The Waiting Light: Part Three - A Ghost Story from the English Countryside

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The final chapter of "The Waiting Light" is here! What a pleasure it was to write it, especially this third instalment! I planned to write a short ghost story set in the English countryside, it was meant to be a single blog post, but somehow it turned into 3! And this last chapter is triple the length of the first one, lol!

Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, and shopped our cosy candles afterwards! Also, I am humbled by the mentions that you would read it as a standalone book. Honestly, I had many more notes, background stories, and deeper insights into motives, but I tried to keep it concise, since it's supposed to be a "short" story:) Who knows, maybe one day I will turn it into a novel?

Speaking of full-length works, my slow-living book will be ready sometime this summer. If you enjoy my writing, musings about life and seasons, please subscribe to our mailing list, as I will share any news about the release date there first. I also have a plan for a 3-book crime series (Which I am super excited about!), so please stay tuned.

But enough of my ramblings, let's see how things are with Lucy. Enjoy!

This is PART THREE of The Waiting Light.
Read PART ONE HERE

 

***

Lucy covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at the words on the letter.

Leave the turnpike alone.
Close your curtains after dark and stop asking questions.

You are being watched. This is your only warning.
The village will not protect you.
Some lights are meant only for the dead and the forgotten.

John gently took the letter from her hand and led her to a chair at the table. She looked shaken, her eyes brimming with tears, but John was in a different mood. He took the letter and read it carefully again. “This is rubbish. Lucy…” he sat on the chair opposite her and looked into her eyes. “I don’t know who sent this, but I’m going to find out. This village has fewer than 100 residents, and most of them are elderly. No outsider would have any interest in this ramshackle building.” He looked at the letter again and read, “The dead and the forgotten… what drivel. I promise you there are no ghosts there. Someone from the village is trying to scare you, and I will find out why.” John was calm but determined. He cared for Lucy, despite knowing her so little… but there was more to it. It was his home, a village where people had known each other for decades, some even for their entire lives. There was safety in the community that he helped protect, beyond just being a vet. He could count endless times chopping wood for fireplaces, driving neighbours to the hospital, moving furniture, digging gardens, cleaning gutters, and being a shoulder to cry on. Most of the older residents had known him since his birth, and he knew most of the younger ones since they were babies, too. He knew every cow, sheep, dog, cat and chicken here. It was a close-knit community, and someone would surely know something if he started asking the right questions… but before he snoops around, he will do the most obvious thing - check out the abandoned house in the daylight. See what’s going on there. 

John stood up, ready for action, and Lucy followed.
"I’m coming with you," she said.
"It’s best if you stay at home and wait for me; the building is not safe, and I don’t want to endanger you." 
"I appreciate it, but I’m coming. It’s really my problem, and I can’t ask you to risk yourself for me."
John was about to protest again, but Lucy had already put on her boots.

They crossed the orchard, passed through the small gate on the side of the Turnpike House, along a well-worn path at the back of the property, and stopped outside the narrow side door that John had investigated the night before; this time, the door was shut. With a steady hand, John turned the knob and pushed the door, which swung open without resistance. They both looked inside.

The side door led into what might have been a living room, possibly once serving as the toll collector’s quarters. They often lived on the property, ready to collect tolls from travellers and merchants at any time of day or night. At some point, the house had been modernised; the back room became a living room, and to the left, there was another room, where Lucy saw an old, outdated sink and crumbling kitchen cupboards. In the living room, there was a table with a couple of chairs. Beyond that, the house was nearly empty. Her attention was immediately drawn to the window. Even through the dirty glass, she could see her cottage. There it was… a solitary candle stood on the windowsill. Its wick was black and curled - a clear sign it had been lit.
“So… I'm not losing my mind, the candle is here, I wasn’t imagining it...”
“No, I saw it burning last night, too. Someone's coming here at night…” 
“…and they don't want anyone to know what they are up to," Lucy added.

John nodded in silence, looking around the back garden with overgrown, tangled brambles, then again inside the cottage. He said, “I think it’s safe to walk inside, let’s have a look.” 

The stone floor was covered in dust, and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. The wooden stairs, probably leading to a small upstairs room, were rotting. Water damage was visible on the ceiling, but the beams held firmly in place, and it didn’t seem like the house was going to collapse anytime soon. Lucy wouldn't risk walking upstairs. 

She looked at John, who was squatting and staring at something on the floor, with a frown. She came closer to see a footprint. There were many more scattered across the floor, but this one was particularly clear.
“It’s small, but not small enough to be a child, must be female...” John said.

In the shock of the past half hour after receiving the letter, she hadn’t had a chance to ask him about yesterday:
“Did you see or hear anything last night?” She wasn’t sure why she was whispering.
“I saw a candle burning, but as I came closer to the house, it was extinguished. I sent Barley to sniff around, but he didn’t seem to find anything worrisome. Although I’m not sure how much I can trust him these days, his senses are not as sharp as they once were, but he would warn me of any immediate danger”.
“Poor Barley," Lucy said. After a brief silence, she added, “The marks on the floor show that someone has been here. Ghosts don’t leave footprints...” Her stomach clenched with fear as her thoughts clarified. She said aloud, “It’s a witch then...” but the words were swallowed by the dust and rotting walls. 

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***

They came back to Lucy’s cottage and, over coffee and cake, discussed their next steps. John categorically refused the possibility of a witch, though he remained gentlemanly and didn’t ridicule her for it. He believed her fear was justified, even though he suspected someone from the village was up to no good. Early in her life, Lucy was forced to learn how to be independent, caring for Oli and her home on her own. Now she admitted to herself that it was comforting to have a strong, level-headed, and caring man beside her. For once, she didn’t have to face everything alone, and that felt good.

They devised a simple plan to catch whoever is at the Turnpike house tonight red-handed. They will wait until the candle is lit and then sneak up silently. Yesterday, John had given them too much warning, sending Barley and calling out. Today, he will be better prepared. Lucy insisted on coming, and although he disliked it, he knew she would trot along anyway. They agreed that John would return to her cottage around 8 pm, and together they would walk through the fields to enter the cottage’s back garden, avoiding the orchard to stay unseen. John silently decided he would bring a captive bolt gun with him, although he had absolutely no intention or wish to use it, unless necessary for self-defence. 

***

Lucy spent the entire day at home, moving from room to room, pottering around, starting small tasks and leaving them halfway before moving on to the next. She felt unsettled and fearful of who - or what - they might find at the Turnpike house. She questioned her decision to even go there in the first place. Maybe if she just kept the curtains drawn after dark, it would all simply go away? But deep down, she knew that unless she solved the mystery of the candle, she would not find peace in the cottage. It was supposed to be her forever home, a safe place, but how could it be when some unknown threat lurked so close? How can she sleep after seeing that figure hiding in the shadows of the orchard? And worse -  it saw her too…

The hour dragged by, heavy with dark thoughts, until she heard a knock at the door. Finally! She let John and Barley in and bent down to pet the dog.
“Who’s the handsome boy?” Lucy asked affectionately, and Barley wagged his tail, happy with the attention.
“Out of us two, it’s definitely Barely,” John replied, and they both laughed, but Lucy's smile turned into an expression of anxiety as she looked into John's eyes.
“Stay home, let me deal with it.”
“No, I’m coming, I have to.”

They looked out the window carefully. The candle in the Turnpike house was burning just like every night. They quietly left her cottage and drove in his car in a roundabout way through a neighbouring village to park in the same spot as the previous night, less than a mile from their village and away from Lucy’s cottage. They could have walked, but that would have meant passing by the Turnpike house and risking being seen. 

They walked quietly through the fields, Lucy following John’s lead, while Barley jogged lightly around them. They paused in the shadow of the brambles, and in a whispering but still commanding voice, he said he would go first. Lucy nodded in agreement, recognising this wasn’t the time to prove her independence or pretend bravery. 

The small door was slightly ajar, and the candle was burning in the window. The surrounding fields were silent and shrouded in light mist. It was a starless night, and the usual sounds of the countryside she loved, like owls hooting, now seemed ominous.

John took her hand and gave her a light squeeze as if to say, “It’s going to be alright”. Then took out a torch from his field coat pocket, placed his finger on the switch, and silently moved towards the door. Lucy quickly followed. John pushed the door open and turned on the torch. The light illuminated a figure standing in the middle of the room, looking out the window and onto the fields. 

***

John recognised her immediately, and after a brief moment, Lucy did too.
“Jocelyn!” they both exclaimed in disbelief.
“Yes, it’s just me. Silly, old Jocelyn.” She turned slowly towards them with a sad smile on her face.
“But why, what’s going on here? Did you send the letter to Lucy?” John asked calmly in a low voice.
“I did! I’m so sorry, my dear,” she looked apologetically at Lucy. “All I wanted was to be left alone to continue my tradition of lighting the Waiting Candle. The letter was meant to keep you away; of course, I wouldn’t wish you any harm, child, you are such a lovely girl," she added, as tears slipped down her cheek. “But now it’s all over, I have failed Arthur, and he will never find his way back to me." She started crying openly, tears streaming down her face. 

“What do you mean, Jocelyn?” Lucy asked gently, her fear evaporated, turned into shock and now… sadness. Jocelyn looked broken. Lucy remembered that her late husband’s name was Arthur, but he had died in an accident many years ago; she couldn’t be referring to him…
“What do you mean?” repeated John. “Why are you coming here at night? How long has this been going on?"

Jocelyn faltered, and both John and Lucy rushed over to help her sit down on a chair. She looked at the candle in the window with sadness, then her gaze wandered beyond it, into the fields. She began her story: 
“Arthur and I have known each other since childhood; we grew up in the same village. Arthur’s family once lived in your cottage.” She looked at Lucy. “Our friendship blossomed into love, but my father disapproved. He believed Arthur’s family wasn't good enough, which I never understood, as they were the same as us, same social class, income, liked and respected in the village. Maybe he hoped I would marry a man from town with money, but I loved Arthur. As young lovers, we had a secret signal: if I managed to sneak out, I would go to the Turnpike house and light a candle, which only he could see from his bedroom window. He would then rush here...” she looked around the room with a gentle smile. “This place holds so many memories… Anyway, once I turned 18, I told my father I was going to be with Arthur. Thankfully, despite his stubbornness, he accepted it, and we married a couple of years later. We moved to my cottage because it was bigger, and we planned to have children, which we did in the years that followed. Oh, those were such happy times! After Arthur’s parents passed away, we sold the cottage but kept the orchard and Turnpike.”

“Wait,” said John, surprised, “do you own the Turnpike House?”

“Yes, and the orchard, which belonged to Arthur’s family for many years. We didn’t sell it with the cottage because we hoped to renovate it someday and move in once the children grew up,” she continued. “Of course, we no longer needed to hide our love, but the waiting candle still served a purpose. Arthur often walked to town through the fields for work, and on dark, foggy evenings, I would light a candle to help him find his way home. Mind, that was many years ago, long before you could order these fancy lights with next-day delivery. We kept doing it for years, but one day, my Arthur didn’t come back, and… “ The rest of the sentence was drawn in tears. Lucy’s own eyes welled up as well. This poor, poor woman! Lucy could only imagine what it meant to love someone so deeply and then lose him. 

“I understand, Jocelyn, but why did you keep returning here all these years?” John asked, with his dry, factual attitude.

Jocelyn wiped away her tears and lifted her head, surprised that he would even ask such an obvious question. “My dear, I have to wait for him. Arthur said that he will always come back to me. You don’t remember him very well, as you were a young lad when he left, but Arthur is a man of honour; he always keeps his word. He said he will come back to me, and he will. I light this candle to guide him,” she said matter-of-factly, but after a moment, the tears started flowing down her cheeks again. Lucy joined her, and now both of them were crying, while Barley made rounds between the two women, trying to comfort them in his own way.

John took a deep breath. He never could have imagined how this evening would unfold. No wonder Barley didn’t sense any danger and wagged his tail last night; Jocelyn had been spoiling him with dog treats since he was a puppy. Tonight, he certainly didn’t need a self-defence weapon but a pack of tissues. He stood in an abandoned house with two crying women - one believes in ghosts, and the other mourns the love she never experienced. 

“Right,” he thought to himself, “someone needs to be rational here,” and aloud he said: “Lucy, I think we should help Jocelyn go back home. It’s been a very emotional evening for her.” He walked to the candle and blew it out.

Lucy wiped away her tears, reaching out to Jocelyn, who took her hand, and they all headed for the door. Lucy cast a final glance at the candle that had caused her so much fear and worry over the months, but now she understood Jocelyn’s letter. The light wasn’t for her; it was for the dead and the forgotten. Jocelyn had the right to mourn her husband in whichever way she felt was right, and Lucy should never have interfered. She swore to herself she would make amends to Jocelyn by suggesting that she clean the window and clear any debris from the floor. She also planned to make a copy of their wedding photo and place it on the windowsill alongside the candle. Maybe they could plant some flowers outside the window, just in time for Spring? 

They walked to Jocelyn’s cottage in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. John waited downstairs while Lucy helped the elderly lady to bed. Jocelyn apologised repeatedly for frightening Lucy, who truly held no resentment.

Curiosity got the best of her, and she asked, “What about the ghost and witch stories?” Jocelyn chuckled with a hint of guilt, “Arthur and I made them up to keep people away. No crime was ever committed at the Turnpike House; some relatives lived there, but they moved away, and the house gradually fell into disrepair… It’s a beautiful, quaint place. I wish we had been able to restore it as we planned,” she sighed. Lucy patted her hand affectionately. She turned off the light, ready to leave the bedroom, when Jocelyn said, “I understand you may think I’m loony, but you haven’t experienced true love. Wait until you meet someone special, when a soul connects to a soul. Such a bond cannot be broken, not even by death. I know my Arthur is still out there, waiting for me. May you find this kind of love, too, my dear. You're a good girl. I'm tired now. Please remember to lock the door on your way out,” she finished sleepily.

***

Lucy woke up to heavy rain pattering against the window. Memories from yesterday flooded her mind, and now she truly felt a deep sense of relief. She finally knew the secret of the candle in the window, and it was nothing to fear. On their way back from Jocelyn’s, Lucy offered to walk to the car with John, who gladly accepted. Instead of taking the main road directly, they strolled through the fields again, taking in the silence and beauty of the countryside, the last moments before Spring’s arrival. John mentioned a cosy pub in a nearby village, and when she said she hadn’t been there yet, he asked if she would like to go there with him. Still half asleep, she smiled - she had a date!

The rain turned into thick fog, and Lucy was in heaven. Perfect weather to get cosy and focus on her work. She made a pot of tea, lit a candle, and got on with her tasks. She was motivated to finish all her work by early Friday afternoon so she'd have time to doll herself up for her date. Not that John minded; he’d probably be fine with her turning up in her wellies and a waterproof coat, but it was for her. She finally had a life - being invited out, having a reason to dress up, and to put on lipstick. What a joy it is to be a woman!

She worked until late afternoon, then cooked a simple dinner. She exchanged messages with John, who also sent her a video of newborn lambs he attended that day. As it got dark, she was about to draw a bath and settle into bed with a book when something nudged her to check the Turnpike House to see if Jocelyn had returned there that night. She opened the curtains to find that the fog had thickened, clinging to the windows. She could barely make out the outline of the Turnpike house and a couple of old trees behind it, so she had to focus her eyes to ensure what she saw… The candle was lit, but not inside the turnpike house. It was moving. She thought she recognised Jocelyn by her height and build, holding the candle and walking toward the open fields. She was gripped by sheer panic. In her selfish relief that there was nothing truly dangerous lurking nearby, she did not consider that perhaps Jocelyn might be showing early signs of underlying health problems, perhaps dementia or Alzheimer’s. She seemed clear and sharp, but these illnesses can creep in, at first showing only in small ways - forgetting where you put things, your friend’s face, the fact that your husband has passed away… Lucy gasped. How could she have missed it? She couldn’t let elderly Jocelyn wander the fields alone at night in thick fog. It was still February, and today was particularly cold. And what if she fell into the irrigation canal? She could barely see the small candlelight now and knew she didn't have time to get John. She ran downstairs, put on her boots, and hurried out through her back garden into the orchard and fields, hoping to find Jocelyn safe.

***

Lucy couldn’t tell how far she had wandered. In this dense fog, she lost all sense of time and distance. She tried to follow the small, yet clear track left by walkers, calling Jocelyn’s name and searching intensely for any signs of her or the candlelight. Honestly, it would be a miracle if the candle was still burning in this thick vapour. She could only see the path about an arm’s length ahead, making it difficult to keep track of it while staring into the fog in search of any sign of Jocelyn. Eventually, she lost the path, feeling scared not just for Jocelyn but for herself. None of the trees she passed seemed familiar, and she didn’t recognise any landmarks, even though she couldn’t have walked that far. The fog seemed to cling to her body, and she wasn’t wearing a coat, so she began to feel cold - very cold… 

An owl hooted from a distance, and she thought she heard footsteps in the mud. She froze in place, listening intently, when a man appeared from the fog. He stopped and looked directly at her face, “You’re not Jocelyn”, he said with a frown, “You shouldn’t be here”. He turned and continued walking.

Lucy was gripped with panic. Who was this man? Does he know where Jocelyn is? She felt scared, cold, and lost - what should she do, follow him? What if he hurts Jocelyn, and will he hurt her? But before she could make any logical decision, Jocelyn’s voice cut through the silence.

“Arthur! Arthur, my love, I’m here. You’re back, you’ve come back,” she sounded delighted. The man turned, smiling warmly. “My birdie, of course I did!” he grabbed her in his arms. They embraced each other, and Jocelyn let the candle drop to the ground, and the flame went out with a soft hiss. 

“Oh, Arthur, I missed you so much. Why didn’t you come sooner?" she said with a hint of reproach.

“I couldn’t, my darling girl, it wasn’t your time…” he looked into her eyes. “You did so well, my birdie, raising our children alone and taking such good care of yourself. I have been wandering these fields, hills, and woods, patiently waiting for my dear Jocelyn to join me. Now, the time has finally come for us to be reunited. We have eternity ahead of us, and I have so much to show you. Wait till you see the bluebell spot I found in the woods west of the town…” he continued as they walked away, holding hands.

Lucy observed them transfixed. It wasn’t, it couldn’t be... Jocelyn’s husband had been dead for many years... What she saw was sinking into her mind when something wet and warm touched her hand and licked it.

“Barley!” she exclaimed. “Is John with you?” she asked the dog as if he could reply. She heard rushed steps in the mud before she saw John emerge from the fog, also coatless and visibly relieved to see her. Before he could say anything, Lucy spoke in a panicked voice, “John, we need to go. It’s Jocelyn. She went into the fields with a man…” but John took her in his arms and said, “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re alright. Let’s get you home, you’re freezing.”

“But Jocelyn...” protested Lucy.
“You must be confused. Let’s get you home, Jocelyn… she is at peace.”
“What do you mean?”

“I went to check on the Turnpike House, thinking she might have gone back there and wanted to ensure she was alright. He paused briefly before adding, “I found her body lying on the floor. She… she’s gone." He continued, "I was heading to Ted - his brother is a policeman and will know what to do - when I saw you run out of your house into the fields. I followed, but you were already far ahead. I lost sight of you, but thankfully, Barley led me to you.”

Lucy struggled to accept it. They walked in silence, Lucy questioning whether what she saw was real, until they reached the back of Turnpike House. She stopped, let go of John’s hand, and without a word, walked to the open side door. Jocelyn was lying on her back, looking truly at peace. Now, Lucy understood why John didn’t wear his coat - he had used it to cover her.

"I couldn't bring myself to cover her face; she looks so serene, almost smiling," he said.

The candle in the window was extinguished. For Jocelyn, the waiting was over. Lucy turned around and looked at John. He smiled with warmth and care in his eyes. It seemed that for her, the best part of her life was only beginning. 

The end 🤎

Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think in the comments. I have a lot to learn as an aspiring author, and my readers' feedback is simply invaluable

Adriana x

This is PART THREE of The Waiting Light.
Read PART ONE HERE