Village Squire, 1977-03, Page 11I am not a woman given to fanciful thinking, but the first
glimpse of the house gave me an eerie feeling. It stood high
on the top of the cliff, part of the structure hanging over the
edge. A haunt for birds and whipped by high winds that
swept in from the lake.
Walking up the path from the beach, I reached a point where
my advance was stopped by a weather -worn sign. To venture
beyond this point was dangerous, it warned, because of
erosion.
Not wishing to become the victim of falling earth and,
looking upwards, perhaps even a falling house, I decided to
stay where 1 was and look at the place from my safe vantage
point.
The sun had fallen lower in the sky as I had walked up the
narrow path and the chill wind caused me to wrap my coat
tightly around my body. This holiday was a convalescence
following an appendectomy and the climb had taxed me far
more than I had expected.
1 leaned on the sign and looked up at the deserted house. A
moments rest and then back to the Inn, I thought. It seemed
that I would have to be content with short walks for awhile.
Turning to retrace my steps to the foot of the cliff, I was
suddenly aware that I had company. Out of the gathering
darkness the figure of a man took shape, walking towards me
from the direction of the house.
Unaccountably, the winds seemed to die for a moment and
a chill feeling of apprehension passed over me. Transfixed, I
stood unmoving until the man reached me. The look of fear
must have been clear to him. The stranger 'spoke, his voice
gentle.
"Sorry if I startled you. I come up here quite often and don't
meet many people. The villagers won't come near the place
after dark you know; say it's haunted. Don't believe it
myself."
By this time I had recovered my composure. I must have
overdone my exertion, letting my imagination play tricks on
me. I laughed; not a very convincing laugh. "You did startle
me a little. I wasn't expecting to see anyone up here and I
must have let my imagination run riot for a while. It is rather
an eerie spot in the half light."
It was his turn to laugh now.
"It is, I agree. There's quite a tale about the house. Would
you like to hear it?" He turned down the path, "I'll walk down
with you and tell the story as we go."
There didn't seem to be any alternative; I was frightened
but didn't want to show it. As I started to walk he fell into step
beside me, accommodating his stride to my more careful
descent.
"Thirty years ago this was a beautiful place," he said. "Of
course, the house was a good distance from the edge of the
cliff then. Old man Timmis was the owner. Lived with his
nephew, Peter."
My companion paused for a moment, glancing. back at the
house, now shrouded by the mists of night, then he continued,
"Yes, Jake loved this house. He never married; some say it
was a disappointment in love; surprising how these tales get
around. No one ever really knew; he never spoke of his past
life. Anyway, that's getting away from the main tale. He
devoted his life to Pete; like a father to him. The nephew was a
harum-scarum sort of chap. Never worked; always trying for
easy money. The old man supplied him with plenty but it was
wasted on gambling. He used to go race meetings both here
and in the States," he paused again and -I said,
"Mr. Timmis must have had quite a lot of money to keep his
nephew going like that."
"He had, that was the trouble. You see, Pete had been
gambling pretty heavily and lost a considerable amount. He
' had made out a number of I.O.U.'s and he told his uncle,
expecting the old man to make them good. Jake had done this
on a few occasions but this time he flatly refused. Pete was
told to go; that he was nothing but a wastrel; a gambler; a
good -tor -nothing. Jake told him that the sooner he realized it
the better it would be for everyone."
We were about half way down the path to the beach by this
time and the darkness had deepened. I could imagine the dark
waters in the blackness below. I wanted to run, but dare not.
My companion was speaking again,
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HE VILLAGE SQUIRE/MARCH, 1977. PG. 9.