Eleven New Ghost Stories

by David Paul Nixon

  We’d become friends in the Easter holiday before. Her father wasn’t sure what to think of me, probably because of my family, but her mother absolutely encouraged our games. I think she hoped that we might be married one day and that her daughter might be moved up the social ladder. Seems silly, doesn’t it, that we really thought like that back then.

  But we did get on famously… Iris was her name. I wonder what happened to her. She was a loner like myself; a dreamer with her head in the clouds and not good at paying attention at school. We both liked to draw and to walk in the country. We weren’t so far from the edge of Windsor Park, where we could watch young couples punting along the river or the lake. Happy days. Well, happy mostly.

  To my slight embarrassment, I didn’t know how to fish, and it seemed to me that everyone knew how to fish in the village. It was something that seemed to bridge divisions; I remember the young men at my school speaking fondly of it too. And Iris could fish, and I felt a bit silly getting lessons from a girl. But she was very keen to teach me and I couldn’t help but feel obliged to accept her offer.

  So plans were set for us to go fishing. I was able to find a fishing rod in Guillam’s attic and he was able, after a full day’s pestering, to get it in working order for me. We were all set to go when I found, much to my surprise, her father’s shop closed. Not to be discouraged, I went to her family home, which was not so far away. There was quite a commotion, raised voices, screaming – tearful screaming – from the house. I was pretty wary, as you can imagine, but I was still keen to keep my appointment with Iris, so I still went to the door. And I was about to knock, I remember, when there was this terrific smash. Something thrown and then breaking – crockery, a glass – something like that. That made me scared so I was about to leave, but just as I was about to go I heard my name called.

  I looked up and saw Iris in her bedroom. She had the window open and shouted me to meet her around the back. I quickly obeyed and she appeared a few moments later in the alley, with her fishing rod and all her bits and pieces. She was never one to let anyone tell her what to do. That was something I liked very much; I was a much meeker child.

  We went to the lake and I tried hard to find out what was going on at her home. She said that her brother Billy was home and this was news to me because she’d never once mentioned a brother. She said he was a wrong-en and always in trouble. And that her parents preferred him to stay away, but now he was home again and was insisting on staying.

  She didn’t seem to know much more than that, either that or she wasn’t telling. I didn’t enquire too much I don’t think.

  So we went fishing; we had fun I seem to remember, although I didn’t really understand what the fuss was about. Dangling your rod into the water and then just sitting around waiting. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been again. I wasn’t very keen on the wriggly things – worms on the hook, that sort of thing. She didn’t seem to give it a moment’s thought. Then when we caught a fish, and it was there in my hands, its big eye looking up at me, with the hook through its mouth – I was so shocked I dropped the poor thing. Iris was quick to save the day, and got it into the net in the water. She teased me about being a posh nob – I remember being a bit upset about that. But it was a nice afternoon ultimately; we caught four or five fish, all tiddlers.

  It was only on the way home that we got into trouble. I should’ve left her and let her go home alone, but I followed her all the way back, completely oblivious to the fact I was walking into trouble. The second she got home, she received a very severe telling off and a threat of physical harm from her father – the belt was not uncommon in those days. I was told to go off home straight away or else they’d speak to my uncle.

  Now, I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, but I thought it probably best Guillam didn’t know, not that I could imagine him doing anything as crude as smacking me. But as I was walking away, their front door opened up again and I was shouted at: “Oi, you!”

  I turned and found striding towards me the man I immediately guessed was brother Billy. Huge hulking brute, broad shouldered with a granite jaw and chin you could chop wood on – he was a frightening figure to behold. And he was marching towards me and he reached out and he picked me clean up off my feet.

  “You been playing about with my sister have you?”

  I think he assumed I had more knowledge and feelings about women at that age than I really had. “We went fishing,” I told him, scared out of my wits.

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “That’s all is it? Just fishing?”

  “Yes please, let me go.” I was almost in tears; I was so frightened.

  “Now you listen to me, your lordship. I don’t want any of your type near my family. You make me sick, you hear? No rich toffs near my sister. I hate bloody rich ponces; you stay away from her or I’m gonna ‘ave you. You getting me?”

  I nodded furiously, and he let me go. I landed hard on my behind as he lumbered back to his house. “Don’t let me catch you anywhere near this house again!”

  Upset, I went very quickly back to my uncle’s. What he was supposed to do about it, I don’t know. He probably didn’t even know what a punch was. But I went back to his shop for comfort, or support, or merely for someone to talk too. Iris was my friend and the thought of not seeing her again… I was unhappy about it. And I wasn’t too keen on getting my ears boxed in by brother Billy either.

  Guillam’s shop door was open, even though it was past his closing time. I shouted for him when I got in, but he didn’t answer. I walked up to the counter and shouted for him again; still there was no answer. I went through the door to the left of the counter, into his museum. Amongst all the noise it was as likely as not he wouldn’t be able to hear me if he was in there.

  It was as intensely loud with tickings and clickings as always, but there was no sign of him. I shouted again, as if he could hear anything coming from amongst such a din. As I walked slowly through the aisles, feeling sorry for myself, the clocks started to ring for half-past the hour: half-past four. I sighed, because Iris had always said she’d wanted to see the museum, but I had never taken her. For Uncle Guillam there was never a good time for it.

  As the bells and chimes rang, I became aware of one ring above all the others. A sharp, shriller ring that somehow I was able to make out over all the other chimes – like the ringing in one’s ear you get when exposed to a loud noise, or when your ears pop. I identified its origin almost instantly; I don’t know how or why, but I looked right up at the high shelf, to the black clock – it was ringing.

  I had no idea that Guillam had got around to fixing it. It was an odd sound, very clear, very high. And it seemed to be echoing, even in that small space. The high-pitched sound seemed to be bouncing off the walls.

  I thought it was peculiar that I had been able to single out that sound amongst all the other sounds in the room. And that’s when I discovered, much to my total astoundment, that it was the only clock ringing… or ticking for that matter

  The room of clocks, the ever incessantly ticking clocks – was silent! There was no sound at all. I looked around me – all the clocks had stopped; the hands weren’t moving, the pendulums were caught mid-air. Nothing moved, stirred, ticked or clicked a sound.

  I couldn’t believe it. It was as if the whole world had come to a stop. And I was caught in the middle, in a little pocket of… dead time. Literally stuck in a moment. It was an extraordinary, unsettling feeling.

  Then I looked again to the black clock. The bells rang again; I could see them shake – their sharp hum was the only sound in the air, everything else was still. And then when they stopped, it was deadly silent.

  There was no sound, no noise at all.

  And then there was a footstep…

  My skin fell cold. I was breathing heavily – I was not alone, there was someone behind me. Their shadow fell over me, the floor creaked underneath them; I could hear their breath above mine.

  I spun around in terror. The figure I
saw there, the face – I’ve never forgotten that face. It was scorched, all down one side, from the right eyelid all the way down past the mouth. Half-blind – the burn had sealed up his right eye; only one dark eye looked out at me. He was bald, but with black eyebrows, standing out against the white of his face. Half his teeth were missing; his jaw hung lazily open, but his lips were curled up in a wicked grin and he was staring right down at me.

  My God, I was scared so witless I fell backwards screaming, screeching out all the air in my chest. I started to crawl, terrified, on my backside towards the wall.

  But as I looked up again he was suddenly gone, no longer in front of me.

  Then I heard the floor creak, and I saw him again. Just the barest of glimpses; the back of his shoe heels as he passed behind the end of the aisle and away. He had been dressed all in black, old clothes, the type I’d only seen in history books. A sort of cloak and robe type arrangement. Kind of like a monk, but a touch more flamboyant, if you could call it that. Maybe elaborate is the word…

  It was then, within a beat of him disappearing, that suddenly the museum came back to life. Pendulums started to swing, cogs began to turn, gears began to move…

  The place was alive again. The clocks were ticking in their constant synchronism, time was moving forward like it should. The slow clocks finally began to ring in the passing of the half-hour too.

  I ran around the shelves, looking for the frightening figure. But there was no sign. There was no way out of the museum, but for the shop entrance, or the back door, neither of which he could have reached without me seeing him. As I ran into the shop entrance, Guillam appeared, wondering what on earth all the noise was about. So I told him, and understandably he didn’t believe me. Well, why would you?

  He was angry that I had caused such a hullabaloo and called me a little liar. I can understand that he would find it difficult to believe me, but why would I make up such a story? And I was so clearly very distressed. He was emphatic in saying that there had been no one in the museum with me and that he hadn’t mended or fixed the black clock, so how could it have rung?

  He sent me back to the inn insisting that I go to my room and stay there or he would get his cane and thrash me. My uncle had never been one for physical discipline, but he seemed more determined now than ever to hand it out. I never even told him about Iris and her bullying brother.

  So I went back to the inn and there I stayed. I found it difficult to sleep that night, every creak on the stairs and I suddenly imagined him there, the man with the burnt-face, waiting for me, coming for me. I’ve seen some terrible things in my life – I lived through the Second World War; I’ve seen a man take a bullet through his cheek and seen a boy’s face swell-up from mustard gas – but his face; his is the one that’s always stuck with me most.

  I remember being thoroughly miserable the next day. Without Iris, I didn’t have a lot to do and I didn’t fancy too much going back to Guillam’s shop. I moped around and tailed my beloved barmaid until she was sick of the sight of me.

  Eventually she barked at me to make myself useful. She commanded me to go to the post office to send some letters from a few of the guests. I was keen to go because the post office was close to Iris’ Grocer’s shop. And once the letters were delivered, I paced carefully down the opposite pavement, trying my best to look into the window. I remember thinking that I could see her through the window, helping her father behind the counter.

  I began to cross the road very slowly – not so much traffic back then. And I saw her father cross to the door, to open it for a customer. Or at least I thought it was her father. When the door opened, I saw it was Billy, playing at being the good son and helping in the shop. As soon as I saw him I turned and went back to the opposite pavement.

  He didn’t spot me at first; he was too busy making conversation with one of the old town spinsters. But I looked back and I caught his eye. His eyes – he had these big menacing eyes – opened wide and he pulled up his hand from his side and pointed out two fingers to make a gun gesture. And he pointed it at me with all the conviction of a man holding a real fire arm. I ran away quickly.

  I continued my sulk into the night time, and languished in my room with an old book. Then suddenly I got a knock at the door and was told my uncle was here for me. This was an odd occurrence; Guillam would very occasionally come to the inn to play cards, but even then there was little likelihood of him calling for me. I walked through the busy bar; at that time of night it was very busy.

  Guillam was there drinking a half-pint fussily as though he’d never wanted it in the first place. I walked slowly towards him, but unfortunately there was no way to get to him without passing my enemy, Billy, who was in the pub as well, making a terrible noise; the kind that bullies make to see if anyone dare tell them to stop. He watched me cross by and I couldn’t help but look into his eyes as I passed.

  He barked at me, barked at me like a dog. It made me jump and he and his friends laughed, although I doubt they really found it that funny.

  Guillam seemed more preoccupied than normal. He looked tired and weary. He told me that he’d been researching the clock but he had come to a dead end and would need to go into London to visit the guild library and that he’d be gone for a few days.

  This didn’t bother me much. What bothered me was that he wanted me to stay in the shop while he was gone to look after the place. Now you can imagine, after what had happened the day before, just how I felt about this, but he would have none of it. In fact he snapped at me quite sharply; he was clearly out of sorts and somewhat keen to get away. In retrospect, of course, I have an idea why.

  I was to meet him there, seven-thirty sharp in the morning, to take the keys. He gave me little chance to protest, only telling me to do as I was told. He finished his drink quite quickly and told me it was time to make myself useful. I returned to my room solemnly, dodging an attempt by Billy to trip me up on the way. He’d been listening to the conversation; quite closely I’d come to discover.

  So the next morning I did as I was told and met Guillam at the shop. He was in a rush – I was a little late – and he was keen not to miss his train. He gave me the keys, but I was to keep the shop closed, which was a relief.

  However, I was to deal with one customer; Mr Towney was to pop-by sometime in the afternoon to collect his wife’s watch, which he had had repaired. I was to stay in the shop until he visited. I could do whatever else I wanted – I just wasn’t to touch anything in the shop and I was to stay out of the museum all together. And that was fine by me!

  Well, it was an uncomfortable day. I didn’t know much about how to cook, but I was able to manage on the stove to cook some bacon, which, at that age, I couldn’t get enough of. After that, there was little else for me to do. His home was as full of junk as it always was. But if I were to touch anything, he’d know. Guillam was one of those people who appeared to live in chaos, but who knew every inch of it, and didn’t like you inferring with his sprawling madness.

  I found an old jigsaw and began to get to work on it on the shop counter. I wasn’t very interested in it, but it helped to stave-off boredom, and the fear that something in that shop was out to get me.

  I kept the connecting door to the museum closed, although you could still hear it ticking away, like the rumbling of the tides of the sea. The shop itself was actually mostly quiet; most of the timepieces in there, those on sale, where kept quiet to keep them in mint condition. A few still ticked away, reminding me of the time. I was of course terrified at what might happen at four-thirty, if I was still there. I prayed Mr Towney would show up before then. He was a miserable old swine; a fat banker with no patience.

  I waited impatiently, tensely, as time ticked on. I finished the jigsaw, paced up and down, played marbles on the carpet… I kept looking over at the museum door, half expecting it to open and for the one-eyed man to step through at any time. By the time Towney turned up I was virtually climbing up the walls, I was so wound-up. I rememb
er that he complained that the watch wasn’t wrapped up, like a gift, but people like him always had to complain about something. He gave me the money, I dropped it in the till, which was empty, and then locked up the shop and got out of there. It was ten to four – I’d already decided that if he’d been longer, I’d have locked-up and gone before the dreaded half-hour.

  I didn’t stray far though. I wanted to see what happened at four-thirty, so I went around the alley, behind the shop and climbed the wall into the back yard. There were windows into the museum, but they had been painted over, leaving only the top windows, the narrow panes that opened, clear. It wasn’t easy to see in, but I tried my best. I climbed onto the roof of the outhouse and tried to peer in. But I’d made an elementary mistake; I’d forgotten to take a watch with me! I lay up on that outhouse roof for more than half-an-hour, I must’ve done, and it started to rain, a real downpour. I only knew the time from the church clock, which was hard to hear in the rain.

  The rain made it even harder to see anything, or hear anything for that matter. Although the ticking clocks could still just about be heard outside. If the clocks stopped or the black-clothed figure returned, I could not tell.

  I sheltered in the outhouse for a little while and then went back inside to dry off in front of the best fire I could make. There wasn’t much more to do there in the evening than there was in the day time. At least my meals were still paid for at the inn and I ate there handsomely, but was not encouraged to hang around in the evening, as in those days drinking houses were not open to children. I think I persuaded one of the regulars to play darts with me, but I was chased off by the landlord soon after.

  I skulked back to the shop and passed the evening with a book. The place was cold; I couldn’t get it warm. The rain had stopped, leaving the whole place quiet. Well, quiet except for the ticking. Even in the upstairs you could hear it through the floorboards. I began to think of it as being like woodworm, like creepy-crawlies munching their way through the walls. I would forget it was there for short periods, but then I’d notice it again. I really grew to despise the sound. You won’t find a ticking clock in my home, not even today. Never been able to stand them since.