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

by Michael Christopher Carter

  “Aww, shit!” exclaimed Jon, the live-in manager, upon his discovery of a pile of vomit which hadn’t quite made it all the way to the Gent’s.

  “Efa!” he called. “I need you to clean up here, please.”

  The young and pretty girl who did the cleaning in the pub at the weekends to help pay her way through a photography degree course almost wretched at the sight. Cleaning wasn’t exactly a calling, and she felt a little delicate after drinking herself silly at the same bar the night before.

  She managed to gulp down her disgust and not add to the mess on the floor as she slopped hot soapy water over it and scraped it up. Afterwards, she continued diligently cleaning, collecting glasses, and mopping floors. She even cleaned the toilets.

  “Come here, Efa” Jon invited. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to her boss.

  “I might have to put a little extra in your wage packet for your dedication!” he encouraged. “And don’t think I failed to notice you adding to the profits here last night. I didn’t expect you in today, or late at the very least. But here you are, bright and on time and doing a fantastic job. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  Efa was pleased about the extra, well-needed money, but she wasn’t sure how much of Jon’s demeanour was gratitude and how much was just smarmy charm. His presence gave her the creeps. She didn’t know why he had joined her in the usually solitary cleaning of the bar.

  He didn’t scare her. She knew she could handle herself if he became a problem, but she didn’t like him. With the pub being so close to her digs and college, she had been grateful to him for giving her the job, but she hoped his creepy company wouldn’t become the norm.

  Jon patted the stool next to him at the bar.

  “I’ve made you a coffee. You look like you could do with it,” he said. Efa debated refusing his invitation, but his interest in her had not been evidenced. It was just a feeling. She decided she had no justifiable grounds to decline. And she could certainly do with the caffeine. She sat at the bar with her boss.

  “There you go,” he said. “You’re becoming quite a valuable fixture here.” She raised her eyebrows whilst simultaneously sipping the hot coffee. “You are very, very pretty, Efa. A very attractive girl.”

  Efa stiffened. This is exactly what she didn’t want to happen. She glugged down her coffee too fast, burning her lips and throat, keen to finish and be away before he said anything else they would both regret.

  “If you ever want some bar work as well as the cleaning, just say the word. I’m sure I could use a pretty barmaid like you.”

  She softened. His comments made more sense in the context of being offered more work. She was calculating whether she could spare the time and what she would do with the extra money when she became aware of his hand on her thigh.

  It took a couple of seconds to come out of her musings and react. She pushed it respectfully away and said, “No. You mustn’t do that.”

  “Aw, come on…” he grinned at her. “What’s wrong with a little fun? You scratch my back…”

  He placed his hand back on her thigh but slightly higher.

  “No!” she said, sterner this time. She shoved his hand purposefully away and jumped down from the barstool. Jon grabbed her wrist and thrust his hand up her skirt.

  “Let’s just have a little fun,” he insisted. Efa swung her arm and smacked him hard around the face. Jon’s fingers pressed into her delicate forearm. “You fucking little cock tease!” he screamed.

  Efa scowled. Opening her mouth, her white teeth parted and drew closer to Jon’s fleshy cheek. Opening wide, her eyes rolled in her head like a white shark as she thrust her mouth forward. Feeling the meat in her mouth, she forced her teeth together. Winding her head, Jon’s screaming made her almost frenzied.

  Yelping, he let go of her arm to clutch his savaged face as Efa spat blood on the floor walking away.

  “You fucking little bitch!” he whimpered, rocking on the spot. Efa had reached the door and was opening it. She wouldn’t let him get away with it. Stepping outside, the muffled cursing of her boss made it out to the street.

  “You’re fired,” he squealed.

  Efa’s steely eyes pierced the closing door as it swung on its hinges. “I don’t think so,” she vowed under her breath.

  No evidence of a rat infestation, or even that any rats had ever been inside number twenty-four, Rhondda Street became apparent. The cleaning efforts had discovered no rodent entry points, or faeces, or signs of nibbling. The only suggestion of their presence remained the fallen crockery, and that was no indication at all by itself.

  No-one bothered commenting upon these facts. They all knew that if the washing up was done and put away, it couldn’t possibly fall over again no matter what the original cause had been.

  The stairs were vacuumed and floors were mopped. The tidying didn’t go so far as to deal with the mess in their rooms. That would be a day or more’s work on its own. So after a tentative start was made on them anyway they decided they’d done enough for today and declared it time to eat.

  Bronwyn cooked soup from everything they had in the fridge she deemed healthy. She served it with toasted, gluten-free bread and everyone enjoyed it. Nothing like physical activity to boost your appetite.

  After a post lunch nap, Aeron jumped up remembering his scheduled pub stint. He showered, changed and bid the rest of the group farewell. It was a short walk to The Railway Tavern. He burst through the door, a smile already in place, and jogged behind the bar.

  “Welcome, welcome, young Aeron” bubbled a pseudo-buoyant Jon. He attempted to hide his left cheek from his staff but the plaster was too obvious to miss. Noticing Aeron’s gaze he pre-empted any question with a quick explanation.

  “I cut myself shaving” he said. Aeron couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the unlikely account. “It’s a bloody cut-throat one,” Jon defended. “Could have been worse,” he added with a wink. Aeron wasn’t that interested, so he happily dropped it. A customer needing serving soon took his attention and he got to work. Jon disappeared out to the back and Aeron, along with another student barman and an older barmaid ran the busy bar.

  He’d miss his wages when he went home for Christmas. Especially with the increased opening hours and double-time he could have earned. Jon said he was welcome back when he returned from his family, which Aeron considered could be soon. He loved them, of course, but he really enjoyed the money and independence here in Swansea.

  If Bronnie would join him, it would be a lovely quiet time together. He daydreamed his way through his shift and the night’s end soon approached. His colleagues beat a hasty exit, leaving him alone with his manager.

  “Do you fancy staying behind and doing a bit of cleaning?” Jon asked. Aeron agreed without question, but Jon explained anyway. “That young girl, Efa? She came in very late this morning, so I had to let her go.”

  Something in the reddening of Jon’s uncovered cheek told Aeron there was more to it than he was being told. Efa had given a good account of herself, he could tell, and he smiled knowingly. Negotiating double-pay, he set to work.

  As the evening turned to midnight, Jon, staggering slightly, re-joined him in the bar just as he was finished and preparing to leave.

  “Stay and have a drink,” Jon slurred, the high pitch to his voice belying an anxiety Aeron didn’t understand. “On the house,” he assured.

  Aeron couldn’t account for Jon’s generosity, apart from his obvious inebriation, but a free drink was a free drink, and he was not about to refuse without a good reason.

  “Okay. Thanks,” he said.

  “What’ll you have?”

  Aeron wanted his freebie, but didn’t want to be nursing a pint for the next half an hour, chatting with this person he was none too fond of. “I’ll have a Penderyn,” he said, testing his boss’s intentions by asking for the expensive Welsh single malt whiskey. When he didn’t bat an eyelid, Aeron tested his cheek further by adding, “make it a double.
”

  Jon smiled, knowing his desperation for company must be all too apparent to his barman. He decided an explanation rather than appearing too weird and creepy would be a good idea.

  “I’m not too keen on being alone here after closing time,” he indicated the room with a wobbly waft of his arm. Aeron feigned interest with a questioning arch of his eyebrow. He didn’t care much, but a reason for his boss’s odd behaviour wouldn’t go amiss.

  “Since about a year from when I started here…” Aeron sipped at the strong liquor, Jon bit his lip, reluctant to continue, but before Aeron’s interest faded completely, he blurted, “It’s haunted.”

  Aeron took another sip, looking less than impressed by this revelation. “In fact,” Jon continued, “You are sitting on the haunted bar-stool.” As soon as the words departed Jon’s lips, a shiver ran down Aeron’s spine.

  Suddenly, the crash of glass smashing on hard floor shattered the previous quiet of the empty pub. The whiskey did little to calm Aeron’s nerve and he struggled not to drop it as Jon turned ashen, the colour dissolved from his face. The broken bottle of Penderyn glugged its contents behind the bar.

  Without stopping to clear up the mess, Jon rushed through the door. Aeron followed, pausing to finish his generous free drink in one shuddersome glug first. When he stepped outside, Jon was leaning against the pub wall, bracing himself against his terror.

  Obviously waiting for Aeron, as soon as he appeared, Jon blurted out, “Can I stay at yours tonight?” Aeron couldn’t hide his reluctant grimace before it had been witnessed.

  “You do have a cushy job here that I’m sure you want to keep,” Jon sneered in a barely concealed threat. Aeron didn’t appreciate those sorts of methods, but his mind after the excitement and rushed double measure strained to find an excuse.

  “Maybe,” he began, “but I gotta tell you…We’ve had our own share of poltergeist activity too.” He surprised himself. It wasn’t true, of course. He’d thought of the perfect excuse. That was all. Jon vomited.

  “Shit,” muttered Aeron. He couldn’t just leave his boss puking in the street. He wracked his brain for some idea of what to do. Before he had the chance to come up with a plan, an ideal solution materialised from nowhere.

  “Are you okay, Jon?” a pretty female tone broke through the retching sound. Aeron recognised Efa standing beside them. She turned towards him.

  “You can go. Don’t worry. I’ll look after him,” she said sweetly. Aeron hesitated, but Efa’s stern assurance left him no choice but to agree.

  Relieved of his burden, he thought to check with his boss that it was an okay plan. He didn’t care, but he thought asking might appear thoughtful. Jon looked up gratefully at Efa. Despite his fear, his loins stirred, and he readily agreed.

  “Of course,” he said, gesturing Aeron on his way. He didn’t need telling twice. As he disappeared around the corner he heard Efa’s soft tones through the darkness. “Come on. Let’s take care of you, shall we?”

  Happy to be off the hook, he walked on to his student digs hoping he wasn’t too late to enjoy some midnight Bronwyn loving.

  When Aeron was well out of sight, Efa made good on her promise. From the alleyway beside the pub a figure appeared. A large, threatening individual with a face that could kill if his massive fists wanted a night off.

  “Jon.” Efa said calmly, gesturing towards the hulking man. “This is my brother, Gareth.”

  Gareth stepped menacingly forward and gripped Jon hard on both shoulders. The force left him gasping for air. The enormous man carried his sister’s abuser to the alleyway he had emerged from moments before. And then, just as Efa had promised, he took care of him.

  Chapter Five

  The peculiar activity causing such anxiety and distress calmed noticeably after the clean-up at number twenty-four. Occasional, strange, unsubstantiated occurrences still bothered them: the curtains flapped when there was no breeze, but maybe it was just a trick of the light. Noises of someone moving around downstairs could be heard with everybody in their rooms. But it could be the cat, or the very tidy, non-defecating rats. And a few things not being left where they’d been put. But that was no reason to be afraid.

  They ignored these signs uneasily, despite there being no logical explanation to satisfy any of them. The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, and they were reluctant to broach the subject and spoil the peace. Soon they’d be home, away from their silly fears.

  Matthew’s parents had already collected him as one of his lecturers was off sick, and he had nothing of any importance to do. Josh was due to hop on a train tomorrow, leaving only Neil, Aeron and Bronwyn who would be gone by the weekend.

  Aeron had a couple more shifts left at The Railway before going home. On his way to help with the Wednesday mid-week rush, he was agitated at the thought of seeing Jon. He hoped he wouldn’t expect him to stay late again. Luck smiled on him last time with Efa turning up at just the right moment, but he doubted such luck would befall him again.

  He reached the pub envisioning an unbearably smug Jon, having enjoyed the attention of pretty Efa for the night, welcoming him with boorish good humour. When, instead, he was met, not by Jon, but by a large imposing man, it was with open-mouthed surprise and gratitude that the fearsome face looking down at him from the man’s great height was smiling. If it had not been pleased to see him, he dreaded to imagine what menace might show on those brutish features.

  Evolutionary instinct made him look away as a sign of submission. But compelled by curiosity, he glanced back to try to make sense of those startling features. The man’s nose hooked alarmingly to one side and seemed to point to an old and deep scar running the entire length of the slab of meat which was his cheek and around to a weirdly deformed cauliflower ear.

  He wished never to meet whoever had given this monster his war wounds. It would have to have been King Kong at the very least.

  The brute offered a hand of such vast proportions he felt as a toddler about to be led across the road. He had a handshake of surprising gentleness, aware as he must be that he could easily crush him, like a bear being kind to a butterfly. He introduced himself as Gareth.

  Efa entered the heaving bar from the rear staff quarters and explained. “This is my brother. He’s agreed to help out while Jon’s recovering. He took quite a turn for the worse last night.” Aeron was shocked and guilty.

  “Sorry,” he uttered. “I shouldn’t have left you to cope with him... I thought he was just a bit drunk, that’s all…sorry,” he said again.

  Efa let out a little laugh. “He’ll be fine. He was just a bit drunk. But maybe a bit more drunk than we realised! He fell and caused himself quite a mischief, mind. Don’t you worry. There was nothing you could have done.”

  Aeron wasn’t sure about that. If he’d been there to carry Jon in, it would have been safer. Efa continued her assurances, hesitant to mention Gareth in case Aeron put two and two together and realised a fall might not be the whole truth. Although, she didn’t imagine him doing anything about it if he did. People did tend not to want to upset her brother. He had a certain Je ne se quoi that was most persuasive.

  Not desperate to feel guilty, Aeron gave up asking before learning something he shouldn’t.

  “We’ve agreed to manage here until he recovers,” gesturing towards herself and Gareth, she added, “I’m sure it won’t be for long.”

  “You must be pleased. Jon said he’d fired you for being late.” Efa smiled.

  “He couldn’t refuse, could he? Not after I took care of him so well.” Aeron shrugged. He supposed it made sense.

  “I’ll be leaving for the Christmas break at the weekend. Probably only for a week. I might be back for New Year. Will I be able to get some shifts?”

  “I’m sure that’ll be fine,” Efa encouraged. “I expect Jon behind the bar again soon. It wasn’t such a bad a fall.”

  The shift proved exceptionally hectic. They talked in bursts whilst working the busy bar which was at least
four deep all night. Closing time seemed a distant prospect, but Aeron didn’t mind. The temporary management were a refreshing change.

  Buzzing and sweating, the bell rang for last orders, and twenty minutes later Gareth ushered out the remaining laggards.

  “I don’t normally stay late,” Aeron said, “I’m bloody knackered!”

  He helped wipe the bar awhile before announcing he must go home to bed.

  “Not worried about the pub’s ghost at all are you?” Efa teased.

  “What? You know about that?” Aeron asked in surprise. Efa nodded. “Jon was petrified about it last night,” he resumed. “A bottle of whiskey slid off the bar and smashed on the floor. He nearly shit! He wanted to come and stay at my house until you turned up!”

  “I reckoned it was a publicity stunt to attract more business,” Efa said with a frown. “I didn’t know he actually believed it!” Brother and sister sniggered.

  “Silly sod!” Gareth’s gravel tone added when he’d finished laughing.

  “I’ll be off then,” re-stated Aeron, not sure what he believed. He headed purposefully towards the door.

  “Seeya, mate,” Gareth called, his deep voice echoing in the empty bar. And then, after a loud thud, he yelled alarmingly, “What the fuck?”

  Aeron turned to look at what had caused the outburst. A barstool, the haunted barstool, was lying on the floor.

  “That bloody thing moved by itself and fell!” exclaimed Gareth. The three of them stared where the barstool lay on the floor.

  “Don’t be daft,” Efa scoffed.

  “That’s the stool Jon was afraid of!” Aeron hissed from behind fingers which had shot to his mouth in disbelief. “He called it ‘the haunted barstool!’”

  The large bulk of Gareth, tense at the unknown threat, gave a chilling poignancy. Efa sighed and shook her head. “You two! It’s just a wonky stool! If it’s prone to falling, that’s obviously why the idiot thinks it’s haunted.” The boys shrugged it off, happy to let Efa’s logic win them over.