Ghost Song

by Mark L'Estrange

  “I went back downstairs and added some more wood to the dwindling fire. I tuned in my transistor to give myself some background music, and I turned off the main light in the front parlour to allow the flames to create the right atmosphere. I left one of the lights in the hallway on, just for some added comfort, and their light did not intrude on the yellow glow of my fire.

  “I poured myself another glass of wine and sat back in the armchair in front of the fire to relax. I was not tired enough for sleep just yet, so I decided to give myself an hour or so of listening to music before heading back upstairs. As I sat there sipping my wine, I ran over the conversations I had had earlier that day with Jefferies and the old gravedigger. I had learned so much from the pair of them, but still I had huge gaps in the story. I considered making a list of potential questions that I could ask the librarian in the morning. Not that I expected her to be too forthcoming with her personal reflections! She did not come across as the sort of person who would give much credence to rumour and gossip. But perhaps if I had something more specific in mind, it might encourage her to add some weight to whatever we could find available amongst the library’s archives.

  “I had already made up my mind that I was going to enquire about the young gypsy girl, who was killed by the steep bank known as the Widow-Maker. Such a death was bound to have been recorded, and hopefully she would be able to uncover some record of it. Which in turn, I hoped, might lead to us discovering more about her and her relevance to the manor. From there, it was not inconceivable that we would eventually find a record of the reports of the deaths of the rest of my distant relatives who had lived there. This might explain if there was indeed any truth to the gravedigger’s speculation that the young gypsy girl was somehow responsible for their deaths.

  “I sat back in my chair and drained my glass, with every intention of rising and seeking out paper and a pen with which to start making a list of my thought processes. But before I managed to drag myself from the comforting warmth of my position, I drifted off to sleep.”

  Fourteen

  “Once more I was woken by the sound of hammering penetrating my slumber. I sat up with a start, convinced at first that it was only a dream. The fire was still burning, although the flames were barely visible. The radio station which I had been listening to was still on the air, but the programme had changed and in my half-asleep state I found the new music quite irritating, so I reached over and switched it off. I could see over my shoulder that the hall light was still burning, so at least the generator had not given up on me.

  “I leaned forward with my elbows resting on my knees and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I strained to see my watch in the dim light afforded me by the last of the burning embers and saw that it was a little after eleven o’clock. I waited in my chair, convinced that at any moment I would hear the banging again. It was far too much of a coincidence for it just to have been a dream, I decided, and any moment now I could expect another battering on the scullery door.

  “When it eventually came, as I knew it would, the knocking sounded different in some way; closer, and not as urgent as it had been before. As I rose from my chair it occurred to me that the noise was actually coming from the front door, and not from the back of the house. At first, I was not sure if this was something I should rejoice at or not. As I stood there in the hallway I pondered the likelihood of my nightly visitor deciding to use the front of the house, and compared to the other option =that on this occasion I had a late-night visitor of a more natural kind.

  “I made my way to the front door and pressed my ear against the wood. I could hear the sound of the rain pelting against the side of the house, but nothing else, so I decided to call out and demand that whoever was outside identify themselves.”

  “It’s me sir, Jarrow, and my wife.”

  “I unlocked the door and sure enough, there stood the couple, soaking wet from the rain. I invited them both in, as it seemed to me that regardless for the reason behind their visit at such an hour, I could not very well leave them standing out on such a vicious night at the mercy of the elements. In truth, though I did not wish to admit it to myself at the time, I was really very glad of the company.

  “Once they were inside I closed the door. I noticed that the wind had picked up quite considerably since I had arrived home, and now it felt as if it were blowing a full-scale gale. I invited the couple to remove their coats and to join me in the front parlour where at least there was still some warmth emanating from the fire. They both accepted my offer, and as we entered the parlour the moment Jarrow saw the dying embers he went straight over and replenished the wood and stirred up the kindling.

  “I offered them both a glass of wine, but they politely refused. I offered Mrs Jarrow the option of taking my chair as it was the closest in proximity to the fire, but she declined and sat across from me on one of the hard-backed chairs at the table. Before I could offer him my chair, Jarrow moved over to his wife and stood behind her, almost making it appear as if, for some reason, he felt the need to protect her.

  “I was certainly intrigued by the unusualness of their sudden appearance at my door, and as they had both refused a drink, I presumed that this was not a social call. I noticed that Mrs Jarrow was clutching in her hand a large leather bag, which seemed much sturdier than the usual handbag she always brought. In the dim light I could still see that she was holding onto it with such verve that the whites of her knuckles were showing. Jarrow, for his part, had placed one of his hands on his wife’s shoulder, and he appeared to be squeezing it gently.

  “It was obvious to me that the couple were extremely anxious about being there, so I tried to put them at their ease by thanking Mrs Jarrow for the splendid dinner she had left for me, which almost raised a smile from her. There followed a moment’s silence as I waited for one of the couple to make an announcement as to why they were there, but as it became apparent that neither of them wished to offer such an explanation, I came straight out and asked them myself, making sure that I did not imply that their visit was anything but welcome.”

  “Well you see, sir, it’s like this. My wife here is a very sensitive soul, and she has always felt that there was something queer about this house. She brought it up once with the master, but he shushed her away and told her not to be so daft, so she never broached the point with him again. But the fact of the matter is, sir, my wife feels very strongly that there is some kind of presence here which, in the absence of your late cousin, has attached itself to you, and to be honest she has started growing very concerned for you and your safety. So much so that she hasn’t been able to think of anything else all day, and all evening at work she’s been badgering me to come and see you, so, here we are.”

  “I listened carefully to what Jarrow was saying. It was obvious that his wife had not been fooled by my denial that morning. It was actually quite touching that they had felt so protective towards me that they felt that this twilight visit was necessary. What was also quite apparent from their shared mannerisms was the fact that they both felt quite nervous about being there and advancing their theory to me. I imagined that after my repudiation, Mrs Jarrow especially must have felt that I, just like my late cousin, did not wish to discuss the matter, and that I would probably not appreciate the pair of them sticking their noses in my affairs.

  “But as it was, nothing could have been further from the truth. The fact was that I had been lying to myself by thinking that I could not divulge what had been happening to me over the past few nights to anyone else, because I myself could not accept it, was nonsense. The real truth was, now that I was finally willing to admit it to myself, that I was too ashamed and possibly even paranoid to mention it, for fear that I would be ridiculed or, at the very least, thought to be bonkers.

  “I had even persuaded myself that I would not discuss the goings on at the manor with Jenifer, and we did not keep any secrets from each other. But if I could not even tell my wife, how was I to discuss the situation with two relative
strangers? What I could not deny to myself, however, was the immense relief that washed over me at the sound of Jarrow’s explanation that he and his wife already knew, or at the very least suspected, what was going on.

  “I could feel myself physically shaking at the prospect of finally sharing my burden. I offered the couple some wine, which they politely refused once more, but I knew that I needed something so I poured myself a half-glass and knocked it back. The alcohol eased its way down my throat, warming me from the inside. I looked back up at the couple and noticed a pensive expression on Mrs Jarrow’s face, which made me feel guilty for keeping them both in suspense.

  “In that instant I made up my mind that I was going to tell them everything, in the hope that they might be able to shed some more light on my predicament. My hands were still shaking, so I replaced my glass on the floor to avoid an unnecessary accident. I cleared my throat, and tried my best to steady my nerves before speaking. It was hard to know where to begin, so I decided to come right out and start at the beginning with my first night in Denby Manor.

  “As I relayed my tale, I was struck by the lack of response from either of the Jarrows. It was almost as if I was revealing the latest mortgage rates to them, rather than baring my soul. Neither seemed at all shocked by anything I said, and although I did not specify that I now believed the young girl to be a ghost, my inferences were clear enough for them to comprehend.

  “Once I had finished my tale the pair of them looked at each other, and exchanged another of those unspoken acknowledgements they seemed to share. After which, it was Jarrow who spoke up once more.”

  “You see sir, my wife and I, well, we share a gift, so to speak. We don’t make a show of it, in fact, very people we know are aware of it. We’re not the kind of folk who like to draw attention to ourselves. You might say, we treat our special ability as more of an inconvenience than anything else, because the truth of the matter is, we’ve got it whether we want it or not.”

  “I was naturally curious to discover what this ‘gift’ was that Jarrow spoke about, and to my shame for a moment I began to believe that they were about to try and flimflam me with some well-rehearsed confidence trick. Whether or not they caught the suspicion in my eyes I do not know, but Mrs Jarrow decided that she needed to take over from her husband’s explanation and move swiftly to the point.”

  “What Jarrow means is sir, there are times, when we put our mind to it, that my husband and I can contact those who have passed over. Especially if it happens to be a troubled soul who has not found peace, just yet, and as Jarrow explained, I have been feeling the presence of this soul who is bothering you, growing stronger with each passing day, since you arrived.”

  “Listening to the way Mrs Jarrow was almost imploring me allow them to take action on my behalf, I began to feel more confident that they were indeed in earnest. I must admit I was grateful for their proposed intervention on my behalf, and the more I considered the possibility of giving them my blessing, the less of a weight I felt my burden to be. However, as the sceptic in me was still questioning the efficacy of what they were proposing, I asked, tentatively, what it was exactly that they intended to do to assist me in my plight.

  “Still with an air of caution, tinged with nervousness, Mrs Jarrow leaned forward in her chair, as if someone else was in the room besides us and might hear her proposal, and spoke just above a whisper.”

  “If you are in agreement, sir, Jarrow and I would like to conduct a séance, here, tonight, in this room.”

  “Her words were obviously well chosen, and carefully delivered. I was not sure exactly what I had expected her to say in response to my enquiry, but now that her words hung, awkwardly, in the air, the full realisation of their offer began to hit home. Naturally I had never actually partaken in a live séance before, and to be honest, had I not been in the position I was in at that moment, especially with Jenifer’s arrival pending, I would probably have never considered the prospect. But the fact remained that my situation was anything but normal, and there was no way that I could close my eyes and pretend that it was.

  “Given all that I still found myself having to ponder Mrs Jarrow’s offer, carefully, before making my decision. I kept trying to fathom would others might do in my position. Jennifer, my sister, my parents. But, try as I might, I could not gauge how anyone else I knew might react to my situation. So, after a while, I conceded to the Jarrows’ kind offer of assistance.

  “I waited patiently while the couple set about removing their paraphernalia from the large bag Mrs Jarrow had brought in with her. The pair of them worked in silence, each skilled in their own adept part. Mrs Jarrow removed a large black cloth form her bag, and together they both covered the table with it. Next, Jarrow took out three silver candleholders, and placed them around the table to form an arc. Mrs Jarrow followed her husband and slotted a dark red candle in each holder, forcing each one down to ensure that it was properly planted. Once she was satisfied that it would hold fast, she lit the wick.

  “Jarrow, meanwhile, removed a large cardboard frame from his wife’s bag, and unfolded it before setting it on the table, within the semi-circle created by the candles. Next he took out a small red velvet cloth bag, and from it he removed what appeared to be a small glass without a stem. He polished the glass vigorously with the cloth bag he had just removed it from, and held it up so that he might study his handiwork in the light from the candles. He nodded, almost unperceptively, before placing it upside down in the middle of the board.

  “Once they were finished, they both surveyed their handiwork before turning to each other to allow another silent signal of approval to pass between them. Mrs Jarrow took her seat, and Jarrow ushered me to take the seat to his wife’s left while he turned out all the lights, leaving only the candle flame and fireplace to afford us illumination. He then took the seat to his wife’s right, so that now we were all in position with a candle between each of us.”

  “One thing sir, if you will forgive my rudeness, I must insist that no matter what happens, you do not try and bring my wife around from her trance.”

  “I nodded my understanding, and looked down to make a quick study of the Ouija board. I had never seen such an instrument before, and other than the letters of the alphabet, and numbers, I could not make out what any of the other symbols might mean. I sat there for a moment while Mrs Jarrow seemed to be meditating, with her eyes closed and her hands laying, palms down, on the board, with her fingers spread out. Mr Jarrow kept his eyes open and fixed on his wife; I presumed awaiting her acknowledgement that she was ready to begin.

  “Without warning, Mrs Jarrow’s eyelids suddenly shot open. I had been looking directly at her at the time, and the unexpectedness with which she opened her eyes made me almost jump back in my seat. Now her eyes seemed to stare at me without focus. It was an incredibly eerie sensation, having her look directly at me and through me at the same time, and yet I found it almost impossible to avert my gaze.

  “After a moment, she extended her right hand and placed her index finger on the top of the glass. Jarrow looked at me and indicated for me to follow suit. I added my finger to the glass and Jarrow completed the pattern with his.

  “We sat there in silence for several minutes. Unbelievably, throughout this process, Mrs Jarrow kept her eyes open, without blinking, staring straight ahead. Outside I could still hear the rain bucketing down, and from somewhere in the distance came the faint rumble of thunder.

  “Now that we were all situated around the Ouija board, waiting for what I presumed was Mrs Jarrow’s gift to take hold, I was beginning to wish that I had never agreed to this arrangement. Even though I was desperate to try and find out more about my unwelcome visitor, at that moment I was seriously thinking that dabbling with the occult was not really the best way to go about it.

  “The problem now of course was how could I possible say that I had changed my mind after the Jarrows had gone through so much trouble? Bearing in mind they had only come over in the fi
rst place because Mrs Jarrow was afraid for my safety, not to mention sanity. I knew that I had let things go too far to pause before the end.

  “At that moment Mrs Jarrow let forth an almighty gasp, as if she had been holding her breath for some time, and her head lolled backwards so that she was now looking up at the ceiling. I looked at Jarrow for some indication of what we should do but he sat quite still, calmly watching his wife’s performance, without reaction. A low, almost guttural sound, began to emanate from the woman’s mouth, and this continued for a good five minutes before she slowly lowered her head back down until her chin was resting on her chest.

  “Once again, I glanced quickly over towards Jarrow, deciding to take my cue from him. But he was merely watching his wife without any obvious look of concern on his face. At that moment, as if it had been rehearsed in advance, there was an almighty rumble of thunder directly outside, which sounded as if it were about to break in through the window. At that precise moment, Mrs Jarrow began to speak.”

  “Are you there, child? Do not be afraid, we do not mean you any harm.”

  “We waited, but there was no response to her invitation. After a moment, Mrs Jarrow tried again.”

  “Will you come and speak to us? We only want to help you to find peace.”

  “Miraculously the glass beneath our fingers began to tremble, and move under its own steam. I watched in amazement as it began its voyage across the board. The glass stopped over the word ‘No’. As Mrs Jarrow could not see the board with her head still bowed, Jarrow repeated the word for her benefit. We waited for the glass to move on, but it stayed put. Mrs Jarrow continued with her entreaty.”