Haunted

Kathy felt her nipples harden as the cold wind blew through the beeches, suddenly shy under his gaze. You are so beautiful, he said, and fell to his knees before her. Even on his knees, she felt his hair tickling against her chest and she pushed her fingers through it. It was soft and thick, and she picked a leaf from it tenderly, letting it blow from her fingers. He pulled her shawl off her shoulders and spread it on the soft grass. She knelt down in front of him as he pulled off his jacket and made it into a pillow for her head. They kissed again, and the itch between her legs grew to an almost unbearable point, and just when she thought she couldn't stand it anymore, he took her breasts in his huge hands, pushing them together and groaning as he thrust his tongue between them, then fastened on her nipple, one then the other.

She felt an explosion of sensation which seemed to travel all over her body, making her skin tingle at his every touch. All she could do was sigh and twist in his arms as he maneuvered between her legs, pulling at her underwear. "What are you doing?" she gasped, suddenly fearful. But then his fingertips dipped into her moisture and began to massage her swollen clitoris, slowly and gently, and she relaxed, closing her eyes. Suddenly her hips arched away from the ground, and she shuddered to her first climax, bathing in his intense gaze.

When she came back to her senses, he'd kissed her again. "You asked what I was doing? I was loving you, Kathy," he said. "And I'll do it again and again, if you'll let me. You're the most beautiful girl in the village. I'd give anything to be wed to you." The light was beginning to fade, and his eyes were dark and sincere. As Kathy fixed her clothes, Tom pulled bits of grass and twigs from her shawl, laced up her bodice until she winced.

"Will you walk me to the square?" she asked, unwilling to leave him.

He smiled. "Better you aren't seen with me, my love." His eyes were sad. "You're soon to be wed. I'm surprised your father lets you out here all alone. The square isn't far away."

So she found herself trotting, as she was now, back to her father's home, with an ache between her legs. Their lovemaking had progressed swiftly through the pain of her virginity to exquisite, mutual pleasure. She hadn't a clue what Tom meant when he asked her if she was taking care of herself. All she knew was that the closer her wedding came, the more violent her urges to be with Tom were becoming. She felt as if she was losing her mind. He talked about throwing her over the back of his horse and riding off with her, but she knew he wasn't serious. Where could they go? She was trapped, betrothed to marry a man of over forty years old, which seemed an impossible age to her. Robert was landed and wealthy. He bought her pretty dresses but she didn't want to wear them., just for Tom. He loved her the way she was, red hair flowing down her back, full of twigs and leaves from her explorations. Not dressed up, painted and stiff, like one of those women who sometimes came in from the city, the woman Robert wanted her to be.

She burst into the inn just as the sun went sank below the horizon. "Father, look!" She held up her basket. " I've picked blackberries!" She smiled, hoping his thick grey whiskers were hiding a smile rather than a frown. "I'll make jam in the morning."

The old man nodded. "Go on and get cleaned up," he said. "You look like you've been pulled through a hedge backwards, young lady. Dinner's almost ready, I hear. It's your favourite too, rabbit stew."

Relief flooded through her. He wasn't angry, he suspected nothing. It wasn't written all over her face as she feared. Just as she went through to the staircase, there was a quiet knock at the side door. Opening it, she gasped. Tom had followed her? Then she noticed the coolness of his gaze, the dull colour of his clothes. Not Tom, but Michael.

He pressed a pouch into her hand. "Herbs," he said. "Your mother was complaining about a cough. If you make this into a tea, it should help her."

She was surprised. "Thank you," she said, but he was already walking away. How could two men be so alike, and yet so different? Shrugging, she went upstairs to wash, her body still remembering Tom's touch. She would be clean for Robert's visit, another evening of polite conversation with her fiancé that she would endure with a smile on her face, remembering the face of the man she truly loved.

=====

When he strode into the inn, red faced and reeking of ale, her father was leaning against the bar, chewing his pipe. He was surprised to see Robert so soon after his last visit. Robert pushed past him and stomped upstairs. "You can't go up there!" her father wheezed, following him. But the enraged man paid no attention, bursting into Kathy's room, bringing the cold night air in his wake.

"You filthy whore," he hissed, slapping her cheek. Shocked, Kathy stood back, clutching a hand to the red mark his hand had left.

"Robert?" she said, her voice weak. "What have I done?"

"You know fine well!" he shouted, stepping closer. "You've disgraced me, you've disgraced yourself! I saw you this afternoon with that Tom Cleary, out there in the fields, rutting like a pair of farm animals! If you think I'm going to marry you after that display…"

She felt faint. Sitting down on the bed, her eyes found her father's face. And what she saw there broke her heart. Not anger, but sadness. Disappointment in her, his favourite daughter. Her mind reeled.

"Kathy wouldn't…" her father said, interrupting Robert's rant. "Surely you saw another girl."

"I know what I saw!" Robert bawled. "How dare you question my word! By God, I'll ruin you for this, Francis Gray, and your whore of a daughter!"

Kathy glanced outside to the square, where the bonfire was already piled high. People dressed in costumes, laughing and partying for Halloween, unaware of the seismic shift in lives just yards away. Their costumes had failed to protect the town from evil that night. Thinking about it gave her an idea so terrible she quailed at speaking it. But she had to save herself somehow, even if it meant turning against Tom. She put the thought from her mind. Anything to see her father look upon her again, the way he usually did.

"I don't remember that," she said desperately. "I was out picking blackberries in the fields. Then I came over faint, like…and then I heard it." She shivered and folded her arms across her breasts. "Father you have to believe me!" Her voice gained strength as the lie became clearer in her head. "It was a voice, an evil voice! He told me that I should be still and say nothing!"

Robert's face went white. She knew he would be desperate to believe her, to save his reputation. And also because he loved her, she knew that despite the stiffness of his demeanor. He sat down, and took her hands in his. "Are you saying you were…bewitched?" he said.

She stared at him. "I don't know," she said. " But I didn't do as you say, I swear it!" Oh Tom, I'm so sorry for what I'm bringing to you.

Robert's eyes fell on the pouch of herbs on her dressing table. "What's this?" he said. "I've seen these before." Kathy stared at him as his mind worked, jumping to conclusions beyond her wildest dreams. "It's that Michael," he said finally, standing up. "He's the one … he's put a spell on her, Francis!" He grabbed the bag and crushed it in his fist. "Michael Cleary is the witch who's done this to Kathy! He was the one you were with, not Tom!"

Her father looked stunned. "Michael? But he's harmless," he said. "Are you sure about this, Kathy? Michael gave you this pouch?"

She nodded, tears starting to gather in her eyes. It was too late to take it back. When she saw the murderous look on Robert's face, she felt faint again, sick to her stomach. He strode from the room without another word, and she hurried after him. "Robert, what are you going to do?" she cried, but he slammed the door in her face. Her father started to pull on a coat. "Where are you going?"

He didn't answer, and again the door was shut in her face. Slowly, she went upstairs, feeling empty. Afraid for herself and for Tom. And Michael, whom she barely knew. Staring out of her bedroom window, she felt that disaster had been averted. Somehow things would return to normal. She heard shouts outside, and lay down, pressing her head into the pillow, dreaming that she would wake and life would be good again.

=====

Sean awoke suddenly, breathing hard. Beside him, Siobhan and Declan were also stirring and rubbing their eyes. There was an unnatural stillness in the darkness. It seemed as if a fog had settled around the ruined house, and the chill pierced their sleeping bags right through to the bone. He was more afraid than he had ever been in his life.

Silently, they digested the dream they had just shared. Sean felt an overwhelming sadness for Michael Cleary. He didn't need to dream more to know what had happened. Robert had gathered a mob, all drunk and spooked from telling ghost stories all day, and marched to the Cleary house. Michael was there with the man he loved, his secret happiness all too brief. Ears closed to his protests, they had dragged him from the house and hung him from the oak tree, leaving his body to swing in the wind.

Then Siobhan's voice pierced the stillness.

"I see the ghost, look, I SEE THE GHOST…"

Then her head slumped to one side, and Sean realised that she had fainted. Declan was staring ahead, his mouth frozen in a dark O. Breathing hard, he forced his head to turn and look.

There was a man coming towards the house, a tall man. Despite the darkness, Sean could see that his features were lined with sorrow, the shoulders slumped and hopeless. His feet made no noise on the stones as he came through the door of the house, casting a look in their direction before continuing out the back, into what was once the garden where he had grown his herbs.

"Michael," Sean breathed, scrambling up. He followed him outside, Declan close behind, clutching at his hand like a child. He could feel Declan's body shaking against him and pressed against it, glad of the warmth.

Michael Cleary went through the undergrowth as if it wasn't there. Thorns scratched their skin as they pushed after him, branches whipped their faces. He stopped beside a small indent in the earth, covered in moss and leaves. There was a small pile of stones there, where he knelt. Looking into Sean's eyes, he touched the ground and sighed. His mouth formed some words that they couldn't hear, and then he was gone, as if the wind had simply blown him away.

For a moment they stood there, stunned by what they had seen. The light he had seemed to bring was still there, illuminating the area. But then Sean realised the sun was coming up, and sighed with relief. The fog had gone and warmth was creeping back into the air.

Then Declan said, "He wants us to look there."

They knelt down, scrabbling at the damp earth until Sean's fingers brushed against something hard. Not far down into the hole they had made, they found themselves staring at Michael Cleary's skull. Declan moaned and sat back, wringing his hands, his freckles standing out against the paleness of his skin. Gritting his teeth, Sean ignored the relentless stare from the eye sockets and continued pulling the soil out of the shallow grave until he saw the glint of metal.

It was the locket, the one that hung around his neck in his dreams.

"What is it?" Declan gasped.

"His locket," Sean murmured, spitting on his thumb and rubbing it over the cold surface, cleaning the earth off it until the silver shone through. There was a small clasp at the side and he fumbled at it. It was stiff, but eventually cracked open. A folded up piece of paper was inside, and some faded photographs. He snapped it shut again and stood up.

"Let's go back to town," he said. "We can clean it up better there."

Declan was staring at the locket. "That's the one I- he- gave to him," he said, and Sean knew who Declan had seen in his dreams. The man who had run out the door, fearful that their forbidden love would be discovered, not knowing that Michael had been condemned for something far more ordinary.

=====

Later that day, they sat in the pub. Gil had been reluctant to let Sean back in after the last time when he'd vomited all over the bar, but then they told him what they had found. They sat together around a table, staring at the locket as May cleared their plates away. Siobhan had recovered from her fainting fit, annoyed that she had missed the discovery of the grave. Her hand was fragile in Sean's grasp, and she looked at him shyly and smiled.

There were two pictures inside the locket, two charcoal drawings. One of Michael Cleary, and the other one of his lover. Two serious faces, staring out through the fog of the years, young and unsuspecting. There was an inscription on the back of the locket that read

When you see this remember me, though many myles we distant be.

The letter inside was short. "My love," it read, in a slanting, spidery script. "Think not ill of me after I depart. I cannot find the words to say goodbye. But know that I shall return soon. How brief our time has been! But in it, I lived a lifetime of happiness. Until the spring comes. Yours always, James."

Gil sat back in his seat. "Francis Gray was a relative of mine," he said. "He started this pub back in 1821, just after he got married. They had three girls, Kathy, Anna and Agnes."

"So you've known all along, what happened out there at the Cleary house?" Siobhan said.

The old man shook his head. "Not all of it," he said. "I know that no one was ever prosecuted for Michael's murder. Everyone knew that witchcraft stuff was rubbish, just some sort of hysteria that went away as soon as it started. I don't know who this James was, or what happened to Kathy. Tom Cleary disappeared around the same time she did. She never did marry Robert Brown, like she was supposed to."

"So how come you own the house now?"

"We've always owned it." Gil stood up, stiff. His joints were swollen with arthritis, his eyes strangely wet. "Tom Cleary did odd jobs for Francis, as far as I know. They were tenants, him and his brother. Francis kept meticulous records of all his finances. You can see his ledgers, in the Folk Museum. I suppose that's how Tom got to know Kathy."

"And what happened to Robert Brown in the end?" Sean asked.

Gil shrugged. "He got married a few months later, to some rich girl from a neighbouring village. Lived a full and happy life, by all accounts." He gathered their empty pint glasses onto a tray. "He was wealthy and powerful and owned most of the land, including the people on it. There's different rules for people like that."

Sean felt a surge of anger. "That's so not fair," he said. So Tom and Kathy had escaped the village, probably starting a new life together somewhere new. Had Tom known the fate that had befallen his twin? No doubt Kathy had lied her way out of that one too. Everyone had lived happily ever after, all except for Michael.

While Gil was at the bar, Declan lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "James was the one who found him the next day," he said. "He cut the body down and buried it in the garden. He lay there on top of it for days, in the rain, hoping to die. But in the end, he got up and left."

Sean folded the letter back into the locket almost reverently. Snapping it shut, he hung it around his neck, making a silent promise to its owner that he would take good care of it. Maybe now Michael's body was to be buried in a proper graveyard, his story told, he would be able to rest.

The metal was cold against his heart, for a second.