by Fiona Law
“Ah, yes, well…I’m sure he’s happy here—as always, Griswold,” she replied above a ‘Wheeeeeeee…click…click…click…pip!’ coming from the kitchen.
“Only two notches down! Not bad considering the time delay!” Oswin called.
Griswold and Martha smiled indulgently at each other. However, they froze in their polite stances as they heard Beryl roaring from the kitchen, “You little…..!” This was interrupted by a crash! A bang! And scrapings ensued, punctuated by the strangled cries of the cousins struggling.
The adults ran towards the commotion and found Beryl and Oswin wrestling furiously over his space gun.
“Beryl!” cried Griswold. “Leave the boy…Beryl!” He pried the pair apart manually as he continued, “Don’t bully! He’s much smaller than you!”
“I won’t have him shooting at me! I won’t tolerate such abuse!” screeched Beryl, red faced and panting.
“Oswin,” reproached his mother, “don’t tease the girls! He doesn’t tease the girls does he, Griswold?”
“No!” Griswold’s voice was strained by his exertion as he held Beryl at an arm’s length from the Oswin and his gun.
“Oh yes he does!” Beryl said heatedly. “All the time!”
“No, he doesn’t Martha, I can assure…”
“I’m going to break that gun now!” Beryl yelled. Arteries swelled out on her neck and her eyes bulged.
“Don’t you dare! It’s an important…” Oswin snapped, his eyes flashing like cold steel. But he didn’t finish. Beryl tore herself free from her father’s restraint and made for the door.
“You’re all targeting me! Victimizing me, just because I’ve got a boyfriend on the arts block! He may only be on the performing arts course, but he’s a sensitive and creative boyfriend, who’s clever in his own way!”
Sobbing, she brushed passed Martha and scaled the stairs, stepping over Gemma on the way. Gemma was huddled at the bottom of the stairs, still writing furiously in her diary. Her aunt glanced at her and at Beryl disappearing up the stairs. Within seconds, Beryl’s romantic weeping could be heard drifting gently down the stairs, for she had left her bedroom door open. Martha stared up the stairs for a moment before turning back to Griswold.
He squirmed. “Er…our Gemma’s taken to writing a journal.”
“That’s nice! Look, why don’t you put the kettle on and make a cup of tea for us?” she said kindly. “Teenagers! I’ll go and have a little chat with your Beryl, if you like. Woman to woman—would that be of help to you? I don’t want to interfere, but if that would be useful…?”
Griswold blushed deeply and coughed, “Er…yes, thank you Martha. Perhaps she’s missing her mother at the minute. Exams looming and what not. She’s fine, usually. This is not an example of what it’s normally like here…”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry yourself, pet,” Martha said indulgently, squeezing his wrist briefly. “You’re doing a fine job with your girls. A fine job!”
Thanks to his mother’s staying for soothing cups of tea and girlie heart to hearts, Oswin was able to take a full hour’s worth of readings. And he puffed out with happiness to note that they came down steadily, as predicted, from their higher reading.
Martha told him off for repeatedly setting the noisy gun off. “Oswin, please! It’s nice that you can play imaginative games, but for pity’s sake—have some sensitivity!”
“Never mind, Martha,” Griswold grinned, glad to reverse rolls and support her in her embarrassment. “As you can hear, the battery is running down. Again.”
The adults assumed he’d lost interest in his game when the intermittent firing stopped altogether. In fact, Oswin had forgotten to take the last two readings, because he had gone up to his room to look at the breakfast time footage—and found something very interesting.
Gemma started to clear up the breakfast things and pack the dishwasher but she left the task half way through to run up after Oswin and peek round his bedroom door. He had been scanning the surveillance footage for that morning.
His face beamed back at her, aglow with success.
“Two things,” he said in a choked voice, as he pressed the re-play button to show her. “All this time—nothing! And now two things in one go!”
“Things always happen in threes,” Gemma murmured but if Oswin heard he didn’t acknowledge her comment.
“The salt cellar. Look!” He beamed.
Gemma strained to view the footage. It was somewhat blurred and in black and white, but it was clearing the earlier breakfast scene. Then she gasped. Sure enough in the ghost sensitive camera, a little white blob could clearly be seen darting from the clock to the table. It sprang up at the salt cellar—which, like everything else was mostly blurred shades of grey—and knocked it down before bounding off the table and disappearing off camera.
“And look here!” Oswin’s hands trembled as he switched to the footage of the entrance hall camera. A large white shape moved from the front door through to the front room and there was himself, coming along from the kitchen to the front door, and so on.
“Oh! Oh my lord!” Gemma said as she watched. Her hands flicked from her mouth to her chest. “Is it…?”
“Actual, real, living footage of a ghost!” Oswin breathed. He longed to re-play it again, and watch it over and over, but his mother’s voice called up the stairs, saying that it was time to go. He would have to wait for the whole weekend to pass before he could view his magnificent breakthrough again.
Chapter Seventeen
When Oswin’s Dad dropped him back at the house the next evening, Beryl called him into the front room.
“Come and look!” she shrieked joyfully as he entered. Her eyes glistened and her cheeks were flushed. There in the centre of the window stood a huge Christmas tree. And all around it on the floor and on all the chairs were piles of ornaments and tinsel. All sorted out in groups of physical form and color. Beryl grinned and nodded at him, willing him to comment. It gave him an insight as to how Old Mother Hubbard felt when she came back home to find her little dog getting up to all sorts of tricks.
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” he asked in bewilderment, adjusting his spec’s.
“Keep away from the baubles! Don’t come any closer than that chair! The whole place is covered in breakable ornaments, mostly made of glass and other brittle materials. And I wouldn’t want you to break any and hurt yourself,” Beryl warned patronizingly.
Oswin thought that she rather would like it if he hurt himself.
“And no, it’s not too early!” Beryl continued. “The shops have already started advertising Christmas long ago. And for me this run up to end of term is always hectic. For example, there’s Gemma’s dance concert that I always have to attend in place of our Mother God-Rest-Her-Soul, and my end of term tests, and now that I’m mixing with performing arts block students, I’ve got to work harder to prove myself. I can assure you, if you’re not careful, before you know it, everyone else has got their trees up, and you’re left looking like a fool.”
“No one else in this street—or any other street that I’m familiar with—has put a tree up yet,” he pointed out.
“Exactly! I’m not going to be the last one again this year. I’m going to be the first,” Beryl replied, blushing at the memory of the previous Christmas shame. “And it’s going to be the earliest, the biggest and the most beautifully decorated tree in the street.”
Oswin frowned. “But won’t it die before Christmas?”
“Excuse me!” Beryl rose up to her full height and placed her hands on her hips. “I beg your pardon! But as someone who has assumed the role of Mother Of The House for some years, I would think that by now I would know how to keep a Christmas tree alive for long enough! Now if you’ll excuse me, I still have a lot of work to do. It takes a great deal of concentration to balance
all the shapes and colors of the ornaments out. I’ve already spent two hours of my time getting this far and I’ve still got Geography homework to complete afterwards. So, thank you very much for all your concerned comments but I would prefer to be left alone to complete this enormous task with precision and care.”
Oswin glared at her. “Oh, how we make you suffer!” he said quietly between his teeth and left the room.
He soon forgot Beryl’s annoyance when he began watching the ghostly footage in his room. Although Gemma sadly informed him that there had been no strange activity during his absence, he was happy with that; he would have hated to miss anything now.
“It’s an amazing breakthrough that we have this much!” he said with a grin. “Ghosts are very rarely caught on camera, you know.” He ran his fingers through his hair and said, “But I see two of the cameras are down! Oh, well, never mind. I wasn’t keen on those anyway.”
They were the bedroom cameras and he decided to leave them off line and take them down completely as soon as he had a chance. He didn’t need to peep and pry on others to get the footage he was looking for.
“Where are they placed, anyway?” Gemma asked.
“What? Oh, er…not in the kitchen, or the hall or front room,” replied Oswin, blushing. He coughed and scratched his head before asking, “So...what night is your concert on, by the way?”
“Thursday,” Gemma said. “And then on Friday night it’s Rebecca’s party.”
“A party?”
“Yeah, you remember. The fancy dress party Rebecca Wilson’s holding. I can go!” Gemma squeaked with joy and twirled around. “I’m going as Princess Fiona.”
“That’s really great!” smiled Oswin. “I’m glad your father finally let you go.”
“Oh, he’s not so strict as he makes out,” Gemma assured him. “He even let Beryl talk him into putting up the Christmas tree early this year.”
“Yes, I saw,” was Oswin’s tight-lipped reply.
“Bit early, huh?” Gemma said, wrinkling her nose in a good natured grimace. “I’m not over Halloween yet, myself. Not with the fancy dress party this week, but never mind! She promised not to switch the lights on until at least four weeks to Christmas.”
* * * *
Even Beryl’s boyfriend, Raj, was a little surprised when, on Thursday evening, he saw the great beauty dominating the front room. In an effort to show Beryl the family did indeed accept her boyfriend, Griswold encouraged her to bring Raj home. She brought him into the front room to show off a bit of her artistic abilities. Griswold was there, but was barely noticeable, because he had dozed off in his chair with the telly flickering and burbling soothingly in the background.
“Crikey Moses!” Raj exclaimed when he saw the Christmas tree. “What a brilliant tree!” He all but clapped his hands in glee.
Beryl ballooned with delight. It took her a full five seconds before she could overcome her emotions enough to reply, “Thank you, Raj. I appreciate your views on our Christmas tree. You know that Christmas is next month, don’t you? I put it up and decorated it single-handed. That means all by myself. It took me six hours and fifteen minutes on Sunday.”
“You don’t say?” Raj was an amiable lad. Always ready with a complement. He said with genuine admiration, “But this shows great artistic talent!”
Beryl thought she would burst. She loved Raj very much.
And he had still more compliments to offer. “Have you ever thought of becoming a window dresser?”
“Not unless it takes a university degree,” she replied. “Well, sit down, darling. Can I offer you some refreshments?”
“In here? What about those lyrics you wanted to show me?” he said, as Beryl pulled him down to sit beside her on the settee.
“Later, Raj, later. Let’s just enjoy the tree for a little bit. Don’t you think it’s romantic, sitting here with the lights down and the tree sparkling?”
“Yes. Very,” he replied then, thinking that didn’t sound very convincing, he added, “And we must do it again when the tree is all lit up.”
“Ooh, Raj!” breathed Beryl, snuggling up to him. Her lips sought his.
He sat up straight and stared at the tree. “Not in front of your old man! Please! I am very shy that way, you know!”
“But he’s asleep! And besides he could only see us if he turned his head around deliberately to look at us. That’s down to the way I arranged the furniture,” Beryl argued. “Don’t be silly, Raj, just give us a little kiss!”
But her foghorn voice had roused Griswold from his sleep. He awoke with a snort.
“Huh? What’s it?”
The love birds sprang apart. Raj broke out in a cold sweat, staring ahead, his back as stiff as an ironing board.
“It’s alright, Father,” said Beryl, in pronounced and loud tones. “You’ve been asleep, that’s all. Raj and I—Beryl—are here with you, watching telly.”
“Eh?” coughed Griswold gazing blearily around.
Beryl smiled knowingly at Raj, then spoke again to her father. “It’s all right, Father, go back to sleep!”
But he shifted and rubbed his eyes and turned round to look at them. “What time is it? I have to pick Gemma up from the party. I mustn’t over-sleep. I have to pick her up at ten.”
“Raj and I are just going to the formal dining room—the one with the Van Gough—and we’re going to study there, Father,” said Beryl and she urged Raj to get up. Which he did, promptly.
“You haven’t been sneaking the Christmas tree lights on, have you?” Griswold asked Beryl with narrowed eyes. “I’ll find out if you have!”
Beryl gave a sharp cry of indignation. “No, of course not, Father! Have I put the lights on Raj? Even though you asked me to?”
Raj’s eyes goggled. “No, not at all. Your Beryl has been very well behaved, Griswold!”
“Oh, alright then. Beryl make me a cuppa while you’re up, there’s a good girl?”
“Well, I have got homework to get on with, but I’ll make you tea in a minute, Father!” she said and ushered Raj into the dining room.
* * * *
Griswold left early, at about half nine, to pick Gemma up from the fancy dress party. And no sooner had the front door clicked shut, than Beryl threw down her page of scribbled over lyrics and said, “We need a break from all this brainstorming!”
“Yeah, too right!” Raj said, almost knocking his chair over, he was so keen to stand up. He had not been able to get into the task at hand, had kept turning to look behind him. He was convinced on more than one occasion that he’d heard footsteps approaching. Plus, he found the room cold.
Chapter Eighteen
“Let’s look at the Christmas tree again,” Beryl said, leading Raj into the front room. “It’s so beautiful, just to look at it cheers me up no matter how upset I am! And you know, all this work, work, work, can really get up my nose. It’s so depressing! And creativity is supposed to be so easy! Ah, yes, this is better!”
She lit a joss stick and they sat staring at the tree for a few minutes, as the curling smoke fed the room with a rich and spicy scent, and Raj sighed.
“I can’t wait to see the tree with the lights on.”
“I know,” said Beryl, her loud voice cracking through the peace, “but it’s too early now. There’s no way I can put them on yet. Sorry!”
“Yes, yes. Of course, I understand.”
They sat in silence for a moment longer then Beryl jumped up.
“Oh, go on then, you’ve twisted my arm!” she blurted out. And before Raj could protest, she had switched the lights on. She had used three sets of lights, twisting them round the tree in a generous twinkling mass. And when the tree was aglow it was breathtaking. They both gasped and gazed.
“Don’t feel bad about persuading me to put it on,” said Beryl,
shattering the silent awe. “I wanted to make sure they still worked properly. If one little light is out, you have to spend ages and ages trying to sort it out, finding that one culprit.”
“You’re really artistic,” Raj murmured. “This tree is like—no better than—a picture on a Christmas card. It’s breathtaking…so romantic!”
“Oh Raj!” Beryl sighed and before even she knew it they were in a clinch.
Naturally, they didn’t notice the movement. A flash of shadow darted from the faux mantle place to the tree, whilst something scurried in a succession of jerks across the floor, as if under the carpet, in an agitated ripple. Both entities leapt up at the tree with the speed and force of an arrow shot from a bow. The tree swayed slightly. A burst of tremors ran through it as within its depths they scampered and scratched spitefully before finding the wires of the fairy lights. This only took a second and a half.
Beryl and Raj saw nothing of it, for it was one of those things best caught out of the corner of your eye—like a spider scuttling in the shadows—and Beryl and Raj were not looking. In fact, their eyes were closed as a spark zinged from the wires. Electricity, live and untamed, bolted through the delicate fabrics of the adorned tree and set it alight in less than a tick, the current was still clicking as the first flames were born. Flames which bred with lightning speed, crackling through the tree and the sparks, unhindered. The shadowy entities which had caused all the mischief fled—obscure movements darting amongst the shadows of the evening.
Still,Beryl and Raj, eyes shut and arms entwined, were blissfully locked away from the crisis unravelling around them. Indeed, Raj mistook the gooseflesh running up his spine, the crackling sensation around him, for the first pangs of true love.
It was Oswin who, up in his room, was alerted by the momentary dimming of the lights. His eyes focused immediately on his monitor. He could see a white flash darting from the tree, but this sighting was upstaged by the horror of the flames licking greedily at the delicate foliage. He didn’t even notice Raj and Beryl snogging on the couch.