By Paul J. Scribbans.
Originally published by Black Ink Fiction in their New Tales of Old anthology (28th November 2021)
Inspired by the folklore surrounding Furness Abbey, England
Trigger Warning: This ghost story contains disturbing imagery, presented within a haunting, supernatural setting.
I awake and open my eyes. It’s still dark outside my gable windows. I feel strange; I’m in my bedroom, but something is different.
“Mummy?” I call softly.
There is no answer, but somehow I knew this before I called for her.
Something is wrong; instead of a cold, damp autumn chill in my bedroom, the air is dry and hot; it’s then that I smell the smoke. It reminds me of Christmas time; Daddy keeps the downstairs fireplace full with large burning logs as a treat; the whole cottage is cosy for days afterwards and smells smoky like now. But it is not Christmas for a month, and Daddy wouldn’t normally waste firewood, not during winter. I climb out of bed. The floor is hot on my bare feet, and I yelp with surprise. There is a faint orange glow flickering between the gaps in my bedroom door. I quickly skip across the small room, trying not to burn my feet on the hot floorboards. I try the door latch, it’s too hot to open.
“Mummy!”
There is still no answer. I stare around the inky room; a smoky haze has appeared. I start to cry, and through my sobs, I try to shout for my parents, but my throat seems tight with panic and parched with smoke.
“Mummy! Daddy!”
—
John Harris was still pulling on this firefighting jacket as he stumbled into the cabin of the Dennis SS Series fire engine. He was new to the job and had yet to master a graceful ascent into the vehicle’s crew cabin.
“What we got, Boss?” he said as he sat down.
The crew leader in the front passenger seat fastened his seat belt before turning to face his firefighters in the rear cabin.
“Looks like the old custodian cottage at Furness Abbey is in flames”, he said.
“I just walked the dog past there yesterday,” replied one of the crew, “someone should have bought that place and renovated it. Seems a shame it’s been left to rot all these years. They reckon it was built over 300 years ago.”
“Yeah,” said a colleague, “someone told me a tramp was squatting there. They saw smoke coming from the chimney last week.”
“Well lads, The police have the vagrant detained. He’s singed, but OK. He reported that no one else is in the property.” He thumped the dashboard with his fist. “ETA 6 minutes. Let’s move!”
Bright blue flashing lights illuminated the fire station as the diesel engine roared to life, and the sirens screamed. John and his new colleagues’ secured themselves as the sizeable red vehicle, with its characteristic silver equipment storage doors, sprung forward and roared up Abbey road.
—
The air is becoming thick with smoke, and I cannot help but cough. I’m sat on my bed next to the gable window now; the floor was too hot. I cuddle Dolly and tell her everything will be alright. Downstairs, the cracking and popping continue as the flames lick and devour the oak timbers. I would break the window and jump, but Daddy would be cross, and the fall would probably kill me. Instead, I wait for rescue; Mummy and Daddy will come for me soon, or perhaps the Furness Abbey monks will see the smoke and flames and come to my aid.
Outside, in the night’s stillness, there’s an unfamiliar sound, a hideous noise in the distance. Its like the wail of pigs on market day. I gaze out of the window. Near the Abbey west gate, I see a blue flashing light coming down the lane, faster than a galloping horse. Fear grips me and I start to sob again. It’s the Grim Reaper! My friends told me about him; how he takes people when they die. He’s come for me!
“Munny! Daddy! Where are you?”
I crawl under the thick woollen blanket with Dolly; I know it offers no real refuge, but somehow it helps. I put my hands over my ears and close my eyes, waiting for his icy touch.
“Go away! Go away! Go away!” I whisper through gritted teeth.
As if answering my wish, the awful din outside stops. I open my eyes and lower my hands. I can still hear the fire, my heartbeat, my breath and a new, unfamiliar sound. It’s like a low grumbling noise coming from outside. The blue light repeatedly races across the back wall of my room, but it seems less alarming now the noise has stopped. There’s something else, voices! There are men outside! It must be monks from the Abbey! They must have driven the Reaper away with their blue light. Hope builds within my spirit; Dolly and I will be saved!
Silently I emerge from the blanket and gaze out of the window, which overlooks the front of our cottage. The sight that greets me is not what I expected. There is no line of monks passing pails of water from the river to douse the flames; as I watched them do last year when the barn set on fire. Instead, there is a huge red and silver … thing. It’s as big as a house, with what looks like wheels painted with blank pitch.
A house on wheels!
The bright blue light is coming from the top. I have never seen a light so bright. Not even the oil lamps on the precinct walls leading to the Abbey main gate are that bright.
I listen to the voices. Their accent is strange, and their words familiar, but different somehow. They are dressed in strange clothing; instead of white and black monk habits, they are wearing short black tunics, yellow breeches, black boots, and what look like yellow soldiers helmets. They are certainly not Cistercian monks! Perhaps they came from across the sea, like the folks that arrive on the big sailing ships at the Piel Island port. Whoever they are, I am greatful.
As my eyes adjust I can see the men pulling a thick white rope from the wheeled building. As I watch, a man points the rope at the front of the cottage and pulls a small handle. I gasp in bewilderment as water comes shooting out of the end of the rope. Steam and smoke suddenly float in front of my window. What magic is this?
A noise behind me attracts my attention. At the centre of the room, a slither of flame snakes and dances its way between the floorboards. My fear and panic return with new forcefulness. Where are Mummy and Daddy? I turn to the window and pound on the glass with my fists and yell as loud as I can.
“Help! Please help me!”
One of the strange men hears my pleas and looks up at my window. He’s younger than the other men, about the same age as my older brother Timmy. I wish he were here, but he died of the pox a year ago.
—
“Boss! Boss!” John shouted in alarm.
His stomach had knotted, making him want to vomit. Despite the intense heat coming off the burning building, an ice-cold shiver ran through his body like a cold electric shock.
“What, Harris!” Came the impatient reply.
“Up there, Boss,” he said, pointing towards the small first-floor window, “a little girl, Sir! She’s trapped!”
The entire crew stopped what they were doing and looked in the direction that Harris indicated. Smoke and steam were billowing from the lower floor and it was difficult to see the upstairs windows, let alone anyone within them.
“I thought this place was empty!” shouted one of the crew.
The crew leader looked at the window, squinting to get an unobstructed view. Harris seemed positive in his sighting, and although he couldn’t quite make out a human form, he couldn’t risk ignoring this new intel.
“This is now a rescue!” He yelled, “Thompson, get the air tank and suit up! Mason, where’s that second hose! Move lads! Move!”
—
The young man has seen me and is pointing towards me. Another man rushes over to the red and silver building. He pulls out a small yellow barrel with something attached to it by a black rope. He fastens the barrel to his back and straps the thing on the rope over his face. He glances in my direction as he passes out of sight below me.
Other men have pulled a second rope from the box and are firing a second water jet at the cottage. Everyone is rushing around, apart from the young man who saw me. He has taken his yellow helmet off, which is now lying by his feet. He is just standing staring at me open-mouthed; his face looks pale and frightened, like he’s seen a ghost.
Funny, Daddy said the same about me when I got the pox. He said I was so pale it looked like I’d seen a ghost. He was always making me laugh. I was in the Abbey infirmary, just across the lane. I’m not sure how many days I was there because I kept falling asleep, I was so ill. I remember Daddy and the monks carrying me home again. Mummy said they wanted me at the cottage where we could all be together. I remember the sound of the river, smelling the sweet air and staring up at the blue sky as they carried me home on a stretcher. Mummy made a bed by the fireplace downstairs; she was crying a lot. The Abbot was there praying aloud; he kept mentioning last rites; I didn’t understand.
I was so ill and soon fell asleep. I can’t remember seeing Mummy and Daddy since then. When I wake up, the cottage is sometimes dark, dusty and damp, like it’s been empty for years. Other times unfamiliar families live there, or lots of people sat at tables eating and drinking. I ask them what they are doing in my home and have they seen Mummy and Daddy, but they ignore me, like I’m not there. Sometimes though they see me, but are fearful and run away. I try to talk to them, but when I do I feel sleepy, and then I seem to fade away. I feel sleepy now, probably because I called to the young man. I’ll close my eyes and wait for rescue.
—
By midmorning, the firefighters had skillfully extinguished the inferno. The station chief was surveying the aftermath.
“Chief,”
“Yes, Rob. Did you find a body?”
“The internal wooden structure is pretty burned up Boss, and the top floor has collapsed. The guys have search three times, but there is nothing. No corpse, no bones, no nothing. There’s usually something left.”
The Chief considered the gruesome description “Well, she can’t have just disappeared! Could she have escaped?”
“I don’t think so, Sir. We had men covering all exits. No one saw nothing, Sir, apart from young Harris of course.” The crewman paused “Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, Sir? He is new to the job afterall.”
“Perhaps … OK. I’ve heard enough. Start packing up, and we’ll send the forensics guys in, see if they can find anything. How’s Harris by the way?”
“Dunno, Sir, haven’t seen him since the Ambulance took him to the hospital. He looked awfully pale, like he’d seen a ghost.”
—
“John, darling! Are you OK!” Harris’s mother and father had arrived at his bedside in the emergency ward.
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he answered, his mother continued, “I’ve spoken to the doctor, and she said you are fine. They are going to release you later today. She said you had quite a fright? Something about a little girl in the fire? That’s so awful. Was she rescued?”
John looked at his mother as tears filled his eyes “I watched her bang on the window mum. She was begging for help. But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t hear her. It’s like she wasn’t there at all.”
PJ Scribbans Author 