Friday, 21 July 2017

The Wraith of the Lady B.

(Wouldn’t that make a good title for a short story? It would.)

I was standing under the roof of my porch this evening, sheltering from the rain which was uncomfortably heavy considering the fact that my coat gets easily soaked and takes three days to dry. The twilight was as atmospheric as usual, but the water was a bit too wet.

So there I was, feeling the atmosphere and listening to the rain beating down my plants, when I suddenly and unaccountably saw the Lady B standing on the lane looking up the garden at me. It was the real Lady B all right; she looked just the same as she did before her human alter-ego became a beautiful woman and abandoned her.

’Twas the ghost of the Lady B, no less!

OK, so maybe I’m being fanciful. It was, admittedly, only a fleeting glimpse, but the sense was very strong and I do suspect that inner senses can sometimes tell us things which the normal faculties are quite incapable of recognising.

You say I killed you. Haunt me then!
~ Heathcliff.

No, it isn’t quite that bad. Emily made me say it.

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