The Ghosts of Sleath by James Herbert Page B

was Joseph Munce and he worked for her father from time to time. He was jailed for what he did to her and died in prison. He committed suicide.’
    ‘As I said, she could have been confused. Some nightmares are incredible in their intensity.’
    ‘But she switched on the light and he was still there.’
    ‘And he faded away.’
    Grace nodded. ‘That’s what Ruth told Father.’
    ‘It’s possible to do such things in your sleep. Some people have left their homes and been found wandering along the streets while still asleep, others have gone downstairs to the kitchen and poured themselves a drink. The vision faded when the girl began to wake from her dream.’
    Grace bit into her lower lip. ‘That’s too glib, David. I don’t believe Ruth would say she was awake when she was really dreaming. I’ve known her for years and she’s always been a level-headed girl.’
    ‘She went through a terrible experience when she was just a kid, and who knows the feelings that have been pent up inside her all these years? Maybe she feels guilty about what happened, maybe she even feels partly to blame. The man’s suicide while in prison would reinforce the guilt if that were the case.’
    ‘I can’t argue with you, David; I don’t know enough to. Let me tell you of another incident, though.’
    Suddenly he wanted to reach out and touch her hand to reassure her. For some reason she seemed vulnerable sitting there, so anxious - and so close. He wanted to explain that he was there to help, that it was part of his job to be pragmatic, sceptical even, and it didn’t mean he doubted her or anybodyelse’s story. He wanted to tell her why such a great part of his life had been directed towards proving the non-existence of ghosts, exposing the myths, unmasking the cheats, rationalizing the phenomena. And he wanted to tell her how wrong he had been all that time.
    But this wasn’t the moment. He let her continue.
    ‘My father told you how Ellen Preddle’s husband had died.’
    ‘The burning haystack.’
    ‘Yes. He visited the Gunstone farm just a few days ago - Mrs Gunstone, who helps with St Giles’, has been unwell for some time. Her husband, Sam, was agitated and waited for my father to step outside the house again to speak to him. He didn’t want his wife to hear, you see, he didn’t want her to be upset anymore in her condition. Sam Gunstone had always been a sound, practical man, certainly not prone to flights of fancy, so the story he told my father was all the more surprising - and convincing.’
    Ash heard the tape switch itself off with a tiny click. ‘Wait,’ he said, and quickly turned the cassette over. He switched on the machine and nodded to her to continue.
    ‘Although it was early morning there was a heat mist over the fields. Sam was walking with his dog, carrying a shotgun and on the lookout for rabbits, when he saw a peculiar orange glow in the mist not too far from his farmhouse. He went towards it and noticed it seemed to flicker - or perhaps waver might be a better word - in the mist, and when he drew near he knew exactly what it was.’
    Grace’s head was bowed as she related the story. Now she raised it and looked into the middle distance as though she could see the mysterious glow for herself.
    ‘He realized his dog had stopped behind him and no matter what he said, it refused to move. It stood there rigid, just staring at the light, making small whimpering noises. Sam went on without it and he soon understood what was causing the glow, although there was no sound and no smoke.’
    ‘It was a fire?’
    She nodded. ‘A haystack was burning. But it was too early in the season for haystacks. There were none in his fields.’
    Ash had already grasped the implication. ‘It was where George Preddle burned to death.’
    ‘Yes. And although there was no sound of fire and no smoke, Sam swore to my father that he could feel the heat and could smell the burning. Impossible, I know, but as I said the