The Ghost of Seagull Cottage

After giving her time to inspect the kitchen he led the way to the room opposite set out as a dining room with old-fashioned dark, furniture.

‘If the furniture’s a problem we can have it removed.’ He waved his arm.

Annabel heard a whooshing noise as if someone brushed past her but there was only her and Jon, who by his startled expression had also heard something.

‘It’s okay, I could live with it. A nice, colourful tablecloth would brighten up the room.’ It was a good size with a window overlooking the rear garden and she could perk it up with her paintings on the walls. ‘Shall we carry on?’

The young man almost ran down the hall to a room on the right, overlooking the front garden with a glimpse of the sea beyond. Furnished with a sagging sofa and armchairs, it was at least inoffensive and more modern in style and Annabel could see it would be a cosy sitting room.

‘And now we have a room which can be either a sitting room or a bedroom, depending on the size of your family.’ It was similar in size to the room opposite but contained a single bed, wardrobe and set of drawers. All heavy Edwardian.

‘Ah, I wouldn’t need it as a bedroom as I believe there are two upstairs. There’s only myself and my daughter. She could have it as a playroom. Without the furniture, of course.’ Again Annabel was aware of a whoosh of air and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

‘What’s that whooshing I keep hearing?’

Jon shifted his feet. ‘I’ve no idea, Mrs Easton. Perhaps a bird’s got in and trying to escape.’ Annabel didn’t believe him but shrugged her shoulders. She really liked the cottage and, more importantly, it was about the only one she could afford for the size and location.

‘Let’s go upstairs, shall we?’

She followed him up the stairs, admiring the workmanship of the mahogany handrail and spindles. Someone had spent more time and money on them than was usual for a relatively humble cottage. Upstairs, at the back Annabel smiled as the agent threw open the door to a fully tiled and well equipped bathroom with a shower cubicle and a bath.

And then the two bedrooms, both at the front.

‘This is the master bedroom, and as you can see it’s a good size and with sea views.’ The agent waved his arm towards the window in emphasis. Annabel’s eyes, however, were drawn towards a large oil painting hanging on the wall opposite the iron framed bed. It was of a sailor in a Guernsey woollen jumper and serge jacket and offering a glimpse of his dark curls under a jaunty cap. He was sporting the ubiquitous dark beard and smoking a pipe. The arresting features were his eyes. A piercing blue, they seemed to follow her as she moved around the room.

‘Whoever is this chap? It’s been badly painted and not something you want in a bedroom.’ This time the whoosh was louder and she thought she heard a voice shout, ‘Get out of my house, woman!’ She blinked and turned towards Jon who had grown pale.

‘I… I believe he’s Captain Daniel Gallienne, the original owner who… who built the cottage.’

Something clicked in her head. Could it be? Surely not! This was the twenty-first century not something out of a Victorian novel.

‘Is it possible this captain haunts the place? Is that why the rent is so low?’ She risked a quick look at the painting, before turning to face the poor agent.

‘Well, there have been rumours, but nobody admits to actually seeing him. Until now all those who’ve lived here were descended from his sister, there’s never been any… any strangers.’

‘I see. And when did this captain die? Must have been some time ago, surely?’

‘Yes, not long after the Second World War. In his forties, I think. Look, Mrs Easton,’ he said, fiddling with his folder, ‘I’m sorry if you’ve been upset and I quite understand if you don’t wish to see anymore and leave⁠—’

‘Oh, I’m not upset though I’m not sure what I feel. Shocked and… strange. But I don’t want to be put off by someone who’s been dead nearly seventy years.’ She glanced around the spacious room with the enticing sea view. ‘I really like the cottage and I’m sure we could be very happy here. Can you show me the rest, please?’ Annabel gave him her warmest smile as he nodded and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind them. The other bedroom was slightly smaller but would be fine for Emilia though the furniture would not suit a ten-year-old, which thought she kept to herself. The window framed a similar view, with a window seat ideal for Emilia to sit and read. Perfect.

They then went upstairs to what appeared to have been used as a lookout, the light pouring into a room furnished with a table and armchair and with a splendid brass telescope taking pride of place in the bay window.

‘Oh, how wonderful! This would make a great studio for my painting.’ She moved towards the telescope. ‘May I take a look?’ Jon nodded, looking as if he’d rather be outside. After adjusting the lens, Annabel had a clear view over to Herm and close-ups of the little boats she had seen earlier. The captain must have spent many pleasant hours up here gazing out to sea, she thought.

A voice hissed in her ear, ‘Be careful with my telescope!’ She looked around but she was alone, the agent had left and was clattering down the stairs.

‘I’ll be careful, don’t worry,’ she whispered back.

And then she saw him.

Standing inches away, dressed in the seaman’s jersey, jacket and trousers as in the portrait and with his blue eyes locked on hers.

‘Oh my God, are you real?’ she asked, her heart thumping and her mouth suddenly dry. She had to hold onto the telescope as her legs wobbled.

‘As real as any ghost can be, I reckon. I come and go as I please. This is still my home, you know, and I don’t want a stranger living in it.’ His eyes blazed and she stepped back, forcing herself to remain calm. How on earth could she be talking to a ghost? Was she mad? The sound of the front door opening and closing told her Jon had gone outside and she was left alone with someone who appeared perfectly normal, if a little old-fashioned in his outfit, with dark hair and the most startling blue eyes she had ever seen. Except he was apparently dead.

A ghost.

‘Well, woman? Cat got your tongue has it? Or are you too scared to say anything?’ He stood, relaxed, with his arms crossed and a smile hovering around his mouth.

‘No, I’m not… scared. Surprised, yes. I’ve not seen a ghost before, let alone talked to one. In fact, to be honest, I’ve never believed in them.’ She took a deep breath. Perhaps she was actually mad. Or she was dreaming and would wake up and all would be as it was. Normal.

‘And I’d like you to know I plan to move in with my daughter as I think your cottage is lovely and it’s just what I need right now. Life’s been a… bit difficult lately and to be honest, I can’t afford anything else. Except a small flat, and we would hate that.’ To her horror, Annabel felt tears prick her eyes and she hastily brushed them away.

‘My dear woman, no need for tears. Can’t abide a woman crying. And of course a flat wouldn’t do for a child. Children need to run around outside.’ He stroked his beard, looking thoughtful. ‘To be frank, I was hoping I’d scare you away as I have the others, leaving me in peace. But perhaps we could rub along if we have to. Reach some sort of agreement. What d’ya say?’

Annabel gazed at him open-mouthed. It was all so surreal. She nodded, giving herself time to think.

‘I don’t want you scaring Emilia, she’s only ten, so if you could agree to stay away from downstairs and her room it might work. Where and when do you normally… er, show up?’

‘I’ve never been restricted before, seeing as how family lived here. But I suppose I could make do with only coming in the evenings and to this room and my bedroom. Not much at all, considering.’

‘Ah, but your bedroom will be my bedroom and I’m not sure I’d like the idea of you popping in when I’m getting ready for bed.’ She felt herself flush at the thought.

‘Don’t be silly, woman, there’s no need to get all coy with me! I’ve no physical body, you’re only seeing me because I chose to let you, wanting to scare you. I haven’t the ability or the usual desires a man might have in that direction.’ He glared at her. ‘I suppose we should introduce ourselves. Daniel Gallienne.’

‘Mrs Annabel Easton.’

He bowed his head. ‘Pleased to meet you. Are you a widow? No mention of a husband.’

‘I am a widow, yes—’Annabel was interrupted by the agent shouting up the stairs.

‘Are you all right, Mrs Easton? I’ve been waiting for you in the garden.’

She moved to the door.

‘Yes, I’m fine. Coming now.’

When she turned round the room was empty.