A ghost accused

Not all ghost stories stay in the past

Janet had made the booking using her maiden name. David was not exactly an A-list celebrity, but the first series of Wild Spirits had caught the public imagination, people were suddenly seeing ghosts everywhere, and David hated the attention.

The landlord was at the reception desk and he recognised Dravid straight away, so any hope of anonymity had been short-lived.

When David had last visited the Black Harp Inn in Salisbury, he had been in the company of an entire film crew and his fellow presenters. That had been in the autumn last year, when David still believed he was offering the voice of science for a series of investigations into why some locations are believed to be haunted. With the resulting programmes now broadcast and available worldwide on satellite and cable channels, David was under no such illusions.

They had visited the Black Harp because like so many old English pubs, it was claimed to be haunted. The legend, either passed down over hundreds of years, or made-up more recently, was that Ann Bodenham had been held prisoner there in one of the cellars before she was executed for witchcraft in 1653. What David sensed when he first entered the building, however, was the presence of a man, definitely not a woman, and much more recent, perhaps early Victorian era.

One of his fellow presenters was the medium, Brendan Fairley, who predictably claimed to find the spirit of Anne Bodenham straight away, and as soon as filming began he was able to communicate with her ghostly presence. This was, of course, exactly what he was paid to do, so David ignored it and got on with what he was paid to do, which was to give his own impression of the old coaching inn, and find rational explanations for everything he considered to be nonsense.

David’s opinion that there was indeed some form of presence in the building made it through editing. His belief that this could not be Anne Bodenham did not. The antics of Brendan Fairley were greeted with astonishment by the anchorman, Martin Durant, as if the whole bloody thing had not been scripted between himself and Brendan weeks ago. David’s contributions were reduced to him agreeing that there was something genuine about this supposed haunting, but otherwise, they made him out to be unfairly dismissing all the noises and hysteria caught in glorious night-vision on handheld cameras, cameras with a remarkable talent for just missing every object that was supposed to have moved in some mysterious way.

This fabricated show of thrills and apparent proof of the paranormal had annoyed David so much that he was determined to go back and have another look for himself. This was not so easily accomplished, because the reputation of the Black Harp as a truly haunted pub had been massively enhanced by the programme and it was fully booked for weeks ahead. This gave Janet plenty of time to research the history of the Black Harp and Anne Bodenham, the sort of research that she had become used to doing since she and David made a hobby out of visiting supposedly haunted buildings while David was still working as an industrial chemist.

As always, she would not tell David what she had found out until he had finished his own summary of the building’s hidden past, if indeed it had one. On this occasion, David was certain he had found something there, although after so much time, and watching that distorted programme, he doubted his own memory.

While Janet took care of the formalities of signing them in to stay the night, the landlord kept up a non-stop commentary about how popular the inn was since that programme went on air. David did his best to ignore his blathering twaddle and concentrated on what he found there that could not be heard, nor seen, but could definitely be felt by those who took the time to do so.

His memory of his first visit had been correct, a man of perhaps a hundred and fifty years ago, before the educated sophistication of later Victorian times, but more recent than early Georgian. As they were shown to their room upstairs, David continued to ignore the talk of ghost hunting weekends, plans for Halloween, and all the other money-making wheezes built upon a story that he knew was fake.

But not entirely fake.

That there was something to be found there was beyond doubt, it just wasn’t the something that the story claimed it to be.

‘Have any of your ghost hunters said it might not be Anne Bodenham?’

The landlord was caught off guard by David’s question, not least because he had been interrupted mid-sentence, outlining his plans for overnight vigils in the cellars where Anne was believed to have been held prisoner.

‘Erm, I don’t think so.’

David continued to stare absently across the room they had been taken to, not seeing it, not as it was now anyway.

‘Has anybody mentioned a man, located somewhere upstairs?’

‘Not that I know of,’ the landlord replied, thinking about what David had said. ‘Do you mean there might be more than one ghost here?’

‘No, just the one.’

David said no more. The landlord left the key with Janet, possibly judging David to be too strange to be trusted with such an implement.

‘Well?’ Janet asked as she unpacked their overnight case and hung clothes in the wardrobe. ‘Do you need to do your meditation act for this one?’

David took his shoes off and stretched out on the bed. ‘Nope, nothing wishy-washy about this one. Not much to it. One man, early Victorian or a bit earlier. That’s it, no more details about him, and all he is thinking about is something along the lines of, I didn’t do it. I have no idea what he didn’t do, but that is what he is thinking, and it is all he is thinking. He seems quite angry about whatever it is, but I suppose nobody likes being accused of something they didn’t do.’

Janet waited to see if there was anything else, if maybe her husband was still exploring the space around them, or falling asleep, because he looked far too comfortable and had his eyes closed. ‘Anything else?’

David waited a little longer as if reluctant to admit that they had driven all the way to Salisbury for so little. ‘That’s your lot. Not much to go on, unfortunately, but there isn’t anything else.’

Janet shut the wardrobe door and joined him on the bed. ‘Want to know what I found out then?’

This was the routine they had settled into since their early days exploring supposedly haunted places. Janet would research the location, but would not tell David what she found until after he had finished saying all he could about what he sensed there. Then later, she would do further research based on what David said.

‘Go on then.’

Janet opened her notebook and took out a folded sheet of A4 paper. ‘Well, for a start, this place wasn’t even built in 1653 when Anne Bodenham was executed.’

‘Oh, you are kidding me.’ David sat up, unable to keep the smile off his face.

‘There was a Black Harp Inn, just not this one, and not here. Old maps from that time are not perfect, but as far as I can tell, this place was built sometime around the 1750s, a big fancy new coaching inn with lots of stables and yards. It was quite a big thing for the city, so pops up in the records a few times. The original Black Harp was a bit further along, maybe about where the estate agent is now.’

‘That is bloody priceless.’ David laughed out loud.

‘Anne Bodenham was definitely not kept prisoner in the cellars because those cellars did not exist, and the old Black Harp, which was probably demolished after they built the new one, probably didn’t even have cellars. Prisoners weren’t kept in pub cellars anyway, she would have been kept in the jail in Fisherton Street.’

‘Oh, this has to be the best one yet.’ David’s mind was already trying to work out if there was any way he could make this bombshell public without breaching the terms of his contract.

‘And I may even have a name for your mystery man,’ Janet said before he could get any stupid ideas. ‘In 1805, Angus Bright was accused of murdering John Hartley at the Black Harp Inn, so your date fits perfectly.’

‘Is that what it says?’ David took the copy of a newspaper article and read it while Janet continued.

‘As you see, it says the murder took place at the Black Harp, which would obviously have been this one.’

‘And if this John Hartley was staying here, he could have been in one of the bedrooms rather than the bar, which is why his memory is located upstairs.’

‘It isn’t much to go on,’ Janet admitted, ‘but it does tally with what you found.’

‘Not quite, though,’ David said. ‘If this was John Hartley leaving behind some sort of distressed last memory because he was in fear for his life, or knew he was dying, why would he be thinking about not having done something? I don’t mean thinking about something unfinished, this is definitely somebody thinking he has been unfairly accused of something. Somebody angry, not somebody afraid.’ David handed the piece of paper back to Janet. ‘What happened to Angus Bright? It only says there that he was charged with murder.’

Janet didn’t have to check her notes. She knew the story well enough. ‘He was found guilty and executed, so presumably hanged.’

‘Maybe it was him that left this memory behind?’ David thought aloud. ‘Although that would be a bit odd. To murder somebody and leave a thought behind that you didn’t do it, or not murder somebody and leave any sort of memory behind. Why?’

‘Maybe he didn’t murder John Hartley, but he was the one blamed for it?’ Janet suggested.

Then the fire alarm went off.

They looked at each other for a moment, wondering if it was just an alarm test, but surely they would have been told if there was going to be a fire alarm test. Faced with the choice of staying on the comfortable bed and being turned to toast, or wandering downstairs to see what was happening, they put on their shoes and went downstairs. The clamorous noise of the alarm stopped just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and the people in the reception area began to wander off.

‘This is what it does,’ the landlord said before David or Janet could say anything. ‘Did you see the lights flickering before the alarm went off?’

‘We didn’t have the lights on.’ David said.

‘Well, this is what happens,’ the landlord repeated as he restarted the reception computer. ‘The electrics go mental, then you know something is going to happen, like that banging on the pipes when you were here last time.’

‘I don’t remember any electrics going off,’ David said, ‘but we were in darkness so they could film in night vision, remember?’

David did remember the banging on the pipes, but suspected it had more to do with a suspiciously absent cameraman than anything ghostly or paranormal.

As they were now downstairs, it seemed rude not to go into the bar, but this soon turned out to be a bad idea. David found himself the centre of attention, everybody in the bar having seen him on the television, specifically, on the television while in this pub. Janet was amused by it at first, but soon tired of the attention as much as David. The repeated topic of conversation was the flickering lights followed by the fire alarm, surely a sign of poltergeist activity. David suspected it was more likely to be a sign of landlord activity, making the most of a bar full of ghost enthusiasts with a celebrity ghost hunter in their midst. It would certainly be a good time to put on a show.

They had made no plans for dinner, so quietly escaped to see what they could find elsewhere. With every follower of all things spooky within a hundred miles packed into the Black Harp, they should hopefully be safe elsewhere. When they returned after a good evening on the pizzas, the bar was even more busy than before, but people had formed into groups and did not seem to have noticed them, all in lively discussion, no doubt the ghostly experiences they were exchanging being embellished by the power of alcohol.

They found two stools at the end of the bar and thankfully seemed to be left alone. After only a few minutes, the landlord appeared behind the bar, and leaving the two bar staff to get on with serving, joined David and Janet at the quiet end. After a brief conversation about where they had been, the landlord steered the conversation back to the predictable subject of his resident spectre.

‘Do you really think there might be more than one then?’

David was fairly confident that he had said no such thing, that there was definitely only one presence in this now famous pub. Never mind, he couldn’t let the facts get in the way of a good story, not because he didn’t want to, but because his contract specifically prevented him from rocking the boat. A hefty chunk of his fee was being held hostage until he had completed filming of the second series, or if he said anything that didn’t toe the line.

‘There’s only one presence,’ David said, still finding it too bizarre to use the word ghost, ‘but I’m pretty sure it isn’t anything to do with Ann Bodenham.’ David so wanted to add that this could be because his pub did not exist when Anne Bodenham was alive, but that really would be going too far. ‘You could have a much better story of somebody being murdered upstairs.’

The landlord appeared to think about this for a moment. ‘I’m interested, obviously, but this place is packed out because of Anne. If you can add a murder to that, then obviously the punters are…’

The lights flickered, then went out.

Then the fire alarm went off.

By the dim light of the emergency lighting, the landlord disappeared to restore electricity and end the noise, reassuring everybody that everything was just fine. The happily inebriated gathering of ghost chasers was clearly enjoying the entertainment. David and Janet decided it would be a good time to call it a night.

After a sleep uninterrupted by fire alarms or any sort of paranormal disturbance, David and Janet made their way downstairs for breakfast, which was served in the same bar that they had been in last night. David signed a few autographs and did his best to look like he was enjoying conversations with strangers, despite not enjoying it at all. By the time they were ready to leave, the landlord was back on duty at the reception desk.

‘I’m interested in that story about the murder,’ the landlord said as he handed back David’s card and his receipt.

‘Okay,’ David said, ‘but if you want to use my name as part of it, you’ll have to drop the story of Anne Bodenham. Look up the murder of John Hartley by Angus Bright in 1805 and see what…’

David looked up as the lights flickered, then the electricity went off again.

‘You want to get that checked out,’ David said, not wanting to stay around for another episode of iffy electrics being blamed on a ghost.

‘We’ve had it checked out.’ The landlord turned the key for the fire alarm before the noise could start. ‘Every circuit has been isolated, and it still goes off. It’s that bloody ghost, I tell you. ’

It wasn’t a conversation that David was going to hang around for. He was too busy thinking that every time this had happened was when the murder of John Hartley had been mentioned. It was just a coincidence, of course. He was wondering if Janet had noticed the connection too, but said nothing.

It was the following morning when David took the call.

‘That was Martin,’ he said as he put his phone away. ‘The Black Harp burned down last night.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Sounds pretty bad. It’s made the news.’

Janet looked at the clock. She would be late for work, but switched the radio on and waited for the news to come on. ‘What did Martin say?’

‘Not a lot. He’s more interested in what publicity they can make out of it, which is bad taste if you ask me because somebody died.’

‘Bloody hell.’

They said no more while the radio played music, both thinking that less than twenty-four hours ago, they had been having breakfast in the bar.

It was the third item on the news.

‘The man who died in a fire that destroyed a historic coaching inn in Salisbury last night has been named as Angus Bright, who was released from prison earlier this year when his conviction for murder was overturned by the Court of Appeal. The cause of the fire is believed to have been an electrical fault.’

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Thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this, I am looking for volunteer readers, nothing as formal as ARC readers really, no pressure, just people who enjoy this type of ghost story and would like to read one of my books before I hit the big P button and publish it later in the year. If this sounds like something you could help with it would be very much appreciated, and just reply to this, message me, email nigel@nigelcode.co.uk, use a ouija board, whatever floats your boat to let me know and I will be in touch when I have it all ready to go, hopefully in the next few days.

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