The Ghostman by Maxwell Grantly
damage and make it good. Indeed the craftsmanship of this piece was excellent and I didn’t want to let a bargain like this pass me by. I offered the asking price and arranged to collect it by car, at the end of the car boot sale.
During the next few days, I very carefully filled the deep scratches in with a fine grade wood filler and sanded down the surface as best I could, gradually changing the quality of sandpaper from coarse to fine in order to replicate the delicate finish that had been achieved over the rest of the surface. When I had finished, I had a gift that I was sure would satisfy the gentle touch of Claude’s fingers. Later that month I was to present Claude with his gift and I was sure that he would love the texture of the wood in the same way that I had, when I first noticed this item.
My expectations were realised on that day. I carted the cabinet around to Claude in the boot of my car, resting on the soft folds of an old blanket for protection, and I knocked on Claude’s door. Both Claude and Ellie opened the door, arm in arm, and I led the way to my car, with Ellie leading Claude across the gravel driveway. When the couple reached my car I took Claude’s hands and positioned then onto the surface of the cabinet that was lying there. A wide grin grew across Claude’s face as he ran his fingers delicately across the surface of the wood and I knew immediately that he would enjoy the texture of the furniture as much as I had hoped.
After moving the cabinet carefully into the house, I stayed for an hour or so, sharing a selection of fancy cakes piled high on a doily covered plate and a hot cup of refreshing Yorkshire tea. Eventually it was time to return home and I bid the couple farewell before confirming our meet for the following Sunday evening.
I was saddened to receive a telephone call later that week that Claude was unable to meet as usual for our regular weekly meet but, as I spoke with Ellie, nothing was said that would arouse my suspicion that something was awry. The following Sunday, our pattern was back to normal and I arrived at Claude’s that evening to collect him to lead him on the short walk to the pub. As I knocked on the door, Ellie answered and made a request.
“Would you two mind skipping the pub visit tonight, Jamie?” she asked, referring also to her husband, “Claude’s sitting on the bench in the back garden and I think he’d enjoy an evening at home in the late sunshine rather than to amble out to the pub on such a lovely warm evening.”
She led me through the house and out through the back door. We passed rows of cleanly weeded vegetables and neatly cropped fruit bushes and I immediately recognised Claude’s handiwork in the garden. His loss of sight hadn’t dampened his love of the great outdoors. Claude was sitting on a wooden bench at the far end of the garden where the evening sunlight was still casting a warming glow and I went to join him. I noticed as I approached that he held one hand inside his unbutton coat and it was clear that he was cradling something in his hands. I didn’t want to reveal that I could spot anything out of the ordinary as I guessed that it would be another one of Claude’s garden presentations for me; sticks of fresh rhubarb or perhaps the head of a succulent lettuce. We simply sat together and began to speak as usual about the events of the week. The first question I wanted to ask was whether he was all right after his absence from last week. His face broke into an usually wide grin and he began to talk.
“My apologies at missing last week but I have had such an incredible time,” he started, with a smile that crossed his face like a huge wedge of cheese. “I’ve acquired a small puppy! I felt the first tentative whisks of movement as I searched with my fingertips. At first I could feel it shaking nervously but as soon as I cradled my palms around it I could feel it relax and snuggle into the warmth of my hands. I gently drew it out and held it against my chest and I could feel the dampness of its nose pushing into the folds between my fingers.”
I looked down at Claude’s one visible hand. It was indeed a large and powerful hand, despite the passing of age. Yet I could see that he had the dexterity to be gentle and compassionate too. His second hand remained tucked within the folds of his lofty overcoat. Claude continued to talk with great empathy and fondness about the very smallest happenings of the last fortnight. He spoke about the gentle breeze of the dog’s breath upon the checks of his face when he held it closely, the sound of the swaying grass as the animal bounded and played in the sunlight around his feet, the passing draught as the creature danced about his legs chasing falling seed heads from the dandelions in the fields, the sensation of warmth passing through his lap as the small puppy nestled asleep on it for protection. It seemed almost an idyllic and childlike existence that had closely grown between the two of them. I asked whether I could see the animal for myself.
“I’d rather let her sleep for just for a moment if you don’t mind,” Claude explained. “The two of us have had such an eventful day by the brook and I don’t want to tire her unnecessarily.”
I noted that Claude was very eager to talk about the adventures that both of them had shared over the last fortnight but he was most reluctant to answer my intermittent questions, such as what she had eaten or where she had slept. Despite this apparent abnormality in the banter that we enjoyed I was really pleased to see a youthful enthusiasm in Claude. It seemed as if the discovery of this pet had inspired a new interest for my old friend.
“Where did you find her?” I finally enquired.
I could wait no longer to ask this question. There was a pause and I could see that Claude looked puzzled before he replied.
“I don’t understand it,” he started with a perplexed look upon his face, “but, when you left two weeks ago, I ran my fingers across the grain of the wood of the cabinet that you left for my birthday and I found a small shaking mass pushed to the very far back corner. I simply don’t know how she could have gotten there.”
I left later that evening and Ellie saw me to the door. I asked her about the dog.
“I fear that he is becoming senile” she confided to me in a hushed whisper. “There is no dog and of that I am certain!”
I glanced over her shoulder and looked through the French doors into the darkened hues of the late evening dusk. I caught sight of Claude throwing small pinecones into the undergrowth and clapping his legs with childlike glee. It was then that it all made sense to me and I understood the answers to my many questions. Obviously Claude was very content indeed and, I thought, the two of them made a great pair.
The Vampire Cat
I decided to raise the topic of ghostly events, when I visited a small village pub called The Kings Arms, situated opposite a cluster of houses on the edge of the hamlet of Burgh Castle. I hadn’t visited this pub for some time and as I approached the bar, I was casually asked whether I was a holidaymaker from one of the surrounding campsites.
“No,” I replied. “I live just a few miles away but I have made a detour here, looking for any unexplained events so that I could add these to my repertoire of mysterious tales.”
The landlady beckoned with her finger towards the far corner of the pub, to where an elderly gentleman was sitting alone. She explained that, being one of the oldest regulars to the pub, he was full of stories from his past and she was sure that he could pass on a word or two. I took my drink and made my way to the corner to introduce myself, quickly finding myself at ease with the gentleman. He was very keen to talk about the period from his early life, when times were so different from those of today and soon the banter of his words filled the air around the table.
After about a half an hour, I ordered another two drinks: one for myself and one for the gentleman, as we continued talking about times past. I became so engrossed in the conversation I hardly noticed when a second elderly gentleman approached the table and sat opposite his old friend. The two old men were obviously drinking partners and knew each other well.
I’m not sure whether it was the effect of the relaxed atmosphere of the pub, the support of a second friendly face, growing trust in my presence or simply the effect of the alcohol slowly taking hold but the atmosphere suddenly became more so
mbre and the elderly gentleman lowered his voice to confide a story which he “had never recounted before in all his passing years.”
He went on to explain that, as a young man, he had come to this village from the outskirts of Norwich (the nearby city) in his search for work on the land. His wish was to find suitable employment and a place in which to start a home. It was a cold autumnal evening when he had arrived in the village, having heard that there was work to be had in the processing of local reed for the thatching of roofs for local cottages. He spotted a wisp of smoke carving its way through sombre hues of the late dusk sky and, as he approached the public house, he recalled seeing a large black cat sitting on its haunches by the closed door of the building. He rapped firmly on the entrance and then bent down to stroke the cat, as he waited for a reply. As he stoked the cat, it weaved in and out between his legs, pressing its body firmly but affectionately against the side of his limbs. As he bent down to repeat the coax, the door swung open to reveal the outline of a sturdily built woman, dressed
During the next few days, I very carefully filled the deep scratches in with a fine grade wood filler and sanded down the surface as best I could, gradually changing the quality of sandpaper from coarse to fine in order to replicate the delicate finish that had been achieved over the rest of the surface. When I had finished, I had a gift that I was sure would satisfy the gentle touch of Claude’s fingers. Later that month I was to present Claude with his gift and I was sure that he would love the texture of the wood in the same way that I had, when I first noticed this item.
My expectations were realised on that day. I carted the cabinet around to Claude in the boot of my car, resting on the soft folds of an old blanket for protection, and I knocked on Claude’s door. Both Claude and Ellie opened the door, arm in arm, and I led the way to my car, with Ellie leading Claude across the gravel driveway. When the couple reached my car I took Claude’s hands and positioned then onto the surface of the cabinet that was lying there. A wide grin grew across Claude’s face as he ran his fingers delicately across the surface of the wood and I knew immediately that he would enjoy the texture of the furniture as much as I had hoped.
After moving the cabinet carefully into the house, I stayed for an hour or so, sharing a selection of fancy cakes piled high on a doily covered plate and a hot cup of refreshing Yorkshire tea. Eventually it was time to return home and I bid the couple farewell before confirming our meet for the following Sunday evening.
I was saddened to receive a telephone call later that week that Claude was unable to meet as usual for our regular weekly meet but, as I spoke with Ellie, nothing was said that would arouse my suspicion that something was awry. The following Sunday, our pattern was back to normal and I arrived at Claude’s that evening to collect him to lead him on the short walk to the pub. As I knocked on the door, Ellie answered and made a request.
“Would you two mind skipping the pub visit tonight, Jamie?” she asked, referring also to her husband, “Claude’s sitting on the bench in the back garden and I think he’d enjoy an evening at home in the late sunshine rather than to amble out to the pub on such a lovely warm evening.”
She led me through the house and out through the back door. We passed rows of cleanly weeded vegetables and neatly cropped fruit bushes and I immediately recognised Claude’s handiwork in the garden. His loss of sight hadn’t dampened his love of the great outdoors. Claude was sitting on a wooden bench at the far end of the garden where the evening sunlight was still casting a warming glow and I went to join him. I noticed as I approached that he held one hand inside his unbutton coat and it was clear that he was cradling something in his hands. I didn’t want to reveal that I could spot anything out of the ordinary as I guessed that it would be another one of Claude’s garden presentations for me; sticks of fresh rhubarb or perhaps the head of a succulent lettuce. We simply sat together and began to speak as usual about the events of the week. The first question I wanted to ask was whether he was all right after his absence from last week. His face broke into an usually wide grin and he began to talk.
“My apologies at missing last week but I have had such an incredible time,” he started, with a smile that crossed his face like a huge wedge of cheese. “I’ve acquired a small puppy! I felt the first tentative whisks of movement as I searched with my fingertips. At first I could feel it shaking nervously but as soon as I cradled my palms around it I could feel it relax and snuggle into the warmth of my hands. I gently drew it out and held it against my chest and I could feel the dampness of its nose pushing into the folds between my fingers.”
I looked down at Claude’s one visible hand. It was indeed a large and powerful hand, despite the passing of age. Yet I could see that he had the dexterity to be gentle and compassionate too. His second hand remained tucked within the folds of his lofty overcoat. Claude continued to talk with great empathy and fondness about the very smallest happenings of the last fortnight. He spoke about the gentle breeze of the dog’s breath upon the checks of his face when he held it closely, the sound of the swaying grass as the animal bounded and played in the sunlight around his feet, the passing draught as the creature danced about his legs chasing falling seed heads from the dandelions in the fields, the sensation of warmth passing through his lap as the small puppy nestled asleep on it for protection. It seemed almost an idyllic and childlike existence that had closely grown between the two of them. I asked whether I could see the animal for myself.
“I’d rather let her sleep for just for a moment if you don’t mind,” Claude explained. “The two of us have had such an eventful day by the brook and I don’t want to tire her unnecessarily.”
I noted that Claude was very eager to talk about the adventures that both of them had shared over the last fortnight but he was most reluctant to answer my intermittent questions, such as what she had eaten or where she had slept. Despite this apparent abnormality in the banter that we enjoyed I was really pleased to see a youthful enthusiasm in Claude. It seemed as if the discovery of this pet had inspired a new interest for my old friend.
“Where did you find her?” I finally enquired.
I could wait no longer to ask this question. There was a pause and I could see that Claude looked puzzled before he replied.
“I don’t understand it,” he started with a perplexed look upon his face, “but, when you left two weeks ago, I ran my fingers across the grain of the wood of the cabinet that you left for my birthday and I found a small shaking mass pushed to the very far back corner. I simply don’t know how she could have gotten there.”
I left later that evening and Ellie saw me to the door. I asked her about the dog.
“I fear that he is becoming senile” she confided to me in a hushed whisper. “There is no dog and of that I am certain!”
I glanced over her shoulder and looked through the French doors into the darkened hues of the late evening dusk. I caught sight of Claude throwing small pinecones into the undergrowth and clapping his legs with childlike glee. It was then that it all made sense to me and I understood the answers to my many questions. Obviously Claude was very content indeed and, I thought, the two of them made a great pair.
The Vampire Cat
I decided to raise the topic of ghostly events, when I visited a small village pub called The Kings Arms, situated opposite a cluster of houses on the edge of the hamlet of Burgh Castle. I hadn’t visited this pub for some time and as I approached the bar, I was casually asked whether I was a holidaymaker from one of the surrounding campsites.
“No,” I replied. “I live just a few miles away but I have made a detour here, looking for any unexplained events so that I could add these to my repertoire of mysterious tales.”
The landlady beckoned with her finger towards the far corner of the pub, to where an elderly gentleman was sitting alone. She explained that, being one of the oldest regulars to the pub, he was full of stories from his past and she was sure that he could pass on a word or two. I took my drink and made my way to the corner to introduce myself, quickly finding myself at ease with the gentleman. He was very keen to talk about the period from his early life, when times were so different from those of today and soon the banter of his words filled the air around the table.
After about a half an hour, I ordered another two drinks: one for myself and one for the gentleman, as we continued talking about times past. I became so engrossed in the conversation I hardly noticed when a second elderly gentleman approached the table and sat opposite his old friend. The two old men were obviously drinking partners and knew each other well.
I’m not sure whether it was the effect of the relaxed atmosphere of the pub, the support of a second friendly face, growing trust in my presence or simply the effect of the alcohol slowly taking hold but the atmosphere suddenly became more so
He went on to explain that, as a young man, he had come to this village from the outskirts of Norwich (the nearby city) in his search for work on the land. His wish was to find suitable employment and a place in which to start a home. It was a cold autumnal evening when he had arrived in the village, having heard that there was work to be had in the processing of local reed for the thatching of roofs for local cottages. He spotted a wisp of smoke carving its way through sombre hues of the late dusk sky and, as he approached the public house, he recalled seeing a large black cat sitting on its haunches by the closed door of the building. He rapped firmly on the entrance and then bent down to stroke the cat, as he waited for a reply. As he stoked the cat, it weaved in and out between his legs, pressing its body firmly but affectionately against the side of his limbs. As he bent down to repeat the coax, the door swung open to reveal the outline of a sturdily built woman, dressed