The Golden Fleece (Part Two of Two)

Cherry

By marandina

Fri, 08 Mar 2024
  • 899 reads
20 comments
 

Part One at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/golden-fleece-part-one-two

 

The Golden Fleece (Part Two of Two)

Feeling slightly restless, I glanced at him as he took out what appeared to be a bible secreted inside his gown. I hardly fitted the pious profile and was uncomfortable at the thought of supplication and closed eyes. However, I played along and waited to see what he would do next. He hadn’t broken character at all; not once so far. I stared harder. He had a broad face, flabby jowls that complemented the rest of his portly demeanour. It was only now that I noticed that his features seemed to fade in and out of focus.

I took off my glasses, breathed on the lenses and cleaned them with a cloth squirrelled away in their case. I clicked my ruby slipper heels together underneath the table and imagined I was back in Kansas.

“I must take my leave of you, good sir. Spare me a matter of minutes while I attend to my constitution. I shall return. Then we shall pray.”

I took it that he was referring to a trip to the gents as he scuttled away.

As odd as all of this was, it was in keeping with the good city of York. Anywhere else and I think I may have called the police by now. I connected to the Wi-Fi and surfed news sites on my phone. After about fifteen minutes I decided that something was amiss. Maybe he’d done a runner. I shuffled off towards the toilets and entered. The block looked empty but, in an effort to be thorough, I stooped to look under closed doors of lavatory cubicles. Rising again, a tall biker wearing a Motorhead Tee shirt with cherubic tattoos on bulging biceps was standing by the sinks. He had the shocked moustachioed-faced look of a flapping fish that had just been landed.

“Just looking for a man.” I regretted the bumbled explanation immediately. Scurrying back to the corridor, judging eyes following me all the way out. This wasn’t going well.

I ordered another drink at the bar.

“Can I just ask, do you happen to know who that man was I was talking to earlier?”

The barmaid carried on tipping a pump back.

“Not sure who you mean. I noticed you talking to yourself at the table but decided not to interrupt; thought you might be using Bluetooth earphones or something.”

Handing me a beer with froth from the head still settling, she smiled, winked and added cheekily:

“We do get a lot of strange people in here, though.”

Before I could take umbrage, my phone pinged again.

“ON WAY. MEET ME QUIET AREA UPSTRS. 5 MINS.”

For a few seconds, the thought of either calling or texting to demand a full explanation for the ethereal encounter I had endured scooted around my brain. I decided against it, preferring to confront my beloved when she arrived whilst, at the same time, ordering some nosh from the menu.

The staircase to the first floor was tight and led to a passageway that spanned the width of the pub. Stomping on the Persian carpet runner that ran down the centre of the steps, as soon as I made it to the top I remembered the spooky suit of medieval armour that adorned the wall. After the incident with the witch finder, it was hard not to resist examining it for spectral bodies manifesting themselves inside the historical artefact. With my face hovering millimetres from each section, a cursory examination revealed it to be completely inanimate and carried no immediate danger. I felt foolish but reassured at the same time. The empty adjoining room that served as an overspill for customers had a crooked floor; it tilted at an angle adding charm and further eccentricity to the venue.

I waited.

Checking my mobile for the time, I could see it was still only 6.45pm. There was over five hours until midnight. Surely nothing else would happen. Lamps flickered in disagreement. My gaze was drawn to the ceiling. Bulbs in glass holders sputtered out. It was suddenly dark, a glow from lighting downstairs creating an eerie luminous aura. The smell of food being cooked from the kitchen was replaced with a musty, archaic aroma. That was when I heard footsteps. Assuming it to be Alice, I scurried around the side of the table I was sat at and quickly made for the open doorway.

In the gloom an outline was shuffling towards me, its walk funereal in pace. I glowered, hoping it was my wife playing another jape. I stepped back as the interloper stopped inches away from where I was standing. Expecting their head to turn menacingly and face me, my heart pounded furiously like a tin drum, like several tin drums. An orchestra of tin drums.

Dressed in dark blue military uniform, a pilot’s hat and polished black boots, his eyes were fixed in a dead stare. Hair slicked back with brylcreem, a thin moustache prevalent on a young handsome face, it appeared to be an airman from a different era. I watched as he started to shuffle forward once more, an incorporeal presence fading away as he neared the other side. He melted into the facade and blinked out of existence.

This was either the biggest wheeze in history or I had been given a free mini-tour of the ghosts and ghouls that came with this seventeenth century house of horrors. Before anything else could occur, I skittered to the stairs, bounding down them two steps at a time back to the ground floor. I bumped into a woman in the passageway, knocking bags of shopping from her hands. Reaching down to recover the spillage, I looked up again and realised it was my good lady. I took her by the crook of the arm and bundled her unceremoniously out of the Fleece.

“What was that? It’s not April 1st for a few months.” My tone was indignant, my grasp of reality shaken.

“I have no idea what you are talking about love.” She had a befuddled expression as she shook off my panicked hold of her limb.

I took my phone out and brandished the screen at her like a grenade with its pin primed.

“Care to take a look at the last couple of text messages?”

She scrutinised me carefully then took the mobile, peering closely at a page that showed a scrolling history of texts. It was blank.

“There’s nowt there, my dear. And don’t we usually use Messenger anyway?”

I grabbed the phone back and checked myself. She was right – there was no record of the messages. I cursed under my breath.

With passers-by staring at us, a tall man in a top hat, black flowing cape, cane and a leather medical bag floated past.

“I imagine that’s Jack the Ripper about to lead the Ghost Walk….fancy it? I think it’s a fiver each. It’s either that or he’s about to disembowel his next victim.”

I grimaced, glaring out into the cityscape. It wasn’t like Alice to fire quips; certainly not macabre ones anyway.

“Maybe not tonight. How about that Pizza Express place instead?”

Alice looked at me as though I was a madman even if she did have a smirk on her face. She replied: “I’ll text you.”

 

Image free to use via WikiCommons at: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Golden_Fleece_16_Pavement_York.jpg

 

More info re the Ghosts of the Golden Fleece at link below:

https://thelittlehouseofhorrors.com/the-golden-fleece/

 

Certificate PG
Story
The Golden Fleece
Humour

Comments

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Great read Paul. Have you ever seen a ghost? It's just that the story comes across so well. I know there are people out there that can see spirits that others can't.

The Golden Fleece sounds like my kind of pub...full of the atmosphere that goes with history. Very well done.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading both parts, Jenny.

I would dearly LOVE to see a ghost but can't claim that I have. I've been looking all of my life and will keep looking :)

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

Nicely wrapped up marandina - and the link was interesting too. I was a bit surprised they have a Jack the Ripper in York though? The one in London is bad enough - and I always feel uncomfortable at the idea of people using him as an entertainment, considering what he did. It would be like conducting Yorkshire Ripper tours for a fun night out

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks insert. The ghost walk in York city centre was one of the better ones I have been on. The figure dressed in cape, cane, hat etc is the bloke that took cash from punters before the start. As soon as he had taken the last contribution he ran off into the mist for comedic effect. He did come back after drawing panic and laughter from the gathering. I assumed he was Jack the Ripper from all the conspiracy stories I have read suggesting the killer from Victorian times was a surgeon. He may have been Dr Jekyl, though. He didn't say.

Strangely, I think there's a misplaced romaticism that goes with villains from times gone by. I don't think that applies to serial killer Peter Sutcliffe.

I guess you have to remain detached with things linked with murderers where they have built up a profile over time thanks to books, media etc. Saying that, I know what you mean. It shouldn't be forgotten what they have done e.g. Jeffrey Dahmer who attracted a huge fanclub when he was in prison.

 

 

 

Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on

I stayed in the most beautiful house one weekend, via Airbnb, in Spitalfields in East London (a 17th century silk weaving house) and the host was practically rubbing his hands together with glee telling me this was one of the streets where the Ripper had murdered one of his victims - all those poor women. It felt so wrong to reduce them to a cheap thrill like that.

As for all the people who write to mass murderers in prison - yes you'd have to be quite special to do that wouldn't you!

 

Submitted by marandina on

Yes, that would be a bit offputting when you are about to stay as a guest. Strange behavior from that host.

Most things Jeffrey Dahmer are macabre. He lived and died a very dark life.

 

Submitted by lenchenelf on

and referential.

Visited the (most) Haunted House in York some years back with youngest and himself indoors, got to the top floor where lights are suddenly cut for effect and cheap thrills. T'other half's phone rang at that moment, his chosen ringtune was the opening of Tubular Bells,which was unfortunate given its connotations to The Exorcist. Much laughter all round :)

Looking forward to your next entertaining episode.

Best

L

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading it, Lena. That sounds like a grand time was had by all in beautiful York. That is it for this particular sordid tale...unless something else comes along in the future.

 

Submitted by airyfairy on

Beautifully done, Paul. I so enjoyed this. Well done.

I don't think the Ghost Walk bloke is meant to be Jack the Ripper - I think he's more just a generic Victorian. I've never asked him, though.

I've been told that the Golden Fleece keeps an upstairs window open - presumably the one poor old Geoff the Pilot chucked himself out of - all the time. I don't know why. I thought it was unlikely but it's on my daughter's route home from work and she assures me it is the case. Perhaps it's just stuck.

We'll drink a toast to you next time we're in The Fleece!

Submitted by marandina on

Ah OK...I did wonder about the Victorian gent now he's mentioned. He does fit the bill perfectly for a ghost walk.

Yes....the poor old Canadian airman. Destined to roam the passages of the pub and chuck himself to his doom over and over for all eternity.

Thanks for the toast, Jane. Do let me know what the skeleton has to say next time you see him/her/it. They owe me a drink :)

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for the cherries, Eds.

 

Submitted by celticman on

It's always nice to meet a dead person. Hopefully, it remains on the page. I'm quite keen on ghosts and ghostly goings on. But I'd rather it was somebody else's goings on. 

 

Submitted by marandina on

Cheers CM. Yes, you have remarked about your ghostly encounters before. You should write a story about it all. I'd read it but then I read all of your stuff. 

[Monumental game at the weekend: Spurs at home. Six pointer for a CL spot. Nervous already.]

 

Submitted by Rhymes And Reasons on

'By the pricking of my thumbs something wicked this way comes.' Great Ghost Story!

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading it all, Jacques. Much appreciated.

 

Hoping you and Tom are keeping well down there in Beautiful South Africa.

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I think there is a haunted bit by the castle, here. A young woman in a grey cloak. I have only seen her once, but that bit is terrifying at night, even in daylight it's a bit scary. Strangely,in the castle where there's generally accepted there's meant to be a ghost I don't feel anything (though the pit they had for a dungeon is NOT NICE that might be claustrophobia) and no one I know has ever seen the person in the cloak or felt anything in that bit of street. Even when I went there at night with my son and the air felt THICK he felt nothing! So I wonder if it's all in my head - lots of people must have died right next to the castle when it was attacked over the years, so there's no reason why the ghost should be of a person just walking along? At Woolworth's (now Bargain Buys) everyone was convinced there was a presence in the stockroom upstairs, some older staff would not go up there on their own when it was Winter and dark. I did feel that, but not sure if it was because everyone else was so sure about it. It seems easier to believe in ghosts in old buildings, but that would mean that they would be released if the building were knocked down, and so the ghost would be more like the memory of the building? (ps, thinking about this after writing, realised that as the Woolworth's building pretty much backs onto the scary bit of street, it might be linked somehow)
Like Lena, I would like it if you carried on with your story as I enjoyed it very much :0) You made me think at the end that might not actually be the narrator's wife at all, so there was a possibility of more spookiness!

 

Submitted by marandina on

Thanks for reading it all, Di.

Castles are invariably haunted. Not so much, Woolworths. You are so lucky having seen a ghost. I would imagine fears are magnified at night and that castle by you sounds intimidating in places.

I know what you mean about old buildings but there are plenty of unexplained events linked with newer dwellings. Danny Robins is becoming huge in the media for investigating real life occurances. He's made it to BBC television recently but on the back of his massively successful "Uncanny" podcasts - see link below:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/brand/m0010x7c

I am made up that people liked this one set in York. I hope to return one day and see more of the city (and its spooks, for sure). Maybe I will think of something else to continue this in the future...

 

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

It is because you are so FAB with details! Like the Persian carpet runner on the stairs, took me right there! So all the rest becomes easy to believe, too. You weave your rich imagination through the mundane

 

Submitted by Jane Hyphen on

How unsettling, an innocent trip to the pub and so many question marks. 'just looking for a man', made me laugh. I really felt as if I was back in York while reading this, you captured the magic of the place, the anceint buildings, cosy but bristling with the spirits of the past and eccentric characters still who inhabit the city.

 

Submitted by marandina on

I have visited York on a couple of occasions and absolutely loved it. So much history and tradition. It's like London but in the North. It trades on its heritage including ghosts and spirits but that all just adds to the charm. 

 

I might try and cobble together a story based around the ghost walk in the future. I remember it being a lot of fun and a story in front of an old church right at the end that has a punchline involving maggots. The narrator had stooges planted who threw rice into the dark night sky to mimic being covered in the blighters. Some folks were taken in by the prank as the grains landed on them and screamed. You've gotta love a ghost walk :)