The Angry Ghost and Other Stories

by Peter Spokes

  Luther looked up questioningly at the father.

  “Due to the cold winters I had some shutters fitted but I awoke one morning to find them wrenched from the frame. Since then, I’ve slept in the Winnebago.

  What is your interest in this man?” Father Bremmer continued.

  Luther returned his gaze to the graveyard and the woods beyond. All appeared dormant and yet…

  “I need to check your bookcase,” Luther said and left the room. As he did so he looked up at the painting still staring through the window.

  Scene 5: The Secret Place

  The bookcase housed several hundred books but Luther’s gaze was on the top shelf and the book that Mary had appeared to be reaching for.

  He reached up, removed it and began to inspect it. It was a book concerning the architecture of fourteenth-century churches.

  Disappointed, he looked up at the other titles thinking that maybe he had been mistaken in Mary’s choice of book; Episcopal Doctrines, Papal Rulings were certainly not something useful to Luther’s investigations.

  He reached up and removed all the books from the top shelf and lined them up neatly on the desk.

  Perhaps there was something hidden in one of them. Luther opened one of the books, pages downwards and shook the book slightly. Father Bremmer’s face grew apoplectic. “Don’t do that! You’ll break the spines!”

  Luther looked over chagrined and quickly and carefully placed them back on the table.

  With more care, he, and the father, looked through the remaining books but nothing was found.

  “What are we looking for, Luther?”

  “Something… something that could tell us more about this Father Kramer… and maybe those we lost.”

  “And you think there might be something here; I tell you if there was I would have found it long ago. I have read and analysed these tomes so many times but found nothing.”

  One by one, a despondent Luther returned the books to the top shelf. But as he took a final look at the now filled shelf, he noticed that several of the books were receded further back into the shelf than their fellows. He had not noticed it earlier as he figured all the books had been aligned forwards on the shelf.

  He reached for the ladder and swung it over. Once his head was level with the top shelf he removed the books again and despite the poor light, noticed an area where the rear panelling of the bookcase appeared to have been cut away.

  Reaching forwards, he touched what felt like a metal plate in the wall, cold and rough with rust and age.

  “What is it? What have you found?” the father said looking up from below.

  “I can’t see too clearly but it looks and feels like a metal plate – pass me that lamp, would you?”

  The father passed the lamp to Luther who raised it to the upper shelf and inspected a dull panel of a slightly crimson aspect about six-inches’ square.

  Reaching in he hit the corners with his knuckles and was encouraged to see plaster crumbling and the plate give a little.

  With some persuasion, the plate finally came away and Luther found a square hole which he further explored with his fingers.

  “I’ve found something,” Luther began.

  “What is it?” the father responded.

  “It feels like… a notebook.”

  Withdrawing it Luther returned to the desk and with great care opened it.

  Chapter 5

  Scene 1: The Diary 1

  Luther carefully opened the notebook to the first page.

  “It’s a diary,” the father said looking over Luther’s shoulder – “or at least part of one.”

  Luther started to read:

  “20th February 1755:

  I have had the odious task of providing lodgings to an altogether unsavoury gentleman. It seems that the bishop’s faith in me is lacking, as he has felt the necessity to subject me to this miscreant on the basis of apparently enhancing the eclectic understanding of the congregation.

  I made it clear that rather than an asset, this man’s spurious beliefs could cause confusion and doubt in the one true faith.

  9th March 1755:

  Mary has spurned my advances again.

  I reminded her of the power I wield – partly to entice and partly to threaten. She simply took me into the woods where her sisters awaited her. She looked up at the trees.

  She told me how little my power meant to her – she said it was fleeting and superficial – and then she closed her eyes lifting her face to the boughs – and whispered something.

  Her sisters then raised their arms.

  A gentle breeze rose drifting through the branches and to my unbelieving eyes the branches actually appeared to lower themselves to her and caress her cheek. I had heard of this devilry but had not believed it.

  Mary was foolish to display this clearly ungodly act as it was something I might use against her and her sisters – should necessity dictate.

  My interest, however, in the dark magic has re-ignited with this demonstration.

  (This is real power and not the rhetorical one I maintain through my ecclesiastical ministrations.)

  It was then that I noticed that she was fingering a rather ornate crystal on her neckband. I had seen it before and recognised its exquisite beauty as it caught the light.”

  Luther paused putting a hand to his throat.

  “Is something wrong?” the father said concerned.

  “… No, I’m okay,” Luther said.

  “Well, I think it’s clear that some superstition or embellishment exists to this Father Kramer’s narrative. What he says is clearly preposterous.”

  Luther looked at him for a moment and simply nodded before continuing:

  “Now, I smiled to myself in a sudden epiphany. Mary was lowly born and so her power – and that of her sisters, and the devilry on the surrounding boughs – must be from some external influence; her enablement in controlling nature that way could not be hers.

  I on the other hand am worthy of such a gem.

  I need that power and I shall have it.

  The power of the church was based on faith but with that gem around my neck my power would be an unequivocal illustration to all of my exalted rank among the slime we call humanity…”

  “He doesn’t sound very ecclesiastical,” the father said shaking his head.

  Luther nodded and continued…

  “30 March 1755:

  The ‘unsavoury gentleman’ still revolts me. Fortunately, I do not see much of him as his self-righteous duties appear to include chat and banter with those of society that offer neither the benefit of money nor power. I may need to send a communication to the bishop to inform him of the miscreants he appears to administer to and the actual gratification his servitude appears to bring to him.

  The man’s name is Hammett, recently of Clowance Wood in Cornwall. I have heard stories of the heretics that pervade that part of England…”

  Luther heard the father gasp and looked up.

  “Good God… yes! Hammett; that is him – my great-grandfather several times over – please, go on,” he whispered.

  Scene 2: The Diary 2

  Luther looked at the father closely before continuing.

  “Hammett was extremely vocal in propounding leniency to the witch, and one evening when I followed him into the woods, I understood why. I would swear, the looks that I witnessed passing between them, and such a physical intimacy that made my blood boil.

  He seemed quite amiable too to Mary’s sisters. His obvious betrayal of me – and therefore God – has vindicated my feelings of him.

  But it was something else I was witness to that contributed – in my mind – to the witch’s fate. I will not commit to paper, words of this incident for fear of ridicule, despite my standing, and I still question the credibility of what I saw.
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  But I will say it included the involvement of fire and flames.”

  Luther paused before continuing…

  “Hammett has displayed questionable loyalties and his choice of associates must be regarded as dangerous and irresponsible.

  I am humbled by the Lord’s confidence in me to carry out His work in vanquishing those that are evil and refuse to bask in His love.

  I have determined therefore – for Him – I must instigate the demise of Hammett and the three witches.

  I gave Mary one more chance of the honour of my bed, even suggesting that I might spare her witch-sisters’ lives.

  Though she arrived that evening, it was only to offend me with accusations of evil and dishonour. Then she left. How dare she!

  No evil can be spared.

  I saw Hammett and told him that Mary and I made union the previous night. I believe the gullible fool believed me. Distraught, he ran out of the chapel and into the woods.

  18 April 1755:

  My pain knows no limits.

  Yesterday, I learned to my cost the satanic power of Mary and her ungodly twin sisters.

  It was several hours before she was found and brought before me. She was taken to the middle of the woods and interrogated and punished in the manner laid down in the Malleus Maleficarum.

  As expected she denied her satanic allegiances and the devouring of living flesh from newborn babies. She did, however, say that she held ritual to the ‘Horned One’ which, alone, was enough to condemn her. I knew, from my own dark learnings, of the absurdity of the accusation and that her god of nature and Satan are two entirely different deities but it was important for those that looked on to be in no doubt as to my power – and her evil.

  The trial was brief. My capacity for mercy and the power I held for absolution allowed me to suggest to her that her death was not certain if she was to denounce her depraved and infernal existence.

  She was delusional for she laughed at me.

  She was tied to the stake and the pyre lit.

  It was then I understood the demon inside her, for I watched incredulous as the fire crept up her body but left no mark on her. I watched the stone on her neckband reflecting the flames and my understanding of the source of her satanic power was reinforced.

  Through the flames she laughed at me until finally the fire was no more.

  But she persisted.

  I had her hanged from the bough of one of her beloved trees but not before she cast – with her last breath – a most abhorrent curse upon me.

  I had noticed the presence of her sisters; they appeared as if whispering – though through prayer or curse, I cared not, until a sudden flame issued from the body of the hanging witch and I found myself engulfed in flame.

  In my agony, I was reminded of that that I had seen when watching her, Hammett and the twins in the woods previously.

  It was relentless as my flesh peeled and blistered.

  It was then that I knew I was God’s chosen and the pain I felt was a reflection of His devotion to me.

  I wept for joy as the flames burned me and then they diminished and the witch hung there dead.

  Despite my pain and agony, God gave me the fortitude to see the witch’s sisters burn.

  I procured the neckband, and the witch was buried away from her trees in a nearby clearing; her sisters’ black ashes simply left.”

  Luther stopped again and brought his fist down hard on the desk. He licked dry lips.

  “He was mad! He knew she wasn’t evil but killed her anyway because she spurned his advances.” He looked at the father, his anger rising again.

  “He certainly appears to fit into the ‘psychopathic’ grouping.” The father paused and looked over. “What is it, Luther?”

  “… The bit about the flames not harming her…” he said.

  “Sadly, when it came to witches, there was much embellishment in witchfinders’ reports. It was not unusual to read of sightings of witches dancing with horned beasts or flying in a storm. I would guess that Kramer dressed up the story to better justify his belief in her apparent satanic allegiance. And I would guess that there was some accident with the prior attempt with the immolation and blamed it on a ‘curse’.”

  “But why would he hang her but burn her sisters?”

  The father shook his head. “I really don’t know. I believe superstition ruled the time.”

  Scene 3: The Diary 3

  With some reticence, Luther turned the page and continued:

  “19th April 1755:

  I am pain.

  My anger at the witch’s cowardly attack on the right hand of God is unquenchable.

  21st July 1755:

  It has been several weeks since the witch burnt me and still the intense pain forces me to scratch at my face until it bleeds. The doctor’s assessment was that I had been subjected to an unexplainable intense heat but fortunately no more than a second or two – or I would be dead.

  But the burns will remain with me and so the disfigurement will continue.

  I still hurt and curse with an insatiable bitterness towards the witch, her sisters and her lover.

  I was wrong too about the neckband. It has a power but one of extreme malevolence.

  This morning, I put it around my neck and walked into the woods to invoke the power. Rather than controlling the elements, I found I was at the mercy of them. Branches whipped and lacerated me. I was lucky to escape alive.

  Despite its likeness to a simple tree vine, it took immense effort to remove it. My suspicion of its evil was vindicated when an hour or so after leaving the woods, it drew tighter and tighter around my still suppurating throat. In panic, I had to cut it from my neck with a knife.

  Aside from the cuts I inflicted on myself in removing the neckband, there is now an ever-present rawness that itches and weeps where the vine bit into my skin. I must now wear a high collar to cover the angry lesions.

  In my temper, I ran into the graveyard and threw it back at the trees that had so abused me.

  In keeping with my importance, I had an artist paint my portrait but after seeing his first draft I angrily dismissed him and sought another. I made it clear that the burned and seared flesh was not to make it to canvas.

  I haven’t seen Hammett for several days – he may be sleeping rough in the forest – but I care not.

  30 Oct 1755:

  For the first time in my life I doubt my sanity.

  It is the time when the veil between the living and the dead is at its most fragile. Maybe due to Samhain’s influence, I have seen the shade of the witch Mary and she has spoken to me. Naturally, I had first thought myself mistaken for only the Son of God can become resurrected, but having exhausted all reasoning I really think she somehow survives…

  She told me that her spirit was strong and though her corporeal body was lifeless, her essence remained.

  She was a fool to tell me this as I believe her spirit must be linked in some way to the woods and so I am determined to have her remains exhumed from their current location and placed within the walls of the churchyard. I have no doubt that the power of the church will confine her spirit.

  I find it quite amusing that the townsfolk consider my decision to rebury her within the confines of the church wall an example of my enormous capacity for forgiveness to a clearly evil individual.

  What I find immensely disquieting, however, is how terrifying the woods have become since the execution. I have heard strange sounds like that intimated by the crashing of branches and the creaking of boughs. There have been flickering lights too.

  Even as I write this entry I look out through the tower window, beyond the graveyard wall, a waving of the upper boughs among the most distant trees though the air is devoid of all but the slightest breeze.

  There is a malice there that I have never notice
d or felt before. My faith is strong and the work I do in the church’s name empowers me with the confidence in the knowledge that what I do is right and I wear my burnt flesh as a badge of honour.

  But I fear the woods, to the extent that I had a large window fitted in the rear of my study so that I can forever see the woods and the witch’s (soon to be) grave.

  But there is some ungodly act going on here; I suspect some kind of satanic alliance.

  For my own safety, I stay on consecrated soil and no longer walk beyond the wall.”

  Scene 4: The Diary 4

  Luther turned another page:

  “10 Dec 1755:

  I have finally seen the last of Hammett.

  He arrived mid-morning looking tired and dishevelled and not a little intimidating. I feigned remorse for the execution – which I doubted the young fool believed – and offered him some food and drink. Once he was finished, however, he looked at me – more directly than he has done before – and declared that ‘that suffered by my Mary, so you too shall suffer. There shall be flame and fire… and a hanging… and I will be there.’

  I smiled at his rant and unaccustomed assertiveness. Then he turned and left, but not before I informed him that Mary still walked the woods, as if in life.

  Rather than anger him – which was my intent – he became excited and left.

  Though not a little vexed by his arrogance and lack of adverse reaction to my baiting, I simply smiled more so. There was nothing he could do to harm me; and the arsenic I have put in his water bottle will only reacquaint him with his witch sooner.”

  Luther looked up at the father. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I’m not a violent man, Luther,” the father said clearly trying to control himself, “but I wish the witch had roasted him! – if indeed that could have happened.”