Timothy Lea - Confessions from a Haunted House

I followed Sid’s squelching feet with pumping heart. The floorboards creaked beneath our feet and the candle in Sid’s hand flickered ghoulishly. The door loomed up like a wall in a slow motion accident. I did not move. Nothing could force me to lay hand on that smooth brass knob. Sid made a face at me and stepped forward. I took a step back. Sid turned the knob and I watched his face as he threw the door open. It was engulfed in horror. He let out a choking cry and his hand sprang to his mouth as he staggered backwards. Unable to resist seeing what lay beyond that terrible door, I darted a glance over his shoulder. Immediately, my own hand sprang to cover my nose and mouth. It was horrible. The cistern still gurgled and the chain swung gently. Why had Quint not opened a window …?

Epigraph I followed Sid’s squelching feet with pumping heart. The floorboards creaked beneath our feet and the candle in Sid’s hand flickered ghoulishly. The door loomed up like a wall in a slow motion accident. I did not move. Nothing could force me to lay hand on that smooth brass knob. Sid made a face at me and stepped forward. I took a step back. Sid turned the knob and I watched his face as he threw the door open. It was engulfed in horror. He let out a choking cry and his hand sprang to his mouth as he staggered backwards. Unable to resist seeing what lay beyond that terrible door, I darted a glance over his shoulder. Immediately, my own hand sprang to cover my nose and mouth. It was horrible. The cistern still gurgled and the chain swung gently. Why had Quint not opened a window …?

Title Page CONFESSIONS FROM A HAUNTED HOUSE Timothy Lea

Introduction INTRODUCTION How did it all start? When I was young and in want of cash (which was all the time) I used to trudge round to the local labour exchange during holidays from school and university to sign on for any job that was going – mason’s mate, loader for Speedy Prompt Delivery, part-time postman, etc. During our tea and fag breaks (‘Have a go and have a blow’ was the motto) my fellow workers would regale me with stories of the Second World War: ‘Very clean people, the Germans’, or of throwing Irishmen through pub windows (men who had apparently crossed the Irish sea in hard times and were prepared to work for less than the locals). This was interesting, but what really stuck in my mind were the recurring stories of the ‘mate’ or the ‘brother-in-law’. The stories about these men (rarely about the speaker himself) were about being seduced, to put it genteelly, whilst on the job by (it always seemed to be) ‘a posh bird’: ‘Oeu-euh. Would you care for a cup of tea?’ ‘And he was up her like a rat up a drainpipe’ These stories were prolific. Even one of the – to my eyes – singularly uncharismatic workers had apparently been invited to indulge in carnal capers after a glass of lemonade one hot summer afternoon near Guildford. Of course, these stories could all have been make-believe or urban myth, but I couldn’t help thinking, with all this repetition, surely there must be something in them? When writing the series, it seemed unrealistic and undemocratic that Timmy’s naive charms should only appeal to upper class women, so I quickly widened his demographic and put him in situations where any attractive member of the fairer sex might cross his path. The books were always fun to write and never more so than when they involved Timmy’s family: his Mum, his Dad (prone to nicking weird objects from the lost property office where he worked), his sister Rosie and, perhaps most importantly, his conniving, would be entrepreneur, brother-in-law Sidney Noggett. Sidney was Timmy’s eminence greasy, a disciple of Thatcherism before it had been invented. Whatever the truth concerning Timothy Lea’s origins, twenty-seven ‘Confessions’ books and four movies suggest that an awful lot of people share my fascination with the character and his adventures. I am grateful to each and every one of them. Christopher Wood aka Timothy Lea

Chapter 1

In which Timmy and his brother-in-law, Sid, set off on the trail to terror via a beautiful naked girl with a hairbrush, and in which faint-hearted readers pack it in before the start of Chapter 2.

Chapter 2

In which we meet lovely Harper Deneuve, a distant relation from the USA, and an eventful trip from London Airport culminates in a loud bang.

Chapter 3

In which the fearless threesome visit a solicitor and Harper hears something very much to her advantage. Death is in the air.

Chapter 4

In which Timmy, Sid and Harper arrive on bleak Dartmoor and spend a night or terror – and other things – at the lonely Cock Inn.

Chapter 5

In which the intrepid trio set off on the last stage of their hazardous journey to Grimstark Manor, ancestral seat of the Deneuves, and undergo a horrifying experience.

Chapter 6

In which we enter the walls of the family seat and meet Festering, the sinister butler, and his staff: Quint, Grip and Blight. Also, excitable Lady Antionia and the aptly-named undermaid, Fanny.

Chapter 7

In which night falls, secret panels slide and three lives dangle in the balance.

Chapter 8

In which Timmy escapes from the claustrophobic terror of Grimstark Manor and shares a few idyllic moments with upper-crust Fiona Frenzy in a nearby stable, as well as learning something that advances the plot.

Chapter 9

In which skilful deduction and investigation culminate in the horrible ordeal of Blackmoor Bog.

Chapter 10

In which Sid leads an assault on the forces of evil and death strikes again in macabre circumstances.

Chapter 11

In which the flower of the county assembles at Grimstark Manor for the Hunt Ball and the curtain rises on the final act.

Chapter 12

In which there is excitement, suspense and death and your goolies drop off if you skipped the rest of the book to get to the denouement. If you don’t know what a ‘denouement’ is, your goolies drop off anyway.

Chapter 13

Which is unlucky for some.

Also available in the confessions Ebook series

Copyright

About the Publisher

How did it all start?

When I was young and in want of cash (which was all the time) I used to trudge round to the local labour exchange during holidays from school and university to sign on for any job that was going – mason’s mate, loader for Speedy Prompt Delivery, part-time postman, etc.

During our tea and fag breaks (‘Have a go and have a blow’ was the motto) my fellow workers would regale me with stories of the Second World War: ‘Very clean people, the Germans’, or of throwing Irishmen through pub windows (men who had apparently crossed the Irish sea in hard times and were prepared to work for less than the locals). This was interesting, but what really stuck in my mind were the recurring stories of the ‘mate’ or the ‘brother-in-law’. The stories about these men (rarely about the speaker himself) were about being seduced, to put it genteelly, whilst on the job by (it always seemed to be) ‘a posh bird’:

‘Oeu-euh. Would you care for a cup of tea?’

‘And he was up her like a rat up a drainpipe’

These stories were prolific. Even one of the – to my eyes – singularly uncharismatic workers had apparently been invited to indulge in carnal capers after a glass of lemonade one hot summer afternoon near Guildford.

Of course, these stories could all have been make-believe or urban myth, but I couldn’t help thinking, with all this repetition, surely there must be something in them?