A Window Full of Ghosts

It took me forty minutes to clean the inside of this dirty, cob webbed bay window, in my new bedroom. The outside windows were done earlier today, by a local man. I step over the creaking floorboards; with an eerie feeling, goose bumps dimple my face. Awful stained, patterned wallpaper, which I’m about to remove, makes me shudder. Lime green, with tiny yellowing flowers. I hitch up my jeans, hook my fingers into my waistband, and prepare myself to start peeling it off. Seconds later, I turn to take a look outside. A ray of sun highlights a silvery strand. I notice a thin wispy cobweb starting to form in a corner of the window. I turn away; grip the ends of a strip of paper and pull. A whole piece tears away. It smells damp, dust flies about, and swirls in the air. I check my watch, my stomach rumbles. I pull in a deep breath, wondering if buying a house in such a dilapidated condition was a wise thing to do.

I nip downstairs to retrieve my packed lunch, minutes later, I venture back to my bedroom. I notice a dark film covering the window. I head over towards it, thinking something from outside has caused the build-up. I wipe my fingers over the glass, it’s from inside. I look around; assuming my traipsing over the floorboards caused it. I tackle my lunch, and tuck into a ham and tomato sandwich, as I sit against the opposite wall, from the one I’m working on. I glance towards the window, which intrigues me. The dust has thickened, and the cobweb has increased in size. I shrug, convinced the spider is a fast worker, and the dust has evolved from the removed wallpaper. I finish a strong cup of black coffee, tighten the lid of my red flask, polish off another sandwich then proceed to get back to work.

I get to my feet, and catch a glimpse of the only tree in my back garden. My view is almost obscured; however, I can just make out its branches swaying in the wind. A storm is forecast. I doubt it, the sun is hot, and the sky is a clear powder blue. I try to wipe a section of the window; it’s thicker. I manage to identify the tree; it’s a magnificent Willow, with long wispy branches, which bounce gently. The garden is overgrown, and needs a lot of weeding. I sigh, stare at the wall and resume my activity.

After an hour of peeling off wallpaper, I check my watch. Seven o’clock. The sun is going down and I’m feeling tired. It’s a mild September evening. I gaze around, trying to grasp a sense of accomplishment for clearing one wall. To my astonishment, the window looks clean; without thinking, I dash to look outside to have a better look at the tree and garden. I rub my eyes in disbelief. The Willow tree has gone. I don’t know what to think, apart from this weird room is playing tricks on me. It’s impossible; I definitely didn’t imagine a tree, or the grime on the window. How can such dirt and an old rooted tree just disappear? Overwhelmed with tiredness, I decide to go downstairs.

Earlier, at six this morning, I cleaned up the kitchen, bathroom and lounge, and the removal men came at three o’clock. The only room that needs redecorating is my bedroom. I check light switches, all work. I head upstairs to check the others. My bedroom door is closed; I slowly turn the handle and go inside. A shiver ripples up my spine. The window is open. I flick on the light, dash to it and close it abruptly. Elongated shadows of branches from the Willow swirl around the room. I gasp in disbelief; I watch the branches sway wildly without any wind. The tree appears closer to the window. Perhaps, I’m over tired. I double check the window lock, feeling relieved it’s still clean. Dark thunderous clouds have formed. I rationalize everything in seconds. The window lock was loose, flew open and closed the door, from the suction, because windows are open downstairs to regulate a good dose of fresh air, and the tree has always been here. That’s that. I flick my eyes over my unmade double bed. The removal men had to bring it up, the headrest is very heavy for me to do. I flop on the mattress and try to relax. An engaging sense of someone watching me, unnerves me, I sit up and with nerves tight, like a spring, I check under my bed. Dark shadows disturb me; a strong puff of dust makes me cough. I certainly won’t sleep in here tonight; this room is giving me the creeps. Unfortunately, I’m miles from a hotel, and my friends. My idea to move to the countryside is beginning to disappoint me. The phone line isn’t connected yet and my mobile battery needs charging. I scramble to my feet, leave the room and close the door.

After unpacking for a while, I decide to go outside, and double check the tree really does exist. Touching its trunk and the texture of the bark will help my pulse calm down and affirm its existence.

Seconds later, I exit the backdoor in the kitchen, and brave the sudden change in temperature. I stand in front of the Willow tree. It’s become dark and moonlight streaks across the overgrown grass. Shadows and sounds accompany me, making me feel very uncomfortable. Rustling sounds slither in the grass and a crisp hush of cold air sweeps across my face. Shivering, I clasp my arms together, hoping to fool myself by pretending I’m warm. I examine the tree; touch the bark with my cold fingers. The layered wood feels gritty and warm. I lean up close, I think I hear a buzz, but it’s a low humming sound, like the tree has a pulse. I step back and stumble awkwardly. Large roots have freed themselves, brought up the concrete path and lifted patches of grass. I look up at my bedroom window. I see a figure, a silhouette; I can’t tell if it’s a woman or a man. Fear bombards me; did I leave the front door open? I rush through the house, to the front door, twist the handle, it’s unlocked. I look around slowly, expecting someone to appear.

‘Hello! This house has been sold, if you’re looking around!’ I wait; wait for my voice to settle down from sailing through the house. I straighten my spine and take a deep breath. The thought of taking the creaky wooden stairs unnerves me, I have to do it. I have to check my bedroom.

I climb the stairs, taking deep breaths hoping to feel brave. In seconds, I’m standing in front of my bedroom door. Shivers zigzag through me. I turn the handle quickly and fling it open. No one is here, the light bulb illuminates my room, and moonlight dazzles me. A gust of wind whips around my body. Such wind, it’s impossible. I approach my window. The Willow is there, with its majestic stance, but the glass is missing. Slithers of shattered glass lay heaped in a pile. I expect a branch has lashed hard against it. The frame is old and needs replacing. I stare out at the Willow, it’s at a distance, its branches wouldn’t be able to smack at the window. Confusion strikes me. I fight against the gust swallowing up my room, and step out onto the landing.

In seconds, warmth surrounds me. The central heating has ignited. I rummage through a case I left to unpack tomorrow and pull out a cinnamon brown mohair jumper. I smell the fresh earthy air, as I pull it over my head. I think I’ll hire a decorator to finish my bedroom, and a contractor to fit a new window. I start to feel warmer, and less afraid. I close my bedroom door, and head downstairs to make some coffee.

After my coffee has brewed, I snuggle up on my mustard yellow velvet sofa and switch on my television. The screen doesn’t come on. Leisurely, I venture towards my mobile on its charger, propped on a side table behind me. I was meant to call my boyfriend, James.

‘Hi, James, sorry I didn’t call, I was caught up striping wallpaper and my battery died on me.’ I try to sound perky, even though I’m feeling lonely.

‘No worries, how’s it going?’ James sounds tired and I wish I was snuggled up to him.

‘Everything was okay, until I started on my bedroom.’

‘Why, is the wallpaper that bad?’ He laughs, which causes ripples of warmth to sear through me. I muster a sarcastic laugh. ‘It’s ghastly, and I feel spooked out. The window smashed in there not long ago, a storm hit, and I think the weather is playing with the electrics, the TV won’t come on.’

‘Is it still bad, do you want me to come over now?’

‘The wind has cooled down, don’t worry, I’m fine. Let’s stick to tomorrow’s time; if the storm wells up again, I’m not keen on you driving for an hour through it.’ I didn’t mention the other happenings, because I’ll just sound crazy.

‘There’s no bad weather here, Jan.’

‘Lucky you, can I call you later? I want to call an emergency contractor to fix the window.’

‘Okay, speak soon.’

I search for local contractors and find one that lives a few miles away. ‘Hello, I have a broken bay window; I was wondering if you could come over tomorrow and fix it?’

‘I can pop over now, assess it for the glass size and fix it tomorrow for you.’

‘That sounds great, thank you.’

‘Okay, I‘ll see you in twenty minutes.’

Relieved he’ll sort out the window, I fiddle with the television. No screen, just white fluffy noise. Irritated, I switch it off and finish my coffee. The sun hides behind clouds, which are slowly drifting away, and I’m beginning to feel more relaxed. The overgrown garden grips my attention; energetically, I get to my feet and head to the French windows. I stare outside, mesmerized with confusion. I chew a finger nail, to distract myself from the overwhelming sense of being haunted. My pulse thumps, with a rush of blood pounding around my ears. The lawn looks neat, there are no weeds. A mixture of dread and anxiety engulf me. I hear tyres crease along the gravel; I take a deep reviving breath, and exhale with relief. I snap out of my fixed glaze and go to greet the contractor.

I watch him huff out of his van. He’s wearing grey dungaree’s, which are splattered with dry white paint.

‘Hello!’ He waves and smiles. He has greying hair and a twisted moustache.

‘Hi, I’ll show you the window.’

He walks towards my fencing, which has a few broken panels. ‘Looks like, you’ve got a lot of gardening to do. I know a good gardener.’

I stretch my neck to glance over my fence. I’m speechless; the grass is overgrown, weeds are out of control and sprout up between clumps of dry grass. My face drains, I feel lightheaded.

‘Don’t worry; I’ll give you his number. Okay, lead the way to the window.’

I shake my head, remain silent, and minutes later, we’re stepping on creaky floorboards on the landing. ‘I’ll let you go ahead, I’ll wait here.’

I watch him turn the handle. My nerves feel stretched; I wring my hands together, dreading the bill.

He glances at me with a frown wrinkling his forehead. ‘Have you got the right room, Miss?’

I step forward and stand next to him. ‘Yes…Of course.’

‘There’s no broken glass here.’

‘I don’t understand. It was definitely broken, I saw it.’ I notice the wobble of panic in my voice.

‘Trick of the light, Miss, storms here can play with your vision.’

‘Yes…I’m sorry to have bothered you.’ The contractor goes inside and examines the window frame. I follow, dumb founded and gaze outside. The branches of the Willow sway and bounce, like they’re laughing.

He moves his tooth pick around with his lips, grips it at the corner of his mouth with a finger. ‘I take it the estate agent told you about this place?’

‘Only that it’s over a hundred years old, and it’s been on the market for a few years.’

‘And have you any idea what can come with that?’

I look at him, his eyes shine, waiting for my reply. ‘Err…Not really.’

‘Have you experienced anything strange?’

I lick my lips and swallow built up saliva. ‘The window dusts over then cleans itself and the Willow moves…And.’

He slowly shakes his head. I feel ridiculous and expect him to laugh. ‘I noticed your white face when I arrived. The garden plays tricks with you…This house is haunted, Miss…I’ve heard about this before.’

‘It can’t be. I mean…’ I try to deny it, but knowing this man believes it, makes it impossible to ignore. ‘What should I do?’

‘Previous tenants believe this window is a portal.’ He speaks slowly, switching his tooth pick from side to side. ‘There’s nothing you can do. It plays with your vision, and when it’s toyed with you enough, to the extent of you being intrigued; spirits can enter through the window.’

‘I thought I saw someone in here, when I was in the garden.’ My voice is shrill, and gripped with nervous energy. ‘I chased around the house, checked this room, but no one was here.’

His stance is calm and unafraid. ‘That’s done it, Miss. The shattered glass, I’ve heard it means, spirits have become earth bound.’

‘So…Do I except it, or…’

‘Leave, Miss. That’s the best thing to do. You could rent it out.’

Options run a riot in my mind. ‘Maybe this is all in the imagination, if I ignore it, it’ll go away.’

He slowly shakes his head. ‘No, Miss. It’s unlikely to do that, it’s been happening for a very long time…I have to go. There’s really no need for a gardener. The grass will appear tall and wild one day then trim the next…You should leave.’

He turns towards the door. ‘I’ll make my own way out, Miss.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ I feel jittery, on edge, being with someone settles me.

He approaches the front door, and steps outside. ‘Oh, just a minute, I’ll get a pen for the gardener’s number.’ Although he said there was no point. I need a grip on reality, calling a gardener will enforce that. I dash to the lounge for my handbag. In less than a minute, I’m back at the front door.

I look around dazed, he’s vanished. That’s impossible, the time it took me to get my pen, meant, I would have heard him drive off. I hear a crashing sound, like broken glass. I rush through the back gate, and look up at the window. The glass has gone. I run inside to call James.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi, what’s up, Jan, you sound shaky?’

‘I can’t stay here, I’ll explain later. I’m calling a taxi. I’ll see you in an hour.’

‘Okay…See you soon. Wow, a pain of glass has just shattered.’

‘What?’

‘A window in the lounge has just smashed.’

                                            The End