THE SPIRIT

OF

PETERBOROUGH

by
Tom Goymour

* * * * *

Tales of fiction linked to the historical

and documented ghostly past

Peterborough, just an ordinary city full of people like you and me, steeped in a history, totally unique.  We all know the past can affect the future, but what if it was more than perhaps you might think! These are  stories about fictional people of our time who are drawn into adventures of 'ghostly mysteriousness.' Some contain true historical links and some are tales of strange happenings based around well documented ghostly occurences.  All are ghostly tales one way or another. The 'Spirit of Peterborough' can see through  all of time as he dips in and tells us these stories as they unfold before him. You'll never see Peterborough in quite the same light again . . .  and if you are not from the area I pledge you'll enjoy a truly unique experience reading this.

The Spirit of Peterborough

Published by Verbum Publications at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Tom Goymour

Also at Smashwords by Tom Goymour

'I'll Be There For The Replay'

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to

Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work

of this author.

* * * * *

To all who have journeyed with me

to my family and the close friends

for all the support they gave that made

the writing of this book possible . . .

. . . And for all those that hold open their minds. . .

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

PROLOGUE

A PLACE IN TIME

THE NIGHT RUNNER

THE GHOST WALKS

WHERE A GOOD MAN FALLS

FACT OR FICTION?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FOREWORD

‘It was a dark and stormy night …' 

It’s probably the beginning of every campfire ghost story you’ve ever heard. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, regardless of whether you look nervously into the darkness wondering what’s there, or simply just shrug off any strange sounds you hear in the night as being a trick of the mind, it’s a basic truth that we all enjoy a good ghost story.

I moved to Peterborough in 2001, and a short time later applied for a job at the city's museum. As part of the interview I was asked to give examples of some events we could do, and half jokingly suggested creating a Ghost Walk for the city. I was then told that I was successful and that they really liked that idea, and asked if I could go and organise such a walk - a case of me and my big mouth...

Thirteen years later and I'm still doing Ghost Walks, and still enjoying introducing people to Peterborough, its history and its ghost stories. As such I was delighted to be asked by Tom, first to comment on one of his stories, then to write this Foreword. It's strange and flattering that the walks even feature in one of the stories, although I'll leave you to decide if the guide is meant to be me!What's great about the stories in this collection is that they have a contemporary feel, are very much rooted in Peterborough and it's surroundings, and as such give you the feeling that 'this could happen to me.'

Of course it could happen to you. Have you looked over your shoulder...?

Enjoy...

Stuart Orme,

Historian & Folklorist, author of 'Haunted Peterborough' Programmes Manager, Peterborough Museum & creator of the Peterborough Ghost Walk.

PROLOGUE

It was dark, very dark. For me it often starts off in a dark place, but I can change things. I can see it all from here, no matter that it's dark it makes no difference to me. High up from my central vantage point on this bitter cold night my mind is clear as I float high over the city.

Just an ordinary city, a place like any other where people of all types have been coming and going over the years. I see prominent buildings steeped in history, the streets, the roads and pathways, trodden by generation after generation. Patches of light spring up from the suburban clutter, and I know that within each of those strong patches glows a story. And as I look beyond I can also see the green of the countryside where times long past merge with the present, where people have lived, loved, and died. Wherever I go I see further than the dark of a bitter cold night - much further.

Peterborough, this city, just like any other, has a history formed by its people, their lives and experiences. These are people just like you and I, no matter how important or how insignificant things may seem, they have their stories, many stories to tell . . . and they don't always play out the way we that we might expect them to.

Where am I?

My mind is distracted as I look south towards the bridge and over the river. I remember sitting there once with my grandson and telling him some of the many fascinations that had taken place locally, about which most people knew very little. For a moment I feel it all seems so long ago but then I realise time remains still with me now.

Suddenly I'm standing on the top floor of a car park and as I look eastwards across the city, I can see all the outlines of prominence. The large and noble illumination in front of me seems almost like a computer generated image against the deep Prussian blue sky with many other buildings making up the menagerie. I stare as the splendid Cathedral beckons me - as if it's trying to speak. I can feel its power.

The sharp sound of clear footsteps cuts through the cold night air as it is suddenly projected towards me. I momentarily freeze. I can hear the voices now - two voices. I look on, as still I float.

Through the slatted wooden doorway on the top floor of the car park I feel the shuffling footsteps of two people; a couple. As I peer, knowing that they can't see me, I make little effort to bother comprehending their low tones of jovial conversation. I recognise them. I remember them as I start to drift away from the city centre.

My mind palace opens, and now I glance to the north east, beyond that most sacred and splendid building. I float higher into the night sky and I head out of the city into the dark abyss. I can see a patch of light opening a mile or two beyond. Ahh! The light is now that of an evening . . . yes . . . a late summer evening . . . and this is the story that starts right here in that place, perhaps long ago, or maybe not so . . . but then, what matter is time?

* * * * *

A PLACE IN TIME

The light was fading fast, he knew he had to be swift about his actions. He pressed his hand against his side as he shuffled fervently through the shrubbery that outlined the small copse. In fact he did this several times to check it was still there, but there was really no need, he hadn't dropped it. There wasn't time to stop and think it through, he just had to get rid of it, few chances to do so had presented themselves of late. This thing was evil, and with a limited window of opportunity, he could think of no other way than to bury it.

As he pushed his way through the undergrowth he felt a jolt of relief as he could see that the shovel he'd left behind earlier to aid him in this task was still there. This would only take a couple of minutes. He started to dig, he knew he probably only had a couple of minutes.

“Richard!” a calm, but firm voice he recognised reverberated through the cool late summer evening air.

'Damnation,' he thought. 'I really must be quick.' He dug at a pace, knowing full well that he would be permanently disturbed from his task if he didn't respond to the voice in the next thirty seconds or so. As soon as he'd formed the shallowest of trenches, he tossed the malevolent object into the earth and, almost with a continuous movement, using the remainder of the soil on the shovel, started to cover it over. It was when he decided to firmly implant his light footwear onto the surface in an effort to quickly compress the soil that his attention was instantly diverted. He'd certainly been disturbed - but the cause of which was not what he'd expected!

He looked up towards where the noise had come from, and, quite clearly some thirty yards in front of him slightly to his right, he could see a figure moving swiftly in a direction that would soon bring it across his path. Instinctively he knew two things; firstly, that he really didn't want what he was doing to be seen by anyone, and secondly, that there shouldn't be anyone here in these parts - not under any conditions. So, almost at the same time these thoughts formed in his brain, he ducked, hoping to be obscured from the stranger's view by the foliage that lay between them. It was then as he held his breath for a moment, watching with a dappled view through the trees, that he realised just what he was seeing in front of him seemed plainly wrong! This was a woman and she was running, in fact she looked quite perplexed but her clothes, her garments were very strange! In the seconds that followed he became completely engrossed by what he could now see. He momentarily forgot what he'd just been doing - the important task he'd gone out there to perform in the small woodland area in the grounds to the east of the building. He felt that moment of premonition, that split nano-second, in which you know what is going to happen next: the woman came into full view, she seemed tall, but her features faded beneath her knees, she was clearly running, but she had no feet! As he watched, transfixed in that moment of time, she simply just disappeared!

“Richard, Richard are you there?” The voice came again, jolting Richard back to reality. As he tried to gather himself he quickly rose to his feet, forced to now accept that his job was done.

“I'm here brother . . . I'm coming,” he panted. 'Couldn't he wait? John was so intense at times.' Richard was in shock, certainly a little scared but also slightly annoyed as he padded his way back along the pathway leading to the garden. His thick brown sleeves wiped the cold sweat of shock from his brow as he went. His mind was all over the place, scrambled with conflicting emotions.

“Just needed a stroll.” he smiled at John hoping this would be enough of an explanation, he didn't really want to get drawn into explaining himself any more that evening - if at all.

John was a calm chap. He never looked to seek the challenge, or question the strange or unusual, he just got on with his relatively simple life. Tonight of all nights, this was blessing to Richard.

When he awoke early the next morning the previous evening's events were at the forefront of his mind. In fact, it had been on his mind more or less constantly and he hadn't slept at all well. Who was that figure he'd seen by the woods last night? Was she an apparition? Could he even believe in such things? He was confused, but there was more than just this preying on his mind at present.

Something far more serious had happened recently over which he was having real trouble reconciling his logical thoughts with his conscience. There had been a disagreement, it had led to a fight and now . . . someone was dead!

Richard gazed out of his window across the vegetable garden and towards the woodland area beyond. This wasn't a bad place to be living at all, heaven knows it could be worse. In this day and age, with some folk not having even two pennies to rub together, life could be far worse. He didn't have much choice and, granted, he would probably seek pastures new if given the chance, but all in all, the countryside to the north east of Peterborough was quite palatable. It was just three miles to travel to the centre of the town and although as some say, the land starts to get flat and boring as you head east, the position was quite secure and a decent one at that. The problem was, because of what had happened, they all now felt a little on edge to say the least, and he wasn't talking about just himself and John. Peter and the others felt the same too - he knew it.

The summer had been a good one but they'd been caught out. If you go out for the night, get drunk, and commit an evil and terrible act, then they, all of them, were no different from anyone else and they would surely get the same punishment. The trouble was, nobody really seemed to care. Nobody was checking up on them, and that's where it had all got terribly out of hand.

Richard felt a gape deep down in the pit of his stomach as his mind started to recall and vividly play back recent events. It had all happened so quickly and, because they were all rather inebriated at the time, nobody could recall with complete clarity just what had taken place that fateful evening. All he knew was that Dominic didn't deserve it and that what he had witnessed was the very worst thing. Pure evil had taken hold. Peter hadn't meant it, he'd just lost it completely . . . but no use, the damage was done. He'd had to deal with death before, now they all had to deal with it, but this time, somehow, it also needed to be covered up.

Dominic wouldn't be missed, they were the closest to him. He had them but no one else really. His background was kind of shady. Now they would be looking for not just Peter but John, himself and the rest. They'd all be found out, of course they would - hunted down and that would be that, he felt sure of it. Worst of all, the body had been buried in the grounds already. Yes, they'd even held a ceremony of sorts. He felt terrible about this and, frankly, his conscience was telling him this was all just so wrong! How could the others not be feeling the same?

Later that day, after having said very little to anyone, his fear grew almost intolerably stronger, and the nightmare started to become reality.

He could see Peter was moving towards him at speed along the trackway that aligned the fields to the south west of the big old property. He was waving his arms frantically - clearly a warning, but Richard couldn't make out any audible sounds at first. Then, as Peter's stride grew stronger and his urgency became obvious, he could hear that he was repeating just two words over and over.

“He's coming . . . he's coming!”

“I had not reckoned on such an event occurring so soon.' he thought. 'This means the plan must be put into action right now.'

Peter used some more words once he was close enough to catch his breath, but he didn't need to waste them on Richard whose mind was already racing ahead. Peter ran inside to tell the others. Richard didn't need telling that time was of the essence. In fact, as he turned to look into the distance, he fancied he could just make out a figure or two in advance of the horizon where the field line merged with the vague grey images of distant dwellings on the edge of the town. He had to be out of the way before they came to find them - that was how they'd planned the story would pan out: Dominic was sick and Richard had taken him away to a friend out in the village of Eye only about a mile and a half to the north, to be looked after. If both of them were missing it would seem far more plausible than just saying:

“Oh Dominic . . . he's gone off somewhere” or “Don't know where he is today, I'm sure he'll be back later.”

They were all supposed to be there, they couldn't hide, there would be no let off. Now that it was apparent that he really was coming, most probably to check up on them, this plan just had to work.

So, shortly, Richard found himself back in the woodland copse, not more than about sixty yards from the house. There hadn't been time to get any further away, there would be a risk of him being seen by himself, running off, or certainly one of his close associates. Their cover would be blown if that happened.

No, while Peter, John and the rest explained away in an effort to cover up the evil deed, he would have to lie low - in the same place he'd been scared out of his wits just that evening before.

As he scrambled through the same shrubbery, brushed with the same trees and trod the same ground, he felt it was as if fate had taken over, as if this was where he was destined to be - where he might be found and where it might all end! He felt so low right now, so hopelessly and unwittingly involved in something so evil.

'Why did Peter do it?' he murmured to himself, 'Oh why had he ripped it from Richard's own neck and, in an uncontrollable drunken rage, used it on another?' But, more importantly, why had Richard ever bothered to claim it back?

Well, the answer to this lies in human nature, our instinct to desire to know, to want to own and claim, and our chemical drive to investigate. It's why wars start and it's how world problems are solved. It's what makes us human. Richard was no different from the rest of us:

When Richard realised the neck-chain was missing, he'd panicked. So, when Peter told him about a woman he'd seen passing in the distance stooping to pick something up from near to the very spot where the evil act had taken place, he'd dashed fleet of foot across country to the woman's known residence; a cottage at the edge of the village where she lived with her father. He felt sure she must have it and he wanted to get it back. As he approached the front of the building cautiously and passed by the small front window he could see her sitting. He tapped the window to get her attention. He hadn't realised she was asleep and he certainly hadn't meant to startle her! He pointed past the window towards the door as an indication to her to let him in. Anyway, almost as soon as Richard had begun to explain the predicament, she'd gone to a drawer in the nearby desk to retrieve the neck-chain which she had found and placed there for safe keeping, and returned it gracefully. Right now he wondered why he'd ever bothered to reclaim it, there seemed to be little point and he hadn't really thought it through. But, as we have established, such is human nature.

So, what was it that was so important about this artefact . . . this necklace of Richard's? Well, he had worn it for as long as he could remember, even as a boy this necklace was with him. He believed it to have belonged to his mother whom he didn't remember as she had died when he was very small. The others generally wore a large cross hung from a simple cord, such was the custom, but Richard's necklace . . . it was different. It was far more ornate than most neck-pieces, it boasted beads beautifully crafted from pewter and sandal wood and it was finished with a simple solemn cross of bronze. The others knew it held some significance of importance to Richard but nobody knew quite what. Maybe that is why in that terrible moment it was 'chosen' . . . after all, there were other things at hand! And, maybe, this is why then, at that moment, Richard felt it was inextricably part of him and he therefore felt driven to retrieve it.

As he stood on the very spot where he had buried that object of evil cause not eighteen hours earlier, he could almost feel its negative vibe. Was its evil curse now upon him?

This was by no means to be the end of things for Richard, not that day, that week, that month, or even that year, and certainly not in that place.

Now, a time much, much later, and about four and a half miles away as the crow flies. Three people sat in a city pub. Neil and Judy Pressland were catching up with good friend Nasra, (more Judy's childhood friend really, but Neil had got to know her quite well too over recent years.)

Anyway, you haven't told me about your new job yet.” Nasra was addressing Neil.

“Oh, it's kind of okay really. Different from what I was doing before with the agency though - definitely better.”

Neil had recently got a job with a small engineering firm in Eastfield, on the oldest industrial estate in a city that now boasts a tapestry of them.

“What do you do?” she asked, genuinely interested.

“Welding mainly . . . and loads of lifting.” Neil pulled that face that blokes pull when they want to let you know that it's hard work but hey, they're hard guys so nothing is going to be too much for them. “We make frames, all sorts of metal frames for things . . . display stands . . . metal crate main structures . . . loads of different stuff really.”

“Sounds cool.” Nasra turned to Judy. “Things okay with you now?”

Judy huddled up to her partner and clenched his hand.

“Yeah, we're good now. You're settled in that job now aren't you . . . ? And life's been really good to us the last few months, hasn't it?” She looked to Neil, seeking support for this comment. He smiled back.

“ Now you've got your act together,” she grinned at him and gave him a friendly prod on the arm. “Now that your not 'spooked out' all the time.”

“Spooked out?” Nasra wanted to know more. Neil still just smiled at the two women.

“Go on . . . tell her about that night . . .” Neil didn't need much cajoling into doing so.

“Well I was on late shift with my mate, Alfie, and he told me about the ghost that's been seen on the second floor at our place. Apparently it's someone who used to work there but died in an accident one night on his way home. The story goes that the last thing he did was turn off the machinery before clocking out. He was very conscientious, and he kind of comes back . . . to check up on things when people work late.”

“Hmm, interesting . . . so where do you fit in?” Nasra was curious.

“Go on . . .” encouraged Judy.

“Well, people say I'm like . . . well a bit sort of . . . got second sight” - Neil blurted the words out.

“How do you mean?” Nasra was still interested but slightly amused by Neil's proclamation.

“Well, I don't know really, I think it's because of the fact that this ghost always seemed to appear when I was on late shift . . . but I never saw it!”

“You never saw it?”

“Nah, always seemed to be someone else.”

Nasra was finding it hard not to laugh.

“And you are supposed to be the one with second sight?” she giggled.

“Go on . . . tell her the rest,” encouraged his partner, giving him a nudge in the ribs.

“Well, I think it's really because of the tests.”

The tests?” Her expression now was nearly exploding with a look of amused perplexity!

“Well my mates took the mickey a bit and started asking me about other ghost-like things, and it seems that I came up trumps with some of the answers.”

“What do you mean?” Nasra was now quite hooked by the angle of quirkiness the conversation was taking.

“Well, we all got talking about ghost stories, as you do, trying to impress each other I suppose. One day I just came out with this story about something that apparently happened round here years ago . . . involving some old fuddy-duddy!”

“And?”

“Well that's just it you see. I can't even remember the details I came up with, but my mate turned up the next day - said he'd researched it all on the internet and everything I'd said to him was exactly as it was supposed to have happened - all those years ago! So you see, they think I've got it! I think it's all a bit silly myself.”

There was a moment of silence as the trio contemplated what Neil had just said. Judy reached for her drink and sipped thoughtfully. Nasra was a bright girl, she could instantly see that the most likely logical explanation for this was just a combination of the luck of predictability and exaggeration. People always want to believe a good spooky story, it adds to the mystery. She didn't want to burst his bubble by challenging this. She looked at Judy who gazed proudly at her other half as if he'd just managed to accomplish something important. There was more to this she was sure, it was something in the way that Neil had just given that account; he used the past tense an awful lot considering this was apparently still happening at the place he went to work every day. She had to ask:

“You said this is what was happening, these things, you talk about them all in the past tense.”

Judy answered for Neil.

“They don't happen any more. This all stopped a few weeks ago didn't it?” she looked at Neil once again as if for a prompt. None came, Neil just smiled, so Judy continued talking to both of them: “He got quite worked up about it at the time, didn't you? He was coming home and telling me all about who'd said what to him and what he'd said back. At the time it seemed quite funny. Then, it all stopped quite suddenly, and I noticed a difference. You weren't so worked up and angry about things. You seemed calmer.” She looked at Neil.

“Well as long as you're happy now, what the hell, hey!” Nasra suddenly felt keen to change the subject.

The three of them spent another hour or so in The Paul Pry - the restaurant and public house situated on Lincoln Road in the Walton area north of Peterborough city centre. They talked about the then and now, the things they got up to as teenagers a decade or more ago, the places they'd been since, the good times they'd had, and how now perhaps they had all changed somewhat as the completion of a third decade loomed closer for all three of them. It was when they were talking about significant changes that Nasra struck a chord:

“What's happened to all the bling?” she asked of Neil. “You used to be pretty hot with the stuff as I remember . . . the old medallion man image?” Nasra grinned.

“Oh, that all stopped.” Judy was quite emphatic. “He used to wear all sorts of stuff including that silly old thing.” Neil gave her a look of slight discomfort, he knew she was about to delve deeper into their past to explain this last remark.

What Judy then told them both was of great interest to Nasra and brought back mixed memories for Neil.

She told a story that took them back to over a decade earlier, to a time of just a few years into the millennium shortly after she and Neil had first met:

It was a late summer's evening and Judy was cautiously making her way down Eyebury Road. She lived in the village of Eye to the north of Peterborough and she was on her way by foot to investigate something. Something she had to see for herself. People had told her and she feared it was all true, but she had to see the burned out building for herself.

They hadn't meant any harm, none of them really wanted to cause any trouble but it looked as if somehow their plan had gone astray. A derelict house, a creepy dare, that's all they'd talked about it being, but if he was going along then she would be there too. She'd had a crush on him for a few weeks now but no real relationship was forming, he was just going through that male showing off phase. Everything he did seemed to be to impress, and she was certainly a little uncomfortable with this side of his nature.

The chill of the late summer breeze hit her as she passed the last house on the edge of the village. In front of her she could see flat desolate farmland and a long straight walk lay ahead of her to the next landmark, a solitary building some distance beyond. From there she would still have a bit of a trek to the place she had been to the other night, the place that somehow got burned down - but not while she had been there!

Ten minutes later she was near enough for her worst fears to be confirmed. There was clearly now just a burned wreckage where a large noble old property had until so recently stood. As she stopped and gazed with a sunken heart Judy started to relive those moments she had experienced the other night:

All four of them had gone there for a laugh - for a bit of a dare. They were going to stay there - not for the night or anything so dramatic but probably until quite late. She wouldn't get the grilling from her parents as long as she was in by 10.30pm. If the truth be known, Judy did more or less what she liked in terms of stopping out with her mates, she never caused any trouble and her parents never asked any questions. What had happened the other night was this:

The gang had ambled raucously along the same route she had just taken to the building. It was quite early in the evening and still there was some daylight. He was in a bit of a wild mood to say the least, he kept picking things up and throwing them, making silly fighting gestures with Rick, one of the other guys, and at one point he picked up some old cap that was left at the side of the road and insisted on wearing it for the rest of the evening. She knew it was all done mainly to impress her. They got to the old place and went inside through a window. It wasn't long before they were going through the motions, playing silly games, hiding and spooking each other etc. This went on for some time and, frankly, Judy started to get a bit fed up.

Events took a negative turn when he and Rick announced they were going to stay there for the night. The other guy with them that evening was some moron called Jake who was Rick's buddy. They started arguing about everything and Jake stormed off! This left Judy out on a limb, she wasn't going to actually spend the night there under any condition. She felt rather annoyed to say the least that she basically had no choice other than to leave them to it and head off home. The two guys had made some feeble efforts to encourage her to stay but it wasn't long before she found herself walking alone, away from the building . . . and it wasn't long before she felt just a little bit scared!

Now as the light was fading fast she knew she had to be swift. She glanced back over her shoulder at the old house, its dark silhouette now startlingly dynamic against the deep blue sky backdrop broken only by the occasional streak of an evening cloud desperately trying to emit the last remnants of daylight through it's fast closing cracks. She calculated ten minutes if she ran. She had left the old house from the rear because that's where they were at the time of that final friction-filled conversation, but now, she'd have to leg it across the field and by the edge of those trees in order to get back on to the road.

Judy started to run. Her heart was pounding but nothing was going to stop her, not even that shuffling sound she thought she might have heard a few yards to her left in the trees as she passed by.

As Judy recalled these events of a few nights earlier with mixed emotions and a notable amount of unease, she decided she must now force herself to take the thorough look over the old building that she'd always planned on having. After all, she was now virtually at the site.

No point in coming all this way otherwise,' she told herself.

She resumed her stride with best foot forward, her eyes now fixed glaringly on the deformed structure in front of her as her lungs were filled with pungent air of a faintly remaining aroma of where a fire had recently been. It was then that she suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her foot had trodden on something:

Now some will say this was chance, some will tell you this was destiny. Whatever it meant, Judy knew exactly what it was and exactly what action it meant for her to take right then.

She bent down to pick up the object. She scrutinized it as she let its chain slip through her fingers. This was that necklace thing he'd found, she was sure of it. He must have dropped it later the other night. She suddenly remembered how he'd been picking things up, chucking them about, trying on dirty headwear that he'd found on the ground just for a laugh . . . and this . . . this was that thing he found that had caused so much excitement. He'd reckoned it was some ancient relic - said it would bring him luck and he'd insisted on wearing it, so round his neck it went!

She hadn't seen him since. She carefully folded it and placed it in her coat pocket, she assumed that it was highly likely the gang had needed to make a quick getaway of some sort.

'He probably started the fire for a laugh then ran off',’ she reasoned to herself. She could just picture it. 'He must have dropped it, he'll be made up when I give it back to him.' Judy could see this as a landmark point in their relationship, maybe he'd be grateful? Maybe he'd actually show some concern for her? Maybe he'd actually grow up a bit and realise the seriousness of his actions? She started to feel mixed emotions again but this time it was those of relief and happiness . . . and she was not to be disappointed.

“So once I gave it back to him, that was it, we made up and we started going out. You've never done anything stupid like that again have you . . . (and he got away with it!)” Judy clasped Neil's arm and giggled as she delivered her last remark.

Nasra was impressed with this story;

“I never knew. You never told me any of this before,” she stated.

“Well, suppose not. It's not really something we go back over very often.” Neil was still a little embarrassed about the whole incident and his behaviour at the time, even though it had taken place ten years or more earlier.

There was a slight pause as Nasra and Neil both reached for their gins and tonics.

“But you still haven't told me about all the jewellery stuff - why you stopped wearing it? And about that old relic. What was it?”

“Dunno,” Neil replied dismissively. “All I know is when I finally stopped, things sort of . . . well, changed. So I guess I fancied I'd just stop wearing the jewellery altogether.”

“It was when you stopped wearing that old necklace thing,” chirped Judy. “That's when it got better . . . definitely.”

“What do you mean?” Nasra was more than slightly curious.

“Well, we seemed to have had a rough time from when we first got together.” (Now it was Judy who seemed a little uneasy at having to explain things.) “There was the baby I lost, then we got flooded out the other year - only house in Peterborough! Nothing seemed to go right for us, it was one thing after another. Neil lost his job - twice! We had no money and started to think, what had we done to deserve all this? Then, one day Neil said, you know what, this is all hogwash. He was fed up with people looking at him with all his jewellery; bracelets, necklaces and rings etc. so he just stopped wearing them.”

“I still wore that old necklace though, at least - it was the last thing to go.”

“Yes, but don't you see, it was when you stopped wearing it that things started to get better. You got that job and . . .” Judy stopped, she was not sure whether to continue. There was an awkward pause:

“Well go on . . . what?” urged Nasra.

Judy smiled at Neil seeking approval before she continued:

“I'm pregnant . . . after years of trying!”

“ Oh darling!” Nasra gave her friends a hug. “I'm so pleased for you both. Listen.” Nasra glanced at her watch. “This is wonderful news, we must talk some more. I have to be up at 6.30 tomorrow, it's time for me to head off but hey, you two, keep doing whatever it is you are doing right now – old necklaces, whatever - seems it works!”

With that remark Nasra departed. Shortly afterwards Judy and Neil made their way home, loyally recalling together those days of misspent youth, that had taken place now well over a decade earlier.

* * * * *

Some months had now passed and it appeared that they had all 'got away with it'. At least this is how he saw it, but there was a high price to pay, a heavy load to bear. It preyed heavily on Richard's mind every single day, and, as if that wasn't enough, over the next few months there were to be constant reminders.

Richard had journeyed back some three miles to the centre of the city. After all this was where he should really be spending his time, not out in the countryside away from it all. John had come with him, but Peter hadn't, he'd stayed put out in the country. It was left up to him, but he felt that suspicion could be alleviated if he stayed. It would also give him some time to work things out properly. Who knows what the future holds? He felt strongly that they all had a duty to try and put right some of the wrongs where they could.

So Richard spent his days working, thinking, hoping and praying that he could get on and lead his life the way God had intended. The trouble was, it kept happening, he kept seeing her - the girl he'd seen in the woods all those months before. When he was walking through the gardens to the east of the City's most sacred building, he glimpsed her bustling along by the edge of the grounds. Then, on another occasion as he walked across towards the old vegetable gardens and under a main archway she was there again, dressed in tight fitting clothing that showed her outline form in a most peculiar way. On this occasion she was carrying baggage in either hand. Each time Richard saw this vision she disappeared into thin air after just a few seconds.

One morning in late June, a very strange thing happened. He was walking back to his living quarters and fancied taking the short cut across the grass. Almost immediately he was startled, he thought he could hear voices . . . several voices. Richard looked around and saw no one. He hadn't felt at all well lately and he did now start to wonder if he might be going mad! Suddenly, just as he had ascertained for himself that the green area in front of him, the shrubbery and the nearby trees were completely uninhabited by anyone, into view came a man. It was unusual to see anyone there in the central gardens at that time and so both men would have been embarrassed if they tried to avoid the mandatory pleasantries of acknowledgement. They briefly greeted each other and, as they did so, it was clear to Richard that the other man seemed to be in an even more perplexed state than himself. It was then that he realised that this man had more or less just appeared, standing in front of him seemingly in a bit of a daze. Richard felt he had to speak:

“Are you alright sir? Can I be of any help?”

The stranger stood with hand in pocket as if about to produce something. Richard suddenly felt a strange sensation; he suddenly felt very fearful and yet this man outwardly posed no threat, after all it was he who had offered the help!

“Yes, I reckon you can help,” began the stranger after a second or two appearing to gather his thoughts. “Brother, I have something for you.”

Richard looked straight at him almost in disbelief, those words became imprinted in his mind and signified the start of his whole world being about to change in the moments that followed.

Some hours later he lay on his bed gazing at the shelf above the fireplace where he had locked it away. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened that morning. Nothing else seemed to matter now, his concentration for undertaking anything was completely paralysed. He felt he couldn't let it out of his sight but he couldn't bear to see it either so, he sat, gazing at the old familiar chain piece contemplating what it might all mean. It was surely an impossibility for it to have been produced from the pocket of a stranger to give it back to him. How in God's name could this happen? He had buried it three miles away some months earlier! But he'd heard about such things. Surely it was a sign! Surely it signified something bad - something evil! As these dark thoughts started to grow stronger in him with every waking moment, he became convinced that it was all a bad omen. Unfortunately for Richard, he was not wrong.

Over the next few days he became a man on the brink. Everything just turned over in his mind without reason every time he tried to apply any logical thought to the situation. He would scurry around the grounds pacing up and down as if he was on his way to somewhere he was never going to get to. He talked to the others when he could, he had told his closest acquaintances but they too were preoccupied. It was a worrying time for all of them right now. There were rumours, strong rumours of unrest. All Richard and the others could do was hope and pray.

It all happened very quickly in the end, and we'll never know exactly whether things might have been any different for Richard if that fateful night of several months earlier had never taken place. I suspect not. Our lives follow a course that is mapped out for us, we journey down life's path hoping to discover a new destination but nearly always in history people have found themselves standing firm, leading the lives they were born to lead.

And so it was for Richard. He had been sent with the others out to the Grange as a punishment. The terrible act that had followed, murder, manslaughter, call it what you will, had been committed with something that belonged to him. It felt to Richard as if it was he who had been caught red-handed with a murder weapon. Ever since that day he'd met the stranger who saw him as a brother, seemingly intent on returning it to him, fear and insecurity had become harboured all around him.

The country didn't even have a clear leader right now, what else could be expected when a mere child had become king? The Abbot, John Deeping was not someone Richard felt he could confide in and so as the next few weeks of his simple monastic life passed, that fear, guilt and insecurity bred in Richard an illness from which he was never to recover.

By the late summer of 1433 Brother Richard had developed a high fever. His close friends, brothers John and now Peter too were at his side that afternoon as he attempted to recount to them some sort of dream he'd had in which he was convinced that he'd been given, and now had in his possession an 'evil artefact' that was to be got rid of before it was too late! Accepting that this was all delirium brought on by the fever, Peter and John nevertheless went to look for it above the fireplace as Richard had instructed . . . but of course . . . there was nothing there!

Later, on that evening of 27th August, Richard's journey of anguish finally ended as his life became the past.

* * * * *

Nasra was up early the following day. She had enjoyed her evening with her two old friends the night before and was intrigued by the turn the conversation had taken to say the least. Now, she had a busy day ahead of her. She had fixed herself a quick round of toast and butter between taking a shower and hastily dressing, and she was just straightening her collar in the mirror when came the familiar shuffling sound of post dropping through the letterbox. She thumbed through the small heap of white envelopes that had landed on her mat. Ignoring a couple of obvious circulars and another that looked like the electric bill, she came across a package that had a handwritten address on the front. For a split second she thought she recognised the handwriting but her brain was already moving ahead telling her to open it before she had a chance to dwell on this. Inside was a letter - more of a note really. Nasra's eyes widened as she took in the words as they were meant to sound - a kind and simple testimony. It was from an old lady she had cared for a while back and, as she read the letter, she began to recall the events of that day a few months ago about which this lady now seemed to be so grateful.

Nasra worked for a city health care company and her job was to visit individuals who needed support. It was emotionally tiring but rewarding and the days could be very varied. Sometimes she even had to take on-site sleep-overs, such was the nature of the care required. It was one of these lengthy care sessions to which she had been assigned on this particular day:

She'd arrived in Fletton at the home of Eileen O'Darcy at 6.30 that evening. As usual Eileen asked if she could make her a cup of tea . . . and to have one for herself too of course. This was a fairly common pattern. Nasra would arrive and the first thirty minutes would really just be spent chatting cosily - all part of the job. Tonight however was to take on a slightly different turn of significance.

“Oooh! Pass me that brew could you,” Eileen hitched herself up to a sitting position in the bed.

“Now, I was going to tell you, there's something I need you to do for me,” she began.

“Oh!” remarked Nasra. Eileen looked across at her with mournful eyes;

“Means a lot to me ya see. Silly I know, I should never have dropped it.”

“What have you dropped?”

“I was only bending down to pick up a sweetie paper . . . over there . . . by the sideboard.” Eileen pointed vaguely. Nasra followed the direction of her arm movements but it gave her very little information. “It just slipped off and, as luck would have it, went through the crack . . . all in one go!”

“Through the crack . . ? What . . . in the floorboards?” Nasra was starting to get the picture. The silly old bird had somehow lost some prized bracelet, it had fallen through the crack in the floorboards and now she wanted her to try and retrieve it. She wondered exactly how.

“Please can you try and get it for me? It's very valuable and it means so much to me.”

Nasra couldn't disappoint. When she got to the corner of the room where the red rosewood sideboard stood, she could see that the floorboards had actually moved, the wood had split and been chipped away slightly where a natural knot had been, this must be where the bracelet had fallen through. She tried to poke her finger in the hole but it was not quite big enough. Taking her mobile phone she shone the torchlight through the crack and was instantly greeted by a sharply reflected glisten. Working gently away at the slightly dry rotted wood she was able to make a larger hole. She went to her bag and produced a pair of eyebrow tweezers. Carefully, now almost lying across the floor with one hand shining the light from her mobile phone and the other carefully guiding the metal pincers, she was able to extract the prized piece.

As she pulled the bracelet gently free from its resting place something quite weird happened. She started to feel a powerful attachment that seemed to amplify as she found herself caressing each of the plain, flat stone-like beads. It was as if she had always been meant to be holding this bracelet right now, at this moment. She looked across at Eileen who sat beaming at her from the bed. As she staggered back across the room to hand it triumphantly to its owner she felt it was a special moment, almost like a sports captain having just won back a trophy that had long since been in alien hands but was now back with the right team and being celebrated.

Eileen was ecstatic as Nasra remembered. She started to tell her the whole history of the bracelet, how her dear Edward had given it to her as a 10th anniversary present back in the nineteen sixties. How it had been with her through good times and bad and how he was sure it had brought her good luck on more than one occasion. She went on to tell Nasra about one of the worst things that ever happened to her and how the bracelet had 'saved' her and Edward: They were mugged on the way home from a night out many years ago. Edward was roughed up a bit and the gang had threatened Eileen and tried to take the bracelet from her. When it was clear that a terrified Eileen was having some difficulty in handing it over, each gang member tried, but couldn't prize it from her wrist;

“It were never gonna leave me ya see,” Eileen was proud of this moment looking back, now having forgotten her fear at the time, “attached itself good and proper it did . . . and that's when they came . . .”

They?” Nasra was curious as to how this tale was to end.

“People - from the other side of the street. Those ruffians weren't concentrating . . . took too long trying to get the bracelet . . . got outnumbered and ran off ya see.”

Eileen firmly believed that on at least this one occasion this bracelet had been integral to their safe well-being.

So what had Eileen said to Nasra in the letter that had arrived that morning?

Well, she'd actually given her the bracelet. She wanted her to have it, she said it would bring her good luck and that she deserved it. It was up to her what she did with it.

For a moment Nasra just stared at it, but then she opened the package and once again she held the bracelet of Eileen's. Somehow things felt good - almost too good. She clasped the bracelet tightly in her hand for a moment but then, she was suddenly reminded of the time as she glanced at the wall clock.

'Time to go,' she said to herself, laying the bracelet carefully down on the side as she left the house to go to work.

* * * * *

The next few weeks rolled by. The weather got warmer and the evenings became lighter as summer approached and, with every day that passed, Judy's slender frame bulged slightly larger as the child growing inside her was preparing to arrive in just a few weeks time. It hadn't been the smoothest of pregnancies, there had been the morning sickness, the overwhelming tiredness and inevitable irritability, and the occasional argument with Neil when she'd felt he'd come up short of the mark. But all in all things were moving on okay. Okay that is, until one Sunday night in late spring when Judy found herself sitting in the kitchen looking at the clock. She couldn't go to bed, she was totally unable to relax. Her mind was fervent with worry and her brain started to conjure up all sorts of crazy scenarios: Perhaps he'd had an accident and the police were going to knock at the door any minute . . . how would she cope with that? She couldn't bear to dwell on it but she was unable to prevent her mind from running away with the thought.

What if he'd got drunk and found another woman . . . what if he wasn't coming back tonight?

Stop it . . . stop it!' she said to herself. This was madness. He was late, he should be in by now but it wasn't crisis time yet surely! Of course it wasn't, what was she thinking, he'd probably just overrun slightly - misjudging the time with the lads on their night out. Yes, that's all it would be, soon he'd be in and she could relax.

With what seemed like an immense mental effort she convinced herself that bed was the best place for her right now. He had a key, she had no obligation to stay up stupidly late in her fragile state.

Just a mile or two away in the city centre, right outside a crowded bar, four men staggered aimlessly in the street talking loudly in drunken slurs.

“Time to make a move mate . . . matey . . . my mates.” Neil attempted to slap an arm around the shoulders of each of his mates as he blurted out the barely comprehensible phrases. He missed his target with two of them and the inevitable result was an attempt by the others to do likewise. So in a very short space of time four drunken men in their twenties were roaming a Peterborough city centre street sort of arm in arm, lurching first one way then another.

Neil's mate Paddy spoke next:

“ We are the boys . . . you are my mates right? I see you in work tomorrow.” Paddy was drunk but a tiny portion of his brain was reminding himself that this was a Sunday night and they actually all had work tomorrow- and at the same place! He felt that however inebriated he and the others were he had to pass on this piece of information by way of a warning.

“You wor . . . worry too much mate . . . we'll be fine.”

“I see yous all in the morning.” - Jimmy started to stagger off in a completely different direction on his own.

“No, wait,” called Neil, “we need to stay together, we need to supperot . . . to suplort . . . support each other.” (He was barely able to get the words out!)

The foursome staggered on towards the town square. It was then that Neil had the bright idea of taking a short cut.

“Hey guys, follow me.” He over amplified his beckoning arm gestures as his three mates were guided under an archway. “We can go through here . . . we can get a taxi . . .”

“Taxis don't drive through here mate. This ain't a taxi place . . . I mean . . . a road, this ain't a road.” Jimmy's eyes were trying to focus on where they actually were. He recognised the large illuminated building that now seemed to be staring down at them. “This is the cathdrol . . . the . . . catherole . . . the . . .” his voice tailed off as he let out an almighty belch, only to be greeted by uncontrollable raucous laughter from the others. The heavy ancient wooden doors that usually close off the area at night had unintentionally been left open on this occasion, allowing the unruly crowd to walk straight through to the Cathedral precincts.

It was as the group managed to collectively work out that the route they actually needed to take was off to the left passing in front of the majestic building, that things started to happen:

Firstly, Joey, (probably the one out of the four of them who was the most paralytically out of it), pointed towards the trees beyond a small wall about fifty metres away;

“There . . . who's that?” He tried to focus his glazed eyes on a dark shape he thought he could see that simply wasn't there!

“Your stupid man . . . out of it man.” Paddy wasn't having any of it.

They carried on towards the gateway that led to a small winding stretch of road, at the end of which Neil had convinced the other three as being the best place to get a taxi from. All of them were now just larking about, Joey's comments had started something and suddenly they were all seeing something or other lurking behind a bush or in the shadows by a wall.

It was then that Neil stopped dead in his tracks. He tried intensely to focus his blurred vision on the patch of grass beside the north facing wall of the Cathedral. The little light there was seemed to blind him as he swayed, trying desperately to keep his balance. His brain was now compounding every possible sobering signal it had to try and make sense of what he was seeing. Surely, frantically pacing from left to right a short distance in front of him was a figure, hands placed behind his back and dressed in a sort of darkish full length costume. Neil had dropped back from the group who were now calling him as they moved towards the exit. For a moment he stood transfixed. Then, with a sudden definite decision, he decided he must catch up with the others, almost forgetting what he had just seen as he now felt fully returned to his state of drunkenness.

Words between Judy and Neil some thirty minutes later were few and far between. She hadn't waited up, but she hadn't managed to sleep either. Although rather annoyed with her other half it was obvious that he was not operating in comprehensible conversation mode so the best thing was to leave it until the morning before attempting to discuss anything, however cross or upset she might feel. The only trouble was Neil's brain was in a sort of overdrive. As his head hit the pillow with a soft thud, images from the room started to form in his brain as dark shapes moving vertically. He had to concentrate to get to sleep. He knew that he was really too drunk and, if the truth be known, he just hoped he'd crash out. But something was bothering him. The alcohol may have severely impaired his judgement but it did not stop him sleeping, and it did not stop him dreaming either. When he awoke the next morning, there was little else on his mind.

The day at work didn't go well. Joey had rather blown their cover by coming in late and Bob Hodgkinson, their immediate supervisor, sent him home as a disciplinary procedure for being in an unfit state to carry out his duties in a place of work. It didn't escape his notice either that the other three seemed well below par. Shortly before lunch time he made his observations clear to the remaining three of them stating in no uncertain terms that he did not ever want to see a repeat of this behaviour and suggested that perhaps a Saturday night rather than Sunday might be a better timed outlet for their wild antics in the future. So, when lunchtime came, it was not surprising really that all three seemed a little down beat to say the least.

“Bit crazy last night weren't we?” remarked Paddy. The others gave him a quiet look of resigned acknowledgement.

“Can't do that again.” Jimmy sounded definite. “All that stuff about seeing ghosts by the Cathedral eh!”

“Ah, that was all rubbish mate . . . alcohol talking, Joey always gets like that, he's off his head.”

Although the others all wanted to agree with this last remark Neil felt uneasy. Hadn't he seen something too? And this morning, when he had woken up he'd had some realistic nightmare about

. . . something . . . he couldn't quite remember!

You know that feeling of an apparently strong dream appearing full of imagery and being startlingly clear for about twenty seconds after you come out of it, but by the time you get downstairs for breakfast and want to put things into words to tell someone else, your memory of all the detail has gone. What he did remember though was that he'd had some dream about something to do with the Cathedral. He felt at this point he had to say something.

“You say so, but I saw something last night too, when you lot were up in front.”

The other two looked at him, Paddy started to smirk.

“No, listen. I know we were all out of it but I swear there was someone there over by the wall.”

“Here we go.” Paddy muttered under his breath looking down at the floor. “Mr supernatural tells us his next instalment. What is it this time - some ancient dude from years ago prancing around and you're going to tell us all about him, what he did, where he lived and it's all going to turn out to be true?”

Neil looked hurt, but at the same time Paddy's last remark had stopped him in his tracks and surely taken his breath away. Neil didn't say any more about it to his two mates that day.

The first thing he'd felt was that it was colder than you would expect, and it was dark - but it was still daytime. He was holding something in his hands, it seemed like they were plants of some sort. He couldn't remember picking them but somehow he knew he must have just gathered them for immediate use. There were others with him too, and the plants were probably the herbs or vegetables they needed. The next thing he remembered was sitting talking quietly around a solid wooden table in a large cold room sharing a meal, and yes, there was a small fire in the corner.

Things were kind of a bit mixed up but all the time in his subconscious was the feeling of something large, something looming behind him but it did not feel nearby. He had an intense feeling of not being in the right place, or at least not being where he wanted to be - and the thing behind him, perhaps quite far away was overlooking him . . . always there . . . always keeping check. Perhaps this was where he should have been? Perhaps he had done something very wrong and this was his punishment!

Judy was listening to her husband's worrying testimony as they sat together later that evening.

“And you couldn't really remember any of this earlier? It seems very real to you now!”

“That's just it you see. I couldn't remember anything until Paddy said something at work today. I know they were taking the mickey a bit and it sounds crazy, but it's as if I was actually there. As if somewhere in the past I've actually been to that place - it was so real.”

Judy grabbed his arm and gave him a grin designed to comfort.

“Don't forget, you'd had a lot to drink - might have something to do with it?”

“There's something else as well. I saw something . . . by the Cathedral . . . as we walked through the precincts around midnight.”

Now Judy really was having doubts. Was this going to be another one of his 'spooked out' experiences? Hadn't he said earlier they all reckoned they'd seen a ghost? Judy started to laugh gently thinking that making light of the whole situation was now perhaps the best line of tact to take. Neil cut in before she could speak:

“No, you don't understand. You see, I'm positive the big thing I felt looming behind me was the Cathedral.” Judy stared at her husband not yet seeing what he was driving at. “Don't you see?” continued Neil anxiously, “The ghost I saw must be connected - someone at the Cathedral pacing up and down!” He looked very worried as he continued. “It was like . . . like he could be the person I was feeling in my dream!”

* * * * *

The next few days were warm ones. It was a Thursday and Nasra and Judy had arranged to meet outside the Queensgate shopping centre in the early evening as soon as Nasra had finished work. Their intention was to browse maternity fashions, and, of course babywear. They had arranged a rendezvous with Neil for the lift home at 7.30 in the Lakeside bowling car park. Neil was fitting in an after work bowling session with his mates.

Judy was tired if the truth be known and she would have happily missed this arrangement but didn't want to let her friend Nasra down and besides, they hadn't had a chance to catch up at all that week. As they browsed all their regular haunts it was evident to Judy that Nasra was slightly preoccupied with something. Judy suggested they went for a coffee at the bar in the heart of the shopping centre.

Nasra eagerly proceeded to tell her friend about something that had happened to her the other day. At first Judy could only muster enough enthusiasm to show a passing interest, but as Nasra kept steering the conversation back to the subject Judy found herself becoming drawn in.

“I was so shocked you see, I would just never have expected to receive anything like it as a gift

. . . from anyone.”

Nasra told her friend the story of the kind old lady who felt that Nasra should own the bracelet she had herself so valued.

“I mean why did she give it to me? It meant so much to her. Why didn't she just reward me some other way if she felt so grateful?”

It wasn't that Nasra was not one hundred percent grateful to be given the piece, it's actually that she felt a little guilty, a little unworthy perhaps to be wearing it. She felt she had to explain this to Judy.

“I wore it because she said I should, but you know what . . . it's kind of weird. It feels - I don't know, like it's so good - like nothing can go wrong if I'm wearing it.” Her smile suddenly dropped as she continued to try and explain to Judy about a dream she'd had.

Judy stretched her arm out in front of her holding up her palm in gesture.

“Don't talk to me about dreams. We've got enough of that going on with his Lordship right now.”

“Oh really, I thought he was through with all that 'second-sight' stuff.”

Judy sipped her coffee, choosing not to answer her friend right away. It was Nasra who then said something quite different:

“Judy, do you believe in omens? I mean like do you think there are things that we can experience can be signs that can lead to real things happening?” Nasra stared at her, waiting intently for an answer.

“You mean like dreams?” she replied somewhat sarcastically. This time it was Nasra who didn't answer. Judy set her cup down on the table and folded her arms. “Go on then, you want to tell me don't you. What did you dream?”

Twenty minutes later the two women were walking across Cathedral Square bathed in the early evening sunshine. Judy was very unsettled, she couldn't clear her mind of the strangeness of it all. First her husband, now her best friend. What where they reading in to all this? Surely a dream is a dream, she should know she's had enough of them lately herself - quite common in her state. Anxiety, she'd heard, can cause all sorts of irrational thoughts that the brain stores away and then regurgitates in a non-sensical episodic form as one sleeps. She was quite flustered and about right ready to keep that rendezvous on time so they could all get home and have some supper before the evening was gone.

It was Judy then who directed them to a short cut through the Cathedral precincts which would be their quickest route to get to the agreed meeting place on time.

As she wobbled slightly with the laden carrier bags, feeling twice her own weight now that she was quite heavily pregnant, it occurred to her that they were treading the same ground as her husband had done with his mates the other night. Nasra was moving a little too quickly for her.

“What time did you say to Neil?” called her friend looking back over her shoulder.

“7.30 at the bowling alley car park,” panted Judy.

“Five minutes then.”

Suddenly Judy dropped her bag as she looked towards the Cathedral.

“Wait up” she called. “I can't go as fast as you.”

Nasra stopped, realising that she had been slightly thoughtless in her efforts to plunge on ahead and that it was too much for Judy to keep up. As she back-tracked the ten metres to help her friend with the heavier of the two bags she followed Judy's gaze;

“What's he doing here . . . ?” Judy's voice tailed off dreamily. Nasra scrutinized a figure pacing hurriedly towards them as if she knew what her friend was thinking and wanted to check it out for herself.

“Neil?” Judy was gobsmacked.

“No . . . no, that's not Neil.” corrected her friend somewhat churlishly. “Come on, it's nearly 7.30.”

* * * * *

The three of them had some good times that summer. It was to become the summer that they would never forget as it provided them with so many memories.

They got together on many occasions and spent many weekend days in the generous summer sun. One such day had been at the Peterborough Festival held in the town park to the north of the city centre. It was as they were recalling the events of that very day of a few weeks previous, that Neil, Judy and Nasra found themselves discussing matters in The Paul Pry public house once more:

“Stifling that day weren't it.” Judy reminisced as they recalled the time they had spent an afternoon just sitting on the grass listening to a jazz band as the summer sun, the blue sky above and the intoxicatingly peaceful atmosphere seemed to cocoon them in quite another world.

“It was a pretty good afternoon as I remember,” put in Nasra. “So many people, so much going on . . . so much colour . . . and vivacity!” The three of them all grinned as they shared Nasra's last remark - an impromptu joke; (Vivacity is the name of the local council's art, entertainment and sport organisational branch responsible for the implementation of many of the communal facilities to aid such events as the festival.)

“That was the same day - in the Cathedral grounds - when I met that bloke dressed up,” added Neil.

“Dressed up! We were about the only people who weren’t! If there wasn't something happening right in front of you it was going on in another corner. You know, when all is said and done this isn't a bad place, there's actually quite a bit of culture going on around us.” Nasra threw an artificial smirk towards her two friends as she delivered these words.

“Suppose that counts as quite a big moment really . . . I mean, like that's the day - the landmark point.” Neil's dreamy voice droned on and his words paled into insignificance as Judy and her friend chatted enthusiastically away taking little notice;

“Do you remember 'Gladstone'? That big Asian bloke who was out of it - completely drunk?'

The two of them broke out into a fit uncontrollable laughter as they remembered fondly the somewhat comical character.

“He was trying to tell us all about the Pakistani community in the City and he could hardly get the words out he was so sloshed.” Nasra almost spat her drink out with laughter as she tried to suppress the humorous memory of the man back on that summer's afternoon who'd called himself 'Gladstone'.

The two women looked at Neil as their laughter subsided and once more they found a moment to reflect.

“You said someone was 'dressed up'?” Nasra turned to Neil.

“Yeah, and that's when I gave it to him - just seemed like the right moment.”

The two women looked at him slightly puzzled:

“What right moment . . . what are you on about?” enquired his other half emphatically.

“That thing . . . you were asking about the other week . . ? How our luck turned - when I gave it away?”

Neil was trying desperately to stimulate their memories of the importance they had attached to this at the time, but right now neither woman was on the same wavelength.

“I never saw you with it, and I was with you all day.- you certainly didn't give anything to Gladstone!” Judy and Nasra looked at each other for a second before bursting out into laughter once more.

“No, no, seriously,” began Nasra, deciding it was time to show some respect and hear Neil out. “There were lots of other folk dressed up in the park that day. Who did you give what to?”

“That old necklace. I gave it away because he just seemed to be . . .”

“Go on . . . what?” urged Judy.

“ . . . he just seemed to be . . . like the right person to give it to. I don't know - maybe because of his costume.” Neil scanned the puzzled faces of the other two before continuing.

“Well . . . a monk! - You know, give an ancient thing to an ancient bloke . . . just seemed right. Get it?” They didn't.

“You gave that old necklace to someone dressed as a monk? In the town park on that festival day?” This was the first Judy had known of this.

“No. No you don't understand. That was the same day but it wasn't in the town park when we were at the festival. It was in the morning on my way back to the car park behind the Cathedral.

It was all a bit odd really.”

Suddenly they were listening as Neil recalled a moment of seemingly great importance but with what now seemed like a bit of uncertainty.

“That festival thing was going on all over the place. There were stalls and a garden party or something like going on I reckon. This bloke dressed as a monk asked if he could help me and in a moment of inspiration I thought, yes - take it! . . . So I gave him the necklace.”

Nasra looked first at Neil then at Judy and then back at Neil, she was gobsmacked.

“So that's how you got rid once and for all?” Judy smiled, she hadn't known this.

Nasra still looked shocked.

“Seemed like he wanted it too. In fact it was a bit strange - his reaction - when he took it from my hand - he looked like death warmed up . . . like it was a curse or something!”

Some time later the two women continued their conversation at the Presslands’ home. Neil had decided to call it a night and gone up to bed. Judy listened to her friend intently as they sat together in the kitchen. She listened not only to what Nasra was to tell her by way of detail of the dream she kept having, but also of what she'd done about it. You see, Nasra Chowdry was not an individual who kept her peace at all well in these situations until she was able to leave no stone unturned. She had been doing some research - some finding out for herself.

What Nasra told her friend that night would remain with her most probably forever.

In her dream she kept finding herself in all sorts of mixed up situations, in much the way that dreams generally go, but there was always a problem - a desperate task or a moment of imminent danger. She always seemed to 'solve it', but she didn't know how! Someone would turn up at the end of her dream and congratulate her with unsubstantial comments such as:

'I told you so' or 'Mark my words my dear' or sometimes just a beaming smile and saying something like 'You've done very well . . . until next time . . .'

One morning she'd awoken feeling absolutely sure she'd just been walking in a woods gathering plants or herbs or something like. As she woke up there was a voice telling her that what she had experienced in her dream had all happened centuries ago in another time - another world, yet it had seemed so real! Almost as soon as she was deeply disturbed by the powerful impression the dream left, she would forget it! Nasra knew she had to try and make some connection, so in the last few days she'd done her research and what she discovered was uncanny to say the least.

Judy neither understood nor possessed the intellect to try and work it all out for herself, she just needed some plausible, credible explanation for all of this weird stuff. When Nasra told her of some of the things she'd discovered she found it quite startling:

“I've been researching online. It's amazing what you can find out if you dig deep. Did you know that the Cathedral was once the Abbey, inhabited by the monks right back from the first millennium? A weird thing I came across were these stories about ghostly monks who have appeared to people all around the Cathedral over time.” Nasra paused as if expecting her friend to say something but Judy's eyes just widened slightly as she listened intently. Nasra continued:

“I know Neil said he saw something in the grounds - the figure dressed as a monk!”

“Oh but come on, that was the day of the festival, we all know how much was going on that day.”

“Yes, but your dearly beloved went to great lengths to point out where he met the chap . . . don't you remember . . . in the Cathedral grounds?”

Judy was starting to think all sorts of things. Neil had seemed to have been very affected by this single event.

“And, something else I found out,” continued Nasra. “Back in the fourteen hundreds there is a story about a group of young monks who got fed up with their simple monastic life. They went out on a rampage and returned to the Abbey one night in an unacceptable drunken state. They were sent out to one of the Granges out in the countryside as a punishment, where apparently it all just cooked up some more, the supervising monk in charge was taken ill and they were left to their own devices. Guess what happened . . .? They carried on and did it some more . . . getting completely drunk! And at least one of them ended up getting killed in some sort of brawl!”

Judy felt a cold tingle, the sort of cold tingle you feel all over when some of the pieces of a complex jigsaw seem to fall uncomfortably and unexpectedly into place. Judy stood up and walked slowly towards the other side of the room. Her body language told her friend that some piece of that uncomfortable jigsaw had just fallen into place in Judy's mind right then and there.

“He got drunk the other night - they all did. And he said it was like something big looming over him.”

“I'm sorry, what?” Nasra didn't understand this last remark.

“Like it was watching him - in his dream . . .” Judy turned suddenly to face her friend. “He said he felt it was actually the Cathedral! - this thing in his dream!” Nasra was beginning to understand. Somehow, in his dreams Neil felt threatened and insecure, and in some way the Cathedral seemed to be the key. She thought of her own dreams too. They were like a message from the past but they seemed so real at the time. Nasra now found herself feeling quite uneasy. She kept clasping her hands together then releasing her grip. Judy took note of her body language. This was an unusual mannerism. Feeling inside her sleeve to scratch her wrist, Nasra felt the hard smooth metallic surface of her bracelet. She remembered Eileen O'Darcy giving it to her the all those weeks ago; Nasra had taken to wearing it more or less ever since as it seemed to make her feel, well, just good in some way or other.

“You like that thing, don't you.” Judy smiled, she wasn't intending to sound patronising.

“Yes. I do, I've just taken to wearing it. Do you like it?” Nasra rolled back her sleeve and displayed it to her friend.

“I love those gems around the plate.” Judy pointed to the intricately decorated silver panel that looked as if it perhaps should hold a tiny inscription of some kind. “Is there any mark?”

“No there isn't. I did think . . . but no, silly idea.”

“What?” Judy grinned.

“I was going to say it should say something like . . . I don't know - like something related to good fortune in some way.” Judy scrutinised her friend's dreamy gaze.

Like 'Good luck wherever you go' !” (Now her friend was being patronising.)

Nasra looked a little sheepish.

“It just feels . . . I don't know. Sort of – good – like lucky when I'm wearing it . . .”

“Which is virtually all the time.” chirped in Judy, now with tongue in cheek.

Judy looked at the clock on the living room wall and Nasra followed her gaze.

“I'd better be making tracks,” she said, “I've enjoyed tonight, it has given us something to really think about.” The two women rose to their feet.

Five minutes later she found herself driving northwards through Breton, the suburb to the north west of the city where Neil and Judy had their home. Her mind was somewhat preoccupied. Why did she feel she now always had to wear it? After all it had only been a gift from a casual elderly acquaintance! Surely this was all a bit silly? And the dreams . . . what about those dreams? The more she thought the more she felt sure that these questions growing quietly within her mind would soon work their way to the surface. There seemed to be links. Neil had been having some pretty powerful dreams and hadn't this all started months ago when his workmates reckoned he'd got some 'second sight' of things? Her dreams too . . . she always seemed to be in control as if the people around looked to her for guidance or to solve a problem. The further she drove the deeper she thought. Perhaps it was all meant to mean something. Synapses in her brain made a sudden connection as her mind dug deep to remember something her Father had told her many years previously. There had been a time when he was sure something had guided him to a right decision. He'd been driving along the busy city ring road and the car in front looked a touch unsteady, as if the driver wasn't really in control. He'd wanted to overtake but felt unsure of doing so in case the driver was to swerve into him or something like. Suddenly he remembered a dream or a moment from a daydream, imagination, call it what you will. He could see himself overtaking another vehicle - speeding past and looking back feeling relieved. Had he won a race? Had he avoided danger? He hadn't ever been clear about the situation. All he ever said about it was that he knew he had to act and overtake in that split second. What actually happened next was, once he'd got a hundred metres or so past the vehicle, he saw in his mirror that it did indeed swerve off into the central reservation and end up at right angles to the oncoming traffic. The miracle was that no other traffic was close by, and the driver got out unhurt, apparently having just fallen asleep! What might have occurred if he hadn't overtaken the vehicle at the exact moment he did?

* * * * *

A few days passed. What was to happen next shaped the rest of their lives. We never know what's around that next corner and it wasn't anything that Neil, Judy, or Nasra were expecting.

The end of the month loomed closer and Neil and Judy felt the end of summer too, the temperature of late had been much cooler and the evenings were drawing in. And now soon it would be time for their long awaited happy event to take place. Neil was still bothered by his dreams and Judy as well. She had told him about her friend's strange experiences and what she'd found out by way of research. Judy hadn't really thought this through and shouldn't perhaps have been alarmed by her husband's reaction. We all like to try and put the pieces of the jigsaw together where mysteries are concerned and Judy was no exception. The trouble was some of the historical stuff Nasra had found out was too close to the mark for Neil and he became now actually even more worked up about things.

“I had to tell you. You wouldn't want me not to have done would you?” Judy pleaded.

“No. It's alright. I just feel I need to know a bit more about it now, it's like sort of half a story.”

At that moment Neil's phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. He quickly pressed a couple of buttons, stared at the screen then put it away. Judy clocked his body language, right now he was very uneasy about everything, it seemed.

“Come on.” she said siding closer to him. “Let's have an early night, we can talk in bed.”

Neil frowned.

“I've got things to do, it's only just gone nine!”

“Up to you then, but I'm going to watch a bit of TV in the bedroom. I've had a few aches and pains today. Come up when you're done.” Judy smiled, gave her other half a peck on the cheek then left him to ponder over things.

Five minutes later Neil's phone vibrated once more. This time he had to react. He texted back a quick reply to the message he'd just received and called up to Judy that he was going out for a bit.

Judy heard his call and responded with just a little tinge of concern in her voice. It had been a stressful few days, the baby was due any time and she couldn't help feeling that her partner's mind was not fully in gear and ready for the imminent change their lives were about to experience.

He'd gone out. How long would he be? Anyone's guess! Hadn't some of his mates gone to the football match this evening? She hoped he wasn't going to meet them and come back in stupidly late. She found herself recalling the last time he'd gone out for an evening on the spur of the moment and how it had led to a drunken parade through the Cathedral precincts late at night.

She turned to face the bedside clock, it was only twenty past nine, it might be hours before he was back for all she knew. Suddenly she wasn't tired at all, she was just bothered by something, but she couldn't put her finger on exactly what. All that had actually happened was that she'd decided to have an early night and Neil had decided to go out. What was wrong with that?

Well, what was wrong was that Judy didn't want to be alone right now, her baby was almost ready to drop and she felt very on edge, so she texted her friend who was more than happy to come over and keep her company for the rest of the evening.

If the truth be known, Nasra Chowdry was just as anxious. There were a lot of unanswered questions for her too and when Judy called 'lonely' it was actually something she wanted to hear.

The lights of the oncoming traffic flowed past her as her mind allowed their imagery to drift into her subconscious. As she drove the short journey across to Breton she found she couldn't help those dreams replaying over and over in her mind. She headed northwards, her mind only partly on the task in hand. As headlights continued to dazzle her she became aware she was passing a wooded area and suddenly again she remembered walking in a woods, a long time ago gathering plants – looking for something - finding something -? She wasn't quite sure.

Brightness flickered all around her, no longer just the beacon of oncoming traffic. Now there was rain in the air too. She turned on the wipers and, in what seemed like no time at all, it was like watching an old movie, with the strobe-like effect of the car headlights dazzling through the intermittently partially clear windscreen simulating the archaic footage - as if being projected all around - just for her!

Suddenly she became alert, as through the flickers, she could see a figure standing motionless. As she instinctively slowed she could see who it was, but surely not! This couldn't be!

“Neil?” She stopped and wound down the window, immediately realising that the rain and wind had now grown much stronger. He just looked straight ahead. “Get in, I'll run you back home.” she said, it being the obvious course of action as his home was actually where she was heading anyway.

He climbed into the passenger's seat still looking blankly straight in front. Nasra became immediately somewhat uneasy. What on earth was he doing here? She glanced across at the bedraggled figure, not really sure what to say next.

“What are you doing out here then?” He didn't reply. Nasra paused for a moment then tried again. “Look, if something's the matter I'm sure we can sort it out.” She looked away from the wheel across at Neil. His face was pale and expressionless as if he'd had a complete breakdown. Quickly she was forced to refocus her attention on the road in front as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Sweat oozed from every gland as a shudder ran down her spine. Where was she going? Her mind was now locked into a memory battle she couldn't win. For a second or two she couldn't remember anything. Where was she even heading? There was only a second or two to dwell on this before something else caught her attention - the car was accelerating and they were heading towards the roundabout!

“What the . . .” Nasra couldn't get the words out, every drop of her concentration was now being sapped by the demands of what lay in front of her. She was forced to take the roundabout at high speed. There was nothing coming but she certainly wouldn't have been able to stop if there had been!

Now they were nearly at the slip road onto the A47. Rain was beating down, the groaning wipers were doing their best but it seemed that she had no control over her vehicle.

“Neil . . . Neil!” she shrieked. He didn't speak. He sat there looking vacantly straight ahead through the windscreen. Then she realised that his coat was unusually long and thick, with the hood erect and covering his entire head. It made him look quite odd, she'd never seen him like this before.

Her Nissan Mira screamed down the parkway overtaking anything in its path. The vehicle was shaking, and so was Nasra. She could see the next major roundabout fast approaching as she gasped for breath. The car was not slowing down. Nasra screamed, the lights of another vehicle on the roundabout were almost upon her. Instinctively she shut her eyes and her hands left the wheel to protect her face as the tyres screeched and then . . . suddenly . . . everywhere was black.

Everywhere was black when Nasra opened her eyes. She felt panic within as the realisation came upon her that nothing had actually happened - she must have fainted! Urgently she planted both hands firmly back on the wheel and it was only then that she realised the car was still moving - her nightmare hadn't ended!It was dark, very dark. Where was she? This was not the A47, it wasn't even a main road. In fact they seemed to be travelling down a country lane. She tried to pull together the fragmented memories of the last few minutes from her scrambled brain. There was nearly a crash, she felt sure of that, and she had been heading east towards Eye. She gazed into the dark abyss that lay around her and realised all that she could see was what the car lights were showing her of the road ahead. Her pulse was racing. Nasra tried to catch her breath as she realised her vehicle was at last gradually slowing. Struggling to breathe she tried to speak, but no words could form as the car came to a halt in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, the figure beside her started to slowly rise. Now filled with fear and trepidation she looked as he turned to face her. Slowly he raised an arm. She felt as if she was going to pass out as the rapid flow of adrenalin now seemed to engulf her entire being.

Nasra tried to shout his name as he raised an arm and pointed forward, as if indicating there was some place he had to get to, or something he wanted her to do. Right then she couldn't understand, as she watched him climb out of the car then just appear to vanish into the North-east Peterborough landscape. The last thing she remembered being aware of was a loud tapping sound that pounded through her head.

The figure called out:

“You alright miss? Can you open your window for me please?”

Nasra opened her eyes. Dazed for a second or two, she looked around before she was able to return to some sort of reality. The first thing she took in was that it now wasn't as dark outside . . . the second thing her brain was able to process was that there was a police officer tapping on her passenger's window urging her to open up as he pointed to a lay-by in front where clearly he wanted her to pull into.

So Nasra was okay. The policeman surmised that she had just been the victim of a stressful evening. He didn't give the breathalyser - he didn't have the necessary equipment. Once he was convinced that Nasra was in fact in a good enough state to continue driving, and Nasra had convinced him that all was well with her and that she would be able to find her own way home, he went on his way.

Now, sitting alone in her car Nasra had just about gathered her thoughts when her phone suddenly vibrated. She picked it up to read the text. It was another text from Judy, what it said simply stunned her. It read:

“Neil is dead . . .”

For a moment Nasra just stared vacantly ahead in a state of shock. She read the text again. It was as if her whole world had just imploded. Her mind raced ahead going through all the possible scenarios - none of them good. Then reality got a grip of her.

'I must get to Judy,' she said to herself. The engine fired up and she pulled away, now trembling with shock. Surely Neil had just been with her . . . in her car . . . just a few minutes ago!

The rain was teeming down. She could hardly concentrate on the task of driving as she endeavoured to control both her vehicle and her emotions. Shaking, like a nervous wreck, she pulled up in front of the house and dashed from the car plundering through the torrents of rain towards the doorway of Judy and Neil's home. Judy opened the door and Nasra leapt upon her, giving her the biggest, most empathetic embrace.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. My darling, whatever has happened?” Nasra was already aware of an additional force - that of Judy resisting her embrace of apparent sympathy and pushing her away. Clearly the gravity of grief had not yet rendered itself within her friend.

The two women parted and looked each other in the eyes.

“What?” A confused Nasra was the first to speak.

“What? Nasra, what's the matter?” Judy appeared to be far less upset than Nasra had anticipated.

“Neil,” she yelled. “I got your text!”

“Yeah, I'm worried, it's not like him to just go out without saying where. I just needed you around me right now . . . thought we could talk . . . if you don't mind!”

Nasra was gobsmacked. For a moment she couldn't speak, then with some urgency of realisation she retrieved the mobile phone from her jacket pocket and started to scroll down the text menu.

“But you told me . . .” As she stared at the screen she realised her phone memory was now full. When she quickly deleted some texts to free up the memory she got the rest of the message that she had been meant to read earlier . . .

“Neil is dead . . . keen to hear about your research, I told him all about it but he wants to hear it from you. He's gone out now, don't know where he is. Come over and we can talk. J.”

Once Nasra had gathered her thoughts, the two compared notes. Nasra didn't tell Judy exactly what had just happened, it seemed just too weird and unreal, as if like a dream! They both knew that of course they needed to find where Neil had gone, but right now they were haunted by the blur of dreams and reality. Somehow it seemed perhaps as if there in front of them was some sort of message or warning - but they couldn't see what.

Judy rang her husband's mobile but it rang out - no reply.

“Have you any clue as to where he has gone?”

“I don't know. I just don't know why he's done this.” Judy was quite perplexed. “I'm going to text his mate, he might know, or just have some clue.”

For the next ten minutes texts were flying round between networks, and between folks they both knew. At the end of which the two women had a sort of a lead. Neil had been invited to a BBQ at one of his mates’ houses . . . somewhere in Fletton. It was definitely happening tonight, his mate Paddy had received a text saying he would 'b there in 10!' Five minutes later the girls were on the road heading southwards from North Breton towards Fletton.

He had to to strain his ears to hear what the guy was saying as the music was so loud. As Neil sipped his can of lager he could see that this occasional acquaintance standing before him was no happy individual right now. Not all of his words had been clear, he had been at the BBQ for an hour or two and probably seen off several lagers, but Neil was getting the picture. Clearly something he'd mentioned months ago was coming back to haunt him. (This is what the text he'd received had been about, Neil knew it would be bad news to ignore it so he'd gone down to face the music.)

“Okay mate. Well I get what you're asking but there's a problem.” Neil was attempting something of an explanation. The guy's glazed steel grey eyes were fixed firmly on Neil's that had a slightly more pleading look within them. He was not happy.

Minutes later the Micra pulled up outside a house in Fletton High Street. They knew they had the right place, they could tell from the loud drone of a heavy bass beat coming from the property. The side gate was ajar. Cautiously the two women peered through the open crack. Right away they could see Neil talking to someone across the garden, Judy tried to get his attention.

“We might have to just get ourselves in there.” whispered Nasra. Her friend frowned. This wasn't the type of place she had ever envisaged ending up at in her heavily pregnant state. She sensed the next few minutes may prove to be a somewhat uncomfortable experience. As Judy scanned the immediate vicinity through the twenty centimetre gap the open gate afforded her, she quickly got the picture. This was a rowdy gathering, where nobody seemed to have much regard for the noise levels they were creating, the mess they were making or the effect it might be having on the neighbours or anyone else for that matter. She had already made up her mind that she didn't really want to join this party.

At that moment Neil's eyes met theirs. Now, it might have been because he was glad to see them, or it might have been because he was embarrassed to see his wife and her friend discovering him right there, right then. Either way, instinctively he beckoned them over. Seconds later they were standing beside him. The other guy took little notice of the pleasantries of introduction as he continued the conversation he was having with Neil.

“Are you telling me you haven't got it? I've been waiting. You said you'd sell - been trying to get hold of you but you don't reply bud - not good.”

Neil was feeling very uncomfortable. He had apparently, several months earlier during one of his previous alcohol-fuelled jaunts, promised something to this guy. He'd promised to sell him the necklace! It had been around June time and was meant to happen as soon as this matey had the means to pay. The guy had been texting him and Neil had been ignoring him.

Nasra noticed something. Neil was wearing his football scarf and, as if it was an automatic reaction, she looked around to see that so too were several other guys who had apparently just come in. Of course, the season had just started and local team, the POSH, had played their first home game earlier on this late August evening . . . Neil had a ticket to go but understandably, more important things had got in the way.

“I wanted that necklace man.” The guy sounded quite animated. “Now you said it was as good as mine if I had the cash. I rocked up that day . . . remember . . . ? Back in the summer when we were supposed to meet?”

Just then came an awkward and unpleasant interruption. Raised voices from across the garden stopped them in their tracks. A well-muscled man in a black t-shirt was shouting in the face of a girl, and they quickly acquired an audience as the poor girl was verbally humiliated. Others looked on as it escalated with some speed to a violent level. The guy in the t-shirt reached out and slapped the girl square in the face. Immediately two guys nearby pulled him away and a scuffle took place before he was suitably restrained. Another woman went to the aid of the female in distress. But what really sickened Judy was the grin on the face of the guy her husband was at loggerheads with, it was as if he'd just enjoyed seeing that violently uncomfortable episode unfold before him.

Nasra's heart was pounding and her brain started darting from one random thought to another. Her mind was at battle with itself trying to relate what she had just seen to what she was seeing in front of her, and to things that had already happened. Unconsciously, she clenched her fist slightly, and when she did she once again became aware of the bracelet. Suddenly, then she realised how close they were right now to where she'd first found that bracelet, between the crack in a floorboard in dear old Eileen's house. Surely they were only a street or two away. How strange this now felt to her. Next, the sound of a breaking glass triggered more layers of testosterone-fuelled vocal cries to break out from another part of the garden. Someone had seemingly sent a drink flying. This was now getting ugly.

Neil, who had said very little to this point, immediately felt Judy's hand grab his own and he recognised the obvious fear flowing through her. Someone a few feet away, quite animatedly grabbed each end of his scarf as if in anticipation of something. Nasra felt sick, something else had just clicked in her mind, and another piece of that uncomfortable jigsaw was falling into place.

Her bracelet made her feel good, but things that hang around the neck - there was something about them! She instantly then remembered the necklace and how Neil had given it to the strange character that day near the Cathedral.

“Come on, let's go.” Judy could see that the guy was still fixing his eyes firmly on her husband's between the distractions that were now springing up all around them. Neil picked his moment to get up from his seat as the guy's attention was momentarily distracted by the argument springing from the other side of the garden.

The strange event from earlier in the evening now haunted Nasra. She remembered the car journey as she looked at Neil again as if expecting to see something different about him. Then she gazed at his scarf and suddenly, in a flash, the signs burned an imprint on her brain . . . bracelet good - necklace bad!

It all then happened so quickly. A guy was stretching his scarf, wrapping each end around his hands as if about to use it around someone's neck! Neil's scarf hung loose from his neck as the three of them made their getaway from the angry would-be scarf collector. Two blokes were now at each other and one was having his scarf pulled from him. Somebody tried to grab Neil's scarf as they scrambled to the gate but Nasra forced herself between the stranger and her friend. Her heart was pounding, she knew the danger. They had to get out of this place . . . and quickly!

“Just get us out of here.” Judy was desperate, her bulging stomach now ached and a cool clammy sensation came over her.

“Get in quick.” Nasra had taken control, bustling her friends through the half open gateway and urgently along the path.

Seconds later, she found herself once again in a car with Neil, driving desperately through the streets of Peterborough, but this time it was to lead them all to a very different outcome.

Nasra reversed the Micra out of the roadside parking space as Judy and Neil glared desperately back towards the half open gateway. Nobody seemed to have immediately reacted to their sudden departure. They had hardly travelled away from Fletton before the next chapter in this chain of events was to unleash itself.

Judy was in obvious discomfort. The events of the evening were to prove too much for her laden state and her body was telling her it was time.

“Neil” she said gripping his hand.

“What is it? Are you in pain?”

“Neil, I think they're starting.”

Nasra couldn't hear the urgent conversation springing up from the back of her car, her mind was still fully set on a safe getaway. She had kept glancing in her rear view mirror for the first half mile or so but now, happy that they weren't being followed, her brain was trying to tune back into the strange significance of the moment: Arguments, a rowdy scene, testosterone getting the better of many, neckwear used in anger . . . and those dreams . . . there was something else as well . . . she looked in front of her . . . the Cathedral! Always it seemed they were drawn towards it, or at least, events seemed to involve it - as if it had some place in everything that was happening around them - as if it held some special power! She felt now that she was starting to understand what everything meant.

“Nasra, hospital.” Neil's commanding voice came loudly and urgently from the back of the car. “She's having contractions, it's starting - the baby is coming!”

“My God!” Nasra was quickly shaken back to the moment of present reality and calculated the quickest route to take as Neil dug for his mobile. They were not far away at all.

Brightness flickered all around her as once again the lights seemed to hypnotise her. Right at this very moment she got that feeling as if everything happening around was that important message – just for her! 'Neil,' she thought, 'He is key to everything that's happened!' . . . the jigsaw was nearly complete.

* * * * *

The birth was straightforward, this might be considered as something of a surprise given the recent circumstances. Nasra had waited with her friends and had hardly slept once back at her home in the early hours. Now, it was the next evening, yesterday seemed so long ago. So often this is the effect such a momentous event has on one's sense of time.

Judy sat in the hospital bed with her husband at her side proudly gazing across at their tiny little baby boy that had entered this world in the early hours.

“I told you,” she grinned at Neil who looked puzzled. “Told you it would be a summer baby.”

They hadn't realised at this point, but he was actually two and a half weeks early; today was 27th August. Judy was tired so, once she'd nodded off and the little one was under the watchful eye of the staff nurses, Neil and Nasra decided to nip downstairs for a coffee.

“I feel so odd!” declared Neil after his first sip of the hot liquid.

“It's to be expected, you've been through so much, you and Judy. It must feel wonderful though.”

“Of course, yeah it does, but it hasn't really sunk in yet.” He looked across at Nasra, placing his drink cup firmly on the table. “You've been through a lot with us as well you know, we do appreciate your support.” Nasra smiled. “Anyway, I wanted to catch up with you about all that historical research stuff you were doing.”

Nasra gave him another grin, this time of mild surprise;

“You really want to talk about that now?”

Neil did, and, if the truth be known, so did Nasra. So she told him all about some of those events of hundreds of years earlier that were supposed to have taken place. Neil could see the parallel with not only himself, but in the dreams he'd had, the secondary knowledge he seemed to have about certain things, the stories he'd told and the experiences he'd had with his workmates, but why . . ?

What Nasra told him was that they were all signs - like cryptic replays from the past, sent to guide them. Now she was calm she could see it. Neil had been in danger last night, but somehow she saw in him someone else - someone who wasn't Neil, but she had seen him as such, and she was shown something . . . something very strange! She had been given a reward because she performed a kind act for an old lady and somehow it had made her feel good: And now good things had happened. Neil's necklace had brought nothing but bad luck and now she knew why:

“Events from all those years ago . . . back in the fourteen hundreds, they are repeating in our lives right now. I've had dreams too and sometimes, just sometimes . . .” Nasra stumbled with her words, but Neil didn't interrupt, he knew what she was trying to say was important. “Sometimes it's as if I was really there, as if somehow I have some control over events back then, and now. What we are doing right now is real.” Nasra looked Neil in the eyes and grasped his hand as he hung on to every word she was speaking; “Ever heard the phrase, 'Truth is stranger than fiction'?” she asked. He didn't answer, he didn't need to.

“Come on, let's go and see how Judy's doing.”

“So where did all this come from?” Judy, in spite of everything that had happened over the last few weeks, and, quite understandably as she had just given birth, was still a little startled. Neil and Nasra had just told her about the things of which they had just spoken, that they both now felt were of importance, but Judy wasn't getting it all. As she asked the question, both she and Neil turned their attention to their friend - the person they felt sure could now give them some more answers.

So, Nasra explained to them how some things in life seem that they were just meant to happen, as if it was obvious for us to follow a path. We don't always know why we do what we do, but if we are honest with ourselves we are instinctive creatures and we read the signs, follow the course, and draw conclusions from the experiences we gain. As Nasra talked through the events of that summer that had befallen them they could both relate it to that process of completing a jigsaw; some parts are easy and the process just flows, but then there's a piece you can't place and you find yourself out of your comfort zone. Different emotions get the better of you and sometimes you can even feel cheated as if an impossible puzzle has been placed before you. Then, you suddenly find that last piece and you wonder what all the fuss was about.

“So, what I don't get is, how is that stupid necklace thing Neil used to wear so significant?” Judy was interested but right now was finding the discussion all a bit highbrow.

“It's because of you Judy. Don't you see? Think. Where and when did you and Neil first get together, I mean really start going out?” This wasn't really a question. Her friend scrutinized her as Judy started to remember.

“It was all those years ago . . . that night . . . after the fire out at that big old house on Eyebury road, I found that necklace thing, and I gave it back to him.”

Right then it became Judy's turn, her moment to place a piece of that jigsaw down on the table as all at once it dawned on her.

“That necklace, it was like . . . so old. It was from another time, Neil never should have had it!”

“Yes, that's right, and once it found its way home, things started to put themselves right,” finished Nasra. “I think we have all been given a part to play, and, like any actor, there have been lines to learn, but we have been given some pretty smart prompts.” Nasra continued to explain what she felt she now knew: “In the centre of this City is an ancient and splendid building, it seems we are never far from it. Remember, you thought you saw Neil there? Who you really saw we will never know, but remember also, it was the centre of things for the folk of six hundred years ago, there was no escaping the power it held over the monks of the time and it seems that things that happened to people then were very powerful moments in the history of this place and they have replayed from time to time as 'ghostly visions'.

We are, here and now, experiencing a reflection of what took place then, and whatever the exact details were, whatever myths have suffered unsubstantiated embellishment over the span of time since, what we now experience is real!”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room as Nasra continued:

“You see, what is time? What does six hundred odd years matter? We are still the same people, we have the same instincts, same experiences and we are here in the same place. It's a place in time. What happened then has affected us now, and I feel our presence here now has relevance to the past. I've been part of something from long ago. In my dreams . . . I'm sure of it . . . and I think you both have too.”

Sometimes the truth is stranger than the fiction.

The conversation was becoming very deep. Judy looked across at her tiny little son now turning his soft head from side to side, his eyes tightly closed. She looked across at his perfect features, his tiny fingers, his downy hair. Neil clasped her hand. At that moment came a familiar voice:

“Hello dear.” It was Judy's mum. She gave her daughter a huge embrace before then going through the standard emotions of a grandmother seeing her grandson for the first time.

Once the emotional formalities were over, Jenny, (Judy's mum) asked what all mothers would ask and assumed what mothers assume. She wanted to know his birth weight, and then, she said;

“So it's little Ryan then is it? Do you have a middle name for him or is it just going to be Ryan?”

Judy and Neil looked at each other. They hadn't spoken about this for a few days, but somehow, they both knew what the other was going to say:

“No, no, you see . . .” Judy looked at her husband again, as if for reassurance before continuing;

“I had this dream last night . . . didn't we.” She turned to Neil who took over:

“We both had the same dream.” He smiled at Judy knowingly, Nasra stared at both of them savouring this sweet clear moment of anticipation.

“It's not Ryan.” said Judy.

“It's Richard,”blurted Neil, as his wife smiled and gripped his hand a little tighter before completing her son's name.

“Yes, Richard, Dominic, Pressland.” Husband and wife smiled at each other. Nasra Chowdry smiled too, their jigsaw was now complete.

* * * * *

The past is us and we are its future.

Sometimes the truth is stranger than the fiction, I have always known that.

look at everything that lies before me, and I see stories from the past unfold in front of me. The people of today are tomorrow's past, they leave their footprint in the annals of time putting the pieces of their jigsaw of life together as they go, for others to see in the future. But what do we do when the pieces of our jigsaw are missing completely - never to be found? We look for signs and we wait. Sometimes we delve deeper, sometimes we dream, always we hope.

Events shape our memories and I am no exception.

As I drift now high over the city centre, I get a vision:

I am driving a car many years ago some miles from the city, and I am listening to the radio. I only ever listened to the radio in my car in those days for the major sporting events. The memory is far from clear as I battle with my recall to get a picture. I wasn't actually there at the event, I was driving down a steep hill in countryside somewhere far over to the west of here. But, it felt it as if I was actually there - I was so alive!

The emotions of local sporting triumphs bring folks together. But what does that really mean? Sport is a healthy battle of many things but it is the memories that live on, and the association. People often remember where they were when some great sporting achievement took place. Sometimes it's just a connection they make to something quite frivolous, but sometimes it might be to a major event that shaped the rest of their life. That is the way it was with this young man who's story starts not far from here, and not that long ago.

I float higher now as I peer down towards the south of the city, and from the suburb that is emitting to me a harsh glow of incandescent light, I can now see him . . . and he is running!

* * * * *

THE NIGHT RUNNER

He turned sharply into the close, not daring to break into even a jog, if there was anyone following him that would surely be a bad move. No, he must just get himself into the house without even the glimmer of a thought of a look over his shoulder. Suddenly the footsteps behind him grew louder and faster, and his quickening heartbeat began to match them. He wanted to look back but his mind had locked out, all he could do now was plunge forward full of hope and fear. Through the dark, the pounding of feet raced closer, there was nothing more he could do. His throat suddenly became dry as he gulped, but then relief as the runner brushed past him and beyond into the night, fading like retreating car headlights in a fog, and without even acknowledging that he was there.

But there was someone, and there had been a few uncomfortable journeys home lately. What if they'd seen where he lived? What if they were just waiting and maybe this guy was like a scout sent out to observe? This was the worst bit of all. Josh Penfold had no answers, just so many questions. He dwelled on things for a moment, this latest worrying episode from the other night had now passed and, as he gazed up into the early evening sun, his mind suddenly jerked back to the reality of the present.

The sun beat down upon Botolph Green, and the three sat jubilantly discussing the match. That afternoon had yielded everything they had hoped for, and now it was time to celebrate.

It was May 29th 2011 and the City's football team, Peterborough United - 'The Posh' as they are known, had just grabbed a famous 3–0 victory over Huddersfield in the Division One play off final at Old Trafford. Josh couldn't afford to go but like thousands of others he was able to watch it live in 'The Botolph’ - The Botolph Arms, his local public house just a stone's throw away from where he lives.

The game had finished and the mood was generally a good one. Josh and his mates Daz and Jake were talking buoyantly over each other not really listening to what the other was saying as they sat out on the cool spring grass at the front of the quaint old building before making the decision to head off down to Ferry Meadows, the nearby country park for an early evening celebration.

Peterborough is a city with a strongly diverse suburban setting made up of a mix of the old and new. Over the last forty years there has been much development: New townships have sprung up to the south and the older villages have also seen some attractive development. Josh Penfold, twenty, lives with his mother Sally in such a place; a semi-detached in Botolph Green which is a relatively new development to the south of the River Nene and an attractive addition to the village of Orton Longueville.

“Tell ya what guys, we can hit Ferry for an hour or so now then grab some food and, if you like, we'll do another session tonight somewhere and really celebrate . . . yeah?”

“Sounds cool . . . but ain't you with the bird tonight?”

The lads knew that their friend was currently infatuated with his female soul mate and it was sometimes very hard to prise him away.

“No,” replied Josh. ‘Kind of figured Posh would do it and we might want to . . . er . . . well as we say lubricate ourselves with a little of the amber nectar!”

“Nice one,” replied Daz. ‘Lets get down Ferry . . . might have a go on the pitch and putt!”

The lads headed off. Of course they were a little inebriated. Cars were hooting, flags were flying - generally a party atmosphere.

A black Corsa passed them on Oundle Road and hooted continuously.

“Hey look, it's Sneddy,” shouted Jake. “Hey Sneddy mate, we did it . . . we bloody DID IT!”

When they got to Ferry, the pitch and putt was too busy so the lads just rambled up to the meadow chatting continuously about how Posh would do next season and arguing about who they should buy or sell. There were lots of folk out that evening. Ferry Meadows seemed to be getting busier by the week, in fact, Josh remembered reading in the local household newsletter that there had been more people in the park that Easter just gone than ever before! Not surprisingly over the next half an hour they came across a handful of people they knew.

“Oi, Jakey boy - safe mate,” shouted someone Jake knew, and then there was the familiar interlocking of hands and a 'gimme five' as the two passed each other. The lads made their way around the small lake and walked up a grassy bank that afforded them a better view than at ground level.

“How many folk are round here today!” exclaimed Daz - it wasn't a question.

Josh looked along the path that stretched in front of them towards the sailing centre. It was a mosaic of colour, with a lot of blue and red. There were children in red Manchester United tops and also the odd splash of the colourful maroon and blue of Barcelona; (Barcelona had beaten Manchester United at Wembley the night before.) It goes without saying of course that many people were also wearing the blue of 'The Posh'. It certainly was an uplifting sight - everyone seemed in celebratory mood.

As Josh's eyes scanned the landscape he saw the sailing centre car park, equally a patchwork myriad of shining glimmering metal (sadly a good number of people still come to the park in their cars.) To the left, beyond the tree line was the play park, here the distant but distinct pattern was slightly different; there was movement as children scuttled from one play thing to another, and the noise . . ! Yes, most of the noise was coming from here.

Beyond the sailing centre in the early evening sunshine was Gunwade Lake with its great expanse of water stretching all the way to the outskirts of the park where Milton Ferry Bridge crosses the River Nene to link with the old A47.

As Josh looked out across the lake he was aware that someone was waving at him. In spite of all the people between partially blocking his view, he was sure that somewhere down near the edge of the lake someone was calling to him and waving quite prominently with both arms.

Hey, Josh mate, are you coming?” called Daz.

For a moment Josh didn't reply.

“What's up?” said Daz.

“Just wondering who that is over there on the edge of the lake, calling out,” Josh pointed.

The others looked on but no one could pick out the guy.

“Can't see who you mean,” replied Jake.

“No . . . neither can I now,” Josh was slightly bemused, “but . . . the guy was calling out . . .”

“You've had too much booze mate . . . no one down by the lake today - brass monkey weather near the water now the sun’s gone in!”

They all laughed, but Josh was a little uneasy, he hated not being able to place a face, especially when this guy seemed to want his attention!

“Come on guys,” said Daz getting impatient, “let's go get something to eat.”

* * * * *

Josh got home at about 6.30pm. He called to his mum, Sally, to tell her that he was off out tonight to celebrate.

“Mum . . . did you hear?” he called.

A second later she came bumbling down the stairs, her arms full of washing,

“Why don't you have a quiet night in? You can have a few mates back here if you like.”

“Get real mum,” he replied, “we want to celebrate up town.”

“Do you have to go tonight?” snapped his mum “It's a bit last minute.”

“We only just decided, Posh only just won! And anyway, what's it to you? It's my life, I am nearly 21!”

“Yes, I know Posh won . . . and don't talk to me like that!” she raised her voice. “You're way out of order . . . you know I want you in.”

“Want me in . . . ? You hardly ever talk to me when I am in!”

Sally Penfold was a lady whose body language always told the story. In her early forties, she had lived in the south part of the city's suburbs for most of her life and Josh was her only child. Although their relationship was foundationally solid there had been some obvious friction between them creeping in over the last few months.

'What's up with her?' Josh thought a while later as he stomped off down the Oundle Road to meet the others. 'Why did she get so stupidly touchy about tonight?' He decided to forget about it.

The trio more or less fulfilled their plans. The evening passed without incident and was generally good; they celebrated 'big style' and enjoyed every minute.

Josh didn't get up until 11.00 am the next morning, it was a bank holiday and the weather was lousy. He was woken up by a call from his girlfriend, Sam.

Half an hour later the two of them were together in the kitchen.

“Have you spoken to your mum this morning?” enquired Sam, sipping a cup of coffee, as Josh dodged round the room fixing himself some scrambled eggs on toast.

“No. She was well funny with me about going out last night. Anyway . . .” he tailed off. Josh didn't want to dwell on it . . . “What are we going to do today?” he asked buoyantly changing the subject.

“We could go out somewhere,” Sam replied. “I want to talk to you about that course though Josh . . . it's got to be sorted by tomorrow evening, I have to put the forms in.”

“Look, Sam, I told you, I ain't really that interested in local history, that's your bag.”

Sam worked at Peterborough museum. She and Josh had been friends for years but now their relationship was becoming something more. There was a local history evening class starting next week, she wanted Josh to go along with her. Local history has always interested Sam, if only she could get him to show some interest too! After talking round the subject for five minutes, they agreed that Sam would do the course and Josh would 'show some interest' when she came home and told him all about it.

“At least come on some of the field trips with me,” she pleaded.

“Yeah ok. But what about my career?”

“Well I would have thought this was right down the street of usefulness if you want to train as a copper. What are you actually doing about that though? When is the next training intake?”

“It isn't until September and I won't know if I'm in until July. . .I really want to do it but no one is showing any interest . . . apart from you. Every time I mention it to Mum she suggests something else or changes the subject - I don't get it - thought she'd be interested! Uncle Dan doesn't seem that bothered either!”

Sam didn't answer him, her face told enough. She felt for Josh because right now he needed the support (or at least a kick up the backside!) and, with the social intelligence she possessed, being able to 'read' the reactions of those around her, she could no more understand their apparent lack of interest in Josh's future than could Josh himself.

Josh has a good relationship with his mum Sally's younger brother. Just passed the forty mark. He was still a pretty cool dude in Josh's eyes and they shared a great passion for sport - and particularly fishing. It was a couple of days later that the two found themselves on the banks of the Nene spending a pleasant morning casting their rods in the early June sunshine.

“So you didn't get to Old Trafford then,” commented Dan, “me neither - costs too much these days don't it. I'll get you to the first home game in August if you're around - that will be a big one, the first home game in the Championship - sounds good, doesn't it?”

“We were there a couple of seasons ago though,” said Josh. “It ain't a first.”

“No, I know, but still . . .”

There was a moment of silence as the two contemplated what the future might hold for the Posh.

“You won't remember the first play-off promotion though,” said Dan.

“No? When was that then?”

“1992,” replied his uncle, “they hadn't been doing the play-offs for very long back then, and it has to be one of the greatest days out I ever remember.”

“You went?”

“Sure I did, everyone in Peterborough who cares anything about football remembers where they were that day when 'king Kenny' hit the net with that winner, but I can say I was actually there . . . we went bonkers when they'd won.”

“That's Ken Charlery?” checked Josh.

“Yeah . . . one of the best strikers Posh ever had . . . certainly back then, twenty odd years ago, he was the best.”

As Dan started to remember, his eyes told the story. Josh was hooked, he'd never actually had a great live football moment, he'd always only seen the big moments on TV.

“We travelled down the night before - stayed in a hotel, you could do it easy in them days Us lads we had a bit of cash when we went out. The thing I remember is the noise. You never quite get the same feeling from somewhere like our London Road ground. The old Wembley man, it was something else! The minute we scored the winner it was sweet - oh so sweet. We couldn't wait for that final whistle.” For a brief minute Josh imagined he was actually there with his uncle Dan all those years ago. It was a lifetime ago for him, but for Dan, it seemed like yesterday.

“What did you do when the final whistle went?” he asked.

“Well me and my small crowd managed to get on the pitch before security removed us. There was me, Ronnie Helstrom and my two best mates from the Sugar Beet factory where I worked back in the day . . . yeah, there was Geoff Tomkins and . . . Billy . . .”

Dan's speech tailed off.

“Billy . . .” repeated Josh in an aim to help his uncle with what seemed to have suddenly become a surprisingly difficult sentence to finish.

“Bill McNeil, my best mate at the time,” Dan's voice dropped in tone, and his mood instantly changed.

“What happened?” asked Josh nervously, wondering if the guy had died or something.

Dan paused briefly.

“We just kind of lost touch. Anyway, doesn't matter now.”

Just then there was a sudden jerk on Dan's line.

“Woooaah!” he shrieked. “This is a biggie!”

The two forgot their conversation and concentrated on netting the 9lb carp that had just taken the bait.

They had a good morning on the Nene and by lunchtime they were ready to go their separate ways. As Dan lived in Netherton which, from where they were based, was the opposite direction, they both took their separate walks home alone.

The sun was shining and Josh felt good. He hauled his fishing tackle along the Ferry Meadows pathways and headed towards the wooden suspension bridge adjacent to the edge of Thorpe Wood golf course. From there he'd have a choice; he could walk the mile and a half back through the bird sanctuary or he could cross the bridge and take a route down by the golf course. He chose the latter. He passed a few people walking their dogs and a couple of families out with their kids on bikes but generally not many folk were around today. He remembered the other evening and how packed the park had been. Today life seemed far more peaceful, more tranquil and should surely be taken at a steadier pace. He continued his walk around the back of Overton Lake towards the bridge. The path splits two ways by the wooden footbridge as the suspension bridge comes into view. It was as he neared that junction that he suddenly became uneasy. He didn't look up - he didn't need to, because he knew he was there again, and now it was really starting to get to him. With his heartbeat now quickening in familiar fashion, Josh allowed himself just that one nervous inconspicuous look up towards the bridge just to check it out . . . just to confirm in his own mind - for his own sanity. He was there again. Josh managed to glance at him for but a second, but this was now the third time in as many weeks, surely it couldn't be a coincidence!

“Did you have a good morning?” his mum asked an hour or so later once he was home.

“Yeah, not bad,” replied Josh.

“How's your uncle Dan?”

“He's fine. He was telling me all about Posh at Wembley twenty odd years ago, I didn't know.”

Sally didn't reply.

“Mum, I need to tell you something,” Josh said suddenly with a sense of urgency.

“I've seen him again.”

Sally just looked at Josh, and, if a face can tell you anything, hers told that she was going to pass this one off again with little reaction other than that of slight annoyance. Josh, over the last few weeks, thought he was being watched by a mystery stranger who always seemed to appear just when Josh was alone, just after all witnesses had left the scene, and, frankly, Sally wasn't buying any of it!

“I know you think I'm paranoid but he's watching me, and, whenever I tell you or Dan, you just make light of it or laugh at me.”

“Look Josh, no one else has seen this guy, you are paranoid, you watch too much rubbish on TV and DVDs and, quite frankly, it's getting to you. You need to get a grip, get out there and start looking for a job.”

“Mum, I ain't imagining it. This guy seems to deliberately appear when everyone else has scarpered, he is medium height, has a short goatee beard and slightly curly hair and he's always wearing camo-trousers –“

“- Enough.” screamed his mum. “I don't want to hear it any more . . . it's rubbish and you're just making yourself worse.”

“But Mum . . .” his mum had left the room.

Why was she so stupidly ignorant about this one . . . and why did nobody seem to believe him?

When, later that evening he found himself alone with Sam, she could tell something was up. Sam listened to Josh. Sam always listened to him, even when she didn't think he was right about something. She wasn't just his girl, she was his best friend. He could always talk to her about things that mates just laugh about.

“Ok, so that's three times now you've seen this guy, he's always quite near but never within talking distance and always legs it as soon as he knows you've seen him ... yes?”

“That's about it.”

There was a ten second pause. Sam wanted to get this right, she didn't want to upset Josh but her natural interest just made her ask.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. Josh turned and looked at her blankly, she continued;

“Do you believe in ghosts? I mean do you think that . . . oh no, I don't mean . . . I just think. . .” Sam ran out of words as Josh's blank stare unsettled her. There was a horrible moment when Sam thought she'd really upset him, but then Josh's reply slightly surprised her.

“I don't know any more Sam,” he said dreamily getting up and walking towards the window with his eyes fixed on some distant point. “I'm prepared to believe almost anything right now.”

“It might be someone you know from years ago just trying to get your attention,” added Sam hopefully.

“Yeah right, so like, I'm nearly 21 and I know lots of guys in their forties,” he replied sarcastically. “No, you're right,” he went on frivolously, “I've probably seen a ghost . . . yup. Hey guys I've got my own ghost . . . only appears to me - any time, any day - and you can't see him . . . ha, ha.”

Sam wasn't laughing, she actually took the whole ghost thing more seriously than Josh realised. Some of her local history reading had seen her delving deep into ghostly tales of the local area. Only last night she'd come across the story of the pale lady seen at the old Orton Hall Hotel and the story her friend told her that she had not read about - the archway that Mary Queen of Scots walked through before being executed at Fotheringhay castle was actually erected at the old building when it became the stately home of The Marquis of Huntley, and then, later, a school building. These 'tie-ins' always fascinated her, especially when she discovered something that other locals didn't seem to know. Sam Bishop was a girl who always held an open mind.

* * * * *

Over the next week Josh forgot about the Posh, he forgot about looking for a job, in fact the only thing he remembered to do was go out and have a good time. The weather was good and he felt he deserved to chill. Sam started the Local History course that she'd had planned for some time then spent a long weekend away at a family wedding and they didn't see each other for five days. The next time they met was the following Saturday in the town centre where Josh reluctantly agreed to the prospect of spending an exhilarating hour and a half in the Queensgate shopping centre. He didn't have any money but Sam did, and she wanted to buy a new outfit. That's when it happened . . . at the most unlikely time and in the most unlikely place!

It was one of those straight out of a film moments where you couldn't really have written the script any better. The two had just left the shopping centre and headed over to Cathedral Square after grabbing themselves a MacDonald's to eat out in the open. Cathedral Square is the open precinct area in front of the city’s Cathedral which dates from the twelfth century, It is surrounded by buildings such as banks, restaurants, a coffee shop, and a bakery etc. Over the years these buildings have frequently changed hands and served many different purposes such is the nature of an ever evolving and diverse city centre setting. As usual it was fairly crowded so they decided to go and sit on the steps by the Guildhall, a small ancient monument situated in the centre which once used to be the town’s hall. This allowed them to look back across the square. Other families were sitting on various available seats and on the walls of the flower beds, as is always the public habit. Pigeons nibbled rhythmically at the endless amount of scraps thrown to them and a small band was playing to their left, trying raise money for Thorpe Hall redevelopment. The two sat talking quietly about nothing much in particular when suddenly there was a whooshing sound. They had forgotten that they were sitting right in front of the recently installed fountain sprays - the council's latest fashion accessory to the square whereby 'walk through' fountains suddenly come on and spray water and you can choose to move out of the way or get wet! As they both looked on there was a sudden increase of wails and screams around them, they wondered just how long this latest fad would last! All but a couple of young teenage girls who enjoyed the prospect of getting wet moved swiftly out of the way. As Sam and Josh gazed deep into the watery sprays and beyond the dispersing crowd they could see hazily through to the other side of the square. It was then that their laughs and smiles changed to reactions of complete startled shock . . . Josh felt it was as if he was momentarily paralysed, as if his brain couldn't really process what he hadn't expected to see . . . he was there again, standing, looking over a newspaper right at them - at both of them. Their four eyes met his two for just a couple of seconds before the man - that same man Josh had seen many times recently, stepped back, blended into the crowd, and then was gone.

“It's him,” shouted Josh as he got up like a shot and belted across the square.

Sam Bishop didn't need telling. This time she had seen him too and it was clear that this was the figure that had been plaguing her soul mate for the last few weeks.

“Josh come back,” called Sam, she couldn't keep up.

It was no use, the man was gone. Sam came panting up behind Josh.

“That's him isn't it Josh? That's the man you saw!”

“Where's he gone? He was here.” Josh was angry now. “Yes, that was him, and this time you saw him too.”

Aware that their animated body language was now attracting some attention, they quickly found a nearby seat on which to continue their conversation.

“He seemed to be looking right at us and then he just disappeared,” said Sam dreamily. Josh was pleased that at last someone else had seen at first hand the guy who had been bothering him the last few weeks. For Josh the next step was to find out who he was and why he was tracking them.

“At least we now know I'm not seeing ghosts,” he said confidently, “come on, let’s see what we've got and compare descriptions while it's fresh in our minds.”

“He . . . he just seemed to disappear . . .” repeated Sam, her mind apparently now absorbed by the now confirmed mystery.

Later that day Josh's triumphant mood was dashed when he again tried to describe the man he'd seen to his mum. Uncle Dan was round and he was no help either. Neither of them seemed at all understanding that Sam had also seen the guy this time, in fact, both of them couldn't change the subject quick enough. In fact they both seemed very touchy and annoyed that he was even banging on about it again! Not wanting a full out argument Josh stormed out, and what pissed him off even more was the lowering of voices that he could still hear, that were talking about him even once he'd left the room.

“What aren't they telling me Sam?” he asked as he paced up and down in Sam's hallway some time shortly after. He'd gone straight round, feeling quite upset and in need of a listening ear. Sam sympathised but tried to tell him that it was going to have to be enough for him at the moment that she'd seen the same as him and so could now believe - no more doubts. She wanted an early night as she had some work to do before tomorrow night, which was the second of her Local History classes. She hadn't told Josh yet and didn't want to get into a deep discussion about it until afterwards, but tomorrow they were covering Ferry Meadows; week two was actually entitled ‘Nene Park, Ferry Meadows and all its mystery’.

“So now you people should have a good idea of what a lot of locals don't know about Nene Park's history.” Sam's tutor was addressing her and seven other students.

“Here's something all of you can try during the week ahead please. Ask ten people if they can tell you within the nearest five years when Nene Park/Ferry Meadows, was first constructed, and I bet you at least half won't be able to. People are so ignorant of local knowledge. It will be interesting to hear your results.” Sam's tutor then went on to the bit Sam had been waiting for.

“And now, to finish with, some of the darker tales of the area . . .”

Sam listened intently, making brief notes about the time in the early 1960s when a train driver gruesomely had his head knocked clean off by leaning out of the train window and not seeing the train coming the other way by Ham Lane crossing. The tutor continued to describe the woeful fate of two brothers who drowned in a canoeing accident at Orton Staunch in the early seventies - Sam was sure she'd seen an article about that in archive research she’d done at the museum. Then, she listened intently, as she heard the description of a man who disappeared into the night in Ferry Meadows, the man who was last seen running down the Oundle Road late one spring evening and entering Ferry Meadows never to return - the man known to the locals as 'The Night Runner'.

‘It is said that now and then, on a late spring evening, two voices shouting can be heard, followed by the apparition of a young man running frantically down Ham Lane before disappearing into the night,’ the tutor declared.

* * * * *

“Sal, Sally!”

Dan stormed into his sister’s house in Botolph Green as Sally came running down the stairs

“Where's Josh, is he in?” called Dan

“No . . . no, he's out . . . what on earth's the matter?” asked Sally.

“He's back, he's back Sal, Josh's right, he knows it and now I've seen him too . . . this could get messy!” There was notable panic in Dan's voice and his body language was one of complete agitation and anger.

“Okay, okay, slow down.” snapped his sister. There was a moment's pause as she tried to compose herself while digesting the shock of what her brother had just told her. “So where have you seen him?”

“Ferry Meadows,” replied Dan, “early this morning while walking the dog. He was just sitting there by the lake on his own.”

“Did he see you?” asked Sally nervously.

“No, he didn't see me, but it was definitely him. It's been 19 years Sal, he's here amongst us again, he's come back to haunt us and he's going to do whatever it takes to find out whatever he needs to know about you and about Josh.”

“Don't be silly,” replied Sally, “it's too long ago, he wouldn't bother us now surely!”

Dan rounded on her angrily raising his voice,

“Then why has Josh seen him? Why have your son and his girlfriend got so much to report about seeing the man we both knew might always come back to haunt us . . . all of us . . . come on Sal, you know it's true, you just don't want to face it.” Sally Penfold couldn't answer her brother, she knew he was right and now, for the first time in years, she was going to have to face some plain hard facts about her past.

* * * * *

It was Jake's 21st at the weekend and he was going away with his mum and dad to Lanzarote for a week. That Thursday night Jake, Josh, Daz and the boys had planned on hitting the town for a wild birthday celebration. They started the evening in The Botolph Arms then went on a bit of a crawl up the Oundle Road to the Cross Keys. By the time they reached The Cherry Tree, the prominent Woodston public house known very well by visiting football fans, they decided to skip the preliminaries and head straight on into town.

It was going well until came the early hours, then Josh decided he'd better be getting back. His mates were more drunk than he was and he had things planned for the next day. He figured he might get away with a lie-in but not a grade one hangover! Not enough money left for a taxi! he'd have to leg it home. He persuaded Daz and Jake to leave the town centre with him, and some time later the three of them finished up at 'Charters', the public house barge situated permanently on the river under the town bridge. From here a pathway winds down under the main railway line past the power station and runs for a mile and a half at least between railway track and river, until it would eventually lead Josh home.

“Ok guys, I'm off,” said Josh.

“Yeah safe one mate . . . hey mate . . . I love yoou . . . where's your taxi mate . . . yoouu gotta have a taxi for my mate . . . my special mate . . .oi . . . !”

Jake was completely out of it - totally sloshed! The others pulled him back.

“Come on Jakey-boy,” said Daz, “Josh is safe, he's off now, hey, see ya mate.”

And with that Josh Penfold started to make his way down the footpath in the dark by the river.

Josh was drunk but not stupidly so. He never got really out of it, but it was a rather silly 'alcohol affected' decision to walk alone down by the river and, some would say, equally irresponsible of his mates, however drunk, to allow him to do so!

The moon provided the only light on this clear dark night. Josh looked up at the eerie glow breaking through the sparse clouds. As he did so, the moon disappeared behind its invisible screen once more, and Josh realised just how dark everywhere around him actually was.

As he quickened his pace, he passed Railworld; the city headquarters of the Nene Valley Steam Railway, and the footpath led him under the bridge. It was now the early hours of Friday morning and he hadn't bargained on the light going altogether.

‘Shit,’ he thought, ‘can't see a thing now at all down here!’

He was too far gone now to turn back and anyway, he knew the path would eventually lead him to where he wanted to be.

Suddenly there was a clattering and, for a moment, he lost his footing. His heart leapt into his mouth for a second until he realised that he had merely kicked a stone and sent it scuttling against the cold hard brick wall of the rail tunnel through which he was now passing. As he regained his composure, he realised it was like entering another world, facing the unknown. Only a couple of hundred metres behind him were the city lights, the cars and taxis, the laughing and shouting of young people having a good time, but ahead of him lay emptiness, a quiet abyss that seemed not to belong to the town or to the suburbs, but would lead to where his home lay somewhere in front of him.

Just then - a noise! Josh quickened his pace to nearly a jogging speed. ‘Probably a cat,’ he thought, and he glanced nervously over his shoulder expecting, or perhaps just hoping to see a pair of small, bright animal eyes piercing the night air. The noise came again - like a shuffle. Someone was there under the bridge! Josh didn't look back he started to panic and broke into a jog. His mind was racing now; he was desperately trying to calculate his position. His breath became short as a voice called out.

“Oi boy, stop, I need to speak to you.”

Josh started to run. He was sure he could hear footsteps behind him now but his own breathing muffled the sound. As he ran he peered up desperately as the moon shone once more breaking clear from its cloud mask as if it was lighting up the sky deliberately for him . . . it was as if to say, ‘Go on, take a look.’ Dare he . . .? He had to know . . . so he looked back, and very quickly became aware that he was being chased. Adrenalin kicked into his alcohol-affected body and he found a surge of energy he wouldn't normally have had. It was a long way in the dark. How far behind was the man? How long would he keep this up? The man shouted again:

“I said wait . . . I'm going to find you . . . so . . . so stop . . . and face me . . . d'ya hear . . . ?” came the wheezy voice.

Now running at almost full pelt alongside the railway track, Josh's heart felt like it was going to burst. He didn't really know where he was or how close his pursuer was getting. All he could do was run. Now, fortunately for Josh, he was quite a fit lad and, with a now furious flow through his adrenal veins, his mind kicked him in a memory of himself ending a school track race with a lung -bursting finish some years earlier. Suddenly he thought he could see a glimmer of a street light through the trees. He had to know how clear he was from his pursuer, so he calculated he could afford himself that one more glance back if he could just time it with the glimmers of a street light or the fitful appearance of the moon. Even as he turned his head, he kind of knew what he was going to see . . . It just had to be, didn't it? You know, like deja vu, when you just know what that next thing to happen is going to be.

It was him again, it was definitely him, this time he meant business and, he was most definitely real!

Josh didn't know why he did what he did next, maybe one day he should work it out, but for now he was just glad he did it. He turned left. He turned left without knowing there was a turning to the left to go down! If there hadn't been an opening he would have run smack into the railway fence, but there was a gap and he'd found it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running across the railway track. He could see a small gateway and street lights suddenly appearing as they cast their light from the other side of the road. If only he could make it to there he would be safe, there would be people around. Surely the man would stop if he attracted attention to him! His panic started to disappear as he thought he could hear the footsteps disappearing into the night. He forced himself to concentrate - were those footsteps getting further away? Wasn't that the man's muffled voice calling him again! The man chasing him had run straight on.

Finally he felt he was safe, but where was he? He suddenly realised he was running up one of those roads in Woodston that leads out onto the Oundle Road. He never knew that you could get through from the bottom of Wharf road but that was actually where he was. By the time he reached Oundle Road he stopped, his heart still pounding, but relieved that the imminent danger had gone. Josh stood for a minute leaning against a garden wall, there was virtually no one around, thank goodness the man had gone, he must be half a mile or so away by now. 'I must be safe’ he thought, but he was exhausted.

While his throat was rasping, wheezing for breath and his stomach was churning, he fumbled in his pocket for his mobile and now, feeling just about ready to throw up, he could do little else but ring Sam.

* * * * *

The next day Sam's nephew and niece were with her for the day, the weather was fine again and Sam planned on taking them out for the afternoon. Josh had told Sam all about everything the previous night but he was certainly in a bit of a state and Sam was anxious to talk to him properly the next day.

“Come with us to Ferry Meadows,” she invited him over the phone. “We can take the children to the sailing centre play park,” she said.

“So it was definitely him?” enquired Sam.

“I was a bit out of it, but yeah . . . it was him, what the hell does he want with me Sam?”

Sam was actually a little disappointed, it hardly seemed like a ghost was haunting Josh now, more so that they were actually in some possible imminent danger from this guy!

“So it was definitely the guy we've been seeing around,” Sam reiterated.

The two of them sat for a minute, the conversation kind of 'locked'. They both wanted to say something meaningful that would move the conversation on, you know, like when someone has mislaid something and you're helping them to look for it and after a while all you can think to say is ‘where did you last have it?’ or ‘you definitely had it at such and such a time?’ Neither could think of anything else to add other than the obvious fact that the someone they didn't know, that they had seen all over the place the last few weeks, had chased Josh last night.

Just then their thoughts were interrupted. Sam's little niece called to them from the slide.

“Yahoo, auntie Sam,” cried the little girl, “look what I can do.”

Josh looked up, the little girl was waving at them with both arms. Josh's gaze was fixed firmly upon the little girl, for a split nano second he got a flashback of someone else waving at him, then everything happened so quickly. Josh found himself vaulting the play park fence and before he even had time to think what he was doing he was running towards the slide, he was halfway there when he heard Sam shout to her niece,

“Jessie, no!”

Josh was now very close to the slide as the little girl attempted a summersault on top of the slide, and he was right underneath her at the moment she lost her footing and fell.

As she tumbled, he was able to break her fall and catch her, saving her from a nasty injury.

“Well done mate, that was close,” said a stranger coming over to help.

Jessie was unhurt, the moment had come and gone. Sam came over and hugged Jessie then gave Josh a hug and a kiss.

“My hero,” she said. “Alright Jessie.” Sam hugged her niece. “Lucky Josh was quick to catch you, hey?”

“What made you get there? All she did was call out!” asked Sam, still amazed.

“No,” replied Josh, “she didn't just call out, she waved. She waved with both hands . . . didn't you see?”

* * * * *

Later that night Josh met Dan in the Botolph for a pint and was proudly telling him about the day's event. It was a good chance for them to catch up. They hadn't really spoken since the morning they'd been fishing together.

The Botolph Arms is a pleasant little abode. It's only a stone's throw from Josh's house and he’s spent many a pleasant evening in the spring and summer months sitting in their beer garden. The building is set back from the Oundle Road about 150 metres and the driveway leading to it is lined with trees. The garden is situated at the front of the building.

“So what are you up to this summer then Josh?” asked Dan.

“Oh, a bit of this and that,” he replied. “There are a few things I'd like to do.”

It suddenly occurred to Josh that he didn't actually have a clear answer to this one; when someone asked him outright he always shied away from saying what he really was planning on doing. There was a slightly awkward moment of silence before Dan replied;

“You know, talking to your mother, she is a little concerned about you Josh.” Dan hoped he hadn't touched a nerve, but he felt he needed to have this conversation with his nephew.

“You really are going to have to try and get some form of job soon you know, do you really know what it is you want to do?”

Dan knew the real answer but he wanted to hear it from Josh.

“Yeah I know how it looks Dan,” replied Josh. “I still really do want to go into the police force if they'll have me, but I have to wait until September to see, and I can't even officially apply until next month. Meanwhile I was thinking, Sam and I might take a holiday - she's into all this mystery stuff and wants to get us on one of those murder mystery weekends, you know the sort of stuff - where you get clues and have to work it all out - murders and all that . . .”

Josh's voice tailed off as he caught his uncle's gaze. Dan wasn't listening, his eyes were fixed with firm intent and he was staring straight past Josh, out into the Beer Garden.

“Dan,” called Josh trying to recapture his attention, but it was no good. Once Josh followed the direction of Dan's stare of disbelief, both men had seen clearly what neither of them wanted to see!

Sitting out there under the trees was the man - the man with a goatee beard, short curly hair and camo-trousers. The man who Josh had seen turning up all over the place recently, and definitely the man who a night or two before had chased him. Now, feeling actually angry, but at the same time confident and safer with his uncle Dan alongside, Josh was ready for the inevitable confrontation.

“Billy!” murmured Dan with a resonance of disbelief clearly audible in his voice.

“Who is he Dan . . . Billy who? What does he want?”

Dan didn't answer.

“Well we are going to find out right now,” demanded Josh.

Dan had no choice as Josh got up and headed outside.

The man glared at them both as they approached him. He did not try to look the other way or make for any sort of cover, he just waited until they had both come close enough to him, and then, he spoke:

“At last . . . Dan, and it's Josh, isn't it?” the man nodded respectfully.

“Billy McNeil,” replied Dan, “After all this time, Billy McNeil.”

Josh looked from one to the other, clearly the two men knew each other, and that name rang a bell.

“Look guys what's going on? I need to know. I've seen you all over the place, why did you chase me? I think I deserve some answers,” he was addressing Billy.

“Come with me Billy, a word - and now.” Dan grabbed Billy and walked him swiftly across the beer garden between the tables and benches amongst the hearty crowd of drinkers and towards the bushes that lay at the far end of the garden near the pathway. There was a moment of sudden but controlled aggression in Dan's actions, and, although this chap Billy McNeil seemed for a second slightly taken aback, it was quickly apparent to Josh that Dan had taken control of the situation.

Josh, feeling somewhat deflated, left them for a few seconds. Whatever was going on, and whatever explanation was forthcoming, he was wise enough to see that his uncle Dan had some prior knowledge and therefore the first move in this strange reunion should be made by him. If there was something Dan had to get off his chest first then he figured that was okay, he trusted his judgement. He was, however, expecting them to return imminently to answer his questions, but instead, nothing! After a minute or two the two men had still not reappeared.

‘Hey you two,’ called Josh getting up and quickly heading over to the corner of the garden by the bushes. But they were gone . . . both of them! He thought he could hear two voices on the pathway behind but, when he looked, there was nothing! And those voices were already just echoes disappearing into the dark. Josh was not to see either man again that night!

When Josh arrived round Sam's some time later that evening, he was somewhat distraught and angry. He told her the details of the evening's events and that he was going to confront his mother and uncle to find out the truth about this Billy McNeil bloke. Sam begged him to stay cool but she knew it was likely to be in vain.

At work the next day, back at the museum, Sam couldn't help wondering how things were going. She hated the thought of arguments and upset, she was just as puzzled and annoyed as Josh was.

She decided to spend her lunch break researching. Who was this Billy McNeil character? What did Josh's uncle know? There were some archives in the museum and in the city library. She was sure to be able to find out something. If she found any leads online, anything at all, it would be far easier to track things like newspaper articles or (to replace etc) news clips right now, than when she got home.

The next day Josh soon found himself sitting round the kitchen table with his uncle Dan and his mother who for once were keen to explain something to him. Dan knew that overnight Josh would be angry and he had worked out that it was time to tell Josh something that he would happily have told him years ago if only his sister had complied.

“Well I'm all ears,” said a tense Josh.

“Ok. Look, I know you're angry and you deserve an explanation but you might not like what you're about to hear,” began Dan.

“You see, Josh,” his mum spoke nervously, “you know I have always said I never knew who your father was . . . well . . . strictly speaking, there was someone.”

“Well, you don't say,” Josh looked sarcastically at his mother. He didn't like to be reminded of anything to do with his father, he'd never been told anything other than the story that his mum had had a one-nighter and that was that. It was the thing in his life that upset him the most, and now the two closest family members who sat before him seemed as if they were about to blow some big secret.

“You remember I told you about my mate Billy McNeil? Well, good mates we were, and last night is the first time I've spoken to him for nigh on eighteen, nineteen years,” Dan continued;

“You see, Billy got into a dispute one day at the factory, it carried on in the Cross Keys pub later that night and . . .” Dan tailed off.

“Well?” urged Josh.

“Billy ended up deliberately running him down - killed him straight out. He was out of his senses but there were witnesses and it was an open and shut case. Billy was done for murder and got life. The word is he's recently come out - after 19 years inside!”

There was silence for a moment as Josh tried to get his head round the facts.

“So, he killed someone and he was your best mate . . . you never spoke to him again because of what he'd done . . . ? Doesn't make sense . .n. why has he been stalking me?”

“Th . . . there's more,” stammered his mum. Tears were now rolling down her cheeks as she held her brothers hand.

“Sal,” whispered Dan.

“No, it's ok, Dan,” she snapped. Sally Penfold was about to face up to something she'd denied for virtually all of her son Josh's life.

“Christ,” screamed Josh. “You're going to tell me he killed my father -“

“No, no, interrupted his mother. The man he killed was not known to us . . . the thing is . . .”

Sally couldn't continue, she was now sobbing uncontrollably. Dan and Josh both had tears in their eyes as Dan continued the story:

He told Josh that his mother had had an affair with Billy two years earlier and that they had always believed that Billy McNeil was his father. Billy McNeil certainly believed this and that was why he wanted to find out about Sally and her boy who could be his son - Josh. At that, Josh got up and ran out of the room, he couldn't cope with any more right now, he was too upset.

“Josh,” called his mother.

“Leave it Sal.” Dan put his hand on his sister's arm. “Give him some space; he'll be okay.”

Josh was both angry and sad, but strangely, as it all sank in, partly relieved as well. At least he now knew what was going on and why his mother and uncle had acted so strangely out of character towards him whenever he mentioned seeing the man.

‘But what next?’ he thought as he started to compose himself, ‘This evil guy is my dad and I don't want him anywhere near me. Why did he have to come back to us now, just when things in my life were looking up?’

Back at the museum Sam Bishop had found something. Once she set her mind to completing a task, she went at it hammer and tongs and, with only a year or so in the job, she had become a very proficient researcher. You see, there are ways to find out things online if you know how to skirt round the subject and if you are prepared to dig deep enough. If you then just happen to take the right track you can sometimes find gold quite quickly, and today Sam did exactly that.

She came across an old news item about a man who was sacked from the British Sugar factory in November 1991, it was only small print in the Evening Telegraph next to the columns for obituaries and bankruptcies etc. but it gave the man's name - ‘McNeil’. Surely it had to be the same! She started to search ‘Billy McNeil, Peterborough 1991’ - nothing. Then she used the museum newspaper archive search; ‘Billy McNeil, offences, Peterborough 1990 – 1992’ . . . ‘McNeil, Billy, charged 1991, Peterborough’ . . .

Sam could hardly believe her eyes; this is what then came up on the screen:

May 26th 1992

‘Senior officers investigating the murder of Alan Davidson which has previously been investigated by officers at Thorpe Wood Police station have announced that they have arrested a man for his murder. The man has been named as Billy McNeil (24) of Bardney, Orton Goldhay. McNeil was picked up alone in Ferry Meadows on Monday morning after a tip off and didn't resist arrest. The murder of Davidson took place on January 12th 1992 when McNeil deliberately ran Davidson over on the Oundle Road after a dispute in the Cross Keys public house earlier that evening.

The arrest of McNeil is not being linked to the missing Police officer, David Shearman, who hasn't been seen since Sunday evening. Shearman was last . . .’

Sam felt a cold shiver run down her spine, this was even more significant than she thought possible, She just had to tell Josh right now. As she reached for her phone it vibrated, it was Josh. Slightly annoyed that she hadn't got to him first, she fumbled to read the message. His text said simply, ‘Ring me, I need you’.

I think you can imagine what happened next. Josh had the whole story to tell to Sam. She had this incredible bit of information to tell him and together, although emotionally drained, they figured that at least part of the puzzle could now start to be put together. Sam took that afternoon off for a 'family emergency' and once they'd both calmed down and got their heads round it all, something still wasn't right!

“So,” began Sam, “let me see if I've got this. Your mum and uncle think that McNeil is your father because your mum had a one night stand with him and he was good mates with your uncle Dan. Dan has never forgiven him for the murder and not kept in touch at all while he's been inside and now McNeil is a free man again and wants to meet his only son and perhaps rekindle with your mum . . . ? Or at least be friends with your uncle Dan again to see if he's forgiven him perhaps?”

“And where does that leave me?” begged Josh. “I don't want to meet the bloke. Quite frankly, Sam I just want to get away for a day or two, let them sort it, and perhaps when we get back he'll be gone . . . or whatever . . . I don't know. I don't really care anymore.” Josh's desperation was obvious.

“Okay, replied Sam, let's do it.”

“What, you mean really?”

“Yup. Look I'm due some holiday, I can take it now I'll say I need to go now for a family grievance or something and take it out of my leave. Let's go to that farmhouse in Norfolk my uncle always says I can use any time.”

“But what about money? I don't have any.”

“I can see us through a few days, we'll take my car. Leave it with me and go and pack your bags . . . Oh, and don't tell your mum until we're ready, in case she tries to stop us!”

So for a couple of days Josh and Sam were able to finally relax a little. They even managed to arrive at the farmhouse the very next evening, a family had conveniently just left and it was vacant now until the end of June.

The next couple of days were pleasant. They did a bit of sightseeing, went out for a drink or two in the evenings and kept in touch with home via texts. Josh was anxious that there shouldn't be any more friction between himself and his mum and Dan, but he didn't want to talk to them right now. He kind of knew they'd understand.

As they walked in the early evening down a Norfolk country lane, the sun shone through the oak leaves at the field's edge, bathing them both in dappled sunlight. They started to talk about what had happened, all they had been through the last few weeks, and what may or may not lie ahead. This helped Josh come to terms with the situation about his father but, as they talked it through, something still didn't add up. Now they were looking at the facts objectively in the cold light of day, why would Billy McNeil come back? Was it really to see Josh, and would he really do it by spying?

Just then Josh's phone rang, it was his mum sending a text:

‘Hope u r well and r home 2morrow as planned, had a break-in last night, don't worry all ok, nothing gone, police on to it c u 2morrow’

“Strange,’ said Josh ‘Mum’s had a break-in but it's all in hand apparently.”

“Oh!” replied Sam.

“I'll text her to say we’ll be back tomorrow pm”

That night Josh had a dream, a strange dream details of which he couldn't completely recount the next morning (you know how dreams are), but the gist was there, and it bothered him. It bothered them both:

In his dream he was running, and strangely, he was running up Wharf Road and down the Oundle Road away from town! This bothered him because early last week he had actually been doing that! The difference was last week he was running away from something, but in his dream he was chasing someone or running towards something! He wasn't sure what. In places he seemed to be running further down the Oundle Road towards Orton Longueville and beyond . . . he seemed to be in a race of some sort, but then . . . perhaps not because it was dark - always night-time! People were waving at him and strangely, he had to keep waving back!

The two travelled back to Peterborough and arrived late afternoon, they went straight to Josh's.

“Hi Mum, I'm home,” called Josh.

His mum came running down the stairs and hugged him.

“Did you have a nice time?” she asked them both.

“Yeah, really cool thanks. Hey, what's all this about a break-in - no damage I hope, sure everything's okay?”

Sally's expression changed quite suddenly to one of slight urgency,

“Josh they've got him, it was Billy, Bill McNeil - he came back.”

For a moment Josh was puzzled, he'd had visions that his mother and uncle might actually be talking to the bloke while he was away, trying perhaps to build bridges from the past. After all, McNeil was his uncle Dan's best friend once, and quite possibly Josh's father! But now they were telling him this was the bloke who tried to break in - and had been arrested again!

Josh felt sick. He didn't even want to face the thought of McNeil even possibly being his father.

“Josh, I'm so glad you're back, he's a bad ’un whatever he is, and the night before last he tried to break in. He was after us Josh - you and me!”

“Where's uncle Dan?” asked Josh urgently rounding on his mother as if he hadn't taken in a word she'd just said.

“He's only just gone, he's talking to the police now about Billy and stuff years ago, apparently there might be some new evidence or something . . . Christ, I don't know what's going on anymore.”

Sally sat down, exhausted.

“Don't upset yourself Sally, we'll stay tonight if you like, let's see what Dan has to say when he gets back.” Sam was trying to be comforting.

The phone rang, it was the police. Sally seemed very worried.

“He's here now,” she said. “Yes, he'll be here . . . okay . . . okay I know, yes I'll tell him . . . yes, I said I'll tell him.” Josh's mum seemed quite shaken.

“What's going on, Ma?” enquired Josh. “What's all that about . . . ? Tell me what.”

“Josh, sit down.” stammered his mother. “I need to tell you something. You see, you know me and your uncle think Billy McNeil is your father . . . well there was someone else-“

Josh was furious.

“-You mean you slept around.'”

“No,” screamed Sally, “no, it wasn't like that. But there was someone else.”

Sally could speak no more to her son. Josh broke the silence.

“Well who? Who in God's name?” he bellowed.

“I don't know, I can't say. Look a policeman is on his way to talk to you, please wait to hear him, Josh, please . . . I can't . . .” Tears prevented her from saying any more.

Sam held Josh's hand.

“Let's wait to hear what he has to say, it surely can't get any worse.”

About twenty minutes later the police arrived with uncle Dan.

A grey-haired burly man in his late fifties walked authoritatively into the kitchen. His uniform suited him, Josh thought. Sometimes the wrong people seemed to be in uniform in Josh's eyes, but there was instantly something about this guy, something a bit special, something that just put Josh at ease.

“Hello Josh, I'm Sergeant Malwade, you can call me Jim. I believe I've met you before, some years ago.”

“Sorry,” said Josh, “I don't remember.”

“You had your bike stolen and your mum was a little bit upset.”

“Oh yes,’ replied Josh rather disinterested, although he did vaguely remember.

“Anyway Josh,” said the police officer, “I've come to tell you something important and your mother would like you to hear this.”

Josh was still in a general bemused state, but right now he was prepared to listen to this man.

Jim Malwade looked up at Sally Penfold as if to get the reassurance he required to continue.

Sam, Dan, Josh and another police constable who accompanied the sergeant sat silently waiting to hear what Jim Malwade was going to tell them.

“You see,” began Jim, “sometimes when solving crime, we uncover some other facts that need an explanation, and sometimes when we can put two and two together and make four, it can affect someone in a big way irrespective of the crime itself. Part of my job is to tell people when we know we have evidence of something, so their minds can be put at rest, so to speak. Do you follow me?”

“Yes, I think so, I suppose it's about my father and all this with Billy McNeil isn't it.” Josh chose his words carefully because he didn't want to pre-empt exactly what Jim Malwade was going to say.

“Well, yes, it sort of is really,” Jim looked up at the others briefly before continuing.

“As you know, we've arrested Mr. McNeil for trying to break into this house two nights ago. You see, normally this wouldn't happen, but we got a tip off.” Jim Malwade looked at Dan.

“Your uncle Dan helped us because he knows he meant harm to probably all three of you. When he broke in he had a knife, a crowbar and a small bottle of something forensics are describing as lethal. I know it's not nice to hear, but we think he was actually after you.” Jim paused as if slightly afraid of what Josh's reactions might be.

Josh was certainly shocked. For a moment his brain just seemed to freeze as if he couldn't take in the startling information however prepared he felt he had just been. Then his blood ran cold. How close he had been that night down by the river, this guy was trying to perhaps kill him . . . but why?

“McNeil is a murderer and usually when murderers are released, if they go after someone, it is to cover up what someone else might know about any other crimes they've committed by getting rid of the evidence, or it's simply to avenge some action. Now, we know your uncle Dan knew Billy well, it could just be him he was after but there might be something else - something you know that we don't quite have all the pieces of information for yet . . . now don't worry, you're not in any trouble but we need to go over those sightings you and your young lady friend have had of this man McNeil over the last few weeks.”

Josh was as speechless as everyone else.

“But before I continue, that little bit of evidence I mentioned at the start . . .” Jim paused.

“Billy McNeil is not your father, Josh.”

“He's not?” Josh didn't know how to react, but he felt at least one weight had been lifted. “How can you be so sure?”

Jim looked up at Sally again as if for assurance before continuing.

“Well to put it bluntly, something Billy reminded us of happened years ago and we checked it out. He was a sperm donor in his early twenties and one of the first things I ever did as a copper was nick him for a disturbance at the hospital when he got angry with a doctor who . . . er, well refused his donation so to speak . . . you see, to put it bluntly, Billy McNeil was firing blanks - always has done and can't ever be a father.”

Silence fell throughout the kitchen.

“I'll put the kettle on,” said Sally.

“You okay Josh?” Dan put his hand on Josh's shoulder.

Sam got up and went to her bag, she had the print out of the newspaper article as a result of her research last week at the museum.

“You don't have a photo, do you?” asked Sam.

“I mean, just so we can be sure you've got the right bloke . . . I know it sounds silly but this is him we are talking about isn't it ?” She handed sergeant Jim Malwade the article. The room hung in suspense as he paused to read it.

“That's the one, murder of the bloke Davidson outside the Cross Keys, Jan 1992 . . . and what's this. . ? Police officer David Shearman also disappeared - I knew him well, we never did find . . .”

Jim Malwade was stopped in his tracks by the sound of breaking crockery, Sally had dropped a cup and yelled out. Dan looked concerned.

“You say you knew this officer? It says he disappeared, never seen again after that Sunday night?” enquired Sam.

“Well yes, that's right. It was a strange one that, nobody quite knows where, why or how, but he was a good mate of mine and he disappeared one Sunday evening. It was the night of great football success for the town - the night that Peterborough United beat, I think it was Stockport at Wembley in a play-off final. There were celebrations everywhere.”

Suddenly everyone in the room was listening intently. Josh felt a prickle run down the back of his neck but he didn't quite know why . . . he wanted to know, he needed to know why!

Seeing that he'd started to tell the story and had the attention of everyone, Sergeant Malwade continued with what he knew of the disappearance of a close friend and colleague.

“Well, David was a great copper, always active and never off duty. The town was full that night, blue and white flags were everywhere, people were out celebrating all over. All we know is that David, PC Shearman, was out for a run in the middle of the evening and he stopped in town to talk to colleagues who were on duty. It was the last time I ever saw him, down by the town bridge, just where it leads down to the river by the Charters boat public house. We had a laugh and a joke then he went on his way off over the bridge.

All we actually know is that he was seen in the dark of the night some time later around 10.30pm running frantically down Oundle Road near Longueville School. Then there was another report of someone running into the dark down Ham Lane in Ferry Meadows, but that could have been anyone. He wasn't reported missing for a couple of days, he'd had some sort of relationship break-up and it wasn't clear who was missing him, or where he was actually living at the time. One of those sad mysteries, I'm afraid. Next day, from an anonymous tip off, we arrested Mr. McNeil in Ferry Meadows for the murder he'd committed four months earlier. Someone just rang in and said we'd find him there - and we did!”

“The Night Runner,” murmured Sam to herself.

“Come again!” said Sergeant Malwade.

Sam didn't have time to collect her thoughts before the next voice spoke. It was Dan's.

“I knew Dave Shearman,” everyone looked at Dan.

“We used to train together at Nene Valley Harriers - late eighties - early nineties, he was a keen runner until he disappeared - he was a good mate.”

“You knew him?” Sergeant Malwade was surprised.

“I saw him that very night running past the Cross Keys pub. . . I saw McNeil that night as well about another 500 metres down the road, I drove past them both. I didn't know for sure he was a murderer then, though I had a pretty good idea. I knew the police were after him.” Dan's voice became louder, more defiant and started to tremble as he told them more. Everyone looked at Dan, waiting to hear what was coming next:

“You see, I put two and two together and made five . . . I thought Shearman was undercover chasing Billy McNeil in some covert operation, he was making hand signals to me when I passed him, like as if to say, ‘you haven't seen me, don't take any notice’.”

“Hand signals?” asked Malwade.

“You know, like waving - both hands above his head. The thing is . . .” Dan looked around at everybody's ashen faces before continuing. “I saw both of them up by Orton Waterville village as well, ten minutes later. Dave Shearman was definitely chasing McNeil who'd stopped running, there was only about 200 metres between them. I knew where McNeil was heading - to the dark of Ferry Meadows. I hadn't seen any cop cars so I thought I’d better tell the police anyway even though I guessed they'd be waiting to catch him once Shearman chased him into Nene Park.”

There were gasps all around as Dan finished his testament. Sally looked at Dan, he looked back at his sister and, with a look of sad helplessness, she walked out of the room.

“There was no covert operation that night, I can tell you.” said Jim Malwade.

“What you are telling us here is new information, it is the first time anyone has been able to link the disappearance of Dave Shearman to Billy McNeil.”

“Look I haven't done anything wrong,” screamed Dan now quite animated and upset. “I didn't realise there was only Dave on the hunt that night and that he was acting alone, I just wanted McNeil put away and out of our lives, I was only trying to . . . to protect . . .”

Dan couldn't finish his sentence.

‘It's all right uncle Dan,’ Josh spoke now with a calm quietness that had come over him in the last few minutes as he'd listened and taken in the whole story. “You were only trying to protect my mother and me from the harm he might cause us, and you weren't sure were you, you really weren't sure who my father really was.”

“No,” replied Dan. “Josh I'm sorry, I'm sorry it had to be like this.”

“I'm not sorry,” said Josh rising to his feet looking strangely pale, as he gazed out of the window into the twilight across Botolph Green.

“Are you okay son? You look like you've just seen a ghost,” said Malwade. Josh turned and looked at him.

“Oh I have, Sergeant,” replied Josh. “I have, and I'm glad I have, and now I know who my father really is. Come on Sam. I need to tell you something. It's okay for me to go now isn't it, Sergeant?”

“Well, yes,” replied the officer, somewhat puzzled.

“Thank you for your help tonight everybody. Oh, and Sergeant, when you put all this in a report, make sure you bother to actually search the lakes at Ferry Meadows.”

Sergeant Malwade was even more puzzled, in fact everyone was puzzled but Josh had spoken because he knew, and now somehow, Sergeant Malwade knew also that he knew.

Josh looked at Dan and, as if under some kind of spell, Dan followed him and Sam out onto the green.

“You don't have to say anything Dan, I know you know who Dave Shearman was, I knew the minute his name was mentioned and by Mum's reaction. Did she know him long?”

Dan nodded sheepishly.

“About a year before bloody McNeil got his foot in the door. You see, the thing is, I think Dave knew about Billy and your mum but never said. The tension between them grew, she said that she suspected him of having a bit on the side and threw him out. Whether that was really true or not was immaterial. Once that fateful evening of January 12th 1992 had happened, Dave decided he'd do whatever it took to get Billy McNeil behind bars. I couldn't ever speak to Billy again and it was difficult because . . . well because at the time your mum was convinced he was your father, so it seemed just easier and better all round to keep quiet.”

No one spoke for a full thirty seconds.

“Oh why do we do it? Why do we weave such a tangled web when we know it will come back to haunt us one day?”

“Human nature I suppose,” remarked Sam.

Dan could see this was a good moment to leave them and so he swiftly bid goodnight, thanking Josh for being so understanding.

“So your father was David Shearman?” checked Sam. “You seem so calm Josh. I thought the shock of what we've discovered tonight was enough to send anyone mad.”

“Oh, don't you see Sam? It’s a good thing, the ghost of my real father has saved us from the danger of the false one.”

“The Night Runner,” said Sam. “There's apparently a tale . . . I learned about it at the local history class; a runner disappears into the night in Ferry Meadows, seen on late spring evenings.”

“Well there you are, the ghost of David Shearman, my dad, seen for the last time doing what he always did best - apprehending a criminal.”

A sense of fulfilment came over them both, as if everything was now all right. For Josh it was as if he'd had a great weight lifted from his shoulders.

“You said you needed to tell me something,” said Sam presently.

“Yeah, you know that day about three weeks ago when Posh won the play-offs at Old Trafford?”

“Yes,” replied Sam.

“Well that's when I first saw him only, you see I didn't realise, I don't think I even told you.”

Sam looked surprised and a little hurt that there was something perhaps so relevant that Josh had kept from her.

“There were dozens of people out around the lakes that evening, but I saw someone waving with both hands, it looked like someone waving - but it was not waving - it was warning. None of the lads saw it, only me, and then he was gone. It was as if the guy was almost in Gunwade Lake, it didn't really make sense then but now it does.” Sam still looked slightly puzzled.

“You mean that was . . .”

“Well, I think it was my father warning me on the anniversary of a type - of the day he died . . . don't you see . . . he died that night in Ferry Meadows nineteen years ago when Posh won at Wembley, and his ghost warned us of McNeil these last few weeks. He appeared to me on the night of this year's play-off final!”

“Ah!” said Sam, suddenly fitting all the pieces together in her head. “And you followed in your father's footsteps that night when McNeil chased you up by the river when you were a bit sloshed, to say the least!”

“Yes, that's right. You know, I hadn't thought of that. I didn't really know where I was going, I was just kind of led to safety. And do you remember that dream? It was as if I was my father triumphantly running down the Oundle Road, but I didn't understand why - now I do.”

“What will happen to McNeil now?” wondered Sam.

“The police have got him. They will reopen the case and he will most probably serve for the other murder he committed - if they can prove it!”

“Other murder?” queried Sam. Josh stopped and turned to look directly at her.

“My father, David Shearman - he never came out of Ferry Meadows that night. The only logical explanation is that he eventually confronted McNeil only to meet his death. Probably a struggle! There was no help, no back up, no covert operation being run by the police - he was on his own. There's only one place you could hide a body in Ferry Meadows for that long.”

* * * * *

Josh and Sam went for a walk into Nene Park that evening before the sun finally set.

As they sat on the banks of the lake, gazing into the sunset, they started to realise something.

“Tomorrow's going to be the first day of the rest of my life,” announced Josh.

“Always there are fingers from the past stretching out to reach us,” Sam said. “It's up to us to listen, to watch and to keep an open mind. You never know when you are going to need the help of a spirit from the past. Let's say goodbye properly. Come on, show me where.”

Josh pointed;

“There, at the edge of Gunwade Lake,” he said.

They walked down to the water's edge hand in hand.

Josh had a lump in his throat and a tear in his eye. He picked up a stone and hurled it into the lake.

“To the father I never knew but feel I always have.” he called. “So long Dad, wherever you are.”

A few days later the body of David Shearman was recovered from Gunwade Lake, his work now done, he could knock off duty for good . . . The Night Runner can finally rest in peace.

* * * * *

Let me ask you a question: Have you ever wandered out of your front door and wondered what used to be there several years ago, perhaps hundreds of years ago? Have you ever thought about finding out? And the future! What might it hold for the intimate place so dear to you now?

As I move around the city I often stop to ask myself this question. When I look long and hard enough, I can feel things, I see things and then stories unfold inside my mind.

I am looking now, and I can see into a time far ahead many years from the present. Someone is sitting out in the open somewhere in the city, looking into a scene that lies in front of him. He doesn't need any special equipment to rediscover the past, in this distant future age our footprint can be read quite easily, such are the technological advances.

I sat there a few times myself in that same place watching the little children play, the older folk walk their dogs and the youths playing football wherever they could find enough space to throw down a few jumpers. So much has happened here, so many people have passed through. I am reminded of the summertime as nearly always it was then that I visited. Ah! those warm summer evenings, I remember them well with affection.

But what of time? What of the past, our present, and the future?

As I peer further into that window of a time not yet upon us, I see the man is puzzled, in fact he is calling a friend over and pointing to a park bench that stands forty metres or so in front of him. He says something doesn't make sense and that he is seeing two things similar, but not exactly the same, and yet . . . they are occurring as one!

I will say to you now as I have always said, time is as one. What we do with our lives, what we feel and experience leaves a footprint for others to discover, but sometimes, just sometimes someone has got there first. Someone else has perhaps already seen who we are, what we are doing and knows that we are drawn to tread in that same footprint and follow that same path that has gone before us. When we do this, things don't always turn out the way we expect.

He cannot see me, but I gaze with the man who sits staring at a bench, and in the intensity of the moment I can see what he sees. A story that starts and finishes in this very place.

Two teenagers who decided to seize the moment were rewarded with a very strange experience one summer evening not far from the present.

This is the story that needs to be told. Come with me now to Peterborough town park, one warm evening in July.

* * * * *

THE GHOST WALKS

Dedicated to My daughter, Abigail

and friend Amy - to appeal to their

sense of adventure!

Amy couldn't help being a little apprehensive about the whole idea, but if Abbey said it was worth doing then it probably was. Her friend was level headed and didn't approach things lightly, the idea of going on one of the Peterborough museum 'Ghost Walks' appealed to their sense of adventure, so Amy had agreed to tag along this Tuesday evening in early July.

The two teenagers lived at the north end of the city, Amy in Alexandra Road and Abbey a good half a mile away just off Eastfield Road. They had lived there all their lives.

They had arranged to meet up in the town park, a common meeting place for the two of them as it was roughly half way between their houses. From there they would have about a twenty five minute evening walk down to Peterborough's museum from where the 'Ghost walk' would start.

It was just after 6.00pm when Amy set off. They wanted to get there in good time, she would easily make it to the park for 6.30pm, this would give them a whole hour to get there and get themselves in the mood. It was a warm evening and the weather looked set fair;

'Better take a jacket just in case' she thought, 'could get chilly by about nine o'clock.'

The plan was the two girls would stay round at Abbey's when they returned that evening so that they wouldn't be making separate homeward journeys.

Amy crossed the junction with Dogsthorpe Road and Park Road and headed towards the park. She was starting to think about what the evening might entail. What exactly were these 'Ghost Walks'?

It said on the website that Peterborough museum is the most haunted building in the area and there were various tales to be told of the various characters that are supposed to haunt it one way or another.

Are ghosts real?' Amy thought to herself, 'Or is this whole thing just a clever scary trick? After all it's quite easy to stand there quite authoritatively in a spooky building and fabricate stories to go with the mood! How do we know that the stories are real? Or it could be a fisherman's tale situation whereby there is some truth in what is said, but the stories have been exaggerated over the years to make them qualify as fully embellished ghostly tales!'

As she swaggered lazily down Park Road, she decided that an open mind was always the best thing. It couldn't really be that scary or else people would have warned them and, if it was completely rubbish, she would have heard that from someone as well. They had both told loads of people that they were going.

She looked around at the surroundings, the trees at the side of the road and the old houses that lined the street. She started to wonder just how old this part of town was, it occurred to her that she didn't really know much about the history of the town at all. She knew that she and her friend both lived in the old part of town and that there were several new townships like Hampton and some of the Orton areas to the south, but that was about it. Maybe ghosts inhabited the older areas? - that would seem logical!

Her mind wandered further as she neared the Central park,

'Maybe,' she thought, 'there's a ghost of the Park? - a spirit that only those in tune with things would see! Maybe in the bushes there . . . perhaps only seen at night at certain times . . . they might even learn about something like this tonight!' Her imagination started to run away with her.

'What if they were to see a ghost on the way home after they had been on the ghost walk? It would be nearly dusk by the time they returned! They wouldn't go through the park unless they absolutely had to, it would be much safer to stick to the roadways.'

Now she was starting to scare herself.

'What if the ghost walk was quite scary and they were too scared to walk home anyway? - they'd have to get a bus and then, had they got enough money?'

This was silly.'Pull yourself together.' she said to herself under her breath. What was she letting herself think? It was supposed to be an enjoyable evening!

She turned into Park Crescent and took the first entrance into the park. It was nearly 6.25 and Abbey should be meeting her the other side of the children's play park area as she would be coming in by the other entrance. Amy took out her phone and started to text her friend but stopped as she could see Abbey was already waving to her from the other side of the expanse of green lawn that lay between them.

“I was just about to ring you and see if you were here yet,” began Abbey.

“Yeah, I was just going to text you.”

The two girls chatted as they walked across to the main pathway. They hadn't seen each other for two days and there was loads of stuff to catch up on. Suddenly someone called out to them from a bench at the side of the main pathway. They looked up.

“All right then.” A girl raised her hand as she looked their way.

“Do you know her?” Amy asked of her friend.

“Don't think so,” Abbey replied as they edged closer.

It was one of those slightly awkward moments whereby the stranger had seemingly taken them to be someone else but they were going to have to go past her to get to where they wanted to be, and so it might be slightly embarrassing when she realised.

As they got closer they could see that the girl, who appeared to be perhaps just a little older than themselves, had seemingly lost interest. In fact, she wasn't even looking at them. This struck Abbey as a little odd. As they were now within ten metres of the girl they could see that she actually looked a bit dazed.

“She looks out of it,” Amy whispered, hoping they might just walk straight by.

As the two girls glanced up at her they could see that her eyes were actually shut. She was probably drunk or on drugs and drifting in and out of consciousness. Now, they would have walked straight past if the girl hadn't suddenly addressed them again;

“What you doing here?” asked the girl, suddenly alert again and as if she knew them.

Abbey and Amy looked at each other but, before they could answer, the girl spoke again;

“Oh . . . sorry,” she said, “I thought you were . . . sorry, I'm a bit tired you see, I just needed to rest.”

It struck the two girls that, whoever this stranger was she was, actually quite articulate and didn't actually now appear to be suffering any ill effects from being drugged up or drunk at all. Perhaps she had in fact just been dozing off and mistaken them for some other of her friends!

“Sorry,” said Abbey, “I don't think we know you, do we?”

The girl sprang to her feet.

“Surely you do!” she exclaimed, but at the same time she looked puzzled.

Abbey and Amy started to nervously walk on, there weren't many people around and they didn't want to cause a scene, it looked like this girl wasn't making sense but had decided she was going to walk with them anyway.

“But . . .” began the girl again, “I . . . don't remember who you are!” she seemed even more confused.

Amy was thinking that now she wasn't making any sense at all and was feeling a little uneasy, but Abbey was more inquisitive:

“What's your name?” she asked.

“It's Charlie” replied the girl.

“Abbey and Amy.” Abbey waved her arm towards herself and her friend as she spoke the names.

Amy was secretly annoyed with her, 'Why tell her?' she thought, 'this girl could be trouble!'

“Look,” said Charlie, “can I walk this way with you, I need to get home?”

Sounding suddenly nothing of any sort of a threat to them, Abbey at least felt a little more reassured.

“Yeah I suppose,” she said, then, slightly bothered by the girl's change of mood, she asked a pertinent question,

“Look, are you all right? I mean not ill or anything? It's just that before you seemed to be . . . well . . . asleep!”

“Yeah, I was just very tired but I'm okay now, I just need to go home.”

“Where do you live?” asked Amy

“Oh, centre of town, back of Narrow Street,” Charlie replied casually.

The two girls looked at each other again,

“Narrow Street?” queried Abbey, never having heard of the place.

“Oh . . . Sorry, I mean Bridge Street. Anyway, where are you two heading?”

The two girls paused for a moment but thought they might as well tell their new companion as it seemed she seemed destined to walk that way with them whatever.

“We are heading to Peterborough Museum to go on a Ghost Walk,” said Abbey.

“Really!” exclaimed Charlie seeming genuinely surprised and stopping in her tracks, “That's where I'm heading. Ghost Walk hey, what's all that about then?”

“We don't really know,” replied Amy. “It just sounds a bit spooky and interesting and we thought we'd give it a go.”

“Are you into all that then?” asked their new friend.

“Not really, well, I mean we've never done anything like this before.”

There followed a few seconds where none of them spoke.

Charlie was the taller of the three, probably about nineteen Abbey thought. It is just one of those facts of life that whether you like to accept it or not, first impressions really do count. Abbey and Amy's first impression of Charlie was 'strange but pleasant'. They had been thrown by their initial impression but almost right away they were finding something quite endearing about Charlie's nature and approach towards them. Now they appeared to have a new companion who seemed quite up for joining them on this evening adventure.

As the three of them walked down Park Road heading towards the town centre, the conversation became more focused. They talked of times past when they had experienced 'ghostly happenings' in the sort of way that impressionable young teenagers do. Abbey told them of things turning up in impossible places in her house whilst Amy remembered a shadowy figure she was sure she'd seen a year or two ago whilst out one evening. And Charlie? Well Charlie told the girls about a dream she had that came true . . . it was a strange sort of mixed up tale but they kind of got the gist of it.

After another ten minutes or so the girls found themselves making their way through Westgate and towards Peterborough city centre. People were out for the evening heading towards the restaurants and pubs, there was a busy sense about the place that added to the anticipation the girls were feeling.

“This street is well different nowadays,” Charlie exclaimed as they passed the Bull Hotel.

“How do you mean?” enquired Abbey.

“All the shops used to be little, there were no great big stores like these.” She waved her arms gesturing towards what Abbey thought seemed almost everywhere in front and to the side of them. Charlie walked into the middle of the street and started to peer down at the cobbled stone surface. The two girls gazed on, wondering what she was doing.

“I'm sure there were tram lines here,” she said. “Yes, I remember . . . Westgate was one of the last places round here to lose them.”

“She seems to know a lot about local history,” whispered Amy to Abbey, “a bit unusual, I would hardly know what a tram even was!”

As they embarked on the final few hundred metres of their journey, the girls' minds wandered once again into the realms of the unknown . . . perhaps the unexpected, and the possibility of some completely new experience.

As they approached the museum, they could see a small crowd had already gathered at the front of the building. There seemed to be a mix of people of all ages looking eagerly up at a man wearing a long jacket, an old style hat and sporting a short beard. Amy looked around, there were one or two young women like herself but quite a few elderly couples also. There was a man standing almost next to her that she couldn't help thinking looked a bit of a geek; he had a strange haircut that didn't really seem to suit his black curly hair, and his glasses had very thick frames. His expression was set in a permanent gaze of anticipation as if he was always just about to interrupt or call out. Across from him stood an elderly couple arm in arm, they looked so scared that Amy wondered if just the mere suggestion of any ghostly tale might prove too much for them. Then, there was a rather large heavily bearded overweight middle-aged gentleman busily thumbing through an accompanying booklet of some sort;

‘You always get one who is more interested in looking up every little thing than actually taking in what the speaker has to say,' Amy thought to herself.

Looking across, there was an old man quite smartly dressed, wearing a light grey jacket. He wore glasses and seemed to be listening intently as the tour guide prepared to speak. Everyone seemed excited.

'Probably,’ Amy thought, 'most people have as little idea about what to expect as we do.' Charlie, in particular, seemed excited.

“I'm just so glad I've made it.” she whispered to Abbey and Amy. “For a while there I thought it might be too far for me.”

The two girls thought this all sounded a bit dramatic.

The tour guide began by asking them to all move in closer so everyone could hear.

“Good evening,” he began, “. . . and welcome to The City of Peterborough's Ghost Walk. It's great to see so many of you in attendance and I think you're in for an interesting evening. I'd like to start by introducing . . .” his voiced tailed off for Abbey - she was only partially listening, this was the boring bit, the building itself was of far more interest to her and her eyes caught sight of the slightly open doorway behind the tour guide, almost expecting to see something even as the man was speaking! She was vaguely aware that he was already in full flow of a story she had read about . . . Thomas Hunter, the First World War soldier who was admitted to the building in 1916 when it was a hospital during the First World War. He'd died there, and now apparently haunts the building.

People were still coming up to join the tour. Abbey's attention was suddenly diverted when Amy poked her in the ribs!

“What?” she whispered, a little annoyed.

“Where is she?” Amy said in low tones

“What?”

“Where's she gone - Charlie?”

Abbey quickly scanned the surrounding area, she certainly couldn't see Charlie anywhere!

“She must have disappeared into the crowd,” suggested Abbey.

“Where? She was here a minute ago!”

The Ghost tour guide rambled on but the two girls' attention was distracted for a moment or two as they looked around for their new friend, the more they looked the more they realised she had gone . . . they knew not where!

“Anyway, it doesn't matter,” Abbey whispered to her friend. “She seemed a bit impulsive about everything . . . she's probably seen someone else she knows and is talking to them right now. Let's listen to what this tour guide bloke has to say.”

After a few moments the tour started to move. The guide explained that the standard tour would usually start at the museum and then travel around the city centre visiting various haunts but, as there was such a lively crowd here this evening, and as he had to pop back into the museum to attend to something at some point that evening, he had an idea. He would extend the tour, (as is occasionally done for some special events) and allow the crowd a taste of the experiences to be had inside the museum. He had immediately captured the attention of his audience with this and was leading directly into some of the stories concerning the ghostly inhabitants of the museum itself. He led them onto the first floor and explained that they were now in a place where footsteps had sometimes been heard.

“And here,” he continued, “a dark figure, a male, has been seen lurking near this period recreation.”

The girls looked around, they were standing in what seemed like the front of an old Victorian shop, it certainly seemed spooky. Amy felt herself shiver at the thought of a dark presence possibly suddenly appearing from nowhere.

“I was here visiting here about two years ago and I actually heard those footsteps!”

The elderly gentleman in the light grey jacket standing next to Amy spoke quietly.

“Ooh, scary,” replied Amy looking round at him with a grin.

The group moved on. They were shown the sword of a Roman soldier in the archaeology gallery, and had it explained to them how it is claimed that he is connected eternally to it, and that on rare occasions the sword and soldier appear together. Then they were led towards a back staircase.

Abbey started to feel a little uneasy as the guide began a story about a kitchen maid who apparently fell to her death. In fact she felt a little sick and dizzy and was quite glad when he'd finished speaking and they could move on.

“We don't know how or why she fell, we just know that some time long ago, probably when this building was a town house, the young woman died falling down these very steps . . . don't be startled if you feel a little uneasy here, some females claim to have even had the sensation of being gently pushed from behind when in this area!” There were startled moans and murmurs from the crowd as he delivered this last remark. Abbey decided it was time to move away.

The tour continued out into the night and towards the Cathedral precincts. It was still light and the evening air was just starting to get a chill to it.

“That made me feel really funny,” said Abbey. “Did you get anything?”

“I was shivering in there, don't you think it was cold?”

“It was weird, I mean, imagining feeling like you were being pushed! My dad said he had something like that happen to him once, he felt someone pushed him in the back when there was no one around - well scary!”

“Tell you what though,” Amy continued “don't know where that Charlie went, I don't see her anywhere.” The crowd had spread a little as people walked at different paces heading towards Cathedral square, but there was certainly now no sign of their new friend.

“I think this next bit is all through the Cathedral,” Amy said.

“That's right,” came the voice from next to her, it was the elderly chap she had briefly spoken to in the museum.

“Yes, I think it's all the standard stuff, I expect he'll mention that it was Mary Queen of Scots' resting place, and Katherine of Aragon etc. and, oh yes, I believe there's a ghostly choir heard singing in the cloisters sometimes. Then there are various stories about monks who haunt the place and I believe the ghost of a small girl has been seen in one of the houses in the precincts. It's not for me tonight though, I'm going to wait here and have a quiet cigarette and meet the tour crowd when they come out round the other side in a while.”

“You know what,” piped Abbey, “if you're not bothered Am, we could do the same, I actually feel a bit giddy and wouldn't mind just sitting here in the fresh air for a while.”

“Ok, that sounds cool,” agreed her friend.

“I'll tell you what,” continued the old chap, “I've been on one of these walks before and that story about the maid falling down the stairs always seems to get to some of the young ladies, it's not unusual to feel a little unwell. It's actually got me thinking . . .” he paused;

“Thinking?” queried Abbey

“Well, yes you see, I've remembered this story of something my grandma used to tell me that apparently happened to a lady in her village whom she'd known as a small girl.”

“Go on,” said Abbey eager to hear any tales of strange happenings from the past.

Their newly acquainted elderly friend took up the story:

“Well, she lived out at Glinton, my grandma, when she was a child. It being a very small village in those days, everybody knew everybody else. Now my grandma used to sometimes go and visit this middle-aged lady in the evenings, and she would sit and talk with her for hours exchanging stories.

One day this lady, whose name I think was Eileen, told my grandma of a time when something very strange had happened to her many years before, when she'd lived in the town as a young servant girl.

Eileen had been in service to a well-to-do family living in Park Road. I suppose this would have been about around the middle to late 1800's. Life was very hard for young girls in those days, they would be expected to rise at maybe five o'clock in order to start preparing the house for the day ahead. Their jobs would include preparing a fire in nearly every room, an enormous amount of cleaning and scrubbing and, of course, helping the household cook with the meal preparations. They would be lucky if they saw their beds before eleven at night and, the next day, they would have to do it all over again. So their one day off a week would always be made the most of.

Eileen had a friend who was a maid to someone else living not far away, her name was Sarah and they used to meet up on their days off. There was a third young lady who was apparently a chamber maid to someone somewhere near the town centre, her name, I believe from memory of my grandma telling the story, was Charlotte.

It was a hot summer's day, about this time of year I suppose, and they had all arranged to meet by the Guildhall over there.”

He pointed towards the seventeenth century building that was across the square not far from where they were now sitting.

“Anyway, Eileen and Sarah sat on the bench, passing the time talking through various trivialities whilst they waited for their friend to arrive. The sun beat down on them and they were very warm in their long dark dresses with many layers of under clothing as was the fashion in those days. As they watched the horses and carts transport the well-to-do folk through the city centre, they started to wonder where their friend was. They planned on visiting the old sweet shop in Westgate, perhaps buying themselves a treat and then walking up to the town park where they would spend the afternoon. If they were lucky they might make acquaintance with some of the young gentlemen who frequented the park with the similar intent.

As time slipped by, they started to become a little anxious for their young friend. There was no way to contact her and they didn't know exactly where she worked and lived. However, their initial worries were soon put to rest when young Charlotte came into view walking very quickly and looking a little worried and flustered.

“My darling, are you all right? You look a little beside yourself,” Eileen said.

“I feel a little faint if I'm honest. I have a slight headache,” she replied.

Well, the two of them asked if she wanted to rest a while, but she was quite sure she could carry on and probably felt a little guilty for keeping them waiting.

The three young women headed off up Long Causeway which was much narrower than it is today, in fact all the streets were. They turned into Westgate and found the sweetshop. Five minutes later, they left with a bag full of toffees each. Charlotte started to talk about strange things; she spoke first of 'metal boxes moving in the street'! Well, the others didn't understand her and wondered if she was actually having some sort of breakdown.

“My dear you say such strange things,” said Sarah presently.

“But I can see them moving along . . . and . . . listen!” She stopped and held her hand to her ear as if this would be the confirmation the other two needed.

“Sometimes the imagination plays such tricks, especially if you're not feeling well,” replied Eileen.

“But they're there, among the horses and carts and all the town people – see . . .”

“My dear, your eyes!”

Charlotte stopped and seemed suddenly very tired and somewhat annoyed that her two friends were making light of the matter.

“My eyes are hurting, my head is pounding, it's very hot - but I know what I can see.” Charlotte was cross. The other two looked at each other and decided not to pursue the discussion any further.

Charlotte strode ahead with a fresh lease of life and started to talk about being in a hurry to get somewhere, she didn't explain where.

Well, as they walked back up Park Road, passing the house where Eileen worked, Charlotte started to talk some more:

“And the people! Look at those people, they seem so . . . so . . .”

Sarah and Eileen were puzzled as Charlotte couldn't finish her sentence. They followed their friend's gaze towards a group of teenage boys standing the other side of the road in front of the school, they seemed quite normal in their jackets and high waisted trousers that tapered into their boots.

“It's not far now, let's keep walking to the park, we can rest there.” Sarah and Eileen were becoming increasingly worried about their friend.

Charlotte led them on. They passed the turning to Prince's Gate and, presently, they came to the turning into Park Crescent and the entrance to the town park came into view.

Charlotte seemed desperate to get into the park. She pushed open the wrought iron gate with some purpose and called to the others who, frankly, were having a job to keep up with her.

Sarah and Eileen looked at each other, wondering why their friend was so anxious to make it to the town park. It was as if her life depended on it!

“Come on,” she urged, “follow me, I . . . I need to rest'.

in the distance was a seat; a park bench. Charlotte knew she needed to get to the park bench.

The evening was warm, the sun's rays filtered through the dangling branches that peppered the pathways. The two girls followed their friend, trying to keep up with her, but it had developed into a sort of race. Could they even keep within calling distance of her?

“Charlotte my dear, wait!” called Sarah.

“What on earth is the matter with her?” queried Eileen.

As their pace quickened, they were forced to lift their skirts as they broke into a mild jog. They were unaware of the onlookers, unaware of the urgency of the situation, and totally unaware of the seriousness of what they were shortly to discover!

Charlotte reached the park bench. Her head was pounding. She felt so hot, so weak and dizzy, she just had to rest. She slumped upon the bench as her friends followed close behind. As her head came to rest against the warmth of the seat's painted wooden cross members, she felt a sense of relief . . . a sense of completeness . . . at last . . . peace.

Charlotte, Charlotte, my dear Charlotte,' cried Eileen with a ring of panic in her voice.

Her friend gently shook her, but she seemed now to be lifeless.

Well the two girls panicked, they had never seen anyone they were close to in such distress, and this was indeed a graver situation than they quite realised at this precise moment. So, unable to wake her they fled to get help. A tall well-dressed gentleman was walking in the park about seventy yards from where they were. As they ran towards, him Eileen called out;

“Help, help us please. Can you attend our friend, she is very ill?”

The gentleman looked up as the two young ladies hastily approached.

“Now, now,” he said, “slow down and take a deep breath, both of you . . . that's better, now what, may I ask, has befallen you both?”

Eileen and Sarah told him of their friend and how she had seemed so weak but so determined to get to the park and of how she now seemed to be so lifeless.

“Let us examine her immediately.” said the gentleman, not for a minute doubting the urgency of the situation. “Come, show me your friend and, although I am no doctor or indeed a physician of any type, I will do my best to help.”

The three of them scurried hastily back towards the park bench from where the two girls had come. As they turned to look, they could all see something that startled them. They could hardly believe what they were seeing - to the point that neither girl or the tall gentleman said anything until they were near enough to be absolutely sure that what they thought they saw in front of them was indeed correct!

The tall gentleman spoke first;

“Is this the seat? Are you sure?”

“But . . . but, she was here, right here!” stammered Eileen, not knowing what to make of the situation.

Her friend Sarah was equally bemused.

“She can't have gone anywhere, we couldn't wake her, she seemed as if . . .” Sarah didn't want to say it but the other two looked at her expectantly is if it was now her duty to finish off saying what they were both thinking; “Well . . . she seemed as if she was dead and nothing could wake her!”

“Yet you turn your backs and she is gone!” added the gentleman scanning the surroundings for clues of life. “She must have struggled to her feet and has perhaps befallen some fate in these surrounding bushes.” He started to stride over to the nearby hedgerows beating them with his walking stick as he went. Even as they looked, the two girls somehow knew that it would all be futile. Their friend was surely in a state beyond the capability of being able to struggle to her feet. The three of them looked for some minutes, but Charlotte was gone, gone from the park, and gone it seemed, from their lives without any plausible explanation. However, this story does not end there.

After a short while our two young friends became very distressed and, taking some pity on them, the gentleman insisted on seeing them home from where they could then perhaps inform the police.

He, being a rational man, was trying to formulate in his own mind a plausible explanation for the disappearance but the trouble was, there just wasn't one! Apart from anything else, there was nowhere for her to have been able to get to in such a short space of time. He decided that the best thing was to get the girls safely back to their homes where perhaps their superiors would be able to lend support and console them. His plan, however, started to take a different line when he listened to what the young ladies were then to tell him:

“We must tell her employers, we must tell the family household as they will be missing her, and, surely they can investigate further!” Eileen was adamant.

“I agree,” said Sarah, “it's only right. Let us head for her home.”

“If that is your wish then I support your honest loyalty. Please allow me to accompany you both,” said the gentleman. It was at this point that the two girls realised they didn't actually know where Charlotte lived!

“I'm sure she said she lived near the centre of town,” remarked Sarah as they headed towards the Park Road/Burghley Road junction. “There can't be that many town houses right in the centre. . . the town is taken up with other such important buildings.”

“I should think it most likely to be one of the town houses in Cowgate or Priestgate if she told you it was roughly that area,” said the tall gentleman presently. “We can make enquiries once we are nearer our intended destination.”

The three of them quickened their pace as they passed the large church that was 'St. Peter's and All Souls' on their right and approached the Westgate area of the city. Sarah couldn't help turning it over and over in her mind; just where had Charlotte gone? What exactly had happened to her?

Well, for the next ten minutes, the three of them talked continually round in circles without being able to come to any sensible conclusion. Eventually they felt that all they could do once they reached the area was make enquiries.

They didn't have to ask many questions, they didn't have to look very far because something happened. Something happened that gained their attention almost as soon as they were anywhere near where they thought they needed to be. As they approached Cowgate the tall gentleman recognised a carriage that passed by as that of a doctor friend he knew. The carriage was hastily ploughing its way through the streets and he clearly heard the coachman say they must head for Priestgate. The doctor in the carriage, whom he recognised, was speaking of an emergency at a household in Priestgate and that they must get there at all costs as soon as possible.

“We should follow that carriage,” called the gentleman impulsively.

You know how it is sometimes, when you instinctively know that something that is happening around you - perhaps some commotion or whatever, that is going to lead you to the very thing you're looking for! Well, this is the feeling our young friends and the gentleman had at this moment on this day. They followed that carriage round the corner, into Priestgate and about halfway along the street to a fine town house.

“Good Lord,” said the tall gentleman as the three of them ran panting up the street behind the carriage; “I do believe it is stopping outside the house of Thomas Cook, an acquaintance of mine,” exclaimed the gentleman.

They watched as the doctor disembarked the carriage and was greeted by various staff from the household running out to meet him. It was immediately clear by the body language of those present that something very grave had taken place. The tall gentleman took control:

“Let me pass,” he said as he made his way up the stone steps that led to the front door of the house. The two young women followed close behind him. “My dear fellow please, let me be of some assistance in any way I can. “The gentleman was speaking to the apparent owner of the house, a man standing with a look of resignation as if something quite final had just taken place.

In no time at all the two young ladies found themselves following the tall gentleman who was following the doctor, into the house. They moved swiftly along the lower corridor and turned into a recessed corner that seemed to lead towards the servants' quarters of the house. The tall gentleman could see that a women, perhaps the household cook was on her knees and being comforted by another man at the foot of the stairs which they were approaching. As the three of them got closer, it was apparent that there was someone lying there on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. The reason for the distress seemed to be that this was where there had been some sort of tragic occurrence.

The doctor was there first, he knelt and stooped over the body lying on the stone floor. He immediately opened his bag, produced a stethoscope and began to feel around for a pulse. Our three companions moved fleetly down the steps with a sense of uncontrollable urgency.

Why were they even here? They were just looking for their friend but somehow this was where their search had drawn them to! The tall gentleman spoke;

“Is she alive?” The doctor looked up and acknowledged him. Sarah and Eileen were now standing just behind the tall gentleman who was slightly obscuring their view. The doctor said nothing, he continued to feel for a pulse but then, after a few seconds, he looked up mournfully and shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I'm afraid this young lady is no longer with us.”

There was a second or two of silence as the shockwave spread throughout the room and everyone tried to take it in. Then sadness and emotion took over, the women began to cry uncontrollably and the tall gentleman stood aside with a deep look of anguish on his face. The two young friends could now see the body and, as their eyes relayed to their brains what they were seeing, they became too shocked to make any sound at first.

“Charlotte!” cried Eileen after a gasp of breath. Sarah and Eileen looked at each other in disbelief.

“But . . . it can't be!” exclaimed her friend. “I mean . . . it just can't be her . . . she couldn't be here!”

The tall gentleman saw the shock on the faces of the two young ladies.

“My dears, I know this is most distressing and unpleasant, and I do think that really both of you have no further need to be subjected to a moment more of this -”

“-It's her,” interrupted Sarah, “It's Charlotte - our friend!”

“The friend who fled from the park? Don't be silly my dear, whoever it is, you surely know this can't be the same young lady.”

“It's Charlotte,” added Eileen quite emphatically. “Poor Charlotte. She's dead, here - yet twenty minutes ago we were talking to her in the town park.”

The doctor looked up;

“I'm afraid you must be mistaken,” he said. “This young lady has been dead for at least an hour.”

What happened next was total confusion. The two girls knew the body to be that of their young friend Charlotte whilst the men folk were convinced there must have been some mistake. The tall gentleman was now concerned only for the welfare of his two young acquaintances who were obviously in a state of some distress. He seemed to be taking the logical approach that their friend's disappearance and the discovery of the young dead servant maid, who had apparently just fallen to her death from the top of a back passage stairway in this town house, were not in any way connected.

The two young women were taken home in a state of shock and, as it was in those days, women were conditioned to believe what they were told by the menfolk who seemed to be quite sure that a mistake of identity had occurred.

Over a passage of time the two young ladies forgot that strange day, the day that they had gone to the park with the friend who disappeared. The friend that is, they were to discover lying dead shortly after, in a house a mile and a half away!

But Eileen never forgot. She never forgot her certainty that the body of a young servant girl who had apparently fallen down the flight of steps was that of their friend. She never forgot what the doctor had said about the body having been dead for at least an hour.

Eileen lived to a ripe old age and she told this story to many people. My grandma used to tell it to me.

So you see, it did make me think tonight when we were starting this ghost walk . . . about that ghostly presence, or even just that feeling of being pushed or falling, or just a little uneasy sensation that a lot of people seem to get back in the museum there at that point.

Abbey and Amy remained silent and deep in thought as the old gentleman spoke again:

“Do you see?” he continued, “The museum was a town house many years ago before it became a hospital. It has to be the same place this woman Eileen was telling the story about to my grandma all those years ago!”

“Ah, so if the girl Charlotte did actually fall to her death on those stairs then . . . then, it must have been some sort of ghostly vision the servant girls saw from that point onwards!” exclaimed Abbey, working it out.

“Well, that would seem to add up to be the case,” replied their friend, “if, that is, you believe in ghosts!”

Just then their gentleman friend changed the mood. He stood up swiftly, looking at his watch.

“By my reckoning we ought to be walking along the High Street and turning to the right at the crossroads.” He pointed ahead down along the road that is now Long Causeway.

“Oh?” enquired Amy.

“Well, they probably won't come back out this way you see. The tour generally leaves the Cathedral precincts by the north gate.”

The trio made their way towards where the gentleman had pointed. They reached the junction and headed eastwards back towards the Cathedral. Presently, as they looked up, they could see the group coming out of the cathedral and back towards them. Both girls were thinking the same thing; The story the old man had just told them was from a different era and seemed like it was from another world, but they could see the significance. The train of ghost hunters were now in front of them and they were about to rejoin the entourage.

“Let's see what the rest of the evening brings,” Amy said to her friend, rising to her feet and buttoning up her jacket as the evening air now contained a decisive chill.

The rest of the walk was a little dull. Neither girl could really concentrate. They had just been told a story of something that had happened right near to where they were, that was surely far more chilling than anything else they would experience for the rest of the evening! So, when a short while later the walk came to a conclusion, Abbey and Amy were quite ready to call it a night.

The two girls thanked the gentleman for his interesting story and bid him goodnight. The warm summer's day was drawing to a close and they started their journey home heading up through the city centre and along Broadway. Amy was rather glad she'd brought her jacket, the temperature had certainly dropped - even though the sun had only just disappeared.

“That's so creepy,” Abbey remarked as their pace quickened.

“Do you reckon it's true?”

Amy was convinced it was. Why would anyone want to make up a story like that? And anyway, you could tell by the way the elderly chap told it, that it was a real experience from the past. Both girls felt quite uneasy by the time they passed the library. They had considered getting a bus, but would have had to get off near the park to walk the last bit of the journey back to Abbey's house anyway, so they stuck to their plan of walking home. The procedure was to ring Mum when they were five minutes away. She would then send Abbey's dad out to meet them from the street.

The two girls walked on, deep in thought. It was much quieter now, there were fewer people around and very little traffic. The drone of an ambulance or police car siren some way off was all that broke the rhythm of the constant rushing sound of distant traffic.

After a few moments it was Abbey who spoke:

“Do you believe that when someone dies their spirit can still be alive in our world Amy?” she asked of her friend.

“What? Like the maid girl, Charlotte, you mean?”

“Yeah, cos she was dead, and in that account from Mr . . . whoever his name was, there was no doubt that she'd died back at the house!”

“I know what you mean,” replied Amy. “It was as if her spirit forced her to keep going, like it was something she had to do before she could really leave this world. That seems to be what ghosts are about, they seem to haunt a person or a place to do with where or how they died - like sort of unfinished business . . !”

Abbey thought for a moment. Her friend had just put it in an interesting way. She thought some more, and their conversation started to delve a little deeper;

“It could also be that the dead can connect with other dead people,” she said.

“How do you mean?” enquired Amy.

“Well, like if two people died in the same place or in the same way, could they not be haunting each other?”

“Or leaving messages for the past as well as people in the present -”

“-Yes, or just trying to do things that change events - perhaps so they never died or something!”

Their conversation was getting silly!

“You've been watching too much Doctor Who!” proclaimed her friend changing the mood. The two girls stopped and faced each other for a second before bursting out into nervous laughter.

“What are we talking about,” said Abbey, realising her friend was right. Her mind was running away with her and their conversation was really borne out of the two of them being just a tiny a bit scared and now they just wanted to get home.

“It was a bit scary tonight though,” confirmed her friend, “glad we went all the same. Hey, do you realise we're walking part of the route that Charlotte would have taken! She went to the park, remember!”

The girls looked nervously ahead, they still had to pass the town park.

The light was fading now, they had about half a mile to go to get across to Abbey's house on Eastfield Road. Normally they would have continued straight through along Broadway all the way to Eastfield Road but, as they neared the park, their attention was caught by something going on in the park itself.

“What's going on over there?” Amy pointed towards a group of people she could just make out through the distant shrubbery who seemed to be gathered on the pathway inside the park. The two girls cut back into Princes Gate, the road that ran to the south, so they could enter the park and get a better look.

It seemed that something serious had happened, there was a small crowd of about seven or eight people gathered near the pathway close to where they had both been earlier that evening.

“Someone's been hurt,” Amy speculated.

There was an ambulance and a paramedic. A police car was parked at the side of the road and Abbey could see that a police officer was talking to the people nearby. The two friends found themselves being drawn closer to the scene.

“We should really just go back to yours,” said Amy nervously.

“Better just check what's going on.”

As they drifted closer they could see someone slumped on the park bench. Abbey's mood suddenly changed.

“Look!” she moved quickly and urgently. Amy followed. They were now almost at the scene and Amy could see what her friend had seen and, as she did so, her heart missed a beat.

“But . . . but . . . it can't be!' she stammered, “It can't be her!”

Abbey didn't reply, she tried to push herself as close as possible as if to be absolutely sure that her eyes weren't lying to her brain.

“You can't go any further I'm afraid, Miss.” The policeman's arm came across her chest preventing her from getting any closer.

“It's her, it's Charlie!” Amy turned white. She could indeed see that the body on the bench was that of the girl, Charlie, that they had spent the early part of that evening with.

The paramedic looked up at the policeman, he had heard someone put a name to this unfortunate person. The policeman looked from him to Amy;

“Do you know this young lady, Miss?” he asked.

“Her name is Charlie, we . . . we were with her in town talking, earlier tonight, just an hour or so ago,” stammered Amy.

The policeman looked at the paramedic who looked back at all three of them as he spoke:

“That's impossible I'm afraid, this young lady has been dead for several hours!”

* * * * *

People have always come to this city. Like any other, it has attracted all types of folk over the centuries. The suburban areas have expanded with time, engulfing the greenery and swelling the population as they've grown. But I can see the places that are untouched by time, pockets of the past that can still turn out their secrets, and reveal their story to those who probe - to those who are driven to search deeper.

Many, many years ago, a young man travelled to these parts by foot some forty miles or so to begin a new life. I swear I saw him once . . . one summer evening long, long ago, but his is another story. What I'm going to show you now happened quite recently to a couple who also found themselves drawn to the area from a place of similar distance away. They too were searching, looking to improve their lives and, as they found themselves probing deeper into the past, the underlying messages became gradually clearer.

But where to? Where did all this unfold?

Very nearby, in fact very near to where that young man spent many summer days all those years ago until, came upon him one particular summer evening!

I look to the west and beyond the river. Ah! Such variety in the landscape . . . green fields break up the suburban clutter as the land suddenly loses its flatness. I see a village, unspoilt by the brutality of twenty-first century modernism, its deepest beauty still only ever lightly touched.

On a hill stands a church. It's early in the spring, and I can see someone there searching for something very important to them. As I drift and watch from high I know what is coming to them, I know they have a mission to complete. The journey for them begins right now, here in this place.

* * * * *

WHERE A GOOD MAN FALLS

“Never shall a true man rest

when a Spirits' echo calls,

For acts of strange will come to pass

Where a good man falls.”

He looked around despondently. They had been here half an hour or so now on this warm early spring afternoon and yet . . . nothing. Beth looked across at him with a sympathetic blank expression, as if to say, 'I told you so but I don't want it to show because I'm actually feeling a little sorry for you!'

Joseph McBride looked across at his wife.

“I'm just going to look behind the east wing, if there's nothing there, then . . . time to go I guess.”

There was an air of resignation in his voice.

“All right darling,” his wife replied.

“Come on Harry, let's go back to the car and you can help me put these away.”

Little Harry bounded after his mother as she headed out of the churchyard to the slope of the hill at the junction where they had parked the family car.

Beth and Joseph McBride were both in their thirties, Joseph just a little older than Beth. He had a short beard, dark, neatly cropped hair and glasses that made him look somewhat older. Beth was a small woman of fair features. Their son, Harry, was six and, on this partially sunny afternoon in late March, they were in the churchyard of St. Kyneburgha's Church in Castor, Cambridgeshire, on the outskirts of Peterborough. They were searching hopefully for the grave of Joseph's great grandfather who had supposedly lived in the village sometime shortly after the First World War.

As Joseph's eyes scanned tombstone after tombstone, he became aware of someone watching him. At first he ignored this, as he would rather concentrate his efforts on finding what he had travelled thirty plus miles with his family to find. Soon, however, his gaze caught the eye of an elderly gentleman sitting on a seat towards the east end of the churchyard.

“Afternoon,” called the man, raising a hand by way of a greeting as he did so. “Family or friend?” he enquired.

“I'm sorry!” replied Joseph, not really wanting to start a conversation but feeling it was only polite to hear what the stranger had to say.

“Is it a family member or a friend . . . ? The grave you're looking for . . . obviously that's what you're about!”

“Oh yes, of course, sorry, it's my great grandfather we're looking for, he's supposed to be buried here somewhere. We were just taking a look on the off- chance to see if we could locate his grave.”

Joseph moved himself closer to the man.

“Well, good luck to you,” the man replied, “there's many a folk buried here, very easy to miss anyone first time around. Anyway, George Mandleson's the name.” The man offered his hand.

“Joseph McBride.” The two men shook hands.

“So, what's your full mission here, if you don't mind my asking?”

“We're from a little way south of here, near Ramsey on the edge of the Fens, but, actually we are here house hunting. We're thinking of moving to the area.”

“What's so special about here then?” asked George - he knew the answer really, almost everybody who came to the village fell in love with it sooner rather than later.

“We felt just sort of drawn to this place and, although we have looked locally at some of the surrounding villages, we really like Castor, and, seeing as I have roots here as well . . .”

“All sounds good. Well, I'll tell you what, the house next to me is on the market,” stated George with a grin.

“Whereabouts is that then?”

“Oh, just down there off the main street, good views out towards the south and across the river.”

George indicated with a waving arm, but the two men's attention was disturbed by the sound of a slamming car door as Beth and Harry came trotting back up the slope towards them.

“Darling, this is George, George Mandleson, he's a local - lives down in the village.”

Joseph scrutinised George with a friendly wry smile as he paused for a minute and thought. “In fact, you could be just the sort of local chap we need.” Beth grinned.

“Ah yes, a bit of local knowledge is worth ten times what any estate agent can tell you,” she added.

“Well, hearing from your other half here that you are thinking of settling in Castor, if I can help you out I'd love to be of service, I don't do a lot else with my time these days really.”

“We want somewhere quite modern but with a bit of the old character . . . like those houses the other side of the main road,” said Beth.

“Funny you should say that,” Joseph chipped in, “that's about where you said you live George, isn't it?”

At that moment the conversation received a boost. A pertinent and direct question, the sort that only a child could ask, and the voice asking it came from the lower levels . . .

“Do you live in a big house or a small one?” Harry looked up at George.

“I'm sorry,” began Beth, “this is our son, Harry. He's six.” She stood behind him and placed her hands reassuringly on his shoulders.

“Hello there young man, well I suppose it's a fairly big one as houses for a single old chap go, but I tell you what, it's and old house.” George looked down at Harry and gave him a friendly wink. “Tell you what else,” he continued, now addressing all three of them, “if you're not in a tearing rush it's only five minutes away, why don't you walk back with me for a cup of tea, you can take a look at the property next door if you like!”

Joseph and Beth looked at each other.

“Why not, that's very kind of you, Joseph replied.

The four of them set off, heading out of the churchyard, talking enthusiastically as they went.

“That's the wonderful thing about this village . . .” George's voice tailed off into the distance.

“. . . its architecture is a fabulous mix of the old and the new . . .”

* * * * *

Three months later:

It had been a busy weekend but a really fulfilling one. They weren't quite done and there would be so much to do over the next few weeks, but Joseph and Beth were happy, very happy that the move had gone swiftly and so smoothly.

“Our dream home, we're so lucky, and so quick! I hear so much about people experiencing any manner of hold ups, but we just seemed to sail through.” Beth gave her husband a cuddle as they sat on the sofa on that first evening. It's always special, that first evening in a new place, when the moment comes when you can finally take that sigh of relief, sit back and say, “It's ours.”

“It just was always meant to be love.” Joseph smiled back.

Things had gone extraordinarily well. It now seemed an eternity ago - that day in the churchyard not half a mile away from where they where sitting when they had first met George, the man who had helped them so much over the past few weeks and was now their friend and neighbour. Yes, they had looked at other houses in Castor and Ailsworth, and yes, they had considered Marholm, the picturesque village three miles to the north, but somehow, this place had seemed so right. So here they were - the newcomers to the village in their lovely new house ready to make a home next to a much older property owned by a much older character steeped with experience and knowledge, having lived there for many years.

For Joseph, Beth and Harry, living next to George Mandleson seemed a typical scenario as in this village there are many new houses built to a traditional style alongside the untouched beauty of old, and it is this that epitomises the character of the village; where the old and the new are forged together, and where, if the past has a tale to tell, the present will always be listening!

They sat together in the living room. A faint shaft of moonlight seeped through the curtainless sliding glass door that spread almost the width of the room in front of them. The far side of the room was dimly lit by a tall stand-alone lamp that Beth had been given by her grandma years previously. She thought it was funny at first how obviously it suited their new room, but then, this is so often the case with old objects as most are so well made. If old things are good they have a natural way of blending in almost anywhere. Quality always tells, and generally good things will always make their mark.

A gentle wind blew faintly outside among the trees and glimmering shadows were cast on the internal stone-faced wall that separated their living room from the kitchen. All was peaceful. Neither of them spoke for a minute or two as they reflected on the weekend. It was Beth who broke the silence:

“I'm going to make a cup of tea. Do you want one?”

“Hmm, please,” replied her husband.

She went into the kitchen and, as women do, started to arrange and organise lots more besides the making of a cup of tea. Joseph got up and walked towards the big sliding door that led out to the garden.

'The garden,' he thought to himself; 'wonder what that's like?'

He hadn't really taken any notice of the garden whilst they had been busily moving furniture into the house. He was aware that they probably now had a reasonable sized garden but wasn't really sure of any of its geography. He felt suddenly a little excited, in fact he almost wished it was morning so he could see what they had acquired by way of a garden, and what views might lie to the south looking out towards the River Nene.

The evening temperature had dropped sharply and it seemed to Joseph it was now much cooler - he could feel that. He became suddenly restless at the thought of what the garden might be like. He felt he wanted to go out there now and have a look but something stopped him from following his natural impulse to fling open the door. Suddenly he was very alert and he didn't know why. He felt excited . . . no, more on his guard and ready for something. His eyes darted around the room as if he expected to see something! This was silly. Beth was in the kitchen just yards away, why did he feel suddenly so on edge?

It's only the garden!' he thought to himself, almost saying the words out aloud.

Just then there was a noise from directly above him, a bit like furniture slipping, or someone jumping up or down from a chair. Harry was asleep at the back of the house, surely there should be no one above them!

What's that?” he called to Beth.

“Hmm?” she replied, not really taking any serious notice.

“That noise, didn't you hear?”

“Noise?” enquired his wife as she walked through into the room with an old wooden chopping board she'd used to improvise a makeshift tray. Clearly Beth had heard nothing. As Joseph turned back to look outside he felt cold, very cold, and a tingle ran down his spine . . . now there was a noise coming from the garden towards the corner somewhere, he was sure of it.

“Out there,” he called to Beth.

A moment later he found himself out in the garden just catching what he thought was just a glimpse of a distant shadow flickering between faint shafts of light reflected onto the patchy grass by the glow of a solemn moon that shone from above, and from the old lamp standing just inside the living room.

“Someone was there.” He pointed. “There was a voice - a girl's voice!” He seemed very worked up to Beth, but she had heard nothing whatsoever.

“A voice?” she echoed. “So what did it say?”

It was then that Joseph realised he couldn't tell her because he couldn't remember . . . he had heard a girl's voice call out he thought, but now, just a few seconds later he was not sure. As he tried to recall, his mind drew a complete blank.

“I . . . I don't know,” Joseph struggled for words. “ There was a shadow, it was like a small figure over there I thought . . . someone was out there!”

There was a moments' pause.

“Come back inside love. It's been a long day, it's probably just the wind, it's so peaceful out here and we're really not used to it.”

The couple went back into the living room.

“Here, drink your tea.” Beth offered him the cup. Joseph closed the sliding glass door after him.

“I thought you might leave it open, it's a warm evening,” gestured Beth.

Joseph gave her a look of mild surprise, but yes, now they were back inside, it did seem much warmer!

The next morning the family started to get stuck into the challenge of organising their new home.

It's one thing moving in, it's quite another getting everything sorted. Joseph had forgotten the night before, he wanted to get on while the weather was good and he had a couple of weeks before he started his new job. Harry wasn't starting at the local school until after the summer, and Beth continued to work just the two days a week in the information centre of a country park in the neighbouring county. This meant that now she had a completely different journey to make each work day, but one of about the same length.

“Morning George,” called Joseph from the garden.

“Ah,” George made his way over from his back garden that was separated only by a small waist high hedge. “I see you're wasting no time in getting to grips with this lot then,” he said.

“Well, you know what, I'm in the mood to plug on with it so why not?” replied Joseph.

The warm early summer sun beat down into the heart of the garden, it really was hotting up to be quite a scorcher. Now, in clear daylight, Joseph could learn a bit more about his garden. The first thing that struck anyone standing in that garden was that it almost fused with George's garden next door. The dividing hedge looked almost like an accident or an afterthought and much of the hedgerow that formed the boundary was the same all the way along the perimeter of both gardens. There was a good twenty-five metres from front to back, Joseph reckoned, and his garden had to be at least 30 metres wide making it larger than George's. The bottom half of the garden seemed to contain mainly trees, fruit trees, in fact, mostly apple, he figured. They were few and far between and it looked to him as if there might once have been more of them but some had perhaps been cut down. There was a rather decent fairly new looking shed in the far corner with a less attractive looking area right in front of it where rubbish had built up and various encumbrances had obviously come to rest over the years. It looked as if there might have been the odd bonfire or two made there as well.

A small wall and patio extended from the far side of the living room exit and there was a pathway leading to it rather than one being able to access it by walking straight out from the sliding door. Joseph guessed that this was probably why he hadn't noticed any of this before. Where their garden drew nearer to George's, it seemed to become more organised. There was a rose bed and grass pathways between flower beds that were overgrown but not completely wild.

“It used to be the orchard, you know.” began George.“At least two thirds of your garden was apple trees years ago, but they've been thinned out quite a bit since.”

“It looks as if your garden almost runs into ours,” remarked Joseph.

“Well yes, you see it was all one garden originally. This house had all this land around it as garden. When I was a small boy I used to play . . .” George broke off for a moment as if he was about to digress, but then he continued;

“Over in that corner, that was the orchard. Your house has been built where the old outbuildings once were, you know, the coal shed, even a large pantry extended off the back of the kitchen over there.” George pointed.

“That's fascinating,” exclaimed Joseph “so you've lived here all your life?”

“Yup,” replied George. “My mother and father returned to this house before I was born and my mother spent the rest of her life here. She rests in peace nearby.”

“ . . . and your father -?”

“- Killed in the war, Second World War, RAF: - bombing raid over Dresden, never made it back.”

George had replied quickly, and Joseph could see the sadness in his eyes and hear it in his voice. The passage of time doesn't always heal such events completely.

* * * * *

Many years earlier:

There was a noise, a scuffling in the bushes and then a voice. Two voices. She got out of bed and climbed up to the window to look out. It was dark. The little girl couldn't quite make it out, but they were arguing about something. She was sure she heard the words 'pay up' and then something that sounded like a threat! It was two men. As she listened, her heart beating fast, she recognised one voice but not the other - not the older man.

Suddenly, a yell and a groan! Then a thud to the floor. She heard the bushes crackle under the falling man's weight, but who had fallen?

As she looked she could see the younger man all of a panic. He was talking to himself now in low mumbling but urgent tones and without reply.

The next evening she looked again. The younger of the two men was doing what she'd seen him do many times before . . . digging . . !

* * * * *

Later that warm June evening, after a brief chat with George to establish directions, the McBride family decided to go for a walk. They had been itching to start exploring some of the hauntingly beautiful countryside that surrounded Castor and Ailsworth. George had told them of Ailsworth Heath and how, as a boy, he spent many a happy day rambling the surrounding fields, and of Castor Hanglands, the ancient nature reserve that can seem like another world to anyone once deep inside. But these walks were for another day - too far for this evening, so they headed instead eastwards to the outskirts of the village, along the main road to the foot of the hill, then they turned right. Mill Lane would take them towards the village of Alwalton and to the old railway line that now serves as the Nene Valley Railway.

There were no cars, no people, just the quiet of an early summer's evening. Once they got beyond the few houses that peppered the start of the lane, it was just the three of them. To their right were farm fields and meadows almost as far as you could see. In the distance Beth thought she could make out the line of the river with a sprinkling of yellow flowers, probably buttercups, littering the green meadows. To the left in front of them was Nene Park set down in the shallow of the Nene valley. Harry could make out small moving objects he was sure were boats bobbing up and down on

the shimmering silver gleams of a distant lake.

As the couple walked together, little Harry bounded forward ahead of them down the quaint old country lane. Joseph and Beth both felt a little on edge, this was supposed to be a nice relaxing walk but there was too much going on, too much on their minds, things seemed to be happening around them right now. Beth suddenly sensed a movement in the corner of her eye, she turned to look eastwards over the hedge, she thought she glimpsed someone running. Joseph's eyes followed her gaze but it was instantly clear to her that he'd seen nothing. She felt a little awkward, she felt very prickly and hadn't been able to settle to anything all day. Just for a moment it was as if something was happening around them. Something . . . but she didn't know what. Were they supposed to see it? Were they even part of it? Had she seen someone running across the meadow just then or was her imagination getting the better of her? She quickly decided on the latter and, not wishing to dwell on it further or bring it to her husband's attention, she smiled, gripped his arm slightly tighter than before and the two of them walked on.

The sun was now low in the sky and the warmth of the day was almost gone as this quaint old lane led them on to the small brick railway bridge that lay ahead.

“I think this must be the railway line,” Joseph said. “So, left would take you to Nene Park, Woodston, and eventually Peterborough, and right I suppose leads to Wansford!”

“In days gone by this was the main line in from Northamptonshire. Didn't George say the old site of Castor Station was just a little way up there?” Beth pointed west.

“Lift me up, Daddy,” yelled Harry. “I want to see the train coming.”

His father lifted him on to the peak of the bridge with a laugh and a smile.

“Not at this time you won't,” he said, “we'll have to come back another day when they're running.”

“Listen,” demanded Harry. So, as it was their duty as parents to play along and do as their son had asked, they were silent for a few seconds with hands to their ears as if to show Harry that not a sound could be heard other than that of the distant skylarks over the fields beyond.

The silence was strange. The sun had gone now and the temperature had dropped dramatically. Joseph felt that second or two was lasting forever but he had to wait, he had to see it through: Harry had asked them to listen for a train that wasn't coming, it would surely only need a second or two to confirm that! But those seconds weren't passing! It seemed to Joseph that his mind and body were locked in a moment of total paralysis. It was as if time had stopped, just briefly, but completely, and he sensed it was just about to start again but somehow would play differently! As they paused for that second or two of course there was a sound, it wasn't a train but it did seem to come from under the railway bridge! Joseph felt that tinkle of premonition run down his spine. Now, someone under the bridge was talking in a low voice, in fact, two people - and there was giggling! A girl and a boy were laughing together. Before Joseph knew what he was doing, he had found the winding path that led him under the bridge down by the rail track, and he was bounding down beneath. Beth was shocked. She called out in a firm embarrassed tone:

“Joseph don't, they're probably a couple courting . . . Joseph . . !”

She hated the thought of her husband disturbing some unnecessary privacy a young couple might be seeking, what on earth was he doing?

What Joseph saw next, nothing could have prepared him for. A young couple stood together in a warm embrace. The girl immediately looked up at him, embarrassed. Within a second or so the girl pushed clear of the man she'd been embracing and scrambled down onto the track. The man faded from view!

“Not here!” shrieked the girl. She was looking directly at Joseph as she called out with a tone of extreme urgency in her voice. She started to run down the track looking back. “You shouldn't see us here,” she repeated. Then, she just faded from his view.

Joseph stood as white as a sheep as his wife and son scrambled down the path to join him. At that moment the mood of shock was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a distant steam train.

“Well blow me,” said Beth to herself.

Joseph was still speechless when, thirty seconds later, a steam train came hurtling by.

“Wow, Daddy,” yelled Harry now so excited and not quite able to believe his luck at seeing a train on this unlikely evening. “It's got steam coming out as well!”

As they walked back down the lane some minutes later, Joseph described what he had seen to Beth in the odd moment of opportunity they could grab when little Harry ran on ahead out of earshot.

“You actually saw two people who weren't there?” Beth was quite shaken but not scared, it seemed too important for her to feel that. She too fancied that she had heard the giggling and low tone voices.

“There was no one there, there was nowhere for them to have gone!” she puzzled.

“Ghosts!” murmured Joseph after a moment or two, “And their dress, it was old, the girl was wearing a long skirt and petticoats. They were from the past!”

Over the next few days the McBride's found things difficult. They couldn't sleep. They felt very protective towards Harry and didn't want him to be in any way affected by any of the somewhat inexplicable events they had experienced; he'd be terrified. Joseph now remembered how he felt that first evening in their new home and what he'd thought he'd heard and seen. He'd heard of people seeing ghosts and being haunted by spirits of the past and he'd never really known what to make of it all. Now, it was all so obvious to him why people with such experiences either don't want to talk about it and kind of shut it out from ever having happened, or they tell anyone and everyone, glamourising the human emotions of fear and the unknown. And Beth; she thought too of the glimpse she may have seen and the voices under the tunnel she was sure she'd heard and of her husband, whom she knew right now was certainly troubled by the vision.

* * * * *

It was the following weekend before they were to see George again, he had taken a short holiday away with friends but, on his return, had invited them round for the afternoon. It was then that Joseph and Beth were able to share their story.

“Do come in you three.” George showed them into his lounge which also had a large bay window looking out onto the garden. “This is Ed and his good lady, Sarah, and this is Joseph and Beth.” They shook hands and greeted each other with the normal polite banter and small talk.

“Our little one is around somewhere,” Sarah said. “I think she's out in the garden . . . you'll meet her soon I'm sure.”

The couple had a daughter of about nine who had already decided that the adult conversation had become too dull and that the day was too pleasant to stay indoors.

As the afternoon passed, the men in salubrious mood downed a few jugs of beer (George always offered his guests a drink), and the conversation soon turned to one of reminiscence. George had already captivated their interest with his tales of some of the area's local history. He had described the old station and how one used to be able to catch a train to Orton Waterville and be there in less than ten minutes - probably quicker than one could manage it by car today! He'd told them also of the old Abbey and how it was founded by St. Kyneburgha, daughter of King Penda of Mercia back in Anglo-saxon times and how she'd taken the unusual step of allowing the Abbey to be for both the Monks and Nuns of Castor, a habit that was unusual to say the least, but remained true and was upheld by her sisters who succeeded her. They came to a natural break in the conversation and George looked dreamily into his beer mug, swilling it gently as it was caught by the shafts of late afternoon sunlight that pierced through the old angled glass in the corner of the bay windows. His mood changed:

“Of course, not everything about the past is straightforward here in Castor.” His voice held a note of hesitation as if to expect a reaction. He looked up at the four adults who were listening to him intently. “There are some things that we can't always explain,” he said, raising the glass of liquid gold to his lips.

“Oh, like what?” asked Beth.

“Well, let's see now . . .” George hesitated as if he might have a tantalising collection of tales to tell and he couldn't quite make up his mind which one to tempt them with.

“There is a story you should hear . . .” he began “. . . of a man who was last seen in these parts many years ago on the evening that he died, and some do say that you can see him again trying to make his way home for the very last time. To understand the roots of this story we have to go some twenty miles south of here to a village in Huntingdonshire. A young man back in the early Victorian days left his roots and ran away to Peterborough. Nobody really knew of what descent he was or why he felt the need to come to the City, but one thing that was clear is that he was capable of walking and running all day if he had to. Folks do say that, although he apparently lacked a great deal up top, he was quite an athlete, tall and lean, he would win any sporting challenge that came his way. It was said that his party trick was to catch rabbits in the cathedral precincts with his bare hands!

Well, as legend has it, one day in early summer he came up this way and as often he liked to do, he spent the day roaming the Hanglands and Ailsworth Heath to the north of here. As he realised dusk was approaching, he headed back, and, not afraid to make up lost time if he had to, he would frequently break into a run. He would have had to make his way back through these parts to get across to Milton Ferry bridge which is just a little less than a mile east of where we are sat now. From there he would have crossed the river but, as dusk was drawing in fast, he decided to take a short cut through the meadows. That would mean he'd need to cross the river again approaching the flood meadows between Orton Waterville and Orton Longueville.

Now, I told you he was an athlete, but as is so often the case, he had an Achilles heel - he couldn't swim. On taking a stride through what he thought was the shallowest part of the river, he got into difficulties and drowned, either in the river itself or the flooded meadows that lay the other side. Raveley was his name, Raveley Jack the locals used to call him . . . (as apparently he had come from a village of the same name). They even named the part of the river after him; 'Raveley's Hole' can be found on the old maps. He may have been seen from time to time so folks say, making his way a little desperately down Stocks Hill and across the main road. He has appeared across the meadows on early summer evenings, and there is at least one story of golfers seeing a figure wading across the fairway from the lake near what is now about the sixth hole on Orton Meadows golf course. That would be right about where the locals supposedly found his body the next day.”

The others looked at each other, there was no doubting anything of what George was telling them, he spoke with certainty about everything he said.

“Have you ever seen him?” asked Beth a little cautiously.

George looked again into his glass, took a final swig of the warm beer, looked up and smiled.

“Me? Well, I don't really know, maybe!” he replied. This seemed a strange answer to Beth but she didn't get a chance to question him further before her husband intervened.

“We saw someone.” Everybody looked at Joseph who was looking at his other half for expected support. Beth knew what was coming and she felt a little uneasy.

“Didn't we Beth, last week down Mill Lane!” exclaimed Joseph.

“Oh!' George remarked, quite interested.

“It's kind of scary when you actually have an experience yourself. Beth didn't actually see anything but she heard it didn't you darling?”

“Yes,” replied Beth. “There were voices but no one was there. There was nowhere for them to have gone!”

Joseph continued the story of the previous week's experiences and explained how he had seen the girl fade away as she ran down the track calling to him. Everyone was quite speechless.

“Ooh!” said Sarah with a shudder, that's just so creepy.

“You do believe me don't you?” asked Joseph eagerly.

George ignored this question but asked one of his own, and it wasn't a question Joseph expected or had an answer to;

“You said there were two people, what happened to the other one?”

Joseph paused. He wasn't really sure, he hadn't looked up again.

“I suppose he must have just disappeared like the girl.”

“But did you see him, can you give any description?”

Joseph hadn't taken any notice of the other apparition but it was starting to dawn on them all that there might be some significance in there being two. For whatever reason, George was very interested and this somehow was of some comfort to Joseph.

Silence fell throughout the room, it was as if nobody wanted to let their true feelings out right now, these were certainly strange stories but they had all actually happened, and now Joseph and Beth at least were beginning to really wonder just what they might mean.

George gazed out onto the garden, he looked a little sad. The lines of definition in his craggy face of nearly eighty odd years told a story but, as Beth looked at him, she was not quite sure of what. Did he know more? Did he have a secret or was he just as puzzled as they were?

George spoke;

“When our loved ones die we must keep them close,” he said.

“We can talk about spirits all we like, read into the tales what we want, but the real thing that matters is our memories of those we've loved.” He gazed out into the late afternoon sunshine towards the once orchard that lay at the end of Joseph and Beth's garden as if he was remembering happier times.

“This place,” he said, “this whole area . . . things happen, things have happened, but time is timeless - forged together as one!”

Everyone thought this was the oddest of comments. But before anyone could speak in reply Beth noticed something and broke that melancholy moment.

“Hey! Where's Harry? It's been ages?” she remarked.

Sarah and Ed looked up a little concerned;

“I expect he's with our little one,” said Ed.

The adults rose to their feet and wandered into the garden, neither child was to be seen.

“Harry. Harry,” called his mother. Joseph went round the front of the house as George and Beth searched the garden. Ed and Sarah were still calling their daughter when she came trotting in through the side door.

“It's ok, she's here,” called Ed.

But Harry was still nowhere to be found, they had been calling him for five minutes now.

“Perhaps he's clambered through the hedge and gone out into the meadow,” said George. He made his way round to have a look. Just as Joseph came running back into the garden, Harry appeared over in the corner of the garden under an apple tree.

“What's the matter? I'm here,” he said.

“Harry, Harry, where have you been? We've all been terribly worried, you must stay in the garden we told you that.”

Harry looked hurt; “I've been here all the time, Mum, talking to Emily.”

“Talking to Emily . . ! Don't be silly, we've been out here looking for you for five minutes and Emily has returned to the house!”

“I was only talking to Emily over there in the shed . . . why are you always shouting at me . . . it's not fair.” Harry started to cry.

A few minutes later, back in George's lounge, the drama was over and the two families were together again. Harry looked at the girl opposite, she stared back at him.

“So you see . . .” continued Beth, “. . . we must have just missed him. Perhaps you popped over the hedge for a moment and that's why we didn't see you and Emily sitting by the shed there.” She looked at Harry.

“I wasn't sitting by the shed we were in the shed,” retorted Harry.

“Don't be silly dear, the shed is locked, you couldn't have been inside it. You and Emily must have been sitting talking near the shed.” She smiled across at the little girl standing with her mother.

“I'm sorry!” Sarah interrupted looking a little puzzled. “There must be some mistake, this is not Emily, this is our daughter Jasmine!”

The night was a strange one. Harry was being very silly playing games and insisting that the girl had told him her name was Emily. Jasmine of course had denied any part in this and her parents were rather annoyed with her, believing her to be party to the prank. Although some hours later the two families were several miles apart back in their homes, both children went to bed upset and both sets of parents retired quite disturbed by the afternoon's events.

Next morning Beth went to put the washing out. Joseph had erected a line that ran from the house wall to the first apple tree. As the morning dew dampened the soles of her slippers, she looked down feeling the first ripples of moisture tingling through to her soles. As she looked, she noticed something. She was now standing in front of the shed on what seemed to be harder ground. Surely it was broken concrete rearing its age-old features through the overgrown grass. It seemed to cover an area of about six square feet, and it was as if some construction had once been there.

Beth suddenly felt cold and found herself shivering in the early morning sunlight. At that moment Joseph called from the house to see where she was.

“Joseph . . . here,” she suddenly cried out.

He ran over to her quickly, sensing the note of anxiety in her voice.

“What's up,” he said.

“Look at this, it seems like a sort of base or foundation for something.”

“So? ” Joseph saw no significance, in fact he found it quite unremarkable.

“Oh, don't you listen to anything your son says to you?” snapped Beth.

“Hey, come on now.” Joseph was a little taken a back;

“Harry said he was talking to someone called Emily in a shed!”

“Now come on, we've been through that one with him . . . it's just kids’ games.”

Even as he delivered the answer, Joseph suddenly felt uneasy, as if he knew what he was saying was wrong.

“But what if Harry's right?” Beth was now very worked up.

“Don't keep going on about Harry and this . . . imaginary friend.”

They couldn't help themselves prevent what came next, something was really bothering both of them and, in no time, they became two voices arguing in the corner of the garden.

High up in the back bedroom, Harry could hear two voices arguing and he leapt up onto a chair to look out of the window and see what was going on. The voices of his parents continued until suddenly he heard his father shout and things came to a sudden halt;

“Stop!” Joseph was shaking his wife to her senses. For a second afterwards all around them they could hear more voices, two other voices, like an echo but not of their making! Just for a moment they heard echoes - perhaps of past voices, there - in that same corner of their garden!

“What's going on?”

“- Ssshhh!” her husband stopped Beth in her tracks. After another ten seconds or so, when they were sure it was over, they both took a great sigh of momentary relief then they hugged each other.

Some strange force, some momentous past event, something had happened here and it involved them as much as the people of the time, but what? Who was trying to tell them something and why them? Why now?

They looked up and were just about to walk back to the house when something caught Joseph's eye.

“What's this?” he pointed to a carving on the apple tree trunk.

“Oh I noticed that earlier,” replied Beth looking down at an old damaged area of bark vaguely resembling a heart-shaped indentation. “There are one or two of those around.”

“But no, look here . . . this one is fresh.”

Beth could see that Joseph was absolutely right, yet neither of them had noticed it before! Carved clearly and freshly out of the bark were the initials, A.M. With an arrow that seemed to be pointing downwards. The two looked at each other as if they both felt the other one should be about to work it out for them. It was Beth who took matters into her own hands first. She wanted to hear it again from her little son. She took the warm motherly approach as she now felt quite awful about not believing him the previous night. Joseph listened as she spoke:

“Harry darling, Mummy wants you to tell her again about yesterday and that little girl because Mummy and Daddy can't quite remember properly,” she prompted. “Can you tell us? Tell us again about what happened yesterday.”

“It was Emily, I was sitting in the shed talking to her for ages but not that shed . . .” he pointed towards where they had been standing earlier; “. . . not that one over there, but it's gone today - the one we were in. Someone must have taken it away in the night.”

“Harry, what did the girl say to you? Can you remember?”

“She told me she didn't know what to do when she saw a man shouting cos he was her friend and he might have done a bad thing and she saw it, and she was frightened he might know she saw . . .”

“What did she say she saw happen?” Beth asked cautiously.

“I don't know, she was just saying to me she wished she could tell her mummy to sort things out cos mummies and daddies can help you if you're upset, but she couldn't.”

“Harry, are you sure her name was Emily, not Jasmine?”

“Oh Joseph.” Beth was annoyed he'd even asked that question as she was fairly sure they'd established that the little girl of yesterday was not party to any of this.

“Well . . .” began Harry thoughtfully, “I think it was Emily . . . it sounds like Emily . . .”

For the first time it occurred to them both that their small son could actually have made a mistake, he could have easily imitated a wrong name. Still, it wasn't going to be Jasmine, and yet, he was telling them something that both of them could see was obviously the truth. Something very strange was taking place. It was as if a play of events was being acted out in real time and they were part of the plot. They had to see this one through, however freaked out they felt, however scared, there was no turning back now, they were all involved.

“Wait a minute,” chirped Beth “those letters . . . A.M. that appeared carved on the apple tree trunk, there has to be some significance.”

“Come on, come on, think!” Joseph was talking to himself as well as his wife, “A.M . . . Anne, Annie -”

“-Amery!” interrupted Harry suddenly, “I think she said her name was Amery.”

His two parents looked at each other for a second and then said together as one voice:

“Anne -Marie?”

“That's it! Anne-Marie, don't you see . . . A.M. Those initials stand for Anne-Marie.”

There was excitement in her voice as Beth was frantically planning her next move.

“Something happened here in this garden years ago, it must be the case. You saw something that first night remember! And it was over in that corner. The noises - and we both experienced that horrible moment earlier.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Joseph, “and Harry, he's met the little girl who's at the centre of it all in a shed that wasn't there . . . some sort of time slip perhaps?”

“Oh Joseph don't you see . . . it's George, he must be the key to all this. He's lived here all his life, he must know what happened. There's something he isn't telling us, perhaps it's something that happened a long time ago that's important. Something we must know. I'm going to see him right now.”

“Let me do the talking,” said Beth as George Mandleson opened his door with a puzzled look upon his face. “George, we need to ask you something. There are some things we really feel we need to know about.” She paused awkwardly. “Things about our house and, well about you - as you've lived here all your life.” Beth didn't feel very comfortable as she asked this of George.

“Ah!” George looked slightly bothered but he could see it was going to be necessary to have this conversation however much it pained him to do so. In fact, George was waiting for the moment when his two new friends would come and ask him. After all, if they knew anything of some of the things he'd talked about, then surely they should tell him also. The more they all talked, the better it would become as far as George was concerned.

They told of the events that morning in great detail and George Mandleson listened with great interest. Some of the time Joseph thought that he had a look of knowing what was coming next creeping over his face while at other points of their story, which was mainly being told by Beth, George looked positively surprised. However, when they came to tell him of the initials carved on the tree, George's face filled with a look of despair and sadness. Joseph expected a reaction but not the one he was to get. He was hoping for some sort of explanation from George, even if it was just a clue - a pointer . . . something they could follow up. Beth finished talking and noticed there was a tear in George's eye. He paused before he spoke, gazing once again out onto the bottom of their garden where he had once played so happily, where his mother and father had spent much of their time many years ago. What George said next was not what they expected to hear:

“She used to do that,” he said, his voice slightly buckling.

Beth felt sorry for him and was suddenly cautious of asking her next question

“Who used to do what George?”

“Some of them have been there more than seventy five years you know. She used to like to carve signs . . . she used to like leaving messages for him.”

The two of them could see that it was hard for George to talk, he was so clearly upset but so far not making enough sense. Beth had to ask again;

“Who George?”

George looked at them as if it should be obvious, as if they should be able to fill in the blanks for themselves;

“My mother. My mother made nearly all those carvings years and years ago, I know the one you mean, I've seen it often - halfway up the trunk of that first apple tree . I'm sorry . . .” George's voice broke off.

“. . . it always brings it back to me,” he took out a handkerchief and wiped a tear from his eye.”

Beth and Joseph looked at each other.

“I'm sorry George, but we have to ask, what was your mother's name?”

George looked up startled as if they should know. For a minute he'd forgotten he hadn't ever actually told them, he'd always kept this to himself but now. . . now there was no point in trying to avoid confronting his demons, he was going to have to see what the future held and he knew somehow, in the fulness of time the two new friends that sat before him would find out.

Anne, Anne - Marie Mandleson” he said through mournful eyes.

* * * * *

“Christ, don't you see?” said Beth pacing up and down in the kitchen some half an hour later.

“It's worse than I thought. Joseph what are we going to do?”

Joseph didn't have the answers, he too could see where this was leading.

“Don't you see, whatever happened all those years ago she's there, under the ground . . . his mother is buried there! Don't you remember that afternoon in his lounge he was staring out at the apple tree when he talked about loved ones, and he said ages ago about his mother being buried here!”

“Yes - just forgot to mention she was buried in our garden!” Joseph was now feeling a different emotion, he was starting to feel rather angry.

“You know . . . once when I was little we moved into an old semi-detached and the woman next door, after introducing herself, told us her cat was buried under the main flower bed and that we were not to touch it. My mum thought that was a bit of a cheek as it was now our house, but this . . . this takes the biscuit!”

Everything they'd been through, whatever the spirits of the past were telling them about this quaint old village, was all because George's mother was buried in their garden! And if George knew, then that surely had something to do with the experiences they were having! George, this dear old friend had kept from them something of great significance and it cast doubt in Joseph's mind about some of the other things he'd told them. Who was the 'ghost' girl he'd seen? Was it that of Anne -Marie Mandleson, George's mother? They had to find out. Something was driving him to do so. It was a bit like a close football match when entering the last fifteen minutes, the tactics might have to change if you need to win, and right now Joseph McBride needed that win!

It was getting dark, Joseph was still on edge pacing up and down in the hallway. He made up his mind there and then. Now was the moment. He decided not to tell Beth. He wanted to see George alone.

“Why George, why didn't you tell us? We might be able to help you.”

“It's too painful Joseph.” replied George “I can't talk about my mother and father without feeling . . . well, very sad, like there's a big empty space.”

“That's natural George, but it's wrong and you have to face it.”“It's just something that happened,” George was now raising his voice slightly, “it was a long time ago and those carvings bring back memories.”

Joseph was a little dumbfounded at this last remark.

“Well I should say! Do you think it's ok then to mark her grave simply by carving her initials, just so that you can feel slightly better about it?”

“Her grave?” George was angry.

Joseph lowered his tone.

“Look, George, it was wrong but we can understand why you covered up. I think somehow your mother has been trying to tell us she is buried there but we must find out how she died, it's only right. What happened George?”

George rose to his feet.

“Buried there? In your garden!” he howled as he looked at Joseph with anger and some contempt.

Joseph was shocked.

“Grab your coat.” demanded George.

“What?”

“Get your coat and come with me.”

The change of tone to one of complete authority in George's voice overwhelmed Joseph and only seconds later he found himself following George in the dark of the night out onto the main street. This didn't seem real. Where was the old man leading him? They passed the public house on the corner and started to make their way up Stocks Hill. The sky was black and the moon shone hazily through the fast moving clouds as they were blown by the wind. George didn't speak, he was on a mission about which at this point Joseph had no clue as to where it was leading. They came to the road junction. The road sloped eerily downwards from right to left at the small crossroads. Just beyond, on the brow of the next undulation sat the church of St. Kyneburgha. George still didn't speak, he led them through the small gateway into the churchyard. Joseph suddenly felt that chill of anticipation creep down his spine once more, that moment perhaps of discovery where past and present cross paths was again upon him. He found himself in the ancient old graveyard once more, with the same old man for company, looking for something.

The clouds seemed to move aside as if deliberately allowing the moonlight to shine through for them to see more clearly. George produced a pen torch from his pocket and marched round to the north side of the churchyard. Joseph suddenly darted sidewards as something caught the corner of his eye, then relief as he realised it was just a straggling branch blowing in the wind.

The elder man was now striding a clear ten yards ahead of him, Joseph felt confused. As he looked up he could see a pair of eyes looking down at him from one of the church buttresses visible in the moonlight. The owl looked as if to point and say;

'You're nearly there' - the words seemed to sound in Joseph's head, but even that seemed as if it wasn't really his own voice. George had stopped by a grave with a headstone and was shining his torch onto its old, cold face. Joseph peered cautiously towards it as the owl above him hooted.

“There,” said George quite defiantly. “Satisfied?”

Joseph looked. He could make out the inscription on the headstone, it read:

'Anne-Marie Mandleson 1901 - 1979

Loving mother of George and a dear wife of Robert

Her soul rests here and is always in our hearts'

* * * * *

Joseph was turning things over and over in his head. He'd felt a little awful when George stormed off last night. Clearly there were pieces of the puzzle still missing. Beth didn't have any answers either but one thing they were both sure of, something had happened in their garden; George never denied this, they just hadn't got as far as finding out exactly what.

They decided to do it together, after all it was perhaps going to be a bit of a horrible experience (as if they hadn't had enough of those already). It would have to be at night-time as they certainly wouldn't want Harry to get wind of it and no one else must be party to this yet, not even George. If they did find a body, how would they feel? What would they do? What could they say to George? They didn't really doubt him now but they were compelled, both of them, to lay their minds to rest. So, that night in the early hours, they got dressed quietly, went out into the garden and started to dig.

Joseph had a small lantern torch and they hung it on the branch of the apple tree. The digging was hard and they only had the rough idea of where to start guided by the inscription on the tree trunk which now, even in the glow of the lantern, seemed very faint. Joseph dug while Beth kept watch. Her eyes darted nervously from one direction to another. The only sound was that of distant traffic on the A47 and the churning of the spade in the soil below. Not even the wind blew tonight.

After some time, Beth became very frightened, almost panicking! Images flooded her brain; the girl, a corpse, a skeleton . . . then she thought she saw a face looking at her from just a few feet away!

“Ooh!” she yelled. Joseph stopped in his tracks as he saw his wife's look of terror with her hand now to her mouth.

“Hey, there's nothing there.” he said. “Look, let's have a break, this is going to take a long time.”

The couple went indoors and made themselves a cup of tea and talked quietly on the sofa. They knew they had to finish this and so this was a good time to spend plucking up the courage to continue. They knew there was something out there, and they knew now only too well that they might feel and see all manner of things, but they had to do this, they had to find out.

An owl watched over them, the same owl that had watched Joseph from the churchyard the previous night. It watched and it watched as Joseph dug further and deeper. Nearly an hour later and very tired, he was startled when his spade hit something. It was different, a little harder than the earth he'd been piling up. He froze as he shone the torch. Beth looked at him and then they both looked down to see what looked as if it could be a piece of bone. Beth felt sick but she needed to know. Joseph scraped deeper now using his gloved hands and as he did so he uncovered what seemed by its shape to be unmistakably part of a human rib cage bone!

How they got through the night neither will ever know, it's a bit like when someone hurts themselves really seriously the pain isn't sometimes as bad as you might think because the numbing effect of the shock takes over. They had thought of covering it over and hiding what they'd found but what would be the use? This was serious. Someone was buried in their garden and it surely had to now become a police matter.

When morning came there was something else, a note was pushed through the letterbox, it read:

“I'm sorry about yesterday, I know you're doing the right thing. Gone to stay with Ed and Sarah until Saturday. I will talk to you when I get back. Best of luck. George.”

“How strange is that?” remarked Beth.

“He must have gone late yesterday! But it makes one thing easier, we don't have to explain the big hole to him, at least not yet anyway.”

That day became very busy and quite disconcerting. A team from Thorpe Wood Police arrived first, then another group of forensic officers, then police car after police car. Beth spent much of the time out the front assuring passers-by from the village and other neighbours that all was well and that there had simply been some 'gruesome discovery' in their garden. There really was no other excuse she could make. The family just wanted the day to end and, most of all, they wanted to know what had taken place in their garden all those years ago.

* * * * *

The young man walked beside the girl, they were happy. Indeed, he felt very fortunate. Most of his friends had been killed, there was virtually no other male of his age living in Castor, he'd had to start again over the last few years, and now this girl, much younger than him, was surely falling for him.

The sun was shining and they both looked up as they neared the bridge.

“I reckon it might rain! We’d better find a place to shelter!” he said jokingly.

She ran on ahead laughing, she knew what he meant. He chased her and she led him down under the bridge.

“Oh no, you're not getting away from me that easily.” He chased down after her, his face bearing a broad grin. As they came together under the bridge they kissed. She had longed for the moment and now, at last, he was showing his affection. As their kiss ended they giggled as they remained in a close embrace. Then suddenly, Robert could feel her pushing him away, he was puzzled!

“What's the matter?” he said. The girl wasn't looking at him she was glancing back up beyond and she had started to say something.

“No, not here!” she yelled. She wasn't looking at Robert. She ran down on to the rail track, her hands on her head. “You shouldn't see us here!” she yelled running down the track.

“But I thought . . . you wanted to . . .” Robert couldn't finish his sentence, the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with had seemingly lost the plot. But now there was a far more pressing matter - suddenly came the sound of a steam train's whistle loud and clear. Robert had never moved so fast. He leapt onto the track and ran the thirty yards to catch up with the girl who had stopped, quite overwhelmed and, in tears, crouched on the track. He could feel the wooden sleepers beneath his feet vibrate, he didn't dare look back. He grabbed her and dived onto the bank taking her with him all in one movement. The two of them embraced again and this time wept with relief as the train rushed past.

* * * * *

Later that day, back at the house, Beth and Joseph were given some surprising news. The police asked them all sorts of questions: 'How long had they lived there? What did they know of the house before they moved in? Who were the Estate Agents? Where was George, the next-door neighbour?' Of course, they couldn't really answer them all, at least not until George came back. Another thing, how was he going to take it all?

There were still so many answers needed, but there was the one thing they were able to establish by the end of that day. It had not taken the entire day to exhume the body and, by piecing various bits of information and clues together, the police were fairly sure of one thing. The body Joseph had found in the garden that previous night was that of a male . . . whoever it was, there was now no doubt about the fact that it could not possibly be the body of George's mother!

The police officer outlined what would happen next. He said that there were no immediate suspicious circumstances concerning people currently present but that they would need as much information as possible to be able to identify the body and would certainly like to talk to Mr. Mandleson when he returned on Saturday. Beth was hoping that Joseph wouldn't say anything of the strange happenings they had experienced. Surely the police wouldn't want to deal with any of this. How could they explain it? She started to think logically about what had happened, but her mind wandered and she started to get a feeling that somehow paths were meant to cross. The more she felt it the stronger that feeling became. Then she remembered something George had said:

'This whole area . . . things happen, things have happened; time is timeless - forged together as one!'

She also remembered that George never really answered her question about him having seen the ghost of the young lad who died in the Nene. He certainly had more to tell them, but right now, all she could feel more than ever before, was that here she was, now, in the right place at the right time.

Whatever was to happen, she, her husband and their son were meant to be here right now, today in this place. At just that moment little Harry came running in:

“Mummy look what I've found!”

He was holding an old battered notebook, dingy green in colour and dirty to say the least.

“Oh darling, what have you got there?”

“It's old writing,” Harry declared, “I found it in the garden.”

“You haven't been near the policeman digging, have you?” said his mother suddenly a little annoyed as they had all been told to stay away.

“Not very near.” said Harry. “The policemen were talking and this was in the pile of mud on the other side. They didn't even see and they wouldn't mind.”

His mother realised that what he was handing her was something that most likely had been dug up the previous night by her husband. It must have been lying there in the earth all this time.

“Let Mummy have that and keep it safely for the policeman later.” Beth took the little book from her son and put it away in the kitchen drawer. Later, when the police had gone and Harry was in bed, Beth and Joseph retrieved their little find from the drawer.

“It’s someone's old notebook,” said Beth.

“Well yes, it could be almost anything,” replied Joseph.

“But we found it near the body!” exclaimed his wife.

The two of them carefully turned the pages that were left in the deformed, misshapen little book.

It seemed to have once possessed a hard cover, possibly green in colour. Many of its pages had been fused together over the passage of time and whatever had been written on them would surely remain a secret forever, but there was a page where they could just make out the written words.

“This looks like a verse from a poem or something.” Joseph gently scraped away the smears of earth stains that had forged themselves as one with the page. He couldn't quite read the top section but the rest was quite clear . . .

'Secrets harboured hold their place

Until such time does come,

That good spirit folk will boldly unlace

the tapestry of what's been done.

St. Kyneburgha's blessed shared a place

of sanctity, side by side,

Blessed are folk who's destiny

is this place to reside.'

* * * * *

A few days later:

Robert tried to understand what she was telling him.

“I don't know, Robert,” she sobbed. “I don't know why I saw him but I know he shouldn't have been there, it's not where it happened.”

Robert was puzzled.

“Oh Robert,” she turned to him desperately, “I saw you all those years ago . . . you know I did, and now I feel they're coming for you.”

“Don't be silly,” he replied. “It was a long time ago, if anything was going to happen, it would have happened before now.” Even as Robert spoke those words, he didn't really believe them, deep down he knew she was right.

“What did you mean when you said it was the wrong place?” asked Robert desperately.

“I . . . I don't know . . . I mean, I know they're looking for something and I know it's nowhere near the railway bridge, and if such spirits haunt me there, then they can haunt me . . . haunt us anywhere!” She struggled to hold back the tears. “Oh, my love, you're a good man,” she continued, you will always be a good man and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but we are haunted . . . every night now I dream . . . we must do something!”

Robert sat motionless, staring into space. He believed her. She had seen him unwittingly cover his tracks all those years ago that fateful night when he'd been a gardener at the house. She'd done him the greatest of favours as a small child by saying nothing to her father, the house owner who would surely have got the police and had him arrested. Now, here he sat with this same girl - his bride to be, who was suffering, haunted by a mistake he'd made all those years ago!

“Who was he Robert?” the girl asked, hitching up her long layered dress as she tried to make herself more comfortable on the wooden bench on which they were having this conversation.

Robert took off his cap and ruffled his hair as if preparing to present himself for some important public speech.

“The man,” began Robert, “he was a good man, and I knew who he was, it was just unfortunate . . . we were arguing. He'd come for the money he'd lent me, he was drunk and I didn't have it! Who would have it on them at that time of night? I tried to explain that I would pay him the next day but he just kept shouting. I didn't do anything, honestly, I didn't do anything . . . he just fell forward, he hit his head . . . and . . . he was dead. I knew almost right away. I didn't know what to do and I panicked at first . . . but then -”

“- then you buried his body in the garden the next night,” finished the girl, “and I saw.”

Robert nodded slowly.

“I only knew him as Andrew. He was much older than me and a decent chap, but he did like his drink. I'd never had a cross word with him until that night. He must have been very ill or too drunk or something - he just collapsed! He hadn't been in the village long, he lived on his own, hardly anyone would miss him so it seemed the best thing to do. Oh God I feel so guilty. It pains me now and will every day ahead of me.”

A year later:

Robert sat with his wife whom he had known since she was nine. He felt much better about things now that they were doing all they could. There was no going back now, here they were back in the house where they first met and all was well. They spent much time in the garden, it was particularly lovely in the spring. They had decided that they couldn't ever stop those spirits, those beings from beyond that it seemed were going to discover their secret wrongdoing whatever it took, and indeed, why should they want to? In fact, it was almost a relief to them.

They had come to accept the visions of the frantic man and woman who had appeared to them often over the months; his wife had also remembered talking to a small boy in the garden many years earlier.

“Robert dear we've been very lucky in our lives,” she said to him that day. “Now I have some more news for you . . . good news.” Robert looked at her expectantly. “There will be another here with us soon . . . I am to have our child.”

The two were overjoyed and, at that moment on that day, they vowed to do something:

If they could foresee the future then the future must happen as it should and one day, maybe long after they had gone from this world, Robert's wrongdoing would be put to rights.

“Don't you see, my dear?” she said.

“Where a good man falls . . .”

She picked up a pen and a small green notebook she kept on the dressing table.

“. . . We owe it to him Robert. I've found out who he was. Now let us finally leave him to the spirits”

She started to write something.

“I know you're right. Do what you have to do. Whenever you're ready my love.”

Robert left his wife to her thoughts.

That evening they went solemnly out to the corner of the orchard together for the last time. The woman carved something into the tree trunk, just like they had both done years before. The man buried a small book near the place as she had asked of him, then they held hands and said,

“Let this be an end to it.”

Shortly afterwards, Robert built a small shed in front of the grave, hiding it from their daily view.

* * * * *

Saturday came and George returned. He didn't actually seem in the least bit surprised at what had gone on while he'd been away. In fact telling him was far easier than the McBrides had anticipated. They warned him that the police wanted to talk to him, but George said he really wouldn't have a lot he could tell them. Beth and Joseph told him that they needed to find out who was buried in the garden, having established it wasn't his mother and they needed to know what happened to her. So, early that evening, George looked round at the three faces sitting with him at the table, all waiting to hear what he had to say. The police officer told him to take as long as he needed but they would need to try and build up a picture. The only solid information they had was that the body had been in the ground for possibly nearly a century.

“Well,” began George Mandleson, “I think I'd better start at the beginning.

My mother first met my father when she was a mere child, he was apparently the gardener to the previous owner of this old house. He was eleven years older than my mother. Well, eventually the family moved away to the village of Upwood in Huntingdonshire, that's where my mother spent most of her teenage-hood until both her parents died- her father first then her mother the very next year.”

Beth and Joseph looked sharply at each other, something of what their elderly friend had just mentioned had struck a very powerful chord!

He continued:

“By that time she was, I think, nineteen and she insisted on coming back to Castor to live with friends. It was there that she met my father again, he'd stayed in the village getting labouring work on the local farms and, of course, around then everything stopped for a few years. You see this would have been around 1920 and we'd had the Great War. My father was one of the lucky few to survive but it had damaged him mentally, he had kind of blanked out everything that passed before, until that is, he met my mother again.”

There was clearly now a lump in George's throat as he spoke.

“So your mother rekindled her friendship and fell in love with her childhood idol, the handsome young gardener she used to see every day out in the orchard?”

“That's about it,” continued George, “and the unusual thing was it was my mother who was the one with all the wealth left to her by her parents - Robert had nothing. It became difficult for them as they courted. In those days you didn't marry out of class, but my father, Robert, he was different. Somehow everybody in the village knew him so well they just sort of accepted it.

When they got married, my mother saw her lawyers and paid the necessary legal fees to move back into the house they both knew so well - this very house, where she had spent her early childhood.”

“You've never told us any of this before?” interrupted Joseph.

“Because . . . because there's something else.” George paused.

“Go on,” prompted the police officer.

“Well that's just it,” continued George. “From this point on I'm not exactly sure. You see, as a small child I knew there was something about that corner of the garden; the orchard, that neither of my parents wanted to face. They were always keeping me away from there as a small child and I sort of sensed it. Now we know why; a body has been buried there all this time. I didn't know that. Time passed, I grew up and led the life of a normal village boy. I got up to all the usual things any young lad in those days would have done. Then, came the Second World War . . .”

He paused again, Joseph knew why.

“Your father, he died in that war didn't he?”

George looked up.

“Yes. I remember the last time I saw him, summer 1942, he was home on leave. He was so happy. He brought me home a little model Spitfire, I was the only boy in the whole of the village who had one. Mum and I never thought that would be the last time we'd ever see him.”

The police officer could see that there was going to be no further useful information forthcoming from George that night and the day was getting on.

“Well, look,” he began, “I can see that this is an emotional time for you Mr. Mandleson and, by the sounds of things, for you too Mr. and Mrs. McBride, so I don't see we need to continue this any further today. If you do think of anything that might be of significance in identifying the body let us know. Thanks for all you have been able to tell us so far. I'll see myself out.” And with that he left.

George turned to the others.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Shall we walk? I don't really want to stay in this kitchen any longer right now.”

The three of them got up and walked out onto the fields behind the house. The evening sun was fading now and the sound of the birds in the trees was becoming more gentle. As they walked and talked, Joseph and Beth felt different. They felt a weight had been lifted even though there was still some mystery here, some incompleteness that they knew they couldn't hurry. The moment would come soon enough and then they would know.

As George told them more of his life and times, they realised just what a somewhat insular life he'd led but he seemed so wise, so aware of the nature around him and now completely at peace with himself.

They walked a little further until presently they came to a seat, they hadn't noticed it before.

“Let's rest a while,” the old man said.

As they gazed south towards the river and the railway line, Beth thought she noticed an odd looking car driving slowly up Mill Lane, it was the first time they'd seen a vehicle there.

“You know, things are meant to happen as they are meant to happen,” stated George. “We can't change the past or the future one bit, but we can learn, understand and prepare.”

Joseph and Beth said nothing, they didn't need to. The old man's prophetic words spoke so much of what they were thinking right at that moment. George spoke again: “So much of what we do, what we experience, is beyond our understanding but our mission is always to do - to be.”

As he spoke, Beth could see an old man on a bicycle in the distance. It looked like an old fashioned bicycle but she couldn't quite make it out as it seemed to disappear behind the hedge line. There was something about this moment, something very special. George continued:

“Secrets harboured hold their place, until such time does come, that good spirit folk will boldly unlace the tapestry of what's been done.”

To Joseph and Beth these words echoed in a sort of dream, they knew they had heard them before, and they knew where, and yet they were somehow not surprised to hear this gentle elderly man repeat them here and now.

“My mother used to quote that to me often,” George said. “Whenever something happened I didn't understand, or I was worried about how something would turn out, that's what she'd say to me.”

Joseph and Beth looked at each other and smiled.

“You know we all have a mission, we all have something we must do in life. Sometimes it doesn't seem to make sense, sometimes it doesn't turn out well, but if it's right, it's real and it's what's destined to be, you must go with it. Don't fight it.” As George spoke, his gaze was fixed firmly across the meadow eastwards. The light was fading now.

“Ah, there he goes, for the last time across that meadow, hurry boy, hurry.”

Beth and Joseph could see no one but they knew that somewhere he was out there, trying to make his way home towards the river for what would be the last time.

It was strange. It was as if they were now completely happy and peaceful, as if this was all they'd ever needed to do; sit and listen to the wise old man next to them who suddenly seemed to have all the answers.

Then, Joseph realised something;

“We still have no idea who the dead man was? He said.

George looked up and Joseph felt something as he spoke.

“My dear boy, you do, of course you do.”

The younger man and his wife were puzzled for a moment.

“Ask yourself, why did you come here in the first place?”

Joseph paused as he thought for a moment:

“To look for my great grandfather's grave and to find the house of our dreams” he said.

“Yes, but who first told you? What gave you the idea?”

The two younger adults were puzzled. They looked blankly at each other and thought for a moment, not really understanding why George had asked this.

“Wasn't it Bob?” Beth said, “Bob the landscape gardener back at Upwood all those months ago . . . don't you remember Joseph . . . he came from the village nearby . . . Great Raveley . . .” Beth could hardly believe her sequence of thoughts as she now spoke them out loud. “. . .You invited him in for coffee that morning and when we talked about our garden, he told us about gardens he'd worked on in this village – Castor, and what a lovely place it was!”

For Joseph McBride everything was now starting to sink in.

“And your great grandfather's grave?”

Now Joseph could hardly believe what he was thinking, it suddenly dawned on him just how this had all started;

“It was him, yes, actually it was what he said! I didn't know it was Castor my great grandfather had run away to, I just happened to tell him that his name was Andrew McBride. It was Bob the gardener who said he knew of an Andrew McBride who lived and died in Castor at around that time . . . so we came!”

“Yes, that's right.” The old man looked at them.

“Bob the gardener, from a small insignificant place in Huntingdonshire, where you are from and where my parents, Anne-Marie and Robert came back from.”

There was a moment's silence.

“Those carved initials, A.M. Stood for Andrew McBride,” said Beth.

“Yes, all this time he was so close, the good man, my great grandfather whose life ended at the place we've been called to . . . it's where a good man fell.”

Nobody spoke any more that evening. The three of them sat silently for a moment before heading back.

* * * * *

Some weeks later, they found themselves together again in the graveyard of St. Kyneburgha's church. The formalities had been dealt with and now, as autumn set in on this bleak Friday November morning, Andrew McBride was finally laid to rest.

Joseph and Beth stood hand in hand. Harry stood sombrely in front. George remained peaceful and motionless throughout the short ceremony. As the burial came to a close, Joseph produced the small green notebook they had found all those months earlier. His wife smiled gently across at him as he threw it into the grave beside his great grandfather.

With everything now done, lives could carry on. As they turned to leave, Joseph looked down at the inscription on the headstone:

“Guided by good spirits strong,

Their message on life's walls,

Is always overcome the wrong,

Where a good man falls.”

* * * * *

FACT OR FICTION?

These are the tales that the Spirit has seen and told, and, as I said at the outset, there is truth in them - much truth, but not everything is real.

The stories are fictional and I hope you've enjoyed reading them, but they contain a lot of true references to things from the past that did actually take place in and around the city.

There are many anecdotes, parallels, and 'hidden messages' within that I am not going to explain in depth here, that is for you, the reader to try and appreciate. A great deal of the fiction is obvious, but there are however, in each case some interesting facts that underpin the storyline.

A Place in Time

Centered around an event that really did occur several hundred years ago, this is a story about ordinary people of today and how they have become somehow involved and connected with a past that gives them clues and guidance towards a successful resolution.

The Facts:

Back in the mid fourteen hundreds when the Abbey existed on the site of where the Cathedral of Peterborough has now stood since it's completion in 1193, a group of young monks were sent out to Oxney Grange out at Eyebury, three miles to the north east of the city centre as a punishment. They had gone for a night out, got very drunk and had become quite unruly. Once out at the Grange they were not properly supervised, the senior monk in charge had apparently been taken ill. Only infrequent check visits would ever have been undertaken by the Abbot who would most probably have turned up unannounced. This allowed them to continue their drunken antics. Some sort of brawl ended up with the death of at least one, and possibly two of the monks. This is documented to have really taken place although the exact circumstantial facts remain unclear.

On August 27th 2003, Oxney Grange, the farm building that remained on the site of the original manor house was burned to the ground. The exact circumstances of how this happened remain unclear, but is thought quite possibly to have been arson. There had been a building remaining on the same site for six hundred years where it was originally owned by the Abbey as the rehabilitation home for trainee monks, as occurs in the story. During the nineteen eighties and nineties it became an old people's home. At the time of writing it has been developed into a closed community of plush expensive rented properties.

There are various documented accounts of 'ghostly monks' having been seen in and around the Cathedral of Peterborough.

The Peterborough festival has taken place in recent years covering various venues including the town park. All local areas and venues mentioned in the story are real places.

Reference to the Abbot, John Deeping and to the country being at a point of unrest during the mid fifteenth century, (reign of the boy king Henry VI), are correct.

The Author had the real experience as given in Nasra's account of remembering her father telling the story of a car hitting the central reservation. In the author's experience he feels it was incredibly fortunate that he made the decision to overtake the car when he did, and that the flow of traffic seemed to disappear during that precise minute, thus averting any apparent disaster.

It's Fiction:

All the characters, past and present, are fictional, and any direct representation of anyone living is unintentional.

There are no records of a particular monk name of Richard, or any of the other named characters featured in this story from past or present.

There is nothing to suggest that there ever was an artefact of any type; bracelet, necklace or otherwise, discovered in or around the area, or that any such item was actually used as a murder weapon at any time in the past . . . but then . . . who knows! Sometimes the truth is stranger than the fiction!

The Night Runner

This is a story seen very much through the eyes of one young man who's life was changed when a past event triggered the investigation to discover who his father was. The story is set in the suburbs to the south, mainly Orton Longueville, but including Woodston and Nene Park. The football matches involving POSH (Peterborough United FC.) are central to the story.

The Facts:

On May 29th 2011 Peterborough United beat Huddersfield Town in the Division one play-off final at Old Trafford.

On May 24th 1992 Peterborough United did beat Stockport County in a Wembley play-of final.

References to actual places and events relevant to known historical figures are correct unless listed below.

All references to known characters from history are factually correct.

In the early 1960's a train driver was killed in a manner similar to that described in the story, and two brothers also drowned in a boating accident on the River Nene the following decade.

It's Fiction:

All the story line characters are fictional and any close representation to people alive or that have lived is purely unintentional.

The 'Night Runner', and the 'ghostly' story associated with him never happened as described in the story, and neither did exist the character Billy McNeil, or any of the historically occurring facts associated directly with him.

All the settings, place references and circumstantial scenarios are deemed to be authentic, although none of the mentioned crimes ever actually took place . . . (as far as is known . . !)

The Ghost Walks

It certainly does! Two teenagers meet a stranger that turns out to be inexplicably connected to the events that take place during the adventurous evening they are about to embark upon – attending one of the City's 'Ghost Walks'.

The Facts:

There are currently, and have been for a number of years now, 'Ghost walks' – guided tours that run during the summer and autumn from the city's museum. These are expertly led opportunities for enlightenment of knowledge of the City's ghostly past and they follow a standard form. However, on occasions they are run as 'special events.' The scenarios described in the story are authentic.

Narrow Street' is the old name for Bridge street, the City's central pedestrianised area leading to Cathedral square. It dates from the nineteenth century when the street was indeed – much narrower!

All the references to the past concerning the strange or ghostly events taking place in the museum, City centre, and in or around the Cathedral are authentic, and are documented from several sources as deemed to have taken place.

Magistrate Thomas Cooke, and his wife, Charlotte were the owners of a Georgian town house from 1816 – 1854. This became the city's hospital and then later the museum as it is today. Legend has it that around this time a servant girl fell pregnant – thought to have been made so, and possibly raped by a male servant. She fell to her death from a staircase on the top floor where the servant's quarters would have been. Circumstances are unclear, but several women in that area have reported feelings of unease – and even nauseousness when visiting the area.

1.Thomas Cooke divorced his wife Charlotte and she then moved into the dower house next door. There have been cases of people claiming to hear the name 'Charlotte' being distantly called when in the building.

All references to named places in the city, past or present are correct.

It's Fiction:

The story told by the 'Elderly gentleman' is fictional although all details of it's setting are authentic.

All characters are fictional and any direct representation to people alive or that have lived is purely unintentional.

Where A Good Man Falls

A family are drawn into moving to the village of Castor while searching for the grave of a relation. They soon find that their house, it's history and their new friend and neighbour hold the key to unravelling a mystery surrounding local people from the past that has haunted them from the day they arrived.

The Facts:

There are numerous mentions of location concerning not only the village of Castor itself, but also of the surrounding area, and references to places further a field, i.e. Huntingdonshire. All the geographical locations that are precisely described are correct.

All references to the history of Castor involving St. Kyneburgha are correct.

The references to the character Jack Raveley are based on true facts. Although the exact circumstances of his death are unclear, we know that his life ended on a summer evening at, or close to the places mentioned. 2. Although there are no known documented sightings of his ghost, the author can testify to a ghost story with a possible link.

The following is an extract from : Legends and traditions of Huntingdonshire: WH Bernard

Saunders, Published 1888 by Peterborough Caster and Jelly:

'A Huntingdonshire oddity has given his name to a part of the river Nene. A gravelly shallow, near Overton Longueville, which deepens into a hole is known as 'Raveley's Hole'. . . Somewhere between the decade of 1840 and 1850 there went to Peterborough a tall, thin, lanky, half-silly youth, about the age of sixteen. He had no occupation and no means of subsistence . . . If he had any parents . . . he was ignorant of them.

His oddities and ec-centricities made him familiar in the town and a butt for the wit and humour of the young men. He was accustomed to account for any imperfections in the upper story by declaring that going one day a little too near the Town Mill, which at that time stood upon the Thorpe road . . . one of the sails 'clipped him on the lug' and ever after his understanding was cloudy . . . Amongst his many peculiarities he is said to have been an exceedingly swift runner, and was a constant competitor in foot races.

. . . One day he encountered the river at the gravelly shallow, and although unable to swim, he waded across to the opposite meadow, and, after disporting himself for a time proceeded to recross the stream. But he failed to recognise the exact spot and, instead of keeping to the shallow water he was soon plunging in the deep hollow close by . . . the body was drawn out on the Huntingdonshire side of the river, and he was buried in Woodstone churchyard at the expense of the parish.'

3. This is the common account of the story.

It's Fiction:

Although the siting of George, and Beth and Joseph's houses are realistic, they do not exist as actual properties in the village of Castor. The buildings and their situation however should be seen to represent an exemplary architectural style present in the village.

All the characters from the past are fictional except for the named individual Jack Raveley, who's exact history remains something of an enigmatic legend. However, there are no known recorded sightings of his ghost apart from the one possible incident mentioned.

1: The author points out that concerning the relevance of the name, he did not discover this detail of the Cooke's history until after he had written this story.

2: It is the case that golfers saw a vision of a character that partially fits this story on Orton Meadows golf course circa 2000/2001. A ghostly apparition was seen struggling from the water across the fairways . . . as if trying to scramble in desperation to safety! This occurred at an approximate place where Raveley's body was supposedly found the next morning.

3: The author has also read a different account that places Raveley as coming from a place further west and meeting his fate after spending the day roaming the countryside north of Castor and trying to get back to Orton Longueville before dusk. However, the source of this information cannot currently be traced.

* * * * *

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tom Goymour has lived in Peterborough for over forty years.

He has worked in the print and graphics trade as well as carving

a career in special needs education.

In addition to being an author of short stories he is also a musician,

an exponent of art and design, and a studier of life!

Being a key part of a large family has given him many powerful experiences

from which to draw inspiration.

He came to writing relatively late in life after having spent many years exploring other art forms such as writing music for the piano and painting fine art.

Empowered by his many and sometimes strange life experiences, his stories nearly always contain a 'twist' or a strong moral message to make the reader think.

* * * * *

If you enjoyed reading this story you can find out more by visiting the website:

http://www.tomgoymour.com

Print edition available

Connect with the Author:

Back to Top

* * * * *