Ghost Song

by Mark L'Estrange

  Ten

  “I instinctively turned around to face the direction from which the music was coming. The melody was very familiar to me, although at first, I could not place it for sure. But as I concentrated a little more, it came to me. It was the same song that I had heard the previous night.

  I spun around to confront the young woman, but she was gone!

  “I looked around frantically, trying to see where she might have disappeared to. At least this time I knew that there was no way that she could have slipped into the house, as I had been blocking the doorway. Yet again there was no sign of her, and this time I was in no mood to go venturing outside. I decided that whatever game she might be playing, I was not going to become part of it - not tonight.

  “I slammed the door and turned the key back in the lock to ensure that it was secure. I walked out of the scullery and made my way to the kitchen door. I stood there for a moment, listening to that sweet melody as it drifted through the house. The playing was flawless; I do not know how else to describe it. It was almost as if the musician was barely touching the keys and was a true master of their craft.

  “After a moment I crept along the hallway towards the music room, straining to adjust my eyes in the darkness. The glimmer of light which had come from the fire in the front parlour was all gone, which was not surprising considering the final few logs were already on their way out when I had left the room. As I reached the door of the music room I reached out my hand to grab hold of the handle; and then I froze. The girl outside was one thing. She was real and alive, I had seen her twice now, but how could there be anyone else in the house without me knowing it? Who could possibly be playing on the other side of the wooden door?

  “I pressed my ear against the wood. I am not sure what I was listening for; perhaps a familiar and comforting voice. Somehow Jarrow or his wife had maybe let themselves I while I was tending to the scullery door, because this was the time of year when one of them tuned the harpsichord for my dead relative. But I knew in my heart that I was merely grabbing for insane straws. Whoever or whatever it was behind that door, I had to confront them and demand to know what was going on.

  “I stood poised, ready to make good my attack. The sound of the music seemed to penetrate the door in such a way that it filtered through the house as if it were being played in every room simultaneously. Slowly I turned the handle, careful not to make a sound and warn my intruder. It occurred to me that I should have some weapon to hand, but it was too late now as releasing the handle might cause the latch to squeak and give the game away.

  “I flung the door open. In that instant the music stopped, leaving the last note hanging in the air as if it were somehow reluctant to expire. I ran over to the harpsichord, but I could already tell before I reached it that there was no-one sitting on the stool. What’s more when I looked I could see that the lid that protected the keys was down, so nobody could have been playing the instrument. Yet I had been listening to the music for several minutes by then. So where had it come from?

  “Just then, the singing began. That same beautiful voice which I had heard the previous night took over from where the music had left off. Once again, it seemed to permeate the house, and echoed all around me. I truly felt as if I was losing my mind. I listened for a moment, entranced as I had been by the playing, for even though I had not heard the song before last night it was almost as if I had known it my entire life. It captured me, body and soul, and when I closed my eyes I was lost in a reverie which gave me the feeling of drifting along a tunnel leading to who knew where.

  “A sudden crash from upstairs brought me back to my senses. I ran from the room out into the hallway. When I reached the bottom of the stairs I gazed up, but it was too dark to be able to make out any form in the shadows. I stood there for a moment trying to focus on the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs, but it was too dark even for that. Suddenly I realised that the singing had stopped, and now the only sound I could hear was the faint ticking from that same clock.

  “Slowly, I began to climb the stairs. I considered that with everything else that had happened, there was still a chance that the crash I had heard from above might have been the result of some innocent happening. Perhaps something had been teetering on a shelf without me noticing, and it just so happened that at that moment it decided to fall. I comforted myself with such thoughts as I made my way up.

  “Once at the top, I decided to retrieve my torch before undertaking an investigation. I found it where I had left it and switched it on. The strong beam that emanated from it gave me an instant feeling of comfort, almost as if I was no longer alone. I shone my torch around the room, and sure enough, when the beam hit the far wall, I noticed that some of the pictures I had been looking at earlier had toppled over.

  “I heaved a huge sigh of relief. That at least I could rationalise as something that could happen without outside intervention. I decided to leave the fallen paintings where they were for now. At least on the floor they could not topple over again and scare the life out of me. My heartbeat began to settle once more. I had no way of explaining the harpsichord seeming to play by itself, but I recalled that I had seen pianos which were designed to do just that so I decided that for now, that was as good an explanation as any.

  “I turned to leave the room, and saw the girl standing directly behind me. The shock of seeing her took me immediately by surprise. I stumbled backwards and tripped over a foot stool or some such thing, and went flying backwards. The torch flew from my grasp and I heard it hit something behind me as I fell, instantly going out. Fortunately, I managed to land flat on my back, and although the wind was knocked out of me I was otherwise unhurt.

  “I lay still for a moment, trying to regain my breath. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead of me where the girl had been standing. But, even from such a short distance, in the darkness I could see nothing of her. Once I regained my breath, I edged backwards along the floor to retrieve my torch. I was afraid to take my eyes away from the spot where I had seen her standing a moment before, just in case I missed a movement in the shadows which would signify her leaving.

  “I managed to find my torch and flicked the switch on it back and forth, but alas, no light came forth. I felt along the glass front and to my dismay I could feel that the glass had cracked, although it was still holding in place. I kept the switch in its ‘on’ position and rapped it against the palm of my hand a few times, which was a trick I had once witnessed my father trying. When the beam came back on I was elated.

  “I aimed the light at the space where the girl had been standing, but she was nowhere to be seen. I was sure that I had not heard her run out onto the landing. But then neither had I heard her creep up behind me in the room, so that by itself did not substantiate a great deal.

  “Now, for the first time, I truly began to believe that I might have a ghost! The thought alone sent a flood of icy cold down my spine. It would certainly explain how the girl seemed capable of appearing and disappearing at will. Not to mention the singing and the music, but why would a ghost be haunting me? I had never dabbled in the occult, or attempted to invite spirits from the other side to cross over via a Ouija board. In fact, the nearest that I had ever come to such hocus pocus was my experience with the gypsy in Brighton.

  “It was true that many people believed that old houses were famous hunting grounds for all manner of spooks and spectres, but surely not my house. Not while I was out there alone, miles away from anywhere and in virtual darkness, surrounded by nothing but forest and stars and nothingness! I admonished myself immediately for losing my grip on reality. Granted the entire situation was somewhat unusual, and I was not even bothered about finding a rational explanation for everything which had occurred. But I would not allow myself to fall apart and start drifting into the realms of fantasy and the supernatural.

  “I decided that with the lateness of the hour, bed was where I needed to be. But I must admit that with everything else that had taken place that ni
ght, I felt that I deserved a nightcap to help me back to sleep. I used my torch to guide my way back downstairs. A large glass of wine would suffice, and at that moment, the thought of this comforted me enough that I could feel my while body start to relax once more.

  “As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard the banging once more on the scullery door. I could not believe it; tonight, I was to be treated to a second visit, no doubt. I tried to steel myself for whatever lay ahead. I knew that I would have to answer the door, or else no doubt the banging would simply continue to grow in velocity until I submitted and gave in.

  Just as I was about to make my way back to the scullery, the singing began again!

  “The doleful tune filled the house once more, this time in direct contrast to whoever, or whatever, was hammering at the back door. From the corner of my eye I thought that I could see something moving at the top of the stairs. I raised my torch and there, standing at the top of the stairs, was the young girl! My torch held her for a moment in a halo of dim light. Even from this distance I could still make out that same pleading, yearning expression on her face that she had treated me to each time I had opened the back door to her. Her eyes, although so young, appeared as if they had experienced far more suffering than was natural for her years.

  “Her head was tilted slightly to one side as if she too were listening to the singing. Even though I was convinced that the singing came from her, I could tell in the torchlight that her lips were not moving. I gripped the side of the bannister tightly with one hand, as if to try to steady myself. My mind was by now a complete jumble of thoughts and ideas, and I was finding it impossible to come to terms with what was happening. Either she was a ghost, or spirit of some sort, or else, more logically, she had merely been hiding upstairs waiting for the right moment to show herself.

  “The singing appeared to be increasing in volume, as if someone had turned up a stereo. I focused my concentration on the girl, although in the background I could still hear someone hammering on the back door. As I watched, the girl slowly began to lift her arms until they were outstretched towards me. It was as if she were inviting me to hold her in a tender embrace. Then I noticed that she was beginning to descend the stairs. She was not actually walking though; it was more as if she were drifting down. I let the light from my torch drop slightly to see if I could see her feet, but there appeared to be nothing under the long hem of her dress as it dragged over the stairs on her descent.

  “I raised my light once more. The girl never once seemed to take her eyes from me; she drifted down at a slow, steady pace, barely perceptible to the naked eye. I gripped the bannister harder, fighting for my resolve to keep me upright. I wanted to call out to her, ask her what she wanted from me, convince her that I meant her no harm, but at that moment I had no voice. It felt as if I was glued to the spot, unable even to move my legs let alone make my escape.

  “I looked up into her sweet, innocent face as she came ever nearer. I had nothing to fear from this young girl. She was the one in need of help, in need of comfort and support. Yet then why was it that my legs felt as if they were ready to buckle underneath me? Then I saw it; as she came ever closer, I noticed that the expression in her eyes was changing. The change was subtle, but nonetheless it was still there. That look of yearning and longing was metamorphosing into one of fear!

  “She appeared to be staring at me as if I was somehow the orchestrator of her plight. Within seconds that look of fear in her eyes had turned abruptly into one of pure hatred, and as she neared me she dropped her arms to her sides and let out a terrible scream which seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. To my horror at that moment my torch went out, and in the darkness, I could sense more than see, that the girl was coming ever closer towards me. I do not remember losing consciousness, but presumably I must have, because that is all I can remember.

  “Once more I was roused from my unconscious state by the sound of someone banging on the door. When I opened my eyes, I saw from the daylight filtering in through the hall windows that it was morning. I realised that I must have been out all night, and when I lifted my head off the hard stone floor I immediately felt a lump at the back which was incredibly tender to the touch. I rose to my feet too quickly, and straight away I felt a little giddy so I grabbed onto the bannister for support. The movement reminded me of the previous night when I had first needed the solid wooden beam for assistance, and suddenly I had a flash-back of all I had witnessed before I passed out.

  “As always, in the cold light of day everything felt normal once again. I looked up the wide staircase and could see nothing out of the ordinary. But I surmised at that moment that even if the same spectral vision appeared that I would not be in the least bit phased by it. The daylight belonged to the here and now, which put me back in command.

  “I opened the front door to be greeted by the sombre Mrs Jarrow standing on the doorstep, her basket in hand. When she saw me, it was obvious that my dishevelled appearance caused her some alarm. However, being as she was the very epitome of the perfect servant, she did not voice her disapproval, but merely instead greeted me in her familiar way, and waited for me to stand aside to allow her in.”

  “Good morning, sir, will you be wanting a strong coffee before I make your breakfast? Jarrow is outside seeing to the generator. I see it let you down again during the night.”

  “I thanked her for her offer. A strong coffee would certainly hit the spot. I followed her into the kitchen and slumped down at the table while she prepared my brew. After my coffee, I dragged myself upstairs so that I could bathe while Mrs Jarrow prepared my breakfast. I still felt guilty that the poor woman felt that she had to treat me as if I was her new master, but at that moment I did not have the fortitude to turn down another of her delicious breakfasts.

  “After my bath, which seemed even more tepid than the previous morning’s, I dressed and came back down just as Mrs Jarrow was about to call up to tell me that my meal was ready. I remembered to thank her for the marvellous soup she had left for my dinner, and as usual she received my praise without cracking a smile. While I ate she busied herself around the house, re-making up the fires, dusting and cleaning without a word.

  “With each mouthful I began to feel more human again. The back of my head still felt very tender, but I was relieved to feel that the lump seemed to have shrunk slightly. Mrs Jarrow kept the coffee coming, at my request, and I had finished three more cups by the time I ate my last forkful of bacon and eggs. When Mrs Jarrow came to collect my plates, I thanked her for yet another amazing breakfast, and as she turned to go back to the kitchen I remembered the portraits that I had rummaged through the previous evening. I mentioned to her that I could not find any with a woman in them, but that I had found one which seemed to have its picture missing.”

  “That’s very odd, sir, I know that I saw it clear as day. Perhaps the master dropped it or spilt something on it.”

  “I agreed that that would explain its disappearance, and asked her if she remembered what the girl in the painting had looked like. She stood there beside me for a moment, holding my empty plates in her hand while she pondered my question.”

  “I seem to recall thinking at the time that she was a young girl, maybe early twenties or late teens. She was wearing what I would class as maybe a late Victorian-style dress, oh and she had lovely long black hair which framed her face and came down over her shoulders.”

  “It sounded like too much of a coincidence to me. The girl that Mrs Jarrow was describing had to be my late-night visitor, which in turn would mean without a doubt that it was a spirit I had encountered and not a living being. The trouble was, without a picture I had no specific form of reference to quantify my suspicion.

  “I thanked her once more, and she turned and left the room. The fact that I could not find the picture Mrs Jarrow had described was bothering me more than perhaps I should have allowed it to. After all, I knew what I had witnessed; my own eyes did not lie to me. So, regardless
of whether my visitor was real in the flesh or not, was completely beside the point in one respect at least.

  “But of course, if she were a ghost, a spirit from the past, then what did she want with me? That was a different matter altogether. Whoever she was, or might have been, she could certainly have no issues with me. After all, we had never met. Well, not person to person, as such. So, in that case, she must have some connection to the manor. The question was, what connection? It dawned on me that with my late cousin gone, and the Jarrows, and Peterson for that matter, none-the-wiser, any chance of my finding out about her story were all but gone.

  “Then, there was a knock at the front door!”

  Eleven

  “Before I had a chance to rise and answer the door, I could hear the sound of Mrs Jarrow running up the steps from the kitchen which led to the hall. I decided that it was best to allow her the responsibility of playing the part of housekeeper-cum-cook-cum-maid, as it was already quite apparent to me that she was intent on ensuring that she earned the money my late distant cousin had already paid her.

  “I stayed seated at the table and could hear the distant sound of muffled voices outside. After a few moments Mrs Jarrow re-emerged in the doorway to announce that a Mr Jefferies had arrived, and wished to speak with me. Naturally I had no idea who this stranger was, but as Mrs Jarrow made no more of her announcement I decided to not to ask any questions, and asked her to show him in for me.

  “I stood up and greeted my new guest as he entered the room. He was a tall, slender individual whom I estimated must be in his late sixties or early seventies. He was smartly dressed in a tailored hacking jacket, dark green trousers, and brown brogues. We shook hands and I offered him a chair, which he gratefully accepted. I noticed that Mrs Jarrow was still loitering in the doorway, and when I acknowledged her presence she asked if I wished to have some more coffee served. I forwarded her offer to Jefferies but he declined, and as I had already consumed four cups that morning, so did I.