The Three O'Clock Ghost

Chapter 7 - The Truth

"No! Not Matty!" Grandma put her hands over her face as if trying to shield herself from the shock.

Pa sat on the chair, staring into the fire, not moving. Charlotte went over, knelt down and put her head on the blanket covering his legs.

Her tears started. Pa put his hand on her head and stroked her hair as he felt her shake. She cried and cried until her ribs ached. Pa still hadn't spoken.

Eventually he let out a long, deep sigh, as Charlotte stopped crying, but her body jerked from time to time with the aftermath of her sobbing.

"My Poppet. There now. There's nothing we can do except hope that he comes home soon."

Grandma sat at the table, staring at Matty's empty chair.

They all stayed in the kitchen, saying nothing, waiting.

The door opened at last and Ma stumbled in, exhausted and pale. She immediately went to the sink and tried to scrub away the patches of blood.

"Jenny, you need to rest my love," Pa said to her softly. At first she pretended not to hear, but realising her attempts were in vain, she flopped onto a chair and rested her elbows on the table, her head in her hands.

"He looks so small and weak Joe. They said it'll be weeks. But he will live, thank heaven."

Charlotte went up to her mother and stroked her bowed head.

"Did he say anything Ma?" she asked.

"He was asleep mostly, but from time to time he would drift awake and say Frisker's name. I don't know why."

"You don't think he had something to do with the accident, do you Ma?" Charlotte hardly dare voice the nagging fear that had been growing inside her head since she had heard Matty say that name.

"I don't know sweetheart. I can't think straight anymore. All I can see is my little boy laying in that room with the blood...all the blood...there was so much..."

"Hush now Jenny," said Pa as he slowly stood up and came to comfort his weeping wife. Charlotte could not stand it anymore and ran up the stairs, threw herself face down on the bed, buried her face in Matty's pillow and began crying all over again. She could smell him on his pillow, which made it worse. Could it get any worse she wondered?

* * *

Charlotte knew she must have slept, as she woke up feeling very stiff, still with her face in Matty's pillow.

"Charlotte, are you up?"

Her Ma's voice came from downstairs.

"What, do we still have to go to work?" she shouted.

Ma came upstairs, sat beside her on the bed and put her arm around her shoulders.

"I'm afraid so sweetheart or we'll lose the house. We need to have a house for Matty to come home to. We need to carry on as normal"

"But it's not normal! What if he dies?"

"Stop it!" said Ma firmly. "Charlotte, do not speak like that. We have to carry on as normal. It's a good hospital I'm sure and he will come home to us. They stopped the bleeding and it could have been worse. He could have lost his arm." Ma gulped at the thought. "Now come downstairs and we'll be off to the mill."

Charlotte still had her clothes on from the day before. A splash of cold water made her feel a little fresher and she set off with her mother in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

She was so preoccupied with thoughts of her brother that Charlotte almost forgot about the ghost and only when returning from the short afternoon rest, did her stomach lurch again at the remembrance of the boy.

He was there. He repeated the ritual of pointing to the door and once again, when Charlotte turned to look at the object of his attention, she saw the familiar scene. Nothing unusual. What was his meaning? He pointed at Charlotte but this time she was in no mood for mystery.

"For goodness sake will you please tell me what you mean!" she mouthed, her face showing her frustration. She instantly regretted her short temper and worried that she might frighten the boy away. Then for a fraction of a second she almost laughed at herself as she thought "Hang on, is it not me that should be frightened – I'm the one staring at a ghost!"

"I'm sorry," she mouthed, "I feel helpless. You must tell me what you want. I want to help you."

To her surprise, the boy smiled and Charlotte's heart filled with warmth. This was incredible: her brother was lying in pain somewhere across town; her Ma was trying desperately to carry on with her wretched day; Pa and Grandma were at home, helpless and worried sick, and here she was at one end of this noisy, miserable room, communicating with a smiling ghost!

The boy's face then became serious.

"My father. You must find my father."

"Mr Wilkinson? But I don't know where to find him. Why?"

"Find my father. Tell him it was Mr Frisker."

Charlotte was stunned. She suddenly realised that the boy had been pointing at Friskers Whiskers each time.

"What? What did he do?" she gasped.

"Mr Frisker killed me."