As I sat on the desk waiting for the ink on my back to dry, I could see that I was in a wood-paneled library. Hundreds of books, every single one standing straight as a soldier, lined the mahogany shelves. The warm wood tones and dark, muted colors of the leather-bound books gave the room a distinguished feel. A wool carpet with a floral design covered the floor, and a large reading table underneath a gas-powered chandelier occupied the center of the room.
You may wonder how I can relate all these details from long ago with such confidence. The answer is that I have been blessed with a photographic memory, by some magical property of the English oak wood from which I was carved. All the events of my life have made a permanent impression on me. And so I can relate the ghost story Charles Dickens told to Mekitty on her sixth birthday, in his exact words.
“My story begins on a cold December evening nearly eight years ago,” Venerables began. He never liked to be called grandfather, because it made him feel old. “Your father was away in Asia learning the merchant trade, but your Uncle Frank and your youngest Uncle Plorn were living with me at the time.
“One of our servants had recently overheard a rumor about a ghost up near the old Larkin monument in Higham. Charles Larkin had been active in Parliamentary reform, and he expanded the right to vote in Higham. To honor him, the villagers built him a monument after he died back in 1833. You may remember seeing it on the way to Gad’s Hill Place. It’s a tall, thin concrete column, twice as high as this house.”
He stopped speaking and looked down at Mekitty. She shook her head no and then reached up to playfully stroke his grizzled beard. I sensed that she was already starting to get bored with the story.
“I suppose it may be too far from the road for you to notice,” he continued. “It used to be quite impressive, but it is now in such bad shape that it has started to crumble and needs serious repairs. Some villagers thought that the ghost of Larkin wasn’t too pleased about that, and they believed that was why he had returned to haunt his monument.
“At first, I tried to ignore all their nonsense about a ghost. However, some of the servants were quite superstitious. They seemed to truly believe that the ghost, if unappeased, would continue to haunt the village and might even travel to Gad’s Hill Place. All their talk of haunting frightened eight-year-old Plorn to death.
“It was clear that unless I went to the monument myself to prove there was no ghost, the rumors would continue to spread at an alarming speed, and some of the servants might decide to flee. I asked Frank, who was 17 years old and anxious to prove himself, and his companion from school, Andrew Gordon, to come with me. They both carried heavy, stout sticks. I shouldered my double-barreled shotgun, well loaded and ready to fire.
“‘Now observe,’ I said dramatically to all the domestics gathered around me at the front gate, ‘if anybody is playing tricks and has got a head, I’ll blow it off.’ This statement made an immense impression on them. Marsh, the new groom, was evidently convinced that he had entered the service of a bloodthirsty demon. I grinned as I pictured myself chasing away the real culprit, for I was convinced that the ‘ghost’ was simply someone playing a prank on the village.”
“Was it a REAL ghost?” Mekitty interrupted. I was wondering the same thing, but Venerables was not to be rushed.
“Patience, Mekitty,” he replied. “You will know soon enough. As I was saying, I carried my gun, and Frank went ahead of us with a lantern. It was well and truly dark, but the moon was just starting to rise behind us. The pale moonlight threw ominous shadows in our path. Although it was quite cold, the air felt utterly still. It took us less then ten minutes to walk up the hill towards the monument. As we proceeded, we heard nothing, except for the crunching sounds of our feet on the frosty ground.
“When we reached the field surrounding the monument, the tall silhouette of the obelisk towered in front of us. As a word of warning to any intruder, I said in a loud voice, ‘Now look out, boys! If the ghost is here and I see him, so help me God, I’ll fire at him!’
“I paused and waited. Then we heard a sound unlike any I have ever encountered. It was extraordinary — a human noise — and yet a superhuman noise. A most pathetic and plaintive lamentation, with a shrill and desperate tone.
“Mahhawahhh!” said the ghost.
“’Did you hear that, pa?’ said Frank.
“’I did,’ I replied. The noise repeated, dismal and dull. I was taken aback and began to wonder if I could have been mistaken in thinking that it was just a prank. As I peered into the gloomy night, I spied a patch of white to my left. I brought my shotgun up to my shoulder as I advanced slowly towards the ghost.
“Ahhmawahhaaahhh!” it shrieked. I was now close enough to see a large woolly blob on the ground. Four spindly legs kicked helplessly in the air. The Higham village ghost was a sheep stuck on its back! I lowered my shotgun and burst out laughing.
“Well, if that isn’t the most pitiful ghost I ever saw!” I exclaimed. “Frank, go help the poor thing.” Frank placed the lantern on the ground and moved closer to the sheep. The ancient ewe must have weighed 200 pounds. With her thick winter coat making her top-heavy, she was unable to roll over on her own, and if we hadn’t come to save her, it’s likely she would have died.
“With Frank on one side of the sheep and Andrew on the other, the two boys managed to roll her onto her belly. She got her legs under her but still seemed very wobbly.
“Just hold her steady there, boys, and hopefully she will recover.” And in time she did. After a few minutes and a final asthmatic grunt, she struggled to her feet and wandered away, no doubt headed for her flock. And that was the last time the ghost of Larkin was ever heard in the village.
“When we got back to Gad’s Hill Place, we went inside to a very warm and welcome seat by the fire. I related the story to everyone who was there waiting for us, and we all took some rum-and-water to celebrate our triumphant return.
“Now, Mekitty, you will have to leave me, because I need to get some work done. Why don’t you go play with Kitty?”
Mekitty gave Venerables a hug, thanked him for the ghost story, and then went over to the desk and redressed me. She was about to leave when Venerables stopped her.
“May I have Kitty? I have something to ask her.”
Mekitty handed me to her grandfather. He looked at me with a very serious expression and whispered to me. “Now, Kitty, you have a very important job to do. My health isn’t what it used to be, and I am relying on you to be there for Mekitty. Will you do that for me?” Although I could not answer out loud, I felt that he could sense my willingness to help. He smiled and passed me back to Mekitty. His words had filled me with a real sense of purpose, and I knew from that moment on that I would do everything in my power to be Mekitty’s friend and companion for the rest of my days.
Mekitty carried me into the hall. Behind us we heard the door closing and the click of a key turning in a lock. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed when he is writing,” Mekitty explained to me. As we stood there near the front entrance of the house, I admired a large staircase with fanciful red and gold painted moldings and stenciled wooden panels. A mahogany clock mounted on a shelf tinkled its delicate, bell-like tones at the half hour. Then we heard voices coming from a room down the hall. Mekitty’s face lit up, and she smiled at me. She hurried across the spotless parquet floor and skidded to a stop in front of the dining room. Then she held me held me up high and said, “Mama! Papa! I want you to meet Kitty!”
Text copyright © 2021-2024 by Wendi Dunn. All Rights Reserved.