Cumbrian Ghost Stories

by Tony Walker

  The coffin burned well with clouds of foul smelling smoke and the crowd fell back choking and coughing, retreating into the night outside while smoke poured from the crypt. They stood there, gaining courage from their numbers, until the smoke ceased. Jacob Cranswell went down and confirmed there were only ashes and cinders left. After that, the people drifted away in dribs and drabs going to their own farms and cottages across the wild winter countryside around Croglin, some from as far as Cumrew or Renwick.

  The Cranswells didn’t stay in Croglin. They went back to France or Suffolk or London. No one knew. And the Fishers never returned either, selling Croglin Low Hall eventually to strangers.

  Nearly a year later, Adam Bell sat drinking with John Penrice in the alehouse at Croglin. He drained his tankard and looked to John to get him another. “So that was that,” he said. “The thing was burned and all trouble ended.”

  John Penrice was quiet, then he spoke. “Except it didn’t. I hear there has been trouble at Scarrowmanwick. Some such stories as we had round here: rats biting the necks of children while they sleep. Women on their way back from Penrith waylaid and gone missing. Strange shadows haunting the roadsides and graveyards.”

  Adam Bell shook his head. “But how can that be, John? We burned the thing. I saw the blaze good and proper with my own eyes.”

  John Penrice shrugged and said quietly. “Aye, Adam, we did see it burn. But what if there was more than one of them?”

  9

  The Fortuneteller's Fate

  The Fortuneteller's Fate

  The dowdy woman scuttled down the pavement of the bare Wigton street. A wind blew down the road, almost shoving her along. In the gardens of the houses were plastic bottles and in the gutter a sodden magazine about cars. In front of one house was a damp, ripped leather sofa, in front of another a broken fridge. Two youths with hoods up pushed by her, going the other way, but the woman seemed intent on her destination. She got to a rusty gate that had been originally painted cream. She prodded it open and darted the few steps up the short path to knock on the stained plastic door of a house that had seen better days. The woman stood there until the door was answered by another woman of a similar age, short blonde hair, clean and tidy, and the first woman stepped in quickly, as if she didn’t want to be seen entering.

  Once inside the blonde woman said, “Can I hang up your coat?” and smiled. “I’m Amy by the way.”

  The visitor took off her coat, smiled back, and handed it to Amy. “Thank you,” she said in a quiet but self-possessed voice. Amy showed her through to her parlour. A brochure on the table said, “Tea and Tarot”. Amy saw the woman looking. “I’ve just had them printed. What do you think?”

  The woman picked up a brochure and flipped it over. “Very nice.”

  “Sit down, please,” Amy said. “Mrs Smith, was it?”

  The woman nodded, “Yes, but please call me Joan.” She sat.

  “So,” Amy said, “Joan.” She smiled. She gave the woman her professional concerned look. A lot of these people came with immense emotional burdens and she wanted to show she cared. They were suckers though: easy money from those hurt by bereavement, relationship breakdown and other minor tragedies. She laughed all the way to the bank. Amy’s face grew soft. “I offer Tarot, or tea-leaves? Which would you like?”

  Joan said, “Do I get a cup of tea too, if I go for tea-leaves?”

  Amy nodded and gave a broad grin. They were going to get along fine. “Of course! You get tea anyway.”

  “I think I’ll go for the tea-leaves then.”

  “Well, I’ll sort that out first.” Amy stood and went to make a cup of tea in the kitchen, while Joan sat in the armchair, hands folded over her lap. When Amy came back, she hadn’t moved. What was she stupid or something? Anyway, she was paying, so Amy didn’t actually care.

  “Lovely cup of tea,” Joan said, sipping at the bone china teacup.

  “Ooh, that’s a nice necklace,” Amy said, suddenly leaning forward despite herself. That was worth a bob or two. Amy wondered if she could get the woman to give it to her as a gift.

  “Thank you,” Joan said, clapping her hand over it. Amy noted that Joan wore a brown dress, unfashionable, but clean. Details and accessories could tell you a lot about people. Amy thought that the accessories actually were what gave you hints about how the customer saw her real self. She reached out to stroke the silver necklace. Joan seemed reticent about it at first, but let her. It was in the shape of a spider, with a dark red stone making up its body, the eight thin legs extending out to catch the conceit of a silver web. “Is that a ruby?” Amy said. It looked valuable.

  Joan shook her head. “A garnet.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. Is it silver?”

  “Platinum actually. I got the necklace in Brazil. My husband has a gold mine.”

  “Oh, that’s grand.” Amy imagined dollar signs and grinned. This could really work out well, if she milked it. Amy added, “In Brazil too? I’ve never been there. Never been further than Preston, myself,” Joan giggled. “I’m sure Brazil’s very exotic.”

  “It’s different to here, of course,” Joan said.

  “Is that a Brazilian accent? Do I hear a hint of an accent?” Amy asked.

  Joan shook her head. Amy let the platinum spider fall away. “Anyway, back to this reading. Is there anyone in particular you want to contact?”

  Joan’s face clouded. “My son.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Amy gave her concerned look again. She tried her best to sound authentic. She had to sound like she cared at least, or they wouldn't buy in. She fluttered her eyelashes while she waited for an answer.

  Joan looked down at her hands. Her fingernails weren’t painted. The spider necklace lay over the throat of her brown dress. “Thank you,” she said. Amy could hear the heavy sadness in her voice.

  Joan said, “I wasn’t sure you could help. I miss him so much.”

  Amy’s face grew tender with concern. She reached out and touched the back of Joan’s hand. Joan turned her palm up and took Amy’s fingers. Cold hands, warm heart. Time to turn it up.

  Amy paused. “I’m already feeling him.”

  Joan fixed her with all her attention. “Is he here?”

  Amy half closed her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered. She nodded slightly. “John is it? That’s the name I’m getting.”

  “James,” Joan said.

  “Yes, James. I knew it was a J- name.”

  “What does he say?” Joan sat forward.

  “He says he’s happy.” Amy smiled sadly, but she hoped, reassuringly.

  Joan nodded. “I’m so glad.” She raised her hand to wipe her eyes.

  Amy saw that mascara stained her fingers where they’d brushed her tears. She said, “He says for you not to worry. He’s at peace.”

  There was a pause, Amy looked into space and frowned. “He died in an accident?”

  Joan didn’t answer at first. It was obviously still raw.

  “It was sudden?” Amy asked.

  Joan smiled slightly then nodded. “Yes.”

  “He says he looks after you. From Heaven.”

  “Good,” Joan said. “I always know when he’s near. He was my beloved boy.”

  “He says he watches in the morning when you sit at your dressing table, getting ready for work.”

  “I’m so pleased,” Joan said.

  Amy’s eyes suddenly flicked open as she returned to normal mode, as she called it. She smiled and said, “Have you finished your tea?”

  Joan made to gulp it down, but Amy put her hand on hers to stop her. “No rush. You take your time.”

  Joan looked around. Amy saw her glancing out of the window. The window looked over the back garden. “The garden’s a mess,” Amy said. “I never get round to it.”

  The house dated from the 1950s - post war austerity style. The furniture was old and the ornaments cheap.

  Joan finished her tea. Amy took the cup and swilled round the dregs, pouring them out to reveal w
et tea leaves remaindered in the shapes of stars and seashells. Amy gazed into the cup and frowned. She had a sense of something acrid, like a bad taste. That was unusual. She mostly had to put things on but this was real. Amy did have a talent once. Her grandmother said it was a God given talent to help suffering people. Grandma was dead though and helping people didn’t pay the bills.

  “What is it? What do you see? Something bad?” Joan looked worried.

  Amy smiled. She shook her head. “No, no,” but she looked again, her brow furrowing deeper.

  “What is it? You’ve got me anxious now.”

  “No, nothing.” Amy smiled. “Nothing. I think you’ve got money coming,” she said finally.

  Joan sat back. Her hands gripped each other tightly. She had no rings. “You had me worried. I thought my end was come.”

  Amy put her friendly, but concerned look on. No, there’s fulfilment. I get the feeling of great satisfaction.”

  “That’s good,” Joan said. Then she asked. “Isn’t that good?”

  “Of course.” Amy reached and took Joan’s hand. She squeezed it. “Don’t worry. You’re going to get everything you want.”

  And when Joan had gone, Amy said out loud, “And so might I, if I play my cards right.”

  Amy sat with her friend Jill in the Muffin Break in the run down town centre. They both had cappuccinos. Jill was an older woman, middle-aged, gone to fat, badly dyed blonde hair with a hard face, but Amy knew she had a heart of gold. Silly cow.

  “Here, have my cake,” Jill said to Amy, pushing her plate across the table. “I’m supposed to be on a diet.”

  “You’re not fat, Jill,” Amy said, lying, and took the cake anyway. Jill had paid. As always.

  “Oh, I am. You should see me in a full-length mirror! Jeff keeps telling me to diet, but he’s no Adonis himself.”

  “I remember the wedding. What a lovely couple you were!”

  Jill said, “That was a long time ago. How’s business, love, anyway? Haven’t seen you for ages.”

  “So-so,” Amy said. “You?” She never admitted when she was doing well. It was always so-so.

  “All right actually. I’m doing that new Angel reading thing. It brings them in.”

  “You’re still offering the psychic medium work though?”

  Jill nodded. “Yes, but I find you have to offer the punters something new all the time. Otherwise they get bored and go to those that will.”

  Amy said, “Yep, you’ve got to get your marketing right. It’s a business. Some of them in our line forget that when they’re bleating all that crap about helping suffering souls.” She grimaced. “Makes me baulk.”

  Jill winced. “It’s not crap, Amy. I do want to help people.”

  Amy patted her hand. “Of course, love. I didn’t mean you.”

  Jill shook her head. “I only tell them what I really get coming through. I don’t make stuff up.”

  Amy raised a sceptical eyebrow. “So, you never exaggerate?”

  Jill shook her head.

  “Come on! You must milk it a bit at times,” Amy said. She was grinning.

  They both laughed. Jill said, “A little bit, sometimes. I mean you’ve got to. Just a bit.” Her face went serious. “But I really like to be straight with my clients.”

  Amy groaned internally. What a dope. It was a good job Jill always paid for the coffee and cakes or Amy wouldn’t waste her time with such a milksop. Losing patience, Amy said, “Just tell them what they want to hear. That’s what they come to you for.”

  “I won’t lie,” Amy said. She shook her head vigorously like a little girl.

  “I’m not asking you to lie, hun. I’m just saying — ham it up at times. They love it. That’s what they really want.”

  They both laughed again. Amy ate more cake. Jill said, “I wish you could still smoke in here. It’s raining outside and I don’t want to get wet.”

  “Well, we’re nearly finished,” Amy said. Then she added quickly, “You’re paying? Just I’m a bit short.”

  Jill smiled. “Of course. I’ll get this.”

  Amy finished her cake and Jill’s. She licked her lips and then picked up a paper napkin to wipe them delicately.

  Jill said, “You coming to the Halloween gig next week?”

  “No. I didn’t know there was one.”

  “Didn’t you get the email from the spiritual development circle?”

  Amy shook her head. “I think Iris has taken me off the mailing list.” That was because she called Iris a silly cow to her face.

  “Well, I’m inviting you. It’s £50 a table for the night, but you should make more than that.”

  “£50? Where is it?”

  “Caldbeck Tower.”

  Amy was impressed. “Caldbeck Tower? That’s a spooky place.” Amy had never been inside but she knew the look of the place and its age would really bring the punters in. She said, “How did you manage to book that venue?” She sometimes worried Jill had better contacts than she did.

  “Ah, that would be telling,” Jill said. She tapped her nose, looked pleased with herself, then said, “One of my clients owns it — Mrs Jones.”

  “Mrs Jones? Seriously?” Amy snorted. “Sounds like a false name.”

  “Well, I don’t care what she calls herself. She’s a lovely woman and she’s letting us book her castle for Halloween.” She shuffled. “Anyway, I need to go.” Jill stood. Amy got up and followed her to the till, where Jill paid.

  On their way out, Amy said, “Thanks again for the coffee, Jill.”

  Jill put her arm round Amy’s shoulder and hugged her protectively. “No problem. I know you’ll pay me back when you make your millions.”

  Amy thought of Joan Smith. That necklace wasn’t cheap. It was stylish. She had money. She could get it off her, if she was smart.

  They left Muffin Break and stepped out onto the dismal street, dodging the drizzle. Amy turned up the collar of her coat and fiddled with her umbrella. Jill was in a hurry to get away. Amy said, “So I can come on Halloween, to Caldbeck Tower?”

  Jill tapped Amy on the back of her hand. “Of course you can. There’ll be a few of us there and Iris is advertising it so we should get a good crowd. I’ll make sure you get a good table.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  Amy kissed Jill on her cheek and said, “So, remember - ham it up and charge double!”

  It was afternoon and getting gloomy when Joan Smith arrived at Amy’s house for her reading. She was early. Amy took that as a good sign; it meant the woman was keen. She made a big effort to exude positive energy as she showed Joan Smith in, helped her off with her coat and led her through to the parlour. They sat down almost simultaneously. Amy’s face grew serious, but kind. “On the phone I mentioned about the price increase?”

  Joan nodded.

  “I hope you don’t mind. My outgoings have gone up. I hope you think I’m worth it.”

  Without hesitation, Joan smiled. “Of course, I do. You’re worth it. You tell me such wonderful things.”

  Amy’s eyelids flicked closed and fluttered like butterflies. She had learned to do this ages ago and clients really loved it. Her voice softened and she said, “Joan, I wanted to tell you that John... That was his name wasn’t it?”

  Joan smiled and said, “Yes, John.” Her spider necklace gleamed in the light of Amy’s front room lamp.

  “Well, John came to me the other night.”

  “Really? Which night? Last night?”

  “No, not last night. The night before.”

  “Ah, I see.” Joan looked thoughtful.

  Amy continued. “Well, he came to me and he said for me to tell you not to worry. He’s over his pain now.”

  “I’m so pleased.”

  “He says your mother is with him. She’s looking after him. He loved his grandma, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, he did. My mother loved him too.”

  Amy opened her eyes and smiled broadly. “Well, that was a lovely message to get. A cup of
tea?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  “And afterwards you can tell me about your husband’s business. A diamond mine wasn’t it?” She grinned. “I bet you’ve got loads of lovely jewellery from him.”

  Joan smiled. “Oh, yes, I have. He’s been very kind to me.”

  That made Amy feel warm inside.

  Amy left Joan and made a pot of tea in her lovely china teapot that she had got from a second-hand shop. She laid out some biscuits too. Not the expensive ones. She’d got a multi-pack from the Value Bargains Store. When she walked back through to the living room, Joan was sitting with her hands folded over her lap looking into space. Amy said, “Here we are. You look like you were lost in thought then, Joan.”

  Joan smiled. “I was. I was thinking about my son.”

  Amy sat down. “And you know he thinks about you too.” She reached and put her hand comfortingly on top of Joan’s.

  “You have such a lovely energy, Amy,” Joan said. “Delicious.”

  Joan tilted her head. “That’s very kind of you to say, Joan.” She gazed at her, for what she thought was a reasonable amount of time, then said, “Tell me, Joan. Have you ever thought of doing this yourself?”

  Joan smiled faintly. “Mediumship?”

  “Clairvoyance, yes. It’s just you seem to have a talent.”

  “Do I?”

  “Well, what you said about my energy...”

  Joan said, “You have a distinct energy. It’s what drew me to you in the first place.”

  “Thank you so much.” Amy sat back and sipped her tea. She put down the teacup in the saucer and said, “Did you see my advert in the local paper? I never did ask you.”

  “Yes, that’s it. In the local paper. But I was drawn to you because of your energy. It’s very full.”

  “Full? That’s a strange thing to say.”

  “It’s a strange business.”

  Amy giggled. “Yes, I suppose it is! Anyway, back to your reading. Is there anything in particular you want to know?”

  Joan regarded her with her dark brown eyes. She touched the spider necklace and twisted it round and round in her fingers. She paused then said, “I’m just interested if you can sense anything about me?”