"They say sometimes you can see her spirit still lingering by the balcony where she fell to her death, reaching out for her husband in a fit of loneliness and madness. And if you listen closely in the early hours of the morning just before a storm blows in, you can hear her moaning cries as she looks for her lost love who died on these very rocks. So close, and yet these two lovers would never meet again in the world of the living, nor the afterlife. Her poor soul remains trapped in that mansion, still waiting for the return of her long lost love who crashed upon the shore only a day before her demise." The tour guide spoke in a dramatic tone before swiftly changing gears to a happier one. "That concludes our tour of the haunted hotspots of our historic town. If you will follow me, from here we will be heading towards the gift shop where you can purchase your own ghostly T-shirt and decal. Snacks will also be available inside the store for those on the verge of being lost to starvation..."
The crowd laughed and followed the tour guide to the big shop at the end of the hill. Sitting in his usual place, he groaned at having to hear that daft story again. The historical inaccuracies aside, he could never forgive the lack of respect the locals and visitors showed to the many over the years who had met with unfortunate ends. Hardly anyone had known about the woman who lived in the mansion until the town was going through an economic drought and quickly needed a way to bring in more money. Soon, the sad, accidental death of a young woman became the main attraction of the town's distasteful tour of terror.
He hated the tourists and the townspeople who participated in this horrid show, but the ghost hunters that occasionally rolled through every October to film specials and fake "evidence" for their ratings were the worst of all. He cringed when he remembered that October was only two weeks away.
Most of all, he felt bad for the poor woman's image being altered and sold for entertainment after her death. There was no melancholy to what had caused her death. The balcony had been wet from the rain, and she had accidentally slipped off. The detail about her husband's death was also completely wrong. The ship that had wrecked that previous day was carrying travellers from out of country, primarily tourists. There were very few locals on board, certainly not her husband. Anyone who had read the newspaper report of her death would know that it was her husband who had witnessed the fall. His death was not the previous day, but the day after. A mourning husband quietly commiting suicide hardly makes for the same emotional pull as a desperate widow losing her sanity, so the details were altered in the guidebooks and on the TV specials. The only detail they'd left in place correctly for him was his place of death, the rocks where the tour had just stood.
This ship, of course, never hit that area. It had actually crashed further down the shore. To make the story more dramatic, as many elements were combined as possible. He had to admit, it would make for a great story to tell around a fire. With all the lying though, did they really need to use the real names of people for this?
He held a certain amount of resentment for those perpetuating the myth that the woman in the mansion had become a ghost. There was nothing that kept her bound to this plane. Her spirit had long gone on, and so too should her memory be allowed to rest.
No one would ever listen to his complaints about the matter. Money is money. Nothing else mattered.
Sighing, he watched another tour group coming down the rocks. A deep regret sat with him alongside that resentment, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He turned away and watched the waves come in over the rocks, the water rushing through the cracks like the blood that never stopped dripping from his wrists.