List of Read for Free texts:
1: The Wishing Sisters (complete story)
2: A High Windy Place (complete story)
1 :The Wishing Sisters
This is the first story in the short story collection of the same name. You can read the whole story below. 'The Wishing Sisters' collection is available at amzn.to/2oHvNvK. There is also a reading comprehension resource for this story at bit.ly/2GkE5zu & bit.ly/2xXJ6tc.
The Wishing Sisters
November 26th 1888
At eight o’clock this morning, my husband Jacob left me. He didn’t mean to, but he went anyway. No-one could have seen it coming – a collapse in the main pit, everyone buried. It was a little boy who told us. He ran all the way across the fields until he reached our row of houses. Poor thing! We bathed his bleeding feet where they were cut and blistered, and he lay back against my neighbour Amelia’s garden wall and told us all, in short breathless sentences, the terrible news. The rescue was quick. One thing about mining accidents is there are always other miners there to help straight away. By nightfall they had everyone out – forty-two in all – and all of them dead. The worst disaster for years, it said in the local paper.
They brought Jacob home and laid him out on our kitchen table. He was a shadow of his living self. His pale face seemed wrapped in sleep, and while I sat with him that night – for I wasn’t afraid – I felt that at any moment I could reach out and shake him, and he’d wake up. But I knew there was no waking up for Jacob, never again. And all I could think about was the times I’d woken in the night and whispered ‘I love you’ into his ear as he slept, and had I done this enough times? Had he gone on his final journey, with forty-one souls in tow, knowing how much I adored him?
December 1st 1888
The mining company wasted no time. I couldn’t stay in our home now that I was alone. These cottages are for miners and their families. The letter reminded me when it arrived, the day after Jacob’s funeral, so I have done the only thing I can, with reluctance, and written to my brother Michael to ask for a room in his home.
December 3rd 1888
What a speedy reply came from Michael! Instead of writing back to me, he arrived today with his horse and cart, accompanied by his youngest daughter, Martha. Together we packed up my belongings and set off for the farm. I have not seen Michael for some years, even though we had always been close. He and his wife Sarah live a good distance away, on a farm Michael saved hard to buy before he proposed to her. The year they married, the snow fell so badly the night before that Jacob and I were trapped in our home, unable to attend. Michael understood our lack of control over such things as weather and travel, but my new sister-in-law was not so forgiving, and she never spoke to us again after we missed her special day. This was the reason for my
reluctance to write now. I lived in a happy home with Jacob, and I now travelled with trepidation
to take a place under Sarah’s roof, where in spite of Michael’s cheerfulness, I expected to find tension.
Sarah was waiting at the door as we pulled up in the farmyard. She greeted me civilly but frostily, and showed me around the house while Michael and two of his farm workers took my things to the spare room. We all sat down to dinner at the huge kitchen table that evening – Michael, Sarah, my two young nieces Martha and Elizabeth, and myself – and everyone ate in stony silence. Afterwards I went to my room, looked at my wedding photograph in a frame on the bedside table and wept into my pillow.
December 6th 1888
I have been here at the farm for three days. My two nieces are delightful. Their company cheers me up and distracts me from my thoughts. Michael is usually absent until the evening, out on the land, and I am trying my best to endear myself to Sarah with offers of help around the house and with the girls. I get the impression that I cannot win, as Sarah seems happiest when she refuses my offers, as if I am intruding into her control of the domestic domain. I think this may be used against me at some later date.
December 7th 1888
Last night I had the strangest experience. I woke with a start. The clock on the wall said three o’clock, and I listened to the darkness, wondering what had awoken me. After a few minutes I heard a sound. It was the distinct, unmistakable sound of a woman crying. Carefully I got up, put on my dressing gown and lit the oil lamp that stood next to my bed. I opened my bedroom door, hoping not to disturb anyone with its creak, and looked up and down the landing. The farmhouse is big but not sprawling, and in a few minutes I was able to explore the whole of the upstairs area. No-one else was about, investigating the sound, and I set off downstairs to search there. Again, I found nothing. The crying gradually subsided and I set off back to my room.
As I turned at the top of the stairwell, I jumped in fright, and then relaxed, when I realised it was Sarah standing in the moonlight.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I heard someone crying – a woman – and I went to investigate.”
“Impossible. There’s no other woman here. Only you and me.”
“Well, it was probably a dream,” I said as I stepped past her.
Just then, Martha opened her door, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
“There – now you’ve disturbed the children. I’ll thank you not to start making a habit of wandering about in the night.”
Sarah hushed Martha back into her room. She closed the door behind her and left me
standing in the passageway, trying to make sense of what I’d heard.
December 8th 1888
This afternoon I was sitting in my room, reading. I looked up to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway. I smiled at her.
“What is it?”
She hesitated and then walked across the room. She stood by my chair and looked around. Something seemed to be bothering her.
“Elizabeth – is something wrong?”
Finally she spoke.
“I heard the crying last night,” she said quietly.
“You did? Then I didn’t imagine it.”
“And I’ve heard it every night since you came.”
I stared at her, confused.
“Did you ever hear the crying before I came to stay?”
She nodded a ‘no’.
“It was you, Aunt Hannah,” she blurted out.
“What do you mean?”
“You were crying last night. You’ve been crying every night since you came. I can hear you in my room.”
I froze, unsure what to say.
“But it sounded like it was coming from somewhere else,” I protested. “I couldn’t find out where.”
“No,” Elizabeth said firmly. “The crying is inside you.”
She turned and walked out of the room, and I was left wondering why a small child would say such a strange thing.
December 9th 1888
In the last few days, I have taken to walking in the woods on the edge of the farmyard. The trees remind me of the area around my own home, and I believe there is nowhere on earth that gives a person the sense of peace and solitude that I get when I walk in these woods alone. At this time of year the bare, leafless trees, the still, dark surfaces of secluded ponds and the eerie mist that hangs over everything, all combine to create a picture that mirrors my sadness. I think it is helping me when I walk deep into the trees, sit by the still water and remember those memories that only belong to me and no-one else. I need to do this, because I don’t know what else to do. I feel so alone.
Imagine my surprise then, today, when I turned a corner in the path and saw someone – a
woman walking alone, like me - in the distance. I laughed to myself afterwards, because I didn’t expect to see anyone in so remote a place, and the sight had made me jump. I watched carefully, out of view, as she strolled away. I don’t think she saw me, because she didn’t react as if she saw me, and she carried on, disappearing eventually into the trees.
December 12th 1888
I feel more and more miserable here at the farm. This morning I was lying awake in bed, having awoken early, and I could hear Michael and Sarah arguing. They were arguing about me.
“Leave her alone, Sarah. You can be so cruel at times,” I heard Michael say.
“I wasn’t sure she should come here, and I was right,” Sarah was shouting back.
“Hannah needs time. She’s hurting.”
“How do you know? She doesn’t really talk to us, and she hardly helps around the place, when she knows how busy I am with the house and the children.”
I knew that would happen. I knew Sarah wanted to paint a poor picture of me.
“Have you ever considered, Sarah, putting yourself in her position for a moment? What if I went out today and had an accident somewhere and didn’t come back? How would you feel?”
I listened for Sarah’s reply, and it didn’t come. I knew Michael would be hurt by the silence.
“I’m not listening to your moaning again, Sarah. My sister is welcome here, in my home!”
With that he left, slamming the door behind him. Later that morning, Sarah ignored me as I crossed the kitchen to go for my walk. This time I walked a different route, deeper into the woods than usual. Eventually I came across a quiet pond, one I’d not seen before. Its surface was peaceful and still, and I found a makeshift seat on an uprooted tree that lay next to the path. As I stared at the water, I knew I was going to cry. I miss Jacob so much. He used to make me laugh, and now there was no laughter in my life, except from my young nieces as they played. Should I cry? Will I feel better?
Just then, something distracted me. I noticed a movement off in the trees on the other side of the pond. Gradually the movement took form and I realised it was the same woman I’d seen a couple of days ago. Quickly I jumped up and hid behind a large tree. I didn’t want her to see me, although I didn’t know why. When I peeped around the edge of the tree, I saw that she had stopped at the water’s edge and was looking across, straight at me. Did she know I was hiding from her? I moved back behind the tree again and waited. I wanted her to go away. These are my woods. My walks. My space. My grief.
Slowly I edged round the tree again. She was still there, still watching. Then, out of the blue, she waved. At me! I didn’t wave back. I hid back behind the tree and looked around, in a panic. What did she want? What did she want with me? I waited and waited for what seemed like an age, and when I looked again, she was gone.
December 14th 1888
Tonight Michael, Sarah and myself were sitting in the kitchen. It was late, about eight-thirty. We had eaten our evening meal and washed up. The children were in bed. Michael sat by the fire, reading, while Sarah and I were sitting together at the table, mending the rips and tears that constantly appear in Michael’s work clothes.
There was a knock at the front door. It was a quiet, gentle knock, and we all three just heard it. Sarah looked across quizzically at Michael, who glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece.
He got up and went out into the hallway, while Sarah and I remained seated. I listened as Michael opened the front door, spoke in a muffled voice saying something I couldn’t catch and then closed the door again. Michael returned to the kitchen, and following behind him was the woman I had seen on my walks.
“This is my wife Sarah, and my sister Hannah.”
The woman smiled at us both. I looked at her properly. She was a little bit older than me, I’d say, and she had a calm, relaxed air about her that was missing here at the farm.
“I’m very pleased to meet you both,” she said.
It was the first time I had heard her voice, and it sounded friendly and kind.
“Sarah – this is Ellen. She’s called to see Hannah. Can you light the lamps in the drawing room, please, so that they can sit in there and have some privacy?”
I was surprised to hear Michael’s words, but also pleased. However, I saw my sister-in-law stiffen next to me, and her face fell into her frostiest expression yet. The drawing room was reserved for special occasions such as Christmas, and as such was left largely unused. I knew that she resented Michael’s request and that she would be offended by the idea that she was being left out of something happening in her own home. She stood up quickly, looked at Michael and then left the room. Ever cheerful, Michael broke the silence.
“So, how do you know my sister?” he asked Ellen.
“We’ve seen each other when we’ve been out walking in the woods. I thought I’d call and say hello.”
“Good,” said Michael, enthusiastically. He looked across at me. “Some different company will do you good, Hannah.”
Just then, as if on cue, Sarah returned.
“I’ve lit the lamps, Hannah, and I’ve also laid a fire. It may be a little cold in there to begin with.”
“Thank you very much,” Ellen replied.
She turned expectantly towards me, and I stood up and led the way.
The drawing room was warm and cheerful. It did not have the same austere air that existed around the rest of the farmhouse.
“Please, have a seat,” I motioned to the pair of armchairs that were placed on either side of the now roaring fire. Ellen sat down in one, while I sat down in the other. At first there was an
uncomfortable silence, and then we both spoke at once.
“I hope you don’t mind me…” Ellen began.
“It’s nice of you to…” I began at the same time.
We both stopped and laughed.
“I’d seen you a few times out in the woods, always on your own,” Ellen continued. “I don’t have anyone to walk with either, so I thought I’d call and see if you wanted to meet, and we could keep each other company.”
“That would be lovely,” I replied.
I don’t know why I was suddenly so sure of making arrangements with someone I’d only just met, but it seemed the natural thing to do.
“It’s a lonely place, out here, for people who are feeling lonely,” Ellen commented.
“Yes, it is. Do you live far from here?” I asked.
“Not far. I have a house on the edge of the woods, down the track behind here.”
“Oh, yes. I think I know the track you mean.”
“Would you like to go for a walk tomorrow morning?”
I paused and looked at Ellen before answering her.
“Yes, I’d like that, very much.”
Ellen stood up and fastened her bonnet.
“That’s settled, then. No more solitary walks for either of us. I’ll meet you by the farmyard gate. About ten?”
“Yes, alright. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. You’re helping me.”
I walked Ellen to the front door and watched her disappear into the dark. What a strange thing to say – I was helping her. What did she mean? And what was stranger, why didn’t she ask me anything? She didn’t ask why I was at the farm, or how long I’d been there, or anything about me.
I returned to the kitchen, where Michael and Sarah sat together. They both turned their heads to look as I came in.
“Ellen lives round the back, on the edge of the woods,” I told them.
“Funny. Can’t say I’ve ever seen her around the place,” said Michael. “Still, she seems pleasant. Bit of company for you, Hannah, on your walks.”
Sarah said nothing.
December 15th 1888
This morning I woke early. When I looked out of my window, the farmyard was bathed in an eerie mist. The sky was pale and gloomy. It was too early to be up yet, so I curled back up under
my blankets and went back to sleep. It was then that I had a strange dream. I dreamt that I was in a boat on a large lake. I was with Ellen, and someone else was rowing us along. Everything was so vivid. I remember looking down into the water and seeing the fish and the weed in the depths below. The boat was gliding slowly, travelling away from the bank, and then I woke up.
I met Ellen as we’d arranged. At precisely ten o’clock, she was waiting for me by the gate. We walked into the woods, chatting as we went. I’ve decided not to mention Jacob to Ellen. That memory is too private.
December 21st 1888
For the last few days, I have met Ellen every day and gone for a walk with her. She is pleasant company, and I find her easy to spend time with. At the same time, every night, I have had the same dream about the boat. Sometimes we are getting into the boat, at the water’s edge.
Sometimes it is gliding slowly through the water. This morning, I brought the dreams up in our conversation as we walked.
“Dreams have a purpose. You know that, don’t you, Hannah?”
“I always thought they helped you sort things out, things from the real, awake world that need to be organised in our heads.”
“Possibly,” Ellen continued. “But I think dreams do much more than that. They tell us things, help us with things, prepare us for things.”
I looked at her as we walked.
“For instance, what do you think your dream is about, when we are in the boat together? And why do you keep having the same dream?”
“I have no idea. I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”
Ellen stopped and suddenly looked serious.
“It could be that we are going on a journey, you and I, that will take us to a new place, where things will be different.”
“What, a journey across a lake in a boat? Where to?”
“Don’t take it all too literally, Hannah. Journeys take all sorts of forms.”
“You’re confusing me,” I laughed.
“Then stop thinking about it. We don’t want you to get confused. You’ll get us both lost!”
We both laughed and walked on until we reached the gates at the farm.
“I woke up and heard a woman crying, just once, when I first arrived here,” I suddenly blurted out. “My niece says she hears the crying every night. She says it’s me. Is that a dream?”
Ellen looked carefully at me.
“I don’t know. I’m not there.”
I felt foolish and looked away.
“You know, Hannah, things happen that we don’t expect or understand. They happen to us
all the time. We can’t always understand or explain them, but they still happen. Do you know what I mean?”
I felt tears coming to my eyes.
“I have to go inside,” I said, and hurried away.
December 23rd 1888
The last two days have been quite strange. Every day I’ve met Ellen and enjoyed my walk and my conversation with her, and then every time I’ve fallen asleep, I’ve dreamed about the boat; Ellen and I, in the boat, drifting slowly across a lake.
At the end of our walk this morning, I mentioned these dreams again. Ellen smiled.
“You really shouldn’t worry,” she said. “Listen – tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Would you like to come over to my house and stay for Christmas Day?”
I looked at Ellen. Of course part of me knew that Christmas was looming. Martha and Elizabeth were excited and had written their letters to Father Christmas, each of them squealing
in delight when the envelopes shot up the chimney, but part of me hadn’t realised that it was nearly here. Part of me didn’t want Christmas to come at all when Jacob wasn’t here to share it.
“Thank you for inviting me, but I don’t know if I could do that. Christmas – this Christmas - will be…difficult.”
In all our conversations, I had still never mentioned Jacob, and Ellen had never asked me about my life before I came to the farm.
“I know it will be difficult,” Ellen suddenly said.
I looked at her, puzzled.
“I mean, you’ll probably offend your sister-in-law further by coming to stay with me, but I think it would be a good idea. Please say you’ll come.”
December 24th 1888
This morning I broke the news, as we all sat in the kitchen before chores started, that I had been invited to spend Christmas with Ellen and that I was going to go. Ellen was coming to collect me after our evening meal. There was a pause, then Michael came across and hugged me.
“You must do what you feel is best for you,” he said. “This first Christmas will be the hardest.”
He smiled. I looked across at Sarah and knew she wasn’t pleased. I wished at that moment that she could see herself and the way she did things from outside, so that she might relax a little, warm a little, and really be like the sister I need right now.
“I have some small presents for you all,” I offered.
“Then we’ll exchange our presents this evening before you go,” Michael said positively.
“Won’t we, Sarah?
“Yes. I’d like that,” Sarah suddenly said.
Our evening meal was less austere and silent than in previous weeks. We laughed and joked as we ate, mostly due to my brother’s efforts, and then we exchanged our gifts and played games with the girls. This time, when there was a quiet knock at the front door, we all knew it was Ellen. She joined us in the kitchen while I said goodbye to the family, and everyone greeted her warmly.
“Well – Merry Christmas, Hannah,” Sarah said.
I appreciated that she seemed sincere and reached out to give her a hug. Afterwards, Ellen and I left together and walked along the lane at the back of the farm towards her cottage. As I followed Ellen up the garden path to her front door, I didn’t know what to expect, but here was a bright cheerful front room! A cosy bed for me to spend Christmas in! Lots of decorations! I know that as I fall asleep on this Christmas Eve, here in Ellen’s home, I will have a lovely time here tomorrow.
December 25th 1888
It is the early hours, still dark and black. I’m sitting up in bed and I am afraid. I’ve had the strangest dream. At least I think it was a dream. In my dream, I was asleep in this bed in Ellen’s house, when suddenly the bedroom door opened, and Ellen came quietly in. She was carrying an oil lamp which was turned down low, but which still managed to throw weird shadows across the room. I watched lazily as Ellen put the lamp down on the small table next to my bed and then sat down on the bed itself, next to me. She knew I was awake and she looked straight at me.
“I want to tell you something, Hannah. It’s very important.”
She seemed to pause, watching my reaction, before she continued.
“I want to tell you that I know where Jacob is. And more important still, I want to show you where he is.”
I remember feeling, in my dreamlike state, that this seemed perfectly reasonable and I didn’t feel the need to question Ellen’s words.
“Just watch, and then remember,” she whispered.
Ellen raised her hand and held it out, the fingers stretched out flat and the palm turned upwards. She sat like this for some time without moving, while the shadows continued to flicker in the lamplight, then – suddenly – a tiny light appeared. It seemed to rise from Ellen’s upturned palm, and then it floated up and away into the air. A second light appeared, then another, and then more and more, until the air was filled with tiny lights that floated slowly around us.
They all seemed to come deliberately from Ellen’s hand, as if she were responsible for their release, and they gave off such feelings of light and peace and comfort that I wanted to cry.
After a few minutes in this static place, the lights began to fade. They grew dimmer and dimmer, floating closer and closer to Ellen again, until eventually they were extinguished altogether, leaving us sitting in the shadows. Ellen turned to me and smiled.
“Goodnight,” was all she said, and she got up from the bed, picked up the lamp again and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Like I said, I think it was a dream.
This morning, when I awoke, last night’s disturbing dream stayed with me. It made me afraid and confused when I thought of that strange memory of Ellen sitting on my bed, surrounded by the weird lights that emerged from her upturned hand.
I dressed and went downstairs to discover Ellen was already up, dressed and peeling vegetables. She turned and smiled at me, and I handed her my small Christmas gift – a scarf with a pattern that I had embroidered myself.
“Merry Christmas, Hannah, and thank you, this is lovely.”
I watched Ellen as she placed the scarf on the chair and continued to peel the vegetables. I tried to believe that everything was normal, but I sensed that Ellen could tell that something was wrong. However, I was completely unprepared for what she said next.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t wrap my gift to give you, Hannah.”
“I don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting anything.”
Ellen laughed a little.
“No, Hannah. You misunderstand me. As if I wasn’t going to give you a gift! It just doesn’t need to be wrapped; it isn’t a solid thing. In fact, I gave you part of it already.”
I stared at Ellen, even more confused.
“My Christmas gift, Hannah, is the things I want to say to you, when you need them most. I started to tell you these things last night, in your dream.”
Dumbfounded, I sank into one of the chairs, full of mixed emotions; fear, confusion, and in a strange way, relief. I responded quietly.
“I dreamt that you came into my room, that you were surrounded by lights, that you told me you knew where Jacob was.”
“That’s right,” Ellen replied, almost matter-of-factly.
“But I’ve never spoken to you about Jacob. How could you know about him? Did someone else tell you? Sarah? Or my brother Michael?”
Ellen suddenly became very serious.
“Jacob told me everything.”
I jumped to my feet.
“Enough,” I shouted. “Enough of this talk. Jacob died in a mining accident. You never knew him, Ellen. Stop talking like this at once!”
Ellen seemed frustrated. She pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. For a moment she didn’t speak, and hot tears sprang into my eyes.
“I miss Jacob terribly,” I sobbed. “And I have no-one to talk to.”
“But can’t you see, that’s why I came?” Ellen said quietly. “To support you.”
“This will seem very strange, Hannah, but please listen to me.”
I continued to cry as Ellen leaned forward towards me.
“Be still now. Just listen. I didn’t meet Jacob until after he died. He came to me because he was worried about you, being so suddenly on your own.”
I wept openly now.
“He knows that you sat with him all night, when they brought him home, and he’s around you all the time, only you can’t see him.”
My crying slowed a little as I felt Ellen lean further still towards me.
“And now, Hannah, I want you to relax, breathe slowly, and open your mind. I’m going to take your hands in mine and give you the last part of my gift.”
I closed my eyes and felt Ellen take my hands gently in hers. Suddenly, my head seemed to fill with a whirlwind of images coming at me from all directions, coming and going, mingling and merging, dissolving again. Ellen was filling my head with a collage of memories, and Jacob was in every image. There we were, walking by the river, sitting by the fire, dancing, talking, kissing. I couldn’t stop myself smiling through my tears, and then something even stranger happened. I felt Ellen’s small delicate hands change to larger, stronger hands; hands I already knew. I opened my eyes, and there was Jacob in front of me, smiling, holding me steady. In a total fright, I snatched my hands away and opened my eyes properly, blinking at the winter sun
in Ellen’s kitchen. I stood up, stepping back into a corner, and looked around. Ellen and I were the only people in the room.
“This is evil, Ellen. What are you doing?”
“Trying to help.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trying to frighten me.”
“Not at all. Please try to understand. You need to come to terms with what’s happened and move on, not feel trapped in a place where every day is the same and things don’t move forwards.”
I felt myself becoming angry. Instinctively, I saw the sharp knife Ellen had been using earlier to peel the vegetables. It was lying on the table. I sprang across the kitchen in one movement, grabbed the knife and turned to Ellen, pointing the knife at her.
“Calm down, Hannah. I’ve opened an emotional wound for you, but we have to continue on to the end – see it through.”
“No!” I shouted. “Keep away from me! I’m going back to the farm, and you will not stop me, or try to see me there!”
“Yes. Yes! That’s the end of this matter. Jacob was my husband, not yours, and you will not draw yourself into my grief, just to satisfy some need of your own.”
Ellen looked resigned.
“Please stay, Hannah,” was all she said, but I dropped the knife, ran out of the door without
collecting my things. I didn’t stop running until I reached the safety of the farmyard gate.
December 26th 1888
When I returned yesterday, neither Michael nor Sarah asked me why I’d come back so abruptly and in such a state. I was relieved not to be questioned, for I now had too much on my mind, and I spent the rest of Christmas Day alone in my room. Later, on Boxing Night, we all sat together in the sitting room. Sarah could play the piano a little, and she sat with the girls, singing together as she played Christmas carols and songs. Michael sat by the fire, reading, and I looked across the scene, happy that they all seemed content together.
A knock at the front door interrupted the peaceful domestic scene. The music round the piano stopped, and everyone listened while Michael went to answer the door. When he came back, he looked at me.
“Ellen is at the door. She wants to speak to you.”
I looked at Michael, and with a certainty that surprised me, I simply said “Tell Ellen that I do not wish to speak to her.”
Michael nodded and went out again. I heard muffled voices in a brief exchange, and then the sound of the front door closing. When Michael returned, he sat down and continued to read, while Sarah struck up the introduction to another song.
December 29th 1888
Ellen has called at the farm every day since she first called on Boxing Day. Each time my message to her was the same; this friendship should not continue. I feel so confused about everything and the dreams are still there. Always the same; Ellen and I, in a boat, gliding through the reeds.
December 30th 1888
This morning Michael and Sarah took the girls to visit their friends who own the farm on the next hill. Michael invited me to go as well, but I declined. At twelve o’clock I heated some stew on the range, and as I glanced out of the kitchen window, I stiffened. Ellen was walking across the farmyard towards the front door. When she disappeared from view, I left the kitchen and stood waiting in the hallway, behind the front door.
First Ellen knocked quietly. I didn’t answer, and I wondered if she knew I was standing so close by. There was a pause, then a second, sharper knock. I crept across the hallway to the stairs and sat on the bottom stair, facing the door. Waiting expectantly, I still jumped when Ellen called out.
“Hannah? If you can hear me, please open the door.”
She sounded concerned, almost pleading, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I did nothing. After another pause, Ellen knocked again, and then I watched as an envelope appeared under the door. Next I heard Ellen’s footsteps as she walked away.
Tonight, when I went to bed, I sat up and turned the envelope over and over. My name was written on the front, and there was no indication of its contents. I decided I had to read it before I went to sleep and tore the envelope open. It was a short, simple message:
I’m sorry we’ve become distant. Please remember the friendship we found.
I so enjoyed our conversations and our walks in the woods. I’m going to
Cannop Pond with everyone else tomorrow, for the New Year’s Eve picnic.
I suppose Michael and Sarah will be taking the children. It’s a nice day out.
I do hope you’ll come. It’s so nice on the water at this time of year.
From your dear friend, Ellen’
There was no mention of Jacob, or our stressful conversation in Ellen’s kitchen, or all the conversations we’d had about my dreams. Did I imagine it all? Why was I so unsure?
Ellen’s letter must have been praying on my mind when I went to sleep last night, because I dreamt again about being in the boat with her, gliding through the water, but this time there was more. As the boat approached the bank side on its return, it suddenly tipped up, and Ellen and I both fell into the water. I woke up with a terrifying image of Ellen floating away and disappearing under the surface, while I struggled to reach her in my wet, heavy dress. Tomorrow I will go to Cannop, because I have a bad feeling. I must tell Ellen not to get into the boat.
January 1st 1889
Today I’m confined to bed, with plenty of time to contemplate the terrible thing I did yesterday. I can’t quite believe it, but I made the events of my dream come true. I went to Cannop yesterday morning, as I’d planned, with the intention of persuading Ellen not to go out on the water. When I found her in the crowd, she was so pleased to see me, and so excited that I’d come to join her, that she wouldn’t hear anything of the concerns I had.
“Come on, Hannah. It’s a lovely trip up and down the pond. You’ll enjoy it.”
Reluctantly I climbed into the boat. Ellen and I were the only passengers, and there was a queue of people waiting their turn. The boat was owned by Old Peter, who would spend the day ferrying people up and down, to make a little money with which to start his New Year. The
scenery was beautiful. The mist gradually rose up off the trees and the sun reflected off the
water. I relaxed a little and tried to enjoy the ride, although I avoided looking down into the deep water below; I’d seen that enough times already.
When we reached the bulrushes at the end, and we turned to head back, that’s when it happened. I looked across at Ellen and her expression was clear. I caught her watching me, and I knew then that everything was real – the crying in the night, all the dreams, seeing Jacob on Christmas morning. I realised in that instant that Ellen had been trying to look after me, and I’d been stupid and foolish. What was worse, I was letting Ellen down when it was my turn to look after her. I should never have let her come out in the boat. In a moment of panic, I stood up.
“We have to get back to the bank,” I shouted. “It’s not safe!”
“Sit down!” shouted Peter. “Sit still! You’ll tip us up!”
And that’s exactly what happened. As if in slow motion, but really in seconds, I felt the boat tip over, and the three of us were thrown in. I braced myself as I fell but was still completely unprepared for the icy water. I went under once, and could feel the weeds and the fish around me, before I fought my way back up and burst through the surface, gasping for breath. I struggled in my heavy clothes, which were getting heavier every second, as I saw someone reach to pull Peter out.
As I tried to tread water, I searched for Ellen. She came up to the surface a few feet away from me, but what was she doing? She was floating away from me, away and under, just like she did in my dream. She wasn’t making any effort to swim. Why wasn’t she trying to save herself?
“Ellen!” I screamed. “Hold on!”
I managed to kick off my boots, and then laboured against my heavy dress, trying to lift my arms and swim across to where Ellen was sinking fast. Her eyes were closed, and she lay back in the water, but when I reached her and grabbed hold of her, she seemed to stir. She opened her eyes and looked at me.
“Leave me be, Hannah,” she said quietly. “This was meant to happen.”
“What are you talking about?” I shouted as I held onto her and kicked hard, trying to move us both closer to shore.
“It has to be like this, Hannah. Let me go. You’re not supposed to interfere.”
With that Ellen pushed hard against me, writhing free of my grip. I didn’t expect her to do this, and so she managed to kick away from me again before I could stop her. I resolved to try to reach her again, but suddenly I found myself struggling. My dress seemed to be snagged on something hidden underwater, and I couldn’t move. I could only watch, helpless, as Ellen slipped away, calm and serene, eyes closed, into the dark water. I screamed and screamed for help, and then hands grabbed me from behind. Someone pulled and I felt my dress rip free of its underwater trap. I turned to see that it was Michael pulling me from behind, up onto the bank, as I sobbed and screamed for them to find Ellen.
I first woke late this afternoon. To my surprise, Sarah was sitting by my bed, reading. Michael came to see me when Sarah told him I was awake. He brought me some hot soup, for
which I was very grateful. I think I’m getting a chill, as I can’t seem to keep warm, yet I feel very hot and I shiver. I can’t get Michael’s news out of my mind – that after searching the pond
and the banks, they can’t find Ellen’s body anywhere. I wanted to get up and go to Ellen’s cottage, but Michael has advised me not to. He wouldn’t tell me why.
January 3rd 1889
This morning I woke early. The sun was just rising, and the house was silent. I lay in bed for a long while, watching the sky grow steadily lighter through my open curtains. I got up and stood at the window. In the distance, the trees were covered in their eerie early morning mist. I had been in bed for two days since the accident on the pond, and I decided to go for an early morning walk. I had a feeling that people would disapprove, so I dressed very quietly and crept out of the house. Something was bothering me – something I wanted an answer to.
Outside, the grass felt crisp under my feet as I left the farmyard and turned left. I wanted to see Ellen for myself. I didn’t believe Michael, when he said they couldn’t find her. Ellen was strong and sensible. She was my friend and she had helped me and I hadn’t been kind. I determined to call on her and put this right. I walked along the track behind the farmhouse. I smiled to myself as I thought of the sight waiting for me round the bend. Perhaps Ellen was also up early, and the oil lamp would be lit in the window of the cottage, just like when I stayed there. The mist will probably be hanging over the garden and make it look fairy-like.
I turned the corner in the track, looked ahead of me and stopped dead. After a moment’s pause to get over my shock, I walked slowly towards Ellen’s cottage, only it wasn’t Ellen’s cottage. It wasn’t anyone’s cottage. The cottage I was approaching was old, derelict and empty. The roof was gone, the door hung limply on rusted hinges, the garden was overgrown. I forced my way through the rusted gate, and the black empty windows stared at me as I struggled up the path. No-one had lived here for years and years and years.
Inside the door, the stairs and the first floor were still there, lying open to the stars. I climbed cautiously upwards, mindful of the old and rotten wood under my feet, and stared out across the garden and into the trees. This was what Michael wanted to keep from me, when he told me not to come. But where was Ellen? Who was Ellen?
Now I could only stand and wonder about what had happened to me since I’d come to stay at the farm, about the friendship Ellen had given me, which had made me feel less alone. Now I was alone after all; no Jacob, no Ellen, just me. But at the same time, no. I allowed myself the split-second memory of Jacob holding my hands in his in Ellen’s kitchen, and I knew I definitely wasn’t alone. I breathed a deep sigh, leaned up against the empty window frame and looked across the trees for one last time. Just then, I thought I caught sight of a woman in a long black dress, disappearing through the misty trees…
2 : A High Windy Place
'A High Windy Place' is the fifth story in the short story collection 'The Wishing Sisters'. You can read the whole story below. 'The Wishing Sisters' is available at amzn.to/2oHvNvK. There is also a reading comprehension resource for this story at bit.ly/2mlWzsE & bit.ly/2zLHWTo.
A High Windy Place
Sally’s daughter Megan lived in Australia with her husband and three children. A retired teacher and recently widowed, Sally had spent the last three months resisting all her daughter’s attempts to get her to join them there.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying,” she moaned in yet another phone call.
“I know, Mum, but maybe it hasn’t hit you yet, that Dad’s really gone. I would feel much more settled if you were here with us.”
“I know, dear, and I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”
Sally couldn’t help feeling cross with her daughter at times. She knew that Megan only meant well, but honestly, did she think she was stupid? Frank had been ill for months. She had nursed him. She didn’t need it to ‘hit her’, the realization that he was gone. She’d been there.
She and Frank had talked for hours about how she’d cope, and that’s what she was doing. First, Sally sold the large family house and bought a small cottage in the same village, Rose Cottage. It was a quirky little place, very old, steeped in history, the estate agent had said, although exactly what that history was, Sally hadn’t been able to find out. The cottage was just right; old stone walls, roses in the garden, a living room and kitchen downstairs, a bedroom and bathroom upstairs, a cellar below and an attic above. Sally had loved it and put an offer in straight away. Now here she was, in her tiny new home. She was content, or so she thought.
Sitting alone in the evenings, or waking up in the mornings, she found that she missed Frank more than she expected, and she mulled over Megan’s words more than she expected to as well.
“Pull yourself together, girl. You have a plan here,” she repeated to herself.
There were plenty of jobs to do, which mostly involved undoing the previous owner’s ‘modernising’ of the interior. Sally wanted to restore it to its old-fashioned style. She raked around in the many boxes she’d shoved in the cellar and found a crowbar; this morning’s job was to pull up the false laminate flooring in the kitchen and see what was underneath.
Sally wasn’t disappointed. The previous owners had used their flooring to hide the original floorboards, which were old, with gnarled patterns in the wood, much more attractive than that modern stuff. Sally smiled as she continued to prise up each row of the new wood, revealing a beautiful floor below.
As her progress across the floor reached the middle of the kitchen, she pulled up the latest piece of laminate and discovered a strange metal plate set into the floorboard. She looked at it curiously. It was about eight inches square, a tiny metal hatch with a hinge on one side, which was screwed into the floorboard. There was a small gap in the hatch on the side opposite the hinge, so you could put your finger in and lift it up. Sally was intrigued; someone had obviously gone to the effort of putting it there, but why? It wasn’t big enough to let anyone in or out. How unusual!
Sally lifted the plate up and peeped in. Below, everything was in darkness. No matter how much she craned her neck or leaned over to one side, it was impossible to see any further than just below the gap in the floor. She got back up, found a torch in the kitchen drawer, kneeled back down and held the torch right up against the hole. She clicked it on and shone the torch beam straight downwards.
A child’s face looked back up at her from the gloom. Sally dropped the torch in fright, it disappeared down the hole and she leapt backwards, sliding along the floor until she felt the security of the kitchen wall behind her. Her knees gave in. She felt the sickness of shock as adrenaline rushed around her system, confusing her. She stared at the hole in the floor for what seemed an eternity until she felt her breath gradually slow and she calmed down. It was a trick of the light, a trick of the dark; it was anything she could think of, by way of an explanation, except a child looking up at her from her cellar.
When Sally felt composed again, she searched for another torch, cautiously knelt back down beside the hole and looked in for a second time. The child’s face still stared back. This time Sally tried to stay in control. She studied the child. It was a little boy. He looked to be about eight years old. He had those huge round eyes that all children have and a shock of bedraggled black hair. For a moment, he and Sally gazed at each other in silence and then Sally lost her nerve. Bang! She took hold of the metal plate and slammed it firmly back in place, shutting the child back in the darkness.
All that night, Sally tossed and turned in bed. She couldn’t escape the child’s face looking up at her, calm, patient, expectant. When sleep finally came, she only dreamed about him instead. In the morning, she sat up in bed with a cup of tea and wondered what to do next. Should she leave the metal plate firmly shut, and never open it again? What else could she do? Should she speak to the child and see what she could find out? Sally realized that if she accepted the one thing which frightened her, she could then decide what to do. She made herself face the fact that the child’s face had been tinged with blue. His lips had looked cold. Yes, he was certainly dead and in her cellar.
Later that morning, after much deliberation, Sally walked down the wooden staircase that led to the cellar. She browsed around, looking for clues, and it was only then that she noticed something that she’d missed before; the cellar was not as long as the house. She walked from one end of the cellar to the other. Fifteen paces. She walked and counted again, to be sure, and then went upstairs. Next, she walked from the front door, where the entrance to the cellar lay, right to the other end of the house. Twenty-five paces. She did this walk again as well, to be sure. Twenty-five paces. The horror of the situation crept in. The child had been walled up in her cellar.
Sally sat at the kitchen table and worked through her feelings. She was frightened, that was true enough, but more than feeling frightened, she was angry. Had someone really walled up a defenceless child in the cellar? It was outrageous, cruel. Her anger gave her courage and she returned to the metal plate in the floor. She lifted it firmly this time, and shone the torch in. The child looked back at her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Joseph,” he replied. “What’s yours?”
“Sally. Why are you in my cellar, Joseph?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long have you been there?”
“I don’t know. A long time, I think.”
Sally paused, unsure what to do or say next. It was Joseph who took the lead.
“Can you let me out?”
Sally was confused. Why did she have to let him out? Couldn’t he just get out? Isn’t that what ghosts did, walk through walls and floors without their physical body to stop them?
“I’ll have to think about that,” she replied, and immediately regretted her words. They sounded uncaring and unkind. She looked down at Joseph.
“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I have to go.”
This time she didn’t close the metal plate over the hole. For the rest of that day, Sally considered her dilemma. How was she supposed to let Joseph out? What would it mean if she did? Would letting him out be the right thing to do, or would she regret it? How would she regret it? Is he an evil spirit, trapped for good reason, who might do her harm? Or is he the innocent victim of someone else’s evil plan? Sally would have laughed at the questions she was asking herself if they weren’t so serious. Eventually she made her decision. She would knock down the wall in the cellar.
Two days later, Jim arrived. Jim was an old man who’d lived in the village all his life. Everyone asked him to do their odd jobs. He took one look at the wall in the cellar and grinned.
“Easy,” he muttered, and took a sledgehammer to it. Sally watched Jim’s quick progress. In no time at all, the wall was down. In readiness, Sally had found her old camping lamp, which gave off a much wider beam than a torch. She carried it with her as she and Jim stepped into the new space. It was completely empty, except for the original torch that she’d dropped down the hole, which was sending a long beam along the cellar floor. Jim picked the torch up and passed it to Sally.
“You’ll have a bit more space now,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Yes. You got the job done really quickly. Thanks. I thought it might have taken ages.”
“Why? It was only a plasterboard stud wall.”
“Well,” replied Sally, “I expected it to be very old. You know, made of solid stone.”
“Oh, no,” said Jim, glancing around. “I remember when this wall was put up.”
Sally wanted to know more.
“Why was it put up?”
“The owners at the time, they were doing some building work. I think they were going to convert the cellar into two rooms, like an office and a play room or something.”
“Go on,” said Sally, suddenly full of dread.
“They found some bones when they were digging. Human bones. A child’s bones.”
Sally took a deep breath.
“What happened then?”
“Well, the bones were taken away by the police for tests, to see how old they were and stuff like that. They never found out whose bones they were. Afterwards they were buried in the churchyard up the road there, but there was no name to put on the headstone, so it just says, ‘A child found in the cellar at Rose Cottage’, or something like that.”
Jim looked at Sally.
“I didn’t like to scare you, so I didn’t mention it.”
Sally laughed nervously.
“So, Jim, do you also happen to know why there’s a hole in the kitchen floor?”
“No idea. Show me.”
Back upstairs in the kitchen, Jim peered down through the hole in the floor. He seemed intrigued, but that was all.
“He can’t see him,” Sally thought to herself. “He can’t see Joseph.”
Twenty minutes later, after tea and biscuits, Jim was off down the path with cash in his pocket. As Sally watched him go, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Jim didn’t see anything; the boy was gone. Smiling to herself at a job well done, no matter how weird, she closed and locked the door and turned to go back to the kitchen. She jumped in fright as she turned. There was Joseph, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at her. Same huge eyes, same shock of black hair. He stood barefoot and was dressed only in a pair of knee-length ragged trousers. The strange paleness of his tiny body was even more pronounced in the light. She stared back, unsure about what to do.
“I’m hungry,” Joseph suddenly said.
“Come on, then,” Sally replied.
She watched as Joseph ate everything she put in front of him. She was mildly amused at his appetite, remembering how her grandchildren ate healthily and heartily all the time. She also pondered over the bizarre situation she was in, feeding a ghost child she’d just rescued from the cellar.
When he’d eaten enough, Joseph wanted to explore the cottage. Sally followed him as he searched every room.
“Do you remember this cottage, Joseph? Did you live here?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. It looks different.”
In the bedroom, Joseph stared at the photos next to Sally’s bed.
“Who’s this?” he asked, pointing at a smiling family group.
“That’s my daughter Megan, her husband Mike, and my grandchildren. Sophie is the eldest. She’s nine. Then Eliza is six, and Jake is three.”
Suddenly Joseph burst into tears. Sally stared at the weeping child. She reached out and touched his arm. It was cold.
“Whatever’s the matter, Joseph?”
“I want to play with them. They look so happy.”
“Well, I’m afraid neither you nor I can play with them. They live on the other side of the world, in Australia. I’ll show you. Come on.”
Sally had a globe on top of the dresser in the kitchen. She climbed up to get it, while Joseph watched, and she placed it on the table. The little boy listened, fascinated, while she showed him where they themselves were, and where Australia was, and exactly where Megan and her family lived.
“Why don’t you live there with them?” he asked.
He looked directly at Sally and his expression unnerved her. His searching eyes, set in his pale face, made her feel uncomfortable.
“Well,” she replied, “my home is here. They used to live here as well, but they moved. Actually, they want me to go there too.”
Joseph seemed satisfied with her explanation. He turned away from Sally and gazed around the kitchen.
“I’m think I’m tired,” he said next.
“I can make up a bed in the living room, if you like.”
Sally sat in the armchair and watched Joseph, tucked up under a quilt on the sofa. She explained what the television was, since he’d asked, and then together they watched the children play in one of Megan’s home videos. Eventually Joseph fell asleep, and Sally went up to bed too. She contemplated her weird day. Was all this really happening?
When Sally came downstairs next morning, Joseph was sitting up on the sofa. He looked at her with that same unnerving stare.
“Do you know a high windy place?” he asked, his expression serious.
Sally thought for a moment.
“Yes, I do. There’s a place called the Kymin, not far from here.”
“Will you show me?”
Joseph sat in the front seat of the car, next to Sally, and stared out of the window. They drove in silence. After a while, they turned off the main road and travelled along a lane, which wound round and round and up and up to the top of a high hill. As they drove higher, the view across the countryside spread out before them.
Sally parked the car. There was no-one else about and she led Joseph towards the edge of the viewpoint. The wind blew fiercely and whipped her coat around her. Together, they looked out in silence at the view. The clouds were blowing rapidly across the sky and below them, the world was just waking up.
Joseph slipped his hand into hers. Sally looked down at him. This was the first time she’d held his hand. It felt very cold and the feel of it suddenly sent a shiver down her spine.
“You should go to Australia,” Joseph said quietly.
“But what about you?”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Yes, but…” Sally started.
“Sally, I’m dead.”
As Joseph looked up at her, the wind suddenly lifted him up off the ground. He relaxed his hold on Sally’s hand, but she held on as tight as she could. She struggled against the force of a wind that seemed to get stronger and stronger, a wind that began to pull Joseph up into the air.
“Goodbye,” he called out.
She tried to hold onto him, but seconds later Joseph’s hand was wrenched from her own and he was gone. She watched, helpless, as he was whipped away from her, tossed around in the air and carried off into the distance, and all the while he looked back at Sally, at the person who’d set him free.
“No!” Sally called out after him. She burst into tears.
Six months later, Sally closed the door of Rose Cottage for the last time. Outside, the estate agent was waiting beside his car. As she handed him the keys, he smiled.
“No,” Sally replied. “Not now.”
“Well, have a good flight and good luck in Australia.”
Sally waved to the estate agent as he drove away. She had a bit of time before the taxi came to take her to the airport, and she had one last job to do.
The cemetery was at the other end of the village. Sally strolled through the gate with a huge bunch of flowers in her hand. She soon found the grave she was looking for, set in a quiet corner of the children’s section, and she read, for the last time, the headstone that simply said:
‘A tiny child
found in the cellar
at Rose Cottage,
known only to God’
She laid the flowers down on top of the grave.
“I’ve arranged for Jim to keep fresh flowers here for you, Joseph. I couldn’t tell anyone about you. No-one would believe me, would they? But I want to thank you for helping me to make my decision.”
Sally waited in silence. For a moment she hoped Joseph might be watching, hoped he would appear, reach out his hand and speak to her. Instead, there was nothing except the wind whistling through the tall yew trees.
Three days later, Sally arrived in Australia. Megan had found her a house, set on top of a hill on the edge of Sydney. The name plaque next to the front door said, ‘A High Windy Place’.