Free Ghostly Images by Peter Townsend Page A

out and see Laura.”
    “You just saw her to show her your camera!” He changed his tone. “I’m sorry. I just need to get out of here. Some fresh air and a swim should ease my headache.”
    John squirmed. “I don’t know how to get a good image of a noose around Silas’s neck. Perhaps I could take your photograph with a noose around your neck.” He chuckled. “I’d make sure the noose was very tight indeed.”
    David smiled. “I’m sure you would.” He went to the file cabinet and retrieved two files. He handed one of the files to John. “Don’t use the image Hood picked from the files. Here’s a plate of Polly Swallow who looks a lot more like Gertrude, Sandra Clarke’s sister.” David handed the second file to John. “Marsh took a few images of an open-air play, The Hangman . There’s a negative you can use showing a noose around a man’s neck.” David walked to the door of the studio. “Thanks, John. I owe you.”
     
     
    D AVID COLLECTED A TOWEL , swimming trunks, and goggles from his lodgings and placed them in a bag. He always did his best thinking while swimming. His body freed itself of depression, pain, and frustration. It was just the right tonic.
    Once at the pier, he looked over the railings. The sea was millpond smooth but that could be deceptive. A good swimmer could spot the defining moment—a change in the direction of the breeze and a few ripples—and suddenly, the sea would be alive to pounding twelve-foot rollers. David spent several minutes gazing at the sea. It remained lifeless. It had no energy. A gentle sea suited many swimmers, but held no appeal to him. It wasn’t challenging. It wasn’t threatening. There was nothing to do but wait. Until then, he observed people strolling on the pier.
    He could see Ben Updike working at the amusement arcade having an angry exchange with someone about “outsiders.” He noticed another man looking the worse for wear, probably a hangover, stagger along. A workman was removing the advertising from the entrance to the arcade, and a young woman rushed past David heading for the gift shop.
    An old tramp shuffled his way along the promenade. His clothes reeked with the strong smell of alcohol. He stopped briefly to glance at David, his eyes full of sadness and then continued.
    David descended the steps onto the sands and placed his bag by a rock. He decided to take a stroll to the south of Whitby in the general direction of Robin Hood’s Bay. He remembered Eleanor would often walk on the sands after work.
    The soft sand became coarser after about a quarter of a mile and then rocky. He looked up at the towering cliffs at the side of him. Most people wouldn’t walk any further since any fast, incoming tide would mean danger. These were some of the highest cliffs in England. Their soft and crumbling soil made any attempt to climb them futile. Despite this, David took a gamble and continued along the rocky shore. He could hear the soft rumble of small pieces from the cliff falling onto the rocks below. He thought about turning back but decided to continue.
    As he made his way around part of the cliff, he saw a couple, waving their hands frantically in the air . He increased his pace and started running. He came to a sudden halt where a man was holding onto a sobbing female companion.
    “We were just taking a walk…,” said the man, “and then we found…” The man pulled the female to one side so David could see.
    His body began to tremble. It was Eleanor. Her face was swollen and had a greyish-blue colour. Her eyes protruded from under blackened eyelids.
    She lay awkwardly on her back, resting againstthe sharp rocks. The cascade of her long, blonde hair created a halo effect above her head. She wore an apple-white dress. He could see bruising on her arms and the crimson tide of blood around her neck and chest. Just inches beyond her outstretched hand were her pale yellow hat together with the mottled brown tortoiseshell comb that had