Eleven New Ghost Stories (15 page)

Thursday turned to Friday. The
weather warnings escalated in their severity. Flood warnings had
now been issued, people shouldn’t travel unless absolutely
necessary. Joyce said she’d play it by ear, but would probably keep
the shop shut.

The clouds darkened. The wind
grew strong – the whole landscape felt on the brink of a full on
tempest. Streets emptied; children left school early. The local
news stoked the fire – “This could be the worst storm for more than
a decade”. I saw sandbags in driveways; surely we were too high up
here to be put at risk from the river flooding? Perhaps the rain
water could run down the streets as it came down through the
hills?

What the hell did I know? My
landlady had not thought to give me any instruction. Let the rain
waters come. They were the least of my problems. Maybe I’d even
enjoy some new problems.

But my new found taste for
alcoholism was my first concern. If I was going to get through
those papers I was going to need a stiff drink or two. And as the
heavens had yet to open, there was still time to visit the Co-op
for some booze.

The shelves were half empty;
people had been preparing for the worst. I took the best of what
was still there and started back for home.

It was on the way back that I
saw her; climbing clumsily over a stile onto a public footpath.
Yes, she was on her way. She had to be, didn’t she?

I almost said no. I almost
convinced myself that I didn’t care. That I could just say “To hell
with her” and just drive away. But I couldn’t, could I?

And even as I got out of the car
I knew I wouldn’t be able to convince her. That she would just
throw abuse at me and carry on, despite the risks. But not try?
That’s not that kind of person I could be.

“Rose, for God’s sake!” I cried.
“You can’t go out there, you’ll get yourself killed.”

“Don’t you worry about me,” she
said, barely even turning to look at me.

The wind was already strong; I
could barely hear her as it roared past my ears. I didn’t know what
I was saying; how do you get someone chasing a ghost to see
sense?

I improvised as best I could:
“You can’t bring her back Rose,” I yelled. “She’s gone.”

“She’s not gone,” Rose turned to
me in anger. “She’s always with me. She’s all I’ve got!”

“But it’s not safe; she doesn’t
want you to get yourself killed.”

“It’s the only time I’m with
her,” tears were running down her cheeks. “It’s the only time I see
my little girl, the only time I can find her. I need her and she
needs me. She’s my baby!” She turned back to the hills, staring out
into the grey wild.

There was a rumble of thunder
from far away. Rose turned her head, scanning the landscape slowly.
“I’m coming my love,” she shouted. “Don’t run; I’m coming.”

“Rose!” I yelled. She didn’t
hear me, or didn’t want to. I climbed over the stile to go after
her, but I just wasn’t dressed for it. My heel sunk straight into
the mud and I almost fell over backwards. I just managed to grab
hold of the fence to stop myself.

My hair was blowing in front of
my face. Rose marched determinedly into the distance. I couldn’t
stop her; probably nothing could.

I pulled myself out of the mud
and climbed back over the fence. I’d done my part, done my best.
You can only do so much. If they’re that fixated on the abyss, you
can’t keep them out of it. Some people are just too determined to
tie their own rope.

I stumbled back to my car, my
ankle twisted and aching, and drove back home. The gale blew all
afternoon and into the evening. The rain came down around 6
o’clock; it came down heavy but for not as long as they’d
predicted. It was running in streams down the gutters and down the
sides of the street.

It fell harder further north.
_____ was not so badly flooded; the banks of the river held.

But many of the roads into town
were flooded; that’s why the shop shelves were so empty. This
wasn’t a hurricane, but the country roads flooded so easily. The
town could so easily be cut off.

I watched things progress on the
news between soaps, sitcom repeats and predictable detective shows.
Of course, if this had been the Home Counties there would be hours
of coverage. But as this was the highlands, bad weather wasn’t big
news. The local news was of course more keyed-in. There were road
accidents, real flooding in other areas; some rural communities
stranded. All train services had been cancelled past Edinburgh and
Glasgow. A caravan had blown down a hillside at a campsite 50 miles
away, killing a man and his two children.

From my window I watched wheelie
bins get blown down the street. The rain wasn’t coming down heavily
by night time, but a fierce drizzle spat against the windows.

I drank heavily; my mind was on
Rose – that stupid woman. Would she have the good sense to go home?
Would she stay out all night in the cold and wet? If she didn’t get
herself killed, she’d probably die from the cold.

I tried my best to put my mind
on other things, but the only other things I had to focus on were
legal matters. I’d barely looked at the legal papers; a mixture of
accusations, insinuations and gossip – they made me sick to my
stomach.

I couldn’t sleep. The roaring
sound of the wind created an uneasy atmosphere. I tossed and turned
beneath the sheets. When I closed my eyes I felt like I could see
the storm in my mind – the wind rushing through trees, the rain
hitting the puddles in the street, the people on the street
struggling to get to shelter.

Then I imagined myself chasing
Rose through the fields, arguing with her, pleading with her to
come back home.

And little Chloe. She was with
me, mocking me. “She’s not listening to you,” she would say with
glee and a jolly little skip. “She doesn’t have to do a thing you
say. She’s my mum. She doesn’t have to do what she’s told by
you.”

She laughed at me. I told her to
go away. I told her she was dead; she kicked mud at me: “No –
you’re dead!”

I woke up with a start. There
was a large crash outside. I listened cautiously for a time,
hearing sounds of panic in the street. I went to the window and
pulled aside the curtain.

Just up the street, a few houses
away – the wind had blown down a chimney. Bricks were lying across
the garden. The family were in a panic, the neighbours were out in
the street with them.I couldn’t see much from my window and after a
short while I pulled the curtains closed. A bit cold of me, but
there wasn’t much I could do for them. The arrival of the fire
brigade a short while later made sure that I didn’t get back to
sleep that night.

I had breakfast early – the
legal papers sitting on the end of the table, taunting me as I ate.
I had no plans for the day. I took to staring at the wall in
silence. I thought about doing many different things, reading,
writing, listening to music, watching the television – but all of
them seemed like too much hard work.

I got a call after nine from
Joyce. Stick-thin Stephanie was in trouble. Part of her garage roof
had caved in, and she needed help shifting everything out of there
before it soaked with water.

It wasn’t far for me to go, so I
walked there. By the time I arrived, quite a band had formed.
Various people’s nephews, sons, brothers, cousins… all Stephanie’s
friends were old, so they had sent a variety of relatives to help.
Her children were abroad, which is how all their furniture had come
to be stacked up in her garage. A neighbour had kindly offered some
garage space to store some of it for the time being, and Joyce said
we could fit some in the back of the shop. I took the keys and
supervised things at that end, making room amongst the assorted
bric-a-brac in the stock room.

I had to wait quite some time
while it was decided what should go in the back of the shop. No one
had a large van, so things came in the backs of cars or in a
mini-bus in one case. It was heartening to see so many people
banding together to help out.

The shop got a dining room set
and several boxes of plates and assorted bits and pieces. One of
the guys – a nephew or cousin or friend’s son – quite young, did
his best to flirt with me and got me to make him a cup of tea. It
was kind of nice, and he was good-looking. But I just couldn’t
imagine myself spending that kind of time with anyone.

Things were finished by just
after lunchtime. I locked up and took the car the long way around
to get back home. Deliberately I drove past Rose’s, just looking
for some sign that she had returned.

I don’t know what I was
expecting to see. Her house looked like any other house when you
drove past. Unless there’s anyone standing right by the window, you
can’t really see anything.

The legal papers went untouched
for another night. I just couldn’t face them. They’d be chasing me
for them soon – nothing on the answerphone yet.

Another night of television and
drinking followed. I was determined to go out on the Sunday – not
just wallow indoors and drive myself crazy. The roads had mostly
cleared and I drove out to a remote inn for Sunday lunch and ate it
in near silence as everyone else seemed to be keeping away. And I
so wanted distractions; any conversation, any overheard morsel.

There was no escaping my
troubles. The only thing keeping my mind off Adrian’s venomous
relatives was Rose, and I feared for her safety. I should’ve done
more to stop her, she could be dead already.

I cursed myself for driving away
and enjoying lunch. Someone’s life could be hanging in the balance
and I was here stuffing my face. What was wrong with me? I fretted
myself into a sweat and panic and rapidly paid for my meal and
drove back to ______. I ran up to her doorway and knocked loudly. I
knocked three, four times. No answer.

I peered into the windows,
searched to see if there was a back alley to her back garden –
there wasn’t.

I waited outside, keeping vigil
in my car. I sat there for four, maybe five hours. I fell asleep at
one point, against my steering wheel – I had to explain to a
concerned neighbour that I was fine and was just waiting for
someone.

The sun started to set and Rose
was nowhere to be seen. I thought about calling the police – but
what was I to tell them? Some crazy woman who chased ghosts wasn’t
at home when I called?

I had no way of knowing where
she was. I only thought – I only knew – that she had been out on
the hills, chasing God knows what. But she could be somewhere else
now; I didn’t know what else she did during the day. I knew nothing
about her. It was only a morbid instinct that told me something was
wrong.

I drove home after it went dark.
I got my senses back; she wasn’t my responsibility and she wasn’t
my problem. I’d tried after all; what was I supposed to do?

Joyce was ill the next day, so I
looked after the shop alone. It was quiet, the rain stayed away but
the sky stayed grey. I thought about putting the radio on, or
putting on some music – but nothing seemed to fit my glum,
foreboding mood.

The hours passed slowly. I made
less than £50 for the whole day. I tried to read a book, but I
couldn’t get into it. It was some detective novel. I went around
the shop looking for old stock to reduce as time slouched into the
afternoon. Around about two o’clock, I was reducing some glasses
that had been over-priced (they were chipped), when I caught a
glimpse, the barest of glimpses, of a blue coat – a small girl –
skipping past the shop window. Putting a glass down so carelessly
that it fell off the shelf and broke, I raced towards the door,
pulled it open, and found the street outside completely
deserted.

Now I was seeing things.

I closed early. There was no
point in staying around, although I couldn’t summon up the
confidence to tell Joyce. I locked up and went over to the Co-op to
do my shopping. The shelves were still looking pretty bare;
evidently supplies were still struggling to get there.

I filled up on what essentials I
could buy, along with several bottles of cheap wine. I went to the
checkout, paid, and carried the bags out to my car. I opened up the
boot and lifted both bags into the back.

“Mum needs help”.

I froze.

Slowly, fearfully, I turned my
head. She was stood there on the edge of the car park, dressed in
the same tatty blue coat. Her face was pale; her milky blue, washed
out eyes stared at me with concern.

“She needs help, she’s fallen
down and I can’t get her to wake up.”

I was almost too frightened to
speak. I swallowed and said: “What’s happened?”

“We were playing and she fell
over and now she can’t move. You’ve got to come quick”.

A cold sweat was gathering on my
forehead.

“Come on,” she said, pushing her
way through the bushes that bordered the car park. I couldn’t help
myself; I couldn’t possibly turn away. I closed the boot, locked
the car and went after her.

Behind the bushes was a tall
wire fence. There was a small hole in it, large enough to crawl
through. She was on the other side already, skipping into a dense
gathering of trees. I was dressed in no condition for this kind of
thing: I wasn’t wearing heels, thankfully, but my Ugg boots were
hardly fit for purpose.

I bent down and squeezed through
the hole in the fence, my coat’s collar and hood getting stuck on
the torn steel wires as I passed through as best I could.

I was in a dense gathering of
tall, but young fir trees. Pushing through the branches I realised
I had walked into an enclosed area surrounding an electricity
substation, or whatever these stone power buildings were called. It
was a small brick shed with a tall pylon next to it, flowing wires
down inside.

I heard Chloe call to me; I saw
her peer out from behind the building. I jogged after her. The
other side of the small enclosure had a wooden fence, and she was
squeezing through a gap between missing fence panels.