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Listeners' Fantasies |
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The Door of the Lawson-Hopes
by Vicarshusband
 Now that the clocks have gone back and the winter nights are drawing in, it may be the right time to settle down by the fireside and listen to a ghost story, contributed to the Fantasy Archers topic of .
This is one that Ed Grundy used to tell in the kitchen at Brookfield, with his grandchildren and great-grandchildren all gathered around the fireside while old Granny Emma sat knitting in her rocking chair, a sharp ear cocked in case Ed repeated anything too frightful for young ears. If that happened she would rise from her chair and fetch a delicious cake or a batch of scones fresh baked from the oven - there always seemed to be something baking in Em's kitchen in those days.
"When I was young" Ed would begin, and he would pause as he remembered those far-off days, when life was so hard, "when I was young, we had a new parson come into the village, Reverent Franks he was called. Of course, we didn't have a lot to do with him, because Grandad was Chapel and Reverend Franks, he was parson at the old church in the village. You can still see the walls - St Stephen's it used to be. They closed it down after all this, said it was economic or somesuch, but Grandad always said it were because of what I'm going to tell you about."
Ed takes a pull on his pot of ale, and continues.
"Reverent Franks was a decent enough soul, but he would never let anything alone. He came along and started changing things. 'Mucking around', Grandad would say. He may have been Chapel, but he didn't hold with stuff like that. 'Mucking around like that never came to any good', he would say.
The first thing that the Reverent tried to do was take a saw to the pews. St Stephen's had beautiful dark oak pews - you don't see them like that these days much - that had been there hundreds and hundreds of years. But the Reverend thought they were too dingy, and he wanted to use the church for other things - no-one ever quite knew what - so he must have them all out. Caused a proper fuss it did, but in the end, the bishop or whoever it was turned him down. You should have heard Grandad laugh! After that, the Reverent went round for weeks with a face that would sour milk. I saw him myself. We all thought that was that, and that he'd settle down, preach his sermons of a Sunday, and leave us all well alone. And so did, for a while. He got himself married and I guess that calmed him down - for a bit."
Here he takes another long draught of ale, and exchanges glances with Granny Emma, who says nothing but continues to knit.
"But no. A year or so on, and he began to fret. One afternoon, he was poking around at the back o' the church where there used to be a big noticeboard - what they used to use to put up messages in the days before Facebook. It were hanging away from the wall so Mr Franks he pried it and prodded till it came right down. Behind it, he could see that some of the plaster was coming away from the wall. So he poked and he pried till he'd brought more of the plaster down, and there were something else behind it."
Another pause. Emma is listening more carefully know, and the click of her needles has slowed.
"Well, Mr Franks, he couldn't make head or tail of what he saw. So off he went to fetch old Bert Fry, him as used to be dairyman here at this very farm - no, Alf, not when we took it over from Pip Archer, a long time before that. Anyway, Bert, he were churchwarden at St Stephen's - last Churchwarden, an all. 'So, Bert' he says (I mean, the Reverend). 'so, Bert. What , exactly is this? You know as much about this church as anyone alive, I'll be bound. Tell me, man, what is this?'
I never saw what it was they found - it were all covered over again soon enough, after what happened - but I heard from Grandad that there were a sort of doorway behind the old board, all plastered in. And behind the plaster were an old door. And on the door were these brass plates, kind o' diamond shaped, with writing on them, and black with dirt and age.
So old Bert Fry, he looked at the door and these plates, and he didn't like what he saw. 'Just cover 'em up' he said 'just leave be. No harm done, but just cover them up again.'
But the Reverent, he just laughed. 'Nonsense, Bert' he said. 'I've an idea about this doorway. But first, tell me what these are.' And he reached out a finger and rubbed one of the plates to see the writing on it clearer. Grandad used to tell as how old Bert, he closed his eyes and shook his head when he told about this. 'There weren't no harm' he used to say 'no harm at all. And then he went and touched it.' But the Reverent had asked, so Bert told him what they were.
'Them's coffin plates' he said. 'Long time ago, when the Lawson-Hopes were squires of Ambridge, one of them, Jasper Lawson-Hope, he thought being buried in a grave in the church like his father and grandfather before him, that wasn't good enough for the him. So he got a fancy architect up from London, and he had plans drawn up for this vault, built onto the church, with a door into it. And he planned as how all the Lawson-Hopes after him would be put in there in their coffins, to wait for the Last Trump.'
Bert shuddered. 'There was some as said he had other reasons - like he didn't want his bones in holy ground. There are some stories about that man and the things he did… but he had his way, like the Squire always does, and he had his vault and when the time came they put him in there, and the rest of them after him' "
"Grandad" pipes up little Alf "Grandad, what SORT of things did Mr Lawson-Hope used to do?"
"No, Alfie" says Granny Emma, quickly, her knitting discarded, before Ed can reply. "It's late enough as it is, too late for that old rubbish" and she gives him a sharp look.
"Oh, you…" says Ed to Alf. "Just old stories. All rubbish, like your gran says. Anyway, 'Bert' says the Reverend, 'Bert, there's no vault now. Other side of that door's just that overgrown patch in the churchyard.'
'No' says old Bert 'Exactly. They built the vault all right, but it come to no good. Started to sink, it did, soon as they put Mr Jasper in there. There was talk as how it were the Devil taking his own… anyhow, over the years, that vault pulled on the church wall and these great big cracks opened up, right up the wall. In the end the church surveyor, he said it had to go, that vault - or the whole church would fall. O' course, there was four or five Lawson-Hopes in there, and they had to be moved and buried. No end of a fuss it caused.
The Squire then, he was called Frederick, he said on no account must the bones of his ancestors be moved. There was letters to the Bishop about it, and faculties, and lawsuits, but in the end the vault came down. They took those old Lawson-Hopes and buried 'em proper, and Frederick, he watched them do it and when they was putting the coffins in the ground he stopped them. 'Remove the plates' he told them. But there was nobody wanted to touch those things so he had to take them off himself. Then when the vault was gone, he stuck them up on the old door, that had gone into the vault, and he locked that door. 'There let them remain' he says. And so there they stayed. And later they covered them up because nobody wanted to look at 'em or touch 'em or clean 'em. So I reckon best thing would be just to cover them up again and forget them.'
Of course, Parson Franks, he weren't having that. Oh no. He'd found that door, and the patch outside in the churchyard, it weren't nothing special, and it were on the side of the church away from the road, and he thought, that would be perfect for building a kitchen or somesuch.
Old Bert shook his head, but the Reverend, he wouldn't be told. 'We'll put it on the agenda for the next meeting' he said. 'I'll speak to the architect.' "
Ed pauses again, and looks into the fire.
"My old mum" he continues "she used to clean the church. I still remember, next days after this, she was in there and she came home in a terrible state. She'd been polishing the brasses, and she came across the old door, with all these dirty brasses she's never seen before, of course she gave them a clean. Filthy dirty they were, but she got them clean, though her hands was filthy after. Then it was getting dark and time to go home so she put her stuff away and she's about to lock up and she hears this sound. Tap, tap, tap it went, from inside the church. So she goes back inside, thinking maybe there's a bird or something got stuck inside. Terribly kind-hearted was my mum. Tap, tap, tap, there it is again, but she can't see any bird. Then, she sees that the sound is coming from the door with the plates on it. Tap, tap, tap - only louder now. Well, she just turned and ran home. Dad thought she'd just flipped, told it was someone playing a joke on her, knocking on the outside of the wall."
"Only" he adds "the outside of the wall were solid stone. And - it took the best part of a week to get that stuff off her hands."
"That's enough, Ed" cuts in Emma to a chorus of disappointed groans and cries of "but what happened next?." "Bedtime now. It's too late for this, you'll all have bad dreams. Grandad'll carry on another time."
***
Next evening, the young Grundys waited impatiently for Grandad Ed to finish his supper. As soon as he pushed his plate away, they started.
"Can we have a story, Grandad?"
"Can you tell us a ghost story, Grandad?"
"Can you tell us what happened with the door in the church, Grandad?"
Ed held up hands. "Enough! Let me sit down first!"
Ed's old bones didn't move as fast as they used, and it took him a little time to settle in his chair. One of his granddaughters arranged his blanket on his lap, and Em fetched a pot of ale. Ed took a long draught, and continued his tale.
"Now, I told you that old vicar, Reverent Franks, found this door, right? Now, the thing about a door is, it's meant to go somewhere, see. But this one didn't. Least, it had been all blocked up round the back, so there was nowhere for it to lead.
Well, after he found that doorway, the Reverent was right set up. He went back home to his parsonage to tell his new wife all about it, about opening up that doorway and making a new kitchen and all, but he'd forgotten that she was away visiting her family over Birmingham way. So there was nobody there. Anyway, he sat down and wrote a long email and sent it to the churchwardens, and he emailed this architect that he'd heard of to see if he could come over next day. When he'd done all that it was getting late so he took himself off to bed. Couldn't scrub the muck off his finger where he'd rubbed the coffin plate so he just gave that up and went to bed.
But he couldn't sleep. His mind was just buzzing with what he'd do for the church. This time he'd win and get things changed. Then, just and he dozed off, he heard this rapping sound - tap, tap, tap." (Ed demonstrated by banging his mug on the arm of the chair, to the delight of his audience). Of course, he got up and went to open the door - he thought someone might be out there, perhaps someone in the parish who needed help. But there was nobody there, just the wind in the trees, so he took himself back to bed.
It had turned very cold and it took a bit o'time to warm the bed up again - no Usha, there you see!" (One or two of the older young Grundies snigger and Emma tsks in disapproval). "And there it is again. Tap, tap, tap. So down he goes again. Nobody there. Again. By now, Reverent has an idea what's going on. He'd had some trouble, a few cross words, with a few folk who didn't take to him and his ways - no, Alf, I won't tell you who it was - and he thought, here they go again. So he calls out 'I know who you are and I know what you're doing' - and he's just glad his wife isn't there as well. Then he goes back in, back up to bed, feet as cold as the grave, gets himself warm again, drifts off to sleep.
Tap, tap, tap.
This time it's coming from inside the house, or so he thinks, and he can tell where from - from inside the wardrobe on the landing, odd though that sounds. They can't have got inside the house. Why, Reverent, he lies there in bed, listening. Not breathing.
Tap, tap, tap.
And now he wants to go and take a look - only he's too scared.
Tap, tap, tap.
After he's lain there for hours - as it seems - he gets up, pauses by the bedroom door, then runs past the wardrobe, down the stairs and he goes into his study, he slams the door shut and he sits down in there, and there he stays the whole night. Wouldn't fancy it myself. You see there was this odd statue he used to keep in there, sort of Indian thing of his wife's - no, Alf, Indian from India - creepy thing, I thought. But the Reverent he settles down and in the end he falls asleep.
He's woken again by a knocking. But it isn't the tap, tap, tap, it's a proper banging on the door. Reverent looks at the clock - it's nearly ten, and the sun's well up. When he goes to answer the door, he sees that it's Bert Fry, the churchwarden, and Shula Archer (as was). You'll have heard some stories about Shula, I'm sure." (More sniggers, and another tsk from Emma).
Seems she'd heard about the door, and come round for a quiet word - and met Bert Fry on the doorstep. Bert never had a quiet word about anything in his life, that were more his wife Freda's line. He goes in again about how the door's better left alone, best covered up, no good will come of it. Shula says nothing, but when Bert pauses for breath, she looks at the Reverent, and smiles, and says 'Of course, Alan, we have our disagreements' (she glances at the statue and sniffs) but I think you should go ahead with this. And good luck to you.' Reverent's really encouraged by this - a good word from Shula and he'd preach a sermon standing on his head - so he'll hear none of Bert's objections, he must press on and meet his architect that day, in the church.
The architect is busy overseeing some cottages, so he can't just drop everything and run over. He says he'll meet the parson in the church at six. So Reverent spends the day fussing around, working out what he'll do when he gets his fancy kitchen or whatever. When it's getting on for six, he goes down to the church and lets himself in. He sits there in the vestry, and maybe he dozes off - he's not had much sleep - and there it is again. Tap, tap, tap. He's awake all at once. He gets up and, very slowly, very quietly, he goes in to the church and sees -"
The small and not so small Grundys are pressing in, urging Ed on silently
" - he sees someone standing there, looking at the newly exposed door.
"Mr Carmichael!' he calls out. 'How good to see you. What do you think? Can we make something of this?' Reverent approaches the architect, who seems to be thinking.
'Indeed, sir, we might' he replies - before looking into Reverent's face. There is something odd in that gaze. 'We might well, I think. But tell me, are you not - nervous - here in this dark place?'
Reverent smiles. To him, the building is a sacred place, the very house of God, and no ill can befall him there. This seems to amuse the other, who grins and replies 'Well, Sir, I say that this is my house and what befalls here is for me to choose! You look surprised, Sir. Perhaps you would care to look at my dwelling more closely?'
With a sweep of his arm, he indicates the old door, by which they are standing.
It is at this moment that a bell starts to ring. Old Reverent, he's in the dark and this bell is ringing - it takes him a bit to realise it's his mobile and he's sitting there in the vestry, where he fell asleep. He answers the phone, and it's the architect - apologising for not coming. He was unavoidably detained, he says."
Emma lays down he knitting, and claps her hands. "Enough!" she says. "Ed, you can carry on tomorrow night. It's late."
***
As soon as he got home from school next afternoon, young Alfie went to look for his great-grandfather. He found Ed in the cowshed, looking at the line of robocows with a smile on his face. The old man saw him come in.
"This shed's seen some changes" he said. "The state o' things when we took it over… but you don't want to hear about that, do you?"
Alfie shook his head.
"No, you want to know what happened to the old Reverent. Well, p'raps best we tell the rest of the story by daylight, or your mum'll kill me… let's go back over to the kitchen. I'm sure Em can find you a bit o' cake or summat."
Settled again in the kitchen, Ed continued his story, while Emma bustled around, preparing one of her renowned casseroles and Alf, a Grundy to the tips of his fingers, addressed himself to a thick slice of apple cake.
"When the Reverent finished that phone call, he only had one thought in his mind - to get out of his church and away. Never mind locking up, he ran out of the door - there was folks as saw him - and back to his parsonage. He didn't stop to speak to anyone, not Sid Perks, old misery, not Lynda Snell, not even Shula Archer, as had been his best friend, when he passed her, right outside his front door (though he noted, sadly, that was smiling for once - though sourly).
As to what happened then - well, later that night, he sent an email telling what had happened, so we know some of it. But no-one knows all of it…
Well. Reverent got back to his house. Two things - first, something was missing from the house, that statue you remember I told you about? Toppled over and broken. I suppose any other night he'd have been bothered by that, worried about vandals or burglars or such, but as it was - and this is the other thing - he just went round switching on every light in the place, then candles, every one he could find. He was in a right state. Wrote that he 'would not go through the door'. Seems reasonable, it was a dark, windy night right enough - I remember it myself, we had trees and power lines down and the cows was in a right state. I wouldn't've gone outside if I had the choice.
So, Reverent is sitting there in his kitchen. He can hear that tap-tap-tap sound again. It's getting louder, and closer - is it coming from upstairs? Then, the lights go out, so he only has his candles. He daren't go upstairs - not past that wardrobe - so, carrying his candle, he goes into his study, settles in his armchair where he sits when his parishioners come calling.
He hears a voice from the shadow in the other chair.
'He thanked me' wrote the Reverent in his email 'thanked me for - letting him in. He said he had long been waiting outside, and knocking on the door, but none could hear. A long time, but now he was in. Again, he asked me, should I like to see his house? I said that I would not, that he could return to it and stay there for eternity.
If I would not follow him, then perhaps, he said, he would have another guest. I said, by all means, and he departed.
I woke. I was cold with sweat. The candle was out. Then, with a blare of noise - burglar alarms, the television, the printer in the corner all cackled to life - the lights came back on, together, of course, with the telephone answering machine, flashing to show that it held a message. And of course it was from you, Usha, my love and of course, you said that you had my text and yes, you were nearly home and yes, you would go straight the church, but why on Earth? You were worried, as it was such a foul night, but you would do as I said."
So now I know that I have no choice.'
There were some sort of rumpus that night at St Stephen's, some stuff damaged but nothing to show he'd ever been there. When his wife got there, she found all the lights on, but not a trace of the Reverent. And nobody ever saw Alan Franks again. And that's the story. Just one more thing - when my old mum were helping clear up the church, she said them coffin plates was all black and nasty again, like they'd never been cleaned at all. And there was one more of 'em than before. She didn't want to touch the nasty things, she said, or go near them. They covered them over again, Bert Fry saw to that. Much good it did though, there was never a parson here again after that."
Ed sat in silence for a moment. Then -
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.
The kitchen door opened, and the dour face of Uncle Will appeared around the door. Old Ed smiled. Some things never changed, and his brother's habit of coming round for a grumble and a cadge was one of them.
The End.
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