October 2019 Winner

Cautionary Tale

Written by: Jenny Ruge

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The lady of the house poured tea for her guests.

‘You slept well, I trust?’

‘Slept well?’ The young man paced the room in agitation. ‘How could one sleep well amid the trickery of this house? I ventured from my room to find chairs marching down the hall in single file. I watched in disbelief as the portraits on the wall lost their grip and slid slowly to the floor.’

‘Oh, it’s naught but our rackety ghost,’ she replied. ‘Pay it no mind.’

‘Pay it no mind, she says! But surely poltergeists are the work of the devil. They strike fear into the heart of every right-minded man.’

‘’Tis true,’ she said. ‘But we have learned from long experience that it means us no harm.’

Somewhat relieved, the young man regained his poise.

‘A treasured possession is missing from the nightstand in my room. It was there when I awoke but was missing when I returned to my room after breakfast.’

‘To clarify,’ she said, ‘no injury has occurred. But I must tell you that our guests’ valuables, once gone, are never seen again.’

The young man’s face paled.

‘What is it you have lost?’ enquired the old gentleman kindly.

‘A little jewelled travelling clock that belonged to my late mother. I promised her faithfully that I would pass it on to my daughter one day, and now it’s gone forever.’

His distress was clear for all to see. The lady of the house tutted her sympathy and lamented there was nothing to be done. She smiled serenely and floated from the room.

‘In my younger days,’ the old man said, ‘I was a travelling salesman. A hawker of wares. I’ve encountered poltergeists before, in many a country tavern. Strange noises. Objects moving of their own accord. Sinister goings-on indeed. But I have also observed on such occasions that invariably a housemaid, or even mistress of the house, may be seen guiding her hands surreptitiously to the pockets of her skirt.’

‘I’m afraid, sir,’ the young man said, ‘your meaning escapes me.’

The old gentleman smiled cryptically. ‘Ladies’ petticoats may hide all manner of sins.’

The housemaid entered then, and proceeded to stoke the fire.

‘Tell me, sir,’ the gentleman said, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. ‘Does your clock strike the hour?’

‘It does indeed,’ the young man replied. ‘Size can be deceiving, for my clock possesses a hearty strike not expected from one so small.’

‘Then I shall venture to suggest that the mystery will soon be solved.’

He glanced at the mantle clock. The housemaid, suddenly alarmed, followed his gaze. One hand flew to her mouth and with the other she clutched frantically at her hip, from whence a muffled chime rang out.

The young man sprang from his chair, alight with glee. The old gentleman didn’t stir, but kept his eyes firmly on the housemaid. She wilted under his gaze.

‘Be not alarmed, my dear,’ he said. ‘’Tis just the rackety ghost.’