Eleven New Ghost Stories (9 page)

The rain made it even harder to
see anything, or hear anything for that matter. Although the
ticking clocks could still just about be heard outside. If the
clocks stopped or the black-clothed figure returned, I could not
tell.

I sheltered in the outhouse for
a little while and then went back inside to dry off in front of the
best fire I could make. There wasn’t much more to do there in the
evening than there was in the day time. At least my meals were
still paid for at the inn and I ate there handsomely, but was not
encouraged to hang around in the evening, as in those days drinking
houses were not open to children. I think I persuaded one of the
regulars to play darts with me, but I was chased off by the
landlord soon after.

I skulked back to the shop and
passed the evening with a book. The place was cold; I couldn’t get
it warm. The rain had stopped, leaving the whole place quiet. Well,
quiet except for the ticking. Even in the upstairs you could hear
it through the floorboards. I began to think of it as being like
woodworm, like creepy-crawlies munching their way through the
walls. I would forget it was there for short periods, but then I’d
notice it again. I really grew to despise the sound. You won’t find
a ticking clock in my home, not even today. Never been able to
stand them since.

I slept in Guillam’s bed; it was
the only one in the house. It was awful, he had these two great big
curtains, too long for the window, which dragged on the floor. And,
of course, in the dark of night, with the moonlight shining
through, what did they look like?

It was a terrible night; every
time I woke up I thought there was someone there. Some great
cloaked figure, standing at the end of my bed. I’d jump up from the
under the sheets – but of course it was nothing.

I barely slept a wink. And you
know what it’s like when you’re unsettled. Every creak of the
floorboards, every clank of the pipes, every… bird on the roof; the
slightest of sounds makes you startled.

But the most frightening thing,
the thing that really shook me up, was that at one point everything
was calm; calm, quiet and silent – no sound at all. There was no
ticking under the floorboards, no creepy-crawly sounds in the
walls. The clocks had stopped again.

I leapt out of bed, I rushed to
the door; I swung it open…

…And everything was fine. The
rustling rumble of the incessant timepieces was going again, just
as usual. Had I imagined it? I don’t know. I didn’t know what time
it was, because I couldn’t see in the dark.

The next day I resolved to keep
myself away from the shop as much as possible. I journeyed up to
Windsor Park, to see the Red Indian Totem Pole up there; Iris was
supposed to have taken me to see it. I deliberately travelled near
places I thought she might be, in the hope that I would catch her.
I wasn’t so lucky. I took a packed lunch, bought with the remainder
of the money Guillam left me; he hadn’t given me much, probably
hadn’t thought that far ahead. I didn’t know when he was returning.
The only money in the shop was the money from Mr Towney in the
till, which I didn’t dare touch; everything else was in the
safe.

I climbed some trees, explored
some rocks – I passed the time as best as a young boy with an
imagination and a want to forget his troubles could do.
Importantly, I brought a watch with me this time; I was not going
to risk being there at the dreaded hour. My only target was to be
back at the inn for six, for the serving hour.

It was pie and mash that night –
still very much a favourite. Once again, though, I was not allowed
to loiter. The landlord specifically said to me when I started
eating that I was to go when I was finished. And he waited for me.
I gave him a bit of lip about how I was a good customer and he
should treat me better. He responded by grabbing me by the ear and
throwing me out.

So off I went back to the shop,
to do nothing all evening. Guillam had a few old copies of The
Strand; I read those and then, well, then I decided I would try a
few things from his drinks cabinet. I had a sudden keenness to be
ill-behaved. But Guillam being Guillam, it was practically empty –
full of dried up decanters and almost-empty bottles. Only the port
was full enough for me to be able to thieve a little without my
uncle noticing. I had only a little, but it was enough to relax me
and help me to settle down to rest. I fell asleep in the chair in
the lounge, fire still burning.

At some point I drifted into a
dream. It’s difficult to remember how it started, but I know that I
was in the dark; there was light, but very little, and I felt
heavy, very heavy. I was lying on stone, it was cold and hard but
someone forced me onto my feet. I was being weighed down and
realised that I was in chains; I was a prisoner. I was exhausted
and unwell, but I was poked and prodded on down this corridor. I
wasn’t afraid, but I don’t remember feeling very much of anything,
except that I was tired and… resigned, I suppose, empty.

I was barefoot, because I could
feel cold stone under my feet. And I was forced down this dark
corridor, with stone walls into this dim chamber, and there were
voices in the background, screams and wails, and these made me
anxious and afraid. But I was just too exhausted to feel much of
anything. This stone chamber was lit up by oil lamps, but was very
gloomy. Then this figure approached me. I was looking down at the
floor; lifting my head was too difficult.

And this figure, he stood
looking at me for a moment, and then he said something, something I
couldn’t understand – it was in a different language. And then I
was pulled away, marched away, not the way I came. But I wasn’t
scared, I felt relieved. I was being dragged towards light, but
before I was pulled away, I found enough strength to lift my head
and look at the figure. And just before I awoke, I saw that face,
the horrible burnt face again, and once again it smiled at me,
grinned at me wickedly.

Then I woke up. I woke with a
start, not because of the dream, but because I had heard something.
A sound from the shop – a crash; the sound of something breaking.
The fire was out, it was dark. I was frozen in the chair. I
listened carefully for anything, any noise or sound. The damn
clocks made it hard to know, but then I heard the creak of a
floorboard, and I knew, I knew that someone was in the shop, that
someone was with me.

I was frightened, but I didn’t
fear the one-eyed man; the clocks were still ticking.

I lifted myself slowly out of
the chair and walked gently into the hall. Just a curtain separated
the hall from the shop, but as I crept towards it, I could tell
that I had not been mistaken. Someone was in there and they were
trying to force open one of the display cabinets.

Carefully I pulled the curtain
to one side and slipped my head around. A figure was using a knife
to try and force the lock on a tall cabinet near the window. I
still couldn’t quite see them and slid behind the counter, taking
each step cautiously. The man swore under his breath; I should’ve
known straight away – it was Billy. Knowing my uncle was away, he’d
come to help himself to some of his stock. He’d already been in the
till and taken the money Mr Towney had left.

I was angry, but I didn’t know
what to do. He’d broken the glass on the front door and let himself
in; I couldn’t get past him that way. I needed to get to the police
station, or just somewhere to find help – I didn’t stand a chance
against Billy. The back door – I’d go out the back. But as I turned
on my heels, the floor creaked under me and I knew instantly that
Billy had heard me.

He was extraordinarily quick. As
I looked around to see if he had noticed me, he was already lunging
towards the counter. He tried to throw himself over it to grab me.
I hesitated in fear and only just managed to get away. But in
avoiding Billy’s grasp, I leapt towards the door to the museum and
away from my obvious route of escape!

Surrounded again by the ticking
clocks, I went instantly to hide. There were four shelf stacks
standing parallel in the centre of the museum; if I could give
Billy the runaround, get past behind him and into the shop, there
was a chance I could escape through the front door – he wouldn’t
follow me into the street for all to see. The back door would be
locked and I didn’t have the key to hand; the front door was my
only chance. I crouched behind the very last stack, behind some
thick box-like clocks.

Billy came in slowly; he must’ve
been taken aback a little by what he’d found. Amongst the ticking
din I heard him say “Where are you?”

I should’ve been ready to make a
run for it, but I was paralysed with fear. I tried to peer over the
tops of the clocks and through the shelves. I could just about see
Billy moving; his shape was just behind the second stack. He was
moving slowly – he knew I was there, somewhere, but at that moment
he was probably admiring the things he might steal.

But just when I thought things
couldn’t become more terrifying, the clocks began to ring in the
half-hour. I looked at the heavy box-shaped clocks in front of me
and they were showing the time – four-thirty – and ringing it in.
And sure enough, ringing shrilly above all other sounds was the
black clock.

“Where are you?” Billy hissed
again, he’d moved from around the front of the second stack to
between the second and third, not so far from me. I wondered if he
could see me. My eyes were fixed on him; could I make it past him
to safety?

And then the clocks stopped –
just as they had before. It was all quiet – almost. Only the black
clock rang, and Billy noticed it.

Puzzled, Billy was wondering
what on earth was going on. I watched him as he took a few slow
steps towards the clock until suddenly my view was obscured.

He passed before the stack I was
hiding behind: the figure in black with the scorched face. I saw
only his clothes; I was crouched too low to see anything else. He
moved swiftly, barely making a sound. He vanished for a moment. He
must’ve passed around the end of the stack and gone to the aisle
where Billy was standing.

Once again I could just about
see Billy, standing at the end of the aisle, facing the black
clock. He must’ve heard the floorboards creak, because he turned
around and said in a terrified tone: “Who the hell—”

That’s all he could manage – I
saw something pass through the air, whoosh through it – too fast to
see what it was – but it struck Billy hard with a vicious smack and
he let out an almighty cry of pain.

He fell to the floor – I heard
him land. I was so terrified that I turned away and buried my head
between my knees, clamped my hands hard over my ears and closed my
eyes as tightly shut as I could.

But I could still hear
everything – the clocks did not tick, there was no other sound now.
The air was cut in two again and the crack of the whip – it could
be nothing else – struck Billy and he screamed in agony. Again and
again. He must’ve been hit eight, nine times. The sound was
unbearable; he cried tears of pain and begged for mercy: “Please
no! Please! Don’t, don’t—”

He was shown no mercy; he was
thrashed over and over. I was weeping in terror, fixed to the spot
in fear for I don’t know how long. I only remember lifting my hands
from my ears when the screaming stopped.

The clocks were ticking, but
ticking only faintly – in the background, as if they were far away.
It all felt so unreal; I looked again through the stacks and I
could see no one.

I could hear Billy though;
wailing, squealing in pain. Shakily, I started to move forward,
very slowly. I could hear him breathing through his heavy sobbing.
Carefully, I approached him; he was on all fours trying to raise
himself up.

His shirt was soaked in blood,
in great red streaks across his back. He noticed I was there and
lifted his head. His mouth dripped with blood, the whip had caught
him across the face, a great red mark stretched from one cheek to
another – the corner of his lip was split open.

He reached out to me. He wanted
to say something, but he couldn’t; he was in too much pain.

Then I saw – well, I couldn’t
have seen it, I must’ve sensed it – the whip moving once more
through the air. There was nothing there, nothing I could see, but
it made its violent hiss and it smacked again against Billy’s back.
He screamed and I saw blood spring from his back, through his
clothes, a horrible crimson arc exploding into the air.

That was too much for me – I ran
and I ran and I ran. I didn’t know where to, I just ran. I darted
through the shop into the street, giving it all I could. I think I
crashed into a policeman; it was only because I literally ran into
someone that I was stopped.

The rest is something of a blur
– he took me I think to the police station, because I sounded like
I had gone crazy. Eventually they got enough out of me to realise
that there was a man possibly bleeding to death at the clock shop.
I refused to go back in, but the police constable went in there
only a few moments before he came back out and demanded that an
ambulance be sent for.

Billy was brought out on a
stretcher, unconscious, but still alive. Unsurprisingly they
thought I’d gone mad, but they knew I couldn’t have done that to
him. I spent some time with a local nurse who tried to calm me down
– I really don’t remember much, it’s all a bit of a blur.
Fortunately, Guillam returned home the lunch time of that day. I
remember him looking very grave, and him not quite knowing what to
do with me.

When I told him the story, there
was not the look of disbelief that I had faced from the police. He
listened to my every word and took it in slowly. And that wasn’t
like him; I was used to him being distracted and preoccupied,
mumbling, muttering and talking to himself. But he listened
intently and carefully. And when I finished the story, he made no
comment, asked no questions. He simply nodded and said I had better
get some rest. The more I think back to that day, the more I think
he believed me. That he found something out when he was doing his
research, and knew something strange about that clock. But he never
said, so I can only guess and assume.