Snipe Lodge

SNIPE LODGE

I’ve slept in the room before without any trouble. I’ve slept in it many times. I’ve never noticed anything strange. Yes, it is cold, but then the hostel is an old T.B. sanatorium converted into a scouting centre; they were meant to be cold; fresh air helps the lungs. I can’t remember the first time I came here; definitely, when I was a boy scout. Although, then I would have slept downstairs in the dorm with the rest of the boys. 

It’s a bit ironic, me being a Scout Leader. I hated Scouts when I was a boy. With good reason. My Dad insisted I go. He thought it would develop character. So much shit.  When my son grew up I did what I could to interest him in football, rock music, comics and all the stuff. But, it was no use; he wanted to go Scouting.  I know when I’m beat, and if you can’t beat them join them. 

It’s not all bad. I get to spend time with the boy and we have a laugh. He loves going out to the woods and building fires and putting up tents. I know it won’t last. At some point he’ll become a teenager. I’m prepared for it. And I don’t think of other things. 

That’s why I’m up in the leader’s room freezing in my sleeping bag. Nowadays, leaders and boys don’t sleep in the same room. Child protection reasons. No child protection when I was a boy. 

I’m the only leader here. There were two of us, but the other leader Stuart skipped away to meet up with his wife, some kind of domestic emergency.  That’s not really allowed. There should be two of us. But what can I do; the alternative is to take all the boys back, and we don’t have enough cars for everyone. I could phone around and get the parents to pick the boys up, but I can just imagine the merry hell that will raise. I’ve phoned a few other leaders but none of them are available. 

The kids are all in bed anyway. So far, there’s been no noise from the dorm. I think they are sleeping. Most of them were sleeping when Stuart left. It was an emergency, he assured me, won’t happen again. To darn right, it won’t. 

Now the only thing for me to do is go to sleep, and hope Stuart gets back nice and early tomorrow. If not then I’ll have to cook breakfast for twelve hungry Scouts all on my own. 

I would be asleep too, if only it wasn’t so cold. As I said, the room is always cold, and I’m prepared. I have all my clothes on in my sleeping bag, but tonight it seems especially chilly. 

It’s in my head of course. It’s all nonsense. But you can tell that to yourself only so many times at 3 am.  Cold and weird noises. It’s nothing. I know why. 

Sharon came down and gave her usual tedious presentation, stating the bleeding obvious in a power-point presentation.  It’s what she’s paid the big bucks for. 

At lunch she came out with it. 

“Does anyone here believe in ghosts? Has anyone seen a ghost?”

No sniggering, but only just. Knowing glances were exchanged. 

“Have any of you been to Snipe Lodge?” 

“Yes loads of times. I go there with the Scouts.” I replied. 

“Are you not scared,” she asked. 

“No. Why should I be?”

“That’s the scariest place I’ve ever been,” She said. “I was there at the weekend on a ghost hunt.” 

“Right,” I said but I’m too late. 

She goes on to tell me all about shivers up the spine and cold clammy feelings, strange noises. Of course I’m too polite to say it to her face. Lady you’re a nut job. But we were all thinking it. She couldn’t know what really happened. 

“And that stairwell where the boy hung himself,” she goes on. 

There’s silence at the table. No one talks, and then back for the rest of the Power Point presentation. That was one slow afternoon. 

Later I check out the suicide at Snipe lodge. The place used to be a TB sanatorium. It opened in 1910. The idea was that fresh air and plenty of it was the cure. I’m not sure if that was really the case. I suppose plenty of patients must have died there now that I think of it. Turns out there are reports of a white lady, a grey lady, poltergeist, and an old guy that appears and does jigsaw puzzles in the middle of night. 

It all sounds like crap and no mention of a suicide. I mean seriously a ghost that comes and finishes off peoples jigsaws. How lame is that. 

But now, in that freezing cold room. It doesn’t sound so crap. I’m just cold I tell myself and get up to fetch another blanket. I’m struck by how dark it is. I know there’s extra blankets on the shelf but I can’t for the life of me see that far into the darkness. I tell myself I’m being silly. 

So I get up, why not. I walk over to the shelf. I can just about see in the light coming in from the window. Except that’s not all I see. I see him. 

“I’m glad we’re alone.” 

The voice is softer than soft, colder than cold. His voice. I remember. 

The ghost of child’s hand slips into mine. “You should not have hurt me.” 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to.” 

And then the ice comes.