Eleven New Ghost Stories (8 page)

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 remember 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.