The stone

Christmas Eve 2023. Whitby, Yorkshire. The place which inspired Bram Stoker to write his novel, Dracula. The setting of this historical coastal town gives rise to many stories, not solely of Vampires but of all manner of creatures.

The cobbled streets which wind their way through the town could easily give rise to the feeling of uneasiness as one wanders after dark hearing the crashing of the waves in the distance. Passing by the illuminated, windows of the Inn, wind blowing in from the North Sea, might make a man turn up his collar and settle deeper into his coat and hasten his footsteps to the safety of his Whitby holiday rental cottage. And once there with door safely bolted, he’d pour himself a warming cocoa, or something stronger.

It was on such a night that two young men, decided, perhaps unwisely considering the many pints of Yorkshire beer they’d imbibed, to traverse the winding coastal path to the bottom of the one hundred and ninety-nine steps which led to the ancient church of Saint Mary’s. Behind the church and graveyard stood the ruins of the ancient abbey.
The abbey could be seen anywhere one stood in Whitby, dark and foreboding, against the sky. Tonight, it was bathed in moonlight.

“We should climb up there tomorrow morning, Gary, at dawn. It must be a great view from the top.”

“What’s wrong with doing it right now, Baz? It’ll be too much of a rush in the morning, unless we come before the sun comes up.” Gary gave his twin brother a shove. “You scared of ghosts, or somethin’?”

Barry shoved him back, ignoring the jibe. “Guess you’re right, we won’t have much time to catch the train back to Heathrow. It’s been a great trip, but I’ll not be sorry to get back home. The weather here is shit; I don’t know how people stand it. It’ll be good to get back to Sydney and the family”.

“Come on then, let’s do it.” Gary stood on the first step, “Race you to the top!”

Barry grabbed his brother’s coat and pulled him back, before racing ahead. Gary only one step behind, followed. They ran, whooping and laughing to the top, where they fell, breathing heavily, on to the long grass, wet with the night’s dew.

After a few minutes, Barry raised himself up onto his elbows and shivered as his sweat cooled in the night air. They were surrounded by hundreds of weathered headstones in the churchyard. St. Mary’s stood guard over them. Many graves were those of sailors, their names etched into the stone, some were simply memorial stones of those lost at sea and their bodies never recovered. Others were of whole families who’d died of the plague or some other deadly disease. Behind the church stood the ruins of the ancient Abbey which seemed to loom over them. “Christ. Just look at that place.” He shivered before whispering, “this place has to be haunted.”

His brother stood, suddenly sober. “It’s too much to imagine, Bro.” He had uneasy feelings of isolation, unease and yes, perhaps a tinge of fear enveloped him as he stood staring at the skeletal remains of a building which had been the inspiration for a man to imagine a story of blood sucking Vampires. Unconsciously he pulled up the hood on his jacket. “Over a thousand years of history.” He scoffed when he thought about the short history of white settlement of which Australia had claim.

The brothers stood together in the darkness gazing at the blacken stones which, if it were able, could tell so many stories. They would have witnessed wars, barbarism, torture, plagues, deaths and family dramas, all played out over the centuries inside its walls. The cold wind whistling through the trees and the sound of the crashing waves below, only served to increase the growing tension, broken only by the unexpected sound of children’s laughter.

Garry spun around in the darkness. He caught his brother’s expression which he was sure mirrored his own and without seeking confirmation he turned his back on the abbey and walked to the path leading to the 199 steps.

He heard the rapid breathing of Barry a few steps behind him. “Shit! What the fuck was that?”

“Had to be kids, mate.” He said before he warned, “Don’t go getting ideas about hauntings.”

“But it’s bit late for kids to running around up here, don’t you think?”

“Come on, let’s go. We need to get up in a few hours.”

🪦

Sydney New Years Eve 2023

Barry came up behind his brother who was taking a sip from a pint of lager, slapping him on his back.

“Shit!” Garry turned around, at the same time wiping spilt beer from his shirt to see
Barry grinning. “You bastard!” He said.

“Happy New Year, mate. You buying?”

“Another pint, Debs.” He put up one finger to the barmaid, who was busy with the crowd at the local pub.

They took their drinks to a corner table where they could hear themselves talk.
“So, what’s life been like since being back?” Garry asked.

“It’s been nice to be warm again. But it’s back to work next week which will be a bit of a bummer after a month off.”

“Yeah, know what you mean. Christ, it was cold in the UK. Give me Sydney anytime.”

“I enjoyed it though.” Barry replied. “It was good spending time together, just us for a change. Y’know away from the wife and kids.”

Garry glanced up from his pint. “Shit, except for that last night in Whitby. Man, that place was haunted alright.”

Barry nodded, “I know. This may sound stupid, but ever since we got back home, I’ve had the feeling something followed me here.” He frowned.

“What sort of thing?”

“Well, I brought a few momentos back for the kids. Y’know our little Tracy, loves collecting stones so I took a stone from one of those graves up at the Abbey.” He watched his brother’s face to see if he thought he was being stupid before continuing. “She’s been waking up at night screaming.”

“Your Tracy always has had an overactive imagination.”

“She keeps saying there’s a little girl outside her door. She wants to come into her room and get something that belongs to her. And then she hears laughter, children’s laughter.”

Garry stared at his brother. “You’re thinking it was the same as what we heard. Is that it?”

Barry shrugged, “I dunno. Maybe.” He shook his head and gave a short laugh, “It’s stupid.” He raised his glass, “Happy New Year, Bro.”

🪦

“Thank God, you’re home!” Barry’s wife called out from upstairs.

“What’s going on up here!” He called, before racing up the flight of stairs, to find seven-year- old Tracy, screaming, pulling at her hair, tears streaming down her flushed face.

“I haven’t got it!” She cried. “Go away! No, I don’t want to play.” She sobbed, gasping for air. She saw her father standing in the door of her bedroom. “Make her go away, daddy.” Her wide eyes pleaded.

Barry walked over to Tracy’s dressing table and rummaged through the collection of stones, searching for one he knew he’d recognise. His hand found the one he sought; blue tinged, smooth edged, with a bluebell flower lovingly hand carved along with the name, Emily.
He ran down the stairs and out of the back door, along the path which led to the cemetery. There in the moonlight he stood alone. “I’m sorry, Emily.” He whispered, before settling the stone on his Grandmother’s grave, where he knew she’d be safe. “Take care of her for me, Gran.”
He leaned his hands on his knees regaining his composure. In the darkness he heard the sound of children’s laughter.