Third

This is the third part of "The Lost Schoolgirl" which is currently taking the blogosphere by storm. Over seventeen people have read it! Sometimes a story has a life of its own and grows as it desires. So it is with "The Lost Schoolgirl" The first part, "Unfinished" is here. The second part, "Continuing" is here.  And  it's still not over!  There's more to come... Charming! There's really no call for all that groaning!

Liam swallowed hard, "You saw a girl at a window?"

"It was just a dream", said Annalise.

"But," her husband hesitated, "I dreamt the same."

"What?"

"A girl at a window. Just staring at me. She was about nine or ten."

"No way!" Annalise exclaimed. "That's spooky!"

Settling in to a new home is commonly a gradual process. Everything needs its place. They beavered away all through that morning, neither of them mentioning their mutual dream nor the girl in the window. Surely, it was mere co-incidence. Wasn't it?

The sycamores rocked in the wind and the heavens above became a gruesome grey - like smelted iron. Zigzags of lightning whipped steadily advancing thunder clouds when all of a sudden the power went out. It was only two o'clock in the afternoon but it felt as though nighttime had arrived early.

Annalise needed the lavatory so she crept upstairs through the shadowy light. Forgetting about the replacement mirror on the landing, she was suddenly  startled by her own reflection. It was as if someone else was looking back at her. And as lightning flashed again, she thought she saw somebody hurrying away in the background. Where were they going? Her imagination was running wild. 

Liam tried to be the big guy, an advocate for logic as he tried to comfort his new wife. But as days passed the mystery increased. He woke to footsteps on the stairs and once when he passed the mirror he also thought he had just  seen someone running away but for a while he kept this secret from Annalise.

On Saturday night in "The Bull's Head", the rustic old man with bloodshot eyes was sitting at the bar once again, hunched over a half empty glass of ale. He did not acknowledge them. However, they were soon in conversation with the local vicar who lived next to the village's  medieval parish church. A sixty something, well-spoken and ebullient chap from whom the light of The Lord seemed to shine forth. He wore his dog collar with pride.

"Call me John," he smiled.

He asked how they were settling in at the old school and talked enthusiastically about Saint Agnes's and its sister churches in North Lincolnshire. Apparently John was assigned to them all.  He quickly won Annalise's confidence and when Liam went up to the bar for more drinks, she said, "John, can I ask you something about the old school?"

"Sure. Fire away," he smiled.

It was a long shot she knew.

"Did something... Did something happen there?"

"What do you mean?"

"A girl. Did a girl die there?"

She had read a lot of mystery novels.

John's smile evaporated. "Not that I know of. The school closed in 1998 and I was the very  last Chair of Governors. No skeletons in the cupboards that I know of."

She alluded to their strange experiences, mutual dreams and the notion of a girl running away in the mirror. Liam tried to lighten the anxiety but John was all ears.

"Just a minute now. Just a minute. I remember now. Old Mrs Jordan who lived in that little white cottage next to the green - she told me about a farm girl who disappeared in the twenties. She set off for school one morning but never got there. The police came from Grimsby. There was a big search but nothing was found. Folk in the village assumed she had been abducted. She never came home. I hadn't thought about that in years"

Annalise shuddered. "What was she called?"

"I can't remember," said John.

In the very next moment, the old fellow at the bar slowly turned around. He had obviously been listening in or "earwigging" as they say around there.

"She were called Florence. She were me auntie. Me dad's ownly sister. She still roams these parts."

With that, he dismounted the bar stool, swallowed the dregs of his pint and put on his brown tweed jacket as he prepared to leave the pub.

"Thank you Mr Foster," said John.

Annalise and Liam sat open-mouthed, momentarily stunned into silence.

Back home, Annalise wanted to go to bed early. She asked Liam to accompany her up the stairs. There was nothing to see in the mirror - just their reflections. 

Sitting in the kitchen, Liam plugged in his laptop and was soon googling around trying to find references to Florence Foster. He tried several search requests but nothing useful surfaced. There were plenty of other Florence Fosters in the world but not the one he was after.

It was time for bed but weirdly something was wrong. The mirror at the top of the stairs seemed to be glowing or perhaps it was just in his head. Was it just reflecting moonlight? With each stair the pale luminescence seemed to increase and maybe this was also in his head but a kind of mist appeared like dry ice in a film studio. He wanted to get back down the stairs but something drove him up.  Passing the mirror, he briefly thought he saw that same little figure running away. A girl with pigtails. She turned to look back.

"What's wrong?" asked Annalise. "You look like you have seen a ghost."

Liam chose not to reply. After visiting their little shower room, he snuggled up close to Annalise. Her hair smelt good. That night they turned the sidelight off for they felt safe in each others' arms.

Long before dawn, someone or some thing was sitting on the end of their bed - on Liam's side. He woke up abruptly. It was pitch dark. He stayed stock still. Then the weight lifted and he sensed that same someone leaving the bedroom. The door creaked open and he peered out to the landing. Was that person in front of the mirror? It was hard to tell. The bedroom was as cold as a refrigerator.