Number 95 Hawthorn Drive

By Bob French

At the far end of Hawthorn Drive sat an old stone cottage; number 95.  The cottages around it had all been purchased by YUPYs and torn down and replaced with smart town houses.  The land upon which the old stone cottage sat was surrounded by idyllic ancient oak trees and wrapped in climbing ivy. For more than sixty years it had been the home of Mary Duval, a gentle widow whose only wealth was the cottage she loved and the memories it held. After her husband had not come home from the war, she was left with bringing up her son who was now the manager of a city bank.

        One autumn afternoon, a young couple arrived claiming to be sent by the council. With convincing smiles and forged documents, they told Mary that the cottage was dangerously unstable and would soon be condemned. Frightened and confused, the elderly woman believed every word. They offered to buy the property immediately, promising enough money to help her live comfortably for the rest of her days. They even allowed her to remain in her cottage until the deeds were signed.  This kindness clinched the deal. 

        Desperate and trusting, Mary accepted a small deposit, while the couple assured her that once the bank had confirmed the deal, the balance would be paid to her within a month. Feeling unsure, she wrote to her son and explained what had happened, but heard nothing.

        The payment never came.

        By the time Mary realised she had been deceived, the couple had legally changed the deeds into their own names and disappeared behind expensive solicitors. She remained in her beloved cottage until early winter had set in.  Then on the 10^th of November, storms and high winds hit the region causing much structural damage.  Mary knew from past experience that her little cottage would easily survive the storms, so she remained in her comfortable parlour; refusing to leave.  As the howling of the storm raged outside, Mary sat and took stock of her situation.  She knew she was frail and was about to become homeless.  Heartbroken, and too frail to fight, the establishment, she wrapped her shawl around herself and quietly passed away.

        The young couple celebrated their good fortune in secret, not wishing to let on how they had tricked Mary.  Within a few weeks, they had arranged a loan from the bank, increased their mortgage and quickly moved to have their newly acquired property torn down and a new town house built on the same lines as those around them.

        Within a week things started to change, much to their surprise. The bank were questioning the legality of the paperwork regarding the sale and the manager of the mortgage lender firm wanted to speak to them urgently.  The couple realised that any plans to demolish the old cottage would have to wait until all the paperwork had been sorted, so they moved into the old stone cottage. 

        On the first night the couple were woken by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. The second night, the kitchen window was opened, causing a cold draft to rush throughout the cottage.  The couple decided to tough it out claiming that these old cottages moved with the heat and cold.  Then on the weekend, a door slammed and when the couple went to investigate, they heard the ghostly sound of Mary’s voice whaling throughout the cottage.

        “You will never live in my cottage.” 

        This appeared to be the last straw for the couple.  In the morning after a sleepless night, someone rang their front door bell.  When they opened the door, they were met by a tall gentleman in a smart suit.

        “Good morning. I have an order from the Bailiff’s Court.” and held out the envelope. “Consider yourselves to have been served. Good day.” A left without another word.

        By mid-day the bank had called and informed the couple that their loan had been refused on the grounds that there were some inaccuracies in their application.  They were now completely penniless. The manager took pity on them and agreed to allow them to stay in the cottage until they got their affairs in order. In the late afternoon they discovered that their electricity had been cut off.  As they sat in the darkness, the haunting sound of Mary’s voice crept through the cottage again causing the couple to break into screams and tears of fright. 

        They managed to stay in the cottage for another two days, then they cracked. The people who lived next door to them called the police after hearing screams and thought that a domestic disturbance was taking place.  The police didn’t waste their time and called the local doctor, who after listening to their gibbering account about the cottage being haunted, approached the NHS regarding temporary custody in the nearest mental institute.

         James, the son of Mary was a senior bank manager in the city.  He was also a member of the Territorial Army and held the appointment of Commanding Officer of the Special Signals Detachment. After he had heard that the couple who had caused the death of his mother had been removed from the scene, he called his son.

        William, it’s Dad.  Are you still interested in living in Grandma’s little cottage?”

        “Yes please Dad.”

        “Good. Can you contact Sergeant Phillips and ask if he can pop down to the cottage and remove the hidden cameras and bugs, including the piped voices.

Copyright Bob French