A board near the door was set with buns for visitors to take. Gerald stuffed several of the soul-cakes into his pockets. He couldn’t eat one on the way home; Old Hob, the horse’s skull hooded with a white sheet and mounted atop a long pole that was the emblem of the soulling crew, was too awkward and heavy to carry one-handed for long.
‘Not a bad haul, eh?’ he said to Derek as they exited the big house. He waved off his other friends as they disappeared down the drive into the dark night. He shivered a little at the chill in the air.
Derek nodded as he munched on his cake, then said, spitting crumbs, ‘Well deserved, though – we did sing for our supper.’
Gerald chuckled. Going soulling, singing carols in return for cakes, was an old custom on All Hallow’s Eve.
‘Anyhow,’ said Derek, ‘I must be away before the missus takes exception to my nocturnal wanderings. You coming?’ He nodded down the drive.
‘Nah. Quicker for me to go across the fields.’
‘Well, watch out for ditches and cow pats.’
‘I’m not a fool, and I ain’t drunk.’
Derek shrugged. ‘The darkness can make a fool of anyone.’
Laughing, Gerald started to walk off in the direction of a distant hedge.
‘I have a candle to light my way,’ he called back to Derek as he relit the one mounted inside the horse’s skull. The light turned the sheet-covered skull into a ghostly-looking horror floating along in the darkness.
‘Night,’ called Derek. ‘Try not to frighten anyone…’
‘I won’t.’
Gerald clambered over a stile and set off across the fields, an owl hooting as the night swallowed him.
Puffing, he paused after a while to rub his aching arms before resuming walking. The journey across the fields felt as if it were taking forever. Maybe he should have taken the lane with Derek…
No, he was just being silly. He’d taken this route any number of times and could probably walk it blindfolded. He’d be fine.
The soft crunch of a footstep made him freeze, the glow of Old Hob hanging in the air before him.
‘Who’s there?’ he called.
‘What are you?’ came a woman’s tremulous voice.
He waggled the pole and said, ‘I’m no ghost. It’s just old hob,’ he pulled the sheet away, ‘a horse’s skull with a candle inside. See?’
‘You frightened me,’ the voice said, accusatory.
‘Sorry. Not intended. I was just on my way home – I’ve been out soulling.’
There was the sound of movement and a woman appeared on the edge of the soft candlelight, her bonnet askew and her eyes wide as if with fear.
‘I lost my way…’ she murmured, looking about as if she might see a signpost to direct her.
‘Where are you making for?’ Gerald didn’t recognise her.
‘Eatonfield. I was going to visit my cousin, but I took a wrong turn somewhere.’
‘Oh, aye, I know it. It’s not far. I’m going that way. You may walk with me, if you wish, Miss…?’
‘Morton,’ she told him with a faint smile as she straightened her bonnet. ‘Louisa Morton. And, I’d like that. This is a night for ghosts and I’d appreciate the company…’
‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Morton. I’m Gerald Lee. Are you hungry?’ He nudged his jacket pocket with the end of the pole mounted with old hob. ‘My pockets are stuffed with soul-cakes. You can take one if you like…’
She hesitated, then reached her hand in and retrieved one.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled.
‘You’re welcome. Now, come on. This way.’
With the glow of the candle lighting their path, he resumed walking, Louisa just behind him. He shivered. The night had grown cold.
‘We’re almost there,’ he said. ‘Just –’
He glanced back. She was gone. He was alone in the endless night.
#
‘Gerald?’ Louisa looked about in confusion. He was gone.
The first hint of dawn was on the horizon, revealing her surroundings. She was in the lane outside the churchyard at Eatonfield. A quick shortcut between the graves and she would be at her cousin’s house.
The sun rose as she crunched her way along the gravel path.
She stopped in surprise. Atop one gravestone was a small pile of soul-cakes.
It wasn’t unknown for uneaten cakes to be left for those who had passed on, but a pile like this was strange.
Looking at the gravestone, she shivered. The name on it was that of Gerald Lee.
She looked down at the soul-cake she still held, uneaten, in her hand, then gingerly added it to the pile and hurried on her way.
DJ Tyrer is the person behind Atlantean Publishing, editor of View From Atlantis webzine, and has had flash fiction published in anthologies and magazines around the world, such as Apples, Shadows and Light (Earlyworks Press), and Journals of Horror: Found Fiction (Pleasant Storm Entertainment), issues of Sirens Call, and Tigershark, and on Cease Cows, The Flash Fiction Press, Space Squid, and Trembling With Fear. Find DJ at @DJTyrer and djtyrer.blogspot.co.uk.
Photo by Judy Darley.
