It was really quite implausible the things he said, “Me, believe in ghosts? Really! You expect me to believe that hundred-year-old house is haunted…honestly!”
I felt about ready to explode in argument, but I loved him and his derogatory disposition. Slamming the car door I said, “We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t seen what I saw yesterday in the window, so quit giving me grief about it!”
I knew if I was to write the world’s most riveting mystery, I needed hands-on experience to flesh out my characters, and that old haunted house was going to be my research do or die. I didn’t really want to stay overnight, but I needed ideas, even if it made my skin crawl.
“I have no desire to sleep on a cold floor or dusty, old broken down bed so you can write your novel!” he argued with a snobbish air about him.
Warlock had no backbone when it came to supernatural beings, and if he did, no one ever saw it, least of all not me, and I was married to him. He was a highly educated wizard who most would say had a cold disposition and cold eyes. However, I saw compassion in his eyes every time he looked at me, and a desperate need for understanding. I melted every time I locked eyes with him…he was my true love, but so was my writing.
The blustery wind sifted his raven hair and his eyes glinted, portraying a man who had absolutely no interest whatsoever in being proven wrong. He turned on his heel and stood waiting for me with his black robes swishing about him. I stared at him reproachfully, hoping to change his ingenious mind, but he motioned for me to follow him. How could he expect me to ignore my creative side, the one side of me no one could ever understand and probably never will?
“Are you coming?” he asked, holding his hand out.
“No,” I answered curtly, stepping towards the decrepit, gothic door. I felt guilty knowing I disrespected my love’s wishes, but I had an extraordinary thirst for experiencing new things to broaden my writing.
“Come back here! There’s no reason for you to risk your life in that ol’ broken down excuse for a house!”
I fought myself to not retreat and headed towards the house with my writing tools in hand. He sprinted after me to catch up, grabbed me by the arm, not viciously mind you, but strong enough to stop me in my tracks. I withdrew my arm knowing he had reason to worry, but I was adamant about my intensions.
“If you truly loved me, you’d stay with me!” I cried, stepping away from him.
“Don’t give me that ‘if you love me dung’!” he said hotly, as he followed me to the old stone porch. “You know damn well I do! But this is just preposterous to chance!”
I stormed up the steps, my white cloak swirling about me as I faced him, “Warlock, you knew I was a writer when we married. You know I love you with every grain of my existence. All I’m asking is that you please stay — I need you!”
He stared at me in contemplation. I could never read his thoughts, although I was quite certain he could read mine. Perhaps it was beneath him to subject himself to a house that creaked, had broken windows, and torn screens. Perhaps the structure of the house was unsafe, what with its rickety wood siding and missing stone steps. Nevertheless, I furrowed my brow and waited for his answer in optimistic hope.
“I have, and always will support your writing career,” he argued. “However, this obsessive need of yours to have hands-on experience is simply unscrupulous! You don’t need to risk your life for ideas!” The concern in his voice was genuine — the deepness of his love for me glinted in his eyes, but I couldn’t give in to him.
“I’ve always given you the best of myself, why can’t you stand behind me on this?”
“Please reconsider this…” He begged with what was left of his dignity.
“I love you, but I have to do this with or without you.” I kissed him with intense passion then turned on my heel to enter the deserted house. He stood watching me, shaking his head in defeated disappointment.
Silk cobwebs decorated the walls, the disintegrating mantle over the fireplace sustained half-burned candles in an antique candelabrum, and firewood lay for want on the hearth along with a half-empty matchbox.
I laid my writing tools down as I drank in the antique setting, cleared away the cobwebs from the wood logs, kindling and opening of the fireplace, and struck a match several times until finally on the third match, flames burst from its tip.
Shadows appeared on the reading room walls and thick spiders scurried towards the floorboards, hiding in the shadows as I entered the room open mouthed. Books filled the floor to ceiling shelves and white sheets lay over outdated furniture.
I stared out the broken window into the moonlit sky, compiling my thoughts. Suddenly, the creaking floorboards in the foyer broke my concentration. My eyes widened as I sat fearful of making any noise. My heart hammered hard against my ribs as the footsteps fell closer and closer.
I covered my mouth, minding my breathing. Warlock was right about one thing, I had imagination, and at that precise moment, it was working quite well in overtime. I quietly gathered my writing tools and stood up to tentatively tiptoe out of the reading room to find Warlock. Suddenly, something laid a hand on my shoulder.
“AAAHHH!” screaming, I dropped everything in my hands to the floor.
“Sorry…seen enough?” said a man’s silky voice.
“Warlock!” I said in surprised relief. “Thank Heaven it’s you.”
“I came to persuade you to come home one last time,” he answered.
I remained unyielding in my decision, whether I was afraid or not, my thoughts of creativity glued me to the old house, if only to finish feeding my muse.
“I can’t… not just yet…” I said picking up my writing tools.
He looked up in annoyance at the ceiling; he was not at all pleased with my answer.
“Please…don’t go…” I pleaded in a loving tone, my hands on his chest. “Let me wander through the house and soak in its atmosphere for a spell.” I placed one hand behind my back and crossed my fingers, hoping I persuaded him.
He said nothing, but pulled out his wand.
I furrowed my eyebrow with my curiosity peaked. “Does this mean you’ll stay with me?”
Warlock tapped his wand in his left hand and nodded. He stepped closer to me, pulled me into a close embracement, caressed my red hair and kissed me, “I don’t care for such a filthy place…it is simply beneath my expectations. However…I shall stay with you. Please do hurry up with your creativity so we may go home.”
I smiled at him, seized my paper, quill and ink, and we headed out of the study, into the hallway and up the rickety stairwell of oak, his wand illuminating the way.
On the top landing of the stairs, a little transparent boy in medieval attire, olive colored breeches, knee length, and tunic to match, sat crying. I approached him with care, trying not to startle him.
He looked up at Warlock and me, then scuttled backwards, shaking his head and screaming, “No, No, go away! I’ll be a good little boy! I promise!”
I knelt down to his level and said compassionately, “We’re not here to harm you.”
He looked up alarmed at Warlock still holding his wand.
I turned and covered his hand, pushing the wand down. I then turned to face the little ghost and said, “He will not harm you either. He’s with me to keep me company.”
“Who are you?” he cried. “What d’you want?” He backed himself up into the wall, sticking half way out. Two tear-flooded eyes and a whimpering little smile stared back at us in utter terror.
“My name is Wendelyn, I’m an author.”
“Who’s he?” pointed the little ghost.
“He’s my husband, you needn’t be afraid,” I answered in a gentle manner. “Why are you here, what happened to you?”
“I was left here by a bad man; he had eyes of the devil!” wailed the little ghost.
“He stole my parents! I want Mama and Papa!”
“What’s your name?” I asked, wiping a runaway tear from my cheek with my sleeve. My heart went out to him.
“Joseph… Joseph Fiddleton,” he said fidgeting and trembling. “Do you know where the bad man took Mama and Papa?”
“Sorry…no,” I answered. “Joseph, how long have you been here?” I asked, wanting to know if he understood that he wasn’t of this world.
“I don’t know how to tell time, but it’s been long enough!” he cried.
Just as I suspected, he had no understanding that he was a ghost. I had to tell him, but how to go about it was what worried me. I had to find the words simple and gentle enough to make him understand, without giving him reason to run away.
“Perhaps, I should talk to him,” suggested Warlock.
I could tell by the sympathetic, creased up look on his face, he felt sorry for the little ghost.
“I thought you said, (I motioned to Joseph) that you don’t believe in them?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “Joseph, there simply is no easy way to tell you this…” Warlock knelt down on one knee, “…as you said, your mother and father were taken by this bad man, several years ago. You, my friend… are not of this world anymore…. You belong with the angels.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” he wailed. “YOU LIE! THEY’RE COM’N BACK FOR ME!” He pulled himself from out of the wall and became fully visible as tears furiously flooded his eyes. He tried to kick Warlock for saying he was an orphan, but Warlock fell backwards to avoid his hysterical outburst. Joseph ran down the stairs and added, “And I’m not a ghost! Don’t think I don’t understand your fancy words!”
Warlock looked at me, and I, at him. Joseph was not taking the news well at all. We both got to our feet and followed him through the house until we came upon a corner in the common room where Joseph curled up crying. I moved stacks of books and boxes out of the way to talk with him.
“It’s not true … it can’t be….” he sobbed.
His sobbing made me feel as though we had intruded upon his home. I walked up to him and knelt down a few feet away.
“Joseph… if you want to see your mama and papa again, you must listen to me.”
“Why should I?” he cried, clamping his arms around his legs. “Go away you liar!”
Ignoring his harsh words, I gently said, “Go to the light.”
He looked at me through tears with puzzlement emerging on his young face.
“What did you say?”
It was as though I had said something familiar to him.
“Go to the light… it’s all right,” I said gesturing for him to take leave. “That is where you will find your mama and papa, I am most certain of it.”
“I’ve heard those words before…” he said, wiping his tears. “What do they mean?”
“Do you see a light shining anywhere around you right now?”
“I hear voices… and there’s a light com’n through, over there!” he said pointing to the front door, which strangely enough had disappeared and resembled the inky-black, starlit sky.
“You must go to that light… your parents are calling you.”
“I’m too afraid, what if it’s a trick of the bad man who took them away?” he cried.
“Joseph, I hear the same voices you hear, it’s a woman and man’s voice. It’s safe to go towards the light, I promise.” At first, I thought I had said something I made up to convince him — then I heard echoing voices. Warlock stood open mouthed, he was in awe of what he was hearing and seeing.
Joseph got to his feet and ran towards the light with widened eyes.
“Mama!” he exclaimed, “Papa!” Glistening stars and a brilliant light swallowed him, leaving Warlock and me in darkness. Suddenly I could hear a child’s happy cry… then a man and a woman’s happy cry… Joseph had found his parents.
Warlock stepped closer to me and stood by my side as we watched the three ghosts of medieval attire turn to wave good-bye.
“Thank you for helping our son!” cried Joseph’s mother with tears of happiness flooding her eyes. “God Bless you!” They turned and sauntered off into the glistening light.
“Now do you believe in ghosts?” I asked Warlock, crossing my arms. Having proved my point, I knew by the half grin he gave me, he wasn’t about to admit he had just witnessed three ghosts reuniting and heading off to heaven. He said nothing as we gathered my things and headed towards the car.
“Oh come now, Warlock,” I said after a short, silent walk to the car. “It wasn’t so horrible after all… was it?”
Warlock simply looked at me as if annoyed. He seemed to be under the assumption I was about to say, I-told-you-so, and turned the other way hoping to avoid hearing me say it. We both got into the car and then he let out a long sigh.
“I suppose you were right in saying the house was indeed haunted…” he said wearily. “Suffice it to say, after what we’ve just been privy too, the house is now free of ghosts… and should you feel the need for more inspiration, I fancy you have learned your lesson about staying in such deplorable conditions. I won’t apologize for wanting to keep you safe, so don’t expect it.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes my love… I can honestly say my having the need for inspiration from such places, will be left to my imagination, or in reading other books.”
Warlock turned the key in the ignition.
“Nevertheless, I fear my pride to be shattered in having to apologize for not believing you, and even more so, for admitting I’ve seen an apparition of some sort. Some things are best left unsaid.”
“Yes love, I agree.”
However, I’ve never been one to be so formidably inconsiderate and vain that I refuse to admit when I’m wrong. That being said, I feel that it only proper of me to say—” He paused for a moment and raised his eyes as though getting the words out was quite difficult.
I busily tucked away my things in my knapsack, trying to avert eye contact and making him more uncomfortable in his admittance than he already was.
“You what love?” I pretended to ask absentmindedly, as I tightened the cap of my ink bottle. It was quite obvious we both knew he was trying to apologize.
“I… I apologize… there I’ve said it.” He turned the heater on seeing that it had been a few moments of warming the car engine.
What came over me next, I can not explain. The only way I can describe such a feeling, would be to say that it felt as though I was dipped in a cauldron of love potion, (although, I really hadn’t the need for it in the first place) one that was permanently seeping into my skin and throughout my body. My love for him grew to new depths that night. For the first time in our relationship as wizard and wife, he apologized. I laid my bag down, reached over and pulled his lips to mine.
After an intensely passionate kiss I simply said with fire in my eyes, “I love you…”
Warlock cleared his throat and put the car in gear.
“We better head home,” He said, flooring the gas peddle, leaving the once haunted house in a trail of dust. And that night… well… you’re the reader… I’ll leave that part to your imagination.
From that day forward, my husband has never doubted me again. At least, as far as I know, he hasn’t. As for me, I’m in the process of writing the world’s most riveting mystery about a little ghost.