Richard
I don't presume to know how others view me for I have never asked. However, I view myself as a spectre. Merely an apparition, viewed by some but mainly ignored. I pass through all buildings and it seems I have passed through time unchanged as well. I work with people, I mend people yet I can't seem to be with people. Again I am a spectre. Some days I embrace this alter ego. When I am on my bicycle I can imagine that I am the decapitated Ewen from the battle at Glen Cainnir.
Poor Ewen, denied his right to rule. He lost his head and is still said to be seen roaming the countryside on his horse. I still have my head and my bicycle is my steed. Perhaps I feel for him since I too feel that I have been denied. I became flesh for one afternoon, becoming permanent as it were to ask if I could become whole. She told me no. With that I became a spectre fully. I have embraced it. Now I am only seen if I wish it. Only when I cloak myself in white am I visible to those around me. I heard tales around campfires of the white woman. Ghost stories we all grew up with, young bairns terrified of a woman in a white nightgown. No one is terrified of me in a white coat and I find it amusing.
She nearly became a spectre, her life slowly seeping out of her body. While it might have brought us closer together being soulless I couldn't let it happen. I fought to bring her back and I won. However, some victories cost more than others.
She is happy again, life is shining in her eyes, I see her laugh as she walks with him. I feel hollow and press down with my feet to urge my steed on. I fly past them, I wonder if they actually saw me?
Days pass and I work and work. I begin to relish the aches and pains I have for they let me know I haven't faded into nothing completely. She is here less and less and I tell myself that it is for her own good.
Food doesn't taste good today. While I may consider myself an apparition I do know I have to eat. My sandwich tastes like paper it saddens me that I actually lift the bread to see if I left some of the wrapping from the meat in the sandwich. I'm relieved that it isn't there but I wonder about the taste. I abandon the sandwich hours later I throw it in the bin, not hungry. It's late, and it's cold I pull my white coat around me to secure the heat. I see that the window is shut, perhaps one has been left open in the ward? Pushing away from desk I stand and am a bit dizzy. Walking out into the ward I take a quick look the windows have been secured. Beds are empty, some might argue that is the best way to keep a hospital. I walk to the back and hear humming. She is there inventorying basins, linens and various other objects. I will myself not to be seen and lean into the corner and watch her. This what I do as a spectre I get to watch those around me.
I forget that I'm in my white coat, she turns and sees me. She emits a yelp of surprise but calms quickly. I put up my hands so she can see I mean no harm. I'm not Ewen, and while at this particular moment I feel hollow I am still a man. A smile is my reward and I burn it into my memory. Wanting to have an image, a good image in my mind to recall on nights when I can't sleep. That came sooner than I thought, my night was terrible. My bed seemed to have been replaced with the Iron Maiden. I must have dozed off early in the morning and slept through until I hear someone at my door. When I see her I have no reaction, I don't wave her off or in. She takes the initiative and walks inside it's then that I notice it.
Something strange is happening, the walls seem to be melting. As if someone from above is dripping candle wax onto my cottage. I shut my eyes tightly to banish the image nonetheless when I open them the walls still appear to be soft. She is not melting, her image is pristine. I look at my hands and find that they have turned soft. I must have made a noise for she is moving towards me. The floor has melted, what is more frightening is that it is now moving. It swirls around my feet and climbs up my calves. Her hands touch my face and I want to shout, "No, don't touch me. Don't get stuck" but I can't. The wax is climbing higher and higher. Her hands touch me again and this time I beg her not to let it take me.
She says something but I can't hear it for the wax has climbed up to my neck and face and is working its way steadily higher. I shut my eyes for fear that the wax will burn them. I still hear her, voice muffled but eventually the wax wins.
Isobel
Hauntings, the word conjures up so many images. I rather like the idea, especially since nearly all of whom I love are now dead. I entertain the idea that they could come and visit that I could talk with them again. It's rather silly but I do have my rules, I speak to their pictures not their graves for I want to see them. See them as they were in that moment when the photographer captured the happiness on their faces.
These months have been hard. The family has been kind always extending invitations some of which I accept. Cousin Violet has good way needling what she wants. I'm trying not to fall back into old habits, trying to form new ones. However, the hospital is where I feel most comfortable it I find myself gravitating towards it. Doing work again has me thinking that perhaps I have spent too much time talking with ghosts. I make a new friend Lord Merton. I can tell him all the old stories that would normally bore anyone else for he hasn't heard them. This way we can all spend time together my new friend and my ghosts.
A bell captures my attention and I see him pedaling fast, quite fast. One end of his scarf is trailing in the wind. I don't know where he is going but it looks as if he is off to do battle. He may well be depending on what the patient needs.
I've already done this work, the shelves haven't been picked through that much since I did this last. However, I don't wish to go home and I know he won't mind. I screech when I see him, he puts his hands up to placate me. I smile in relief that he wasn't an axe-murderer and for the fact that he is here. I want to talk to him but he is already gone, I will talk with him in the morning.
He is not at the hospital so I go round to the cottage. He opens the door and I am stunned but still manage to get inside. His coloring is wrong, and I notice that near his hairline there is a fine sheen of sweat. He blinks hard before staring at his hands. His face displays something I have never seen-fear. Moving towards him I reach for him. The heat emanating from him could cook eggs! He turns slightly and I move my hands again.
Words tumble from his mouth and he is begging me, begging for him not to be taken by whatever it is that he is seeing. I try to soothe him with my hands but it's no use his words are becoming less coherent. His eyes are glassy and I know he is not lucid.
Richard
I'm in battle, it must be the Isle of Mull for I am cold. Colder than I have ever been in my life. My sword is gone, with its loss means my head will be next. There is only one thing I regret, not having told her that I loved her.
Isobel
Other women might think it hard to maneuver a larger person but being a nurse has it's advantages. I press the bulk of my body against his and then push him against the wall. We then slide along it. I take a guess as to which door holds the bath and I sigh in relief when I discover I'm right. Not taking the time to undress him I merely shove him into the bathtub. I then begin covering him with cool water. This fever is going to break now. He is talking again, more disjointed sentences. He splutters as I pour the water over his head and he begins to shake. More water, more spluttering but his restless movements has ceased. No longer banging his heels against the porcelain. He whispers my name and I lean close, he then tells me he loves me. That he needed to say it before he dies.
I nearly drop the jug, while I know that fevers make one delirious they also have the uncanny way of bringing forth the truth. I pour more water and tell him that he won't die that I won't let him. He mumbles that he's already a ghost.
I kneel down on the floor beside the tub and push back the locks of wet hair that have clung to his forehead. I tell him in a stern voice that he is not a ghost. He laughs but it is not a pleasant sort of laugh. It tickles along my spine to creep into my skull and itch along my brain. This sensation is increased when he murmurs that I denied to make him flesh.
Recollection of that day slams into me. The day before Matthew died, the day before George was born, the day I had my second marriage proposal. So wretched I was I didn't see what it had done to him. I have been so in love with ghosts he had become one to be with me.
Any ruminations are put to the back of the queue. He is still, while his forehead is wet it is cooler. Yanking out the stop the bath drains and I begin peeling off his shirt. The fabric has turned translucent from the water and I don't need to open the shirt to see the skin beneath. I work quickly, I place his hands on his waist of his trousers and his own hands work them off. I throw a towel over him and command him to stand. I wrap my arms around his middle to keep him upright as he steps over the porcelain. Once again we become a four legged creature moving along. His bedroom door is open and I see his rumpled bed. All it takes is a push and he is on it. The covers are swung up and over to cover him.
I lay next to him on the bed and I weep as he mutters about being buried. I hear a name I don't recognize-Ewen. I wonder if it one of his family members? When he quiets I tell him that I'm here that I won't let him go. He murmurs again about wanting to be made flesh and my tears fall faster since I don't know how.
Richard
I'm dead, I must be for when I open my eyes I see her in my bed. There is no earthly way for this event to occur so I must be dead and this is the afterlife. It looks a lot like my bedroom but I'm sure it must have a tinge of the familiar. I lift my head and am surprised to feel pain, I shouldn't feel pain. She stirs beside me and her eyes snap open, those lovely brown eyes. She looks at me and pushes herself up before touching my face. I can feel her fingertips and it is starting to sink in that perhaps I'm not dead. Her fingers move and she announces that my fever has broken. Fever, that would explain many things.
Isobel
He's awake, I touch him and his temperature is normal. I watch as his mind puts it all together and I can see him start to withdraw from me. I've had enough of ghosts. I lean towards him hoping to stop him from shielding himself. He asks me what I am doing and at first I have no clue but then I suddenly know how to make him flesh. I touch his face before telling him what I am going to do, his eyes go wide before I kiss him.
A/N: Researching the myth of headless horseman, shows up all over Europe as well as the United States. Thought it might be a nice mix with Downton Abbey.