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Contents
Destructive Interference
You don’t have to be DEAD to work here... But it helps
An Extraordinary Haunting
The Nightmare of Eliot Armstrong
About the Author
More books from Michael
Destructive Interference
Prologue
For every decision we make, the alternative choice is lived out in a parallel reality. When the decisions are small, the realities quickly merge again, but more weighty decisions lead to a totally new reality existing at an entirely different frequency.
Sometimes, these frequencies fleetingly merge with unpredictable consequences.
And when life in one reality is at a high, whilst life in another is at a low, the effects can be devastating.
This is destructive interference…
Chapter One
The tear welling in Matthew’s eye embraced equal joy and sadness. A turning point perhaps. This moment had grown to have such importance.
It’s funny. A particular desire can be so pivotal; so monumental it becomes all consuming; the only focus. And since Abigail’s diagnosis occurred at the same time they’d moved here to their dream home in Bristol’s cosmopolitan Clifton, having her in her bed completely recovered on Christmas Eve was his.
Blurring the view of his daughter sleeping peacefully in her bed a few feet away, he shook his head in wonder at the good fortune they had enjoyed this year, but the tear clung on.
He smiled at the mixed emotions: the relief it was over allowed him the purging sense of grief at what might have been; at what so easily nearly was.
Acknowledging a squeeze of his forearm, he glanced at his wife. Meeting her delicate gaze constricted his throat as he saw with certainty the same fight in her.
Crying would help, was vital even, to release the despair they had both felt for two long horrific years. But weeping now when it was all over seemed so ungrateful. So instead; incredulous to both of them, they began to laugh.
As the chuckles shook their bodies, they held tight to one another. Praying for the strength not to give in to the darker side of their emotion, they clutched at fronds of cloth hanging from their clothes, loose in the warmth of the house despite the frost outside.
The smile playing on her pretty face as she slept belayed none of the suffering she’d borne; none of the fight. Just a normal eight-year-old girl excited for what Father Christmas might bring her tonight.
She had asked the dreaded question of his authenticity a number of times, and they’d always said: if she’s old enough to ask, she’s old enough to be told the truth. But they needed the magic this year more than ever. This year with her fit and well and looking her normal self once again, they needed it.
So, it was with grateful grins they watched as she had placed on a tray a glass of milk, a mince pie, and carrots for Rudolph and his reindeer comrades, and popped off to bed extra-early to make sure he’d come.
They had waited until midnight before creeping up the stairs one at a time. Debbie had stood guard while Matthew deftly swung open the hatch and removed the ladder to retrieve the colourful gifts from their hiding place in the loft. They’d peered at their wonderful little girl for twenty minutes to be absolutely sure she was asleep, and they had been rewarded by a successful mission.
The huge pile of presents spilled from the jolly sack, with its pictures of snowmen and reindeer. Tumbling over the floor of her bedroom, there were more than expected. They had definitely overdone it.
They’d spoiled her in hospital last Christmas and the one before of course, but this year, the excitement of their first proper Christmas in ages had proved too much—and that was without counting the gifts to one another under the tree (including a special surprise Matthew could hardly believe he’d managed to keep secret.)
“Come on… We don’t want to wake her,” Debbie whispered to her husband between sniggers as it became clear their laughing was getting out of hand. Tiptoeing along the landing to their bedroom, they carefully allowed the door to click shut before exploding into raucous guffaws that were every bit as healing as the tears had promised to be.
“It’s so wonderful, Matt! She’s gonna be thrilled!”
Grabbing both her hands, Matthew swung his gleeful wife in a dance which due to its proximity led quickly to the bed where they fell breathless into each other’s arms. Too tired and emotional for anything more, they had at some point during the night taken the sensible measure of getting under the covers. That’s where an exuberant Abigail found them snuggled a little after six and still dark.
“He’s been, he’s been,” she shrilled. “I’ve got so many presents! How did he know I love ‘My Little Pony’?”
Shuffling their bums across the bed, they made space for the light of their lives to nestle in beside them.
“I don’t know, Abi, sweetheart. He just knows. It’s magic!”
With Abi clutching her favourite new toys, the Morrissey family ventured downstairs to their traditional smoked salmon and scrambled eggs breakfast, washed down with an alarmingly early Bucks Fizz.
The knock at the door, absent for the last two years while Abigail went through the worst of her treatment for Leukaemia, was the final signal that normality had returned. It was all Matthew could do to stifle a laugh as he fairly skipped along the long hallway.
Taking a deep breath, their approval assured for a change, Matthew hauled open the heavy door.
“About time! We’re freezing out here!” Matthew’s dad sneered, but Matthew refused to let it dampen his mood. He’d long learned his father’s bolshie belligerence masked deeper emotion.
“Sorry,” Matthew smiled as he stared at them huddled in the porch, grins frozen to their faces in the chilly winter air. Wearing fixed smiles of tentative relief stood Matthew’s mum, dad and sister, fronted by Abi’s cousin Charlotte, and flanked by a bag of gifts.
The magnitude of the moment showed in silent tight hugs as they each crossed the threshold. With Matthew too choked to speak, it was left to Debbie to greet them.
“Alan, Mary, welcome,” she said, hugging her parents-in-law before turning to her sister-in-law. “Mandy. How are you?”
Like her brother, she seemed to struggle emitting words, “Where’s my wonderful niece?” she rasped. Debbie looked around, surprised Abigail wasn’t near.
“Abi! Nan, Grandad, Aunty Mandy and Charlotte are here!”
The hurricane as Abi rushed to see them preceded the sight of her at the top of the stairs.
“Abigail! Darling. Did he come?”
“Yes, Nanna. Come up and see. I got so much stuff!”
The traditional turkey dinner wafted its delicious smells as the family convened in the vast triple aspect ballroom which served as the family’s lounge. The tree, large enough for a small town, was decorated impeccably in nothing but red and gold. The pile of presents beneath, not only huge but immaculate with colour-co-ordinated bows and ribbons.
A glass-topped coffee table that would serve most families as a dining table stood between three enormous sofas which faced the roaring open fire. As they all sat comfortably, the routine that had never got off the ground finally prepared to become a well-established family tradition.
The bulky sack of less than beautifully wra
pped presents which had arrived with their guests was poorly hidden beside the couch and had Abigail’s full attention. She waited with patient interest as the grownups shared out their gifts with teary exchanges as a session for a family portrait at an award winning local photographers was countered with a ceramic plate depicting them all as stick characters that Abigail had made and had fired at a ‘Creative Café.’
Charlotte was thrilled with the Barbie dolls Abi had chosen for her, and Abi added more pony merchandise to her collection.
After more shaking of presents, and lots of “What on earth could this possibly be?” there was one final present left.
“This is from me to both of you,” Matthew ventured, nodding at his wife and daughter. “But I think I’d like Abi to open it, if that’s okay with you?” Debbie at once acquiesced with a smile, and Abigail took the large envelope from under the tree.
“Careful, Abs. You don’t want to tear it.”
Watching her rip at it with wince-inducing abandonment, Matthew was relieved when its contents were removed unharmed. He wasn’t sure Abi would understand what it was, but as she jumped around the room, screaming in joy, he knew further explanation wasn’t needed.
“We’re going to Disneyland! We’re going to Disneyland!”
“Really?” Debbie glanced across at the confirmatory nod from her husband.
“Well. I thought we deserved it. It’s for all of us. You too,” he gestured to the others. “That way, me and Debs can have the occasional cosy evening meal in the most romantic city in the world while the rest of you do some fun things.” Heaven knew, they needed it.
“Yay! Nanna and Grandad coming too!” Charlotte and Abi’s jubilant faces beamed with joy. “We can’t wait.”
Chapter Two
They’d finished their Christmas dinner, including seconds, overfilled on fig pudding and trifle and were contemplating playing a board game in an effort to keep from snoozing and missing any of this wonderful day when there was another knock at the door.
“I’ll go,” Matthew declared, struggling to haul his Christmas stodged bulk from the winged chair where he’d settled with another brandy (he’d lost count of how many—well it seemed a shame for the pudding to get some and not him!) Sitting on top of this morning’s Bucks Fizz and the wine with Christmas dinner, it was an intoxicating concoction.
Shuffling down the long wide hallway, the black and red tiles chequering the floor made Matthew feel like a giddy draught piece advancing for victory. Heaving open the heavy door shutting his perfect world away from the cold outside, he squinted at the figure in his porch.
Hunched over his well weathered cane stood elderly neighbour, Tom.
“Everything okay?” Matthew’s tipsy mind managed to inquire with genuine concern.
“Sorry to intrude, only… I’ve bought a little something for Abigail, if that’s okay?”
Nodding vigorously, Matthew promptly ushered him inside, at the same time uttering incoherent assurances that there really was no need and he shouldn’t have been so generous.
“I know, but what with everything your lovely family has been through. I’m just so pleased you’ve come through the other side.”
“Thanksh, Tom,” he slurred, giving his arm a gentle pat.
Abi and Charlotte were about to give an impromptu ‘show’ with some brand new puppets Charlotte had brought with her when Matthew arrived with their new guest, so Tom was even more gratefully received by the adults than his welcome presence might otherwise warrant.
“Sit down, sit down, Tom,” Matthew’s dad implored. “Can I get you anything?”
Whilst the brandy gave its warming glow to the new guest, Abi gingerly took the present the old man held out for her. Tearing at the pretty paper, her eyes shone.
“Oh, wow! It’s a Furby! I’ve always wanted one of these. Thank you so much, Mr King!” And with that, she planted a big kiss on his cheek, red with thread-veins feathering warmth to his rugged old face. Wrenching it from its packaging, she struggled to hide her disappointment as ‘Furby’ failed to perform.
“Oh, sorry, Abigail. I think his batteries might be flat,” he said, and turning to the adults, he added, “I have had it in my house for quite a while. I’ve been desperate to give it to her since she came home.”
Abigail flushed with embarrassed guilt. She hadn’t wanted to make this lovely man feel bad.
“It’s okay, Mr King. I can still cuddle him, and we can get some new batteries tomorrow,” Abi kindly reassured.
But Tom King didn’t want her to wait and was already putting his brandy down and shuffling forward in his seat.
“What are you doing, Tom?”
“She deserves her present to work,” his voice cracked. “I’ll go and buy batteries now. There must be somewhere open.”
“No, no. Don’t be silly. It’s freezing out there,” Mandy looked horrified, glancing across at her brother to do something. Matthew stuttered some ill-thought excuses why he should stay where he was, but Tom was almost standing now, and with moist eyes he declared once more. “No. She’s waited long enough, little angel. I’ll go now.”
Debbie leaped to stop him. Patting his hand, she said, “Matthew will go and get some batteries, won’t you, Matt?” And despite the not-so-gentle inebriation, Matthew said yes.
Struggling with the buttons on his duffle jacket, he called back in response to Debbie’s hollered instructions to get milk and cat food, “Okay, see you soon,”
He didn’t know just how wrong he was.
Chapter Three
Turning up his collar, Matthew clutched his coat around him and tightened his scarf (a gift from Abi). Slipping on ice already forming on the gentle incline of the drive, he steadied himself against Mandy’s car.
The pause gave him the opportunity to admire the view. When they had moved into their impressive sandstone mansion-esque house four years ago, Matthew swore he would never tire of the panorama. For two awful years it hadn’t succeeded in piercing the gloom the family had lived under. But today, it was like seeing it for the first time as the warm glow of a perfect Christmas combined with the brandy in his veins, parting his lips into a huge grin.
Clifton Suspension Bridge, all lit up, looked like Bristol’s own giant Christmas decoration. The Avon Gorge, far below, glistened in the moonlight. Glancing up at the house, their own efforts puffed him with pride. Whilst adorned with plenty of sparkle, and gaining Abi’s child stamp of approval, it was also effortlessly classy—the type of thing you might expect to see on the covers of the finest homes magazines.
Most places would be closed today, Matthew realised, but one of the advantages of Bristol’s multi-cultural society was there’d always be a shop owner not observing the great Christian celebration happy to keep their shop open for the very eventuality Matthew found himself—they probably even had the foresight to order in extra.
A pang of guilt that the particular shop he headed to he’d never been to before pricked his conscience. They were about to help him out in his time of need and he rewarded them by avoiding them at all other times! He should do more to support local business. Maybe it should be a resolution for the New Year.
Many of the houses he passed on his way down the hill dwarfed his own, but that only made him appreciate the affluent area they were privileged to inhabit. He could never ask for more than he had right now, because right now, his life was beyond perfect.
As he gained on the convenience store, the contrast of self-congratulation to what he saw grew his guilt. The shop was mere metres away now, but it wasn’t his non-patronage that troubled him. Slouched in the large porch formed by the corner of the shop cut to form its doorway, sat a dishevelled, pitiful presence.
How does this happen? Is there not somewhere they can go at this time of year? Matthew frowned. Gratitude for his own good fortune squeezed shame from deep within, tugging at a knot formed so long ago he had no notion of its origin.
Slowing his steps, he stared at the figure
. A male, he was sure, although features weren’t visible. Something in the stance as he sat, and the way his green Parka pulled taut over a bony but masculine bulk—something in the utter defeat.
He must be so cold. How can anyone survive in this bitter weather? Pausing at the man’s filthy shoes, Matthew stared down, unseen by eyes in a face covered by the hood of the Parka, the fur trim sticking to itself in filthy tufts framing the despair of the strained line mouth. No movement came from the slouched figure. Matthew had to peer to ascertain if he was even breathing.
“Are you okay?” he asked. It seemed ridiculous. How could he be? “Is there anything you need? Anything I can get for you? Food?” Still no movement. “Are you hungry? You must be starving. Here. Let me help you.”
Matthew’s tipsiness left him a little in the cold evening air, but his clumsy attempt to offer the hand of friendship almost lost his balance when the stranger yanked his own hand away with such ferocity it left Matthew’s heart beating wildly.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He wasn’t sure what he did mean, so he just repeated sorry again. At least he knew the man was alive. Struggling to know what to do, he had a sudden thought and plucked his wallet from the depths of his duffle coat. There were a few coins and a couple of notes. Dithering a moment, he came to a decision that made him smile.
Picking the crisp £50 note carefully from its place in the designated compartment from within its calf-leather confines, Matthew leaned forward, being careful not to appear threatening, and dropped the folded note into the man’s lap.
He made no move to take it.
Suspecting pride may be preventing his gift’s acceptance, Matthew decided that leaving him in peace was the best plan. Stepping past him into the doorway, he turned back briefly before disappearing into the shop. “Merry Christmas to you,” he said.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 1
