A Walk in the Park - the thrilling conclusion ...

The sun. The moon. The stars. And a plethora of malevolent entities ...

Here’s the final chapter of A Walk in the Park, a ghost story for the Winter Solstice.

Cyanotype collage - Standing Stones in the Mist by Pam Kelt @BlueFernPrints

A Walk in the Park is the first offering, a blood-chilling tale in ‘The Woman in Black’ style. It’s the first of four stories forming the quartet, Seasonal Disorders, on Amazon. Featuring everything from mystic standing stones to Cold War aliens, the quartet is a dramatic anthology of parables of the paranormal inspired by changing seasons and the superstitions surrounding the powerful pull of the planets.

The first story tells the spine-tingling tale of a young Edwardian companion whose life takes an eerie turn during a stroll. What really happens when the sun ‘stands still’?

Last Spring is the vernal story, a crazed tale of deranged fairies set in 1920s Warwickshire. Following this is Midsummer Glen, a moody mythological mystery from 1930s Scotland.

Equinox moves to 1950s Russia – Omsk, to be precise – for some paranoid Cold War sci-fi. Meet anxious Arkady and his stoically mysterious comrade Yakov, a quirky caretaker with a past. ‘First we drink, then we save the world!’

If you missed Chapter one, you can find it Chapter one - A Walk in the Park:

Chapter two is Chapter two - A Walk in the Park:

Find the full book on Seasonal Disorders quartet. 

Fifty percent of sales will be donated to Plantlife, who do magnificent work, focusing on lasting positive change for wild flowers, plants and fungi, well known for their verge campaign to prevent unnecessary trimming of verges to protect the wildlife – and save money!

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A Walk in the Park

Chapter three

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Bartholomew worked his way through all the reference books, making notes. It seemed the forthcoming winter solstice would be around six in the evening. As he became more confident of the theories, he thought it would be nearer half-past six. They hoped this would be accurate enough for their purposes.

As for Lilian, she set herself the task of expanding her mind, reading every science paper, journal and textbook she could find. When she became confused or muddled by a new mathematical concept, Bertie would explain it to her, going over the principles as often as it took.

She loved his smile, his frown of concentration, his mercurial enthusiasm. It was a truly wonderful thing spending time with Bartholomew. Their initial infatuation deepened and every glance, word, touch was a treasure. So, she thought wryly. I am dead, but I have never felt more alive.

Not technically, she corrected herself.

From the windows of the observatory, they saw the spring bulbs blooming, the roses of summer and the leaves turn in the autumn.

Sometimes, they trained the telescope on the park and could see that Mr Allerton still sat on his bench. Do ghosts die, she wondered, unwilling to ask Bertie. Some days, the dog found a stick and took it to him, and he would throw it for a little while. The boy was getting better at spinning his top, and resolutely ignored the animal, running away to hide whenever it came near. Apart from that, he seemed happy enough, playing on his own in his little world.

Soon, the first frost arrived and they were counting the days to winter. They had agreed to take the old man and the boy with them, somehow. It seemed unfair to explain the desperate plan earlier, for it would have been upsetting to them both. ‘No need for them to brood,’ said Bertie, as they sat by the fire. He ran his fingers through her hair. ‘We can put it to them both on the day.’

And all the time, the presence of the dog became more and more menacing. During the day, he would potter about the park, at least, they assumed that was what he did. As the sun set, it would scratch at the door, howl and pant ... circling the observatory, sniffing, whining, yapping. Sometimes it threw itself against the door, making it rattle on its hinges. Their nerves stretched to breaking point, but a smile from the other, a light remark, kept them going.

December came with a blast of icy rain. The animal seemed more desperate than ever. Twice, they had caught it pattering up the first few stairs, while they waited at the top, furniture barricaded against the door, wondering what to do if it got in.

The twenty-first of December dawned. They rose from the bed they had made in the observatory dome, and descended to the club room. ‘When shall we speak to Mr Allerton and the boy?’

‘Before it gets dark?’

He nodded. ‘Then we must keep out of sight until six. The park will be empty then, which will make things easier.’

She nodded, feeling anxious. What if her wild plan failed to work? ‘Are we mad to try this?’ she asked. It is rather desperate.’

He kissed her. ‘We cannot die twice, can we?’

‘True.’

‘Now, I think perhaps I shall just check my calculations again.’ He hurried off to the desk in the corner. After an hour, he stretched. ‘And perhaps position the telescope for one last look at the stars? Just to be sure.’ She knew he was trying to hide his nervousness from her.

Then, horrors. Downstairs, the door opened and half a dozen bearded amateur astronomers trooped upstairs.

‘And I said to him, I said, “Well, put that in your Lancashire hotpot and boil it!”’ There was much merriment and backslapping at this, and then men stumped up the stairs and squeezed into the tiny chamber.

‘I cannot use the telescope now,’ hissed Bertie, dodging a portly chap with moustaches worthy of a Tibetan yak.

‘Do not worry. We may as well start perambulating the park now,’ said Lilian. ‘We shall track down Mr Allerton and the boy and explain the plan. Then, we can sit in the bandstand, perhaps, until it is time.’

‘But what if ...’

She took his hand to reassure him. He lowered his head and they held each other close. ‘A year with you has been the most perfect thing,’ she said. ‘If it continues, then I shall count myself all the luckier. Everything that happens next is because I have faith in you.’

Lost for words, he kissed her on the lips, then helped her on with her cape. He slipped on his coat, muffler and top hat. With a final glance at the clock, he wound his pocket watch. She took a last look at their sanctuary and together they descended the spiral staircase. It was half-past five.

It was strange to be outside once again, and she wondered if she would ever rediscover the sensation of fresh air in her lungs. They decided to find Mr Allerton first, for he could then help them with the boy. The night was pitch black and a hard frost was forming on the paths. Through the trees that bordered the park, they could see the sparkle of candles on Christmas trees. A Salvation Army band was playing in the street, the earnest faces of the players lit by a street light. A large man in a moustache played the wrong note and the group burst out laughing. All at once, she realised how much she had missed the real world, with all it flaws and foibles.

They neared the greenhouse. Sure enough, the old man was still there. His cigar glowed in his fingers, but he appeared to have nodded off, head lolling. They exchanged a glance and found themselves hurrying towards him. ‘Mr Allerton?’

‘Mmph.’ Much to their relief, he stirred and brushed some imagined fleck of ash off his great coat. ‘Sorry, my dear. You were saying?’

‘We have a proposition for you, sir,’ began Bertie, who had obviously rehearsed the speech in his mind. ‘Let us explain.’

A minute later, he scratched his nose, pondering. ‘In my youth, I were a bold lad. Liked to take chances. I seem to have been roosting on my perch a bit too long, so yes. I shall join you. Now, you two go. I will find the boy. He has got used to me. I will meet you where you said. Now good luck! But I do not suppose you could help me up? Bones a bit rusted up. There we go.’ He stood, nodded at them, and turned to head down a quiet path alongside the greenhouses, their glass panels streaming with condensation.

From behind, a rumbling growl erupted into a frenzied bark. The dog appeared right in front of them. Was it her imagination but was he larger, more muscled, and the hair coarser? The eyes seemed to glow and she could see its teeth as the lips bared. At its feet was the ball. It dropped it in an insolent manner at Bertie’s feet. ‘Good dog,’ he said, but the tail failed to wag. The creature paused, breath rasping in the quiet, night air. It glared at them, eyes narrowing.

She squeezed Bertie’s arm. ‘Throw it – and let him catch it. It will make him compliant.’

He nodded. ‘Catch!’ He lobbed the ball high and the dog watched it arc through the darkness. For a second, it seemed as though it was happy to observe the trajectory – then an instinct seem to take over and it stirred itself, moving to catch it as it fell.

Lilian clapped and nudged Bertie to do the same. ‘Well done. Good boy!’

Bloodshot eyes swivelled in their direction and they hesitated. ‘Throw it again,’ she whispered. ‘Then shall we take a turn around the fernery?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Such an interesting place. The paths between the tree ferns are so tortuous, it is easy to get quite lost.’ She raised an eyebrow.’

‘Ah. I see. Quite.’ Bertie squeezed her arm to let her know that he had understood. Lobbing the ball casually every so often, they moved towards the entrance. He opened the glass door and in they went, the dog scurrying on ahead, snuffling in the bark fragments.

The fernery had two sections, one cool and another warmed by pipes. A massive door divided the zones. Bertie caught the dog’s attention and whistled. It turned and he dropped the ball into a water trough. ‘Fetch!’ he called and grabbed Lilian’s hand. They hastened to the door, but with a clatter of claws, the dog was suddenly in the way, growling. As Bertie reached for the handle, it sprang up, snapping at his fingers. He stumbled and fell to the ground. The dog barked wildly.

‘Bertie! Are you all right?’ She reached for his hand and pulled him upright.

He adjusted his top hat. ‘Yes, yes.’

By now the dog was pacing round their ankles, dark rumblings emanating from its throat.

‘Damnation!’

Bertie rarely swore. She looked at him with alarm, then her skin crawled. He was holding up his watch – the face was smashed. With an agonised expression, he held it to his ear, then shook his head. ‘All that work for nothing. Now what?’

She cleared her throat. ‘Time for a stroll, I think. Is there a clock in the park?’

‘Only the floral clock, but that is only in the summer months. No, we are on our own.’

‘All right.’ With as much calm as she could muster, she took Bertie’s elbow and slowly opened the door to the second fern gallery. ‘This way.’ Through they went, the dog at their heels. ‘The tree ferns are just magnificent, are they not? Goodness, if they fell upon one, it would be difficult to extricate oneself.’

Bertie expression shifted. ‘So true.’ They strolled to the door at the far end. Lilian reached into her pocket for an aniseed sweet. It still smelt quite strongly. Bending down, she waved it under the dog’s nose. ‘Fetch,’ she whispered, and threw it into a small pool, fringed with miniature ferns. Startled goldfish darted in different directions. The dog plunged in. At the same time, they raced for the door. As she opened it, Bertie turned and pulled over a huge Dicksonia fern to block the exit. ‘That should slow it down.’

They ran down the path, heading for the lake. Like the year before, the night was frosty and the surface of the lake had frozen. She had forgotten how beautiful it was. But this year, the snow was thicker and the paths were treacherous, pockmarked with the footprints of the day’s visitors. Above, the sky was greenish black and a half-moon glimmered through thick, sulphurous clouds.

‘What time do you think it is?’

‘I have lost track. Damn that watch.’

Miraculously, in the distance, they heard a church clock chime the half hour. They tensed. ‘Only five minutes to go. Do we have enough time?’

They hastened to the location at the edge of the lake where they had both been introduced into the waters by the dog. ‘Good. Now, let us count down – and hope Mr Allerton finds the boy.’

The sound of shattering glass erupted into the night. Bertie grasped her hand and they drew back, making for the trees. There was a throaty barrage of barking, accompanied by the noise of claws skittering on stone. The dog burst upon them, snarling and snorting. It paced up and down, as though it smelt their deception.

‘Is it getting increasingly ill-tempered?’

He nodded.

‘Perhaps that is an indication of the time,’ she whispered.

At that point, the dog pounced on an object on the ground, and mauled with its teeth, all the while making horrible gobbling noises.

Lilian felt sick. ‘So vindictive! That was the boy’s wooden spinning top,’ she whispered. ‘Just where is he? And Mr Allerton?’

Bertie shook his head ‘It cannot be long now.’ He took her in his arms. ‘Ready?’ He drew back, his face long and serious.

She reached into her pocket for the second aniseed sweet. Bending down, she waved it under the dog’s nose. ‘Take it,’ she whispered. ‘Good dog.’ With a snap, the jaws clamped on the lozenge, slightly sticky after twelve months of being trapped in a paper bag. ‘Want another?’ Its eyes gleamed and she threw the next one into the air. Snap. Crunch. She nodded at Bertie and they backed across the snowy path, to the exact point next to the lake where they had both been lured to their deaths. She threw a handful, to keep it busy, while they prepared.

Bertie gripped her hand tightly. ‘Please know this, Lilian Ravenscroft, Miss,’ he said. ‘I loved you from the start.’

‘And I you.’ She could say no more, for her heart froze at the sight of the frosted lake. ‘Are you sure about this plan?’

‘Yes.’

‘I cannot believe that I will never see you again. We met once, against all the odds. I think we shall be reunited. We simply must.’

They embraced as the dog snuffled about, letting out intermittent grunts, as it ferreted out its next treat.

‘Now,’ said Bertie in a low voice.

There was an ugly growl and the dog erupted in a fit of violent barking and threw itself at them. Teeth flying, it raged and snarled and ripped at their hems, then their ankles. The moon emerged from behind a cloud, lighting up the dreadful scene.

‘Stop it!’ Lilian cried, batting at frantically. ‘Bad dog. Down. Get down!’ She put herself between Bartholomew and the hysterical animal. A ray of moonlight struck it and it seemed to expand. It was now bigger than a bear, a distorted horror of a thing, all teeth and claws. ‘Go.’ She gripped his arm. ‘This second. Jump back into the lake like we planned. I am sure it is the only way to reverse the process. I will follow, I promise.’

The creature lumbered towards them. Bertie jabbed at it. ‘No, Lilian. You first. I shall keep it at bay.’

She watched in horror as with a howl, the monstrous being shook its mighty head and bore down on them, its elephantine feet pounding on the ground.

They reversed out onto the ice, which creaked under their weight. Another bestial roar. They could smell the creature’s rancid breath as it narrowed its terrible eyes and ventured out onto the frozen surface.

With a hideous noise, the icy cracked, opening a black chasm at their feet. Bertie was standing, gazing at the creature, seemingly numb. The beast was so large, the water barely reached its hocks. ‘Forgive me!’ Weeping, she gently pushed her lover down into the dark waters.

Barking savagely, the dog threw itself at her, tearing at her clothes. She fell backwards towards the shore, cutting her hands on the jagged edges of ice.

A glimmer in the darkness caught her eye. A wheezing cough. A lumbering figure in the dark. ‘Here, doggie. Fetch!’ A small stick that glowed orange and red slewed across the ice. The dog turned and fell upon it, before howling in pain. A bitter smell filled the air. Tobacco.

‘Mr Allerton?’ she called, struggling to her feet.

‘Just go, my dear,’ came the rasping reply. ‘I have the boy – he is all right, just frightened.’

‘No! I cannot leave you here. It is no longer safe ...’

A vast shadow loomed over her and the moon vanished. Trembling, she turned and gasped at the sight of the dog, now a mountainous beast. It reared upwards, roaring at the night sky, viscous green liquid dripping from its maw. Dull, red eyes glowed like embers and it bent towards her, its breath stale and asphyxiating. It dropped back on to all fours, the canine claws now transmogrified into glittering scythes of death. It growled, making the ground vibrate and took a vicious swipe in her direction.

In despair, she staggered backwards towards the hole in the ice. ‘Mr Allerton!’ she called, her voice hoarse with terror, as she stared into the malevolent face of the creature. ‘You must follow us into the lake. Before it is too late. If you fail – try next year. You must choose the right. It is all in Bertie’s notebook.’

‘Where?’

‘The observ-’

The beast squatted hideously on the shore,  huge claws slicing into soft edges, roaring in frustration. May as well go, thought Lilian. Nothing to lose. She let herself drop into the blackness.

***

Bubbles streamed past her face. She was flying upwards, through emerald green reeds. Then, her elbow burned. How could that be? Lilian felt a rush of freezing air and her lungs seemed to burst.

‘Hey, missie. What’s a nice looking gal like you doing taking a dip in this weather? Jeez. And at this time of night?’

‘Pardon me?’ An ice-cold blast of wind made her shiver and she huddled into herself, confused.

‘Say, you all right? Come on, let’s see if you can sit up. Atta girl.’

She erupted in fit of coughing and spluttering, then looked up to see a burly, man in uniform. He was wet up to his knees, his dark trousers clinging to tree-trunk legs. Behind him, the horizon was obscured by an array of the tallest buildings she had ever seen, lit up like oblong Christmas trees glowing against the night sky. A flag fluttered on a pole. She stared at its. Stars and stripes. ‘Good Lord,’ she exclaimed, coughing. ‘Where on earth am I?’

‘New York, ma’am. Where d’you think?’ Shaking his head, he muttered to himself. ‘One born every day.’

Familiar footsteps sounded. ‘I say. Hello? Officer?’

‘Yeah, that’s me. On the night shift from hell. Who might you be?’

She peered into the darkness and saw a tall man in a dark coat and muffler hurrying towards them, his boots squelching on the path. One hand grasped his top hat to prevent it from falling off.

The officer stared at the newcomer. ‘Say, you’re dripping wet, too! You been swimming as well? This is nuts. Hey, what’re you doing? Leave her be. She nearly drowned, I’ll have you know!’

Warm arms wrapped themselves around her. ‘Bertie! It is you.’ They clung to one another.

By now, the officer was throwing his arms up in total disbelief. ‘You know this dame? I mean, young lady?’

‘I do, sir.’

‘Well, I’ll be-,’ said the officer. ‘You two! Will ya be all right? Need me to call an ambulance?’

‘No, no. We are quite well. Thank you and good night.’

‘Pff. If you say so.’ He brushed some pondweed of his uniform and stalked off, leaving them to it.

A soft voice whispered in her ear. ‘You always said you wanted to travel.’

***

A toddler waddled into the smart apartment, followed by a well-to-do, young couple. The wife’s coat was well-cut and her auburn hair was styled into the latest fashion. Her elegant diamond wedding ring sparkled in the afternoon light. Her husband was tall, clad in a smart frock-coat and grey silk cravat that matched the grey Homburg. He put his arm around the woman’s waist and leant in to whisper in her ear. ‘What do you think, darling?’

‘It is a little expensive,’ she replied, steering the child away from the fireplace.

‘But an assistant professor’s salary can cover it. There is a kindergarten just down the road – right next door to your technology institute.’

The agent watched, smiling, trying not to rub his hands together. ‘And here’s the grandfather, if I’m not mistaken. What does he think?’

An elderly, silver-haired gentleman emerged from the elevator. In one hand, he held an enormous cigar. The other rested on the shoulder of a young boy. ‘Well, lad,’ said the gentleman, taking another puff. ‘Did you enjoy the ride, son?’ A young boy nodded, eyes wide. The gentleman beamed and turned to the young couple. ‘Lancashire seems a long way away – and I do not miss it one jot. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars that I took your advice and travelled out to join you later. Even though it was quite a trip for an old man and a youngster.’

‘Choppy Atlantic crossing?’ asked the agent, with an indulgent smile.

A loud bark of laughter. ‘You might say that.’

‘Now you’re all here, do take a look at the aspect.’ The agent gestured to the window. ‘A perfect view of the park. In winter, it freezes and you can go ice-skating. It’s quite charming.’

The temperature seemed to drop as all four prospective tenants glanced at him in alarm.

‘Or, if you prefer,’ the agent countered, ‘the apartment across the hall is also available. It looks out over the woods and beyond to the bridge.’

‘A marvel of engineering,’ said the elderly gentleman, with approval.

‘Indeed. Although, just one thing,’ said the agent, ushering them out quickly and opening up the alternative apartment.

‘Oh?’

‘No dogs, I’m afraid. The landlord insists.’

The younger man laughed, glancing at the other three, then reached out to shake hands with the bemused agent. ‘In that case, we’ll take it.’

 THE END

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And when it comes to the vernal equinox, look out for the first instalment of Last Spring on this blog.