“All right.” Sonia settled back into her seat and picked up her tea. She
blew a wisp of steam away before beginning. “Marwick House was one of
the first buildings constructed on the street. You might have noticed its
architecture is a bit off-theme. The original owner had planned it to be a
small hotel, though he tragically died of a stroke before its doors ever opened.
”
“Oh! What was his name? Do you think—”
“No, I don’t think he’s haunting Marwick House.” Sonia sent me a sharp
glare to silence me. “None of that started until decades later. Let me tell my
story.”
“Sorry.”
“For a while, the building held a couple of respectable, normal families. Itwas, as I said, off-design for this neighbourhood, but some people thought
that provided it with a layer of charm. The house only really developed its
reputation as a haunted building when the Marwicks moved in.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “So the house was named after them, not the
original owner?”
“Correct. And with good reason. They became so notorious that it was
impossible to separate the name from the house. In 1942, Rohit and Shreya
Marwick moved into the building. They were a young, recently married
couple. Rohit had not long come back from the army, having served for only
two years, and was considered a catch. Shreya was a meek, quiet sort of girl
but considered pretty and a good wife. They were the upstanding family
everyone else admired. For a few years.”
Sonia sipped her tea. “My husband and I moved in here shortly after the
Marwicks’ reputation started to drop. Rohit was cruel and controlling of his
wife. This was a different time, mind—women weren’t supposed to divorce
their husbands, and what happened in the home stayed in the home. Shreya
would stay locked in that house for days or even weeks, and when she was
eventually allowed out, Rohit always accompanied her. We all felt bad for
Shreya, but none of us could do anything to help her except invite her over for
tea occasionally when her husband was at work.”
She paused to sigh deeply, and I leaned forward. “What is it?”
“I was one of the women who used to invite her over. Apparently, her
husband didn’t approve of it, and when he found out, he went wild. We didn’t
see her for days, and when she came to church that Sunday, she had bruises
all over her arms and face.”
I shuddered. “He sounds horrible.”
“Oh, he assuredly was. He was charismatic, though, and had a lot of
friends who turned a blind eye to his domestic life. Shreya didn’t deserve what
she went through. But she was so quiet that I don’t think she knew how to ask
for help, even if there was help to give.
“I wish I had a nice ending to this story, but I don’t. One night, shortly
after eleven, Shreya fell from her bedroom window. We don’t know if it was
accidental, a suicide, or murder. But she cracked her skull open on the stones
below. Because the window was at the back of the house, no one saw or
heard it happen. Rohit rightfully predicted he would be suspected for murder if
he called the police, so he did the sensible, rational thing and buried her in the
backyard.”
“Oh.” Nausea surfaced, and I put my cup down. “Do you know where in
the yard?”
“I haven’t ever seen behind the property. Apparently, it was in one of the
corners.”
I thought of the animal grave. All those little flecks of white churning out
of the brown. If we’d dug deep enough, would we have found human bones?
“Rohit tried to tell everyone his wife had gone to visit her cousin. We were
naturally suspicious, but again, it was a different time. What could we do?
Ask for an address to write to her, then never hear back?”
A grim smile lit up Sonia’s face. “Shreya got her revenge, though.
Rumours say her ghost lingered in the house. She tormented her cruel
husband. She presented him with awful nightmares, stared at him through his
mirror, and rattled chains while he tried to sleep. Four months after he buried
Shreya, Rohit took a length of rope, threw it over the branch of a tree beside her
grave, and hung himself.”