Little Agnes and the Ghosts of Kelpie Wharf

by Stella Drexler

not have taken her life. No one would have believed me, not the constable or the town council, but I followed her to the pier that night.”

  “You were there, Matty?” Sarah asked softly. “But you never said.”

  “No, well, of course not. How do you think that would have looked? Everyone knew Evangeline and I rowed constantly. They would have blamed me for her death. It was not I who killed her. It was the Ghost. It dragged her down into the water, and she never came back up. Not until morning, and by then...by then she was dead.”

  Agnes' eyes widened in glee. “Did the ghost kill her?”

  Matty inclined his head. “She woke in the middle of the night, and I heard her leave the house. I feared she might have fallen into one of her fits, and so I followed her to the wharf. It was dark and still and clear that night, so I was not mistaken in what I saw. She walked along the pier, looking out at the sea, and I thought she would be all right. Perhaps she needed air, for we'd rowed that night, and I think she wanted to be alone. I did not approach her or call to her that I was there.” He squeezed his eyes shut, passing a large, burly hand over his eyes.

  “What did you see, Matty?” Luther asked.

  “It was so sudden, there was nothing I could do. One moment she was there, standing alone on the wharf, her long hair blowing out behind her, and the next—and the next something shimmering and serpentine rose out of the water. She did not even scream. She looked at the thing, and then it reached for her, wrapping its long, scaly arms around her, and dragged her down into the water. I ran to her, to catch her or bring her back, but there was nary a ripple on the surface of the water. There was no sign of her or of the creature that had stolen her from me.”

  There was a breathless pause. “What did you do, Matty?” Elaine whispered.

  “I went in after her. I climbed down the rigging, and I dove into the water, but though I called her name over and over, and I dove down as deeply as I could without losing myself, I could not find her. She'd simply vanished. I waited there for hours, until the first grey light of dawn rose on the horizon. And then...and I then I went home. It was afternoon when the constable came to tell me they'd discovered her body. There was no sign of the monster's presence at all. They suspected she'd simply leapt from the wharf and was dashed on the rocks below. No one ever claimed to have seen the creature again.”

  “Dreadful,” Vic told Matty sympathetically.

  “Yes,” Matty breathed, leaning back over his stein, and nothing more could be coaxed from the man. He slipped back into his solitary silence, leaving an awkward, desolate mood in his wake.

  “I saw something else,” a young woman said meekly, and everyone spun to look at her.

  “Another ghost?” Agnes asked keenly. This was loads of fun.

  “Yes, but it wasn't a monster and it wasn't a grey lady. It was Rufus.”

  “Rufus?” asked the publican with sharp scepticism.

  “Yes, Rufus!” snapped the woman. She looked the sensible sort, dressed in a very plain, no-nonsense dress of drab brown. Her long, auburn hair was twisted into a severe bun. She was not, by any appearance, mad, though her subsequent words belied this impression.

  “Rufus?” Vic repeated.

  “My dog,” she explained imperiously, lifting her chin at the looks of incredulous disdain on the faces of her fellow patrons. “He died several years ago, you see, and I was quite heart-broken at his loss. He was my closest and dearest companion, a wolf dog whom I had raised from a pup. Never were we apart, and he was allowed even to accompany me to the homes in which I was employed as governess.”

  “You saw the ghost of your dog?” Agnes was not impressed by this story, for dogs were very boring, even ghostly dogs.

  “Yes, I did! I was taking a walk on the wharf one afternoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ships coming to port, but there were no sails on the horizon, so I paused a moment to enjoy the fresh air. That is when I saw him. He came out of nowhere, but I knew it was him, for I would have known his scent and his presence had I been blind. He ran across the pier, and I called to him, but he did not answer me as he had when he was alive. He merely kept running, and so I followed him. He reached the edge of town, just on the border of the pier, but he seemed unable to go any further.

  “I called to him and approached, hoping at least to tell him how I had missed him so, but he turned upon me, and his eyes were not the warm, sweet brown they had once been. Instead, they glowed a terrible red, and he drew back his teeth to give me the most ferocious and terrifying snarl. I was shocked, for he had never treated me so, and though I knew for certain it was him, I realized that death had changed him.

  “I stepped away, but he stalked towards me and then he stopped and threw his head back, letting out the most fearsome howl I have ever heard. I knew that my life was in danger from the creature I had once cherished above all others and who had adored me unconditionally. I turned and I ran, and I could hear his panting and smell his horrible, sulphurous breath like brimstone.” She took a hitching breath, and her eyes slid away as she relived the terrible memory. “But then, just as I felt him bearing down on me, he was gone. Just like that. As suddenly as he had appeared.”

  “Did you ever see him again?” Luther asked, for he had never seen his beautiful banshee woman, nor had Sarah or Matty seen their monsters.

  “No. I never did. I avoid Kelpie Wharf now, if I can. But even when I have been along the pier, awaiting the sailors, I have never seen sign of my beloved companion again.”

  A beautiful, terrible woman, a fanged man, a murderous sea monster, a feral dog—were they all ghosts, or was there only one who could change its shape at will? Agnes thought about this for a long moment. These people could, perhaps, all be round the bend. There could be a collective madness that had swept through the town with the fog, but that was no reason not to believe them, for ghosts were quite exciting, even if they were only composed of shape-shifting gasses.

  “Same ghost?” Vic seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  Everyone in the tavern considered this. “It could be,” Luther admitted. “Perhaps it takes the shape of what you...what you want or fear most. Perhaps it can take your desires and twist them into evil creatures.”

  “But there is no such thing as ghosts,” one of the rapscallions insisted disdainfully. “It's all phooey and rubbish and creativity.”

  “It isn't, either!” Matty snapped. “I saw that thing, and it took my Evangeline. You can't tell me that is phooey and rubbish. I saw it!”

  The rapscallion lifted an eyebrow. “Did you really? Or was it perhaps that you had had a bit too much of the wormwood that night and your mind turned your wife's suicide into something more...palatable?”

  “Now, Thomas, that is no sort of thing to say,” Luther scolded. “If Matty says saw the creature, he saw the creature.”

  “That doesn't mean it's not a figment of his imagination.”

  “And my banshee? That was figment?”

  “You're barmy, old man. I wouldn't be the least surprised that you're seeing things.”

  “Young man, you would do well to speak more respectfully to your elders,” snapped Luther.

  Thomas rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, in any case, I don't believe in ghosts. Everyone has a story about Kelpie Wharf, but no one has ever seen the same creature. It's all what they want to see, perfectly tailored ghosts that fulfil their deepest desires. You saw the woman of your dreams, Lily saw her lost dog. Matty imagined a death for his wife that carried no shame. It's hysteria, I tell you. Collective mass hysteria. It's in all the head books.”

  “Since when have you been reading head books?” Elaine demanded, appalled.

  “There's loads you lot don't know about me,” Thomas replied proudly. “I read a lot of books.”

  “Well, that's just pseudoscience and theory,” Agnes scoffed. “That doesn't prove anything. There could be ghosts.”

  “Little girl, don't let these mad lushers fill your head with foolish no
nsense,” Thomas said austerely. “It will do you little good. You'd be better served picking up a book.”

  Agnes rolled her eyes. “I'm a genius, I'll have you know, sir. Why, I brought a cadaver to life with a Van der Graff generator, several straight pins and a few clockworks when I was six. I think I know the difference between gulpy hysterics and sensible scientific reasoning.” She rose from her seat, though her diminutive stature somewhat failed to impress upon her audience the intended imperiousness of the gesture. “And I intend to conduct an experiment and form my own conclusions. Come along, Vic. We're going ghost hunting.”

  “Foggy,” Vic complained, though he shambled to his feet beside her.

  “Don't fret. The moisture won't improve your smell, but you're looking a bit husky. You'll be all right. Just don't fall in the water; you'll rust your gears.”

  “Little girl, Kelpie Wharf is no place for children,” Luther scolded. “You should not be doing any such thing.”

  “I am Agnes Crowley, and I go where I please.” She pushed aside her long, brown leather jacket to reveal the bulbous glass pistol on her hip. “Besides, I have a death ray. Even a gassy ghost can't escape the awesome power of directed energy particles intent on vaporising their ethereal bits.”

  “Well, this I've got to see,” Luther remarked and pushed laboriously to his feet. He grinned toothlessly around at the tavern patrons. “To Kelpie Wharf!”