Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 18
Samantha confronts the ghosts who have been following her.
But first, how about a very short story—free to all subscribers! This bit of flash fiction was an assignment in a writer’s group.
Not What You Think
I stand in a dark alley gazing at a shimmering gold and silver amorphous blob floating in the air. I surmise it must be an alien. I greet it by holding up my hand in a Vulcan greeting, with the ring finger and pinkie together and pulled away from the forefinger and middle finger. I grin. “Nah-noo, nah-noo!”
I watch the shimmering object for any changes in its appearance. The only difference is a hint of gray spots, as if someone dropped a pinch of a spice. I try a different tactic: I bow gracefully, pulling off my stocking cap and swinging my right arm dramatically away. I stay in a bowed position until I feel a twinge in my lower back, so I place my left hand on the base of my spine and slowly raise my head, until I stand straight.
The blob looks grayer now, and close to the top now hovers a translucent gray face. As I watch, a pair of see-through arms end with hands raised.
Gradually an entire human form, almost entirely gray but for tiny swirling specks of gold and silver, stands before me. The feet hang a foot above the ground, but they slowly and silently sink until the glowing figure stands on the pavement. I see a blue dumpster through the pellucid body.
I finally recognize the apparition. “Uncle Gilbert?”
“Yes, I am your uncle,” the ghost says.
***
Now back to our regularly broadcast show….
Chapter 1 of Hauntings of Claverton Castle:
Chapter 17:
https://open.substack.com/pub/whimsicalwords/p/hauntings-of-claverton-castle-chapter-3ad?r=5m2is&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 18
The specter began as a pale gray—almost white—cloud, like mist floating down from the ceiling. As it hovered in midair, it began to initiate a more human-like outline, though still misty and white. Samantha realized this was a child.
She sensed the specter was a little girl of eight years old, the same age Samantha was when her parents died in a carriage accident. A lump formed in Samantha’s throat. She shook her head, to push the grief away and focus on the ghost.
The misty figure whispered something. Chills crawled down Samantha’s back at the subtle yet distinct sound. The girl ghost repeated herself before Samantha comprehended her words.
“My name is Gertrude. Do not believe everything Basil Prendregast says about our family.”
Samantha’s heart fluttered in panic. “Basil Prendregast? Is ‘Basil’ Mr. Prendregast’s name?”
“That is correct.”
Samantha whispered, “Very well, I shall take what he says with a grain of salt.” She feared that if her voice rose, the phantom would vanish.
“Basil won’t tell you enough about… Uncle Jonathan, who was monstrous. Basil will not admit that our family is not perfect. He won’t tell you what our uncle did. It was unspeakable what he did to me. He kept doing it, and nobody stopped him. That is why I killed myself.”
Samantha gasped. The apparition vanished before her. Rather than fading slowly, Gertrude transitioned from standing before Samantha to nothing. Samantha peered at the ceiling and observed that the other spirits, which had continued floating in the background whilst she spoke with Gertrude, had vanished.
Raising the candelabra, Samantha peered in the gloom and silence of the hallway. She no longer shivered with cold; she neither heard, smelled, nor saw any phantoms. She blinked tears from her eyes and felt disappointed that Gertrude did not stay longer.
Samantha drifted down the corridor with her thoughts on the child ghost. She mentally repeated what the phantom had said. Could it be true? Did Mr. Prendregast have a sister who was mistreated so horribly that she committed suicide as a child? What could this uncle have done? Samantha remembered Uncle Bradford’s fisticuffs and shuddered as she reached her door. She mentally repeated the name: Gertrude. It was almost certainly in Mr. Prendregast’s genealogy book.
In her bedchamber, Samantha resisted the temptation to run to her bed and burrow under the covers. With a glance at the candelabra she still held, she reflected that she did not wish to accidentally set the house on fire merely because she was… spooked.
Shaking and imagining that strange entities glided silently behind her, Samantha carried the candelabra to the dressing-room, crossed to the dressing table, and sank onto the bench. Setting down the candelabra, she resolved to take down her pinned hair and braid it neatly before hiding under the covers. She didn’t wish to rest her head on a pillow with hairpins poking her scalp.
Sure enough, as she began unwinding her long braid and pulling out pins, she saw the veiled ghost’s reflection in the looking-glass. With a nervous flutter in her heart, Samantha kept her eyes steadily on the specter.
The ghost appeared more substantial than previously. Pulling out two more hairpins, Samantha wondered if the veiled figure was gradually solidifying. Gulping, she recalled the dream in which the apparition climbed out of the looking-glass.
Samantha distinguished the outline of the ghost’s facial features. Hair stood up on the back of her neck. She thought back… certainly, she had not seen this previously. The apparition had high cheekbones and a sharp nose beneath that veil. Samantha leaned forward, attempting to distinguish the features more. She observed a resemblance to Harriet.
Wondering how the ghost was related to Harriet, Samantha quickly unbraided her wavy taupe hair. It reached slightly past her waist. She hastily began parting it down the center. Gently laying down her hairbrush, Samantha leaned forward until her high, pale forehead nearly touched the glass.
The veiled figure remained still. Peering carefully, Samantha didn’t see the ghost blink or stir. Samantha reached out and touched the glass. The tip of her index finger sank into the surface. Samantha gasped and pulled her finger out of the looking-glass. She blinked and no longer saw the apparition.
Peering at the glass, Samantha lifted her finger again and began moving it slowly toward the glass. She paused, fearing her finger might become trapped. Taking a deep breath, she touched the glass; it was solid and cold.
She hastily rose from her bench and swiveled to see where the ghost should have stood each night, judging by the reflection. She glanced back at the looking-glass, but the specter had not returned. Before Samantha had sat down to the dressing-table, she had felt eeriness directly behind her, as though a spirit was sneaking up and following her. But that feeling was completely gone. She felt genuinely alone in the room.
Taking a deep breath, Samantha braided the left half of her hair, so the braid came over her shoulder. She walked toward the bedroom and quietly clicked the door shut. She crossed the room quickly, placed the candelabra on the bedside table, and climbed into bed. Burrowing under the covers, she braided the right half of her hair.
Once her head was under the covers, Samantha wondered if it was mere coincidence that, so soon after she and Harriet discussed the Montmorencys’ significantly stronger Sensitive powers, she began developing her powers. She wondered if it was because of the ghosts overhearing her conversation with Harriet during the house tour. But it began before that. She slipped the covers away from her head and, rolling onto her back, tucked them under her armpits.
She lay awake for hours, brooding about the misty specter—a profoundly hurt little girl. She did not relish considering what had happened. It must have been particularly horrific, for Gertrude to end her own life. Samantha grimaced and wondered about the suicide. She began to consider how to ask Mr. Prendregast if he had a little sister who died at the age of eight.
Recalling Uncle Bradford’s rejection of the Montmorencys, Samantha turned onto her side and wondered what Mr. Prendregast felt about Sensitives, who were generally highly respectable members of society. He seemed disbelieving of specters and supernatural powers. Certainly, Mr. Prendregast had Sensitive servants, but they didn’t necessarily talk to ghosts.
Mulling over the girl ghost and her tragic story, Samantha pondered how much Mr. Prendregast knew. Since the girl was a relative of his, he must know something, surely. However, Samantha highly doubted Harriet and Reginald knew anything about it. Samantha wondered if she should tell them. They must know, she reflected, embracing a pillow. She winced and curled into a ball, knowing she should tell them as delicately as possible.