Goblins and Ghosties by Maggie Pearson Read Free Book Online Page A

Would anyone like a piece of gingerbread?’

The Haunting
    British Isles
    For as long as she could remember, she’d dreamed the same dream. The dream was of a house. It was like no house she’d ever lived in and yet it felt like home. In her dreams she walked through its rooms, admired the pictures, fingered the books in the library, savoured the cooking smells in the kitchen, or wandered in the garden. Sometimes she just sat: enjoying the feeling of peace the house always gave her.
    Sometimes it was daytime there, sometimes it was night. After a while it made no difference; she knew every stone of it so well that she could find her way by moonlight.
    Sometimes the furnishings were different, the pictures and the ornaments, but always the layout of the rooms was the same. Sometimes, looking out at the garden, it seemed that the trees were taller now than when she’d first dreamed of this place. Just as she was, of course. It was as if she were living two separate lives, but the dream house was where she belonged.
    When she told her sisters about it, all they said was, ‘What’s wrong with our house then?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ she said.
    â€˜Don’t you like it here?’
    â€˜I like it fine. It’s just not…’
    â€˜Not what?
    She shook her head. She couldn’t explain it.
    When she grew up and married, she never told her husband about the dreams she still had of her perfect house. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. All they could afford on his wages was a small flat in the centre of town.
    At last he got offered promotion – that’s if he didn’t mind moving to the firm’s head office across the water in England. He didn’t mind a bit. The extra money he’d earn meant they’d be able to buy a house of their own.
    House after house they looked at but none of them was just right, until they came to the very last one on the list.
    As she got out of the taxi she gave a little cry.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ said her husband. ‘You’ve gone very pale all of a sudden.’
    â€˜Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
    â€˜Let’s go and look inside, then,’ he said.
    The door was opened by the estate agent, who seemed surprised to see them.
    â€˜Are we too early?’ said the husband. ‘Were you expecting someone else?’
    â€˜No, no,’ said the man. ‘Quite the opposite. Let’s start in the library, shall we?’
    But she’d already found the right door and was running across the room to check the view from the window to see if it matched the one in her dream, which it did, exactly. She ran her fingers over the empty shelves, remembering the books that used to fill them.

    The estate agent smiled to her husband, ‘Perhaps your wife would like to lead us the rest of the way?’
    And she did, through the dining room, the sitting room, the breakfast room and the kitchen, then down to the cellar and up to the bedrooms. Every single thing was as she remembered it from her dream.
    â€˜It’s as if you’ve been here before,’ said her husband.
    â€˜I have,’ she said, ‘in my dreams. But I never thought this house was real.’
    â€˜I never thought you were real,’ said the estate agent. ‘I’ve stayed in this house many times in the past. Sometimes I’ve seen you wandering through it, though I don’t think you ever saw me. The last people to live here were afraid the place was haunted. But I don’t think you will be troubled by ghosts. May I be the first to say, ‘Welcome home’?’

Jacob and the Duppy
    Jamaica
    It was late when Jacob set out for home that night. He’d had a good day at the market, sold all his produce, and so he decided to treat himself to a drink or two. And when a man’s got money in his pocket and is in the mood to celebrate, he’s never short of friends willing to lend a