The Ghost of Locksley

CHAPTER 5C

But that's not unusual

Stephen Winchester was staggering down the hall. He'd found the side cart with the wine, the servants, lazy arses every one, leaving it in the open and not a serving wench to be swived to be found. The guests, what few there were, had left, everything was shut up, locked up. He couldn't find the kitchens, couldn't remember where his own room was. He'd taken a piss in one of the giant vases, good luck to the sot who got to clean that out! Just his luck, he'd walk in on Henry or worse, that whelp and his pregnant bitch.

Initially, he had been insulted by the small amount of people, local gentry, the sheriff and his wife, who came to dinner. Usually when the King came to dine with someone, they called in everyone with velvets and silks to wear, people traveled for days to arrive, it was a party, a giant party, with food piled to the ceiling, the money thrown. There were games, celebrations, a great hunt...

Women. Debauchery.

But in the end with this one, Winchester was glad for the small group. The boy had insulted him, humiliated him and Henry allowed him to get away with it! Some thanks! Winchester realized, even in his drunken rage, that the chances of him gaining any sort of control over FitzGisborne's properties and purse were now very slim. As in non-existent. If he was lucky, he might get the widow to wive. Jehenne FitzGisborne was as cold as she was beautiful and he'd probably have to tie her up to get her under him, but a little rope never hurt anyone.

Much.

He was aware of the wind blowing fiercely. It sounded as if it were indoors.

He didn't notice the wall lamps behind him, blowing out one at a time.

Winchester stopped, leaning against the wall to fill his glass again. He drained it just as quickly. There was a large painting on the opposite wall. The image was blurry and he squinted and looked.

William Edward FitzGisborne.

"Damn Edward! Yer as ugly as yer ancestor!" Winchester took a swig straight from the bottle and attempted to spew it on the painting. He missed, most spectacularly, the wine dribbling down the front of his tunic.

Thaannnnk yooooooooou.

Winchester stepped back, noticing the draft in the corridor was now frigid. It occurred to him to find a fireplace with a fire in it and stand as close as possible. There were several doors and he tried each one. None would open for him.

There was another howl of wind and now the man could imagine ice crystals on the walls, in his hand. He lifted his empty goblet. The ice of it burned and he dropped it to the floor, the metal clanging as it hit the rug and bounced, rolling beneath a table. As he gripped the bottle tighter, he saw a swirl of beams, dust as they formed the shape of a tall man far down the corridor. Winchester squinted into the far off gloom. "Edward? Yer dead! I stabbed ye m'self!"

The ghost came forward, dressed in black leather, his long broadsword, swinging against his boot as he walked closer. His hair was longer, lank, and his look...

"Yer no' Edward. Yer a ghost!"

The ghost stopped before him, a sardonic, evil grin on his face. With one gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, he gave him a mocking bow. Sir Guy of Gisborne.

Strange, his mouth didn't move.

Winchester leaned back on a drunken, cocked hip. The hand holding the bottle of wine swung lazily. "Oh really? Well, I s'pose y'knew my great-great-great how many ever gran'shhhire..."

Yes. He was a pompous ass. I killed him.

Winchester's brow furrowed, deep in thought. "He were killed by highw'men. Robin Hood-"

The ghost was shaking his head, long locks of hair flowing back and forth. No. He took someone I loved more than life. I took her back. I killed him for it and I'm going to kill you.

It dawned on Winchester all of the candle lamps on the walls were out, save the one nearest to him. He heard the sound of a sword being removed from its scabbard. Drunken bravado took over. "You can't harm me! Yer justa ghost!"

Really? The sword was completely removed from the scabbard. Sir Guy swung to the left, before slamming the sword to his right, slamming the flatside of it into the wall. Ice shattered and fell, along with a small tapestry. A small nick was made in the wall.

Winchester realized that he was in serious trouble. He began to back up, back-peddled, before turning and running into the gloom.

There was a glow as the ghost of Sir Guy materialized in front of him. Going somewhere?

With a girlish scream, Winchester turned and ran back from where he came from.

Gisborne again.

He turned, ran...

Gisborne again.

And again.

And again.

Evil evil echoing laughter.

Finally there was a breath between them, Winchester's heart racing and the demon knight standing above him. Winchester took a gulp of frigid air and vomited all over himself, the carpet, all over Sir Guy's boots.

The ghost looked at him, the rug visible through his leathers, in disgust. What a disgrace you are to your family name. He still held the broadsword to his side. Not that that is difficult.

Winchester suddenly felt the very real, very cold tip of Gisborne's sword against his Adam's apple. As he pressed, it lifted the living man to his toes.

"Please. Don't."

Beg. Sir Guy's breath stank of the crypt and dead things.

"I'm begging you. Please don't."

You will leave my children be.

"Yes, yes, I'll leave them alone. Lord Robert... he's smart and he's taking good care the land and his family."

And Jehenne?

"I'll leave her be. I promise. I'll leave her alone."

And Edward?

Winchester's eyes were squeezed shut, the sword pressing painfully against his throat. "I'm sorry I killed him. I've never been so sorry in my life. I'll give alms in his name, I'll watch and make sure no one harms any FitzGisborne."

For as long as you live?

"Yesyesyesyes as long as I live."

Silence.

He no longer felt the sword tip against his throat.

Slowly, Winchester opened his eyes, hoping to see nothing and he could consider this a horrible nightmare.

The knight stood before him still. He sheathed his weapon, causing Winchester to sigh in relief. At this point, he began to ramble.

"Look, I'm really, really sorry. Jehenne is so beautiful, everyone was jealous, how you FitzGisborne's do it, no one knows, and you've always curried the favor of the monarchy and no one knows how and children, dear God, you are so prolific with healthy babies and-"

Shut it.

"Yes, yes sure. Sorry." Sword now sheathed, The Dark Knight put his right hand in his mouth, teeth grasping the tips of the glove. "Look, the king said I should go to my estate and look to make sure my peasants are okay and maybe I'm thinkin' I should leave now-"

I said shut it.

Winchester stood there, hands clasped against his belt watching as Gisborne pulled his glove off.

Revealing a skeletal hand.

Before he could inhale, yell, scream, the ghost grasped him with his gloved left hand on the shoulder. Winchester?

"Yes?"

The begging?

"Yesyesyes, I'm so sorry, really I'm sorry about everything and if I could redo it I would and-"

Not. Good. Enough.

The ghost made a fist and rammed it into Winchester's chest. The man inhaled, bracing himself for impact that never came. Instead his chest, his body turned ice cold, the man shivering. He looked down to see the knight's hand gone, his arm buried inside his chest to the middle of his forearm.

Now die.

The freezing cold became unbearable and somewhere Winchester heard screaming, not realizing it was his own.

The last thing he felt were icy fingers grasping his heart.

And then they squeezed.

~~~...~~~

Esabelle's eyes jerked open at the sound of the screaming. "Rob?"

"Shh." Her husband's embrace tightened. In the years to come, he would bulk up, the hold would become stronger, surer, more confident. But at this moment, she was appreciative and felt safe. There were butterflies in her stomach and she wasn't sure if it was nerves or their babe.

The screaming stopped suddenly, as if cut off.

"Rob?" It was a whisper?

He was staring into the darkness of the canopy. "Go to sleep."

tbc