Ghosts and Hauntings

by SIMS, MAYNARD

  Hugo had a brother, Cecil, older than he, and well set on a promising career in the Church. He was, at one point, the rector of St Michaels in Wellbury, not far from the seaside towns of Brighton and Hove. Working hard and without break or indeed fair attention to the needs of body not to mention soul, Hugo had come to a point where a rest was required and he could think of no better comfort than to spend some time in the rural outback where his brother would nurture his body, if not attempt to rectify his spirit.

  He had done well in the sales of his art, had Hugo, and in that regard he was fortunate to have been taken onto the books of a decent agent who made sure that output was good and that there was a marketplace for most paintings that were produced. Some of Hugo Denning’s exhibitions had been praised lavishly in the press and there was as sensible understanding by his agent that if his financial affairs were in order then the artistic muse could be left uninterrupted. Naturally the agent’s own commissions rewarded such diligence and sensitivity but nonetheless Hugo Denning was a man of some considerable means. And all that on top of the family trust set up by his late father after he came down from Eton.

  The result of all this monetary solidity was that although he did not possess a car himself, and in fact had never shown any inclination to learn how to drive one, he was able to afford a chauffeur driven limousine from his London home to the Sussex countryside. With his painting equipment and some stirrings of inspiration loaded into the vehicle he set off on a bright summer’s morning with a sigh of expectation of lazy days spent painting and resting with plenty to eat and drink as he caught up with his brother.

  The journey was uneventful and on occasion Hugo found himself waking from a slumber that he had not even realised he had fallen into. He was already relaxing and he had not even arrived at his destination, which guided him to thinking it boded well for a pleasant holiday.

  The chauffeur was a man local to Wellbury and once Hugo engaged him in some conversation it was a job to try and stem the flow of words that erupted. By the time they neared their destination Hugo felt he knew as much about village life as well as the man’s opinion of the present government, national football team, and the weather, than he could stomach.

  Then the driver turned to religion, which with his personal connection to the subject, Hugo felt was a conversation that could only deteriorate rather badly. But the subject wasn’t approached in a broad brush stroke but was instead determinedly specific.

  “Your brother has caused a bit of a stir, then, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  Hugo had no idea about the work that Cecil had done since his move a few months ago and so had to admit some ignorance on what was meant.

  “The tower.”

  “I’m afraid I am none the wiser. My brother has not mentioned anything about the parish so until I see him I suppose you must know more than I.”

  Glancing in the rear view mirror for some eye contact the driver seemed almost to be assessing whether he should expand on his subject. Reticence not being a trait that he thought well of he nodded sharply and proceeded to elucidate.

  It seemed that Cecil was moved to St Michaels even tough his predecessor was an able and popular rector. Why the Church decided upon the change may have been known by the driver but if so he was irritatingly inclined upon the conclusion that it was not a subject he could share.

  “But that is by the by. Your brother, a fine and decent man no doubt, decided the work that had been undertaken many years ago, and was supported by the man who proceeded him should be undone and the entrance to the tower that had been bricked up, should be re-opened.”

  “And that has caused problems?”

  “Well, it’s not for me to say, but say this I will, the reasons for sealing the old entrance were sound ones and the reasons for unsealing seem to me to based on, well pardon me, but on some aspects of vanity.”

  Hugo felt his defences bristle in a natural support of his sibling and even though the driver spoke his words mildly they were nevertheless unwelcome in the abrasiveness. “I think a person such as the rector of the church can be relied on to perform for that august body actions that will only be for the benefit of the church, the parish and all who live there, don’t you? I know my brother perhaps better than most and there is not a jot of vanity about him. Now, I think I will close my eyes, and my ears for the rest of the duration.”

  Verbose though he was the driver was also attuned to the nuances of his passengers and he knew a disgruntled one when he heard one. The remainder of the journey was conducted in silence.

  Cecil was waiting outside the Queen Anne rectory as the car pulled to a halt in the gravel driveway and he welcomed his brother effusively and with genuine affection. Once the bags and art paraphernalia were unloaded from the boot Hugo thanked the driver, watched as Cecil paid him and then sketched an uneasy wave of farewell that spoke of the rebuke that had been given.

  When the car had disappeared from sight Cecil turned to his younger brother and surveyed him. “So, dear Hugo, some restitution is called for is that the case?”

  Hugo chuckled benignly. “Some would debate whether an artist can get exhausted from merely daubing paint onto a canvas but when the process continues unabated for many months and the succour of food and drink are not taken with sufficient routine then I regret the discussion ends and the tiredness begins.”

  “Then we must ensure your stay here, and for as long as you want it to be, there are no time limits, yes, your stay will be a refreshing one.”

  “Beginning with some food I hope…”

  Cecil laughed and picked up as much of the equipment as he could manage. “Mrs Becton, my housekeeper, has prepared an early supper of locally sourced venison. I am sure I can supply a passable Claret to accompany it.”

  Hugo plucked his bags from the gravel and was about to follow Cecil into the house when a movement behind him caught his eye. There was a figure at the mouth of the drive, where the hawthorn and laurel overlapped, and it seemed to be standing and staring at the house.

  “Cecil,” Hugo said. “Is that the driver come back?’

  “Is who the driver?”

  Hugo pointed. “There, it looks like a man but I can’t quite make out the features.”

  Cecil all but ran from the gravel and into the house, calling over his shoulder, “There is no one there. I can’t see anyone.”

  Hugo walked quickly after him and when he turned at the door to see if the figure had advanced along the driveway, there was no one there.

  Inside the house there was the invigorating smell of a meal cooking from the kitchen, Cecil showed his brother to the room he would be using, and allowed him a few moments to freshen up, if not time to unpack.

  Once downstairs again Hugo pondered on how to approach the subject of the man, for he was on reflection certain it had been a male figure, and decided after some small consideration to broach the subject directly.

  “I saw a man watching the house, you know. Have you had some local difficulties?”

  Cecil was pouring red wine and waited until they had silently toasted the other with raised glass until he replied. “There has been a certain opposition to some changes I have implemented at the church.”

  “Involving the tower.”

  “Indeed, how did…”

  “The driver you provided was an excellent fellow but on the subject of your work here, particularly as regards the church tower he was rather too forthright in his opinion and I had to put him in his place.”

  Mrs. Becton appeared and for a while they were busy with place settings at the scarred oak table in the spacious kitchen. When the food was served and more wine was poured Cecil warmed to his subject. “I am not surprised, but he voices no more than the concerns of the community.”

  “What on earth is it that you are doing to stir up the parish? Excellent food by the way.”

  “All thanks to the splendid Mrs. B. who was here with at least two of my predecessors.”

  “Y
es, it was your immediate predecessor that the driver alluded to.”

  Cecil sighed heavily. “A good man, with a true calling but he had ideas that were…well, outside the remit of what I feel a rector should become involved with.”

  “Such as?”

  “He became involved in the history of the church building. Nothing wrong with that of course, and all perfectly natural to learn about where one works and lives. I have researched the parish records myself but I have come to different conclusions than he.”

  Dessert followed and by the time the second bottle of Claret was dispatched Hugo realised he was far more tired than he had appreciated.

  Taking a water jug and glass with him for the night Hugo said goodnight to his brother and prepared for bed. The night was warm enough for him to leave the window open and he must have slept soundly for some hours because it was deep into the dark hours that he awoke and lay for some moments wondering, sleepily, what it was that had roused him. Then he heard it again, a tapping, as if someone was knocking on a door with the end of a heavy object, such as a stout walking cane.

  He got out of bed, went to the window and peered out. The sky was smudged with cloud and tipping against them was a quarter moon that gave some illumination to the neatly tended grass either side of the circular gravel drive.

  The sound was repeated and Hugo considered it was coming from the direction of the west, the vicinity of the church. The tower could be viewed from the upstairs window of his bedroom and when the moonlight so permitted he could just about spy the lower part of it, including a wide and tall oak door that was of obvious antiquity.

  Standing at the closed door was the hunched figure of a man, dressed oddly in dark cloak and leggings, and in his right hand he held a sturdy walking stick with which he was beating at the door as if entreating entrance.

  Hugo was about to rouse his brother and together go and face the man to find his intent when the strange fellow turned and gazed up at Hugo. Even from the distance between them it was clear his demeanour was one of anger and the stick was raised once more but this time in a threatening manner in the direction of the rectory.

  Hugo surprised himself by ducking away from the window and behind the curtain. When he composed his courage sufficiently he returned to the open window but when he looked at the church tower again the man had gone. He was as sure as he could be without full certainty that it was the same figure he had seen earlier in then entrance to the driveway.

  He decided to leave the matter until the morning although his sleep was restless for the remainder of the night. As morning birdsonged its way into his fitful mind he rose, washed and by the time he was downstairs and enjoying a coffee and some toast he felt a little less impaired.

  “Good night’s rest?” Cecil said brightly as he sat at the kitchen table.

  Hugo had considered dismissing the event of the night as first night fret in new surroundings but he found himself recounting the incident in full. Two things were clear from his brother’s face. It was an occurrence that disturbed him, and yet it was something with which he was quite obviously familiar.

  “Perhaps you had better tell me more about this tower and the changes you have rung?”

  Tucking into his egg and bacon Cecil nodded but said. “I will, but not now. I have urgent business in the village that cannot be delayed. The day promises to be a warm and dry one. You may find some subjects around here for some drawing, or even some water colour work?”

  “I can think of a perfect subject,” Hugo said.

  So it was that not long after Cecil’s departure on parish affairs, that Hugo left the rectory with the trappings required for a day of drawing. He had charcoal and pad and a small easel and canvas chair. He had also, courtesy of the splendid Mrs Becton, a small wicker basket of cold meats, flask of tea, and some fruit. It promised to be a fortifying expedition for both stomach and mind, and he felt it was just what he needed.

  It was a bright cloudless day and the blue sky was marred only by the flight of birds from time to time and to Hugo’s eye they were a welcome addition rather than intrusion.

  He settled himself in a wild flower meadow just outside the wall of the churchyard and within uninterrupted view of the tower. He had a good sight of the oak door, which now he was closer than he had been the previous night, he could see was not as old as he imagined it to be. Or at least it may well have been constructed from ancient timber but it was a fairly new construction and addition to the church tower. This was evidently the unwelcome change the chauffeur had complained about. Although Hugo could declare as objectively as he might that it was a handsome door, and looked as natural as the stone and buttresses of the tower itself.

  Once set up and comfortable on stool and well positioned at his easel he began rough sketches of the church in general and of the tower in particular. Work went well and time passed as quickly as it does when possessed of endeavours that please. The sun was well overhead, marking a time just after midday, when he sat back and rested. He put down his charcoal and debated with himself whether to take up the sketch pad pages to review what he done or to eat of the prepared feast. Hunger won and he ate and drank whilst lying full length in the long grass.

  Bees droned close by and the incessant song of the birds was a mellow addition to the ambience of a glorious summer’s day. He dozed contently, thoughts of viewing his mornings labours postponed.

  It seemed but a few moments that he slept but when he looked at the sun it had traversed towards the church and was beginning its descent behind the tower. Backlit in this way the tower seemed to shimmer as it was moving. The heart of the building, Hugo thought, as if it is breathing.

  He felt unwilling to commit further inspiration to paper and so he decided it was time to look at what he had produced already. There were several pages, each containing a different viewpoint of the church, and specifically its tower.

  The first few pages were good outlines of the churchyard from the perspective perhaps of someone sitting at the lych gate, with discreetly positioned yew tree in the foreground and the windows and robust walls giving a framework to the pictures. It was when he began leafing through the tower pieces that he felt a slight chill squirrel along his spine.

  At first the tower was as he saw it with his eyes, and the door was closed and constructed of sturdy oak. As the pages progressed the views became less distinct. It was as if someone else was drawing the images or as if Hugo was seeing the tower and door through someone else’s eyes.

  Some of the later drawings may have been smudged he concluded because as he turned the pages so the door gradually opened until the final couple saw it fully open and in the very last one…no, it had to be a blemish caused by an errant finger. It looked as if there was a figure standing just inside the doorway, beckoning enticingly with a walking stick. One moment the image was clear and the next it was as if shadows were passing across the white page and the black lines were shifting like moving shapes.

  He stood, dropped the pages in a loose pile and, leaving his belongings were they were, strode to the lych gate, opened it, and persisted along the path to the main entrance to the church. Taking the pathway to the side he walked around until he was at the doorway to the tower.

  Now he was right by it he could quite clearly see that although the wood was old and presumably reclaimed it was nevertheless of modern construction, with large iron hinges and a lock that would need a key of some size to gain entrance. He tried the door handle and found it to be locked, as he imagined it would be. He walked further around the tower, to the side away from the entrance to the church, and there behind a buttress he found a large pile of bricks that were of fair age, and which he presumed had once been used for the purpose of sealing the entrance. This was the change the locals had objected to his brother conducting. A once closed doorway had been opened for use. For the life of him he could not see why that endeavour should cause anxiety.

  It must be time to return to the rectory and engage Ceci
l once more in some discussion about the matter, he decided. As he opened the gate to leave the churchyard he saw someone standing over his belongings in the meadow.

  “Hey, you there,” he called.

  The man, he could distinguish very clearly, looked up and Hugo was sure there was an oblique smile on his features.

  Hugo increased his pace until he was but a few yards from the man. It was obvious he had been poring over the drawings and Hugo felt anger rise within him. His art was his life and as some treated their pet animals as if they were children so Hugo felt that what he produced were akin to offspring and he was as protective of them as a parent will naturally be about their beloved sons and daughters.

  “I say, leave those alone.”

  Before he could reach him the man ambled away as if he had all the time in the world, even though there was a pronounced limp which required the use of a walking stick.

  Hugo gathered his belongings, especially the drawings which he noticed had been disturbed by the intruder, and walked thoughtfully back to the sanctuary of the rectory. He was pleased to find his brother was already there.

  “Lamb shank tonight with some nice Merlot I bought today,” Cecil said.

  “Sounds a fulfilling meal, and after the events of my day, is just the meal I can do with to restore my equilibrium.”

  “Drawing not go well?”

  Hugo placed his things on the floor and accepted the iced lemonade that was proffered. “On the contrary I found the church to be a very agreeable subject and before lunch and a sound nap, I produced several charcoal images that I thought would be sufficient for my attempts at water colour later in the week.”