Poignant peace from Pete (sic)


Muriel Wilson, played with her granddaughter Rosie on the back lawn of her Nottinghamshire bungalow. The little girl pretended to be a teacher, with her rag doll, Barbie doll, cuddly dog, ginger cat and tatty teddy bear as pupils.

The scene was so lovely, that her grandma couldn’t resist taking a photograph; a chance not to be missed.

Later that afternoon, after Rosie’s mum had collected her, Muriel printed the picture off, on her computer. Smiling at the image, she suddenly looked quite shocked; for there in one of the bedroom windows stood, a uniformed figure looking out. For a few minutes, she just stood starring at the picture, totally transfixed. “Oh! My goodness gracious! Who can that be!?” she thought. “There was nobody in the house. It can’t be a ghost? Can it?”

Having a thought, she headed to the next door neighbour’s, knowing he was a scientist and owned a magnifying machine. This would afford her a clearer image.

Inviting her in, the Sherman’s quickly set the machine up on thekitchen table, each of them unable to hide their excitement.

Mr. Sherman slid the photograph under the lens; the imageappearing on the screen, into which they all peered.

“Come on Bruce, can’t you get a better resolution than that?” askedhis wife.

“Just have a little patience my dear.” “But we want to see who it is.” “Yes; and so do I, Doris, so do I”

As the image became crystal clear, Muriel frowned. “I’m sure I’ve seen that face before. I think it’s in one of our old family albums.” Once back home, she immediately headed for the attic, trying to think whereabouts they would be. Eventually she located them at the bottom of a dusty trunk, beside the chimney breast. She carried them down to the bedroom where the suspected ghost had been seen. Carefully she thumbed through each well worn out and threadbare album, page by page, until eventually, there he was, a uniformed soldier staring back at her.

Removing the picture very carefully, she hurried back round to the Sherman’s, in the knowledge of knowing exact(y^e was. Handing the picture to Mr. Sherman she smiled. “It’s my great, great, Uncle Thomas Wilson.”

“What do you know about him?” asked Mrs. Sherman.

“Not a lot really, in fact nothing at all.”

Mrs. Sherman looked a little surprised. “Nothing at all?”

Muriel shook her head. “It was a taboo subject. The family nevertalked about him.”

“Why was that?”

“That, I just don’t know.”

Returning home to replace the snapshot, she was stopped in her tacks. Standing in the doorway, she could see the empty space in the album, now had a folded note on it. Slowly she picked it up. It read:



“Why did they have to shoot me. I couldn’t help it!”