Who is Tulovski?

Who is Tulovski? I was now accustomed to the hostile stares and scowls the locals offered me as I enquired about the elusive man who had once inhabited my cottage. It all started about three months ago when I tied the knot with my childhood sweetheart Holly. We often used to visit Whitby, the remarkable mysterious fishing village and seaside resort made famous by Captain Cook and of course Dracula.

I can see why Bram Stoker chose Whitby on the north-east coast of England as part of his setting for his famous classic novel. With its numerous cobbled streets and old cottages it makes a wonderful location for a horror tale. Then of course there’s the one hundred and ninety nine steps leading past the ancient cemetery and old abbey, perched on the cliff-top overlooking the harbour.

The abbey as a child enchanted me as there were so many stories involving countless ghosts, which at the time I had no reason to doubt. Whether the stories were authentic or not Whitby never failed to stimulate me with its alluring charm.

After numerous visits to Whitby in the summer months we fell in love with the place and promised that when we did eventually marry, Whitby would be our home. One cottage in particular caught our eye. It was within throwing distance of the abbey and had been empty for many years, which was surprising to us to say the least.

After a visit to the estate agent we were somewhat astounded at the asking price of fifteen thousand pounds. If I had the cash on me I would have gladly produced it there and then as we were expecting Saltwick Cottage to be at least twice the price.

After viewing the said structure we were more determined than ever to make it our abode. True, it needed a lot of work but I was due time off from my job as a journalist with a local newspaper and we took very little persuading.

The white ivy covered walls of the cottage added a little authenticity to the place, which must have been steeped in history. Holly being a genealogy nut couldn’t wait to visit the local library and study the census to discover who had inhabited our home over the years.

The locals at first eyed us with suspicion as this was a close knit community, but after realising this young couple offered no threat to their humdrum everyday lives we were accepted.

Our lives were about to change dramatically one fine morning in June. Being a Sunday morning I decided on a lie in but the shafts of sunlight probing through the curtains, coupled with the squawking of the seagulls roused me. Distant bell ringing coming from the local church conspired to rob me of my habitual slumber.

I leant over to see Holly sleeping peacefully, her long red hair cascading over her slender shoulders, a content smile on her face. With her petite nose and fresh complexion she could pass for a girl much younger than her twenty-three years would suggest. I kissed her before rising and heard the whistling of the postman as he approached the cottage. I waited in anticipation as the letters fell to the floor as I was expecting a reply from the Daily Mirror with regards to my recent application. I felt my talents were being wasted at the Evening Gazette and aspired for greater things.

As I leafed through the usual bills one tatty looking envelope held my gaze. It was addressed to a Mr Tulovski. The address was given as Saltwick Cottage but there had to be a mistake and I put the letter to one side.

My first chore of the morning was a visit to the local shop for newspapers and milk, which we had not yet gotten round to getting delivered. I decided to jog to the village, as I needed the exercise, so I dressed accordingly in a vest and shorts.

On exiting the cottage my attention was averted towards a strange looking man stood at the edge of the cliff, looking out to sea. He was bizarrely attired in a long black robe, flapping in the breeze off the sea. My first thoughts were for his safety as he had stepped over the fence and was standing far too close to the edge of the cliff.
"Good morning." There was no response so I edged closer to the strange man.

"Good morning." Again he ignored me. My conscience would not let me abandon him as I could have been witnessing a suicide attempt.

"Are you okay there?"

I gasped as the man walked off the edge of the cliff. I clambered over the fence yelling loudly to wake Holly. My fear of heights prohibited my venturing to the edge so I lay on the ground and crept to the edge and looked over. The tide was out and my eyes scanned the rocks looking for his body.

"What are you doing Adrian?" Came the voice from behind.

"Holly! He jumped."

"Who jumped?"

"There was a man stood here a moment ago. He jumped, well not exactly jumped. He walked off the edge of the cliff.

Holly sauntered to the edge oblivious to the danger and looked down, her red hair and nightdress fluttering wildly as the wind strengthened.

"I can’t see anyone Adrian, are you sure?"

"Of course I’m bloody sure. We’ve got to contact the authorities immediately."

No body was found and I was forced to apologise to the police for wasting their time. I was eyed suspiciously and asked if I had been drinking the night before or had taken any illegal substances. I had not endeared myself to the local police and was branded a potential junkie and trouble causer. No matter how hard I tried I could not erase the incident from my memory.

That evening we decided to call at the local pub as Holly reckoned a drink or two would help me deal with my daunting experience.

You could hear a pin drop as we entered The Lord Admiral. My thoughts were of the movie An American Werewolf in London as I browsed the inquisitive customers and offered a false smile. I felt we were walking the gauntlet as we shuffled towards the bar. An obese red-faced man awaited our request.

"Er, a pint of bitter for me and..."

"A Tia Maria and coke please," smiled Holly.

"We don’t sell those fancy drinks here," he said in a deep voice. I half expected him to sing a chorus of Wandering Star.

"Well I guess I’ll settle for half a lager," said Holly.

As he poured the drinks the landlord said, "you’re the young couple who’ve just bought Saltwick Cottage aren’t you?"

"Yes that’s right."

"That incident this morning, you don’t want to be wasting precious police time anymore."

"Anymore? I don’t expect this is an everyday occurrence; anyway, I know what I saw."

A loud laugh from behind did not help to abate my rising anger. I turned to face an old man in a flat cap sitting in the corner playing dominoes with three others. He had a very large nose and the absence of his teeth reminded me of one of those gurners.
"I don’t think this matter warrants laughter, do you?"

Holly grabbed my arm and shook her head. "Leave it out Ade."

"What do you do for a living?" Asked the landlord.

"I’m a journalist; or I’m training to be one."

"A journalist! You aren’t going to write any lies about the incident are you?"

"Relax, my work hasn’t progressed past the task of making coffee and running errands."

"Oh, that’s alright then."

"Who used to live in the cottage before us? My wife is doing some research on its history and I wondered if you could give her a name where she could start?"

"Yes, I can’t seem to find any records of the cottage," said Holly.

"Nobody’s lived there for years," shouted a middle-aged attractive lady dark-haired sat with a bald man.

"Really. Who is Mr Tulovski?"

By the looks on their faces I had said something unpleasant to their ears.
"Who?" Asked the landlord.

"Tulovski. A letter came to our address this morning addressed to him."

"Tulovski, that’s Russian isn’t it?" Queried Holly.

"We know of no such person. Fetch me the letter and I’ll gladly return it to the post office."

"Mr er..."

"Call me Horace."

I beckoned for the landlord to come nearer and he leaned over the bar.
"Well Horace, how come the address was correct?"

He shrugged his wide shoulders. "Who knows? Like I said, bring the letter to me and I’ll return it."

We took our seats not too close to the blazing log fire, as it was a warm evening. Every now and again I would catch a customer staring at us and then quickly turn away after realising they had been detected. I by now was having second thoughts about living amongst this reticent community.

The change in the weather as we walked back to our cottage was unexpected as the orange skies were replaced by black clouds briskly drifting across the heavens. A flash of lightning illuminated the abbey to our right and then the deafening sound of thunder made Holly jump. She increased her pace as the rain came down slowly at first and then with more urgency.

Holly could look over the top of a cliff or chase a mouse, but when it came to thunderstorms she became a nervous wreck. She held my hang tightly, her fingernails unbeknown to her digging into the cold flesh of my hand.

I afforded a glance towards the abbey as it was lit up by another flash of lightning and halted abruptly almost pulling Holly’s arm from its socket. I felt my bowels loosen as I saw the black-robed man looking towards us. His face was indistinct but it was definitely the same man I had seen that morning walking over the edge of the cliff.

"Do you see him Holly, do you see him?" I shouted, as the heavens exploded loudly.

"See who Ade? Come on let’s get home."

I reluctantly heeded her advice, as I could no longer see the mysterious man. I am a realist but common sense told me all was not right here. I was convinced I had seen a ghost.

We lay in each other’s arms, an afterthought after our bout of lovemaking. Holly liked to indulge in a session of passion during a thunderstorm as it took her mind off it. She was now soundly asleep, a luxury I unfortunately could not partake in as my thoughts were of the strange man. His attire was of someone not of this era and something told me I had seen this man somewhere before even though his face was obscured. It was a similar feeling to when you visit a city for the first time and know what is around the corner.

I must have lain motionless for hours and eventually dropped off. The wind and rain rattling against the window pain roused me and I glanced at the clock to see it was three-fifteen. Again I closed my eyes and felt a sudden chill in fact the temperature in the bedroom had dropped rapidly. I had made up my mind to find out the reason for the coldness when a stale odour, which I can only describe as a rotting carcass, reached my nostrils.

I turned onto my back careful not to disturb Holly and the stench seemed to get stronger, which repulsed me. I have no rational explanation for what happened next. I heard the mattress squeak and felt it being depressed as if someone was on the bed with us. My instinct told me to lift my head, though dreading the consequences of my discovery, but I found myself unable to do so. It was if I was paralysed. I swivelled my eyes towards the foot of the bed as I shivered violently with the coldness.

The ghostly figure of the black-robed man was sitting on the end of the bed, his mesmerising eyes staring straight at me. He had long dark hair parted in the centre and a long straggly beard. His unhealthy pallor gave the impression he was an ailing man. He gave me the impression of being a monk or holy man. I tried to speak to him but was unable to as the paralysis rendered me unable to move my mouth. As hard as I tried I could not utter a word and attempted to scream but was met with the same result.

How could Holly not feel this freezing temperature and not smell the rotten nauseous odour? The monk stared at me emotionless for what seemed like hours. He said nothing and eventually rose up. I feared the worst and felt my body soaked in perspiration even though the temperature must have been below zero.

He approached the window and looked back at me before he faded away. The temperature rose and the odour was absent. A bolt of lightning lit up the bedroom and I felt myself able to move again. A strange sensation filled my body similar to pins and needles. I approached the window and looked out into the darkness as the sky once more was illuminated, highlighting the figure of the monk stood close to the cliffs edge looking out to sea.

I looked at Holly and roused her, as I needed confirmation I was not losing my mind.

"What is it?" She mumbled her eyes still half closed.

"Come here Holly, you’ve got to see this."

She reluctantly got out of bed and approached the bedroom window.
"There, by the edge of the cliff. Can you see him?"

"See him, see who Ade?"

"Wait for the lightning Holly; you must see him."

My eyes searched her petite face as the sky once more was illuminated.
"Well, do you see him or not?"

I punched the air as she nodded.

"Who is he?"

"He’s the man I saw this morning going over the cliff. I don’t know how to tell you this but he’s been in our bedroom tonight. In fact he was sitting on the end of the bed."

"Stop it. You’re scaring me."

"I don’t think he means us any harm Holly. I think he’s a monk or priest and since when have holy men been evil?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Get your coat. I think he wants us to follow him."

"Are you crazy? No way Jose. The thunderstorms bad enough never mind a bloody ghost."

"Come on Holly. You were the one who wanted to know the history of this cottage. I’m certain he won’t harm us."

"I don’t know Ade."

I took her hand and we wrapped up against the cruel elements. As we exited the cottage the gale force wind almost blew us off our feet. The driving rain conspired with the wind as if to prohibit us in our approach. I could no longer see the monk but something told me the answer to this enigma lay at the bottom of the cliff.

We stepped over the wire fence and we both lay on our stomachs, me because of my fear of heights, and Holly because with the strong wind it would be dangerous to stand close to the edge. We crawled forward, screwing our eyes up against the rain being driven into our faces.

We clasped hands as the sight, which befell us, rendered us speechless. A large old sailing ship was being blown about and was in danger of capsizing. We watched horrified as it headed for the rocks. The screams as the ship impacted with the sharp rocks were audible above the storm. Bodies were strewn along the beach, the lucky ones crawling to safety. The ship was no more, as the wreckage was dispersed along the shoreline.

Gradually the image faded and we lay there motionless, both deeply engrossed in our own thoughts. We walked hand in hand back to the cottage, sorrowful and stunned by the piece of history we had just witnessed. As we entered the cottage Holly gazed at me with tearful eyes and threw her arms around me sobbing uncontrollably. Our question had been answered. Who is Tulovski?

The Whitby Maritime Museum was quiet, as it had just opened its doors. We shuffled slowly along the impressive row of cabinets carefully inspecting each photograph and plaque in our obsessive quest to solve the mystery of Mr Tulovski. We came across a cabinet dedicated to shipwrecks and my eyes fell upon a very old photograph. It showed a group of eighteen survivors from a shipwreck off the coast of Whitby in 1917.

The name of the ship filled me with excitement as I clutched Holly’s arm.
"The Empress Alexandria! A Russian merchant sailing ship, which sunk off the coast of Whitby in 1917. It all fits."

My eager eyes settled on a photograph of the survivors and my heart beat accelerated as I looked at a man stood towards the rear of the group, his black robe partly obscured by others.

"That’s him!" I yelled, feeling slightly embarrassed as an elderly couple craned their heads to see what the commotion was.

"My God! My good God," spluttered Holly.

I looked down at the list of names and was overwhelmed as the name Boris Tulovski registered. I looked across at Holly who appeared traumatised.
"Are you okay Holly?"

"That man. Do you know who he is?"

"Yes, Boris Tulovski."

"Look again. You must recognise him."

I stared into the penetrating eyes of the bearded man and again a sense of familiarly came over me. "What are you getting at Holly?"

She looked across at me, a frightened look on her face. "That is Rasputin!"

"Don’t be ridiculous. Rasputin was murdered."

"Ade, I took a degree in history remember, and one of the subjects I studied was Russian history. I’m telling you that is Rasputin."

"Granted, he looks a little like him, but come on. Rasputin in Whitby?"

"Three conspirators attempted to poison him in 1916. After that failed, they shot him several times but still he survived. They eventually bound him and threw him into the Neva River where he was believed to have drowned."

"Exactly."

"What if he didn’t drown? What if he survived? Rasputin was thought to be a mystic and had healing powers. Maybe they couldn't kill him after all. He could have fled Russia and sailed to England."

"Maybe, maybe. You’re telling me after he was shipwrecked he lived here under a false name?"

"It would explain why the locals are staying tight-lipped."

"Wasn’t Rasputin an evil man?"

"Exactly. All the more reason for us to leave the cottage."

We headed back to the cottage along the cliff-top, still arguing over our remarkable findings. The sun had made a welcome appearance from behind the clouds. We passed an old man seated on one of the rickety benches looking out to sea.
"You know don’t you?"

I stopped abruptly and faced the old man with the large nose, recognising him from the Lord Admiral the night before.
"Excuse me?"

"You were overheard in the Maritime Museum."

"But how did you get up here so quickly?"

"I didn’t. Wonderful new fangled things these mobile phones."

He filled his pipe as we joined him on the bench. "You see, we are as I’m sure you’ve already gathered a humble close community. We just want to be left in peace. What purpose would it serve to have outsiders coming here and nosing around? What has been done cannot be undone."

"So Tulovski really was Rasputin?" Probed Holly.

"After the shipwreck all the survivors returned to Russia. All that is except one. Tulovski. He was a strange man but was eventually accepted by the community including my grandfather. It turned out Tulovski was a priest of some sort and soon exerted his influence on Whitby. After healing a young girl, word spread of his healing powers. Despite this he was despised by many. He was a dirty man and an alcoholic. Before long he was using his hypnotic power to seduce young girls. One such girl was my mother. She was only sixteen and after a secret meeting in the Lord Admiral the villagers decided to do something about it."

"They murdered him didn’t they?" I asked.

"Murdered? That’s too strong a word. No he was executed. He was overpowered and they thought it apt to dispose of him where he had been found two years earlier. They carried him to the cliff opposite your cottage and threw him off. He was laughing loudly even on his descent to his death."

"How do you know this?" I quizzed.

He lit his pipe and tears were forming in his eyes. "My father told me. Anyway, there you have it. If you want to dig up the past then so be it. My grandfather and numerous other people will be branded murderers and the media will swarm Whitby. I beg of you, for my mother’s dignity, rest her soul. Do not disclose of what you have learnt today."

Holly spoke first. "Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with us."

The old man put his liver spotted cold hand on hers. "Thank you dear."

"One other thing. Rasputin? How did you know it was him?"

"You obviously haven’t opened the letter addressed to Tulovski have you? I don’t know if you are aware but Empress Alexandria of Russia was Rasputin’s lover. He wrote to her often and she wrote back. The village postman saw the Russian postmark all those years ago and his curiosity got the better of him. Of course at that time the villagers knew little of Rasputin. When news of what sort of a man he was reached Whitby there was a great feeling of relief."

"So the cottage is haunted?"

"Oh he’s harmless enough. His ghost has been seen ever since that tragic night. Ghostly letters are still posted to the cottage; we know not where they come from. He’s an evil man but can do no harm now. You’ll get used to him in time."

"I don’t think I want him sitting on my bed too often," said Holly.

"Where was he buried?"

The old man puffed on his pipe and pondered before facing me. "That’s just it. He wasn’t. We went down to the beach the next morning and there was no body. The tide was out so there was no chance his body could have washed away."

"Maybe he is immortal after all," I said.

The old man stood up and shuffled slowly along the path looking at the sky. "It’s going to be a canny day."

Holly held my hand. "What are we going to do Ade?"

"The choice is yours Holly; we can sell the cottage if that’s what you want."

We did eventually get used to Rasputin. We sometimes just sat and gazed at the black-robed figure as he stared out to sea. We were in awe of this remarkable man who had once had so much influence on the Russian Empire. One thing did keep crossing our minds though. If Rasputin was indeed immortal, then our visitor was not a ghost!

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