Refuge of Delayed Souls

Part 26 - Special

2009-11-15T00:01:00.005Z

1967

“Tell me what you see, Elizabeth.”

“For God's sake, please don’t encourage her, Henry. It will only lead to tears!”

Henry Whyte turned in exasperation to his wife and lowered his voice. “Look Margaret, you can’t go on ignoring that this is happening. I believe there is a perfectly logical and natural explanation for it, even if your flaming religion wants to convince you it’s got something to do with devil worship!” Henry knew his wife's world was crumbling around her and she was losing control; being in control was the only way she knew how to live.

“I don’t want either of you talking about it outside of our house, nor to anyone else do you hear me? I’ll wait for you both in the car,” she turned in a huff and walked away her auburn hair swaying with disapproval.

Henry Whyte sighed. He loved his wife above all others. Anything she wanted, if it was within his power to give, was hers. He understood about the scandal in her childhood, how hard her earlier life had been and that the scars had never healed. He was careful never to say anything cruel that might rub salt in her wounds nor would he ever permit anyone else to do so. He was not prepared to fail his daughter though.

“Don’t worry about Mummy, Elizabeth,” he said crouching down to her level and smiling. You’re not scared are you?”

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm not scared, Daddy."

“Good! So... tell me what you see.”

“A lady, Daddy. A lady wearing clothes from the olden days,” she whispered with wide excited eyes.

“What is the lady doing, Elizabeth?”

“Watching us,” she paused, and Henry could see that she was seeking further reassurance.

“Yes?”

“I... don’t think she's the same as me or you, Daddy.”

“Why do you think that, Elizabeth?” Henry asked casually, standing up and taking her hand in his own. They walked on slowly.

“She doesn't talk to me when I talk to her and...”

“Go on, Elizabeth.” He smiled encouragingly.

“... she walks through us.”

Henry calmly considered what his daughter had just said. He did not believe in ghosts or the supernatural; the world he lived in was black and white. He did think it quite feasible, however, that buildings could retain residual images of people who had lived in them. He chose his words carefully, “Do you know when you go to Grandma's and you play with that old record player of hers?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Although the people on those records died a long time ago you can still hear their voices because they were saved onto the records. Sometimes, even some buildings and places can save voices and pictures but only special people can see and hear what they have saved. The special people are like the record player and they can play back what happened a long time ago. You’re one of those special people, Elizabeth. Do you understand what Daddy is telling you?”

Elizabeth was even more excited than before. She let go of her father’s hand and skipped down the long, wooden panelled gallery of the stately home they were visiting, her skirt bouncing with each hop.

“I’m special!” she sang, and then raced back towards her father whose own laughter joined hers in an echo.

“Yes, you are special, sweetheart, and don’t ever forget it! Not everyone is special, though, and some people can get a little bit jealous of those who are. How about we keep this just to ourselves for now?”

“Like a secret, Daddy?”

“Yes, Elizabeth, it will be our secret for as long as you want it to be. Now, let’s go and find Mummy and have an ice cream.”

Elizabeth patted the Springer Spaniel that had just run up and placed a ball at her feet. Henry watched on as his daughter patted thin air.

“This doggy can see us daddy,” she said innocently.

"This isn't going to be easy," Henry thought as they made their way down the stately home's grand staircase and to the waiting car beyond.

Part 25 - Problems

2009-11-12T23:10:00.004Z

2007

Elizabeth looked across her desk at Paul Sharney; the young man sitting opposite her, and cast her mind back to the last evening they had spent together. A wave of nostalgia washed over her and carried her back through time. In an instant, she was sitting on a stool watching him play bass guitar and singing along with the other members of the band. His long brown hair curtained his face and gently danced upon the shoulders of his white cheesecloth shirt. He looked across the room towards her and smiled. They both knew it was over between them. The only problem would be in finding the right words.

“Ready?”

She had failed to notice that the music had ceased. “Yeah. Sorry to drag you away like this. If you want I can make my own way to the bus station. I don’t mind.”

She watched his nimble fingers as they fastened the toggles of his brown duffle coat and then assisted her with her colourfully embroidered Afghan; both garments haunted by the faded scent of Patula oil.

“Did your dad agree to you coming to Glastonbury with us yet?”

She hadn't bothered to raise the subject at home, knowing instinctively what the answer would be. “Not yet, but I’m working on it. Hey! You sounded great tonight. It’s really coming together.” She smiled and looped her arm through his as they walked in unison down the dimly lit road towards the bus station. Part of her loved him –- part of her always would.

“You’ve changed. I knew you would be different when you came back and you are. Your dad got what he wanted. He only let you go to Europe for three weeks because he knew it would split us up.”

Guilt engulfed her as she sensed his pain and yet she felt only a little sadness of her own. She gazed up at him through her long blonde hair, “My dad’s not like that.” It was a lie and both of them knew it. “I guess we are just growing up and growing in different directions...” She didn't know what else to say.

“I'll always be there for you, Elizabeth. No matter what happens in the future. If you ever need a friend I'll be there for you.”

His sensitivity had been one of the reasons she had fallen for him in the first place and it had also played a part in driving her away.

Their last kisses were more passionate than any they had previously shared; the sense of loss fuelling the tiniest sparks of passion that still existed between them. It was a new discovery for Elizabeth, the first time she realised that passion was as much a part of her nature as anything else.

“I know I’m not what you need...”

She felt him tremble as he dared to speak her mind for her and understood the words were not easy. Nestling her face in the warmth of his woollen scarf, she held him tight before breaking away and leaving traces of glitter and blue mascara in her place.

The following Friday, she stayed away while the band played their first breakthrough gig. Years later, one of their mutual friends had informed her over several glasses of warm rosé wine that he had dedicated their performance to her. That had been the last time she had cause to remember their final night together until the moment they met again at RoYds.

Elizabeth brought herself back to the present and studied his profile while he read through the file he was holding. The part of her that loved him wished he was still alive.

“Find what you were looking for?”

“Yes. Did you?”

Elizabeth was not too sure how to take his answer. Was he trying to be funny? “I meant in the file...” she replied hesitantly. There was definitely an edge to both his voice and his attitude; something she could not remember being there in the past. Perhaps it was something that he had grown into.

He ignored her question and slapped the file closed with an audible smack before returning it to its place within the drawer of one of the filing cabinets.

“Do you remember the old hospital? The one on the road between Whituth and Badale?” he asked, blatantly changing the subject.

“Moorlands? Yeah. Never knew it was a hospital though. I always thought it was an old people’s home. It’s been empty for years. Why?”

He definitely was a lot more confident than she ever would have imagined he could be. In place of his shoulder length brown hair was a respectable yet slightly edgy haircut, and his whole persona was rather reminiscent of Johnny Depp.

“Thanks. I have always admired Johnny –- he hasn’t sold out.”

“So, what about this hospital?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Several teenage members of the Living have claimed to have witnessed some weird events up at Moorlands. So far, their rantings have been dismissed and put down to drugs they've been using. I’m not too sure, though... Thought it might be worthwhile if we took a look around. Fancy taking a trip up there?”

“Why not? When did you have in mind?” Elizabeth found herself quite excited at the prospect. It might be good for them to spend some time together away from RoYds.

“Ten minutes? That OK with you? I’m just waiting for the others to arrive.”

“The others?” Elizabeth asked intrigued.

“Tashriel and Gemma Bolton are coming with us.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes upwards.

“Great girl, Gemma! What’s your problem?”

“Did someone call my name?” asked a beautiful young redhead waltzing into the room.

Part 24 - Creature of the Night

2009-11-09T22:43:00.002Z

Winter 1690

Lady Mabel Theawicke paced the room like a cat possessed and fought to regain some control over her senses; all emotion apart from rage appeared to have abandoned her. Her killer leaned nonchalantly against one of the heavily ornate posts of the bed, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk fixed upon his handsome face.

“You cheated me! You promised to make me one of you!” she screamed at him.

“I promised nothing of the sort –- you cheated yourself!” His words were calm and confidently delivered.

“You said you would do it! You said you would take the child and the others as payment! You agreed to the bargain and now you renege! I will have what is mine by right and you shall give it to me!”

“My dear Mabel, let us look at the facts. I asked nothing of you and only agreed to accept what you freely offered.”

“There! You condemn yourself with your own words!” she accused, continuing to pace as she spoke.

“Let us look, then, at the bargain that was struck.”

“You said you would make me a creature of the night!”

“I told you I could not do that. I am as I was created –- as were you. How could I possibly change you from one to the other? I am not responsible for your mistaking me for something I am not!”

“But I wanted to live... I wanted to carry on! You said it was possible,” she implored.

“And it is, and you are! You are still here speaking with me despite your body lying there.” He pointed towards the floor at the foot of the bed.

They both looked down towards her ashen corpse lying crumpled and withered upon the wide oak floorboards. Her dark brown hair fanned out around her face and her fathomless blue eyes stared upwards as though appealing to heaven.

He sat down at a small oak table and stared nonchalantly at the white and silver lace of his cuff. The tightly woven floral pattern of the lace danced lazily across the grain of the table and flickered in the firelight.

Embracing the lace was the smooth powder blue linen of his jacket's slashed sleeves and a trail of silver buttons kissed the table where his arm rested.

“I wanted to carry on living! I wanted to cheat death!” she tightened her hands into little fists and punched the air beneath them, biting her bottom lip at the same time.

“Then don’t go into the light. Carry on as you are now,” he replied flippantly.

The coldness of his words and his apparent amusement at her situation continued to fuel her rage.

“I love you!” she declared, hoping to harvest some degree of affection from him.

He rose to his feet suddenly, sending a heavily carved wooden chair backwards across the room and made his way towards her with measured steps, his polished black boots hammering their way across the floor, mimicking the beat her absent heart would once have made.

Taking a strand of her hair in his hand he commenced to caress it gently between his thumb and forefinger, studying her intently as he did so. Suddenly, he pulled her forcibly towards him and pushed his snarling face against her own. Mabel felt an emotion other than rage.

“We both know you lie –- when have you ever loved anyone more than yourself?” He spat the words at her before releasing her hair as though the touch of it disgusted him. He walked towards the door and as he approached it, it opened wide and crashed against the wall, plaster dust bursting out from around its edges.

“I don’t understand,” she whimpered, voice filled with despair.

His presence instantly moved from near the door and formed behind her. Slowly, painstakingly, he walked around to face her. “What don’t you understand, Mabel? You got exactly what you wanted –- as did I. You would have died tonight either way. I just had no idea how hard you were prepared to fall.”

Part 23 - Remembrance Special

2009-11-07T16:35:00.010Z

Please consider a donation to:
The Royal British Legion Poppy Appeal
Help For Heroes

Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

1 July 1916 - The Somme - 07:15

The crescendo was building all around them. The artillery barrage, which although constant of late, had increased dramatically in the last few hours.

Stanley Thomas Birch tipped back his head and stared into the heavens straight above him. A light mist broke to reveal a clear blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful summer’s day. He permitted his mind to float home and pictured his wife cradling their son. He longed to return.

If only he could greet the next morning with his family and a dawn chorus of birds rather than flying pigs*. He longed to take a deep breath of fresh air, have a proper bath and wear clean clothes. He wished he had his life to live over; he would have done things differently. They had to win this war!

Amidst the jostling of bodies around him there was an urgent pulling on his shoulder and his attempt at peace was broken. It was Archie looking wild and frantic. The tension was even getting to the best of them. Stanley knew he did not have a hope in hell of being heard above the constant bombardment, but nevertheless he lowered his head and shouted as loud as he could, “We all feel the same way, Archie. Have no fear, we shall face this together!”

He glanced at his watch, 07:25. Only five minutes left. He nodded to the whistle hanging by a lanyard around Archie’s neck and reached down for his own.

Glancing to both sides he dived into a sea of smiling faces. If you had to be in a place like this, on a day like today, there was no better company than friend and neighbour. Placing the whistle in his mouth he faced the harsh reality that this would be the last morning for some of them.

Forcing himself to smile broadly he turned towards Archie and smacked him playfully on the back.

“This is the moment we have been waiting for! It’ll be just like a walk in the dell,” he yelled, and taking a deep breath they blew their whistles together.

*slang for mortar bomb

***

Change and decay in all around I see
O Thou, who changest not, abide with me

The rat was larger than a cat. The rats back home would never grow to be even a quarter of the size of the one he was looking at; they were not as well fed. It was the worst type of rat too, a brown one.

It stood still, staring back at him and they both knew he was going to kill it. He was going to butt stroke its rancid, stinking body with a Lee Enfield rifle a thousand times and smash it to a bloody pulp. He was going to smash it, smash it and smash it some more while all the time it squealed in agony. He fucking hated rats!

He hated frogs too, the way they croaked all bloody day and night from the shell holes, it drove him crazy. He hated all rats with a vengeance and the frogs, slugs and horned beetles that slimed their way over the entire trench, into his food and over him! Christ, he hated them all! He was filled with murderous hate and fear.

He preferred the hate to the fear. The fear gnawed and chewed away at him like the rats gorging themselves on the corpses of his comrades. Like the rats gorging themselves on Stanley...

He fucking hated rats!

This big bastard was going to get it and then some! He wasn’t going to give it the opportunity to feast on him next, or crawl over his face if he ever got the chance of sleep. He clenched the rifle tight, frozen in time like all the other bodies lying in the shallow graves around him. It was hell on earth but it was better than what was waiting for him on the other side of the parapet. Anything was better than becoming another feast for the vermin. He fucking hated rats!

In seconds it would all be over. The rat would just be another indistinguishable stench amidst the nauseating stink of rotting flesh, shite, cordite and stale sweat. Not that it would make any difference to the rat population though, Mr and Mrs bleeding rat could produce 900 of the bastards in a year alone. Maybe he wouldn’t have a year to see them, maybe he would be dead himself in a few minutes. He was a dead man walking and he knew it. They all were, even the fucking fat, about-to-be-dead, cocksure bastard of a rat!

Wouldn't you rather walk out of here alive

Fuck! The rat was talking to him! Well it wouldn’t get the chance to say another fucking word! With a frenzied scream, he ran forward, lurching at it with his rifle. The demonic laughter continued.

“Die, you fucking bastard! Die!” he screamed.

I’m going to eat you from the inside out

He shot the rat. After the first shot, there was virtually nothing left of it apart from a pool of blood, clumps of fur and mush. The macabre laughing continued. It was coming from the vermin all around him: other rats, frogs, slugs, beetles and even the corpses of his colleagues. It was coming from inside himself, from the blood-soaked head of the rat chewing its way out from behind his eyes.

“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” he screamed hysterically.

"It will be alright, Archie. I am here beside you," answered Stanley.

Part 22 - Gloved Hand

2009-11-06T00:01:00.007Z

December 1945

The view of the moors from the window was amazing! How nature had managed to squeeze so much breathtaking beauty into one place was unfathomable. Anne breathed in the scene as she snuggled into the window seat and tucked her legs beneath her.

Normally, she would have been taken by the various green depths of the trees and rushed away on the twinkling of the brook as it skipped over the pebbles and reed bed below. On this occasion, it was the ochre burn of the setting sun on the sky-scraping heather hills above that captured her attention.

She cast her gaze for a moment towards the figure lying face downwards on the white cotton sheets of the rumpled bed. A fit of nervous giggles almost possessed her as the broad masculine form shifted and then slumbered on like a furless bear rug.

“What are you thinking?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

Anne focused her mind on composing her answer and smiled with a confidence she did not own. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to be here with you and have you safely back home.”

He reached over and lit himself a cigarette, pinching it to his mouth with his cupped hand as if the world was about to take it from him.

An explosive silence prowled the outskirts of the room and Anne watched as his mind struggled to digest her answer. She prayed inwardly that the old Billy would win. The prayers went unanswered.

“How many men have you been with while I was banged up in that hell hole?”

The menacing calmness with which he asked the question ignited a welcome beacon to the sinister shadows lurking in the dark corners of the bedroom. She considered rising and walking towards him and then decided to remain where she was. The world outside the window was within her reach as long as she held on tightly enough.

“I haven’t been with anyone else, Billy. You know that, don’t you? There’s only ever been you for me and that’s how it always will be.”

She leaned over and patted the paisley patterned cushion beside her. “Please come over here and join me.” All her energies were concentrated in making her request a warm invitation rather than the demand she knew he might perceive it to be.

Eventually, he broke and snuffed both the cigarette and silence out. “Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed that view. I remember me Ma telling me once that you could get lost in time on the moors. When she were a lass, a young ‘un went missing and turned up twenty years later without ageing a day!”

The shadows receding again, Billy arrived on the seat beside her. Anne wrapped her arms around him and kissed him joyfully on the lips.

“I love you, Billy!” she cheerfully announced to the room.

“Aye... I love you an’ all that.”

Anne held him close as she stared over the expanse of his shoulders and into what little future they had left.

***

So much had changed over the past few months that Anne had no idea where or how to start. Christmas had never looked bleaker. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to turn and she knew that they could not stay here forever. It had been kind of her aunt and uncle to take them in but they needed to find a place of their own.

Tears pricked her eyes and to avoid them she turned her attention back to the young priest sipping his tea opposite. She stifled a giggle. The situation was so bloody desperate it was almost laughable. She wanted to scream out, "Oh yes Father – you can help all right! You can start by telling all those sanctimonious swine who call themselves good Catholics to stop blanking us and judging our children! You can tell them to help in finding us somewhere to live rather than refusing to rent us a house! You can tell them to go to hell!”

Instead, aware of the fact that Father Bailey was a good, kind man and a true Christian who did not deserve her bile, she swallowed the words and her bitterness with a mouthful of tea. He was no more responsible for the actions of a few of his parishioners than she was for those of her husband and father.

“So, Anne, the Church and myself are here for you whenever you need us. I will keep my eyes and ears open and let you know if I hear of anyone who has a few rooms spare. I am sure we will be able to sort something out. Now, work for Billy could be a problem but I am sure something will turn up.”

“If not, I should be able to find work,” she managed to say with a smile.

A short while later, a continuous blanket of snow was falling as Anne showed Father Bailey out of the small terraced house and watched him walk away down Market Street. The oldest three of her children were huddled together on a patch of spare ground some distance away from a much larger group of rough looking and sparsely clad children who were building a snowman. Anne assumed that as usual they had not been invited to join in.

Gathering together a handful of snow that had fallen on the window ledge she moulded it into a snowball and threw it in the direction of her children and shouted, “Give me five minutes to get ready and I’ll join you for a snowball fight!” Her heart soared as she listened to their delighted screams; it felt good to learn she still had a heart, no matter how broken and bruised she felt.

“Mrs Lawrence?”

Anne turned to face a lady she assumed to be in her thirties and who was dressed head to toe in grey. She wondered how on earth she had failed to notice her when Father Bailey left.

“Yes?”

The lady extended a gloved hand. “Mabel. I am an associate of Mr Birch, the gentleman who represented your husband at his trial.”

“Oh! Yes...” Anne wiped her damp hand on the fabric of her tweed skirt and reached for the one that had been offered to her.

“Do you mind if I come in for a minute? I won’t keep you long. Only, Mr Birch asked me to call and advise that there is a situation vacant within our organisation which may suit Mr Lawrence. It offers the benefit of living accommodation and he...”

Anne interrupted, “A position with rooms?”

“Yes,” Mabel smiled encouragingly. “Mr Birch wondered if Mr Lawrence might be interested?”

“What kind of a situation?” Anne asked suspiciously.

“General office duties. A few telephone calls, greeting and meeting people – that sort of thing.”

Anne’s heart grew heavier. "I’m afraid Billy has no training in that area. Why would Mr Birch think that he did?”

“Well,” replied Mabel. “There is no training, really, that would ready him for a position with RoYds – none other than life experience that is...”

Prev

Soundtrack: James Morrison - You Make It Real

Part 21 - Living Dangerously

2009-11-03T00:01:00.007Z

2007

The Myna Bird Café was a small, overcrowded café on the inside market that served excellent, wholesome food at prices most locals could afford. A talking Myna bird sat in a large cage placed in one of the corners and contributed in his unique way to the eccentric and somewhat avant-garde atmosphere.

The café had always been a special place for Elizabeth to visit. The tea always tasted delicious and the buttered, toasted teacake filled and satisfied an empty place within her that sometimes only food could reach.

“May I sit down?”

Before the words had been spoken she had known that they were coming. Without looking up, she stirred the tea and wiped her fingers upon a paper napkin.

“Keep bleeding, keep keep bleeding love...” sang the happy Myna bird, hopping along to the song playing on the radio.

“Of course.” She had already planned what she would say when this moment came.

RoYds veteran and one of Whituth’s longest residents, Lady Mabel Theawicke, pulled the chair to one side. Elizabeth asked the approaching waitress for another tea cup and giving into temptation ordered a second toasted teacake.

“I’m living dangerously today,” she remarked sarcastically to the grey lady who was now sitting facing her.

Lady Mabel chuckled. “Why? What's so different about today?”

The waitress arrived with the extra cup and Elizabeth poured tea for Lady Mabel before speaking, “I hadn’t realised...” she said hesitantly, having been thrown slightly by her discovery.

“Realised what?” asked Lady Mabel.

“That you can’t read me the way I can you.”

Lady Mabel was slightly annoyed with the young woman’s superior attitude. “At times, you are more like your grandfather, Billy Lawrence, than you realise! I may be unable to read you but I like to think that I understand you a little more than perhaps you give me credit for.”

The toasted teacake arrived and Elizabeth cut it into quarters. “If you don’t mind, I would like to eat this while it's still warm. Is there something you wanted to say?” Elizabeth bit into the delicious buttery bread.

“Should I waste my breath -– if I had any?” Lady Mabel asked sharply.

Elizabeth put the teacake down and took a sip of tea. “All right, I will make it easy for both of us, shall I? I’m staying. Today, tomorrow and possibly for -– ever.”

“Ever is such a long time, you may not always feel so adamant. Time has a way of making you see things differently,” Lady Mabel stated matter-of-factly.

“You cut me open...” sang the Myna bird, climbing the bars of his cage.

Lady Mabel stood up and, lowering her face to meet Elizabeth's, she whispered icily, “Even death is no escape for some of us.”

Elizabeth shivered and the Myna bird screeched wildly as it frantically threw itself against the bars of the cage.

***

Elizabeth looked out of the side window of the café and studied the dark clouds forming in the sky above. Perhaps she had just enough time to make it to RoYds before the rain came? She decided to risk it. Grabbing her black leather handbag she ran over to the corner and retrieved her precious red coat from the coat stand. Hurriedly, fastening the belt of the coat, she furtively glanced over to take yet another look at the weather and caught her reflection in the window glass. The deep cherry colour of the wool really suited her.

Just as Elizabeth crossed Cotton Row and turned the corner into Market Street, the rain began coming down in buckets. She ran past the overcrowded doorway of the Whituth Co-op and scooted into the nearest available doorway on the opposite side of the road a few shops down. Damn! The last thing she wanted was to get wet! One of the lapels had already begun to curl upwards and she smoothed it down in exasperation.

“Hey, lady!”

Elizabeth watched as a young American serviceman darted across the road to join her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. You wouldn’t happen to know what movie is playing at the Regal tonight, would you?”

She shook her head. “No idea, sorry.”

“Don’t you like movies?”

“Yes, sometimes.” She couldn’t help smiling. The young officer had movie star looks and a pleasant way about him.

“But you don’t get to go out much, right? How about going with me to watch one right this minute?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” She concentrated on flatting the rebellious lapel. The young man removed his hat and bent down towards her. She caught the scent of cologne as he grinned cheekily up at her.

“OK. Dancing! How about dancing? You like dancing, right?”

He wasn’t much younger than her. In fact, he could have been about the same age or even older. His jet black hair and copper-hued skin gave him an exotic look. She smiled back at him sheepishly.

“Look -– I'm very flattered, but I’m not going to the movies or dancing with you or anyone else. Not tonight or any other night for that matter.”

He looked hurt at her answer and standing straight hung his head slightly to one side adopting an exaggeratedly sad expression.

“Aww... There’s no need to be like that lady... I was only looking for a bit of company before I fly out tomorrow, that’s all.”

Elizabeth laughed, rolled her eyes playfully and said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be short. Look, why don’t you call in at the Halfway House, the pub across the road? I’m sure you will find some company there.”

The officer shook his head and then stared at her with solemn black eyes. “Lady, I thought you would understand... I kinda got the feeling that you... Oh, never mind. I must have been mistaken! Sorry I troubled you, Ma’am.”

He made to step out of the doorway and Elizabeth spontaneously reached out and touched his arm. “Just one moment please. What do you think you misunderstood? What did you mean when you said that?"

He looked sideways at her before re-entering the shelter of the doorway and half-smiled.

“You’re going to laugh at me, lady... But... I know I’m going to die tomorrow. I woke up this morning and death let me know he was going to pay me a visit. I've always known things before they happen... It's something that’s been with me all my life.”

Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes as she closed them for a split second and saw a vision of him trapped inside a burning aircraft. Opening them again, she nodded and smiled softly at him.

“And you thought I would understand?”

“Yeah, lady. You know he’s coming for me too, don’t you? I saw it in your eyes...”

“What’s your name?” Elizabeth enquired gently.

“Sivanesan. Most of my friends call me Siva. You can call me Siva if you like,” he grinned broadly.

“Well, Siva, all that happened a long time ago now...”

Part 20 - Nature

2009-10-31T16:45:00.001Z

2007

Elizabeth sat bolt upright. Her heart was racing and she fought blindly to focus her eyes. Grispheran was sitting nonchalantly in the passenger seat beside her. His presence unnerved her to such a degree that she struggled to regain any semblance of composure.

“You frightened the Living daylights out of me, you bloody idiot! What the hell are you playing at?” As she recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance and physical contact, she began to boil with anger and her green eyes flashed.

He laughed softly. “Tut tut, Bess! There's no need to shout -– you'll wake the Living. You wouldn’t want to draw attention to us now would you? Or is that what you want? Attention?” He moved closer, lowering his eyes to her mouth for a fraction of a second and then raised them to meet her own.

Elizabeth looked into their black watery depths and felt herself drifting. There was something so physically attractive about him and yet at the same time her instinct warned her against him.

“Just what is it you want?” she asked, anchoring herself by looking away and concentrating on the light and noise travelling towards them from the wine bar over his shoulder.

“Oh, you know exactly what I want, Bess. Why don’t you stop pretending otherwise.” He leaned forward to whisper this seductively into her ear, and then gently bit the pearl teardrop of her earring. Elizabeth half closed her eyes as a sensuous thrill washed over her and Grispheran traced his mouth down the length of her neck and towards her collarbone. Elizabeth couldn’t help but be carried away in the moment just briefly until the siren of a passing ambulance brought her back to her senses.

“I’ve absolutely no idea what you are talking about!” She pulled away, clutching her car keys like a crucifix. "Are you going to sit here plaguing me all night?" she asked, staring out through the windscreen in order to avoid looking directly into his eyes. She then stated more calmly, "I for one have better things to do with my time.”

“Whenever you're ready, Bess,” he replied confidently and vanished.

Elizabeth was visibly shaken and tried to compose herself. The encounter with Grispheran following hot on the heels of the terrifying experience with Linus had taken its toll on her. She took a few moments to calm herself and then asked aloud, “Do you always have to be so bloody dramatic?”

"It's not in my nature to be otherwise."

Part 19 - Backlash!

2009-10-31T00:01:00.009Z

2007

It was already dark by the time they left the wine bar and although the bar itself was pitching and heaving with people, the street outside was deserted. Linus had parked his silver Porsche 911 in the car park at the rear of the building. They decided to go in just the one car and as Linus drove off, it started to drizzle.

During the short journey, Linus explained how some of the workmen had seen shadowy figures, tools had been moved and he himself had once heard a child crying somewhere in one of the buildings. Elizabeth listened interestedly, and tried to prepare herself for whatever lay ahead.

They arrived at Staibey Nayes within minutes. Linus drove the Porsche up to the floodlit entrance and parked as close as possible to the main doors. Elizabeth was impressed by what she could see of the quality of the work carried out so far. It was a lovely, secluded spot and she was sure the finished properties would sell quickly. The previously aged and grime-stained stone had been sandblasted and once again stood proud with its honey-coloured finish and newly mounted brass plaque screaming Howell Nayes.

They both got out of the vehicle and Linus indicated that they should proceed to one of the smaller buildings, the one where he’d heard the child crying. He made his way over and Elizabeth could see he had switched the lights on inside and was waiting for her in the doorway. She signalled to him that she would join him there in a minute or two and then walked across the courtyard and stood beside a dry stone wall.

Almost immediately she began to see figures. Some were walking across the courtyard, others were looking out of the windows of the buildings; a military policeman stood where there had once been a sentry post, and there was a couple with their children under a tree in the distance.

The images appeared like little clips of video, some only a couple of seconds in length, others longer. The only ghost of Staibey Nayes was the past and it was not haunting anyone except those who had lived through it. There was definite darkness, though, and it was close by. Elizabeth tensed and made her way over to the building Linus had entered.

***

The ground floor was a vast open space with several imposing windows. The walls had been recently plastered and sanded smooth; the air was thick with dust and the floor was carpeted with a fine grey powder. At the far side was a doorway which Linus commenced walking toward once he saw Elizabeth was following him. As he went, he left a trail of footprints in the grey powder, which erupted in tiny puffs with each step he took. Looking back across the room at her, he gestured to Elizabeth and shouted across to her excitedly, “Over here!”

Linus watched Elizabeth open a couple of buttons on her coat and unzip her shoulder bag before he disappeared through the doorway.

Elizabeth entered the room and Linus found that he was feeling very eager.

“You heard a child in here? What exactly did you hear?” she asked.

“I don’t know, really. I couldn’t make out anything clearly.”

Now’s your chance

“Linus?” Elizabeth approached him.

He was now feeling very agitated. Her calm tone was annoying him. “What?” he asked under his breath.

Why don’t you show her who’s the boss

“Linus?”

Just like all the others

“How long have you been listening to the voices, Linus?”

“Shut up, you fucking bitch!” he snarled and moved towards her.

He made his move.

***

Linus looked at himself and saw that his designer shirt, jeans and hands were covered with blood. Stunned, he looked down and fresh crimson droplets splashed onto the bare wooden floorboards and merged with the grey powder to form a dirty paste. Close by, a single broken tooth was a macabre witness to the spillage.

He tried to raise his hands to his face and shield his eyes from an intense light which was suddenly blinding him. He felt a crack to his elbow followed by a bolt of pulsating pain which shot up his left arm and into his shoulder.

“Don’t so much as flinch or what is left of your balls will follow that tooth!”

He managed a strangled cry through his swollen and cracked lips. “Please don’t hurt me anymore.” The effort of speaking sent further painful spasms across his ruptured nose and swelling cheekbone.

The vicious voice continued. “Slowly -- with the hand that does not have any broken fingers -- remove your car keys from your jacket pocket and slide them across the floor to me.”

He did as instructed even though it caused him further excruciating pain. His survival instinct warned him that it would be more painful if he failed to do so, or even as much as twitched without being told to. All he wanted in life was to survive this moment. Fear was breeding inside of him. He was so filled with it he felt as though he was being consumed from within. He watched as a gloved hand reached down to the floor and picked up the car keys.

“Perhaps the child you heard crying was yourself? Who knows? I’m just glad that you’re lying there rather than another victim.”

Every word felt as though it was being ground further into his wounds like slivers of glass. Linus started to cry.

The light went out and the total darkness wrapped around him. The receding footsteps echoed across the room and then across the next one. The stirred up dust caught in his throat and Linus winced in pain as his body was racked with a string of coughs. He could hear a police siren in the distance getting closer with each second that passed.

Elizabeth returned the 4-Cell Mag-Lite and telescopic baton to her bag before opening the Porsche and fishing out a silver locket from amongst the various items secreted in the boot.

She reached her car just as the police vehicles screeched to a halt at Staibey Nayes. Large, cold, globules of rain fell like shot from the black satin sky and ricocheted off every conceivable surface. Elizabeth sat in the driver’s seat surveying the rain lashed landscape. Sometimes there was no choice but to fight darkness with darkness.

She heard laughter. At first it seemed to be coming from far away.

“Tell me... What will you use to fight me, Bess?”

She froze when she saw Grispheran sitting in the passenger seat.

Part 18 - Reflect

2009-10-30T00:01:00.008Z

December 1944

Billy knocked, entered the dark cell-like office and scoured the floating dust particles in an attempt to make out the figure on the other side.

“Welcome... Welcome, Lawrence. Please take a seat.”

Billy was unsure whether to sit or not. Friendly officers and welcoming committees had not been his experience of prison so far.

He selected the scruffiest of a duo of mismatched Victorian chairs -- the only furniture in the room. Sitting bolt upright, Billy skipped his gaze between the stranger standing in shadow and the distant view of the unfamiliar city offered by the criss-cross taped and barred metal-framed window.

“How is life treating you these days?”

Billy automatically snapped to his feet. The bloke was standing right beside him and he hadn’t even heard him cross the room! He must be getting slow!

“Life?”

“Please sit and relax,” directed the older man.

It was obvious from his clipped vowels that he was a former army officer of some kind -– Billy had enough service experience to be certain of that. He felt edgy. There was something not quite right here. He had known it from the off this morning when he received the order to report on this wing. They had something dire in store for him alright. It had been on the cards from the moment he had told that sadistic screw Price to back off.

Billy followed the instruction he had been given and sitting stiffly, tried to avoid eye contact and unwittingly provoking the stranger.

“I’ll not beat about the bush,” said the older gentleman, absentmindedly rubbing his chin. “I have no doubt that you have done a lot of thinking over the past four years. You’ve certainly had the time to reflect on the direction your life has taken so far. Am I right or am I wrong?”

Was it a trick question? Billy was unsure how to answer and before he could, the stranger continued.

“You have experiences, skills and temperament that the organisation I am a part of will make good use of.”

“Me?” asked an incredulously Billy.

“There is a job waiting for you upon your release. It will entail grave danger. However, in the long run I believe you will consider it to have been worth it.”

Billy turned his attention away from the brewery chimney he had been focussing on and toward the older man, concern clearly written on his face. “Do I have a choice?”

“Always.”

“Why me?” asked Billy, becoming more and more restless with each passing minute.

“Why not? You are a convicted murderer as well as an accomplished thief and liar. All talents we can use. In return, we offer you an opportunity to make amends whilst you are still alive.”

Alive? Had he just been threatened? Billy suspected he might have been. A white card with RoYds embossed on it was thrust in front of him and he took it automatically. The lettering appeared to glow. Billy rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. He must be more stressed than he thought.

“Think about it. We will be in touch.”

Footsteps echoed on the landing outside the room; the thud, thud, thud, of steel toecap and disciplined leather. Like the other inmates of HMP Strangeways, Billy could decipher the prison officer from his gait.

Price!

The stranger stood upright and Billy automatically followed his example.

“Goodbye, Lawrence. And whatever path you take, I wish you well.”

Billy put the card into his pocket just as the door opened behind him.

“Stop piss-farting about, Lawrence and follow me back to A Wing! Whoever thought it was a good idea to let bleeding murderers roam around at their own frigging will wants a bloody good taste of what we’re serving up to Hitler!”

Billy hesitated. Should he stay where he was or leave with Price? He looked to the stranger for guidance -- the room was empty. Billy’s mind was made up for him and he made a sharp exit!

“I would be proud to join ‘em too, instead of being locked up here babysitting Nancy boys and murdering scum,” Price bellowed down the landing behind Billy.

Billy wished he would just shut the fuck up. He wished all the other voices would shut up too. If it came down to it, though, he would take the voices, the beatings and being locked up over conversations with weird strangers any day of the week!

Part 17 - Receptive

2009-10-26T20:05:00.005Z

2007

It was Lady Mabel who eventually discovered Kerry after reading a report in the local paper about a group of high school students who had seen a ghost on Mill Lane and claimed it was the Grey Lady of Heyleigh Hall. It was Stanley who approached Elizabeth.

“Ah! Elizabeth, erm... I’m afraid we've got a bit of an unusual case involving the Living this morning.”

Elizabeth looked up at him and thought he looked a little ruffled which was very unlike him. He sat down at her desk and started to brush invisible flecks of fluff from his ever-immaculate navy twill trousers.

“Everything that happens here is extremely unusual, as far as the Living are concerned, Stanley!" But her curiosity was aroused more than usual. “What’s happened?”

“A young girl was murdered several weeks ago and her body dumped in undergrowth.”

“Several weeks ago? Strange that we haven’t heard about it before now.”

“Yes... Indeed,” he muttered, attacking the invisible fluff again. “Kerry Crabtree; she was nineteen years old. Her body has lain undiscovered until now and Lady Mabel thinks it could still be a good while before any of the Living come across it. It's been well hidden in the woods on the far side of Heyleigh Hall. At the moment I understand the police suspect Kerry has run away -– we on the other hand know that she was victim of our local serial killer.”

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “There'll be a coach party arriving up at the Hall just after lunchtime. It might be a good idea to send someone up there around that time. If one of the tourists is receptive, a word in their ear could encourage them to discover the body. Does she know who killed her?”

Stanley sighed and stood up. “I believe he took something of hers that will lead us to him,” he shook his head gently. “It’s sad. It always is in a case like this. We need to stop these murders -– without any further delay -- or it will be dark at breakfast if we are not careful. By the way, good idea about the tourists. We’ll send Gemma.”

Elizabeth cringed at the mention of the name and bit her lower lip. Since her return, the two of them had so far managed to avoid each other.

Lady Mabel arrived in the room beside Stanley. “Why don’t I go instead?” she asked Stanley, and then turned to Elizabeth for support. “They're much more likely to be looking out for me and will therefore be more receptive.”

“OK...” Stanley seemed to have his mind focused elsewhere.

"Is something wrong, Stanley?" Elizabeth asked. Concerned, she rose from her seat.

“In a way,” said Stanley, putting his arm around her in a fatherly fashion. “I've a terrible feeling of foreboding. It’s been a long time since I felt anything this strong so close to RoYds.”

***

Linus Howell hesitated before approaching her. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say; he would have to wing it. The wine bar was packed and he grimaced when he entered and saw the Whituth Set already celebrating the start of the weekend. He should have known better than to arrange to meet her at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon; any other day of the week would have been fine.

He sipped his white wine spritzer as he surveyed the orgy of designer clothes, teased hair and polished bodies. He was certain that she was the petite brunette with the dark eyeliner and purple lipstick who had been watching the door keenly when he walked in. Pity he hadn't arrived early and managed to down at least one drink beforehand. He sighed. Never mind. In for a penny in for a pound.

“Ms Whyte? I’m Linus Howell. Apologies if I’m a little late, and also for suggesting we meet here. I had not realised it would be so busy.” The words rushed and he felt awkward. He reached for a stool and was just about to pull it over when she spoke.

“Case of mistaken identity, I’m afraid.” The brunette smiled and looked beyond him to a handsome young man who was struggling to make his way through the throng towards her.

Cheeks burning in frustration with himself, he backed away slightly. He had been sure that she was the one. Feeling an idiot, he mumbled an apology and nudged his way back to the bar. How the hell was he supposed to find her amongst this lot?

“Hello, I’m Elizabeth Whyte.”

Her hand reached out beckoningly and he shook it without thinking. She definitely wasn’t what he had been expecting.

“Hi... Uh... Linus Howell. Can I get you a drink?”

“Hmm... Let’s see. I’ll have a bottle of Magners, please.” She smiled and looked across the room. “I see there’s a table over there. Why don’t I go and grab it while you get the drinks?” She didn’t give him chance to answer before she walked away.

Well, this was a turn up for the books. He was glad he had taken the time to shower and look presentable. This could turn into a very pleasurable afternoon.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked, joining her and placing their glasses and her bottle of cider on the table.

She smiled wickedly. “Let’s just say I knew the moment I laid eyes on you.” Her smile widened as she crossed her legs.

His mood lightened and he felt the familiar, warm rush of attraction trickle through his veins.

“Shall I call you Linus?”

“Linus is fine.”

“So Linus, what exactly is it that we can do for you?”

He cleared his throat, wondering whether he should just come out with it or if he should think of something completely different to say. “We’re developing the old Ministry of Defence buildings at Staibey Nayes. Do you know the ones I mean?”

She nodded. “Weren’t they also rented out as industrial units at one stage?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Well, there have been some... How can I put this? Strange goings on since we started working there. After the latest incident, the workmen have downed tools and refused to go back to work until we get someone in to investigate.” His face felt hot and he was sure it was as red as the coat she was wearing.

“Why did you choose to meet here rather than visit RoYds?”

“I want to keep the number of people who know anything about this down to a minimum. If I’m seen going into your building, rumours will start and before you know it, no one will be interested in buying the properties once they’re completed.”

“I see.” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a knowing look. He didn’t quite like her attitude.

“What about the workmen? Won’t they talk about what’s been happening?”

“Nah. Firstly, they wouldn’t want anyone thinking they’re crazy and secondly, I'm still paying their wages while they sit on their arses. It's in their interest to keep their mouths shut.”

As she removed her black leather gloves he caught himself checking her finger for a ring. He felt like kicking himself. She was still attractive even if he didn’t like her attitude.

“Why did you think RoYds could help?”

“I’ve lived in this town all my life; my family have been in these parts for generations. It’s not a secret that you people are interested in this sort of thing.” He was getting tired of the small-talk bullshit; they both understood the type of thing these geeks got themselves involved in. He didn’t feel comfortable with the whole thing and if his hand hadn't been forced into making contact with them he never would have done so.

“Look, Elizabeth... I hate to be rude but I don’t have the time to beat about the bush. I want this project finished by the end of March at the latest. All I want you to do is take a look, confirm it’s all in their minds, and then I can get them back to work. How about this : in return I'm prepared to make a contribution to the RoYds Foundation.” That should seal it.

Elizabeth leaned forward slowly and narrowed her eyes at him. “How about this: we take a look and in return you name your latest development something more in keeping with local heritage?”

“More in keeping? What colour’s the sky on your planet?” he glared back at her indignantly.

“More in keeping,” she repeated calmly. “As far as I’m concerned, the last thing Whituth needs is another Howell Place or Howell Villas or Howell whatever...”

Cheeky mare! He finished his drink in one swallow and wished that it had been at least his third. The need to get the job finished was his number one priority. It was not as though he would have anything more to do with her after tonight. “Fine! I’ll get us some more drinks and then I’ll tell you what’s been happening.” He picked up his glass and stood up to go to the bar.

“Do you have the keys to the buildings on you, Linus?”

He patted his inside jacket pocket in order to be sure. “Yes. Why?”

“We could go over there now if you've the time to spare? As it's costing you money, I thought you might prefer sooner rather than later?”

He had been planning on leaving the car here at the bar and making a night of it; he’d only had the one drink though. “Great! Ready when you are.” He smiled toothily.

What a result! They would be back at work on Monday morning and the job would be back on schedule!

Part 16 - Crossing

2009-10-24T00:01:00.003+01:00

New Year’s Eve 1938

“Uncle Archie? What are you doing in here? Hiding!”

Archibald Templeton pried his gaze away from the tortoise shell-framed photograph he was studying and diverted his attention to the young girl who had just entered the room.

“Nothing of the sort,” he said in mock annoyance. “I was just enjoying a G and T while remembering friends who are no longer with us.”

“Oh dear!" His niece Lydia exclaimed playfully, “Don’t tell me you are getting all maudlin again?”

“Cheeky madam! Where’s your respect for your elders and betters, eh? You’re not too grown up that a good spanking wouldn’t put you right!” Archie replied with a grin. “Tell you what... Why don’t you go back to the party and continue enjoying yourself? I’ll just finish up here and be with you in a mo.”

“Promise?” Lydia asked with a tone of seriousness creeping in.

“Promise!” he replied, smiling as she closed the door on her way out.

Archie picked up the photograph from where he had placed it and raised his other hand and glass in a toast, “Here’s to you, Stanley wherever you may be!” He emptied the glass with one gulp and poured himself another large gin from the glass decanter on the table beside him, then added just a touch of tonic.

“How long has it been now?” he asked aloud, although he knew to the day exactly how long it had been since the events of the Somme. “Miss you, old chum!” Another toast to an empty room.

Archie had experienced a very privileged life and yet he had always felt something was lacking until the day Stanley Birch walked into it. Coming from an aristocratic background, even if it was a virtually penniless one, had meant that most things came easily, but true friends had been something else. His school days had been an absolute nightmare spent mostly at the mercy of bullies, and this had carried on into his adult life, right up until the moment he met Stanley.

They had literally run into each other while taking part in an assault course shortly after enlisting, and they had hit it off straight away despite coming from different backgrounds. Stanley, although well educated and wealthy, had been the son of a family who had made their money through hard work, something Archie’s family frowned upon. The only thing Archie’s ancestors had worked at for the past seven hundred years had been drinking, whoring, gambling and breeding. It saddened him to remember that he had been a bitter disappointment to them in the latter department.

Married to the army for his entire adult life, his bravery had often been tested and to his eternal shame had been found wanting on occasion.

He reached for another drink and then decided not to bother when a feeling of nausea overcame him. Instead, he went over to the French windows and opened them slightly. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. The icy air calmed his stomach somewhat and he looked out in awe at the scene that greeted him. Freshly fallen snow on the house and gardens had created a true winter wonderland.

“Wouldn’t like to be out there on a night like this,” he thought to himself, while at the same time acknowledging his appreciation of the refreshing breeze in his face. Up until a few seconds earlier he had been feeling rather flushed and had experienced a strange trickling sensation across the right side of his scalp.

The walnut grandfather clock in the hall struck a quarter to the hour and Archie was reminded of the imminent New Year and the need to go and rejoin his guests. As he turned to make his way across the wooden panelled room towards the light shining from the rooms beyond, he noticed another person standing in the shadows to his left. At first, he thought Lydia had returned to chide him.

“No! It can’t be! Stanley!” he cried out. “My God, old boy, don’t tell me I'm going bloody loopy again? Not at my age!” He laughed, the sheer joy of seeing his old friend wiping away everything but happiness from his mind.

“Afraid you’re not going mad -– not that you ever were, Archie!” Stanley replied, smiling. “This time we’re both dead!”

***

New Year’s Day 1939

Stanley and Archie were sitting beside the glowing fireplace in the red reception room at RoYds.

“It's all about balance,” said Stanley. “There are those on the dark side who also desire the continuance of light. It is why the world of the Living is so attractive to them in the first place.”

“I see,” muttered Archie caressing his chin. “So who or what causes the problem?”

“There have always been those who wish for total darkness, not only in their own realm but also in that of the Living. They whisper dark words and thoughts. Poison and plague so that only darkness can be seen everywhere and in everything. We do our bit to ensure that the balance is maintained and in return hope that our actions will be... placed on account.”

“I see,” repeated Archie, his hand still rubbing his chin. “I always hoped that God would be forgiving...”

“Ah, but the crux of the matter is can we forgive ourselves!”

Stanley contemplated his interaction with Archie. Thinking back to the time of his own crossing, he remembered how difficult it was and how hard to accept that there was no going back to the old way of existence.

“Oh, no need to worry about that, old chap!” said Archie gaily. “There never was much of an old life for me, you know. I think that is why I delayed in the first place; I could well imagine what could possibly be waiting for me on the other side of the light, what with my track record!” He laughed nervously. “Then I saw you and my choice was made!”

Stanley laughed lightly. “That’s another thing I meant to tell you, but you will no doubt pick it all up as you go along. We have different abilities on this side. There are those who can read thoughts, others feelings. There are those who can do both and much more besides. It all goes to make life, or perhaps I should say delay, more fun!”

Archie gave a great big belly laugh and reached over to tap his old friend on the shoulder. “Can’t tell you how much I missed you, old pal! Good to have you back!”

“Same here!” replied Stanley before continuing in a more serious tone. “As you would expect there are downsides too. Although we can frequent the world of the Living, walk amongst them and interact as one of them, we cannot return to our old way of life. Apart from extremely rare occasions, we either appear as strangers to the ones we love or not at all.”

“I’m sorry, old chap! That way with Edwardina, was it? Must have been hard...” Archie lowered his eyes. Stanley knew Archie was aware of how deeply his old friend loved his wife.

For a while, both men remained silent and then Stanley announced, “There are others here too, Archie, those you may have only read or dreamed about.”

“Like what?” Archie enquired, sounding fearful.

“Ah! That would be telling,” sighed Stanley. “Tell you what, though. Why don’t you try to read my mind?”

Part 15 - Fury

2009-10-21T00:01:00.004+01:00

2007

It had been a dark day. The air was heavy with static and he sensed there was a storm coming. He knew that he would experience a migraine before the storm itself; the aura had already started to drain his body and his vision was becoming grainy. His cheekbones ached and there was a pulsing at his temples as the storm’s teeth sank deeper into his flesh.

He stood watching the nightclub. His nerves strained as his hatred and fury rose.

Vermin

He noticed a taxi pull up and a group of people leaving. It was getting late. He had no idea how long he had been there.

A young girl walked by. Her long, extended bleach-blonde hair caught his attention as she passed under the lamppost. Her sweet musky perfume agitated his head further and poisoned his stomach. He couldn't help but notice that her lips were thick with grease and most of her flesh was exposed. He started to follow her. The street lights around him went out one by one.

***

“I’ve got to go!”

“Come on, Kerry, the party’s just starting!”

“No, I’ve really got to go. My Dad’ll be waiting for me. I should have been home five minutes ago!”

“Oh, right then,” came the sarcastic response. “See you tomorrow, if you are allowed out again.”

Going the long way round would mean being a further twenty minutes late and she could not risk it. There was only one thing to do: she would have to cut through the cemetery.

By the time she reached the cemetery gates, her heart was thumping in her neck and from where she was standing she could just make out the light shining in the window of a neighbour's house.

She removed her high-heeled party shoes and felt the cold, damp ground beneath her stockinged feet. For a moment she considered running across the grass and then dismissed the idea, convinced that her legs would probably shake so much they would slow her down and defeat the purpose of her using this shorter route.

One, two, three, go! Kerry Crabtree began running as fast as she could. The tarmac road was relatively gentle on her feet and she kept her eyes focused on the light ahead.

It was stupid really. She was more likely to see them at work or in town than in the cemetery, but at least in those other places she had company around her and could pretend that they were just like anyone else. Here and now, she could not manage to fool herself into thinking that they were anything but dead.

She was coming up to her grandmother’s grave; not far now, only a few hundred yards left. There was a rustling to her left and something began to move quickly across the grass; it was catching up with her fast.

Tears streamed across her cheeks as she reached for the silver locket around her neck as if it were some kind of lifeline.

***

Kerry Crabtree sat weeping and worrying what her mum was going to say when she arrived home. There were grass stains on her clothing and her hair was dishevelled beyond belief. Everyone she met on the way home was going to assume she was making the walk of shame. She was in an awful lot of trouble.

Where was her handbag and her other shoe? She had looked everywhere but they were nowhere to be found. She would just have to start making her way home and flag down the first car or person she came across. Which way should she go?

After a while she became frustrated and felt like screaming. Eventually, she came across a telephone box and tried to call her mum but could not get through. She decided to call the police; they would help. There was no answer. There must be something wrong with the telephone. Vandals probably.

Her mum was going to kill her if she didn’t get home soon. Somebody must be able to help her! Where was everyone?

Part 14 - The Bargain

2009-10-19T00:01:00.005+01:00

Winter 1690

Lady Mabel Theawicke flirted with her reflection in the looking glass and decided on the cream-coloured pearl drop earrings. How they accentuated her long white neck! Her pulse quickened slightly.

Beads of snow continued to fall beyond the stone lintel window and the grey-green-washed landscape of the day had been transformed into a sparkling sea of powdered white. She walked over and knelt with one knee upon the window’s cushioned seat and gazed dreamily through the diamond leaded panes. The greenish glass was so thick in places that it slightly distorted her vision in the early evening light.

A sudden movement in the bushes below caught her attention and she struggled to distinguish the cause. She thought she could make out the form of a small animal and she could not restrain a deep gasp of breath as she realised that the creature staring up towards her was a white hare.

The animal’s scream sounded across the waves of snow in the gardens below and suddenly the white-furred hare darted away down the length of the garden and disappeared into the silver birch trees on the near side of Heyleigh dell. Mabel quickly scanned the course it had taken; not a single print of paw had been written in its wake. On other nights, such an omen would have been a good one.

A baby’s screams somewhere in the Hall echoed those of the hare and transported her thoughts back inside the room. Was this her conscience trying to prick her or a warning not to proceed with the night’s dark events? She dismissed the thought; the bargain had been sealed the first time her eyes had met his.

She threw herself down onto the heavily curtained bed and hugged one of the lavender scented woollen blankets. Quickly she cast it aside as a memory of the babe reached out to her from within its heavily woven folds. Nothing was going to change her mind. She knew what she was doing, and the promise of eternal youth was too close to let it escape.

Where was he? Would he wait for her to extinguish the candle or for the fire to die down? She sat up and looked towards the fireplace and her eyes caught on a half-finished goblet of claret on a dark, heavily carved chest close by. It was just what she needed to quench at least one of her thirsts. She fetched the glass and the earthy red liquid fortified her blood and brought some much needed warmth to her chilled veins.

Her gift told her that the latest child had taken its toll on her life-force and death was already crawling the pathways inside her body. Sending him the invitation was the chosen way out for her and nothing would stop her following that course.

The looking glass winked at her from the corner of the room and she couldn’t help a small shudder when she caught sight of herself in its depths. A tired, ageing woman gazed back at her, the capricious one of earlier had been washed away.

She shivered again as a cold breeze crept across her alabaster-pale shoulders and bare arms. A strong, masculine embrace suddenly enclosed her from behind as his body leaned into hers. Another scream erupted from the dell as his lips and waves of ebony hair brushed her neck. The looking glass reflected only a single figure in the room.

***

Sam Omerod ran from the house as if the devil himself was on his heels, the sickly child wrapped in a blanket and clutched close against his thudding chest. Beneath him, his footsteps left a heavy trail in the crunching snow and his frosty breath sailed out before him, forming a ghostly cloud around his body in the dark night air. The faint light in the distance encouraged him onwards as if it had been expecting him to seek it out. Annwn would know what to do.

There was no need to wake her. The latch clicked as he approached and she ushered him in, gently taking the child from him before he bent double and gasped in the warm air. The babe had not cried once on the journey and yet it had wailed pitifully throughout the earlier part of the night. He wasn’t sure if it was dead. Perhaps he had not acted quickly enough.

“Mabel’s dead.” It was more a statement than a question.

He nodded.

“Come sit down by the fire and warm your bones before you set off back again. Tell me what happened.”

He looked at her. How old was she? He could see the faint trace of younger beauty haunting her face. His mind raced; where to begin?

“Grace heard them talking, the Mistress and the stranger... The one that the Master hired to paint her? They were in her room.” He lowered his eyes and looked at the flagstone floor, a black cat arched against his leg.

“Go on.”

“Grace couldn’t get the little one to settle. She’s not been feeding right and the Mistress wouldn’t have owt to do with her. We were frightened because Cook said Nellie Carr’s baby was at death's door and we weren’t sure if the little mite had the same sickness.”

Annwn nodded.

“We thought we would be in trouble if owt happened to it, so Grace went to see if the Mistress wanted me to fetch you or the physician.” He hesitated; this wasn’t easy.

“Get me told, Sam! What did Grace hear?”

A tear ran down his face and he began to shiver slightly as the chill of the night left his body.

“Grace was frightened when she heard the stranger with the Mistress in her room...” His cheeks were wet and he wiped his hand across them and pinched his nose with his finger and thumb stifling a sob. With a newfound courage, he let his eyes meet hers for the first time that night.

“The Mistress begged him to make her like him. A creature of the night, she said. He just laughed at her and told her she was a feeble human and could never be anything else. She was afraid of death, see? So she told him she was much more than that and offered him her soul if he would save her from death. She said she knew he could do it.”

He waited as Annwn gazed at the sleeping child in her arms and then back at him. Her look made him think that she already knew what the Mistress had done.

“What has she done, Sam?”

He shook his head as if trying to deny the night's events before continuing his tale. He pointed at the baby before him. “She bartered the baby’s soul,” he whispered, almost as if he was afraid of eavesdroppers. “As well as one from every generation which follows her.”

Part 13 - Bound to the Earth

2009-10-16T00:01:00.006+01:00

2007

Lady Mabel Theawicke entered the room in which she had died and looked across to where there had once stood a heavily carved and curtained four poster bed. The view through the stone lintel and leaded windows had changed dramatically over the past three hundred years and yet she could still picture the fields and woods that had once been there.

Sometimes there was nothing at all. At other times, especially when a crisp layer of frost coated the ground and the nights crept in early, there was a part of her that knew she was still capable of giving up her soul to him. Cold, swollen tears fell as she remembered the taste of claret, the scent of lavender, the feel of soft woollen blankets and above all else the rush of his hair through her fingers.

Her thoughts were disturbed by an approaching coach party and their guide tramping through the Hall in their haste to reach the goal of a cream tea and rummage in the souvenir shop. The tale of Heyleigh Hall's Wicked Grey Lady had been attracting visitors for centuries. Lady Mabel considered it ironic that her infamy was enabling the present Lord to keep the property in family hands.

“I thought I might find you here,” Stanley said, clearly considering his words carefully. It occurred to him that Elizabeth and Lady Mabel were alike in some ways.

“Why does Elizabeth remind you of me?” Lady Mabel asked, drawing her attention away from the window.

“You are both such strong women,” Stanley answered without hesitation.

Lady Mabel threw her head back and laughed. The temperature in the room sank rapidly. Stanley knew without doubt that if any member of the Living had been in the room at that moment, their blood would have run cold.

Lady Mabel raised her eyes to boldly meet his. “I never was a victim.”

"Elizabeth has returned," Stanley announced, changing the subject.

“I never doubted she would,” Lady Mabel responded coldly, just as a tour guide and group of tourists entered the room.

“...this is reputedly the room of Lady Mabel Theawicke -– the Wicked Grey Lady of Heyleigh Hall -– who in 1690 made a pact with a disciple of the devil. According to local legend, her soul haunts the Hall and its grounds to this day and is said to be bound to the earth forever. You can see her portrait hanging in the long gallery...”

Stanley found himself recollecting the night Edwardina had entered the light without taking more than a second to acknowledge his presence. He could hardly bear the knowledge that she had chosen to leave him.

Lady Mabel approached him, her full grey skirts sashaying across the oak floor as she did so. “There was nothing to hold her back.”

Part 12 - Help Yourself

2009-10-13T00:01:00.003+01:00

1940

Billy found himself face to face with the solicitor who had been appointed to represent him at his trial. He looked on absently as Stanley Birch brushed an invisible fleck from his immaculately pressed grey flannel trousers and then pushed a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches across the wooden table between them.

“Help yourself.”

Billy, taking a cigarette from the packet and placing it between his dry lips, shook out a match from the box and struck it; as much as he hated accepting charity he accepted that beggars couldn't be choosers.

“I know about the Lancastria,” Stanley announced.

Billy glanced up at Stanley and made eye contact with him for the first time.

“It must have been a terrible thing to have lived through. I can't say I've ever experienced anything quite like it myself. I can only relate to my experiences of the Somme during the Great War.”

Billy remained silent.

Stanley continued , “There is no doubt that you fired that shot, no doubt whatsoever. What is arguable is whether that shot was intended for someone else.”

Billy started coughing violently. Retching and spluttering, he tried to stand up but tripped over the legs of his chair and fell to the floor.

Stanley rushed forward, helped him up and took him back to his chair. Retrieving the lighted cigarette from the floor where it had fallen, Stanley stubbed it out in the ashtray and offered Billy a pristine white handkerchief to clean up the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“I suspect that you’ll be suffering from the damage you sustained that day for the rest of your life.”

Billy took the handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "Thanks," he muttered begrudgingly.

Stanley smiled. “We need to prepare for the trial. Even if you don't want to save your own neck, there is still your family to consider.”

“I didn't mean it for her!”

“I understand." Stanley seemed to be trying to sound reassuring.

Billy bowed his head. “I’ll never forgive myself for killing Peg! Never!”

***

Five years’ hard labour! He had thought he would hang for sure. Part of him felt the death penalty would have been an easier sentence. Still, he had done well getting away with murder -– crying shame he had shot Peg instead of Michael.

“Never fret, Lawrence. We’ll get you one way or the other,” sneered the police officer guarding him. “You get five minutes with your Brief and then five with the lovely Mrs Lawrence. I’d lay money on her not going without for the rest of the war!” he grinned lewdly.

Billy clenched his fist and his stomach snapped tight. “Bastard! If it wasn’t for these bloody handcuffs I’d kill you,” he raged.

“No doubt you’d love to, Lawrence. But then I’d just be another one to add to your list now wouldn’t I?”

Billy kicked out violently with his foot and toppled the chair in front of him.

Stanley Birch entered and discovered Billy and the middle-aged police constable glaring at one another. He could have cut the tension in the atmosphere with a knife.

“Five minutes, sir,” stated the constable to Stanley as he prepared to leave the lawyer alone with his client.

“Constable Allen, isn’t it?” enquired Stanley.

“Yes, sir. Have we met before? I thought you were from out of town?”

“I’m sure one day I’ll have the pleasure, Constable,” replied Stanley sarcastically. Constable Allen stared back quizzically and then left the room.

Stanley turned to face Billy and gestured towards the wooden table and chairs in the middle of the room. Both men sat down across the table from one another.

“Thank you, sir,” said Billy sincerely.

“I was only too willing to help, Corporal Lawrence,” replied Stanley. “When the jury returned the manslaughter verdict I had hoped that the judge would have been merciful.”

Billy seemed to be avoiding Stanley's gaze and kept his eyes aimed down at the table’s rough surface. “I don’t deserve to go free, Mr Birch. I'll never be able to forgive myself for what I've done. It'll haunt me for the rest of my life!”

“Only if you let it,” replied Stanley. “Imagine that Peg is here in this room with us now. What would she say? Do you think that she would forgive you?”

“Yes,” answered Billy, wiping away an escaped tear. “She was a good woman was Peg. The best I ever met. She did not deserve to die like that.”

“Then you need to learn to forgive yourself,” declared Stanley, standing up and offering his hand. “Goodbye and good luck, Corporal Lawrence. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day under more fortunate circumstances.”

Billy came to his feet quickly and clasped Stanley’s extended hand with both his own. “I owe you a great debt, Mr Birch. I am very grateful to the Army for sending you to help me.”

Stanley walked towards the door then halted and turned to face Billy with a twinkle in his eye. “It wasn't the Army who sent me, Corporal Lawrence.”

“Well if it wasn’t the Army that sent you, Mr Birch, who did?”

“Peg!” replied Stanley over his shoulder as he left the room.

Part 11 - Choir of Gargoyles

2009-10-10T00:01:00.008+01:00

2007

Sarah did not get the chance to speak before Elizabeth began to see and hear past events unfolding.

Two glasses and wine bottles on the polished steel coffee table. Sarah sitting stunned on the sofa. Mathew prowling around the room like an angry cat, his voice slightly raised and cold.

“What the hell do you want from me? I’ve no idea where all this has come from! You must be deluded or something! I’m not ready for commitment or anything remotely like it, and probably never will be, so don’t hold your breath!”

“But... I thought you loved me! I thought...”

“No, you didn’t bloody think, did you? That’s half the problem; you are too busy dreaming to ever really think.”

Sarah pulling the pieces of herself together, searching around for a little self-respect as Mathew fights to regain his control and get rid of her without too much of a scene.

“Just forget what I said, will you? I’ve had too much to drink and you know how emotional we women get with alcohol.” Her smile hollow.

Mathew looking relieved to pretend it was not serious, his interest now concentrating on smoothing things over while he had to. “Right! Happy to do so! Look... I’m sorry for going off on one, too. You know it was just a shock... I thought you understood it was a bit of fun?”

“Yes, of course, a bit of fun. As I said, too much to drink.”

“No problem. Look, it’s late. I have work in the morning.”

“I can’t drive home. I was supposed to be staying over; I’ve been drinking.”

“You can sleep in the spare room. I’ll be up and out early in the morning.”

The spare room.

Spare...

Spare.

Elizabeth looked across to Sarah. It was all clearly written on her face. How had she failed to see it before? “You took your own life?”

Sarah flinched. “They were going on at me -– the voices. I wanted to shut them up. I didn’t really want to die!” She began to cry again, this time silent tears.

Elizabeth heard the voices, a choir of gargoyles whispering dark words.

He would never love you
No one ever will

“I know, Sarah. It's OK. I understand." Elizabeth moved closer to Sarah and Tashriel, who was comforting her. "Did you see a light Sarah? Can you see the light?" she asked tenderly.

“I’m too scared to go into it.”

“Many are,” Elizabeth looked at Tashriel. “Others find their options are limited.”

Tashriel stood back a step and held Sarah tenderly by the shoulders,. “The light will be waiting for you whenever you feel ready to go into it.”

Elizabeth put a hand on Sarah’s arm . “You are ready to leave Mathew and this flat behind for good, though, aren't you? Isn't that why you came to us?"

Sarah acknowledged Elizabeth’s words with a slight incline of her head.

“Come on, then. Let’s leave,” Tashriel said, breaking away.

A concerned Sarah wandered over to Mathew, “How are we going to explain this to him?”

“No need to worry about him. He'll never know we've been here,” said Tashriel.

“But he’s already seen you!” she exclaimed.

“Ever had a moment where you forgot what you were doing? Searched around in your brain to remember and it never came back to you?”

Sarah smiled. “You’d be surprised. Happens quite a lot lately.”

Tashriel and Elizabeth laughed. “Well, it’s about to happen to Mathew,” Elizabeth said with a grin.

Part 10 - Timing

2009-10-07T00:01:00.005+01:00

July 1940

Peg was surprised to see the number of people out and about in the early hours of the morning until it struck her that most of them were dead like Hughie and herself. She wondered if she would bump into anyone else she knew.

“I shouldn’t think so,” said Hughie. “It’s not been my experience anyways. It's no coincidence I was at yer home tonight. It’s not like I’ve been hanging around there these past few weeks. I knew you were going to bite the bullet.” He couldn’t resist a gentle snigger at his own pun. “I was doing someone a favour by being there when it happened.”

Peg stopped in her tracks, half her attention taken by Hughie, the other half by a figure partly submerged in the shadowy entrance of the fire station.

“Who?”

“What?” Hughie’s concentration had also been distracted by the figure.

“Who asked you to be there? Was it my mum?” Peg asked eagerly.

“Nay, it was Lady Mabel.”

“...Lady Mabel?“

“Yeah.” Hughie took hold of Peg’s elbow and steered her past the fire station. “She's helped me a few times since I delayed. Let’s go to the cemetery. It’s always very pleasant there in the wee small hours.”

He steered their way to a wooden bench under a cherry blossom tree and they sat down together. “I’ve always thought blossom smells best in the dark,” said Hughie, taking hold of a bough above his head and pulling it down to savour. “Champion, eh?”

Peg smiled in return. “It’s lovely, Hughie. Now, tell me more about Lady Mabel.”

***

Stanley Thomas Birch shuffled the papers on his desk and took a deep breath before running his fingers through his coarse hair and lighting a cigarette. There was a light knock on the door and his associate, Wilfred, entered the room with a cheery smile and a tray of hot tea and biscuits.

“Thought you might be in need of these," he said, putting the tray down and making his way back towards the open door.

“Perfect timing,” Stanley declared as the door handle clicked back into place.

Although he had never been able to read Wilfred's mind fully, Wilfred always had a good idea what was on his. If only he could see deeper into the mind of Billy Lawrence. There was only one thing he knew for certain at this point, the soul of Lawrence had been a fatality even before the unfortunate shot had been fired.

Stanley’s fingers repeated his earlier actions, shuffling papers and combing through his hair, pondering the situation. It might be possible to save Lawrence from the hangman. Thankfully, there were a couple of witnesses whose evidence would help to support a defence and he was certain that he would be able to provoke an unsavoury response from at least one of the prosecution witnesses.

His train of thought was suddenly derailed by a firm knock followed closely by Wilfred carrying his overcoat and a black umbrella.

“Time to leave for your meeting, sir. It’s getting late.”

“Thank you, Wilfred. What would I do without you?” Stanley asked with a grateful smile as he buttoned up his coat. His thoughts once again turned to the case at hand and he wondered idly if any of the Living were concerned about the welfare of Billy Lawrence. Somehow he doubted it.

***

Billy gasped for air. The roaring planes had returned, their machine guns blazing and cracking. He wanted to cover his ears and block it all out but he needed to keep one hand on the piece of debris that was keeping him afloat and the other free to ward off the desperate hands reaching out and clutching at him.

Incendiaries fell like bats diving from the sky and he realised the enemy was trying to set fire to the thick oil blanket covering the surface of the sea as far as the eye could see. Mesmerised, Billy stared ahead to where a crest of bodies had gathered and were performing a macabre dance in the waves. He clung desperately to the debris and then recoiled in horror as he realised he was clutching Charlie’s corpse.

Demons screamed at him from all directions.

You’re going to hell, Lawrence!

“I’m already bloody there!” he screamed back.

Suddenly everything went dark. Something was crawling on top of him, smothering him with its weight, pushing him under the surface of the freezing water. A silent scream erupted as he clawed frantically to free himself.

Sitting up with a start, Billy scanned the shadows of his cell and realised he had been dreaming.

Part 9 - Moving On

2009-10-03T00:01:00.009+01:00

2007

Sunshine swept into the room from two directions, creating a warm glow and highlighting the figure in the doorway. Long blonde hair shone like starlight against an attire of midnight blue jeans and a deep velvet shirt. As usual, Tashriel presented a very attractive image. Elizabeth struggled to decide if it was all an act of nature or partly his own doing.

“You think so lowly of me these days?” Tashriel asked, raising one of his perfectly arched brows and casting Elizabeth a disapproving look at the same time.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Elizabeth retorted sharper than she had intended and then thought better of it.

Tashriel shrugged, “Forgiven -- always. It happens to the best of us.” He walked over to the window and looked out onto the busy shopping street below.

Elizabeth contented herself by pretending to study the intricate patterns of the William Morris wallpaper and glaring furiously at an empty desk, which was soon to be occupied by Gemma Bolton.

Probably be in my grave just as fast

“RoYds goes on,” Tashriel remarked gently removing his hands from the pockets of his jeans and walking towards the half-glass panelled door leading directly to the street. “Shall we move on? Sarah Entwistle will be expecting us shortly.”

***

Howell Place was in the middle of Market Street; a long winding road of crowded stone buildings from beginning to end. Built in the early 19th Century as a place of worship, it was one of the few grand structures in Whituth. Elizabeth silently scoffed at the shiny brass plaque prominently displayed on the honey-coloured boundary wall.

“Something wrong?” Tashriel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I preferred it when it was a chapel.”

“As did I,” Tashriel responded, opening the recently erected black cast-iron gate. “A church cannot survive without parishioners though,” he added despondently.

As they approached the main entrance to the building, Elizabeth concluded that the developer had done an excellent job of keeping the conversion in line with the character of the building.

She studied the list of names and doorbells; there was no Sarah Entwistle. Elizabeth tried to remember the name of the friend Sarah had mentioned as the person she was renting the flat from. Matt or something similar. One of the doorbells was for a Mathew Billington. She pressed the shiny brass button.

“Hello?”

“Sarah? It’s Elizabeth Whyte from RoYds and I have a friend with me.”

The buzzer startled her slightly as Sarah released the lock on the main door. Upon entering the building, they were greeted by a smiling Sarah standing in the doorway to their left.

Sarah waved to them. “Over here,” she announced cheerily.

Elizabeth introduced Tashriel as a colleague. He walked around slowly with a hand-held device, mumbling something about a “proton Magnetometer” to monitor changes in the flat’s magnetic field –- people usually found this comforting and would let down their guard somewhat, allowing Tashriel to take his own kind of “readings” -- whilst Elizabeth tried to take in as much of the atmosphere as she could without appearing too obvious.

The layout was open plan with three doors at the far end leading to what Elizabeth assumed to be sleeping and bathroom areas. The two side walls were a crisp far-reaching canvas of white with a trio of leaded gothic-arched windows along the outer wall. A streak of abstract paintings had been hung to perfection on the interior wall and a state-of-the-art sound system took pride of place beneath them. It was clearly a show-flat rather than a home.

“Please take a pew.” Sarah pointed to a pretentious magenta and lemon sofa. “Would you like some tea?”

“Not for me, thanks,” replied Elizabeth. “Would you mind if I had a quick walk around the other rooms to get a feel for things? Oh, by the way, we didn’t find any related problems with local transmitters or masts.”

“Damn!” exclaimed a disappointed Sarah. “I suppose I didn’t really expect you to, but I hoped that you might be able to help me in some way or another.”

As she spoke, the multi-faceted designer light fitting above them flickered and a James Blunt CD began to play,

"I took your soul out into the night..."

An ashen Sarah threw herself down into a tangerine leather armchair and began to sob hysterically. Elizabeth looked at Tashriel who was walking towards the music system and as he did so, Elizabeth sensed another male presence in the flat. Although his name came quickly to her, Elizabeth hesitated to use it.

“Sarah, look at me!” Elizabeth commanded before kneeling down in front of the distraught woman and clasping her hands with her own. “Look me in the eyes. I want you to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth slowly. Concentrate on just doing that.”

Sarah looked at Elizabeth through mascara-smudged eyes. “Don’t worry; I am going to sort this problem out for you. OK?” Releasing Sarah's hands she stood up and was joined by Tashriel at her side.

Sarah reached for a cushion behind her and held it close.

Elizabeth glanced at Tashriel and called out the name of the presence in the flat with them, “Mathew.”

A door at the far side of the room opened and a wet, towel-clad Mathew Billington appeared.

“Who the devil are you people and what the hell are you doing in my flat?” he shouted, thoroughly enraged and rushing towards them. Tashriel calmly reached out and placed his fingertips lightly upon Mathew’s cheek.

Elizabeth stared at a frozen Mathew Billington who was now standing only a couple of feet away with a stationary droplet of water on his bare chest.

Part 8 - Shimmer

2009-09-30T00:01:00.007+01:00

July 1940

Billy had no idea how many were onboard the S.S. Lancastria, but he knew for sure there were far too many. He glanced at his watch: 15:38. Only three minutes since the last time he’d checked. His childhood friend Charlie was mercilessly teasing a couple of young RAF lads who were vying for a few inches of the deck. A gentle breeze smoothed its way across the ship as her engines began to chug their way out of the harbour.

“Hey, Billy!” He looked up to see a smiling Charlie bearing down on him. They had both been wearing similar smiles all day. Nothing could take away the joy they felt at the prospect of going home, not even the advancing enemy. The unexpected sounds of approaching aircraft quickly changed everything.

Billy’s awareness came crashing back to the interview room when a boot smashed into his ribs for a second or third time.

“Christmas has come early for me, pal! I can’t wait to see you hang!”

He looked up at the policeman and felt his chest tighten, he needed more air.

“Right, let’s get this done properly. Don’t want you wriggling off that rope, now, do we?” The Inspector began to half-chant the memorised lines he was required to say. “Do you wish to say anything in answer to the Charge? You are not obliged to say anything unless you desire to do so; but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence upon your Trial.”

“I have nothing to say.” Billy gasped and coughed the words out as best he could.

Somewhere in the distance the cell door slammed shut.

***

Peg felt a little uneasy about walking away and leaving everyone to it, but then grudgingly accepted she wasn’t going to be much use to anyone staying put.

“I’ll go get my coat.”

Hughie started laughing again. “It’ll not do you much good. You can’t wear it, putty brains! Look, I’ll show yer how it’s done now. Yer just think how yer would like to appear and Bob’s yer uncle, Fanny’s yer aunt!”

Peg watched in amazement as Hughie’s army uniform transformed into full evening attire complete with monocle and silver-handled walking stick. “Just imagine yer coat and it’ll be there!” He informed her, giving a twirl in the process.

Peg closed her eyes and imagined wearing her green wool coat. She opened them and looked down, amazed.

“See! Benefits or what?” Hughie chuckled.

His laughter was contagious and Peg joined in. Feeling guilty she checked herself and stopped. Hughie frowned for a moment and changed back into his uniform.

“No matter how daft this may sound, Peg, life goes on. Or rather death does! Nowt yer can do for ‘em now by being all bloody miserable like. They can do that for themselves. I’m sure if we feel brighter, they do too. It’s how I look at it anyways.”

Strangely enough, it seemed to make sense to Peg. She took in the scene behind her and was astonished to discover that the members of her family gathered in the house appeared to be shimmering ever so slightly.

“Yeah... lovely to see isn’t it? It’s their life force I think. Leastways, it's how yer make out the Living from the dead most times. It’s if they’re darker than dark and lurk in the shadows, yer’ve problems. I’ll tell yer more about them later.”

Peg shivered. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.” She looked down at her coat, thought of something a little more fashionable and expensive looking and smiled brightly when it appeared.

They both started laughing, and following one last lingering backwards glance, made their way out of 24 George Street and into the world beyond.

Part 7 - Whatever it Takes

2009-09-26T00:01:00.010+01:00

2007

“I don’t know where to start...”

It was Elizabeth’s second day since her return. She studied the smartly dressed and obviously professional young woman who had just walked into her office and came to the conclusion she was probably at her wits’ end.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I make us both a nice cup of tea and then you can tell me all about it?” Elizabeth smiled encouragingly before walking over to a connecting door leading to the kitchen at the rear of the room and putting the kettle on.

Sarah Entwistle definitely was at her wits’ end. She looked around the room. To all intents and purposes it looked like any normal tourist information office except that the local tourist office for this town was situated in the library.

Elizabeth re-entered the room carrying a tray holding two large mugs of tea and a number of rich tea biscuits. She put the tray down on the table and passed one of the mugs to the young woman.

“Here, Sarah. Help yourself to the biscuits. There’s some sugar too, if you take it.”

“What exactly is it that you do here?” Sarah asked cautiously. Elizabeth could see that Sarah looked a bit suspicious at her surroundings.

Whatever it takes

“We investigate paranormal activity,” replied Elizabeth matter-of-factly.

Sarah blushed with embarrassment as she took a sip of her tea. “I told the man at the library that I thought my flat was haunted and he said the best thing I could do was to visit here and see if anyone could help.”

Elizabeth looked slightly amused. “And you thought about that at least twice before doing so, I’ll bet!” she said light-heartedly.

Sarah smiled and Elizabeth saw five years drop from her face with that smile, and she came to the conclusion that Sarah was probably in her early rather than late twenties. “Where is it that you live?” Elizabeth enquired. “And what makes you think that it is haunted?”

Sarah considered her words carefully before speaking, “It will probably sound daft. Even I think so! When it happens, I'm scared stiff and everything is so real. But now, talking to you, it all seems stupid and I feel like an idiot.”

“Well, I promise not to think of you as an idiot. At the very least, talking to someone about it can only help, and together we might be able to find a logical reason for what you are experiencing.” Elizabeth wished she could do more to help Sarah relax.

“I’ve got a ground floor flat in Howell Place. You know the old chapel facing the Band Club?”

Elizabeth nodded, “Go on.”

“Well, I moved in a while ago. It’s really nice; all the neighbours seem friendly and location is ideal. I was lucky to get the flat. Matt, my old lecturer from college, was going abroad for a year and asked me if I wanted to rent it while he was away. Of course I jumped at the chance!”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Sarah sighed and shrugged her shoulders, “Well, for instance, say I know I have turned the light on in a room –- well, it might just turn itself off. Same with the radio, or a tap, or the television. At first I thought it could be faulty wiring or plumbing and then, well, then I heard the voices...”

Sarah looked to Elizabeth for reassurance.

Elizabeth nodded her head in encouragement, “It’s OK, carry on.”

“It’s a man and a woman. I can’t make out all the words but I know he’s ending things with her and she’s crying, begging and pleading with him to change his mind.”

“Could the voices be coming from a TV or radio in another room?” Elizabeth asked. “Or maybe from one of your neighbour’s flats?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Sarah nervously. “You see, I recognise one of them -– the voices. I know who it is... and... This is going to sound crazy, right? You are going to think I am mad... but, you see, the man... Well, it’s Mathew. It’s his voice I can hear!”

“And you are positive that Mathew is still... abroad?” Elizabeth enquired.

Sarah nodded firmly.

Instinct told Elizabeth that Sarah was not suffering from a psychotic illness, although there was always the possibility of drugs. “I’m going to ask you this because we need to rule it out and I don’t mean any offence. Do you have any history of drug taking? You know these things can have lasting effects?” Elizabeth could clearly see by Sarah’s eyes that she had taken offence at her question.

“No, of course not! Don’t be so ridiculous. I wish I had, though. At least it would be an explanation.”

“OK,” said Elizabeth getting up from her chair. "And again, I apologise. I just needed to be able to rule that out. How about I have a look to see what information I can find out here about the old chapel and if any powerful transmitters or telephone masts have been erected in the area recently? They can sometimes play havoc in ways you would not imagine. Meanwhile, it’s just a suggestion, but I wondered if you might feel easier staying at a friend’s house until you get this sorted out?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” replied Sarah sadly. “Besides, I want to remain at the flat. Apart from what's happening, I feel rather attached to it.”

“Okey-dokey,” replied Elizabeth, unable to hide her concern. “Why don’t I meet you at your flat later this afternoon then? Say around three o’clock?”

The tension appeared to drain from Sarah’s face. “Fantastic! I really appreciate you making the time and effort.”

A few minutes later, Elizabeth sat at her desk and wondered what course to take with Sarah’s happenings.

“Shall we investigate this together?” asked a voice from behind, and she turned to find Tashriel casually leaning on the doorframe.

Part 1 - Dark Day

2009-09-23T00:06:00.006+01:00

2007

Elizabeth brushed aside her long fair hair with black leather-clad fingers and fought a constant battle with the ever present wind as it gathered pace and pushed its way through the cemetery. The drone of the approaching lawnmower brought her thoughts back to the present day and the rows of well-manicured graves and regimented gravestones.

She strode past the names of the family members resting in the ground beneath her feet and then stopped to study the dates chiselled into one of the cold granite headstones before her. Only five names were engraved and yet there had been six burials. Elizabeth turned and made her way into town.

A solitary tear trickled slowly down her cheek as she left the cobblestone rake leading down from the cemetery and entered the main street of Whituth. As a town it was nothing special. None could deny its glorious location though, nestled as it was in a valley between moorland and a breathtaking dell.

As a child, Elizabeth had delighted in learning the history of the area; bloody battles involving Danes, Vikings and Celts, and legends full of sorcery and mythological creatures. Her mood darkened when she remembered other less documented invaders. Not all struggles that had taken place here had or would appear in the history books.

The wind gusted and Elizabeth’s pace quickened to match it. Each hurried step was punctuated by the echo of her soles scraping against the fine layer of grit smothering the damp stone pavement. She scanned the hills and moorland above the industrial landscape searching for some colour. Between clouds of fog, church spires and mills she glimpsed only the occasional bolt of green. Today was a dark day indeed.

Elizabeth returned her gaze to the turreted grey building ahead and the chink of light radiating from it.

Concentrating hard, she pushed herself onward towards the beckoning light only to be startled by a rasping cough from a cobbled alleyway to her right. A raggedly dressed young woman sat on the ground, her back against the wall of one of the buildings. A rake-thin baby beneath a grey woollen shawl was suckling at her emaciated breast.

Elizabeth refused to meet the eyes of the ones searching her out and rushed onwards as a dirt-encrusted hand thrust its way down the alleyway towards her.

A child’s buggy nearly collided with Elizabeth’s black leather boot; she just managed to step out of its way. A rain-soaked infant stared at her with blank eyes. Elizabeth gave him a warm smile and his eyes lit up with surprise. The mother remained fixed, huddled over the buggy handles and hurried past without any recognition.

Not far now

A soldier wearing a World War II uniform appeared at one of the windows of the Heyleigh Arms public house. He made no effort to acknowledge her presence and a relieved Elizabeth pushed on towards the welcoming doorway ahead.

A single, time-worn stone step led up to an imposing arched doorway. In the granite beside the weathered wooden door was carved “RoYds”.

The door was held open halfway by an elderly gentleman wearing a full morning suit. Opening the door fully so that Elizabeth could easily step inside, the man gently closed the door behind her.

“Morning, Miss.”

“Morning, Wilfred. How are you today?”

The little man blinked back at her, same blank expression as always. He answered with the usual monotonous tone in his voice.

“Present as usual, Miss,” he replied. “Mr Birch is waiting for you in the red reception room, Miss. Very dark out today isn’t it?”

Elizabeth suspected that Wilfred had always been around to supervise the doorway at RoYds, altering only his clothing, hairstyle and manner of speech to suit the conventions dictated by the modern world.

“Certainly is,” remarked Elizabeth with an involuntary shudder.

***

Elizabeth entered the red reception room through an open doorway. The rather grand room was furnished with deep sofas, armchairs and various pieces of antique mahogany furniture. Facing her was a large, highly polished black marble fireplace and a roaring coal fire.

Sitting in one of two oxblood leather armchairs by the side of the fireplace was Stanley Thomas Birch, an eccentric gentleman whose demeanour, despite his civilian attire, gave away the fact that he was, or had been, in the military. He was quietly sipping an amber liquid from a cut crystal tumbler and when he caught sight of her, he stood up and smiled.

“Ah, Elizabeth! Please do come in and take a seat." He pointed to the armchair facing the one he had just left.

Elizabeth shivered slightly; someone else was in the room with them. Turning to her left she caught a glimpse of Wilfred placing a small silver tray with a large mug of tea and some chocolate biscuits upon a nearby table.

“Took the liberty, Miss,” remarked Wilfred. “I thought you might be in need. Can I take your coat, Miss?” He held out his hand.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” she replied removing her long red winter coat and passing it to him.

“Please do take a seat and enjoy your tea,” said Stanley fussing after her lightly.

Elizabeth reached for the tea that Wilfred had made for her. She was delighted to discover it was as delicious as ever.

“Welcome back,” said Stanley with a broad grin.

***You can see a photograph of the cobbled rake mentioned here on the Refuge of Delayed Souls Facebook Fan Page - the link to which is in the sidebar :) ***

Part 6 - Veil

2009-09-22T00:06:00.009+01:00

1940

There was a whooshing sound and Peg floated towards the ceiling. She noticed a cobweb in the corner of the fanlight above the front door and a ray from the streetlight outside crept its way in through one of the glass panes. A finger-like beam reached towards her and instinctively she edged away, tilting forward erratically and hovering above the heavily congested hallway below.

Her body on the floor was the next thing she noticed and then Anne on her knees beside it, sobbing as Billy rushed down the hallway and out of the house. The finger of light hummed softly, its intensity increasing steadily. Above it, she could only just make out a distant cacophony of shouts and sobs amidst the rage that was Michael.

There was blood everywhere; thread-like streams trickled in the grouting between the patterned floor tiles as others navigated the heavily embossed Lincrusta wallpaper.

The light was persistent. She refused to turn and face it and instead pushed down towards her body in a failed attempt to rejoin it. She tried again, concentrating all her effort into moving away from the ceiling, but merely ended up shooting off through an open doorway landing forcibly on the bedroom floor beyond. The startled baby witnessed her arrival and ceased wailing. Peg smiled at her reassuringly before picking herself up off from the floor and rejoining the others in the corridor beyond.

I must be dead

“I’m afraid yer assumption's correct,” remarked a young soldier sitting on the stairs smoking a rolled up cigarette.

“Is that you, Hughie Nuttall? I thought your Millie said you'd been taken prisoner following Dunkirk!” replied an incredulous Peg.

“Aye, most likely she did, but as yer’ll have gathered by now, the bloody pen pushers got that bit wrong an’ all.”

Peg blinked, at least she felt like she blinked, “I’m not dreaming then?”

“Nope,” said Hughie. “Sorry, Peg. Bloody terrible way to go too! I mean, I expected to get shot but no one would have guessed anything like this would happen in yer own home.”

Peg moved aside to let her sister Catherine pass. She noticed a smear of blood on her cheek and splashes of it on her dress. She looked down at her own; there was none to be seen. She half expected to see the wounds evident on her abandoned body and was relieved to discover she was whole, or at least gave the impression of being so.

“Can’t work out why that is either,” said Hughie, standing up and walking towards her. “I had one of me legs blown off and half me face missing but yer would never have guessed it looking at me. The police'll be here in a minute, I should imagine. Looks like yer staying, then? The light’s gone.”

“The light?”

“Yeah, it came for yer. Don’t yer remember?”

Peg shook her head, “The street light?” She looked up at the fanlight above; there was only a dim glow now.

“It’s something else, that light, Peg. I’ve seen it loads of times now. Comes for yer when yer die, it does, but I never fancied going with it meself. Most people do though.” Hughie bent down to adjust his puttees and then straightened up.

Peg couldn’t take her eyes off her family.

I can’t leave them like this

Michael banged his fist on the wall and cried out. The baby started to wail again and in an attempt to pull herself together, Anne made her way over to the cot.

Above the baby’s cries, Peg just about managed to make out that her family were communicating verbally with one another and yet the only things she could clearly hear were the baby’s cries and Hughie’s conversation. The world of the living was gradually muting, and something else was happening; everything appeared to be turning grey and had a slightly washed out appearance.

“That’s what some people call the veil, Peg. Don’t worry, though. Yer’ll become accustomed to it after a while and hardly notice it’s there at all.”

The front door opened and Billy rushed in accompanied by Dr Lord and his black leather medical bag.

“Fat lot of use that'll be now,” remarked Hughie grinning. Peg looked at him disapprovingly and he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, if yer don’t laugh there’s nowt left to do but skroike, lass,” he said putting his arm around her comfortingly.

Peg hadn’t felt any real emotion up until that moment and the reality of it all hit home at once. Sobbing, she leaned against Hughie resting her cheek on the shoulder of his jacket. Almost immediately she pulled back and looked up at him. "Why are you here, Hughie? What’s all this got to do with you?”

“Look, lass, it’s going to be a bit like Piccadilly Station in here for a while, so what say we go take a stroll and find somewhere a bit more peaceful like? I’ll do me best to explain things as we go along. How’s that sound to you?”

Part 5 - Fallen Angels

2009-09-22T00:05:00.008+01:00

2007

Elizabeth wasn’t sure how long she had been sleeping. She watched through heavy lids as a very tired looking Stanley put his glass down for a moment and ran his hands through his thick brown hair. He lifted his head and his glass before turning again to face her.

“Sweet dreams?”

“I wish,” she replied forlornly whilst continuing to concentrate on a presence behind him. It had been there for the past few minutes and although she was unable to see anything she had been able to form a pretty good mental image.

Definitely male, with the most amazing long hair that rippled across his face and tumbled down towards his shoulders in what looked like a million or more strands of light. She found herself fighting an overwhelming urge to walk towards him and gather together a harvest of the strands. There was a slight tinkling sound associated with him too, she could hear it. Only faintly, but it was there nonetheless.

Tashriel

Elizabeth was jolted from her thoughts by a burst of sinister laughter which came from a newly arrived presence seated in shadow at the far side of the room.

Taking the sound as a challenge, she turned her attention towards the seated presence. She sensed earth, granite, rain and wind. It was as if moorland had been moulded into a man. For a moment she was engulfed by a wave of dark green.

Grispheran!

“Greetings, Bess,” he whispered menacingly into her ear as both fallen angels appeared close by. Elizabeth felt as though someone had just walked over her grave.

“Good of you to join us, gentlemen!” said Stanley.

Part 4 - Ribbons of Red

2009-09-22T00:04:00.007+01:00

November 1917

He loved the ribbons of red in her hair, especially when the sun forged them into a halo of flame. The sun had been shining the first time he saw her, the moment captured in his mind so clearly that he could recall it as though it were happening still. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of that day and hearing the soft breeze rustling through the trees above.

Edwardina was sitting on a ledge of granite, her feet dangling down towards the burbling water below and cloaked by a retinue of greenery cast by the shadows from the overhanging trees. When she raised her eyes to meet his, the green soul looking out from within them seared him to the core. One moment had changed his life completely.

The sleeping figure beside him rolled over and threw her arm across his chest, nestling her face in the crook of his arm. Her face was damp from the tears she had shed and those waiting to be released. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead lightly, inhaling tones of Lily of the Valley as he did so.

He thought of the events earlier in the day, the visitors, their kind words and offers of help. They were all good people and he knew they would stand by her and help her to get by. There was not one of them who had not suffered some kind of grief.

When they had left and just the two of them remained, he promised her that he would honour what she had demanded of him three years earlier and remain with her as long as he possibly could. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling above. He could not bear to think of it anymore. Maybe one day he would, but for the moment he made an agreement with himself to lock the memory in a box and push it to the very recesses of his mind. He knew she would never get over this.

The woman sleeping beside him woke, walked over to the window and pulled back the lace curtains. Despite it being a cold winter’s day she pulled up the sash window fully and let the frosty morning enter the room.

Stanley sensed the hollow feeling that consumed every inch of her. She was as empty as the abandoned cot and disturbed bed. Her tears flowed freely. She gathered up the woollen blanket from the arm of a chair and sat down next to the window. She let out a slow, frosty breath and then the tears began to flow again. Her body was racked with sobs as the aching in her soul grew. For a moment, Stanley thought she noticed him standing beside her and then she shook her head, apparently remembering that she was the only one left in the house. The feelings that radiated from her began to change from sadness and despair to rage and frustration.

Standing up abruptly and leaning her head out the window, she looked with hatred up into the grey sky and shouted at the top of her pitiful voice, “Can you hear me, Stanley Thomas Birch? I hope to God you can because you and our son are not the only dead members of this family!” Feeling the coldness of her words and the bitterness of the air, Stanley watched as she closed the window and crawled back into the desolate bed.

He reached out and covered her mouth with kisses, tasting the salt in her tears as he did so.

“Yes, I hear you.”

Prev

***You can see a photograph of the location where Stanley first met Edwardina on the Refuge of Delayed Souls Facebook Fan Page - the link to which is in the sidebar :) ***

Part 3 - Breaking the Silence

2009-09-22T00:03:00.006+01:00

2007

“Whituth has always attracted more than its fair share of dark forces...”

“You can say that again,” remarked Elizabeth helping herself to one of the chocolate biscuits and then looking at Stanley with earnest, “I shudder to think what the place would be like without RoYds!”

Stanley laughed and continued, “Quite.” He winked a blue eye at her before adopting a more serious tone. “There has been more than our fair share of dark activity recently though -- a series of gruesome murders, umpteen happenings and stranger than average creatures roaming the moors. The whole town is becoming darker day by day and rather agitated, especially the Living. We have our work cut out.”

“Sounds like it,” Elizabeth replied, biting deep into another tempting biscuit.

“There have been a number of changes here too,” Stanley remarked casually as he removed a cigar from a silver box on the table and proceeded to light it.

Elizabeth’s curiosity was piqued, “At RoYds?”

“Gemma Bolton has joined us. You remember Gemma?”

Elizabeth half-choked on the biscuit she was eating. That creature was enough to darken even the brightest day. “Who could ever forget,” she scoffed.

Stanley took a drag on his cigar and held the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds before exhaling. He spoke quietly, his words darting in between the clouds of cigar smoke, “Tashriel speaks highly of her.”

They made meaningful eye contact and fell into an uncomfortable impasse with only the occasional spit from the fire and the reassuring tick-tock of the large Edwardian mantle clock breaking the silence. Elizabeth fidgeted in her seat for a few seconds before resting her head on the wing. The journey to RoYds had taken an unprecedented toll.

Stanley observed the young woman curled up in the chair opposite him. In some ways she reminded him of his late wife. Like Edwardina, Elizabeth was an attractive woman who had no real awareness of her own beauty. Over time, Stanley had formed the opinion that with some women, beauty added a quality of ugliness, this was not so in Elizabeth’s case. The same could be said for all her matriarchal line: beautiful women and all of them gifted, or cursed, depending on one’s point of view.