Peterborough, just an ordinary city full of people like you and me, steeped in history and totally unique, but it could be anywhere, really, it could. Every city holds secrets from its past that lie dormant ready to affect the future, but what if there was more than that? What happens when something from another time rises to the surface to confront us?

Best friends Abbey and Amy find themselves drawn into a complex mystery one summer evening when embarking upon an organised ‘ghost tour’ of the city. Events link uncomfortably back to the historical ghostly past, but Abbey senses that there is something deeper at work. Her and Amy will have to go through a torrid time if they are to first understand and then be able to get their lives back to any sort of normality. Twists to the plot make this a dark tale of the very unexpected.

The Spirit of Peterborough is always there. He is watching, and he sees through all of time in a glimpse of an eye as he dips in and tells the story that unfolds before him.

Now, open your mind and be ready, and I pledge you will never see your home town or city in quite the same light again . . . but afterwards, perhaps that light will burn for you just a little brighter.

* All characters in this story are fictional and any likeness to any persons currently living is purely unintentional (except for the characters of Abbey and Amy - representative similarities have been used with their permission.)

* References to historical figures, various localities and some past events are true. A specific glossary is contained at the back of this book

* * * * *

THE GHOST WALKS

The Spirit of Peterborough: Book 3

Tom Goymour

A tale of fiction linked to the historical

documented ghostly past!

* * * * *

Dedicated to My daughter, Abigail

and friend Amy - to appeal to their

sense of adventure!

Published 2016

By

(First published 2014)

© Tom Goymour 2016

The right of Tom Goymour to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical  copying, recording or otherwise without prior permission from the Publishers.

* * * * *

www.tomgoymour.com

Contents

Prologue

PART 1

1. The Meet in the Park

2. A Girl called Charlie

3. Spooked

4. The Elderly Gentleman

5. A Girl called Charlotte

6. A Gentleman does his Best

7. Do You Believe in Ghosts?

8. The Ghost Walks

PART 2

1. What Abbey Saw

2. Prized Possession

3. Girls Fall Out

4. You Shall go to the Ball

5. Amy's Dilemma

6. The Girl in the Blue Dress

7. Ghosts Are Us

Fact or Fiction?

About The Author

Prologue

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 the stories begin to 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 the 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 play football wherever they can 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 showing 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 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 set path that has gone before us. When this happens, 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 their story and it needs to be told. Come with me now to Peterborough town park, one warm evening in July.

* * * * *

PART 1

1. The Meet in the Park

As she tugged the hairbrush through her hair Amy stared back at herself from the mirror, pausing for a moment as her mind dwelt on what might lie ahead for the evening. If Abbey said it was worth doing then it probably was. She’s so level-headed and she doesn't approach things lightly.  All the same, the idea of going on one of the Peterborough museum’s Ghost Walks did leave her a little apprehensive even though for both of them it appealed to their sense of adventure. Amy had enthusiastically 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 half a mile or more away just off Eastfield Road. Both girls had lived there all their lives but hadn’t really become firm friends until their senior years as their primary days had ben spent in different schools. Amy’s family were from the same part of town for several generations back, her parents had both gone to the senior school that she now attended and her world did rather revolve around this part of the city. Sometimes she would look out of her bedroom window and wonder as we all do from time to time what might have been different for her if she lived in a nicer area . . . maybe to the west of the city? Everyone says it’s better over that side of town, and from what she had seen they were right. There is far more development around the perimeter and particularly to the south and west. This street will never change, she thought to herself. Abbey’s house was also old -Victorian. Her mum and dad were the first of their family to come to the city, perhaps that was why Abbey did seem to Amy to know far more than just Peterborough, in fact, she seemed to know an awful lot of people and had many relations far and wide.

They two girls had arranged to meet up in the town park, a common meeting place for them as it was roughly half way between their houses and the only pleasant grassy expanse in the neighbourhood. From there they would have about a twenty five minute evening walk down into town to get to the 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. On the back of her neck she felt warmth, there was no breeze, and the weather looked set fair. Wonder if I really needed this jacket? She thought looking at what she was clutching before then gazing up at the early evening blue. Suppose it could get chilly by about nine o'clock, after all, this is England!’ One thing they would be by nine O’clock was still together. They never changed their plans without the other’s consent The arrangement tonight was that the two girls would stay round at Abbey's when they returned so that they wouldn't be making separate homeward journeys.

Amy crossed at the junction of Dogsthorpe Road and Park Road and headed towards the town park as she 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 several characters that are supposed to haunt it one way or another.

Are ghosts real? Amy thought to herself, Or is the whole thing just a clever scary trick? After all, it is quite easy to stand there quite authoritatively in a spooky building and fabricate stories to go with the mood! How do any of us know that the stories we hear are totally authentic and real? I suppose it could be like a ‘fisherman's tale’ 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 the best thing. It couldn't really be that scary or else people would have warned them, and, if it was all completely rubbish, surely she would have heard that about that from somewhere or from someone? Both of them had told loads of people that they were going.

She looked around at her surroundings; the motionless trees that now filtered much of that the warmth from the sun, the red-bricked town houses that lined the street, and the number of chimneys that protruded from weather-worn, grey-slated roof tops. She started to wonder just how old this part of town was. It occurred to her that she didn't really know much about its history 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? Yes, that would seem logical!

Her mind wandered further as she neared the Central town park: Maybe, she thought, there's a ghost of the Park? A spirit that only some can see . . . probably those that are kind of in tune with things would see it! Maybe one is in the bushes right there . . . perhaps only seen at night at certain times? It occurred to her that actually, they might even learn about something very like this tonight! Her imagination was starting 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 starting to get silly.

“Pull yourself together girl.” She said aloud to herself under her breath. What was she letting herself think? It was supposed to be an enjoyable evening!

Turning into Park Crescent she then 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 from the other entrance. Amy reached for the hard plastic rectangle that was wedged into her hip pocket, but she didn’t need to use it as she could now see Abbey had already arrived and was waving to her from the other side of the expanse of green lawn that lay between them.

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

“Yeah - was just going to text you.”

The two girls chatted as they crosse the main pathway. They hadn't seen each other for two days and there was loads of stuff to catch up on. They started to natter away to each other as they headed down the pathway until quite unexpectedly, their concentration was broken: Someone called out to them from a bench at the side of the main pathway. They looked up, a little taken aback. Who was she? It wasn’t anyone either of them recognised.

2. A Girl called Charlie

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

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

“No. I 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 her face, her eyes were vacant she looked 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  as if she knew them.

The two looked at each other but, before they could answer, the girl spoke once more;

“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 she was, this stranger appeared to actually be quite articulate and didn't now appear to be suffering any of the ill effects you might expect to see from someone drugged up or drink and drugs. 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 with a puzzled expression.

Abbey and Amy walked nervously 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 was certainly confused.

Amy was thinking the girl was crackers but Abbey was  inquisitive:

“What's your name?” she asked.

“It's Charlie” replied the girl.

Abbey waved her arm towards herself and her friend

“Abbey, Amy.” She said.

Amy was secretly annoyed with her friend, 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?”

Abbey at least felt a little more reassured as she now sounded nothing of a threat.

“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 friends glanced at each other,

“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 was 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 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 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  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.

“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, wandering to her left looking down at the ground. “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 , they started to think about the possibility of deriving some completely new experience, the unknown and perhaps the unexpected.

3. Spooked

As they approached the museum, they could see the small crowd that 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 obviously natural black curly hair, and his glasses had very thick frames. His expression made Abbey feel he was permanently 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, slightly overweight middle-aged gentleman busily thumbing through the information booklet.

You always get one who is more interested in looking up every little detail rather 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. His glasses rested on the front of his nose, his eyes were slightly dipped as he listened intently as the tour guide began to speak. Everyone waited in anticipation.

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, “for a while there I thought it might be too far for me.”

The two girls thought this sounded a bit dramatic. The tour guide began by asking them to all move in closer so that 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 tonight, I think you're in for an interesting time. I'd like to start by introducing . . .”  his voiced tailed off. Abbey 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, I wonder what used to be down there? Her imagination started to run away with her, conjuring up images of folk from bygone days. She almost expected to see someone peeping through the doorway even as the guide 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 felt a sharp jab in her side.

“What?” she whispered, a little annoyed with the way that her friend had got her attention.

“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 her 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 small crowd 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, (this is occasionally done for some special events) and allow the crowd a taste of the experiences to be had inside the museum. He’d immediately captured the attention of his audience by suggesting this and was now 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, Amy felt herself shiver at the thought of a dark presence possibly suddenly appearing from nowhere.

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

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

“Ooh, scary,” replied Amy looking round at him sending him a nervous 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 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 as she listened she became aware of the walls around her - they weren’t quite vertical! She gulped, and grabbed a nearby hand rail to steady herself. She 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 reactive moans and murmurs from the crowd as he delivered this last remark. Abbey decided it was time to move away.

4. The Elderly Gentleman

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

“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,  “I 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 that can be 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 Amy, 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, my Grandma lived out at Glinton did as a child. It was a very small village in those days and everybody knew everyone 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 around about 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 the morning 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 it was important to them that their one day off a week should 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, as memory serves of my grandma telling the story, I believe was Charlotte.”

The elderly gentleman paused and looked up. The two young girls sitting along side were hooked by this story.

5. A Girl called Charlotte

The late evening sun was still warm on the back of their necks as the three of them sat together. Seeing that he still had their full attention the old man continued with his story of a time long ago:

“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 rather quaint seventeenth century building across the square not far from where they were 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 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 little something as 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 began 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, she moved her hand to her brow and felt 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 mutter something about being in a hurry to get to some place, she didn't explain where.

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 perfectly normal in their jackets and trousers with a high waists and legs 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 concerned, but Charlotte led them on. They passed the turning to Prince's Gate, and presently, they came to the turning into Park Crescent and then the entrance to the park came into view.

Charlotte seemed desperate to get there. 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 it.

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 now 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, and of the urgency of the situation, and totally unaware of the seriousness of what they were shortly to discover!

Charlotte reached the 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, what they could see startled them. They could hardly believe it  - 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 that 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 any  capability of her 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.”

The gentleman stopped and glanced at his watch.

“I think we still have a few minutes before they return,” he said, looking up towards the Cathedral.

6. A Gentleman does his Best

“Thats really weird.” Said Amy. There was a pause as the elderly gentleman adjusted his watch.

“Well,” he continued, “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 in that area,’ said the tall gentleman presently. ‘We can make enquiries once we are nearer to our intended destination.’

The three of them quickened their pace. To their right was the large church that was St. Peter's and All Souls and in front of them was 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 to make enquiries.

They didn't have to ask many questions, and they didn't need to look very far because something happened that gained their attention almost as soon as they were anywhere nearby where they thought they should to be. As they approached Cowgate the tall gentleman recognised a carriage that passed by as that of a doctor friend. It 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, when sometimes you instinctively know that the commotion of events happening around you is going to lead you to the very thing you're looking for? Well, this is the feeling our young friends and the gentleman got at that precise moment on that day. They followed the 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, he is 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, the man stood with a vacant look, as if something quite final had just taken place.

In no time at all the two young ladies found themselves following the tall gentleman and the doctor, into the house. They moved swiftly along the lower corridor and turned into a recessed corner that seemed to lead down 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 stairway 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 was obviously some tragic occurrence.

The doctor was there first, he knelt and stooped over the body lying on the stone floor before him. Immediately he opened his bag and produced a stethoscope and began to feel around for a pulse. Our three companions moved fleetingly down the steps with urgency, the two women gathering their skirts as they went.

Why were they even here? They had come looking for their friend but somehow their search had drawn them to this scene of chaos! 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 again, and this time he shook his head.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid this young lady is no longer with us.’

For a second or two the silence hung, drowning every other sound, then, as the shockwave spread throughout the room everyone tried to absorb it. The emotion of sadness took over, the women began to cry uncontrollably and the tall gentleman stood aside, his face stern his eyes glazed as if he could not quite believe what he was seeing. The two young friends could now see the body, and as their eyes relayed the image to their brains they became rooted to the spot. Too shocked to form any sound at all, Eileen tried to speak, her lips parted but her mouth just hung open. The two young women stared first at each other, then at the body in front of them, then their eyes met once more reflecting their look of sheer disbelief.

‘Charlotte!’ cried Eileen after managing a gasp of breath.

‘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 look of 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,’ burst Sarah, ‘It's Charlotte - this is our friend Charlotte!’

The tall gentleman placed his hand on his lips looking first at the body that lay before him, then at his two acquaintances before staring back at the the dead woman.

‘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 five minutes ago we were talking to her in the town park!’

The doctor looked up;

‘I’m afraid you must be mistaken miss,’ he said. ‘This young lady has been dead for well over an hour.’

What happened next became a state of 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 the two young women who were now obviously very distressed. 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. 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 case of mistaken 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 afterwards, in a house a mile and a half away!

But Eileen never completely forgot. When she told the story she never wavered from the certainty of the fact that the body of a young servant girl who had apparently fallen, was that of their friend. She never forgot what the doctor had said about the body having been dead for well over 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 started out on this ghost walk . . . about that ghostly presence, that uneasy sensation or that feeling of being pushed or falling that people sometimes get back in the museum there at that point.”

7. Do You Believe in Ghosts?

Abbey and Amy sat silent and deep in thought as the elderly 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 it must have been some sort of ghostly vision the servant girls saw from that point onwards!” exclaimed Abbey, working it out in her mind.

“Well, that would seem to add up to be the case,” replied their friend, “if, that is, you believe in ghosts!”

Just then the elderly gentleman stood swiftly up, looking at his watch as he did so.

“By my reckoning we ought to be walking along the High Street and taking a right turn at those 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. He pointed to the archway leading into the Cathedral grounds across from where they were sitting. The tour generally leaves the Cathedral precincts by the north gate.”

The trio made their way to where the gentleman had pointed. They reached the junction and headed eastwards back towards the Cathedral. Presently they looked up, and could see the group now emerging and heading 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, somehow it all seemed so relevant. 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,” said Amy, rising to her feet and buttoning up her jacket as the air now contained a decisive chill.

In truth, 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 on the rest of the tour. So, when a short while later the walk came to its 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 as 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 not long 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 city 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 when they were five minutes away. Abbey's dad would generally then come 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 emergency services vehicle siren somewhere quite far away was the only sound that broke the rhythm of the constant rush of distant traffic.

After a few moments of silence it was Abbey who spoke:

“Do you believe that when someone dies their spirit can still be alive in our world?” she asked of her friend.

“What? Like the maid girl, Charlotte, you mean?”

“Yeah, ‘cos she was dead, and in that account from Mr . . . whatever his name was, there was no doubt that she'd died back at the house!”

“I know what you mean” replied her friend. “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?”

“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 for 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. 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!”

8. The Ghost Walks

The girls looked nervously ahead, realising 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 happening 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 from there and get a better look.

It seemed that something serious had occurred, 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 stepped cautiously forward in tandem, as if they were unable to avoid being  drawn closer to the scene.

“We should really just go back to yours,” said Amy nervously.

“Yeah, but better just check what's going on.”

Amy gripped her friend’s arm.

“Come on, let’s go through here.” She pointed, but Abbey’s eyes didn’t move as Amy realised they had both just taken another step closer. The cord was pulling. Amy tried to resist, but the urge of desire to know what was going on was winning over her instinct of fear that told her to remove herself from the uncomfortable situation. They drifted closer, and as they did so  they could both now clearly see that someone was slumped across the park bench. Abbey's eyes widened and her heart  suddenly started to beat a little harder.

“Look!” She moved quickly and urgently forward. Amy followed. They were now right there and part of the scene. Amy could now see what her friend had seen, and as she did so, her heart too seemed to miss 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’s face 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 across 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 not possible. I'm afraid,” he said, “this young lady has been dead for several hours!”

* * * * *

Sometimes the experience of strange events can leave us feeling very insecure. Not always is the outcome clear to us, and when this is the case it can prey heavily on the mind. Those two young ladies were not at peace with themselves after their experiences of that summer evening. I look down and I see that this tale has a sequel:

I can see ahead into their future, not far, but enough to see it isn’t over. Another story unfolds in front of me, and we pick it up just a few weeks later where a girl is gazing out of the window of her room somewhere to the east of the city.

* * * * *

PART 2

1. What Abbey Saw

Wisps of grey floated across the window pane clouding her view with ever increasing furiousity, the wind was getting high. The weather had really turned the last few days. Summer seemed long over, but it had been a good one - a really good one. Now the return to school was the main focus.

Saturday evening: Why is it that Saturdays seem to be far more precious once Autumn comes around? I suppose it’s because in the summer holidays the days are our own and they all just run into each other, we don’t appreciate the freedom, she thought to herself, getting up from her seat and pressing her face closer to the window. That wind was certainly gathering some speed. She looked down and saw the swathes of brown leaves that had collected by the side of the road, by the edges of the shrubbery and, in fact anywhere there was evidence of the slightest change in landscape. Love the Autumn. She almost spoke the words out loud even though there was no one else in the room.

This was a new beginning, a fresh start - a time to let new things kick in. She stepped slightly back from the window catching sight of the wall clock as she did so, it was time to start getting ready. Then, she started to think about him. It was a strange one really, and in truth she did feel a gaping hole deep in the pit of her stomach every time she actually stopped to remind herself that this would actually be her first experience.

What should she wear? This was always a problem for her, she had sort of set her mind on her jeanos, but that was the trouble, first instinct didn’t always work for her when it came to choice of clothes. She picked up the pair of slacks and began to let the soft material slip through her fingers. If only her friend was here, she would know, she was the expert on what to wear for any date. The thought of her friend entering her head stopped her in her tracks as her mind threw her back memories of the summer . . . the holiday in Wales . . . that barbecue we had at Uncle Johnny’s - what a night that was . . . and that evening . . . yes, that very strange evening back in July - when the dead girl just walked! The recall stopped Abbey, rooting her to the spot. She continued unconsciously to caress the pair of trousers she was holding as she stared out of her bedroom window.

It was so strange, of course they had told a few trusted friends but the reception had been, well, muted to say the least. Very few people had believed them, and Amy? Well, Amy had been so freaked out by it all she’d tried to sweep it under the carpet of her mind, almost wanting to forget about it Abbey felt. Her eyes met the clock face once more My word, is that really the time? Abbey rushed to get ready, dark green jeanos it would have to be.

* * * * *

He was due to pick her up just after 7.30, it would still be daylight so a walk seemed like the best thing. That place . . . Orton Mere, down by the river in Orton Longueville, that would be cool.

She was a bright girl - and soon his girl, he wasn’t going to cock this one up. Taking her somewhere cultured but not too heavy would be a smart move for a first date. He turned up the radio in his black Fiat Punto as it rocked down Eastfield road towards Abbey’s house. The repeat of the football results rattled through the tinny speakers. He liked a flutter and the scores had been kind to him today.

“Sweet” he said to himself, turning up the volume some more  as David Bowie’s voice singing about life on another planet came straining across the airwaves. Right now, everything was cool, life was good.

Half an hour or so later the two were together driving down the Oundle road to the south west of the City looking for the ‘cultural’ location Angelo had sited to take his new friend to. They missed the turn and ended up parking in a side road by a school a couple of hundred metres past.

“Never mind.” Said Angelo, trying to be positive about his slight error. “It’s not far . . . just means we get a longer walk.”

They had a brief stroll to the crossing then turned left down the slightly winding road that led them first over the railway track and then immediately across the river. The golf course was on their left with grass banks and shrubbery to the right.

“This is cool.” Said Angelo.

‘Yeah, nice scenery around here.” Replied his friend.

There was a short silence, the evening air had a chill to it and Abbey wobbled her shoulders into shudder in response. He said nothing back in reply and for a second or two Abbey did feel you could have cut that cold atmosphere with a knife blade. She decided to keep talking:

“What are you doing this year then?” (She knew he hadn’t stayed on for year 13, she just needed to make conversation)

“Oh, I’m on this course at the Regional - it’s photography and media.”

“Sounds cool. How long?”

There was a pause.

“Starts next week.”

“No, I mean how long is the course?”

“Well, I’m going to see how it goes.”

There was another pause as Abbey scrutinised his vacant gaze.

“How it goes? Is it a year or a two year course?

“It’s two years, but, like I said, I just want to see how it goes before I really commit. Now, can we talk about something else please?.” The tone of his voice had changed and Abbey was a little taken aback.

They walked down by the river hand in hand again in silence and a little unnaturally.

“Down by the riverside…” sang Ange at the top of his voice.

Abbey’s furrowed eyes became suddenly very serious as she gazed at  him almost in disbelief.

“Only stating how it is babe.” He replied shrugging his shoulders in a slightly exaggurated fashion.

“Yes, well, perhaps just for now, best not . . . eh?”

Their  conversation became very forced as they headed back up the road from the mere, there were several moments of silence to follow. As they approached the crossing Ange was trying to think through how next to impress his newest catch, but he really didn’t need to, because  something was about to happen that would catch them both totally by surprise:

They had walked up the slope back towards the main road - the Oundle road, and would need to press the button at the lights to be able to cross. The light was now almost completely gone, they still had to get back to Ange’s car some 200 metres or so away. It was just after they had crossed the road and turned sharp right that it happened . . . at least, it happened for Abbey:

“I’m just gonna’ see how it goes . . . make sure it’s not a waste of my time . . .”  Ange repeated his intention from the earlier conversation trying to sound cool, as if he was in control of his future. Abbey was fast losing interest as she held his hand more out of courtesy than anything else. They waited for the familiar bleeping and the red light to show, then, as they crossed and turned right to take them back towards where the car was parked Abbey glanced to her left. Through the iron railings of a gate set back into a stone wall she glimpsed something amongst the trees, a girl or young woman - moving towards her  . . . just for about a second . . . then she was gone! Abbey stopped.

“What?” Ange couldn’t read her expression. Why had she stopped? He could see her mouth was hung half open and her pupils were wide, something had startled her. “What was it, a Deer or something?”

“No, no, did you see?” she gasped clinging onto the cold metal rails with both hands as she pushed her face close against them as if to get a better look. “Just up there, a girl in a long blue dress, running towards us!”

His friend had clearly been startled by something, he didn’t doubt her for a minute, but what was she saying? She saw a girl in blue, just for a second . . . a vision? He pursed his lips and took in a deep breath as he grabbed her hand to lead her away feeling a bit like someone not invited to the party. It was just like the time last year when he was the only one of his mates not to see that spectacular shooting star. He never seemed to catch it right - always just missed out. His friend right now claimed to have seen something but he had seen no vision of any such girl.

2. Prized Possession

Abbey turned off the tap and let herself sprawl backwards into the deep warm soapy-sudded water allowing her eyelids to close. Her mind displayed to her those hazy glowing patterns of dark shapes that the brain conjures up in such moments of relaxation. The image that came reminded her of something earlier that day; Where was it? She had searched high and low on all the shelves, asked everyone in the house if they’d seen it, but no joy. She had done what we all do when something is lost - asked herself when she last had it, and the answer had come to her: It was in her room the same day that she first dated Ange. She had been looking at it that very afternoon, surely she had. Then, in her mind’s eye she could see herself flicking through its pages in blurry motion. Had she lent it out since? She couldn’t remember, but if she had done so then why couldn’t she remember?

The images forming in the dark behind her eyes now were yellow . . . yellow wallpaper patterns floated in behind her still closed eyelids. Then, another pattern - gilt-edged, an artistic frame design: She was seeing a script on the title page of a book - brightly coloured.

That was years ago, she thought as she remembered affectionately the book given to her by an old Aunt many years previously as a celebration for winning a poetry competition at junior school. Ah! prized possessions.

She slid deeper into the bath swaying her legs as she did so in order to move the flow of water over her and feel its warmth some more. Then, another image came to her, it was of the friend at primary school she was sitting next to all those years ago when she had won that writing competition. David was his name. I wonder what he’s doing now? (Now her mind was really drifting.) Quiet in class but he used to be a noisy kid when he hit the playground . . . she could see him running up behind someone ready to leap on their back and take them by surprise. Now, he was taller and of athletic build . . . is this him as he is now, still running? He leaps and the other guy turns around sharply: Ange! Abbey pushed herself bolt upright at the shock of her daydream thought. Why does he have to always come popping in there? she asked herself.

She didn’t like to think about him now at all really, those two weeks at the start of September were something she would gladly have written off if she could but the trouble was she hadn’t actually told him. It looks like he’s got the hint that she wasn’t going to carry on going out with him. There had been rumours of trouble - mixing with the wrong crowd. Sam and Chris had dropped hints but hadn’t wanted to upset her by coming out and saying it. They were two friends she could trust. Ditch him. She thought, almost saying the words out aloud. Surely he was on something, the second time they went out together to the pictures there was a smell about him . . . that smell. She knew it too well.

She plucked up the enthusiasm to extend her bath, reaching for the hot tap she slipped down further below the surface. Move on, she thought, assuming her relaxed and extended position once more. Now, where was I? Ah yes, my book!

3. Girls Fall Out

It will be good to meet up with Abbey again, they hadn’t seen each other for ten days or so. That doesn’t ever matter much with us she thought, remembering the endless stream of texts they constantly send each other. That scary film they’d both been watching: My word, we spent more time texting each other while it was on than we did watching it (and that was just yesterday!) Amy was looking forward to seeing her friend, it was always a laugh when the two of them were together. But how was she going to get around to having that slightly ‘difficult’ conversation with her? Well, perhaps it wouldn’t be a conversation - more just a few words really, and after all, this was Abbey we are talking about - not exactly a difficult person to confront. Never-the-less Amy felt it was necessary to talk to her friend. I mean, why did she ever get involved in the first place? It’s so out of character. Amy was concerned.

Half an hour later sitting in Abbey’s kitchen the girls were in full flow. The scary movie had been the opener - the walk round had been the parallel scenario . . . that alley-way just before you get to Abbey’s house - only difference is the hand never actually comes shooting out of the wall, but you so feel it’s going to!

The conversation moved on to horror movies. This was more what Amy was hoping they would get to talk about. You come across people in movies that are just so paranoid, they might have had just one scary experience and then they can’t help thinking everything they do or are about to do is going to be terrifying. She could tell her about that girl in that china doll movie they’d watched together, that was a similar situation. She’d say how it’s alright, when you’re really scared and that everyone acts in strange ways, she could lead into it that way. But, Abbey was trying to change the subject back to the summer - back to that evening in July. Of course it was real, they’d both been there the whole time but how did it happen . . . that girl Charlotte, found dead on the bench? Amy didn’t want to go there. She had spent the three days following turning it over in her head going crazy because she couldn’t find a rational explanation in her own mind. Abbey had been, well, puzzled by it all, but had remained quite calm. Now the boot was on the other foot as her friend seemed so paranoid about . . . well, everything.

“Do you believe in Angels?”

Abbey’s pertinent question was a bit off the beaten track.

“Not the big white things with wings floating through the clouds I don’t.”

Amy knew her friend didn’t mean that. She knew that she meant people, beings or whatever, able to do things to save others. She had seen a TV programme about this and found out afterwards that actually there are loads of stories if you search the web.

“I once read this story about a man who split up from his girlfriend and as a gesture she gave back to him the last thing he had ever given to her -  a red rose. She said she could help him save money on his next girlfriend by recycling it and if she returned it to him he could use it again. She thought he was pathetic and felt sorry for him.”

Amy’s eyes were set too a squint and she jerked her head a little as she sat back in her seat. Where was this one going?

“You see . . . the thing was he started to get very interested in roses. He started to study them and learn about some of the magic properties a rose possesses.” Abbey was talking quickly, leaning towards her friend as she continued, oblivious to the alarming expressions she was being thrown.

“He’d clocked in on some apparent old wives tale involving crushed rose petals being a cure for cancer, and he was able to use it to some affect one day some time later.”

Deluded, Amy thought to herself.  All this stuff has really affected her.

“Well, he tried it out when he found a woman he knew was suffering with cancer of the stomach. He went to see her, rose petals in hand and she got better .”

“Did she take them? What did she do . . . eat them?”

“Dunno” Replied Abbey. “It doesn’t really matter - point is it was supposed to have helped greatly in her recovery.”

It was time to take her friend  in hand, she wasn’t making any sense now, and this was an absolutely typical scenario of what she had come round to address. It wasn’t just the out of character thing about going out with that Ange guy, it was all the rest that goes with it; the stories about ghosts were cool for a while, (until she wouldn’t let them go), then there was the forgetfulness - Abbey had  been so not with it . . . and that book . . . she was going to have to tell her about that book. Rose petals indeed. Amy decided to challenge her.

Abbey smiled, rocking her head gently sideways as she listened to her friends feeble efforts to undermine her rose petal theory.

“But don’t you see . . . it doesn’t matter wether it was ever going to work or not, the point is the woman believed it, tried it  and she got better . . . she recovered from cancer.”

Clearly Abbey had lost the plot. There must have been many other factors that could have been helping her recovery, it might just be that they didn’t know about them. Now, she was seriously implying that the guy had forced her to follow this ludicrous treatment and claimed all the glory for himself when she was fully over it. I never thought Abbey was so gullible!

“He was in the right place doing the right thing - he didn’t know why he took that interest in a rose that his ex gave back to him . . . but he did . . . and someone was saved!”

Amy stared, her lips  remained closed together as she attempted a smile. Boy, was this girl mixed up. Was she really saying anyone who does anything to try and help someone might be an angel because of some old wives tale? I’d like to see that one happen in real life.

This was the moment:

“Listen. Abbey,” she began, “You’re reading too much into everything, you gotta get a grip girl.”

There was an awkward pause as her friend tried to work out what was coming next.

“You have dumped him haven’t you?”

“What?”

“Mr. Big . . . he’s a loser . . . come on Abbey, you know it. You aren’t still with him are you?”

She patted her hands firmly on the table as a cloud engulfed her. Abbey was just a little hurt by her friend’s position of assumed higher knowledge. Amy continued:

“And all this forgetting things, it will stop when your mind is right back on things again.”

“Hang on a minute-”

“And that book . . . Abbey, you lent it out to Sapphie.”

“What?”

“To Sapphie . . . that day outside the Library, I was there . . . remember!”

Abbey didn’t. She stared at the wall trying to remember. The book was special, surely she wouldn’t have just lent it out to anyone. She clenched then uncoiled her fist several times as Amy continued:

“And that ghost girl thing back in the summer that night at the museum . . .”

Abbey waited for her friend to expand on this.

“Well, come on, it couldn’t really happen.”

“Amy, you were there with me. It happened.” Abbey was cross.

This was awkward for Amy, she didn’t mean to upset her friend but she needed hauling back on the straight and narrow. Angels and rose petals . . . well that was a theory and a half! Now she was paranoid about almost anything and everything being the cause of something. Nothing she was saying added up.

“We met a girl and walked over a mile with her, two hours later she was dead where we’d met her. And what about the story that old chap told us? Don’t you think it was all just a little bit strange?”

She had a point, of course it was odd but people that go on these ghost walks are ready to believe anything, how would anyone know if what the old guy said wasn’t just a load of exaggerated bull’. Amy stood up and started pacing around the room. She’d tried to tell her friend as kindly as possible that she was becoming paranoid about the whole ghosty thing and that she should take a break. Abbey had just dug her heels in further and sited a load of other examples she’d looked up which right then hadn’t interested Amy in the slightest. In short, they ended up arguing, and both girls hit their pillow that night in something of an emotional and regretful state of mind.

4. You Shall go to the Ball

Abbey walked alone down towards the town park. She always headed that way if something was really on her mind. Last night was silly - from all sides! Why is Amy getting so worked up about this? She certainly seemed worried. I’ll make it up to her, thought Abbey as she entered the park and looked across to the spot that had united the two of them in mystery and disbelief all those weeks ago.

She started to think about him again, not in the way that she wanted to go back out with him, it was just that she couldn’t get him out of her head. She started humming a tune to those very words as she found herself asking; Who was he? Did anybody know? She thought she could remember someone had said he was adopted - an orphan. Perhaps he has come from another country? But, no, he doesn’t seem in any way foreign. He has probably come from another city. Yes, that’s it; He has come to Peterborough to make a new life for himself. He only joined the school in year 10 and the one thing everybody realised about him very quickly was his obvious athleticism, he was good at football and a very good runner apparently. Was that part of the attraction for Abbey? Maybe he came to the city for some drug deal? Everybody knows he takes the stuff. What if I was part of some sinister plan and going out with me was an important part of it? This was getting ridiculous, surely all this was just like some story she had read about! What was she thinking of. There had been so much research, so much thinking it all over since that event back in the summer that she now became infatuated with any prospect of strange things  past or present possibly becoming true. Abbey stopped and looked around, her expression gave little way. What’s happening to me?

* * * * *

“Saphie.” She called from the other side of the street. “Wait up.” Amy broke into a jog as the girl turned to face her. She needed to at least try and do this for her friend, she knew how important it was to her, she’d had the thing in her possession for years. Maybe if she got it back for her it would put her head straight. Abbey clearly didn’t remember what she had done with it, but Amy remembered something - one thing . . . that she had witnessed her giving it to the girl a few weeks back. As Amy caught her breath the girl stood hands on hips, lips together, eyes reluctant to make contact. Who was this chav running up like a lap dog and what did she want?

* * * * *

Some hours later Amy found herself sitting alone at home thinking. It hadn’t been a very productive day so far, her earlier plan had been crushed and she couldn’t help but feel some resentment towards the individual. Then, there was a vibrating in her back pocket that made her jump.  What the text from her friend Sam said was interesting enough for her to grab her jacket and go and see her right away.

“We knew they were doing it in October because of all that stuff back in the summer,” began Sam, “but in half term? And on the 31st? And, they’ve moved it!”

Amy remembered only too well the weeks leading up to the school Prom - the annual event for years 11,12 and 13 that was supposed to have taken place at the end of summer term . . . how could she forget. A photographer had been ordered to take all the pictures in an interesting nearby location before limousines, old classic cars and  even in one case a Rolls Royce were due to converge there to then deliver the Ladies and Gents to a nearby hotel for the evening. The only trouble was the place they had selected was the town park . . . and there had been a suspicious death in the Park. Rumours, pranks in bad taste and general scare mongering had led the school teaching staff charged with organising it to postpone and relocate the event.

“Where did you hear all this?” Asked Amy.

“It was up on the school website yesterday, loads of people know already. Hey, you know where it has been moved to . . . that posh place the other side of town - out towards Orton.”

Amy smiled but didn’t speak, for a moment her mind now too went back to that summer evening that was apparently real enough to cause all this commotion.

“Anyway,” continued her friend, “you were into all that ghost stuff along with your friend Abbey weren’t you? Well, this might be cool . . . remember what night it’s on . . . and there are all sorts of stories.”

“Stories?” Amy turned her head, her eyes widened slightly as she wondered to herself wether she really wanted to hear what her friend might be about to tell her.

* * * * *

It was the last day of October and as Abbey set about getting ready for the evening she couldn’t help but think about the Ghost walk that was happening in Peterborough museum by candlelight around about now. They had talked about it but neither her or Amy had really committed to attending. Now, they both had to be somewhere else. The taxi had been booked, (they weren’t bothered about all the posh travel arrangements some girls were making), and it was time to get that frock on.  Abbey had taken her cup of tea up to her bedroom, she always seemed to be in such a rush just lately, never quite finishing one thing before she started on another. It was almost as if she wasn’t totally in control of her actions at times. Now, which shoes? She tugged open the wardrobe door, it wouldn’t open completely as a pile of books she had stacked there earlier while turning her room upside down was blocking the way. When the door jarred against the books taking her by surprise it caused her to loose her balance slightly as she couldn’t place her foot where she had anticipated. She jolted backwards brushing the table leg just enough for her cup of tea to wobble vigorously and spill its contents over the edge of the cup. No reactions would have been quick enough to prevent spillage onto the dress that was laid out neatly on the table in that rather cramped little room. Abbey held it up after having immediately tried wiping it with a tissue. The deep cerise satin now displayed a rich shade of tan that extended 3 or 4cm just below the waist line. Now what was she going to do?

Nothing seemed to be going for her. Why me? Why does this stuff always happen to me? She thought to herself as she smarted her eyes, quickly opening and closing them in an effort to try and disperse the droplets they were now exuding before they took hold.

The table vibrated and Abbey clicked to read the text. It was Amy asking her how long until she would be ready. Abbey started to return the text, then stopped to instead ring her friend and tell her of the latest trauma. As so often happens in these situations, when all is lost and it seems there is no way out someone comes up with a plan. Maybe it is because that plan is the only thing you have, or maybe it is just because when desperate you and everyone around tries a little harder to find a solution. Whatever, so often it seems that things sort themselves out for the better. That is what happened to Abbey one the next twenty minutes. Amy remembered that her sister still had her prom dress, she was the same size as Abbey. She was able to get hold of her sister who was just about to arrive home anyway, they dug out the dress and took it round to Abbey’s house. Forty minutes later, and just a little past the planned time, the two were able to order that taxi to the other side of town.

“You shall go the ball Cinderella.”

Abbey smiled back at her friend - the first one she’d managed all

5. Amy's Dilemma

A dull thud, thud, was the first thing they heard, (the baseline always stands the test of distance.) As they moved closer to the building, their breath condensing into a mild mist in the cold evening air, they could hear the sound of voices - chatter, laughter . . .  lots of them were already here. The adrenalin started to flow, the hands went up to the hairlines more than once as the small group entered the auditorium. He was in front, and right now he felt good. Where was she? Not that he would do anything so early in the proceedings but he needed to know where she was, who she was with, and what her every next move was going to be. She wasn’t going to get away with it tonight, when he last spoke to her she had been absolutely hysterical about the prospect of tonight . . .  well, she had certainly sounded excited. He stood legs astride, arms held slightly away from his body scanning the room until he saw her, there - in the corner with her friends. Now he thought  Do I get them off the scene or take the plunge and go over?  She caught his eye. Why have the other guys moved away? His mates had decided to leave him to it, less confident of success with this one than was he!

For the two friends it was the bright lights that hit them first. They had been in far too much of a rush to appreciate the onset of the music, or to engulf themselves in any form of ceremonious entrance, they just wanted to get there. The strobe lighting bounced around from wall to wall, and from pillar to pillar of the old ancient building.

“Does my dress look alright?” It was totally different in colour and style to the one Abbey had intended to wear, and with the the electronic lighting effects bothering her she felt she needed to air her concerns.

“It’s fine” Shouted her friend trying to be heard above the music.

“What?”“I said it’s fine . . . you look great . . .really you do.”

The girls soon met their peers and the group spent the next hour chatting, drinking, and occasionally dancing. But not Abbey. She was slightly unnerved from the minute she saw him. It was silly really, why wouldn’t he be there? But all the same, she felt a little strange about it all. If this prom had happened 6 weeks ago it would have been me he was taking to it. For the next few minutes Abbey observed him, her friends were oblivious to it all, but what she saw was starting to become uncomfortable:

Ange was close to the girl - too close, his demeanour was slightly aggressive to say the least and her body language was saying ‘get off my stage’. What was it about him? Why can’t he just have a girlfriend? Abbey looked across at Amy and her other friends dancing away. Suddenly the mood then changed; Ange raised his voice, shouting something about how she had been lying to him, a few people looked around but no one was really taking any notice. Abbey straightened her back, sitting upright as she sat slightly forward on her seat. Now, he was animated and she was raising her voice as well. Another girl in a pale blue dress was holding her hand, it seemed to Abbey as if she was trying to comfort her friend. His arms were raised as he paced first away from her then right back up close. Abbey could hear some of the words now, My God, he’s dumped her . . or has she dumped him? Abbey could see that the girl was now crying, she also now allowed herself to register who she was . . . it was Saphie. Saphie was her unfortunate successor, but right now it was Ange who was giving her concern. He doesn’t know what he is doing, he hasn’t got anyone! She was feeling some genuine sympathy for the guy she had dated a few weeks back.

Right then the girls finished their dance and reassembled around the table. Amy followed the gaze of her friend. Abbey’s eyes told a story, it was one of regret. As if she was actually feeling sorry for the guy. Surely she was over it, there was no point in getting involved now.

“What?” Amy was grabbing Abbey by the shoulders, “Don’t even think about him, it’s not worth it. He’s made his bed, now let him lie in it.” Her friend was defiant. The other girls stood around the table looking on at what might unfold across the room. The strobe lights blended the colours of their dresses, mauves, pinks and blues, into one multicoloured clan of opposition as they watched the ugly scene unfold.  Saphie, although a bit of a character, was one of their own, and, frankly, this guy was being an idiot. Amy clocked her friend’s incessant stare.

“Come on, don’t get involved. Leave them to it.”

“No, wait.” Replied Abbey.

At that moment it all kicked off:

“Well I’m done then” He screamed. She was shouting something back at him and a couple of the teaching staff from the school who were close by came over and attempted to restrain Ange who was now acting in an aggressive manner.

But this is how he was. This is all he knows. He doesn’t have role models. No wonder he got himself mixed up in all that stuff! And Saphie . . . she knows what she is doing, she’s not really hurt, she’s just messing with him . . . got him wound round her little finger - messing with his head.

Amy threw her friend a look of sheer disdain, she could read her mind.

"You can't possibly be feeling sorry for him he was horrible to you" she said. Abbey didn't reply.

Now, Amy had a mental battle on her hands, the last thing she wanted was to go against Abbey again, but this put her in a difficult position, Saphie was a sort of friend as well, she was hurt too, but her best friend seemed to be siding with him. How could she?

The member of staff who had gone over to help was attempting to gently pull Ange away but he got himself free and then shouted out something that nobody present could ignore

"I'll do it Saphie, I mean it. This is on your head. I’ve given you a chance to make it right and all you do is mess it up. Well, I’m done. You don’t know and you never will. I'm going down there right now . . . and I'm going right in.”

Before anyone had time to react he grabbed the small bag he had brought with him and stormed out. His mates were shouting and laughing after him, nobody took it seriously, nobody that is except Abbey. There was something about the way he had said those words, something about his actions that made her think My God he means it! The rest of the room were either shouting or laughing at him, nobody was making a move to stop him. Abbey rose to her feet.

"Where are you going?" screamed her friend, but she was already moving out of the hall and into the corridor.

"Abbey . . . don't. Come back."

She wasn't listening.

Now what do I do? Amy stood up and started to move towards the edge of the hall, she looked across at the group, some of them looked at her as if to say you're not going after her are you? It was as if she couldn't move, for a moment she was unable to make a decision. What would Amy do now?

6. The Girl in the Blue Dress

Across the car park, it’s that way - through those trees. He’d show them, they’d had their chance with him and he had  tried . . . God he’d tried. She shouldn’t have said that, she was out of order 'Not tonight Angelo, I’ve got one headache I don’t need another go and play with your mates . . . or even yourself.' The words hurt him badly, each syllable was like another blade piercing his body, the accompanying laughter just added salt to the wound. Inside he was screaming, tearing himself apart. The trees rushed past him on either side as he sobbed uncontrollably. He was running now and quite fast too, through a wooded area down towards the main road, but he wasn’t thinking about the route, the river was somewhere not too far in front of him, soon it would be over. He wouldn’t even stop, he knew he could run. For just that moment a glimmer of pride returned to his troubled mind, Glorious he thought to himself, It will be memorable, no hovering around the edge. They don’t believe I actually mean it. He picked up the pace of his run.

Hoisting her dress up above her ankles when she could Abbey was determined to follow him out into the night. Her breath was already short and her heart was almost bursting from her chest as she knew she had to stop him - no one else would. Where did he go? That must be him in the distance heading into the woods. Boy, could he run.

Nobody cared, nobody ever appreciated what he did. He remembered Abbey, she was alright, she hadn’t really upset him but Saphie, well she was going to pay. I even tried to get really interested in stuff she liked. He clasped the strap bag close to his side holding on to this thought as he plundered on through the woodland, that was going with him. What’s the point? What was ever the point? He lost his footing in the rough grass and stumbled to the floor, but now, as he looked up he could see street lights through the gap ahead. He was coming to the main road. He got up and resumed his run, but what was that ahead? A gate - a large one. To the left he could see that there was a stone wall and further to the left of that, a wooden fence. That would be his spot. Now he could hear sounds, the hum of the traffic on the Oundle road getting gradually louder, the wind stirring, and the few leaves left on the towering trees rustled as the light became brighter. But there was another noise . . . was someone calling out? A female voice perhaps . . . or was that just the wind?

Abbey could run no more, the athletic figure now silhouetted against the light radiating from the street lamps must have been about 60 metres in front of her. She stopped, and looked pitifully down at her dress now laden with moisture at the hem. What was she doing? Surely now he would have to stop, but the striking figure carried on in full flow, like a cartoon graphic where anything is possible she suddenly realised he was going to try and vault the fence in one!

What happened next took place in just a few precious seconds. Abbey screamed out but Ange had already launched himself. As he struggled to balance on the top of the fence he heard the scream and looked back, and now he saw her. This time he could see the girl in the blue dress. The vision startled him and he fell forwards, staggering first onto the pathway and then out onto the edge of the road. An oncoming car swerved violently and the sound of it’s horn could be heard reverberating back through the woods. Importantly that noise signified something else - it was to be the end of current circumstances for Ange. From this moment onwards things would get better. The driver got out and picked up the broken shaking teenager. He followed his gaze as he looked back at the figure in a blue dress standing in the dark by the trees. Abbey quickly stepped further back, somehow right now, seeing that Ange had been stopped in his tracks, she didn’t want to be seen.

7. Ghosts Are Us

Another man arrived at the road junction by the crossing where Ange’s futile journey had come to an end. After a few words with the car driver Ange was led carefully away to the other man’s car. One of his mates had come down to the bottom of the road in the car with the member of staff.

Meanwhile, Amy couldn’t believe what was unfolding. It seemed to her quite surreal that she was out in the dark going into a spooky woods looking for her friend  . . . and on this night of all nights! For a minute she thought back to the loose plan they had made to go on the halloween walk at the museum in town: Looks like we’re part of our own scary story right here, right now. Where was she? Amy called out, there was no reply. Her lilac dress might be ruined, if her mum ever found out what she had been up to tonight then that would be it, she’d most probably disown her, but she was doing this for Abbey. Christ knows what the others were thinking, the looks on their faces told her they thought she was probably as stupid as her friend, but she couldn’t leave her to do this alone whatever the reason. Amy scrambled on looking up into the dark abyss as an owl hooted distracting her momentarily. Her foot brushed against something, stooping down to see what it was she felt the soft fabric, it was a bag, a small bag with a strap. Amy opened it briefly rummaging though its contents before picking it up and continuing to call for her friend.

“Abbey, Abbey.”

“Here.” The soft reply was from nearby

“There you are. I was getting worried. What on earth has happened?”

“Have they gone?” Abbey stepped out from the trees, the faint light from the road ahead casting just the merest streak of colour across her faintly blue dress.

They walked back through the trees towards the Ramblewood Inn together, talking about Ange and all his problems as they went. As they came closer to the welcoming light of the building they felt like lost explorers returning from an expedition.

“It certainly feels like we’ve been on some mission tonight.” Abbey declared. “What’s that?” Entering the area of enhanced light she could now see what her friend was holding.

“I picked it up down the way there.” Amy pointed “I reckon it’s his. I’m sure he arrived with a bag when we first set eyes on him this evening. Wonder if there is any I.D.?” She unzipped the top and put her hand inside. There was a folded wad of paper with writing on it, and not much else, just a couple of books. Amy pulled out the first one: “The Great Gatsby” she read aloud.

“Ha! Suitable for him,” added Abbey.

“And what’s this?”

Abbey’s eyes widened as she carefully reclaimed the article from Amy’s grasp. Amy didn’t need to say anything, she knew.

“Saphie  borrowed it. I had been trying to get it back for you but she wasn’t playing ball, now we know why.” Abbey’s eyes were glazed and her expression vacant. It was like the words were going in but not registering.

I’m going to have to spell it out for her. So Amy explained to her exhausted friend how most probably he had borrowed the book from Saphie to try and get on her page . . . in an effort to impress her. Amy herself had tried to get the book back, probably he was bringing it back to return to her tonight.

“I think it went missing the day I went out with him . . . but it was in my room in the morning”

“It’s been on a journey Abbey, it was the next day Saphie asked you for it, I’m sure. He never knew it was yours.”

The two girls sat on a bench outside the entrance to the Ramblewood Inn. They cut a pathetic image; blue and mauve dresses soiled by the autumnal evening damp acquired from their expedition through the woods. Some of the others threw them strange looks but nobody came over to see them, no one had anything to say. The two friends didn’t now care.

* * * * *

“So you got it back - your prized possession,” said Amy.

Abbey paused before responding.

“Oh I don’t know about it really meaning that much to me in the grand scale of things, it was years ago it was given to me.”

There was another break in the conversation as the two girls stood facing each other at the entrance to the town park. It was now the evening after the night before, the weather was kind and they once more found themselves out walking and talking. It had been so strange what had happened the last few months but at last it felt to both of them that for now at least all was resolved.

“Time is a funny thing,” Abbey said keen to walk and keep moving, “We’ve been here so many times, but not since that evening, yet, it seems like only yesterday.”  They came to the bench, Abbey waved her arm inviting her friend to join her in sitting.

“Dare we?”

Both girls surveyed their surroundings with a nervous glance before taking their seat.

Amy then said some things to her friend that Abbey would never forget:

“You know what, you were right what you said about strange things having their purpose in life. That book of yours has been on a journey and I reckon it was for a reason. You see, I’ve been thinking the last few days. I thought you’d lost it. I was worried, lots of us were, but then I realised. They are all around us.”

Abbey squinted her eyes, not quite getting where her friend was going with this.

“I reckon it all started for us back in the summer, right here on that night.” The bench vibrated as Amy patted it.  “I’ll be honest Abbey, I just wanted to forget that evening . . I mean . . . come on . . . but then I guess now it all makes some sense.

They are all around us, ghosts I mean, strange things, visions . . . Angels, call them what you like. It’s just that we are so blind, we always look for something more, for some explanation when all we really have to do is open our eyes. That story you told me about the rose petals, I didn’t get it at first, but it was all about belief . . . one thing being able to affect another, just because the people involved really believed in it. That’s real, and I’ll tell you what else is a real fact . . . your ‘prized possession’ is yourself Abbey. You just proved it.”

Abbey said nothing but her smile told her friend she understood what she was hearing.

“You became the angel, you appeared to him when he needed it most, because you believed in him. I guess you didn’t know but it had to happen. That’s so cool. What has happened the last few weeks is real, I know that now, I’ll never doubt you again . . . I promise.”

For a few seconds neither girl spoke.

“Now,” continued Amy, rising abruptly from the bench, “I’ve got a very special possession of my own I want to show you, come on.”

“What is it?”

“Scary movie 5. Your place or mine?”

The girls headed off to Amy’s for a quiet night in.

* * * * *

Fact or Fiction?

‘The Ghost walks’. Well, it would appear 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'. Weeks later, they are drawn towards a point in the future that one of them saw as a vision - a ghost of herself ? There is an angelic purpose to why this 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 format. However, on occasions they run special events. All the scenarios described in the story concerning these walks 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 distinctly called when in the building.

All references to named places in the city and surrounding area, past or present are correct.

*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.

It's Fiction:

The story told by the 'Elderly gentleman' is fictional although all details of it's setting are authentic.

*2 All characters are fictional and any perceived direct representation of people alive or that have lived is purely unintentional.

*2  The main characters of Abbey and Amy are loosely based upon two real people - the Author’s daughter and friend.

* * * * *

About The Author

Tom Goymour was born and raised in Cambridgeshire UK. and has lived in Peterborough for over forty years. He writes mainly in the mystery and suspense genre about what he sees, thinks, and instinctively feels.

Being part of a large family has given him many powerful experiences from which to draw inspiration. He is an exponent of art and design and a composer of piano music, but tries hard not to inflict any of this on others!

Empowered by his many, and sometimes strange experiences, he has found writing to be his voice-piece. He is a meticulous studier of life, and his stories nearly always contain a twist or a strong moral message that hits home hard . . . designed to make the reader think.

* * * * *

Like what you’ve read? Get the other books available in this series.

www.tomgoymour.com

Table of Contents

Unnamed

PART 1

1. The Meet in the Park

2. A Girl called Charlie

3. Spooked

4. The Elderly Gentleman

5. A Girl called Charlotte

6. A Gentleman does his Best

7. Do You Believe in Ghosts?

8. The Ghost Walks

PART 2

1. What Abbey Saw

2. Prized Possession

3. Girls Fall Out

4. You Shall go to the Ball

5. Amy's Dilemma

6. The Girl in the Blue Dress

7. Ghosts Are Us

Fact or Fiction?

About The Autho