My offering for Halloween—Tricia McGill

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As it’s about that time of year again when folk start to think about ghoulies and ghosties etc. so I thought my creepy short story might be appropriate. It is called A Bad Mistake.

“I don’t want to go, Clive.” Mary sat on the side of the bed and pouted.

“Oh come, don’t be a kill-joy, sweetheart.” Clive tugged at her arm.

“But I didn’t like the look of him.” Mary shuddered as she recalled the stranger who spoke to them earlier. “His eyes seemed to be going right through me.”

“Nonsense, darling, he’s just a bit different to what we’re used to. Typical English country type.” Clive laughed. “You have to expect them to be a bit unusual round here. This town’s very isolated so I don’t suppose they see many outsiders. Except for the tourists who stay in this hotel, and from what I could see there’s not that many.”

“I do wish you hadn’t told him we were on our honeymoon. He had a distinct leer on his face at that piece of information. You shouldn’t have told him where we come from.”

“You’re a funny little thing.” Clive fondly chucked her beneath the chin. “I merely told him we’d come to visit distant relatives of ours and that we’d arrived from Australia on Tuesday.”

“You also told him we were named after our English grandparents.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” Clive shrugged. “Anyway he seemed eager to take us to see the badgers in the woods. It will be nice to see some unusual wildlife while we’re here.”

“All right,” she conceded. “I agree it’ll be a treat. A bit different to kangaroos and wombats.” She pulled on her coat. “That’s if we ever actually get to see them. Why did we have to wait until after ten to go? It’s pitch black out there. You know I hate the dark. I’d prefer to stay here where it’s snug—and safe.”

Clive grinned as he shrugged into his windcheater. “We can’t spend all our time tucked away up here. Much as I’ve enjoyed it so far. We don’t want the locals talking about the Aussie honeymooners who never left their room, do we?”

“We could stay down in the bar,” Mary said eagerly. “I love that quaint room with the peat fire and the locals playing darts and dominoes.”

“Bit late for them now. I expect they’ve all gone home to their own fires. Come on, let’s go down and wait outside for him.”

They made their way down the narrow winding staircase, and then out through the side door of the inn.

Mary shivered as she dug her hands into her pockets and snuggled closer to Clive. “Doesn’t look like he’s coming. It’s cold out here, Clive, and very misty.” The trees surrounding the tiny car park at the side of the inn were mysterious silhouettes. The moon had hidden itself from view. “This village is a dream in the daytime, but this time of night it looks positively creepy. Did you fetch the torch?”

“Oh Mary, you’re vivid imagination is too much at times. Damn, forgot it, but suppose he’ll have one—ah, you’ve arrived.” Clive turned to greet the local man they met earlier. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”

The stranger’s cap concealed most of his face, and his great coat reached his ankles. He wasn’t carrying a torch. “No, I wouldn’t do that young fellow. Ready?”

“Sure thing.” Clive rubbed his palms together. “Give me your hand, darling.”

Mary stepped back. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go.”

“Okay.” Clive gave her a gentle push. “You go back inside and I’ll go by myself.”

“No, if you go, then so will I.” Mary glanced about, before linking hands with Clive. They followed the stranger, who was now well ahead. “It’s awfully dark beneath these trees, Clive. He’s marching along as if he has a train to catch.” An owl hooted overhead, startling Mary. “I swear he has cat’s eyes.” It was now only just possible to discern the stranger through the murkiness.

“Don’t hang onto my sleeve so hard, darling.” Clive removed her clinging hand and enfolded it in his again. “You were dragging my coat off my back.”

Mary squeaked when an animal the size of a cat ran out in front of them then disappeared into the darkness. “Yikes, that scared the hell out of me, Clive.” They came out of the trees onto a large open space. “This is that old disused airfield we passed this morning. The village looked like something out of a picture postcard then, but it’s eerie and strange now. And what’s that funny droning sound?”    

The stranger had stopped, and when they drew level with him, said, “This way, my dears. Some say that noise is the ghostly echoes of all the aircraft that took off from here during the war and never returned to the home base.”

“I hate it here,” Mary whispered. Clive gave her arm a shake.

The stranger chuckled. It was not a cheerful sound. “But it’s merely the insects and wild-life. My grandfather was a pilot. He used to bring me here when I was young. He would tell me wonderful stories about this place and the men who perished in the planes that left here.”

“It’s so dark,” Mary grumbled.

“I’d know my way around blindfold.” The stranger moved off.

“Seems an odd place for badgers to be,” Mary whispered.

The man suddenly stopped, saying, “What’s that light there? Strange. I’d better investigate.”

“We’ll wait here for you,” Clive said.

He walked off, leaving them alone. “I hate it here, Clive.” Mary shuddered. “I never saw any light did you?”

The man silently reappeared and Mary jumped out of her skin. “It’s the entrance to a bunker,” he said. “It’s probably only the local kids mucking about. They get down there for a lark. It’s quite interesting really. Come and have a look. All the old staff quarters are down there.”

As Clive made to follow, Mary caught his sleeve. “No, don’t go.”

“Don’t be a wet blanket, darling.” Clive gave her arm a squeeze. “You’re carrying on as if the place is haunted. It’s only a tunnel. What about the caves back home? You weren’t scared of them.”

“Well, I’m not staying here alone.” Mary grimaced. “I’ll have to come with you.”

The stranger beckoned to them, and they joined him at a small square hatch. He’d lifted the lid and a hazy shaft of light showed up a ladder leading into a passageway below. Lifting a leg he cocked it over the knee-high wall around the entrance, then disappeared.

“I’ll go first, love, to catch you if you fall.” Clive began to descend. Halfway down, he called up. “Mind how you climb down, Mary, It’s a bit rusty.”

When they were standing on rough ground at the bottom, Mary asked in a shaky voice, “Where’s he gone? That light’s almost gone now. And what’s that peculiar smell. It stinks like that dead cow we saw once at the side of the road.”

Clive took her hand again. “There he is.” The stranger was at the end of a corridor that was barely wide enough for them to walk side by side. “Come on, he’s beckoning to us.”

Mary pulled him back. “I don’t want to go any further. It’s creepy.”

“Don’t be silly, love. All right, you stay here, and I’ll just see what he’s up to.”

Mary shuddered as Clive walked off. At the end of the corridor, he turned to give her a wave before he went around the corner.

Mary pressed herself against the wall, goose bumps covering her scalp. When an eerie sound echoed off the walls, she let out a small scream. “Clive, who’s that laughing?” she called. “I’m coming down there, wait for me.” She tripped as she raced to the corner, grazing her hands on the rough walls as she steadied herself.

The stranger stood outside an opening where the light came from. “Come on in, my dear, he said. “Join the game.”

Mary tentatively neared the doorway, gasping when she looked into the room.  Clive sat at a table with six other men. “Clive, why are you playing cards with these men?” she croaked.

Vaguely she was aware of their clothing, as they seemed to dither and recede before her eyes. They all wore what she recognised as flying jackets—the type you saw in films about the war.

“What are they doing down here?” As she said this, all their faces went blank, like a painting where the artist hadn’t got around to putting their features in yet. She screamed. The stranger’s laugh was sinister. “Clive…I can’t…see their faces,” she stammered. Clive was smiling, but then his face grew faint. “What’s wrong with you?” Mary reached out to touch him, but as he smiled at her, his face went fuzzy. “Clive!” Her shout reverberated off the walls.

Mary whirled and ran. When she reached the end of the corridor, she couldn’t see the ladder. She sobbed as she frantically scrabbled about. In terror, she turned about and retraced her steps—only to meet a dead end.

Author’s note: When newly married, my husband and I stayed with friends near a disused airport outside Aylesbury, Bucks. The group of us would walk there after dark and the men—as young men do—took great delight in scaring the wits out of us females with ghost stories. This is the only horror story I ever wrote and it still gives me the creeps.

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