Another Ghostly Figure part 2

5

It wasn’t until after the train faded into the distance that I realised two rather important things at the same time, both of which I’d completely overlooked. One being: how did I expect to get home? The other being: what in God’s name was I doing having myself dropped off at a supposedly haunted village at almost eleven o’clock on Halloween night?

This was when the fear hit in: Immediately; suddenly; unexpectedly. An intense feeling of wanting and needing to somehow magic up a bubble to put around myself for protection. I didn’t want to turn around, but I was constantly turning, twirling like a madman on the platform, checking behind me, over my shoulder for a sign of any danger. I swear that if someone had approached in that moment I would have died of fear.

I sat on the bench, lowered my head and began to make a cigarette, staring down at the floor, telling myself there was no such thing as ghosts, that I was being silly.

Although what if my fear had been brought about by some kind of ghostly atmosphere or presence in the air?

As I drew on my cigarette I then began to hear a banging noise. A distant boom, boom travelling across the fields towards me. Hadn’t Jo mentioned a banging sound? Was this coming from somewhere beyond the realms of mortality? I felt in my pocket for the dictaphone, took it out, stared at it for a while before deciding that turning it on would only make things worse. Hard to explain but… well, what if by recording sounds I was in some way antagonising the ghosts? Would this be the case? I remember asking myself: What would Jo be doing if she were here?

And there was the light I’d been looking for. That was it. Jo. Of course. I could text her, tell her what I was doing, ask for advice, communicate with someone who was going to understand the fear I was now having to deal with.

I wrote: Hi it’s Elliott. I’m in Southease by myself. Should I be scared? Then, selecting Jo’s number in my phone book, pressed send.

The answer came back almost at once: What are you doing in Southease???!!! Do you know it’s Halloween? Elliott, I don’t think you should be there, really!!

I felt better now; this was making me feel good even. I wasn’t alone any more. Despite Jo’s negative reaction the situation suddenly seemed rather humorous.

I texted back about the banging noise I could hear, also explaining how I’d been personally dropped off by the train and there being no way back other than through the village.

Her reaction was quick and to the point: You can hear banging? I heard banging! Elliott, get out now!!

Yes, this was definitely a funny and rather odd situation. I decided I’d make a move though, and text her again if the need once more arose. I returned the phone to my pocket; stubbed out my cigarette and got up, making my way to the end of the platform; through the gate and then I was on a country path with hedges either side. It was naturally dark, pitch black even. As I say, Southease is and was nothing but a few houses, a church and a bridge leading to a main road.

6

So I was terrified to say the least; walking along this dark path by myself. And then predictably something of course happened to make matters worse, which is to say that I soon began to notice the power cables above me were buzzing; then remembered what Jo had said about power cables and was all in a mess about what to do.

Honestly my feelings were that if I ran I was inviting the chance of being chased by a ghost. So I’d begun walking slowly and consciously; each step being the greatest effort in the world: telling myself that if I could just get through it then at least I could say I’d walked through Southease in the middle of Halloween; which Jo would appreciate at any rate.

Not that it was all about Jo; because it wasn’t. It was a challenge you see, something I had little intention of backing away from. I knew deep down that it was perfectly possible to walk along this path, over the bridge, through the village and up towards the safety of the main road… and it was all I had to do to make this Halloween an eventful one; a success; something to be proud of in retrospect.

Walking along this pitch black lane was the worst and most terrifying point of the night though and once more I should make the point again over how scared I was. Twisting around behind me every few seconds to check I wasn’t being followed. Managing to accept (thank God!) the buzzing power cables and distant banging as regular background noise but all the same listening intently for any other slight sound to give away the presence of another being; or worse

Finally I came out into a clearing, in the middle of the village. A small war memorial beside a church and a few cottages, all with the lights turned out (no sign of life anywhere) surrounding me in a circular arrangement.

I lit up yet another cigarette to celebrate making it this far, then texted Jo to tell her the latest:

In the village now. Scared myself half to death walking here from the train station. It was pitch black. Power cables making noises too. Gonna go to the graveyard next I think:>

The last sentence came out as I was texting. That is, I’d started the message with no intention of going to the graveyard. It was, rather, a sudden thought; an idea which, as soon as I’d written it into my phone, I knew I was going to have to follow through with. A crazy and slightly masochistic notion of what to do next: Jo texted me back at once.

You’re in the village? Were the power cables buzzing? Don’t go to the graveyard!! Leave now. You don’t want to disturb any spirits. Please go to the main road now.

But I didn’t. In a daze I walked straight over to the church, through the gate and into the graveyard.

It was pitch-black again and as far as I remember I wanted to read at least five gravestones before I left; but the funny thing is: that’s all I do remember. What I read while there I have no recollection of. And in the same way I still have no idea whether being in the graveyard frightened me or not. All I can say for sure is that one minute I was slowly moving around in the dark from gravestone to gravestone and the next minute I was on a duel carriageway stumbling in the direction of Skipton; a sign to my left indicating that Southease was one kilometre behind me.

7

I looked at my watch to see that it was almost one o’clock which meant I’d been in Southease for over an hour; most of which I couldn’t properly account for; although being as frightened as I’d been, my sense of time had become a little off scale.

I took out my phone to see that there were two unread messages from Jo.

Where r u? r u still in Southease? Go to the motorway now. I’m serious Elliott!

Elliot, r u there? Please text back.

The first text was at 11:58, the second at 12:15, over half an hour previously. So deciding that I’d better reply without delay I wrote something like:

Hi Jo. Sorry about not replying before. Went to the graveyard. Nothing to tell. I’m ok but wouldn’t do it again. Where r u?

As I say, I was on a main road, no path and no other pedestrians around. Just me, a single ghostly figure, intermittently lit up as each car hushed past me. Very much out of place as I began to soon realise: when making eye-contact with one or two of the drivers I was met with an expression I couldn’t quite place. Had it been fear on their faces? I wasn’t a hundred percent sure but the idea struck me that it might be fun to put the hood of my coat up, tuck my arms into the sleeves of my coat and walk along all zombie-like. Matching my demeanour with a wide-eyed, far away, unnatural stare. Hoping in a spurt of rather childish enthusiasm to provide a little entertainment for the people in the passing cars. That I myself could become a new addition to the legend of ghosts in the Southease area.

8

Jo replied that she was in a pub called The Rye in Skipton’s high street. It took me about a half hour to get there. Naturally it was shut of course. I texted Jo again when I was outside and she let me in through a side door (not the first time I’d been in a pub after hours in Skipton).

Inside there were about ten people. All of them in various poses, some at the bar, a young couple playing pool, and two separate groups of old men sitting around simple wooden tables, but all looking at me as I walked in with Jo. And as we found a table to sit down, one of the drinkers shouted, “You’re still alive then?” with another muttering, “see any ghosts tonight then?”

But I didn’t reply because neither of these questions was directed specifically at me. Rather, they were simply thrown up in the air, adding to the slight echo of glass on wood, pool cues hitting balls, and further aged mumbling, bouncing off the dusty wooden floor, while an old sixties tune seeped out at low volume from the jukebox in the corner. All of it giving an eerie kind of ambience to the place that I couldn’t quite get my head around. I found myself unable to decide if there was a certain unfriendliness in the place, or if it was merely a quaint old fashioned kind of atmosphere.

Jo asked me if I wanted a drink and I said I could do with a double shot of whisky but I’d get this round myself. After all, I owed her one for the moral support she’d given me. Also mentioning how nice it was of her to meet me after my little excursion.

“I’d better go to the bar though,” she said. They’re a bit funny about non-locals coming here after hours,” to which I replied, “Of course.”

While she was at the bar I sat reflecting on my night, almost laughing as I remembered how scared I’d been walking along that dark lane.

Smoking a freshly rolled cigarette I leaned back on my chair and gazed around at my fellow drinkers. The eeriness of the pub’s atmosphere had become heightened all of a sudden by the fact that there was no longer any music playing; and it wasn’t so much that everyone was talking in hushed voices, it was an almost total lack of conversation that, upon noticing, jolted me suddenly into a rather frightening spout of uneasiness.

9

Funnily enough, I didn’t see much of Jo after that. She was soon off to a university somewhere in the midlands and the last I’ve heard she’s married to some bloke in London and working as a police officer.

And so I suppose that’s all I have left to say about Jo and how she gave me a rather special Halloween. How did the night end? you may ask. Suffice to say a couple of stiff whiskies inside me and the legend of my venture into Southease had become just that. A simple adlib to tell a friend over a pint, always around the end of October. Although from time to time it does hit me that I actually did go there that night. That I really do have no recollection of what happened in the graveyard. And sometimes the feeling of sitting in the pub waiting for Jo to return with my drink, the quiet eeriness and all the old men looking at me… well, there’s something strange about this memory too. It’s as if that short moment in time is a scene that my brain has created, possibly to fill in a gap of something else that might have been happening to me. But who knows?

At least I can say that if a ghost was to come up behind me right now and tap me on the shoulder, there’d always be the small chance of us having met before. Old friends catching up on a shared experience. Or possibly the memories of a terrifying encounter will come rushing back and I’ll be beside myself with fear.