Folks!!! here we are as promised - the third part of the story of Alice Snood!! I am hoping you have read the other two starting with spooky tale, and ginger tom introducing us to the other characters in the stories - then the story for New Year's Eve, and we meet Alice again...............and find out the mystery behind her Dad's death too! In this story, which is a proper ghosty story as befits this time of year Alice is still there......and a few other characters that you will know by now - there might even be some new ones for you - whatever you are doing today, me and Owner OH alright, and Ruggles and da newbie Squeak are all wishing you a good 2019 and we will all be back soon with a new story. In the meantime do enjoy this tale, tucked up on that best settee with a nice cup of tea OR a sherry which as you know is my best Owner's fave tipple. XX
It was pretty grim
outside. The wind had got up. A blustery sudden wind, warm for this time of
year. You blamed the wind and the drafts
for all the strange noises about the house, and when the kitchen door creaked
and closed on its own.
The gulls glided and circled
overhead and the rubbish blew up the street.
The letterbox rattled, not in anticipation of long awaited news, but in
protest at the driving winds. It was not
seasonal weather. Dustbin lids opened
and closed by themselves and the washing lines danced like skipping ropes
adorned with coloured plastic pegs.
Father Merry looked up from
the article he was studying, and drifted off to the sound of the Radio. It was that nice Sunday morning presenter,
and she had one of those voices, soothing, informative and, most important, not
patronising. ‘- And now to play us out,
Louis Armstrong….’ As ‘all the time in
the world’ spread its magical rich sound all around the small cluttered study,
Father Merry caught sight of the headline on his Sunday paper.
“MYSTERY FALL but no
suspicious circumstances surround the death of Ms Alice Snood.”
She had lain there, it said,
face pressed up against the letterbox at ground level (thus preventing the
post) for the entire Christmas holiday.
Finally, the Postman had reported it as an obstruction to the delivery
of royal mail and the police were summoned.
Alice’s sister had duly arrived to see to the arrangements and identify
what was a pretty awful body, as her older sister.
“Leaves everything to the
Clergy!” continued the article. Father
Merry, smiled without humour at this, for he had buried her, at her request
(contained in the Last Instructions), in the local graveyard and even now was
overseeing an expensive headstone for the plot.
Her sister, Elizabeth, had been forgiving towards him if not towards her
dead sibling. ‘You’re doing me a service
Father,’ she told him, ‘I want as little to do with this, as Alice did with me
– and Dad.’
The Postman, who had tried
to peer through the glass front door, thought he saw a shadowy person moving
upstairs and was keen to talk about this in the cosy claustrophobic office
where he sorted his mail before delivery. ‘If I had known it was a dead body
blocking the letter box, I’d have run for it!’ and he shivered, thinking how close
he had been to it. The stiff and cold
body of Alice Snood. He now made a point
of hurrying past the house, thanking whoever it was who had the mail
redirected.
The mourners had been a
small gathering of the neighbourhood, mostly there out of interest in what
family their snobby neighbour had; and very disappointed to see it amounted to
one. Alice’s sister attended out of
duty, and left as soon as the earth was flung onto the lowering coffin. With more curiosity, one of the group bent
down to read the card, resting there on the only wreath of flowers; expecting a
biblical quote, they were surprised to read instead a few lines from a poem by
W H Auden:
‘Behind the corpse in the
reservoir, behind the ghost on the links,
Behind the lady who dances,
and the man who madly drinks,
Under the look of fatigue,
the attack of migraine and the sigh
There is always another
story; there is more than meets the eye.’
The curious neighbour would
remain so, as whoever had written it had neither attributed the lines to any
poet, nor had they said who they were.
Doubly mystified the woman from further along the High Street hurried
over to re-join her group and make up what she didn’t know.
Father Merry did know. He knew that it was Alice’s sister who had
arranged for the only wreath of flowers to accompany the coffin, and recognised
the poetry quote from a copy of W H Auden poems. The lines were from a poem written in 1936,
called: ‘At Last the Secret is Out.’ From a collection of Love poems.
But what then, he thought,
was the secret?
January was underway, and
the unseasonal weather continued.
Walking up the cobbled streets of the Old Town, on the uneven paths and
gutters, people hid under umbrellas and hoods and hats all hurrying home. One of them lingered a while, checking the
sign that had gone up outside Alice’s last dwelling. Gregory, the young man from the estate agents
had met Elizabeth at the house, seeming to take measurements without leaving
the room, and telling her how much to expect.
It appeared that Alice dying in the property could affect this.
‘Best not to mention it
unless you get a direct question – no one wants you to lie....’ he
advised. Elizabeth felt a bout of
hysteria coming on and tried to think of something to ward it off. The debt she was in? The last failed
relationship? No, all this was suddenly immensely funny. Gregory moved upstairs to inspect the boiler,
for some reason housed in a cupboard on the second floor. Elizabeth used the space to ‘get a grip’, and
then found that just being in the room alone, was enough to quell any
emotion. For a moment, they all seemed
shut down, as she felt frozen and as if she were to observe something, which
however terrifying, she could not counter or shield with human emotion. She opened her mouth to say something – it
could have been to tell Gregory she was leaving, now, - but words did not come
out.
Knowing that she had only
one way out, past the landing with that mirror at the top and down those
stairs, frightened Elizabeth into staying frozen to the spot. When Gregory reappeared all business like and
triumphant, having found boilers, gas and electric meters all conveniently
placed nearby, well he didn’t notice her white face or wonder at her open
mouth; ‘I’ve got all the information I need Ms Snood – shall we?’ and he waited
for her to go down the stairs first, leading the way to the front door.
Now, a few days after,
gazing at the For Sale sign, she prayed for someone to make any reasonable
offer so she could be rid of it.
And Gregory, in the Estate
Agents further along the High Street, was more or less thinking the same. He had told him Mum all about it, and his
girlfriend Elaine.
‘If I sell that property
after all the gossip, the recent headlines and whatnot, you can all buy me a
large drink!’ His mum, who worried about
her son on just about any level, advised him not to go in there alone. ‘Who knows what really happened,’ she warned. Elaine, keen to set herself apart from this
intense relationship, offered to go with him if he did go. Also keen to break free, Gregory smiled at
Elaine and said he was up for it.
The For Sale sign shivered a
little in a wind that blew up out of nowhere, and Elizabeth turned for
home. She didn’t look back and with any
luck would not need to return, if Gregory did his job. Remembering the overwhelming and strange
atmosphere of the house the last time she was up there, she increased her pace
as if followed by it and only when nearly home, relaxed a little. Alice might be dead but her presence was not,
and with this unsettling thought Elizabeth turned the key to her own front
door, went quickly in and closed it.
Jean, freed from cleaning
the house whilst Alice was in it, and doubly free since her mysterious fall
(Jean thought it was), was surprised to learn her cleaning services were still
required. Gregory had discovered her
number via his mother –‘I cannot recommend this woman enough. Lost her husband, no children and having to
keep herself going. And, Greg, she has an excellent reference from Father Merry.’
Gregory managed not to say
Father Who? As that sounded daft, like some television series, one of those
dramas he turned over after one minute.
You had to give things a chance, and it would give him some edge with Elaine
who did watch all that guff.
‘If you reckon Mum, I’ll
give her a shout.’ It was a landline
number so he left a short message, which Jean was glad to respond to, until she
learned which house needed her services.
‘You don’t mean Alice
Snood’s old place? Realising her unfriendly tone, Jean followed this up with
–‘What a coincidence! I used to clean for Ms Snood.’
Gregory explained that now
it was up for sale, and the sister Elizabeth didn’t really want anything to do
with the property (beyond getting rid he thought, what a hard hearted woman!) - It would be easier to get a buyer if it had
a little facelift in the form of a clean-up – and perhaps a sort out?
‘Elizabeth said she was more than happy for me to arrange a clearance – she
didn’t want any of it.’ (Again he thought this was so lazy, especially as she
lived in the same town.). ‘Would you
like the job – is it alright to call you Jean? We pay a good hourly rate and
could take you on as a temp – there are always properties to look after.’
Jean wanted to say yes
please to all the other jobs that might come her way, and no, no, no to going
back into that town house. Her head won
and she said how much she would love the work.
The minute she finished the call she rang Father Merry,
‘I said yes, but how on
earth can I go back in that house?’
‘Because Jean, I will come
with you. Perhaps between us, we can
lift the harm that seems to have settled there.’ Not just that, thought Father Merry, as it
means I can spend time with Jean and bolster her up. They both looked forward to seeing each
other, and valued the friendship they now had.
In other circumstances it could have been more, but weirdly, in
accepting something less it was of more value that any short lived love affair,
this rich companionship.
Initially, apart from the
cold and faintly musty smell, the house revealed nothing except the usual
unlived in feel of an empty property.
Jean marvelled, like the postman before her, at the lack of leaflets and
circulars on the doormat. She went
straight on to wondering if it was the same doormat that Alice had laid on, and
couldn’t get up the stairs quickly enough.
When it was first built, the novelty of going upstairs to the living
quarters was new, and having your garage and basement below equally
modern. Most people had reconverted these
properties, preferring their downstairs to be downstairs, but Alice had always
enjoyed this now retro, sixties appeal; and placing the mirror at the top of
the stairs, just at the small landing before you turned right into the living
and kitchen area – that meant she could see the shape of who was at the glass
fronted door. Often they remained a
shape at the door as Alice decided against answering it.
‘So far, so good Jean!’
Announced Father Merry, and she had to agree.
There was nothing to worry about for now. Ignoring the chill as she inspected the next
level up, the bedroom and bathroom on the second floor, she hummed to herself
and wished now she’d brought the radio; even that annoying lunch time presenter
would have been a guard against the silence.
The more she tried to forget Alice, the more she remembered her.
Someone else was remembering
Alice too. Elizabeth had brought one
thing back from Alice’s house, and it was an old suitcase full of family
photos, and letters. People don’t do this
anymore she thought, not with their smart phones and digital cameras. Not the same thrill, scrolling down a
computer screen, as opening the catches on an old suitcase and smelling that
distinct aroma of old papers and ink.
And staring for ages at an old photo of yourself and Dad on the beach,
she thought. It wasn’t too long before
another, more horrid memory surfaced, of Alice and her string of lovers, the
last one being Elizabeth’s friend (or so she believed) not that this had made
any difference. Watching Alice at work,
so to speak, Elizabeth saw how impossible it was to persuade her friend to
ignore her advances and protect their long standing companionship. To no avail.
The inevitable onslaught of Alice’s well-honed charm and social skills
got the desired result and Frank disappeared for a while – until Alice ended
it. By then, their friendship, Elizabeth
with Frank, was also over, and it was this that caused such a row – her Dad
(who was always smiling in his photos) made no secret about who his favourite
girl was, and Alice could not forgive it.
It had been Alice who was
with her father on the day he suffered the fatal heart attack; according to her
sister, she had rung for an ambulance which then took over an hour to get to
the small village. By the time the
paramedics turned up, her father had lain there suffering as Alice said she was
unable to give any resuscitation or medicines, and would have passed away on
the old patterned carpet where he had been laying had it not been for the
attention of his old stray cat; the cat seemed to be keeping him alive somehow
– that was until Alice threw a book at it.
By a miracle, her father had survived this only to have what Alice
called a tragic accident, whilst recuperating at her old town house. A fall on the stairs, and Elizabeth still
recalled the awful phone call to tell her this.
She had been planning a visit to bring him home. Elizabeth knew better than to ask all the questions
but they stayed there, in her mind, and now with Alice gone, perhaps she would
never know the answers.
The sound of the old clock
ticking away on the mantelpiece brought her back to the present. It had belonged to her Father all those
years, handed down to him from his father, so she supposed it was a family
heirloom. At first, when she had gone down to the old family home, meeting up
with Alice, she had not wanted anything and was glad to see it all go in a
house clearance; the lady who took that job on, from the village antiques shop
called, rather oddly she thought, The Beehive, had given them a fair price for
it all, even buying some things for herself.
The clock had been one such item, so it was with great surprise when
Elizabeth accepted a parcel from the postman, to find it contained the very
same clock! The note inside explained:
I hope you don’t mind me
returning this to you? You’ll think me
daft but it seemed to be telling me something (to do with the ticking!) and I
even thought I ‘saw’ what happened to your Dad.
Very strange, and do forgive me I don’t mean to upset you.
I think your Dad must have
wanted this clock to be with his daughter now.
Kind regards,
Pamela
The BeeHive
Village Antiques.
Whatever the clock had
prompted Pamela to see or hear, Elizabeth noticed nothing unusual, and liked to
hear the steady sure ticking. If
anything it seemed to be saying, ‘got the money’ ‘got the money’ – and to be
sure, she had! The Will that had left everything to Alice, unchanged by her
Father who had left it too late to do so, had of course all come to her
anyway. And, it seemed, this woman
Pamela might throw some light on what really happened that day. Now, if only
she could shake off this last piece of Alice, the property for sale, that would
be the end of it.
January had passed quickly
into February, and the really bad weather saving itself up perhaps until the
New Year was underway, arrived. A cold
and damp day with sleet did nothing to make the house for sale any more
appealing, and as Jean turned the key in the lock, ready to give it a quick
going over, she wished hard that it would sell. ‘Please someone buy it!’ she
called up to the grey afternoon sky.
Father Merry had promised to meet her but it was too cold to wait
outside, so Jean decided to be brave and wait in the tiny hallway – she could
always leave the front door a tiny bit open.
It wasn’t too cold either
once she did go inside, as the central heating was on a timer and her visit had
coincided with a burst of heat. In her
mind she had the picture of her old employer, Alice, leaving her notes and
money on the mantelpiece; better to remember that than imagine her falling down
these very stairs and lying where her old cleaning lady now stood. With this thought, the front door blew shut
trapping the corner of her long scarf inside it, and any courage Jean had
summoned up in the first place to come into the flat, went.
It seemed to take her
fumbling hands minutes to perform the simple task of re- opening the door, and
then, not being able to move the small metal knob which had set the door to the
locked position. Somehow it had jammed
and there she was temporarily jammed along with it. ‘But I can take my scarf
off,’ she realised, and quickly did so.
The idea of being trapped in the small hallway by the front door was all
her nightmares come true, but so too, was being alone in the flat anyway. She flicked the switch for the hall light to
come on, and when it did, it seemed to throw shadows where there had been none
and instead of making the flat brighter, the opposite. There was a framed picture on one side of the
stairway, going up to the top landing overseen by the long mirror. Jean didn’t remember the picture before and
as for the mirror, she used to clean it really quickly as it reflected at an
odd angle; showing the stairs going down to the front door of course, but also
showing the first floor landing into the kitchen and living room. Once, Jean had caught Alice looking at her
from the living room doorway, just staring at her really. ‘Don’t look at it.’ She told herself now and
instead had another renewed effort at the front door.
When Jean was distracted or
worried or just plain on edge, she left things or lost things. Her latest trick was leaving her purse at
home; it had to be an important item for it to even register, so keys, purses
and so on. There were many clever
interpretations of this, but basically it was Jean’s wake up call to how
stressed she was. She heard her mobile
phone ringing and reached for her bag to answer it. Only her bag wasn’t with her and the ringing
she could hear was on the other side of the front door where she had put the
bag down to get in. At the same time as
she realised this, the picture on the side wall to the stairs fell down and
toppled slowly towards her; she had time to notice who was in the picture now
and often wondered later at how she could see this for it was quite sudden and
over quickly. The old man in the
painting was seated in one of those comfortable old armchairs and on his lap a
large ginger cat. His smile was knowing
and happy as he posed for whoever the artist was (Elizabeth) and the time was
recorded too, by the old clock on the mantelpiece behind him. As it arrived just by Jean’s feet, the glass
shattered and spilled out onto her feet and the floor. The old man looked up at Jean now and seemed
to be asking her something.
Father Merry had given up
trying to contact Jean about being late and just set off to meet her outside
anyway as planned. He knew (thought he
knew) that Jean would wait for him outside rather than going in, as the place
still had a bad atmosphere about it; he had been doing some research as to
previous tenants and the overall history of the building and felt he was on the
verge of uncovering something telling, and with these creative thoughts in his
mind he arrived at the front door.
As if on command, the wind
had risen and was now blowing quite a gale up.
Father Merry peering through the double glazed door gathered his coat to
him as it whipped back in a snapping blustery motion. The rain fell too, wetting him through in moments
and dripping off his hair and face. ‘Jean are you in there?’ he shouted through
the door at the blurry shape on the other side, and as he leant forward the
door suddenly blew open and he fell into the hallway. No sooner had he clutched at the first thing
he saw which was indeed Jean, but the same crying wind was overhead and
shrieking back into the street. The
lightbulb above their heads swung to and fro with the shock of it. It seemed to take something with it, as both
Jean and Father Merry felt it pass through them before it left. The roll of thunder and the crash of the
sheet lightening lit up the stairway and the mirror on the top landing before
going as quickly as it had arrived.
The atmosphere inside bore
out what Jean had thought as the wind or whatever it was swept past her on its
way out; it was lighter and brighter, and unbelievably the sun was now shining
through the windows in the upstairs living room. ‘I’ve brought the means to make us a cup of
rosy,’ Father Merry plugged the kettle in and put tea bags in the mugs. ‘What
did you make of that?’ Jean told him she had never been so scared especially by
the falling picture – and when it seemed to reveal Alice’s father, well that
had her transfixed. ‘I think that was
him, his spirit I mean, leaving this flat and finally getting away from
Alice. Literally, the breaking of the
glass and the door opening. It opened
for him to go out, not for you to come in!’
‘A kind of exorcism has
happened Jean. And you appear to have been a conductor for it – a release for
all the negativity simply by your clean spirt!’
‘My cleaning more like,’
Jean felt giggly now and hoped she wouldn’t go hysterical – crying and laughing
were ok but not both at once. Still,
after the mug of tea, she set to and got on with the clean up only stopping to
give Gregory a quick ring at the estate agents to let him know all was
well. Nearly all well. She had been clearing up the broken glass from
the picture frame and carefully carrying the old photo back up the stairs when
she noticed a huge crack in the mirror.
‘How on earth!’ Jean’s
hysteria threatened to come back, as she gazed at the now distorted image of
herself. ‘We’ll let Gregory know, and ask him to take it down for safety,’ said
Father Merry, also seeing a strange vision of himself, peering over Jean’s
shoulder. This final oddity forced Jean
to quickly complete her cleaning tasks and leave. She had the photo though, from the broken picture
frame, safe in her bag to pass on to the sister; she’d know what it all meant
perhaps. Father Merry helped her back
out into the street with her bags and locked the front door. He had said more than a few prayers for this
place and the last occupant, and now prayed it would be a happy home for the
next tenants.
‘Come on Jean, I’ll walk you home.’
‘No it’s alright Father, I’m
going to call in at the estate agents first,’ she smiled and said her goodbyes;
the sooner she offloaded the photo (for Elizabeth) and told Gregory about the
mirror she could forget all about it.
There were things in that mirror; old reflections of what had happened
on those stairs that she didn’t want to dwell on.
When she did call into the
estate agents, ready to say it was all her fault about the mirror, Gregory
didn’t seem to want to hear about it, dismissing it as ‘not a problem,’ and
going on to report he had a nice young couple coming to view! Jean handed him
the photo to pass onto Elizabeth, and practically skipped out of the
office. With any luck she would never
have to clean that town house again.
Elizabeth took the call from
Gregory at the estate agents, and sat down in amazement at what he had to
say. Not only was there a prospective
buyer, but it was to be him! Gregory had
made an offer and in a daze, she had accepted.
Given the circumstances, with all the publicity about her sister dying
there and not to mention the horrid atmosphere she experienced every time she
ventured up there, she wasn’t about to ‘consider’ the offer, or negotiate for
more. The closure she wanted was in
sight. Oh and there was a photo of her
father to collect – funny she had never noticed this before on her forced
visits to the property.
‘Yes. Yes. That’s fine to
take your fiancée round – and you’ve got my solicitor’s details? Lovely – bye
for now Gregory.’ Elizabeth stood up and went straight to the clock to give the
wood a stroke and a pat for luck. This
was her new ritual and one to lift her spirits.
The ticking even seemed to match her mood, singing ‘in the money, in the
money, in the money!’ She laughed at
what she thought she heard and picked up the phone to ring her solicitor with
the good news.
Gregory could not believe
his good fortune, and thanks to his mother was about to get on the housing
ladder at last. The money for a deposit
was his and despite his mum’s diffidence about Elaine (‘no one is good enough
for my Gregory!’) she realised they needed her practical help. ‘Your father
would have wanted it Gregory, and if you think it’s a good buy, then make her
an offer.’
All that was left to do was
take Elaine round what was going to be her new home! Gregory didn’t think for
one minute Elaine wouldn’t like it, or be put off by silly rumours; he had made
sure all the news about Alice in the local paper was played down and when
Elaine asked about it, he shrugged it off as a tragic accident – which surely
it was? No, it was all to play for and he could not wait to go there with her.
Turning the key in the lock,
and escorting Elaine through into the tiny hallway had to be one of his
proudest moments. ‘Straight up there
Elaine, and see what you think.’
Watching her walk up the
stairs, towards the mirror at the top (the same one Jean had told him was
cracked, but he was darned if he could see where), she turned to him – at least
that was what he thought had happened – he thought she had turned to him and
smiled and said ‘We’re going to keep that mirror right there Gregory, crack and
all – I’m sure Alice would approve!’
What was she going on about? He
couldn’t see anything untoward in the big long glass, and what did she mean
about Alice? By then he was at the top of the stairs, and saw Elaine disappear
up the hallway on his right into the living room – this was reflected back at
him, and he paused to let her have a look round the room without him there. So when he looked again and saw her in the
doorway he gave her a smile and the thumbs up.
The shadow in the mirror he
put down to the lighting and the fact that Elaine was still in the living room
when he joined her – that was nothing.
The good news was she liked it.
He reached for his mobile to give his mum a ring but then decided to
wait; this was his and Elaine’s moment.
Jean saw the sold sign
outside the town house a few weeks’ later and nearly punched the air with
relief. ‘Yes!’ Father Merry who happened to be with her at the time, also
sighed with relief. Now he could turn
his attention to the story behind the property and with any luck the new owners
would be amenable to being included in his history of the old town. Yes all in all, the tragedy of Alice Snood
had opened more doors than closing them.
They turned and walked together into the darkening afternoon, and the
promise of a clear night.
For Elizabeth, the sister
who had never really been there in life, and somewhat larger in death, could hurt
her no more. The photo of her Dad,
collected from the Estate Agents, was now in a new frame and next to the
clock. She was looking at him now, and
knew if he could speak, he would be urging her on to follow her dreams and get
a life! ‘Well now Dad, I may just do
that!’ Stroking the wood and patting it for luck, she looked forward to a
future, which in a strange way, Alice had provided for.
It might be a happy new year
after all.
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