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...