Livia: Part 2

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by Astra1928

by Astra1928

"It's a woman. She's been shot!" said Pat. Alison rased a hand to her open mouth in shock. "Is she okay?"

"Robin, is she breathing?"

"Yes, I hear it. But she breathes slowly and laboured."

Alison ran forward, kneeling down next to her.

"Hello, are you ok? Can you hear me? What happened?"

The woman propped herself up from the grass, wincing. The Ghosts were met with the sight of a bullet hole in her chest. "Can't breathe much. Hunter. Bush. Stag. Shoot. Miss. Hit me. Ran. Painting."

All this time, Mike was following on, horrified. "Mike, call the ambulance!" Alison shouted, her breath making a cloud in the cold winter air.

Mike quickly fumbled with his phone, ripping off his gloves and dialling 999. It rang.

Once. Twice. Three times. Then rang out.

Alison ran her hands through her hair in stress. "There's no signal! She's going to die! What do we do?"

All this time, the woman was lying on the grass, slowly fading away. She was young, with brown wavy hair and olive green eyes. Her skin was pale and pink with the cold. She wore a dark blue and deep purple heavy winter dress. In front of her was a canvas on an easel, with a half-finished watercolour painting on it. A bullet hole penetrated the canvas, creating a dramatic blank patch in the painting. It depicted a stag, standing magnificently in front of some forest, identical to the scene in front of them.

Thomas was watching, both horrified and enchanted. She was stunningly beautiful. He had finally snapped out of his daze about the day of his death.

There was a sudden ripple of murmurs among the ghost.

"She's fading! She's fading!"

Sure enough, to Alison, she saw a yellow glow emanating from the woman, and slowly, slowly, she blinked and stood up, looking in wonder at the circle of rag-tag Ghosts. They all erupted in talking, trying to ask at least thirty questions at once.

Alison whispered to Mike. "She's died. So sad."

They both took off their woolly hats and hoods, and bowed their heads for a moment.

The other Ghosts noticed, quietened down, and followed. One by one, the stepped back and bowed their heads. In silence, they reflected on the poor woman's death, and the life she could have had. A lone raven cawed in the background, echoing through the mist hanging over the frosty field like a shroud.

"Hello, what's your name? I understand this must be a very strange and stressful experience for you. I'm Alison. I'm alive, but I can see Ghosts. It's a long story. This is Mike, my husband. He can't see them."

"And these" Alison said, with a wide sweep of her hand "are the other Ghosts of Button House. They're very talkative, so I'll let them introduce themselves in their own time."

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Livia Campbell-Gray. I'm- I was a watercolour painter. I came here this morning to paint the landscape. All of a sudden, a stag came into view just near where I was, so I decided to paint it. Then I heard a click, and saw some metal glinting in the corner of my eye. In that bush over there (pointing) a hunter of some sort was hiding. He obviously decided to try and shoot the stag. But it heard a twig snap, and bolted. He missed and hit me. Then he ran away back into the forest. This is a question I never thought I'd ask, but am I dead?"

Looking down at her body, Alison said "Unfortunately, yes. You're just there, on the grass. Come inside, it's warmer there. And there's better signal to call the police and your family."

Together they walked back to the house, solemn as a funeral procession.