First draft of a Ghost Story...
Just
for a Moment
Molly had a knack for pushing me into things I didn’t
want to do. Even though she was younger than me, I could never say no. It was
her eyes that did it. The way they gazed up at me with such pleading, like the
eyes of someone about to die.
I should have taken that look as an omen.
Little Orping was in the centre of nowhere, and
although mother kept insisting that we ‘give the place time’, we had decided in
a sisterly pact to despise it and never alter our judgment on the matter. The hamlet
held the lives of three families, ours an added fourth, and festering there was
the worst weather in Britain. Drizzly mist swept the length of the streets and
seeped through the protection of our clothes until we were sodden and
miserable.
My father had decided to uproot us from the grandeur
of York when his work at the factory had come to an abrupt end due to its closure.
That night, in the attic room I shared with Molly, we had listened to our
mother weep through the floorboards and woke in the morning to find our bags
already packed.
The train had taken us to Little Orping later that day,
snaking its way through civilisation until it petered out and died and all we
could see through the smeared windows was the vastness of nothing and the thin tributaries
of drizzle carving murky streams through the muck.
Father started work on the land the very afternoon
of our arrival. Our landlord and owner of Little Orping was a friend from his
past and had offered him money to help him and a small band of workers to fell
the wood that sat on the boundaries of his meagre empire. As he put it, to ‘make
room for the light’. My sister and I had no idea to his meaning. His name was
Greaves, only he insisted that we call him Sir to our dislike. During that
first introduction, when he turned his proud back, Molly and I pulled grotesque
faces despite the promise of severe penalty from my mother’s disapproving eyes.
On that first night in Little Orping, sleeping side
by side with our matching welts, Molly and I swore our loyalty to each other
and our return to York.
The next day, dressed in thick coats and our escape
plans prolonged due to our sudden need to explore, we escaped the confines of
Little Orping and headed for the woods, the only source of entertainment for
two bored, degenerate children. As soon as we entered we felt the familiar
sense of excitement that we had often felt when sneaking into York Minster, and
both expressed how sad it would be to lose the only treasure in that dreary
place. The tall trees reminded us of the high stone arches carved centuries
ago, but the dull light that filtered in through the leaves above bore no resemblance
to the glorious sunlight that streamed in through the stained glass windows to
make pools of swirling colour on the flagstone floors. However, the silence was
the same. In the Minster it was as though the carved saints and angels had been
talking right up to the point of your entrance, and were holding their breath
until you left again so as not to reveal themselves as real. In the wood, it
was as though the very trees were holding their tongues. I wondered what they
possibly had to talk about.
We moved amongst the branches, mapping a new route
through the matted ground and breaking the hush with our rebellious chatter. We
were so concerned with our giggles that we nearly ended up as a bundled heap on
the floor along with a large man and his drooling dogs. We untangled ourselves
quickly, Molly struggling to stifle yet more giggles as she stared into the
heated face of Greaves.
His eyes were ablaze as they fixed upon us, but he
made no move to speak. After hurriedly scouring the surrounding area, he
demanded in whispered tones that we follow him back to Little Orping, stressing
how worried our mother would be. It was then that I felt it. The sudden
heaviness of the air, as though the mist was thickening. As though something
else moved amongst the trees. Before I could accept Greaves’ offer, Molly
grabbed my hand and pulled me into a run that took us away from the whimpers of
his dogs and further into the suffocation she seemed oblivious to.
As we ran, I was struck by how large the woods were.
From the outskirts, they seemed small and contained, but inside the trees
created an illusion of a never ending world. I was just about to drag my hand
back and demand Molly stop when she did of her own accord. I fell forward,
being careful to miss her and landed with a thump on the leaf strewn floor.
Molly made no move to help me up, and when I glared at her with thunderous words
about to spew forth, I realised why.
Her eyes were wide; her lips slightly parted as she
stared across at a large wooden hut nestled into a circular embrace of trees.
It was one storey high, the type of which had been erected during the war, and seemed
to be in a case of serious disrepair. Windows hung like limp limbs from their
hinges, the front door had all but fallen clear of the structure, and there was
not one single light to signify any life within the walls.
Naturally, Molly unfroze and leapt towards the
gaping doorway. She was gone before I had time to shout her name.
I scrabbled to my feet, ignoring the protests of my
knees that seemed to have taken most of the impact during my fall. I didn’t
hesitate as I entered the hut. My only thought was Molly and the fact that the
place looked as though it could crumble to dust at any moment.
So shocked was I, then, when I found myself in a
most resplendent cinema.
The ticket booth stood empty to my right, the leather
seat within dipped with the impression of having just been vacated, as though
someone had been seated there only moments before. Ahead, a refreshment counter
stood decked with sweets that I had never seen. As I drew closer and examined
their names, I recalled a memory of my father speaking about his trips to the cinema
in his youth and the sweets he used to buy. He had met my mother there, and had
spoiled her with a packet of mint marvels. I saw them there in that cinema in
the woods, nestled in the bottom corner of the display case as though plucked
from my father’s memory.
As I moved through to the only inner door Molly
could have disappeared through, I felt as though I was being watched, and
turned my head in all directions. Posters upon posters of film stars I didn’t
recognise plastered the walls haphazardly. It was the only decoration in the
place that seemed untidy, as though they had been added as a ruched
afterthought. On closer inspection, I noticed that nearly all of them held
somewhere within their picture the same young woman, blonde and beautiful, with
a heart-shaped face and donned in elegant fashions from a time gone by. As I looked
at her closer still, I noticed lines drawn across her face, tears in the paper
where her smooth skin and high cheekbones resided. Gentle slashes across her
lips, her neck. I shivered, held captivated by that strange finding until Molly
filled my thoughts again and I moved on towards the door.
Once inside, I saw her, standing close to a wide
stage above which hung the cinema screen, curtains drawn as though ready for an
audience. She turned as she heard me enter, and I realised she was holding something
close to her chest. It was furry and limp, and at first I was repulsed until I
drew closer and saw that it was a coat, similar to one my Grandmother had worn
whenever she had gone out in public, despite my mother saying how dated it
looked. This coat was different though. Unlike my Grandmother’s, which had looked
rather ragged and matted by the time she had died, the one clutched in Molly’s
hands looked brand new, as though it had just left the factory where skilled
hands had sewn the pelts into a garment fit for a film star. Molly stroked it
as I neared her, stating how beautiful it was and how she had just found it
lying there on the stage. How she would love to wear it, to try it on just for
a moment.
Just for a moment.
He came as soon at her arms delved into the sleeves,
as soon as a smile lit her face and scattered into an array of laughter.
The Wurlitzer surfaced like a terrible fish from the
depths of the stage. His arms and legs flailed like those of a marionette as he
created the music that would haunt me into adulthood. His hair was matted in
clumps about his head, the skin around them red raw as though constantly
scratched at by jagged nails.
I never saw his face, only watched as he played and
played and played, as my sister, laughing still and draped in fur, crept ever
closer to him and then sat beside that figure on the stool. As the Wurlitzer descended
down again into the stage, as terror froze me to the spot and I watched my
sister go.
I watched my sister go.
Greaves found me there an hour later, petrified and
alone. He had brought with him a rally of men. Where he had found so many
people in such a cut off world I still do not know. But my father was among
them. And my mother had come too. As she lifted me into her arms and carried me
away, I screamed for Molly, I screamed for my little sister. But she did not
answer, and the men took no notice as Greaves gestured to the cinema and the
surrounding wood and gave out his solemn command:
‘Gentlemen, cut it down.’
When the job was done, and every tree had been
felled, I was allowed back to see the debris. There was no sign of any man-made
structure amongst the trunks and twigs. No sign of the cinema in the woods, and
no sign at all of a little girl in a fur coat.
Nobody spoke of the incident. My mother went into
silence for the rest of her days, and my father, after moving us back to York,
lost himself and his family to drink.
I married young, to a handsome man who wanted to
care for me and ease the pain I held in my eyes. To this day, I haven’t told
him about Molly and her disappearance. We have a child now. A girl, Bella, and
at times when she giggles or seizes my hand in such a way, I am transported to
my childhood and to Molly. I have learnt to not let those moments paralyse me
as they once did.
Now I feel I have written everything, and I hear my
Bella calling. She is declaring that a parcel has just been delivered. I hear
her unwrapping it as she approaches. She exclaims how elegant, how beautiful the
contents is, how she would love to wear it, to try it on just for a moment.
Just for a moment.
