The three
of them turned to look at the table where the old man had been sitting
only a matter of seconds before. It was empty. The menu Julia had
given him was still there, its pages fluttering in the breeze.
‘But he was just here!’ said Mark, looking around. There
was no sign of the man anywhere in the courtyard.
‘Yes,’ said the waiter. ‘That’s usually how
it happens. I’ve never seen him myself, but every time we serve
a cream tea the customers complain about strange groaning noises and
being pestered by an old man.’
‘He wasn’t pestering us,’ said Julia. ‘But
he was reading the menu out loud, which was a little strange…’
‘Yes,’ said the waiter. ‘We’ve had occasional
reports of that, too.’
‘Do you know who he is?’ said Mark.
‘His description matches the appearance of the old owner of
Bluefield Hall,’ said the waiter. ‘Lord John Bluefield.
You probably saw his portrait on the tour. It’s hanging above
the fireplace in the dining room.’
Julia nodded. She knew now why the old man had seemed familiar.
‘He died in nineteen-forty-three,’ the waiter added.
Mark and Julia looked at each other in alarm. Then Julia turned back
to the waiter, a look of horror on her face.
‘He said the scones would go straight through him!’ she
cried.
The unhappy ghost of Lord Bluefield watched from a second floor window
as the lovely, kind couple left his courtyard rather quickly. They
seemed distressed. He hoped he had not frightened them.
How kind of that lady to offer him a scone! In all the years the little
café had been open, no one had ever offered him a scone. He
had learned long ago that he was not welcome here. An unwelcome guest
in his own house!
Sometimes he found himself resenting the visitors. They would trample
all over his lovely gardens, then come inside and trample through
his beloved home. The adults always had cameras, even though they
were not supposed to take pictures, and the children always seemed
to look bored. Lord Bluefield resented that; if strangers had to invade
his property, they could at least have the decency to look as though
they were enjoying themselves. |
Sometimes,
though, he felt so lonely that he found himself loving them, cameras
and noise and all.
Day after day, he watched as the visitors happily tucked into the
food provided by the little café. He saw them devour apple
pies, maids of honour, fudge cake, and hot chocolate served with fresh
cream and marshmallows. And then there were the cream teas, with their
scones as big as saucers: Bluefield Hall’s speciality. He would
watch people devour them as if they were participating in an eating
contest, getting jam and clotted cream all over their chins in the
process. Lord Bluefield thought that the living should appreciate
their food more. He liked to see people take their time and relish
every bite. Eating was one of life’s greatest pleasures, and
as such it ceased when life itself was terminated.
But at least he could read the menu. Saying the names of foods out
loud helped him recall what they tasted like.
‘Roly-poly pudding,’ he muttered thoughtfully. The taste
of the words pleased him greatly. But it also made him feel hungrier
than ever.
A terrible groaning sound filled the room. Lord Bluefield looked around
embarrassedly and rubbed his complaining stomach.
He would have given anything for a cream tea at that moment.
He had not eaten in over sixty years..
Judging Comment
Jenna Warren has it all there: strange noises, the mysterious cat,
and the chill in the air. All good ghostly clichés that set
the scene. But her story is by no means a cliché: We actually
get to meet and hear from the ghost, which is unusual in this genre.
But did we meet the ghost? Perhaps the old man with a walking stick
was just that – an old man with a walking stick who had upped
and gone before our heroes looked back And perhaps the final scene
with Lord Bluefield was just a piece of fancy.
Whether we met the ghost or not, he certainly gives the story its
theme; Ghosts, apparently, cannot eat. Food goes, as Lord Bluefield
humorously puts it, straight through them.
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