A ghost story in rhyme...
THE PALE BOY
In the drifting of December
at the greying of the year
When the skies were dour and
doleful
And the air was still and clear
In a rectory in Norfolk, down a
long and wooded lane
Sat Rachel at an escritoire
drinking tea and writing
Listening to her younger brothers
squabbling and fighting.
The house, which they were sitting,
her family, for that season
Was beautiful, she noted, rather old.
The mobile phone reception
fell out for no good reason
And everything about the place
was cold.
But the ivy-covered walls
lent the place a pleasing look
with its gables and its stables
like an etching from a book.
On the evening of the second day,
she met the pale boy.
Quaintly-dressed, he idled
on the landing
"And who are you?" asked Rachel.
He answered her, "I'm Jack.
The Rector and I have…an understanding."
"You work here?" Rachel asked him."
The boy then shook his head.
"I haunt the house." he told her.
"And have since I was dead."
"I was useless as a stable-lad
and everybody said
Had it not been for the kindness
of my host,
I'd never find another way
to earn my daily bread
And look,
I'm quite as useless
as a ghost.
I can manage atmospheric
or kinetic interference
But it takes me all my energy
to master an appearance."
Now, at that very moment,
her mother called upstairs:
Thomas? Edward?
Bedtime!"
It's ten o'clock, near on!"
The sudden interruption caught
the pale boy unawares
Rachel turned around and he
was gone.
Then the Rectory was quiet
bar the periodic chime
of a clock's remorseful ticking
through the warp and weft of time
When Rachel rose at morning
in the glimmering of dawn
A weak and weary sunlight lit
the bookshelf by the bed
She gazed out of a window
at a minted frosty lawn
The memories of the pale boy
went waltzing around her head.
A tap-tap-tapping startled her;
her mother with a tray.
Traditionally, they'd decorate the
Christmas tree this day.
The hours fell like skittles
in a classic Christmas flurry
Of pick-up times and people
in a panic
The happier disruptions of a
household in a hurry
Her younger brothers
absolutely manic
By then, the friends and relatives
had started to arrive.
Yet, only one observed the figure
standing in the drive.
"He was in a fancy costume!"
Piped an auntie to her father
"A tricorn hat, a jerkin;
I assumed a pantomime."
Rachel pricked her ears up
concluding that she'd rather
Broach the subject at a
better time
Her father being a rationalist
who rarely suffered fools
Was guaranteed to bridle
at talk of ghosts or ghouls.
Outside, the sun retreated
A linen mist came down
And draped itself around
the tired day
While Rachel left her chamber
and walking in her gown
She heard a youthful voice
beside her say:
"It's not so very different
at the dying of the year
From when I was a boy alive
with all that I held dear."
"The Master bellowed in
the hall
The maids ran round excited
We boys did little, if at all
While everyone invited
Supped and ate and danced
at night
Kissed each other's cheeks
It was a time of laughter, light
to warm long winter weeks
Until that year wherein I died...
So, I return at Christmastide."
It happened on the landing,
this last encounter made
The pale boy was standing
beside the balustrade
While Rachel, fascinated,
unsure if he was there
Reached out to touch the vision
which vapourised in air
By then, she'd made her mind up
To best not say a word
And anyway, from this time on
Nothing more occurred
Then during Christmas dinner,
with portraits on the wall
Their kindly former rectors
looking on
A grace was said for everyone.
"Of all faiths, or of none
For all of us now present
and all of those who've gone."
She saw her solemn father
His hair somehow, more grey.
"...And lastly, Lord, for Rachel,
Who passed six years today."
Now Christmas blessed the table
and sunlight dressed the room
Slipping out discreetly,
as the best of guests will do
With oil lamps and candles
to aid its dying light
Until the day went seamlessly
melting into night.
And having seen this season
of comfort and of joy
Rachel took her leave of them,
beside the pale boy.
..................................................................
Painting: William Conor