Eleven New Ghost Stories

by David Paul Nixon

  There was no will. All her belongings went straight to Dad, including her house, a beautiful Penryn town house. Dad dealt with all the funeral and estate arrangements himself; he was never good at accepting help. He’d inherited some of her stubbornness.

  He got quite a bit of help from Nan’s cleaner at least. She was the only one who saw her day-to-day; she’d been with her a couple of years – a record by Nan’s standards. She couldn’t get on with cleaners; everything had to be just perfect, everything had to be in its right place. They couldn’t take her fussiness; there was a period when every time I spoke to Dad he seemed to be complaining that another cleaner had come and gone. She kept accusing them of stealing and deliberately moving things around. But the thing was, Nan was fussy and didn’t like change, but she couldn’t remember things either. She’d move stuff and then forget about it.

  But this last cleaner was a retired hospital nurse, so she’d dealt with worse and knew how to handle difficult folk like Nan.

  Anyway, it was about six months after she died that Dad offered us her house. I was flabbergasted; he was offering it to us for free, as a gift. He said he wanted to give something to us, and he knew we had struggled to get a mortgage – we were still renting in London at the time.

  He thought it would be good for Jessica too; he didn’t think we should bring her up in the city, and frankly neither did we. We hadn’t planned it that way, but money kept getting in the way; we couldn’t get enough together for a mortgage and Alan was afraid about getting work away from his contacts in London. By the time Nan died, Jess had already started school and we had started to think about moving away again.

  Well, Alan mostly – I knew I’d miss living in the city. I’d been living in London since I was a kid and I just couldn’t imagine living out in the country. I mean, what do people do out there? I know that sounds stupid, but you just get to thinking like that when you’re in London, like everything in the world revolves around it.

  I agreed that Jess would be better off going to school somewhere else. You hear bad things about city schools, and there’s all that bad stuff about gangs and hoodies as they get older. But I’d already given up so much to be a mum; I hardly saw my friends anymore, hardly got a chance to go out. Don’t get me wrong; I never regretted being a parent, but I missed the excitement and freedom, you know? Everything had moved so quickly with Alan, I sort of felt I’d missed out a bit on my twenties and then moving away from London seemed liked I was finally settling down once and for all into my middle age. I’d only just started working again too, and it seemed like such a shame to give all that up already.

  Dad said we should go down there for a week and see what we thought. He was convinced that we’d love it there, and that kind of close-knit community would be perfect for Jessica. And the schools were good too, so we’d heard. And Cornwall is beautiful, so it did sound appealing. And a free house? That was too good an offer to just pass up on.

  It was a good excuse for a holiday too. But Alan couldn’t get the time off work because of project deadlines. We tried to work it out; I was determined to make it a short break down there, really get to know the place if I was going to move there. But we couldn’t make it work with his schedule, not for months anyway. In the end, I decided to go down for the week, and he would come down for a long weekend.

  So I packed our things and set off. It’s a long drive down there; if you’ve never done it, you have no idea. You almost can’t believe the country goes on that far. You take the motorway for ages and ages and then you end up on long country carriageways that wind round through town after town, each one with Pen or Tre in the name.

  Beautiful though, all very healthy clean and healthy green. Stunning views too, but only I got to enjoy it though; Jessica slept the whole journey!

  We’d never really been on a proper holiday since she was born, just a few short breaks. I knew she’d enjoy seeing the beach again, and proper sandy beaches too, not like the rocky one down at Brighton.

  I’d almost completely forgotten what Penryn was like. Picturesque, if a bit odd. It’s all up the side of a hill, one small high-street with a small scattering of shops – bakery, pharmacist, unusual number of hair salons… oh and a combined tattooist and sex toy shop – just what every town needs!

  I remember as a child seeing druids in robes walking down the high-street. That sort of thing probably still happened; you get a wide range of “alternative” types in places like Penryn.

  Yes, a peculiar place. Lots of winding alleys and odd-shaped houses. Very improvised as towns go, it looked like it had all been built in blocks. Small bursts of construction – three or four buildings that looked the same, followed by another small burst of construction, three or four more houses but they’d look a bit different from the ones before. A town like a patchwork quilt, but a pretty one; a bit odd, but quite pretty in its way.

  It feels like a small place at first because the high street is quite small. But actually it’s not so small after all. There’s this whole more modern estate hidden in a sort of valley behind the high-street. Now there’s also a development down by the harbour. Expensive flats and other things being built down there. Probably finished by now, but still being built when we were there.

  Nan’s old place was down one of the roads that dipped down from the high-street. Sort-of newer houses, but still in the old style, fairly even in the way they looked. Nan’s was the one with the red door, I always remembered that. It was always bright and polished – I suppose good impressions start at your door step.

  I didn’t like the smell when we arrived. Stale musty air, but the place was very clean. It was only when you opened a cupboard or drawer that you realised the place was full of junk. She was one of those people who never threw anything away. I bet she knew where everything was though. She probably knew where each piece of junk belonged; she just wouldn’t have been able to get at it because of all the other junk on top.

  It was part of my agreement with Dad that I’d start to clear the place out. I don’t think he cared really what we did with the stuff: give it away, sell it or bin it. I don’t think he wanted to go back there. Too full of bad memories for him.

  It is amazing how things flood back to you. One of the things that my Nan always used to complain about was knock down ginger – the old kids’ game. Run up to a door, give it a knock and then run off. She made out that it used to happen all the time. Dad used to tell me about it, and even I remember hearing her complaining about it too.

  She was always going on about the neighbourhood kids anyway, too noisy, too rude, too badly behaved, etcetera. But knock down ginger; that was the thing she complained about the most. It made me smile: a grumpy, strange old lady like her; she was a born target for young boys I suppose. Bad tempered, but harmless. Like poking a toothless old dog with a stick; it barks but doesn’t bite.

  The reason I remembered so quickly after I arrived, was that I had been there for no more than maybe 15 to 20 minutes before it happened to me. I was going through the cupboards, seeing if any of the tinned food was worth keeping, when we got a knock on the door. I thought it must be a curious neighbour, but there was no one there. No one at all. I looked up and down the street, no sign of anyone. I thought to myself, the kids in this part of town must be pretty quick off the mark to pick up on me arriving so quickly.

  The house was as nice as I’d remembered: three bedrooms upstairs, large living room, dining room with porch and a small garden. Jessica liked that, obviously we didn’t have a garden in London; we had a minimal-maintenance concrete yard with no sunlight. She particularly liked the pond, although I instantly had nightmares about her falling in and tried to keep her away from it.

  I had packed a Fireman Sam DVD to keep her busy, so I stuck it on while I explored the place and sorted out the bedrooms. Although the sheets would’ve been changed after she died, I still felt like I had to change them again, just to be sure. I brought all my own sheets too. Nan had about a dozen I c
ould’ve used but they didn’t seem to bend as much as I usually like my fabrics to. Practically starched rigid!

  We were both pretty tired after the journey down and I really didn’t fancy cooking. There were a couple of fish and chip shops in the area, so we made do with that. Jess fell asleep watching Eastenders with me, and, after putting her to bed, I felt like going down myself too.

  It was only ten o’clock when I turned the TV and the lights off – not that late, but late enough to be spooked when there was another knock at the door. On my own and in a strange place, it made me tense very quickly. There was no peep hole in the door. And the window next to it doesn’t give you much of a look around, not if the person is stood just a bit to the right of the door.

  I couldn’t see anyone, so I shouted “Hello?” There was no answer.

  I opened it slowly and took a look outside. There was no one – again. I took a step out and looked up and down the street, but it was dead quiet, absolutely dead; not a noise or anything.

  That made me feel pretty uncomfortable. I mean, sure, it’s just a game, but it’s a bit late for games. And I’d only just got there. Were they doing this every night? Even when the house was empty? Surely they’d have heard about my Nan dying? Or would they? I suppose today, even in small towns, people don’t talk to their neighbours. But it had been six months…

  They would have to have been so quiet though. I didn’t hear anything. Not a footstep, even though they would’ve had to have run away, wouldn’t they? Where did they go? And how fast? And how quietly…

  It was weird and made me feel pretty odd. I didn’t sleep that well that night, although I think that was probably something to do with the lumpy mattress I slept on. I wasn’t sleeping in the main bedroom until we’d changed the bed, or at least the mattress. That was certainly where Nan had died.

  I wasn’t keen on doing anything too serious straight away. Instead I went shopping. Falmouth’s the closest proper town to Penryn; it’s walkable, but I took the bus anyway. Jess was pretty excited to see the sea, and started pestering me to get her a bucket and spade. Nice town; busy, but quaint. Lots of local stores, arts centre, couple of small supermarkets. Some old fashioned pubs, some bars. Not much of a club scene, as you’d expect, but we were probably a bit old for that anyway. Lot of students around, of course; it was good to see them. Made me feel like it wasn’t just a place for pensioners and retirees.

  The beach was quite busy, but not too busy. Jess loved playing in the sand and I bought myself a coffee and played with her and read my book while she went paddling at the edge of the water and built sand castles. We had a lovely day and she had a really good time. You forget just how good fresh air is when you’re in the city. I wanted to walk back from the beach and take it all in, but Jess had tired herself out, so it was the bus back again.

  It was such a lovely day, but of course, something had to happen to spoil it. I was going to make pasta for dinner (I’m not much of a cook) but had forgotten the pasta sauce. Jess was fast asleep so I thought it would be all right if I just ran up to the local shop to get some and be back before she was any the wiser. Just as I was about to leave though, I couldn’t find the house keys. I was sure I’d left them in the kitchen but found them ages later on the dining room table. I wasn’t sure how’d they got there; when I come to a new place I always instinctively find a place to put my keys and always put them there, every time. I didn’t know how they’d ended up there; I wouldn’t have put them there and I didn’t think Jess would have moved them.

  Jess hadn’t woken up so I thought I still had time to run up to the shop. But when I got there there was this group of kids – teenagers, four of them. I heard them whispering and sniggering when I got in there, and what they said was not flattering.

  One of them came up close to me, pretending to look at milk in the fridge and then he grabbed my bum. I turned around, shocked, and then another one of them came up to me and said “Sorry about them luv. Oi, leave the girl alone alright? You wanna be careful of guys like him, here let me walk you home, keep you safe from these muppets.”

  I told them to… Fuck off! But of course that only encouraged them: “What do you have to be like that for? Here’s me trying to help, and you gotta start swearin’ at me.”

  His mates were laughing idiotically: “Leave it mate, this lady’s not for you…”

  Then the shopkeeper tried to step in. He was Indian and he told them to leave me alone. They said something to him I won’t repeat. After they told him to F-off he came from behind the counter, and they knocked over a postcard stand in front of him and ran out.

  He apologised to me, not that it was his fault. As I left the shop, they were outside, just across the road. They shouted to me again; I just started to walk as fast as I could to get away from them.

  When I got back to the house, pretty flustered, Jess was still asleep, thankfully. I put the kettle on straight away and broke up the spaghetti for the pan. Then, of course, there was another knock on the door. Still angry, I didn’t waste time. I ran straight for it and pulled it open.

  There was no one there, yet again. Not in the mood for this stupidity, I ran down the steps into the road and yelled, “Whoever’s doing this, it’s not funny!” I looked up and down the road. No one answered, no one made themselves known. All was quiet – again! I walked back up the steps; stupidly I shouted “Do it again, and I’ll call the police,” which was like giving them encouragement to do it all over again.

  And sure enough, before we’d even finished dinner, there it was: another knock at the door. I just ignored it; best thing to do, just ignore it. If it was anyone important - which it shouldn’t be since I’d only just got there - then they’d knock twice.

  I didn’t sleep well that second night. I was too rattled by the kids in the shop and by the knocks on the door. It wasn’t boding well, this trip to Cornwall. The place seemed nice, but so much trouble already. I tried to tell myself it was just coincidence; that you couldn’t judge a place completely just because you’d had a couple of bad experiences with kids. Everyone else seemed nice – lovely in fact.

  I was pretty moody the next day; not only was I tired, but things seemed to be missing. My toothbrush wasn’t there; I couldn’t find my towel. I asked Jessica if she’d touched them and she said she hadn’t. She did sometimes just pick things up and leave them somewhere else but I really couldn’t see what fascination my toothbrush would have for her now.

  It was a bad time to start feeling off as it was time to actually start doing some work. I got up and had some eggs and soldiers and sneaked a cigarette outside. I’d given them up, but once in a while, when I was feeling a bit tense, they helped me relax a little bit.

  I tried to keep it hidden from Jess, but she suddenly came through the patio door. I threw it down into a plant pot in a panic as she said: “Mummy there’s someone at the door again.”

  “Don’t worry sweetie. It’s no one, just ignore it.”

  “But what if it’s Daddy?”

  I smiled: “Daddy’s still in London sweetie. He won’t be here till the day after tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m going to see who it is.”

  I picked up the cigarette because Alan might spot it. He hates it when I smoke.

  “There’s no one there Mummy.”

  “I know sweetheart, just ignore it if anybody knocks.”

  It was another nice day, shame to spend it indoors going through cupboards, but I had to make a start. Jess wanted, first though, to take a look in the pond for some fish. Dad hadn’t mentioned whether there was anything living in there or not, but it was so cloudy and murky we couldn’t tell one way or another. Just as I was about to go back inside, I saw Jess by the stone wall, jumping up to see if there was anyone in the opposite garden.

  I asked her what she was doing and she said she was trying to see if the boy was still hiding. She said that she’d seen a boy there yesterday but he kept hiding behind the wall so she wouldn
’t see him. I looked into the next garden and there was no one there. There were no toys there; it didn’t seem like they would have a kid, but who could tell?

  I got to emptying out the cupboards, starting with the one under the stairs, separating everything into three piles: stuff to bin, stuff to give away and stuff to keep – which was the smallest pile. It was a miserable day to spend indoors; it was so lovely outside.

  I’d brought Jess’ art and painting things; that was usually a good way to keep her busy. That would buy me a couple of hours at least. After that, I’d bought all her cooking toys and those were her favourites so I knew they would could keep her occupied. She has to have gotten her fascination with food from Alan; she certainly hasn’t got it from me!

  But it turned out it was me that got bored and restless first. After a couple of hours, I decided to take a walk up to the local charity shop. I loaded up a couple of carrier bags with the ok stuff and walked up there with Jess, with a promise of a cake from the bakery. The old ladies were as lovely as you’d expect, and quickly got nosy about who I was and if I was moving into the area. They then talked my socks off for about ten minutes, while Jess got very annoyed and started to get very grumpy. I seriously considered not buying her cake after all as punishment.

  I got them to give me a number for a local charity that would do house collections, so it wasn’t a trip in vain. We did get some cakes, after Jess was made to say sorry, and then we went back to the house. And wouldn’t you know it, not more than a few minutes after we’d arrived, there was a knock at the door. I did start to think about calling the police, this was bordering on harassment. I, of cause, decided to ignore it.

  We ate the cakes together but it was soon back to work. I got back to sorting things out in the kitchen – it really was the biggest hoard of junk you ever saw. I was working into the afternoon. Jess fell asleep on her own, without me having to put her up for a nap.