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

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Scribbling her signature, she pinned it to the noticeboard in the hallway and headed off to enjoy her shower.

  She heard no-one return to the lounge and toss her things around again because she was under the hot flow of water. Nor did she hear the crash of washing up, smashing once again on the kitchen floor.

  Aeron had been oblivious to most of the goings on. His bar job took up his spare time. When home, he usually locked himself away in his room catching up with his desperately lacking course-work.

  Bronwyn supported her boyfriend by bringing him drinks and snacks and keeping on top of his laundry, so he had little reason to visit the shared areas of the house.

  Today though, he had thoughtfully brought back some kitchen surplus from the bar-food leftovers, and planned to put it away. Hearing Bronwyn’s shower flowing, he called out ‘hi’, but she didn’t answer.

  When he found the mess of scattered clothes, he wondered if they’d had a row he couldn’t remember; that she’d kicked off, chucking her stuff about in a temper. Tutting to himself, he decided to placate her displeasure at whatever he’d done by picking them up and re-folding them.

  He forgot about his food in carrier bags beside the lounge door and went off with Bronwyn’s freshly boy-folded garments to put lovingly on her bed.

  She returned dripping wet, wrapped in just a towel, and was touched that Aeron had been thoughtful enough to bring her clothes in. She called out her thanks, from which he deduced she wasn’t cross with him anymore, and smiled to himself. “Good job!” he said, and raised his hand for a self-high-five.

  He popped his head around the threshold with a boyish grin. Bronwyn’s towel fell seductively to the floor. Aeron stepped inside, closed and bolted the door and the pair prepared to enjoy some closeness. Matthew’s discovery of the chaos in the kitchen ruined that.

  “Oh no! Not again?!” he screeched. “We can’t afford to buy more crockery just because some idle so-and-so’s too lazy to wash up!”

  He was as guilty as anyone else, but the particular plates laying like unhygienic crazy paving on the lino, he was fairly sure were nothing to do with him.

  “This is f’ing ridiculous!” he persisted. “I’m not clearing this up. It’s not my mess. And now I can’t even have a cup of coffee!” He marched into the hallway so that whoever was home and responsible for the mess could hear his ranting and deal with it.

  “Hello? Hellooow!?” he hollered.

  A dishevelled and sweaty Aeron opened Bronwyn’s door and stuck his head out.

  “What’s up, Matthew, mun?” he barked. Intimidated by Aeron’s superior physique, Matthew calmed his tone to a more respectful whine.

  “Someone has left dirty plates again and the cat’s knocked them all over the bloody floor,” he said. Aeron looked thoughtful before replying.

  “Wasn’ me mate. I ate at work.” He turned back into the room. “You leave any washing up, cariad?” he asked, already certain of the answer.

  “No. But while you’re moaning, Matty boy, I’d like to know who threw my clothes out of the tumble drier and chucked them all round the lounge,” she squealed from the bed. “Someone’s having a laugh aren’t they? Well it’s not bloody funny!”

  “I wondered what happened to your clothes,” Aeron commented, but Bronwyn didn’t know it had happened again since her own discovery and clear up.

  “I’ve put up a notice. House Meeting. First thing tomorrow we’re going to put a stop to this nonsense!”

  Matthew had nothing to add apart from his nervous nodding in ready agreement. Aeron closed the door and went back to cheering up his girlfriend. Matthew went out again to buy a coffee, at an expense he could ill afford, from Starbucks. At least it would taste better than the crap they bought from the Cash and Carry.

  Once again, it was left to a cursing Josh to clear up the broken plates when he arrived home. He observed the ‘House Meeting’ notice approvingly and went upstairs for a well-deserved rest.

  Neil arrived shortly afterwards and gratefully noted the tell-tale signs of life within: voices coming from Bronwyn’s room, and the buzz of Josh’s computer vibrating through the wall to the landing. He almost went into the kitchen to attempt to find more food fit for human consumption, but when he saw Bronwyn’s handwriting pinned up, he changed his mind. Something else must have happened.

  Instead, going straight upstairs, he retired to his room, listening out for when he might latch onto someone else’s meal plan. He would probably end up just going to the chippy on the corner.

  After their post lecture naps, the housemates’ all roused themselves for food. Them all being determined to avoid the kitchen entailed leaving the house intermittently to go to the various and plentiful takeaway establishments nearby.

  It all meant that by the time Matthew returned from his Starbucks coffee (and whilst he was there, a slice of cake, and whilst in town he may as well save himself the bother of coming out again by grabbing a burger, or two), he was alone.

  All was quiet. Nothing unusual to report. He didn’t hold with the supernatural explanations Neil had been hinting at. Everything had a logical explanation, even if it was admittedly a little odd.

  The House Meeting tomorrow would hopefully clear things up. He didn’t expect anyone to own up to anything because it was probably down to all of them being a bit thoughtless. A few well-conceived ground rules, and it should be a much nicer place to live.

  He sat in the lounge watching telly, then remembering some washing he’d been trying for days to get done, he got up and checked the machine. It was empty now, and the dryer, so it seemed like the perfect time.

  He brought his laundry basket down from his room in the front corner of the house. He separated the loads of appropriate colour. When he had made several piles of little loads that would take forever to get done, he abandoned laundry protocol and bundled them all into the machine together, taking care only to remove the couple of white things.

  Goodness knows when he’d have enough items to complete a reasonable load of whites. Maybe he could share with someone else, but he hated the idea of his clothes mingling with the others’ pants and stinky socks. He shuddered.

  “Damn!” he exclaimed as the tiny amount of washing powder in the box clung damply to the sides like soapy concrete. “I’m not going out again now,” he declared to the empty space. “At least I’ve bagsied the machine.”

  He ventured back to his room to update his Facebook friends of his annoying laundry experience, and to play his X-box until dawn.

  Saturday morning arrived to a houseful of sleepers. The meeting wouldn’t happen until well after lunch (or breakfast as Josh would insist on calling it, no matter what of time of day. If he lay in bed and didn’t eat until evening, for him it would be breakfast because breakfast is the first meal of the day; even if it’s roast beef.)

  Bronwyn, first up and remembering the washing powder had run out, took some money from the petty cash (that everyone was supposed to contribute to, but she was sure not everyone did). She braced herself against the cold and made her way across the couple of cross-roads to the local convenience store.

  Buying the cheapest washing and fabric softener combination in the shops own brand, she sauntered back to the house. Pausing at her room to collect her basket, she balanced the detergent atop of the dirty clothes. She almost dropped the lot when she entered the kitchen, such was her rage at the sight.

  Someone’s stinky washing (she was sure she recognised that lard-arse Matty’s T-shirts) were tipped all over the lino. She could just picture him finding no powder and chucking the clothes on the floor in a ridiculous sulk. Well, she wasn’t about to go anywhere near his putrid pants.

  Using her basket, she cleared a path to the machine without having to physically touch any of Matthew’s pongy clothes. She would probably wipe it with disinfectant afterwards.

  She placed her dirty washing, and the freshly purchased powder into the machine and set it to wash. This bloody meeting couldn�
��t happen soon enough. Aeron might punch Matthew’s lights out for being such a twat if she didn’t stop him. Maybe she wouldn’t, she smirked.

  Neil hadn’t slept too well. Noises had infiltrated his feather-stuffed fortification. He wasn’t about to suffer the excruciating embarrassment of the bathroom light incident again, so he persuaded himself it was a cat and doubled his pillow protection. Roll on Christmas holidays. Only a week to go now.

  In the calm silence afforded by his bedding, Neil pondered what to expect from the house meeting. Moaning, definitely. And everyone agreeing to whatever rota of chores Bronwyn or Matthew cooked up.

  He wasn’t planning to mention any supernatural explanations, convinced they thought him silly and wouldn’t listen anyway; but more that talking might make it real. He would just sit and listen and agree to everything until it was over.

  Creeping down the stairs to the kitchen, he noticed (he could hardly fail to do otherwise) Matthew’s clothes littering the floor. Ignoring them, and the smell, he grabbed himself a bowl from the shelf.

  It was his turn to go shopping with Josh this week, according to the unofficial but regular arrangement the household had come to. Aeron and Bronwyn would shop one week, and he and Josh the next. Matthew would join either pair every week. It was imperative for him to have his say on food buying.

  Whilst Neil wasn’t as concerned as Matthew, he was no big fan of the healthy eating Quorn and Tofu crap which made up a lot of the food supplies on a Bronwyn shop. She wasn’t vegetarian, but she was obsessed with low fat.

  He also didn’t enjoy her choice of breakfast cereals. Granola and muesli were a boring way to wake up in Neil’s opinion. Give him Coco-Pops or Golden Nuggets any day of the week. That might be worth a mention at the meeting.

  He jumped out of his skin when a loud voice behind him bellowed,

  “Are those your clothes in there, Neil?” a furious Matthew challenged. Neil shook his head and quietly suggested they were probably Bronwyn’s, as she was the only one who wore a pink bra.

  Matthew, ignorant to Neil’s sarcasm, studied the machine more carefully and watched, wondering how to play it, as Bronwyn’s enormous bra tumbled soapily round and round the glass in the washing machine door.

  “Did you see her chuck my clothes on the floor?” Matthew demanded again. Neil shook his head once more. “Well, I’ll have something to say about this at the meeting!”

  “Say about what?” Aeron’s deep voice inquired from the doorway.

  Matthew, careful not to name names said, “Someone’s thrown all my clothes out of the washing machine so they can do their own!” in a far more respectful tone than he’d used towards pint-sized Neil.

  Aeron could see Bronwyn’s bra. He shrugged, suggesting he didn’t know who could have treated Matthew’s clothes this way. The similarity to yesterday’s mess creased his brow.

  He supposed Bronwyn had known about her strewn stuff and throwing Matthew’s around the room was her revenge. Well-deserved, if not a little childish. He’d wait to hear what both of them had to say before taking Bronwyn’s side.

  “Is Josh up yet?” Aeron asked, keen to start the meeting and see Matthew squirm at the accusations.

  “No, but I could wake him,” offered Neil. He was still hungry, having been unable to find a cereal to his taste. After the meeting he could get something he liked.

  “Okay,” said Aeron. “I’ll get Bronnie, and we can start. We’ll all need strong coffees,” he directed at Matthew. “You can make those. Three sugars for me.” He didn’t bother adding please.

  Matthew gathered the eclectic assortment of cups which had survived the washing up attacks, and added instant coffee granules and three sugar’s to all but Neil and Bronwyn’s.

  The housemates, with varying degrees of blurry eyes, sat clutching their hot mugs to them for warmth.

  “Right, let’s begin,” announced Matthew as self-appointed spokesperson.

  “I need time to wake up a bit first,” Josh growled from under heavy hooded eyelids. They all waited, taking occasional sips of their coffees for the best part of half an hour before they noticed that Josh, far from waking up, was falling back to sleep.

  “Wake up! We can’t wait any longer,” Bronwyn shrieked. “There’s stuff we need to sort out.” Josh gulped down the last of the now cold coffee, and slapped himself in the face a few times before announcing he was ready.

  Bronwyn, not Matthew, introduced the agenda; which she deemed only fair as it was her who had called for the meeting. Neil stared down at the floor, unwilling to meet her eye. It was the first time they’d been in the same room since the bathroom incident. His mind searched for words to explain, and to apologise, but Bronwyn spoke before any came.

  “We all know what’s been going on, but I think a re-cap would be in order… I’ll begin. Yesterday, I arrived home to find my clean washing removed from the tumble-dryer in a most disrespectful fashion. I don’t know which one of you boys thinks it’s okay to throw a girls private property around, including some very intimate items of clothing, because it isn’t!”

  “Bang out of order,” Aeron added supportively.

  “Well don’t look at me!” objected Matthew as the entire group looked at him. “I’d never do that! And besides, if you go in the kitchen, you’ll find my clothes all over the floor now.”

  “That’s because you threw them there in a temper when you realised we’d run out of washing powder. I bought more while you were still asleep. I washed my own clothes then—fair enough? I wasn’t going to pick up your pongy pants, was I?” Bronwyn almost shouted.

  “You liar!” Matthew shrieked. “I put my dirty washing in the machine. You must have taken them out to wash yours. It makes perfect sense.”

  “Well I didn’t,” asserted Bronwyn.

  “Liar!”

  “Oi! Watch it, tubby,” Aeron warned.

  “She must be lying,” Matthew protested.

  “Well, I’m not! I never touched your bloody stinkin’ clothes.”

  “Alright, alright,” Aeron placated. “This is getting us nowhere. JOSH! Wake UP!” Josh sat bolt upright and apologised. “What do you think has been going on? If you’ve even been listening?”

  “I have been listening,” an indignant Josh mumbled under his breath. And then a little louder he said “I don’t know what’s been happening to Matt and Bronnie, but twice I’ve had to clear up broken crockery that no-one’s washed up. We all need to chip in and make sure we leave it clean. Or the cat comes in and knocks it over trying to get to scraps of food.”

  “It’s not the cat!” blurted Neil to an awkward silence. Glances of disdain were shared by the others before Josh decided to confess his own fear.

  “The windows were all closed the other night when we got back and found the mess,” he began, before logic fought its way back into his mind and he amended his anxiety, wondering if one of his fellow housemates might be going insane and throwing clothes and plates around.

  “Well, rats then,” suggested Aeron. “Rats can get in anywhere. They don’t need a window open and with all this leftover food…”

  “And I suppose they threw my clothes on the floor too!” Bronwyn added sarcastically, objecting somewhat to the idea of rats in the house. “No. Someone’s playing silly buggers and it’s got to stop,” she concluded.

  Neil suspected he was the only one considering a supernatural cause, and he wasn’t prepared to make a fool of himself arguing his point. Instead, hoping fervently that the others were right, he made another suggestion.

  “Obviously no-one’s going to own up to throwing the clothes. Maybe it was one of us sleep-walking or something,” he submitted sensibly. “But it could easily be rats coming in and knocking the washing-up over. Why don’t we have a really good clear-up today? We can look for signs of entry and block them, and discourage them from entering the house in the first place by keeping it really clean.”

  Everyone agreed. They all hated housework, but they hated rats mo
re. They decided having it spotless for when their respective parents collected them next week for the Christmas holidays would be a nice surprise too.

  Full of relative enthusiasm, they also discussed the shopping arrangements and agreed to separate shelves of the cupboard each, so they could have food to their own taste.

  The others taking up Neil’s suggestions so readily buoyed him to tackle the elephant between him and Bronwyn. For the first time, he looked her in the eye.

  “Sorry about the other night, Bron,” he said in as friendly and confident manner as he could muster. Her eyes flashed with curiosity, shrouded by a frown.

  “What are you on about, Neil?”

  “Turning the lights on when you were in the bath. I didn’t see anything improper. Promise,” he answered with a weak smile.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a dismissive shrug, her scowl sharp enough to cut paper. “I’ve never used that bath! Your bathroom’s a disgusting, piss-reeking mess for starters. And I only ever have showers. Laying in your own filth for an hour getting cold is not for me.”

  “But… I saw you. Well, your hair anyway, when I turned on the lights—just for a second. I thought someone had left the taps running. I didn’t want it to flood through the ceiling into your room or the lounge.”

  They were all silent. A vision of a girl in the bath, combined with the other weirdness was compelling and terrifying.

  “For goodness sake, Neil. You obviously dreamt it all. Don’t bring your wet dreams of Bronwyn in the bath—pardon the pun—to this meeting and bother the rest of us with your nonsense,” Matthew harangued unkindly.

  Despite the unfair rebuke, Neil grasped onto the rational description. It must have been a dream. It was the only explanation which gave any comfort.

  Chapter Four

  The morning cleaning regime occurred elsewhere too. The Railway Tavern was getting its usual pre-opening-time spit and polish. They would open late today after a rowdy Friday night.