A certainly frightening vision for anyone, never mind an eleven-year-old boy.
On seeing the young Benjamin enter his office, the vicar threw down his pen and exclaimed, “What has the accursed boy done this time?”
Tugging the boy by the ear into the middle of the office, Miss Claxton spoke hysterically of Benjamin’s supposed transgression. Apparently the plant pot smashed was a gift from the vicar to Miss Claxton, who doted on him and treasured this return of his affection. Benjamin protested his innocence: “I haven’t done anything, she’s lying.” The vicar struck him: “You’ll speak when you’re spoken to!”
Refusing to admit to breaking the plant pot, and for calling his teacher a liar, there could be only one punishment – the cane! The vicar is said to have been merciless in his use of the cane, but in Benjamin’s case, he would’ve been even more severe. For the vicar was in fact Benjamin’s uncle!
“To think that the same blood flows through our veins!” is what he’d say to Benjamin. And not only would he deal the severest of physical punishments, he would also be sure to convey all that had occurred to his sister – Benjamin’s mother.
Yes, there was no one Benjamin hated more than his uncle.
He quivered and cried as he pulled down his trousers and leant over the vicar’s desk.
“Don’t blubber,” The vicar commanded. “You know full well what happens when you’re brought into this office. I live in eternal hope that one day you’ll learn to behave yourself and do what you’re told. But until then you will be made to suffer the consequences of all the terrible things you do.”
He ruthlessly gave Benjamin six whip-strokes of his cane, causing the boy’s knees to buckle as he squealed in pain. But the vicar heeded none of his cries, and waited promptly for the boy to quieten down and straighten his legs before unleashing each following stroke.
Benjamin could barely contain his tears when he was led back to the classroom, returning to his seat with his bottom burning and forced to continue his lessons and then stay after school as further punishment. If the stinging pain was not enough, he now dreaded returning home and facing his mother, who could well unleash further punishment.
Desperately he waited; Miss Claxton made him clean the desks and sweep the floor and clean the blackboard as further punishment. He would ask, “Can I go now miss?”, and she would clip him around the ear and tell him to wait…
Eventually she let him go – and then he bolted for it. The vicar would take a long walk in the afternoon; if he was at least to have a chance to give his mother his side of the story first, he had no time to lose. He raced over cobbled streets, leapt over walls, bounded through bushes, desperate to reach his home before the vicar.
He thought he’d made it. When he reached his home, all was quiet. He walked through the front door and called for his mother and she did not answer. He went through the living room, into the dining room and into the kitchen and there was still no sign. He thought perhaps he had been lucky; perhaps the vicar had come while his mother was away and had not had the chance to tell her.
He felt a rush of relief. He had escaped yet another thrashing.
But his relief was short lived; moving slowly past the kitchen window he saw the vicar – back on his bicycle! And then entering from the back garden was his mother, fresh from picking apples in the garden. Her face was taut and twitching.
“You’ve been at it again haven’t you!” she said.
“I didn’t do anything!” Benjamin pleaded. But he knew she would never believe him. Who would believe – at least back then – the words of a naughty boy over that of the vicar, especially one who is a member of the family?
His mother had a temper; she picked him up and she shook him. “Albie says I should send you away” – for that was the vicar’s name. “Send you somewhere where they’ll teach you some respect!”
This idea was more horrifying than any other to Benjamin. He was lonely out in the country, but it was his home and a place full of adventure. And however he might feel about his mother’s temper tantrums, he had no wish to be taken away from his family.
“I won’t go,” he shouted.
“You’ll do as you’re told,” she shouted back.
“Father won’t let me go.” Benjamin insisted. “He hates the vicar and I hate him too.”
His mother slapped him: “Don’t you speak that way about a man of God!”
His mother rarely struck him, not with her hand. For her to take her hand to him meant that she might be on the verge of one of her bad episodes. Frightened and upset, he felt he had only one course of action to take and that was to go for his father.
He ran from the house, down the driveway and leapt over the stone wall at the other side of the road – that wall is still there, should you want to see it. His mother shrieked at him to come back but he stayed crouched down behind the wall until he heard his mother slam the door shut behind her and it was safe to come out.
From there, Benjamin made his way into the woods, the place where he felt the most safe. That might sound strange to you and I, but there he was away from bad tempered parents and teachers and punishing men of the cloth. He had the freedom there to do as he pleased with no one to tell him otherwise. He probably knew the woods as well as anyone who lived in Bullham Brook. He knew the best places to fish, the best places to hide, the best trees to climb, the place where couples might meet to avoid the prying eyes of others – or so they thought.
He had little time to take in his surroundings; he was still going as fast as he could to reach his father, though he was by now naturally very tired, having already run so far to reach his home earlier.
Benjamin’s father worked long hours on the farm; my great grandfather Zachariah was old, but a generous man of benevolent nature. He was good to those who worked for him and he inspired great loyalty in them. That was good for most, but for a boy with a highly-strung mother, it meant long absences and too much time spent alone with a parent who could be difficult to handle, especially for a boy of that age.
At some point during his journey to see his father, he got so tired he had to stop and rest. He approached the river, which runs through the forest.
He would’ve stopped to catch his breath, perhaps washed his face in the water, taken a drink to quench his thirst. He waited for some short time to recover; but he was not to have much peace in what was normally his sanctuary.
At some point he was approached by one of the last people he would’ve expected to see out there in the woods. His childhood nemesis, Penelope!
“What are you doing here Sourface?” – that’s what she used to call him.
Benjamin wanted to get revenge on Penelope. Her turning up was a pain, but out here in the woods there was no teacher to protect her.
He said he would hit her.
“You’d hit a girl would you?”
“You’re not a girl, you’re disgusting!”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she goaded him. “You’re a coward, a yellow-bellied stinking coward!”
Benjamin protested, but Penelope wished to prove to him that he was a coward and that he was not as brave as she was…
So she told him that she had been to the well – the only place in the valley she knew he had never been to.
Benjamin insisted she was lying, but she would not back down: “I have so been up there. I know you haven’t because you’re such a coward. A little yellow-bellied coward.”
“I am not scared,” Benjamin cried.
“I go wherever I like,” she cried. “I’m not afraid. I think I might just tell my mum that I saw you up there, so she can tell your mum and get you into more trouble.”
Angry, Benjamin chased Penelope away. If he had not been so tired he might well have caught her, but she got away.
Everything was going wrong for him that day. If Penelope’s taunts were not enough, he also slipped on the stepping stones that he used every time to take him from one side of the river to the other. Hi
s trousers were soaked through to his knees, nothing it seemed, could go right for him.
It was quite a trek across the hillside to reach his father. A straight path would take Benjamin up to a high road which would take him to where he might expect to find him. But he was too tired to face the steep climb and ended up walking off course, gradually up the side of the hill, forcing his way through the tall grass, thick and heavy – it was an unwise course and even more tiring for him.
He was only eleven, not yet so tall. Lost amongst the tall stems he drifted further off course than he expected. But the grass thinned after a while and he found himself unable to quite gather his bearings. How far had he drifted…
He soon found out. As his eyes drifted across the landscape they found a landmark he had not expected to find…
…The well...
He had not seen this patch of land in years. He had never been this close to the dreaded place his mother made him swear he would never go near.
He was – unimpressed. Looking upon the dull stone ring he could not help but feel a sense of anti-climax, what was all the fuss about? Parts of the river, the wood, the mine – they were much more dangerous looking than this unremarkable landmark. What was so special about this place?
This stoked the fire of his curiosity once more. Why would his mother make him swear off going to such an ordinary place? He stopped to think for a moment. He had sworn to his mother never to go near it, that was true, but he was angry at her for striking him and for always taking the word of the vicious vicar. Also, there had been Penelope’s threat. She made such threats often; she liked to toy with him. But she might follow through, tell her mother who might then tell his own mother. But would Penelope admit to going to the well too? Surely she wasn’t allowed to go up this part of the hillside? If he wasn’t, why should she?
If he was to be blamed for going to the well, he might as well have a look. And if Penelope didn’t say anything to her mother, well, there was no one to see him out here. No one else to tell on him.
So he went to the well. It was not so far for him to go, but he was so tired by then. When he reached the stone wall, he slouched tired against it. The wall was still strong, it held his weight without strain. He felt the stone; it was cold and riddled with moss.
It was getting late in the afternoon now. The sky was beginning to darken. He wondered whether it was worth continuing on to his father; he might already be on his way home.
After applying some force to the well wall, to see if indeed it was strong, he put his head over the top to look down into its depths. Unsurprisingly, it was dark, and deep. It was hard to tell from where Benjamin was standing just how deep it went. To find out, he rummaged amongst the grass for a stone. When he found one, he went back to the well and dropped it down.
It fell without a sound and disappeared. There was no splash, no thud – no noise whatsoever except for the whistle of the wind in the air.
Benjamin was disappointed and thoroughly unimpressed. The well was such a let-down, what on earth could all the fuss have been about?
He wasn’t sure what to do now. Go home and face his mother, or go on up the hillside and hope his father had not already left for home and that he could get his side of the story across first?
Tired as he was, he felt it better to take the chance and see if his father was still there at the farm. It might at least help him to avoid further recriminations from his mother.
He turned away from the well, taking but a few steps, when he heard:
“Is someone there?”
He froze cold on the spot. He had heard a voice, very loud and clear. He turned around, swept his eyes across the hillside. He could see no one there, although it would be easy for someone to hide amongst the tall grass. Yet the voice had come from someone near, and surely he could’ve spotted someone hiding so close. But he could see nothing.
Scared and unsettled, he dared to say “Hello,” not too loud and not too quietly.
“Down here,” said the voice. And then Benjamin realised – the voice had come from the well! He walked slowly to the well’s wall and looked down within.
“There you are,” said the voice. “I can see you now.”
Benjamin was panicked: “Have you fallen? I must get help.”
“No, no, that was a long time ago. I live down here now.”
“You live down there?”
“Yes, it’s my home.”
Benjamin was confused. “You can’t live in a well.”
“I can, I’m special.”
“But, it’s so dark down there.”
“I like the dark,” said his new friend. “Do you?”
“I don’t like the dark.”
“There’s no need to be scared of it. Not when there’s strong walls around you. What’s your name?”
Benjamin was still a little scared. But the voice from the depths was friendly; it was the voice of a boy, just like him, only, maybe, a bit older.
“My name is Benjamin. What’s yours?”
“That’s a good question Benjamin. I don’t think I’ve ever had a name. I’ve been down here such a long time…”
“But what shall I call you?” Benjamin asked.
“Oh – nothing,” said the voice. “I’m just the boy in the well. Can I ask you something Benjamin, my friend? I can call you that can’t I? I don’t have any friends you see, no one ever comes to the well.”
“Yes,” said Benjamin, with a touch of uncertainty. “I’m your... friend.”
“Oh thank you Benjamin. I get so lonely up here. Do you have many friends?”
“No,” said Benjamin sadly. “No I don’t.”
“Well then, that’s even better. We can be friends together. I could tell you were unhappy, that’s what I was going to ask you. Why are you so unhappy Benjamin?”
Had anyone else asked how he was feeling, Benjamin might well have just said, “Fine!” and then refused to elaborate. But for a moment he was disarmed by the boy in the well’s friendly manner and he could barely stop himself from shedding a tear.
“Because everything’s so unfair,” he said. “I’m always being shouted at and beaten, and for things I didn’t do! And my mum’s always throwing tantrums and my father’s never there to stop her. Then there’s the vicar who hates me. Everybody hates me and I’ve done nothing wrong, nothing, nothing wrong!”
Benjamin cried. The voice was silent for a moment.
“You’ve had a rotten time haven’t you?” it said after a moment.
Benjamin nodded; he wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Do you want to know something?”
“What?” he sobbed.
“I hate the vicar too.”
“Really?” Benjamin cried. Everyone seemed to love the vicar, especially all the town’s women.
“He’s horrible,” said the boy in the well. “I may live in the dark, but I can see so much Benjamin, more than you could ever know. I know what he’s like, he’s been terrible to you hasn’t he?”
“He’s always causing trouble. Father hates him too, he doesn’t want him to come to the house, but he comes anyway, because he’s mother’s brother. I try to avoid him, but Penelope Green’s always getting me in trouble.”
“Penelope Green... she’s that little blonde girl that everybody likes?”
“She’s horrible, horrible! I hate her.”
“Oh I know. I told you, I can see all kinds of things you wouldn’t even know about, there are no secrets from me.”
Benjamin had started to cry again.
“Don’t cry Benjamin. Do you want to know a secret? A secret about Penelope Green.”
“What?” Benjamin’s eyes became bright for a moment.
“She’s a little thief. She steals from Mr Wittle’s shop!”
“From Mr Wittle’s?” Mr Wittle was the grocer, a fat, jolly man who Benjamin actually liked and who was kind to him and always gave him a few extra sweets when he bought them.
“Every week
, her mother lets her spend the change from the shopping and she buys sweets. But while Mr Wittle turns to get them, she takes a bar of chocolate from the shelf in front of the counter and slips it into her coat pocket.
“Mr Wittle’s such a nice man; stealing’s such a horrible thing to do isn’t it?”
“You shouldn’t steal.” Benjamin was deep in thought.
“You’re going to catch her aren’t you? Catch her in the act. That would be a just revenge, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah. I can make everyone see what she’s really like”. Benjamin could barely contain his excitement.
“That’ll show her, won’t it?”
“Yes!” Benjamin was suddenly full of energy again. He was practically jumping with excitement.
“You feel better now don’t you?”
He nodded vigorously.
“Good. I knew you would. You see, this is what friends do. They help each other out don’t they? I mean, if I needed you to help me with something, you’d do it wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, of course I would,” Benjamin declared.
“You’re such a good friend Benjamin. We’re going to be really good friends you and I. But you should get a move on. Your father will be leaving Parson’s farm soon.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you, I can see all kinds of things from down here. Who knows, Benjamin? Maybe one day I might show you how to see in the dark too.”
Benjamin turned and began to run.
“Thank you so much.”
“Don’t forget to come back and visit me soon,” said the boy. “Don’t forget…”
It was as if from that very moment, things started to look up for poor Benjamin. His father was still there at the farm and he told him all that had had happened, or at least a close version of the truth. Even his father was taken in by Penelope Revile, so he had to alter the facts accordingly. His lie was that he had thrown the ball in class, but had meant it for one of the other children. He had not meant for it to knock over Miss Claxton’s plant. That was just an accident…
Eleven New Ghost Stories Page 21