Putting a different (festive) hat today, and to mark the Winter Solstice, I thought I’d share a chilling ghost story called A Walk in the Park.
A Walk in the Park is the first of a quartet of paranormal stories published as Seasonal Disorders. I thought I'd redesign the cover to mark the occasion, using one of my own cyanotypes.
The sun. The moon. The stars ... And a plethora of malevolent entities ...
Read
the first chapter below. The second and third chapters will appear on
consecutive days.
But if
you can’t wait, head over to Seasonal Disorders for the complete set. I’m giving 50%
to Plantlife on all sales this Christmas.
Merry Christmas. Or is it?
A walk in the park
by Pamela Kelt
A supernatural romance
Chapter One
‘I simply do not see why you wish to go outside. It is decidedly frosty.’ The old woman shuddered, the ties on her lace bonnet fluttering against her jowls.
‘That is precisely why I wish to go out, madam.’ And to escape your incessant moaning for a while, thought Lilian. She glanced through the yellowed lace curtains to a swathe of trees beyond. With luck, she might see a red squirrel. There was a crust in the breadbin that might not be missed ... She kept her expression bland, having learned not to wheedle.
‘You should be happy to be indoors, doing your crochet.’
Lilian’s spirits sank. She was poor at needlework, finding herself staring at endless loops of tangled threads.
The old woman sniffed. ‘You are supposed to be my companion, which does not mean gallivanting about the park, or anywhere else, for that matter. Have you heard those dreadful rumours about the place?’
‘No, madam.’ Lilian’s interest quickened.
The old woman popped a lozenge into her almost-toothless mouth and sucked. ‘They say there is a “presence” in the observatory. I do not believe in such nonsense, of course, being a God-fearing soul, but perhaps it is some degenerate from the fleshpots of Manchester, seeking young female victims for his vile trade.’
The old biddy had obviously been pondering the matter with her usual prurience. Lilian plumped up the cushion. ‘I should very much like to take a stroll along Lord Street. The confectioner’s will be open.’ She awaited her suggestion with interest.
‘Well, I am running out of aniseed bonbons.’
Later that morning, after a hasty visit to the emporium in question to preserve some vestige of verisimilitude, Lilian, suitably booted, caped and bonneted, walked through the gates of Rawlinson Park. Its clever labyrinthine paths were a balm to her fretful boredom. She loved the place, with its ornamental lake, fountains, glasshouse, ferneries and mock woodlands of chestnut trees, interspersed with tall Douglas firs.
It was a popular haunt: nannies could perambulate their charges along the wider paths with ease; children enjoyed feeding the ducks; couples could stroll discreetly obscured by dense shrubs and high embankments. On Sundays, there was music from the bandstand. But that winter day, the eerie silence was tangible.
It was a few days before Christmas, the longest night of the year, and she supposed most folk were shopping or with their families. Even though it was only noon, the sun was low in the sky and the silvery light glowed through the tracery of branches. A vestige of snow remained from mid-December, highlighting the forms, and a layer of frost coated the ground. As the temperature began to drop, her breath formed pale, grey feathers in the air.
It was only a matter of time before the old woman passed away.
She always felt guilty at this thought, but it was a seductive one. Afterwards, she would leave Southport, go to Manchester or Liverpool – or even Yorkshire. Find a job. Take evening classes and learn something new, dangerous, scientific. Maybe even travel to Europe and beyond. It was possible.
As ever, she made for the lake, intending to take her usual route clockwise along the main path. It had frozen overnight and looked more beautiful than ever, its surface opaque and glistening like a sheet of mother of pearl. Three boys were stabbing at the edge with a stick. One yelled in fright and they turned tail and ran. Curious, she strolled over to take a look for herself. A grey form swelled in the murky water and made her jump. Then she saw the rubbery lips of a monstrous carp as it bobbed to the surface, before swimming away lazily. She shuddered. Horrible thing.
Moving away from the lake, a giggle drew her attention and she smiled indulgently as a couple, defying the cold, strolled under one of mock stone archways, no doubt in search of an intimate moment. The young man carried two pairs of roller skates by their laces.
Unwilling to intrude, she decided to take an anti-clockwise route. Of course, she was not superstitious. Not at all, but it seemed deliciously dangerous to go the ‘wrong way round’. She struck out on the path, feeling bold and independent.
The contrast of the dazzling sun and the dense shadows gave the place a secretive air. Odd how different the park looked from this different perspective.
As she passed the glasshouses, she caught the whiff of expensive tobacco. An elderly gentleman was seated on a wrought iron bench nearby. A sought-after spot, it was warmed by the greenhouse heating pipes and looked out over the lake. It was cold to be sitting out, but she assumed he was just catching his breath before heading home to a warm fire and slippers. He nodded as she went past.
The noise of a child’s laugh reached her. Peering through the mist, she saw a young boy in a sailor suit, flicking at a wooden top with a look of fierce determination. No doubt he had worked hard to prevail on an indulgent parent or nursemaid to allow him out to play on such a chilly day.
Would she ever have children now? Unlikely, but a placement with a large family might help assuage the pain.
The small figure was soon just a blur between the trees, vanishing before her eyes like the phantom son she would be denied.
The path became muddy, so she diverted to the bamboo walk, its majestic green rods encrusted with rime. Beginning to feel a little chilly, she pulled her cape more tightly around her shoulders.
She walked on, reaching the rose garden, now bereft of leaves, but a single, rather crumpled and damp winter rose remained, bravely red against the hoary soil. With a faint smile, she suspected she knew how it felt.
Then came the unmistakeable sound of a dog scampering, claws pattering on the stone path. A small dog scampered towards her. Not a pedigree, although rather handsome, its pale silky fur freckled with patches of black and grey. It had big, caramel eyes and a happy expression, mouth open as if it were laughing. Adorable, she thought, with a sigh. Her mistress hated anything with four legs. In truth, she hated anything with two legs. One day, thought Lilian, she would have a dog all to herself. Or if she ever found a husband, she would share it with him. And the children ...
Stop it, she warned herself. Such daydreams were dangerous and an utter waste of time. They only served to make her feel wretched and alone. The truth of the matter was that she was plain, with unfashionable copper-coloured hair, saddled with a mediocre education and the dress sense of a grocer’s wife.
A short bark made her turn and smile. The dog seemed to like her company and trotted alongside her. The floppy ears bounced up and down as he walked in a way that made her laugh out loud. She paused and it stopped too, allowing her to stroke its head. Then, with a joyful ‘woof’, it darted off into the holly bushes.
For a second, there was silence. She listened intently. An anxious yap made her jump. Poor thing, she thought. Had he hurt himself? She left the path, pushing past some rhododendrons, and hastened to the lake, but could see no sign of him. Ahead, was the fernery. She hurried towards its steamy-paned warmth, opening the stiff door and staring inside, but there was no sign of him among the frond-filled beds.
Another bark outside drew her back to the rose garden, but there was still no sign of him.
For a few minutes, she zigzagged through the trees, calling ‘Doggie’. Silly, really. She did not even know his name and she had never learned to whistle.
She double-backed through the pines and found herself facing the frozen lake. Its frosty coating glistened, drawing her towards it. There was a squirm of movement in her peripheral vision. The dog? She squinted into the deepening twilight, the sun teetering on the horizon, shimmering like a Christmas bauble. But then a rumbling sound drew near, like a distant steam train rattling along the tracks. What could it be?
Of course. It must be the two sweethearts, indulging in one final roller-skating adventure before heading home. The sound became louder. They must be going rather fast. She moved to get out of the way, but the low sunlight blinded her for a split second. Her foot slipped on an icy patch and something hit her in the lower back. The scene before her flipped like a postcard, and then vanished. There was a horrible crack, a rush of air, an icy coldness ... then an ink-black void.
***
Something touched her cheek.
‘Excuse me, miss. Are you all right?’
She dragged open her eyelids. ‘Y-yes. I think so.’
As her eyes adjusted, she saw the dog’s muzzle right in front of her, pink tongue lolling. He licked her face again and barked, looking up. ‘Good dog,’ she said, her voice sounding tinny. Then she managed to sit up and gaze around. A tall, young gentleman hovered nearby. He regarded her with anxiety. ‘Are you sure?’
She pondered. ‘Yes. What happened?’
‘You fell in, I am afraid. I heard the splash.’
A vision of the two roller skaters flashed across her mind. ‘That is right. I could not see for a second, then I slipped. How silly of me. But how did I get back to dry land?’
He flushed. ‘I more or less fished you out.’
‘Thank you.’
The term seemed inadequate but he looked pleased. ‘Let me help you up. My name is Master Bartholomew Goodman.’ A firm arm drew her up. ‘Just call me Bertie.’
She brushed down her skirts. ‘Thank you, Bertie. My name is Lilian Ravenscroft. Miss.’
‘How do you do?’ They shook hands formally. His was pleasantly cool.
She stole a discreet look at her rescuer. He had a pleasant, cleanly shaven face, brown eyes, dark hair. The spectacles were a clerical half-moon style that rather suited him. His coat was good quality dark wool, and he had a long hand-knitted muffler around his neck, but his top hat was rather old-fashioned. He saw her glance and removed the hat, buffing it with his cuff.
Immediately, she felt guilty. What gave her the right to judge? She had had the same day dress for several years.
At that moment, a middle-aged couple emerged, arm in arm. They were laughing and joking, elbowing each other at each jest.
Bartholomew half-turned, glancing towards her, his face full of trepidation. Then they simply walked through him. The young man’s body turned transparent for the split second of contact, and then its essence seemed to flow around the couple, before reforming, white threads of existence weaving themselves back into a human form. It reminded her of a spirit in a magic lantern show that she had seen one Christmas.
Something churned in her stomach. She stared back at the lake. There was a dark hole in the ice and jagged fragments all around the edge, like the teeth of a ghostly Cerberus. Strange images writhed in her mind. By the time she looked up, the middle-aged couple were right in front of her, walking in her direction. ‘Excuse-’ she began and sidestepped, but a ripping sensation tore through her. She stumbled, clutching her abdomen and looked up in time to see them stroll on, nodding and smiling at each other, as though nothing untoward had happened.
‘Come on.’ Bartholomew gently took an elbow and helped her to straighten up. ‘It is always horrible the first time. I am quite accustomed to it now. Just think of it like oil and water – two forms that simply cannot co-exist.’
‘But I fail to understand.’ She did, though. ‘I-’ She coughed, feeling sick, as she contemplated the truth. ‘I died? In the lake?’
His expression softened. ‘In a manner of speaking. I only know because the same thing happened to me. And we are not the only ones.’
‘Really?’
‘There is the boy, and an elderly gentleman.’
‘I saw them, too, but how is that possible? The couple that passed by failed to see us.’
He was nodding. ‘That bears out my theory, because I saw the gentleman and the boy too, just before I, er, joined them. Tell me, which way did you circumnavigate the park?’
‘Why, anti-clockwise! Is that significant?’
‘Yes, yes!’ He removed his spectacles and buffed them with his handkerchief. ‘I think it starts the process. So, what happened to you exactly?’
She thought back over her walk. ‘I diverted from normal route ... it seemed strange, somehow.’
He smiled, encouraging her to go on.
‘Then I smelt tobacco and saw an elderly gentleman with his cigar. He nodded to me.’
‘His name is Mr Allerton. Or rather, it was. Lovely fellow.’ He pointed back through the trees to seated figure and the glow of a cigar in the dark, like a winter firefly.
She looked inquiringly at her new companion. ‘What is his story?’
‘He died trying to save a dog over a decade ago, he told me. It was not even his dog! It was chasing a ball, I gather. They both perished.’
‘How sad.’
‘He loves to sit on that bench and watch the world go by.’
‘And I only saw him because I was walking anti-clockwise?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Then there was the little boy. He was playing with a spinning top.’
‘That was so tragic, too. He fell into the lake in ’93, racing after his toy. It was frozen, of course. The lake, I mean. Not the toy.’ He laughed at himself, then his expression turned grave.
‘How do you know the year?’
‘I tried to save him, but the ice was much thinner than it looked. And, well ... The sun was low in the sky and the light blinded me, just for a second. We both went through. It was terribly muddy underneath.’
‘You are not muddy now.’ She frowned.
‘Yes, I wondered about that. We seem to revert to how we were the second before, um, the occurrence.’
Indeed, her clothes were quite dry, while there was frost on her boots. She shook her head, feeling aggrieved. Then she remembered something. ‘Oh, there was someone else. Two sweethearts with their roller skates ...’
He shook his head. ‘No, I do not know them.’
‘Oh, wait. I saw them before I turned round. Actually, I am rather glad they are still alive. This is just so strange.’ She shook her head. ‘It is also really inconvenient. My mistress will be wondering where I am.’
A grim smile. ‘She will ll be kept guessing, for they will never find your body. Tell me, what year was it for you?’
Lilian shivered, but not with cold. ‘It is, was, 1901. Good Lord. Did you know the Queen died?’
‘No, I did not. Gracious. So, Prince Edward is king?’
‘Yes. He will be Edward VII when officially crowned.’ She sighed. ‘I always thought, well, that my mistress would go before me.’ She sighed, noticing how the purple shadows on the grass were lengthening. Bartholomew watched her closely. A thought struck her. ‘But what do you do all day? If I have nothing to do, I shall just die of boredom. Oh, dear. How awful. I am so sorry; this is more complicated than I thought.’
‘If it is any consolation, I do not miss my old life much. Being a lowly bank clerk is not much of an existence. All those rude customers, seas of numbers and shuffling queues. The manager was a dreadful bully. He seemed to enjoy making my life hell, excuse me. I hated him so much that I often wished ... Well, anyway.’ He shrugged.
‘Did you leave behind any loved ones? A family?’
Bertie shook his head. ‘Actually, I was rather lonely. You?’
She shook her head. ‘Just a cantankerous mistress, who seemed to enjoy denying me any pleasures. Have you ever tried to leave?’
‘I tried, for a while, walking in both directions, before you ask. Every time I reached the gate, there was a funny noise in my ears, like when you listen to a shell, and I would end up back at the lake.’
‘Endless loops,’ she said to herself.
‘Pardon?’
‘Oh, nothing. So, what shall we do? What can we do? I gather I have some senses ...’
‘The echo of your original senses is how I like to think of it. You will never feel cold, or hungry, at least.’
She put on a brave smile. ‘That is a start.’
He crooked his elbow in her direction. ‘Shall we?’
***
Come back tomorrow for Chapter 2.
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