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A Story For Halloween

by Esmond Tearle

Smithy's Daimler

Old Smithy was not a very popular man, disliked by most and feared by many. He had lived in the run down old farmhouse on the edge of the village for as long as I could remember. I was terrified of him as a child; we all were come to think of it. I once kicked a ball over the wall into his garden and dare not even knock on the door to ask for it.

He was always seen about the village, taking his wife out in his old car, or walking his dog late in the evenings. As kids we always thought he was snooping, spying. As I grew older in years I wondered why he was always seen late at night coming out of the lane that used to be the main road years back.

Nobody ever really knew what he did, he didn't work, or didn't seem to, and he hadn't farmed for many years. One thing was for sure; when he disappeared there was no one who missed him. His wife had gone a few years before him, and it wasn't until the coal man called at the house that anyone gave it a thought that anything may have been amiss.

I remember sitting in the pub when Arthur the village copper came in one evening, he wasn't his normal cheerful self, normally you could have a laugh with him, but this particular night he seemed very different. Everyone was asked when they last saw old Smithy, but nobody could remember for sure, not that they cared anyway. A few comments were made before the bar fell silent. Arthur told how Smithy had been found dead that day. He had been there for a while before being found. Arthur was the first see him after he had to break into the place. It must have been an unpleasant thing for any man to see, it was part of his job I know, but nonetheless not a thing anyone would choose to witness.

I remember walking home that night, I left early as the atmosphere in the pub had seemed to evaporate when the news got around. I had to walk along the road towards Smithy's farm, and I was glad I didn't have to go past it. The late autumn can be a bit eerie at the best of times, dark, cold and miserable. The crows in the spinney behind the farm seemed a bit noisier than normal; maybe it was just me and the mood of the moment.

It was a few months before anything happened, then one day a planning application was lodged that generated a lot of unease among the local community, it split the village in fact. It transpired that Smithy had a niece. She was his only family, but she never had any contact with him over the years. Still, the lucky lady had inherited the estate and as she lived miles away with her own family, she had put the place on the market. The first anyone was aware was when a developer applied to build a number of executive homes on the site. The house itself was very dilapidated and was probably too far gone to even be worth considering restoring. Still, some folk thought it should stay whilst others wanted to see it gone along with the memory of it's miserable owner.

I was working late in the garage one evening; I'd had a problem with the exhaust on Reverend Austin's old Minor and was busy tidying up ready for the morning. I had forgotten to put the closed sign up, and felt annoyed with myself when a large American car pulled onto the forecourt. I went out and the driver, an imposing looking character who was a stranger for sure, asked me to fill it up. I didn't feel quite so bad then, as it was money after all. I started chatting to him, nice car, not seen you around here before etc. He seemed friendly enough, smartly dressed, obviously not short of a few bob. Curiosity got the better of me and I asked him if he was not from around these parts or perhaps on holiday. It transpired he was the developer who had bought Smithy's farm. He didn't say a lot after that, obviously knew what the locals were feeling and maybe he wondered if I was one who was against his plans. Truth is, the more people moving to the village, the better as I saw it. They all need to buy petrol and maybe have their cars repaired.

I next saw him a few weeks later, when he called in as before and bought his petrol. This time he mentioned that they had found an old motor in one of the barns, and needed it moved as it was in the way and the place was due to be demolished before very long. I agreed to move it for him free of charge, I had no idea what it was, but knew it would be rather old. I hadn't seen Smithy in a car for ages so it seemed a good bet it would be something interesting. If nothing else it would be worth a couple of quid as scrap.

Well I turned up with the trailer hitched up to the back of the Land Rover. It was raining and I wondered how we would ever get into the barn, let alone get the old motor out. As the builders cleared away the brambles and the rubbish, I felt an odd sensation come over me. Part excitement and part nervousness. Smithy would hate to think that something of his was going to one of the villagers, over his dead body so to speak.

It took a sledgehammer to smash the padlock off the barn door. Then as they opened the barn, I peered into the gloom. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the light, but I couldn't believe it. There, covered in years of dust and cobwebs was an old Jag. It was as if the years rolled back and I saw in my minds eye, old Smithy thundering through the village in the very same car, when I was just a lad.

I wiped away the dust and filth. And it wasn't a Jag. There was that fluted grill, it was a Daimler, the posh version of the Mk2 as I recall.

The brakes were locked solid, and I was glad I had a winch to haul it out and onto the trailer. It cut into the soil as it emerged. Eventually I got the thing back to the garage, and left it parked around the back before locking the gates and going home.

It was a few days before I had the chance to really give the Daimler the once over. I got Paul the young lad that works for me to give it a bit of a clean up. When the grime had gone, it even had a bit of a shine to it.

The amazing thing was the interior, like new the seats were, and the mileage was only thirty odd thousand. The miserable old devil never really went further than the edge of the village, so I reckoned that must be genuine. Everything inside was as he had left it, cigar packet, road maps, and even an old shopping list.

It didn't take a lot to make the old girl run. I changed all the usual bits, put some fuel in and rigged up a battery and she sat there burbling away. After that, I spent a bit of time and money on her. I reckoned I had a nice old car and all it owed me was my time and the money I'd put into the parts. It was as solid as a rock and had cleaned up a treat. I could just imagine Smithy scowling at me from where ever he was.

I never kept the Daimler at home, my wife hated it being there, reminded her of Smithy and his horrible attitude. Each night it would be put away in the workshop.

I used to get Paul to close up on a Saturday for me, he would do jobs on his own car in the workshop and would then put everything inside for safe keeping before he went home.

Paul didn't turn up for work on Monday morning. He is a conscientious lad and it was rather out of character. I rang his mum and she told me he wouldn't be coming back again. I found that hard to take in, he loved his job, didn't earn a fortune but seemed to enjoy what he did and got on well with all the customers.

I called round to see what was wrong. Poor lad was in a right state, something had obviously happened, but I had no idea what, but he was a nervous wreck. He couldn't look me in the eye, and was unable to tell me what had made him throw the towel in, especially as he didn't have another job to go to.

It was a bit of a struggle from then on, I found myself having to work longer hours just to keep up with the workload. I missed having Paul there and wanted him back, maybe an increase in money would be what he was after.

By chance I met him in the pub that evening, he seemed embarrassed about what had happened, but we had a couple of drinks together and then he started to spill the beans. It seems that he had been putting the Daimler in on that Saturday evening, when he looked in the mirror as he reversed back, and he thinks he saw Smithy. Well I put it down to having too much of the pop, and told him so. I was ready to give him a good ribbing over such a load of nonsense. I'll always remember the look he gave me, a look of terror that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He didn't say anymore, just got up and left the bar to go home. Even left his coat hanging there on the stand in the corner.

As much as I loved that car, what Paul had told me always made me think. If it was anyone else, I would have dismissed it as rubbish, but Paul knew that one day, he would probably take over the running of the business when I decided to take life a bit easier. Around these parts, you certainly don't pass up an opportunity like that, most folk are grateful they can find work in the village without having to move away.

It didn't stack up; it was just so out of character.

I began to feel nervous when I drove the thing, I hated driving back late in the evenings, going past Smithy's farm made me feel so uneasy, and I tried not to look in the mirror just in case I saw the old devil sitting there scowling at me. Still, his farm would be gone soon and in it's place smart new mock Tudor houses with bright streetlights, and that would make the approach to the village a whole lot nicer.

I didn't use the car so much over the summer months, seems it gave me the creeps.

Back in the November I think it must have been, I had a chap come up to me in the bar one evening and he asked about the old Jag. I explained it was a Daimler and he said he'd seen it sitting in the yard, and couldn't help noticing that it seldom seemed to move from its corner. He then got straight to the point and asked if it was for sale.

Well until then, I hadn't really considered selling it, granted I never seemed to use the thing anymore, but I thought maybe it should go as it made me uneasy having to look each night.

Well, he made me an offer that seemed like telephone numbers. I thought he was mad, it was far more than the thing was ever worth in my view, and I almost felt guilty when I said yes. I went home that evening and told the wife and she reckoned he had escaped from somewhere or was taking something.

The next morning he rolled up at the garage and thrust a bundle of money into my hand, it was a deposit for the Daimler and I would get the rest the following week in cash. All I had to do was deliver it to his house as it wasn't taxed and he was worried Arthur might catch him.

It was an address I didn't recognise, then it turns out it's one of those big mock Tudor houses. Obviously he has more money than sense.

I had to jump start the car; it had been standing for a while but soon settled down to that lovely familiar burble. I left it ticking over for a while, to put a bit of life back into the battery. I started to lock up and then the phone rang and I got a bit distracted. It must have been best part of half an hour before I remembered the car and went outside. I reversed it out for the very last time and pointed it towards it's new home. That was a cold night, I put the heater on full but it had no effect, like sitting in a fridge even though it had thoroughly warmed up. I swung into the posh new cul-de-sac and there was the house, right where the farmhouse had been. There he was up at the window waiting for me.

He came out and ran his hand along the roof, always wanted one of these ever since I was a kid he explained. I was glad to get away, in case he changed his mind as much as anything. He offered me a lift home, but I was glad to see the back of that car.

Things got better for me, I had a small fortune in the bank, and Paul asked for his old job back. I welcomed him with open arms. It couldn't have happened at a better time, I could start to take life a little bit steadier and I felt the pressure was off. I offered him a partnership and his mum lent him the money to buy into the business.

The icing on the cake was when I got the chance to buy a breakdown wagon from a chap in the nearest town who was retiring early due to his health. Along with the truck came the contract to tow all the abandoned vehicles in for the council and also I got myself on the call out register for the local police. I couldn't help think that things had turned for the better when that car went.

I was having a pint this particular evening, Halloween it was, well that's to say I was drinking a lemonade as I was covering the breakdown call out that night, I had drawn the short straw, so Paul was having a pint or two. Arthur had called in to do one of his regular 'pub checks' as often happened near the end of his tour of duty. It was a good evening, all the regulars were in and we were having a good time.

Right on closing time Arthur's radio crackled into life. A report of a serious road traffic accident, possibly a fatal, out on the by-pass, only one vehicle involved. Ambulance en route, road blocked and recovery vehicle needed.

I followed Arthur out to his van. I had the truck parked around the back and thought it would be useful to follow him to the scene. If you follow a blue flashing light, you can get there much faster.

What happened next is a bit of a blur really. I stopped on the straight bit of road, behind the ambulance, couldn't see anything at first, well not until I used the spot lamp to shine a beam of light down the dip at the side of the road. My heart nearly stopped. It was Smithy's Daimler, gone off the road and hit a tree. It was one heck of a mess.

It was the first time I'd seen that car since it left me.

I had the job of dragging it away from the tree and back up the slope. Seems the driver was still in there and they couldn't get him out. At times like that you switch off to reality and get on with the job in hand.

The look of terror on that mans face will stay with me forever. That was the same look I saw in Paul's eyes the day he told me he'd seen old Smithy staring at him from the back seat.