The Omnibus Edition

It’s here! Every episode of One-Armed Nick and Nuns of Osyth which I’ve written so far. All 36 of them on one email for you guys who like to binge read. This means that those of you who are free subscribers are going to get a little sneaky look at some of the episodes which are normally behind a paywall. I will be back next week as normal with more antics from One-Armed Nick, Fluffy Frost, Lorelei and possibly Sister Elspeth too, if you’re lucky. (The villagers of Leafield can’t watch themselves through binoculars from the Entirely Pointless Turret, afterall. Someone needs to keep up a running commentary on them).

Happy reading and see you next week! (If you’re not still stuck into this lot by then).

Note: this email is long. Some email providers may clip the message, If that happens, click on ‘view entire message’ to see the whole thing.

Episode 1: No Place for a Ghost

He didn’t know why he’d come here again. Why he always ended up on this tree stump by the Windrush. Minster Lovell wasn’t the place for a ghost at this time of year, the wind blew right through him and rattled. It was an empty spot. The water was grey like the sky and he could feel the cold coming off it. The ruined stone walls of the hall only made the place more bleak. He couldn’t for the death of him think what he’d had to do with this place before his demise. It was still lived-in then, he remembered that. Still had a roof, was still warm in Winter.

One of the most frustrating things about being a ghost was the loss of memory. Livies always assumed you knew why you were a ghost, why you kept being pulled back to the same places again and again, but it wasn’t like that at all. So much had slipped out of his mind when he lost the connection with his body.

He got up and commenced the walk back to Leafield. That was the other thing, there was no whooshing about or passing through walls like people always said there was. He got transferred to places without warning by some unknown force and then he had to walk back the hard way like everyone else. Once upon a time, he used to hitch a lift on the back of a horse or carriage, but these new fangled car things had wrecked all that. Too slippery and uncomfortable, nothing to hang onto. He used to hope he’d come across his missing arm on the road somewhere, but after the first century or so that hope had fallen away, along with a lot of other things.

He was trudging up Hatching Lane an hour later when he saw her. Young-looking, tall for a woman, wavy brown hair down her back. She was dragging a frayed pink suitcase up the road towards the convent. Had she lost her way? No young woman had set foot in that place for donkeys years. He didn’t blame them either. Who wants to hang out with a load of praying women? Especially these ones. Interfering, they were. Never let him lead the quiet life, which was particularly rich when he was here first and they’d built their convent right on top of his birthplace.

This youngster looked tired. She was dragging her feet. She wouldn’t be able to see or hear him, unless she’d already drunk the water of the Wychwood, which he doubted. He caught up and walked alongside her. For once he wasn’t the only lost soul around and this cheered him.

She paused at the stone pillar that said “Convent of St. Osyth’s Revival - all visitors welcome”. In the old days, that had meant something. Back then a stream of tradesmen, merchants and travelling folk were always passing through here on their way to the horse fairs and farms of the Cotswolds. Now, the pillar reared up its lichen-coated head and announced itself to an empty road.

The girl shook out her shoulders, took a firmer grip on her suitcase and marched on. She was a pasty creature, hunched at the shoulders. If he were still alive, he’d have led her away and shown her a good time. Put a smile onto her furrowed face and a bounce in her step. He was good at that, he’d been known for cheering up sad ladies in his time. But those days were gone, alas. Still ,she might be good for some entertainment, especially since she couldn’t see him yet. He was smiling at this thought when Sister Isadora Isaiah opened the door. She must have been watching and waiting for the newcomer.

“Welcome, Lorelei,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Hi, Sister,” said the girl. He had kept pace with her and now stood right by her side. Sister Isadora Isaiah turned the full might of her glare on him for a second and he laughed out loud and tipped his tricorn hat at her. She couldn’t say a word in front of her visitor. The girl looked round in the direction of Isadora’s stare, puzzled.

“Come on in, Lorelei. I’ll show you where to put your things.” She turned her back on him and ushered the girl inside, then tried to shut the door in his face. But he was too fast. He slipped in behind her and the three of them stood together on the bristle mat of a draughty reception hall, in the fading daylight from tall church windows. One-Armed Nick touched the display table to his left on which lay a dusty book of Wychwood folklore, with a whole chapter all about him.

**********

Episode 2: Revelations

They’d got it all wrong, of course, in the book. Him and his brothers had held up a lot more than just the one coach on the Oxford to Gloucester road and they hadn’t been nearly as selfish or loud-mouthed about their takings as the book described. Tom and George had had wives and children at home and he’d had a girl in the village. Well… maybe more than one. Hold-ups were just the work they did. They never killed anyone, and them rich people didn’t need all their jewels afterall, did they. But he supposed none of that mattered now that he was dead, anyway.

Sister Isadora Isaiah was leading the girl away. What had she called her? Lorelei. Pretty name. They exited reception and turned left to go up the stairs. Time for some fun. It wasn’t often he got the better of Sister Isadora Isaiah.

The stairs were stone, but they had iron bannisters with struts that were loose in their slots. Nick couldn’t whoosh about or pass through walls, but he could jump pretty high, gravity being less of an issue these days. He leapt up and grabbed hold of an iron strut halfway up with his one arm, then proceeded to bounce around, causing the iron pole to wobble and scrape against the stone.

To Lorelei, walking up worn stone steps after Sister Isadora Isaiah’s tall, black-habited figure, it seemed that the baluster was alive and dancing to some inaudible music. She stopped by it.

“Er… Sister?”

“Just ignore it, my dear. It’s nothing.”

“Uh…” Lorelei cast a glance back as she followed on. The baluster stopped its agitated twitching as soon as Sister reached the top step, but that was far from reassuring. It made it seem almost intelligent.

Sister held the door open for her at the top. Her jowelled face and bright blue eyes showed no signs of anxiety, but she must have noted Lorelei’s look.

“Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll get used to the quirks around here. Follow me, now.”

Sister turned right along a south-facing corridor with a clean, beige carpet and arched stone windows that looked across the fields to Leafield village. She used a fob to open another door marked “Sisters Only” and took Lorelei through it.

“These cells aren’t being used. We thought we’d give you one by yourself so you’re got some privacy. We put you… Oh for….!” There was a loud bang. The “Sisters Only” door moved backwards and forwards of its own accord, as though possessed.

“Lorelei, did you close that door after you?”

“No…”

“Always close doors after you, it’s very important. Just give me a moment. Why don’t you go in and have a look at your cell?” She bustled away without waiting. The room she’d indicated was called “Bluebell”, it was the last in a row of four and there was another door made of dark, heavy wood just beyond it. Lorelei went into her room. It was small, like a student room, but cosy. It had a single bed in its left-hand corner, just inside the door, with a dark brown crucifix on the wall over the headboard. It had a cream carpet, a white sink against the wall on the left between the bed and the window and a pine chest of drawers on the right. Lorelei put her suitcase by the chest of drawers and went to look out of the window. This had cream and asge chequered curtains and a wide, white ledge which she leaned on, with a white wooden frame snug against a stone surround. It looked out over a square cloister from the south-west corner. The chapel rose above the rest of the building on the north-east corner. The courtyard below was mostly grass with a couple of wooden seats and what looked like a small herb garden opposite her window. There was one rose bush, sporting unseasonal peach-coloured blooms.

“Sorry about that,” said Sister Isadora Isaiah, re-appearing. “There’s an hour until Vespers, why don’t I show you around a bit and then leave you to gather your wits? You’ll meet the other sisters after supper.”

She used her fob again to take Lorelei through the big wooden door. They were on a stone landing which interrupted a spiral staircase in what seemed to be a tower.

“We call this the Entirely Pointless Turret,” said Sister. “We have no idea why the architect built it. But it does have a small prayer room at the top, should you ever wish to make use of it. Take a jacket, though, it’s chilly up there. Now…” Round the curve of the landing was another heavy wooden door. Sister went through it, Lorelei followed.

“This is the fiction library, on your right. The theology library is downstairs, I’ll show you that later. You can take books from…”

“Er… Sister…” Lorelei pointed. From the middle of the corridor, coming towards them, a toilet roll unravelled itself along the floor, leaving a long, white tail behind it as it came. Sister’s mouth tightened into a thin line. Before she could respond, the door of the fiction library opened and a stooped nun with a walking stick emerged.

“Oh hullo, Nick,” she said, turning away from Lorelei and her sister and proceeding down the corridor. “Do clean that up when you’ve finished, won’t you.”

“Sister Felicity Mavis, you might come and greet our visitor,” said Sister Isadora Isaiah, louder than necessary. Her face had turned a strange shade, sort of like mouldy red velvet cake, thought Lorelei, who was unable to speak just yet.

“Oh, oh yes.” Sister Felicity Mavis turned round. “How do you do. Don’t mind the ghost, he’s very friendly. I ‘spect I’ll see you at supper.” Then she continued on her way with short, hobbling steps and the tap, tap, tap of her stick.

*********

Epsiode 3: A Creeping Chill

One-Armed Nick stomped up Buttermilk Lane in the direction of Leafield. Just when Sister Isadora Isaiah had been about to explode in fine style and liven up his day, he’d been yanked away by whatever forces governed his existence. Again. It was dark now, and in this deserted corner of Oxfordshire, almost silent. He could feel damp rising off soggy moss on the dry stone wall. The bare, dark branches of beech trees dripped. He’d never met another ghost, and on a night like this he hoped he never would. Being dead didn’t stop him feeling fear, as irrelevant as that emotion was now.

It didn’t stop him feeling anger or loneliness either. His brothers had hung on the gibbet oak at Habbergallows Hill only a matter of days after he’d met his end, but had they joined him? No they had not. They’d disappeared like everyone else he’d ever known. For 395 years he’d endured a cold existence with only the echoes of fading memories to keep him company.

When the Sisters of Faith and Hope had first built their convent over his old birthplace, back in 1865, some of them had tried to exorcise him. He wasn’t sure

where they were trying to send him to - heaven or hell - and some of the performances had been quite dreadful - but the doors of both realms seemed barred to him, which was depressing. At least the nuns offered some entertainment and even the occasional friendship, but they died with maddening regularity just like everyone else. Then they vanished and left him behind. And he couldn’t even enjoy teasing Sister Isadora Isaiah without his fun being spoiled by whatever it was that kept pulling him back to Minster Lovell on some invisible string. It was unsettling. What could he, One-Armed Nick, son of a forester, possibly have had to do with such a fine house as that had been?

So he trod, stride after stride, back along Buttermilk Lane in the cold winter dark. The bells of Leafield church chimed the quarter hour, but it might just as well have been midnight as 5.15pm.

The worst thing was that he’d disappeared at such an interesting moment, with the girl looking like someone had thrown a bucket of cold gravy over her and Sister Isadora Isaiah about to blow her top like the steam locomotives she loved so much. He wasn’t sure who she wanted to kill the most - him or Sister Felicity Mavis. He thought about how to get back into the convent when there was no one to open a door for him. Sister Isadora Isaiah would try to make sure that all doors and windows were closed. Sister Felicity Mavis could often be relied upon to open one of the high windows in chapel - she was always too warm, even on days like today. He’d check there first. If that way was closed… possibly the cellar door…

He stopped. He was now towards the end of Buttermilk Lane, with tall hedges on either side so dense you couldn’t see through them even when winter had stripped all their leaves. This was normal. His way gave out onto Witney Lane which led into Leafield village and thence to Hatching Lane where the convent was. He’d walked this route thousands of times, in every season, every weather, every time of day. But something didn’t feel right. He hadn’t been cold in 395 years, but there was a creeping chill where his gut once was that had no business being there. He shook himself. It was probably that girl. It was so unusual to have a young person visit the convent and he didn’t like change. What if she didn’t like him? What if she persuaded the sisters to try and exorcise him again?

He walked on a few strides. No, that wasn’t it. The night was closing in on him and he couldn’t explain why. This wasn’t fair. If anyone had a right to spook about the place frightening people, it was him. He turned around slowly on the spot. Everything looked normal. The trees were their usual winter… hang on a minute… the trees… There hadn’t been trees behind these hedgerows in over a hundred years. They’d been chopped down for farmland.

If he still had muscles, he would have shivered. They were pines too. Old pines. There hadn’t been any of those here… well not in his life or death time. It had all been beech, ash, rowan, oak and elm in his day.

He was about to walk on as fast as he could, when something touched his leg. He yelped and jumped backwards. It was a kitten. Just a little white kitten.

“Hello young fellow,” he said, reaching down to scratch it.

“Please don’t do that,” said the kitten.

“Whaaa….?”

“Yes, yes, you’re scared and all that. May I sit under your jacket?” It didn’t wait for permission, it climbed up his leg, nudged its head under his waistcoat and crawled up until its head was poking out of the top. To his surprise, it felt warm and furry.

“Are you a… I mean, what…?”

“I am the Heart’s Blood of the Wychwood, the Soul of the Trees, the Spirit of the Waters, the Breath of the Air. I come to guide lost souls onward. Are you going to keep walking or what?”

“Well where’ve you been for the last 400 years?”

“I was busy. You’re going the wrong way.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You should be going to Minster Lovell.”

“No I should not. I’ll take you out of my waistcoat if you say that again. I didn’t exist this long just to have some kitten tell me what to do.”

“Very well, but you’ll have to stop running away from it eventually, you know.”

“Running away from what?”

“Minster Lovell.”

“Oh shut up.”

**********

Episode 4: Greenish Pond Water

Lorelei stood facing Sister Isadora Isaiah in the corridor. She really wasn’t sure what to say. It was quite a lot for one day - coming to stay in a convent for who knew how long, then finding that there was some sort of eldritch presence operating here - right near the bedroom where she would be surrounded by empty rooms at night. If she had anywhere else to go, she would walk out now. But she didn’t, and she was starting to have a horrible feeling about what she might be in for.

“I am sorry about all that, my dear,” said Sister Isadora Isaiah. “Please don’t take Sister Felicity Mavis too seriously, we think she might be developing dementia now.” Lorelei looked back at the toilet roll, lying along the floor where no toilet roll should be. It had stopped moving and that was somehow even more scary. If there was a ghost, where was he and what was he doing? At least the moving toilet roll had located him somewhere. She wrapped her arms round her middle. Her grey hoodie felt awfully thin.

“Ah, come and have a sit down, my dear. Let’s have a cup of tea, shall we.” Lorelei followed Sister to the end of the corridor, past five more nun’s cells and into a large sitting room with a kitchenette. There were three armchairs with a round coffee table and away in the corner, an old-looking computer on a desk. Lorelei sat herself in the opposite corner where she could observe the whole room while Sister made them both mugs of tea. Nothing moved or made a sound apart from the kettle and Sister. Lorelei began to breathe a little easier. She must have seemed worried though, because Sister took a careful look at her and then said

“It’s okay, he… I mean, there’s nothing here that you need to be concerned about.”

“Is there really a ghost?” Sister let out a long breath and her shoulders dropped.

“Well, we’re not quite sure what he is, but yes, there’s a presence around sometimes. He comes and goes. He is… well… how much do you know about the Wychwood, Lorelei?” Lorelei shook her head and sipped her tea.

“Our community was founded, as you know, in 1863 and the convent was finished in 1865. We came here to minister to the travellers and foresters of the area. It was known as a place of spiritual deprivation. A lot of criminals used to hide out in the Wychwood. Travellers were robbed, children were uneducated and so forth. But we found… well, it’s a very ancient place, the Wychwood. There were other souls that needed tending to… not… living ones, if you catch my drift?” Lorelei sat on her other hand, the one not holding the mug. She wanted to scratch her prickling skin. She wanted to get out of the room, but that would have seemed rude. Sister went quiet for a minute.

“Nick’s been around a long time. Most of the others are long gone now, but Nick… he’s different. We don’t know why. The guardianship of him gets handed down to each generation…” she looked intently at Lorelei again, until Lorelei stared down at her tea, embarrassed. “We live alongside him, do you understand?” Lorelei shrugged. She wanted to cry, but not in front of Sister.

“Is he… um… what about at night? Like, will he come and… you know… watch me and stuff?”

“Ach, no! Just make sure you always keep your door and window closed. If you’re worried, come and talk to one of us, there’s things… well… we can sort it out. But he can only get into the building through an open door or window. Here, let me take your cup.” She busied herself rinsing mugs at the sink while Lorelei looked down at her hands

“You look all in, my dear. Why don’t you go and have a bit of time to catch up with yourself. One of us will come and get you when it’s time for Vespers.”

Back in her room, Lorelei sat down with a thump on the end of the bed and put her head in her hands. Why oh why had she thought it was a good idea to come here? Well, she hadn’t, that was the truth. She had just needed somewhere to go and this had been one of two options and the other people never replied, so… Here she was and what was left of her life sat in a single suitcase next to the chest of drawers.

The place had seemed peaceful when she came to try it out for a weekend. It had embraced her like a friend. Now… she realised that this wasn’t going to be a weekend away. She was stuck here with nuns and… this ghost. There would be no going to the pub in the evening. Her friends were all the way back in Oxford, which suddenly seemed like the moon. She started to sniffle a bit, but then…

“He..hello? May I come in?” Lorelei got up and opened the door. It was Sister Felicity Mavis. She had her stick in one hand and a jam jar of what looked like greenish pond water in the other. She followed Lorelei into the room, plonked the jam jar on top of the chest of drawers.

“Well, you’ve had quite a rude awakening, haven’t you?” She said.

“Er…yes,” said Lorelei.

“Mmm… yes, yes. Must be hard, losing your mother and all. I thought you might like this,” she gestured at the water. “Hasn’t she told you? Oh well, don’t tell her about this then. There are two springs in the forest… yes, yes, and when we drink from them, we can see the spirits. We normally give it to novices, once they’re committed, you know… but as you’ve encountered Nick already, I thought… Don’t tell her, will you? She’s always after me about something or other. Yes, well… I ‘spect I’ll see you in Vespers shortly.” Without waiting for a response, Sister Felicity Mavis exited with quick, hobbling steps.

Lorelei found herself in a darkening room on her first afternoon in a convent, staring at a jam jar full of dirty water on top of a chest of drawers.

*********

Episode 5: Lost Arm, Botched Robbery

“Are… are you Nick?”

He took a step back. It was dark outside, and cold, though still early evening and Lorelei’s shape stood backlit in the frame of the Sisters’ door on the west side of the convent. The kitten was still poking its head out of his waistcoat, though it had stopped talking now. He wondered if she could see that too.

“You can see me now?” She nodded.

“That was quick, they don’t normally…”

“What are you?” She said.

“Well that’s rude, I must say! Really, couldn’t you at least start with ‘how do you do’? A bit of respect wouldn’t go…” But she had started to giggle and then she sniffed and rubbed her sleeve over her face and he wasn’t sure if she was crying or laughing.

“I’d leave her alone if I were you,” said the kitten. Lorelei took her sleeve from her face and stared at it. Nick felt it wriggle upwards out of his waistcoat. The small weight of it teetered on the edge and he raised his one hand to try and hold it, but it hissed at him, took a flying leap and landed with a light thump just in front of the doorstep. Then it trotted up and rubbed itself against Lorelei’s ankle.

“Awww, you cutie,” she said and bent down to scratch its chin.

“Hey, you didn’t let me do that!” Said Nick. The kitten just looked back at him and purred. Nick felt oddly abandoned. There was a cold patch at the front of his neck.

“What’s your name?” Said Lorelei to the kitten.

“I go by many names. I am the Heart’s Blood of the Wychwood, the Soul of the Trees, the Spirit of the Waters, the Breath of the Air, I come…”

“Can I call you Fluffy Frost?”

“Oh go on then,” said the kitten.

“Hey, what about me?” Said Nick.

“I’ll come back to you in a moment,” said Fluffy Frost, arching her back against Lorelei’s hand.

“Well can’t I at least come inside?” said Nick.

“No,” said Lorelei and the kitten together.

“Huh.” Nick felt something colder than the night air pierce his non-existent belly. He put his left hand onto his sword hilt and half-turned to leave, but found he couldn’t face the dark emptiness of the trees just now. There was a strange compulsion in the light from the Sisters’ stone doorway and the sight of the girl and cat cosying up to each other.

“What happened to you, anyway?” Said Lorelei, straightening up.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” said Nick.

“He bled to death after losing his arm in a botched robbery,” said Fluffy Frost.

“Oi!” Said Nick.

“He’s still looking for his missing arm.”

“No I am NOT! And who told you anyway?”

“I know All Things for I am the Heart’s Blood of the Wychwood, the Soul of the…”

“Oh shut up” said Nick. Lorelei was staring at him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“So you really are a ghost,” she said.

“No need to rub it in. How was your first day in a nunnery?”

“Bit of a nightmare actually, mostly thanks to you.” This cheered him a little.

“Ah, you noticed then? Did you like my trick with the toilet roll and…”

“No, it was actually really childish.”

“Oh…” for some reason One-Armed Nick felt a laugh bubble up from inside him.

“That’s not even funny. What’s wrong with you?” But this made Nick laugh even more. He couldn’t stop himself.

“I’m dead!” He gasped, between breaths.

“Ugh,” said Lorelei. “Well I’m going in for supper. Goodbye.” And she closed the door, leaving Nick and Fluffy Frost on the outside.

In the dark, Nick continued to chortle for a few minutes until he felt drops that were not tears of mirth trickle from his eyes.

“Have you finished?” Said Fluffy Frost. “May I just…” She scrambled back up his leg, under his waistcoat and stuck her head out of the top again. “Off we go, then,” she said.

“Where to?” Said Nick.

“Minster Lovell.”

“No.” Nick trod away in the dark in the opposite direction from Minster Lovell.

“What was all that about?” He asked.

“All what?”

“All that. Cuddling up to Little Miss Wit over there, allowing her to call you Fluffy Frost. I notice you didn’t let me scratch your chin before…”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” said Fluffy Frost, “that you might not be the only lost soul around here?”

*********

Episode 6: Double-Barrelled Flintlock Pistol

[This episode comes with thanks to Rhianna for the naming of Winston.]

Once upon a time he had loved the dark nights of Winter - so much better for pursuing coaches and carriages, then bursting upon them without warning in some remote spot. He remembered how Winston’s hooves had thudded and rustled quietly in woodland leaf mould while he moved to a spot under cover of the trees to wait for the tell-tale sounds of whichever conveyance he’d pinpointed as his quarry earlier.

Aye, those were the days. He was young, strong, had both his arms still. One for the pistol, one for Winston, though Winston knew his business almost without being told. Even now, while so many memories trickled away from him like water from a dripping leaf, even now he could remember the warmth and solidity of Winston beneath him, the way the horse knew how to stand still with only his ears flicking back now and then to check if Nick wanted anything.

At those times, poised in a night time forest ready for the moment when he would charge out of the trees with a yell and the crash of his pistol fired into the air, at those times, he’d felt truly alive. Now, he wasn’t even a man anymore, and without Winston or a right arm, he could hardly be called a highway robber. The word ‘ghost’ wasn’t something he could relate to either. He felt too solid in himself to be a ghost. Surely a real ghost wouldn’t have so many damned sensations?

He sat down on a rotting log somewhere off the path near Withy Bottom and resolved to spend the dark silence of the night polishing his pistol and sword again. Why not. There was nothing else to do at night except pace the paths that living folk had left behind when most of them went to live in the towns. The night sky was a muddy brown against the trees. Thankfully, he no longer needed a moon to see by.

“Are you always this depressed?” Said Fluffy Frost. Nick jumped.

“I’d forgotten you were there,” he said.

“No you hadn’t. You were hoping I’d keep quiet about Minster Lovell.” Nick didn’t reply. He took out his pistol, laid it across his thighs and reached into his jacket for the cloth and cleaning rod. He’d died without his full cleaning kit on him, alas, and anyway he couldn’t get the necessary water and oil now. But he liked to maintain his weaponry as best he could, all the same. His pistol was a particularly fine piece - double-barrelled, expensive - probably bought in London. He’d acquired it from one of his first robberies when his brothers were showing him the ropes. Some foolish lord had tried to defend himself, but he’d missed when pouring in the powder so Nick had grabbed him, thrown him out of his coach and taken the pistol.

The real life Minster Lovell. (Photo © Sarah Frideswide)

“You’re ignoring me,” said Fluffy Frost. She wriggled upwards, rubbed her forehead against the bottom of his chin and began to purr.

“I can’t be bought with affection,” said Nick. He propped the pistol between both his knees so he could clean it one-handed.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said the kitten. She wriggled some more and pulled herself out of his waistcoat. Then she scrambled up to his shoulder and jumped from there to his hat where the weight of her almost knocked it off.

“Will you stop it? I’m trying to clean this.” Fluffy Frost didn’t reply, she was moving about behind the brim of his tricorn hat. The weight of her pulled it low over his forehead.

“Uch,” said Nick.

“It’s a great view from up here,” said Fluffy Frost.

“You’re not going to let me…”

“Not until you’re ready to talk, no.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Yes you do. You’re desperate to. Now if I can just…”

“If I talk, will you promise to sit still and shut up about Minster Lovell?”

“I make no promises, for I am the Heart’s Blood of the Wychwood, the Soul of the trees, the…”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Nick. “Alright then, what d’you want to know?”

“You miss Winston, don’t you?”

“What’s that got to do with…”

“You could see him again, you know.”

“What?”

“But you have to go back to Minster Lovell.”

“Aaargh!” Fluffy Frost leapt off Nick’s hat in shock at his yell. She bounced off his knee, sent the pistol flying and landed in leaf mould a foot away, staring at him wide-eyed.

Nick was staring at the pistol. It lay next to Fluffy Frost on the ground. It had lost its whiteish ghostly appearance and was brown again. Brown and silver, well-polished, pristine, the beautiful curve of its pistol grip clear against the darker browns and greys of leaves. Nick came off the log and knelt down. He brushed his fingers over the weapon. It was cold, solid. He tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy for whatever strength his spirit arm had. He tried again, to no avail. He looked at the kitten. She had sat down, wrapped her tail round her legs and was watching him intently.

“Well what am I going to do now?” He said.

Historical note:

With the exception of the convent, the settings in this story are real. Minster Lovell, the Wychwood and Leafield village are all places in the area of Oxfordshire just outside Witney. Both the ghost of One-Armed Nick and Fluffy Frost the white kitten are based on bits of local folklore which I read about in the book Oxfordshire Folk Tales by Kevan Manwaring. In the case of One-Armed Nick, such a highwayman and his two brothers actually existed. In real life they were called Tom, Dick and Harry. (Yes,really!) When locals decided enough was enough, they were caught in an ambush by police. One of them lost his arm, fled into the forest and was never seen again. His two brothers were hanged shortly thereafter.

**********

Episode 7: Leave the Girl Alone

Lorelei stood in the sisters’ community room after supper. It had the same beige carpet as other communal areas in the convent. There was a log burner to her left against the north wall, in between high arched windows. There were several plants, some armchairs, a coffee table and a cabinet which she’d been shown was full of stationary for communal use. On the opposite side of the room was a door to yet another staircase. It was at least the thrid that Lorelei had counted so far, including the one in the Entirely Pointless Turret which, she’d been told, went all the way down to the cellar.

There were two other doors to this room: the one from the refectory behind her, and one opposite the log burner that led out into the cloister. Most of the rooms at ground level could be accessed directly from the cloister. It was a closed-in cloister, a Victorian approximation of the ones from medieval monasteries, with the extra advantage of protection from the elements. There were rare bats roosting in the cloister, turret and chapel, apparently, so doors always had to be kept closed to prevent them from getting into other areas of the convent. Lorelei had almost giggled at the thought of Sister Isadora Isaiah’s face if bats got into the theology library.

Now was the time for her to formally meet the sisters. Or some of them, anyway. Six of them, including Sister Felicity Mavis, lived on the Infirmary Wing where they were looked after by a team of care staff. She would meet them later. Sister Isadora Isaiah, she’d been amazed to discover, was ninety-two, but she appeared to have resisted any move over to the Infirmary Wing.

The remaining five sisters stood in a line in front of her, ready to be introduced. She went along the line. First was Sister Bryony Hope, who looked to be the youngest of them, although she had her share of wrinkles and wisps of grey hair escaping from under her veil. Then there was Sister Audrey, Sister Olive Susan, Sister Agnes and most intimidating of all, Mother Wilfride Carmen. Mother was a woman of medium height, with rounded cheeks and a warm, firm handshake. She spoke with the hint of a French accent and didn’t smile. Then she vanished without waiting to talk.

“Well,” said Sister Audrey, “you’ve brought a breath of fresh air into this place, I must say. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you for some time.” Lorelei smiled, she wasn’t sure what to say. She felt she was being appraised, particularly by Sister Olive Susan, who was making no attempt to hide her stare.

“We have high hopes of you,” she said and it didn’t sound friendly. Lorelei glanced at Sister Isadora Isaiah, who pounced on Sister Olive Susan.

“Don’t start that now, Olly,” she said. “She’s only just got here.”

“Whyever should I not? She needs to know what she’s getting into. Haven’t you told her our situation? We might not even be…” Sister Audrey made shushing noises and Isadora Isaiah shook her head with a look that would have frozen boiling water. Lorelei felt something curdle in her stomach.

“D’you mean about the ghost?” She said. There was silence. All the sisters looked at her.

“You didn’t…” said Sister Agnes, turning her head slowly towards Isadora Isaiah.

“I met him, just before,” said Lorelei. Sister Bryony Hope gave a high-pitched gasp and pressed a hand to her mouth. Sister Isadora Isaiah was, for once, totally silent.

“Issy, how could you? You gave her the water of the Wychwood before she was ready! And then you have the nerve to lecture me about how much we should be telling her. I thought even you…”

“I did nothing of the sort,” said Isadora Isaiah. “Lorelei, what happened?” Too late, Lorelei realised she wasn’t supposed to tell and that Sister Felicity Mavis would probably now get into trouble.

“Um… I just… er…” she looked down at her feet and felt herself turning red.

“Oh, leave the girl alone,” said Sister Audrey. “She’s had a hard day. I’m sure whatever it is can be talked about tomorrow.”

“I think some of us should have a talk now,” said Sister Olive Susan, looking at Isadora Isaiah. Lorelei wanted to run away from all of them.

“Uch, you two need locking in a room together,” said Audrey. She came over to Lorelei and rubbed her arm. “Come on,” she said, “you should have an early night. She’s not coming to Compline,” she said over her shoulder to the others as she drew Lorelei over towards the stairs. “Would you like some hot chocolate?” She added, to Lorelei. Lorelei nodded. She felt shrunken somehow, like there was a hollow in her gut that was folding her into itself. Sister Audrey led her into the sisters’ sitting room, where she talked as she made the hot chocolate, but Lorelei heard very little.

“You go and take that to your room now,” said Sister Audrey, a few minutes later, handing her a steaming mug. “Don’t worry about coming to Lauds tomorrow morning. Breakfast is at 7.30 and Greater Silence finishes at 8. Why don’t you and I have a chat then?” Lorelei nodded. “Don’t worry about anything now, you just go and get some sleep, go on.” Lorelei go up and managed a mumbled thank you before almost running to her room.

It was cold and dark in there. She locked her door behind her without bothering to put the light on. She sat on the side of her bed. In the unnatural silence of the convent, her hot mug and the burning pathway of chocolate from mouth to stomach were the only trustworthy sensations in the world.

After a while, the convent bell started to chime the hour of Compline from across the quad. The beating sound rang out and filled the air. It called to the empty forest around it and to the village a mile away where everyone was probably watching telly in their warm houses, or eating with their families.

Small and alone in the dark silence of her cell, Lorelei began to cry.

**********

Episode 8: Don’t Cross the Kitten

“Well what am I going to do now?” Said One-Armed Nick.

“You dropped it,” said Fluffy Frost. She began to wash herself. Nick ran his fingers over the smooth pistol grip. He couldn’t feel anything through his fingers, there was only the memory of its polished surface that was almost as soft as a snake’s skin. He tried again to pick it up, but he could only make it shift a quarter of an inch up, then down. It felt to him like the weight of a cast iron cannonball.

“It won’t turn back, you know,” said Fluffy Frost. She had paused with one hind leg in the air over her head and was staring at him.

“What d’you mean, it won’t turn back?”

“It won’t become a ghost weapon again, it’s returned to its orginal state.”

“How the hell would you know?” Said Nick.

“I am the Heart’s Blood of the Wychwood, the…”

“I don’t care what you are! Are you going to help or what?”

“There’s no need to be rude,” said the kitten. She continued her wash and ignored Nick with studious concentration. Nick watched her.

“What are you expecting exactly?” He said. Fluffy Frost continued to wash. She was particularly intent on her left inner hind leg, there was something knotted in the fur.

“I mean, are you wanting me to worship you, beg, or… I don’t know, dump you in the stream like any other stray cat. What? Because I’m getting pretty fed up of you hanging around being all hoity-toity if you’re not actually going to do anything. Well?” Fluffy Frost continued to wash herself.

“Huh,” said Nick. He went to sit back on his log. He propped his chin on his one hand and gazed at the pistol. His beautiful pistol. His pride and joy. Now out of reach. To think of her getting all damp… Then rust would start to appear and slowly creep over all the joints. Leaves would blow over, she’d get buried…

“You’re crying,” said Fluffy Frost.

“I am NOT!” Said Nick. He swiped his sleeve across his face. Fluffy Frost stepped through leaves like a dancer, jumped onto his knee and started to purr. She rubbed her head against his buttons. Nick put his one hand in his pocket and sank his head down onto his chest.

“Go away,” he said. But he didn’t push her off. After a few minutes, she stopped.

“Will you come to Minster Lovell now?” She said.

“Uch”!” Said Nick. This time he did push her off. She landed at his feet. Nick took to staring at his pistol again. Fluffy Frost stretched herself up his leg, stuck her claws in and made to begin sharpening them. He lifted his leg and shook her away. She hissed and landed in a shadow this time. Her eyes glowed out from it.

“You might want to be more careful how you treat me,” she said. Her voice had taken on a low tone.

“Right, of course, you’re the Heart’s Blood of the Wychwood, we know. Except you won’t explain what on earth you mean by that. And as for being useful… Huh.” Nick glowered down at his pistol.

“I am not someone you would wish to cross,” said Fluffy Frost. “And the question you should be asking is not whether you can use me, but whether I have any use for you.” Nick spared her a glance then. There was a white mist rising around the compact outline of the kitten, just visible in deep shadow. It grew upwards and formed a shape suggestive of a woman’s body with long hair, then dispersed into the night before Nick could make out any details. Fluffy Frost came towards him again.

“Are you coming then?” She said, in her normal, high-pitched voice.

“Coming?”

“Well you’re not just going to sit there mooning over a gun, are you… Oh, you are. Danu preserve me…” She put her tail in the air and started to walk away in a slow, deliberate fashion. “…fools…” he heard “…clots…dolts…sentimental human idiots…” Then she disappeared into the darkness.

Nick sank inside himself. He’d learnt this skill over the centuries when things got too much. He became a shell, with just a tiny flame deep inside his empty guts. He stilled to almost nothing, his presence only slightly denser than the air around him. He no longer noticed his surroundings. No longer heard or smelled. But he didn’t take his eyes off his pistol.

*******************

Lorelei had put the lamp on, but she hadn’t closed the curtains. She wanted to look out at what she could see of the sky. Across the quad, some of the sisters still had lights on in their cells. Their squares of curtain-filtered glow disrupted her view, although they made her feel a little less alone.

She was too tired to unpack. She’d opened the suitcase on the floor and dug through it to find her pyjamas. Now she was sitting in bed. There was a small bedside table. Her Bible and empty mug were on it, alongside the lamp. She had her journal on her raised knees and was considering writing in it, but her eyes felt dry and sore from crying and she had the start of a headache.

It was only 8.40, but the leaflet she’d been given with the sisters’ daily timetable on it said that Greater Silence started at 8pm. Even if there’d been anyone to talk to, she wasn’t allowed to. There was no telly or anything. She could just about pick up the wifi from the guest wing on her phone, but she couldn’t watch anything without making a noise. So there really wasn’t anything else to do except go to bed.

She got up to close the curtains, then jumped and froze. A face had appeared at the window. After a second, she recognised Fluffy Frost, but her heart was still beating fast as she went to the window. Fluffy Frost patted on the glass with a paw. Lorelei opened the window, but jumped again as Fluffy Frost nipped through the gap onto her window ledge without invitation. She couldn’t help herself from offering a hand to the kitten though and scratching her furry chin for her.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered.

“It’s the Armless One, he needs your help,” said Fluffy Frost.