Goblins and Ghosties (9 page)

‘The widow Breck
says
she'll have our guts for garters!'

‘That's if old Markale doesn't catch us first!'

Since Pierrick and Padrig were known as the two local jokers and Hallowe'en is also known as Mischief Night, it was clear they'd been playing some practical joke that hadn't gone down too well.

‘Up you get!' said Yann, digging his heels in the pony's ribs to try and make it go faster.

On trotted the pony at the same pace as before and not a bit put out, it seemed by the number of riders on his back. No, not even when they picked up two hitchhikers on the way, which made eight in all – Yann, Erwan, Barbara, Ann, Pierrick, Padrig and after them Little Eric and Fat Paol who'd been neither of them looking forward to the climb up to the clifftop.

Le Pen's pony, safe in his field, was surprised to see the mirror image of himself trotting past on the road below with so many riders on his back.

Well, rather him than me, he thought. And went back to cropping the grass.

It was when they reached the crossroads
that
the trouble came. Instead of taking the path to the clifftop, the pony turned towards the sea. He picked up his pace, from a trot to a canter, then to a gallop, heading straight towards the seashore.

‘Stop him!' cried Barbara.

‘I can't!' yelled Yann. ‘Jump, if you can!'

‘We're going too fast!' shouted Erwan. ‘We'll break our necks!'

‘I'd jump if I could!' cried Fat Paol, ‘But I seem to be stuck!'

‘Me too!'

‘Me too!'

Into the sea ran the goblin pony, with Yann, Erwan, Barbara, Ann, Pierrick, Padrig, Little Eric and Fat Paol stuck fast to his back, deeper and deeper until the waves covered them.

‘I did warn them,' said Grandmamma, when those who'd watched from the clifftop came and told her the sad news. ‘I warned them but they didn't listen. That's young people nowadays. They just don't listen. Ah, well, they do say the lost land of Lyonesse isn't such a bad place to end up. Would anyone like a piece of gingerbread?'

The Haunting

British Isles

For as long as she could remember, she'd dreamed the same dream. The dream was of a house. It was like no house she'd ever lived in and yet it felt like home. In her dreams she walked through its rooms, admired the pictures, fingered the books in the library, savoured the cooking smells in the kitchen, or wandered in the garden. Sometimes she just sat: enjoying the feeling of peace the house always gave her.

Sometimes
it was daytime there, sometimes it was night. After a while it made no difference; she knew every stone of it so well that she could find her way by moonlight.

Sometimes the furnishings were different, the pictures and the ornaments, but always the layout of the rooms was the same. Sometimes, looking out at the garden, it seemed that the trees were taller now than when she'd first dreamed of this place. Just as she was, of course. It was as if she were living two separate lives, but the dream house was where she belonged.

When she told her sisters about it, all they said was, ‘What's wrong with our house then?'

‘Nothing,' she said.

‘Don't you like it here?'

‘I like it fine. It's just not…'

‘Not what?

She shook her head. She couldn't explain it.

When she grew up and married, she never told her husband about the dreams she still had of her perfect house. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. All they could afford on his
wages
was a small flat in the centre of town.

At last he got offered promotion – that's if he didn't mind moving to the firm's head office across the water in England. He didn't mind a bit. The extra money he'd earn meant they'd be able to buy a house of their own.

House after house they looked at but none of them was just right, until they came to the very last one on the list.

As she got out of the taxi she gave a little cry.

‘Are you all right?' said her husband. ‘You've gone very pale all of a sudden.'

‘Yes, yes,' she said. ‘I'm fine.'

‘Let's go and look inside, then,' he said.

The door was opened by the estate agent, who seemed surprised to see them.

‘Are we too early?' said the husband. ‘Were you expecting someone else?'

‘No, no,' said the man. ‘Quite the opposite. Let's start in the library, shall we?'

But she'd already found the right door and was running across the room to check the view from the window to see if it matched the one in her dream, which it did, exactly. She ran her
fingers
over the empty shelves, remembering the books that used to fill them.

The estate agent smiled to her husband, ‘Perhaps your wife would like to lead us the rest of the way?'

And she did, through the dining room, the sitting room, the breakfast room and the kitchen, then down to the cellar and up to the bedrooms. Every single thing was as she remembered it from her dream.

‘It's as if you've been here before,' said her husband.

‘I have,' she said, ‘in my dreams. But I never thought this house was real.'

‘I never thought you were real,' said the estate agent. ‘I've stayed in this house many times in the past. Sometimes I've seen you wandering through it, though I don't think you ever saw me. The last people to live here were afraid the place was haunted. But I don't think you will be troubled by ghosts. May I be the first to say, ‘Welcome home'?'

Jacob and the Duppy

Jamaica

It was late when Jacob set out for home that night. He'd had a good day at the market, sold all his produce, and so he decided to treat himself to a drink or two. And when a man's got money in his pocket and is in the mood to celebrate, he's never short of friends willing to lend a hand.

It must have been gone midnight when the bar owner's wife finally turned them out so she could get a bit of shuteye.

Jacob
went back to where he'd left the cart (the donkey patiently waiting all this time), climbed up on the driver's seat, and they set off for home.

What with the gentle swaying of the cart and the quiet rumble of the wheels on the empty road, it wasn't long before Jacob was as sound asleep as a baby rocked in its cradle.

The donkey plodded on. She knew the way as well as he did: probably better, since she always did the full stretch with her eyes wide open.

Suddenly, she stopped. So suddenly that Jacob nearly toppled clean off the cart.

‘What's the matter?' he mumbled. ‘Are we home already?' Then, seeing nothing but darkness all around, ‘Come on! Stop playing games. Let's get on home.'

The donkey didn't budge.

Then, peering deeper into the dark, he saw what was holding them up. A man was standing there, slap-bang in the middle of the road.

‘
Lost your way in the dark?' said Jacob.

The man didn't answer.

‘Do you want a lift?'

Still no answer.

‘I can take you as far as my place. That's a mile or so down the road. If that's any help to you…'

Already the man was climbing up beside him.

‘Off we go, then! Soon be there.' That's if he could get the donkey moving again. She took a deal of persuading – and threatening – before she'd shift from that spot.

‘Can't think what's got into her tonight,' said Jacob. ‘She's not usually like this.'

The stranger said nothing, not one word. Not even when it started raining. Pouring down it was, like someone up there was tipping it out of a bucket. The stranger just sat there, didn't even turn up his collar to stop the drips from his hat going down his neck.

It was still raining when they got to the
house.
Jacob jumped down from the cart, got the donkey under cover, and then ran for the porch.

He looked back and saw the stranger still sitting on the cart.

He didn't much care for the guy, but he couldn't just leave him, so, ‘Come on!' he yelled. ‘Come up here on the porch. You can wait here for the rain to stop.'

The stranger got down and walked over – no hurry – though he must be soaked through by now. The rain was running off him, forming puddles on the porch.

‘Better get out of those wet clothes,' said Jacob.

The stranger nodded. Slowly he took off his broad-brimmed hat, his long coat, his boots and his trousers, till he was standing in his long white shirt.

Then, at last, he spoke. The words came out slowly, as if talking was something he'd learned to do long ago and he was having a hard time remembering the trick of it. ‘Now you've got to help me,' he said.

‘
Help you?' said Jacob.

‘Take out the pins at the back.'

‘What pins?'

‘The shroud pins.'

Finally, Jacob knew why the donkey had been so spooked when she saw the stranger standing in the road and why she'd been so reluctant to pull the cart with him on it. This was no living man. This was a duppy, risen from the grave!