Ravens Deep (one) (10 page)

              Samuel Dunklin had not thought about his grandfather's stories for years.  Now, sitting alone in the darkness of his living room, he forced himself to remember once more. The pretty young girl he met in the park yesterday had unnerved him. He didn’t’t know why, but there was something about her, those eyes, they had been quite beguiling.  He switched on the table lamp that at once illuminated the small living room and cast a warm, honey coloured light across the room. Samuel stood, walked through to his bedroom and turned on the main light.  The room was instantly bathed in brightness. He blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust before he knelt down on the worn carpet and felt under the bed.  His hands searched for a moment before they rested on a familiar object, and he retrieved the old red suitcase.  It was torn and tattered from years of misuse, but he placed it on the bed and pushed open the worn latch.

             
Samuel lifted the lid and the case spewed forth old papers, documents and letters, they were the memories of his life and the lives of his ancestors.  He picked each one up in turn and examined them. He hadn’t looked at many of these in a very long time and smiled to himself as he remembered the various bits of information contained in the papers.  He suddenly winced at the pain he felt in his arthritic wrist joint, and was forced to rest his arm for a few minutes.  He sat on the bed to examine the papers again, but it wasn’t the old papers he was looking for, he was searching for something more specific.  That young girl had sparked something deep in his memory, he hadn’t opened this case for decades and hoped he still had it.

             
After searching for a few more minutes, he reached down to the bottom of the case and suddenly caught sight of the old leather journal that had been his grandfather’s. He pulled it out and opened the old book.  It had a distinct musty smell to it, mixed with the familiar odour of aged leather. He remembered vaguely some of the contents of this journal and if he remembered correctly, there were notes on various occupants of the village, the curse and other related strange tales.

             
What did he really believe, after all, his grandfather had believed in a curse.  A terrible fate that befell anyone venturing into the woods at night. But did he really believe that too?  He thought back to his own childhood and the cautious words from his parents. They had warned him against playing in the woodlands next to the moors.  In fact, all the children in the village at that time believed a witch or demon resided within them, they had all grown up in the shadow of that story, but as far as he could remember, not one of them had ever seen anything.  But that young girl . . . what was her name? . . . Madeline, such a pretty name.  Maybe she had been right. 

             
Leprosy had been rife in these parts, the living conditions had been appalling for those people back then and Beaconmayes had never been a big village, so if a handful of people had  died close together, it may have been construed as an evil force or a curse.  Maybe it was nothing more than an old wives tale.

             
Samuel was beginning to find the bed too uncomfortable to sit on, he turned out the bedroom light and took the journal through to his living room.  The room felt cosier now, the small fire in the grate giving off comforting warmth that at once made him feel more cheerful. The stone walls of the cottage glowed in the firelight, and even they seemed to radiate a sense of comfort despite their appearance of being weathered and tired.  Just like him, he thought to himself.

             
He took a seat close to the fireside, the fabric on the chair worn with use, but the vintage roses on the material made him smile.  His eyes moved across to the chair’s twin, sitting empty now across from him. Once, that had been his wife Agnes’s favourite chair.  If he concentrated hard he could still see her sitting there, her head bent over some needlework in her lap.  Many years had passed since Agnes’s death.  Now, as on so many other nights he was alone with only his memories for company.

             
His thoughts jogged back to the present time, as he absently thumbed through the pages of the journal and his eyes came to rest on a name:
Madeline Shaw. 

             
Didn’t the girl say her name was Shaw?
 

             
Suddenly he felt more alert and he continued reading, unable to find any other

information
of any use; except for the fact that she had lived in these parts and had died in 1860.  Too long ago, there could not be a connection to the girl he had met yesterday. He thought back to his conversation with her, she had mentioned a house. Turning the pages once more he happened upon a notation made by his grandfather.

             
Grandpa Joe told me today of a cursed house and an old church hidden deep in the woods. I got scared when he told me people that enter the church or house do not always stay dead. Mam told Grandpa off for scaring me.

             
Samuel Dunklin audibly swallowed at that last statement, but he realized that he was reading his own grandfather’s childish writings, at a time when he could have been no more than nine or ten years old. Archaic stories that had been handed down to his grandfather. 

             
Rubbish
, he told himself.
Just stories people tell kids to keep them off private land. 

             
Despite Samuel’s own misgivings, hadn’t he believed in these stories all his life too?  A sudden chill entered the room.  Samuel shivered, it was getting late. He must have left the kitchen window open and even though it had been a warm day, the stone cottage seemed very cold tonight.  He rose from the chair and walked to the kitchen.  It was in complete darkness. As he stepped over the threshold, his eyes widened as they brought into focus a large black shape. He blinked. Unsure if his mind was playing tricks.  The shape appeared static, but then he thought the shape moved towards him and he seemed unable to tear his gaze from it, in shock he took a step back.

             
Samuel recognized death when he saw it, but he felt powerless to resist. In that instant, a searing pain tore through his chest and resonated all the way down his left arm. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form.  Instead he emitted a strangled gurgle, before falling to the floor still clutching his chest. Samuel felt the life draining out of him and he watched with horror as the shadow moved lower, before enshrouding him completely.

Chapter Eight - An Archaic Tale

              Maybe I was being melodramatic and reading too much in to what had occurred. Ghosts didn’t kiss you. Did they?  I stepped onto the staircase, there was an insistent tapping coming from above.

             
Surely not more mice.

             
Apprehension mounted, but I continued up the stairs.  The noise seemed to be coming from the second smaller bedroom.  Cautiously, I opened the door. The source of the noise apparent, as the ivy branches knocked against the window pane. Darius was right, most happenings could be explained.

             
I crossed the room to the window and looked out into the darkness.  In the distance the moonlight shimmered on the sea and the trees were bending and swaying ferociously. Within the last few minutes, the wuthering winds that blow across the moors had gained in intensity. They made an eerie whistling sound as they blustered around the ancient stone walls and chimneys.

             
Some time later, I entered my bedroom. I felt prickles on the back of my neck, that presence again.  I half expected to see a shadow or an apparition, for tonight was the perfect setting for a gothic horror story.  Wild winds, an unearthly presence, an ancient house and a girl alone -- very cliché.  I smiled despite my tension.

             
I brushed my hair, and stared up at the portrait of the girl.  She was beautiful and

hauntingly
so, Darius had been right.  It was in the eyes, there was a mesmerizing sadness there. 

             
Am I really so like her?

             
A sudden thought crossed my mind.  If this was Madeline’s bedroom, then perhaps she was still here, walking these floors in the shadows of the night, tormented in eternity by her own demons that would not allow her to rest in peace.  Maybe I should send her away.  Allow her that final passage if I was capable of doing so. Closing my eyes, I said firmly: “Madeline, go back to your grave or from wherever you came.”

             
I turned out the light and as I got into bed the prickling sensation disappeared, the presence had gone. Despite the turmoil in my mind and the wind howling all around, I slept well, oblivious to the muffled snap of a mousetrap far below me.

*  *  *

             
The following day, I willed the time to go faster and for nightfall to come. I busied myself with my book and was pleased with its progress, but by the late afternoon, I was getting anxious. If Darius was a supernatural entity, what would I do?  I was also aware of the fact, that he himself might not realize his true being, and I wondered if it was possible to be caught between two worlds. Living your life completely as only you can see it, but in reality, another part of your being entirely somewhere else, or in this case -- dead! 

             
I had an even more disturbing question, if that was at all possible, given my current thoughts. Was it incomprehensible to fall in love with a ghost?  Sooner or later I would have to confront this strange fact, and the scenario was bizarre after all, I hardly knew him. I was undoubtedly under some spell, but I couldn’t help thinking, why shouldn’t true love, when it happens, be instantaneous, all consuming and powerful.  Because there was absolutely no doubt in my mind of the undeniable feeling for him, but a constant nagging thought plagued me.

             
Most people fall in love with others that are actually alive!

             
My mind was mixed up. It couldn’t’t be, it surely was forbidden, and in the laws of nature and the universe, how could something like this occur?   I eventually stopped thinking, my mind was exhausted and I closed it to these thoughts, and prepared to accept that the evening would play itself out one way or another.  But as the daylight began to fade, I looked anxiously at my watch.

             
Just exactly what time was nightfall anyway?

             
I sat at the desk and tried to write, but the letters danced before my eyes, I could not concentrate. I gazed out the window every few minutes.  It was already dark and although the wild winds had calmed, there was still a distant howling to be heard across the moors, from the occasional gusts of wind that whipped up from the coast and chased their way across the desolate terrain.

             
Suddenly I saw Darius’s silhouette outside the garden wall.  I got up quickly and

straightened
any visible creases in my dress.  I opened the front door to find him standing in the porch. His dark hair fell across his face and a subtle smile hovered around his mouth.              I smiled back, my earlier feelings of what was right and wrong in the universe flew from my mind, all I felt was happiness that he was here.             

             
“For you,” he said, presenting me with a bunch of flowers. “They are beautiful are they not?”  I stared at the flowers, I was more in control than I would have credited, as I did not gasp or make some other noise of shock.  But I accepted the bunch of honeysuckle and wild roses tied with grass, and tried to remain nonchalant.

             
“Yes,” I murmured. “Thank you, I will put them in some water.” I turned trying to rationalize why Darius would have put flowers on Madeline’s tomb, and why he had given me the same flowers.

             
We walked through to the kitchen and I avoided his eyes, because when I looked at him I was aware of the odd and overwhelming urge to draw closer to him.  I turned towards the sink, occupying myself with the flowers and tried to remain casual.

             
“Did you go to the church yesterday?” I asked quietly. I could feel him close to me. I could feel he was standing directly behind me. I took a deep breath and turned around to face him.  He was unbearably close now. But given my suspicions, I couldn’t’t let this get out of hand.    

             
“Why do you want to know?” he asked, looking curiously at me. I took deep breath.

             
“These flowers are the same as the flowers on Madeline’s tomb yesterday.”  I said, searching his face for some reaction, but he coolly turned from me.

             
“Yes, I sometimes put flowers on the various graves, out of respect for the past I suppose. These happen to be my favourite flowers; they grow wild in the hedgerows.”  I was relieved, at least it was an answer I could live with and turned back to the flowers.

             
“I am not sure if there are any vases, maybe a glass will do. I think there are some in the pantry. Would you. . .” but before I could continue Darius had opened one of the high cupboards to reveal two glass vases. He selected one and held it out to me.