Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Roland, Vivien and Portia Asquith; also Mike Ashley, Paul Kane, Stephen Jones and Duncan Proudfoot, for all their help and support.
Introduction copyright © Marie O’Regan 2012.
“Field Of The Dead” by Kim Lakin-Smith, copyright © 2012
“Collect Call” by Sarah Pinborough, copyright © 2012
“Dead Flowers by a Roadside” by Kelley Armstrong, copyright © 2012
“The Shadow in the Corner” by Mary Elizabeth Braddon, originally published in
“The Madam of the Narrow Houses” by Caitlin R. Kiernan, originally published in
“The Lost Ghost” by Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman, originally published in
“The Ninth Witch” by Sarah Langan, copyright © 2012
“Sister, Shhh . . .” by Elizabeth Massie, copyright © 2012
“The Fifth Bedroom” by Alex Bell, copyright © 2012
“Scairt” by Alison Littlewood, originally published in
“Seeing Nancy” by Nina Allan, copyright © 2012
“The Third Person” by Lisa Tuttle, copyright © 2012
“Freeze Out” by Nancy Holder, copyright © 2012
“Return” by Yvonne Navarro, copyright © 2012
“Let Loose” by Mary Cholmondeley, originally published in
“Another One in from the Cold” by Marion Arnott, copyright © 2012
“My Moira” by Lilith Saintcrow, copyright © 2012
“Forget Us Not” by Nancy Kilpatrick, copyright © 2012
“Front Row Rider” by Muriel Gray, copyright © 2012
“God Grant That She Lye Still” by Cynthia Asquith. Originally published in
“The Phantom Coach” by Amelia B. Edwards, originally published in
“The Old Nurse’s Story” by Elizabeth Gaskell, originally published in
“Among the Shoals Forever” by Gail Z. Martin, copyright © 2012
“Afterward” by Edith Wharton, originally published in
“A Silver Music” by Gaie Sebold, copyright © 2012
Introduction
Ghost stories have always been my favourite kind of tale, especially in the short form. Recently I’ve read or re-read several pieces by women whose work I admire, both from the Victorian era and from today (Michelle Paver’s excellent novel
I wanted to put together a collection of ghost stories – both old and new – that would showcase the talents of women in the genre, both past and present; and because there’s a wealth of talent out there, regardless of the writers’ gender.
These stories range from Amelia B. Edwards’s “The Phantom Coach”, which first saw print in 1864, through stories by such luminaries of the past as Edith Wharton, Elizabeth Gaskell, Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman, Mary Elizabeth Braddon and Mary Cholmondeley, right up to modern writers such as Lilith Saintcrow, Muriel Gray, Sarah Pinborough, Marion Arnott and Nina Allan. The subject matter covered is wide, from ghostly children to visitations by departed loved ones both human and animal, intended to warn, scare, or even comfort – Mary E. Wilkins- Freeman offers a genuinely heartrending spectral visitor in “The Lost Ghost”, while stories such as “The Fifth Bedroom” by Alex Bell (her first ghost story) show us a more malevolent creature by far.
Although the stories vary from tales of ghostly children to those of lost pets, from murder to accidental death, from rage to sorrow and back again, one thing is central to all: a slight chilling of the skin as you read. A feeling of something being not
Enjoy the stories, and ladies – thank you for your help in bringing this anthology to print.
Field of the Dead
Kim Lakin-Smith
Dean Bartholomew Richards saw three figures at the periphery of his vision. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass and the Lady Chapel was transfigured. He tilted his chin to the blaze. Lichfield Cathedral was the Lord’s house, he told himself. It was not to be slighted by spirits.
A cold wind blew in from the direction of the altar. Dean Richards turned around slowly, the three figures shifting so that they continued to flicker at the corner of his eye. He walked past Saint Chad’s shrine and felt the temperature drop. Shadows lengthened. At his back, the sun went in.
Something wet touched the dean’s nose. He dabbed it with a sleeve. Staring up at the distant vaulting, he saw snow dusting down. He had heard about the phenomenon from the canons but hoped it was just the fantasies of young men left alone in a dark cathedral. But in his heart he could not deny the haunting had become more substantial. Sir Scott’s renovators were reporting screams like those of the damned, shadows writhing over walls, and spots of raging heat. Ice coated the Skidmore screen, a thousand tiny diamonds amongst the gilt. And then there were the children, their arrival always heralded by the inexplicable fall of snow.
Dean Richards rubbed the bulb of his nose. Faith must keep him stalwart.
“Come, children,” he whispered, fearing the words.
Snow dusted the flagstones. Silence packed in around him.
He spotted them at the foot of The Sleeping Children monument; two girls in white nightdresses – exact replicas of the dead sisters depicted in the marble monument. The elder child made the shape of a bird with interlaced fingers. The younger smiled. Snow settled on his shoulders, and he forced himself to advance to within several feet of the sisters. Kneeling on the cold flagstones, he clasped his hands.
“‘The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want; he makes me down to lie’.” He heard the tremble in his voice but pressed on. The important thing was to focus on the appropriate passages. The Beatitudes for these pitiful, not- quite children? Or a parable to lead them to the light?
He fixed his gaze on his hands until curiosity got the better of him. Glancing up, he felt a jolt of fear. The girls had moved closer and now knelt side by side, their insubstantial hands joined in prayer. But the longer he stared at the ghosts, the more solid they became.
