Ladrian
paused and gazed at his whisky glass distractedly.
I
fear you are sceptical, young man.
No,
no indeed, Ladrian replied throwing his elderly host a confident smile.
I keep an open mind about the supernatural.
You
will stay?
Ladrian
raised his glass to the old man in reply and looked at the fire in the great
hearth. He was grateful for its heat and, as the light had faded outside, the
fire's glow had replaced it with flickering shadows which played across the
tapestries on the walls giving them an almost animate quality.
He
will visit us tonight. Every year it is the same, his host assured
him.
Of
course he would come, Ladrian mused, the old man would make sure he did and
every ghostly event would be orchestrated to the finest degree.
He
will enter the room, pass once around it and then leave. You will sense him,
not see him. The dog sees him. The old man glanced at the slumbering
creature at his feet.
Do
you know his story? Ladrian said after several moments.
Yes,
it's sad indeed. A lost love and a trial of patience ended by premature death.
The very worst of fortunes.
Ghosts,
it seems, are always spawned from such horrors. No restful ghost ever
haunts.
I
disagree. They haunt more quietly that is all. He? Why, he is angry, thwarted,
jealous...
At
that moment a movement made Ladrian turn. It was only his host's young maid,
whom Ladrian had seen briefly in the hall on his arrival. She bobbed a
self-conscious curtsy to Ladrian, grateful that her blushes on seeing him could
not be seen in the half light. She went and knelt by the fire to feed the
flames and the hound at the host's feet swept its tail across the floor in
friendly greeting. Ladrian watched her stoking the fire which blossomed with
new vigorous flames before turning his eyes away conscious that they had rested
on her for too long.
At
first Ladrian presumed the shallow draught that blew through the room was from
the open door but the door was shut fast. The chill air swept across the stone
flags and snagging the broad tapestries, it stirred them. The hound, which
until now had lain at the old man's feet, its head on it paws, looked up its
ears back and it let out a shallow growl from the back of its throat. Ladrian's
eyes widened and he looked to his host in astonishment. He is
here?
He
is. Watch now. He will make his way about the room.
The
dog could see the apparition. Its eyes followed the unseen figure as if they
made a slow progression around the perimeter of the room. Ladrian followed the
direction of dog's stare but there was nothing where he looked except perhaps a
darkness, a thickening of the air.
Can
you not sense him? the host asked.
Ladrian
sensed only his own fear and swallowed down the growing dryness in his
throat.
Wait,
wait. He will yet leave, the old man said.
Suddenly
the broad door to the room flew open with such rapidity that Ladrian jumped
where he sat and almost dropped his whisky glass, the next moment the door was
dashed shut, the sound of it slamming reverberating in the room for several
moments before the silence swarmed back in.
God
in heaven, Ladrian said shifting uneasily. It was just as you
described it... No one will believe me of course.
Even
if they did you would be sceptical.
It's
human nature, Ladrian said collecting himself as he sipped his whisky,
turning it his palate grateful for it's warmth. They would say you
might have trained your dog to whine and growl, that a draught is not unusual
in such a house and an opening door when have spirits ever had need of
them when they can pass through walls?
They
would say this...what would you say?
I
can think of several simple mechanisms which would achieve the same
effect.
The
old man nodded in disappointment. You doubt what you
saw?
I
saw nothing. I saw your dog growl and a door slam shut. I felt a draught.
Ladrian looked at the young maid, still crouching by the fire. She had remained
so quiet he had almost forgotten her. Are you not alarmed? he said
in a kindly voice. The young girl turned, her eyes wet with tears and tried
self-consciously to brush them away.
I
am not, the old man replied. He followed the direction of Ladrian's gaze
in astonishment. To whom did you speak?
Your
maid.
I
keep no maid...
What
do you mean? Ladrian said with a laugh.
You
see someone?
Yes,
of course. Your maid, Ladrian gestured to the girl, who had risen to her
feet brushing her palms on her apron.
The
old man fell silent and Ladrian looked at him questioningly.
Describe
her Ladrian.
Ladrian
did so in a faltering voice.
Just
as she was, replied the old man.
What
can you mean? Ladrian looked at the old man and saw his frail face had
become drawn and pale, his eyes widened in fear. He was looking to the place
that Ladrian had gestured to but he saw nothing of the young woman he had
described.
Ladrian
rose unsteadily. Damnation sir, I see her, Ladrian cried stepping
forward he reached for the girl's wrist only to catch at the insubstantial air.
For the first time he doubted his own sanity. He placed his whisky down heavily
on a nearby stand and backing away slowly he steadied himself before turning
and rushing from the room, slamming the broad oak door shut behind
him.