it sit empty for so long?’
‘It’s been empty ever since the great storm of 1919,’ Bunty answered. ‘After the disappearance of all those children, the house gained a reputation. Some believed it was haunted, some thought it was cursed, some figured it was just flat out plain bad luck. I’m afraid once the stigma stuck no one would touch it. It would be like trying to sell the hotel from the Shining.’
‘The Shining?’ Ava’s mouth quirked.
‘I’ve been known to indulge in the odd Stephen King, it’s my guilty pleasure,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘But don’t tell the ladies, it’s not on the approved reading list for the Midnight Book Club.’
‘You’re members of the book club too?’ Ava asked in amusement.
‘We are the book club,’ Bunty replied with a shrug, ‘we like to keep busy.’
‘So,’ Ava backtracked to Bunty’s earlier comment about the house, ‘some of the legend is true then? Those children did go missing?’
‘Great heavens, a wolf!’ Barbara exclaimed loudly as they stepped out from the trees in view of her little campsite, where Bailey was laid out in the sun on a sparse patch of grass.
‘That’s Bailey,’ Ava introduced her to the assembly of startled women. ‘She’s my dog but don’t worry she won’t hurt you.’
‘It’s huge!’ Betty blinked, still holding onto Norma and her bottomless knitting bag.
‘She’s part Sasquatch,’ Ava replied dryly.
‘Is this where you’re staying?’ Bunty glanced around in disapproval, noting the small scruffy tent next to the brand-new truck, both of which were behind a crude firepit. ‘Oh no, no, no, no, this simply won’t do at all. Pack your things young lady, you’ll stay with me for a while until you get on your feet.’
‘I am on my feet,’ Ava replied as she disentangled herself from Bunty’s arm and headed over to the firepit which was currently devoid of anything but ash from the night before.
Ava took a seat on the log as Bailey loped over to her and pressed her face into her lap waiting to be stroked.
‘You can’t honestly think that living like a… a hobo is preferable to staying with a friend or even at the local guest house,’ Bunty frowned. ‘If it’s a question of money...’
‘It’s not,’ Ava shook her head. ‘It’s kind of you to offer Bunty but I have money, I just don’t want to stay anywhere else. This is where I want to be.’
The moment the words left her mouth she realized they were true.
‘Well it certainly is a heck of a view,’ Ivy turned to look out across the brilliant, glittering sea.
‘I can’t imagine why on earth you’d want to stay here,’ Betty settled herself on one of the log seats. She glanced up at the house looming over them and shuddered, ‘especially on your own, with everything that’s happened there. It’s not just haunted you know,’ she whispered, ‘it’s cursed.’
‘Now, now, Betty,’ Bunty admonished with a cluck of her tongue, ‘it’s nothing of the sort. Kindly remember we are the historical society not the literary society. We deal in documented historical fact not flights of fantasy.’
Betty harrumphed slightly, her lips pursed, as she tucked her hands neatly in her lap.
Ava watched as one by one the ladies seated themselves around the cold firepit.
‘Why would you think its cursed?’ Ava asked curiously. ‘I mean, I’ve heard the stories about it being haunted…’
‘Don’t encourage her Ava,’ Bunty frowned.
‘Oh, hush up Bunty,’ Betty waggled her finger at the other woman, ‘you can be such a stick in the mud sometimes. The girl asked a question and if she’s brave enough to camp out here on her own she’s brave enough to hear the answer.’
Bunty sighed loudly and rolled her eyes heavenward.
‘It was the curse of the Lynch family,’ she began, her voice more suited to the firelight at midnight, rather than a cold dead firepit in the middle of a bright sunny morning. ‘It all began with Ephraim Lynch, the patriarch of the Lynch family back in the mid-19th century. He bought the house from a well-known Boston architect.’
‘No, no, no,’ Barbara interrupted, ‘you’re telling it all wrong. He didn’t buy it from the architect, he bought it from his son.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Betty huffed, ‘tomato tomahto, the fact is the previous owner sold it to Ephraim Lynch. At first the SON,’ she looked over at Barbara pointedly, ‘of the architect who built the place didn’t want to sell, but Ephraim had his mind set and would not be swayed. By all accounts he was a very hard