As the city prepares for the annual Halloween party, Alistair Wilson offers Sentinel readers a chilling story in keeping with the occasion

He never married and I still see him regularly, mostly sitting on the bench in the church grounds, looking up at the church tower as if he was searching for an explanation but I can’t give him one, as I still don’t know the reason myself.

I suppose it all started the day he asked me to marry him and while I was expecting the proposal as a natural progression of our relationship, it did conjure up feelings in me that I didn’t know existed.

Of course everyone thinks of himself or herself as a romantic of some kind while we have a close loving relationship, I was surprised at the emotions that the proposal stirred in me.

I wanted the wedding to be perfect in every way, a reflection of our time together, idyllic, absolute and full of happiness. It was for that reason the setting and timing was so important and so the date was arranged for mid summer when the flowers were in full bloom and the sun would be shining.

The setting was a little more difficult but I wanted a traditional wedding in a church, not a church in a busy street, but one with a leafy driveway, tucked away in a village where life was slower. We found it with a little difficulty and while Brian insisted he didn’t care where we got married, I wanted what I dreamt of and as usual he fell in line with it.

The vicar of the village was very pleased, maybe even delighted to accommodate us and explained that there had not been a wedding in the church for over twenty years and certainly none in his time so he was willing to fall in line with whatever I wanted, within the bounds of the church of course.

He told me that the last wedding organised in Holy Trinity, that was its name, began in the normal way with the groom, best man and all the guests assembled to await the bride.

The story was that she was a timid sort and that their relationship had been a little stormy, a sort of on off thing but everyone was delighted when they sorted themselves out eventually.

Whilst he was not sure of the facts, only the village gossip, it seemed that just after her arrival at the church, she hesitated at the end of the aisle and then, for no apparent reason, ran up the belfry steps and threw herself off the tower while shouting accusations against her intended.

“That’s the story in the village anyway and on cold dark nights when the wind is blowing it is said that she can still be heard calling out in anguish for a lost love”, he said.

“After that no one in the area would get married in the church as they felt it would be an unlucky start to their lives together.”

While it did give us a chilling feeling, the vicar agreed with us that our love would be strong enough to exorcise the ghosts of the past and those in the minds of the villagers who, he said, would all be out in force to see us.

With the details finalised for the ceremony it was time to turn our attention to the other more mundane matters like the wedding breakfast and for that we chose the village pub where the landlord readily accepted our suggestions that, depending on the weather we would either eat outside or in an adequate room at the back.

He even went so far as suggesting that we might consider taking up residence three doors away where his brother-in-law was selling, “a very good house for a very good price”.

I must have given the wrong impression as, before I knew it, he was showing myself and Brian around it and Brian was none too pleased. “I hope you don’t think I am moving to this God forsaken spot”, he hissed at me out of earshot of the landlord. “I would never get to my work on time and before you even consider it, the answer is no”.

That was the first time I had ever seen him like that and it was a side that I didn’t like and when the circumstances permitted I had no hesitation in telling him so. I explained that I had not even considered living there and it was only out of politeness that I had looked around the house.

Of course I had the usual apology and the excuse that everything was moving too quickly that he was unable to separate fact from fiction and of course that led to other accusations from me.

“If you think that I am pushing you into this marriage then tell me. If you want to call the whole thing off just say so and we can go our separate ways”.

That was the first row we had ever had and while it was over as soon as it had begun I have to admit that the bad feeling it left stayed with me. There was a side to this man I had not seen.

Despite Brian’s profound and profuse apologies, from then on I continued with the arrangements myself and it was due to this that I found myself back in the church a few nights before the wedding to meet the florist.

It was late in the evening and the last rays of sunlight were shining through the Victorian stained glass windows and making secrets of the recesses in the church. As I looked up the nave I thought I could see the figure of that unfortunate bride from many years ago in one of the corners and for the first time since I heard the story I felt sympathy for the groom and wondered how he had coped.

My thoughts soon returned to the present with the arrival of Mrs Hollis, a rotund lady who, I was informed, was also a member of the Mother’s Union and who gave constant assurances that she would do “a wonderful job” and was quite looking forward to it.

Her enthusiasm for her task would have left lesser mortals in a state of panic but I was more than willing to give her free rein as I wanted everything just perfect and in my own way, to give Brian a day that would reflect our future.

While she busied herself planning the situation and colours I took advantage of the lull in her incessant homily of the meaning of flowers, roses for love, sweet William for gallantry, apple blossom for good fortune, to take a proper look at the old building.

Like any church it had an aura of sanctity and peace, two avenues of pews to accommodate the adequate number of faithful who attended on Sunday. There were also the obligatory frontals and ornamentation, faded years of service and duty to the eternal story of love and salvation for which their home was built.

While I was looking at the memorials to those from the village who had given their lives in two wars, Mrs Hollis again giving vent to her creative mind again drew me back to the flowers.

“As your name is Rosemary I think we should have some rosemary in the displays as rosemary is for remembrance you know, and I wouldn’t want you to forget this special day.”

Whilst I nodded approval my eyes were drawn to a small plaque beside the belfry door and bearing the name Alice Beaten and which declared everlasting love and devotion to her memory.

It gave the date as August 22nd, twenty-three years previously and, unlike the others, gave no explanation as to why it was there other than a record of the death. Curious about the subject of the plaque I asked Mrs Hollis who was dusting some metal plant holders and was surprised and embarrassed at the intensity of her reply.

“She lived in the village and was a commonplace individual who contributed little or nothing to anyone or anything, no aptitude whatever except for her job in the baker’s office” she spat, “That, and looking after her elderly mother who was always ailing was her total contribution to life”

“She used her spare time for useless things like walking or going to the local plays or whatever”.

“But who donated the plaque, was it her mother”? I asked.

“No, it was the doctor, Doctor Hollis, who had attended her mother and whom I married after their marriage didn’t happen, ours was a quiet wedding”, she replied.

“He was befuddled with her and I suppose as he saw he often enough she had ample opportunity to endear herself, but she wasn’t at all suitable for him, all of my friends thought so.”

There was no sign of sympathy at all for the unfortunate girl and something inside me sought some kind of restitution for what I felt was an unnecessary and unjustifiable attack on a pathetic and lost soul.

“It was lucky you were here to see to his needs then”, I found myself saying with as much charity as I could muster, but there was no doubting what I really felt.

“Yes dear, it was, and I hope you will give your husband the same support and encouragement as I have given mine when you are married, men don’t know what’s best for them”, she replied.

“Thank you for your advice”, I responded icily. “But I am sure Brian knows exactly what he wants out of life and I will support him in whatever he decides to do”. There was something about this woman that was decidedly nasty.

She looked at me for a moment and in a sweet voice said, “I’ve just been thinking, wouldn’t it be nice to have some lilies just here, nice white lilies where the bride will be”.

“Whatever”, I replied and left her to her own company and as I walked back down the aisle I thought that there was a slight movement up in the gallery and at the same time a definite sigh. I was sure there was a figure and thought again of that lost soul who should have found her happiness all those years ago in this same building.

For a moment I hesitated and watched to see if I saw the movement again and so sure that I did I called to Mrs Hollis to look up and see if she could see the same thing.

Surprisingly, instead of quashing my imaginations she seemed to blanch and in a voice that showed every sign of fear called to me, “Nothing good ever comes of raking up the past, leave well enough alone, what’s done is done”, and made a bee line for the door, leaving me alone in the church.

More than ever I wanted to know about Alice Beaten but whenever and whomever I asked I was met with the same response. “No one knows for sure what happened, it is a mystery and it is said that on nights when the wind is blowing or on a night when everything is silent she can be heard calling in the church as if she wants to tell what happened.”

The air was still and heavy the night of our rehearsal and as we went over the service with the vicar, Alice was very much in my mind. I couldn’t help but compare my feelings to her’s, both of us with the person we loved most in the world and about to start a new future together.

There was no possible reason why she should do what she did and again I looked around the shadows and gallery to see if she was there. As I looked I felt at one with her and a cold fear of dread that something terrible had happened.

As I looked I saw Mrs Hollis in a pew half way along the church and for some reason felt an unknown detestation for the woman.

It may have been her smile that triggered the feeling but I resented the fact that she had turned up to involve herself in this part of my life. However everything went well and afterwards Brian gave me a gold necklace to wear the next morning, his “something new” present and in that moment I felt a complete happiness and could hardly wait for the next day when we would be man and wife.

As we walked through the churchyard I thought again of Alice and something inside me brought on a confused feeling of love and loss and behind it all a dread, a feeling of warning, and I shivered.

“Are you cold”? Brian asked and I told him that it was just pre wedding nerves and he laughed and held me closer.

The eventful morning dawned and as the vicar had predicted it seemed that the whole village had turned out to watch the wedding and as is customary I had the suitable amount of nerves as I walked to meet my new husband.

It was a perfect day when the scent of flowers could be noticed inside and outside the church and as I entered I could see Brian and the best man at the top of the church. At the same time I could see another figure in the shadows at the top of the belfry stairs. With the sighting came a deep sobbing, so deep yet so far distant that I knew it could have come from one soul, one lost soul.

Without hesitation I made for the stairs and the shadows, to give comfort, both to the source and to myself and, if possible, bring peace to both. At the top of the stairs there was a room that formed the base of the tower, Spartan in its furnishings and only one window that opened up onto the path below and from where I could hear the murmurings from the gathered crowd. This was the only other way out of the room and I made my way to it to see if there was any sign of an exit from my quarry.

While I looked down I heard a flurry of movement behind me and at the same time a voice, high above me and behind me, calling my name. The name seemed to come from two places, one in warning and the other in screamed hatred and that was the last thing I heard except for the breaking glass and the screams from the people below as I was propelled through the window and down towards them.

My last mortal vision was of two women in the room, one ethereal and with her hands clasped across her mouth in anguish and another, rotund and her face twisted in hatred and arms outstretched towards me.

Brian came shortly afterwards and knelt beside a bride in her white dress but he didn’t see me, only the lifeless form for which he had so much concern. He was comforted by the vicar and was hovered over by Mrs Hollis who kept telling him that she somehow felt responsible for what happened as she had put lilies where the bride should be, “and lilies”, she said, “Are the symbol of death.”

She never came into the church on her own after that, but Brian comes often and he has aged considerably in the intervening years.

There are two of us here now, both waiting, me for Brian and both of us for that time which Mrs Hollis cannot control, that one day when she must make her own inevitable journey, alone.