A Haunting

Why had she joked about the room being haunted? It seemed amusing when Ted was awake, but now she was alert to every creak and groan as the storm buffeted the ancient building.

Rita bounced on the edge of the bed testing the mattress. The room was exactly as she had imagined: a low, heavily beamed ceiling, wood-panelled walls, and a four-poster bed with burgundy drapes. Ted was standing with his back to the fire warming himself.

‘Isn’t this divine?’ Rita said. ‘So, romantic.’ Ted managed a wan smile. His mother had chosen the hotel and, as always, he deferred to her. Not that Rita minded. She would have been happy anywhere, and the hotel was rather gorgeous. Old buildings had so much character, and this was Tudor at least. ‘Do you think it’s haunted?’

She shivered theatrically and Ted made a face.

‘You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you?’

Ted was an engineer, a man of science, whereas Rita was more open-minded. She had seen a ghost once. A woman in a long white dress standing nonchalantly at the top of the stairs when she was fifteen. Her mother blamed Rita’s hormones, but Rita knew the woman had died tragically, perhaps murdered by a jealous lover, or - consumed with sorrow following a painful breakup - she had thrown herself from the top floor balcony. Rita knew how it felt to be consumed with sorrow. Before Ted, she was dating a pilot who cheated on her with a well-endowed WAAF. A friend had spotted them snogging behind the dance hall and when Rita challenged him, he shrugged and said there was a war on and he intended to make the most of the time he had left.

Ted was the opposite. He was loyal and, although she was loath to admit it, a teeny bit boring. She couldn’t imagine Ted cheating, but that was what you wanted in a husband; someone you could trust. She glanced at her wedding ring and hoped he wasn’t expecting her to be a virgin. They had kissed, obviously, but he didn’t want to go further until they were married.

She patted the bed. Outside, the snow was still falling, white on white, like a meringue.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’

Ted was massaging his neck.

‘I think I’ve torn a muscle.’

‘It’s hardly surprising. If you sit beside me, I’ll rub it for you.’

She touched her forehead. A lump was forming where she’d collided with the dashboard, although, fortunately, it wasn’t painful. She’d read women were more tolerant of pain than men, but whether or not this was true, men certainly made more fuss. She patted the mattress again. The accident wasn’t Ted’s fault. He had barely been doing thirty when the car skidded. Rita couldn’t remember much about it, a jolt of adrenalin as the tree loomed out of the gloom and then nothing until she came round a few seconds later.

They were less than a mile from the hotel and Ted carried her suitcase as they stumbled through the snowdrifts. She shivered again, this time for real. The room was chilly despite the fire, and she wished she’d brought something warmer than the flimsy nightdress she’d packed in a flurry of excitement the previous night. They’d agreed on a simple registry office wedding followed by a family luncheon where Ted’s father gave a speech so long and rambling Rita’s own father had fallen asleep, waking with a yelp when her mother poked him in the ribs.

Ted gave his neck another rub and came over to join her. He looked exhausted, which didn’t bode well for a night of passion.

‘I think I’ll close my eyes for a minute,’ he said and shuffled under the blankets leaving her stranded like a seal after the tide has gone out.

Why had she joked about the room being haunted? It seemed amusing when Ted was awake, but now she was alert to every creak and groan as the storm buffeted the ancient building. Dark shadows inched across the floor, and the wind whistled mournfully in the chimney.

Eventually, she undressed and climbed into bed, pressing herself against Ted for warmth. When she woke some time later, the fire had gone out, and the room was eerily quiet. She slipped out of bed and padded over to the window. It was as if someone had thrown a glittering quilt over the countryside, erasing the fields and the hedgerows. Above, the moon was trapped in a web of stars and whereas they had been the only guests the previous evening, there were now several cars parked in front of the building. Their shapes were oddly unfamiliar under pillows of snow and Rita wondered how they made it so far.

A muffled cough signalled Ted was also awake.

‘Baby, come and look. It’s beautiful.’ She turned. A hooded figure was standing at the end of the bed. ‘Ted?’

Rita glanced urgently at the place where Ted had been a minute before, but the bed was empty. A shaft of moonlight fell across the counterpane, which was as smooth as when they first arrived. Her stomach clenched. Perhaps it was a maid summoning them to dinner, but why was she dressed like that?

Beneath the hood, the figure’s eyes glinted as it took a step forward. Rita pressed herself against the window. She had summoned this person, this thing, with her foolish talk of ghosts. Her heart was somersaulting, and she wondered if she had the courage to jump. Even with the snow to soften her fall, she was bound to break something. And where was Ted?

‘What have you done with my husband?’

The figure pushed back its hood and Rita saw it was female with long, dark hair and pale, ethereal features. The figure grinned. She was about Rita’s age, or perhaps a little younger.

‘They said this room was haunted. I thought they were joking, but here you are.’

Here I am?

Then Rita remembered. This had happened before. Waking in that bed, in this room, to find a stranger staring at her. And the accident. Ted’s head hanging limply on the broken stalk of his neck and the blood soaking the front of her dress as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Usually they screamed. Not like this girl, who seemed perfectly composed.

Is it OK if I take a picture? Otherwise, they’ll never believe me.’ The girl held up an object the size of a small pocketbook and pointed it at Rita. ‘Smile for the camera.’

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