Ghost of the Golden Slipper
Ellen Lynn
Supernatural
people and mountain climbers both like silent places. And this day
the mountain peaks were almost hidden by caps of silent clouds. Henry
Gorcey and his family were not thinking of ghosts however as they
drove up to the picturesque Inn in the famous mountain climbing
resort of Ranee. Three hearts were throbbing with excitement and
anticipation at the prospect of climbing to those seemingly
impossible summits—Ellen, his wife, and the ten-year-old Susan—and
Henry himself. There was a happy and warm welcome for them at the
very entrance for the proprietor of the Half-Way House was Henry's
long-time friend, Pete Milano. Together both men had climbed some of
the most difficult mountains in the Alps and it had been six years
since they had seen each other.
Early
the next morning a small climbing party stood outside the Inn ready
for the climb. It was another cloudy day, with a cold sun trying hard
to penetrate the heavy mists. Every so often it succeeded in bursting
through in a blaze of gold, only to be quickly subdued by the
persistent cloak of fog. Susan was bobbing around impatiently to get
started. Her mother had objected to her accompanying the party, but
father had overridden the objections, happy that his child had
acquired his zest for the exhilarating sport of mountain-climbing.
"She'll
go as far as she can," he reassured Ellen. "Then one of the
men will go back with her. Perhaps you, too?" Henry teased his
wife.
At
the top of the mountain—Henry gazed with pride at his daughter,
Susan. She had made the top! Ellen and he exchanged happy glances.
Susan's eyes were round as saucers as she watched the awesome
splendor of the panorama stretched out below this great height. But a
sudden chill overcast the gay mood of the party. Tragedy had struck a
ghastly blow.
The
period of rest was over and all were preparing to start on the
downward climb.
"Henry,
where's Susan?" Ellen's question was casual.
"Oh—she
must have wandered off a bit—" the reply was just as casual.
But
there was little area in which to wander and soon a bustle of panic
pervaded the air. With the whole countryside spread out wide open to
their eyes not a sign of young Susan could be detected by anyone.
Hysterically—on the top of her lungs—the frantic mother
yelled—"S-u-s-a-n! Yooooo.... Answer me—Susan!"
Then
Henry added the full strength of his voice—and one by one the whole
party joined in the yelling. But only their weird echoes answered
back. No one could say how the distraught party reached the
bottom—without Susan. Ellen had almost to be carried the whole way.
Henry and the others frantically searched every inch of the way down.
Susan had disappeared as though into thin air—with no outcry, no
clue. It was night when the exhausted, heartbroken group reached the
Inn. Peter Milano had become alarmed at the continued absence of the
party and was about to organize a search when they straggled in. At
once he knew something terrible had happened and was told the story
of the strange disappearance of Susan.
Softly
he spoke to his friend, Henry. "We'll get every person in this
village to help us find Susan. Meanwhile, have no fear. She's old
enough to protect herself till we reach her. We'll find her, be sure
of that."
Throughout
the night people holding flares were scouring the mountain side. It
was at dawn that a boy came running and shouting—"A girl's
hat—is this hers?" It was Susan's and had been found at the
foot of the mountain! She had disappeared at the very top. Peter and
Henry set out to climb up again—from the spot where the hat was
found. They were gone twenty minutes when they both halted abruptly,
ears cocked. There was a crackling of twigs—footsteps—and in
front of their amazed eyes came Susan. Her clothes were torn,
bedraggled, her face dirty—but she wore a happy smile and rushed
joyfully into the arms of her father. As the elated group hurried
downward, Susan told them that she had been getting the views at the
summit of the mountain and had walked all around the edge to see the
picture from every side when her foot slipped on a loose rock and
before she could make an outcry she found herself falling, falling.
"Oh,
daddy, I was frightened—my head felt dizzy—I wanted to cry,"
Susan was telling her tale. "And then as I was falling—a hand
took hold of mine. It was a lady—she was smiling down at me and I
stopped falling. She was beautiful. She took me into a cave and told
me we'd better stay there overnight, and that she would get me home
safely in the morning. We ate nuts and fruits for supper, daddy—and
this morning she showed me a path that led down toward the Inn. She
had beautiful golden hair. I asked her where she was going and ..."
During
this tale, Henry and Peter exchanged glances of incredulity and then
amusement. Henry whispered to Peter, "She must have struck her
head and imagined the whole thing. I'll have a doctor look at her as
soon as we get down."
"But,
daddy—don't you believe about the lady?" Susan had overheard
and was indignant. "Well, she gave me a slipper—a gold
slipper—so that I wouldn't forget her ..."
"Yes,
dear," her father patiently answered. "And did you drop the
slipper?"
Susan
groped in the large knapsack pocket of her jacket—and pulled out a
lady's gold slipper!
They
were now at the bottom and the crowds of searchers came rushing to
meet them with shouts and cries. Susan was lifted to the shoulders of
the happy people and Henry hurried to his wife. When he came
downstairs he saw Peter preparing to start another climb. "But,
Peter, are you mad? Why are you going up again?"
"I
am going to look for Jeanine. The girl Susan described was my fiance.
I want to ask Susan to show me the path to the cave—you won't mind
will you?" Peter spoke with a quiet intensity.
"Susan
was just imagining the whole thing, Peter," Henry insisted. "She
must have found that old slipper and her confused mind built up an
imaginative story." Henry saw that Peter was unconvinced. "What
happened to Jeanine?" Henry asked.
"Jeanine
and I were going to be married and we had a party here at the Inn.
She wanted to be alone awhile. By the time the guests had left I
noticed Jeanine was missing. She had disappeared. She was wearing
golden slippers—like the one Susan brought back. I never stopped
searching for her. No trace has ever been found. I—I've even looked
for—for—her remains. Now—Susan has seen her! Let Susan lead me
to the path! I must go!"
Henry
had to say yes to his friend. There was a desperate look in his eyes.
"Susan
should have rest, Peter," Henry said. "But we'll go to the
start of the path then I'll have to take her back—you'll have to go
on alone." He agreed.
Susan
was delighted with her new importance. She led the way for her father
and Peter, who followed in unusual silence. Only once he
exclaimed—"I've never seen this path before! I've been over
this ground hundreds of times but...." There was a narrow,
winding path clearly marked. Henry began to feel the strangeness of
the moment and the situation. What had his Susan stumbled into?
"We'll
leave you here, Peter," Henry said. And he and Susan stood
watching the hurrying figure of his friend, almost running along the
upward path, until he disappeared behind a boulder.
Peter's
last words were, "I'll be home tomorrow morning—and I'll bring
Jeanine or whatever Susan saw."
Even
Susan, young as she was, remained silent. Then she said—"Daddy,
Mr. Milano is acting—sort of—strange. But I really did see the
lady—and she was kind and beautiful. I showed you the golden
slipper, daddy."
"Are
you sure you didn't pick it up in the cave you went to?" her
father asked.
"Of
course, I'm sure, daddy," Susan insisted. "You wait and
see—Mr. Milano will find his sweetheart and bring her back to the
Inn. She'll tell you all about it."
There
was a big party that night for Susan and a proud and tired little
girl went to bed with the music still playing and coming through the
slightly opened door of her room. Henry and Ellen tucked their
daughter in tenderly and went into their own adjoining room.
"Something's wrong," Ellen observed. "What is it,
Henry? Are you worried about Peter?"
"Yes,
dear, I am." Henry replied. "I thought he had gotten over
his loss of Jeanine but this story of Susan's—and her finding that
golden slipper—well, he isn't acting—normal."
"Why
isn't he? Wouldn't you want to pursue any possible lead—even if it
does sound fantastic?" Ellen argued. "He simply wants to
eliminate every clue to her whereabouts. After he returns tomorrow
he'll resume his normal life, you'll see."
Henry
sat thinking a while, then—"Peter was amazed to find the path
that Susan led us to. He knows the whole terrain as we know the
street we live on. He had never before seen that path!"
Peter
had not returned by noon the next day. Henry waited impatiently as
the hours passed. By nightfall he started to gather a searching party
to go after Peter.
"You're
all tired, I know. We've just gotten over one search—for Susan—and
now we're starting on another. But, frankly, I'm worried abuot Peter.
If you think I'm foolish—well, I'll set out by myself in the
morning." They all decided to go with him.
It
was difficult for Henry to find the path again but, he did. There had
been a stone slide which almost concealed it, and the men had to pull
away rocks and debris in order to continue along the route. But,
finally, a large cave near the top loomed in front of him. Henry
called out—"Peter—Peter—" and the party hurried into
the cave. It was empty. They went outside again, calling their
friend. They scattered over a wide area, looking for footprints, or
other clues, but there was no sign of the missing man.
The
discouraged group gathered again in front of the cave. "It's no
use," one said, "there's no sign of Peter."
"Let's
search the cave more thoroughly," Henry urged. "We'll use
all our flashlights. He may have been here and dropped
something—after all he headed for the cave and must have gone in."
The
men began a search of the cave. "My God!" one of them
ejaculated. Everyone rushed toward him. He was holding up one of
Peter's hiking shoes—his initials printed in the lining! Without a
word they set to searching the cave again. A creaking sound broke the
silence. Their bodies tense, the men turned as one man in the
direction of the sound. A heavy door of rock seemed to be swinging
open. Cautiously they made their way toward it—and looked inside.
There on the ground was the dead body of Peter Milano and in his arms
a—skeleton. And over one bony foot was—a lady's golden slipper!
