The Ghost of Lady Dye Access.

by Thomas Leathan-drum 2015

Once upon a time …

In the twenty-first century even the minority struggle in the belief of the supernatural (ghosts.)     I don't mean Captain War-Legging returning from the Gulf War — a ghost of himself; I mean, Sir Archibald Mountbatten — still wondering his family home ... a thousand years after his death on that winters night of 1130.     Yet.   You see from where I'm sitting, there are no attics; no bell-towers; no cellars, no abandoned old castles of the Norman Kings.   Wait.    How can this be so?   I hear you ask; for you have with your own eyes witnessed such unexplainable events occurring with no explanation — such as the time when great uncle Messiahs delivers on his promise to rid the genie from the whiskey bottle, and even the time he conquered the monks hold on christianity.      Remember the night when the ebony and ivory chess pieces; those of the  bishop and the castle moved to G10 and G12 respectively, with no hand upon them or thought in Billy's Browns head; even spotty, the dash-hound cringed behind the drapes of   Indian red ... afraid the next move would win the game before supper was served.      Even the Canterville ghost — no more than a skeleton, would dress in armour and chains ... wonder up and down the stairs, when all others are asleep; opening and slamming doors, ensuring the light sleepers turn in their beds; and scaring the young, naive, and the stupid — to wits end.        Can we of this century — live in our modern homes,  without fair and the nighty visits from the supernatural?      Hark the holy Angels sing ... bring unto him your weak — he will make them strong; bring unto him your unbelievers — he will conquer their unwillingness.      So we have a Holy Ghost; living in our churches, so why not a ghost living under our tile roofs — snug and warm among our pink batts?      You may ask yourself, or your  neighbours, friends and family; will a ghost be expensive to own; is there a benefit to be had — from wage and income department for such a lodger?     Will your house contents insurance cover any breakage — he or she — may cause while moving about the house at night — dressed in armour and dragging chains; wakening all those light sleepers, and scaring the young, naive and stupid — to wits end.      And.  Will those friends without their own ghost, still wish to call when invited to dinner, or birthday parties ... even at Christmas time, will they bring their children to a house where at any moment a supernatural force may appear from up stairs to dine with the unbelievers.      When miss Virginia Cheshire (aged nineteen; her eyes large and blue ... her skin that of a Polynesian beauty,) came from Rarotonga to stay with her auntie Sheila - for three weeks, via her ancestral home in the tropical lush mountains ... she unknowingly, brought in her trunk — the vestige of Lady Dye Access.      Unfortunately auntie Sheila — now in her nineties — forgotten at the time, when expressing the wish for little Virginia to visit and stay, that she lived in a rest home in the Bay of Plenty.       Lady Dye Access in the earlier years of the eighteen hundreds lived bedside the Stony Creek dam, surrounded by grouse and the green trees of the forest.      It was when ridding home — with her two brothers ... from hunting possum the story goes; that her horse was spooked (by what, to this day unknown,) she lost her grip and fell into the cold dam; her brothers — as young boys do — raced off on a challenge of being home first ... and not until one hour later was Lady Dye Access missed, and a further half-hour before searchers went looking.      Nothing was found of either the horse or of Lady Dye Access that day, or for the following five days that her father and her brothers travelled north and south of the dams edge.        One year to that day in the old castles dinning room, where portraits of passed ancestors hang, a space waits; it is this day in that space a portrait of Lady Dye Access will be presented.        The old and the young assemble, the great and the important gather ... uncles admire, while aunties compare alikeness to each other; and those within their circle — a perfect match is Virginia Cheshire.      Not unnoticed by the likeness to her own is Lady Dye Access — now hanging on the bronze hook.        'To Lady Dye Access,' the cheer is heard by all ... let us raise a glass and drink in her memory — and so they did, even the nineteen year old Virginia Cheshire, drank the toast.       Three months from that day, and six months after, Virginia arrived in the Bay of Plenty, and to my home in Papamoa.      Of cause from that day (two hundreds year before,) since Lady Dye Access fell and was never seen again; the expected happened.     On the anniversary each year since, she was seen ridding across the mountains, through the grouse and the green trees of the forest ... that night those who loved her the most — swore they witnessed her returning to her portrait; not a day older did she appear; only the canvas and the frame aged with time — Lady Dye Access  was forever young.         I waited at the bus stop in Wharf Street, Tauranga (ten minutes early, the bus ten minutes later.)  ’Hello,' we said.       I took her suitcase.      

I'm sure I heard someone saying; ‘careful.'

A letter was waiting for Virginia (post-mark — Stoney Creek. Kaukapakapa.) 

From an uncle.          It read:   

Dear Virginia.

After more than two hundred years; Lady Dye Access no-longer appears.     The coming and going of a ghost can be a satisfactory outcome or a regrettable occurrence ... he wrote.     Like those who more than two hundred years before, we searched the mountains, the grouse and the green trees of the forest her portrait was removed and cleaned — Father Benedict thought her image had changed, he said he could see lines of age appearing on her face ... he prayed for her return.   'Lord,' he cried, crossing himself and begging for forgiveness.     Forgive those who have forsaken you, bless those who live by your teachings ... but none of his prayers            have returned Lady Dye Access to our fold.  However when the picture was from the frame, mr Rankly (you may remember him?) Discovered the image he was cleaning was not of Lady Dye Access at all ... but that of a very good likeness; and to our horror we have discovered her true whereabouts.      I must advise; Lady Dye Access  is with you.     Take care.

Sincerely yours, 

Patrick MacGavin.

The first week passed, nothing had come from the information gained within the letter.   Virginia settled in well and was enjoying our walks to the beach, she was a joy to have around ... telling stories of her home town in Rarotonga, and her stay at Stony Creek; of all the rumours and tales of ghosts and stories of her ancestors — only once did the subject of Lady Dye Access come to fore, and only how she resembled her to perfection.     

It wasn't till the following Saturday night that all hell broke loose ... well that's overstating it.      The grandchildren were staying the night — there was Meighan, Samantha, Harrison and his sister Clare ... Tyler, Maddison and Indie; Kaliyah, Zavier and Mikaiya — all hyped on chocolate; Virginia was just another them.       Screaming and laughing, and pulling the blankets off each other, playing hid and seek ... running in and out of the house, eating chips and crackers, chocolate cake, soft drinks, peanuts, biscuits — anything but to go to sleep.       Come 1.00 the house is quiet; from above the garage by the HRV fan motor — Lady Dye Access; for the first time since arriving (in the luggage of Virginia Cheshire,) stirs.    In the make-believe form of expectable ghost stories … LSD (as I will call her,) stirs —  Ah! I've already said that; LSD ... descends the steps — dragging her naked boney torso down the stairs, through the door, pass the bedroom where I sleep (soundly,) pass the bedroom where Virginia, Meighan and Samantha sleep (uncomfortably,) LSD slips on a pair of colourful shorts ... Samantha reports the loss of her shorts at breakfast (the next morning,) LSD continues along the hall passing the room where an old woman sleeps (snoring,) then in the lounge she comes upon the little children dreaming — tucked, submerged in beds of pillows, eiderdowns, duvets, sheets and blankets, surround in  spoils of potato chips, dip and lolly booty.

The next night LSD; like the European butterfly of brimstone — Cleopatra … missing her pale cream wings; socked in a bath of milk, while eating all the chocolate covered girl guide biscuits; then become the owner of Meighan's sneakers; Meighan reported her loss at breakfast (the next morning,) as did Claire the loss of her seven bracelets.      The third night came, LSD left her bed of pink batts — the time was 1.30 for she worn the watch of the old lady of the house, and a pair of her slippers (the old ladies favourite — pink with a solid sole.) and yes … all of these items were reported missing at breakfast (the next morning.)          The things LSD missed most here in Papamoa ... her horse, the lack of moors the green trees and the blue lake; her brothers.      She had no bell-towers; no attics; no cellars; no abandoned old castles of the Norman Kings to wonder through and play ghost like tricks upon the common people.     The next night LSD searched the house, through dressing tables in wardrobes, and cupboards for a good worm coat ... it was in my room she found a suitable dressing gown.              In the lounge LSD sat watching the children turning in their sleep, their arms and legs playing games as they dreamed; an outside light cast a playful shadow upon Lego houses, roads, trucks, cars and little people.    In a fit of rage — maybe just what an angry, lonely, discarded by-gone ghost was supposed to do ... LSD torn off the heads from the Lego people, ripped apart the houses, removed the wheels from the trucks and cars ... throwing them far from their boxes.    At breakfast (the next morning,) Harrison blamed Tyler.    Tyler said it was not me.     Tyler accused Zavier; Mikaiya said it was not her brother.          The old man (that's me,) acted how old men act when faced with rowdy children ... the old lady told the old man to stop.       Indie was crying, Maddison and Kaliyah were eating honey-puffs; LSD lay upon her pink batts — satisfied with a good nights work.       Virginia came upon an idea, and it was agreed to lay traps for LSD ... that night Meighan placed a bucket of water a top the bathroom door, Samantha lay a trip wire across their bedroom door ... the boys made soldiers from Lego and matched them into lines to guard the lounge door; Mikaiya, Maddison and Claire ... with help of the old lady of the house baked cup cakes to throw at LSD.   This was to be carried out as only their last defence because the children would rather eat the cup cakes than throw them.      That night LSD did not venture downstairs; the traps were set again.      Again LSD did not come.  However LSD could not restrain herself, the next night — although she knew of the traps ... for from her bed in the pink batts she had heard the plans being discussed.         I was awake and ready as she passed by my bedroom door, I said,  'Hello.'   LSD jumped a foot (unlike a ghost, it is them who make others jump,) on the way up her hand dislodged the bucket ... the contents crashing upon her head.    'Dam,' she cried out, then fell into my arms and out again — fleeing back into the ceiling.       LSD curled all her bones in a circle (only what ghosts can do,) her thoughts on the good times back home ... that time she scared Lilly — the kitchen-maid, when Lilly opened the door to the larder finding an eel with its elongated body intertwined within a human skeleton.  Lilly         never recovered and was replaced as kitchen-maid by Molly; Molly became friends with Willy ... the new stable boy for Lord MacGavin horses; Willy lasted only a month before he was confined to his bed — it was on his third day he heard a sound (in the stable block,) he ventured to investigate —  founding Lord MacGavin's (most treasured ... stallion,) just a stack of bones, saddled, and sitting there upon Lord MacGavin's (most treasured ... saddle,) was the most beautiful collection of bones, covered with a scarlet robe.     Ah! Those were the times, she whispered — LSD was asleep again.   The next night (after gathering her courage,) LSD came down to carry out her revenge upon the common people.       I was awake and ready,  a plate of noodles was balancing on top of the bathroom door, Samantha hid behind her bedroom door ready to pounce upon LSD.   Claire held the line of little girls, all with a cup cake in each hand, ready to torpedo them; the three boys — with a slingshot each (full of Lego bricks,) waited behind the sofa  ready to fire — once the command came.     'Hello,' I said.   LSD jumped two feet — on the way up her hand dislodged the plate of noodles ... she screamed as the contents crashed upon her head.    'Dam,' she cried out. There was no time to waste; Samantha threw herself at LSD — LSD saw her coming, sidetracking the attack, Meighan grabbed  hold of the dressing gown ... stoping LSD from escaping.      'Fire,' came the command from the old lady of the house.       Harrison, Tyler and Zavier let free a dozen Lego blocks —  Claire, Maddison and Mikaiya hurled all six cupcakes (a direct hit.)      All the little children fell to the floor laughing, the more grown up people tried to capture the super natural ... but how can you master a collection of bones?       All they had at the end of the skirmish, was a watch, a pair of pink slippers, and pair of coloured shorts and an old dressing gown, and dust that old bones make.

Things went back to normal once Virginia Cheshire returned to “Stony Creek."                   

We never heard or saw Lady Dye Access again.       Sadly, old auntie Sheila died — just a week later — we made sure she was well cremated; her ashes scattered far and wide.

The End.

Bye, bye ghosty.