"Wheelhouse Blues"

A Ghost and Mrs Muir Story

By TunnelsOfTheSouth

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"The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited…"

Stephen King

A bulging station-wagon, with luggage strapped to the roof, drove up the long road leading to the front gate of Gull Cottage. Carolyn Muir was driving, transporting her two children, one housekeeper, and their family's dog, to their new home in Schooner Bay.

As soon as the car came to a standstill and Carolyn cut the engine, the occupants piled out, walking and running up to the dilapidated front gate. The children climbed onto the stone front wall, as Carolyn and her housekeeper stood at the broken gate.

"Oh, Martha," Carolyn enthused, looking up at the house. "It's even more charming than I had imagined… Gull Cottage."

Her housekeeper looked unconvinced. "Well, now that we know where the gulls live, where do we stay?"

"I've never seen a house like this before." Carolyn's son, Jonathan, marvelled. He thought that the view out to sea from the house would be amazing.

'It is, lad…it is. Come on inside, and I'll show you…'

Jonathan frowned at the man's deep voice, which had just spoken inside his head. It hadn't been there a moment ago. He put a hand over his ear, but he heard nothing more.

"Nobody's ever seen a house like this before," Martha commented drily.

Carolyn smiled at her housekeeper's wry humour. She leaned down and pushed the rickety gate open, hurrying through.

"Where's the beach? Let's go to the beach." Jonathan's sister, Candy, got off the stone wall to follow her mother.

"Oh, Mommy, you promised we could build a sand castle," Jonathan reminded his mother, as he slipped off the wall and followed.

'We could build a thousand sandcastles, lad. But, wouldn't you rather keep watch for sails on the horizon? I might even allow you to use my telescope. With the proper instruction, of course. I can show you how…'

Jonathan turned to look behind him. Where is that voice coming from? But, there was no-one there. He shook his head in bewilderment.

"Make it three bedrooms and we'll live in it," Martha instructed the boy about his sand castle building ideas.

"Martha, this is exactly what I had in mind," Carolyn said, gazing up at the cottage. "It's a dear, gentle, lovely, little house."

As they walked further up the path, a car roared up, and stopped behind theirs. Steam rose from beneath its hood, as if it had been driven too fast. An agitated looking man jumped out, and hurried up to them.

"Mrs Muir... Mrs Muir..." He looked from one woman to the other, until Carolyn indicated herself with a hand to her chest.

She held out her hand and the harried man took it, absent-mindedly. He looked worried. "I'm Claymore Gregg, your real estate agent…"

Carolyn smiled. "How do you do. We love the house."

Claymore pushed a hand into his coat pocket and held out a slip of paper. "Here's your check back."

"What a wonderful house-warming gift." Martha looked over Carolyn's shoulder approvingly. "Take it."

Carolyn ignored her advice. "Mr Gregg, I don't understand."

"I've taken the house off the market. There's no deal." Claymore seemed very agitated.

"You've got a better offer?" Carolyn was deeply disappointed.

"Oh, no, no, that it isn't that at all," Claymore hurried to reassure her.

"Well, I can't afford to pay any more. Besides, I have signed a lease."

"But, I simply can't let you rent this house," Claymore wailed.

"Why not?" Carolyn demanded to know.

"Well, for one thing, it's terribly isolated." Claymore waved a hand all around him, looking mournful.

"That's perfect," Carolyn assured him brightly. "I'm a writer."

The two women turned toward the house, and walked further up the path. Claymore hurried after them, looking as if he was about to throw up.

He caught up, bringing them to a halt. "It wouldn't be safe for two women and two small children."

"We have a dog." Carolyn indicated Scruffy, a small, wire-haired terrier, cowering by the gate.

The two women turned back to the house and made it to the front steps. The two children were each seated on a stone lion, set on either side of the steps.

Claymore scrambled after his new tenants, running beside them up the front steps to the door. "Really, Mrs Muir. You won't be happy here. The house is in very bad repair."

Carolyn ignored his protests as she opened the front door. The two women walked into the foyer. The place was very dimly lit, with a few shafts of light piercing the gloom. Dust and cobwebs seemed to cover every surface.

Carolyn's enthusiasm for the place refused to dim. "Oh, Martha, look at it. It's enchanting."

"It is?" Martha looked deeply sceptical.

The two children got off their steeds and followed the adults into the house. They both looked around. Jonathan frowned at the staircase.

'Yes, that's it. Up the stairs, my boy. Climb the stairs. I'm waiting...' Jonathan jumped as that same male voice spoke again, inside his head. 'I can show you wonders beyond your wildest imagination...'

He badly wanted to tell his mother, but he hesitated because the adults seemed to be having an argument about their staying or going, and he didn't want to interfere. He glanced at his sister, but decided against telling her.

'Good boy,' the male voice inside his head, approved. 'Wise decision. Women are such weak creatures, without any logic to their thinking. They scream and cry far too much for my liking. Better to keep it our little secret...'

Claymore took his cue from the housekeeper scepticism about the house. "Well, I must admit it's dusty and gloomy."

"We'll simply open the windows and air it out." Carolyn looked around keenly.

"Oh, never do that!" Claymore shuddered, looking even more terrified. He hovered anxiously in the open doorway.

"Why not?" Martha stared at him.

"Winds blow here all the time…" he said dramatically.

"That's the way to get rid of the mustiness." Carolyn nodded.

"Up to a hundred miles an hour." Claymore tried to emphasize his point.

"That's the way to get rid of the house." Martha shrugged.

Carolyn crossed the foyer toward a half-open door on her right. "This must be the kitchen..."

The adults followed her into the large room. Candy hovered in the open doorway, before deciding to follow her mother.

Left alone, Jonathan crossed the foyer slowly. He gazed up the staircase, before deciding he might as well look around upstairs.

'Yes, lad. Come on up. I want to talk to you...'

The boy paused, tilting his head. He heard the wind whistling along the upstairs landing. Intrigued and unafraid, he carried on up the staircase.

Above him, a door further along the landing swung slowly open. Light drifted down, across his face, banishing the gloom of the stairs. Without a thought for the consequences, Jonathan walked on up to the head of the stairs, and crossed the landing to the open door.

He peered in, seeing a set of narrow wooden stairs that led upwards and turned from view. Everywhere was dusty and cob-webbed by neglect. It seemed as if no-one had been up the stairs for many years. The thick dust lay undisturbed on the wooden treads.

"Here goes nothing..." Jonathan set one foot on the bottom tread, and then took a step up to the next.

'Brave lad. The moment I saw you, I know you were a right one. Keep climbing. I'm waiting...'

"Okay, okay. I'm coming." Jonathan took the turn in the stairs and found himself in the cottage's cluttered attic space.

A small, curtained window allowed a view of the ocean beyond the beach, and it gave a dim illumination to the attic's scattered contents. Again, dust and cobwebs lay thick, everywhere. As with the stairs, it appeared as if no-one had been in the attic for a hundred years or more.

'That's because I do not allow unwanted boarders to enter my wheelhouse,' the voice inside his head commented. 'You are the first to venture here, in over one hundred years...'

"Why me?" Jonathan looked all about, but could see nothing, and no-one, anywhere.

He didn't feel scared. He frowned for a moment, studying himself internally. Nope, he wasn't scared, not one bit. This was a neat adventure!

'No need to be scared of me, my boy. I have no intention of hurting you. However, I am not at all happy that you are here, in my house. But you have a great deal of pluck, and I like that. You remind me of myself, at your age. Pity you won't be staying.'

Jonathan blinked. "Pluck?" he queried.

'Spirited, determined courage. You weren't afraid of me, the first time I spoke to you. You climbed the stairs, without once looking backwards to your family for safety. Pluck, my lad, pluck.'

"Oh..." Jonathan said doubtfully. "Well, you don't scare me, not at all." He stiffened his stance manfully. "Whoever you are..."

The voice in his head chuckled in appreciation. 'My name is Captain Daniel Gregg. But you may address me as captain, since I am still in command of this blasted, land-lubbered ship. And I do not expect you to forget that fact.'

"This is a house, not a ship," Jonathan argued the point.

'Semantics, my boy, mere semantics. When you return downstairs, you will see my portrait in the parlour, hanging above the fireplace. I was judged to be good-looking, in my time.'

"Then, why won't you come out of hiding? Are you afraid?"

'I am not afraid, I simply prefer the shadows. I'm a ghost, you see. I have been dead for over a hundred years. I died in this house, long before you were born.'

"And you didn't want to leave," Jonathan guessed. "And now we're gonna live here, with you. Cause we ain't leaving, either. Mom likes it here."

'Yes, your arrival is a rather unfortunate circumstance I do not seem to be able to circumvent. Not yet, anyway. But believe me, I am working on it. I detest all uninvited guests with passion! And I've seen more than a few off in my time as captain, here. Claymore Gregg will be made to pay for his blasted perfidy.'

"Well, my mom don't scare easy, either." Jonathan hunted the shadows again, but could see nothing beyond the clutter and cobwebs. "She said we used all our money renting this place out. So we can't leave. We got nowhere else to go. We're staying. So ya better get used to it. Or you gotta leave."

The shadows remained silent for a long time. Jonathan began to fidget, wondering what to do next. He hadn't meant to be rude, if he had been. He comforted himself with the thought that he'd never talked to a real ghost, before. He didn't know what to do, or say, for the best.

The captain finally sighed brusquely. 'Very well, lad. I can see we are presently at an impasse. Your mother will be missing you, by now. So you'd better run along, and go back down to her. Tell her from me, that I expect to see this blasted house restored to its former glory. A pair of women should be able to accomplish that, at least. I want this place made ship-shape and Bristol fashion in no short order! Is that clear?'

"Aye, aye, Captain Gregg!" Jonathan saluted the shadows, smartly.

He didn't linger to ask any more questions. He clattered back down the narrow attic steps, and then ran down the staircase to the ground floor. He heard the voices of his family in the parlour, so he hurried toward the room.

He was in time to hear his mother say, "We'll paint the walls sea-green, and starched organdy's just the thing for those windows."

"Captain Gregg wasn't exactly a starched organdy man," Claymore Gregg replied, sounding deeply uneasy.

"He would have been – if he'd lived with me," Carolyn replied, with a smile in her tone.

Jonathan walked in, and stopped to stare at the portrait hanging above the fireplace, right where the Captain said it would be. He studied the image, thoughtfully. It looked so real.

The cold blue eyes stared back at him, with more life in them than painted eyes should have. Their frowning gaze was stern and forbidding. The boy decided he liked the captain better as a ghost he couldn't see.

His mother noticed his distraction and knelt down beside him. "What do you think of him, Jonathan?"

"He's kinda cross," he replied truthfully.

"He just looks that way because he was standing in a little, stuffy room while a man painted his portrait, and all the while he was longing for winds in the tropics, and a ship's desk under him."

"I don't think he likes us," Jonathan replied, still staring at the portrait.

"He isn't alive any more, darling," his mother told him gently. "He died before any of us were born."

"I know. He told me," Jonathan replied, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What?" Claymore asked sharply, looking hunted.

Carolyn smiled up at him. "I encourage my children to use their imaginations."

Jonathan looked at his mother. "The Captain said he wants to see the blasted house ship-shape and Bristol fashion!"

Claymore winced, and looked all around the room. Jonathan wiggled away from his mother and scampered off, chased by Candy. The three adults stared after the children in astonishment.

"He's here ten minutes and already he's an old salt," Martha commented, wryly.

A deep, virile chuckle seemed to swirl around them, drifting on a sudden gust of wind.

"What was that?" Carolyn looked at Claymore.

"That's another thing..." Claymore replied breathlessly. "The wind makes noises in these old chimneys. It'll keep you up all night."

"It'll be a welcome change from the city noises..." Carolyn replied, as they all walked out of the parlour and into the foyer, again.

Behind them, above the fireplace, the eyes in the portrait of Captain Gregg appeared to move. Their cold blue deepened with anger, and a measure of resignation.

'Blast...' Daniel Gregg muttered.

Dust rose and cobwebs stirred, as he left the painting, pausing to watch the family walking towards the staircase to the upper levels. The children went with the older woman to collect the luggage, suggesting the idea of a permanence Daniel detested. He heard Claymore claiming that the upper part of the house should have been condemned years ago, as he accompanied the Muir woman up the stairs.

Daniel set his fists on his hips, breathing deeply.'Too little, too late, you worthless nothing, wretch.'

He stared after Claymore, willing him to fall backwards down the stairs. Sadly both of them continued up the stairs and passed out of sight, Claymore complaining all the way.

Daniel shook his head. 'This is ridiculous,' he addressed himself severely. 'You cannot even shift on two women, a pair of children, and a dog that appears to have more sense than you! They're here now, and seemingly determined to stay, in my house!'

He sighed roughly, before he rose through the ceiling, and returned to his beloved Wheelhouse in the attic, to plan his next move. One way or another he would make sure this blasted, intrusive family left his house, tonight! Then he would deal with Claymore, and make certain such foolishness never happened again!

In the same moment, the image of Jonathan's brave little face came back to him. His lips twisted. Despite his determination to be rid of the intruding Muir family, a part of him admired the boy, and his obvious pluck. He'd liked talking to the lad. The boy had been completely unafraid.

Daniel began to pace his Wheelhouse, not knowing what to do for the best. But if he allowed this family to stay, then what about the next, and then the next? Claymore might become overbold and be encouraged to sell up, allowing Gull Cottage to be demolished. What then?

'No…' he finally decided, brusquely. 'They must be gone by morning, or I will no longer be fit to be called captain aboard my own ship…'

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"The ghosts of things that never happened are worse than the ghosts of things that did…"

L.M. Montgomery