Ghost Song

by Mark L'Estrange

  “Halfway up the staircase, I suddenly heard a creak on the landing above me. I lifted my torch, and in the hollow beam I saw Amy hovering in front of me at the top of the staircase. The shock of suddenly seeing her apparition before me caused me to drop my torch once more as I swung around to grasp the bannister with both hands to steady myself. This time I could hear my poor torch bounce and bump its way down the solid wooden staircase, and I was in no two minds that it was gone for good when I heard it shatter on the hall floor below.

  “As I watched Amy from the corner of my eye, she appeared to be drifting towards me. Through the dim, shadowy gloom, I could just make out her face. Those sweet, gentle features, that beseeching look she always wore, pleading with me for help. I discovered, at that moment, that I could not move my legs. It was almost as if she had cast a spell over me, forcing me to remain captive until she was close enough to inflict whatever torment she had in mind for me. I held onto the bannister post for dear life. My legs began to give way beneath my weight, and I felt myself crumple into a heap on the staircase.

  “Eventually, I had to turn my face away from the approaching apparition. I closed my eyes and squeezed them shut in the vain hope that if I could not see her, then she would not be able to come near me. I knew that I was only fooling myself, but without any means of escape, I think that my brain was merely offering me false hope, which it had deemed better than no hope at all.

  “With my eyes tightly shut, Amy obviously decided that she would assail my ears instead. She began to sing her song, so loudly that I felt as if my eardrums would burst. I released my grip on the bannister and shoved a finger in each ear to try and block out the sound. But the effort was futile. Her singing pervaded my defences, making it seem as if she was actually inside my head.

  “I could feel myself growing dizzy once more. It reminded me of that feeling you often had as a child when, against your parent’s command, you would spin around really fast and then abruptly stop, and the world around you would suddenly feel as if it was about to collapse in on you.

  “I felt myself crouching down as low as I could on the stairs, almost as if I was attempting to turn myself into a human ball. The din inside my head was still raging, and I could almost feel Amy’s presence within reaching distance. I had nowhere to go! My legs would not support my weight if I tried to stand up and flee. My only alternative now was to let my body roll down the stairs and hope that by the time I reached the bottom, Amy’s spell over me would be vanquished, allowing me to make good my escape.

  “But I knew that I was only fooling myself. I was frozen rigid to the spot, just like the proverbial sitting duck, merely waiting for the hunter to come and finish me off. At that moment I believe I would have actually welcomed the end, so that I could finally be put out of my misery. But Amy was toying with me, purposely prolonging my torment to enhance my suffering. She was not about to kill me. Instead, she wanted to drag out her little game to give it maximum effect.

  “When I could finally take no more, I let out an almighty scream borne of anguish and despair. Somehow my cry appeared to shatter the spell, and within seconds Amy had stopped singing in my head, and I recaptured the feeling in my legs once more. I paused a moment before I dared open my eyes. For although I could no longer hear her, I was still afraid that her apparition might be hovering over me, just waiting to pounce the second I opened my eyes.

  “When I finally conjured up the courage to look, I was relieved to discover that Amy was nowhere to be seen. I picked myself up and stood there for a moment longer, trying to focus my vision in the darkness which surrounded me. I knew that there would be no purpose served in trying to retrieve my torch, for I had heard it smash on the hardwood floor when it slipped from my grasp.

  “For a moment I considered returning to the front parlour, re-lighting the fire for warmth, and turning on all the overhead lights downstairs for comfort, before spending what was left of the night curled up in the armchair. However, by that point I felt convinced, although not for the first time that night, that Amy had already thrown her entire arsenal at me, and that now, finally, she would leave me alone. With that in mind I crawled back up the stairs to bed, and again I fell asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

  “Yet again, Amy refused to let me sleep in peace as she invaded my dreams; both as herself, and as the hag-Amy with that maniacal look on her face, as she drifted ever closer towards me. In one of my dreams I was actually married to Amy, and we were about to have a child. Our life was as idyllic as anyone could hope for, and we were both hopelessly in love. But, as she presented me with our new born child, I gazed up and was horrified by the sight of Jenifer coming at me through some ethereal mist. Her face, contorted into a mask of horror. Her beautiful blond hair, once so soft and golden, was now matted with what appeared to be dried blood. Her slender, well-manicured fingers were now deformed into talon-like claws, just like the hag-Amy, with long, cracked, blackened fingernails reaching out to pluck our child away from me, and carry it away to her lair to face its doom.

  “I sat up in bed with a jolt, and as soon as I realised that it was nothing more than a hideous dream, I looked around the room and noticed the daylight outside my window. I grabbed my alarm clock and saw to my horror that it was seven forty-five. My alarm had either malfunctioned, or else I had slept through it. Either way, I had only fifteen minutes to reach the library. Otherwise I was sure that the good Miss Wilsby would withdraw her kind offer, unreservedly.

  “There was no time for me to complete my morning ablutions, and, although I had, yet again, woken up in sheets drenched in my perspiration, I only had time to spray some deodorant under my arms and splash on some Old Spice before getting dressed.

  “I ran out to my car with my overcoat under my arm, and immediately shivered as the early morning cold permeated my layers. There was a thick covering of frost on the lawn, and, to make matters worse, it had also taken hold on my windscreens. I spent several valuable minutes scraping the excess ice off the windows until I was satisfied that they were clear enough to see out of. Once behind the wheel, I turned the key in the ignition and the engine, at first, refused to turn over. I checked to make sure that the choke lever was fully extended, and then tried again.

  “It took four attempts before the engine caught, so I sat there for a moment and revved the accelerator to make sure that the car would not cut out on me as I moved off. Finally I set off down the driveway towards the main gate. The first time I had to brake, the tyres slid underneath me, and I knew that I was going to have to take it easy, regardless of how late it made me. I reasoned that there was no point in rushing and risking an accident on the icy roads, and hoped that the old librarian would show some compassion under the circumstances.

  “As I reached the Widow-Maker bend I slowed right down and honked my horn, but there was no response. Even so, I took the turning in second gear with my left foot hovering over the clutch, just in case I had to slam on the brakes. Fortunately, the way was clear, and I carried on as fast as I dared into town.

  “As I approached the high street, I glanced at my watch and was disheartened to see that it was already a quarter past eight. Although I had in fact made reasonably good time, especially taking the road conditions into account, I still was not convinced that Miss Wilsby would appreciate my effort. As the library came into view I expected to see the stern figure of the librarian waiting for me with a look of utter distain on her face. But she was nowhere to be seen. For one horrible moment, I actually thought that when I had not arrived by the dot of eight that she had taken herself back home, or to a café for breakfast.

  “I parked up outside the library and climbed out of my car. I stood there on the pavement for a moment, gazing up and down the street in the vain hope that the librarian herself might be late, and that she would be the one offering an apology. But after a while it became apparent that either she was not coming back, or indeed she was already inside the library.

  “I
walked up the steps of the large red-brick building and peered in through the glass pane in one of the doors. There was no sign of any movement from within, although from outside, my angle of reference did not allow me full disclosure, due to the inner doors which housed frosted glass as their upper panes. There was, however, a faint glimmer of light coming from behind them, which encouraged me to think that someone was inside. I stood there for a while, hoping that I might see a shadow of movement from inside. But, after a while with no such evidence, I decided to knock.

  “Within a couple of seconds, the willowy frame of the librarian came into view. As she strode, purposefully, towards the door, I could tell immediately from the expression she wore that she was no best pleased with my tardiness, and I immediately prepared myself for a stern admonishment. Miss Wilsby did not disappoint!”

  “Good morning Mr Ward, I had expected you almost twenty minutes ago.”

  “She glanced at the watch which hung from a chain attached to her outfit, as if to emphasise her displeasure.”

  “I am not accustomed to opening the library earlier than advertised, and on those rare occasions when I do concede to such a request, the very least I expect is for the individual who requested such a trespass to be punctual.”

  “She hit me with a stern glare, which I presumed she had practised over the years to use on those who returned their library books late. I apologised as profusely as I was able and tried to explain that my alarm clock had let me down, but I could tell from the way she stared at me that she was willing to accept no such defence. For one terrible moment as she stood there, blocking my way in, I was afraid that she was going to insist that I return at the scheduled opening time. But after an extremely tense moment she relented, and stood back to allow me to enter.

  “Having locked the main door behind us, the librarian walked ahead of me, without instructing me to follow, through the inner doors, and into the main library. Her inner sanctum was exactly as I expected a small-town library to appear. The walls on three sides were crammed from top to bottom with dark-wooden shelving, each one heaving to the brim with books of various sizes, from extremely weighty tomes to more moderate paperbacks.

  “Once inside Miss Wilsby made straight for a large wooden table in one corner, upon which, as I drew nearer, I could see housed three, large, hard-covered volumes. The first was entitled, ‘How We Used to Live’, the second, The Growth of Industry’, and the third, ‘Our Town’. I stood by the table adjacent to the librarian and waited for her to say something. Finally, she pointed to each work in turn as she offered a brief summary for my edification.”

  “These were the only editions which I could think of that might offer you any assistance with your enquiry, Mr Ward. This first one describes life during the Victorian era, and how life began to improve for those who lived in small communities such as ours, with regard to everything from working conditions to sanitation. The second deals primarily with the history of factories and shops, and it goes into some depth concerning which imports and exports helped to shape our current industry. The third actually names our fair town. But alas, it is a very small piece which concentrates on our dairy production at the turn of the century.”

  “Once she had finished her introductions she turned to look at me and waited in silence, presumably for my acknowledgement and appreciation for her efforts. But the truth was that I was sorely disappointed with the meagre offering laid before me. I knew that what I desperately sought would not be contained in the general information which those three volumes doubtless offered.

  “I thanked her for her time and made a point to emphasise how much I appreciated her efforts, and the fact that she had gone to the trouble of opening the doors for me before the official time. But I was, understandably, unable to hide my frustration at the meagre fruits of her labours. Miss Wilsby quickly picked up on my melancholia.”

  “Is there something wrong, Mr Ward? If you don’t mind me saying so you seem a little indifferent with my selection.”

  “I turned to the old lady with as much cheer as I could muster. I explained to her, once again, that although I was immensely grateful for all her hard work, the fact remained that I was hoping, after our conversation outside the previous day, that she might be able to find something more specific concerning the manor, and my ancestors. The librarian considered my proposal for a moment.”

  “I am afraid that I am unaware of any books written specifically about your ancestors, or the manor, Mr Ward. If such a tome existed, I am sure that we would house a copy here as this is the only library in town.”

  “I nodded slowly in agreement and offered to assist her in replacing the three large texts back on their allotted shelves. I could tell that the old librarian was somewhat miffed at my lack of enthusiasm for her efforts, but I felt that I had made my apologies quite adequately, and the fact was that she had not managed to find anything even remotely helpful with regards to my quest.

  “Following her instructions, I replaced the three volumes back in their allotted homes. In my mind, I was attempting to fathom where else I could turn for information. Perhaps it was because I had put so much faith in the librarian that now, as a result of her fruitless search, I was feeling so dejected. The truth was that having gleaned so much over the past couple of days thanks to my neighbour Jefferies, the old gravedigger, and the Jarrows with their séance, I felt as if I was on the verge of learning the truth about what happened to my spirit - visitor all those years ago, and perhaps as a result, the reason her ghost insisted on haunting the manor, and more to the point, me.

  “Once I had placed the weighty tomes back on their respective shelves I thanked Miss Wilsby for the last time, and turned to leave. The librarian followed me out, as she would have to unlock the main door to allow me to exit. I waited with a heavy heart for her to turn the key in the lock, feeling that as I left the building, I was also leaving my last chance to connect with the past and solve my dilemma. It was at that moment, just before she opened the door for me, that she spoke again. Her words were tinged with frustration and irritation, which she did not bother trying to hide.”

  Eighteen

  “I am sorry, Mr Ward, that you feel your journey was a waste of time. Perhaps if you had been more specific in your request, I might have been able to assist you further in your endeavour.”

  “She held the door open for me to leave. As I was about to cross the threshold I stopped myself, and stared back at her. Her words had given me the merest jot of anticipation that the old woman might still be a valuable ally. My problem was that I did not feel comfortable revealing to her the events of the past few nights, and certainly, I had no desire to break the trust put in me by the Jarrows in revealing their assistance the previous evening. But, on the other hand, if I did not intend to let her into my confidence, how on earth could I expect her to be able to help me?

  “We both stood there in silence, whilst I battled with myself as to whether or not to reveal all to Miss Wilsby. She could doubtless tell from my hesitation that I had more to reveal, and whether or not it was as a result of her curiosity or her sheer willingness to still afford me her help I do not know, but to her credit, she too stood there in silence allowing me to make up my mind in my own good time.

  “Finally, I decided that a moment’s candour could not possibly do any harm. After all, I did not have to go into every detail here and now to find out if the librarian could offer me any more help. I took a deep breath and turned back to her. Instead of mentioning last evening’s events, or the hauntings, I explained to Miss Wilsby that I had learned of an incident which had apparently occurred near the Manor approximately seventy years earlier, and that what I really wanted was the chance to investigate the incident to discover for myself if any of my ancestors had been in any way involved.

  “My supposition seemed to intrigue the old librarian, and she stood there for a moment, evidently lost in thought. After a moment, it appeared as if an idea had suddenly come to her. She turned bac
k to me and, for the first time since our meeting, she had the tinge of a smile on her countenance.”

  “This incident which you speak of; would it have been something which might have warranted investigation at the time?”

  “I asked her if she meant by the authorities and was immediately beginning to wish that I had re-worded my sentence in a less conspicuous manner.”

  “I meant more precisely by the local press. You see, we house all the old copies of the local newspaper here, going back to when they were no more than a monthly printed sheet. If the incident in question that you are referring to was reported in the paper, then I am quite sure that we will have a copy of it in the archives.”

  “I have to confess, at the sound of her suggestion I felt my heart skip a beat. It made perfect sense that, unless my family had somehow managed to cover it up, the death of Amy might well be a story with enough local interest to warrant publication. The old librarian could obviously see the excitement etched into my face, so she closed the main door and re-locked it without asking me whether I wished to stay or not.”

  “This time she signalled for me to follow her as she led me to a large wooden door, secreted behind some free-standing shelves, off to one side of the library. She unlocked the door with an old-fashioned wrought iron key, similar to the type which I possessed for the manor’s front door. Once inside she switched on the overhead light, and led me down a steep flight of stone steps into a stone-built cellar. There was only one small window at the far end of the room, which appeared to be at street level, as all I could see from it were several pairs of feet passing back and forth.

  “There were rows upon rows of metal shelving, which appeared to have been constructed with the purpose of housing the many leather-bound volumes which filled them to the point of overflowing. I estimated that it would easily have taken a month of Sundays to go through all of them, and I prayed that Miss Wilsby had some sort of filing system to make the task more palatable. We walked into the middle of the room before the old librarian stopped in her tracks, and held out her arms, as if she wished to introduce the ledgers to me by name.”