Kerrick Tells a Ghost Story

On Ghostletters every year one of our stalwart members, David Webb, in the persona of Sam Malone, bar owner extraordinnaire, extends an invitation to all to come to Cheers and have a free drink.. if they tell a ghost story. We have had any number of interesting ghost stories, from kings and demons and even the Vice President of Hell. Here is Kerrick's offering. Do come join us on Ghostletters, won't you?

"But how do we get there?" Kerrick Trevalyan examined the scrap of parchment his harp master, O'Quill, had handed him, saying something about an invitation to a feast of some sort.

O'Quill shrugged. "Walk into Leofwen's alehouse and imagine we are walking into this other place of libation?"

The boy considered the Irish bard. "I guess that is as good a way as any. The worst that can happen is that we just go where we live anyway." He glanced at the parchment again. "Are we supposed to bring anything?"

O'Quill, fortyish, starting to spread a bit in the midriff, his dark hair unkempt, shook his head. ""It says the drinks are free, so it does, and I think that means we do not need any money. Good thing, too, as quite skint I am and have been for some time. D'ye have any yourself yourself?"

Kerrick frowned. "I do. But I need it. Do we take the harps?"

Pulling himself up to his not considerable height, the man said disgustedly, "I shall not be parted from my dear one, lad, and well ye know it."

The boy, his own hair a mousy brown, his eyes dark and shining, and his harp carved with arcane symbols. shrugged. "When do we go?"

With a Bill & Ted shake of his head, O'Quill replied, "Now then, how about now?" He hefted his harp, took Kerrick's elbow, and advance with him to the animal skin that served as a door to the alehouse where no one knew its name. He lifted the skin, and they, in unison, stepped through.

The two men from the tenth century stepped into a place like neither had ever beheld before. They seemed to be in a large room, paneled in wood, with wooden tables and chairs, a shining counter, and colorful lamps that glowed with a brighter light than any candle. People were
scattered about, some at the counter, some at tables, and a few standing.

"Don't bother, they're here," a woman wearing an abbreviated apron muttered.

In the room there was a distinct odor of malted beverages. "Ah, the sweet perfume of the best of alehouses," O'Quill cried rapturously. He propelled Kerrick to the bar,a s he later learned the counter was called.

"Hey, I gotta card you, kid," Woody called to Kerrick.

"Forget it, Woody. "The kid is either over a thousand years old or doesn't really exist." He extended his hand to shake. "You are our first guests from the Spiritual Telegraph. Welcome to Cheers! I'm Sam Malone."

"Malone is it? A fine Irish name, as is me own, O'Quill," the harp bearing multicolored clothing wearing Irishman declared.

Sam shook his hand. "Is this your son?" he asked, indicating Kerrick.

O'Quill considered the boy a moment. "One never knows, does one?" he grinned.

Kerrick had blushed. "No, I'm not. I'm Kerrick Trevalyan. I am from a small town in Cornwall."

Norm joked, "Oh thank God. When you came in with those harps, I thought you were angels and my time was up."

Sam quipped back, "When that time comes, the messengers will have pitchforks, not harps."

Norm raised his glass in a toast of agreement.

O'Quill was looking around. "Now then, was it a drink you were offering, my lad?"

Carla interjected, "Do you plan to tell a ghost story? The drinks are only for people.. and other things.. that tell stories."

O'Quill settled his gaze on Kerrick, "This lad sees the departed, my darlin', so he can tell you all the tales your heart desires."

Cliff asked, "You SEE ghosts? Really?"

Kerrick's blush had deepened. He frowned at his master. "Well I do not like for everyone to know. It's a curse."

O'Quill shook his head, "Indeed not, lad. 'Tis a gift." He cast his eyes about the group around the bar and explained, "He has it from his old grandma, so he does, but he is ashamed of old dearie. So sad."

"Shame on you, kid," Carla rebuked.

Kerrick whined, "I am not ashamed of her. I just do not like to... oh, hell. Let me catch my breath and I will tell you a story.."

Our story is interrupted by the arrival of a Hessian soldier who proves to be both that and a severed head.

The boy in early medieval garb took a deep breath. he was about to start telling his story when some kind of soldier came int he door and proceeded to tell his own story. kerrick was nervous, so he was glad of the interruption. When the man ook off his head and set it on the bar, he jumped behind O'Quill in fright.

O'Quill bowed and saluted to the man and the head. "Joy to ye, lads," he said jauntily. "Now where did that boy get to? Oh there you are."

Woody asked, "It's just a ghost. I thought you said you see them all the time."

Kerrick stammered, "Aye, I do, but they are always still all put together."

"C'mon, kid, tell us your story," Norm prompted.

"Well, all right," the boy said, eying the head warily.

This happened when I was still living in Cornwall. In fact, I was still a child. I used to go for long walks in the countryside. My grandmother was in charge of me, and she made me uncomfortable so I would slip away to get away from her.

"There ya go with that grandmother bit," Carla complained, having reappeared from the back room. "What was your problem with your poor old Nana, you little twerp?"

Kerrick looked offended. "I don't know what a twerp is, but aren't you being rather rude? I didn't like how my grandmother always talked to me about spirits and demons and little people and that sort of thing. The more I heard the more I felt like I could see the things too. I didn't want to, that's all." He gave Carla a defiant look.

"Well, why didn't you just say so," she responded in a sarcastic voice. She turned and Kerrick could just hear her muttered, "Twerp."

Sam glared at Carla's back. "Go ahead, kid," he prompted.

Kerrick began again.

Like I said, I would get out and wander the countryside. One time I came across a little brook near a standing stone. A little boy was playing there. He was dirty and his clothes were in shreds. He had a black eye and he didn't look like he got enough to eat. I hailed him. He looked scared and started to run away. I had some bread and cheese
with me, so I reached into my pouch and held the bread out to him. He hesitated and then started to inch back. he was too hungry to run but too scared to come close. So I went to the brook, slipped off my shoes, sat with my feet in the water and started to eat. I pretended he wasn't even there.

Well, that worked. I could hear him coming closer and he finally plopped down next to me. I offered him the bread, and he took it and wolfed it down ravenously. I brought out the cheese and gave it to him too. i figured I could get all needed, but this might be the last time he ate for a while. I sat with him for a while until he had eaten all I gave him. Then I asked him his name. He said, "Merryn." I asked him where he lived and he just shrugged. Then I asked him who hit him and blackened his eye. He looked really scared.

I changed the subject and he calmed down. I asked him if he played there often, and he nodded. I told him i would come back in a couple of days with more food.

I did. I came two days later and then several more times. The more time we spent together the more he came to trust me. He finally whispered in my ear, though there was no one around, that I should come with him and he would show me who had hit him. I let him take my hand and lead me through the fields and the woods. We came to a run down cottage. As soon as we got there I heard a child's scream from inside the cottage, then a man's loud voice. "That's my da. He is mad at my sister, Karenza. I am afraid he will do to her what he did to me."

I was really angry. In fact, I wasn't really thinking straight. I bunched up my fists and ran into the hut. It took some time for my eyes to get used to the dimness inside, but when I could see I couldn't understand what i saw.

"What was it?" Woody asked anxiously. "Was the bastard beating up the little girl?

"Nay. There was an old man, aye, but no little girl. There was an old woman though. She had a club in her hand and was about to strike the old man. He cried out to her, 'Karenza, no!"

I looked at the woman who was beating the very old man. I asked, "Are
you the grandmother of the boy and the girl, Merryn and Karenza?"

She had been glaring at me. Now she sneered. "I am no one's grandmother. My name is Karenza. My brother's name was Merryn. At least it was until this bastard beat him to death." I looked at her and then at the old man. She went on, "You just stay out of this, boy. This old man deserves his beating and more."

I didn't understand. How could the old woman be Merryn's sister? I went back out into the yard, but Merryn was gone. I called to him, but he did not answer. At last the old woman came back out. "Are you still snooping about?" I told her I was looking for Merryn. She shook her head. "I will take you to him." She set out through the woods and across the fields with me tailing not far behind. We ended up at the same brook near a standing stone where I had met Merryn. She stopped and pointed a bony finger at the spot where we had sat and he ate the food I brought. "The brook is fuller than it was then. Our da, after he killed him buried Merryn just there. Now be off with you.

"Did you ever go back to the spot?" Carla asked, drawn into the story.

"I did. many, many times. Every time I went there I left a little bread or cheese. I suppose the animals that lived nearby got it, but I like to think ;he did. Even the dead deserve our kindness. maybe more even than the living."

Kerrick sighed and smiled.

"Now how about that drink?" O'Quill said, leaning in to the bar.

Sam protested, "The kid told the story. He gets the drink."

"But he's a kid! he's under age." Norm said just as O'Quill was about to make some retort.

"Exactly what I was after sayin'. The lad's under age. It's a barbarcx notion, but it's true so he is. But we can't waste the drink now can we? So hand it over, my good man, and thanks."

Sam looked at Kerrick. "That was a good story, kid. And it really happened, huh?" he nodded to Woody to draw O'Quill a Guinness.

"Aye, it really happened."

"Give the kid a soda or somethin', Woody," Sam said.

Carla leaned towards Cliff and whispered, "You realize a fictional character just told Sam his story really happened, don't you." She sniggered and went over to take the orders of some new people who had come in.

FINIS

About Ghostletters

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Ever wondered what Sherlock Holmes might have to say to Pippi Longstocking? Or General George Patton to one of the earliest members of the Irish Republican Army? Or Albert Einstein to the Vice President of Hell? Ghostletters is where just those conversations can take place.

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