Pack Up Your Troubles.


“Is there anybody there?” came a voice from the distant darkness.
He looked around, twisting his body toward the sound, yet he saw nothing.
“Hello there” The voice came again, this time louder and closer.
He had walked past the graveyard every week for nearly three years. Even when nights were sullen and un-naturally black he would never give the crumbling rocks a second glance. When strange noises found his cold ears he would never stare at the tall iron gates that guarded the decay within. But he found ‘never’ was a strong unrealistic word that sails off the tongue too easily, so in a quick mind its promise is lost.
To muzzle his imagination he would stick to a strict ritual. First he would sing his favourite song, an old wartime ditty he found distracting. He then would flap his newspaper through the tired air, the motion affirming his speedy steps. As a last resort, he would quicken his stride avoiding the rolling mists that rippled along the grass. So far his tricks had kept the ghosts at bay, and so nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened, until now.
“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag” He sang quietly under his breath as he peeked over the rotting wall. The song had a warm comforting affecting on him, like a fluffy blanket on a chilly night. Unlike most other soldiers his memories of the war were now among his fondest. He had excelled at his army life, revelling in the routine and above all found that he was calm and steady under pressure, Cucumber Cuthbert they had called him. He now desperately wanted to be that man again.
“Here friend” Came the voice.
“Who are you, want do you want?” Cuthbert asked, desperate to focus on the shadow.
“I know what it is you seek, I know your cause” It replied.
His tired eyes, though labouring in the darkness, made out the direction of the voice. As he did a shiver sprinted down his spine.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, now let me be on my way” and with that and a little uncertainty Cuthbert began to resume his journey.
“Eternal peace is what you seek, is it not?” came the voice again, but this time a strange smell laced the air round the question. It was musky and he could see it riding the graveyards own tumbling mist ready to attack his nostrils.
“Eternal peace” whispered Cuthbert, a cold sweat beginning to break out over his already pale skin.
“We watch you hurry past this place night after night. Stop a while let us hear what troubles you”
His eyes darted end to end of the dim burial ground, desperate to find a playful joker, yet he found none. It was then that he remembered the stories told to him in his youth about this place. Every story he had locked deep within his mind, for the duration of his nightly journeys, now escaped. He remembered the many ghosts that crept through the graveyard at night. The headless victims, the ladies in white, the nuns and the monks, that, even in death, did not leave their religion behind.
“What troubles you?” came the same voice again.
Suddenly he became angered and took a step forward so that his body all but rested on the cold wall. His eyes surveying the darkness once again ,this time he found the horror that he had so far managed to avoid. There were three shadows, each of varying size. All were gathered motionless around one of the many stone Angels that were scattered throughout the cemetery. The Angel draped in a hard white cloak stood strong and tall, a mighty guardian for the spirits that lurked within her walls. One shadow, the largest of the three, stood in front of her, the others seem to float at the tip of each wing. Together they looked a frightful omen of black and white.
Cuthbert felt his footing fall uneasy as the horrific scene unravelled before him. The three shadows were beginning to sway gently with the smoke around them, smoke that swarmed towards the black clouds above like angry wasps. It was truly a sight that should be only found in the pages of a leather bound horror.
“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile” he began to sing his voice thick with terror.
“Come closer so we might see you better” said the voice.
The tallest figure seemed to glide toward him. It wore a long black robe that camouflaged it against the night and the closer the shadow moved the more Cuthbert could see. A pale thin face lurked beneath the hood and a brilliant white light illuminated its neck in a severe reminder of death.
“Get away from me” Cuthbert screamed dropping his newspaper and staggering backwards. He heard chanting coming from the other two figures. The words were unknown to him, but were said with such soft conviction that it turned the air even more sombre.
“Listen to me” came the same voice again “You do not have to exist like this, I can help you move on, move on to the next world”
“I don’t want to move on,” he yelled back and suddenly, finding his feet, tore himself away running blindly into the night, desperate to reach his destination before the shadows ventured from the Angel’s protection to follow him.

“Do you think he will come back?” Asked the first Priest.
“The exorcism was not complete my friends, I’m afraid that he is not yet ready for his journey”
“I wish you would visit us again. The local people are so very frightened. That ghost strolls past our gates every week singing that terrible song and flapping his white gowns around”
“How long did you say he has been coming around?” asked the Bishop
“Since we moved the war memorial” replied the second priest rather sheepishly
“Very well I’ll see what my schedule is like” replied the Bishop with a concerned smile. He then turned, smiled sweetly at the Angel who had protected them, and then started to pack up his things.