Eleven New Ghost Stories (25 page)

For a while it all seemed fine.
Her mother seemed back to normal and was helping her father run the
hotel again. Then one afternoon, they were supposed to go to a
wedding party. It was out of town at another hotel; a cliff-side
place near the coast, by a small secluded beach. Her parents had
been arguing that morning and no one was in a very good mood when
they arrived at the reception.

No one is sure exactly what
happened that day. It’s thought that maybe Lily’s mother saw her
father talking and laughing with another woman and that she might
have got jealous. Whatever the reason, she took Lily out of the
reception after only an hour or so and threw her in the back of the
car. She then drove the car down the hillside towards a small
private jetty. And drove that car off the end and into the water,
with Lily still on the back seat.

She could still remember what
happened vividly. Water started to pour in through the doors. She
screamed, tried to get her mum to let her out. But her mother
wanted her to stay, told her to sit still and stay quiet. It was a
miracle that she got out at all, that she somehow found the
strength to push open a door and not be swept back inside by the
water. She swam her way out of the car and managed to drift up to
the surface.

By the time she put her head
back above the water people were running down to the jetty and the
wedding guests pulled her out. But it was too late for her mother.
They pulled the car out of the water hours later, but her mother’s
body was gone. They never found it.

That was how she had become so
afraid of water; she had almost drowned. And worse, because it was
her own mother that had almost done it to her. The person she had
trusted most in the whole world. That more than anything must have
amplified the trauma.

I felt like such a bastard,
putting her through all that again. She said no, that actually,
somehow, she felt stronger now. That some great weight had been
lifted from her shoulders. That her fear of the water had always
preyed upon her mind. Like some great elephant in the room – living
by the sea meant it was forever there. A reminder of a tragedy she
had always tried to put to the back of her mind.

She forgave me and in that
moment I felt more like I didn’t deserve her than ever before.

We walked then to the sea front.
The tide was not so far in; the waves, not too fierce. We took off
our shoes and socks and paddled into the water. We rolled up our
trousers to our knees and with our hands held tight we walked that
bit further in. The waves lapped at our shins, it was cold, but not
so cold.

There were tears in her eyes,
but she was not upset. She was emotional, but not afraid. She had
faced something horrible from her past and she felt a great
relief.

We made love that night.
Spontaneously, amongst the sand dunes, where we hoped no one would
see us. We were caught up in the moment; we did it without
protection – that was so stupid. God knows what we would’ve done if
anything had happened…

But at the time we just felt
like part of each other. We’d faced something together and that we
were now forever entwined, emotionally locked together in both past
and present.

We entered a new phase of peace
together, more happy in each other’s company than ever before. A
new understanding lay between us, a true bond, like we could finish
each other’s sentences and know what the other was thinking. She
didn’t have her own strange wavelength, she was here, with me, and
in-sync, together.

Her father clearly had not
forgiven me and he did not apologise for his attack. I was past
caring now; I had a new confidence, more self-assurance. I would
not cower to him and we mainly avoided each other’s company. And
then my parents arrived, still pretending to be happy together. I
was glad to see them, but I barely noticed they were there. My mind
was only on Lily; she was everything to me now.

A week passed before Lily said
she’d like to go into the water again. Though she’d always been
afraid of it, she’d always been fascinated by the sea and she’d
like to swim in it. We went shopping for her first swimsuit; it was
black with pink contoured lines – her two favourite colours.

We went down to the beach late
afternoon, just as it was becoming quiet and the tourists were
going home. We changed under our towels and made another slow walk
out into the waves. We progressed slowly, walking with our feet on
the ground, swimming a little, and then gradually moving deeper
until she could no longer feel the sand and seaweed beneath her
soles.

She was scared but excited. Her
breathing was fast, I splashed her in the face playfully to
distract and relax her. She splashed me back and we laughed
together.

We kissed, kicking gently to
keep ourselves afloat.

As we swam a little further,
untroubled by the mild waves, I dared her to stick her head under
the water. It was a big step for her, more of step than I realised
as I jokily dipped my head beneath the surface. As I saw her
hesitance, I said she didn’t have to and she smiled a little. Then
she looked down to the water, pinched her nose and just dipped a
little beneath the water.

She popped her head back out
just a few moments later, taking a deep breath and smiling. There
was nothing to fear in the ocean, in the water.

I said we should try midnight
swimming, and always the romantic, that appealed to her greatly. We
would have to sneak out though, her father would not care for her
being out so late, even though we were both a matter of weeks from
turning 16.

Despite her age, she’d never
actually snuck out before. Neither of us had. We felt too old to
being doing it; we weren’t kids any more, but the little thrill
made the trip that bit more special.

We went down to the sea front,
the waves were a little more rough, but the air was calm and the
steady roar was invigorating and exciting without being fearsome or
frightening.

We bought our swimming kits but
decided, spur of the moment, to go out naked. Skinny dipping. The
beach was deserted; there was no one to see us.

We didn’t mean to go too far
out, just a little. We bobbed and flowed with the waves, kissed
under the moonlight. I told her I loved her; she kissed me and said
she loved me too.

I teased her, said she was much
too slow, and would have to work hard to ever get as good at
swimming as me. She said she had a swimming pool and she’d get
loads of practice in.

We splashed each other
playfully. A big wave roared over us, a bigger wave than we’d
expected. I broke through to the other side, wiped the water out of
my eyes and saw she was not there with me. For a moment I worried,
said her name nervously, until she appeared again above the
surface.

I smiled, relieved. “That was a
bigger one than I expected,” I said.

She nodded: “For a second
there…” she began, but then she bobbed back beneath the water.

I swam closer, right to where
she was. She came above the water again: “I’m caught on something,”
she said. “Something’s pulling me.” And down she went again. Her
face, looking upward, barely broke the surface of the water. Water
poured into her mouth as she cried “Help!”

I reached in and tried to grab
hold of her body, but it was already slipping through my hands. I
managed to grab hold of one of her arms and found myself pulled
beneath the surface. I pulled back and she came towards me. But
then she was tugged back again, her arm almost slipping from my
grip.

We sank deeper into the water.
She wasn’t just caught on something, something was dragging her
down. It was dark; opening my eyes, I could barely see anything in
the water except the white of Lily’s skin. I couldn’t see or tell
what was pulling her.

I kicked with my feet, giving it
everything I’d got. But I could barely pull her back at all. I
could see bubbles escaping from Lily’s lips; I too could barely
hold my breath.

Then for a moment, I thought I’d
won. Whatever it was that held her seemed to have slipped. I could
feel her coming towards me; she was safe. I was going to rescue
her.

But as I looked again to her
pale body in the dark ocean, I saw another figure there with us in
water. Within just a heartbeat this creature swept a great arm in
front of Lily’s face, locking its elbow around her neck.

Before I could tell what was
happening, its other arm appeared, sweeping towards me, swiping at
me. A sharp claw cut into my forehead. I felt its nails move into
my flesh and in the moment of shock…

…I let go…

I couldn’t help it. And in that
moment, not only did I let go, but instinctively, I went up for
air.

I gasped, drawing in oxygen
desperately. I noticed red water dripping over my eye – I was
bleeding. I didn’t worry about that; I dived again beneath the
water. But in the dark, amongst the waves, I could see nothing.

I swam deep; I swam in circles.
I came up for air and I shouted: “Lily! Lily!” I went down again
and swam. I swam and I swam, but there was nothing. She was
nowhere. There was no sign of her, no sound. I kept swimming, kept
diving, but in even my desperation I quickly realised that it was
hopeless. That I couldn’t find her, that I couldn’t see her.

I looked out across the ocean.
There was no one. Who could’ve pulled her under, there was no one
there! There was no one there for miles!

I swam back to the beach; I
could do nothing else. It was deserted and so was the road. Unable
to find help, I went to a call box and called 999. In tears I told
them my girlfriend had been washed out to sea and I could not find
her.

They responded quickly. A
helicopter swept its light across the bay, police and coastguard
combed the beach for more than half a mile trying to find a trace
of her. They found nothing.

Oh God, when her father came
down to the beach… He was inconsolable; he went for me again. He
was restrained by the police, but by then I was so far gone that I
would’ve let him do it. The only good thing in my life, the best
thing in my whole life was gone and it was my fault. If I’d never
taken her into the water…

My parents tried to console me,
to protect me, but there was nothing they could say or do. They
tried to feebly comfort me by saying that they would find her, but
I knew they wouldn’t.

I was arrested. They might’ve
assumed an accident, if it was not for the cuts across my forehead.
Four cuts, the mark of fingernails, long and vicious. An injury
caused in self-defense?

And no, they didn’t believe my
story. How could someone else have been there in the ocean, unseen
by either of us? I was at the police station until the following
morning. I was not ultimately charged, but that was more for a lack
of evidence, perhaps my age too. The scars across my forehead were
not enough to convict me, but they all thought I was
responsible.

I gave evidence at the inquest.
Death by misadventure was the ultimate verdict, but the scars,
still prominent, were an uncomfortable sticking point.

Those days were a blur. I was in
such a deep depression that I didn’t seem to know night from day or
one day from another. I know after the accident, we stayed in
Morecambe for a few days to help the police, staying at a different
hotel. I never went back to The Bay Star again.

Her father didn’t come to the
inquest. I never saw him again. He, like me, knew what had really
happened. It was as if he’d known all along, had a fear or
premonition. I kept thinking back to what he’d said at the pool
that day I let her fall in; that she’d never have her…

What guilt he must have carried
all his life. But by then all kinds of questions were lingering in
my mind; those times when she seemed to be half in her own world.
The way she used to stare out over the sea. Could there have been
something, something always there hanging over them, threatening to
take her away? I’d say that was pretty far-fetched, if I’d not seen
what I’d seen. If I’d not seen her snatched from my arms…

On that day of the inquest, back
in Morecambe: her father wasn’t there, but her grandmother was. I
remember seeing her leave the hall; she stopped to look at me as I
was leaving. I thought for a moment that she was going to come over
to me. But instead she turned and left. Did she believe in this…
supernatural force? Or did she think what everyone else was
thinking? That I was a rapist and that I had drowned her
granddaughter…

To this day I’m not sure what my
parents thought. It’s always hung over me the thought that maybe
they might think I did it. They said they believed me, but then
this look of doubt would wash over their faces. How could what I
have said been true?

What’s worse is that it seems
like all trace of Lily has slowly disappeared. The letters she
wrote to me were destroyed during a flood at my parents’ house,
soaked through and destroyed. What photos I had of her seem to have
vanished; my parents never took many anyway, but Lily doesn’t seem
to be in any of them.

The Bay Star is gone now. Luxury
flats were being built when I, during one lonely summer afternoon,
decided to visit Morecambe. The place is looking a little fresher
now, some of the peeling paint has gone, the wrecked pier
demolished, the shops open again.

I don’t know what happened to
Lily’s family, I never heard from them of course. Maybe her father
is still with us. It’s possible, but I don’t know. The only thing l
have left of Lily is my memories, it’s as if everything else has
been erased.

She was the greatest love of my
life. Crazy thing is, I only knew her for about 24 weeks, over a
period of eight years. Less than half a year accumulatively of my
whole life. But she changed everything. She’s an ideal I can’t put
behind me; none of my other relationships, my other girlfriends,
they’ve never lived up to her.