Writing for Fun
Haunted - Maureen Rampersaud
October 2014
'I believe – I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!'
Ben put down his battered copy of 'Wuthering Heights' and turned out the light. He lay on his back listening to the wind howling around the old cottage, so many nooks and crannies to roar and whistle through. He knew that if he didn't fall straight to sleep that it would be another restless night. The doctor had given him tablets to help after Diana died, but he hated taking them. In some perverse way, he wanted to feel the pain and despair. He went for solitary walks on the moor, he rediscovered his Leonard Cohen albums and avoided anything that smacked of 'moving on'. Everyone used this trite, useless phrase, like his doctor, 'Now, Mr. Bradshaw, it has been three years, isn't it time you moved on with your life? Would you like to see a counsellor?
A bloody counsellor, where did he think he was . . . America? Ben had told him where he could stick his advice, 'I'm a bloody Yorkshireman and I don't want any of your mumbo jumbo!'
Heathcliff was a Yorkshireman too, a kindred spirit. Ben understood his desperation at losing the love of his life. He'd known Diana since Primary School; she was part of his blood and bones. He raged with anger at her for leaving him . . . it wasn't meant to be like this. She promised . . . together forever.
He opened the curtains. The pear tree scratched the night sky with it's bony fingers, ghostly clouds billowed here and there, lost and bewildered. He lay and sighed. It would be a long night. Ben closed his eyes, remembering the scratching at Heathcliff's window. Cathy had come back for Heathcliff. He pictured Diana, at her most beautiful, in her white wedding dress. He opened his eyes, sure that she would appear, but there was nothing. He moaned in despair, she was here, he felt it.
He jumped from the bed and squinted through the window pane. There she was! Her white figure was walking towards the moor. He shouted, 'Wait! . . . Diana, wait for me!'
She turned and beckoned him.
The emergency services found Ben's body three days later. They were puzzled by the peaceful expression on his face. They discussed the probable cause of death.
'His heart, I reckon it was his heart.'