Emily's Evil Ghost

by Geoffrey Sleight

  That evening I cut some slices from the cooked ham joint and boiled some vegetables on the range. Eating on my own in the empty house increased my sense of solitude.

  In the sitting room I threw some logs on the fire and settled in an armchair with a glass of brandy and a book. The peaceful quiet began to give me the feeling that perhaps the unnatural visitations had ceased. That the house had yielded its distant past murderous secret. Then almost in the same moment of self-reassurance, I heard a woman's angry voice echoing down the hallway.

  "Sit down Emily! I won't tell you again."

  My heart sank. My peace shattered. Spectres were on the rise once more. What ungodly scene was now unfolding? I wanted to remain in front of the warming fire, but felt compelled to find out what was causing the commotion.

  Entering the hallway with the kerosene lamp lighting the shadowy way, the sound of an argument between the woman and a young girl came from a half open door down the far end of the corridor leading towards the back of the house. I approached warily, now growing less sure of even wanting to pursue the sound. Curiosity forced me on.

  I pushed the door open. The woman I'd seen on the stairs the previous night in a grey jacket and dress stood behind a desk. Emily and the boy Edward sat at two facing desks. It was a classroom. The spectres seemed unaware of my presence.

  "You haven't completed your essay," the woman stormed, approaching Emily and throwing an exercise book down on her desk. "In fact you've hardly started it."

  "I don't want to learn about history or arithmetic," Emily reacted scornfully. "I just want to marry someone rich and live a life of luxury, not scrape a living like you."

  The girl's venom cut deeply into her governess. The woman brought her fist down on the desk, then turned and strutted out of the room, her ghostly form walking straight through me into the corridor.

  The girl Emily looked towards me. She could obviously see me, but within seconds both she and Edward were gone. The room stood eerily silent and empty, only the wood panelled walls and floorboards visible in the half-light of my lamp.

  I stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, nerves on edge, wondering how much more of these supernatural events I could tolerate. The memory of last night haunted me. The governess mounting the stairway, her flesh dissolving as she turned into a skeleton, her clothes shredding into fragments as she approached me. What had happened to her?

  I went back to the sitting room and finished my brandy, but the relaxing atmosphere had dissolved like those spirits. I decided to go to bed. Whether I would be able to enjoy a peaceful night was becoming a gamble, but right now I had no other choice.

  I threw a couple of logs on to the glowing embers of the fire I'd lit in the bedroom earlier. They crackled, sending sparks flying up into the chimney breast and shortly yielded comforting flames.

  My faith in an Almighty had been tested to the point of disbelief after witnessing so many good men perishing on the wartime battlefield, but before climbing into bed that night I said a prayer in the hope of restless spirits in the house finding peace.

  In the event, neither deity or spirits seemed to take any notice of it. Just as I lifted the bedding to climb in, I sensed a presence by the door. Glancing round, for a second I thought I glimpsed Emily standing there. But the image, if it had been there, was gone. I got into bed and pulled the bedclothes over my head to escape the possibility of seeing another visitation.

  Unfortunately, the ghosts in this house were not so easily kept at bay.

  CHAPTER 4

  YET another restless sleep followed. Nerves heightened at every house creak or cry of a night animal in the surrounding countryside. But the time passed without any further unearthly incident.

  Bright morning sunlight flowed into the room as I drew back the curtains, helping to lighten my mood, even beginning to delude me that perhaps now the hauntings had passed. It was enough belief at that moment to keep me going.

  At the hospital I was allowed to see my grandfather for a short time. He was still unconscious and looked a pale, pathetic sight laying in the bed.

  The doctor came in, a sombre looking, tall middle-aged man in a smart dark suit. He told me he believed there was a malfunction in one of my grandfather's heart valves and continued with medical jargon that meant nothing to me. But the upshot read that in his weak condition an operation to rectify it could prove fatal. The news didn't leave me feeling very hopeful for his recovery.

  On the way back to the house I stopped in the village to buy some provisions, post my letter to Ruth and call my father from the baker's shop, where the owner kindly allowed me to continue using his phone. At the house I made sure fires were lit and the cooking range refuelled, then decided to read a book for a while, settling in front of the fire in the sitting room with a cup of tea.

  It must have been about ten minutes later when I heard knocking on the front door. Always wondering now whether an unexpected sound heralded a new visitation, I opened the door with caution.

  "Hope I'm not disturbing you," a young woman with a greeting smile and light brown hair nestling on her shoulders stood there wearing a buff trench coat.

  "No, not at all," I replied, disarmed by her bright eyes and the fact she appeared to be a real being.

  "I live in the house next to this one, about half-a-mile down the road. I heard that your grandfather has been taken ill," said the woman. "I've come round to pass on my good wishes for his recovery and ask if I can be of any help to you."

  I was trying to work out how she could know I was the grandson. The woman read my thoughts.

  "Word gets round these parts very quickly. I hope you don't think I'm intruding," her smiling expression fell, as if fearing I might have taken offence.

  "No, I don't think that," I reassured her. "Come in and have a cup of tea with me."

  "Only if you're sure."

  "Of course, come in," I stood aside letting my visitor enter and showed her to the sitting room.

  "I'm Marcia," she introduced herself as I took her coat. "And you are Tom I believe."

  "News does get around here," I smiled.

  "It does," she laughed.

  I hung the coat on the hall stand and made the woman a cup of tea. We sat in the armchairs beside the fire.

  "I understand you come from London and fought in the war," she said, holding the cup and saucer perched on the lap of her yellow dress.

  "My grandfather has obviously spread the word," I replied.

  "Thank God you survived that terrible business," her voice sounded heartfelt. "Unfortunately, my husband didn't make it." She lowered her head in thought for a moment.

  "I'm so sorry." I felt at a loss. "What happened?"

  "He was a spitfire pilot. Got shot down early on in The Battle of Britain," she paused, reflecting on the memory.

  "They were bloody brave, fearless pilots," I said, deeply moved by the sacrifice those flyers had made to win the war in the air and save the country from invasion by Hitler's forces.

  "I expect you saw a lot of terrible things," she looked at me.

  "More than I would ever have wanted," I replied.

  "Thank God it's over," Marcia took a sip of her tea. For a moment we were silent as memories filled our heads.

  "Have you always lived in this area?" I asked, breaking the sadness that had briefly filled the air.

  "No, I come from London too. Kensington. My late husband Richard came from these parts. He inherited the house where I live now when his father died. He was an only child and his mother had died a few years earlier." Marcia took another sip of tea.

  "I met Richard when he was a young doctor working in London. I was the receptionist at the surgery. We married and moved here, where he set up his own practice. He was also a qualified pilot. He loved flying, so when war broke out he immediately enlisted in the airforce. Unfortunately he never lived to see victory." She placed the cup she held back in the saucer and put it on the side table between us.

  "Anyway, e
nough of me. How do you find it in this old house?" she asked.

  I paused for a second, wondering how to answer.

  "If I'm honest. Strange."

  "How so?" she gazed inquisitively.

  If I told her I'd seen ghosts she might think me odd. I was enjoying her company and didn't want to drive her out believing I was missing a few marbles.

  "Just atmosphere," I decided to play it down. From her continuing inquisitive look, the answer it appeared didn't satisfy her curiosity.

  "I take it you know some of the villagers?"

  I nodded.

  "Many of them, especially the older ones, believe there were strange things going on here in the past," she said.

  "Yes, I've heard," I replied, still reluctant to tell her what I'd seen.

  Marcia rested back in the armchair, looking at the leaping flames in the log fire.

  "I've often called in on your grandfather to make sure he's okay," she said. "He's a lovely, kind man." She paused. I felt the woman was leading to something.

  "I remember, must have been a couple of years ago," she continued, "I was leaving here after visiting him to walk back to my house, when I caught a glimpse of a figure from the corner of my eye standing on the lawn. I looked round, and in a split second thought I saw a young girl in a red dress staring at me. She was gone in a flash, and for a moment I thought I'd imagined it. But to this day, I'm certain I saw a ghost." She laughed, turning to gaze at me for a reaction. "You must think me mad for saying that."

  "No, I don't," I assured her. "I've seen that girl too." Her words gave me a sudden sense of relief that I wasn't losing my sanity. Someone else had also seen the spirit of my grandfather's sister.

  "That means we were both imagining things, or there really is a ghost here," she said.

  "Not just one, but several of them," I added. The thought of not being alone in my supernatural experience was edging me to pour out what I'd seen in a torrent.

  However, the events I'd witnessed involved deeply macabre happenings related to my family, and for now I was inclined not to reveal anything intimate to a woman who appeared a friendly neighbour, but was in reality a complete stranger. The age old code of family loyalty kicked in.

  I went as far as to say I believed the young girl's name was Emily, and that she'd once lived here.

  "And the other ghosts...?" Marcia began, then drew back, sensing now was not the time to press any further. She smiled.

  "I suppose I'd better be getting on," she stood up. "Have a few things to sort out before the day is through."

  I fetched her coat and saw her to the door. Outside only my car was parked at the front so I offered to drive her back home.

  "No, it's okay. My place is just half-a-mile away and I enjoy the walk. See down there," she pointed to a spot at the end of the front lawn, "there's a footpath to the side which leads back to my house." She turned to me.

  "You're very welcome to visit while you're here. I'm out quite a lot during the daytime, but home most evenings, except when on night calls." She laughed seeing my puzzled face.

  "No, I'm not a lady of the night. When my husband was killed in the war, I made it my mission to carry on his good works, and studied to qualify as a doctor," she explained. "It was Dr. Marsh who came out to see your grandfather when he was taken ill the other day. I work at his practice." She smiled again and made her way down the garden towards the footpath.

  I stood for a while watching her depart, filled with admiration for a woman who must have been through the deepest heartbreak, but was determined not to be beaten.

  ******

  FOR the next few nights and days I experienced peace with no ghostly visitations. Daily I visited my grandfather, who still remained unconscious, and passed the time reading books as well as taking strolls into the village to shop and chat with storekeepers, who began to see me as part of the local scene.

  The evenings on my own started to feel restful, the nights undisturbed. Again I was lulled into a sense that the spirits from the other world were now at rest there. Only too soon was I proved wrong.

  The following evening I'd eaten my dinner and decided to take a stroll in the garden before it grew dark. The low sun and clear sky would still provide enough light for half-an-hour or so. Walking round to the back of the house, the weather seemed to rapidly change. Clouds began to billow across the sky, and oddly the sun now appeared to be higher in the heavens as if it was earlier in the day.

  A short distance away, a boy wearing a dark green gardening apron was raking up leaves on the lawn, a wheelbarrow resting near him. The rear door to the house opened and a young girl in a red dress stepped outside. Dread descended. I was experiencing another spectral visitation. The girl was Emily. The boy Edward. He stopped raking the leaves as she approached.

  "When will father be back from town?" Emily asked him.

  "In about an hour or so. I must get this part of the lawn cleared of leaves before he gets back, or there'll be hell to pay," the boy sounded impatient, annoyed at his sister interrupting his work.

  "Make sure you've got a big pile of leaves near you to load on to the wheelbarrow," Emily ordered him. "Don't put any more in it until I get back."

  Edward was about to protest, but Emily was already stepping back inside the house. The boy continued raking leaves ready to put in the barrow.

  I feared the scene was leading up to another grisly event and wondered if my intervention could to stop it. I approached the boy and called to him. It was a strange sensation knowing this was my grandfather in his youth. But he continued raking, completely unaware of my existence.

  The rear door of the house opened, and Emily came out followed by the governess, the woman who I'd seen dissolving into a skeleton as she climbed the stairway towards me the other night.

  "What is it you want me to see?" the woman asked, continuing to follow Emily on to the lawn. She sounded terse, as if she'd been drawn away unwillingly from some other activity.

  "You were telling me and Edward in the lesson the other day about different types of fungi. I think I've found one of the unusual ones growing in the lawn," Emily explained, pointing towards a spot on the turf.

  The governess approached and bent down to look.

  "Where?" she asked, studying the place Emily had indicated. "I can't see anything."

  While the governess bent over, Emily picked up the shovel resting on the wheelbarrow and gripping the shaft with both hands raised it high, bringing the flat of the heavy metal blade with all her force down on to the woman's head. The governess' body violently jerked, then plunged forward into oblivion on the grass.

  "Quick! Bring the wheelbarrow closer," Emily ordered her brother. Edward stood in a daze, shocked by his sister's wicked attack.

  "You better help me, or I'll tell them you did it," the girl threatened.

  The fear of serious trouble motivated him into action. He wheeled the barrow close to the senseless governess.

  "Now tilt the barrow on its side," Emily barked another order. Edward obeyed.

  They struggled rolling the woman's body on to the lowered edge, then lifted it upright and covered her with leaves.

  The horrific scene made my blood run cold, and yet I was helpless to intervene. These were intangible moments unfolding before me. I followed as they approached the old well, which no longer existed in my modern reality, but large as life in this unholy past.

  "Right, help me lift her up to the side of the well," Emily continued commanding her unwilling brother, who remained terrified of the consequences if he refused.

  Again struggling with the weight of the still unconscious body, they finally managed to hoist her top half so that it slumped forward over the well wall. Emily bent down grabbing the governess' legs just above the ankles.

  I thought I heard a groan from the woman, as if she was starting to regain consciousness. But to no avail. Emily forced her legs up and over, the momentum sending the body disappearing into the void, followed a few mo
ments later by a distant splash echoing from its depths.

  Edward cupped his head in his hands, as if trying to blot out the same sense of horror and shock that ran through me.

  "You'd better not tell, or they'll hang you too," Emily warned her brother. Then she turned to me with a wicked smile, knowing I was standing nearby. In the next second both of them were gone.

  I stood where the well once existed, but apart from the cuts in the turf I'd made earlier to reveal the concrete capping, there was no other sign of its existence. Twilight greeted me again, as the present returned. The low sun I'd left before being transported into that past nightmare had set below the horizon.

  Back in the house, the restful atmosphere I'd started to enjoy in the absence of hauntings was gone. Now my nerves were on edge again at every creak of joists or distorted shadows created by lamplight. I wanted to return home, see Ruth again, get back to normality. Perhaps I could find some other local accommodation and still be able to visit my grandfather daily. My earlier resolve to remain in the house was rapidly ebbing.

  Another tense night followed, no further visitations, but the images of the dreadful murders instigated by Emily cascaded through my mind.

  Next morning I prepared for my hospital visit when there was a knock at the door. The postman greeted me with a smile, handing over a letter.

  "How's your grandfather?" he asked. I told him he hadn't regained consciousness yet. The man frowned and expressed his wishes for a speedy recovery.

  Returning to the kitchen to finish my cup of tea, I opened the letter addressed to me. It was from Ruth. My heart plunged as I read the contents. She thanked me for writing to her then began the bombshell.

  "I've very much enjoyed the outings we've had together and will always cherish them, but I must tell you I'm now engaged to Simon and we plan to marry soon. He has been my close friend since childhood, and we've shared many experiences together. I've given great thought to the matter and, had both your path and mine crossed at an earlier time, things may have been very different.