Fury's Ghost

by Sue Perkins

  Carefully Fury placed the rose on top of the brass plaque in the lid of the coffin, then took a step back as the two sextons slid the coffin through the doorway of the vault. They weren’t inside for long and when they wheeled the empty bier out they locked the door with the heavy key from the library safe and passed it to Fury’s father.

  Fury turned away but a breeze ruffled her hair and she spun to face the vault again. A transparent Ellen hung in the air above the vault entrance. The ghost smiled and as she faded once more her words formed the whispered words Thank you.

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  FURY’S ISLAND

  CHAPTER ONE

  “We’ve booked a cottage at the beach and we leave on 2nd January. You’ll love it, Fiora, lovely sandy beaches and swimming in the sea. We’ve rented a villa for six weeks and Dad is going to work from home via the internet. You can take the new wetsuit you got for Christmas and try it out. It will be wonderful.”

  Fury would rather go on holiday with her friends, but their parents had other plans. Samantha’s family had gone north to Rotorua for Christmas, while Cora and her mother had headed for Dunedin. Fury had no choice but to go with her parents, and she wouldn’t even have her brother to hang out with. Jonah had been lucky to escape the dreaded ‘seaside holiday’ and had left in November for an intern job at a summer camp in America.

  “I’m not a child. I’m too old to play on the beach and the sea is usually too cold to swim in. I’d rather stay home.”

  “Stop arguing.”

  Fury looked at her father in surprise. He usually hid in his study and didn’t get involved in Fury’s altercations with her mother.

  “Go pack your bag like you were told.” Her father left the room and her mother stood with her head tilted to the left while she waited for Fury to either leave or argue again.

  “Mum...”

  “Do as your father said, Fiora.”

  Fury stomped up the stairs, annoyed with her parents’ use of her real first name. It sounded so silly. Nobody called her Fiora, everyone called her Fury due to her red hair and the tantrums she’d had as a toddler. Her temper did not improve when she fell over the suitcase her mother had left inside her bedroom door.

  “Stupid place to put it, right in the way I’d walk so I’d fall over it.” Rubbing her bruised shin she hopped to her wardrobe and flung the door open, then threw her clothes into the suitcase, followed by her underwear from the chest of drawers beside her bed.

  After dinner, Fury returned to her room. Her mother followed her, tutted over the crumpled clothes in the suitcase and folded them properly.

  “Have you put your art things into your portfolio bag? You know you like to paint scenes when you’re on a beach holiday.”

  “Mum, I haven’t done landscapes or beach scenes like, in, forever. You know my main thing is cartoons.”

  “Pack them anyway, Fiora. I expect you’ll find a scene you want to capture on canvas.”

  Fury climbed off the bed and dragged her portfolio bag from the cupboard, checked to make sure she had everything, then put two or three small canvases in the pocket on the side of the bag.

  “There, all done.”

  Her mother smiled came across the room and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Lovely, dear. Now get some sleep, we’re leaving early in the morning.

  Positive she would be awake all night, Fury got into her pyjamas and climbed into bed. Within minutes she had fallen asleep.

  SPIRIT STEALER

  1

  GRAND OPENING

  Red eyes glared down at Fader. He shivered as a cloud crossed the sun, throwing a menacing shadow over the angry face.

  The cloud moved on, and the true identity of the new library building shone through. The eyes became two large windows high above the porch hovering over the closed wooden door. The nose resumed its place as a plaque waiting to be uncovered. Fader shivered then grinned.

  Too much imagination, that’s my problem.

  He sat on the wall looking down at the crowded marketplace. The people had made an effort to look their best for the opening of the library. Long velvet dresses swished around the women’s ankles, while the men wore dark suits and brilliant white shirts.

  I’m wearing my best clothes. Fader looked at his tattered trousers and grinned. His jacket and shirt weren’t much better. They barely covered his body. My best clothes; my only clothes.

  Fader glanced around the stalls at the edge of the square. The tables groaned with goods, but the crowd showed no interest in buying. People from the big houses on the edge of town had donated money to pay for the single storey library building. Now books filled the shelves, and the excited crowd discussed what they would find inside as they waited for the doors to open.

  They won’t let me in there. Fader knew the way rich people looked down on the rest of the community. The orphan school had taught him basic reading, but those in charge didn’t think it necessary to give children too much of an education. I wish they’d hurry up and get on with the opening. When things get back to normal I might earn a few pennies.

  Fader ran errands, helped the market people set up their stalls, and take them down at the end of the day. He stayed honest, knowing if people considered him reliable, he would get more jobs.

  The crowd stirred and swayed toward the library. Fader got to his feet to stand on top of the wall so he could see over the heads of those in front of him. He leaned against a pillar and watched as the library door swung open, and several town dignitaries approached the podium on the top step.

  The crowd clapped so loud Fader couldn’t hear the Lord Mayor’s words. The man stopped talking, raised his hand, and pulled a rope attached to the velvet cloth over the plaque. A great cheer rose as the cover fell away, revealing the engraved brass plate hidden beneath it. A uniformed doorman flung the library doors wide, allowing the well-dressed crowd to move forward and enter the building.

  Temptation took over, and Fader hurried around the square, pretending to check and see if anyone needed his services. He reached the area on one side of the library and waited for a chance to cross the alleyway. The plaque caught his attention, and he spelled out the engraved words:

  Opened by his Worship the Mayor on this 7th day of November 1908.

  A wagon drove into the alley; and he darted behind it, raced up the steps, and hid behind one of the huge pillars supporting the porch above the main door. When a family mounted the steps, Fader used the group as a shield between him and the doorman. Once inside, he faded to the left, into the shadows between the bookcases. His name had been well earned.

  He took a deep breath. The lofty ceiling captivated him. The smell of leather and newly printed books tickled his nose making him smile with pleasure as he reached up to touch the gold lettering on the bindings. He stroked the spine of the book and a feeling of awe passed over him. Eagerness overcame caution. He grasped the book to lift it from the shelf.

  “You boy! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Fader let go of the book and spun around. A furious, stout man, so angry his white moustache bristled above his thin lips, advanced on Fader like an out of control steamroller. Survival instinct took over. Fader turned and ran for the entrance as fast as he could.

  “Stop! Someone stop that boy!”

  People turned to stare as Fader darted through the crowd. The doorman reached out for him, but Fader dodged the grasping hands. He wove left and right, avoiding his would be captor.

  Out through the open doorway he went and scooted to the right where he jumped from the top step. Still running, he left the marketplace by a side road and changed direction many times as he passed through familiar roads and alleyways. Fader didn’t stop until he knew he wasn’t being followed. He leaned against an empty cart and gasped for air. As his breathing returned to normal, anger rose inside him.

  They shouldn’t have shouted at me like that, he thought.
The library’s for everyone, not just rich people. The books had such a lovely smell, and they felt nice. Why should they keep it all to themselves?

  The angry man reminded him of the beadle at the orphanage. Fader couldn’t forget the strict rules they’d drummed into the orphans: don’t steal, don’t answer back, and do as you’re told. As his twelfth birthday loomed, he knew he could take no more. He needed to find his own way in the world before the beadle apprenticed him to an awful job. Fader’s idea of a good job and the beadle’s idea were miles apart, so he ran away.

  Hunger pangs forced Fader to return to the market square. The stalls were back in the centre, and a stallholder hired him to help him set up his wares. As he worked, he kept looking at the library. One day he’d wear the long coat and high starched collars worn by rich gentlemen. The ladies’ and children’s clothes were expensive looking as well. His irritation rose again when he saw the women pull aside their long skirts as they neared some scruffy children sitting on the steps. A fussy assistant librarian came and shooed the ragged group away.

  At the end of the afternoon, Fader earned several pennies helping the stallholders pack up for the day. The setting sun glinted off the upper windows of the library, and he remembered his earlier thoughts of the face superimposed on the building. The shadows at this time of day made the face seem more real, more evil. The red eyes and shaded lower levels now looked angry and sinister.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sue Perkins emigrated to New Zealand in the 1980s. A few years later she took a creative writing course, then started writing novels and short stories. Despite rejections from several publishers, Sue persevered and in 2006 she won the Pacific Region of the Commonwealth Broadcasting Short Story Competition. The following year her first romance novel was published.

  In the intervening years Sue has had ebook and paperback novels published for middle grade, young adult and adults, main in the fantasy genre. Dragons and magic are her favourite subjects in fantasy, but ghosts are also making their appearance in her young adult books.

  Although mainly published in America, Sue is hoping to increase her New Zealand following.

  http://www.sueperkinsauthor.com