nearly a year since that dreadful phone call, she could hardly bear what Alice denied and denied.
Swigging down another glass of red wine, Alice put the TV on mute and thought about tucking into the Chocolate log. Christmas past and New Year’s Eve with all its revelry, well Alice couldn’t be bothered. She had thought about a party but laziness and pleasuring herself had taken over.
For some reason she remembered Father Merry at the door and the weird moment when she had actually opened the door. What would she have said she wondered to herself? And like a dream, the words came out in a tiny whisper. But really she hadn’t meant to say a word. She remembered closing the door but not much else.
No matter, it was her house, her hiding place. ‘Cold though tonight, I must turn the heating up’ and Alice finally got up from the settee to do this. The phone was ringing, oh what a bore thought Alice, someone ringing up because it’s New Year’s Eve.
At home in the little annexe to the Church, Father Merry was on the phone. Since the day they had (engaged?) met in the High Street, they spoke daily and met when they could. It was the start of a friendship that would strengthen his love of God and give Jean back her beating heart, but just now neither of them knew this, just that it was a good thing. They spoke of this and that and then, Father Merry announced his ‘find’. He had finally found the reference to the murder, not far from the Church, and probably on the site of Alice Snood’s smart little townhouse. ‘And yes Jean I know! How exciting!
‘I can’t say I’m surprised, ‘Jean paused to think back over her uncomfortable moments in that house. ‘For a start I always felt cold, especially in the hallway – and I’ve just thought of it now, but the mirror at the top of the stairs – I once thought I saw someone in it – you know like a shadow of a – of an old man it was’.
They spoke some more and agreed that they would both visit Alice in the morning, wish her a Happy New Year, and investigate. Jean had already decided to end the cleaning job with her, this being her resolution. She had enjoyed the holiday from it and had used the time to evaluate. She remembered her last visit to clean for Alice. The tenner under the clock. No card or note to wish her a happy Christmas. The bottle of bleach she tipped down the toilet hoping the smell would vanquish the other smell. A sort of damp, slightly rotten smell. Lastly, Jean remembered the stairs and the hallway. It was here that she felt the need to get out as fast as she could. An irrational fear, there was nothing to see. So, Jean’s resolution was set.
Father Merry would not say what his was. He wished her a good night and sat in the darkness preparing to pray. The dark and the quiet enfolded him. The crossing time of one year to the next moved closer.
Alice too had gone to the phone. It had rung and rung whilst she was adjusting the thermostat and whoever it was, wasn’t giving up easily. She never did find out who it was though. Pausing by the mirror at the top of the stairs, for this small landing housed the phone too, she again saw the shadow glance across the mirror. Her father had stood here just before she pushed him down the stairs. Before he fell, fell properly, bouncing round and over and cracking his skull open on the bottom stair, he had caught sight of his oldest daughter in the mirror. His last words, and Alice knew what they were only too well because she had knelt down close to hear them, were ‘’help me’.
‘Oh shut up Dad’ said Alice. It was unfortunate then that he did not. She knew it had been him opening the door that day and him making her speak. He was here now, waiting.
Elizabeth, on the other end of a phone that just rang and rang, shivered as a cold draught rushed at her and overhead, rocking the paper shade and swinging the lightbulb. Rather like her soul had lifted out of her in some protest. She gave up ringing in the end. I’ll tell Alice about my dream another time she thought and went to write it down instead. Although she didn’t think she’d forget seeing her father push Alice down the stairs – for some reason this had made here feel better not sad at all. Perhaps I’m moving on she thought. Her crossing time begun.
Alice lay and watched and listened. The phone stopped and in any case could not be answered now. All she could do was watch the slow tread of her father coming down the stairs to the small hallway where she lay wedged against the door. ‘Help me’ she whispered.
‘I’m coming’ he replied.
The End
Wonka looked over at me. ‘I liked it all barring the soppy bits’ he declared. I thought I’d done alright considering I’d updated it especially for New Year’s Eve. It had been written a long time ago, and was just lying around on the computer waiting to be told. I’d always had a fascination for haunted Hull and had my own ghostly experience there to tell of. ‘Do you think,’ I wondered aloud to Wonka, ‘that we shall ever tell a story to rival the famous ones?’ Of course I was referring to our hero Mr Charles Dickens who could hardly have known at the time, how his Christmas Carol would continue on down all the years.
‘What like a New Year’s Eve Carol?’ Wonka gave me a hard look.
‘Just something to remember us by then…’ I had called the story ‘The Crossing Time’ as this was the theme. If Mr Dickens were here now, he might call it…………
‘He might call it a bit of an alright story thank you very much! Wonka Presents!’ and I suppose Wonka was right, barring the soppy bits…..at least he let me tell it.
‘Did you get the digestion tablets and the dental floss?’ was Wonka’s parting shot before bed. Oh yes! I had even broken out and bought a new hot water bottle.
Settling down with a sherry, and him with his new luxury anti everything biscuits, I watched the old year move towards the new one. It could be our best year yet.
Happy New Year to each and every one!!
Wonka Presents! A Story for New Year's Eve Page 2
