‘I’ve always found that room a bit eerie,’ Polly confessed.
‘It’s just because we don’t use it that much, that’s all,’ Josh said.
‘And did you ever find out why it was so cold in there?’ Callie asked.
‘The radiator needed bleeding,’ Frank said. ‘That was all.’
Josh threw his head back and laughed.
‘Was that it?’ Callie asked.
‘It was the radiator for sure,’ Frank said but Eleanor was shaking her head.
‘It was more than just cold I felt in there,’ she said. ‘I felt a presence.’
Callie swallowed hard. She didn’t like the sound of that. ‘What sort of presence?’
‘A malevolent one.’
‘Mice,’ Frank said. ‘We had mice in there, didn’t we?’
Eleanor smacked his arm. ‘It wasn’t mice.’
‘And it wasn’t a stray dog,’ Josh said, patting his mum’s arm. ‘We know.’
‘Oh, you’re impossible! I thought you believed in ghosts,’ she said to Josh.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But I do believe in a good ghost story. Now, who’s up next?’
But nobody was listening to him.
‘Sweetheart,’ Frank was saying, ‘you just let that M R James book get to you.’ He turned to Callie. ‘Sam let me keep hold of the book because I wanted to have a leisurely read of it, and I made the mistake of bringing it into our bedroom that night. I wanted to read The Mezzotint again. I think that’s one of James’s best stories. Anyway Eleanor came into the room and started screaming, “I can’t sleep with that thing in here! Get it out!” and she took the book out of my hand and slid it across the floor out of the room.’
‘Mum!’ Sam cried. ‘Tell me you didn’t really do that with my first edition!’
‘I was not having that book anywhere near me. Heaven only knows what nightmares I would have had with that thing in the bedroom,’ Eleanor said.
Sam’s mouth had dropped open.
‘I couldn’t stop her, son,’ Frank said.
‘It didn’t stay on the floor all night, did it?’ Sam asked.
‘Of course not,’ Frank assured him. ‘Once I was certain your mother was asleep, I got up and rescued it.’
‘You didn’t bring it into the bedroom, did you?’ Eleanor asked in horror.
‘Why, did you have nightmares?’ Frank asked.
‘Yeah, what did you dream about that night, Mum?’ Josh asked.
Eleanor moved uneasily on the sofa. ‘I don’t remember.’
Frank picked her hand up and kissed it. ‘I think we should probably move the conversation on, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor agreed.
‘Are there any more mince pies, Mum?’ Bryony asked.
‘Yes, in a tin by the bread bin.’
‘I’ll get them,’ Sam said. ‘I need a stretch.’
‘I’ll help,’ Callie said, getting up and leaving the room with him.
‘Things were getting a little heated in there,’ Sam said once they were out of earshot, ‘and not just from the roaring fire.’
‘You know, your mum doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to just imagine these sorts of things,’ Callie observed.
‘She isn’t. She’s the most no-nonsense person you could ever hope to meet. But that book really upset her.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Callie said.
‘Are you okay?’ Sam asked, tilting his head to look at her. ‘You’re awfully pale. Don’t tell me you’ve seen a ghost now.’
‘No, I’ve not seen a ghost,’ she said with a grin. ‘I was just thinking how strange it is that a book could have had such an effect on her.’
‘I suppose it’s a good job I got rid of it,’ he said. ‘Much as I miss it.’ He opened the tin and then reached into one of the cupboards for a plate, piling the mince pies onto it.
‘Do you ever regret selling it?’ Callie asked, biting her lip.
‘Every single day.’
‘Really?’
‘It was a beautiful book.’
Callie nodded and swallowed hard. ‘Yes, I can imagine.’
‘Have you ever let go of a book and then regretted it?’
Callie thought for a moment. ‘I once leant a book to a friend knowing, I suppose, that the odds of getting it back were pretty slim. She was so forgetful.’
‘And you didn’t remind her?’
‘I didn’t have the heart although I did take a quick look at her shelves when I went round to hers,’ Callie confessed.
‘And did you see it?’
‘Yes. It was right there snuggling up to her own titles which she’d probably borrowed from other friends.’
Sam laughed. ‘And you didn’t just reach out and take it back?’
‘No. I’ve got plenty of books. I couldn’t begrudge her one.’
Sam leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘You’re an angel.’
‘No I’m not. I made a mental note not to lend her any more books in the future.’
‘Quite right,’ Sam said. ‘Now, I think we’d better get these mince pies back to the masses before they send out a search party.’
The mince pies were soon passed around and nobody spoke for a while as they were enjoyed. Callie gazed into the depths of the fire, thinking about the strange things Eleanor had told them all. Could a book really be haunted? Could ghost stories really transcend into reality? And, if so, how? Did the reading aloud have anything to do with it? Did the words have a power once they were shared aurally? These were things she’d never thought of until that night and it fascinated her.
‘Hey, I think Callie should tell us a ghost story,’ Lara suddenly said.
Callie gasped and quickly shook her head. ‘But I’m hopeless at reading aloud.’
‘You don’t need to read one – just tell us one,’ Polly encouraged.
‘But I don’t know any ghost stories,’ she protested.
‘Oh, nonsense! Everybody knows a ghost story,’ Lara said. ‘Especially a writer. Don’t writers attract stories like filings to a magnet?’
Callie frowned, casting her mind back over the years of growing up in rural Oxfordshire.
‘Well, there was a local legend about the snowdrop girl,’ she said at last.
‘Oooo! That sounds good and spooky,’ Lara said, settling down to get comfortable. ‘Go on, tell us her story!’
4
Callie took a fortifying sip of mulled wine and gazed into the fire. Then she began.
‘There’s a valley not far from where I grew up. There’s not much there – a small church, a wood and a row of old cottages. But it’s very beautiful particularly in the winter months when the hills are frosty and the fields fill with mist.
‘There’s a stream there, a tributary of the River Thames, and its banks are white with snowdrops each year. Or rather one of its banks is white with snowdrops. It’s strange because both banks are in the same dappled shade and yet the snowdrops only flower on one side.’
‘Why’s that?’ Lara asked.
‘Shush!’ Josh hissed. ‘No interrupting the storyteller.’
‘Sorry!’ Lara said. ‘Do go on, Callie.’
‘Well,’ Callie continued, ‘the story goes that there was a young woman who used to walk through the misty fields towards the stream. It’s thought that she was looking for her lover who never came back from the war.’
‘Which war?’ Frank asked.
‘Stories vary, but it’s most likely to be the first world war,’ Callie said. ‘Nobody seems to know, but there’s a solitary grave in the churchyard which is said to be hers. It’s weathered and lichened with age and you can no longer make out the name or dates. But she can be seen in the misty fields of winter, her face as pale as frost as she makes her way to the stream, the snowdrops growing where she walks.’
Silence greeted Callie as she finished and she swallowed hard.
‘It’s not much of a story, I’m afraid. Not a lot happens,’ she apologised.
‘Isn’t that what ghost stories are, though? A big lot of spooky atmosphere and not much plot?’ Polly asked.
‘I think you should write it down,’ Sam said.
‘Maybe,’ Callie said. ‘I wonder if something more could be made of it.’
‘If you throw in a fusty old bachelor academic and some kind of ancient treasure, it could rival M R James for sure,’ Grandpa Joe said with a laughed.
Callie grinned. ‘I don’t know. I think I’d rather go down the romantic route and find out more about the girl’s lover. What was their relationship like? Did they write to each other while he was away?’
‘You’re going to have to write that now,’ Lara said.
‘Did you ever see the snowdrop girl?’ Bryony asked.
‘I’m afraid not although I did once go there in February when the snowdrops were flowering, but it was a damp, grey day. Perhaps not very good for ghosts.’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’ Polly said. ‘So many ghost stories are set in winter or on a cold, dark day.’
‘It was a dark and stormy night!’ Josh said.
‘Exactly!’ Polly said. ‘But wouldn’t it be spookier to have a ghost appear on a summer’s day – say in a beautiful garden when you’re least expecting it?’
‘But dark, wintery days put us in the mood,’ Lara said. ‘Pathetic fallacy and all that – where the weather matches the action of the story. I think it builds tension.’
‘I suppose it’s whether you prefer a build-up of tension,’ Sam said, ‘or a horrific shock.’
‘Suspense or surprise,’ Frank said. ‘Which is more important?’
‘Suspense lasts longer as you’re reading,’ Bryony said, ‘but surprise or shock will get more of a response.’
‘I prefer shock,’ Eleanor said. ‘It gets things over and done with nice and quickly. Suspense lingers and frightens you for too long.’
Frank leaned towards her and kissed her cheek.
‘Perhaps we should read something a bit lighter one Christmas,’ she suggested.
‘Oh, not A Christmas Carol,’ Josh said. ‘I mean Dickens is a classic and everything, but it’s not exactly spooky, is it?’
‘What’s not spooky about seeing your dead business colleague’s face in a door knocker or seeing your own grave?’ Bryony cried.
‘I guess,’ Josh said. ‘But I can’t help picturing the Muppets whenever I read or hear it now. It’s ruined it for me.’
Grandpa Joe chuckled from his chair.
‘I love the conversations your family has about books,’ Callie whispered to Sam.
‘I’m not sure we ever talk about anything else,’ he whispered back. ‘Or, if we do, it usually swings back to books.’
‘I like that.’
‘Just let me know if you get bored and want to go home.’
‘Are you kidding? I’m loving it.’
‘Even though Bryony made you tell a ghost story?’
‘At least I didn’t have to read out loud from a book.’
‘No, they’re saving that task for next year,’ Sam said, squeezing her hand.
‘Hey – shush a min!’ Frank suddenly said. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’ Sam asked.
‘I thought I heard footsteps on the driveway.’
Everyone was silent for a moment and then Eleanor laughed.
‘He’s just being silly,’ she said.
‘Oh, Dad!’ Polly cried. ‘You freaked me out.’
‘Me too – that’s not funny,’ Lara said from the floor.
‘I’m not joking, folks,’ Frank said.
‘Well, if you really heard something, we’d better take a look,’ Sam said, on his feet in an instant.
Eleanor was shaking her head. ‘If you’re messing around...’ she warned but she was on her feet too and heading towards the living room curtains.
‘Let me,’ Frank said, drawing one of the curtains back and peering out of the sash window. The dark evening glared back at them, solid and unyielding. Soon there were half a dozen Nightingale faces peering out into the dark, the orange flames of the fire reflected in the glass between them.
‘I can’t see anything,’ Polly said.
‘Doesn’t mean there isn’t somebody out there,’ Frank told her.
‘Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence,’ Josh said.
‘Exactly,’ Frank agreed. ‘I’m heading out there.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Eleanor said.
‘It’s as well to know for sure,’ Frank said, heading out of the living room into the hallway. Everybody followed him and watched as he pulled on his coat and a pair of boots.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Sam said, finding his own coat as his father opened the front door. A gust of wind blew inside, reminding them that they might be nice and cosy inside but winter was still raging outside.
Callie watched as the two men disappeared into the darkness of the garden.
‘I wish they hadn’t gone out there,’ Eleanor said.
‘They’ll be back in a minute,’ Polly assured her mother. ‘As soon as they realise how cold it is.’
Everyone waited anxiously by the front door, keeping it just a little bit open so they could see the moment the men returned.
‘Come back inside, Frank!’ Eleanor called into the darkness. The wind had picked up now and was howling through the tall trees on the other side of the road. Eleanor poked her head out and called again.
A moment later, Frank and Sam were back inside, stomping their feet and rubbing their hands together.
‘Couldn’t see anyone,’ Frank said.
‘Or anything,’ Sam added.
‘It was probably nothing, Dad,’ Josh said.
‘Who would be out on a night like this?’ Polly observed.
‘Nobody,’ Grandpa said. ‘Come on, Nell – let’s get back to the fire.’
‘Can we heat some more mulled wine, Mum?’ Josh asked.
‘I think I’d rather have a cup of tea,’ Polly said.
‘Polly, put the kettle on,’ Lara chimed.
‘Ha!’ Polly said. ‘I was going to give you a tenner if you hadn’t said that.’
‘Yeah, right!’ Lara said.
‘I think I’ll have a tea too,’ Eleanor said. ‘Anybody else?’
Everybody nodded and made their way to the kitchen where a tea tray was soon laid with mugs.
Eleanor walked over to place a spoon on the draining board and let out a little scream.
‘Frank! There’s something out there.’
Everybody moved towards the window which overlooked the back garden.
‘Wouldn’t the security light come on if there was something out there?’ Polly asked.
‘It did come on,’ Eleanor said. ‘It’s just switched off.’
‘And now it’s on again,’ Josh said unnecessarily as the light flooded the garden and everyone moved closer to the window.
‘I can’t see anything,’ Bryony said. ‘Where was it, Mum?’
‘In the shrubbery. On the left. I didn’t get a very good look – it moved pretty fast.’
‘Well, I can’t see anything now.’
‘Listen,’ Eleanor said as Brontë and Hardy started to bark from the boot room. ‘The dogs know something is out there.’
‘They’re probably just picking up on your fear,’ Frank said. ‘That’s all. Come on now, let’s have this tea. I need to warm up by the fire.’
‘Come on, Mum,’ Polly said, putting her arm around her mother’s shoulder and giving her a squeeze.
They all trooped through to the living room and the mugs of tea were handed out.
‘Maybe it’s that stray dog come back again or Black Shuck come to wish us a Merry Christmas,’ Grandpa Joe laughed.
‘Don’t even joke about it, Grandpa!’ Polly said.
‘Tell me more about this Black S
huck,’ Callie asked as she settled back on the sofa.’
‘Dad – you were actually told a story by a local about him, weren’t you?’ Frank asked.
‘That’s right, son,’ Grandpa Joe said. ‘We were out by the coast. Somewhere between Aldeburgh and Southwold. Beautiful heathland up that way. Lots of open space. A landscape of wind and light. Do you remember that day, Nell?’ he asked his wife. ‘The day we spoke to the old farmer’s wife hanging out her washing?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Nell said. ‘Old Shuck.’
‘Old Shuck. Black Shuck. Sometimes Old Shock,’ Grandpa Joe went on. ‘The farmer’s wife called him Old Shuck and told a fearful tail of a woman in her village some years before who’d been cycling home from work after dark when she was aware that something was following her in the gorse bushes that ran alongside the road.’
‘Did she see anything?’ Lara asked.
‘At first, she just kept peddling. The old manor house she worked at was a good two miles from her village and she wanted to get home as quickly as possible but, no matter how fast she peddled, the beast kept pace with her. She couldn’t shake it off.’
‘You can’t shake off Old Shuck,’ Grandma Nell said.
‘But she kept peddling,’ Grandpa Joe continued, ‘the thin beam from her headlamp lighting the road ahead. Then she made the mistake of looking behind her.’
‘What did she see?’ Bryony asked.
‘A pair of huge red eyes watching her from the undergrowth,’ Grandpa Joe said. ‘But the beast made no sound as it followed her and the next time she turned to look it had vanished.’
‘And what happened to the woman?’ Callie asked.
‘Nothing happened to the woman but her mother died the very next week. Shuck, you see, is thought to be an omen of death – maybe not of the person who sees him but of somebody close to them.’
‘Well, that’s got my spine good and tingling,’ Lara said from her seat on the floor.
‘And the farmer’s wife told us that the woman gave in her notice at the manor house and took work in the village. She never went down that stretch of road again.’
‘And did you and Grandma go down the road?’ Bryony asked.
‘We did,’ he said proudly, ‘only we drove. With the windows up and the doors locked.’
‘There isn’t actually any physical evidence for Shuck though, is there?’ Josh asked.
Christmas with the Book Lovers Page 3