The Carousel (a Christmas ghost story)
By James Cessford
Copyright 2011 James Cessford ©
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It was Christmas Eve and a blizzard had been blowing since dawn. By the evening Rooksnest Manor and its grounds were covered in a deep white blanket of snow. Awake at last after the long journey, Lily remained curled up under a quilt on the back seat and listened with joy at the wonderful muffled crunch the tyres made as the car climbed slowly up the gently sloping drive. It was not always in such good spirits that Lily found herself on this long winding approach to the house. She had visited Rooksnest many times in her dreams; although she knew nothing of its history she always woke with the same vague sense of unease, a chill that lingered on long into the warmth of the day. But at Christmas it was always different; at Christmas there was enough light in the house to expose the shadows and drive them back into the old cracked walls.