Walking along, I spoke openly with Crow, "Dad says ghosts are people who die suddenly, and they don't realise they're dead. He saw the tall-man when he was my age, said he looked sad like he was looking for something he'd lost and couldn't find." I stopped and looked up, "Crow, did the tall-man die all of a sudden?"
"Caw."
His yes motivated me. It gave me a springboard into his identity – I could ask about people who'd died suddenly on the farm or at the college and deduce from there.
Upping my pace to match Crow, I ran with him into the farmyard, stopping in the middle to watch him circle, scrutinising his territory. My heart sank when he flew off without a caw goodbye.
When he didn't settle on the corner of the byre, his observational post, I knew the tall-man wasn't here; instead, humans probably were. Yet the place was deathly quiet, especially given a whole herd of cattle had been milked a short while before.
Welcoming the quiet, I thought with clarity. I wondered what the tall-man may have lost in the farming space in which I stood. Was it a personal item?
When Mam lost her engagement ring, she couldn't rest. I recalled the look of sorrow mingled with panic as she ran out the door to retrace her steps. I also remembered the joy as she came racing back, proudly brandishing the ring on her finger. "It was on the sink behind the bar; I'd taken it off to wash my hands," she exclaimed, glowing with relief. Looking around, I took in the enormity of the space, the number of buildings and out-houses, offices, and hay sheds. Eventually, I settled on the byre. If I was to find any lost personal items, I had to start
somewhere. I turned towards the milking parlour to start my search.
......
This time, I climbed through the side window un-encumbered by any grabbing uncles. It was warm and smelt of cow pooh and sour milk, a combination that didn't bother me, now that I'd become accustomed to country flavours.
My search began by walking along the concrete milking booths. I soon realised it was hard to find what you don't know you're looking for. But I continued, looking for a glint or a glimmer of light amongst the concrete that might lead me to a tall-man clue.
But my search stopped when I heard a sound.
A shuffling.
Instinctively I called out, "Is that you, Uncle Tommy?" mindful my joker uncle might try to startle me again.
"Tommy!" I repeated, my voice raised.
The shuffling continued.
Looking towards its source, my eyes settled on the main metal doors.
"Hello, who's there?"
When there came no reply, I became spooked.
Now, despite my extreme youth, I was a horror film aficionado, so I was acutely aware of how sounds could be used as tropes to trick and scare. I knew a shuffle and a rustle could become the jolting jump of a rat or the flapping bolt of a bat.
Thus, I listened with an experienced ear.
The shuffle came again – its sound dragging and heavy, not that of a rat or a bat.
YOU ARE READING
Secrets And Styes
Non-FictionI was seven the summer I travelled to Ireland with my brother and sister. Determined I was, to discover the identity of the tall-man, a ghost who appeared to Dad when he was my age - making Dad proud was a priority. Soon upon arrival, the whispering...
