The Lady and the Eagle

The Eagle Pub had been standing in the Cambridge city center for many years. If one was to ask the people who visited the village what they thought about the establishment, they would be happy to say that everything was run smoothly and thoughtfully, and they would have been right.

Recently, the pub had become the focus of all the eyes in town: the ghost that lived in the building had always kept them safe, and so far no one was scared of her to the point of not visiting it for a good beer. Voyagers loved ghost stories, and Philip, the innkeeper, knew it. He would often come out of the kitchen after having long conversations with the cook, and entertain the travelers with the old myth of Lady Jane. He usually told it in a gloomy and eerie voice, that attracted the attention of everyone who was being loud and making a mess over the wooden chairs and tables.

“In the 1700s” he usually started, “there was a fair young lady called Jane. She was a noblewoman, and pure of heart, and on her way back from a journey to exotic lands, she stayed in Cambridge to spend the night, as the rain and winds had frightened the horses too much to continue riding that evening.”

It was at this point, the very beginning, where everyone had fallen silent and even the youngest lads were listening to his tale.

“Of course, the owner granted her the best room, with a view of the University and the parks that surrounded it. Long time she spent watching over her window the clear stream that glided under the sky until the Sun had set and darkness invaded the world. Well-read as she was, Lady Jane, lit a candle and resumed to the analysis of the great book she was reading, the title having been lost after the years that have passed since then.”

“Having fallen in a deep slumber,” continued Philip, “the maiden forgot to blow out the candlestick. Outside, the weather was becoming more and more thunderous, the wind blowing as strong as a hundred men trying to break into the Inn during the Civil War. In a moment of confusion, the lady, who had left the book in a dangerous position over the nightstand, and experiencing a terrible nightmare, smashed the manuscript into the floor. The candle lost its balance and fell on the wooden floor, which was covered with an embroidered carpet. The room burst into flames, the heat suffocating Lady Jane, who was still asleep.”

Then, everyone was so engaged that one could hear the flight of the moths around the oil lamps. Young people loved to hear how the pub had, since then, remained cursed and haunted by Lady Jane, the small window upstairs left always open to let her come and go as she pleased, as she had died because of the lack of air from the closed window. And to let her breathe whenever she was inside the building. Normally, Philip would tour the visitors around The Eagle, and let them see the famous window to make them believe that everything he had said was true.

“I myself have heard her fly away in stormy nights, afraid of suffocating again in the Afterlife. Look, look over there.” He pointed his dirty and greasy finger to the small window over and over. He did enjoy a good story.

That July night, the public had already retired to their rooms and their homes in the village. It had been a long evening, and Philip was ready to go to sleep. He washed every glass that had been used and polished the floors, as he tended to do once every couple of days. It was time for the inventory, he thought. Philip dreaded the idea of going back to the basement to count beer barrels after telling Lady Jane's story, but it had been a month and they were running out of beer. He was scared, even though he did not fully accept the existence of the creature. He considered that anyone who had died in that world would not be too keen on staying after they had been freed. With a sigh, he looked down the stairs and made his way down. During all his years in Earth, the cook had never bothered to learn how to write properly, and it had become difficult to note down the supplies once his sight had gotten worse.

Numbers danced inside his brain, and Philip found it impossible to concentrate. It is my duty, he thought, feeling guilty. You should be grateful to have found a job so soon after the War. He resumed his accounting, slowly but surely focusing on his task. The wind was howling outside, but there was still no sign of rain.

He heard no noise or saw any sign of the smoke at first. It came as a smell, that reached his nose and suffocated him. A hunch of what was going to happen if he did not act quickly. He turned around and faced the fire, that had started out of the blue. It was not widespread yet, but Philip knew that being so close to the barrels, it could easily bring all the structure down. He had no time to think: throwing the notepad away, he ran to the door and took two buckets of sand he kept for emergencies. He did not care to stop the fire at that moment, but he controlled it enough with the sand to go check if the window was open. An echo in his head told him to go upstairs, and he was not in a position of denying its wishes. With trouble, he climbed the stairs in seconds, until he arrived in the room.

It was closed. The wind must have shut it, Philip thought. He approached the knob and it turned effortlessly. Philip felt it right away: Lady Jane was free, and she had stopped being angry at him. It wasn’t my fault, he thought.

Some of the neighbors had started coming out of their houses after smelling the smoke. They had seen Philip open the window, and now he had stepped out the door to rest for a moment. He had put out the fire downstairs, and he had let the spirit of Jane fly in and out again.

“This has been a successful night,” he whispered under his breath.

“Goodness, what happened here?” John, his bartender, that lived around the corner, had come running down the lane. If he had known the danger that awaited Philip, he would have stayed with him.

“Cellar started to burn. The damned window was closed and no one noticed.” Philip was breathing heavily, almost suffering a heart attack.

“Aha, so you believe in Lady Jane now.” the boy let out a laugh. “I thought you told her story to bring people to drink.”

“Oh boy, I will believe in anything if it means I can stop any calamity from destroying the pub.” Philip seemed relieved, his hands still trembling.

On top of the windowsill, there rested a figure dressed in violet garments. Her brown hair floated in the wind, and she rose a hand to open the door to her home. With a kind look to the man that had let her in, she said her goodbyes to the witnesses, though she was away from their gaze. A moment later, she was back reading on the bed, her candle shining under the moonlight.