A Game of Ghosts by Michael Chislett

Author:Michael Chislett [Chislett, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub

IF YOU DO NOT COME TO ME THEN I WILL COME FOR YOU

Why I should have assumed this message was for me I do not know, but that evening on my return from work I looked at the board and read:

WHICH EYE DO YOU SEE ME WITH?

I looked along the platform, but it was what passed for the evening rush hour at Mabbs End, and in the throng it was difficult to see who might be about; and I did not wish to linger there when the station emptied.

That evening I again took up my post watching the station. I thought to see some movement in the waiting room, as if people had their faces pressed up against the windows – windows so begrimed that you could barely see into the empty room if you stood right by them. The ‘faces’ were merely reflections from the platform lights, I decided.

Then I saw her. One moment the platform was empty, then she was standing there, pointing to the notice board while looking directly up at me. I raised my binoculars and tried to focus them on her as I spoke these words:

“I want to see what you look like before I come to you, miss.”

I had other desires, which I did not speak aloud, but as soon as I raised the glasses to my eyes I saw her face plainly for a brief moment. Her hair was long and dark, a deep chestnut brown that flowed in curls down her back; it framed one of those triangular faces that some call catlike. Very red lips turned up in a half-smile added to this feline look.

There came a sudden cracking noise, and the lenses of the binoculars shattered into a spiderweb of lines. Putting the glasses down I looked out of the window again. The platform was now empty but someone was crossing over the footbridge from the station. I had just a glimpse of the figure, which was certainly feminine.

I looked at the broken binoculars. I had not hit them on anything, done anything to them – it was inexplicable. Then I froze at the sound of the front door being opened. Had she come to me after all? Chatter floated up the stairwell, and with a surge of relief I recognised the voices of Rita and Ron, my downstairs neighbours. I went out to engage them in conversation as casually as I could: had they seen anyone outside the house? A woman, perhaps?

They laughed and said no.

“You expecting anyone? A girlfriend?” Rita asked.

“No, I just thought I saw someone hanging around and thought she might have been waiting for you.”

I felt a little embarrassed saying anything at all.

“She might have wanted me,” said Ron, rolling his eyes and grabbing Rita round the waist, “if it was a girl. Women find me irresistible.”

“Get off, Ron,” Rita snorted. “You should have come down and asked her what she wanted.”

“Might be you, Mark,” Ron laughed, and with that they went into their flat, leaving me feeling rather stupid.

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