The Sins of Rachel Ellis: A Novel of Terror

by Philip Caveney

Overview

A chilling tale of innocence lost and an ancient evil awakened in the Welsh countryside.

Sixteen-year-old Pandora's summer takes a dark turn when she visits her great-great aunt Rachel in Wales. Despite her aunt's youthful appearance, the local townspeople fear her and her strange gardener, Ewen, who holds an eerie power over the village women. As Pandora delves into her aunt's secrets, she finds herself drawn to Ewen's seductive allure despite her growing terror.

Amidst an atmosphere of suspicion and ageless evil, Pandora must confront the sinister truth behind her aunt's intentions, Ewen's nightly visits, and the ghostly child beckoning from the mansion's lawn. With each chilling revelation, Pandora edges closer to a fate from which there may be no escape.

The Sins of Rachel Ellis is a gripping horror novel that will leave readers breathless as they follow a young girl's soul in peril. Philip Caveney weaves a masterful tale of supernatural horror, building to an explosive climax that will haunt readers long after the final page is turned.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781466872301
Publisher:	St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date:	07/14/2014
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	213
File size:	294 KB

About the Author

Philip Caveney lives in Wales where, in addition to writing, he pursues a career as a musician. THE SINS OF RACHEL ELLIS was his first novel.

Philip Caveney lives in Wales where, in addition to writing, he pursues a career as a musician. He is the author of The Sins of Rachel Ellis and Tiger, Tiger.

Read an Excerpt

The Sins of Rachel Ellis

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By Philip Caveney

Macmillan

Copyright © 1978 Philip Caveney
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-7230-1

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CHAPTER 1

Paddington station resembled an ant hill.

Beneath the great dusty glass roof, countless numbers of people scurried to and fro in the bleak morning. They queued impatiently for tickets; they hurried along grey platforms; they slammed train doors, or leaned from windows, waving and shouting. Some of them struggled beneath the weight of bulky suitcases. Yet more waited upon their appropriate platforms, half hidden behind newspapers. Everywhere there was a great coming and going, a feeling of urgency. It was Monday morning and there were appointments to keep, wages to earn and little time for indulging in pointless conversation.

Pandora sat upon an uncomfortable bench, feeling small; as small as only a sixteen-year-old can, when she is within minutes of leaving her parents for the summer. She gazed wistfully along the rails to where they converged in the distance and her heart was already gone, a million miles down that lonely track. Then she glanced back anxiously towards the newsagent's kiosk, where her Mother was waiting in line.

Pandora wished that she could turn around and call the whole thing off. There was a vague feeling of unease within her, a certain something that didn't really make sense; after all, she herself had engineered this leaving. She had wanted to help. She still wanted to help.

A train pulled into the station, disturbing her thoughts. It clattered dismally to a halt.

Samantha hurried over with the comics.

"These are the only ones they had, darling. I hope they're O.K."

Pandora smiled. "They'll be fine, Mummy. Don't worry."

They exchanged a brief glance. Samantha's eyes were inscrutable behind the dark glasses that she always wore. She sat down beside her daughter. "Is this your train?" she inquired.

Pandora shrugged. "I think so. But there's ten minutes yet. No hurry."

"Well, we've got to get your trunk on yet ... oh dear, are you sure you want to go through with this ...?"

"Of course." Pandora grinned. "You make it sound awful."

"It's not that. It's just ... well, I don't want you to feel that we're trying to get rid of you."

"Mummy! Don't be silly. I want to go."

"Do you, dear? Really?"

"It'll be fun."

"Fun. Yes. ..."

"Really."

Samantha nodded, smiled. She seemed reassured. Pandora wished that her Mother would take off the sunglasses; she would have liked to see her eyes. But that, of course was impossible. She would almost certainly be recognised as Samantha West, Film Star, and the indifferent crowd that thronged the station would become fans; a dangerous, predatory breed. Pandora had seen it happen a couple of times and she despised it. She hated seeing her Mother trapped and helpless in the midst of a mob, whose only ambition was to snatch a small part of her away.

So the glasses stayed on, Samantha's only protection against a hungry world.

"She needs protection," thought Pandora. "Daddy's always so wrapped up in his books. ..."

"Oh, there's a porter now," exclaimed Samantha. "Excuse me!" The man slouched over as though he was carrying the world on his narrow shoulders. There was an expression of acute boredom on his face. He eyed Pandora's large trunk suspiciously.

"Yes, love?"

"Could you put this in the guard's van please? Oh, this is the Swansea train, isn't it?"

He glanced sleepily behind him as though he'd been unaware of the train's existence till now. "Uh ... oh yeah, that's the one."

"Fine. Here you are." She pressed a pound note into his hand and he brightened up instantly.

"Thank you, Mam!" He hurried off to collect his trolley.

"Let's find you a compartment," suggested Samantha. She picked up the little suitcase and the two of them strolled over to the train. Pandora pulled herself aboard and wrinkled her nose disdainfully at the smell of warm dust and urine. She led the way along the corridor until they found a vacant compartment. They went in and Samantha stowed the suitcase up above.

"I wish I was travelling with you," she sighed. "Now don't forget. ..."

"Change at Swansea! Yes, I know."

"And try to get on with Great Aunt Rachel, won't you. Remember she's very old, so she won't want a barrage of noise night and day. ..."

"I'll brush my teeth after every meal," promised Pandora with a grin.

Samantha shook her head ruefully. She gazed down at this strange sixteen-year-old creature that just happened to be her daughter. Pandora was by no means a beautiful child, but there was a certain tomboyish attraction to her. Her face was elf-like, the features small and delicate. Her eyes were quite striking, wide and blue, they surveyed the world with quiet confidence, from either side of a tiny snub nose. Her hair was a confusion of copper-coloured waves, that fell down to her shoulders in an unruly tangle, framing the quick intelligence of her face. She looked a trifle uncomfortable in the white blouse and plain black skirt that her Mother had made her wear. She had always preferred the less formal attire of jeans and T-shirt. Her white stockingless legs looked somehow awkward, splayed as they were against the dusty seat.

"She's growing up," thought Samantha, vaguely. "She seems to grow another inch every time I turn around. ..."

She was suddenly reminded of an old joke.

Parent. "It's about time we discussed the facts of life."

Child. "Certainly Mummy. ... What did you want to know?"

Whoever originated that little gem probably had Pandora in mind, or at least, someone very much like her. It wasn't that she was a precocious kid ... no, it was something harder to define than that. Pandora had an aura about her that spoke of knowledge far in excess of her tender years, a sort of quiet self-assured confidence that sixteen-year-olds did not, as a rule, possess. Of course she'd always been an independent little so and so; but then, she'd had to be. She probably had the worst possible combination of parents, an actress and an author. It was a volatile mixture.

Samantha was totally caught up in making movies. It had always been her true love, taking precedence over her social and family life. Hence, much of Pandora's childhood had been spent in airport lounges, waving good-bye as her Mother jetted away to perform in front of movie cameras on the other side of the world.

Her Father's work, on the other hand, kept him constantly at home. John Ellis was a pretty successful novelist, the author of over fifteen books, two of them best sellers; but it was a success that he had earned by long hours alone in his room, with a notepad and typewriter. Maybe it was his ability to live so vividly on paper that had stifled the reality of his life and made him the strange, brooding, secretive man that he was.

All in all, it was amazing that the marriage had survived as long as it had. On the rare occasions that John and Samantha were together, they invariably argued and bickered about stupid, shallow little differences. More recently, the confrontations had become increasingly physical and the marriage was all but hanging in shreds. What had once been merely verbal abuse had lately degenerated into out and out violence. All too often, Pandora had been awakened by the sound of breaking ornaments in her parents' bedroom, a noise that was invariably followed by her Mother's hysterical crying or her Father's incensed yells. Perhaps Pandora was the one factor that kept the marriage clinging together.

"My baby," thought Samantha, looking down fondly at her child's upturned face. "The one they told me I'd never have. ..."

She remembered back to that night in the hospital. Her finest performance. It had been a terrible ordeal for her. After losing an earlier child by a miscarriage, she had been advised by her doctor to have an abortion when the new pregnancy occurred. But Samantha had wanted, more than anything else, to be a Mother and she was determined to try, no matter what the outcome. After long hours of pain and humiliation and in spite of terrible complications, Pandora was born.

It seemed as though she'd had the worst possible introduction to life and from there on in, things hadn't improved much. She'd grown up in an atmosphere of uncertainty and isolation. Her parents were unable to spend much time with her, so more often than not, she was obliged to sit alone in her room, immersed in some book or other. As it sometimes happens, it was this very lack of stability at home that made Pandora the strong, independent creature that she was. She seemed to have no capacity whatsoever for making friends. Perhaps schoolmates were discouraged by her air of independence, which could easily be misinterpreted as conceit, and besides, it was certainly true that she had little in common with other girls of the same age. Perhaps it was simply that she had grown up a little too quickly for her own good.

Samantha frowned.

"It's always the innocents who suffer," she thought to herself. "Now here I am, about to leave her again. ... Or rather, she's leaving me."

"Mummy, you're thinking again! You're not to worry."

"Mmm?"

A portly middle-aged businessman paused by the door to examine the compartment, with the apparent intention of coming in. Pandora stuck her tongue out and blew a hearty raspberry in his direction. Outraged, he plodded away, looking for all the world like a furious pig.

"Pandora!" cried Samantha, putting her thoughts roughly aside. "That was very rude!"

"Sure. Got rid of him though, didn't it."

Samantha had to smile despite herself. "Little horror. Just see you mind your manners at your Aunt's house!"

"Great-great Aunt," corrected Pandora. "Golly, she must be really old!"

"Eighty-five, I think John said."

"Gosh. Do you think I'll ever live that long?"

The sound of slamming doors further down the train prevented Samantha from answering that rather awkward question. She jumped to her feet.

"Oh, my goodness, if I don't hurry along, I'll be going to Wales with you!" She gave Pandora a brief, fierce hug and hurried out of the compartment. Pandora followed her into the corridor and watched placidly as her Mother climbed down and slammed the door. A few late comers sprinted along the platform.

Pandora opened the window and leaned out.

"I'll write to you as soon as I get there," she cried.

Samantha reached up and kissed her. "Yes darling and I'll write straight back. ... Oh here, look, we're making it sound like a prison stretch. It's a holiday. Have a good time!"

"Yes." Unconvincing.

"Oh, and don't forget. ..."

"Mummy, please don't tell me to change at Swansea again!"

Samantha looked up at her daughter. She looked small and vulnerable, framed in the dusty window and somehow, in the grey gloom of morning, the station seemed a huge malignant place for such a child to be alone. A last few shreds of doubt wormed their way back into Samantha's heart.

"Darling, are you sure ...?"

Somewhere a whistle blew shrilly and Samantha's words were lost in the throaty roar of the train. It lurched and then began to move away. She followed a few steps, waving.

"See you after the holidays!" she cried.

"Bye Mummy! Love you!"

"You too, baby! Bye!"

And the train was gone, swaying into the distance. Samantha watched it dwindle, until the tiny, copper-haired figure waving at the window was too small to make out. She stood for a moment on the chilly platform and an abrupt sense of foreboding took her. The very air about her seemed charged with a grim alien coldness. She suddenly wanted, very much, to get out from under the grey roof of the station, into the morning sunshine.

Frowning, she turned away, startling a small flock of pigeons by her feet. They flapped upwards in alarm, the drumming of their wings sounding harsh and unreal in the silence.

Quickly, Samantha walked out of the station.

CHAPTER 2

Pandora chewed contemplatively on a cheese sandwich.

She had meant to save it for later, but she was bored already. The train rattled through flat, uninspiring countryside, broken only occasionally by a factory or industrial area. The sky was overcast and the colour of bruised flesh; it threatened rain.

Pandora sighed.

The train was only about half full and she still had the compartment to herself. She almost wished that she had allowed the businessman to enter. At least he would have been someone to talk to. But then, he had looked a boring sort anyway, the kind of man who would doubtlessly spend the entire journey engrossed in a newspaper. Why was it, she wondered, that she never encountered any of those handsome young men of the type that her Mother was constantly jumping into bed with, in her films. There was one in particular, a young man named Steve Asher, who had made his debut opposite Samantha in a film called "The Acid Summer." He was one of those golden-haired, suntanned types, who always looked out of place anywhere but on the beach. Lately, Pandora had taken to indulging in the most outrageous fantasies about him. ... She was sure that if she ever met the man in person, she would be terribly disappointed.

She sighed. On the face of it, it seemed that for this summer at least, she would have to be content with her own company, and that of Aunt Rachel of course. She wondered vaguely what the old woman would be like. The only thing she knew for sure about Aunt Rachel was her age. She was eighty-five, twenty years older than Pandora's Grandmother!

Pandora had originally been destined to spend the summer holidays with her Gran, who lived in Southend. She hadn't minded that. For one thing, she loved her Gran's cottage and the gaudy town, with its amusement arcades, wax works, hot dog stalls ... and the seashore, a good place for walking and being alone with her thoughts.

Besides, she was only too well aware of her parents' reasons for wanting to be alone. It was sad and complex and all too predictable. Due to the restrictions imposed upon them by their work, they were virtually strangers to each other, a husband and wife who met only occasionally and talked to each other even less.

The ridiculous thing was that they really did love each other; it was simply that they never had the time to notice. Pandora saw it all clearly, but said nothing. It was for them to iron out their differences and really, that was the idea behind this summer away from home. Samantha and John had cancelled all appointments for the next two months and intended to spend the time together, learning how to be a husband and wife again. Of course, they had never confided in Pandora about any of this but she was adept enough to figure it out for herself. Eager to help the idea along, she had herself suggested that she spend the summer with Gran. The whole visit had been duly arranged and things looked hopeful for the future. Pandora had visions of returning from Southend, to find her parents transformed into a couple of lovebirds. She suspected that she was being wildly optimistic, but then she had never been one for worrying unduly. The problem would resolve itself one way or another; she was at least confident of that.

Disaster struck only a week before the end of the school term. Grandmother had been taken ill and hospitalised; bronchitis, the doctors said. Grandfather, who was seventy-three and as deaf as a post, could hardly be expected to cope with a minor earthquake like Pandora.

The trip was off and that would have been the end of it, had Pandora not suggested Great-great Aunt Rachel.

She was a bit of an enigma, this one. The Ellises had first become aware of her existence about two years earlier, on one of the few mornings that they were all breakfasting together. Everyone was reading. John, the morning paper; Samantha, her latest script; Pandora, the homework she should have prepared the previous evening. She was also eating a bowl of corn flakes at the same time, not an easy task even for someone as practised as she.

A bundle of mail dropped through the letter box and fell with a slap in the hall. John grunted, wandered out, collected it, came back and resumed his seat. He sorted through the wad, disconsolately.

"Bill ... bill ... circular ... bill ... hello! This one looks interesting. Who do I know in Wales?"

If either Samantha or Pandora knew the answer to that question, they said nothing. John opened the envelope and took out a short, beautifully calligraphed letter. He read it with interest.

"Well, how about that?" he muttered when he had finished.

"How about what?" Samantha was interested enough to take her nose out of her manuscript for a few moments.

"This letter. ..."

"Read it out," suggested Pandora.

"All right," John frowned. "The address at the top is 'Savannah' (I suppose that's the name of the house ...), 'Bryn Myrddin. ...'"

"Brin where?" cried Pandora.

"Bryn Myrddin. I think I'm pronouncing it right. ... Carmarthen, South Wales. Anyway, this is the letter." He began to read.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Sins of Rachel Ellis by Philip Caveney. Copyright © 1978 Philip Caveney. Excerpted by permission of Macmillan.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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