was said as the executioner pulled
the lever and the blade fell, slicing his head off instantly. Madame Leclerc stood up and shook the
executioner’s hand. She then gave
another gold coin to the priest as she told him, “See that he is given a
Christian burial.”
The young woman
walked out of La Conciergerie prison
as quietly as she had arrived.
* * * * *
Hamish walked into
the kitchen and stared at his wife, Jeanne, standing by the cooker. “Is the food ready, woman?”
“It will be ready in
a few moments, Hamish.”
“You’re bloody
useless, woman. You know that I am home
every day at the same time, and you still can’t manage to have the bloody food
ready and on the table.”
“I do my best,
Hamish. There is a lot more to looking
after this house than just standing here cooking food all day.”
He stepped forward
rapidly and grabbed her by the throat with one hand and raising the other to
strike her. “Who the hell do you think
you are? Start talking to me like that
and I will give you a bloody good thrashing.
I am the man that puts the food on this table and you will do what I
damn well tell you to do.”
Jeanne looked at his
wavering hand. There was an edge to her
voice as she spoke, “If you, Hamish, ever hit me with your fist, I will make it
my life’s ambition to make sure the rest of your life is both painful and
miserable.”
Hamish sneered at
her, but there was something about the way she looked at him and the tone of
her voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Hamish had struck Jeanne on many occasions in
temper, and frequently when he was drunk.
He had never punched her, but his backhanders had left marks on her face
many times. He looked at the position of
his fist and then at Jeanne’s face once more, and slowly he dropped his
hand. “Get my food on the table and we
will talk about this later. My father
has told me on several occasions that you need a good hiding.
Jeanne placed his
food on the table and moved away from him.
She told herself that she would have her food once he had gone to the
hotel to drink himself silly with his friends.
A few hours later he
had washed and he left the house. Jeanne
watched him go down the path, and then she went back into the kitchen. She had her meal, thinking about the life she
led and how much she would like to change it.
She knew that tonight Hamish would return home the worse for drink and
take it out on her again. He would shout
at her, abuse her, but hopefully he would not touch her. She wished she was living somewhere else,
away from him, but where would she go?
This house in the country outside Glasgow had been given to them by
Hamish’s father, and she knew she would never be able to afford somewhere of
her own to live.
Jeanne was tall and
slim, her long auburn hair curling down to just below her shoulders. She was twenty-four, nearly twenty-five years
old, and she knew she was nothing special to look at. Her looks were average, no more, but there
were already lines in her face that showed how hard her life had been. She had no relatives. In fact, she was an orphan, left in a box on
the steps of a hospital on the south coast with just a letter that said she was
French and her name was Jeanne Juliette Leclerc and giving her date of
birth. Somewhat bizarrely, the letter
also said that she had been left a great sum of money that would be given to
her on her twenty-fifth birthday, but it gave no clue as to where this money
would come from or by whom it would be given.
No one had taken that part of the letter seriously, although at least
they had told Jeanne about it when she was old enough to understand, and she
still kept the letter hidden away.
She met Hamish
Cameron in college while he was doing a course in engineering and she had been
finishing off her own studies. They
married as soon as they had both finished at college, but then Hamish seemed to
change. Much later, his friends told her
that he had always been a bully, although if that was his natural disposition
then he had managed to suppress it all the time they were at college. He had, so she was told, inherited his
behaviour from his father, who owned the local estate and treated his workers
like slaves. No one liked John Cameron,
and there did not seem much doubt that his son Hamish was following in the
family tradition.
By the end of their
first year of marriage, Hamish was treating Jeanne as no more than a slave, a
possession that he owned and could do with as he wished. He expected her to wait on him hand and foot,
and pander to his every whim, and he was not slow with the abuse, both verbal
and physical, however hard she tried to please him. In short, he turned from the loving fiancé
she had known at college to a despicable husband who was both an arrogant bully
and a wife beater. She had also heard
that Hamish had often been seen in the company of a young woman who was,
apparently the wife of one of his father’s workers. Jeanne knew the girl they were talking
about. Once, while shopping in the
village, they had met. Not a word was
said, but Jeanne saw the smile on the girl’s face and she was sure it was a
mocking smile.
Tonight would be a
bad one. She already knew that from his
attitude when he came in earlier. She
went to bed early, hoping that if she were asleep then at least she could not
be accused of doing anything wrong to upset him, and perhaps she might avoid
the abuse that would otherwise be inevitable.
Well after midnight,
she was suddenly woken by the sound of someone banging about downstairs. It was followed by the sound of unsteady
footsteps walking up the stairs, and then the door burst open. Hamish staggered in and fell onto the bed,
reeking of alcohol. He looked at Jeanne
as if he was going to say something but his eyes closed before he said a word.
The next morning,
Hamish came down the stairs looking hung over, as usual. Before he could open his mouth she placed his
breakfast in front of him. He just
looked at her. He was already late, and
he knew it. He had to be at his father’s
estate, and his father would shout at him if he was not on time. He ate as quickly as he could, but when he
had finished and stood up, he turned to Jeanne just before he walked out of the
kitchen.
“I will be back at
six. You had better make sure my dinner
is ready, or there will be all hell to pay.”
“I have to go into
Lid-Brook today. I need to get some
shopping. Have you any money?”
“Use your card. That’s what you have it for.”
“That draws on my
savings I had before I ever met you.”
“Why, you contrary
bitch, I’ll show you a thing or two,” and he walked towards her with his hand
raised.
Jeanne snatched up a
kitchen knife and pointed it at him. “I
warned you last night that you had better not ever touch me again.”
Hamish stopped in
his tracks, startled. Jeanne’s
expression was emotionless, and a chill ran up his spine. “Don’t think this is the end of it, because
it’s not,” he sneered. “You won’t be so
cocky when the room is finished in the big house for us. There will be no more of this walking to the
village then.” Hamish gave her one more
look before he walked out the door.
* * * * *
Jeanne’s bankcard
did not work. She stood at the cash
point for several minutes, feeling like swearing and trying to work out what
had gone wrong. She knew there was
enough money in her account, and yet it persistently told her to “refer to
bank”. Finally, she went into the bank
and explained her problem. The man
behind the counter tapped a few keys on his keyboard and then spoke into the
phone. A few moments later, the manager
came out. “Would you come to my office,
please, Mrs. Cameron?”
“Is there something
wrong with my account?”
“Good heavens
no. I needed to speak to you urgently,
and I have been unable to contact you by telephone. Please forgive the inconvenience and accept
my apologies, but putting a temporary stop on cash withdrawals was the easiest
way to make sure we didn’t miss you when you came in. If you will come with me, I will explain.”
In his office he
held a chair out for her, and once they were both seated, he began to
explain. “Mrs. Cameron, I have been
contacted by Giles and Peacock, the solicitors just up the street. The details, I’ll leave for them to explain,
except to say that it is most urgent you deal with this straight away. I have been asked to give this letter to you,
confirming their wish to see you. I knew
you came to the bank each Friday, so when they contacted me I was able to say
that I was likely to see you, and I made the arrangements, for which I
apologise again, to make sure we didn’t miss you.”
“How did they know I
banked here? This bank account was given
to me on my birthday.”
“I have no idea.”
Jeanne opened the
envelope and read the letter.
Dear Mrs, Jeanne
Juliette Leclerc,
We have been
trying to contact you for several months.
We are the holders of your late mothers will, and we would be grateful
if you could attend our offices at your earliest convenience for a formal
reading.
At the bottom of the
letter was an illegible signature and the solicitors’ stamp.
Jeanne stood up and
shook the bank manager’s hand, feeling more than a little bemused. She collected her money for shopping before
she left the bank, and a few minutes later she was at the offices of Giles and
Peacock. As soon as she told the
receptionist who she was, she was ushered into a plush office where a
bespectacled elderly man was seated behind a desk.
“Please sit down,
Madame Leclerc.”
He had a slight
accent; French, she thought.
He continued, “I am
so glad you came to see us today. I
understand you may not have seen your mother for many years. May I ask, do you know much about her?”
Jeanne had often
wondered about her mother, but had never found out anything at all. “No, I was left outside a hospital only a few
days after I was born. There was a
letter that gave my name and a bank account number, and there was a short birth
certificate that confirmed I was a French national born in England. There was also a note that said I would
receive wealth, whatever that meant, on my twenty-fifth birthday, which is now
in three days time.” She opened her
purse and took out her birth certificate, handing it to the man behind the
desk.
He smiled, examined
it briefly, and handed it back. “Do you
speak French, Madame Leclerc?”
“Yes. I’m fairly fluent. I studied the language in college, and I
spent a year in Paris working as an interpreter.”
He handed her an
envelope with her name on it. Inside was
a small gold wedding ring and a letter written in French.
Dearest Jeanne,
It broke my heart when I left you on the
steps of the hospital, but I had no other choice. I have contracted a very rare, contagious
disease while on holiday. I’m sorry to
say there is no cure and I very much doubt that I will last the year out. I have instructed your nanny to take you to
the hospital and leave you near the door.
She will stay until a nurse finds you, to make sure that you don’t come
to any harm.
If the solicitors have done their job
properly, you will now be a few days from your twenty-fifth birthday. A very large sum of money will have been
deposited in your bank, which will, as promised, be available to you on your
birthday. The solicitors will give you
all the details, as well as the other rights and responsibilities that go with
your inheritance. If you have any
questions or need any help, do not hesitate to ask them. They will support you for as long as you need
them, and I strongly suggest that, when the time comes, you recommend them to
your heir. They have served me well.
In with this letter is a gold wedding
ring. I would like you to wear it in
place of any that might be on your finger now.
It has been passed down in our family from as far back as our records
go, and it will explain to you anything that the solicitors cannot.
I can only wish you a happy twenty-fifth
birthday. I will die with the knowledge
that you will never want for anything again.
With undying love, from your mother, Jeanne
Juliette Leclerc
Jeanne placed the
letter back into the envelope and gave it to the man behind the desk. She looked at the ring noticing an
inscription inside. She took a closer
look and read, “Feel the power.” She
looked at the wedding ring she had bought for herself because Hamish had forgotten. Taking it off her finger she slipped on her
mother’s ring, and she felt a little shiver run through her body.
She put her wedding
ring in her purse, and looked at the solicitor once more.
“A deposit of one
million eight-hundred thousand British pounds will be cleared into your bank
account on Monday. On that date you will
also take ownership of a chateau worth a little over three million Euros, just
outside Epernon in France. The chateau
is fully staffed and permanent arrangements are in place to cover all running
costs and to pay the staff. The domestic
servants all knew your mother, and they are waiting for you to return to your
home.”
Jeanne was
shocked. She could feel her heart
thumping, and she struggled for a while to regain her composure. For a moment, she thought about Hamish and
how he had turned into a brute who gave her nothing.
“Could I leave all
this in your hands for the moment?” She
looked at the name on the desk, “Mister Giles?”
“I am Joseph
Barbier, and I will be honoured to be your personal lawyer as I was your
mother’s. Of course you may leave it in
my hands, Madame Leclerc. If and when
you decide to return to France, I will be in our offices in Paris. You will have realised that your bank is a
subsidiary of a much larger French bank, and we also operate our legal practice
in both France and England.”
* * * * *
Jeanne completed her
shopping in a daze, and then went home to prepare Hamish’s dinner.
He came in his usual
surly self, not seeming to notice that she seemed distracted. He ate and then went up to the main
bedroom. After a minute or two, he
called down to her. “Jeanne, can you
come up her a moment? I have a problem.”
Jeanne went up the
stairs, but as she entered the bedroom his fist struck her on the jaw. “That is the last time you will ever pull a
fucking knife on me, you bitch. Do you
hear me?”
The room was
spinning as Jeanne tried to focus on Hamish and what he was saying. Before she could reply, he had smashed the
back of his fist into the side of her face.
“Do you hear,
bitch?” he yelled.
Jeanne fell to the
ground, unconscious.
“That’s good enough
for you, bitch, and there will be more of the same when I get back.” Hamish left her where she was on the floor
and left the house.
Several hours later,
Hamish was in the Half Moon public house with the wife of his father’s employee,
talking to her and to the barmaid. As
was usual on a Friday night, all the village regulars were in there, and Hamish
was talking loudly and arrogantly, as he always did, as if he owned the whole
village.
“Are you not with
your wife tonight, Hamish?”
“Don’t be silly,
Wendy. Wives stay at home looking after
the house while their husbands get down to the important business of drinking
and socialising. Don’t worry, I put her
in her place good and proper tonight.
She won’t dare to criticise me again.”
Then he looked at the knuckles on his right hand as if he were
appraising them.
An old man was
sitting at the end of the bar was listening.
“My, you are a hard man. Punched
your wife twice, did you, just so you could come to the pub to make love with
another man’s wife?”
Hamish turned round
rapidly, looking to see who had spoken.
“I’ll kill the man that said that.”
The old man replied
calmly, “I am seventy-five, and I don’t doubt you could kill me if you had the
guts to do it, but you really don’t have the guts, do you? You just beat up women. You are no more than an arrogant and ignorant
prick, just like your father. He
regularly beat up your mother, right until the day she died.”
Hamish stepped
forward, his fists raised. “I’ll show
you what I dare do, you old fart. How
dare you call my father and me names?”
He took another step
towards the old man, who raised a walking stick and brought it down with a thwack!
on the back of Hamish’s hand. Hamish
screamed in pain. “You’ve broken my
fucking hand, you bastard. I will make
you pay for this.”
The old man smiled,
and picked up his drink.
“My father will see
to you, you just wait and see.” Hamish
was holding his hand in pain as he threatened the old man.
“Your father
couldn’t see to me when your dear mother was alive. You just tell him the man that bruised your
knuckles was your mother’s brother, and see what he says to that.”
Hamish left the pub
and walked home. He went straight to the
drinks cabinet where he pulled out his favourite bottle of whisky. Although his hand was hurting badly, he
managed to undo the cap and pour himself a large glassful. He looked at the injury, decided it probably
was not broken, swallowed the whisky and poured another glassful. By the time he decided to go upstairs to bed
his head was spinning, and he had only staggered as far as the bottom of the
stairs when a police car pulled up outside.
As he turned to answer the knock on the door he lost his balance and
fell, knocking over a glass vase that smashed on the stone floor.
The police heard the
noise and forced open the front door. On
seeing him on the floor, obviously very drunk and trying to get up, the police
officer said, “Hamish Cameron? I am
arresting you for threatening behaviour earlier this evening at the Half Moon
public house. “You do not have to say
anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned
something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in
evidence.” The officer then cuffed his
hands behind his back as Hamish struggled ineffectually.
The other officer
went up the stairs and re-appeared a few moments later. “The information was correct, George. I’ve called an ambulance. His wife is upstairs, still unconscious. Looks like the bastard gave her a right
beating and then left her unconscious while he went to the pub.”
* * * * *
It was two days
before Jeanne woke up and saw a woman police officer at her bedside.
“You are in
hospital; Mrs. Cameron. You have been
unconscious for three days. Your husband
is locked up and will be appearing in court this morning.”
Her jaw was hurting,
and it gave her a great deal of pain to speak.
“Hamish did this to me?” Her eyes
closed, and there was a bleeping from the monitoring equipment and lights flashed. Two nurses and a doctor ran into the room,
and the police officer stood back.
After a few minutes,
the doctor turned to the police officer, looking serious. “I don’t think you will get any more from
Mrs. Cameron for a while. Her
consciousness has shut down, not uncommon after a severe blow like this, I’m
afraid. She may be in a coma for quite a
while.”
“Have you any idea
how long she will be like that, Doctor?”
“How long is a piece
of string? She might wake up in a few
hours; it might be days, or weeks, or…”
He shrugged. “The brain is a
strange thing. With this sort of injury,
I can’t give any guarantees.”
Moments later, the
policewoman was out of the ward and talking on her phone.
* * * * *
Hamish woke up in
the police cell, and for the next few hours did very little except to protest
his innocence. His father and a lawyer
arrived, demanding that he be released, but the custody officer flatly
refused. “He’ll be brought before the
magistrates on Monday, and they’ll decide whether he can be released.”
“We’ll have you out
on Monday,” Hamish’s father told him.
* * * * *
The charges against
Hamish were assault and threatening behaviour.
The magistrates decided it was a case they could deal with immediately
so as not to waste the court’s time at a future date, and very quickly Hamish
was given a twenty-eight day prison sentence, suspended for twelve months. His defence lawyer looked smug as Hamish was
told he was free to go.
As Hamish left the
courtroom, two police officers marched up to him. One of them grabbed him by the arm and
snapped handcuffs on his wrists, while the other went into the courtroom.
Hamish’s father,
shouted, “What the hell is going on?”
“Mr Cameron,” the
police officer told him, “Your son is going to be charged with more serious offences.”
At that moment, the
Clerk of the Court appeared with the police officer who had gone into the
courtroom.
“The magistrates are
prepared to hear the new charges now,” he said.
“It’s a little unusual, but they’re on some sort of drive to save court time
and they don’t see the point in having to allocate extra time in a day or two
when they’re able to do it now.”
“Absolutely not,”
said the defence lawyer. “We’re in no
position…”
“You’d better tell
the magistrates, then,” said the Clerk.
“They want everyone back in court.
And, the mood they’re in, I wouldn’t want to risk them holding you in
contempt.”
* * * * *
In court, while the
magistrates listened intently, the police put the charges to Hamish. He was then officially brought before the
court and the charges again read out.
The magistrates
glanced at each other and seemed to be in agreement.
“Mr Cameron, because
of the seriousness of this matter, we find that we cannot hear this case in
this court. We remand you in custody
until a date is set for a hearing at the Crown Court… no…” the defence lawyer
had stood up and opened his mouth to speak.
He sat down again. “…there will
be no bail in this case. It is our
opinion that the defendant is a dangerous individual who may re-offend.”
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