Ghost Story II

Part Two

... Anne stared at the rock for a long time, as the beam from the lighthouse swept repeatedly over the bay, and the waves made gentle swooshing noises against the beach. Although the moonlight cast the side of the rock into shadow, no figure seemed to appear. The rock sat there innocently, in the manner of rocks everywhere. It had been a dream. Anne sighed, and rubbed her eyes.

"You’re looking for her, aren’t you?" A girl’s voice said softly next to her. Anne’s eyes flew open. Sitting next to her on the window seat was a girl, about Anne’s age, dressed in ragged blue cut-off jeans, a scruffy red t-shirt, and bare feet. The face looked like the face from Anne’s dream, but it was a little older, a little rounder, and the hair was dry and fluffy, not hanging wet and lank.
"You dreamed about her, didn’t you?" Repeated the girl. "Someone who looked like me?" she prompted.
Anne nodded.
The girl sighed, and looked sadly down to the beach.
"How do you know about her?" Anne asked, "And who are you? For that matter, what are you? What’s happening, why am I seeing ghosts, if that’s what you are?"

The girl settled back against the cushions, tucking her legs up under her. "We are ghosts, if that’s what you want to call us. I’m Ruth, and the girl in your dream, that’s my sister Mary. We used to live here, with our parents. The bedroom you’re sleeping in is my old room." She smiled, "You’ll like it when the sun comes in during the day. It smells good, and you can hear the waves, and the day seems full of promise..."

The smile faded, and she looked sad again. "Mary and I loved sailing. Our father had taught us. We had a little dinghy called Havoc, that we sailed together, although we could both sail it on our own. One summer holiday, I caught chickenpox, and was stuck inside. It was a beautiful sunny day, and Mary wanted to take Havoc out. My father said she’d better not, it was due to get windy later on, but Mary said she’d be back long before the storm came in.
"She would have been back on the beach, but the kicking strap broke, so she moored out in the bay while she tried to fix it. It got windier and windier, Havoc was bouncing about on the mooring. She gave up trying to fix it, and instead cast off, meaning to sail back to the beach. My parents were down on the beach by this time, I was watching from the window here. We’d sailed in windy weather before, as long as Mary was careful, she’d be fine. But she was halfway back to the beach when a strong gust came in round the harbour wall, and flipped Havoc over. Mary didn’t have a chance to react, she was thrown into the water. We think she must have hit her head, or maybe been trapped under the sail… but she didn’t come back up."

A tear rolled down Ruth’s cheek, as she looked at the beach and saw the scene played out again. Anne too could see it in her mind, as she looked at the water, so calm and innocent now.

"We waited for so long. Too long. Havoc tossed on her side in the waves, but there was no sign of Mary. They got the lifeboat out, but it was too late.
"They found the body next day, and brought her in. She looked so peaceful… You’d never know she’d been battered about by the storm.

"My father never forgave himself. He felt he should have forbidden her to go sailing that day. This house, which had been full of laughter and sunlight, cozy winter evenings round the fire, high adventure and fun… it was all gone with Mary. I’d never been so alone.
"And then they wanted to leave. My parents couldn’t stand to look out every day, to where it happened. They’d see it playing before their eyes… But I didn’t want to leave. I loved this house, this town, this place. The sky, the sea… And Mary was still here. She’d come to me about two weeks after she drowned, her hair was still wet, and she was wearing the clothes she’d gone sailing in that hot day. She said she was lonely, and she asked me to convince them not to leave. Even though they couldn’t see her, she could see them. She said sometimes she’d come in and kiss my mother on the forehead, and hold my father’s hand. He had big, worn hands, that always made us feel safe. She said she felt safe when she held his hand, and not alone. I promised her that we’d stay, that I’d stay. I promised I’d never leave her...

"But I couldn’t tell my parents why we shouldn’t go. And they couldn’t live with the hurt. So one day, one awful day, we left. I promised Mary that I’d come back for her. I promised myself, too. I loved this place. It was home."

"I did eventually come back, but it was too late. Too long. My parents have moved on, they’re happy now, I think. There was a car crash, you see, seven years after we left. It was fatal. They went on, but I came back. I had to see this place again, I had to see Mary. We could be together again, play on the beach, wander the streets, swim in the pool, laugh at the day-trippers. An eternal childhood.

"But Mary had changed. She never forgave me for letting them leave. She said she had found other ways of preventing herself from feeling lonely in the seven long years that we were away.

"So I sit up here, and look out over the bay, and think of the nights that she and I used to sit here and talk. We’d imagine walking out along the moon’s silver path to a land of enchantment and adventure. We’d plan our holidays here, camping on the island, sailing, exploring. I try and stop Mary taking more people away with her, when I can. That’s why I sent you that dream. One day, I hope she’ll change back to the Mary I knew.

"They say, in the town, that if you stay here at night, you can see a little girl sitting on that rock on the beach. And they say, that if you walk along the beach at night, and look up at this window, you’ll see a little girl looking out to sea. Even if the house is empty.”

Ruth turned to look at Anne.

"And they’re right," said Anne softly. "And that’s why my father was able to get this house for so little. No-one wants to stay here."

Ruth nodded.

"What can I do?" said Anne suddenly. "Isn’t there something we can do? Something to help Mary, so you and she can be friends again, so you can both walk out along the Moon’s path together, and find your land of adventure?"

"I can go any time," said Ruth, "But I won’t go without Mary. And she won’t talk to me."

Both girls stared down at the beach. As they did so, a cloud passed over the moon. When it had gone, they saw Mary, the girl from Anne’s dream sitting on the rock, her arms around her knees, her pale face, expressionless, looking up at them.

Anne woke late the next morning. The sun was streaming in through the open curtains, and as Ruth had promised, the room smelt good, a combination of sunlight, warmth, the smell of the sea, and… breakfast.

Over breakfast, plans for the day were discussed. As her family debated the merits of the open-air pool versus the beach, Anne tucked into toast, and tried to put the events of the night from her mind, at least for now. When questioned, she put her vote in for a day spent at the pool. She wasn’t too keen on spending more time near that rock, even though – a cursory glance through the window showed – it was sitting there rather innocently.

A day spent at the pool soon put the night’s story from Anne’s mind. She and Philip went on the slides, tried out the blow-up obstacle course (and succeeded in completing it on about their twentieth try; there was a certain trick to getting round the palm trees without falling off), and when they had commandeered a float each, they played pirates. By the end of the day they were tired, happy, and had even turned slightly brown from all the sun. They met their Aunt Jane on the way back from the pool. She was invited back to the house for tea, and the all walked back along the road together, Philip (his computer games forgotten), talking excitedly about plans for tomorrow.

"Oh," said Aunt Jane, as Anne’s father unlocked the front door, "You’re staying in the Haunted House." She smiled.
"Haunted house?" Anne’s father laughed, "Well, that would explain why it was so cheap to rent it. You must tell us the story over tea. I’m sure the children would love to hear it."

After tea, they settled in the sitting room overlooking the bay, and Aunt Jane started her story.

"The family that used to live here had two little girls, only a year apart in age. The father taught at the school, and the mother kept a sweetshop in the town. The girls seem to have been very popular here, they were active at the sailing club, and had their own little boat, they could often be seen sailing in the bay there. One day, the father punished a rather rowdy boy from a difficult family; he made the boy stay in school and miss a sailing race that was on that evening. It seems that in revenge, the boy came and vandalised the family’s dinghy. He boasted about it to his friends, and various people at school. Until, two days later, the youngest girl of the family drowned. It seems she’d taken the boat out, a storm had come up, and the damage caused by the boy made the boat unsafe. When it capsized, the little girl, Mary, was hit on the head and drowned."

"How awful!" Philip exclaimed. "Did they catch the boy?"

"No," Aunt Jane said. "Although it was common knowledge that he had damaged the boat, causing the accident, his father lied to protect him. There was not enough proof, so the police could do nothing. Mary’s father had to go to school, and teach the class, and see that boy grinning at him, every day. Of course, he couldn’t stand it.
"At the time of the accident, their older daughter, Ruth, had chickenpox. She was infectious, so hadn’t been to the school, and didn’t know about the boy who had vandalised the boat. In order to protect her, and so that the father shouldn’t go mad from grief and anger, the family moved away. It was terribly sad; they were all killed in a car crash seven years later. They say that the older girl, Ruth, never got over the loss of her sister."

"My goodness, Anne, are you alright?" Anne’s mother looked at her in concern. "You’ve gone very white."
"Oh, I’m fine Mummy, I think I’m just very tired."

Anne sat on the windowseat, her mind going over what her aunt had said, joining the details with those of Ruth’s story. She’d said she would go to bed, but her mind was too busy for her to sleep. If Ruth didn’t know about the other reasons her parents had left, then she couldn’t have told Mary. Perhaps if Mary knew, she would understand that all the blame for her loneliness couldn’t lie with her sister, or with her parents.

Once the house was quiet, Anne put on her shoes and a jacket, and crept down the stairs. She left the latch off on the front door, and closed it quietly behind her. Once over the wall and on the beach, she headed for the rock. Close to, it was about half her height, and she could see the foot and handholds that would let one clamber up and sit on top. She did so, the rock under her fingers still feeling warm from the sun although it was nearly midnight. She sat with her legs drawn up under her, the way she had seen Mary sitting.

The beach was quiet. Anne could hear a lone seagull somewhere out at sea, and the gentle rhythmic whispering of the waves. It was another clear night, and from where she was sitting, there was a moonlit path going across the wet sand, and out over the waves, out to sea, beyond the point of the bay. She turned, and looked up to her bedroom window. A pale face, filled with longing, looked down at her. She looked away, turning to look back at the moon.

Mary stood between the rock and the sea, in the middle of the moon’s reflection. Dressed as she had been in Anne’s dream, she looked small and forlorn. She held out her hand to Anne.

Slipping down off the rock, Anne took Mary’s hand, and followed her. The moonlight on the waves seemed to create a glittering, magical path. Mary said nothing, her eyes dark in her face, her wet hair hanging down her back. When they reached the entrance to the bay, Anne stopped. "Mary."
"What?" Despite being a menacing ghost, she sounded like a petulant small girl.
"I have something to tell you."
Mary turned to face Anne, stepping between her and the moon, so all that Anne could see was the dark eyes in a pale face, expressionless.
"Well?"

"Ruth told me about what happened..." Anne began. She hurried on as she saw Mary’s features begin to twist in hatred at the mention of her sister’s name. "But Ruth was ill with chickenpox at the time. Your parents didn’t tell her everything."

For a long time, the two girls stood in the moonlight. Anne talked, telling Mary the whole story, everything her Aunt Jane had told her. As Mary listened, the hate drained out of her features. As Anne talked about Mary visiting her parents, a tear rolled down Mary’s cheek. "Mummy..." she whispered. "Daddy..."

"You can see them again." Anne said gently. "Don’t stay here. Go with Ruth. Go to the enchanted land of adventure, at the end of moon’s path, out at sea. Your parents will be waiting for you. They’ve waited a long, long time. Why don’t you go to them, tell them you love them? Your mother has waited a long time to hold you again."

Two tears rolled down Mary’s cheeks. She looked at Anne, then at last, turned and led the way back to the beach. When they reached the rock, Ruth was waiting for them, sitting on top of it. She slid down to join them, landing softly on the sand.

Mary said nothing, but held her arms out. Ruth went to her, and put her arms round her. The sisters said nothing, but nothing needed to be said. Then, holding hands, with Ruth leading the way, they walked down the beach and out to sea, along the glittering silver path. Ruth looked back, just once. Anne waved.

As they approached the mouth of the bay, Anne thought she saw two figures, a man and a woman, standing on the path, holding out their arms to the children. Ruth and Mary seemed to see them too, as they ran forward, still holding hands. The little family was complete. As they faded from view Ruth seemed to look round at Anne once more. "Thank you..." The waves seemed to say.

For a long time, Anne sat on the rock, and looked out at the horizon. When she went back to her room, she sat on the windowseat, and looked out at the bay. The lighthouse beam flashed over the bay, a long path of yellow light in brief, bright competition to the moonlight. Somewhere over the bay, a seagull called. Anne fell asleep, listening to sound of the waves.


~~~~Fin~~~~

I think it will need some editing, but that's for another night. I hope you enjoy it, anyway.

Ghost Story

Part One

The journey down in the car had been long, hot and cramped, and was not improved by Anne’s younger brother Philip periodically asking whether they had reached their destination yet. The destination in question was the town to which Anne’s aunt had recently moved. It was a typical sleepy sea-side village, with old Victorian sandstone buildings overlooking the promenade and the beach. Anne’s parents had managed to rent one of these for, as her father had observed, "a ridiculously cheap price", for the duration of the holidays. Philip had been vocal about his doubts as to whether the place would be any good for a holiday, but Anne was less certain. There were two beaches, and a park, and plenty of countryside, and even a swimming pool. She thought that she might get a chance to do some writing and painting, and plenty of reading, and maybe a little walking. Philip, a true child of the technological age, had bemoaned the apparent lack of internet access (her parents refused to set up an account for just a couple of months, and Philip thought this quite unfair), and had instead brought his games machine and entire collection of games.

They had arrived, finally, and were standing outside the house. It appeared a little foreboding, Anne thought, with its dark empty windows. Anne’s mother was cooing over it, however, and Anne had to concede that she did have a point. Windows aside, it was a typical Victorian three story house, in red sandstone, looking somewhat the worse for wear, mostly thanks to the salt in the sea wind. It was, as the advert had said, almost right on the beach; separated only by a one way street and the promenade bounded by a short little sea-wall.

Inside, the house was cold and dark, the heating having been turned off for a while. Anne’s father, following the directions that came with the lease, soon had the heating turned on, and the gas-fired boiler started with a roar. While the house heated up, they had a look around, Philip eagerly running on ahead, despite his earlier protestations that he should "thoroughly hate the place." The lowest floor was not much but a glorified cellar and storage space; there was a large drying-room next to the boiler room, and another room that was locked.

"Probably has the landlord’s personal goods in it." Anne’s father observed.

At the front of the house there was a small sitting room, and small room lined with bookshelves full of books.

"A library for you, Anne." Her father smiled.

Upstairs were the lived-on floors. There was a master bedroom, a bathroom, and the dining room at the back, and at the front there was a formal sitting room, and a large kitchen. The top floor was reserved for the children – two bedrooms, one at the front and a larger one at the back (which was immediately claimed by Philip), and a big playroom which ran the length of the house. Philip was overjoyed to find that it had a large television.

Much later on, after they had unpacked, and had had tea (fish and chips as a treat, since neither of Anne’s parents felt like cooking after the drive), Anne excused herself from the family gathering in the sitting room, and went upstairs to unpack her room. Her feelings for the house had changed from her first impression; inside, with the heating on, the house was warm and homely. Her room was lovely; she was rather glad that Philip had claimed the larger one. This room had yellow-painted walls, with a few paintings on them. Being an attic room, it had a sloping ceiling on either side of the large dormer window. Best of all, however, in Anne’s opinion, was the windowseat. She could sit with her legs drawn up and look out over the beach, over the water, to where the sea and the sky met; no land in sight, except for the lighthouse island at the far end of the bay.

Anne made her bed, and unpacked her things, thinking about how bare the little bookshelf looked with her few books propped up untidily on it. Perhaps she’d retrieve a few books from the "library", to make it look better. She’d even read them, if there were any good books down there. As she pottered about, it got dark outside, and the room felt very comfortable, with the light on, and the sound of the waves on the beach. She thought it must be lovely in winter, when the storms came, and the wind howled round the house, salt in the air misting the windows. She noticed that the lighthouse light actually shone into her room, making a triangular patch on one wall. She sighed. This would be a good holiday, she thought.

Later that night, she woke up. The lighthouse light was still shining in through the open curtains, four flashes and then a break, four flashes and then a break. She got up, and went to sit on the window seat. There was no sound except for the endless waves, murmuring against the sand. The tide was out, and the lower part of the beach was wet, reflecting the track of the full moon, just rising, a silver-gold road leading out to sea. There was a big rock, in the middle of the beach, and Anne reflected that had they been younger, she and Philip would probably have played on and around it, making it into a fort, or an island as the tide came in.

Gradually she became aware of a small figure, sitting on top of the rock, with it’s legs drawn up. As she watched, the figure looked up, straight at her window. It seemed to be a small girl, with long dark hair hanging in strands about her face. As Anne watched, the girl beckoned to her eagerly, almost pleadingly. Anne nodded, and without thinking about it, she slipped on her shoes, and pulled a jacket on, on top of her pyjamas. She was aware only of a sense of urgency, a need to go and walk on the beach, a need to go and talk to the girl who was sitting on the rock. She hurried out of the house, not stopping to pick up the keys which were lying on the hall table. She crossed the road and stepped up onto the sea wall. She jumped off, feeling the soft dry sand filling her trainers, and crossed over to the harder part of the beach below the tideline, to where the girl was still sitting on the rock.

Now Anne could see that the girl was about her own age, but so pale that she almost seemed luminous in the moonlight. She stood in front of the rock, as the girl held out her hand. Anne took it. It was cold, very cold, and Anne realised that the girl wasn’t wearing a jacket; only a skirt and a vest, and her feet were bare. The girl slid off the rock, still holding Anne’s hand, and led her down the beach, following the gleaming path where the moon was reflected in the wet sand, that dried out around their feet as the stood on it.

At the edge of the water they stopped, looking out to sea.
"Don’t you wish you could walk out there, following the moon’s path?" The girl said, her voice soft and melodic.
Anne nodded.
The girl tugged her hand, and led her forward.
"We’ll get wet." Anne said, her own voice sounding flat and dull in comparison.
"No..." whispered the girl. "Not tonight... tonight it’s a full moon."

Anne didn’t have time to say anything, as the girl tugged her forward. She expected her foot to feel the cold water as it seeped into her shoe, but.. there was nothing. She looked down, and found that they were standing on the reflection of the moon’s light, a few inches above the water. The girl ran forward, laughing, pulling the astonished Anne after her. As they ran, a sense of delight filled Anne, and she laughed out loud too.

Suddenly the girl stopped. "We can’t go any further."

Anne looked around. They had come to the end of the bay; they were even with the headlands of two arms of land that formed the bay. Beyond lay the open sea. She looked at the girl, a sense of unease filling her.

"Perhaps we should go back now." She said.

The girl just looked at her, and shook her head. The big dark eyes in the pale face, that had looked so innocent and lost before, now seemed to be menacing. The smile too, made Anne uneasy.

Suddenly she was falling, being sucked downwards, the cold of the water shocking her as it closed over her. She tried to move her arms to propel herself up again, towards the surface, but her arms seemed to be stuck to her sides. Her legs seemed to be held together, and still she was being sucked down. The water around her seemed to be filled with light, as if it was daytime, and she could see the sand below her, rippled from the motion of the waves as they rolled in. There were rocks below as well, and it was to those that she seemed to be being pulled.

Panic was filling her mind, as she felt the rocks beneath her. She tried to kick herself up again, to the surface, her breath was beginning to run out, and her lungs felt as though they were burning. As she bent her knees to push off, a hand grabbed her wrist, and suddenly she felt she could move again. The grip was strong. It was the girl again, her hair floating around her head, the big eyes dark and bottomless.

"Join me..." The words seemed to be breathed straight into Anne’s mind, as the girl moved towards her. She came closer, until she was close enough to stroke Anne’s cheek with a finger. The girl leaned in, sucking the last of Anne’s breath away. The water was pushing in on her, and the grip on her wrist was like steel. She gasped, and sea water filled her lungs. Choking, she breathed in more sea water...


...Anne woke up, gasping for breath. She was in bed, the covers tangled round her legs. She lay still for a moment, watching the lighthouse light shining in through the open curtains, four flashes and then a break, four flashes and then a break. She got up, and went to sit at the open window, trying to push the dream from her mind. Down on the beach there was a big rock, just beyond the tideline...