A Ghost's Story
By M. J. London
Chapter 1
I had awoken to the sound of restless horse hooves, as they clopped and clipped the coble stones of the yard, light filtered through the shutters of the window in bands, highlighting the dust mites that danced in the air. I lay upon my bed staring at the shafts of light, my ears straining. There were whispered voices rising up from below that drifted through the wooden floor, both urgent and secretive. I strained to make out the words, but the words were not for my ears, yet I knew they concerned myself. The uttering’s stopped the last sentence was punctuated with a curse slightly louder than the previous conversation. I began to fear all was lost.
Silence invaded the air until I heard the front door below creak open, followed by the movement of the horses outside. I imagined them being led, rather than ridden, away. I let out my held breath in a soft whistle. My inside trembled, as did my hand that rested on the slim back of my terrier dog, he had remained perfectly still lying against the outer edge of my left thigh. My other hand caressed the handle of my pistol, easing my finger away from the trigger, which I felt also flutter with strain.
I had hardly slept all night but being so drowsy I must have slipped into sleep, as my last memories were of darkness outside, now it was light. I should rise, I should act, but I felt frozen to the spot on this straw mattress of a bed straining to hear what may be happening down stairs. I laid in a fear, that was even stronger than last night’s, when we had almost been seen, after we had got trapped on the mud, as my coracle became stuck. They are so dammed hard to paddle in a straight line, unless you are a regular user of them.
It had been an arduous night first slipping out of my lodgings at the inn, The Old Crown and Anchor, then launching the coracle and following in the wake of the smugglers. I had seen enough, even though the mist wafted back and forth, but enough to give evidence to my superiors. I had begun my return before them, when I went off course and became stranded for a short while.
I thought they would spot me, beached as I was. Thankfully they rowed up the channel without doing so, the mist and dark helped cloak my act of spying. Also that their hurry and need to get back to their base-camp with their ill-gotten gains kept me from being seen. This in turn saved me from the slicing point of a cutlass or the exploding of my head to a powder and ball shot, for I was indeed vulnerable out there with only one pistol and a short blade as protection, not forgetting my dutiful dog “Clasp,” so called for when he bites it is like a locked clasp on trunk.
So it was that I had sat waiting hunched down, holding Clasp’s muzzle tightly shut while stroking his flank, until they passed. Shivers had been passing up and down my spine not only from fear of being found by the smugglers, but also from the dread of coming across any of the Hyter-Spirts, or fairies that it is foretold live here on the marshes of Blakeney Holt, where sea-inlets snake in from the sea to meet solid land and the quay wall.
Here I now lay, having secretly returned or so I thought, without anyone noticing my absence or my return, then still under the cover of dark. I needed to get my observations back to my commander. These were dangerous early days in the fight against smuggling and anarchy, that the late seventeen hundreds had thrown up.
It was not safe for strangers to be around these parts, even though I was sure my credentials were seen as valid, that of a studying entomologist of the new sciences. But no one could be sure they were safely above suspicion. I needed to settle my payments, for bed and board with the landlord, gather my own horse. Then to flee this desperate and immoral backwards waterways, that to me is so desolate and unforgiving.
The creak of the floorboards came to my ears, but still too late for me. The bedroom door crumpled and crashed in as a number of bodies flew through the space. Clasp threw himself snarling at the nearest intruder wrapping his jaws tight around the bared windpipe of the, very much, surprised leading man. But his endeavours were short lived as he was shot at point blank range in the heart by one of the man’s companions.
I uttered a screech trying to heave of the bed while aiming my pistol at the man who had killed Clasp. My exploding gunpowder and shot took away half his face at the jaw. But before I could raise my sword to take out any of the others, I felt a hot piercing at my side and another to my arm. I fell back onto the mattress. I saw four men’s faces all around me as I lay pinned back on the mattress, two of them with blood gushing. I took them all in, I knew all their names from my time spent at the Inn, some three weeks now. They spat at me. I spat back, yelling,
“You will never escape me, I curse you and your descendants, I curse you all in the name of all heaven, hell and earth wherever ye be!”
With that they went berserk, they hacked away at my inert body until my spirit passed on and away, up above them. One of them sliced through my neck severing my head from my body. I saw two of them gather my slashed and gutted body, along with Clasp’s, then fold us into a piece of sailcloth which they dragged down the stairs, then down further to the secret tunnels beneath the Inn’s floor.
So that’s where the entrance was located! Under the fireplace! I had searched everywhere and even guessed this may be the entrance but was unable to locate its opening latch and now too late. I would never give my report of my findings to my superiors. I had failed and paid dearly for that failure.
Our bodies were slung unceremoniously into a shallow grave, hastily dug in one of the store’s side tunnels. After the earth had been patted back in place they heaved three wooden barrels to be piled on top.
Leaving our bodies to decay they moved away cursing and laughing at our plight, they foolishly felt happy at their dastardly deed, they carried away my head I heard one say “This will do nicely as proof of death, don’t you think?” then laughed some more.
Yet they had no real understanding of how the spirit can endure, when required. No understanding of strength of a curse so vehemently given, or how far it may reach in both distance and time. The other two murders that had been slightly incapacitated, one by Clasp, one by me, were it seemed, seeking medical help, this would not help them, this much I knew.
Chapter 2
Days passed, no one came in search of me, my blood soaked away into the earth along with Clasp’s. But I watched, I watched the roads but only wet of rain and mist came down them. No army or single soldier, ventured along them to find the man who had gone alone amongst thieves and knaves, in the Kings name, to do right. I have no family being the only child of two deceased parents therefore no one but my fellow customs-men to fear and be concerned for my welfare. So I waited I watched.
In this time I saw and helped, the man who had lost most of his lower right jaw to my pistol, suffer. He suffered greatly especially when I entered his delirious dreams, softly ebbing away his life with torment and his body with blood poisoning. A doctors of a sorts, had been summoned, but could do nothing to save one who had been having his soul invaded and corrupted as well as his blood, whilst already at his very lowest.
This gave me great joy, but did not slate my lust for vengeance. The others would also need to pay.
The man died at the Inn two floors up from my where my own body lay corrupted and in the room where I had been murdered. A funeral was planned, only the initiated were invited to the wake, that of a drunken brawl of men. They only allegiance they held was to themselves and although god fearing, for in fact they feared every type of deity, yet they sort no salvation or repentance from any priest or imagery.
I listened in on their careless talk and learned that someone had been presented with the site of my head, which apparently had satisfied them. Whom this was I did not find out until a long while after. My sweet head was then waited down and flung into the creak, outside the hostelry, to a watery grave. Never the less my spirit walked around intact for I had been slaughtered whole.
Chapter 3
I soon found one other of the four who had been present on that day, and who had buried his knife into my chest several times.
He stood apart from the others, outside, after drinking his fill and now in a drunken fug. He lamenting the passing of his friend and cursing my good soul for having fired the shot that eventually took away his colleague. He slid down onto the steps of the Inn, sitting under the drizzling sky.
A dozen or so men had all returned after paying, as I believed, undeserved homage to their fallen friend, who had taken the life of Clasp and assisted in my demise.
A bon-fire had been lit outside for those who kept watch on the road for any soldiers or Custom’s Men that may approach the inn. The broad company stayed huddled inside accepting the Innkeeper’s hospitality. The Innkeeper had not been in the room the day I died but never the less he was involved, he would not get off lightly, but to matters at hand.
I sat next to the fool on the step, half in and half out of the solid door. I breathed a chill down his neck, blowing it down into his lungs, filling it with dread and fungus. The man coughed violently throwing up some of his ale that previously he had swallowed in pride, now erupted with fear and bile onto the cobbled-stoned yard.
He felt me, oh yes he knew of my presence. His eyes no more bleary now, focused on nothing, yet tried to seek me out. He pulled his garments about him trying to bring some warmth to his body and too fend me of. It was useless I had the upper hand.
He shook his head at his perceived nonsense. A large pitcher of rum lay at his feet he lifted it to swig. But with my help, he miss judged and the whole lot flooded over his face and jacket.
The last watcher on guard warmed his hands by the fire then left, he wondered off around to the side, to the stables at the sounds of their horses fussing and whinnying. As they were being harassed by Clasp, nipping at their fetlocks in his ghostly form.
The guilty party stood, his cloths dripping with alcohol, he backed away from where I sat I concentrated and forced my ethereal spirit to become visible for him. It took a lot of energy but it worked. The man began to flee in fear, turning and tripping over a horse-mount, a lump of granite embedded in the earth. He tumbled, his arms flaying as he fell, headlong into the inferno. His body erupted with flames fed by the raging bonfire. The intense heat of the fire with the added alcohol spread down the length of his body.
Oh to have had the ability to smell as well as hear, that would have been pleasurable to catch the searing stench of burning flesh, as well as to hear the screams of that despicable man, as his life was snuffed out, as the fire was not. For even though his companions had rushed out at the sound of screaming they could not beat down the flames or rescue the poor fellow. When the fire had subsided there was little left to recover. None present could work out what had happened nor did any feel my presence, as I lay upstairs, stroking Clasp’s wiry hair under his ghostly chin.
Chapter 4
Days passed, weeks passed, neither of the other two who conspired in my death returned to the Inn. So we contented ourselves with trying to affect the landlord. I had no doubt he was involved in our deaths, even though had had not raised a sword against us.
A stubborn unmarried man of little imagination, he refused to accept what others were saying about spirits abroad, be they on the boggy mist laden marshes or in his own property. He felt the chill-cold as did others when they ventured into the bedroom where we had demised. But said it was always a draft-laden cold room and that no such thing as ghosts existed.
Give it time give it time!
Even so, even he refused along with others to sleep in that room and eventually turned it into a storeroom for odds and sods of furniture. Clasp and I would return there each day, once we had done with our wonderings. At first we contented our selves with the bar and the rooms above, but eventually found out how to enter the cavern of tunnels below. We spent many hours sitting above our rotting corpses in contemplation.
We sat on the barrels of wine that hid the newly dug earth, while doing so we found a way of turning the contents sourer. When it came to the selling on the contraband wine, the landlord and purchaser almost vomited, as the spat out the worse than vinegar tasting contents, much to my mirth. I cackled in delight, the first time I had laughed in months.
All three barrels had to be tipped away, the innkeeper complained bitterly to the smugglers when they next visited his abode. They said it had been fine when landed and sold to him, but never the less they would cut the price on the next delivery, as neither wanted a falling out. These times were getting harder by the day, each needed all the friends they could get.
The Kings soldiers and taxmen had been rumoured to be near by. Some said Kings Lynn, other said as near as Fakenham. It was also spoke of that an informer had gone missing before passing on vital information, this at least brought some comfort to the scoundrels.
Still things got worse for the Innkeeper, for no matter that the contraband alcohol that was brought ashore started off in good shape, within two days or more of being at the hostelry, it had become undrinkable. The innkeeper’s profits dwindled. He tried instead to purchasing silk and spices to sell on, only to find the silk soon to be riddled with mildew and dampness and the foods spoilt by insects or mould. This always happened after initial close inspection of the goods, which found them to be in excellent condition, yet no matter where he kept them on the premises they spoiled and rotted.
For the first time in his life the landlord turned to drink. I would allow properly purchased beer and wine to go untainted to allow for him to become a sodden drunk. He had always shared a glass with his customers but now he drank all day, be it with company or alone.
Of course he was never ever alone we would sit at his elbow goading and girding him on, even though he did not feel us totally he had begun to sense something. And would suddenly spin around as though someone had called his name, then curse wondering why he felt this way?
The barmaid, a sweet girl from the village who we had never sort to annoy or scare, but being of a sensitive nature she would often stare at the spot where we had just past or we were lingering. She had mentioned her feelings to her employer but he would have none of it.
Oh dear that left us only one course of action.
The landlord was found two days later by a customer and the barmaid, he lay at the bottom of his cellar having plummeted through the open trapdoor and apparently braking his neck in the fall. His cloths were damp and smelt of dog pee, something Clasp was very proud of producing, that of “ectoplasm pee.” But there was no smell of any alcohol on the dead landlords breath and making sure the trap door was shut for secrecy sake, had been one of his main priorities. So his fall down the gapping hole was to remain a total mystery. To them that is, but not myself and Clasp, for we were learning the art object movement, although it did take an extreme amount out of us and we would have to lay up for days afterwards. But it was always worth it.
Chapter 5
A new Innkeeper was found, but only after a number of months. For rumours of strange happenings at the inn had began to circulate in the local village. But as the tunnel storeroom, below, were part of the important network for the smugglers they eventually found a replacement foolish enough to run "The Old Crown and Anchor”
We still needed our vengeance to be served upon the surviving killers so we allowed this new Innkeeper some scope of freedom, in as much as we never terrified him but would still amuse ourselves. I would enjoy myself by the occasional movement of some of his favourite objects such as his pipe and baccy, or the snuffing out of candles, in a totally breeze free room, silly I know but enjoyable. While Clasp would leave his pee in puddles where the landlord may sit or stand or harass the horses in the stables when it was dark.
But basically the place needed customers so we tried not to give the place a totally bad name.
We spent week’s wandering and planning how to dispatch the two men whence they became available to us. We knew they were still part of the team of smugglers, for we had heard their names often mentioned in the bar when it was closed to ordinary folk and only the scoundrels were in-house. But to-date they had not shown their faces.
We got the information at one such meeting that, the one Clasp had bitten, a certain John Bazzle, had almost died but survived minus his throat box so remained mute the rest of his miserable life. At least part of a victory to Clasp! The other Alfred Adamson was in fear of our curse and refused to return to the inn since the loss of his two friends.
Chapter 6
Apart from eavesdropping in on conversations, I would spend many days watching the season pass, which in this part of the world mainly showed itself by the changing thickness of mist, cold and even colder winds, and by storms in winter, to storms in summer. Although the variety of birds was a constant amusement some stayed for months other only days or weeks on migratory route.
I watched the roads for my fellow excise-men but they it seemed had abandoned me. My corps would decay unfound, un-honoured for what I had attempted to do in the name of King and country. The King being George the Third he was having troubles of his own and many of them. Apparently he or his armies had lost the last of our thirteen colonies of the America’s this was now 1783, so it was just as well, that back in 1770 Captain Cook had managed to claim the Australasia for England and King.
Goodness how time flies, we have been here four years already, yet it seems only yesterday Clasp and I were fighting for our lives and loosing.
He who waits will always get their rewards this much I knew, I just needed patience which I have much of. In these pertaining years I managed to learn one day to move beyond the four walls and passageways below. I had gone to the end of the tunnels that lead to the sea creak entrance. Here I found a strong pull towards the place where my head lay submerged. With concentration I found my spirit wafting above the water and able to wander on the muddy shores of the salt marshes. I could not travel far from my main body for I would loose energy, but still it was a refreshing new view of my abode.
So it was my opportunity for further revenge came not long after my discovery of this new ability. I overheard a conversation about a new shipload of contraband to be delivered. “Mute John” as he was now known would be just a little way along the creak “keeping dog eye” or keeping watch, while floating in a caracal, such as I had rowed out on in that fateful night.
He had developed a range of whistling, in place of his voice that carried well in the night, if he needed to warn his miserable bunch of scoundrels of any impending danger.
This was my chance. The night was moonless, the fog floated in from the sea casting even more murk and darkness over this damp forlorn place. The single light at the Inn’s window gave no cheer to the living only the dead. I stood on the bank and waited until John turned and spied me. I concentrated on revealing a shape and beckoned him over. I could see in his hunched body that he was unsure but as I had come from that side of the bank, I guess, he assumed all was proper. He paddled quietly over to within a yard of where I stood, having turned my ghostly back on him, he was unable to see me clear in the shifting tendrils of mist.
I turned to see he had raised his pistol and was pointing it at where my heart would have lain, had I been alive. I reached up my arms as though in surrender but instead lifted my head clear from my body. The look of shear horror spread rapidly across his face entering his own heart.
He stood and fired his pistol all at the same moment, the steel ball passed un-headed through my insubstantial body. John Bazzle toppled over, he made a leap for the bank hitting the mud and scrabbling for footage, only feet from where I stood.
But he found none! All he found was a terrifying seeping mire of sludge and mud that had a depth of over thirty feet of silt and slime at the waters edge.
It was into this that he sank, floundering and making soundless screams, only his eyes appealing for mercy. I gave him none. But instead returned my head to my shoulders, then puckered up a soft whistle. He tried to get his hands to his mouth, to do the same and to send an alarm, in doing so he sank further down.
He thrashed some more but realised his fate was sealed, he tried a look of defiance, but covered in splashed mud he just looked foolish. I gave him, one more look back of distain he then slipped, forever out of site, with just a few mud bubbles marking his departure from the world.
Chapter 7
Three down one more to go, or so I think maybe more? As something perturbed me about who and why some one, unknown to me, needed to see my body-less head?
For now I would not worry too much at this point for Clasp and I were buoyant, unlike John in all sense of the word, at the demise of yet another of the miscreants who had sealed our fates.
To all others it was another mystery the disappearance of “Mute John” and lead to recriminations amongst their lot as to who or what was to blame. Some said the Hyter-Spirits had taken him, while others blamed drink or the excise men. Many plainly feared on speculating, less it should draw a bead to them.
The only one I never cast an eye on or an ear about, was Alfred Adamson that was at least until a number of years later it was 1788, some five years on. Clasp was off chasing rats that had no idea what it was that nipped at them. Clasp was often frustrated at never taking them by the neck and shaking them until dead, but enjoyed the chase anyway.
I had been studying wind blown-foul, that were displaying signs of mating above poor John’s last resting place. When a conversation reached my ghostly ears from the bar room, I ebbed over to listen more intently, as I had heard the name Adamson mentioned. He had apparently been apprehended and charged with stealing. He had been offered the death penalty or chance to survive a while longer but to be transported to the Australasia as a convict. This he grabbed at, believing he now had the chance to escape his fated curse, for he had seen or heard of the death of all his colleagues and had no doubt why they had occurred.
I had felt despondent and frustrated at this news he was to be taken out of my range. How could I now seek my revenge? After a while I accepted this blow for now. As I realised I had given my curse no time scale or distance and to that I had added descendants. I have tenacity and endurance, I can wait you just see.
It was not too long after this that I endured a surprise, and then shock and disbelief followed by revenge. It came in the form of galloping horses drawing to a halt on the cobbled forecourt it was past midnight. Four men were made to wait outside tendering the horses while two entered the Inn.
I knew the voice of one of the men and although it had been many years since I had last heard it I knew unmistakably who it was that carried that rather cultured sounding tone, that ended in a lisp. I was overjoyed, it was my captain the very man who had sent me on my mission he had not forgot me. He had come to make arrest and to honour me. My remains, all be it headless, would be sanctified.
I called Clasp to my side and we settled in expectation of justice only to be miserably and dastardly defiled even more than I had been, for it became obviouse that this man was also in on the take. He held court over a number of smugglers receiving a purse-full of silver and laughing at my demise “That poor misguided, insect studying, excuse of a man.” as he called me.
My temper got the better of me I blew out all the candles and lamps in tore of wind, splitting wood and glass in the process. Men fell to the floor cringing at the onslaught of air. Tables turned over, I was so full of vexation my power knew no bounds. In the dark one man still stood, he held out the bag of coins as to ward off my offending spirit. As if this could ever compensate for his insults and treachery.
A blade flew straight and devastatingly accurate into the heart of my once trusted employee. He fell like a dropped sack of potatoes, on the spot never to laugh or miss-use anyone, ever again. I flagged and retired to my bedroom exhausted from my actions.
The barroom below erupted, accusation and fighting ensued a number of men were wounded or rendered unconscious, when the four others from outside waded in to the fracas. Someone shot a pistol into the air calling for the fighting to cease. Soon as the lanterns were re-lit, calm returned.
No one could or would claim the rusty short-bladed sword that protruded from the inert body of the captain. Men began whispering in fearful voices, the rest of the excise men left taking both body and payment with them. They whipped their horse to be away from that place, as though Old Beelzebub were after them himself.
The smugglers soon followed away to their home or hidey-holes anywhere to distance them from the Old Crown and Anchor Inn, including the recent landlord.
Chapter 8
Times come and times go that is the way of the world. I have seen people born and die I have wondered why only a few like me persist? Some say it is in the fabric of buildings some say it in the air molecules, some say it is all in people’s, minds pure imagination, other that it is thought waves that keep our existence.
It could be all or none of these reasons.
I just know what is my story!
I saw changes so incredible my family would not, could not have believed. Kings and Queens came and went, power struggles were fought one side won as one side lost. Governments toppled, countries fell. War raged.
Thousands upon thousands of individuals died in battles that became more horrifying and protracted with each succeeding conflict.
Along side these madness life moved on, within this inventers invented, writers wrote, thinkers thought, lovers loved, babies are born, the fearful feared, the hungry starved the rich got fatter, the masses revolted the masses made change, but still the rich got richer.
Change happens, for the only true constant is change. That is of course apart from Clasp and Myself! We are pretty constant.
Innkeepers came and went some as married couples some as lone men or women. People visited the hostelry for various reasons, some drank and made merry, and some to drown sorrows, others even stayed overnight but not usually for more than one night, strange that!
Tides ebbed and turned, season and years flowed past like a fast flowing river, with us sat on the bank observing.
It is now 1921, I am awoken by the most thunderous noise has the Great war of the 1914 to 1918 been extended and arrived at our doorstep; By golly no, for there is not a doorstep or door left. The tavern has been flattened but not by an enemy with gunpowder but by builders, a new construction is taking place!
In what seems no time at all, we are in our room of rest, but it is changed it is a new bedroom. I feel it is the same space whence I was slaughtered in, but it is painted and papered brickwork, bed fitted, all new and shiny full of unusual textures. I think I am going crazy then I remember, change. I sink to the cellars and tunnels bellow at least they have survived intact. My headless bones still linger below the sod, as do Clasps protected by the old brickwork.
And so it is The Blakeney Hotel has been created, with so many rooms for us to wander about. The dark and infamous Inn was no more, only Clasp and myself with the hidden tunnels knows all of its dark secrets.
It is now 1978 Clasp and I are disturbed one day as we sit in our contemplation of what might have been, just above our small collection of sad bones. Light floods the tunnel as men stumble into our private world. They are astounded, for the rumours of smugglers tunnels that only lived in their minds they now know to be true.
My goodness these moving pictures of people and things captured in a small casket, I am entertained no end by the actions and stories it produces, the world has come to me. Whenever a guest turns on the box they call a T.V. I hover near or sit beside them in utter astonishment.
My own room is rarely let people complain of things just not right too cold or draughty or sounds from the plumbing, that I blame on Clasp’s tummy. Whichever way most ask to be moved. Also the chambermaids insists on working two at a time in there as,
"It just don't feel right.
They complain. I think I shall keep the door number to myself so as not to give predigest, should you decide to visit, just as a certain Daniel Adamson had done, but that was in 1979 over two hundred years to the year of our demise.
Chapter 9
I could not believe my ears as he announced his name proudly, it belonged to a rather course mouthed man who was signing in at the desk.
“Yeh g’day, thought I’d see some of the old country plus do some business, this is a real neat hotel you’ve got here.” He was saying to the manager.
“Yeh my great, great great, great grand-pappy came from around these parts! My name’s Adamson.” Adding, “He was a farmer and took of for the new world, as this one old one, has been dying on its feet for ever!”
With that I interceded guiding the young lady beside the manager to hand over the keys to the infamous bedroom, which she did. Mr Adamson took them winked at the girl making her blush. She stammered out instructions on where to find the room he then hoisted up his baggage and crossed the lobby for the lift to his floor.
I headed up in front of him waiting on the inside of the room he entered, sniffed the air tossed his luggage onto the bed then took a pee in one of those strange white things, which I find most odd as we would always took our ablution outside, away from the houses.
With this done he looked out of the window towards the sea, I felt more curiosity than hate was this man, had my lust for revenge dissipated? Was this really a descendent of one of my slayers?
Yes he was, for as I concentrated and felt his psyche it was tainted in someway, blood will out as we say, blood will out!
He lifted one of those strange contraptions to his ear and mouth and spoke.
“Why gday again to you Mr Tenndle yes its Dan here Daniel Adamson we spoke the other day is it possible to see the tunnels today mate?” he became silent listening to instructions from the handle he held, then carried on “Wow, brill meet you there in twenty, bye.”
He put down the instrument opened his bag, unzipping part that was hidden under his cloths I heard the rustle of that plastic and foil material, he sighed then took a devise, from his pocket this time, and began speaking again.
“Yeh Dan here product safe and sound see ya at time agreed, I’ll be in the bar, hey, money all good? no, no, just checking, see ya, then by.”
He closed the device then sat on the bed suddenly his senses picked me up even though I was keeping a low profile. He shuddered looking all about him trying to distinguish what he was experiencing, for a fleeting second a look, akin to fear, passed his brow and eyes. He shook his body glanced at his timepiece then stood. He shut his bag, shoved the luggage into the cupboard and headed for the door.
Chapter 10
Clasp and waited we were in no hurry, we could hear the two men wandering around the tunnels, one was Mr Tenndle who was giving his normal history lesson, that we had heard a number of times, some of it was even very accurate, he had obviously researched the old times. They approached where we stood in the side tunnel Mr Adamson came right next to us handing Mr Tenndle one of those imaging devises saying,
“Yeh do me a favour just take snap for me to show folks back home, as we have an old story from way back, that as well as farming old great, great, great pappy did a bit of dealing in his time, why he may have even been down here! Who knows?” He chuckled and laughed at this.
Clasp and I did not.
“No, please keep the hard hat on we have rules and regulations incase of any accidents!” insisted Mr Tenndle he then took a dozen or more steps backwards.
I looked at Clasp we figured he was far enough away. Tenndle raised the devise a flash of light filled the darkness. A rumble akin to thunder erupted as Clasp and I concentrated our energies. The archway above us gave way, earth and old brickwork collapsed, onto the very surprised head of Daniel Adamson his surprise was first in seeing us beside him and second in the pain he felt as he was buried under falling masonry.
Watching the square box a few days later gave us added pleasure as Mr Adamson was featured. It took them two days to retrieve his mangled body and even a bigger surprise two skeletons were also found on the same spot, as of yet to be identified, but one was a dog one was a headless humane.
The other startling discovery was that when the constabulary searched the luggage of Mr Adamson, to find out whom to contact about his untimely death, they came upon a package of white powdered narcotics apparently worth a small fortune, it had seemed Mr Daniel Adamson was a very bad smuggler of sorts.
Well I did always say, “Blood will out!”
As for Clasp and I! we still do a little of spooky nonsense, as some people actually come for this experience after hearing about the strange picture of Mr Adamson, that Mr Tenndle had taken only seconds before the cave-in and how it shows something or someone stood alongside in the shadows!
Some times we oblige and make an appearance, then other times we do not, depends on how we are feeling.
Mainly I study the birds wistfully thinking of their freedom. I watch the changing seasons, spot the occasional Hyter-Spirit and have a chat, walk amongst the ever-changing mist. One day I think I may fade away for I am at peace now, I harbour no more hate or desire to punish. What has been, has been, but do come and visit us, you never know, we just may get into the spirit of things?
The End
