Have You Seen A Ghost?

Well, that is my question to you, and now that I have asked it, I feel almost foolish for doing so. 

So, what’s the answer...ah! I knew it: NO. 

Didn’t I say that it was really stupid of me to ask such a question? Of course none of you have seen a ghost, or even if you have you are most reluctant to tell anyone of it, because you think that they will laugh and make fun of you (even though that is true, to a certain extent of course). But I am not that scared to admit that I have seen a ghost; ghosts in fact, and that too on the same day. And that is what I am going to relate to you now. But before I do so let me tell you one more thing: to see ghosts you have to believe a bit, you have got to want to see them. But then, who wants to see a ghost on purpose?

Anyway, let’s get to the point.  But first of all, my name: Prat Peterson. That is the insufferable tag I have had to bear all my life. I wonder to this day who gave it to me. But that does not matter here, so I will proceed with the story. 

That day on which I had two consecutive meets with the uncanny was like any other day. I had slept late the last night (you always find such things at the beginning of stories), and so by law of nature I was late in waking up. After I did manage to escape the lure of the pillow, I did the daily routine work that I do after waking up and prepared to get out. 

It was a bright day and I wanted a bit of a stroll to lift my spirits. My house was a musty old ancient villa at Spectars Ground, a less known neighborhood with not too good a reputation. Most people thought that it was haunted, but who cares. 

The villa was up on a little hill sort of a thing, and offered a good view of the area around it. I parted a festering curtain and looked out at the bright sunlit world outside. Then I cast a glance at the interiors which were as much an antithesis to the vista outside as possible. 

Old furniture adorned the rooms, almost all unused and under white covers except for those which I made use of. The grandfather clock in the living room, although it was how old even I did not know, was still ticking as if it had acute arthritic pain in each of its springs and wheels. A mirror stood at a corner of this room, matted with dust of the darkest and thickest quality.  I don’t want to describe the rest of the house, it’s all pretty much the same and probably highly predictable for you all. 

I wondered where my manservant Albert (at least he has a proper name) had got to. Then I remembered that it was his half day off, and he would be coming in the evening. So leaving the house as it was, I took a hat and stepped out.   

Most people were out on the street as it was a weekday, and also because the weather was extremely enjoyable. And even though there was a slight nip in the air, the sun shone generously and so it was not a bother. No one spared me even a cursory glance as I walked past them. I guess living (really!) in that mangy old house had turned me all gray too; so much so that people did not even notice me! 

Still, I walked for a long time, taking in the various aspects of daily life. But sightseeing does not fill the need to eat, and as noon neared I began to get hungrier. I was just thinking what to do about the thing when my stroll brought me near a restaurant. Thinking that perhaps here I would be able to get something to satiate my soul, I slunk into an alley at the back of the restaurant. Soon I found the kitchen door and fortunately it was open just a crack; but that much was enough for me. I sidled into the kitchen, and found my self caught amidst a fray of cooks bent entirely upon their cooking campaign. 

The apron wearing warriors were furiously attacking all sorts of rations with their customary weapons to dish out mouth watering fares for the customers. But one as devious and silent as me they failed to detect. 

Taking advantage of the situation I purloined some food and silently made my way to a park where I ate up the lot. 

Satisfied, I went off to my work which I do not need to describe here. The rest of the day I spent with my colleagues going about on our various missions and assignments. Most of these involved some predetermined houses and performing our operations there. As evening started wrapping the sun up in its drapes, I said goodbye to my equals and started the journey back to my depressing domain (alliteration intended). 

On the way I stopped by another eatery and procured my fare for the night as I had done in the noon. The sun had almost sunk behind the flushed horizon, dust was floating in the tired evening air aimlessly as if it were a soul which had lost his address and was now floating round trying to search for it. With the sinking of the sun the nip that was there in the morning turned now into a stinging chill. I had not got any warm things on, but I was pretty much resistant to cold and stuff as such, so I decided to go for a stroll in the park. 

I entered the square of the park. It was visibly empty, but at a dark corner of the field sat five or six cloaked figures. They were huddled together in a deep discussion about something that seemed to be very secret. Well, that is what I gathered from their whispered manner of speaking, and the furtive glances they threw at intervals. I walked up to them quiet unnoticed and spoke to them in general:
“Good evening, gentlemen.”

At once they stood up in a single fluid movement. There were six of them, all cloaked in black and standing well over a foot above me. They seemed to have been really startled by my greeting. I could not see their hooded faces, but I was certain that irritation was etched on each of them. One of them spoke irritably:

“Yeah yeah. Now who’re you? What’s it you want?”

“Who cares what it wants.” Another of them said in a rude tone. Then he turned to me.

“Hey ya. Get away and outs this place as fast as ya can. And the faster ya swings it the better.”

They were very intent to drive me away, which did nothing but fortify my tenacity to find out why they were there at this time of the day, when the park is about to close for the night. I smiled a bit and said to them with as much politeness as I could muster:

“I was only trying to help, sirs.” I said to them. “Besides, you should not be here at this time of the evening. Locals say that this park is haunted by the ghosts of the Ranging Robbers. It is said that they come out now and roam about looking for their lost loot.”

This really was a local legend, though I cannot say how much color has been added to the tale. But upon my mentioning this, the figures seemed to fall in some thought. Then a third of them, this one soft spoken, asked me something.

“So my dear man, what do you know about this legend of the Ranging Robbers? I daresay it isn’t true? I was hoping if you would tell us some of it.”

And so I did.

“Long ago,” I began, still standing. “The Ranging Robbers were a fierce and desperate band of bank robbers. The Rangers, as the group of burglars was known to all, were as brutal as they were cunning. And they had a reputation of being untraceable, the way they vanished after every heist. One day the Rangers, after robbing the local bank of money and gold, were escaping on their horses when the local sheriff and his force hemmed them in. 

Desperately they retreated into this park. Then began a terrible gunfight between the robbers and the lawmen, and the battle ended with the Robbers being shot to death by the sheriff. Strangely, when the sheriff came into retrieve the loot, all they found were the dead Rangers. The stolen goods had vanished! Everyone thought that the Rangers must have hid their loot somewhere in this park. And so it is said that ever since that day, the ghosts of the Ranging Robbers return every night to look for their loot. That is why no one enters this place after sundown. For it was near that time when the robbers were killed.”

On hearing this six did nothing for a few moments.  

Then the polite one said:

“We are the Ranging Robbers. And the loot is hidden here, right under this tree. We cannot use it anymore, so every day we just come to see the remains of our last escapade.” 

“Excuse me for saying this,” I said with a silly look on my face. “but this wasn’t exactly your last escapade, was it? After all you could not escape and so it was more like the last defeat...”

But before I could finish my sentence the sun went down, and with that the Ranging Robbers all vanished into the night air.

That was the first time that day that I saw a ghost, er... ghosts rather.

Slowly and stiffly I made my way to my house. I had been a fool to dabble in jokes with ghosts as powerful and influential as the robbers, I thought. Silently I entered my house. It was still as dark as ever. I entered the living room and saw that Alfred had cleaned the place. I hung my hat and looked into the mirror at my pale reflection.

This was the second time that day, that I saw a ghost.