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Ringapold Bloom's Last Cold Night
By Thomas Miller
Hi, I am Ringapold Bloom. Why did I get here? What made this story a story of my life? It all started in 1934. As an immigrant from Rome to the United States, I lived in Rome, Italy, for years. I was even born there. I learned to speak English at a young age so I could go to America and become something. At 22, I went to college in NYC to become a mortician. I graduated with flying colors and went to a small town called Bayside.
Bayside was a small town of 3000 people. I became the only mortician in this town. Previously, they had to send their dead to a major city three hours away in a city called Spear Point. But now, as the only mortician in town, I could give the locals some peace of mind.
It was a rainy Friday afternoon when Ms. Cliveranse came to the parlor to pick out a casket for Jeeves, her butler for many years. Jeeves was a man who was part of the family. As she was widowed, Jeeves took care of her, so I did the best I could do, and she loved it. It all went to plan, but something about that poor widow became a shock to me.
She stood overlooking the bay on a cold night. I saw her, grabbed my coat, and wrapped it around her. "Is everything okay?" I asked.
She told me she was fine, but something in her wanted to dig deeper. But I am an out-of-towner, and she lived there when Bayside was incorporated, so I had no say. But that one night, as I was closing up for the night, she leaped into the bay, saying, "Jeeves, I am coming." In a panic, I ran and jumped in after her, but she disappeared into the murky water.
As I called the authorities about a possible suicide, the police told me that was the spirit of the widow burying Jeeves. She comes to new folks and tells the story of her lost butler. On that night, they both committed suicide together. As I stood and saw a ghost of the past, I still remember the town of Bayside that will live in my heart for time to come.
In the days that followed, the story of the widow and Jeeves haunted me. Despite being a man of science and reason, I couldn't shake the eerie feeling that had settled over me since that night. The townsfolk seemed to know more than they let on, their eyes reflecting a shared understanding when they spoke of the bay and its secrets.
One evening, as I was closing up the parlor, I noticed an old man lingering outside. His weathered face and piercing eyes hinted at many stories untold. He introduced himself as Mr. Harrington, a lifelong resident of Bayside.
"I heard about what you saw, Mr. Bloom," he began, his voice a raspy whisper. "The widow Cliveranse and Jeeves... their story is well-known here, but few outsiders ever witness their tragedy."
Intrigued, I invited him inside, and over a cup of coffee, Mr. Harrington unraveled the tale in greater detail. He explained how Mrs. Cliveranse and Jeeves shared a bond that transcended the usual boundaries of employer and servant. After the sudden death of her husband, Jeeves became her confidant, her protector, and her only family.
"Some say their relationship went beyond that of a widow and her butler," Mr. Harrington confided. "But in those days, it was not something to be spoken of."
One stormy night, a terrible misunderstanding led Mrs. Cliveranse to believe Jeeves had betrayed her. In her grief and rage, she dismissed him, only to discover shortly after that he had been innocent. By then, it was too late. Jeeves had taken his own life, unable to bear the pain of her rejection. Stricken with guilt, Mrs. Cliveranse followed him into the bay, their souls forever entwined in a tragic embrace.
"They say their spirits can't rest," Mr. Harrington said, staring into his cup. "Every year, on the anniversary of their deaths, Mrs. Cliveranse reappears, searching for forgiveness."
As the anniversary approached, I found myself drawn to the bay. The town seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation. On that cold night, as the moon cast a silvery glow over the water, I saw her again. Mrs. Cliveranse stood at the edge of the bay, her ethereal form shimmering in the moonlight. This time, I did not approach her. Instead, I watched in silence, a witness to her eternal sorrow.
Suddenly, another figure emerged from the shadows. It was Jeeves, his ghostly presence as solid as hers. They stood facing each other, their silent exchange filled with the anguish and regret of their untold love. As they reached out, their hands almost touching, a soft light enveloped them, growing brighter until I had to shield my eyes.
When I looked again, they were gone. The bay was still, the air serene. I felt a profound sense of peace, as if their restless spirits had finally found solace.
From that night on, Bayside seemed different. The town, once shrouded in the gloom of its past, now felt lighter, as if a burden had been lifted. Life went on, but the memory of Mrs. Cliveranse and Jeeves lingered, a poignant reminder of love and forgiveness.
I continued my work as a mortician, serving the people of Bayside with compassion and care. And though the ghosts of the past no longer haunted the bay, their story lived on in the hearts of those who remembered, a testament to the enduring power of love and the hope for redemption.