I Wanted To Stay

John Farmer was an ordinary, straightforward and honest man. He had no great issues with other people, he liked life’s simple pleasures, and he was studious but never officious. In short, he was the epitome of the average man in the street. He’d had a good marriage, just over twenty years with Mary, and his two children – Greg and Peggy – were growing up well. Outside of his marriage and his family, nothing special ever happened to him – as he reflected this to himself one night. All that, however, was about to change.

As he sat in his chair near the bay windows, he sipped a small whisky and wondered how he would take the following day. He wouldn’t have long to wait to find out; there were just ten minutes left before midnight. Ten minutes until the start of Christmas Eve. Ten minutes to the first anniversary of the day Mary was taken from him by a sudden heart attack.

Tangle, the Labrador dog, uncurled herself from the basket where she slept. Her whimpering pulled John from his impromptu reverie. ‘What’s up, Tangle?’ She looked at him, then turned her attention to the living room wall and she appeared to be growling at the clock. ‘So you can feel it too, eh? They do say dogs can sense things. Yeah, you’re right – I’m getting upset but I reckon I’ve got justification. But you, you don’t have to feel so bad about it. For you, tomorrow’s just Christmas Eve. Why don’t you just go back to sleep? Come to that, maybe I should do the same.’

Tangle was obviously unsettled and her master’s soft, soothing voice didn’t have its usual effect of calming her down. Something was wrong, John could see that. He rose from his chair, putting his glass on the nearby table, and calmly strode five paces toward the other side of the room. Crouching down, he ran his hand gently along Tangle’s back. ‘Ok, so what is it?’ She turned and, just for a moment, she looked as though she would answer him. She never got the chance. John felt a wave of heat upon his cheek as Tangle turned and ran from the room. Looking up, he could hardly believe his eyes: The calendar, hanging just below the clock on the wall, was burning!

John raced to the kitchen, almost tripping over Tangle in the dim light of the hallway. He grabbed a jug from one of the cupboards and quickly sloshed it full of water – using both sink taps at once for speed. Without even taking the time to turn the taps off, he darted back along the hallway – eliciting a sharp ‘woof’ from Tangle as he ran – and threw the water at the burning calendar. The flames doused, he unhooked the soggy mess from the wall and took it to the kitchen where he put it under the still running taps. There was nothing like being sure, he told himself.

Greg had been raised from slumber by his father’s running and Tangle’s bark. The smell – and the smoke – of charred paper and cardboard had reached Greg’s bedroom. Worried by what might be happening, he called down to his father. ‘Dad, what’s happening? It smells like there’s been a fire.’ John’s immediate instinct was to steady his son’s nerves. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, son. The calendar caught on a candle – but it’s all over now.’ Greg wasn’t impressed; he knew his dad was very safety conscious and would never have left a lighted candle anywhere near anything made of paper. Something wasn’t right about this, but Dad knew best. Turning over to go back to sleep, Greg caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror – and he wasn’t alone. He looked to the foot of his bed, but there was no-one there. Glancing back at the mirror, there she was; his mother was with him. Terrified and confused, he ran downstairs.

‘Dad… Dad… I just saw… I just…’ John was distraught at the sight of his son acting like this. ‘What’s got into you? I told you, it’s all over.’ Greg looked up at the empty space left by the calendar, and the scorched underside of the clock. ‘What time is it? Is it Christmas Eve yet?’ Greg was too close to the wall to see the face of the clock, but he seemed frozen and unable to take a simple step backwards. ‘Just gone midnight,’ his father told him, ‘and yes, that means it’s Christmas Eve.’ His son’s next remark couldn’t have been more of a shock if it had been a jab from a cattle prod. ‘Mum’s come back, I saw her in my mirror’. John spoke so quickly he almost stumbled on his words. ‘You’ve been dreaming, that’s all. The smell of the smoke got to you in your sleep, maybe you remembered the date too. Even as we sleep, our brains manage to process some of what’s going on around us. Look; I know it’s hard; it’s been hard for me too. But she’s gone, and she’s not coming back.’

‘He’s right though Dad, I heard her talking to me.’ In the commotion, neither of them had noticed the arrival of thirteen-year-old Peggy. ‘She told me not to worry and that she’d look after us.’ John told Peggy just the same things he’d told Greg, but this time he sounded like he didn’t believe his own words. That was because he didn’t. An ‘impossible’ fire, an apparition, Mary’s voice, and on this date too. Even Tangle could tell something was seriously awry.

Before anyone could say anything further, there was a sudden crash from the sideboard. A photograph of Mary in her favourite blue dress, lovingly set in an ornate silver frame, had fallen onto its back. And then it started to speak. ‘I so wanted to stay with you. I loved you all, and I still do. I’m watching over you as I have done for a year now. Be good and be kind, I will watch over you and keep you safe.’

John looked totally dumbfounded by the whole thing. Dropping painfully to his knees, it was just about all he could do to send his son to fetch Malcolm Knight, their parish priest. Malcolm had been such a comfort to John and the kids a year ago; he’d be the one to turn to and rely on.

It would only take Greg around six minutes to reach the priest’s house, and John tried not to think about what might happen if Malcolm wasn’t at home. Peggy was crying, the lights were blinking on and off, and suddenly the radio started blaring out with heavy, noisy rock music. John pulled the plug from its socket – but still the thump, thump, thump went on. He almost didn’t hear the doorbell ring, announcing the return of his son with the priest.

Malcolm seemed to be almost perversely unperturbed by the goings-on in the Farmers’ living room. ‘It’s a poltergeist, sure enough’ he announced calmly. ‘Fiendish beasts, rarely – if ever – a member of the family returned to haunt the living. I knew Mary well enough as you know; this isn’t her doing at all. Whoever it is, or rather was, has just latched on to the negative emotions surrounding her death and its anniversary.’ His calm tone shifted; he looked almost angrily at the girl. 'Peggy, you are a teenager. Poltergeists like nothing better than to have a disaffected teenage girl as a conduit into the realm of the living where they can wreak their havoc.'

Malcolm bent down and opened a large bag he’d been carrying. Taking out a Bible and a few things none of the family recognised, he began chanting in Latin and waving things around in what appeared to be a very arbitrary manner. The room soon went quiet and Malcolm continued in much the same way throughout the rest of the house and into the garden. In less than twenty minutes he had brought an almost tangible peace back to the Farmer household. Tangle looked like she was smiling with content as she curled up in her basket and went back to sleep as if nothing had happened.

‘Your dog’s got the right idea’ the priest said to the children. ‘You should rest too. It’s been a trying time, but this house is back to the occupancy of four human souls. And when I go, that makes three.’ John said nothing; he just waved a hand in a form of silent, dismissive agreement. Greg and Peggy went back upstairs to their respective bedrooms, but it was a long while before either of them got any more sleep. Lying awake, they could hear the priest lecturing their father on the subject of the proper spiritual care of young adolescents. Dad wasn’t answering.