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

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Slumping beneath the streetlight, huddling closer, trying to quieten the discord, she distracted herself gazing at the constellations. There weren’t many she knew, so she tried making up names for the dot-to-dot images, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  A worry twinged that it was unusual to be tormented like this in a nightmare. She comforted herself with the tentative notion that she didn’t know if this was normal. She never remembered her dreams in enough detail to decide. Still the fear worried at her, snapping at her intent when it could.

  Hours passed until the wonderful cacophony of the dawn chorus raised a dubious smile. The beautiful, musical shrill of nature lightened the air, and Elin loved what it symbolised—it would soon be morning, and she’d wake up and forget this horrific night. Gratified, believing the sounds must be penetrating her dream from the real world, she hugged her arms, the first glimmer of hope glinting in her pan of despair.

  But all that glisters is not hope. And as dawn broke above row upon row of Swansea’s terraced houses, Elin’s turned to the dust it had always been. The sun rose above the end of the street, and the shadow of the long terrace shrank until it disappeared and bathed her in the first light of dawn.

  With it, a sudden nausea caught her unprepared, she swooned, dizzy and confused. Tingles in her arms and legs made her look down at herself. Gasping in shock, her limbs appeared translucent. The brighter became the sunlight, the dimmer appeared her body.

  When morning broke fully on Rhondda Street, she could scarcely see herself at all. The nausea was too much, and she closed her eyes, a solitary tear tracking down her cheek. Limbs and torso slowly fading, the sensation grew from a visual phenomenon to an increasing numbness. She couldn’t feel her body, and then she couldn’t feel her mind either.

  In the brightness of the morning sun, Elin disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Neil stretched and yawned. He felt like laughing after the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages, certainly this year. He hadn’t realised how stressed he’d been. Even over Christmas it had played on his mind.

  Last night he’d stayed awake and listened intently, just to be sure it was alright. When after a long time he’d heard absolutely nothing that troubled him, he fell soundly asleep.

  He hopped out of bed and skipped down the small hallway to the bathroom. Turning the taps on full, he basked in the hot steam. Immersed in the warm water, he couldn’t resist singing, the moist air aiding his vocal chords.

  Concerns of what his housemates might think of his performance found no foothold on his buoyant mood. Twenty nineteen was going to be a good year, he could feel it.

  Mulling over his year’s goals: doing better with studies, passing his driving test, and maybe, with this new confidence, even find a girlfriend. With a shiver and chatter of teeth, he ran the hot tap again to warm up the tepid water.

  An optimism bubbled through him like he’d never known. Ideas flashed to his mind. He’d ask his driving instructor to put in for his test. Picturing driving around in the little Daewoo dampened his enthusiasm momentarily. But then he imagined better grades, and a good job on the back of them. He’d soon be cruising in a BMW or something.

  He couldn’t quite put a face to the babe who would ride shotgun, so implausible was it even to his bubble soaked thoughts. But there could be a girlfriend one day, couldn’t there? Maybe he’d grow a bit. He’d heard of people growing until they were twenty-one. He could even sort out his bucky teeth.

  He shuddered at the image of himself with train track braces; bits of food repulsing every girl at whom he dared smile. Putting that on the back burner for now, he refocused on passing his driving test. He was sure he could do that.

  The bath temperature was cold again. Watery wrinkles gave the appearance of trench-foot so he hauled himself out. Wrapping his scratchy old towel around himself to drip dry, he decided he might buy some fluffy new ones.

  Student-life reality raised its hand when he glanced at his alarm clock and remembered he’d be back in lectures in a couple of hours. He hadn’t completed all his assignments yet, but with the peace in the house he’d be able to settle down to good work.

  Bronwyn and Aeron made up for lost time apart in bed together. The mood in the house was so different now. They realised that for months they’d been intruders. It wasn’t the smartest house in Swansea, but at least now, it felt like home.

  For Josh, the fear had been intermittent. Acute and terrifying at times, and then quickly forgotten in his immersion into the absorbing world of computer code.

  With headphones on and eyes focussed on one or more of five monitors set up like a virtual reality cylinder, he’d stay awake all night, falling into exhausted sleep at the break of dawn.

  A series of alarms on his computer and phone with complicated maths conundrums to solve were the only way he could wake up to go to lectures. It wasn’t fool proof though. Puzzles which would baffle most mathematicians, Josh could literally do in his sleep.

  He was happy to assume what the others said about peace being restored now was true. When he drifted off at six thirty this morning it may have been better quality sleep, but he wouldn’t know until he woke up again at tea-time.

  Matthew didn’t feel safer. He couldn’t consider whether the poltergeist was really gone. Up until yesterday he hadn’t believed in it. He thought the séance must have created auditory hallucinations due to suggestion. Sylvie’s voice was hypnotic when she was doing her ‘is anybody there?’ nonsense.

  He’d rushed from the house, unwilling in that moment of terror to go back; particularly as he’d have been alone, what with everyone else being so scared.

  But yesterday he saw her. The glasses rattling, her rage filled face, the kitchen door slam, he’d seen it all. And he saw her float right through them, huddled behind Father Jenkins as he ordered her into the light.

  So whether she was gone? He wasn’t about to leave his room to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “What’s happening, Dad?” Alis asked urgently, barging in the door of the family room at ICU.

  “We don’t know. They’ve done all sorts of tests and scans. She’s in a deep coma, but there’s no sign of trauma as they’d suspected. They thought she’d hit her head when she fell in the stream. They still think that’s the probable cause and they’re missing something. They’ll arrange different scans and things.

  “The blood tests showed zilch. White cell count slightly raised, consistent with getting over glandular fever, but nothing to explain this. No drugs.”

  Alis nodded in uncharacteristic silence. “How’s Mum coping?” A look passed between them. No words were needed to express that she wasn’t.

  “I really want to get her home. She hasn’t slept for two days. Just sits by the bed, holding Elin’s hand.”

  “Maybe I could offer to take over. Let her get some rest?”

  Emyr was too choked to speak. He nodded gratefully, glassy eyes belying the agony which threatened to destroy him.

  “Can I see her now, then?” Alis nobly asked. She followed her father from the room and swallowed down a gulp of grief as she watched him fail to hide his anguish.

  Her dad, always in control, brought to his knees by this unknown threat to his eldest daughter, the apple of his eye, Alis accepted. He loved them both equally, but Elin had always been the good one, whereas, Alis knew she’d always been ‘a bit of a handful’.

  He forced a smile onto his face as he pushed open the door to Elin’s room. Glenda’s vacant countenance told all there was to tell about any developments—there were none.

  As recognition of Alis’s arrival surfaced in her awareness, Glenda stood up suddenly and threw her arms around her. Her face creased in despair, her body convulsed in hideous, silent sobs. As she let out a wail, Alis guided her from the room so as not to trouble her sister.

  “What are we going to do?” she managed at last through her throat, raw with emotion.

  Alis, unaccustomed
to being the comforter, always feeling like the baby of the family, didn’t know what to do. Squeezing her mum tight, certain that if Glenda detected her torment she’d stop crying, ready to soothe her in place of herself.

  Tears stung her eyes and a lump of pure emotion strangled her, but somewhere inside her she discerned it was more important for Glenda. If she didn’t express some of the grief she was feeling soon, she’d implode on her own despair.

  As she held tight, her mother’s body racked with grief filled shudders. With every one, Alis’s heart broke a little. Seeing her mum, her best friend and her pillar broken like this was too much. She felt tiny, and so fragile in Alis’s robust embrace.

  She gazed through the window at her sister. Tubes stuck out of her nose and mouth and into her arm just above the wrist. Monitors told their tale of woe as they showed no reason for her sister’s coma.

  “Come on Elin. Wake up,” she breathed, still clutching her mum.

  As the light of day faded in Mount Pleasant, Swansea, Elin re-emerged with a vague awareness of herself, gulping for breath as though from drowning, circling the streetlamp in a whirlpool of hazy illumination. Glancing at her limbs and torso, she gasped seeing their translucency. Fanning outstretched fingers in front of her disbelieving face, turning her hands back and fore, she sighed.

  In reverse of fading away last night, as dusk turned to dark, Elin appeared solid again. So solid, it was unthinkable she couldn’t be seen. But that seemed to be the nature of this peculiar dream.

  Chewing an errant shard of fingernail, she leaned against the lamppost wondering what was happening to her. Why this dream again? She didn’t even remember being awake in between. Whether that struck as unusual she could only guess. But just as before, this seemed so real and not like a dream at all.

  It was boring. Time stood still as she could do nothing but dwell within the confines of the light thrown from the streetlamp. She tried slapping and pinching herself to wake up, but wasn’t surprised when it proved futile.

  Footsteps! Someone was coming towards the house from further down the street. Elin searched her limited horizon. The view beyond the lamp was no more than a blur, but she could tell the footsteps were closing on her. She knew she couldn’t run. There was no point trying. She’d end up facing her attacker in a heap on the ground. Adopting a Kung-Fu type stance, she braced herself for whoever was coming. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  Clip-clop, the clumsy steps advanced ever closer. Something of their awkwardness didn’t sound threatening, but Elin wouldn’t drop her guard. A figure emerged from the darkness. A young man, a couple of years younger than her, tall and scruffy looking.

  Crumpled trousers sporting stains from wiped hands and spilled food hung over scuffed shoes, the heels of which had ripped holes in the hem. An unkempt beard, born more from laziness than a desire for facial hair, collected crumbs and gravy morsels from the pasty he munched clasped in one hand, the other gripping a phone inches from his face so he was in danger of eating them both.

  She recognised him from the house despite being obscured by his constant scrutiny of the small screen, chuckling to himself at its content. Elin’s fear evaporated, the tension slower to disperse.

  “Hello,” she yelled in his face. “Can you help me, please?” The boy walked past her, completely oblivious. Reaching the front door, he fumbled in his pockets as though he couldn’t remember which one held his keys. He found them and proceeded to unlock the door.

  “Help. HELP!” Elin cried out louder. He gave no indication of having heard her. Reengaging with the display on his phone, he entered the house and slammed the door.

  Elin shook. This was too weird. Time passed. She stood. She walked in circles. She floated around the light. Because that was all she could do, apart from think. And she didn’t have a clue what direction thoughts might take.

  More footsteps. Another boy. This one older, more mature looking. She called out to him too, with equal failure to gain a response. As he stepped into the house, Elin noticed him remove ear-buds from his ears, a quick burst of thrash metal emanated to the street.

  Slumped against the lamp post, Elin’s thoughts ricocheted round her head as she tried desperately to piece the clues together. She was stuck here. Stuck within the confines of the lamp glow. And the last time anyone had spoken to her, it had been that bloody priest ordering her into the light.

  I travel in my dreams. Her mother’s words scratched at her psyche like fingernails on a blackboard. Waves of memories crashed over her, too rapid to absorb: Her in the lounge throwing clothes from airers and out of the tumble-drier, angered because they weren’t hers.

  Piles of fetid crockery shoved to the floor with screams of “Stop messing up my house!” She’d been so angry. Keeping the place tidy seemed important and she had no idea why. Tears streaming down her cheeks now, she slapped them away with unsympathetic palms. “Why! I don’t even like the shitty little house!” she sobbed.

  Glenda told her how she moved things and flapped the curtains to scare the new owners of their old family home because she was jealous. She didn’t like Erw Lon. It had been her dad’s plan, not hers. Her attachment to the old place made her go there in her dreams… haunting it.

  That’s what her mum was doing wasn’t it? Certainly if the new owners saw the curtains flapping and whatever else, they’d believe they had a ghost, wouldn’t they?

  And Elin had dreamt about this place for weeks. Not deliberately like her mum, but often. If these memories were true. If she had travelled here somehow in her subconscious, she’d caused a trail of destruction which must have terrified the poor students living there now.

  As her predicament dawned, with her hand covering her gaping mouth, her shoulders shook and giant sobs thrust their way from deep within her. Her brain rushed to her defence. Logic raising its hand to be included. But she knew. The part within her that made choices. The part that knew what she liked and what she didn’t; who she loved, who she was. That part knew. It was true, and she was in terrible danger.

  She hadn’t known it was real, she’d thought it was just a dream. If they’d seen her, they’d had no choice. This is what they would have done; hold a séance and exorcise the house. If this wasn’t just a dream, she really had been commanded here, and she wasn’t about to wake up.

  Recalling the séance with cold clarity now, it was obvious they’d thought they had a ghost. They’d called her Jacqui, and she’d chased them out of the house like a psychotic poltergeist. Of course they’d come back with a priest. Who wouldn’t? There was no Jacqui. She was the ghost.

  Except, she wasn’t a ghost. She wasn’t dead. She was just dreaming.

  She would love a stiff drink to calm her nerves. The notion of what was happening to her was impossible to understand. What was she to do? Constricted thoughts slogged through possibilities, reeling at each dead end.

  Was she merely a dream; the real her getting on with her life? That was too weird. She felt authentic. She couldn’t be just an escaped thought. Or was she stuck in an out of body experience? Her body sleeping while she lingered here?

  She choked back a sob at the awful connotations. Her poor mum and dad, and Alis, would be frantic. Unable to stir her, they’d have called an ambulance. She’d be in hospital, comatose with pipes and beeping machines all around. She shuddered.

  If that was true, what on earth would wake her? She didn’t know if it was even possible to go against the priest’s commands? But she wouldn’t wait around for someone to save her. There had to be something she could do. Getting back inside, back into the house; she was convinced that was key.

  Her eyes sprang wide open at a sudden realisation, a rare positive in an utter catastrophe. Having established this as a dream, what harm could come to her? Maybe to her body miles away. But here, now? Whatever had frightened her about being outside had been part of a different nightmare. No-one could even see her now, let alone hurt her. Just as well, she mustered up a minimal smile, b
ecause if she was imprisoned here until she came up with a plan, it might be a while.

  A sudden recollection of the séance flagged cognition in her mind. With excitement, she concentrated on the memory and was certain. The girl had seen her. Elin knew because she’d nudged the other woman whilst looking right at her. They had both seen her.

  A plan took shape. Two of the housemates had arrived home already. It stood to reason she would join them. And when she did, Elin could get her attention, being careful not to scare her, and then she’d fetch the priest.

  He’d been so adept at trapping her here. His skills would surely extend to reconnecting her with her body, and all this could be over. Convincing the girl had to be her priority. How long might her coma stricken body be available to reclaim?

  She waited, sure she’d come home soon. Resting wearily against the lamp post, excruciating seconds crawled on. The cold of the hard ground meant nothing to her. Interacting with objects in the house had been second nature. Out here the same physicality seemed lost. Just as well. She’d have frozen to death otherwise.

  The hem of her nightdress smoothed between thumb and forefinger provided a distraction from her stake out. Eyes darted up and down the street each time her ears pricked to feminine footsteps, but upon each instance they stopped short, turning into different garden paths and houses.

  Annoyance creased her forehead. Where was she? Why wasn’t she back yet? There was nothing she could do. Nothing but wait and hope her plan would work. But first she needed the bloody girl to show up.

  As is frequently the case in waiting situations, it was when expectation turned to resolution of failure that relief arrived. New footsteps approached closer than others, dispersing softly into the night air.

  Elin hadn’t paid much attention to them until their proximity demanded it. They’d resonated differently. Quieter. Not what she’d anticipated. But as she got close enough Elin recognised her.