Time After Time

It was already dark as Kate crossed the road and passed the swimming baths a few minutes’ walk from the flats. The sound of shouting children echoed inside and the smell of chlorine blew through an extractor fan. It sent her mind back to her own first swimming lesson ten years earlier. She had astonished the teacher. He asked how long Kate had been swimming. Kate said she did not know. She said she could not remember anything from before. He asked what she meant by before. Before she came here, she replied. The teacher wanted her to join the swimming team but the idea horrified Kate. She told her mum she did not want to go again.

The Central Library was opposite, based in a crumbling red brick Victorian building. She pushed open a heavy door and walked into a vast dimly lit hall covered in cracked green tiles. The main library was through a door ahead. Kate turned left and entered a smaller room. It was empty except for a couple of old men reading newspapers.

Kate approached a desk, where a woman in her fifties was flicking through a drawer filled with tiny cards. The librarian continued as Kate stood waiting. After a couple of minutes, Kate coughed. The woman looked over her glasses.

“I’d watch that cough if I was you, these things can turn nasty.”

The w continued sorting for another minute before turning to look at Kate.

“How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a local newsletter. I heard you keep copies of it.”

“I can check for you. What is the title?”

“It’s called Weird Wigan,” said Kate.

The woman smirked.

“You are in luck, young lady. We do stock the publication.” The woman pronounced the last word with an emphasis implying finger quotes. “We don’t get many requests from people to read it. I’m not sure why we keep it at all. Follow me.”

The librarian led Kate back out into the corridor. At the end was a winding staircase, which led to the basement. The woman flicked on a light and descended, gesturing for Kate to follow.

The basement was a vast low-ceilinged chamber lit by humming strip lights. Old newspapers and magazines filled row after row of functional metal shelving. In the corner were a couple of ancient microfilm readers.

“It’s right at the back,” said the librarian. “In the W’s, our largest section.”

Kate followed across the room, through shelves filled with books nobody had ever read. Nobody would ever read. They stopped in the far corner, where the light overhead flickered. The librarian reached for a broomstick nearby and bashed the light, which now went out.

“Oh well,” she muttered. “If you want to read any of these you can carry them over to one of the tables over there. Now I need to get back upstairs. If you need anything, pop back up.”

The librarian shuffled off, leaving Kate alone in the dim, dusty basement.

Kate turned back to the shelves and crouched to examine the shelf with the Weird Wigan archive. The newsletter was slim but there were so many editions it filled a whole shelf. It looked like Evelyn had produced the newsletter four times a year for at least the last twenty years. Kate grabbed a handful of the most recent editions and some of the earliest. She carried them over to a table.

The newsletters had a lurid green title. Flicking through them, she found issues with titles such as “Hauntings”, “High Council UFO cover up”, “Was Camelot at the end of Brookfield Road?“, “The Aquarian Conspiracy”, “Sarah Wicke: The Witch of Hanford”, “The Wodwose”, “Children of Annwn”, and “George Formby Lives!”.

Inside the first page of each newsletter was a brief introduction to the contents of the issue. Above was a grainy black and white photograph of Evelyn Fairclough. It must have been from the 1950s because she was still a young woman. At a glance, she appeared normal. Dressed in a suit typical of the period and wearing a hat tilted to one side. Kate had been expecting someone wild eyed and intense. From the photograph, Evelyn appeared attractive and self-possessed.

After the introduction was a news section and updates on stories from past issues. The main body was a detailed footnoted essay with photographs. There were also brief insets on connected topics. Evelyn Fairclough was thorough and obsessed by unexplained phenomena.

Kate flicked through the issues before focusing on the Hauntings edition. Mabel had written it ten years earlier and the paper was yellowing. Otherwise, it was like new, it was clear nobody had ever read it before. The contents page contained a list of local ghosts. There were dozens of them but right at the top was Mabel Bradshaw. Kate turned to the relevant page. There was a lengthy summary of the legend and historical context. Pages of eyewitness account, drawings and hazy photographs. None of the photographs was impressive. They were blobs of light in the darkness. The drawings were more interesting, some of them from as early as the 18th century. All showed a distressed young woman lifting a long dress to reveal bare feet. The similarity of the drawings suggested people had seen earlier versions. Copied them. She wondered whether anyone had ever seen Mabel at all. Whether the story had captured people’s imagination and they had seen what they wanted to see.

“You’re much paler than I expected.”

Kate jumped out of her chair in shock. The voice belonged to an old woman who stood feet away.

“Sorry dear, I startled you.”

Kate put her hand on her chest and laughed. “You did. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“You were absorbed in your reading.”

“Yes, I... What do you mean I am paler than you expected?”

Kate examined the old woman; there was something familiar about her. Was it the half smile, or the eyes? She turned back to the inside front page of the newsletter.

“You’re Evelyn Fairclough.”

“Guilty as charged. My friend Doreen, the librarian, rang me to say someone had asked to see my Weird Wigans. Well, it’s a rare event. So, I popped around to have a look at you.”

Kate detected self-mocking in Evelyn’s tone. She may not be mad after all.

“What in particular are you interested in?” Evelyn asked.

“I read about your encounter with the Mab’s Cross ghost. I don’t know why, but it intrigued me.”

The old woman sat opposite Kate and smiled. She wore a hat, like the one in the photo; tilted at the same angle. Her hair was now an iron grey and her face aged. There was no doubt she was the same woman.

“It’s an interesting story but I cannot pretend I know the half of it. The children know much more than I do, they talk about it all the time.”

“Children? Do you have grandchildren?”

“Bless you,” Evelyn laughed. “I never had any children of my own. No, I mean the Children of Annwn. They tell me things. They like to tell me their secrets.”

Kate felt a shift. Something about Evelyn’s smile struck Kate as odd.

“I need to be going now,” said Kate, getting to her feet. “My friends are meeting me outside. They’ll be here now.”

“Don’t go; there is so much I need to tell you. A network of tunnels riddles this town. The High Council sneaks around down there, deep underground. They run everything.”

Kate hurried away towards the staircase. As she was about to climb them Mabel shouted after her.

“Look after them Kate. Look after the children.”

Kate ran up the stairs.