Ghosts (standard:Ghost stories, 2363 words)
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: Jul 25 2004	Views/Reads: 4062/2643	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
'Behave myself?' exclaimed Bosworth, indignantly. 'I'm a ghost! I'm supposed to get up to mischief.'

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


'Jolly good,' said the male guest. 

'Oh, Gerald!' exclaimed Maureen, his wife of only six hours and thirteen
minutes.  'You didn't tell me we'd be in the Honeymoon Suite.'  She 
made to follow the porter but was stopped by her husband. 

'Hold on here a moment, Darling.'  Gerald wrapped an arm around his
bride's waist, took a coin from his pocket, and handed it to Arthur as 
he came back out of the room. 

'Oh, thank you, sir.  If you need anything, just ask.  I'm afraid the
central heating is on the blink at the moment, so if you want a fire, 
just let me know...  Oh, there's one other thing, err...  Oh, it's 
nothing, sir... madam.  I hope you enjoy your stay.'  Arthur gave the 
couple his best smile and walked off along the corridor. 

'What are we holding on for, Gerald?' asked Maureen. 

'This!'  Gerald stooped and, sweeping Maureen off her feet, he carried
her into the room. 

'Oh, Gerald, you are romantic.'  Maureen wrapped her arms around
Gerald's neck, closed her eyes, and gave him a long and lingering kiss, 
before screaming with laughter as he dropped her onto the bed and 
jumped on top of her. 

'Gerald darling, I think you better close the door first.' She managed
to say between giggles.  'Oh, Gerald!  Look, it's a four-poster bed!  
Oh.... Oh, Gerald...  I think it's a five-poster...  You better get 
that door closed before somebody comes...  Oh, Gerald!' 

*** 

'Do you ever miss eating, Bell?' 

Bella and Bosworth were up on the roof of the west wing, each leaning
between a gap in the mock battlement wall, and watching the sunset. 

'No, not really.  Why?' 

'Well I do.  Sometimes.'  Bosworth leaned out and watched as an elderly
couple in evening dress strolled, arm in arm, around the building.  
'Before we died, I didn't know that ghosts never got to eat anything... 
I think I miss your Yorkshire puddings the most.' 

'Do you, Love?' 

'Aye...  and tripe.  I miss tripe and onions.  And bread and dripping. 
And a pint of best bitter.  And...' 

'Oh, shut up.  There's no point going on about what you can't have
anymore.  We're lucky to be here.  Just imagine having to haunt a 
dungeon or something.  At least we have this beautiful hotel to roam 
around in, and this lovely view from the roof.' 

'Lucky to be here?  Bosworth stepped back from the wall and stared at
Bella's ample backside.  'But we're bloody dead, Bell!' 

'Mind your language!' Bella scolded, as she turned to face her
companion.  'And whose fault is it we're dead anyway?' 

'Oh, don't start that again.'  Bosworth turned back to his gap in the
wall and watched as the sun dipped below the horizon.  'The fire wasn't 
my fault.' 

'It was your pipe that started it...  That and the rum that sent you off
to sleep...  Oh... look at the red sky.  It should be a nice day 
tomorrow.' 

'You had some rum, as well.  An, anyway, I reckon it were a log rolled
out of the hearth, what started the fire.  An if I hadn't pulled you 
out of bed and jumped out of the window with you, we'd have been burned 
alive.' 

'Instead of falling thirty feet and being dashed all over the paving,
you mean?' 

'Well at least it was quick.'  Bosworth sprang up onto the top of the
battlements and began to do an imaginary high-wire act, tilting left 
and right and windmilling his arms as though he was in danger of 
falling. 

'We should never have been in that room in the first place,' said Bella,
looking up at her clowning companion.  'We were supposed to be 
caretakers, not guests.' 

'Well... we had to make the best of things.  There was a war on.  We
could have been bombed by the Luftwaffe at any moment...  If I'd have 
been ten years younger, I'd have been getting ready to go over to 
France again, to do my bit.'  Bosworth shouldered an imaginary riffle 
and began to march up and down the wall, ignoring the gaps. 

'Yes, I can imagine what bits you'd have been doing.' 

'Bella darling, whatever do you mean?'  Bosworth stopped marching and
resumed his high-wire act. 

'Don't darling me, you old lech.'  Bella clicked her fingers and
disappeared. 

'Hey, wait for me!'  Bosworth stopped his circus act and stood clicking
his fingers.  'How does she do that?' 

*** 

'It's a long way to that bathroom.'  Gerald closed the bedroom door and
slipped off his dressing gown, then crossed the room and switched off 
his bedside lamp, before climbing back into bed with Maureen.  'And 
it's dammed cold out there.' 

'I know, and it's cold in here too.  Perhaps we should have asked for
the fire to be lit.  I wish I'd brought my thicker nightie.'  Maureen 
snuggled closer to her new husband. 

'I think this nightie's thick enough, Darling.' 

'Hey, your hands are cold!' 

'Sorry, Darling.  But you do have nice hand-warmers.' 

'Oh, Gerald, you are a one...  Oh, Gerald!  Your feet are freezing! 
Where have you had them?' 

'Sorry, Darling; I forgot to bring my slippers.' 

'What time is it?'  Maureen yawned and rotated in Gerald's arms. 

'I don't know.  About one o'clock, I think.'  Gerald nestled closer to
his bride and held her tight. 

'We're just like two spoons, aren't we Gerald?' 

'Spoons?' 

'Like two spoons in the cutlery tray...  snuggled together.' 

'Oh...  I see what you mean.'  Gerald yawned. 

Maureen yawned again.  'That was a lovely dinner we had, and you looked
so smart in your dinner jacket.' 

'And you looked absolutely beautiful, Darling.'  Gerald yawned again,
and relaxed his hold on Maureen. 

'Oh, thank you, Darling.'  There was a pause before Maureen spoke again.
'Gerald?' 

'Umm?' Gerald was beginning to drift off to sleep. 

Maureen was close to sleep too, but managed to whisper, 'Do you love me,
Gerald?' 

'Oh, yes, Darling,' came the whispered reply. 

'How much do you love me?' 

'As much as all the tea in China, and as much as all the spiders in this
bed.' 

'Spiders?'  Maureen was almost asleep, but not quite. 

'Yes, spiders...  There are lots of spiders.' 

'Oh, Gerald, stop it; that tickles.  And stop pretending to snore... 
Gerald!' 

'What?'  Gerald woke up with a start.  'Did you say something?' 

'I said, stop tickling my leg, Gerald.  It's time we got some sleep.' 

'I wasn't tickling your leg, Darling.  But you're right; it is time we
got some sleep.'  Gerald rolled over and fluffed his pillow and yawned 
again.  'Goodnight, Darling.' 

'Night-night, Gerald,' replied Maureen. 

'Night-night, spiders,' whispered Bosworth, as he tickled Maureen's leg
again. 

Maureen screamed and sat up in bed.  'What was that?' 

'What?' exclaimed Gerald. 

'Something was crawling up my leg.' 

'You must have imagined it.' 

'I didn't.  And why do you keep talking about spiders?' 

'Spiders?  I wasn't talking about spiders.  That was you.'  Gerald
reached towards the bedside light and switched it on, but as soon as he 
did so, the bulb went out with a ping; but not before he'd caught a 
glimpse of an old woman in a nightgown, standing near the door. 

'Bloody hell!' 

'What's the matter, Gerald?' 

'There's somebody in the room!  Who's there?  Put your lamp on,
Maureen.' 

Maureen reached for the lamp at her side of the bed and switched it on,
and the two of them looked around the room, but there was no one there. 


'It must have been my dressing gown.'  Gerald sounded relieved.  His
dressing gown was hanging on a hook on the back of the door.  'I could 
have sworn it was a woman though.  In a white nightie.' 

Maureen lifted the sheet and blanket at her side of the bed and shivered
as she looked underneath.  'And I could have sworn that something was 
crawling up my leg.  It was just you tickling me, wasn't it, Gerald?' 

'No, you must have imagined it.  It's been a long day.  We must both be
imagining things.  Turn your light out and we'll get some sleep.' 

Maureen turned off the lamp and the two of them snuggled together again.


'Night-night,' whispered Maureen. 

'Night-night, Darling,' whispered Gerald. 

'Mind the bugs don't bite,' whispered Bosworth, as he slid down from the
top of the four-poster bed, ready for the grand finale. 

'Don't be silly, Gerald.' 

'What do you mean, don't be silly?'  Gerald rolled over in bed, turning
his back to Maureen and beginning to get a little annoyed. 

'Trying to frighten me again.'  Maureen turned her back to Gerald and
pulled the sheet and blankets up to her chin.  'I wish they'd get the 
heating fixed.  It's freezing in here.  And you feel like ice.' 

'So do you,' replied Gerald. 

'Gerald?' 

'Now what, Maureen?'  Now Gerald really was getting annoyed. 

'What's that noise, and that light, over there?' 

'What noise?  What light?' 

'That crackling noise.  It's coming from over there.  Where the
fireplace is.' 

Gerald could hear the noise too, and it was getting louder.  And he
could see a flickering light reflected on the bedroom wall.  He lifted 
his head and looked over towards the fireplace.  The fire was lit, and 
there was an old man, asleep in the chair beside the fire, with a pipe 
in one hand and a bottle in the other. 

'Bloody hell!  There is someone in the room!'  Gerald turned to look at
Maureen, just as she was turning to look at him. 

'Arrggghh!' They both screamed and sprang out of bed as they saw, in the
firelight, the ghostly figure of an old woman, lying between them.  
Gerald sprang so high he banged his head on the crossbeam of the 
four-poster bed, almost knocking himself unconscious, whilst Maureen 
simply fainted. 

'Darling!' exclaimed Gerald, as, ignoring the intruders, he staggered
around the bed to where Maureen lay on the floor.  As he bent over her, 
there was a sound from near the fireplace, as something fell and 
smashed, and then suddenly the whole of that side of the room was in 
flames.  Gerald lifted his bride and backed into the corner of the 
room, feeling the heat from the fire and smelling the smoke.  And he 
watched in horror as the old man leapt out of the flames, ran over to 
the bed, took the old woman in his arms and carried her over to the 
closed window and, inexplicably, jumped straight through it.  Then 
suddenly the room was in darkness.  There was no fire.  No crackling 
flames.  No smell of smoke.  Just a knock on the door. 

'Is everything alright, Sir?'  It was Arthur, the porter.  'I though I
heard a scream.' 

*** 

'Oh dear,' said Bella, as she and Bosworth looked out of the window. 
Below them, Gerald and Maureen had just climbed into a taxi.  'There 
goes another honeymoon couple...  I don't really like this haunting 
business; it seems very unkind.' 

'Well,' said Bosworth.  'At least we can have our room back.' 


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