The Man in Black: A Ghost Story Read Free

sitting back for a pet. I walked forward, fist out first, and stroked his little head, running my hands through his thick coat. He loved it, and even John and Violet stood back and smiled in admiration.
    He just wouldn’t stop staring at that door.
    “Shame you canny’ take ‘im in,” John laughed.
    “I can’t. I’m working through the week, and food is a bit expensive,” I said, feeling guilty. “If only, though.”
    They both accepted it, nodding.
    Once the dog had gotten his fuss over and done with he went off through the hole in the wall. His hind leg limped as he pranced off, I noticed. It was his left.
    I probably could’ve taken him in, but with his coat so dirty and his temperament so nervous I didn’t want to risk it. Plus, I didn’t have enough to look after his injuries, let alone feed him well. I felt ashamed, but if what John and Violet had said was true then he’d be back the following Sunday. What he got up to in between, I didn’t want to think about too much.
    “An’ he’s off,” they both said.
    The sky above started to blacken and the evening began to spill in eerily. Somewhere afar a thunder roared, and it was moving in fast. I felt some rain hit my face, and then a premature snowflake.
    “Time to get in,” John said. “Have to wrap up them cold shoulders, aye?”
    I smiled. “Aye.”
    John turned away and made for the steps. He looked back one time.
    “Lovely seeing you,” he said. “Lovely.”
    He disappeared above.
    Violet moved in closer, placing her old hands on my arm.
    “An educated girl with a bright future, you are, love,” Violet said, almost sympathetic looking. “I can tell, so get out an’ live life as you meant it.”
    She turned away and joined her husband above, slamming the door shut, shutting out the oncoming storm with it.
    I had questions in my head. Some about the dog, some about John and Violet. I put them aside and looked up at the cumulus clouds, floating lazily. I thought about the dog. Where would it shelter? How would it keep dry? Perhaps someone took it in come the darkness of night. Perhaps not.
    I was about to go back inside when I felt a shiver run down my neck, sharp and precise like the scratching of a fingernail.
    Behind me, watching.
    I turned around but there was nothing, just a swirling, grieving wind and a heap of snow. The hole in the wall stared down at me like some guilty reminder. I looked into the alley but only the spades left behind by John and Violet stood, wet with the melting snow.
    I went inside, locking the back door and pulling down the nets behind me, lighting some pillar candles on my way into the sitting room. Outside, the storm kicked up and the wind howled full of sound for the very first time. The spades collapsed with a clash.
    That same evening, once I’d undressed down to my underwear and soaked my cold feet in a warm bucket of water, I lit the stove and fried up some supper. Though the walls and the ceilings of my flat were cold, made colder by the lack of soft floors and hung-up painted vistas, the warmth from the stove grew big and fierce and warmed the room well. The smell of bacon fat circulated, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself at the thought of John and Violet soaking up the smell of their childhood from upstairs, grin-faced and warm with tea. I thought I could smell their cooking, but perhaps not. The elderly rarely eat late.
    But then, after the food was gone and the warmth had stooped, the night crept in a little darker than it had been at twilight and the room suddenly felt a little colder. I decided to turn in. I slipped out of my bra and pulled some blankets over my shoulders, then settled into rest.
    The night came as silent as it always did. No wind blew. The storm had disappeared as quickly as it had stirred up.
    I slept through the night and into the next evening, undisturbed.
    I awoke to bitterness. Outside, the snow had fallen again, and the walls and ceilings of my room had grown moist