Ghosts of our Past

The hooded figure

I woke to dappled sunlight speckling the carpet of my room. I bade the landlord farewell and left with Mr Clarke to finish the previous day's work. Mr Clarke led his pony around from the stable and hooked him up to the cart, muttering as he did so, nodding and gesturing during his one man conversation. Feeling rather as though I was intruding on the man's thoughts, I turned away to examine my surroundings. The street had a few people walking down it, discussing the day ahead and whispering and pointing as they did so. There were not many of them, though this was progress upon the previous day's abandoned square. I noticed, however, that they all kept their heads down, only glancing up to see where they were going. They all shuffled along hurriedly, none of them wanting to draw attention to themselves.

All except one.

A single, dark hooded figure- female- stood on the corner of a side street which branched off the one upon which I was stood. She gazed pointedly at me and the trap, poker faced in the shadows. I returned her stare, hoping to work something out about the curious woman- no, figure, for this could not be described as a normal being- that lurked on the corner.
At that moment, Mr Clarke looked up and saw my staring. He gripped my arm and then spoke sternly in a low rumble, "We'd best be going Mr Kennedy." I brushed him away, asking to wait a minute, in thrall to the black, looming figure, at which Mr Clarke's face grew a grey pallor and his eyes fretful. He staggered backwards, snapping me from my trance.

"Mr Clarke, are you alright?" I asked, catching his wrist as he fell.

"We should go, Sir. We should go now."

"Mr Clarke, you are in no fit state to drive. Maybe we should go back inside, get you a drink, perhaps?" Mr Clarke simply nodded as I led him back to the door.

The landlord appeared as we slowly made our way up the stairs to the safety of the hotel. His face turned grave as he saw Mr Clarke's unnatural colour. He took Mr Clarke and gestured for me to attend to the pony that still stood patiently on the street. As I returned to the placid animal, I couldn't help but be drawn to look at where the mysterious figure had stood. She wasn't there. I looked down the street, trying to work out where the woman had gone, but there was no evidence as to her potential whereabouts. I stroked the pony's nose, returning to the real world as I gazed into his dark eyes. I took him around the back of the building and tied him in the stable. I found some hay in a small shed and a brush, though the animal had been no farther than a few metres that day. I brushed the creature for hours, absorbed in my own thoughts, until the landlord came to find me.

"There you are Mr Kennedy! I thought I'd lost yer. Perhaps yer should come inside now. Have a cuppa tea." Wordlessly, I followed the man inside and sat by the fire with him. Mr Clarke had already been sent to his room.

"Mr Kennedy," the landlord started uncomfortably, "I don't want to be rude or pry into your business, but why are you here?" I was taken aback by how direct the landlord was, and how accusatory his tone was.

"I was making a delivery of some Bibles to St Bartholomew's Church, on the square," I replied, slightly defensive after the landlord's clear distaste.

"Nothing else?"

"Look, Sir, I'm sorry but I'm not quite sure why you seem to take my being here so offensively. I am only doing my job and making a few notes for a news report. I see nothing wrong with the matter!" I objected, clouded by a confrontational mist.

"Once again, Mr Kennedy, I apologise. It's just that we don't often get visitors at Crowling Ground. There are... well... strange happenings about."

I immediately regretted being so forceful. The landlord was merely trying to understand. I apologised to him for my reaction and told him that I had not expected to stay long and intended to finish the delivery that afternoon. I also explained the events of my first day at Crowling Ground.

"I doubt very much that anyone will be in the church anytime soon. It has remained locked for many years now. I'm surprised that it were open at all. Perhaps it would be best to leave the books by the door and go home. You may have to wait another day or two before Mr Clarke is in any state to escort you though."

I considered the landlord's advice carefully and told him I would do so if I hadn't heard anything by the end of the day. I ate lunch silently with the landlord before going to explore the town that I would now likely be spending some time in.