The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage

I awoke the next morning to a banging on the door, the little brass knocker on my front door going rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat. It took a while for the sound to pierce my foggy alcohol dead brain, but eventually I crawled from my bed and peered from the window. Was that Mabel? I could just about see the flash of a fluffy red jumper against the dark of the coming day. Screwing up my face I glanced at my watch—six o’clock in the morning! Oh no! Rat a tat tat again and again, and then shouting through the letterbox in a surprisingly loud anxious voice for such a tiny bird like lady. “Oh Chrissie, please come. It’s Mabel.”

Quickly shrugging on my dressing gown and shoving my feet into slippers, I ran down the stairs, my head banging unmercifully on each step, and went straight to the front door and, fumbling with the lock, flung it open.

“Chrissie, I’m so sorry to wake you so early, but it’s gone, and I don’t know what to do.” Mabel was distraught, the real proper wringing of hands distraught, tears running down her soft powdery cheeks.

“Gone?” I asked, puzzled. “What’s gone? Who’s gone” I was finding it hard to come to terms with being woken up so abruptly, let alone having to solve some sort of complex mystery like Miss Marple.

“Oh, it’s too strange to explain,” she said, sniffing hard. “Please just come and look.”

I followed her tiny figure down the garden path, wincing as I felt every pebble hard and uncomfortable against the soles of my slippers. I pulled my dressing gown tighter against the cold. She led me into the warmth of the hallway and into the kitchen, where she beckoned me to the window. I peered out into the early morning darkness at the small back yard, which was swept clean and tidy, and just like mine had three bins lined up in a row—green, brown, and blue. Shaking my head, I peered harder, not knowing what I was supposed to see when, with a sinking heart, I realized what it was that had upset Mabel so much, and said in shock, “The pear tree has gone!”

“Yes,” said Mabel, clasping her hands tightly at her chest. “I thought I was imagining it. Oh Chrissie, I’m so glad you can’t see it either.” And then when full realization hit her, she cupped her hands over her mouth and said, “Oh my God, the pear tree has gone!”

Without a word we both went to the back door and carefully stepped out into the yard. The cold hit us like a wall, and I shivered and hunched my shoulders to my ears as I gazed at the blackened stump of what had been a beautiful leafy tree, its branches bowed down with the weight of its sweet succulent pears.

“It looks as if it’s been burnt,” said Mabel, peering anxiously at the stump, “Who do you think did this terrible thing?”

Wordlessly I shook my head as a chill ran through me, and it wasn’t just because of the cold morning air. My first thought, or hunch, was that it was connected with Morgan Bloom and the fire that had happened in my house so many years before. I found it very hard to believe that anybody real could have come along and cut down the tree without Mabel being aware of it.

We looked at each other. “It’s Morgan Bloom, isn’t it?” said Mabel.

“It can’t be,” I said, almost to myself. “I saw her die!”

“What? You saw her die?”

“Let’s go inside,” I said, “I’ve got something to tell you.” I held on to Mabel’s arm and helped her back inside. She felt small and frail beneath my hand.

Once inside, sitting in front of a fire that roared like a lion up the chimney, cups of coffee clasped in our cold hands, I told Mabel what I’d witnessed on the beach, the unruly mob and Morgan Bloom’s panicked cries as they drowned her. I told her about my boss, Richard Curtis, turning up, who at first I thought was Seth Bloom looking for Morgan, and our subsequent questioning from the police.

“Oh my,” said Mabel, “How embarrassed you must have felt at having to explain all that to a police man!” Mabel seemed a lot calmer now, her once shaking hands holding her cup steady.

“Yes.” I nodded and took a sip of the warming coffee. “A detective inspector no less! Detective Inspector Charlie Lawson. I haven’t heard from him since then, though.”

“Well,” she said, raising her cup to her lips and taking a tentative sip, “You didn’t break any laws, so the policeman couldn’t arrest you. He was obviously well aware of that. It must have been hard for him to believe though, but you know what you saw.”

“That’s exactly what my boss said!”

“Hmm. He sounds like a very nice boss,” said Mabel, watching me carefully.

“Um, yes, very nice.” A deep blush, which Mabel must have noticed, suffused my cheeks as the evening before suddenly came into my mind and a shiver ran through me. I hunched my shoulders almost to my ears as the shiver travelled luxuriously all the way up my spine, and then into the back of my head where I felt as if a strong, capable hand slowly massaged my scalp. Snatches of mine and Rick’s drunken conversation came to mind.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this, Chrissie, but I’m divorced.” “She left me.” “I have two children, two girls.” “Yes, my brother, Chase.” I took a deep cleansing breath, hoping it would clear my head, but the whispers wouldn’t go away.

“Are you okay, Chrissie?” asked Mabel, a concerned look on her face.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Just a bit hungover, I think. It was our work’s Christmas do last night.”

“Oh no, that’s made me feel even worse. I’m sorry I woke you. I didn’t realize how early it was. I was so—well, scared,” she admitted. “It’s surreal, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is, very surreal. And don’t worry about getting me up early. You were there for me when I got the heebee jeebies after Morgan Bloom spirited Moses away. Getting up early to help you was the least I could do.” She smiled gratefully as I carried on talking, “We need to find out who cut down your tree though. Maybe we should report it to the council?””

“Yes, I suppose that’s worth a try. I’ll get on to them tomorrow. They won’t be open today, although, why would they do that without asking my permission? And how somebody from the council could have come into the garden and cut the tree down without me seeing them is virtually impossible. I mean, I rarely go out, only to the over sixty club once a week, and my sister’s on a Tuesday. There was no mess—no wood shavings on the ground, no branches left. It’s all very odd, Chrissie.”

“Yes,” I agreed with her. “It’s very strange, but there must be a rational explanation. A fully grown pear tree doesn’t just disappear from somebody’s garden on its own. A tree can’t uproot itself and walk, can it?”

“Those Ent things can! They look like a tree, but they’re not!”

“Ent things?” I said frowning.

“Yes in the Lord of the Rings. You know, the film. They fight battles and talk and everything. You must know that, Chrissie!”

Bewildered, I shook my head. “Um, no, sorry Mabel, I don’t know anything about, what did you say? Ents? Look, I’d better get home now.” I glanced down at my dressing gown and pajamas. “I think I need to get dressed.”

Mabel gave a small smile and said, “I know I’m grasping at straws. I know the tree couldn’t have been an Ent, and yes, you’re right, there must be a rational explanation. But what rational explanation is there for all the things that have happened to you lately, Chrissie? Hmm?”

To placate her I said, “Yes, all you say is true. But that’s ghostly happenings, not the disappearance of a tree! Somebody must have cut it down.” Turning for the door, I suddenly remembered something, “Oh, before I forget, Mabel, I managed to get a contact number for your friend Rita Peacock, but she refused to speak to me about Pear Tree Cottage. She said she didn’t want any more to do with the cottage, and that she was trying to forget all about her experiences.”

Mabel shrugged and said soothingly, “Yes, I suppose I can understand Rita feeling that way.” And then with a thin smile, she said, “Oh well, at least you tried, Chrissie dear, at least you tried.”

It was only seven o’clock when I finally got home, and was still dark outside, the sun just about peeking over the horizon and lighting up the sky with a warm blood red glow. What did they say? Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning! A warning about what, though? Ents? Trees that walked and talked all by themselves? Maybe I should watch Lord of the Rings and see for myself what Mabel had been going on about.

Putting a hand to my head, which was pounding viciously now, I wearily climbed the stairs and, even though I’d told Mabel I needed to get dressed, I really didn’t have the energy. So I threw off my dressing gown, stepped out of my slippers, and sank thankfully onto the bed beside Moses, who was curled up amongst the duvet in a tight fluffy ball. Soothed by his purr, I slipped into a deep dreamless sleep.

***

Tap tap tap, tap tap tap. Wearily I moved my head, opened and closed my eyes, stretched my arms and legs. Tap tap tap, tap tap tap. Was there something at the window? Pulling myself up onto one elbow I gazed uncertainly around the dim room, wondering what was tapping. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap tap. Moses still slept beside me, his tiny furry body moving up and down like a pair of bellows pushing in and out, in and out. Reluctantly I got out of bed and padded across the floor to the window, my feet sinking into the deep carpet as if into quicksand.

It’s probably a pesky seagull, I thought as I flung open the curtains, blinking as weak sunlight streamed in. A large black bird stood on the windowsill, peering through the glass with its beady black eyes, its gaze searching and its head moving in out, in out, searching for what—for me? Tap, tap, tap at the window with its beak. Skinny legs and claws peeked like twigs from beneath its thick coat of shiny iridescent blue and green feathers. Feathers that looked as if they’d been doused in petrol. Tap tap tap at the window.

I saw a worm of a pink tongue as it opened its beak and said, “Hello Chrissie, remember me?” And its face become Morgan Bloom’s, her beautiful soft pale skin, wide green eyes, and red painted lips, grotesque amongst the bird’s coal black feathers. Chuckling manically, it fluttered its wings and, with a savage squawk, flew away. I watched it go, swirling up and up and up over the rooftops, a black silhouette against thin scattered clouds edged with gold, and then onwards towards the sighing sea.

Heart pumping and hands shaking, I quickly pulled the curtains together and took a step back, my hands to my mouth, unsure of what I’d seen. It must have been a crow. Were they, like the black cat, a witch’s familiar?

I awoke some time later, my headache gone, feeling rested and rejuvenated, until thoughts of the night before came crashing into my mind. A vague recollection of the words Rick had whispered in my ear came to back to me, and the kisses we’d shared became more and more real, making me squirm and blush. I remembered his words—he thought he’d never love again but he did, oh yes he did. I shivered again.

Memories of the black bird tapping at the window didn’t surface until later, memories that made me stop and peer once again from the bedroom window, gazing up into the sky and wondering if it had been real or all a terrible dream. I mulled over it again and again, recalling with a shiver Morgan Bloom’s beautiful face amongst the glossy feathers of the sinister black bird. But, unlike the missing pear tree, which I knew was true, the freakish thing I’d seen through the window, I dismissed as just a bad dream.

***

Monday morning, and I was trudging to work through a thin layer of snow that coated the paths, the buildings, the grass, and the trees overnight, as if with a soft white icing. I breathed in deeply of the frosty air. It was a winter wonderland. Seagulls cawed mournfully from a morbid dark sky. Mum could barely be roused this morning, even though I crept into her room with a big mug of steaming hot tea. “Rosie Lee,” I said softly in a sort of London barrow boy accent. “Cuppa tea, cuppa Rosie Lee.”

“You’re far too cheerful in the mornings, Chrissie,” she whispered as, turning her face to the wall, she wrapped herself in the duvet as tight as a sausage into its skin. Too many nights out carousing with Pete Horner don’t’ seem to be doing her any good, I thought as I left her with her drink rapidly cooling on the bedside cabinet.

My stomach clenched unpleasantly as the offices of Wigglesworth & Horner came into view, dreading what I would say to Rick and also what he would say to me. What if he regretted what had happened between us on Saturday evening? What if he was embarrassed and dismissive of me and, worst of all, what if he didn’t want to work with me anymore? I stopped stock still in the middle of the path, my heart racing, too afraid to go through the massive oak doors into the building. Too afraid to face my own boss. People ebbing and flowing around me glared and grumbled. “Go on, love, get a move on,” someone said, so hesitantly I picked up my feet and walked inside.

Pat greeted me as enthusiastically as ever when I arrived at reception. We exchanged a few pleasantries about how much we’d enjoyed the Christmas do before, following the sound of manic typing, I went into the office. Pete Horner was sprawled on a chair next to Milly, avidly watching her fingers as they raced across the keyboard. “Yeah, that’ll do, I think. Thanks, Milly. Just sign it off, your esteemed servant, Mr Peter Horner!” She gave him a look and he chuckled as he dug her playfully in the ribs with his elbow. “Only kidding. Do the, yours faithfully, sincerely whatever.”

Looking up, he said jovially, “Well, well, if it ain’t Chrissie Lewis!” as I put my bag on the desk, shrugged off my coat, and hung it on the old wooden coat stand.

The longing to ask Pete Horner what his intentions were towards my mum was overwhelming, but I curbed the impulse and said, “Morning, Pete, morning Milly.”

“Hi Chrissie,” Milly replied, “How are you?” She gave me a little sideways grin under her lashes. She looked pretty with her auburn hair piled on top of her head, and the green top she wore brought out the color of her eyes.

“Fine, thanks,” I replied airily as I sat down and began to fire up my computer. I thought I’d take the bull by the horns, so dived straight in with, “Good Christmas do, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, very good,” replied Milly. “You and big boss man seemed to be getting on really well.”

My emails came up on the screen and casually I began to scroll through them. “Yes,” I agreed. “It’s very important for a boss to have a good relationship with his staff.”

Before Milly could reply to that one, Layla came through the door laden down with a monstrous pile of photocopying which, with a great effort, she lowered onto her desk. “Morning, Chrissie.” She was dressed in her usual Goth like manner of long flowing skirt and top, and lipstick that shone out of her face very black and shiny.

“Morning, Layla.”

Glancing out the window, I could see that it had started to snow, big fat flakes that twirled slowly in the air and began to settle on the glass like the beautiful patterns in a kaleidoscope. I felt warm and cozy, the big old-fashioned radiator belting out the heat right next to me.

“Ooh,” said Layla excitedly, clapping her hands. “It’s snowing. Do we get to go home early?”

“You must be joking!” said Pete Horner. “There’s plenty for you to do here. And anyway, I don’t think Tex will let you go home just so you can make snow men in your back garden. No way.”

“Snowmen? But what if the buses stop running?”

“Shank’s Pony for you then, Layla.”

Layla looked totally bewildered. “What?”

“Your own legs,” I suggested. “Walk home?”

“Eh, I’m impressed with you, Chrissie Lewis. Nice one!”

“Hmm,” sniffed Layla, as she turned her back and began to shuffle about with the photocopying, expertly moving piles of papers from one place to another.

The absence of Norman was glaringly obvious by his clean and tidy desk, totally cleared of all his possessions. “What’s going on with Norman then?” I asked Milly. “Fill me in on what happened.”

“Well, he’s gone, at last. Lily caught him in the safe room again messing about with the money in the biscuit tin, but this time she managed to get a little film on her phone. And he was actually taking money out and putting it in his pockets! Caught him red handed!”

“Yeah, there wasn’t much he could say to hard evidence,” interrupted Pete Horner, “Glad to see the back of him, I am! We don’t want no tea leaf round here.”

“Tea leaf?” asked Layla.

“Tea leaf—thief!” said Pete Horner.

“Oh, yeah,” she giggled.

“We took the evidence to Rick,” Milly explained. “And that was it, he was dismissed straight away. As you can imagine, Norman wasn’t happy.”

“He swore a lot,” put in Layla. “Shocked me, really. He’s got a dirty mouth, you know.”

“Yeah, proper smutty, the air was blue!” said Pete Horner.

“At least now we won’t have to listen to that constant sniffing!” said Layla, turning her nose up in the air in disgust. “And look at all those awful screwed up tissues on his desk! Ugh!”

Nodding hard in agreement, Milly said, “Yes, you’re right, Layla. A totally sniffless office now.”

“Ain’t no such word,” said Pete Horner, “A sniffle free office sounds better.”

“As if you’ve room to talk about words, Pete Horner,” said Milly with a grin. “None of your old rhyming slang makes sense!”

“Clever Mike—on yer bike!” he retorted cheerfully.

She turned back to me. “Anyway, when he’d gone, we checked how much money we had, and no way was there enough for the Christmas do, so Rick paid for everything. What little money was left in the tin will go towards the next do. Don’t tell Rick I told you, Chrissie. He didn’t really want everybody to know he’d paid for the whole evening. And that applies to you two as well.” She nodded towards Pete and Layla.

Ah, so that was what the shared look was about between Rick and Milly, I thought. He wanted his secret to be kept fast. What a generous man he is. “I won’t say a word,” I assured Milly, even though everybody knew anyway.

“Overall, you know,” said Pete. “He must have taken at least a monkey. He deserved to get the boot.”

“A monkey?” said Layla, looking even more bewildered than ever as she stood there, her hands on her hips. “I’ve never ever seen a monkey in the safe room. He took money, didn’t he? Is that what you mean? Money? Not a monkey?”

That remark was met with uproarious laughter. “Aw gawd, blimey,” said Pete Horner, holding his sides in mirth. “Not a cute, furry monkey, girl. A monkey is a slang term for five hundred pounds. Oh my gawd, what a laugh.” He gave a great sniff and wiped beneath his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

Lily came twittering through the door, probably wondering what was causing so much laughter. “Morning all,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard so much laughter in an office on a Monday morning. It’s normally all doom and gloom.”

“If you heard what Layla just said, Lily,” said Pete Horner, “Then I guarantee you’d find it hard not to laugh too!”

Questioningly she turned to Layla, but Layla with a sharp, “I’m busy at the moment,” turned her back and started sorting through the piles of paper on her desk.

Shrugging, Lily turned to me. “Chrissie, Rick said could you pop in and see him when you’ve got a minute?”

“Oh, um, thank you, Lily,” I stammered. Color suffused my face. I could feel it hot and burning on my cheeks as I rose unsteadily to my feet. Trying to appear calm and casual, even though my legs felt as weak and bendy as pipe cleaners, I walked to the door, my heart pounding and my hands shaking.

Milly caught my eye and mouthed, “Good luck,” and, giving her a grateful smile, I left the room and made my way along the corridor to see my boss, thanking God that at least I’d dressed nicely this morning in a black knee length form fitting dress and a smart red jacket. My face I’d made up with a slick of eye shadow and red lipstick. My hair I’d left to do its own thing, and it tumbled curly as a nineteen seventies perm to my shoulders.

I tapped lightly on the door with my knuckles and, upon hearing the answering, “Come in,” I opened the door and slipped quietly inside.