by Amy Cross
“She seems bright,” Edward observed.
“Too bright.”
“And happy.”
“Too happy.”
“And she's still so young.”
Mildred glared at him.
“I'm just saying that you should give her a chance,” he added. “The poor thing's been though a lot over the past few years and she's still young enough to learn some good habits.”
“She's been through nothing!” Mildred snapped. “She's just a child, she doesn't even have proper feelings! She's a naughty little girl who hasn't yet learned that the world is a wicked and cruel place! I'll tell you one thing, though, Edward Osborne... I swear on my husband's grave that I'll make sure she understands her place, and that she knows how lucky she is to have been allowed to live here. And if she refuses to learn those things, then I'll have no hesitation in slinging her back out onto the streets, where she can fend for herself.”
“Come on, Mildred,” Edward replied with a nervous smile, “you don't actually mean that, do you?”
“Every word,” she sneered.
“I know you like to talk tough,” he continued, “but I think I see a softer side to you. Don't laugh, it's true. I think that deep down, underneath it all, Mildred Weaver has a heart of gold. You just try to act tough so that people don't think you're a pushover.”
“Rot!” she snapped.
“You could have turfed the girl out already,” he replied. “You obviously try to look after her, and to educate her as well.”
“The girl must eventually be good for something,” she told him, unable to hide the sense of disapproval in her voice. “I'll whip her into shape, even if it's the last thing I ever accomplish in this life. Young people these days are little more than -”
Before she could finish, a loud crashing sound caused her to spin around, just as the last of the empty glasses slid off the tray Annie was carrying back through. The glass smashed against the floor, joining the others in a pile of broken shards.
“I'm sorry!” Annie gasped, clearly terrified that she was in yet more trouble. “I didn't mean -”
“You clumsy little oaf!” Mildred shrieked, rushing over to her and yanking the tray from her hands, before slapping her hard on the side of the face and then clipping her ear. “Don't you know how to do anything without causing trouble?”
“I'm sorry!” Annie sobbed. “I -”
“You're nothing but a pain!” Mildred sneered, before slapping her again. “Get out of my sight! When I come through to find you later, you'd best be prepared for a caning!”
Horrified, Annie turned and raced through to the hallway, leaving Mildred standing next to the pile of broken glass.
Turning, Mildred realized that everyone in the room had stopped to stare at her.
“Well?” she shouted. “What are you all gawping at me for? Don't you have drinks to be drinking? And if you don't, don't you have wives to be getting home to?”
***
“Goodnight, Mildred,” Edward muttered several hours later, as he put his hat on and stepped out onto the pavement. “Don't be too harsh on the young thing, will you? She's only a child, after all.”
He turned to Mildred.
“We were all that age once,” he added. “She was genuinely trying to help this evening. I think she just tried to carry too much at once, that's all.”
“And by doing so,” Mildred replied, “she made far more mess. I shall discipline the girl as I see fit, and I don't need any advice on that score. Thank you for your custom tonight, Edward. I hope to see you again soon”.
“You know, if -”
“Goodnight, Edward,” she said firmly. “Be told.”
With that, she shut the door and slid the bolt across, and then she leaned back against the wall and put her head in her hands. For a moment, listening to the silence, she thought of all the work that she still had to get done, and of the fact that it would all start again the following day. And the day after that. And so on, forever. Sometimes she even though of selling up, but she knew she'd never make enough money to retire, even if she took the brewery's offer; she was chained to the pub, and she would remain chained to it until the day she inevitably keeled over from sheer exhaustion.
Lowering her hands, she took a moment to regather her composure, and then she marched across the room and stopped at the door to the hallway.
“Annie?” she called out, trying to take a little of the anger out of her voice. “Young lady, I want you to come down here this instant.”
She waited, but she heard no reply.
“Annie, that's an order,” she continued. “I won't tell you again. Come downstairs at once!”
Again, she heard no reply and no sign that the girl was moving.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she began to make her way upstairs. “The child can't even obey a simple instruction. If people knew what she was really like, they wouldn't admonish me for being so tough with her, they'd praise me for my patience.”
She headed straight to the door to Annie's bedroom and pushed it open.
“Young lady -”
Stopping suddenly, she found that once again there was no sign of the girl. She checked under the bed, and now she was at a loss, for she felt certain that she'd have noticed if Annie had left the building. She had to be hiding somewhere, evidently playing yet another foolish game, one for which Mildred had no time whatsoever. After hesitating for a moment and listening for any sign of the girl's location, Mildred stepped back out onto the landing.
“Annie Ashton,” she roared, “you will come here immediately. Do you hear me? I'm not going to come chasing after you, if that's what you think. You're ten years old and that's more than old enough for you to act like a mature young lady. Cease these childish games and come to get your punishment in a mature manner.”
She listened again, and she could feel her blood boiling as she realized that the child was still hiding.
“Fine,” she said, heading into her room and fetching the birch cane that she reserved for particularly serious infringements, “I have tried to be reasonable, but clearly you are in dire need of an urgent lesson. Annie, I'm warning you, if I have to come and root you out then your punishment will be worse by several orders of magnitude. This is your absolutely final chance to do the right thing.”
Again she waited, filled with more rage than ever, but she was starting to realize that she'd have to drag the child kicking and screaming from whatever hiding place she'd chosen.
“Indeed,” she purred finally, “you clearly have no shame whatsoever. I shall not enjoy the punishment that I must mete out, but I shall deliver it in the full knowledge that I have tried every alternative. My father caned me when I was a girl, and it did me no harm at all.”
She made her way over to the spare room and pushed the door open, determined to find Annie as quickly as possible.
“I'm coming for you, girl,” she announced firmly, “and when I find you, you're going to beg me for mercy as I lash you with this cane to within an inch of your miserable little life.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
1984...
“For more than twenty years after that,” Ernest continued, “Mildred Weaver searched for little Annie. Some say she became obsessed. Even as the rumors swirled, Mildred was determined to prove her innocence. But, of Annie Ashton, there was no sign.”
“What if she ran away?” Matt asked. “Wouldn't that be the simplest explanation? Did anyone ever try to track her down?”
“Then her ghost wouldn't be in the pub,” Sally pointed out.
“Exactly,” Ernest said. “Mildred always suspected that Annie had never left the property, and now it sounds as if she was right. If the girl's ghost is there, then that makes it almost certain that she died either in the pub, or very close. The question, though, is where her body might rest now. Mildred searched high and low, it's hard to believe that the poor little corpse might have eluded her.”
&n
bsp; “So you don't have a problem believing in everything we've told you about what happened tonight?” Matt continued. “You believe that we've encountered these ghosts?”
“I've lived in Crowford for long enough to know that there are ghosts knocking about,” Ernest said with a wry smile. “Of course, not everyone sees them. Actually seeing a ghost is something of an acquired ability. One might almost call it an art. Some people are born with a natural skill, some can't manage it no matter how hard they try. Most people, meanwhile, can learn to see ghosts, but they require some form of catalyst, some event that helps open their eyes.”
“Like a session with a spirit board?” Matt asked.
“That might very well do the trick.”
“Then we are to blame,” Sally said, turning to Matt. “Those ghosts have been there all the time, but we just couldn't see them. No-one could. Until now.”
“That doesn't necessarily mean that its our fault,” he replied. “And what about Jane? You don't think that Mildred followed her and killed her, do you?”
“No, but the whole evening might have made Jane more able to see any other ghosts that were around her,” she suggested. “What if her dead sister was haunting her all this time, and Jane wasn't able to see her until tonight?”
“And if you used a spirit board to contact the ghosts in that pub,” Ernest continued, “then you opened a door that must be closed. This is a process that works in both directions. The ghosts don't tend to notice the living very much, not unless they're encouraged to do so. Once that has occurred, however, you must close the session properly.”
“We tried, but she refused,” Sally told him. “Could that be because there were three of us when we started, and only two at the end?”
“Indeed,” Ernest said. “The two of you wouldn't be able to do it, especially if she's a strong ghost, and I imagine that Mildred Weaver would be stronger than most. You should be able to manage with a third person, though, but it's best to hurry.” He began to get up. “I suppose there's really only one thing for it.”
“You don't need to come!” Sally said, suddenly panicking.
“Do you have any other options?” Ernest asked.
Sally tried to think of an answer, before turning to Matt.
“Are you sure?” Matt asked, as he helped Ernest out of the chair. “It's so late, and -”
“And I'm a frail old man?” He chuckled. “I can't exactly argue with you, but I should point out that I can still get about. Besides, all we have to do is go in there and close the session, and that should be the end of the matter. We should hurry, though. The longer the session remains open, the more determined the spirit will be to remain. I'm sure I don't have to explain to either of you that it'd be best if Mrs. Weaver's ghost is discouraged from causing any further trouble.”
Sally turned to Matt again, but he merely shrugged.
“Besides,” Ernest added, “I don't get out of the house very much these days. I'd rather like to whizz into town and take a look around. Don't you think that sounds like fun?”
***
“What color did you say it was again?” Matt asked as he leaned back into the car. “Brown?”
“Beige,” Ernest told him with a knowing smile. “I'm sorry that I forgot it, but I'd really like to have that scarf with me, I try not to get too cold. I'd go myself but, well, you saw how long it took me to get from the house to the car. If you hurry, I'm sure you'll have no problem. You should find the scarf somewhere in the back room.”
He reached out with a trembling hand and passed the key to Matt.
“Make sure you lock the door once you leave, though,” he added. “There are people around here who wouldn't need a second invitation to break in. Two of my neighbors have been burgled in the past week alone. Honestly, sometimes I wonder what will become of this town. The decline in morality is shocking, and the poverty level seems to be rising all the time.”
“I'll be back in a moment,” Matt said, shutting the car door and then heading back over to the house.
“I do feel so very bad, asking him to go back in there,” Ernest muttered, before turning to Sally. “And you, my dear, have an accent that suggests you're not born and bred in Crowford like the rest of us.”
“I grew up in London,” she told him.
“How lovely. My late wife and I used to take little trips up to see the galleries, and so that I could visit various national archives. Those days are long gone, of course, but I look back on them very fondly. London is such a fascinating and busy place, although I could never have lived there. It's far too hectic.” He watched her for a moment. “What brought you to Crowford?”
“Oh...”
She paused as she tried to work out how much to tell him.
“My son and I moved here earlier this year,” she admitted finally.
“And where is your son now?”
“He's...”
Again, she paused.
“He died,” she said finally. “Not long after we arrived. He was eight.”
“I'm very sorry to hear that,” Ernest replied. “Children shouldn't die, it just seems so very wrong. I always wonder about the order of the universe when I hear of such things. But I don't think you mentioned why you and your son moved here. Do you have family in the area?”
“Nope,” she replied, watching the house and hoping that Matt would emerge soon.
“So you came on a whim, did you?”
“Pretty much.”
Still watching the house, she realized that Ernest was staring at her. In fact, she was starting to worry that somehow he was starting to guess that she'd had ulterior motives in moving to the town.
“I've never really been to this part of town before,” she said, trying to change the subject. She was lying, but at least it was something to talk about. “It doesn't seem so bad.”
“This was all once a big mill,” he replied, “but that's been gone for some time now. So did you just stick a pin in a map and decide to move to wherever it landed?”
“More or less. I saw a fish and chip shop just around the corner. Is it any good?”
“It's fabulous. Crowford doesn't tend to receive much attention from the wider world. Is that what appealed to you? Were you looking for somewhere you could disappear?”
“It was a little more complicated than that.”
“How so?”
She turned to him, and she realized in that moment that he definitely seemed unwilling to drop the subject. He either knew, or suspected, more than he was letting on.
“Please don't take this the wrong way,” he continued, “but I sense great sadness in you. Not just because of your son's death, either. Something is eating away at your soul, and I fear that you're losing the battle with whatever it might be.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she replied, although she could hear that she sounded very unconvincing.
“You must find a way to deal with it,” he said firmly, “because otherwise it will consume more and more of you until there's nothing left but emptiness and darkness and sorrow. I've seen that happen to people before, and it's always such a great tragedy. For you, however, I believe that there is still time. Not much time, but enough that you can still save yourself. I pray that you find your way.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but for a few seconds she had no idea what to say. Then, spotting movement in the distance, she realized with relief that Matt was already on his way back from the house, and she spotted what appeared to be a scarf in his hands.
“Looks like we can get on our way,” she told Ernest. “He's got your scarf.”
“Scarf?” Ernest furrowed his brow, before looking out the window. “Ah, yes, of course. My scarf. I really wouldn't want to go anywhere without it.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The Crowford Hoy,” Ernest said, shortly before 5am, as he stepped through the door and looked around the empty bar area. “It has been a long time since I was last in here, but not much h
as changed. What's the new landlord's name?”
“Jerry,” Sally told him. “Jerry Butler.”
“He should make the place more his own,” Ernest continued, as he shuffled over to the bar, leaning heavily on his cane. “A landlord should always try to do that, in my opinion. This room, for instance, doesn't appear to have changed one iota since I last visited.” He paused, listening to the silence. “I might be imagining this,” he added, “but I feel as if there is most certainly a presence here. I can well believe that the ghost of Mildred Weaver is somewhere close.”
“The spirit board was damaged earlier,” Matt said, shutting the door and then hurrying over to the table. “I taped it back together, though. Will that be okay?”
“I imagine so.”
“It's also a rather unconventional design. It's homemade. Would that be a problem?”
“I don't see why,” Ernest replied. “Would you mind popping another log onto the fire?”
Sally headed over and added two more logs. She took a moment to warm her hands, and then she turned to see that Ernest was looking up toward the ceiling.
“She's waiting,” he said after a moment. “For little Annie, I mean. The sense of expectation is palpable, she wants to prove – if nothing else – that she didn't murder the girl. I imagine poor Mildred has been driven quite insane over the years. You told me that you'd seen Annie, did you not?”
“She wrote a message on the wall upstairs. I can show you, if you want.”
“That's not necessary. Clearly she's still hiding after all these years, and I can't say that I entirely blame her. Mildred could be a most formidable woman for anyone to deal with, especially a little girl.”
“If we close the session with the spirit board,” Sally replied, “what happens to Annie?”
Ernest turned to her.
“She's already dead,” he pointed out. “What more can happen to her?”
