It was a gusty windswept day. The trees along the shore were bowing in the strong southerly that blew in off the ocean. Mavis strode out along the sands, pausing now and then to pick up a shell that caught her eye. At 74 Mavis didn't look her age, for she was a spritely woman, always on the move. "No time to dawdle," she always claimed.

            A spinster, Mavis enjoyed her single state. She'd been jilted years ago by a salesman who'd been passing through and had promised her marriage before skipping off, and taking her savings with him. Mavis had worn the same style of clothes for the past thirty years, and the coat she had on was the black one she'd worn for her mother's funeral twenty years ago to this day.

            "Evening Vicar," she said to the tall man who stopped and raised his hat in greeting. "Bit blowy today, eh?" The parish priest was one of the only two men in town she ever deigned to pass the time of day with. The doctor was the other one. They were fun to argue with.

            "Have to expect it now Mavis, with winter on us," he replied, smiling benevolently at her.

            Mavis pushed the hair that had escaped from her bun and was catching her around the face, out of her eyes, and grinned. "Best time of the year. No tourists. Darned tourists are enough to make you sick." She pulled a face and waved a bony hand. She hated the streams of visitors who flocked to their little Cornish town every summer.

            "Make an awful mess and chase the wildlife away, and drive about like lunatics," she told him in disdain. "Must be off, lots to do." She gave him a wave and marched on along the sands. The wind grew stronger and began to blow grains into her eyes. She squinted and scowled when a group of the local children came running her way.

            "Here comes the old witch," she heard one of them say, and she laughed to herself. Good. If they thought she was a witch they'd keep well out of her way.

            "Snips and snaps and frogs and old bones," she wailed in a loud voice, turning off into the bushes that shielded the main street from the sea. The branches of the smaller trees were bent low and one caught her on the cheek as she ducked under it.

            "How d'ya know she's a witch?" she heard a child ask as she leaned against the trunk of a gnarled tree to catch her breath.

            "She's got a mole on her face with hairs sticking out of it, and a pointed nose. Just like the witch in the Wizard of Oz that was on the tele last week. And did you ever look at her eyes? They're like rat's eyes—all beady and glassy. Of course she's a witch."

            Mavis cackled and pulled a butterscotch out of her pocket. Popping it into her mouth she made her way home. Her cottage was on the outskirts of town. It only had four rooms, two up and two down. It had been a bit cramped while her mother and father were alive, but now she was on her own it suited her nicely.

            Taking off her coat and hanging it on the hallstand she went to the tiny kitchen off the living room and put the kettle on. It was getting dark. She shivered. That was the only trouble with winter. It was coming up to the time she dreaded. The time when the ghost was reportedly seen walking the streets and seeking revenge.

            She made her tea and sat with a contented sigh on the floral patterned armchair by the fire, poking at the coals until she got it glowing nicely. A loud thump brought her out of the chair with such a start that she knocked her cup of tea over. "What in heaven was that?" she whispered, unthinkingly brandishing the poker as she moved to stand at the base of the narrow enclosed staircase in a corner of the room. Another loud bump was followed by a strange sliding noise. The hairs all over Mavis's body stood to attention.

            "Who's there?" She tried to sound fierce, but only managed to sound as scared as she felt. "Come on down and show yourself," she ordered, pulling the edges of her old cardigan together as if it would give her protection.

            She heard a low moan and cringed back in fear. "Come on down this minute." She took a few paces back as she heard the top stair creak as it always did when someone stepped on it. Her teeth began to knock together and her knees were shaking. Whoever was up there was coming down. She counted the stairs. One two three... right up to twelve, but still no one showed their face.

            "Ouch," a voice close by said, and Mavis jumped a foot in the air, then raced to the far side of the room and hid behind the sofa. Every inch of her shook like a leaf in a storm. The wind knocked at the windows and howled down the chimney, sending sparks from the fire onto the bricks in front of it.

            "Where are you?" she moaned like a frightened child. "What sort of trick are you playing?"

            "No trick madam," a kindly voice said. It sounded as if it came from the other side of her sofa. Mavis peered over the top and the sofa was empty, except she saw one of the cushions move slightly and there was a dent in the middle of it. "I'm sorry if I scared you, but I was looking for my ring. I lost it last winter as I was passing through, and I thought I may have left it here."

            "Here?" Mavis squeaked, sure she was going mad. What was she doing talking to nothing?

            "Yes, I've been staying here for the last hundred years or so on my way up north. Nice lodgings you have here."

            "Lodgings?" She bristled indignantly. "What are you doing coming into my home like this and thinking you can stay when you feel like it." Holding the poker in front of her defensively she walked round to the front of the sofa and began to wave it about.

            "Careful where you put that, madam," the voice warned. "I died by the sword, so I don't wish to be marked again by a poker." The voice laughed loudly and Mavis couldn't believe her ears.

            "I don't believe this," she declared, sure it was all her imagination playing tricks. "If you were a real ghost I'd be able to see you." She reached forward with a hand and moved it about where she estimated the voice came from.

            "They? Who's they?" Mavis was interested in spite of herself.

            "The King's guards. I was a trader. Pirate, I believe you call it these days. Oh what fun we had, smuggling in wine and perfume and fine silks and goods. I was betrayed by a woman. One I thought cared." He sighed long and sadly, then cheered up as he declared, "I'll show you where my stuff is all cached away if you like."

            Mavis sat beside the dent in the cushion, intrigued now. "How can you show me if I can't see you. I can hardly follow you, can I?"

            "Why ever not, madam. Come follow my voice." The cushion moved and then the voice said from somewhere near the door, "Let's go, follow me up to the large cave near the castle wall and I'll show you a way into the secret cellars."

            Without thought, Mavis did as he bade.

~***~

            They found her the next morning, sitting in the cave where the ghost was said to haunt each mid winter. Her eyes were unseeing, her clothes soaked by sea water, and her mind had gone.

            "So sad," said the vicar. "It's not like Mavis to go out without a coat at this time of the year."

            She had scratches on her hands and her nails were all broken. They found marks on the back wall of the cave as if someone had tried to claw their way through. On the third finger of her left hand was a huge emerald set in a thick gold band. Mavis smiled as she touched it when they gently carried her away.