Beneath the covers, her muscle tone had suffered. The nurses manoeuvred her limbs regularly to maintain some of her strength. Something about her face, perhaps that it never moved, belied the fact she was not simply asleep. But none of that detracted from her exquisite beauty. A sleeping beauty. Oh, for a handsome prince to wake her with a kiss.
A few miles west, a not so handsome, vertically challenged, definitely non-royal nerd was restless.
The group of housemates returned late having cancelled a planned long weekend camping trip to the lakes of the Elan Valley. Eager for peaceful long walks and campfire singing, they’d abandoned the idea after forecasts of storms, and instead set up camp in the snug at The Railway Tavern.
When they stumbled back after midnight much the worse for wear, they staggered noisily to bed. Loud snores reverberating through the house attested to their slumber.
Neil had fallen asleep before his head touched the pillow but something bothered him. Shaking from side to side he mumbled under his breath, “no, no, no.”
A loud crack he wasn’t sure hadn’t been part of a dream, woke him with a start. He sat up in what should have been the darkness of his bedroom, but in his insobriety, he’d forgotten to switch off the light.
Sitting blinking in the harsh glow emitting from the ceiling, breathless and a touch confused, he debated his options. Now he was aware the light was on, he knew he’d struggle to get back to sleep. At the same time, the idea of getting out of bed and walking the chasm-like few feet to the switch somehow terrified him.
Apart from the thumping in his chest, another noise, equally subtle and equally compelling dented at his wellbeing. His heart attempted to drown out the noise with its hammering response.
Neil shifted reluctantly from the bed. With quivering fingers on the handle, he prepared himself for what he might see when he opened the door. With a sudden rush of movement, he flung it open as though revealing his presence to whomever was there would scare them away.
No-one was there on the landing to scare away. Neil stood, breathing hard. His ears had deceived him in identifying the sound as coming from outside his room. Now he was here, he could tell the source was further up the landing, he suspected from Matthew’s room. A scraping, tapping sound he couldn’t identify.
“Shit,” he exclaimed, clenching his fist into a tight ball. If it was coming from Matthew’s room, why wasn’t Josh on the landing with him? His room was much closer to the noise.
He knocked on Josh’s door a couple of times before remembering that Josh, another all-night gamer would often fall asleep with his surround sound headphones cushioned against his ears. Music, and Halo gun fire, likely blocked out the strange disturbance.
Positive now that the sound was coming from under Matthew’s door, rats was his first thought. There had been a lot of food waste. But surely they would leave other signs throughout the house?
He hoped the door wasn’t locked. Matthew’s dad would’ve had no reason to lock it unless there was still stuff worth keeping. Neil grabbed the handle. He wasn’t frightened of rats. Spiders and moths were his phobias, but the lateness and the uncertainty of exactly what he’d encounter made him nervous.
Turning the handle revealed it was unlocked. Before pushing it open, he stepped back in case a large population were keen to bolt from the room as soon as the door opened. He pushed it lightly with his foot. It swung on its hinges and came to rest almost fully ajar. Neil could see inside. No scurrying little bodies rushed him. The room looked empty.
The scratching, tapping noise continued. It was interspersed with moments of silence and then tap-tapping again. With the door open, he could hear the sound more clearly. It sounded like wood tapping on glass. When he stepped carefully into the room, he realised it wasn’t coming from the room, but outside, tapping on the window.
Neil pictured the front of the house. He puzzled at there being no trees close by, yet it sounded like the branch of a tree was drumming the window. He walked across the empty room, his slippered feet echoing eerily.
When he reached the window and took hold of the curtains, he felt sure he knew what he was about to see: he would be reminded of a forgotten branch and could decide what needed doing about it. But drawing back the curtains, what he did see froze him to the spot in terror.
Chapter Thirty-four
He was there fleetingly, and she was positive he’d seen her. She couldn’t afford to let another one go so she tapped again on the glass, trying to be gentle, trying to sound friendly; difficult, given she had to hurtle at the house just to reach it.
It was most unfortunate that it was whilst moving at speed towards the window, brandishing a stick, the curtains opened once more. Elin tried to slow down. Forcing a smile, determined to appear angelic and not-at-all scary. He’d be more inclined to help her then.
His goofy face, drained of any colour, gawped at her through the glass, bulging eyes fit to pop, drinking in the spectacle of her. She did her best to smile sweetly, the stick hidden at her side, but it was too late. His terror was undeniable.
Neil wished he could go back in time so he hadn’t seen the faint yet unmistakable form of the girl inexplicably hovering metres above the street outside the window. His mouth opened, jaw on his chest, but no sound came out. Stumbling backwards, he had to get away, and then she was gone, hurtling away from him fast as lightning.
The curtains still in his hands, strength sapped from his grip, he struggled to draw them closed. Clinging to the fabric in clammy, trembling palms, he tugged, desperately holding them shut, praying it would all go away, that he’d somehow mistaken what he’d seen.
His mind clumped through his thoughts searching for sense. Shaking his head in disbelief and mumbling over and over. “Why? Why is she back?” He had to look again. He had to be sure.
Struggling to tighten his grip on the curtains, with a gulp, he tentatively jerked them aside. Peering out, already flinching at the prospect, a bubble of relief escaped as a nervous peal of laughter when he was greeted by nothing but darkness penetrated only by the yellowish glow of the streetlamp.
But then from a distance, the faint figure of the girl tore towards him. He heard himself cry out as he lurched backwards, but he couldn’t wrench his gaze from the window. Closer and closer she moved until she was mere feet away.
Appearing not wholly there, more as though through the crystal water at the bottom of a clear pool, her long blonde hair floating out in an unearthly mane. She gazed directly at him.
The blood that rushed to his brain to help him form a plan for survival now diverted to his icy limbs to run away. Heat in his head drained rapidly like a plunged cafetiere, tiny morsels of courage swimming in the murky waters of his mind. The sudden change left him dizzy, and then he fainted.
He fell to the floor, slowed by his grasp of the curtains which eventually gave way, snapping the plastic hooks and showering them over the floorboards like bouncing plastic hail stones. As his head thumped on the ground, he couldn’t be certain, but he thought she smiled at him.
“Neil? What are you doing? Are you all right?”
Josh stood over him. It was morning and he was still lying on the floor of Matthew’s old room, covered by a blanket of curtains. The memory of last night hit him like a fist in the face. He blinked away the shock and jumped up, surprising himself with his energy as adrenaline surged through his veins.
“Josh, did you hear anything last night?” Neil demanded. But he hadn’t, and having established Neil was okay, was already walking from the room tapping away at his smart phone. There was no point forcing him. Josh talked lucidly about computer coding, but little else.
Arriving downstairs, Bronwyn was sitting down to a breakfast that wouldn’t look out of place in a hamster’s cage. Neil sat beside her, not knowing how to broach the subject of last night’s apparition.
“You want something, Neil?” she asked, chewing the robust mouthful.
“I saw the ghost last night.”
Bronwyn put h
er spoon down and looked straight at him. “Where?”
“I was woken up by a scratching, tapping noise. Tracing it to Matthew’s room, I expected to see rats. But when I went in, it was empty. The sound was coming from outside.”
Bronwyn gazed at her granola, wondering if Neil was about to say anything that would justify letting it go soggy. She paused briefly, but when he described the floating figure tapping the window, and then how Josh had discovered him this morning, it all struck her as ridiculous. So different to what happened before it didn’t make any sense.
“Oh, stop it, Neil!” she said. “We’ve been having such a good time these past weeks.” When she saw his dejected face, she tried to be more tactful. “You did have a lot to drink last night. You most probably sleepwalked, is it?” Neil smiled. He knew he hadn’t but there was no getting through to Bronnie if she wouldn’t listen.
“Maybe,” he agreed noncommittally. Bronwyn pushed her chair back with a flourish, stuffing the last of her cereal in her mouth as she did. She rinsed her bowl and put it away before returning to the living room, giving Neil an affectionate pat on the shoulder on her way to her room.
Neil had little appetite. Recognising the futility of involving Aeron now Bronwyn had spoken, he knew he had to face up to whatever he was to do about their ghost alone.
Chapter Thirty-five
Alis hugged a plastic cup of hot chocolate to her as she sat with her mother beside Elin’s bed. She hadn’t been back to Erw Lon and there were no plans to either. They hadn’t said, but they’d each accepted that if this was the last weekend they’d be able to look upon Elin alive, albeit asleep, they wanted to be here for every minute of it.
When she’d seen her mum she’d tried to encourage her to go home and get some rest. She knew she wouldn’t, but the sight of her was shocking. Emyr still looked terrible, not just his waif-like, dishevelled demeanour, but everything he did was laboured and painful to witness.
Collecting plastic cups containing cold, discarded coffee from the wheeled table near Elin’s bed, even appearing busy, his troubles were obvious. He moved in slow-motion and struggled to understand the mechanism of the pedal bin, even though he’d used it dozens of times.
He pressed and fumbled around the top of the bin, peering down each side for a clue as to its operation.
“Step on the bar, Dad,” Alis was forced to instruct him. He offered a weak smile in gratitude, the corners of his mouth barely turning up in his chalky features.
Slate eyes suggested he’d prefer to remain lost deciphering the bin lid. Free of his litter load, he had no distraction from the gaping gulch of despair upon which he was teetering.
Glenda hadn’t the presence of mind for anything as mundane as the removal of her rubbish. Her hand never left Elin’s. She stroked it continually, slowly back and fore, up and down and sometimes in circles as if she were about to sing ‘round and round the garden.’ Emyr fiddled with a pen, spiralling it in his fingers and flicking the button ‘on’ and ‘off’ with every turn.
Even Alis had aged five years since stepping from the train. Elin looked unchanged, peaceful and unaware. The only small mercy. All the suffering was theirs and not hers.
Their consciousness caught up with their mindless actions and they paused briefly, each determined not to show their distress in front of Elin, until mindfulness became more than they could cope with and they returned to their fidgeting once again.
A tacit signal between them shook them from their silence. Micro glances of unbearable emotion prompted them to talk, for Elin’s sake. Speaking in mock, cheerful tones, they implored her to recognise the importance of what was planned for Monday; how she must wake up and breathe for herself when the doctors switched off her life support system.
Talking hurt. They persevered, like holding a hand over a flame. When they could endure no more, they committed to force themselves later. No response came from Elin. Not a smile, not a twitch, nothing. She lay serenely, silently.
She was never going to wake up, was she? They would lose her forever in just three days, they were certain of it. Emotions were swallowed down with the taste and weight of lead. They had to hope. Until it became too late, they must. So they clenched their fists and hunkered down behind the hero which hope might yet prove to be. Their only faint glimmer; that she could hear them, and she would listen.
Neil could think of nothing else but the girl at the window. The good times they’d had for weeks couldn’t continue with her outside. Not just because it was terrifying, but because, there had to be a reason. He’d seen this sort of thing in films. They haunted because there was something they needed doing, or something they needed to be known. The ghost couldn’t leave until whatever it was had been done.
Neil knew he’d not rest until he’d helped her. He blushed, hoping he wasn’t being influenced by her astonishing beauty. He’d have to be careful not to gush. People might suspect he fancied her! Which of course, he didn’t. That would be ridiculous.
He’d been disappointed at Josh and Bronwyn’s response but he’d thought of someone else who might react differently. His phone in his hand, he dialled the number. It wasn’t long before someone answered.
“Is Matthew there, please?”
“Hold on. I’ll get him.” The person Neil assumed to be Matthew’s mum could be heard clattering. A distant call to come to the phone was followed by a further off response of ‘who is it?’ echoing in the background. Then footsteps and the clump of the handset being picked up.
Neil could almost feel the warmth of heavy breathing in his ear, the effort of walking to get the phone taking its toll on Matthew’s bulk.
“Yeah?” his miserable voice inquired.
“Matthew? It’s Neil. I know why you left in such a hurry.” The tension could be heard in the sharp intake of air. Neil came clean straight away, not wanting to risk his only ally hanging up. “Matthew? I’ve seen her too!”
Chapter Thirty-six
Silence was Matthew’s response, but something in the hush, even over the distance of a phone call, told Neil he’d struck a nerve.
“Matthew, I know you saw her. Tapping on the window, the ghost girl, Elin.” Still quiet. “Listen, the others don’t believe me, but I think she needs help.”
“Count me out. I can’t help, I can’t!”
“So you admit you saw her, then. Good. How about I come over to you. I can drive now. We could grab something to eat somewhere,” he said, hoping to tempt his former housemate’s appetite, and then added, “my treat,” in an effort to clinch the deal.
It worked. They were to meet for a late lunch this afternoon. Luckily, Neil had no lectures today, but he would have been tempted to skip them anyway. Helping Elin had become his priority. There’d be no way he’d settle into his uni work knowing she was there. Who could?
Perhaps speaking to Auntie Sylvie or even Father Jenkins might be a better idea. But apart from his own credibility being questionable, they’d probably take it as an unwelcome criticism of their skills and faith
They would surely emulate Bronwyn and be reluctant to believe him, keen to find other explanations, like he was drunk and had sleepwalked. Matthew’s backing was credibility to get help.
It was going to be quite a long drive to the Cotswold Hills, but his camping trips with the others had been good training. After only a few weeks of driving he felt like a pro.
Whilst his dad’s car (and pretty much every car he travelled in other than his little Daewoo) benefitted from Bluetooth to connect to his phone and MP3 player (even Aeron’s jalopy had a multi-change CD player), Neil’s dad had bought as his Christmas present a car so old it boasted a cassette player.
Neil had enjoyed cassettes when he was a kid, his embarrassing parents reminded when he’d shown dismay at the prehistoric technology taking centre stage on his dashboard. His favourite had been ‘The wheels on the bus’ which he’d apparently insisted on playing everywhere they went.
He had purchased from e-ba
y, a device which linked a cassette to his phone’s headphone socket so he could play his music. It was a relief to be alone in the car. The pop music which was his preference seemed to bother his thrash metal-loving housemates in Swansea, so he took advantage of the solitude and cranked the volume up as high as the buzz-prone speakers would allow.
Fate took a hand in Neil’s journey when the musical delight was interrupted by the phone ringing.
“How’re you getting on? Where are you?” Neil’s instinctive reaction was moderate annoyance at Matthew nagging, but soon was immensely grateful when he realised he was heading the wrong way.
“But, I thought you said you lived in Gloucester?” Neil inquired, confused.
“Gloucestershire,” Matthew corrected. “I live in number twelve, Trinder Place, Cirencester, Gloucestershire, you Muppet!” Neil would ask for a sat-nav for his birthday. Fortunately, it was a good half an hour closer than his planned journey. Their late lunch wouldn’t be so late after all.
The Cotswold Hills looked stunning in the bright sunshine. He was surprised to see a sight he’d come to associate more with the Brecon Beacons and other hills in Wales—several red kites wheeling in acrobatic circles in the sky.
He followed the signs from the motorway and found Matthew’s directions were spot on. As soon as he turned into Trinder Place and began scrutinising doors for a number twelve, the familiar figure of his old housemate came out to greet him. Neil pulled over and he hopped in.
“So, lunch on you, my friend. Don’t worry. I know some nice places, not too expensive!”
He was right. The place was lovely. Very quaint, made more so by being overlooked by an enormous gothic church, so large Neil had been amazed wasn’t a Cathedral. The setting amongst the mediaeval architecture looked appropriate to their planned discussion of ghosts.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 53
