The Ghostly Past

Chapter 12

Clara regretted her choice to leave almost as soon as she made it. She had been foolish to leave the bright safety of the pub, impulsive and angry. It still made her burn when she thought of the way they had treated her, the laughter, the disrespect. And then, after making a show of discussing telling her the truth, they had made a decision to lie to her again.

It was only a ten minute walk.

She had a light. And it was too late now anyway, as she took the shortcut down a lane between the thatched cottages.

It was cold. The streetlights were flickering in and out, like someone had gone crazy on the switch. She sped up her footsteps, the light in her phone illuminating the path as, quite abruptly, the lights went out. Her breathing increased, as she started to run. Just a few minutes, she thought. Just a few minutes and you're safe.

An edge of panic slid into her consciousness.

A figure stepped out of nowhere, just down the lane ahead of her.

The air suddenly felt heavy, weighted, oppressive. She stumbled, oddly clumsy. There seemed a nightmarish quality to it all, her limbs scarcely wanting to obey any longer.

It was the little girl she had seen on her second night. She could turn back, Clara supposed, or shine her phone light at the ghost, but she felt strangely unwilling. Instead, she started towards the girl, each footstep slow, her light trained at the ground. The girl approached too until the pool of phone light was just short of her feet.

The air felt frigid.

She was young, Clara saw. She was maybe around twelve, small in her heavy looking dress of navy silk and grey lace. Her face was beautiful, like a china doll, but all the colours were muted. Her blond hair was set in its ringlets, her features expressionless, wreathed in dark flickering shadows that obscured her eyes.

"What do you want?" She asked the girl, her voice high with fear. She said nothing.

Just shine the light on her, a little voice said. Just do it, and you'll be safe. But somehow she couldn't. She stood there, frozen, as the girl's hand reached and wrapped around her wrist.

Clara gasped. The girl's hand was freezing, and the sensation, like being dropped into icy water, was as painful as it was shocking as it spread across her entire body. For a moment, her vision clouded over.

As it cleared, she was looking out across a spacious garden. It was a dark, overcast day. There was a well in the centre, a little crooked. She was the girl, walking forward slowly, before stopping and hiding behind a bush.

Before her, near the well, were two little boys, both in Victorian garb. They were yelling at each other, words she couldn't hear. One lifted a stick from the ground, and struck the other.

She felt a sense of disillusionment watching them, a feeling that came from the girl. She felt bored, and wished they would both just go away, so that she could wander the gardens again by herself.

Clara gasped, finding herself back in the dark, shivering violently. She felt cold to her core, painfully so. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she stayed on her feet. She pushed on her footsteps slowing, dragging.

She leaned against a wall, her body wracked with spasms. What did it mean? She started to wonder, to speculate but she was so cold, her brain didn't seem to want to function.

The next street seemed so far away. Her hand could barely hold her phone any longer. She seemed to be getting weaker, the longer she walked.

The phone slipped from her hand, bouncing in its leather case onto the grass with a dull thud. The light from the torch steamed upwards towards the sky. She barely noticed it was gone, forcing her body onwards and around the corner.