FENTEN VALE

Have you ever noticed how often ghost stories are set at Christmas? An even more prevalent ghost story trope is that they tend to be told second hand. In my memory every MR James, Bram Stoker or Henry James story starts with something like this;

"The story I am about to reveal to you came into my possession by way of a letter sent to me from an old Cambridge acquaintance (whose name I will not divulge here) on the 14th Day of Advent in the year of our Lord 1896. I now print this letter, without a modicum of tampering, for you to digest as you will. I can assure you, reader, of one indubitable fact, that the words you are about to read are wholly and entirely true.”

The Christmas element is easily explained. The long dark evenings, the stripping of leaves from the trees, the chill on the air. Death can feel strangely present amongst all the tinsel, mince pies and fairy lights. So, naturally ghosts have worked their way into our festive traditions.

The distance from the original teller is more of a mystery to me. Perhaps it gives the stories a sort of paradoxical credence. I suppose it has the advantage of plausible deniability. You can’t press the teller for more detail because it didn’t happen to them, it happened to whoever wrote the letter. But still, they assure you, it’s wholly and entirely true.

Having said all that, perhaps those tropes exist for a good reason. The story that I am about to tell you was told to me by a third party and of course it all happened in a distant December. I will tell you every detail as it was told to me and, given that I trust my source completely, I can assure you that this story is wholly and entirely true.

On Friday, December 4th, 1998 Ashley Rowe returned to Cornwall after some five years away from home. In all that time she had not crossed the Tamar, not even for Christmas. She had hit the eject button as soon as she had left Truro College and had headed straight to Bristol to study theatre. I say she went to study, but Bristol was actually an opportunity to exercise some long awaited freedom. Away from her little village containing her father, mother, little brother, grandmother and twelve other families, all of which had known her since her birth, she was free and able to experiment with hitherto unknown pleasures. She could take risks never before taken and most importantly of all, she could make mistakes. As it does with most young people, this mostly consisted of partaking in a healthy amount of drink and drugs, making some interesting fashion choices and having lots of sex with people who turn out to be annoying. Her main memories from this time were cutting her fringe far too short, a dangerous night climbing on rooftops full of youthful exuberance and cocaine, a week where so many of her fellow students contracted the same condition that they bought up the entire city’s supply of scabies cream, and finally, an ill-advised relationship with a controlling ex-tutor. It was due to this relationship ending that she had decided to return to her home county.

The day she had left Cornwall Ash had looked similar to how she’d looked through most of her childhood, as if she was wearing a school uniform even when she wasn’t. This was topped most days, at her father’s instance, with a yellow cagoule. But Bristol had worked its ‘alternative’ way on her and she had scoured the city’s charity shops for baggy jeans and plaid shirts and painted around her eyes a shade darker. Her pride and joy was a ‘Jonathan Creek’ style duffle coat that she wore at every opportunity. One thing that had not changed was her mess of untameable blond hair which, everyone had to admit, made more sense with her new look than it did with her old one.

The idea of returning home was not a pleasant one. Above all she dreaded seeing her father. His temper had been a deciding factor in her leaving in the first place and she was sure it would be similar now. Luckily providence had stepped in at the last moment in the shape of her old school friend, Didi. Didi had spent the last five years doing much the same as Ash but she had stayed behind in Cornwall. She had also started a new business using a timely and substantial inheritance, buying up four holiday cottages in her local area.

“Listen Ash,” Didi had said over the phone “I need someone to come and help me with the properties over the winter. Make sure the heating’s still running, keep the damp at bay, all of that shit. Plus I could give you one of our smaller cottages to stay in while you’re here. Spring View in Fenten Vale. It’s pretty sweet.”

“You can’t do that!” Ash had protested.

Didi would never tell Ash that she was perfectly capable of looking after her properties herself and that this position was offered out of kindness and sympathy. Ash was not one to take charity but Didi was certainly not going to allow her to go back to her family home.

“Honestly mate, you’ll be doing me bloody a favour.” Didi had said “It’s just sitting empty. I can’t get any clients in there at the moment anyway.”

“Alright,” Ash had accepted “If you’re sure.”

Ash arrived by bus at mid-afternoon in the small Cornish town of St Euny. She popped into the little Spar shop and bought cigarettes, a Pot Noodle and a local paper. She skimmed through it;

‘GRENADE FOUND AT TIP’

‘VANDALS ON LOOSE IN ST EUNY’

‘SECOND HOMES ON THE RISE’

‘PERVERT ARRESTED AFTER BEING FOUND IN SLURRY PIT’

‘Good.’ Ash thought to herself ‘place doesn’t seem to have changed much.’

Carrying her heavy backpack on one shoulder, she began her cross-country journey to the cottage that Didi had arranged for her. She carefully followed her map- described over the phone by Didi and drawn by herself on the back of a torn open box of Benson and Hedges. She made her way to the edge of the town, through the little green churchyard, hopped over a sturdy granite stile and crossed several wide, open, windswept fields. After a mile or so she came to a gap in a far hedge and dropped down into a sunken path.

She was immediately plunged into deep shade. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust. The path was covered on both sides by a thick tangle of leafless trees creating a tunnel. The cover was so great that it blocked out the wind. She walked down the rocky path, careful not to trip or step into the tiny burbles of water that zig-zagged across the way. Eventually the soft trickling sounds beneath her feet gave out to the sound of a pregnant and rushing stream that crossed the bottom of the path. With a few deft jumps across protruding stones she made her way to the other side of the stream with only slightly wet feet. Finally she had made it to Fenten Vale, the sight of her home for the rest of the winter.

Fenten Vale is nestled at the base of a valley with one road passing through it. It is crossed by this rubble path that leads down the valley before picking its way through some marshy land ahead. There are two streams that run through Fenten Vale. They tumble and mist across everything so that the walls of the few buildings standing there seem always to be wet. At that time the buildings consisted of a good-sized farm house that by then stood empty and derelict, and two small granite cottages. They stood side by side, presumably originally built for some farm workers or tin streamers a century and a half ago. One of these cottages was Spring View, the cottage that Ash would be staying in. She stood before it and admired its rugged, simple beauty. It had a small grass garden in the front with a chair, table and upside-down ashtray. A few overgrown pot plants were dotted about the place and by the door a plastic printed sign displayed the name of the property and a bold KHC logo. Ash knew this stood for Kernow Holiday Cottages.

Her eyes then turned to the cottage next door. It was a mirror image of Spring View in construction but that is where the similarity ended. The grass was long and tangled amongst an old wheelbarrow, scrap metal and building rubble. The downstairs window was half covered with a tatty bedsheet displaying Thomas the Tank Engine. The upstairs window was partially open, partially cracked with a clutter of plastic bottles- Fanta, Lilt, Sunny Delight- covering at least the bottom third.

“Well,” she thought to herself “Now we know why Didi couldn’t let anyone stay here. At least it will be quiet with no one next door”

“FOR FUCK SAKE!” Ash jumped as she heard the loud booming voice. It came from inside the tumbling cottage followed by more, less distinct shouting. So much for quiet. The shouting continued as she went up the little path of her own cottage and searched for the key under the flowerpot where Didi had said it would be. As she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open the noise was silenced.

Inside was comfortable, clean if slightly clinical, as you would expect from a holiday home. The walls were freshly painted, the varnished pine furniture was beaten and bashed but still polished to within an inch of its life. The kitchen was small but scrubbed well and smelled of bleach. Most of the cupboards were empty apart from the usual incongruous collection of objects; fifteen tea spoons but only three forks, a slightly cracked mug depicting Charles and Diana, no sign of a tin opener but, for some reason, two toast racks. Upstairs there were two bedrooms, one at the front and one at the back, but only the back one had a bed inside. It was made up with crisp white bedsheets but no duvet. Across the hall there was a cramped windowless toilet and shower. The walls of every room were dotted with photos and sketches of Cornish landmarks- St Michael’s Mount, Truro Cathedral, Pendennis Castle and a few general mine stacks. The living room windowsill was draped in brochures for Dairy Land, Flambards and Lappa Valley. The only quirky flourish was a large green glass vase, filled with champagne corks and glass beads placed by a log burner.

Even though she knew she was given the cottage in order to work, there was still a frisson of excitement that came with staying in a holiday home. It reminded her of childhood holidays, staying in caravans or chalets on the Devon coast with her mother and little brother. Her father always had to work so he would stay at home.

She noticed a no smoking sign in the kitchen and so ventured out into the back garden to light up. It was as simple as the front. A small patio outside the backdoor, a set of metal garden furniture and a square of grass with a revolving clothes line in the centre. A tall and freshly stained wooden fence separated this garden from next door’s but still she could glimpse the detritus. Rusty scaffolding, a roll of old carpet and a tangle of brambles all stuck up over the fence.

She closed her eyes and took a deep drag on her cigarette. The breeze gently caressed the tops of the surrounding oaks rustling the few remaining leaves. The two streams provided a cool and calming white noise while somewhere closer- the nearby drain pipe perhaps- a trickle, like a garden water feature, came to her ears. She focused on it until it drowned everything else out.

An abrupt shiver went up her spine as she reopened her eyes. She caught a glimpse of something lying in the grass close to the adjoining fence. It was about a foot long, thin, off-white with flecks of yellow. It was dull, mottled with little dark spots. She dropped her cigarette end down the drain and approached. For a split second her breath was taken away.

“God, could it be?” She asked herself. “A human bone?” As she got closer she saw that, indeed it was a bone… a bone that had printed on it in tattered bubble writing “GOOD BOY”. She picked up the well used rubber dog toy with her thumb and forefinger.

“Someone’s got terrible aim.” She thought “How the hell is he meant to fetch that, poor thing.” and she tossed it carelessly over the fence.

Dinner was the Pot Noodle she’d bought in town. She lit the little log burner in the living room and stayed up as long as she could watching Channel 4 on the black, square television. Eventually she crawled up to bed. Despite being exhausted she still found it difficult to drop off. The bedroom was freezing and there was no duvet to be found so she wrapped herself in her duffle coat. A bothering sound would occasionally come to her ears. Not the rushing streams or the voice from next door or even the trickling drain. It came from the backs of the cottages. It was a nagging, tinging sound, like someone jangling a set of keys or… something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But, as she reasoned, she always found it difficult to sleep in new places.

* * *

It turned out that Didi was away at a tourism seminar and she wouldn’t be back until the following Friday. Luckily no cleaning was required until then so Ash filled her week exploring Fenten Vale. She walked the rest of the rocky trail that lead eventually to The Fenten Arms, a quiet little pub on a busy main road. She wandered the few streets of  St Euny whose population seemed to consist of the very elderly combined with various groups of disgruntled and bored looking teenagers. She raided the charity shops and finally bought some proper food from the Spar shop. Then she trudged back to Spring View with her rucksack bulging with bread, milk and Monster Munch. With Christmas on the way she broke a branch off one of the trees on the trail and placed it in a pot in the living room. She decorated it with baubles and tinsel she got in the Age Concern and made paper chains out of newspaper to hang from the ceiling. She barely heard a peep from next door. Occasionally she might hear the raised voice of a man but not very clearly and only in short bursts. The main nuisance was that persistent clinking night-time noise but she was sure she would get used to that soon enough. She became intrigued with her invisible neighbours and started to imagine what a strange and squalid life they must lead, fantasising that they were vampires or part of some witch’s coven. She had told her mum all about it when she rang her from a phone box in town.

“It’s lovely to hear from you my darling.” Her mum said “When will you be coming down to see us? Your father is insisting you let us know in advance and- well, you know what he’s like.”

Ash assured her that she would be back for Christmas but until then she was far too busy. Ash loved her father but as she had gotten older she had come to see that his masterly, assertive and insistent manner was in fact controlling, hostile and domineering. If she spent an extended amount of time with him she soon found herself meekly acquiescing to his demands- as all of the household had done through her childhood. Now she was an adult Ash had vowed to keep her interactions with him to a minimum. That way she would be able to continue to love him.

When Friday finally arrived she arose early, tidied the cottage and after a breakfast of digestive biscuits, tea and a cigarette she went off to meet her old friend. Ever since she was young Ash had a fear of losing keys. She decided it was safest to keep the key where she had found it- under the plant pot. As she was doing this she heard the door of the next cottage close. A tall, wide, wall of a man had come out and was now digging through a pile of rubble in his garden. He wore a dark blue smock and faded jeans, spattered with white paint and a well worn Breton hat. His hair, wild and grey with streaks of dirty yellow, poked out the bottom in all directions. He had an impressive beard covering most of his face. His nose and the little skin that was showing was ruddy and pockmarked.

“Hiya!” Ash called over the small garden wall. He shot up his grey eyes to meet hers.

“Oh,” he said steadily as he rose “Alright?”

“Yeah, you?” Ash asked.

“Yeah.” He replied.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She said holding out her hand. The man eyed it suspiciously.

“You, uh… here on holiday?” He asked.

“Oh, no.” She explained withdrawing her hand “I’m just staying here a month or two while I look after some of the other properties.”

“Is that right?” He said his eyes narrowing against the morning sun. “Well, we shan’t be bothering you.”

“Oh, well, I’m out most days anyway.” She nodded towards the rubble “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you. Doing some repairs?”

He nodded and wiped his brow. Ash glanced up to the window stacked high with bottles. She fancied she saw the face of a girl peering through it. It was an oval face, pale and tired looking framed by mousey brown, lank hair. She waved but before she could blink the face was gone.

“Anyhow,” the man said “must get on.”

“Of course,” she said “I’m Ash by the way.”

“Tom” The man said.

“Okay, see you dreckly.” She said as she walked up the lane towards St Euny.

“Shut up!” Didi squealed as Ash walked into her office, situated over the chip shop “Look at you! Bloody mega grunge chick alert!”

“Me?” Ash said “You’re one to talk Dana Scully!”

Didi had gone through her own transformation. Didi was always a shade cooler than Ash in school and had embraced teenage-hood and popular culture with more ease. Now her double denim outfit that she had been famous for was replaced by a slightly ill fitting suit. The two of them embraced, made instant coffee, lit cigarettes and caught up. They talked about school, old crushes and horrible, old, pervy Mr Percy in form 3.

“How was the cottage last night then? Comfy?” Didi finally asked.

“It’s sweet!” Ash answered “Didn’t sleep great though. Bit chilly without a duvet.”

“What do you mean?” Didi laughed “Why didn’t you use the duvet?”

“There wasn’t one.” Ash explained.

“Uh, yeah there is. I made the bed myself."

“Couldn’t see it.”

“Weird! Sorry, I must have stored it somewhere stupid. Things are so manic at the moment I haven’t got my head screwed on right. Found my house keys in the fridge last week.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Ash assured her “It was mostly this annoying noise coming from next door that kept me awake..”

“Oh god, you’re kidding. Are they being a nightmare already?”

“What? No! I think they just left their dog out the back all night.”

“Christ, was it barking?”

“Nothing like that. I could just hear it messing about.”

“That guy’s a knob.”

“Nah, he’s alright. We had a chat this morning. He’s just a character. His daughter’s a bit weird though.”

“Is the boy still there?” Didi enquired.

“Don’t think so.”

“Thought I hadn’t seen him in a while. Good riddance.”

“Why?” Ash asked.

“Oh, no. Nothing. There was just this lad living there with them. I say lad, he was just a bit younger than us really. The bloke’s son- Sam, I think. He’d moved down from up the line. I heard he’d been in care up there or something. Anyway, I know I shouldn’t think this but he was a pain in the ass. He’d make a bloody racket at all hours of the day and night. Smash shit up, disturb the guests. He’s the main reason I had stop renting that place out.”

“No shit.” Ash said.

“Yeah,” Didi went on “He worked at the Spar shop across the way. He always stinks to high heaven. Lost it while stocking shelves a couple of times. Messed the place up. They got rid of him eventually.”

“No shit!” Ash repeated.

“Oh god yeah!” said Didi “I mean I know it’s all very sad and everything, but I have to say I’m relieved he’s gone. Might have a chance of getting that place back on the books next year. Tell you what!” She said stubbing out her cigarette “Why don’t you do me a favour. While you’re there you can work on the big fella. You know, feminine wiles, reasonable chat and all that. Try to get him to clear up his place a bit, yeah?”

Ash said that she would try and, after receiving her instructions for the rest of the properties she hugged her friend and arranged to meet her later that week in the Fenten Arms. Ash worked the rest of that day, cleaning the three properties in and around St Euny. As the winter sun was starting to fade she returned, tired and aching, to Spring View.

As she bent down to retrieve the key from the plant pot, her eye was caught by something familiar behind it. Was it the same one? She was pretty sure it was. That same rubber bone that she had found in the back garden on her first night there. She was about to drop it over the little wall into Tom’s front garden when she remembered what Didi had said about trying to form a relationship with Tom. It was nearly dark now and her breath hung in the air. She could see a downstairs light on next door shining warmly through Thomas the Tank Engine. Shivering she wrapped her duffle coat close around her, went round, up their little path and knocked gently on the door. There was a pause followed by a clattering sound before the door was yanked open.

“Hello!” Ash said cheerily. For a split second Tom’s face was wary but It was quickly wiped clean with placidity.

“Alright?” He said.

“I just wanted to return this.” She said holding up the bone.

“Oh, right.” He said talking it from her. There was an awkward pause before Tom looked behind him and the then said “Come in for a cup tea.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble.” Ash protested but he ignored her.

“In you come.” He said turning into the house “and shut the damned door.” Ash quickly did as she was told.

She was caught off-guard by the state of the house. There were no spider webs or bats hanging from the ceiling as she had seen in her imagination. It was a well lived in and comfortable home for the most part. It reminded her of her beloved grandpa’s home down in Helston. It was however, a good deal more cluttered than grandpa’s. Newspapers, bottles, cheap china ornaments, but mostly building materials, half filled paint pots, cinder blocks, piles of timber. She noticed that the fireplace had been ripped out and a new one stood by it, ready to be installed. Until then they were making do with blow heaters dotted about the place which gave off the smell of burning dust.

She glanced up the stairs and in the dark she saw stacks of magazines and boxes covering the landing. As her eyes adjusted she thought she briefly saw the girl peeping down from behind one of the stacks. Ash followed Tom into the kitchen where he tossed the bone on top of a pile of dishes and put the kettle on.

“These damned renovations,” he said “they never stop. I did have my son here helping me but he’s buggered off so I’m doing the lot on me own.” He went over to a chopping board covered in sliced onion. “Have something to eat.”

“No thanks.” Ash replied. “I’m sorry your son’s left you in the lurch. Can I help at all?”

“I shouldn’t think so.” He said as he buttered two thick slices of white bread.

“Where did he go, your son?”

“Fucked off to be with some tart up Plymouth.” He replied. “Not much of a loss. He was a horrible little tuss.” He picked up a handful of the sliced onions and sprinkled them on top of the buttered bread.

“Can’t your daughter help?” Ash asked. Tom frowned for a moment before silently shaking his head. Ash felt suddenly embarrassed and quickly changed the subject “So, where’s your little doggy?” She said picking up the bone.

“Gone an’ all.” He said pressing the two slices of bread together. “Had to put him down a few weeks back.”

“Oh, god. Sorry.” She replied, still more embarrassed. She replaced the bone and put her hands in her pockets. Tom took up a large kitchen knife and cut the onion sandwich in two. He placed one half on a nearby plate and handed it to Ash before taking big bite followed by a toothy smile.

“I’m so sorry.” She stammered meekly. “I’ve just remembered something. I have to go”

She rushed out of the house and stood out the front for a moment breathing heavily. She decided never to go back into that house again. It wasn’t safe. She recognised that man’s bearing and she was going to have nothing to do with it. The adrenaline rush she had felt from getting out of that place plus the cold winter night air meant that she was suddenly desperate for a pee. She dashed inside Spring View and began to run up the stairs. Halfway up her eye was caught by the state of the living room. She stopped in her tracks.

Each piece of furniture that she had left perfectly tidy that morning was now either facing and pushed up against the wall or turned upside down completely. Every Christmas decoration was taken down and was now arranged in a circle in the middle of the floor. In the center of that circle was the large green glass vase, filled with champagne corks and glass beads. It had been placed upside down. Her legs began to shake. Whether this was from fear or needing to pee she couldn’t tell. She rushed back out of the cottage and, unable to hold it any longer, she sprinted up the path and crouched behind a bush. The whole set up was too weird for words. The thing that bothered her most was that glass vase. How could anyone place that there without spilling its contents all over the floor? Once she was finished she took a moment to think what to do. She couldn’t tell Didi, she would think she was mad and she daren’t go back to Tom. There was nothing else for it. She went back in and, after she had swept up the corks and hundreds of beads that had covered the floor when she picked up that vase, she carefully put everything back where she had left it that morning.

* * *

Ash began to feel more and more uneasy through the next week. She began scrutinising the position of the furniture in every house she cleaned as well as in Spring View. As she cleaned she would convince herself that she had seen a figure in the corner of her eye. A tall, wide male figure. But every time she span round there was nothing there. She’d be alright, she thought, if she could just get a decent night’s sleep. But the noises that had been bothering her each night had not abated or faded into the background. If anything they seemed to become more insistent so that she could do nothing but lie in bed and analyse them. The light clinking sound was now coupled with a scratching, scrabbling and straining. It sounded to her urgent and desperate and the more she heard it the more panicked it made her feel. Not only that but when the wind picked up in the valley it would rush under the eves of the cottages and emit a terrible, mournful drone.

One night she tried sleeping downstairs but the sofa was uncomfortable and the sound seemed only to follow her. Feeling wretched she carried the big black TV up to her room and left it turned on while she tried to sleep thinking that Eurotrash or The Late Show might drown out the noise. It didn’t. Eventually she turned it off and threw open the curtains thinking if only she could see what it was maybe it wouldn’t bother her so much.

It was a crisp, still night. The moon shed enough light through the surrounding trees that she could see her back garden and next door’s quite clearly. Her heart fluttered and she clamped her eyes shut as she had a terrible thought. What if she was to look out there and see Tom or that poor girl staring back at her? What would she do then? She began to imagine other things that she might see in that garden, each one more horrific than the last.

“Stop it!” She thought to herself. “Get yourself together girl!” Stopping for only a moment to realise these were her father’s words. Finally she girded her loins, took a deep breath and opened her eyes. What she saw there was… nothing.  Only what she had seen many times in the daylight, albeit now bathed in silvery moonlight. She opened her window letting the brisk, raw air in. She focused in on the persistent sound, trying to locate exactly where it was coming from. It came from the direction of next door, there was no doubt about that. Her gaze seemed to constantly return to a stout tree on the far side of next door’s garden. She stared. Transfixed she felt a creeping, grasping feeling. Something was staring back at her. Curiously, the fear seemed to drain from her, replaced by an altogether different feeling. Heavy, pressing and wrapped around her heart. A painful lump began to form in her throat.

All at once the chill in the night’s air fell upon her. She quickly shut the window and the curtains over them. She hurriedly turned the TV to static, wrapped herself in her blankets and coat and put her head under her pillow. Eventually she fell asleep.

There was just one thing she was looking forward to. Friday evening she was off to meet Didi at The Fenten Arms. This would mean that she wouldn’t have to spend an entire evening alone and would likely drink enough that she would pass out, noise or no noise.  She set off from Spring View in the dark with a large torch she had found in the cupboard under the sink. She glanced up at next door as she passed. There was that soft light shining through the children’s bed sheet sheet in the downstairs window. It was actually quite a beautiful little cottage, or would have been many years ago. There was some detailing around the upstairs windows, absent on Spring View, that she was only just now noticing. She ran the torch across them. Faint carvings of… plants was it? Flowers? Or perhaps flowing water?

She drew a sharp intake of breath, the cold stinging her throat. Her torch had fallen  on the window with the bottles and there she saw that poor girl’s face staring back at her. That little, tired, pale and oval face. Ash quickly pointed the torch ahead of her and hurried away, promising herself that she wouldn’t ever look at that house again.

She started off down the rocky path towards the pub. For a moment she considered walking up the lane and getting to the pub by the road but it would add a mile to her journey and people drove like maniacs around those blind corners. Better then to take this path even if she had to walk slowly, taking care not to step into the muddy ditches on either side. She was on edge. The dark seemed to envelop her and the light of the torch made it seem darker still. She dared not flick her torchlight into the surrounding trees for fear of what she might see out there. The rushing streams that, as steadying as they were the first night she was there, now seemed deafening and oppressive.  The air was so cold that her lungs ached and each breath produced clouds of vapour.

A cigarette. Maybe a cigarette would calm her down and warm her up at the same time. She stopped for a moment by a pile of cut logs that seemed to have been carefully arranged on top of one another. She went to light up. Before she could put it to her lips a curious tranquility abruptly settled on everything around her. Her feet were no longer wet, her lips no longer stung, in fact she felt numb. Even the sound of the streams was pushed to the background. The only thing she could hear was a quiet trickle coming from a little run-off drain in a nearby wall. Her shoulders dropped. Maybe she wouldn’t go to the pub after all. Maybe she would just stay here until… until…

All of a sudden the cold, dark, wet, cacophonous world crashed around her again. More shaken even than before she ran the rest of the way to the pub.

“The fuck happened to you?” Didi asked as Ash ordered a cider with a whiskey chaser.

“Nothing.” Ash said downing the whiskey.

“Oh come on mate,” pleaded Didi “You look like you’ve just seem Pervy Percy in the woods or something.”

Ash looked at Didi and, not knowing what else to do, told her the whole story. Didi frowned. Ash braced herself for the laughing, patronising or the ‘sorry, are you mental?’ look but none of those things came. Didi only had to look into her friends eyes to know she was telling the truth, so she simply nodded. She bought Ash another cider and placed her hand on her cheek.

“I’m sorry. This sucks.”

“You- you believe me?” Ash asked.

“Babe, you’re the smartest chick I know. If you say this shit it going down, I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong. So…” she went on “what the hell do you reckon is going on down there?”

“I’ve been thinking, right,” Ash replied taking a big swig of her cider “what if the son- Sam- what if he lost his temper with the dog keeping him awake, same as me, and what if he just went down there one night and killed the poor thing? Right? Stabbed it or hit it with a rock or something and then ran off, knowing that his dad would be super mad or get him locked up or something? Now that dog is fucking haunting me Didi. It’s trying to get me a message. Let me know what happened to it.”

“A dog?” Didi replied “You think you’re being haunted by a dog?”

“What else?”

“Let me ask you something Ash.” Didi said lighting them both a cigarette “Who else is in that house that might be trying to get your attention? Someone else who might be asking for your help?” Ash stared at her “Have you ever actually talked to that girl you keep seeing?” Ash considered.

“She can’t be a ghost Didi. She’s alive. I’ve seen her, not all floating in the air and see-through, but flesh and blood. I hear them talking all the time!”

“Are you sure?” Said Didi “What if he’s not talking to her? What if he’s talking to her corpse? What if it wasn’t the dog that Sam killed but the girl, his sister? Old boy probably went mad when he realised what his son had done and now he keeps her body upstairs and chats to it as if it’s alive, like that Norman fucking Bates.”

“You’ve watched too many horror films Didi.”

“Hey,” Didi raised her hands “you’re the one that says she’s being haunted. I just reckon you’re being haunted by that girl.”

They spent the rest of the evening drinking, playing pool and dancing to Wham, Slade and The Pogues on the pub jukebox. At last orders they talked over what they should do next. It was decided that Ash should stay at Didi’s that night. This turned out to be a sensible decision, not only because Ash would be away from that house but also because, as soon as she got out of the cab, she vomited all over her shoes.

She woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, hair stinking of smoke and Didi’s foot in her ear. They had slept top to tail. Ash was delighted that she hadn’t vomited again and Didi hadn’t pissed the bed as she used to as a drunk teenager. After a fry up and lots of coffee it was decided that, as Didi had work to do, they would meet later at Spring View and together they would search for clues.

Ash walked back to Spring View sweating cider and whiskey. As she neared the front door she could hear Tom banging around from inside next door. She stood for a moment with the key in the lock, listening to the ruckus trying to determine what Tom was doing. Eventually she gave up and went inside. As soon as she got through the door she went upstairs for a shower before collapsing into bed and falling into a dreamless asleep.

She woke to the sound of someone thumping on the front door. Rain was tapping at the window and there was so little light that she was worried she’d slept right through to the evening. She checked her watch and saw that it was only 3pm, the darkness only due to the heavy, persistent clouds. The door continued to bang. She threw on some clothes, ran downstairs and opened the door to a very wet Didi.

“Jesus!” Said Didi shaking off her sodden rain Mac “It’s pissing it down out there!”

“Shh!” Said Ash putting her finger to her lips. She could hear movement next door. Some low rumbling thuds followed by the sound of a lifting latch and the slamming of the front door. They both rushed to the living room window and peeked through the lace curtains to see Tom stomping up the path towards St Euny.

“We’ve got to get over there!” Said Didi.

“What? Like, break in?” Ash hesitated.

“Yeah!” Didi replied “How else did you think we were going to search for clues?”

“I don’t know… just observe what he does, put a glass to the wall or something?”

“Come Ash!” Didi pleaded “You want some answers don’t you? We don’t know how long he’s going to be away.”

“I say we knock at the door first.” Said Ash.

“What’s the point in that?” Didi asked “We know there’s no one in.”

“We can’t be sure! We’ll knock on the door and if that girl opens it, alive and well, then we’ll know for sure won’t we?”

“Waste of time.” Said Didi putting her sodden Mac back on and following her out into the rain. “She’s dead for sure.” They cautiously approached the door. Ash knocked lightly. They listened. Nothing. She knocked again.

“See?” Said Didi “No one there.” Ash bent down, opened the letter box and peered through. There was no movement at all. The piles of magazines and building materials were shrouded in shadows and she could see right though to the back door and into the garden.

“Hello?” She called. Suddenly Didi pushed her out of the way.

“Oi!” She shouted through the letter box “Anyone in there? Or are you a ghost?” Silence. Didi peered through “There’s no decorations…” she said curiously.

“What?”

“Don’t you think that’s weird as hell? I mean, who doesn’t put up Christmas decorations?”

“Come on,” Ash said. “Let’s find a way in.”

They inspected the living room window but finding it tightly locked they decided to try to get in from the back. They went through to the back garden of Spring View and Didi dragged the outside table over to the fence. Ash climbed up on to it and hoisted herself over, landing with a crash on some galvanised metal. She paused for a moment to see if she had attracted anybody’s attention but no one came. She called softly for Didi to follow. The grass was long and tangled, there were a couple of out buildings in the far corner of the garden away from the house that were draped in shadow. Didi went and cautiously inspected them and found nothing but rotting, rusting piles of junk. She picked up an old chisel amongst the debris.

“I bet I could jimmy open the back door.” She said approaching it. “Come on, give us a hand.”

But Ash wasn’t listening. She was transfixed by that same tree at the end of the garden that had so much intrigued and saddened her. Slowly, she approached the tree, bare of leaves and patched with a moist deep green moss. She breathed in the damp, earthy smell and wiped the rain from her face.

“How do they make this look so easy on TV?” Didi said as she attempted to prise open the door.

About three or four feet up the trunk the moss was rubbed bare where a sturdy rope was lashed around it and attached to the rope was a thick, blue dog lead tied fast. Ash crouched down and picked it up, hearing that familiar clinking sound. It was wet. She ran her fingers along it until she reached a collar at the end attached with strong buckles and steel rings. The collar was worn and tattered but not broken. The outside was the same colour as the lead but the inside was stained a dirty deep brown, black and red. Ash was pretty sure she knew what this was. Then came a small, strained, breathless voice;

“Ash!” Whispered Didi. Ash looked over and saw, there in the door’s window, the image of the girl. She was close to the rain spattered glass, her face displaying a gaunt and twisted despair. Didi stepped back.

“Do you see her?” She breathed. Ash nodded. The window fogged slightly as it was battered by the rain. Slowly the girl looked at each of them before settling her eyes on the dog collar in Ash’s hand. Her mouth stretched open, baring her teeth, contorting into the manor of a scream. The only sound was the pitter patter and trickle of water. With this fixed expression she turned her gaze to Ash and, with steady deliberation she placed one hand on her own stomach, gripping it tightly.

Didi was the first to let out a cry before turning and scrambling up some nearby broken trellis and falling in a heap in the garden of Spring View. Ash quickly followed. They flew through Spring View, out to the front and pelted up the stone path towards St Euny.  If they had not been in such a rush they might have noticed that, on the coffee table in the living room, there was placed the rubber bone.

“You were right!” Ash panted to Didi as they ran through the rain “She’s a fucking ghost and I bet you she was tortured and killed by that bastard son of Tom’s!”

By the time they reached the town they were both shaking violently from cold, physical exertion and fear.

“We’ve got to tell someone.” Said Didi catching her breath and handing Ash a cigarette. Then, because she had no idea what else to do, she took Ash to see her mum. Didi’s mum, Tracy, was the town chemist. When they entered the pharmacy Tracy had only to see the look on their face’s to know something was wrong. She took them into a private room. Feeling like a couple of teenage girls again they, sheepishly, but with great clarity explained their theory to Tracy. This time the mocking laughter was forthcoming.

“Christ sake mum!” Didi cried “Look at us! Do you think we’re joking?”

“But she can’t be dead dear. I saw her just this morning.”

“You can’t be thinking of the same person.” Ash said.

“I know exactly who you’re talking about.” Tracy explained “Lisa Merther. She came in here this morning to buy some vitamins. Folic acid and vitamin D unless I’m very much mistaken.”

“Impossible!” Didi said.

“But I was sure that Sam had…” Ash trailed off.

“Sam Merther?” Tracy said. Suddenly she looked perplexed. “Wait here a second girls.” She swept out of the room only to return a moment later. “I’ve just realised- Sam Merther- he hasn’t picked up his medication in months.”

“Yeah,” Said Ash “He’s in Plymouth.

“If he is,” Tracy replied “we need to find him. He can’t go without these.”

* * *

The week leading up to Christmas was a bit of blur. Tracy had flagged with Social Services that she was concerned Sam had not been receiving his medication and they sent someone round to talk with Tom. Tom had given them a letter written by Sam explaining that he was going to live in Plymouth and for them not to expect him back, but it was clear it was a forgery. Poor Sam couldn’t write like that. It wasn’t long before two police cars drove down into Fenten Vale and parked outside the two little cottages. Ash watched from Spring View as both Tom and Lisa were led out of the door and into the police cars. They weren’t in cuffs but neither of them looked particularly willing. As she was walking down the path Lisa looked back at Ash helplessly. Ash wanted to cry out or signal to her somehow “I’m sorry.” But all she could do was shake her head.

The following information I have put together from various newspaper reports I found in the library: At the station Tom doggedly kept to his story but it didn’t take much for Lisa to tell them the truth. Sam wasn’t a well boy. Whenever he felt distressed he was prone to sudden outbursts of emotion coupled with distressing moaning sounds. As he grew larger these episodes became more and more difficult to handle. Once he had turned eighteen he had taken his first opportunity to leave his foster family and go back to his father and his childhood home. At first Tom was glad to have a strapping lad to help him with his never ending renovations but he soon became tired of his unpredictable son. Instead of seeking help he chose to beat Sam into submission. This became a regular occurrence. If Sam ever refused to quiet down Tom would, providing there was no-one staying next door, chain him to a tree in the back garden.

“He treated him worse than a dog.” Lisa had said. “Found this little chew toy that he would throw at him if he wouldn’t shut up.”

One night in late October that year they had all been sat around a table in the kitchen and Sam had refused to eat his dinner. With a quick swift movement Tom had hit Sam in the side of the head and Sam had fallen to the floor.

“He started jerking and shaking” Lisa said “His eyes went white and then he started making that noise. Dad got angry and just kept hitting him. Eventually he dragged him out to the tree like he always did… tied him up.  Sam went on a while and Dad kept yelling at him to stop. When he finally did stop Dad told me to go out back and get him. I went out but when I took the chain off he just fell down on the floor.”

Lisa went on to explain that Tom had put Sam’s body in a wheelbarrow in the middle of the night and taken him down the trail that ran past their house. He had buried him in a shallow grave in marshy ground and Lisa had placed over the spot a little pile of logs. When she was asked why she didn’t tell anyone she revealed that her father had been having sex with her for over five years and that, now she’s fifteen, she’s pretty sure that she’s pregnant. She didn’t want Tom to hurt her baby.

Whether Ash ever knew any of this I can’t say. She had not stuck around there long after seeing the Merthers being led to the police cars. That night she got to bed early and had the best, most peaceful night’s sleep she had experienced in that cottage. When she woke she it dawned on her that the peacefulness was coupled with a sense of absence. She immediately packed her bags and went to see Didi. They decided to spend Christmas together and by midday, much to her father’s annoyance, Ash and Didi boarded a bus that took them far away from Fenten Vale.

This meant that Ash was not present to see the group of men who, on the next Friday, Christmas Day 1998, walked down the trail to the little pile of logs, by a trickling drain and exhumed Sam’s body. The coroner said that the body was in such a state of decomposition that the cause of death was difficult to establish but that several of his ribs had been fractured a few months before his death and only recently healed. One rib had been broken not long after death. Tom was sentenced to life in prison for the murder of his son. It is unknown where Lisa went. Off somewhere where nobody knows who she is, presumably, to raise her child.

The final piece of information that I discovered turned out to be nothing to do with the Merthers or Fenten Vale. There was a group of local teenagers that, in February of the next year, were arrested for breaking into various holiday homes, identified by the KHC logos on the outside. Once in they would pull stunts like leaving the water running, stealing bed clothes or moving the furniture around in order to intimidate holiday home owners. They were fined and never heard from after that.

And there ends the tragic story of Fenten Vale, more or less. You might ask how I could possibly know all of this and that would be a fair question. I have never met Ash or Didi or any other breathing soul in this story. But I was, through the early 2000s, taken to Spring View, Fenten Vale every Christmas by my parents. I think it was chosen because, as well as it being very pretty, it was also inexplicably cheap. My parents would have the front bedroom and I would have the back where I would look out at the garden of the deserted cottage next door. I told you that I received this story second hand, and so I did. Every Friday night of my stay in Fenten Vale, whispered to me by a deep, sad gentle voice.

Ash, if you’re reading this I hope that you are happy and free as Sam now is, unshackled from his father’s clutches. He’s calm now and he wants you to know he noticed all you did for him. Don’t ask me how. So, if you’re at a loose end this December, I know someone who would very much like to see you again, to thank you for all that you did and wish you a very Merry Christmas.

THE END