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<\/figure>\n\n\n\nBoy<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I sat before the fire, drifting off to sleep in front of the\ncomfort of its flickering flames. The\nworld around me slept – even my two dogs had decided to turn in for the\nnight. I, myself, had spent the last few\nhours making the finishing touches to the decorations, wrapping the last\npresents in preparation for the morning, then placing them around my Christmas\ntree, and putting the turkey into the Aga to roast slowly over night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The candles were gutting in their sconces, a sure sign it was well\npast time for me to retire to bed, yet still something kept me at my vigil by\nthe fire. Thus, it was that alone and in\nthe half-light of Christmas morning, I first encountered “Boy”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The wind changed … and blowing now from the east, it howled in\nthe chimney pots and began to blow smoke back into the room where I was\ndrifting off to sleep. I watched as the\nsmoke began to take shape, as clouds will often take on the appearance of\nanimals in the sky, and let my imagination take control of me, until I saw the\nfaint shadow of a young boy – sad of demeanour as he looked wistfully towards\nthe colourful tree, its lighted candles, gay ribbons and glittering baubles,\nand the many presents beneath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Then the boy walked from the shadow of the smoke, and the blood\ndrained from my limbs leaving me paralysed and unable to move from my seat\nbefore the fire. I struggled but eventually found what voice I had to ask: <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Who are you?” \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n “A chimney boy, ma’am, long dead now. Me body be still stuck in your chimney\nhere. Just admirin’ the tree ma’am,\nforgive the intrusion.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n He delivered his sorry tale with quiet dignity and without any\nemotion. Nonetheless, I felt the prick\nof tears rising, as I thought of this poor child, who had been left to die\nforgotten in years gone by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHave you a name, my child?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey would call me “Boy”. I never had a proper name –\nnever merited it according to them. But\n“Boy” will suit well enough for me now.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n At that I cried openly and for a few minutes could not speak again\nuntil finally I regained the composure to offer:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhichever present you wish from the tree is yours with my\nblessing. I would be honoured if you\nwould take this gift from me.” \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I only want one gift from\nyou and that is my release” replied the ghost at which I felt my heart\nstop beating as I feared perhaps the chimney boy had returned for revenge on\nthose who had used him so abominably. As\nthe new mistress of this house, was it to be my lot to die in payment for the\ntorture that an earlier generation had inflicted on this poor young man? <\/p>\n\n\n\n “You know I am already dying and if this releases you then I\nam ready to die” I told the ghost who, to my intense surprise, laughed in\nresponse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Find my body, miss. That is all I ask” and then a log\nfell hissing from the fire and rolled onto the rug before me. I leapt up to trample the cinders with my\nbare feet before they should catch on the silk of the rug, and then turned back\nto see that I was alone once more in the room. <\/p>\n\n\n\n So on Christmas day I attempted the impossible and hunted high and\nlow through yellow pages and then rang round my friends in the village in quest\nfor a chimney sweep who would come out at short notice on a public holiday. Eventually, a delightful young man named\nCharles Hogg agreed to come to the house that evening. I spent the afternoon after lunch clearing\nthe fire of all embers so that he would be able to climb in safety into the\nchimney stack then sat with my bemused friends and prayed for the rescue of\n“Boy”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mr Hogg arrived, suitably sooty, having just helped put out a\nchimney fire in a nearby hotel and then listened to my story in polite\ndisbelief. He could see however I was\ngenuinely distressed and so undertook to take a peep up my chimney. It was an old arrangement with many stacks\nand cross passages. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “I cannot guarantee being able to get into them all but at\nleast I can send my camera down the more narrow passages for you” he had\noffered kindly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My friends and I huddled around the inglenook in the dining room\nas he clambered into it and began his hunt through the labyrinth above. Then ten minutes into his exploration, we\nheard him call down: “I have something!” <\/p>\n\n\n\n He carefully carried his finds across to the dining table, already\ncleared of the detritus of our meal and ready to receive this last Christmas\ngift. He placed the ragged remains of a\nyoung boy’s cap and a single shoe on the table then said sadly: “There is\nmore. This is all I could reach. I have heard stories: of boys forgotten when\ncleaning the chimneys and unable to get down past the roaring fires so left to\nstarve. Best to leave him up there though\nnow … you won\u2019t be able to get him down without taking a wall down.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Show me where!” is all I said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He took me up to the study next to my bedroom and pointed to where\nyou could see from the shape of the wall that a narrow passage ran between the\nfire places in my bedroom and the guest bedroom next door. I nodded, walked resolutely downstairs and\nout to the stable, and returned with the largest sledge hammer I could find\nthen launched into that wall with all my strength. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When Mr Hogg could see I was serious, he took the hammer off me –\nI was making more mess than actually achieving anything – and with better aim\nand more strength than I, broke through to where Boy had been held prisoner all\nthese years. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I paid for the funeral and for the stone and to this day believe\nthat it is the best Christmas present I have ever given. Boy still visits me\noccasionally but now he comes to play with me in preparation for the day when I\nwill join him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bath time\nwith a ghost<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n The ghost \u2018Boy\u2019 returns in this his second story. A different house, a different family, and most unusually we see the same ghost appear in different locations. <\/p>\n\n\n\n To the south of the village is an isolated farm house called\nCrows\u2019 Farm that used to be let out to tenants or as a holiday let but now is a\nfamily home. The house has an uninterrupted view of\nLavenham\u2019s church tower and the roof tops that make up the High Street and\nMarket Square. It is in a beautiful spot\n\u2026 but be in no doubt it is a lonely place and few tenants have stayed there for\nlong; all have spoken of the ghosts there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One summer, Heather suddenly became very quiet. This was unusual as she had always been a\ntalkative girl, mature before her years; she was eight, comfortable in the\ncompany of adults, and in love with the history of her new home in\nLavenham. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Her Teacher noticed the change and at one of the Parents Evenings\nof the school in the village asked her mother directly if anything had happened\nat home that she should be aware.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI do not know what has happened\u201d replied a distraught mother. \u201cHeather will not talk to any of the family\nand she keeps disappearing. I think she\nhas found some sort of hiding place as when her sister had a party and they\nplayed hide and seek, Heather could not be found for hours. With old houses like ours, there could be all\nsorts of priest holes, secret passages, old cellars, she may have found and I\nam worried stiff she will get hurt or trapped.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWill she talk about it to you?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShe won\u2019t talk to anyone, not even her sister.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The Teacher reflected over the weekend and on the following Monday\nshe decided to set her class a project to write about \u2018something secret\u2019. She hoped this might encourage Heather to\ndisclose what she was doing. She\ncollected the projects the following week with no great expectations and then\nshe read about \u2018Boy\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My secret frend<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I have a Frend called Boy who takes me to places where we play<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He is invizabull and I talk to him when my mummy and sister are not looking. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He is afrayed\nof my dad<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n We have one\nspeshull place we hide and he plays with me when no one is near us<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He is my best\never secret<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He says if\nany one finds him they will make him go away.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I do not want\nhim to go, he is my Frend<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He can go\ninvizabull like in a film and also can walk threw walls, he showed me and it is\nreally amazing!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Heather X,\nage 8.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Invisible friends are quite common at Heather\u2019s age and the\nTeacher suspected Heather had found some old hiding place and that the rest of\nher story was fantasy. She shared the\nproject with Heather\u2019s mother who was partly relieved but still concerned\nHeather might hurt herself or get trapped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cKeep a watchful eye\u201d advised the Teacher \u201cbut also let Heather\nhave her fantasy as it is a sign that she is developing her creative talents\nand we do not want to suppress this. \nRather we should try and encourage but also focus her creativity and\ninventiveness. See if Heather will take\nyou to the secret place as you need to check it out; these houses can trap the\nunwary so easily.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n Over the next few weeks, when at home Heather would suddenly leave\na room without giving a reason, or start to say something then stop\nmid-sentence and blush. It was almost as\nif she wanted to talk to someone but did not wish to give away their presence\nto the rest of her family. Her family\ngot used to this strange behaviour and as the rest of her family stopped\nworrying about Heather, so the girl started to blossom and become talkative\nonce more. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Then one day at school, her class were learning about life in\nGeorgian and Victorian times. The\nTeacher had started to describe life as a chimney sweep. They could be \u2018as young as eight years old\u2019\nshe had told the class.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease miss\u201d Heather had interrupted and then she carried on in a\nrush:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe master sweep in Lavenham had two boys, one five and one\nsix. They would come down every day from\ntheir chimneys with bleeding elbows and knees. \nBy the time they were eight they were too big and risked getting stuck. One of the boys did get stuck when eight and\ndied in one of the chimneys in our village. \nHe says it was terrible work but he had no choice as he was not\napprenticed so sweeping was all he could do.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n The Teacher was delighted to see Heather finally coming out of her\nself-imposed shell of silence but also dumbstruck at what the young girl had\nsaid. When she finally regained her\nvoice, she asked: <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWho says, Heather?” \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHis name is \u2018Boy\u2019 and he was eight when he got stuck in the\nchimney at The Anchor pub. He died\nthere.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n That evening, Heather was found crying and as her mother hugged\nher, she finally opened up to her: <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBoy is very angry. I was\nmeant to keep him a secret but now my Teacher knows. I begged him not to punish my Teacher but I\nam frightened he will do something terrible. \nHe was like a wall of anger, his eyes were so black.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou must not play with Boy any more\u201d replied her mother but\nHeather shook her head. \u201cI do not think\nI have a choice any more\u201d said the young girl in all seriousness. \u201cHe will\npunish me if I do not play with him.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n Her mother smiled and wiped her tears away saying: \u201cDo not be\nafraid. He cannot harm you. He does not really exist. He comes from your wonderful imagination and\nyou can always send him away by just thinking that he must go.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, Heather\u2019s mother put her daughter in the bath and was\ngoing to supervise her, and to play games in the water as they often did, when\nthe phone rang. Heather\u2019s mother\nconsidered leaving it but the phone was persistent and so in the end she got up\noff her knees from besides the bath and went down to answer the phone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no one there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As she went to go back upstairs to play with Heather, the phone\nrang again. Still there was no one\nthere. After two more occasions\nHeather\u2019s mother decided to leave the phone ringing in frustration and went\nback upstairs to find \u2026 <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2026 Heather with her head under the water of the bath. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She went to pull Heather upright and had to fight with the girl in\norder to get her head above water. The\ncasement window of the bathroom burst open, the taps in the wash basin turned\non to full and within seconds the basin was overflowing; the cistern above the\ntoilet overflowed and then the screws holding the electric heater above the\nbath began slowly to unscrew of their own accord.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Heather\u2019s mother screamed but no sound left her mouth. In desperation she tried to scoop water out\nof the bath with her hands and to her horror saw Heather just staring at her\nthrough lifeless unblinking eyes. Then\none of Heather\u2019s father\u2019s razors rose out of the glass it had been sitting in\nnext to the wash basin and in a lightning fast movement it snicked Heather\u2019s mother\u2019s\ncheek. With the blood streaming down the\ncut on her face, Heather\u2019s mother watched as the naked blade wrote a single word\nin her blood: <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mine <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Heather\u2019s mum screamed \u201cNo!\u201d and pulled the plug out. The water drained away slowly but now she was\nwinning the battle for her daughter and eventually Heather\u2019s head surfaced as\nthe water levels dropped. Her face was\nblue but with a cough, suddenly Heather\u2019s eyes flicked open and she woke whilst\nher cheeks gradually regained some colour. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d asked her nearly hysterical mother. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBoy was playing with me and he wanted me to stay with him\nforever\u201d replied Heather in confused fright.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night the house was exorcised. Heather showed her mother the small cavity in\nthe side of the main chimney breast that Boy obviously had used as a den when\nhe had been alive and the local priest said the prayers of release. There was no resistance. Boy knew he was no longer welcome. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Boy had seen how frightened Heather had been of him and so\nreturned to where he knew he would be loved, respected and never feared or\nspoken of openly. Boy had frightened\nhimself as much as Heather and her mother. \nBoy has not been back to that house, but he has not left the village and\nstill visits me each Saturday night and Christmas Eve to play with me as I\nprepare to join him in my own death. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The Banquet of the Rowan Tree of the Hill of Clay<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Boy was playing with my dogs, Dasher mainly (the Hound of the Dashervilles to give him his full name) whom was a grandfather and had become very docile in his old age. He was easy to tease as he would just open one eye, yawn, wag a tail (supreme effort) then return to warming himself in front of the fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My partner on the other hand was not “into” ghosts and\nwhenever Boy started to blow the smoke from the crackling flames of my fire\naround her, she would head off fast casting the sign of the evil eye. Boy had once chased her into the garden and I\nhad had to put a stop to his mockery of her. \nWhen I put my foot down he does not argue, there is too much history\nbetween us but also he trusts me and with that trust has come a grudging\nrespect for my authority as head of our household.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ghosts often have an under-developed moral code, especially the\nghosts of children. In part this is due\nto an incomplete upbringing but as often because their souls are tortured by\nthe event that keeps them trapped in the spirit world on Earth rather than\ngoing forwards to eternal life. Not all\nGhosts have this fault and at least one Ghost I have met has been a man of\ncourtesy, great politesse and considerable honour both in life and in death. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Ghosts however honourable will cling to a place or a time or to\npeople. Some have this incredible\nability to fall in love. Most have been\nthe victim of love. When they do form an\nattachment to people they can become very jealous of attention but also it can\nform the hope of their salvation. I\noften therefore wonder if my own death will be the key to releasing Boy from\nhis captivity? Boy has also considered\nthis but when I offered he take my life so that he could be released he\nrefused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t get me wrong ma’am. \nThere are many I know would slay you as look at you. Not all of us want to play. But would be against the code of some.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat code is that?” I dared to ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe are all subject to Angelos, of course, she who is daughter of\nZeus and Hera, goddess of the spirit world. \nShe has her hound, as big as Dasher, but more like Thea\u201d (Thea was\nDasher’s partner and an Alpine Blue Wolf) \u201cthat is called the Cu-Sith, Cwu-Sidhe,\nCwn-Anwnn and that the English call the Black Dog. Angelos is our Queen and sets the rules. But we Ghosts are not known for our\nobedience. She is a beautiful lady,\nkind, gentle, like you ma’am.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n I blushed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Cu-Sith I knew from the books in my father’s library was a\n“fairy” dog, sometimes described as dark green but actually more\noften as white, silver haired (as Boy has described exactly like Thea with the\nsame deep blue eyes). The Cu-Sith is the\nharbinger of death, and her arrival announces that a soul is to be taken that\nsame night. I prayed often to meet her\nbut my time had not yet come. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “So you have rules then?” <\/p>\n\n\n\n “We must not take the life of a soul chosen by God. It is our only rule. We can scare mortals though” and with a\nlaugh he caught the air in the room and forced my skirts high over my\nhead. I joined in the laughter and the\nwind died down. Boy grinned because he\nknew he could not scare me. My partner\nmind, had she been in the room, would have run out screaming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I think the worst trick Boy ever played was when I, not my most\nsensible of moments, held a dinner party in the Grande Hall at the Hall. We sat around the long elm table, one corner\ncurled upwards, warped over the years, where I sat so that when the mood of\nmischief caught me I could send my silver napkin ring rolling down the length\nof the table. The planks of the table\nhad cracked, shrunk in places, leaving craters for food to wedge in, gaps for\nfood to fall through to the eager dogs sitting below hopeful of scraps,\noccasionally chewing my guest’s shoes, as often just lying across their feet\nfor the comfort of company. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Down the centre of the table were silver candelabra, candles\nguttering in the many draughts, a high wind howling outside, blowing the\ntapestries on the walls, colourful representations of mythological death, rape\nand murder brought alive as they rippled in the wind. The force of the rain drove the ivy to tap on\nthe leaded glass of the windows, stain glass, ancient coats of arms and\ncreatures from Hell, shadowed in the dark of a moon-less night, then brought\nalive by the flicker of the candles in the cast iron sconces on the walls or\nthe iron wheel hanging from chains over our heads. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The fire spat and hissed, the down-draught from the chimney\noccasionally filling the room with smoke, the log basket sitting across two\nfire-dogs of flame-breathing dragons full with the log of a horse chestnut,\nburning green and blue, the fire back glinting, the head of Satan himself, eyes\nglaring bright red fire, a mocking laugh on his sensuous lips, horns turned\nwhite in the heat. The Angel of Light\ncast down into the fires of Hell yet still ugly and beautiful in his defiance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Down the walls either side of our table, separating the tapestries\nand the wall sconces, were the suits of armour, crossed lances, banners and\nbannerets, swords, flintlocks and muskets, relics of a family whom had fought\nin wars since Charlemagne defeated the Saracen or Ceawlin defeated the Britons,\nrumoured even to have been alongside Maximus as he fell before Rome, Macsen,\nthe first to carry the sword Calibarnus that became known as Excalibur, buried\nthen in the tomb of another ancestor in Albion’s finest Abbey, in the place of\nKings where the stone of Scotland’s heart is stolen. For my family had once it is said owned\nExcalibur, gifted it by Artor, the Count of Saxon Shore, as he lay dying at\nCamlann, handed to BedeVere whom became deVere. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The dinner party had been raucous, fun, the quirkiness of our surroundings helping people relax. We would collapse in laughter as we disappeared behind the smoke, or lost a fork down a gap in the table, saw wine glasses topple over for lack of somewhere level to stand them, had a mock duel with our bread sticks, danced to the music of Vivaldi, took no cognisance of the passage of time until with timidity, the first of my clocks chimed midnight discordantly, the signal for several old timers to then fill the hall with their incandescent announcement of the witching hour. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Before the arrival of my family of ghosts I had not appreciated\nthat the witching hour is an entire hour. \nI had thought it referred to midnight, a few brief moments of chaos as\nthe spirit world took over then back to normality. How wrong one can be in one’s ignorance! The spirit world, knowing that at midnight\nthey have permission to interrupt the material world, take full advantage. As Boy once said: “It says an hour and\nso we get an hour, no more … but especially no less.” I had been pleading with him for a chance to\nsleep but totally in vain. <\/p>\n\n\n\n That evening Boy had got some friends around. Like me he had decided it was time for a\nparty. Unlike me he had forgotten to\nforewarn me, and so I had not had the chance to explain some of the less usual\naspects of my house to my friends. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The first sign of the trouble we faced was as the food on the\ntable started to rise off the plates. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “No!\u201d I commanded and was ignored as the remains of a trifle landed straight into Clarice’s lap. That was the signal for a food fight as Boy’s young friends took spiritual aim and the guests took cover, the dogs woke up and leapt for the food flying around the Hall, adding to the chaos, their howls only encouraging Boy’s companions to join in with their own banshee-like cries. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Coffee?\u201d I asked trying to ignore the sight of Jonathan\nbeing held upside down whilst Felicity had gone down under a mountain of\npavlova. At this point, Boy took\npossession of one of the suits of armour which started to walk, unsteadily,\nfrom its stand, arms held out forwards, like some cursed Egyptian Mummy from a\nHollywood film, and making woo woo noises. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Children” I explained then added sotto voce “and\nway past their bed time too” as I caught a chicken leg mid air that had\nbeen thrown at Penelope. Then I had an\nidea. Standing up I walked to the centre\nof the hall and in my loudest voice, essentially a whisper as I don’t have a\nloud voice, I called out: <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Attention!” <\/p>\n\n\n\n There was a pause. Perhaps\nI could have timed my moment better as unfortunately the soup terrine was\ndirectly over Keith’s head when I called Boy’s friends to a halt. It stood still, floating in mid air for a\nsecond, then overturned and landed covering him from head to toe in bright\norange pumpkin potage. I surveyed the\nroom and it was not a pretty sight. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I myself had got off lightly. \nI think even the most mischievous of Ghosts know when they may have met\ntheir match. I could imagine Boy warning\nthem off “Don’t want to get her mad, is her house and her ancestors are a\nfrightening lot!” a reference to the time I summoned the ghosts of the\neighteenth Earl and the young Prince Alfonsino to deal with Boy. The eighteenth Earl and the Prince both owed\nme a favour after I had cleared the Earl’s name of the murder of Henry Prince\nof Wales [see “A Courteous Ghost”] <\/p>\n\n\n\n The rest of my guests, my room and my dogs were however a\ncolourful testimony to our meal, wearing each course in their hair, on faces\nand clothing, covering the walls and the tall vaulted ceiling above us. I would need to get my mountain climbing kit\nout to get some of the food off which seemed to have lodged in the furthest and\nmost inaccessible farthest reaches of the beamed arches above my head. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Who did that?” I growled pointing to a stain of jelly\nthat had got onto the tapestry of the Siege of Maastricht, striking my great\ngreat great great great great cousin Edward, seen dying heroically before the\ncity gates, smack on the nose. There was\na long somewhat guilty silence then a little voice admitted from her place of\nhiding, sitting on my chandelier: “Me” and then “Sorry”<\/p>\n\n\n\n “I have a suggestion\u201d I continued now having the room’s\nattention. \u201cWhy don’t we all play hide\nand seek. You Ghosts get to hide first\nand we non spirits must find you.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was the rush of wind as the Ghosts all took off to go and\nfind somewhere to hide and I breathed a sigh of relief then turning to my\nfriends, apologised for not warning them, then set us all to work to tidy\nup. I knew the Ghosts would get\nimpatient if we didn\u2019t make some effort eventually to find them so after half\nan hour we went in search, in pairs as most of my guests were still a little wary\nof ghosts; they had after all not exactly seen them on their best behaviour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Clarice found the first Ghost or rather it found her. One of Boy’s more adventurous and disreputable friends got bored and tried to hide up her skirt which sent her running, screaming into the dark of the night, with me in hot pursuit as however bad the Ghosts were indoors they were ten times worse outside. In the grounds of the Manor in the Woods of Clay Hill is where the Night Mares, Phantoms, Spectres and Banshee tend to congregate, especially in the dark of the woods around my village.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They found Clarice first of course, cowering under the shade of a\nRowan tree, possibly about as bad a choice of tree to find as refuge as one\ncould possibly make since Rowan are notorious for attracting spirits, hence\nrowan berries are worn as crowns by witches. \nA Night Mare was trying to persuade Clarice to ride on its back; not a\nchoice I would make but Clarice hadn’t ever read what these spectral horses do\nwith you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n “Clarice. I want you\nto hold my hand” I whispered and stepped carefully towards her not wishing\nto spook the black horse, its skull-like head turning to glare at me with\nshining red eyes, nor to scare the crowd of Spectres that had gathered around\nus, but also not wishing to frighten Clarice into running again. She looked up, saw my hand reaching towards\nher and went to stand so that she could grasp it. In terror she realised however she could not\nmove.<\/p>\n\n\n\n “Help” she gasped in horror “the tree is holding\nme. It won\u2019t let me go\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n “Rats” I muttered to myself. Rowan trees have a habit of doing that sort\nof stuff and it can be pretty annoying. \nThis was also not the best of times for it to decide to play with us as\nthe Night Mare was stamping its fore leg and getting impatient, the Spectre\nwere in danger of possessing one or both of us, which they could do if someone\nwas petrified with fright. If that\nhappens then best is to grin and bear it and eventually they get bored and let\nyou go. The Night Mare however was a different kettle of fish, if that got\neither of us then we would never be found until the end of time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Rowan tree is the Goddess of all trees, the tree of\npower. It is contrary: a vain tree yet\nit can be of immense help. Three Rowans\nhold one of my stables up, the tiled roof years back had proven too heavy for\nthe termite infested wooden frame and the whole block should have tumbled down\ncenturies ago yet was held, admittedly at an odd angle such that no door could\never be cut that will shut, by three Rowan trees all coming to my rescue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n “Eye’s\ndelight, the Mountain’s Ash<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Quicken, Sorb\nApple, the Roynetree<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Witchen and\nWitchbane, Thor’s Rash<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Whitty, Mighty,\nI have the name of thee”<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Now I had the tree’s attention there was only one thing that will\npersuade a Rowan to release its captive and so I sang. It was winter, early February, cold, my\nbreath as I sang was white mist, I had but one hope. Around me as often found in the company of\nRowan was a copse of spruce, and on the ground, sheltered, cleared of snow was\na small area of dust, on which each day I set cracked corn from the fields and\nput aside some of the millet and some of my chicken feed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The singing, of course, attracted that most timid of birds, black\nand white plumage, the coif of a crown, as a solitary quail walked into\nsight. The Rowan’s month, the honour of\nits naming and now the company of its familiar, the tree released Clarice to\nwatch over the quail and offer it her protection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNight Mare’s are attracted to terror” I murmured softly for\njust Clarice to hear and our hands met and held. “If we hold hands the Spectre cannot\npossess us, and if we show no fear the Night Mare will seek other prey.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n Clarice just looked at me as if I were mad then asked, voice\nshaking: “How do you know this stuff?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWatch” I replied then I turned to the Night Mare and said\nsimply: <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAutem mea\ndomina mecum est<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Autem nemo timet<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Non est hic\npraeda<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Haec est mea<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Exite” <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n At which the Night Mare snorted fire from flaring nostrils, glared\nonce more at both of us, saw our hands were joined however so reared then took\noff to disappear into the night, the Spectres following, seeking other, simpler\nand more vulnerable prey. I breathed\nwith relief for we had not encountered any of the banshee and no life, not at\nleast from my dinner party, need now be surrendered. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Come on, I think you probably need a brandy” I\nwhispered to Clarice giving her a hug then added to myself “and I need to\nhave a strong word with Boy.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n I offered my friends the chance to stay overnight but they were\nall strangely reluctant and headed off rapidly into the dark night in their\ncars, saying a hasty goodbye, making strange indistinct half-choking noises\nwhen I said “we must do this again”. \nI had ensured however that none left until the witching hour was over,\nfor I had once driven out into the dark of the night when the Ghosts were still\nactive and frightened myself badly when one had decided to haunt my rear view\nmirror. I still see his white face\noccasionally in the glass as I have not had the heart to have it exorcised yet. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Boy” I summoned him and he came, sheepishly, looking\ndown at his feet. “Next time you have friends round, ask first, alright?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n That had been last February, night of Candlemas, the night when I\nblessed all of the many candles I make to see me through the year, the night\nthe old candles are taken down and replaced with new and all candelabra and\nchandeliers must be cleaned of their old wax, the night when throats are\nblessed and all throat disease is cured, the night when all wool-makers are\nprotected, the traditional end of Christmastide before that was moved to\nepiphany, once the start of three weeks of Roman festivities to everything from\nlove and purity to the lowly oven. Now Boy and I played before my fire and I\nasked:<\/p>\n\n\n\n “Can I meet Angelos one day?” <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Reckon so, ma’am. You\nand she would like each other I believe. \nBoth been kind to me, you have.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n I have forgiven Boy long ago for his party at my expense. I may have lost a few friends because of his\nantics but gained others as each of his companions have come to see me on the\nnights that followed to share the stories of how they became spirits, the\nsadness that means they cannot depart, little moments of personal tragedy that\nI attempt in my own madness to resolve through my prayer, my love and affection\nfor each of them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n And when people ask me \u201cHave you ever considered having children?\u201d I struggle to explain that I already have a family of children, a riot of ill-discipline made marvelous by our strong sense of mutual love.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A collection of short stories of the ghost sightings in Lavenham based on true accounts but names and places have been changed to maintain anonymity We begin with three stories about a Lavenham ghost named ‘Boy’. Boy I sat before the fire, drifting off to sleep in front of the comfort of its flickering flames. … <\/p>\n