A Ghostly Christmas Tale

Copywrite and all rights reserved – Stuart Bilverstone

Mist swirled around the dimly lit lampposts of the narrow street. Wendy’s footsteps echoed around the tall walls of the derelict factories, destined to be soon knocked down to make way for new roads and housing. The damp smell added to Wendy’s apprehension. It was Christmas Eve, and she was eager to be with her family for the big day.

Wendy fumbled in her bag and pulled out her phone. She could make an emergency call if anything untoward happened. Turning right into an alleyway, she immediately regretted her decision. It was the quickest way home, but a mysterious glow was at the other end of the alley this evening. The sight stopped her in her tracks, and her hands shook as she lifted her phone and unlocked it.

‘_Pull yourself together, Wendy,_’ she thought, ‘_you walk this way every evening._’

Wendy started to walk towards the glow. Rationally, she thought it was just the mist swirling around a more significant light, but she remained nervous. The light seemed to draw her nearer; she could hear music playing on unusual instruments. There was a sickly, sweet, smokey smell. Was someone roasting chestnuts?

Somebody must be having a party, Wendy thought and continued towards the light, content that she was making the right decision. There must be a Christmas event, this will be interesting

As she entered the glow, Wendy started feeling lightheaded and stumbled forward.

‘Woah there, Miss!’ a young, scruffily dressed boy appeared from nowhere,’ take it easy, you shouldn’t have taken too much of old Solomon’s London Gin; he’s always after the young ladies.’

‘I haven’t had a gin, you cheeky young man’ Wendy was coming around from her dizziness and had the wherewithal to rebuke the young boy. She felt her hand grasped roughly.

‘Come on, Missy. Let’s get you somewhere to sit down while you sort yourself out.’ The boy dragged her over to a low wall.

Everywhere is so grimey Wendy thought, gathering her senses again.

The boy standing before her, dressed in a woollen shirt and a dirty black jacket, was a strange sight. He wore equally dirty long shorts, woollen grey socks with numerous holes, and rough oversized boots laced with string. His face was grimy, and he seemed unwashed.

‘I know where I can get you a mug of beer that’ll make you feel better, Miss’ the boy turned away, trotting off into the mist to somewhere on the other side of the street.

The mist had lifted. Wendy looked around; it was strange. She recognised where she was, but it was somehow different. It was somehow older, wooden framed buildings with thatched roofs. The road was a simple, rough surface. Wendy was surprised to see narrow wheel tracks and grass growing between them.

The boy appeared from nowhere again, this time holding a wooden mug.

‘Here, Miss, try this. It’ll sort you out,’ he said, pushing a foul-smelling mug into her face. She grabbed it with both hands before he could spill the contents over her.

‘ Shouldn’t you be at home? It’s Christmas Eve, and you should be with your family.’ Wendy enquired about the boy. A horse and cart trotted past behind him, and it started snowing.

‘Home? I ain’t got no home, Miss. I’ve climbed over the wall from the Workhouse for a while. I’ll go back for some gruel in a bit. Old Saint Nick doesn’t visit the Workhouse, Miss. He’s just for the toffs up the road in those posh houses.’

Workhouse? Workhouses ended years ago. Wendy worried. She wondered what was happening. She looked to the sky, Snow wasn’t in the forecast today?

Wendy felt dizzy again and stumbled back onto the low wall where she had been sitting moments earlier.

‘ Steady on, Miss, ‘ the boy said, taking hold of her arm and helping Wendy sit. He then took hold of the wooden mug of beer and took a draught when he was sure she was safe.

Wendy started to feel better now she was sitting. She looked the boy up and down.

‘What’s your name?’ Wendy enquired

‘ Thomas. What’s yours, Miss?’ The boy took another draught from the wooden mug.

‘My name is Wendy. Steady with that beer, you’re far too young to be drinking.’

The boy laughed and sprayed a mouthful of beer over the pavement, ‘I’ve been drinking since I was a baby, Miss. Where you been livin’?’ his command of grammar was lacking, Wendy thought. ‘Beer’s safer than the water around here; it’s Christmas Eve, and we should be going to Church soon; the Monks will be rounding us up in a bit.’

‘Yes, I know it’s Christmas, and I’m trying to get home. I didn’t know there was going to be a Christmas market here. Monks? What Monks?’ Wendy stood up and looked up the street, trying to focus on the market in the dimming light.

‘How long has the market been here, Thomas? Wendy waited for a cheeky answer from the boy.

‘Thomas?’

Thomas had disappeared, and Wendy’s sight was starting to blur again. She felt she was going to faint. She tried to look around but could only make out a glow similar to that which had brought her to wherever she was.

Wendy staggered Wendy to her feet. The glowing light drew her towards it. She could faintly hear someone calling her name.

‘Wendy, over here.’ She thought it must be Thomas calling her and sped up, fearing he was in trouble.

Wendy stumbled on the rough ground into the glowing mist. A hand grabbed her.

‘Wendy, are you OK? We’ve been worried about you.’

‘I’m OK, Thomas; I was worried that you had disappeared, and I was feeling faint again’ Wendy was starting to come around again.

‘ Thomas? Who is Thomas?’ It was then that Wendy realised that she was in the arms of her Father.

‘Oh, Dad, a little boy looked after me when I felt faint in that Christmas Fayre back there.’ Wendy looked up at her Father, who seemed very puzzled.

‘What Christmas Fayre? It’s nothing but dark alleys around here. I do worry that you walk this way home. The sooner these factories are knocked down, and those new houses are built, the better. Wendy’s Father took her bag. ‘Come on, let’s get you home. Your Mother is waiting to get her Christmas plans underway.’

Wendy was more confused than ever about what had happened to her earlier, but she was happy to be with her Father.

The two of them walked towards the road where they lived. Everywhere Wendy looked, there were houses covered in Christmas lights. She lost count of how many Santas, Reindeers prancing, and lights flashing there were. The estate had a real Christmas feel about it.

As they approached the gate to their house, a lady came urgently up to them.

‘Excuse me. You haven’t seen a little boy around here, have you?

‘I spoke to a young boy in the alley a little while ago.’ Wendy indicated behind her. “I was feeling a bit dizzy. He helped me to a seat. But everything was strange; it seemed to be another time back there.

‘He’s my foster child, and he’s gone off on one of his walks again. He likes to go out and help people. He’s a proper old-fashioned little chap. I do wish he wouldn’t go off when it’s dark.’ The lady seemed a bit happier after what Wendy had told her. ‘I’m sure he’ll be back soon. His name is Thomas if you should see him about.’ The lady walked off into the distance.

Wendy’s Father opened the gate to the house. ‘Come on, your Mother is waiting. I expect she’s got your tea ready.’

Wendy stood looking into the distance. What had happened to her on the way home from work? Had she really met Thomas, or was it a Christmas ghost?