The Ghost Brick of Everlyford on the Gravy (Excerpt)

I had first come across the legend of the Ghost Brick of Everlyford on the Gravy while doing research on a paranormal sighting in the next shire. Locals contended that the apparition was the spirit of Mary Queen of Scotts, holding her head under her left arm. After several nights, we found that the locals had mistaken a cabbage thief for the former queen. They couldn’t do anything about her because she was technically 52^nd in line for the throne.

A friend pointed me to a small town near the one we were at called Everlyford on the Gravy. He told me he’d meet me at the inn south of town. I arrived early and talked to the proprietor, a man named Cyrus Benning. He’d heard of the ghost brick. I asked who’d seen it last.

“That would be Martha what seen it last”, Benning motioned at a woman at a corner table. He leaned in and said, confidentially, “She’s the town slut”

“The town slut?”

“It’s mostly an honorary position”, Benning added, “We elect a new one every three years”

I was amazed, “You actually elect a town slut like you would a mayor”

“What in blazes”, asked Benning, “is a mayor?”. I quickly got up lest our conversation continue in any way. Martha was sitting by herself, nursing a pint. I cleared my throat and she looked up at me.

“‘Allo, love!”, she chirped in the most cockney way possible, “You a tourist?”

I shook my head. Her face went somber. “Thank God! I hate talking like that”

“So, why ARE you talking like that?”

She leaned towards me a little with a confidential look on her face. “It’s one of my duties as town slut. Frankly, if I’d known what that would be like, I’d have never organized that PAC… and, if I have to sit through one more thousand dollar a plate dinner, I will SCREAM”

“Still”, I offered, “It’s nice to have a job. What does it pay?’

“A quarter of a million pounds”

My jaw hit the table. “They pay you a that much to sleep around?”

“I don’t sleep around”

“But, you’re the town slut”

She touched the back of my hand and laughed warmly, “I swear, you’ve been reading too many cheap novels”

I stammered like a motorcycle engine for a few seconds, then I remembered why I was there. “I hear you’ve seen the local apparition”

“You mean…?”

“Yes!”

“But, I can’t–”

“You must”, I replied.

“The Ghost Brick”, she whispered.

I nodded.

“The Ghost Brick!”, Martha wailed, “I saw it! I saw it sure. I remember as clear as if it were yesterday”

I pulled out my notebook and pen and made ready to write. “When did you see it?”, I asked.

“Yesterday”

The pen fell from my hand… I picked it up again when Martha continued,

“I was in the town square, around midnight, trying to find where I’d dropped my purity ring and I saw this brick on one of the benches. That looks odd, I says to myself, a brick on a bench and this late at night. So, I walked over meaning to take the brick to the constable as a lost item when, what do you think? IT WAS GONE!”

“Gone!”

“I only looked away for a trice… at the old lady stealing cabbages. I won’t go out after dark ever again”

“Can you sketch out which bench the brick was on?”

She took my pen and notepad and sketched a map of the town square and all of its many benches. Handing it to me, she added, “And, where the brick was was so COLD. Like death itself” I started writing as fast as I could,

“… like death… itself”

“And, it tried to speak to me. It tried to tell me of the tortures of the spirit world… the vast emptiness… the loneliness…”

“The brick said all that?”, I asked.

“It seemed to want to say that”, Martha answered, taking up her pint. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see a middle-aged man wearing a tam and a ragged coat.

“Sir, don’t be listening to this alley cat–”

“–I am NOT an alley cat”, answered Martha, spitting a little of her ale down her chin. “I’m the town slut”

The man took his hat off, “Sorry, missus… didn’t recognize you in the dark”

“S’okay”, she answered, a little drunk., “So who IS the alley cat?”

“You didn’t vote?”

“You know how it is”, Martha said, “I got lost in the moors… AGAIN”

“Well, it seems Mr. Stripes is the town alley cat, now”

“It’s been a long time coming. Do you want to sit down?”

“Well, missus”, answered the man, “I’d rather talk to ‘im in the corner over there in a conspiratorial manner”

“Of course”

I followed the man to a corner table. He waited until I was seated before leaning in and saying, “I’m Bertrum… Bertrum the Younger”, he said.

“Am I correct in assuming that you people elect a town alley cat?”, I asked.

“It’s mostly an honorary position, sir”

“I see”

“We elect one every three years as we would a mayor”, Bertrum said. Then, he added, “Whatever that is”

There was a long pause. I thought about writing something down but nothing made more sense. Bertrum took a long swallow of his beer… seemed to forget about me for a moment and then he noticed I was waiting for him to talk.

“I hear you was lookin’ for the brick”

“The ghost brick?” Bertrum paled upon hearing that. He took another swallow of his beer. I noticed that his hands were shaking.

“Aye! The ghost brick. Most folks around here don’t like to talk about it… or even refer to it at all. We don’t even talk about regular God-fearing bricks for fear someone will bring it up”

“You don’t talk about bricks?”

“As a result”, said Bertrum, “We’ve had to build several ‘ouses out of tires and beer cans”

“Why?”

“Well, you try ordering an ‘undredweight of bricks without using the word, ‘brick’”

“I get it”, I answered. I wrote “Moron?” in my notebook.

“Anyways”, continued Bertrum the Younger, “I seen it on the North Road near the Causeway Vale under the Dingly Dell”

“… under the Dingly Dell”, I repeated as I wrote.

“And, it was just sitting in the road and I’s about to run over it, so I’m expecting a bump but one ne’er comes, sir… ONE NE’ER COMES!”

“Did the brick try to talk with you?”, I asked.

“Sir?”

“You know… about the dreary loneliness of the afterlife and the torture it holds”

Bertrum looked at me and said flatly, “It was brick, sir”

“I know but–”

“They doesn’t tawk”

“I know but, I was told–”

“By the alley cat?”

“No, the town slut told me the brick wanted to talk with her”

“Well”, said Bertrum, “One of the town slut’s duties is to imagine what inanimate objects might say if they could talk”

“Oh”, I put down my pencil.

“I hear she regrets formin’ that PAC that got her elected”

“So, I’ve been led to understand”, I answered without conviction.