Unhappily Ever After

THE GHOST IN THE CAR PARK

I will start with a trigger warning for this story. One of the reasons I was keen for this book to be aimed at adults is so I could really explore the darker parts of folk tales. The story you are about to read is not, in any way, based on facts, and is totally fictitious as far as I'm aware. However, the sensitive subjects it addresses were very real for far too many women, well into the twentieth century, and these controlling behaviours are still found in modern-day society, although they are no longer accepted, and even criminalised. The story touches on rape and coercive control within a marriage, so if you feel this is a subject you'd prefer not to read about, I would advise you to skip. It is, however, a subject we should not shy away from, and we should give people the choice to engage with it or not. The highlighting of this kind of behaviour and its unacceptable nature in modern society is, I believe, the key to stamping it out.

I heard the story some years ago online. A lot of really good tellings of folk tales have been recorded and can be found amongst the tangled strands of the World Wide Web, if you know where to look. The story, like all the stories within this book, hit a chord for me, and I could relate to the modern-day main character. At the time, I was working as a part-time bar manager in my local pub, which had a window that overlooked the car park in the corridor to the toilets. We were having some troubles with a new regular who would flash the cash, but would upset the locals. The landlady was stuck between a rock and a hard place, not wanting to give up his money by barring him, but trying to keep the locals onside. In this story, the problem is solved for them, unlike real life.

I have never heard this story anywhere else, nor have I managed to track down its origins, but it holds all the hallmarks of a classic ghost story. I have used my own experiences (for the later part of the story, not the former) to bring it to life. I have also aimed to write the first half as a pastiche of a nineteenth-century Gothic horror genre, in the vein of Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and others, with the overlong, overly descriptive sentences that build the world and its characters, giving it a rich sense of time and place. It got a pass from my wife, who is a secondary school English teacher who has taught nineteenth-century Gothic horror many times, so, here it is. Just remember, this is only a story. No need to have nightmares.

It was a house like all the others that rose from the cobbled road that meandered toward the centre of town. Standing three storeys high, it shared its walls with its neighbours, along with its early Georgian style. The houses themselves were but two decades old when this tale began, and were seen by many as a statement from those who owned and lived in them to those that would look on in envy at their wealth and standing within the community. This was a view very much taken by the house's current occupant and owner. The man now living in this opulence and elegance was a one Mr Pemberton. He had risen from his working-class background by means of the opportunities afforded to him through his connections made within the coal mines, such as the now late Mr Wilkes, who had owned a great many of the pits. Keen of mind and quick-thinking, Pemberton used his intimidating size to broker deals with all the right people, ensuring his pockets were well-lined. Starting his life in the mines, he grew tall and strong, but longed for more time in the daylight. Now he had garnered the favour of several wealthy backers, he had become the owner of several local mining establishments, many of them gifted to him by Wilkes for lack of a male heir on his part, employing many hundreds of men in his service.

Pemberton worked hard but, equally, enjoyed his nights in the local tavern. He was, after all, from working stock, and his fancy for ale never left him, nor did his fancy for the finer gender. He was well known to have a different woman on his knee every night, whether that woman wanted to be there or not. He had met his wife when she was but 15 years of age, a young slip of a lass, fair of hair, slim of waist, and a natural beauty. She was the daughter of one of the supervisors at Pemberton's most productive mine. He had set his eyes on this beauty early on, so when she turned 16, Pemberton ensured her father's consent to marry by guaranteeing his job for the next few years, and that their house would stay standing. The girl was now his and, during the day, she brought life to an otherwise soulless house. There were several servants in the employment of Mr Pemberton. There was the butler: an older gentleman who had, like his master, come from a working-class background and made a name for himself in the service trade (hence being headhunted by Pemberton). Below the butler were the housemaid and the scullery maid, both in their early twenties and fair to look at. Most importantly for Pemberton, they kept their mouths shut. They did not partake in idle chitter-chatter, preferring to ensure the work was done to the high, exacting standard their master put upon them. Pemberton was known for coming down hard on his female servants if they had not met the required benchmarks with their duties.

Young Mrs Pemberton's life was carefree for the most part, or so it would seem to those looking in from the outside. The staff attended to her every whim, and she wanted for nothing. She kept her head low, and her mouth closed, just the way Pemberton liked it - for she had seen how he treated the young servant maids when they had stepped out of line, and she worried she too would meet a similar fate. She asked no questions when he was back late in the evenings, and would simply lie there letting her man fulfil his cardinal desires. However, there was no desire on her part. Every night her eyes may have been closed, but her ears were on high alert, waiting to hear the front door open, before her inebriated husband stumbled his bulk up the finely carpeted staircase toward the marital chambers.

Upon the night when our story begins, Mrs Pemberton was lying in bed, listening to the grandfather clock tick and chime the hours away. The servants had long since gone to bed and the house was now silent and dark. She had extinguished the candle by her bedside and now lay staring into the pitch dark above the bed. The chamber drapes were of a heavy material that let no light through, even on a bright summer's day, and could catch and muffle sounds, stopping them from escaping the room. Not a single glimmer of light from the street made its way into the void of her room. She listened as the clock struck twelve, but, to her surprise, there was no opening of the front door. She listened once more until the clock struck the quarter hour and still no sign of her inebriated husband. Her mind began to race as to why this could be. Naturally, being not ignorant to her husband's true nature, her thoughts turned to him with another woman. Mrs Pemberton cared not if this was the case, for this would mean he would leave her alone that night and she may sleep easier. As her husband was getting older, though, now in his fifties, he did this less and less. The women had found ways to avoid his grabbing hands, and had the measure of him. Where once he had been the envy of every man, now he was becoming the butt of their jokes behind his back. Although they were not outright directed at him, Pemberton knew how the others within the tavern mocked him in hushed tones. Anger swelled inside him, alongside a longing to regain the vigour and prowess of his youth. With these feelings bubbling beneath the surface, he would stumble home and take it out on his wife. She would still be willing to please her husband and to do her wifely duty. But this night something had happened.

Word was circulating within the groups of men in the tavern, of the conversations their wives had during the day while the men were at work. It seemed certain allegations had been made of the hulking pit owner - allegations from within his own household. This, Pemberton knew, could not be allowed to take root. This seed of dissent and discord needed to be removed before it germinated into stronger accusation and investigation. Pemberton followed a gentlemen from a nearby table, whom he had overheard discussing the gossip from his household, to the toilets. The gentleman was dressed in a green jacket and bowler, such was the fashion, and sporting a fine pair of mutton chops either side of his face. There, before the gentleman had time to begin his ablutions, Pemberton took the man firmly by the back of his neck with one hand and held securely the gentleman's right hand with the other. Holding him tight, Pemberton firmly insisted the gentleman told him of the conversation he had been having before coming to relieve himself, of who else knew of this, and of where this scandalous nonsense originated. The gentleman, feeling the strength in Pemberton's hands - strength gained from his days underground working the coalface - feared for his safety and thought this news was not secret enough to risk his life over. Besides, it was about Pemberton anyway, and this would give him a chance to get his house in order, thought the gentleman.

After receiving the full story from the bowler-hatted gentleman in the tavern conveniences, Pemberton returned to the bar, where he ordered another pint of ale and a whisky chaser. The green-jacketed gentleman slipped away out the back door so as not to be seen, as requested by Pemberton. His bloody nose and swollen eye would have been hard to explain away to others in the tavern,...