The Spinetinglers Anthology 2009

by Неизвестный

  The only sign of life was a solitary goat wandering quite freely and announcing its presence with the jangling of a bell tethered to its neck. Bill sat himself at one of the chairs and looked across the calm waters of the gulf of Kellonis. Eventually a young girl ambled over and handed him a menu that was hand written on a large scrap of paper. She studied him with only the hint of a smile. He dined on Greek salad, grilled sardines and retsina. After his meal he sat quietly with his thoughts and looked out across the tranquil waters. Time seemed to pass slowly in Apothikes. There was no sense of urgency, nothing to raise his pulse rate or cause concern.

  Locals emerged, from where he couldn’t be sure, they just seemed to suddenly be there. It was as though they didn’t have a care in the world. They spoke no English, but smiled pleasantly while they went about the chores that filled their lives. He envied them for that. Such a way of life took a kind of unhurried discipline that he didn’t possess. A more unlikely place for a double murder he couldn’t imagine.

  Maybe he was wasting his time. Perhaps the medium was nothing more than a troubled woman with a fertile imagination. She could have visited Lesvos and concocted the story in her inebriated mind. That didn’t explain the girl on the beach though, or the haunting at his room the previous night.

  One of the older female residents of Apothikes wandered over and sat at the table next to him. She wore simple, black clothes. Her leathery skin was weathered by years of sun and neglect. He guessed that she would have been in her twenties around the time of the murder. She might know something.

  “Beautiful.” he said as he gestured towards the surrounding countryside. She smiled back. “Lovely meal,” he said patting his stomach and then, looking at the picturesque taverna added loudly and slowly, “Very nice...”

  She didn’t reply but continued to smile, this time with a broad, toothless grin.

  “Apothikes.” he finally said hoping that a recognised word might provoke a response. A conversation was going to be out of the question.

  “You live here long?” he asked and then, exasperated by the fact that he was getting nowhere at all in his quest, added, “A hundred years... three hundred...?”

  “Four hundred at least,” came a female voice from behind him. Bill cringed with embarrassment. A young woman sat down beside him. She was olive skinned and possessed of a natural beauty that for a telling moment left him lost for words. “My grandmother has lived here all of her life. She’s ninety five.”

  Bill thought about that: she’d have been in her mid-thirties around the time of the murders.

  “I... I’m sorry. I wasn’t being rude.” he said with an awkward smile. At first he thought she resembled the girl he’d seen on the beach. She said her name was Alysa and that it meant Princess; he could see why.

  He asked her to stay and talk and found her grateful for the company. It wasn’t exactly a vibrant place for a young woman he said. She was amused by that. “We do have Rhodes for nightlife, you know, Faliraki. Clubs and cocktails. And there’s always Athens for a bit of shopping.” she laughed. Once again he found himself embarrassed by his presumption that she’d live and die in Apothikes like her grandmother. He told her that he was writing a travel book on the island of Lesvos, on its history and folklore. He said that he’d like to ask her grandmother a few questions.

  With Alysa translating he conversed with the old lady and found her a mine of information-until he asked if she remembered anything about a murder in the village at the end of the Second World War. Suddenly her tone changed. She turned her head away and spoke quickly and loudly. The young girl tried to pacify her but the old woman was having none of it and ambled away still muttering to herself.

  Bill had noticed something, though. He saw the disturbed way the old lady looked at a ruined building close to the waterfront. It was obviously deserted and by the looks had been for many years. It was a stark and desolate structure with small, boarded windows and a battered roof. More importantly, it was obviously where the atrocity had occurred; instinct told him so.

  Another piece of the jigsaw puzzle had fallen into place.

  “She is upset.” explained Alysa apologetically. “She said you are talking of things that should be left alone – that you are remembering things that are best forgotten. She is very superstitious.”

  Bill said that the fault was his. That he should have been more thoughtful in what he asked.

  “The story of this incident is important to you?” asked the girl.

  “No.” lied Bill, and then he laughed. He shook his head. “No. I just heard a rumour that something very bad happened here a long time ago. I was just intrigued, that’s all. I didn’t mean to upset or offend her. Please apologise for me. I think I should go.” he said.

  Alysa smiled. She obviously wasn’t going to stop him.

  “It was good talking to you. I don’t think you would like it here, though.” she said, and then added as an afterthought, “...especially at night.”

  And that intrigued him even more.

  “I think that maybe you have some involvement in this story.”

  Bill smiled at her judicious perception; his gaze lingered. A warm and fragrant breeze ruffled her hair. How he would have chased after her in his youth. Such whimsical thoughts would be saved for another time though; for the moment he had more pressing matters to attend to. He’d found the murder scene, he’d confirmed in his own mind the gravity of the crime, and from what Alysa said a possible haunting as well.

  His plan was to return that evening and spend a night in the mysterious house. With a camera and recorder and various pieces of ghost watching apparatus he would attempt to make a permanent record of a haunting and put his website (and credibility) into the premier league.

  ***

  Bill took a siesta beneath the shade of an olive tree a mile or two away from Apothikes. With a simple meal of bread, Manouri cheese, and a few bottles of Mythos beer he felt as though the troubles of the world were a million miles away. He listened to the gentle tinkle of the goat’s bell somewhere in the distance and watched as an eagle floated on spiralling thermals high above the parched landscape. He had never known such spiritual tranquillity. As night approached though so the atmosphere changed and a feeling of trepidation came over him.

  The abandoned house was calling him and with a pounding heart he answered.

  Apothikes was still and silent.

  Dusk brought its own mystery to the building.

  Getting in was not a problem. A twisted coat hanger was all that held the front door closed. The ground floor comprised one big room and an adjoining kitchen. A decrepit staircase led upstairs to what would have been two more rooms, but the upper floor had fallen through and all that remained were a few cross beams and some unsafe flooring.

  He decided to make his bed on the ground floor. He rolled out a sleeping bag and laid out his recording apparatus. Ideally someone else should be present – someone with a level head and strong nerve. It was just after nine and darkness was beginning to descend upon the village. At least the ruined house was dry and warm. There was even a cool breeze blowing through; it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship to spend a night there. Bill gazed at the night sky through the open roof; he’d never seen so many stars. Never in his life had he felt so insignificant.

  Sleep came easily to him that night – -perhaps a little too easily. When he woke at three in the morning he found himself shivering. There was a distinct chill in the air. A glance at the thermometer revealed the temperature to be abnormally low; a classic precursor to supernatural manifestation. He could hear noises coming from outside. They were scuffling, snuffling sounds like those of an animal, a dog perhaps scavenging for food – or maybe something a little more threatening. The noises became louder as though made by something bigger. They sounded heavy, like footsteps over rubble. Someone or something was out there, he was sure of it. Perhaps one of the townspeople had seen him return and was investigating. In truth he doubted that anyone
would visit the house at night. He heard scratching at the front door and Bill found himself shrinking back into his corner of the room. A resounding thud on the door made him sit bolt upright. After that there was silence. That was even more unnerving. He didn’t move but just sat in the darkness waiting, tempering his own breathing and listening for any sign of life or movement but there was none.

  He found himself questioning the predicament that he had put himself in. He’d travelled to another country, to an obscure location to investigate a ghost story on a pure whim. And now he was more frightened than he could ever imagine. He’d spent so many nights in countless haunted buildings back home but he’d never experienced the soulful terror that he felt now. His heart was pounding and his body drenched in cold sweat. Soft light filled the room but there was no source. He reached for his camera but as soon as he started to move so the front door creaked on its hinges. He found himself feeling strange, as though distanced from the world. With a pensive sigh he slumped back against the wall and watched as flayed and bloody fingers curled about the edge of the door.

  “Shit...” he said, and he took another deep breath. He wasn’t dreaming. He knew he wasn’t dreaming. A muffled explosion filled his head and brilliant light blinded his eyes. When his vision cleared, he found himself in the same room, but now it was tidy and furnished. The decor was dated. The room was as it would have been several decades ago. His own corner remained unchanged, though. He was a voyeur to another time watching from behind a veil of shadows.

  The door burst open and a teenage girl stumbled into the room. She was obviously distressed. Her blouse was torn and lipstick smeared across her face. Another female was pushed roughly through the doorway behind her. She was older and similarly dishevelled. She was shouting at the person who had thrust her into the room. Bill knew who they were immediately. The young girl was the one he’d seen on the beach, the other was the woman who had been outside his window the previous night.

  Two men, both soldiers, followed; the last one in slammed the door shut. They were obviously drunk and very aggressive. The younger of the two grabbed the girl by her hair. She screamed and kicked out but he slapped her face hard. He wrapped an arm about her waist and dragged her up the stairs to one of the rooms. A door slammed shut with a condemning thud. The older woman went to her aid but the other man gripped her about the throat with one hand; he lifted her from the floor and slammed her against the wall with such force that she almost lost consciousness. He was laughing and gloating at her state of distress. She stared into his eyes with a look of contempt as he slowly tightened his grip about her windpipe. Bill thought there was something familiar about the man, he couldn’t be sure why.

  “Do what I say or I’ll kill you...” slurred the big soldier.

  He released his grip a little and she stopped struggling. Screams and thuds came from the upper floor and Bill saw the woman’s eyes fill with tears. He watched with disbelief, unable to do anything but watch as the gratuitous scene played out before his eyes. He was being forced to witness the atrocity of another time. The young girl’s screams cut through him like a knife. He could hear her pleading not to be hurt. The older woman was pushed to the ground and abused in the most sickening way. Her only option was to take her mind to another place as the soldier forced himself upon her. She turned her head and looked at Bill. She stared into his eyes and his blood ran cold – it was the same look that he’d had from the medium at the Whitechapel seance. When the soldier was finished he lifted himself from her limp body and adjusted his clothes. She wrenched the dog tags from his neck and using them as a weapon slashed a deep gash across his cheek.

  “You are going to kill me now.” she said in broken English.

  “You mean you’re not gonna tell anyone what happened?” he sneered, “You’re not gonna tell anyone what I look like?” He laughed loudly for a few seconds, but his mood changed with a vengeance. He glared angrily at her and spat on the floor. He said she and her daughter were nothing but whores.

  Something about him was familiar but Bill had been unable to see his face.

  At that moment the young girl stumbled down the stairs and into the room. She was crying and clutching her dress against her naked body. She ran to the woman and cowered in her arms. The young soldier followed close behind and smiled at his mate. The older soldier looked back at the two women with a condemning expression on his face.

  “Yeah.” he growled. “We can’t let you live. I’ve got a wife at home, and a kid. And this young squaddie here’s gonna be married soon. Had to get some practice in first didn’t he?” he smirked, and they both started laughing. “Nobody’ll know what happened. We’ll put you in one of the burnt out buildings. Victims of a retreating German army.”

  His callousness was sickening.

  “What’s your name, soldier?” demanded the woman.

  For a moment there was silence as the soldier considered her words. He was impressed by her defiance and pluck.

  “You wanna know my name?” he scoffed. “Guess I owe you that much-introductions and all that.”

  “Yeah, introductions.” laughed the younger soldier.

  The older soldier retrieved his gun from the floor and pushed the barrel to her head.

  “Freddie. Freddie Graves – pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  There was an explosion and the room was plunged into darkness.

  Freddie Graves.

  Bill’s father’s name was Freddie. He was stationed on one of the Greek islands during the war just after the evacuation by the German Army. Bill dropped his head into his hands and cried. So that was it. He’d been lured back to Apothikes to witness a murder that his father had committed. Bill was only a child when his father’s body was discovered in his squalid flat in London. Freddie Graves died a sad and lonely alcoholic.

  Bill’s father never paid the debt for his crime. The two women were denied retribution against him so they returned from beyond the grave to take revenge on his son.

  Bill sat propped against the wall and watched as the world refocused. He was back in the derelict house with the darkness and the silence. He fumbled on the floor and found his cigarettes. But by the light of a match he saw that he was not alone. The two women were still there; they were propped against the far wall watching him. The price had not yet been paid; they had come back for him.

  Now they were pale and livid wretches. Their faces were gaunt and their breath so cold that it vaporized in the air. They were wretched things with skin flayed from the raw flesh of their emaciated bodies. The elder moved in his direction with her arms dragging by her sides. When she was close enough she stooped forwards and reached towards his chest. The putrid stench that emanated from her body was suffocating. Bill felt his heart pounding furiously. It seemed to skip a few beats and then, as she clenched her fist tightly, it slowed down. He watched her with tears in his eyes. He didn’t try to fight back. Why should he after what his father had done? If he had to pay the price with his own life, if that was what it would take to release them from their torment, then so be it.

  The woman grinned when she saw the suffering in his eyes. “Fancy a bit of you,” she growled, “reckon me an’ you two whores will have a right ol’ time at my motel.” She spoke in a voice that mimicked the foul intonations of his drunken father. It was the voice he’d heard at the seance. It hadn’t been his father that had possessed the medium but the spirit of the woman that had been raped and murdered by him. He looked back and saw fury in her eyes. She wasn’t looking at him; she was staring into the eyes of his father. That was who she really wanted to punish.

  Bill felt the world becoming distant. His pulse was weak and his breathing shallow. He could feel his life ebbing away. He opened his eyes one final time. The woman was still there, but now the young girl was at her side. She rested her own pale hand on the older woman’s fist and they looked at each other. Something passed between them; words without sound, emotion without expression. The woman released h
er grip and Bill felt life flood back into his veins. He had suffered enough. Even as ghosts it seemed they had compassion. They knew that the knowledge of his father’s abhorrent crime would stay with him forever.

  The young girl reached out with her ghostly hand and pressed it to his cheek. He felt the warmth of her palm against his skin and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was alone. Bill was exhausted; he collapsed onto the ground and fell into a deep and restful sleep.

  ***

  Sunlight filled the derelict building when he woke.

  The young woman was still there; watching him, staring at him in silence. But she was no longer a ghost.

  “I think you really should go now.” she said.

  “Alysa,” said Bill, and he sighed with relief. “I thought you were. someone else.”

  “I’m just Alysa.” she said softly.

  “Yes.” he replied as he climbed to his feet and collected his things. She picked something up from the floor in front him, from the very place where the women had been attacked. “I think you might want these.” she said and slipped something into his pocket. It was only when he was in his car that he looked to see what she had given him.

  They were dog tags. His father’s dog tags.

  Bill Graves glanced in his rear view mirror as he drove away from Apothikes knowing that he’d never return. Alyssa was standing in the road with her grandmother. A heat haze distorted the air and made a mirage of their bodies. The reflection of them rippled for a few seconds and then in a blink of an eye-they were gone.

  A Moment in Time

  by Simon Wicks

  As a white cabbage butterfly alit on the tip of his nose for a moment before fluttering off again, Victor felt somehow – although he was not quite sure how – that he had been here before. He also felt, however, like the happiest man alive, and nothing was going to change that.