The Soldier

Christine looked around the small room. There was one small window above the bed head. Beside the bed was placed a small shabby table with a lamp. Next to the small cupboard, was a very old dressing table with a mirror. The room was dark and had a slightly musty smell to it. Placing her bags down Christine walked over to open the window. A few minutes of effort showed her that the window hadn’t been open in a very long time.
“You settling in OK?” The Hotel Manager popped his head in through the door.
“Oh yes. Thank you for waiting up for me,” she replied, happy to be out of the rain and traffic. “I’m just about to unpack.”
“Very well.” He mumbled as he walked away.
Christine closed the door and hauled her bags onto the bed, which gave a creak under the weight. Well this will be home for a while. She thought as she unzipped her cases.
It’s small but not too bad and most of all I can afford it.
Christine had come to England as an exchange student. A huge history buff, she was excited to be surrounded by all the old buildings and landmarks she had only read about during her study.

After she had unpacked and everything was in its place, it was nearly midnight. Once Christine was snuggled into bed, warm under the heavy quilts, she could finally feel her muscles begin to relax. Her eyes began to droop and before long she was asleep.

Through the smoky haze Christine could see people moving. With surprise she realized she was walking around a large clearing. A loud gunshot from her right made her jump and through the smoke someone was approaching. With a battle raging in the background, a very tall soldier slowly walked towards her. He stopped about four feet away and held out his hands. She could see dark brown hair matted with sweat underneath his helmet, framing a strong handsome face. Christine was hypnotized by the sad, almost pleading look of his deep green eyes. She reached out to touch his hands but as she made contact, he disappeared.

Waking with a start Christine glanced around her room. The pressure near her feet drew her eyes to the end of the bed. Very faintly in the pattern of the quilt, she could make out the indentation of someone sitting at the end of the bed. Christine’s hand flew to the lamp switch and flicked it on. The moment the light leapt around the room the pressure and the indent disappeared.
“That was my imagination.” Christine whispered to herself, as she tried to control the scared feeling that was rising. “Just my jetlagged mind playing tricks on me.” After a few moments she had convinced herself she was safe, and snuggled back under the covers. Every small creak she heard however would cause her to clench her eyes tighter, until fatigue overwhelmed her being scared, and she dropped back off to sleep.

The next morning brought with it, the courage the night takes away, and Christine chided herself on how silly she had been. Her first official day as an English student flew by in a whirl of new friends, teachers and surroundings. Warily making her way up the stairs to her room, she passed a small picture that had not managed to grab her attention the previous night. Stopping to inspect the image closer, Christine found herself looking at the soldier she had dreamt about. Though the faded black and white picture did not show the deepness of the green eyes, there was no mistaking the man. He was standing with six other uniformed men, a large smile on his face. It looked like it was taken as the group was about to depart. Behind the men were various army vehicles in the process of being loaded. Quickly making her way back down the stairs to find the Manager, Christine nearly ran into him at the bottom.
“Whoa there Lass! Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly.
“Oh! Sorry!” Christine blushed, “I was just wanting to ask you about one of the pictures in the hall.”
“Which one are you interested in Lass?” asked the Manager.
“It’s just before my room.” Christine replied. The Manager made a gesture for her to lead the way. They made their way to the picture, and the Manager lent closer for a look.
“I’d like to help you Lass, but I don’t much about whose they were or such.” He drawled. “I only know they were left here by a soldier when this building was used as a home for men returning from war.” He continued as he studied the picture.
“A home for soldiers?” Christine questioned, “Why did they come here? Why didn’t they just go home?”
“Ah Lass, some of them returned from the war with nothing to come back to. Parts of England was heavily bombed during World War Two. Many houses and families were destroyed.” He said sadly. Stepping back from the picture, he turned to look at Christine.
“So they came and lived here for a while?” She asked.
“Yeah Lass, that they did. Only for a while though.” He pushed his hands into his coat pockets. “Many moved on quickly. Either back to the Army or out to the country. The owners that bought the building 20 years ago found these pictures in storage and decided to commemorate the building's past.” Silently they both gazed at the picture.
“Well if that’s all Lass, I have a few things to do before dinner.” The Manager mumbled after a minute.
“Yes thank you for your help, I’ll see you at dinner.” Christine replied as the Manager made his way back down the stairs.

Later that night as she lay in bed Christine thought about her soldier. Did he stay here? If so, why? If not was it one of the other men in the picture that stayed here? With all these questions floating around her mind, she drifted off to sleep.

Christine could feel the grass between her toes. Looking around at the smoky field, she saw him approaching her through the haze. The battle sounds were quieter than last time, as if the haze was hushing the sound. Again he stopped about four feet away and held out his hands. This time he spoke.
“I won’t hurt you.” The deep voice rang in her ears.
“Who are you?” Christine asked.
“Wake up, I won’t hurt you.” He said again. The soldier took a step closer.

With a start Christine woke and sat up. Sitting at the end of her bed was the soldier. Christine’s jaw dropped and her voice froze in her throat. She could see the dressing table through him, but she could also feel his weight on the bed.
“Please don’t scream, I won’t hurt you, I need your help.” He pleaded. As she stared at his face, his green eyes bored into hers she knew he meant what he said.
“Y-Y-You’re a ghost!” Christine stammered.
The soldier held her gaze, a sad smile on his handsome features.
“Will you help me?” he asked.
“H-H-H-Help you how?”
“To move on.”
“Move on. Oh. Right.” Christine said with a little laugh. “How can I do that? I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Well my name is Francis ‘Frank’ John Evens. I was a Sergeant in the Army.” A proud look came over his face. “I was away for nearly two years. When I came home from the war I found that my fiancé had married another man.” Frank’s face returned to the sad expression that had become etched in Christine’s mind. “She didn’t wait.”
“I am so sorry.” Christine’s heart went out to him. “So how can I help you to move on?”
“I need to know what happened to her. I didn’t try to find her. I just let her go. I didn’t fight for her. I had already done enough fighting. The love of my life, the one thing I should have fought the hardest for, I gave up on.”
A tear slid down his cheek and Christine was surprised to find her own eyes were wet. His voice held so much sorrow and regret that it was palpable. She could feel her own heart almost breaking in sympathy.
“Whatever I can do, I will.” She smiled at him. “What was her name?”
“Constance Mary Willcott. Willcott was her family name, I don’t know who she married.”
“Well that will make it a little harder, but I’ll do my best.” Christine looked at Frank. “Where did she live?”
“We both grew up here. Our families were neighbours.”
“OK, I will find out as much as I can for you.” Before she could stop herself Christine asked, “How did you die?” Appalled by her forwardness she slapped her hand over her mouth. “I am so sorry.” She spoke through her fingers. “That’s not my business.”
“It’s alright.” Franks eyes lowered to the floor. “I gave up on living any form of a life. All I wanted to do was drink away the memories and pain. I finally succeeded. They found me in here.”
Frank looked up and saw the sadness in Christine’s face.
“I’ll do what I can.” She promised.
“I’ll be here.” And with that Frank disappeared. Christine felt a little chill as she looked around the empty room. She had to help this man. How she was going to was the question.

It took nearly a week for Christine to find a lead on Constance. During that time She had become to enjoy Franks visits and late night chats. It made her chuckle to think her first close friend here was a ghost! He told her stories about when he was growing up, and explained how things were done back in his day. Her professor was impressed with her depth of knowledge on local history and World War Two. However, Christine felt bad each passing day that she wasn’t able to find something, anything about Constance for Frank.

The day finally came after hours and hours of searching, when a local man donated a large amount of old books to the Library. Knowing of Christine’s interest in the history of the local area and its families, the Librarian allowed her to help him sort through them. Sitting there amongst the old worn leather covers was a red ledger. It was the handwritten history of the Willcott family who had resided on a large estate for generations. On a page close to the back was the name of the man Constance married. Christine was able to find out where Constance had gone. Using the Internet to trace the family history she found her children. Christine also found an address.

Standing across the road from a small cottage, she looked at Constance Mary Bedford’s Great Grandchildren playing in the front yard. Crossing the road, Christine made her way to the front door. A pretty woman answered and invited Christine inside.

That night Christine waited for Frank. Next to her was a small pile of old letters. Just as she was dozing off, she felt the comforting weight sit on the end of her bed.
“I found her.” She said. Frank looked at her with a smile laced with nervousness.
“And? What happened to her?” Frank asked with urgency.
“About seven months after you had gone, Constance received a telegram from the War Department. Somehow they had mixed up your name with another soldier's. She was told you had been killed in action.”
“Killed?”
“Yes,” Christine continued. “A few months later her parents arranged her marriage to John Bedford, thinking this would pull her out of her grief for you. She was pregnant with her first and only child when she found out about the mix-up. Constance had a boy and named him after you.” Tears were falling freely from Frank’s eyes. Taking a breath to steady herself Christine went on.
“Constance couldn’t face you, knowing how much you would be hurting. So she wrote you letters.” Christine patted the pile of envelopes.
“There is one for every year from when she found out till she died. About how much she loved you. How much she missed you, couldn’t live without you. That her son was the only thing she loved as much as you. How she hoped that one day you could forgive her. I could read them to you if you want?”
Frank stood up and walked towards the dresser.
“There is no need.” Spoke a soft voice near the door.
Frank and Christine turned and were confronted with the ghost of a beautiful woman.
“Constance!” Gasped Frank.
“I knew you would find me eventually. I knew my letters would get to you even though I didn’t have the courage to send them when I was alive.” She smiled at Christine sitting on the bed in a stunned silence.
“I want to thank you for helping Frank find me.”
She walked over to Frank and took his arm in hers. “You were the only man I truly loved.” Her voice was breathless. Frank looked over and blew Christine a kiss.
“Thank you. You have given me the world.” Now with his woman by his side,
his face, though handsome in sorrow was amazing to behold in joy. Then they were gone.


THE END


By Nicole © 29th October 2007
 

By N. P. Dobbin   for  www.allthingsspooky.com
© Copyright  25^th September 2007

Copyright © 2007

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