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

by Michael Christopher Carter

The streetlights were on as they strolled back to the house. It was dark and getting quite late.

  “If there’s a ghost,” Sylvie declared, “now is the perfect time to make contact.”

  “Put earlier out of your head. I’m sure we’ll get a result now… I can feel it.”

  As soon as they walked through the front door, they could believe it. Something was different. Matthew raised his eyes to heaven. “It’s just psycho-suggestion,” he said under his breath.

  “She’s here,” whispered Sylvie to the expectant bunch. They all made their way excitedly, and more than a little afraid, to the table and resumed their places.

  Sylvie asked for candles to be lit to give the right ambience. They chose some nice red ones left over from Christmas, which Bronwyn had forgotten to take home with her, over the white ones in the cupboard in case of power-cuts. The resultant eerie red glow cast sinister shadows over the walls and people’s faces.

  Their fingers touched as before, and Sylvie talked to the darkness.

  “We, sitting in union around this table, wish to speak to spirit, please,” she began. “Is there anybody here?”

  Bronwyn and Carole winced detecting a distinct drop in temperature. Opening their eyes against instruction from Auntie Sylvie, they caught sight of one another through the gloom. Bronwyn gasped as her eyes strained to focus when she saw her. Carole convinced herself it was the light from the flames playing tricks on her mind. Eyes squeezed shut tighter, they prayed Sylvie was as in control as she appeared.

  “I can feel you here. Please give us a sign and show yourself.” Conspicuously, nothing happened.

  After a pause to make sure nothing would happen, Sylvie spoke again.

  “Jacqui? Is that you Jacqui? We want to help you.”

  CRASH!

  A spider-plant on the window sill tumbled from where it had rested forever and shattered on the floor. Collin would joke later that it had committed suicide, so pitiful did it look.

  The table shook as everyone jumped in unison. They all stared towards the sound of the crash. When Neil saw the broken plant pot on the floor his hands flew to his mouth, but couldn’t conceal the pitiful whimper.

  “It’s okay, Son, it’s okay,” Collin disguised his own terror to sound reassuring.

  “Don’t be afraid, Jacqui. We want to help you!”

  CRASH!!

  The plant’s sorry companion raised up from the sill, and with all eyes welded to it, flew across the room, smashing against the wall near the table. Plant remains floated down, peppering any bare flesh with desert-dry soil. Screams filled the room as the unexpected touch was too much to take.

  Gasping, Bronwyn blurted, “Did you hear that? Oh my God!” Sylvie had heard it too; a disembodied voice hissed, “Not Jacqui!” With a glare from Sylvie, she fought the urge to get up and run and kept the circle intact.

  Josh froze. “We have to stop this. Come on. We must stop this now! I’ve got a really bad feeling. Really bad.” But even he knew they had to carry on. They had to appease this spirit if they were to have any peace.

  Sylvie instructed Bronwyn and Neil flanking her to touch fingers to maintain the circle while she bent over to reach something. Her unruly hair returned from under the table, followed by her hands clutching a Ouija board.

  “All of you, join me in putting a finger on the pointer,” Sylvie instructed in the confident tones of an expert. “Together, we will find out what this spirit wants. Then we can help her find peace.”

  They struggled to get eight fingers onto the Ouija pointer but they did. Sylvie set about asking questions. She began by apologising for any offense caused.

  “We would like to ask your name, please.” It took a moment but then the pointer moved. Gasps all round as it crawled to its first resting place, ‘N’.

  “Did you move that? I swear to God I kept my hand still.” Bronwyn’s query caused appropriate head shaking and nodding. Apparently, none of them were responsible for the movement.

  Relaxing from the hysteria, it was noticed the pointer still rested where it had stopped. Girl’s names beginning with n were rattled off. Nicola, Natasha, Nadine, Nadia… The pointer was off again, rapidly this time.

  ‘O’. Adding o caused a struggle... Nora, Noreen… Skidding across the board, ‘T’. They could think of nothing but the pointer whizzed to its next letter, then the next and the next. Staring, they let the Ouija answer. ‘J’, ‘A’, ‘C’, ‘Q’, ‘U’, ‘I’.

  ‘’Not Jacqui! That’s what I heard her say and now she’s spelling it out!” Bronwyn shot a glance toward Carol “You saw her too, didn’t you?” Carol darted her eyes away.

  “Okay. We know you’re not Jacqui,” Sylvie regained control. “We’re very sorry we suggested that, but a girl called Jacqui was murdered, and we thought you might be her. If you don’t want to tell us your name, can you tell us what it is you want?”

  The Ouija pointer moved quickly. ‘M’, ‘Y’, ‘H’, ‘O’, ‘U’, ‘S’, ‘E’.

  “This is your house? What can we do to help?”

  ‘G’, ‘E’, ‘T’, ‘O’, ‘U’, ‘T’. GET OUT!

  The candles blew out, one by one, leaving the room in darkness.

  ‘Get Out!!!” They all heard it. And they all heard the clattering and crashing as things unseen flew around the room. Crash! Thud! Clang!

  Aeron made it to the light switch and filled the room with fear-reducing brightness. Bronwyn, Carole and Sylvie screamed as they saw her. A blonde girl, effervescent with rage, screaming at them to “get out! Get out of her house!”

  She was there, but she wasn’t entirely palpable. The boys seemed unable to see her at all. They all saw what she did next, though. As cupboard doors flew open and slammed shut, their contents spilled chaotically to the floor.

  When the chairs fell over, they hadn’t been pushed by the blonde apparition, but by the group scrambling to get out of the room. Tripping over one another, chivalry was barely observed as they fell through the front door Collin was the last to leave, slamming the door behind him.

  Shivering under the street lamp at the end of the path, they stared in disbelief at the house. Bronwyn cwtched into Aeron’s thick chest, her sobbing still clearly heard. Neil gulped down a lump, the pressure spilling from his eyes. Batting tears away with his palms, he shook his head. “What was that?”

  “What are we going to do?” cried Bronwyn from her place wrapped around Aeron’s neck. “What are we gonna do?” she hid her face again and sobbed.

  Everyone, including Collin, looked to their expert for guidance. Shaking her head, she gave the only appropriate guidance she could think of. Ashen faced, she proclaimed, “I think we need a priest.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The week between Christmas and New Year was one of tentative family walks. Tiny to start with but growing to a feeble, but reasonable under the circumstances, mile. Elin was thrilled, but not as much as the rest of her family.

  “You’re doing so well, Elin bach!” declared Emyr. “I haven’t seen you looking so bright in ages!”

  Elin’s shapely lips curved endearingly, revealing her perfect white smile. She loved the crisp winter air, and the mountains covered in frost. The journey ventured barely beyond the boundary of Erw Lon, but the scenery was spectacular, and despite having lived here for months, all new to Elin.

  The first word of concern came from Glenda, who didn’t want her precious daughter overdoing things before she properly recovered. ‘You don’t want a relapse, do you?’ Elin didn’t, of course, but she had the sneaking suspicion her mum was reluctant, albeit probably subconsciously, for her to leave her alone at Erw Lon.

  The plan had always been that as soon as she was well enough, she would find a job, and her own place to live. She did her best to sensitively reassure her mum she wasn’t overdoing it and that she felt fine.

  Nightmares of her old house had decreased again and sleep was surprisingly refreshing. Twenty nineteen was seen in without suffering too badly fr
om the late night. Her recovery seemed assured.

  She put her peace of mind down to having told Glenda of her fears. Bottling it up must have caused distress within her she hadn’t even realised. It was such a relief to sleep and not give thought to where her unconscious mind would transport her.

  Her relief would be short lived; the week long reprieve, the only peace she would know for a very long time.

  It began with Alis due to go back to Bristol. She had snuffled into the lounge, wrapped in a duvet.

  “I don’ ting I be abol to go bag toborrow,” she snuffled. It was the first time her speech had been effected by the cold she had forewarned them of for a few days and was suspiciously affected.

  Glenda suppressed a smile, but a look of amusement at Alis’s transparency escaped. Elin reciprocated. It may have been a reluctance to go back to Uni, but more likely, jealousy at the attention Elin had received for months. Seeing her sister recovering must have seemed like the ideal opportunity to take her rightful place as the baby of the family.

  They were secretly pleased to have her around for a bit longer. And Glenda’s attention being shared would give Elin some much needed space. Her vivacity was a marvellous distraction from the unease the other Treharne women felt in the old Victorian house.

  Whether it was recognising Alis’s positive influence and the realisation she was soon to leave them again, Elin didn’t know, but her nightmares of Rhondda Street, Swansea, began to take a very different and disturbing direction.

  Elin was exhausted. The almost daily walks draining her recuperating body. She decided when her chin fell from its resting place propped on her up-turned palm, she should go to bed.

  “Are you okay, cariad?” Glenda asked with moderate concern, pleased she was being sensible and resting.

  “Yeah. Just really tired, that’s all.” She kissed her mum and dad goodnight. When she got to Alis she was fended off.

  “Don’t come near me! You don’t want to catch my awful cold and make yourself worse!”

  Elin obliged, suspecting it was a reminder that she was feeling poorly too.

  Reaching the hallway, she was surprised to observe the oppressive atmosphere again. Too tired to heed a meaning, and doubtful there was one, she hauled herself up the long creaky wooden staircase to her room.

  The night’s chill made her shiver. She hadn’t warmed up since the walk earlier. Selecting a thick flannel nightie from the drawer, she would soon get cosy under her duvet. Before she decided if she was warm enough, she fell sound asleep.

  If anyone were to peep in on her, they would have seen the epitome of fitful sleep. Legs kicking, arms flailing the duvet entangled around her. Eyelids moved rapidly, whilst inside Elin’s unconscious mind, a dream was forming that would quickly become a nightmare.

  In the street so familiar. The street where she had lived for three years of student life, something was different. Scrutinising her surroundings, trying to decipher what had changed, it soon became obvious. Her vision wasn’t in colour. Everything appeared in grey scale. Everything that is, except number twenty-four.

  Not only was her old house in colour, it effervesced. A compulsion to go inside the glowing entrance fought with intense anxiety. She was aware of her heart beating rapidly. The hairs standing proud on top of her head allowed sweat to trickle down her face and into her eyes.

  She couldn’t wait out here. It wasn’t safe. She had to get inside the house, even though it terrified her. Stepping toward it in trepidation, she was overcome by nausea. Laboured steps moved her ever closer when something spurred within her and she knew the house was safe.

  Looking with fresh eyes, she was certain the threat was coming for her. Inside, she would find sanctuary, protection from the danger she was convinced she knew, but couldn’t remember.

  She made it to the streetlamp she always used as a landmark in the row of similar looking houses. Walking up the uneven concrete steps to the faded red front door, more pink than red now in its weathered disrepair.

  Her eyes darted to every corner of the black and white street, expecting someone or something to pounce on her at any second. Trembling fingers fumbled in her usual pocket for her door key. The disbelief as it wasn’t there turned her adrenaline to perilous levels.

  With heart pounding, she rooted around in other pockets in the inside of a large coat she was sure she hadn’t been wearing a moment before. Her fingers touched something cold. Grasping the key from its hiding place, she thrust the find into the lock.

  At first she blamed her trembling hand, but she was forced to concede the lock wouldn’t accept her key. Forcing it, finally it thrust home, but then it wouldn’t turn. Her mind whirred, trying to understand. Somehow, the object she held in her hand, so familiar with her little Perestroika Doll key-ring, was the wrong key.

  The threat was closer now. She still didn’t know what she expected, but she knew it was coming. Banging frantically on the door. Bang, bang, bang. Over and over. She didn’t know if she could be heard or if anyone was in.

  Desperate to call out, her open mouth was useless. She couldn’t recall any of her housemate’s names. Standing with her quivering hand on the useless key, her floundering lips trying to form words that just wouldn’t come. “Help! Help me, please, somebody!”

  In her bewilderment, the menace gained ground. She screamed at a tugging on her nightdress (she now wore instead of the heavy coat). Kicking out in defence, terrified of the unseen foe, plummeting forward through the open front door, it slammed behind her and she was plunged into darkness.

  She couldn’t see where she was but the odour was familiar. Not a pleasant smell, but it made her feel safe. Feeling lino beneath her hands, she realised she was crouched on the floor of the lounge of number twenty-four. Feeling around in the dark for the leather sofa, she heaved herself to her feet.

  Quietening her hard breathing, she stood in the middle of the floor and listened. Able to hold her breath no longer, the hiss as her lungs gasping for air filled her ears made it impossible to be sure she was alone, but she felt she was.

  She made a conscious effort to calm herself now she was safely ensconced in the lounge and decided to make her way to the wall to find the light switch. But in addition to illuminating the room, flicking the switch had the effect of restoring Elin’s terror.

  Apparently in reaction to the light, or to the noise of the switch being pressed, someone or something was coming. Elin froze to the spot. Who was it? What would they do to her?

  A whimper poised in her throat to be expelled whenever her instinct for safety would permit. The door to the lounge swung open. Elin timed the creaking perfectly with the sound of her own retreat to the kitchen, either through instinct or her familiarity with every squeak and groan of the old building.

  Hidden in the darkness of the kitchen, she struggled to stifle her breathing. Eyes creased with the strain let out a tear. The unmistakable sound of footsteps tip-tapped across the lino floor. The lightness of step was a relief. It wasn’t what she had expected.

  Not willing to take her safety for granted, peering cautiously into the bright lounge from the darkness, confident she wouldn’t be seen, but not so sure she wouldn’t be heard.

  Easing herself slowly to the doorjamb, she leaned until the angle she stood provided a glimpse into the room beyond. The room was empty. Taking a tentative step to re-enter the lounge, a hand reached in from the hallway and turned the light off.

  The gasp escaped her mouth before her caution reigned it in. The light came back on instantly, leaving her exposed in the silhouette of the kitchen doorway. Frozen to the spot, Elin had no choice but to face her fear head on. She looked brazenly ahead, ready to take on whatever was about to befall her.

  Across the room, and looking right at her, stood a girl.

  Elin woke up screaming in her cold bed at Erw Lon. She fumbled with the switch for her bedside light. The button, some way down the electric cable, was at a distance so familiar she could turn the light on a
nd off with her eyes closed, and frequently did. Now, in her panic she bungled the operation, knocking the lamp from its resting place to the wooden floorboards. The bulb forced a way through the lampshade and make contact with the hard surface, shattering into a million pieces.

  “Shit!” she cursed herself. Swinging her legs reluctantly and carefully out of the bed, she hovered her feet above the floor.

  Lowering her bare feet ever so slowly, feeling tentatively for broken glass. She found a patch she was sure was clear, but when she put her weight onto it, a sharp piece of the shattered bulb pierced her skin painfully.

  “Shit, Shit, Shit!”

  Hopping away from the bed in a giant leap, she hopped far enough to clear any more broken glass. Her blind estimate proved correct and she managed to stumble-hop to the door where she knew she would be able to locate the light switch.

  With the room lit, and pain of her foot, she was back to reality with a sobering jolt. She sat on the floor and squeezed at where blood wept from the sharp little wound. A tiny splinter of glass came out onto her finger. She carefully wiped the shard on the chest of drawers. She knew it wasn’t sensible, and there was every chance it would end up back in her foot if it blew onto the floor.

  She was willing to do no more at whatever time it was. Vacuuming would risk waking the rest of the house. And the hoover was downstairs anyway. She lay a spare blanket over the remaining breakage and prepared to go back to sleep.

  A knock at her door made her jump. Before she thought to answer, Emyr popped his head round the door.

  “You okay? I heard a crash,” he asked.

  “What time is it?” Elin asked, surprised to see her dad. Emyr consulted his chunky, fashionable watch (a Christmas present from Alis in an attempt to ‘drag Dad into the twenty first century’).

  “‘Bout ten,” he announced.

  “Is that all?” Elin said with a frown before answering her dad’s concern. “I’m fine. I had a stupid nightmare, that’s all. I woke up and knocked the light over. Sorry, Dad. It smashed,” she said apologetically.