By Brian Trill.
They had been catching each other’s eye for a long time, like lovers before they meet. Jonathan had been in holy orders for seven years and Mary for nine years. They were barely thirty years old and ignorant of the world outside their abode. They should not have been in a position to even cast eyes upon one another in the normal course of events.
Fate had brought them together. Normally the Brothers’ took the laundry to the side gate of the Nunnery, where there was a separated room for them to deposit the clothing. The nuns would then collect from the room, launder the monks clothing and place it back in the room for the monks to pick up at predetermined times. Yet time and time again Brother Jonathan and Sister Mary found themselves in the same place at the same time.
It was some time before the slim girl, covered in her habit, was able to talk to the young man. But over the course of several years the tall Jonathan had fallen in love with the pretty face; which is all he saw of her. They had arranged to get together outside of their prison like homes.
Then one night they were caught. A jealous nun had revealed to Mother Superior what she had seen. Mother Superior consulted the Abbot and the trap was sprung. Brother Jonathan and Sister Mary had gone way beyond just talking and it was the first time they had become so very intimate – and it was to be the last. Their love, a mortal sin in holy orders, was their undoing. This was the 23rd of June, the year of our Lord, 1569.
Brother Jonathan’s heart thumped hard in his chest as he screamed for mercy, as did Sister Mary’s with her high pitched terror filled whine, like a tortured animal. She scratched, panic stricken, at the lid as it was hammered down. Jonathan pushed as hard as he could against the five monks who were sitting on and hammering the top onto the carcass of death. Then it was darkness and musty and sweaty, and they were alone. The sound was shut in with them. Hammering on the lid, feeling it so solid and immovable. They both stopped yelling for a moment. She crying as no one has ever cried before. He whimpering and trembling like no one had whimpered or trembled before. Apart from their desperate noises, silence was absolute. Blackness was absolute. At an instant, they both yelled out one last time as they both realised the futility of their terror. Then they simply stopped. She pushed herself against the side of their coffin to become closer to him as if for protection. She could not bring an arm over to hold him, there wasn’t room to do so. She just pushed tight against him. It was becoming cold, yet they were soaked in cold perspiration. The dampness was chilling them rapidly and at first Mary shivered, then he too started to shiver in the darkness. Mary realised she had made an awful mess of herself and they both grimaced at the revolting odour. Jonathan began to pray… then shouted out, “Oh my God, what is the point!”
Only Mary was there to hear; and may be God Himself. They fought against overpowering compulsion to sleep, but slipped into unconsciousness as their air turned increasingly into carbon dioxide. Then they died.
Their sentence complete.
June 1954. My mates, Tony and Peter were pretty keen, although it was a scary prospect. I only mentioned going ghost hunting as a passing thought that I was foolish enough to say out loud. At fourteen years old we were always looking out for something to do during the long summer nights. Tony lived up Rye Hill, that nice house at an angle from the road, built up on a cliff. Those steps took the wind out of me even at our age. Tony seemed to take no notice at all. His dad was probably descended from a mountain goat – well, you should see his face. Tony was a decent sort; as were his mum and dad. His shock of brown hair flopped over his forehead, hiding his Roman nose somewhat.
I always notice noses, even before the rest of a face; and Tony’s was a stonker. He was shorter than myself by several inches. But Pete was another story – yes, like another story taller. He was a laughably little boy in short trousers when he first moved here when his father got a transfer to the local bank. They lived above the bank in the High Street in a company flat. It was big too; tons of room for a family of four. Pete’s brother was too young to go around with us. Now, Pete was the tallest of us three, but slim and wiry and strong too. He was quietly spoken, unlike us other two.
Pete said we ought to go down Turkey Cock Lane at midnight on the 23rd.
“They’re supposed to walk the alleyway then,” he said.I was keeping quiet, not that I’m a cowardly type you will understand, but what if the monk and the nun do appear? What’ll we do if we see them? I thought.
Tony said, “What’ll we do if we see them?”
“You worry too much,” says I.
Tony stood up, leaving us two sitting on the steep steps to his house. “Who wants an orange squash?” he asked as he twisted my ear. In those days kids were safe. Parents did not worry if we went out after breakfast and didn’t turn up until nine o’clock at night, or later sometimes. We were running on tummy clocks. You know, feeling hungry, go home. So when I said to my Pa, that I was going out on a midnight romp with the lads, he just said, “Okay” from behind his paper and puffed another cloud of smoke from his briar pipe. I knew Mum might make a fuss, so I didn’t ask her. Dad will explain. Anyway I was off out. I took my torch, a bar of chocolate in case I got hungry, and my navy blue duffel coat; because even in summer it can be chilly at night. Not only that, but it’ll hide me in the dark.
I met Tony and Pete by the recreation field gate as planned at 11.45pm. Pete said his brother, Lionel, had kicked up a fuss because he wanted to come, but his mum said no and shut him in his room. It was well past his bedtime anyhow. Tony said thank goodness he hasn’t got a brother to get in the way. I had lost my sister to a nasty accident five years ago, so didn’t say anything on that score.
I said, “Hey Pete, do you want to be seen in the dark then?”
“Why what’s the matter?”
“That yellow jumper you’ve got on,”
I said a bit scornfully. “Well, bit daft isn’t it!”
He said, “I like this one, it’s nice’n warm. It’ll be all right.”
It was dark because the clouds were covering the moon. We were walking round past the shops near Landgate, Tony kicked a stone in the road and it went scittering up the hill then under a parked Morris Minor, making a clatter against the exhaust pipe.
“Blimey, do you have to do that, noisy sod.” Pete said. “You’ll have all the town waking up if you’re not careful.”
As it was, a couple of cats went swearing off down an alleyway. A voice came through an open upstairs window, “I’ll shoot that flamin’’ moggie!”
We were at the entrance to Turkey Cock Lane. The adventure begins.
To the left of the lane there is a high red brick wall with steel tie X shapes every here and there. Some of the red brick is well worn, hollowed out as though kids have been gouging them. One or two were badly broken and loose. Must have been a good ten feet high.
The other side of the wall was the old monastery and the backs to some houses. The right hand side was different. A low brick wall running the full length of the four-foot wide lane, with gates built in to the back gardens of houses on the main roadside.
We stood at the end of the lane in silence, contemplating the next few minutes. We looked down the lane. It was dark. It was silent.
It started to rain with a fine gentle but steady downpour. The lane suddenly looked quite ominous. I had second thoughts.
“What do we do now?” I whispered.
“Dunno – how about we go home,” tall Pete said.
“Wimps!” said Tony.
“Well, it’s only a story, isn’t it. I mean, who’s ever seen the ghosts anyway. Let’s…” I said. Not that I’m cowardly as I told you before, but I am a bit cautious even now. I was interrupted by Tony.
“Oh come on you two. We planned this and here we are. Let’s get on with it. If we see them, we could be famous.”
“Yeah,” says Pete, “Be on the wireless, on the news. Might get paid some real money.”
I said, “Okay, are we men or mouse?”
“Pass the cheese,” Pete said. Then began a slow walk ahead. “Come on, pick those feet up.”
We walked the full distance in silence. I don’t mind telling you, my skin went shivery and I felt cold. We saw nothing. Heard nothing, except a couple of bats flew near with their radar like squeaking. We got to the other end where the cobble stone street is. The one that goes up to the High Street.
“Right, let’s walk back up again,” I said, full of bravado, which was totally false, “What’s the time, Tony?”
“Er, it’s, hold on, can’t see yet… my watch says… exactly twelve.On the dot.”
The moon suddenly broke through the rain and for a moment lit the lane. I felt my hair stand on end as my scalp tingled. “Hey! Did you…”
“Yep, I saw it.”
Tony grabbed my arm, “What?”
Dunno, but I saw something.”
The moonlight was gone and the drizzle made vision difficult.
Pete said, “Could’ve been two people. Things, dunno.”
Tony pulled my arm, “Come on, just shadows of trees in the gardens.”
I took a hesitant few steps forward as did the others. More steps. And more. We were a third of the way along the path. I froze with absolute fright. Tony stopped beside me suddenly as myself. I felt a great heavy hand on my left shoulder, holding me tight. I could not move through fear. My face sweated. I went to speak, but my voice froze and my mouth was utterly dry. My legs became as jelly and I trembled. All this in a fraction of a moment that seemed for ever. The rain stopped and the moonlight lit up the lane. A voice from behind boomed out. ” ‘Ello ello! What do we have ‘ere then, me hearties?”
I sank to the ground in a state of wobbly weakness.
Pete said, “Hel, hello, it’s Constable, er Morlock, isn’t it?”
Tony was white as a sheet when the policeman turned his torch on him.
I was pretty darned sure I was too.
Mr Morlock advised, ” I think we had better get off ‘ome to bed, don’t you, lads?”
“Yes Constable,” we chorused .
“Go on then, be on yer way then. Let’s see no more of you tonight. Off you go.” He turned and walked back down the lane.
“Crumbs, that was a fright, wasn’t it,” I said. “Yeah,” said Pete as we walked back up the lane. Tony was some way behind us two. We stopped to look round and talk to him.
Between us and Tony I saw the glowing outline of two people in flowing robes, sort of floating slowly towards us, one tall and one short.
I could just see Tony’s bright yellow jumper through them; he was frozen to the spot, an outstretched finger, pointing. Pete fainted to the ground. I ran.
Occasionally I visit Tony at the home where he is cared for by devoted staff. He never talks. Just sits with a blank stare. He points -at nothing.
Pete died there that night, forty eight years ago. They say he had a weak heart; though I know not what it was.
Me? One thing’s for sure. When I visit my home town, I never go out late at night. And certainly not down Turkey Cock Lane on a 23rd of June at midnight.
The locals say that the two robed figures walk the lane still. A spectre walks just ahead of them – a tall young man.
Please note = This is a work of fiction but I would avoid going through Turkey Cock Lane at midnight on 23 June. Ed.
From the June 2005 Issue of “Rye’s Own”
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