Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9)

by Michael Christopher Carter

  It was late. The fire had died sometime in the night, but the living room was still roasting hot by Angharad’s standards. She threw off the blanket she had pulled over her and sat up.

  A terrific headache throbbed all over her skull. It was likely caused by not having drunk enough after her stressful walk in bitter darkness. The heat she was unaccustomed to must have made things worse, she supposed.

  Hurrying over to the terracotta water butt, she filled cup after cup with cold spring water until her thirst was surely quenched, but her headache remained unabated. She fumbled in the cupboard where she kept whatever rudimentary first aid stocks she might have. Just a few grubby looking plasters, and some tablets in a bottle with a worn label, were gleaned.

  Unreadable as it was, Angharad was sure the smudged word didn’t say Paracetamol. A vague recollection of some long forgotten anti-biotics came to mind. She thought she might have brought them with her from Bristol when she’d moved back to Wales. Whatever they were, they were of no use to her pounding head.

  She tut-tutted to herself as she realised she would need to venture out to Glandy Cross stores again for the second time this week. A frequency unprecedented in her self-sufficient life.

  She wouldn’t admit, even to herself, that she was glad to be making the trip. Apprehension gnawed her psyche as she gnawed at her fingernails. Her jitteriness revealed her reluctance to be alone. Dusk would soon fall again and she was petrified that the voices would return with goodness knows what instructions for her tonight. Nightfall was a good way off yet, but her apprehension befuddled her and made her unsure of the time.

  She wondered briefly why the voices only troubled her at what she considered was the same time each night. She couldn’t fathom, but didn’t want to risk being on her own if it happened again.

  The bio-fuelled Skoda was coaxed into life and Angharad drove the winding route to the shop. After parking badly, she rushed inside, eager for company. She only wanted Paracetamol tablets, but felt compelled to kill time by mooching round the shop awhile.

  As she ambled aimlessly up and down the aisles, shock stopped her abruptly in her tracks when she heard something she couldn’t believe. An eerie chill froze her to the spot. She stood trembling, gasping in disbelief when the same voice which had tormented her for days echoed through the store.

  There was something odd this time. It sounded different; unquestionably in the room with her and not in her head. Looking round, there were a couple of other shoppers, and the woman at the till, she recognised as being the usual one, was looking at her, smiling, gesticulating for her to come over.

  Angharad was in no fit state to chit-chat. Before the social situation became too awkward, one of the other customers needed serving and she was free to her own terror once more. Overwhelmed with her emotions, she hid between a stack of tins and a rack of crisps, covered her face in trembling hands and wept. What did it mean? How could she make it stop?

  Then she became aware of something that was too confusing to be a comfort or a torment. She could hear the voice, clearer than ever. But it wasn’t calling ‘Ann’ or talking to her at all!

  “I’ve got a gentleman with me,” the voice was saying. “He’s wearing a blazer, and he’s showing me a dog. A little fluffy dog.” Another voice she hadn’t heard before spoke next. “That sounds like my dad.” And then the first voice again. “Who’s Derek? Is that your dad? I have! I’ve got you dad here with me, sweetheart. Isn’t that fantastic, darling?”

  Angharad tuned out in sheer disbelief. She shook herself to regain her senses and knew the sound must be coming from somewhere. She followed her ears to the source. When she found it, she was more confused than ever.

  The woman at the till was watching television on a small screen under the counter. Moving around on the screen was a rather bulky woman on a stage in a theatre. She was obviously a psychic. Had she just been hearing a television all this time? Giddy with relief, she laughed.

  Respite was short lived as the impossibility of last night’s horrific auditory encounter on the mountain being accounted for by simply hearing a television sunk in.

  Even an unseen fellow hiker listening to the same program the shop assistant was watching now couldn’t provide the answer. Certain she’d been alone all day, someone’s television wouldn’t address her personally, nor react to her movements!

  The voices had definitely spoken directly to her. They had responded to her stepping towards the sunset instantly. They called her name, well her old name anyway. There could be no doubt about it.

  “Hello Angharad,” a voice broke through her deliberations. Jolting, she gasped for breath before she realised it was only the shop assistant and regained her composure enough to appear relatively normal.

  “It’s amazing you coming in tonight,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again this week. You usually only visit us when absolutely necessary, right?” Angharad’s mind struggled to reply. Eventually she half mumbled, “I… er… needed some Paracetamol.”

  The shop assistant carried on, paying little attention to Angharad’s attempt at answering. She hadn’t really wanted to know, she was just keen to show her something.

  “Oh,” she said, attempting an appropriate response before turning the little screen towards Angharad for her to see more clearly. “I wanted you to see this; Medium at Large.”

  Angharad looked on blankly. “She’s the psychic I went to see this week. Remember? You said someone called out for Ann when you were here last?”

  Now she had Angharad’s full attention. “She was calling Ann. When I was there! I tried to tell you but you didn’t hear me.”

  Angharad struggled to cope. She couldn’t join the dots to make a picture that made any sort of sense to her addled brain.

  “Well. This is the woman. She’s brilliant. I’m a bit psychic too, remember?” she blushed at tooting her own trumpet. “People have said I have a bit of a gift, anyway, but this woman, Claire, she’s incredible. So accurate!” she enthused. “Watch this programme. It shows testimonials from some of the people she connected with spirit for. They’re all amazed.”

  Another customer came to the checkout. The small television (actually a tablet computer) was tilted completely towards Angharad to scrutinise while the other customer was served. She watched agog, straining to understand. This was too much.

  Chapter Seven

  “Oooh. Isn’t it pretty!” exclaimed Claire as they wound round twisting mountain roads. They had not long ago negotiated a large lake, and now were immersed in the green dessert of Wales in the heart of the Cambrian Mountains.

  The peaks grew loftier as they travelled north, but it wasn’t the impressive heights that most enthralled Claire.

  “Wos that?” she decried pointing skywards. After a quick glance, Chris could satisfy her curiosity and inform her she was admiring the national bird of Wales, The Red Kite, which after nearing extinction until the mid-nineties, was having something of a renaissance in the region.

  It flew with athletic grace, curling one wing under, enabling it to spiral in complete mastery of the sky. A child-like grin of awe lived permanently on Claire’s face throughout the journey.

  When they crested a hill and came across the ocean in its turquoise majesty, she couldn’t contain her excitement. “This is putting me in just the right mood for a fabulous night tonight, Chris,” she said, bouncing in her seat.

  They pulled into the seaside town and caught a glimpse of the old university on the seafront.

  “It’s the perfect setting!” she declared, “It looks like Hogwart’s!”

  Chris’s squint relaxed. He’d worried this week about his wife and her preoccupation with Ann. Fingers crossed tonight would be a return to her normal unflusterable, consistent brilliance.

  When the other customer left, the shop assistant turned back to Angharad, wondering how she was getting on viewing Claire Voyant’s amazing abilities.

  “That’s the voice! That’s what I’ve
been hearing!” Angharad exclaimed in astonishment.

  The shop assistant didn’t quite grasp what she was getting at. “That’s the psychic I went to see. Do you remember, I told you? There was an Ann she was having trouble connecting with that night. No-one in the theatre knew her either.”

  She did a double-take looking at Angharad. She would’ve taken a step back if she’d not been seated behind the till. The description Claire had given on stage in Newport and its similarity to her strange customer standing before her was suddenly very apparent.

  “You mean, when she was trying to connect with Ann… That was you?” she hissed.

  “Yes. I think that’s the only explanation. I called myself Ann when I worked in Bristol before moving here,” she explained. “I want her to stop. It’s becoming really rather disturbing.” Angharad felt shaky but gratified something finally made some sense to her.

  The shop assistant considered for a moment before speaking again. “If you heard nothing until she started her tour of Wales, then when she leaves Wales again, maybe you won’t hear her anymore,” she suggested helpfully.

  “You may be right,” agreed Angharad. “But I can’t risk it. This woman seems to have decided that I’m…,” she struggled for a palatable word before settling on, “… deceased,” shuddering at the utterance.

  “She’s trying to make me ‘go into the light’. I didn’t used to believe at all in supernatural shenanigans but… Well, it appears I might have been mistaken. In which case, I could be in grave danger from this Claire Voyant’s meddling,” she said seriously. “Who knows how far she’ll go with it, and how successful she may be in getting me to pass over to somewhere I patently shouldn’t be!” The shop assistant nodded in solemn agreement.

  “You need to go and see her then.”

  Angharad gulped, hands fiddling with a loose thread on her jumper, unable to voice a response.

  “I can help you if you like… find where she is I mean. I can’t come with you of course. I have to work.”

  “You mean go and see her now?” Angharad winced.

  “Well you could. You don’t have to, but she won’t be in Wales for long, I don’t suppose. Maybe it would stop when she goes back home. But if it didn’t, you’d have much further to travel to see her.”

  Angharad contemplated for a moment before announcing, “I suppose I’ll have to then, won’t I? If I’m to get any peace. If I don’t, I’ll be in constant fear of being dragged to the other side before my time and against my will.”

  She took a deep calming breath. “How can I find her? Do you know what newspaper it might be in?”

  “Aberystwyth, tonight. Show starts at seven.”

  “How on earth do you know that?” Angharad asked, flabbergasted.

  The shop lady chuckled. “Google” she said. “I just typed in Claire Voyant, and her Welsh tour came up as the top answer.” She tilted the screen towards Angharad again to show her the information. She looked a mixture of impressed and apprehensive.

  “You won’t be able to get tickets, I don’t suppose. But you could probably speak to her after the show.” Angharad looked thoughtful.

  “She’s not going to be anywhere closer to here, is she? I usually go to bed early. If I saw her after the show it would be goodness knows what time when I got back.”

  “Cardiff. Tomorrow,” the assistant answered in a flash. “You could see her before the show then. You could be in bed plenty early that way. But Aberystwyth isn’t further from here, it’s much closer. If you left now your ETA would be…” she consulted Google once more “… just before seven! Fifty three miles. One hour twenty seven minutes. Cardiff is twice as far.”

  An impressed and overwhelmed Angharad weighed her options. A little chat with this Claire Voyant woman might be better done tomorrow, despite the longer journey. It would give her the chance to prepare. Spontaneity had never suited her.

  On the other hand, what if it happened again tonight, and she had to admit, it seemed very likely. Already sure she wouldn’t cope, she was terrified what Claire Voyant might achieve in her attempt to ‘help’ her.

  “I’m going now. To Aberystwyth” she announced decisively. “I’ll need to stay in a Bed and Breakfast or something, I suppose.” Without being asked, the shop assistant presented a list of accommodation including prices and availability. She jotted a few down with phone numbers, and passed them over to Angharad to take with her.

  “Thank you,” she said before adding, genuinely not hinting but merely thinking out loud, “I hope I get back in plenty of time before my animals need feeding.”

  “I could drive past your place on my way here in the morning if you like? If your car’s not there I could feed them for you.”

  Angharad was touched by the girl’s kindness and gladly filled her in on which animals required which food. She thanked her profusely again and headed towards the door.

  “You’re more than welcome. Good luck. And let me know what happens.”

  Angharad nodded and went on her way without any Paracetamol. Fortunately her headache was much better now. Relieved to have a plan, she’d relaxed some of the tension, and some of the headache, away too.

  She hopped into her little car and headed north. Dusk had set in already. Consideration was duly given as to how she might feel if Claire’s voice spoke to her whilst she drove. She believed she’d be okay. The journey was to deal with that particular problem after all. Being sure what she was up against provided more than just comfort. It gave her a battle plan.

  She hated driving in the dark. There had been no official diagnosis of any visual defect but she was sure she had night-blindness. After she drove past the lights of Cardigan town and out further north, she found she became more and more bothered by the lack of illumination.

  The sea to her left and the ever growing presence of mountains beside her to the right confused her treacherously. She would be drawn to the beauty of the view in better light, but in the falling dusk, the mountains loomed, pushing her to the ocean like giant two-penny slots.

  She swerved into the path of other cars once or twice before deciding she had no option but to stop and calm herself down. Her drive had begun in a panic from Glandy Cross stores and she’d become increasingly worked up. A few moments to do some breathing exercises seemed likely beneficial.

  She had to put out of her mind hurrying to catch Claire before she went on stage. If she didn’t, the stress of rushing might mean she wouldn’t make it there at all. Slow and steady would have to suffice.

  Noticing her hands shaking on the steering wheel and putting it down at least in part, to low blood sugar, Angharad thought she may as well take advantage of her time uncoiling to have a bite to eat.

  She pulled into a lay-by near a café, but on further examination it appeared unfortunately to be closed. Remembering there being a few Tupperware tubs containing healthy snacks, and a bottle of mineral water rolling around in the passenger foot well, she hoped they were still edible. Luckily, the muesli bars and parsnip crisps appeared fresh.

  Slowly she ate and sipped before settling into a comfortable position for a brief pause of quiet contemplation.

  That’s when it happened…

  Chapter Eight

  After the usual procedure of checking in to their hotel and unwinding awhile, Claire and Chris made their way to the theatre housed within the old University building Claire had admired on their drive in.

  She decided with Chris to depart in plenty of time to walk along the promenade and pier opposite the venue before the show. Strolling down the seafront arm in arm, the lights shining brightly in the harbour was so idyllic.

  “It’s quite romantic, I suppose,” Chris laughed. She made no response, so he glanced her way and flinched. Something was wrong. “What is it, love?” he asked. She took a moment to answer.

  “It’s Ann. She’s troubled. I’m getting a connection with her but it feels different. Oh! It’s rather peculiar,” she dramatically proclaimed. “It
’s like… She’s moving closer to me. Actually coming to me.”

  Claire was a very experienced medium, so she put on a convincing front of self-assurance. It failed to convince the person who knew her better than anyone though. Chris could tell that she was scared, and that chilled him.

  He juddered, “That felt like someone walking on my grave, you saying that.” She smiled at him, but he could see the fear behind the smile. “What do you think it means then?”

  “I don’t have a clue. That’s what’s bothering me. Something is not quite right with our Ann.”

  “But we sent her to the light last night, didn’t we?” He looked confused.

  “I wasn’t convinced. She went somewhere. I don’t know if it was where she was supposed to. I think the problem is, Chris. She doesn’t know she’s dead! When she finds out, I think she’s gonna come and haunt me.”

  “That’s not scary though is it? I mean you talk to spirit all the time. Ghosts aren’t scary.”

  “It’s on my terms. I’m in control. Ann is not pleased with me.” She considered her thoughts. “I don’t think she could hurt me. I don’t really believe she wants to, but I’ve had some pretty unpleasant experiences, haven’t I?”

  Chris nodded slowly, recalling some of the less rewarding spiritual encounters he’d witnessed over the years. It stood to reason if someone was evil when they were alive, they wouldn’t be the pleasantest soul in death. Claire had remained unscathed, if not a little shaken, by some thoroughly malevolent spirits. Thankfully now, she’d learned methods to keep safe.

  Ann hadn’t seemed like one of those, Chris pondered. His wife was uneasy because she didn’t understand, not really because she was afraid. And she had seemed to relish trying to unravel what it was Ann wanted.

  Perhaps that was the problem. She’d thought Ann had asked her for help into the light, but her not going after all Claire’s hard work meant the mystery wasn’t solved, didn’t it? And suspecting Ann was less than pleased with her was deflating for Claire’s ego. That was enough to explain her disquiet.