The Haunting Of Hastings House

Chapter 22

By
Brynn Morgan

Copyright © 2023 by – Brynn Morgan – All Rights Reserved.
It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited.

Chapter 22

Cynity and Hillary decided on a video call. The call came through Cynity's laptop, and she answered on the second ring.The picture was grainy at first but eventually cleared up, and Hillary came into view.She was a Hastings with dark flowing hair and piercing eyes inherited from her ancestor, Elizabeth. Her face was pale, and she wore no trace of a smile.

"Hello, Hillary," Cynity said warmly.

Hillary looked so tired."Hello, Cynity." Her voice was drab and lacked all feeling.

Cynity took a sip of coffee and waited for Hillary to start. Hillary was struggling. That was easy to see.
Instead, Cynity asked. "Why the sudden change of heart, Hillary? You were dead against it the last time we spoke." she reminded her.

Hillary shifted in her seat uncomfortably and cleared her throat. She leaned forward and looked directly at the camera. Her voice was low. "It threatened Anastacia."

Cynity's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Hillary blew out an aggravated breath. "I had a nightmare!" she voiced with irritation.

"When?" Cynity asked cautiously.

"The same day that I spoke to you. I dreamed I was at Hasting's house, and the girl came after me and Ana."

"What?" Cynity asked incredulously.

Hillary took another deep breath. "I just want this to be fucking over for God's sake Cynity. She has tortured me long enough, and I will not let Ana endure this torture."

Hillary began to tell Cynity of her encounter with the girl many years ago.

***

"I was twelve years old," she said. "I had been shopping with Mother all day for new clothes. We had just arrived home, and I was tired from all the stores we had shopped in that day. I could barely put one foot in front of the other."

***

Hillary – Then

"When we get home, Hillary, please take your new things upstairs and lay them out on the bed for Beatrice to put away," Marjorie instructed in a soft voice as she checked her pretty reflection in the silver compact mirror and snapped it closed with a click, flinging it back into her white clutch.

Hillary hated her mother. She was so disgustingly kind and beautiful to everyone that it pained Hillary to look at her. Marjorie could have been an actress on the silver screen. Hillary, however, had her father's gangly and awkward looks, and she hated that too. She was not ugly; she was plain, and no one saw her.

Her parents mostly ignored her, and Hillary was okay with that. She was an only child. Her mother and father would go on trips and be away for weeks at a time, leaving her in the care of the servants. Hillary liked her books. If you gave her an enjoyable book, she was perfectly content. She loved hiding in a small cubby in her father's library, behind his large executive desk, and losing herself in the stories she read for hours.

This shopping trip that her mother had forced her into that day was only to appease her guilt for going to Germany for over a month and leaving her alone.

"Yes, Mother," Hillary said in a flat tone.

The chauffeur parked the car in front of the mansion and opened the passenger door for Hillary and Marjorie to exit.