Short Story: Auntie Marie And The Haunted…

Short Story: Auntie Marie And The Haunted Chair

“Auntie Marie, will you mind the kids while I do the shopping? It's murder taking them wi me.”

I looked at the bairns. Wee darlings - six, four and two. Sure, I could manage. I might no have a telly to plonk them in front of, but I could keep them amused. “Nae problem,” I told my niece. “I'll tell them a story.”

She looked a bit worried, “Dinna get them a excited, will you? Remember last time? It took ages to calm them doon.”

“Dinna worry. They'll be fine. Away an do your shopping.” I dinna see the bairns that often, but I love having them here. An they seem to enjoy it as well.

“Are you gonna tell us a story, Auntie Marie?” asked Peter, inspecting my bookcase.

“Aye, sure enough. Sit doon on the settee. What kind a story would you like?”

“Another ghost story. I like your ghost stories.”

“Aye, but your mum disna. Maybe I could tell you a story aboot animals.”

“No, a ghost story, Auntie Marie,” said James, playing wi my poker. Joe jist looked at me, but then, he's only two.

“Okay. Sit doon on the settee beside your wee brother an I'll think o one.”

“Right, here's one about me, when I was a wee lass. Now, me an my pals, we used to have a gang hut. Great fun, having a gang hut. An we were always on the lookout for stuff for it. So we were raking around the old empty tenements, and we found a chair. It was a muckle great thing, wi a fancy carved back. It had knobbly legs jist like James, it was covered in velvet the same colour as your hair, Peter, and it was a wee bit damp, jist like Joe. We called it 'The Throne', cos it was so posh. It weighed a ton. The three of us shoved it along the street, keeping an eye out for the polis, and into Duck's back garden then through the door of our gang-hut.”

“Why was he called Duck?” asked Peter.

“Guess what his first name was!”

They all looked blank. Maybe they dinna read comics these days.

“Because his name was Donald, okay? Anyways, we all jumped on the throne, wanting first shot. Duck said he should have it, cos our hut was in his back garden. Horse said he should get first shot, cos he's the biggest and did most of the hard work to get it there.”

“Was that why he was called Horse, Auntie Marie? Because he was big?”

Bright lad, is James. I nodded.

“And I said it should be me, cos I'm the oldest. So we mucked about, shoving and pushing each other, til Duck's mum shouted for him to come and get his tea and we all skedaddled. It was getting dark when we went back to the hut after our tea. Horse's wee sister, Sara, tagged along as well. Duck opened the door and switched on his torch.

Funny, now it was dark, none of us wanted to be first in. Horse pushed me inside, since I was the oldest. It was cold in the gang hut. The torchlight flashed around and I thought I saw somebody sitting in the chair. Somebody old and nearly bald, smoking a pipe. I could smell the tobacco. But on the next swing of the torch, the chair was empty. I scrambled to get out, but Horse and Duck were blocking my way. Sara was behind them, trying to get a peek at the throne. I shoved my way through them all into the back garden.

'That chair's creepy,' Sara said.

'Yeah, I know. It was like there was someone sitting in it,' I told them.

None of them saw the old man, but nobody dared go back in. We played in the street til it was time for bed.

T

he next morning, we went back to the hut.

'Your shot first,' Horse said, as he pushed me onto the chair and plonked himself down on the tea chest. Duck climbed into the hammock and creaked backwards and forwards.”

“What's a hammock?” asked Peter.

“What's a tea chest?” asked James.

“Well, a hammock's a kind o sling that sailors sleep in. You attach it tae the walls. An a tea chest is a big square box that tea used to be stored in. The tea chest was handy for sitting on. So, anyways, there I was, sitting on the chair. Now, see that chair? It was damp and cold, and seemed to hang on to me. I had to pull myself out of it, like a fly escaping from one of them pitcher plants.”

“What's a pitcher plant?”

“A pitcher plant is a plant that eats insects.”

The boys looked at each other. They liked this sort o' stuff.

“So, I pulled myself out of the chair. Then Jess barked outside and we all jumped. Sara stood at the door, Jess growling at her side.

'Shut up, Jess,' she said, but the dog kept on barking and growling. We couldn't figure out what was upsetting her, unless it was the chair. Sara didn't come in. Then Horse got up and plodded over to it. He inspected the throne as if he was going to buy it, then eased himself down.

'Damp, innit?' he said. 'Maybe we should dry it out a bit first, before we use it.'

'Hey,' said Duck, 'what about burnin it on the bonfire? That'll dry it out. It's too big for here, anyway.'

Horse nodded and tried to stand up. Jess started howling. Horse began to look worried. He struggled.

'Hey, sumthin's got a hold of me,' he said.

Duck and I grabbed his arms and pulled. He was a big lad, Horse, and it took all our strength to get him out of that chair. Jess kept barking, and Sara had to drag her home.

'Stop muckin about, Horse,' said Duck. 'It's no funny.'

But Horse wasn't muckin about.

'I think that chair's haunted,' he said and ran out the door.

Well, we sat in Duck's kitchen and looked out at our gang hut. This was bad. What use was a gang-hut if we couldn't use it? On the other hand, we had a haunted chair. Maybe we could make some money. People might pay to sit in a haunted chair.

Now that he knew it was haunted, Duck wanted to keep it. So did I. Horse wanted to burn it. Sara agreed with Horse. But it was Jess who decided for us. She'd taken a right ill-will to it. Nobody could get any peace for all her barking and howling, so we agreed to get rid of the Throne.

Well, we got it out the gang hut door and pushed it along towards the park. We were nearly there when a car slowed down and stopped beside us. A man poked his head out the window.

'You ones heading for the bonfire?' he asked.

'Nah, jist takin it out for a run,' Duck said.

The man got out of his Jaguar. He looked at the chair while we stared in through his car windows.”

“Auntie Marie, what colour was the Jaguar?”

Peter's car daft.

“It was a white one, wi leather seats. Very posh. Anyway the man said 'I'll give you a fiver for the chair.'”

Horse and Duck looked at me.

“'20,' I said.

The man whistled.

'Nah. Not worth that. I'll give you 12.'

'15. A fiver each. We're partners see?'

'Deal.'

Well, he sat down in the chair. And we were praying that it would behave itself. He dished out the money, we grabbed it and ran all the way to the shops.

We spent that money quick and walked back along the road to the park, but there was no sign of the man, or the throne. So, we hurried back home, got the old deck chair from the garden and headed for our gang-hut, carrying bottles of coke and crisps and comics.

Duck called out 'Is there anyone there?' as he opened the door of the hut and then stopped dead, with us right behind him. Something was wrong. The hut looked much bigger without the throne. Bigger, but not emptier. We could smell tobacco smoke and the old hammock was creaking backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.”

The wee one was whimpering by this time, but the older two was obviously enjoying the story.

“What happened to the hammock, Auntie Marie?” asked Peter.

“Ah, we got rid o that as well. Took it to the bonfire and burned it.”

“And that stopped the ghost,” said James.

“Well, no, James, it didna. You see, after we got rid o the hammock, the ghost came into my house. An he stayed there while I was growing up. And when I moved here, he moved wi me.”

“So... he's here... right now?” asked Peter.

Joe was greeting now, and James was biting his nails but it was too late. Peter had asked the question, an I believe in answering bairn's questions.

“Oh aye, the ghost's here aw right.”

They were huddled together on the settee, holding on tae each other. It was too good tae miss.

“Aye, the ghost lives here now. That's his settee yer sitting on.”

It took a wee while tae calm them down, but they were fine after they'd raided the chocolate biscuit tin and had a drink of milk. We were sitting on the floor, banging out a tune on pot lids and trays when their mum got back wi the shopping.

“Did they behave themselves, Auntie Marie?”

“Of course they did. Wee darlings,” I said.

“An you didna get them a wound up, like last time?”

“Na! You ken I widna do that.”

Then they screamed when she sat on the settee and dropped me right in it.