london | Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone

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*I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

This story will be given in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work.

I try to use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece, so the featured photo today is from The Lineup.

Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

I truly hope you enjoy reading my first ever ghost story!

Cold Comfort

Part II

by Kristy Gherlone

The baby was crying again. The sound wrenched her from a deep hypnotic sleep. Immediately on alert, her eyes flew open. Her heart began to thump loudly against her chest. Something was wrong! Something was wrong with the baby!
Panicked, Isabelle threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed, nearly tripping on her night dress. Her feet touched the cold pine wood floor, making it creak. The baby hushed. Isabelle froze, her pulse pounding in her ears as she paused to listen. The silence was momentary. The crying began anew. Soft beckons turned to billowy wails of fear and discomfort.

She admonished herself as she snatched her dressing gown from the bed post and wrestled her arms into the sleeves. She shouldn’t have taken so much morphine! She didn’t mean to take so much. She only wanted to sleep. Just to sleep and to forget…

She went to the nightstand, feeling around with clumsy fingers until she found a taper. Her hands shook as she lit a candle to see her way through the midnight blackness. Succeeding, she cupped the flame to keep it from whiffing out as she hurried into the long main hallway. The glow from the light snuck around her fingers, throwing shadows that danced on the walls, disorienting her. She turned left in the corridor. After only a few quick steps, she knew that it wasn’t right. The house seemed so different.

Which way is it? Why can’t I remember? She stopped, looking back the way she had come.

Was it the east or west wing? Everything was so fuzzy in her mind.

The baby’s fussing’s strengthened, turning into wounded howls.

“I’m coming! Mummy’s coming!” she cried, spiriting back in the other direction. It was the west wing. Of course!

She hastened her steps towards the baby’s suite just as its wails reached a crescendo. Filmy haze wafted in around her. She batted at it furiously, but it only thickened, making her cough. Stealing her sight, she was forced to feel her way and count the doorways. One, two…

“I’m coming!”

She could have sworn there were three doors! The sounds of the crying shifted as she’d reached a dead end and seemed to come from the other side of the house. She must have gone the wrong way! Confused, she turned and headed back. They never should have built a house so large!

Dark figures lurked in the mist, hissing accusations as she breezed past, making her nervous and jumpy. She darted around them, moving quickly. The faster her feet moved, the more the hallway seemed to lengthen. Finally, she stumbled her way back into the main hallway and turned into the east wing.
Her breath came out in wheezy gasps as she came to a door. The smoky condensation turned to icy crystals that frosted the air, but it went unnoticed. She tried the knob. It was locked! She felt around in her pocket for the key, but it wasn’t there. Frantic, she tried all of the doors, but they too were locked. The crying shifted again. The baby’s shrieks sliced through the windows, threatening to break the panes. The sounds were coming from outside! Oh God! Her baby was outside! Someone had stolen her baby!

“Mummy’s coming little one! I’m coming!”

She thrust her arms into her coat, and wound a scarf around neck. She threw open the front door and bounded down the stony steps that led to the street.

It was so cold. She steeled herself against it, but the sharp air stole her breath. She tightened her belt and pulled the scarf around her ears. It felt as if she would never feel the warmth again. She scurried down the street, letting the sounds of her baby guide her.

The darkness of the night was broken by a light up ahead. She raced along the sidewalk on feather lite feet. The crying grew louder as she neared a house. Her baby was in there!

She ghosted through the doorway and up the stairs. She whipped open the door to the baby’s room and ran in to save her.

“There you are. Mummy is here. Mummy is right here.”

Isabelle reached into the crib and gently lifted her baby. Lovingly, she held it close to soothe the terrible cries.

So relieved to have her baby back in her arms, she took her over to the rocker and sat signing to her until she quieted.

Husha Husha daddy’s off to war, but mummy never leaves you while daddy’s on his tour.

Anything you need now, I’ll happily provide. Just close your eyes and sleep now baby, baby mine.

Stay tuned for more!

Side note: This week I received word that a short story I wrote has been accepted by Short Fiction Break! It(Ice Cream or Moxie) will appear on Aug 2nd. Additionally, The Mystery Tribune read another story of mine(Thief) and requested it for their magazine. It is featured in their magazine now!

*I thought I would try my hand at a ghost story. While not my usual genre or style, it was fun to write! I especially enjoyed the research that went into it to make it as authentic as possible.

This story will be given in parts, as it is a bit long and still needs a little work.

I try to use all of my own photos, but this proved difficult for this piece, so the featured photo is from aboutbritian.com

Also, my editor is usually not on duty for my blog posts. If you happen to find any errors in spelling or grammar…I’m sorry! I do what I can, but often miss things. Thanks for your patience!

I truly hope you enjoy reading my first ever ghost story!

COLD COMFORT

Part I

by Kristy Gherlone

London 1873

“I need me a couple of you Peelers to go down to the new Hackney manor and have a look over,” Chief Constable called out to his men. “Captain Hackney is off at war and no one’s seen hide ‘ner hair of the missus in quite some time.”

“We’ll do it.” Tom Barclay, a third year on Bow Street, readily volunteered, nudging his trainee, who gave him a look of inquisition.

“Take yer truncheons and look smart then,” Chief Constable advised. “Steer clear of Alsatia tonight, unless you want to be training a new one again tomorrow.”

“What did he mean by that?” Samuel Lester asked nervously, adjusting his top hat.

“Word has it, there’s to be a raid in Alsatia tonight. It’s to be a rough one, I hear. I thought this might be a little kinder to your training,” Tom explained with a chuckle, “and my disposition.”

The Hackney manor was quite a few blocks from the station. The heels of their shoes clicked and echoed as they hurried over the cobblestone walkways.

Set back from the main road, the Hackney Manor had been built not even a year ago, and was quite a spectacle. It was rumored that Captain Hackney had it built to suit his wife’s specifications, and by the time it was completed, had eaten up a good portion of his wealth.

Tom had heard from his own gossiping wife, that Mrs. Hackney intended to fill the giant estate with children. Her plan was already underway, having just given birth to her first. It didn’t surprise him at all that no one had seen her. She was probably holed up in maternal bliss just like all the new mothers he’d known.

“Well, here we are now,” Tom said as they approached the main gate. “Everything from here looks to be in order. The gate seems secure,” he noted, rattling the iron bars.

“So we can assume there ‘twasn’t a break-in at least,” Samuel concluded with a fair amount of confidence.

“Ah, but can we?” Tom asked, raising his eyebrows. He reached up and unlatched the gate. “In this business, it’s better not to assume anything.” He opened it and motioned Samuel through.

The manor was dark as they approached. Not a candle was lit in any window. Tom found that to be at odds as, at that hour, most of London would be enjoying their evening meal.

“Mrs. Hackney?” Tom shouted, knocking firmly on the front door. “Mrs. Hackney, this is Constables Barclay and Lester. Could you come to the door please? We’ve been instructed to look in on you.”

“No servants?” Samuel whispered, genuinely surprised. Surely a manor as such would require a few willing servants.

“From what my wife tells me, Mrs. Hackney wouldn’t tolerate them.” He knocked again.

Receiving no answering reply, Tom turned the knob and walked in. “Mrs. Hackney?”

The smell was the first thing that Samuel noticed. For such a new place, it contained the stench of the dredges of London. It was also cold and very quiet. He shivered and held his jacket sleeve over his nose with a grimace. “Smells like rotting tripe in here.”

“It’s not rotting tripe you’re smelling, I’m afraid,” Tom said with remorse. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re about to have a lesson I’d rather you avoided.”

“Oh?” Samuel asked with cautious curiosity.

“I’ll take the upstairs, you check around down here,” Tom ordered.

“What am I to be looking for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Tom said. It was turning out to be a most unpleasant task. He almost wished he’d gone on the raid instead.

He took the stairs two at a time, and as he expected, the smell worsened as he ascended.

It didn’t take him long to find Mrs. Hackney. The door to her bedroom was ajar. He entered and found her lying motionless, the bed covers drawn up around her chin. He shined the light over her face. It was blue and bloated. It was hard to say just how long she’d been like that.

At that moment, Samuel entered. “What is it? Is she…?”

“Samuel stay here and don’t touch anything. My wife tells me she gave birth recently. There’s a chance…” But even as he said it, he knew there was none. It was too cold. Given the temperature and the lack of attention, the baby wouldn’t have survived long.

Tom ran off down the hallway opening every door until he found the baby’s room. It was obvious even at first glance that it had expired. Poor little thing was lying on its side completely without covers.

He walked over to the crib and reached out to turn it over. He choked back a sob. The sweet little thing still maintained a pout as if the only thing it had ever done on the earth was suffer. The little nappy covering its behind had been soiled before death, but had long since dried into a crusty mess.

He didn’t know why, but he picked up the baby and cradled it in his arms. He tried not to imagine just how long it had cried in agony from cold and hunger before it succumbed.

Sighing deeply, he placed it gently back into the crib. He took a moment to collect himself before returning to Samuel.

“Did you find the baby?” Samuel asked hopefully.

Tom nodded gravely. “We’ll have to have a look around. There must be a way to contact Captain Hackney. ‘Tis unfortunate, but he’ll have to be informed.”

“There won’t be a need,” Samuel said. “I didn’t touch anything, but couldn’t help noticing that letter there on the nightstand,” he said, motioning towards the paper.

Tom went over, and holding the torch high, began to read.

We regret to inform you that your husband Captain John Hackney has been killed in duty….

Official Blog of Kristy Gherlone

Tag: london

Cold Comfort (cont.)

Posted at 10:47 am by writergherlone, on June 30, 2017

Cold Comfort

Posted at 10:06 am by writergherlone, on June 29, 2017

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