The Golden Fleece (Ghost Walk) Part Two of Two

Part One at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/golden-fleece-ghost-walk-part-o...

The Golden Fleece (Ghost Walk) Part Two of Two

For a split second the limb appeared skeletal. I shook it off, rationalising that it was just my imagination run ragged. My gaze was slowly drawn back to the house, a sense of trepidation running through my very essence. I’m sure it was suddenly much colder. With my focus back on the building, I was greeted by the pallid face of a wee lass gently scratching at the panes, eyes open wide in terror, her expression one of utter desperation. Her skin was paper thin, a complexion that bordered on translucent. Abandoned to her fate, her clothes were mere rags, her hair a tiny mass of thinning strands.

I was momentarily stunned. Was this part of the show?

Alice had already walked on without waiting for me.

“Alice, ALICE! Look at this!”

She turned along with a few others and simply glared at me as though I was bonkers.

“What is it, love?”

By the time I had looked up again, the face had gone.

“Oh…erm...nothing at all, dear. Nothing at all.”

A shiver ran down my spine and, once again, I questioned my own sanity. This was becoming a very long day. Turning to question the Grim Reaper, I noted he had moved on ahead and was passing next to Alice. I so wanted to grab this mysterious individual and question them but decided to hold my nerve and act as though nothing had happened. For now, anyway.

“Whatever next?” I muttered rhetorically.

“Who knows but let’s keep moving shall we?” Alice barked overhearing, pulling her coat tight. I considered which was scarier: wraith-like apparitions or my beloved when crossed. I remembered the frying pan. I think I knew the answer.

I checked my mobile phone for the time to see how long might be left of the excursion. We had been going for an hour by now so I suspected that we must be nearing the end. Surely.

The next stop heralded a plaque proclaiming a place name:

“LUND’S COURT FORMERLY MAD ALICE LANE”

Holding the crowd in awe, the nameless Victorian gesticulated, arms flailing, reeling off the story of Alice Smith who was hanged at York Castle for the crime of insanity after murdering her husband. Sadly, it seems that she was the victim of domestic abuse so probably had good reason to do what she did but that was no defence in 1825. It is claimed that passers-by see her incorporeal spirit gliding through the alley on a regular basis. I seemed to recall that one of the other tours was led by a Mad Alice. She had come by paying work after meeting her grisly end after all. Hooray for capitalism!

For all that had happened both at The Golden Fleece and so far on the ghost walk, I was feeling jumpy. This wasn’t helped by our tour leader sashaying through the attendees (who duly parted like the Red Sea) and standing directly in front of me.

“Did you know….that the heads of traitors….were placed on railing spikes in this part of York?” He said creepily, pausing intermittently for effect.

With that, once again he took his hand out of the medical bag he was carrying and tossed something at my chest. Instinctively catching it, I peered at the foreign object to see wide eyes inside a head looking back. I dropped it like a hot potato. There was a pause followed by more laughter – it was a prop made from papier-mâché

“Holy f…” I started with Alice quickly putting her hand across my mouth.

I thought I could smell fear. It was only the wafting odour of Peking duck from a Chinese restaurant just around the corner.

With an air of finality, we traversed the last section of streets before alighting in the suburb of Bedern. The entire area is said to be haunted. With sepulchral buildings all around, the most notable are the Chapel and Hall. Standing outside the latter, light reflected on ornate lancet windows, the structure looking demure and yet forbidding under the canvas of starlight.

Two teenage boys dressed in mismatched duffle coats and tracksuit bottoms fiddled with mobile phones, their mother throwing them disapproving stares as our nocturnal guide slipped into place for the denouement of the evening. Panning across the group, he took a deep breath then told the story that recounted the time an orphanage was in the district. The proprietor was a man known for parsimony and many of the poor children in his care died of hunger. In winter, when the ground was too firm, this cold-hearted scoundrel would store cadavers in cupboards rather than bury them until the ground thawed. Whenever new properties were built in later years, bodies would be discovered. It is said that the cries of the suffering children can be heard echoing late into most nights.

With the atmosphere subdued, it was then that the ultimate parlour trick was played. With due deference to dead bodies being riddled with maggots, tiny objects rained down on the unsuspecting group. It turned out that, again, grains of rice had been employed for effect but many were fooled, shrieking and frantically clawing at their hair and clothes to rid themselves of the unwelcome ‘larvae’.

I couldn’t help but sigh quietly. Notwithstanding, it had been an entertaining, engrossing experience. A ripple of interest ran through the entourage as someone skirted around the edge and appeared at the front next to our Victorian performer. I craned my neck to see who it was (whilst sensing a presence behind me). It was Jeff the Grim Reaper and he was revealing himself as a fair-haired teenage boy. He took a bow as applause rang out. Meanwhile, I turned to see a cowl-wearing leviathan carrying a scythe staring at me with a featureless face. The stranger took a step towards me, drawing its gleaming weapon back, ready to swipe. I closed my eyes, instinctively raising my hands to fend off the attack.

“What are you doing, love?”

Alice thought about it adding:

“You look like that RayGun striking a pose during an Olympic breakdance routine. You know, the one that did that kangaroo thing with its paws in the air.”

She chuckled at her own joke.

Opening my peepers once more, the second, altogether malevolent Grim Reaper had disappeared to be replaced by the cityscape of old York city. Relief surged through me and I padded the few feet between myself and Alice. We were like islands in a fast-flowing river as tonight’s ghost-walkers swarmed around us to disappear once more into the bowels of the archaic metropolis.

A shadow blotted out what light there was as I heard the question:

“Are you believers now, sir and madam?”

It was the Victorian storyteller along with his now de-robed sidekick. Both were grinning like loons.

I glanced at Alice who peered back at me knowingly.

“Yes” I replied “Yes…I suppose we are.”

Image free to use via WiliCommons at:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bedern#/media/File:Bedern_Hall_York_02.jpg