The Ghost Tour

A soft and gentle ghost story set around a young tour guide Samantha as she takes a aparty on a tour. Who is real and who is a ghost though. and cwill everybody find peace of mind


                                                                                    The Ghost Tour



The old man liked Thursdays. He liked ghost tours, he liked Samantha, and so it was good that all three came together on the same day. There were others that did the same ghost tour, but she was the tour guide every Thursday, and with her soft Scottish accent and silvery laughter, she took the old man back to his childhood of so many years ago. He had been so happy then, and wanted to go back in time, but he knew he could only do so through Samantha, or go there in his dreams.  It was nearly 5 o’clock though, the tour would be starting shortly so, pulling himself up of the park bench, he slowly began to walk away. It was a pity that his wife didn’t seem to be joining him, but he was sure she would come along later, so quietly, yet eagerly, he began to anticipate the evening to come.



Samantha McFadden grumpily slammed the communal front door of her tiny rundown bedsit, swept her long black trench coat around her, and then swore at the landlord’s tomcat, who merely hissed and then spat at her in return. Reluctantly she made her way through her local park before reaching the cathedral where, all too soon, she would have to begin her tour. She was feeling homesick, her course in Psychology was proving difficult, that cat had just swiped her dinner, and her landlord had   told her that her rent was both increasing and overdue. She knew that he that he had to make a living, but she wasn’t making much money, and she sometimes wished a few ghosts would really make an appearance, so he and his greedy old fleabag might be frightened away.


There were no ghosts though, the early autumn evening sun was casting long shadows, the cathedral bells were calling, and she was late so she strode on quickly. The sooner it was done the better, as a half bottle of red wine and a package of goodies from home were calling, as well as a bag fresh hot chips that she would enjoy on the way home. Then she saw her tour group waiting by the cathedral entrance, and put on her most ingratiating smile. They merely looked at her in return, but that didn’t matter, for she was a good actress, and the show would simply go on. She just wished she might see or hear something though, just a squeak, a shadow or a groan to take back home to Scotland. Anything would do, just anything, but so far any spooks had stubbornly stayed away. The Cathedral bells stopped pealing, the tour was late starting  so, guiding her group away from the now sleeping cathedral, she began to make up for lost time.



As the tour progressed quickly, the old man standing towards the back of the group, watched Samantha with interest, and wondered what was going on. Normally she put on a fine performance, and she would have lingered more at all the sites they had so far visited, but tonight she was brusque and impatient. Clearly something had gone very wrong. He watched her walking across through the old city market place, and as she carried on talking he listened carefully to what she had to say. She had talked of monks and monasteries, and now she portrayed the once bustling market place and the reported ghosts which lay within. She tried to infuse her speech with passion and interest, but he could sense her tiredness and her irritation, and her desperate desire to be elsewhere. She was lucky though, for her group were dull and slightly inattentive, so, to them, her performance still seemed very smooth. Moving like a heavily sedated overweight tortoise they showed no real sense of direction. Dragging their heels and strangely sleepy, it seemed they had dinned to well on fresh cut lettuce leaves. Now all they wanted to do was to hibernate within their overly large and ever thickening shell. Then the tour came to the old paupers orphanage; and instantly, for both the old man and Samantha, the atmosphere began to change.



 This site was special for Samantha. Within this building many children had suffered and had been murdered, she informed the tour group; and their despairing screams and shadows could sometimes be heard or seen by some people to this day.  Looking at the group carefully, she began to describe what had happened, and what remained for those who could see or hear. Her voice was softer now, and her words more soothing. As far as she was concerned the time for acting had come to an end. Standing just in front of the building she asked the group to stay silent for, as she quietly explained, some children might be sleeping, some might be frightened, and some might be hearing the screams of those who had died before. It was of no use though, for most of the group stayed silent, and just gave her a blank stare. There was only an old man at the back of the group who showed any concern and interest and looking at him Samantha was puzzled. Repeat tour customers were a rarity, yet somehow, she thought, that she had seen him several times before. He had a kind face though, but he seemed very shy.  Samantha sometimes wished he would come over and talk to her; but soon her thoughts returned to the children, and the suffering that they had endured. Somehow she wanted to hold them, and comfort them, but she didn’t know how to do so, and though she had always been looking and listening, she had never seen or heard them, and she didn’t know where or how they were to be found.


She still had two more sites to cover though; the clock was still ticking, so briskly, she began to move her little group on. As they moved on swiftly, she didn’t even notice that the old man had stayed behind.



Standing alone in front of the orphanage, and looking in through one of its lower windows the old man  could see two young boys playing,  but then he felt a  tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see who was there.  As he looked he smiled, for his wife had joined him. He was always glad to have her by his side, but now he was especially grateful, for she was pointing towards the children, and suddenly, as he looked, he knew that something was terribly wrong. They had stopped playing and now they were terrified. They were huddling together, and staring back at the open doorway to the room.  A tall dark shadow appeared in the doorway; and the children mouths opened as if they were about to scream. There was no sound though, regardless of how intently the old couple listened, and as they looked on despairingly the children and the shadow gradually melted away


Looking through the window the old man wanted to go into the room and help them, but he felt his wife pulling him away. The ghost tour was disappearing, she told him, and they were part of the tour.

  “Nobody can help the children”

She pleaded

  “It’s too late now, they’re from a different time, and we can’t help them. It’s sad, very sad, but now we have to move on!”

 The old couple moved away quickly, in order to rejoin the tour, yet part of them wanted to remain.



  “To Elsie who used to sit here, from Albert who loved her, and who always sat by her side

The tour was finished now, it was a warm soft evening, and sitting on the park bench   with her belly full of piping hot chips, Samantha rubbed the old weathered remembrance plaque gently, and smiled. She had sat here many times and never noticed the plaque before, but now the metal had lightly caught the back of her coat, she looked at the words and wondered who Albert and Elsie might have been. Did they ever get married, she wondered, and did their love carry on after they had died? The park was empty, there were no sounds around her, and though her wine and package softly summoned her, she ignored their call, for she suddenly realised she that wanted to stay.


Yet at the same time she yearned for someone special to be by her side. One day she might meet her prince in shining armour, one day he might carry her away in his arms, but up until now she had never seen him; and she wondered whether he would ever come her way. A warm blanket of air seemed to settle down around her shoulders. It was like going back to her homeland, back to her long lost blissfully carefree summers; and back to when she had been cradled in her mother’s arms.  She closed her eyes for a moment, leant back against the park seat, and tenderly began to dream.


In her dream she saw the old man from the ghost tour, but now an old woman had joined him. They smiled at her, but it was only a dream, and soon they drifted away. She nestled down deeper into her trench coat, and carried on sleeping. Who were they, she wondered, what was their history, and, if they could speak, what kind of story might they tell? But now she was too tired, too well fed and far too comfortable to really care.



Albert and Elsie gently sat down on the seat beside her. They were very old now, and this bench; once theirs; was now for the young and the living; but they put a comforting arm around Samantha.

Hopefully she might feel their warmth, and maybe even realise that they were there.


 Time marched on, they quietly watched her dreaming, then they softly kissed each other, got up and prepared to leave. They looked at Samantha, looked at each other, walked through the park seat, and then hand in hand, they gradually, and silently, faded away.

The End

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