Apples rotting beneath the trees. Teardrop jewelled spider’s webs on the washing line. And in the distance ships lost in the fog out at sea.
Autumn was here, and not even Claire declaring that there’s no such thing as ghost ships could spoil Agnes’s mood.
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Notes:
1. Written on July 27th and August 26th, 2023
__________The tennis courts were empty. The gates were shut, locked, padlocked, chained, bolted, and, quite possibly, even welded. No one had set foot inside since 1985 and no one would set foot inside again until 2055 at the very earliest unless something catastrophic happened and even then it was unlikely to be catastrophic enough to change anything that drastically.
The nets fluttered in the wind, as close a thing to genuine ghosts as anything in material existence could ever hope to be.
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Notes:
1. Written on May 26th, 2023
__________The boy, Robert, my nephew, had been missing two hours now when I saw him in the harbour, his head bobbing up and down in the water between two fishing boats, as if caught in the ropes that tethered them in place and now calling for help in between the slow swell of the incoming waves.
The breathe caught in my throat, tears welled in my eyes, the shock of it, the surprise, the suddenness of the sight. I didn’t even think, no worries for my own wellbeing, no attempts to call for help. I didn’t even kick off my shoes, simply ran into the water, wading through the waves, clambering across the pontoons floating in the shallows, climbing into and out of boats before diving from a small wooden raft down into the depths of the sea.
A single vision then, clear as a painting, as staged as some devastating tableau. Robert floating in glass, the scene bisected by ropes fringed with weeds, his billowing hair lit by a single shaft of light from above, a bubble of air almost lazily forming between his lips, his eyes a piercing blue sharp enough to cut apart my soul.
I surfaced, coughing, choking, panic and horror and shame, of failure, loss. Clinging to the side of the boat I called his name, “Robert! Robert!”, then dived back down. Dived back under to try again, again, again.
There was nothing there, of course. Oh the water was in turmoil, sand swirling in the maelstrom, shapes redolent of ghosts in the tumult. But in those lifeless waters of the harbour there was nothing more.
__________
Notes:
1. Written on the 8th July, 2022
2. An attempt at a ghost story
3. And based upon a dream
Infinite Sunset (by Patrick aged 6)
Friendly Frog’s Feeding Frenzy (by Florence aged 9)
A Ghost On A Trampoline (by David aged 43)
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Notes:
1. Made on 1st of May, 2022
2. By me and my niece and my nephew
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Notes:
1. Made on April 13th, 2022
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