Hypnogoria: Hypnogoria Halloween Advent Calendar - Door 20

Yes, I always draw the curtains early now. But no, it's not because of the view. I mean, I'm not morbid, but I never found it particularly spooky. I'm not one for horror films or stuff like that. Give me a good Agatha Christie any day.

Oh just ignore that. It will stop in a moment...

Where was I? Oh yes, the view. Well, I’ve lived in this maisonette for years. The people downstairs are lovely, we get on very well. Salt of the earth. Do anything for you. I bought it back in 1993, and have been very happy here.

I was never bothered the main lounge window overlooking the cemetery. Yes, you can see a lot. High enough up you see, nice view of Barrow Lane though. It's very quiet, just dog walkers mainly. No problems with “the yoof” hanging out in there. Guess the boneyard scares them away. The trees in autumn are quite something.

To be honest I always found the view very peaceful. The window overlooks the oldest part of the cemetery, all Victorian monuments and beautifully landscaped. It's a real haven for wildlife, there are squirrels, rabbits. The occasional fox. And all kinds of birds. Very restful. People avoid cemeteries because they associate them with death, but they are full of life you know.

So why am I selling? Well, therein lies a tale...

I often enjoy, well used to enjoy, sitting in that armchair and just gazing out. I'm a bit of a bird nerd, you know. So there was always something to catch my eye. Anyhow, after a while you begin to get to know the rhythm of the place. At most hours, I can predict who you are likely to see in the lane. And know the best times to see the different wildlife.

The funny thing is one gets to feel like one knows the various passing folk. And at times, that has, I admit, made me to forget myself and be perhaps overly familiar to people who I know well but they have no idea who I am.

Yes, it is a bit embarrassing and that's not the worst of it either.

Anyhow, yes, where was I? Oh yes, one gets to know the regulars, and one notices a new face on the beat as it were. So then, I couldn't help but notice when the girl appeared. Now I say 'girl', but I probably should say 'young woman' really. Late twenties, early thirties maybe… Long dark, flowing hair. Always dressed in a long dark brown coat.

I first saw her walking down one of the little paths one can see over the cemetery wall. And at first, I thought she was probably a mourner. However, I saw her regularly, usually walking around the cemetery, but sometimes strolling leisurely through the trees in Barrow Lane. Always around the same time. Just around sunset. And even though I was often seeing her from a distance, you could tell she was, well, and I hope I don't sound sexist here, but she was simply one of nature's beauties.

While I am getting on a bit, and far too old for that kind of thing, I did start to look forward to seeing her whenever she appeared. At first I would see her two, maybe three times a week.

Funny thing though, she didn't seem to have a set direction. I mean, nearly everyone I see from up here is on, what I think of, a set flight path. There’s the lad on a bike who passes about five o'clock every day bar Sunday, either coming or going to a paper round. Various folks and their doggies tend to appear around the same times, on particular walks. Some every day, some every couple of days.

She, however, though always turning up around the same hour, walked in and out of view from different directions. Sometimes in the lane, sometimes meandering in the cemetery.

I think that unpredictability just added to the fascination. Most people I see are easy to work out. This old boy is going to the allotments down on Fringside. That lady cuts down the lane to pop into town and comes back the same way. You get the idea. But she was a mystery, and I began to try and guess where she would appear every day. Moreover, I began to wonder who she was. I never saw her with a companion. But other than she enjoyed a walk in the local area, I could fathom nothing else about her.

However, at some point, I realised that she was appearing now every evening. Always around sunset. And what's more, I did not feel… I'm not sure what the word is… content perhaps, if I did not see her. The days I missed her walk through my little view, I started to feel restless and anxious.

Yes, I realise how that sounds. And I should have noted that perhaps there was something awry. A habit was growing into something more. Not quite an obsession, that sounds way too dramatic. But something, shall we say compelling.

I know I should have spotted it, but these things creep up, you know. I had first seen her last autumn, and this… interest had slowly taken root bit by bit.

I began to take to my armchair in good time, and I wouldn't want to move in case I missed her. Silly really I know, but there you are. If I needed a fresh cuppa, well too bad. It wouldn't hurt to wait, would it. What did it matter anyway? After all, I wasn't hurting anyone.

So then, I got quite agitated when, one Tuesday, she didn't appear. And I was sure I hadn't missed her. Indeed I sat in that chair long into the night, just to see. Perhaps she had come earlier. Perhaps she was ill. I spent a restless night, but come the morning, I was hopeful she would appear again that tea time.

I made sure I was in my armchair from lunchtime onward. I even prepared a flask of tea. But no, again she did not appear. And I was, well, not in the best spirits. Another restless night. But the next dawn found me tired and stressed. I was getting very worried about her. Worried for her.

Now I know how that sounds. Why was I so bothered? Well, I ask you, is it so terrible to show some concern for another person, even a stranger?

I know that Haggleton is a lovely little place, but awful things can happen anywhere. I mean, just last week that boy went missing. And if you know your local history, awful things have happened in the past. And more often than not, in the autumn, in October.

It was a very tense day, and I admit I hardly strayed from the window. However my vigil was to be fruitless. Again she had not appeared.

By this point, I was past myself. And as the dusk gathered, a sudden thought jolted me out of my chair. I decided to make a search. I would comb the lane and cemetery just to be sure. To try and quiet that anxious voice in my mind that was telling me she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

So I grabbed a torch and donned my overcoat and set out. I went the entire length of Barrow Lane twice, checking under bushes and undergrowth and getting the occasional funny look from passing dog walkers. But I saw nothing untoward. That left the cemetery to check.

Until that moment I hadn’t realised just how big and sprawling it was. As I said, it’s beautifully landscaped, with trees and bushes and little paths making lots of little glades and dells. I guess it was done that way so that although the cemetery is a very large public space, the landscaping effectively divided it into lots of small, well, rooms you might say, so mourners and relatives would have a degree of privacy when visiting their dearly departed loved ones. However it meant it would be a nightmare to search, especially as the sun was well and truly setting now, and I had maybe half an hour at best before it vanished beneath the horizon.

There was a lot of ground to cover, but how to do it best. I realised, with a mounting panic, that without a solid strategy, there was a good chance that I would end up going round in circles, searching the same areas, or worse ending up completely lost. So I opted to dash along the main bigger paths first, thinking I could at least cover as much ground as possible, in a short space of time very swiftly.

Part of me though was questioning just how important this all was. Did I really want to end up stumbling around in a cemetery in the dark? And that prospect was starting to fill me with as much dread as my worries for the possibly missing girl. The rational answer to that is obvious. Well, it is obvious now. But when one is in the grip of panic that rational voice is often drowned out.

So I started down the main path into the heart of the cemetery, at first walking at a brisk pace. But as I walked, I realised how poor my grasp of the layout of the cemetery was. Were there actually main paths neatly dividing the graveyard into neat sections? I had assumed it would be laid out in a sort of a grid, but it was rapidly seeming like the opposite was true. Paths branched off here and there and often following crooked lines beneath whispering trees, frequently vanishing out of sight as they curved around. I was now almost running, and I was no longer certain where I was running too, or if I was just fleeing the rising terror that was snapping at my heels.

However before I was consumed by the dreadful panic attack, I caught sight of something familiar. No, not the girl, but a tall white spire-like monument that I can see from my window. And I plunged towards it like a drowning man racing for a life ring.

I stumbled into what was a familiar glade but now viewed from an unfamiliar vantage point. However I still knew this spot well enough to find my way to an ancient bench and flopped down breathless. I closed my eyes and let the last rays of red sun wash over me.

I lingered for what seemed like an age, although it must have only been a few seconds really. Gradually my heart stopped trying to burst out of my chest and my breathing smoothed and slowed. I opened my eyes again and saw the light had not yet gone, and If I made a move now I could at least find my way out of the cemetery before the light went. I was unsure of my exact location but I could see the wall that borders Barrow Lane, and hence if I followed that wall it would lead me back to the north entrance and out onto familiar safe streets.

Suddenly feeling very old, and not just a little bit foolish, heaved myself off the bench, checked I still had the torch in the pocket and, grasping its reassuring weight, I started off down a little path that meandered through ancient tombs and leaning headstones but never strayed too far from the wall.

A soft breeze was stirring the trees, sighing through the brushes of cypress, and shaking the sycamores, lifting loose turning leaves, which drifted down in slow showers of tumbling red, ochre and gold. In the last fading daylight it was quite beautiful, soothing away the last of the panic and anxiety. I should walk out more in future. Not lazing away days sat in a chair. I should be out in the world, not watching it from a first floor window.

The little path that was guiding me toward the entrance and back home, took a little turn, wandering round a cluster of old oaks and a large mausoleum just by the wall. The curve of the path forked with another little path wandering away to the west and the setting sun. And as I turned I saw a dark shape break the dying rays of the sun.

My heart leapt. I recognised the silhouette instantly. It was her. She had just turned onto the branching path from another glade and was heading west into the setting sun. Thoughts of home vanished, and I trotted after her and before I knew it , I heard my voice call out “Oh, thank heavens, there you are!”

As soon I as I blurted this out I was obviously mortified - the poor girl had no clue who I was. I mean, what would you think if a strange panting old man in a shabby overcoat suddenly called out to you. And what’s more, made it clear he’d been looking for you? How was I going to explain this? Did she have a rape alarm? Should I just leg it, or stay and apologise?

The world slowed down again, and she turned round to stare at me, the breeze playful turning at that moment to blow golden leaves whirling around her. Time seemed to stop and hold its breath. And indeed what I saw took my breath away too. The jumble of thoughts clamouring in my mind all vanished. And one new question arose, and one that dominated my mind - why wasn’t she in her grave?

I think I might have screamed, as the breeze carried the charnel odour to me. I turned and ran, ran as fast I could, stumbling, in some cases, leaping over graves. Not caring, Just desperate to get away. And when I literally fell through my own front door, I locked and bolted it, and I shoved that heavy oak sideboard - yes, that one over there - up against it. The drinks cabinet took quite a pounding that night I can tell you. But even then, sleep was slow to come.

The following morning - a sunny bright day thankfully, I marched down to the station as soon as the ticket office opened and got on a train and went .. Well, it doesn’t matter where I went. A long way away.

It was a fortnight before I felt up to coming back. Everything was safe and sound when I returned. And by that point, I was quite happy to believe that I had suffered a moment of madness, a delusion brought on by the silly panic my obsession brought me to me. Needless to say, I changed my habits. The armchair was moved away from the window. And I took long walks out in the surrounding countryside. We are very lucky here you know, there are dozens of incredible walks just on our doorstep.

So why am I moving? Ah well now… Oh, here we go! She’s back again. No, stay here, really just stay here. And do not open those curtains. Really don’t. Yes, that is her now. Knocking at the window...