When The Wind Blows Through The New Forest
Smugglers Haunt
By Andy Morris
Cardboard boxes and piles of old newspapers were piled neatly against the walls of the small dimly lit cellar. At the foot of the wall directly opposite Rosie Masters and her elderly host was an old rusty grate set into the flagstones of the antiquated floor. The flagstones, Rosie guessed, must be an original feature of the old house because centuries of footfalls had worn them down over the years leaving them cracked and uneven. The habitual feeling of antiquity that can often be found in old buildings were likewise enclosed in the damp yet dusty wall behind her. Its naked bricks held a fusty tang of damp timber and wet stone. Along with the low ceiling, Rosie could feel the weight of the houses four hundred year history pressing in around her, cocooning her from the modern world up above.
“Not many people know about this” Maria Warne said indulgently as she replaced her china teacup back on its delicate little saucer. “And even fewer people have actually have witnessed it. I don’t want people to know about it you see because if too many people came I’m afraid my lads may take flight and disappear for good. But if you can help me identify who they are or rather who they were, you’d make this old lady very happy”.
“I’ll do my best” Rosie replied, following Maria’s lead and replacing her own cup and saucer onto the neat red and white tablecloth that was spread before them in the corner of the cellar. The teacher and amateur historian hoped she’d kept the cynicism far enough from her voice that the old lady wouldn’t detect it. Fortunately, her host hadn’t seemed to notice Rosie’s lack of conviction.
She had been in two minds about coming here tonight anyway. Ms Warne had invited Rosie to come last week when she introduced herself at the Lymington and District Historical Society meeting. Rosie had seen her there before in the audience but she had never spoken to her, although she had always impressed with the old lady’s flamboyant taste in clothes. Ms Warne was easy to spot in any gathered crowd because she always wore rather ‘edgy’ tops for someone in her eighties. “Oh I do like this wrestling, dear” Maria Warne had admitted proudly when she had approached Rosie to ask for her help.
“It’s a guilty pleasure of mine” Ms Warne explained giving Rosie a twirl of her bright red John Cena hoodie. She must have quite a collection of WWE sweatshirts in the old house because Rosie had never seen her in the same one twice. The old lady had gone on to explain that she’d been unwell in hospital for the last two weeks and the experience had got her thinking. “I’ve got no family left and not anyone whom I’d consider to be a close friend, except for my lads. They’ve kept me company over the years you see and yet I…” her voice dropped a notch. “I don’t really know who they are” She confessed. “Oh, I’ve thought about researching them before and I’d started but I never managed to get anywhere with it. So that’s why I’m hoping a proper historian such as you - a local expert, can help me out.” Rosie had recently delivered a talk to the society about smuggling groups in the New Forest but she considered herself more of an amateur historian than an expert but she’d agreed to come nevertheless.
She still wasn’t exactly sure what Ms Warne was hoping they’d find down in this centuries-old basement. Her host had suggested what they might see but Rosie maintained a healthy scepticism on the subject. She wouldn’t normally have agreed to this at all but, she shamefully acknowledged, a part of her did feel sorry for the old lady. However, since they had started talking Rosie had revised her initial feelings of pity and had come to an unexpected realisation. While they had sat down here with tea and a Victoria sponge cake that Ms Warne had baked that afternoon they had talked; mostly about local history. But as the old lady had shared her life experiences Rosie began to see something else in her that Rosie recognised in herself. It hadn’t taken her long to acknowledge that she saw part of herself in Ms Warne, or at least a possible future self - alone all her life with no one to share her dreams with. And because of this, Rosie felt a connection; a shared understanding and instant rapport. Their conversation was warm and flowing and Rosie had learned a lot about the eighty-year-old wrestling fan. Maria had lived in the town all her life; she’d never married and had spent all her years alone. Although Rosie was nowhere near Maria’s age, she herself was pushing thirty and she’d never really had a proper relationship. When she wasn’t teaching history at the local Priestlands School she was either engrossed in ancient documents and old maps or else out on the slipway in her kayak with her friend Lou.
Rosie and Lou shared a close bond, tighter than any ordinary friendship. Together Rosie and Lou would paddle up and down the harbour daydreaming about their perfect lives and their perfect partners. Only Rosie was starting to realise that her perfect partner may not actually exist and the life-changing moment where her new life would begin was more than a little overdue now. Lou wouldn’t be around for much longer either. She was going to go to France to teach for a year. She’d asked Rosie to join her but when Rosie expressed her doubts Lou was disappointed. From Rosie's point of view, she had spent so much time researching local history in the New forest she now found she couldn’t leave. There was still so much more to uncover. But on the other hand, she didn’t want to end up like some crusty old academic all alone with no one to keep her company than the ghosts of her past. If she was honest, she didn’t want to end up like Maria Warne; sat in a damp cellar reminiscing on a past that may or may not has actually happened.
Rosie found her eyes drawn to the menacing visage of The Undertaker glaring out on Maria’s black hoodie. Maria’s head had turned back to the far corner causing her long plaited grey hair to swing down her back. There were still traces of its former lustrous black shine and Rosie guessed she must have some gipsy blood somewhere in her family tree. She was about to ask the old lady about it when she noticed the first stirrings of movement by the far wall. Maria had noticed it too and excitedly turned to Rosie and nodded in the direction. Grey-white vapour like was curling up from the rusted metal grill in the floor. The hazy cloud rose, spreading out and obscuring the flagstones like sentient dry ice. Rosie instinctively knew this heralded the arrival of their phantom guests.
"Here they come," Maria said in a warm I-told-you-so voice. Maybe she had been aware of Rosie’s cynicism after all?
“They come every time there’s a full moon, bringing various packages with them just what they did three hundred years ago. I like to watch them creep up out of the tunnel and pass through the cellar.” Still, the swirling mist drifted up from the chilly blackness beyond the grate. Beyond the grate was a deep yawning hole that led down into the earth, connecting with the now legendary underground smuggling tunnels.
Rosie was well versed in the stories of secret passageways. They reportedly began somewhere near Lymington harbour and stretched through the old town branching off to various ‘safe houses’ before emerging again somewhere near Emery Down. Different tunnels were used by different groups at different times and rumours spoke of a huge underground maze. Back in the early nineteenth century, all the locals were in on the smuggling business. The ‘gentlemen-of-the-night’ were considered local heroes but no one ever spoke of them outside the community and as time passed by and smuggling ceased to be as profitable the tunnels had been all but forgotten and their layout had never been formally verified or explored. The New Forest and Lymington, in particular, had been a smugglers haven with its smuggler friendly harbour backing onto the wild forest and moorlands where the ‘landers’ could quickly and easily get the goods inland to their clients or else into secret hiding places. Her cellar, Maria had said, was one of those hiding places.
“There’s many a man who lost his life down there” Maria Warne explained. “And it’s not just my lads who wander through the dark. There’s another one down there: Robert Carter. He was a no-good scoundrel. He’s down there somewhere as well.” Rosie had read about Robert Carter as well. He’d been a revenue man, despised by the local townsfolk and not just because of his profession. He was reported to be a murder. Anyone he suspected of aiding or abetting in the smuggling trade he’d have them locked away or even hanged to set an example to the others. He was responsible for the deaths of dozens of men, women and children in the area during his campaign to stamp out the illicit trade. Apparently one night he’d followed a group of smugglers from a church towards the harbour and into the underground maze.
“Only, he never came out of those tunnels again," Maria said offering Rosie another slice of cake. Rosie took her second luxurious slice and thanked her host with an admirable smile.
“It’s said that he died in there she continued. “He either got lost or the sea came in and he drowned. He’s still down there you know. My grandfather, who lived in this very house, told me stories of how Robert Carter continues to prowl the tunnels still hunting the smugglers while trying to find his way back to the surface.
“Here, we should light the candles; it’s easier to see them when the lights are down.” Along with the white china tea set and homemade cake, Maria had brought two tall red candles in matching brass holders shaped like faeries. Rosie watched Maria strike a match and lit both wicks and then she turned out the single electric light overhead. The damp cellar was immediately cast into an enchanted theatre where shadows danced upon the bare brick walls in the magical glow of naked flames. The mood in the room had changed and an expectant quality now lit the air. Rosie had always loved candles and when Lou stayed over they would stay up late into the night talking by candlelight. Down here though she had doubted they’d be able to see much in the dim illumination, but she was wrong. The fog had taken on a shimmery luminescence making it easier to see in the dark. The mist was much thicker now breathing up through the dark grill like soft clean smoke. Rosie watched the phenomenon in fascination as the sea of fog lapped at her knees and the top of the red and white tablecloth. It had covered the floor now and was reaching up to the walls. The fresh smell of seaweed was carried on the mist and Rosie felt she could almost taste the salty air on her tongue. Next, to her, Maria turned and smiled warmly. She'd experienced this hundred of times before but she could tell it always enraptured her. Rosie was glad the old lady was here with her though because she probably wouldn't have stayed down there on her own to watch this.
The bleak white cloud had almost reached the low ceiling when somewhere in the misty haze Rosie became aware of a light shining. There was a tiny flickering spotlight suspended in the mist, bobbing up and down about head height. Rosie peered closer and that’s when she saw the first of them carrying their lanterns aloft to guide them through the dark passages. Other lights flashed like spidery lightning, briefly forming threads like cobwebs catching the first rays of the sun. As she watched the flashes became more rapid and held their definition for longer. Soon the fine silvery lines shimmered into more detail, coalescing into the distinct outline of a figure just visible within the cloudy veil. He carried a lantern and in its ghostly white light Rosie could make out the familiar features of a young man’s face. He was a boy in mid-adolescence, the same age as her pupils. He was made of pure light reflected in the fog. There was no substance to him whatsoever so if she held out her hand it would surely pass right through him. As he walked past he stopped and glanced in her direction before turning away. His lips were pursed and Rosie could almost hear him whistle. It was wonderful.
“I don’t believe it. Who are they? What are they?”
“They’re my lads. My gentlemen-of-the-night” Maria replied in an equally reverential tone. “I told you they’d come. As for what they are; why they’re all dead. They’re all that’s left of a gang of local ‘landers’ who perished, I imagine, down in those tunnels.”
Rosie stared in awe as she caught sight of a second and then a third phantom smuggler silently traipsing through the old cellar hauling his goods upon his shoulder. Every day Rosie tried to make history come alive to her pupils though discussions and presentations but this was something else. She recognised the wooden ‘tubs’ that each one carried, no doubt filled with illicit tobacco, tea, silks or brandy. More of the silent figures drifted past in the ethereal ballet. It was like looking through a window watching the gang move past and then disappear out of sight into the thick fog. She was enchanted; totally enraptured as the figures made their way across the magical stage that Maria Warne’s cellar had become. The former smugglers didn’t appear to be aware of the two women in their midst as they paid them no heed, solely focused on their eternal task.
After a while, Rosie became aware of a new scent in the air. It reminded her of the smoky aroma of a pub when it first opens in the morning. Not that she went into pubs first thing in the morning. Her parents had run a pub when she was younger and the familiar smell of stale ale and old cigarettes always took her back to her childhood. Smiling to herself Rosie breathed deeply and tasted the spices in the air.
From the top of the stairs somewhere beyond the kitchen, a telephone began ringing.
“Oh bother, please excuse me” Maria apologised putting her candle on the table and getting to her feet. “I’ll have to get it.” Maria apologised again and excused herself, ascending the wooden stairs and disappearing into the kitchen but Rosie didn't take her eyes off the scene before her. She could hear the old lady talking on the phone but paid it no attention. She was too mesmerised by what she was seeing. If only her fellow volunteers from the historical society could see this, or if Lou were here with her that would have been wonderful. But she’d promised Maria she wouldn’t tell anyone about what she saw down here and only now she realised how difficult that promise was going to be.
Slowly Rosie became aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere. She hardly noticed it at first but then it became more apparent. The ether seemed to darken around her as if something fearsome had just prowled by unseen. A moment later and the smugglers seemed to pick up on it as well. They all stopped in their tracks looking about nervously. They wore the expressions of pupils caught in the headlights of a teacher’s stern gaze when they were caught doing something they shouldn’t be. Silvery eyes darted this way and that as listening something Rosie couldn’t hear. The mood had become tense. Rosie strained her ears but the only sound she could hear was the muffled conversation of Maria upstairs. It felt like a long way away, beyond the flickering candlelight. A chill had crept into the cellar now and with it, Rosie felt a new presence drawing near. The twin flames of the candles flickered from an unseen draft and suddenly the smugglers were gone. The silvery light, the fog, everything was gone; leaving Rosie alone in the shadowy crypt beneath the house.
The light from the candles now looked feeble in the confines of the cellar as reality imposed itself once again. Yet something didn’t feel right down here. The shadows on the walls were no longer dancing. They had become clawed hands reaching out, snatching at the light. The atmosphere had changed utterly and it was as if something else had arrived, chasing the magical spirits away. An unseen menace now lurked in the dark corners. A presence had manifested down here and Rose felt it pressing in around her. It was threatening and hostile and it wanted to swallow her up while she was alone. Rosie didn’t like this new sensation and sitting down here by herself in the dark no longer seemed wise. She shivered again and fumbled for the light switch. She realised she was pressing her back against the wall as her hand finally found it. Then dim but reassuring light bloomed from the naked bulb overhead. Rosie had to blink several times as her eyes adjusted to the increased illumination. After a moment she was okay again and she immediately felt foolish for scaring herself. Nevertheless, she decided to keep the light on until Maria re-joined her.
She was never usually spooked that easily. But saying that, she conceded; she’d never seen a real ghost before either. It had been such a strange evening, very surreal and she began questioning what she’d seen. Had they been real or just some kind of optical illusion? Rosie had an irritating habit of over-analysing everything that took her out of her comfort zone. It was one of her faults and she didn’t need Lou to point out that she was about to do it again right now.
After a while, the door at the top of the stairs opened again and Maria came down apologising profusely for her poor hospitality. “What happened, have they gone already?”
"Yes, they just vanished. “ Rosie explained. “They all just stopped; looked around and then they were gone”.
“It’s very cold down here still… Oh dear” Maria paused in a breathy whisper, perhaps noticing the change in atmosphere. In the time she had switched the light on a curious tension had arisen from the dark unknown beneath the rusty grate. It was now an almost tangible unease that was sliding into the room. It brought an immediate sense of urgency to the old lady. “Quickly” she hushed. “Turn out the lights”. She leaned past Rosie and slapped the light switch off. The gloom and shadows immediately raced forward to embrace the two women “We can’t have any lights on. He’s near”.
“Who?”
"Robert Carter" Maria hissed. "He must have been nearby and my lads heard him. That’s why they’ve gone to hide. One shouldn’t have the lights on when he’s near in case it attracts him. Call me a silly old fool but we should go back upstairs, quickly.” Rosie was almost dragged to her feet by Maria who threw a nervous glance towards the shadowed far wall. “It’s the light you see. He’s been lost down there, wandering around in the dark for over a hundred years. But if he sees the light it’ll draw him near and he’ll find his way out of the tunnels. Hurry” Maria was gripping Rosie’s arm so tight it was almost painful. Her sudden change in demeanour was unsettling and Rosie felt the old lady’s distress wrapping around her like a leaden cloak. Suddenly she wanted to run up the stairs, forget Maria.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Rosie said by way of distraction from her mounting as Maria Warne ushered her towards the stairs. Maria didn't have a chance to respond because at that moment the growing tension in the basement reached its peak. The inexplicable dread that had been building suddenly exploded. First, there was a grinding creak of rusted hinges and then a heavy metallic crash echoed around the cellar shattering the fragile air.
Something had just pushed open the grate in the floor.
“Oh my god” Rosie jumped at the sound. Both women paused at the foot of the wooden stairs. Neither knew what to do next. Rosie could hear something pulling itself up out of the ground and into the shadowy cellar. She could sense something dark and heavy slowly dragging its way up onto the mosaic of cracked flagstones. Her arms and legs were now shivering and it wasn’t just from the sharp drop in temperature. Something had come up out of the tunnel. Whatever it was, it stole through the shadows beyond the candle’s glowing reach.
“The lights!” Maria urged. “Switch them back on”. Rosie frantically flapped her hand over the cold brickwork until she found the switch and slapped it on. The sudden brightness blinded her a second time but this time she was ready for it. What she wasn’t ready for was the unnatural intruder rising in the corner of the cellar.
A sunken crumbling figure had appeared before them. A nightmare creature of rotting flesh that dripped seawater from the torn and tattered rags he had died in. Robert Carter stared at the two helpless women through the dead eyeless sockets of his decaying skull. The how and why no longer mattered to Rosie as the corpse-thing began shuffling towards them. Unlike the ghosts from earlier, there was no ethereal grace or otherworldly shimmer to him. Robert Carter was a corpse, dead yet still moving of its own accord. There were only a few meters between him and Rosie and in the light she saw his jaw crack open. “Taxes” his dusty gravelly voice rasped. “Taxes!”
Rosie found herself whimpering. She couldn’t stop shaking. She was trying to say something but her words faded as soon as they reached her lips. Her mind had frozen, temporarily shut down at the unbelievable horror before her. She could do nothing but watch as the dead revenue man took more shambling steps closer. It was Maria who broke the spell first. She brushed past Rosie but instead of fleeing up the stairs she stepped forward to confront the intruder. Rosie reached out a hand instinctively to stop her but the old lady paid her no heed.
“There’s nothing for you here, Robert Carter” Maria said defiantly but with a notable tremor to her voice. "Go back, Robert Cater. You are dead. You don't belong here anymore”.
The thing that had been Robert Carter turned his decomposing skull to face Maria and continued his halting march towards her.
“Taxes” the ex-revenue man half shouted half groaned. He lifted his rotting fleshless arms out towards Maria as he closed in on her. He had already judged and sentenced these conspirators and it was obvious to Rosie that he’d decided they were helping the free traders in their illegal operation. In his twisted view, they were guilty in the eyes of the law and the revenue man had come to pass sentence. Rosie heard Maria quiver as she was held in the glare of those dead eyes. If he wanted something perhaps she could pay him. Quickly, Rosie fumbled at her golden heart-shaped necklace. It had been a present from Lou last Christmas but it was all she had to offer. She pulled it off and held it out to the shuffling corpse.
"Here," she said. "Taxes, Take it". The nightmare figure turned to Rosie and seemed to regard the gold chain.
“No” cried Maria but it was too late. The dead thing lunged forward and grabbed hold of Rosie’s wrist before she had a chance to pull away. His brown skeletal hands gripped her so fiercely that she cried out in pain. Robert Carter leered down at her. His long corpse hair tickled her face. Rosie screamed again. The anger, the aggression, the desire to hurt was all there in the remaining features of what had once been the revenue man’s cruel face. With most of the skin peeled away the remaining mouldering ragged flesh hung down his cheeks. His lips had long since rotted away and the rictus grin of his exposed teeth opened wider puffing the rancid stench of the grave directly into her face. Rosie screamed, chocked and screamed again. Behind her, Maria was screaming too. The panicked shouts of the two women echoed off the walls of the cellar with nowhere to go and no one to hear them. Yet, there was nothing left to do. Rosie continued to scream anguished terrified sobs while Maria at her side was shouting for help. Rosie’s eyes were locked on the empty sockets staring into the twin lifeless holes and seeing the end of her own life staring back at her. She was so lost in her mad state of terror that she didn’t notice the return of the underground mist silently rising up from the floor. The fog swirled into the basement, faster this time, more urgent and spirited than before. It was when the ghostly white glow surrounded her that Rosie noticed more spectral figures had risen up from the underground maze.
Robert Carter released her wrist and turned his creaking head to face the newcomers.
Silvery shapes rushed forward through the ethereal mist. This time the young cheery faces were contorted in anger and hate. Gone were the roguish smiles of the jolly smugglers. Now the gentlemen-of-the-night had come here to fight; ready to defend their livelihoods and those of their neighbours. The silvery outlines of the smugglers ducked and sprinted about the vile intruder. Robert Carter tried feebly to reach out to grab them but Maria’s lads were too quick. They darted beneath his skeletal arms, pulled back from his rotting hands. Rosie turned to see Maria staring wide-eyed as a sea of angry ghostly bodies rose up as one and then crashed down onto the towering dead revenue man. Robert Carter issued an angry growl as he was brought down to the stone floor. He landed hard on the flagstones and was quickly buried beneath the sprightly agile forms of the free traders. They fell upon the foul remains of the revenue man kicking, punching, scratching, and bludgeoning him as they dragged the animated corpse slowly across the stone floor towards the open grill from where he had crawled from. The vengeful spirits hauled the still hissing and cursing murderer back down into the darkness of the tunnel and out of sight. In a moment they were all gone, swallowed up by the tunnel and returned to where they rested. A deafening silence was all that remained as the freezing air gradually sank back down into the old floor and the temperature gradually returned to normal.
Maria ventured over to the far wall where she gingerly bent down and heaved the heavy grate closed. Rosie stayed where she was at the foot of the stairs, watching nervously until the grill slammed back into the stone floor. The two women quickly helped each other back up the stairs and into the welcome normality of the kitchen. Rosie shut the cellar door behind them and Maria locked it. They turned to each other panting and shivering, exhausted from their experience. Neither of them said anything as they clung onto one another tightly. Maria felt fragile, almost skeletal beneath her hoodie and Rosie loosened her grip suddenly aware she may be hurting the old lady. They remained like that for several minutes in the quiet heart of the old house.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” Maria began whispering over and over again as if it were all entirely her fault. Rosie reassured her it was not. They were both safe and that was all that mattered.
Rosie vowed she’d do her best to find out who those unfortunate souls were who had just saved them. She had extensive records she could trawl through and she was confident she’d be able to find something. Maybe Lou could help? Then, thinking of Lou and her offer of going to France, Rosie made another vow. This time it was unspoken for it was meant only for her: It was time she took a chance, as the smugglers of old Lymington had done. After what she and Maria Warne had just gone through a page was now turning in her mind and a new chapter beginning. It was time she became the person she wanted to be, the person she should be. At that moment Rosie decided she would go to France with Lou and she would start creating the perfect life she’d been waiting for for so long. And besides, the hidden mysteries of the New Forest would always be here waiting for her to return.
“Not many people know about this” Maria Warne said indulgently as she replaced her china teacup back on its delicate little saucer. “And even fewer people have actually have witnessed it. I don’t want people to know about it you see because if too many people came I’m afraid my lads may take flight and disappear for good. But if you can help me identify who they are or rather who they were, you’d make this old lady very happy”.
“I’ll do my best” Rosie replied, following Maria’s lead and replacing her own cup and saucer onto the neat red and white tablecloth that was spread before them in the corner of the cellar. The teacher and amateur historian hoped she’d kept the cynicism far enough from her voice that the old lady wouldn’t detect it. Fortunately, her host hadn’t seemed to notice Rosie’s lack of conviction.
She had been in two minds about coming here tonight anyway. Ms Warne had invited Rosie to come last week when she introduced herself at the Lymington and District Historical Society meeting. Rosie had seen her there before in the audience but she had never spoken to her, although she had always impressed with the old lady’s flamboyant taste in clothes. Ms Warne was easy to spot in any gathered crowd because she always wore rather ‘edgy’ tops for someone in her eighties. “Oh I do like this wrestling, dear” Maria Warne had admitted proudly when she had approached Rosie to ask for her help.
“It’s a guilty pleasure of mine” Ms Warne explained giving Rosie a twirl of her bright red John Cena hoodie. She must have quite a collection of WWE sweatshirts in the old house because Rosie had never seen her in the same one twice. The old lady had gone on to explain that she’d been unwell in hospital for the last two weeks and the experience had got her thinking. “I’ve got no family left and not anyone whom I’d consider to be a close friend, except for my lads. They’ve kept me company over the years you see and yet I…” her voice dropped a notch. “I don’t really know who they are” She confessed. “Oh, I’ve thought about researching them before and I’d started but I never managed to get anywhere with it. So that’s why I’m hoping a proper historian such as you - a local expert, can help me out.” Rosie had recently delivered a talk to the society about smuggling groups in the New Forest but she considered herself more of an amateur historian than an expert but she’d agreed to come nevertheless.
She still wasn’t exactly sure what Ms Warne was hoping they’d find down in this centuries-old basement. Her host had suggested what they might see but Rosie maintained a healthy scepticism on the subject. She wouldn’t normally have agreed to this at all but, she shamefully acknowledged, a part of her did feel sorry for the old lady. However, since they had started talking Rosie had revised her initial feelings of pity and had come to an unexpected realisation. While they had sat down here with tea and a Victoria sponge cake that Ms Warne had baked that afternoon they had talked; mostly about local history. But as the old lady had shared her life experiences Rosie began to see something else in her that Rosie recognised in herself. It hadn’t taken her long to acknowledge that she saw part of herself in Ms Warne, or at least a possible future self - alone all her life with no one to share her dreams with. And because of this, Rosie felt a connection; a shared understanding and instant rapport. Their conversation was warm and flowing and Rosie had learned a lot about the eighty-year-old wrestling fan. Maria had lived in the town all her life; she’d never married and had spent all her years alone. Although Rosie was nowhere near Maria’s age, she herself was pushing thirty and she’d never really had a proper relationship. When she wasn’t teaching history at the local Priestlands School she was either engrossed in ancient documents and old maps or else out on the slipway in her kayak with her friend Lou.
Rosie and Lou shared a close bond, tighter than any ordinary friendship. Together Rosie and Lou would paddle up and down the harbour daydreaming about their perfect lives and their perfect partners. Only Rosie was starting to realise that her perfect partner may not actually exist and the life-changing moment where her new life would begin was more than a little overdue now. Lou wouldn’t be around for much longer either. She was going to go to France to teach for a year. She’d asked Rosie to join her but when Rosie expressed her doubts Lou was disappointed. From Rosie's point of view, she had spent so much time researching local history in the New forest she now found she couldn’t leave. There was still so much more to uncover. But on the other hand, she didn’t want to end up like some crusty old academic all alone with no one to keep her company than the ghosts of her past. If she was honest, she didn’t want to end up like Maria Warne; sat in a damp cellar reminiscing on a past that may or may not has actually happened.
Rosie found her eyes drawn to the menacing visage of The Undertaker glaring out on Maria’s black hoodie. Maria’s head had turned back to the far corner causing her long plaited grey hair to swing down her back. There were still traces of its former lustrous black shine and Rosie guessed she must have some gipsy blood somewhere in her family tree. She was about to ask the old lady about it when she noticed the first stirrings of movement by the far wall. Maria had noticed it too and excitedly turned to Rosie and nodded in the direction. Grey-white vapour like was curling up from the rusted metal grill in the floor. The hazy cloud rose, spreading out and obscuring the flagstones like sentient dry ice. Rosie instinctively knew this heralded the arrival of their phantom guests.
"Here they come," Maria said in a warm I-told-you-so voice. Maybe she had been aware of Rosie’s cynicism after all?
“They come every time there’s a full moon, bringing various packages with them just what they did three hundred years ago. I like to watch them creep up out of the tunnel and pass through the cellar.” Still, the swirling mist drifted up from the chilly blackness beyond the grate. Beyond the grate was a deep yawning hole that led down into the earth, connecting with the now legendary underground smuggling tunnels.
Rosie was well versed in the stories of secret passageways. They reportedly began somewhere near Lymington harbour and stretched through the old town branching off to various ‘safe houses’ before emerging again somewhere near Emery Down. Different tunnels were used by different groups at different times and rumours spoke of a huge underground maze. Back in the early nineteenth century, all the locals were in on the smuggling business. The ‘gentlemen-of-the-night’ were considered local heroes but no one ever spoke of them outside the community and as time passed by and smuggling ceased to be as profitable the tunnels had been all but forgotten and their layout had never been formally verified or explored. The New Forest and Lymington, in particular, had been a smugglers haven with its smuggler friendly harbour backing onto the wild forest and moorlands where the ‘landers’ could quickly and easily get the goods inland to their clients or else into secret hiding places. Her cellar, Maria had said, was one of those hiding places.
“There’s many a man who lost his life down there” Maria Warne explained. “And it’s not just my lads who wander through the dark. There’s another one down there: Robert Carter. He was a no-good scoundrel. He’s down there somewhere as well.” Rosie had read about Robert Carter as well. He’d been a revenue man, despised by the local townsfolk and not just because of his profession. He was reported to be a murder. Anyone he suspected of aiding or abetting in the smuggling trade he’d have them locked away or even hanged to set an example to the others. He was responsible for the deaths of dozens of men, women and children in the area during his campaign to stamp out the illicit trade. Apparently one night he’d followed a group of smugglers from a church towards the harbour and into the underground maze.
“Only, he never came out of those tunnels again," Maria said offering Rosie another slice of cake. Rosie took her second luxurious slice and thanked her host with an admirable smile.
“It’s said that he died in there she continued. “He either got lost or the sea came in and he drowned. He’s still down there you know. My grandfather, who lived in this very house, told me stories of how Robert Carter continues to prowl the tunnels still hunting the smugglers while trying to find his way back to the surface.
“Here, we should light the candles; it’s easier to see them when the lights are down.” Along with the white china tea set and homemade cake, Maria had brought two tall red candles in matching brass holders shaped like faeries. Rosie watched Maria strike a match and lit both wicks and then she turned out the single electric light overhead. The damp cellar was immediately cast into an enchanted theatre where shadows danced upon the bare brick walls in the magical glow of naked flames. The mood in the room had changed and an expectant quality now lit the air. Rosie had always loved candles and when Lou stayed over they would stay up late into the night talking by candlelight. Down here though she had doubted they’d be able to see much in the dim illumination, but she was wrong. The fog had taken on a shimmery luminescence making it easier to see in the dark. The mist was much thicker now breathing up through the dark grill like soft clean smoke. Rosie watched the phenomenon in fascination as the sea of fog lapped at her knees and the top of the red and white tablecloth. It had covered the floor now and was reaching up to the walls. The fresh smell of seaweed was carried on the mist and Rosie felt she could almost taste the salty air on her tongue. Next, to her, Maria turned and smiled warmly. She'd experienced this hundred of times before but she could tell it always enraptured her. Rosie was glad the old lady was here with her though because she probably wouldn't have stayed down there on her own to watch this.
The bleak white cloud had almost reached the low ceiling when somewhere in the misty haze Rosie became aware of a light shining. There was a tiny flickering spotlight suspended in the mist, bobbing up and down about head height. Rosie peered closer and that’s when she saw the first of them carrying their lanterns aloft to guide them through the dark passages. Other lights flashed like spidery lightning, briefly forming threads like cobwebs catching the first rays of the sun. As she watched the flashes became more rapid and held their definition for longer. Soon the fine silvery lines shimmered into more detail, coalescing into the distinct outline of a figure just visible within the cloudy veil. He carried a lantern and in its ghostly white light Rosie could make out the familiar features of a young man’s face. He was a boy in mid-adolescence, the same age as her pupils. He was made of pure light reflected in the fog. There was no substance to him whatsoever so if she held out her hand it would surely pass right through him. As he walked past he stopped and glanced in her direction before turning away. His lips were pursed and Rosie could almost hear him whistle. It was wonderful.
“I don’t believe it. Who are they? What are they?”
“They’re my lads. My gentlemen-of-the-night” Maria replied in an equally reverential tone. “I told you they’d come. As for what they are; why they’re all dead. They’re all that’s left of a gang of local ‘landers’ who perished, I imagine, down in those tunnels.”
Rosie stared in awe as she caught sight of a second and then a third phantom smuggler silently traipsing through the old cellar hauling his goods upon his shoulder. Every day Rosie tried to make history come alive to her pupils though discussions and presentations but this was something else. She recognised the wooden ‘tubs’ that each one carried, no doubt filled with illicit tobacco, tea, silks or brandy. More of the silent figures drifted past in the ethereal ballet. It was like looking through a window watching the gang move past and then disappear out of sight into the thick fog. She was enchanted; totally enraptured as the figures made their way across the magical stage that Maria Warne’s cellar had become. The former smugglers didn’t appear to be aware of the two women in their midst as they paid them no heed, solely focused on their eternal task.
After a while, Rosie became aware of a new scent in the air. It reminded her of the smoky aroma of a pub when it first opens in the morning. Not that she went into pubs first thing in the morning. Her parents had run a pub when she was younger and the familiar smell of stale ale and old cigarettes always took her back to her childhood. Smiling to herself Rosie breathed deeply and tasted the spices in the air.
From the top of the stairs somewhere beyond the kitchen, a telephone began ringing.
“Oh bother, please excuse me” Maria apologised putting her candle on the table and getting to her feet. “I’ll have to get it.” Maria apologised again and excused herself, ascending the wooden stairs and disappearing into the kitchen but Rosie didn't take her eyes off the scene before her. She could hear the old lady talking on the phone but paid it no attention. She was too mesmerised by what she was seeing. If only her fellow volunteers from the historical society could see this, or if Lou were here with her that would have been wonderful. But she’d promised Maria she wouldn’t tell anyone about what she saw down here and only now she realised how difficult that promise was going to be.
Slowly Rosie became aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere. She hardly noticed it at first but then it became more apparent. The ether seemed to darken around her as if something fearsome had just prowled by unseen. A moment later and the smugglers seemed to pick up on it as well. They all stopped in their tracks looking about nervously. They wore the expressions of pupils caught in the headlights of a teacher’s stern gaze when they were caught doing something they shouldn’t be. Silvery eyes darted this way and that as listening something Rosie couldn’t hear. The mood had become tense. Rosie strained her ears but the only sound she could hear was the muffled conversation of Maria upstairs. It felt like a long way away, beyond the flickering candlelight. A chill had crept into the cellar now and with it, Rosie felt a new presence drawing near. The twin flames of the candles flickered from an unseen draft and suddenly the smugglers were gone. The silvery light, the fog, everything was gone; leaving Rosie alone in the shadowy crypt beneath the house.
The light from the candles now looked feeble in the confines of the cellar as reality imposed itself once again. Yet something didn’t feel right down here. The shadows on the walls were no longer dancing. They had become clawed hands reaching out, snatching at the light. The atmosphere had changed utterly and it was as if something else had arrived, chasing the magical spirits away. An unseen menace now lurked in the dark corners. A presence had manifested down here and Rose felt it pressing in around her. It was threatening and hostile and it wanted to swallow her up while she was alone. Rosie didn’t like this new sensation and sitting down here by herself in the dark no longer seemed wise. She shivered again and fumbled for the light switch. She realised she was pressing her back against the wall as her hand finally found it. Then dim but reassuring light bloomed from the naked bulb overhead. Rosie had to blink several times as her eyes adjusted to the increased illumination. After a moment she was okay again and she immediately felt foolish for scaring herself. Nevertheless, she decided to keep the light on until Maria re-joined her.
She was never usually spooked that easily. But saying that, she conceded; she’d never seen a real ghost before either. It had been such a strange evening, very surreal and she began questioning what she’d seen. Had they been real or just some kind of optical illusion? Rosie had an irritating habit of over-analysing everything that took her out of her comfort zone. It was one of her faults and she didn’t need Lou to point out that she was about to do it again right now.
After a while, the door at the top of the stairs opened again and Maria came down apologising profusely for her poor hospitality. “What happened, have they gone already?”
"Yes, they just vanished. “ Rosie explained. “They all just stopped; looked around and then they were gone”.
“It’s very cold down here still… Oh dear” Maria paused in a breathy whisper, perhaps noticing the change in atmosphere. In the time she had switched the light on a curious tension had arisen from the dark unknown beneath the rusty grate. It was now an almost tangible unease that was sliding into the room. It brought an immediate sense of urgency to the old lady. “Quickly” she hushed. “Turn out the lights”. She leaned past Rosie and slapped the light switch off. The gloom and shadows immediately raced forward to embrace the two women “We can’t have any lights on. He’s near”.
“Who?”
"Robert Carter" Maria hissed. "He must have been nearby and my lads heard him. That’s why they’ve gone to hide. One shouldn’t have the lights on when he’s near in case it attracts him. Call me a silly old fool but we should go back upstairs, quickly.” Rosie was almost dragged to her feet by Maria who threw a nervous glance towards the shadowed far wall. “It’s the light you see. He’s been lost down there, wandering around in the dark for over a hundred years. But if he sees the light it’ll draw him near and he’ll find his way out of the tunnels. Hurry” Maria was gripping Rosie’s arm so tight it was almost painful. Her sudden change in demeanour was unsettling and Rosie felt the old lady’s distress wrapping around her like a leaden cloak. Suddenly she wanted to run up the stairs, forget Maria.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Rosie said by way of distraction from her mounting as Maria Warne ushered her towards the stairs. Maria didn't have a chance to respond because at that moment the growing tension in the basement reached its peak. The inexplicable dread that had been building suddenly exploded. First, there was a grinding creak of rusted hinges and then a heavy metallic crash echoed around the cellar shattering the fragile air.
Something had just pushed open the grate in the floor.
“Oh my god” Rosie jumped at the sound. Both women paused at the foot of the wooden stairs. Neither knew what to do next. Rosie could hear something pulling itself up out of the ground and into the shadowy cellar. She could sense something dark and heavy slowly dragging its way up onto the mosaic of cracked flagstones. Her arms and legs were now shivering and it wasn’t just from the sharp drop in temperature. Something had come up out of the tunnel. Whatever it was, it stole through the shadows beyond the candle’s glowing reach.
“The lights!” Maria urged. “Switch them back on”. Rosie frantically flapped her hand over the cold brickwork until she found the switch and slapped it on. The sudden brightness blinded her a second time but this time she was ready for it. What she wasn’t ready for was the unnatural intruder rising in the corner of the cellar.
A sunken crumbling figure had appeared before them. A nightmare creature of rotting flesh that dripped seawater from the torn and tattered rags he had died in. Robert Carter stared at the two helpless women through the dead eyeless sockets of his decaying skull. The how and why no longer mattered to Rosie as the corpse-thing began shuffling towards them. Unlike the ghosts from earlier, there was no ethereal grace or otherworldly shimmer to him. Robert Carter was a corpse, dead yet still moving of its own accord. There were only a few meters between him and Rosie and in the light she saw his jaw crack open. “Taxes” his dusty gravelly voice rasped. “Taxes!”
Rosie found herself whimpering. She couldn’t stop shaking. She was trying to say something but her words faded as soon as they reached her lips. Her mind had frozen, temporarily shut down at the unbelievable horror before her. She could do nothing but watch as the dead revenue man took more shambling steps closer. It was Maria who broke the spell first. She brushed past Rosie but instead of fleeing up the stairs she stepped forward to confront the intruder. Rosie reached out a hand instinctively to stop her but the old lady paid her no heed.
“There’s nothing for you here, Robert Carter” Maria said defiantly but with a notable tremor to her voice. "Go back, Robert Cater. You are dead. You don't belong here anymore”.
The thing that had been Robert Carter turned his decomposing skull to face Maria and continued his halting march towards her.
“Taxes” the ex-revenue man half shouted half groaned. He lifted his rotting fleshless arms out towards Maria as he closed in on her. He had already judged and sentenced these conspirators and it was obvious to Rosie that he’d decided they were helping the free traders in their illegal operation. In his twisted view, they were guilty in the eyes of the law and the revenue man had come to pass sentence. Rosie heard Maria quiver as she was held in the glare of those dead eyes. If he wanted something perhaps she could pay him. Quickly, Rosie fumbled at her golden heart-shaped necklace. It had been a present from Lou last Christmas but it was all she had to offer. She pulled it off and held it out to the shuffling corpse.
"Here," she said. "Taxes, Take it". The nightmare figure turned to Rosie and seemed to regard the gold chain.
“No” cried Maria but it was too late. The dead thing lunged forward and grabbed hold of Rosie’s wrist before she had a chance to pull away. His brown skeletal hands gripped her so fiercely that she cried out in pain. Robert Carter leered down at her. His long corpse hair tickled her face. Rosie screamed again. The anger, the aggression, the desire to hurt was all there in the remaining features of what had once been the revenue man’s cruel face. With most of the skin peeled away the remaining mouldering ragged flesh hung down his cheeks. His lips had long since rotted away and the rictus grin of his exposed teeth opened wider puffing the rancid stench of the grave directly into her face. Rosie screamed, chocked and screamed again. Behind her, Maria was screaming too. The panicked shouts of the two women echoed off the walls of the cellar with nowhere to go and no one to hear them. Yet, there was nothing left to do. Rosie continued to scream anguished terrified sobs while Maria at her side was shouting for help. Rosie’s eyes were locked on the empty sockets staring into the twin lifeless holes and seeing the end of her own life staring back at her. She was so lost in her mad state of terror that she didn’t notice the return of the underground mist silently rising up from the floor. The fog swirled into the basement, faster this time, more urgent and spirited than before. It was when the ghostly white glow surrounded her that Rosie noticed more spectral figures had risen up from the underground maze.
Robert Carter released her wrist and turned his creaking head to face the newcomers.
Silvery shapes rushed forward through the ethereal mist. This time the young cheery faces were contorted in anger and hate. Gone were the roguish smiles of the jolly smugglers. Now the gentlemen-of-the-night had come here to fight; ready to defend their livelihoods and those of their neighbours. The silvery outlines of the smugglers ducked and sprinted about the vile intruder. Robert Carter tried feebly to reach out to grab them but Maria’s lads were too quick. They darted beneath his skeletal arms, pulled back from his rotting hands. Rosie turned to see Maria staring wide-eyed as a sea of angry ghostly bodies rose up as one and then crashed down onto the towering dead revenue man. Robert Carter issued an angry growl as he was brought down to the stone floor. He landed hard on the flagstones and was quickly buried beneath the sprightly agile forms of the free traders. They fell upon the foul remains of the revenue man kicking, punching, scratching, and bludgeoning him as they dragged the animated corpse slowly across the stone floor towards the open grill from where he had crawled from. The vengeful spirits hauled the still hissing and cursing murderer back down into the darkness of the tunnel and out of sight. In a moment they were all gone, swallowed up by the tunnel and returned to where they rested. A deafening silence was all that remained as the freezing air gradually sank back down into the old floor and the temperature gradually returned to normal.
Maria ventured over to the far wall where she gingerly bent down and heaved the heavy grate closed. Rosie stayed where she was at the foot of the stairs, watching nervously until the grill slammed back into the stone floor. The two women quickly helped each other back up the stairs and into the welcome normality of the kitchen. Rosie shut the cellar door behind them and Maria locked it. They turned to each other panting and shivering, exhausted from their experience. Neither of them said anything as they clung onto one another tightly. Maria felt fragile, almost skeletal beneath her hoodie and Rosie loosened her grip suddenly aware she may be hurting the old lady. They remained like that for several minutes in the quiet heart of the old house.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” Maria began whispering over and over again as if it were all entirely her fault. Rosie reassured her it was not. They were both safe and that was all that mattered.
Rosie vowed she’d do her best to find out who those unfortunate souls were who had just saved them. She had extensive records she could trawl through and she was confident she’d be able to find something. Maybe Lou could help? Then, thinking of Lou and her offer of going to France, Rosie made another vow. This time it was unspoken for it was meant only for her: It was time she took a chance, as the smugglers of old Lymington had done. After what she and Maria Warne had just gone through a page was now turning in her mind and a new chapter beginning. It was time she became the person she wanted to be, the person she should be. At that moment Rosie decided she would go to France with Lou and she would start creating the perfect life she’d been waiting for for so long. And besides, the hidden mysteries of the New Forest would always be here waiting for her to return.