The Clock Tower at the Dolmabahçe Palace, Istanbul, Turkey
Happy Halloween, everyone! Here’s a ghost story from Ripples on the Pond, my anthology of flash fiction and short stories.
The clock on the rococo tower, overlooking the palace by the sea, struck midnight. The guards at the gates changed shifts as they greeted each other. “Hope you’ll have a peaceful night, Ahmet. She hasn’t been seen for a while.”
“Thanks,” Ahmet said, trying to appear calm. He hated night duty and had believed ghosts only existed in fairy tales until he came to the big city. Conscripted in his early twenties, he had stepped out of his village for the first time. Instead of being sent to fight terrorists in the Southeast, luck dictated his assignment to this idyllic place in Istanbul. Yet, after hearing the stories about the Lady of the Clock Tower, he wished he had been sent elsewhere because the thought of her gave him the creeps.
Ahmet peeked at the clock tower, to check if she was there. He shuddered when the figure of a woman appeared at the window high above him. Against the darkness, her white robe fluttering in the wind, she looked around as though she was searching for something in the palace grounds. Ahmet blinked and she was gone, but his heart sank when he spied her silhouette, floating among the plants and trees in the garden.
A chilling breeze swept across his face. His heart pounding in his ears, Ahmet closed his eyes and said his prayers. When he opened them, a beautiful young woman with long dark hair and a magnetic gaze stood before him.
“Soldier,” she said. “I’m Yelda Sultan. I need your help to find my beloved.”
Ahmet’s jaws locked, his tongue stuck to his gums. He tried to open his mouth, but words failed to come out.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “No harm will come to you. My beloved, Ahmet Pasha, was murdered and buried somewhere here. I will not find peace until his body is found and laid to rest in a proper grave.”
“W- -why me?” Ahmet managed to utter.
“Because your name is Ahmet.”
He stared at her, puzzled. “I-I can’t leave my post. I’m on duty.”
“No one will notice. Grab a spade and follow me.”
In a daze, Ahmet staggered towards the gardener’s shed. He picked up a shovel and trailed behind her. She stopped by a bush and ordered, “Dig here.”
He drove the shovel into the soil and dug until she said, “Stop, fill it.”
Throughout that night, she pointed to various places. His back aching, the muscles in his arms burning, he shovelled earth and replaced it when instructed to refill every hole. Exhausted, Ahmet followed her to the next excavation corner. At last, she paused by a towering linden tree. He took a deep breath and resumed his toil until the shovel hit something hard. Ahmet stopped and raised his head.
She nodded, sadness clouding her face. “This is the place. Be gentle now.”
Using his hands, as if uncovering the veils of time, Ahmet brushed soil away. Fabric ripping beneath his fingers, he touched a shattered bone.
“Infidels! They have buried him in his clothes.” Tears fell from Yelda Sultan’s eyes. “May they burn in hell for this.”
He continued to carefully sweep off the soil and exposed the upper part of the body. In the dim light, he saw a pasha’s jacket, the material rotten and the once bright gold and silver embroidery faded.
Ahmet gazed at what remained of the Pasha and turned to the Sultan.
Weeping, she raised her palms to the sky, and said her prayers. He bowed his head and said his in silence.
“Now fill it up, please, and make it nice and smooth.”
Ahmed did as he was told and waited.
“My great-granddaughter’s name is Arzu Osman. Go to her home. Tell her you had a dream about me and my lost husband. She will understand, she has my last will. Memorize this address and do it as soon as possible. I’m grateful to you, soldier. Go with God.”
A cool breeze swept across his face, and she disappeared. His eyes drifted to the night sky, studded with stars around a crescent moon. He saw a translucent white beam rising to the heavens. Tired and confused, Ahmet returned to the sentry box, as the clock struck five. Two more hours on duty and he’d be free. He gazed at the windows of the tower. Nothing but darkness.
On his day off, with the address etched in his mind, he took the bus to a part of the city he had never visited. A district of fine houses with big gardens. A servant answered the door.
“I’m here to see Arzu Osman.”
“Who are you?”
“I have a message for her from her grandmother.”
“Wait here, please.”
The maid returned and took him to a large room, decorated with objects the like of which he had not seen in his life.
A middle-aged lady with dark hair stepped inside the chamber and smiled. “Hi, I’m Arzu.”
“I’m Ahmet. You have the same eyes as your great-grandmother.”
“Are you a psychic?”
“What does that mean? I had a dream and she asked me to deliver you a message.”
“Please sit down and tell me.”
“I am a guard at the Dolmabahçe Palace. Many said they had seen your grandmother, though I did not, at least not until two nights ago.” Ahmet paused, searching Arzu’s face.
She nodded.
“She- she bade me follow her. At her instruction, I laboured throughout the night to discover where her husband lay. After so many years of searching for her beloved, she found him, and told me to come to you and say I had a dream about her.”
He looked into her eyes. “Do you believe me?”
Arzu clenched her hands and bit her lip, studying his face. “Can you show me the place?”
“I’ll take you there.”
She drove him to the palace and parked the car. They strolled through the grounds until he stopped by the linden tree and pointed to the spot.
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“I’ve never owned one.”
“Can I reach you at the barracks?”
He gave her the number. On his next day off, she met him at the tea garden in the palace grounds and gave him a mobile phone.
“I’m working on getting the permit to exhume the body.”
Two months later, the authorities dug up the spot under the tree and retrieved the Pasha’s remains.
Arzu called Ahmet. “Come to my house on your day off.”
She met him at the door and took him to the lounge.
“Thank you, Ahmet. We buried great-grandpa next to great-grandma. They can now rest in peace. She has something for you.” She handed him a small pouch.
He opened it and stared at the gold coins inside. Bewildered, Ahmet raised his eyes and faced Arzu.
“They’re antique Ottoman coins,” she said. “Very valuable. More than a century ago, she decreed whoever found her husband would be rewarded. You now hold it in your palm.”
Many thanks for reading! 🙂
“Halloween Party” by Philip Guston (USA), 1942.
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