In The Grip Of Old Winter (4 page)

Peter shivered and at the
same moment the light went out. He stared hard, waiting for its re-appearance
and he thought the yellow gleamed several times, but his eyes watered with cold
and the spot where he looked went fuzzy and the shadows stayed dark.

He half-drew the curtains, dived
back into bed and pulled the blankets right up to his chin. His teeth chattered
with cold. The hot water bottle no longer scalded when he wrapped his feet
around it, though he wished it might be warmer.

He re-gained heat, his mind
wandered and he drifted towards sleep. Who or what searched in the woods? Who
or what did it in the dead of night, in the snow? Tomorrow called for an
investigation.

“Hello.”

In an instant, all drowsiness
fled and he opened his eyes. No mistaking or dreaming, someone in the room
spoke.

The tightening in his stomach
clenched hard and the panic that built with frightening speed threatened to
erupt into a scream.

“Hello, Peter.”

He half-rose, the blankets
clenched in his hands and saw, across the room beside the window, the girl. She
held a flickering candle that burned white and though the flame was small, her
pale face shimmered in its light. A nightdress covered her from neck to feet
and that too gleamed, and her long hair, that tumbled over her shoulders, held
no colour. Even her eyes showed more white than dark.

Peter’s scream teetered,
ready to fly and once released might never stop. He gulped to keep it at bay
and his breath came in shallow gasps.

“Hello,” the girl repeated.
Her voice, soft and light, held no menace. She spoke as any child might, one to
another.

Peter stared and whispered
back. “Hello.”

The girl moved closer to the
window, or glided, for her long white dress didn’t ruffle with the natural
shifts or creases of one who walks. “Do you like this room?” Her gaze lingered
on the outside world.

“Yes.”

“I do too.” She lifted the
candle and her face reflected in the diamond-shaped panes, so that as she
looked out, she also looked in.

Peter’s ears thumped from his
beating heart and he swallowed to wet his dry mouth. “You - you live here?”

“Of course. Though it’s not
the same.” Her reply didn’t come with surprise or anger that he asked such a
question, more matter-of-fact and to be taken for granted.

“But-” Peter didn’t
understand. “You can’t - because you’re only a girl.”

She lifted the candle higher
and her reflection blurred, so that another image of her face appeared in the
panes, though less clear than the first. “What do you mean?”

Peter’s eyes hurt from
staring. “Grandma - and granddad are - very old. Mum was born a long time ago
and you - you’re not as old as mum.”

She lowered the candle and
faced him. “I’ve lived in this forest for a long time. I’ve always lived here.”

“Are you -” Peter’s heart
thumped. “Are you a ghost?”

Her expression didn’t change,
yet she tilted her head as if she didn’t understand. “My name is, Leonor.”

Peter replied, because he
didn’t know what else to say. “My name is, Peter.”

“I know. I heard it.” She
picked up a fold of her white dress, lowered her head and curtsied.

No girl had ever curtsied to
him before. Nobody ever curtsied in real life, only on television when
important women met the Queen. “You heard it?”

“Of course.” She stood
straight. “The fire burned so bright and warm tonight.”

“I - I saw you when the
lights went out.”

Leonor glided away from the
window and closer to the bed. Peter gripped the blankets tight and cowered as
she approached. Her milky-white eyes gazed into his. “You’re frightened of me.
Why?”

Peter gulped, he didn’t want
to scream, though it threatened, like waiting for a loud noise that frightened
and thrilled at the same time. “It’s - it’s night and dark and - and - you’re
not real.”

Is this the bad dream? If
she touches me, I’ll wake up and the scream will be so loud.
Peter’s breathing panted like a runner’s after a
race.

Two dark shadows trickled
down her cheeks and Leonor’s face dissolved.

She’s going to change into
a hideous monster!

He didn’t dare look, but he
didn’t dare not! He watched through squinted eyes, but nothing horrible
happened and with a jolt he understood that what he saw were ghost tears.

“Why... why are you crying?”

The flame on Leonor’s candle
wavered and when it dimmed her body diminished and her outline frayed, like
mist that evaporates in the early morning light.

“I don’t want you to be
frightened.” Her voice no longer sounded clear. “I’m all alone and I need your
help.” She glided away. “I felt sure that you’d been sent to help me. Perhaps I
was mistaken, but when I saw you looking at me from outside, then I hoped that
you knew what must be done.”

This didn’t make sense. “Help
you? How can I help you?”

She faced him and the candle
burned brighter and her body drew together again. “You’re a special boy. And
only a special boy can help me.”

Peter jumped when he heard
the word that mum used. “What do you mean? That’s just - that’s just playing.”
He didn’t like Leonor using that word. He and mum enjoyed ‘special’ together,
in private. It was not a word for sharing. “You shouldn’t listen to other
people’s conversations. That’s rude.”

Leonor tilted her head again,
though her expression never changed. “I didn’t listen on purpose. I promise.”

“Then how did you know?”

“The house - the house,
that’s how I heard.” She gazed towards the ceiling, lost in some distant
thought. “The house - that’s right.”

Peter shivered. The house
frightened him because of its difference. Did it really live? Did it listen? Is
that what Leonor meant?

She faced him. “And you saw
the flame in the woods. Just now, you did, didn’t you?”

Peter nodded.

“You are special, you see.
Very few people see that flame. You can help me.”

Then, with a rattle and a
creak that made Peter shout with fear, his bedroom door opened. At the same
moment, his candle ignited and burned with a steady yellow light.

“Peter, are you all right?”
Mum sat on his bed and wrapped her arms around him. “I heard you talking in
your sleep. Was it a bad dream?”

Peter held her tight, for
Leonor had vanished.

***

Peter remembered holding mum
and she must have stayed with him until he fell asleep, for when he awoke, grey
daylight revealed, on the other side of the room, the large wardrobe and the
chest of drawers. The drawn curtains made the light around the window glow much
brighter. The wick on the candle had burned out. He checked his digital watch
and it flashed seven forty-five.

He pushed back the blankets, ran
to the window and swept the curtains aside. Still snowing! The mound on the
sill now reached up to his chest. Nothing stirred on the white landscape, no
mark from an animal or a bird ruffled the snow’s surface.

Imagine if I was the only
person alive and this was the first day of a new world.

The thought buzzed with
excitement in his head and its pleasure increased, because not being alone in
the old house made it feel safe.

He dressed fast to keep warm
and as he pulled on his sweater, he thought of Leonor. Strange, daylight made
it difficult to remember. She said odd things, but thinking about what she was
made his heart pump. He didn’t know if he believed in ghosts, but if she was
one she didn’t behave as he’d imagined. Ghosts on television always went
‘whoooo’ and scared everyone on purpose. They didn’t talk like normal people;
they didn’t ask to be helped. Ghosts didn’t need help, they just haunted, so
why was Leonor different? He didn’t want to tell mum, because this secret was
his and he wanted to know more.

The wooden staircase creaked
as he went downstairs and halfway down, he looked up. The bannisters crossed
and re-crossed above him and the empty space between them stretched high into
the shadows. There must be so many rooms in this old house and the thought of
their emptiness made him shiver, though it might be exciting to explore and
discover what was in them. Was Leonor in one of them now, looking out of the
window? Or perhaps in the small house above the battlements? He’d already seen
her once in daylight, something else that was different about her, for on
television ghosts only haunted at night.

In the kitchen, grandma
hugged him. “There you are, my love, did you sleep well?” She wore an apron
covered in bright flowers and, like yesterday, she smelled of flowers too. On
the AGA, frying pans sizzled and saucepans bubbled and the smell of crispy
bacon and hot toast made his mouth water.

“Yes, thank you.” It wasn’t a
bad lie, just an easy reply to a difficult question.

Mum and dad sat at the
kitchen table and he pulled up a chair to sit between them.

Dad thumbed through the pages
on his mobile. “Hopeless. Dead as a dodo.”

Mum sighed. “Try outside.”

Dad dropped the mobile onto
the table where it landed with a clatter. “Later.”

Grandma lifted bacon from the
pan and arranged the rashers on to three plates. “Granddad’s clearing the path.
I hope he’s not overdoing it. It’s so difficult with the phone out. I suppose
we could walk down to Farmer Brunt and ask him to bring his tractor, but he’ll
be snowed in too.”

Mum stood up to help. “I’m
sure Richard will lend granddad a hand. Why doesn’t he wait until after
breakfast? We can all help. You’d like that wouldn’t you, Peter?”

Grandma lifted the lid off
the poacher. “I must get the fires going in the bedrooms. Almina can’t stand
being cold.”

Mum opened a drawer and
picked out a small knife. “It’ll be exciting having a Christmas like the old
days.”

Grandma slid a saucepan off
the hob. “Would you like some mushrooms, Peter?”

“Yes please.”

She scattered several onto
each plate. “It’s been years since the weather’s been so bad.”

Mum eased an egg from the
poacher with the small knife. “I’ll just give Richard one. The doctor says he
has to watch his cholesterol.”

Dad groaned.

“Oh shame,” said grandma.
“It’s Christmas. Let him have two, as a treat. I’ve cooked plenty. You’ll have
two won’t you, Peter?”

“Yes please.”

Mum slid the eggs one at a
time onto the plates. “Is Almina coming down for breakfast?”

Grandma laughed. “Goodness
no, we won’t see her ‘til mid-day. Granddad took her up a cup of tea earlier.”

Dad said, “She must be
exhausted after last night.”

Grandma put on her oven
gloves and opened the AGA’s oven door. “I’ve never known her be an early riser.
Would you like a sausage, Peter?”

“Yes please.”

“Well, actors work late so
they need a lie in,” said mum.

Grandma tutted. “I suppose.”

Dad spun his phone with his
finger and thumb. “Don’t actors learn their lines in bed?”

Grandma laughed. “That sounds
like a good excuse. I just hope we’ve got enough food. I’m sure the snow won’t
last for long, it never does.”

Mum carried two full plates to
the table and gave one to Peter and one to dad. “We’ll have to eat berries.”

The breakfast steamed with
delicious smells and Peter started straight away.

“This is great, ‘ma.” Dad
called grandma ‘ma.’ “Just what the doctor ordered.”

Mum gave an exasperated sigh.

Grandma wiped her hands on
the oven gloves. “At least we don’t have to worry about keeping things cold.”

Dad paused with a large slice
of sausage inches from his mouth. “That’s a point. The fridge must’ve gone
off.”

Mum sat down with her
breakfast. “They don’t have a fridge.”

Dad frowned. “Really?”

“Really,” said grandma. “We
have a special secret.”

Mum picked up her knife and
fork. “There’s an ice house behind the barn.”

“Really?” Dad sounded
surprised.

Peter had never heard of an
ice house. He wanted to see, but first he wanted to eat and as he chewed, he
peered at the sideboard and the wolf that crouched upon its top shelf.

“He’s real,” Granddad told
him yesterday. “But stuffed. We found him in one of the rooms upstairs, under
the floorboards, when I was doing some re-wiring.”

The open mouth showed rows of
curved teeth, like small knives, and the eyes glistened, wet and yellow. When
Peter rubbed his hands along its back, the stiff bristles scratched his skin.

After breakfast, everyone
wrapped up in coats, scarves, hats and gloves and grandma found some old
wellingtons for Peter to wear. They didn’t fit very well, his feet slipped
around inside, so mum stuffed some newspaper into the toes and that made it
easier to walk.