The Waiting

A Ghost Story by Irene Smith





I was one of those balmy nights in spring, the sky dark blue and filled with stars, the sound of music filtered out of the village hall. Steve stepped out of the door making sure the light didn't show because blackout was important at this stage of the war. The boys from a nearby camp had been invited to a fancy dress dance and, with not much else to do in that isolated spot, it was well-attended. Not quite what Steve considered a good time but he was far from home and lonely.

Woman

Leaning against the wall, he became aware of a slight figure dressed in a long, grey dress and a white cap covering the top of her long, fair hair. Steve couldn't recall seeing her at the dance.

As she moved away he called out: "Can I walk you home?" She didn't speak but nodded. He quickly caught up with her as she turned down a narrow lane, and they strolled along with Steve chatting away, and the girl simply nodding and smiling. Until they came to another turning: a narrow dir path. The girl suddenly turned and brushed his cheek with a light kiss, and ran away.

He stood a moment and then called out, "What's your name?", and out of the dark a soft voice called back: "Annabell Ridge."

Steve stood for a moment longer to get his bearings, then started back to the village cussing to himself for wasting time. If he didn't hurry his transport would leave without him, and he'd be on a charge. A few minutes had passed when, in the distance, the sound of wheels and hooves echoed in the dark, and he started to run. How would anyone see him, or avoid him, in this narrow lane?

Closer and closer came the sound until he knew it would overtake him, and he dived into the hawthron hedge as it passed. Picking himself up, scratched and bleeding and shaken, he mumbled that the local cider must be strong -- he could have sworn that it had been a stagecoach!

He ran towards the village just in time to be grabbed and pulled aboard the waiting transport. Seeing the state he was in, the other lads started to laugh and say Steve had met his match, and must have tangled with a pretty hefty farm lass, or her father.

Steve didn't want further ridicule, and so kept quiet about what had happened, but he couldn't forget the girl.

The following Sunday the unit had a church parade and after the service he inquired if a local farm or cottage had a family called "Ridge" resident. The vicar nodded and said that he knew from church records, and the graveyard, that a family of that name had lived in the area.

Together the vicar and Steve went into the churchyard. In a far corner there was a worn headstone covered in moss. Tracing the engraved name they read "Joseph Ridge", "wife, Hannah", and below, "Annabell, daughter, died April 17th 1844."

Steve feeling uneasy decided to walk the path he had taken with the girl. The vicar, his curiosity aroused, searched the church records. He found banns of marriage between a Steven Martin and Annabell Ridge, but no subsequent marriage recorded. Just the record of the burial.

The following evening, the headline in the local press read: "A member of the armed forces, Steven Martin, was found dead in Ridge Lance. Apparently the victim of a hit and run vehicle." The date: April 17th, 1944.

Copyright The Bentilean, 1999

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