The Ghosts and Mrs Calendar

There once was an old woman, an old widow, named Mrs Calendar, who knew all the ghosts in her old house.
She knew poor Tom, the little boy who lived under the stairs and had been a beggar and died of hunger and cold long before the house had been built and who, sometimes, on very cold nights could be heard to beg, "Please sir, spare a penny. Please sir".
And she knew Serjeant Major Trumbold who had once owned the house but now only haunted its fireplace in her living room and would sometimes, for no apparent reason, start barking out orders.
"Eyes front! Chest out! Forward march!", he would bellow, scaring the wits out of anyone who happened to be standing near the fireplace at the time.
And she knew the actor, Sir Percival who had lived upstairs when the house had taken in theatricals as lodgers and could often be heard pacing about upon her landing like a theatre stage, rehearsing some scene from a play by Shakespeare or Marlowe.
"Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?", he would say as he saw her climbing the stairs to bed in the evening, " Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss".
At which she would always smile and say, "Sir Percival, please remember that I am a widow and my soul is married to my husband in heaven".

And, inspite of the fact that she knew all of these ghosts, she was not frightened by them in the least.
Infact she was grateful for their company, particularly since her children had gone away, long ago, and left her to support herself and it also comforted her knowing that the spirit did not die but, if it did not ascend to heaven, atleast went on haunting some quiet corner of the earth.
And the ghosts did not seem to mind the old lady and would sometimes even, when she needed help with a small thing, like opening a door that was stuck or turning the lid on a jar that wouldn't open, come to her assistance for which she would always thank them by saying, "Thank you. You are such a gentleman".
One night, however, two burglars broke into her house while she was sitting in her parlor, rocking in her old wooden rocking chair and, overhearing the old lady talking to the serjeant major thought that she must be mad.
"Listen to her", said one of the burglars to the other, grinning and sniggering as he peered into her living room, "Talking to herself like an old loony".
And so they felt no fear in bursting into the room and saying to the old woman,
"Alright you old bag. Where is your money and your jewels. Hand them over quietly and you won't be hurt".
"Tut! Tut!", said the old woman, looking over at them calmly and with disdain in her eyes, "What a disgraceful pair of ruffians. Coming barging into an old womans house".
"Here now", said one of the burglars, raising a cosh threateningly, "None of your backtalk. Tell us where you keep your money or else".
But then the two burglars saw, with a dreadful pallor on their faces, the flames in the fire place come bursting out like dragon flame from a cave and a voice from beside them roar,
"Company...charge!"
Then they saw a man appear dressed in a bright red uniform with a fierce look upon his face and a sabre in his hand and they heard the sounds of the battlefield from all around them; the noise of blades clashing and men crying out in fear and agony and cannons booming.
And terrified, the two burglars beat a hasty retreat to the old womans hallway.
But before they could reach the womans front door, they felt a cold wind blow past them and it flew shut with a loud slam.
Then, behind them, they saw the little beggar boy appear, holding out his bowl and walking slowly towards them he asked,
"Please, sirs. Spare a penny for a poor orphan boy. Its so cold".
And shivering, both with fear and with the icy chill of the winter when the young boy had died, the two buglars tore some loose change from their pockets and hurled it at him.
"Here", they said as the change, falling through his ethereal begging bowl clattered onto an oak floor,"Just don't come near us".
And seeing the womans staircase they both ran stumbling upstairs as fast as they could.
But then, just as they reached the top of the stairs, suddenly, upon the landing, the actor, Sir Percival appeared in a blaze of fire, dressed as Mephistopheles and wearing an angry red and horned mask, shouting, "O, by aspiring pride and insolence, For which God threw him from the face of heaven".

And, scared out of their socks and shoes, the two men both leapt in the air before tumbling back down the staircase with a loud commotion.
All of which gave the old woman so much amusement that she couldn't help laughing heartilly as she watched from her living room.
But then Poor Tom, the begging boy because he had a more generous heart than many do that are living, opened wide the front door for the two burglars and allowed them their exit.
As the two burglars rushed from the house as fast as the wind, however, they passed another man who was trudging slowly up the old womans front path; a man wearing a long black coat, black hat and solemn expression.
It was death himself and he had come to take the old woman.
"Is it time?", she asked when she saw him enter her room.
"It is, Mrs Calendar", said the man, smiling warmly, "Time you were reunited with your husband".
And so, peacefully and contentedly, she took deaths hand and, a new door opening up in her house; one that seemed full of light, she entered into eternity.