Page 48 of Someone For Everyone

‘The rush, I suppose.’ He nodded towards the church. ‘Are we doing this?’

She nodded assertively. ‘We are.’

They left the main square and walked past the flashing Christmas tree, looking resplendent as it twinkled away. Nestled between the garden of The Black Horse Inn and a row of olde-worlde cottages was a wide footpath leading up to St Nicholas’s church. The intense darkness that shrouded them as they headed towards the graveyard was interspersed by the festive lights decorating the quaint country cottages.

Directly ahead, the church’s grounds stretched into the distance, the sombre space awash with shadows and tombstones, lit by the occasional solar light buried into the ground.

Kate studied the landscape, aware that the noise from tonight’s event had been replaced by an eerie silence. ‘These headstones are so old, the inscriptions have faded,’ she said, using the torch on her phone to illuminate the writing. ‘No signof the Red Lady, though.’ Her smile faded when she turned and was greeted by an empty pathway. ‘Calvin?’

He stepped out from behind a tombstone. ‘Yes?’

Relief flooded her. ‘I couldn’t see where you were.’

He walked towards her, grinning. ‘Not scared, were you?’

‘Of course not,’ she scoffed, attempting to hide her jumpiness.

He pointed to the church. ‘Shall we go inside?’

‘Will it be open at this time of night?’

‘Only one way to find out.’

They continued down the pathway, which circled the church, bringing them round to the main entrance. A stone archway led up to a large wooden door.

Calvin opened the door and disappeared inside. ‘We’re in luck.’

Kate followed, stunned by what she saw.

The entire space was lit by huge candles sitting on top of ornate brass holders. The stone walls were painted white, and stained-glass windows led the eye up to a wooden domed ceiling. The cobbled flooring was uneven to walk on, and wooden carvings gave the pews a grandness that matched the plaques hanging from the walls, detailing historic events dating back to the sixteenth century.

‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ Kate made her way down the central aisle, heading towards an enclosed chapel at the end. As she ducked under the gold velvet curtain draped across the entrance, a flash of red skimmed past her eyeline, glittering as it passed through the light shining in from the small window above.

Calvin’s sudden appearance through the doorway startled her. ‘Everything okay?’

‘All good,’ she said, feigning a smile. But when she glanced down, she saw a scatter of red rose petals lying on the floor. She looked around, but there were no flowers on display. How odd.

‘The church was built in the thirteenth century,’ he said, picking up a pamphlet. ‘By the monks of Canterbury on the site of a tenth-century Saxon church. It says there are two resident ghosts, the Red Lady, who you know about, and the White Lady.’

‘Not very original with their names, are they?’ She moved away from the chapel, deciding it would be sensible to stay closer to Calvin. Maybe her mind wouldn’t play tricks on her and imagine things, if she wasn’t alone.

‘The White Lady was said to be the wife of a local lord,’ he continued, holding the pamphlet under the candlelight to read. ‘She was a lady of exquisite beauty and when she died tragically at an early age, her husband was so grief-stricken he sought a way to preserve her beauty forever.’

As she glanced at the text, her body brushed against his, absorbing a waft of his aftershave. She moved away. There was staying close, and then there was beingtooclose. ‘Sounds creepy.’

‘Her body was sealed in a series of airtight glass coffins and placed in an open casket. She was laid to rest in the family crypt, where her beloved husband could continue to admire her beauty throughout his life.’

‘A bit Norman Bates.’

Calvin smiled. ‘Maybe he was trying to be romantic.’

‘Well, he failed. Admiring your dead wife’s body as she rots in a coffin is not romantic.’

‘When you put it like that, I guess not.’ Calvin returned to reading. ‘Secure against the ravages of time the elaborate coffin may be, but it has not proved capable of restraining her restless spirit. In the still of night, she breaks free from the confines of the casket and wanders through the chapel, scattering rose petals – a single red rose clutched to her chest – as beautiful in death as she was in life.’ When he looked up, his smile faded. ‘What?’

Kate tried to exhale, but the air had got stuck in her lungs.A red rose?

When she started feeling dizzy, she knew she needed to sit down, before she embarrassed herself by fainting.

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