In The Bleak Midwinter

What mischief lurks in the frosty gloom… and will it win the day?

A ghostly winter romance

My favourite part of winter is the gloom,” the Wraith hissed as the mist swirled round the ancient stones on the moors. “Hours upon hours of it. That’s when mortals can almost see me – a greyness against a wall, that doesn’t quite belong.

“They may not know what I am, but they still feel fear, and shiver without knowing why.”

In the town, down in the valley, Laura attached a holly wreath to the front door of her two-up, two-down terraced house. She may not have much money or space for decorations, but that wouldn’t stop her making an effort. Christmas was Christmas. Winter would be a much more desolate place without it.

She stepped back to survey her handiwork. She’d only moved in a couple of weeks ago, but the place was already starting to feel like home. Living alone was not as hard as she’d dreaded it might be.

This winter was definitely going to be better than the last, when the collapse of her relationship with James had made it the worst of her life, with recriminations, doubt and too many tears.

This would be a new beginning. Later she might go along to the carol singing in the pub she’d seen advertised in the local free paper. Who knew? It might be a good way of getting to know people and give her social life a kick-start.

Something made her shiver for no apparent reason and glance towards the cloud-shrouded hills. She wouldn’t like to be up there on a day like this, with dusk already beginning to fall, even though it was still only afternoon. Thank goodness for the warm and cosy rooms inside.

But as the mist visibly slid down from the moors, she began to wonder if the pub was such a good idea. Did she really want to go out alone in the cold and dark? What if no one talked to her?

Up on the moor, the unholy plotting continued. “I like the trees bare and unprotected,” said Jack Frost, breathing ice on the grass, simply because he could. “I nip their buds before they even get started. I chill their branches and snap their twigs. They’re nothing without their leaves.”

Charlie climbed among the branches of the cherry tree in his front garden and felt like a kid again. He liked the way the trees were bare in winter. It showed off their graceful limbs, as well as making it easier to string fairy lights through them, as he was doing now.

Even the fact that it got dark early had its plus points. The Christmas trees adorning practically every front window along his road shone all the brighter for the contrast.

Christmas also meant mince pies and mulled wine. He’d sampled both this morning at the Farmers’ Market, buying some holly at the adjacent stall, where the stallholder had told him about the gettogether at the Rose and Crown tonight. He had to admit it sounded tempting.

He’d thought of buying some mistletoe, too, but decided against it. It would only go to waste. He might be lucky in most parts of his life, but so far love eluded him. Ambition had its price.

Maybe he was destined to be a loner. He hadn’t done any socialising in the eighteen months he’d lived here. The only neighbours he spoke to were the portly, middle-aged couple from three doors

down who always said “Hello” to him even though they didn’t know him. He always said “Hello” back, even though he didn’t know them, more to avoid being rude than anything else.

He climbed back down. Come to think of it, he might be better off staying in with a film and a bottle of wine.

What about those days when the sun appears? They can be a real pain, can’t they?”

“That?” The assembled company looked up as a shadowy figure joined them in the gloom. “The sun’s too weak to provide more than a temporary respite,” Shadow went on. “It sits too low in the sky. Surely you’ve seen how much taller I am on those days compared with the summer months.”

They all erupted into the cacophony of rasps that passed for laughter among their kind.

Darkness had flooded the whole of the valley by now. That didn’t stop Jean, the landlady of The Rose and Crown, from gazing round her comfortable pub with an air of satisfaction. A fire burned cheerfully in the grate, while an enormous Christmas tree took pride of place by the bar.

Jean loved this time of year. Nearly a decade had passed since she and Ken had taken on what had been a tired old pub, and one of the first things they’d

The woman TILTED her head like a WELL-FED robin. “You SHOULD come”

done was to organise a carol-singing event. Nothing religious – just a gettogether to help ward off the winter blues.

It had grown from year to year as word had spread, until the place was full to bursting. Friendships and even the odd romance had been struck up. Jean reckoned she could safely take some of the credit for at least two recent weddings in the town.

She just needed to put a few finishing touches to the lavish spread, and everything would be ready. The sign outside was already lit up, leaving locals and passers-by alike in no doubt of the warm welcome that awaited them all within.

On the moors, the noises that passed for laughter stopped. All attention was centred on the sign. Abruptly, the light went out.

Jean halted on her way to add another plate of mini-pasties to the table.

“Gremlins, eh? Well, we’re not having that.” She strode across the room and shouted lustily up the stairs. “Ken? Have you got those spare bulbs? You’ll need the ladder, as well.” Nothing was going to spoil the fun, if she could help it.

In the town, regulars were already donning coats, scarves and even the odd Santa hat, to set off for the happy gathering. Some had skipped their evening meal to make the most of Jean’s famous cooking.

Sitting on the sofa in her front room, television remote control in hand as she ran through the uninspiring viewing listings, Laura saw several of them go past her window, chattering animatedly.

Maybe she should give the place a try. Even if she didn’t get talking to anyone, she could still have a good old sing.

A few roads away, Charlie was fishing the corkscrew out of the kitchen drawer when the doorbell rang. He answered it to see the couple from three doors down, wearing red woolly hats and each with a large strand of tinsel over their coats. “Are you coming to the carol singing?” Charlie smiled awkwardly. “I wasn’t planning to.” The woman tilted her head, like a well-fed robin. “You should. Shouldn’t he, Nicholas? It’s always enjoyable.”

This wasn’t looking good. “Come,” the Wraith breathed. “We have much to do.”

They left the standing stones and swarmed to the town, only to stop short at the sight of the pub’s re-lit sign, brighter than ever. Windows glowed with warm, golden light, a festive tree twinkling behind the largest.

However hard they tried to exert their malevolence, they were held back by the sheer numbers converging there, exuding goodwill even in the cold and murk.

Among them were a pleasant-looking man and shy woman, both in their midtwenties, who arrived separately but soon mingled with the rest.

The woman quickened her step as the man held the door open for her.

“Thanks. It’s the first time I’ve been to one of these. Are they any good?”

“Well, I’ve certainly been told so. It’s my first time, too.”

Jean beamed at them both as she handed out lyric sheets, their corners softened by years of use.

“Hello, there. I’m afraid we’re a bit short of these. Do you two mind sharing?”

Laura and Charlie glanced at each other, smiled and nodded.

As the couple joined the throng at the bar, Jean lingered by the door. She could have sworn she’d seen a strange, dark mist swirl round the car park a minute ago. Yes – there it was, but heading away, dissipating as it went, even though there wasn’t a breath of wind.

She smiled to herself as she turned back to the interior. She hadn’t seen either of those two young people before but, if past experience meant anything, she had a feeling that there may well be another wedding in the town at some point in the future.

First things first, though. It was time to get in the spirit of Christmas and celebrate the season of goodwill.