“I told you. Bottles and glasses smashed regularly for a while. He thought he had a ghost too. But I reckon he was just having a break-down or something. He went weird for a while… weirder. You must remember. It happened about the same time we had our strange goings on.”
Bronwyn sat up, a sudden alertness to her features.
“About the same time, or the same time?”
Aeron frowned in puzzlement and took another sip of his beer.
“Why would you even think he was ‘avin’ a break down? Our Elin could be his ghost too! When did he start behaving his cocky, arsehole self again?” Aeron looked up and to the left as he pursed his lips in cogitation.
“It’s hard to say. It could have been the same time as Father Jenkins did the cleansing. More like a week or two after.”
“It took him a while to notice she wasn’t haunting him anymore! He didn’t know about our situation, did he? And I’m sure you didn’t tell him about the séance or the exorcism?”
“Why would I?”
“Exactly. So when he did notice she’d gone, he put the whole thing down to stress or whatever and got all cocky and leery again.”
“Do you really think she was here as well?”
“Why not? She travels in her dreams. We don’t know how. No-one does. Why not here?”
“I suppose. But why?”
Bronwyn drummed her fingers on the table while she considered.
“Elin dreams of our house because she has an association… right?” Aeron nodded. “But she doesn’t understand what the link is. She doesn’t know why she dreams of it, but she feels safe there. If she dreams of here too, and whilst she’s here, she’s angry and she frightens Jon… You have to see the connection?” Aeron’s acutely angled knitted brow, exhibited that he didn’t.
Emyr placed a comforting hand on his wife’s knee. His own moist eyes met hers and she broke further.
“It’s going to be okay. I can sense it. We were meant to come here,” she managed through her sobs.
Seeing the evident distress in his newest members of the congregation, Father Jenkins was duty bound to at least hear them out. He nodded his submission, so the group sat in silent contemplation while the rest of the worshipers made their way from the church in a steady flow, pausing to congratulate the Father for his insightful sermon.
When they’d all gone, the priest walked decisively to them. He did his best at a warm smile and invited them to join him in his office.
“She feels safe in the house, and furious in The Railway Tavern… with our pervert of a landlord. Don’t you see?” He thought he was getting the gist, but still wanted clarification. He nodded slowly to give Bronwyn encouragement to carry on.
“If he behaved with her the way he behaves with most of the other girls, no wonder she’s angry. Perhaps he really tried it on with her. More than with me. She’s supposed to be a real looker.”
“You’re perfect.”
“Thanks, babes. But I wasn’t fishing for a compliment, just making a point. Maybe he took it too far, frightened her or something.” Aeron snorted a contemptuous laugh.
“I can’t see him scaring anyone. Scrawny git.”
“I know. Not scared, then. Maybe, deeply offended.”
Aeron nodded earnestly. “That, I can believe.”
“Give me your phone a minute. I wanna try summin.”
Chapter Forty-four
“You must help us. You have to help my little girl,” Glenda demanded from in front of a vast desk in Father Jenkins’s well-appointed, plush-looking office. His large throne of a chair gave him an unusual height advantage which seemed to delight him. Uninhibited by the confrontation from the larger group, he gave his dispassionate response.
“My hands are tied. I’ve already explained to your friends.”
“Well you haven’t explained to me.”
Father Jenkins began his self-vindication once again
“I must seek the advice of my bishop. I am the representative for the Bishop of the Diocese for this Parish. It is paramount I represent faithfully his wishes.
“I established his approval to help you with your demon. Now you’ve decided for some reason that it wasn’t a demon after all, and is apparently your daughter visiting the house in her coma. No, it’s definitely not something I can simply act upon alone.
“I can’t foretell how he’ll respond. Whether he will give permission for further intervention. But I must warn you, something so unprecedented is unlikely to gain his support.” He sat back in his large chair in a self-satisfied motion. He clasped his hands across his chest to announce ‘subject closed.’
As Glenda took the mantle and angled towards him, he was forced to catch her eye. His obstinacy buckled in the onslaught of determination bombarding him from the eyes of his adversary. She cleared her throat with a disdainful cough.
“Let me tell you what is paramount to me.” She leaned even further forward and rested both palms on the huge desk. She looked him straight in the face, almost enjoying seeing the diminishment of his stubbornness, as the glint in his eye quavered for a fraction of a second.
“My daughter was struck from nowhere with a coma. She’s been lying, wasting away on a hospital bed in a tiny prison of a room for weeks. Tomorrow morning, the doctors, who haven’t got one clue what caused her unconsciousness, want to switch off her life support.
“It is most likely that when they do…” she gulped down a huge wad of emotion and turned it to gritty fury. She stared the priest right in the eye. “When they do, I will have to say goodbye to my daughter.”
Father Jenkins was a compassionate, if overburdened, man. It was difficult for him to reconcile his natural compassion with the protocol he knew he had to follow. He opened his mouth to speak, but Glenda’s steely gaze intensified. She increased her volume to be sure she wouldn’t be interrupted.
“I am, you will appreciate, very keen for a different outcome. When my friends here brought my attention to the possibility Elin’s coma might have been caused by the exorcism which you performed, I have to admit, I was a little sceptical.”
The priest gave up trying to interrupt when Glenda’s volume increased once more in response to his floundering, opening and closing lips. He relaxed. He could let her speak and then give his objections when she’d finished. It was clear she was not to be put off. Glenda continued.
“Since then, I have actually seen her! I’ve seen the apparition of my daughter, relinquished to the streetlamp outside the house, where you banished her with your ill-timed, ill-advised exorcism. She isn’t a demon. Just a girl with paranormal abilities we were previously unaware…”
Father Jenkins could hold his tongue no longer. “I must say, the manifestation of these ‘paranormal abilities’ as you put it, is highly indicative of a demonic presence.”
“Whatever,” Glenda raised a dismissive hand. “If you want to save her soul, first you’re going to need to put right what you’ve done.” He gasped, taken aback. His culpability seemed ever more possible. Glenda’s assault was relentless.
“I fear you are overly concerned with procedure, and not nearly enough with the plight of my daughter. A plight, I have no doubt she’s suffering as a direct result of your incompetent meddling. I’ve no time for you to ask your bishop, and frankly, I couldn’t care less what he has to say.
“If you won’t see your way to helping me; of putting right what you did wrong, it will be my mission, for the rest of my life, to make sure your bishop, your congregation, every newspaper, internet post and anything else I can think of will know. And if Elin doesn’t pull through, I will consider you a murderer. I’ll make your life a living misery.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise. No matter how arrogant and foolish you may be, you cannot deny the possibility I’m right. That we are right. We’ve seen and heard her for God’s sake. There’s no doubt.”
She stopped, silent; waiting for the impact of her insults, threats and misery to seep in
. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.
“Well, I suppose I don’t have a choice. If I’m responsible, which I still very much doubt, I wouldn’t want it on my conscience.” It wasn’t admission of guilt, but that wasn’t necessary. He was coming to help. Glenda had succeeded where the others had failed.
Bronwyn used her uni Wi-Fi password (the service encompassed most of the city centre) and searched for images of Elin Treharne on the University network. Not the most flattering image, but she still looked unquestionably stunning.
“Jon, come yere a minute,” she called from across the room. He looked straight over, wiped his hands on a bar towel and proceeded to bound over like a puppy relieved to be back in its owner’s good books after some doggy misdemeanour.
“You called?” he said, a moment of doubt that Bronwyn had really meant him. She’d never shown him attention before, apart from to put him down.
“Do you know this girl?” she thrust the picture of Elin towards him. There was no need for him to answer. As the colour drained from his rubbery features, leaving him more than reminiscent of a Spitting Image John Major, it was palpably obvious.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bronwyn said. Jon tried to gather his senses.
“Wh… Wh… Why do you want to know?”
“Oh, no reason. She was a friend. I’m trying to track her down and wondered if she’d been in here, that’s all.”
He darted a look to Aeron, wrestling whether to mention when he had most recently seen her, reaching out like a banshee towards him across the bar. The innocuous purpose behind the inquiry prompted him to lie.
“No. She might have been in. But I don’t thinks so. I would’ve remembered,” he said with a Lotharios wink.
Bronwyn didn’t want to alert him to her true motive, but not mentioning his frightened reaction to the picture would seem suspicious.
“Why did you flinch when I showed you, then, Jon?” It was almost possible to hear the cogs of Jon’s lying brain turning, attempting to find something plausible.
“When you thrust your hand towards me, I really thought you might hit me.”
“Did you, Jon? Aw, sorry,” she offered, and sat back, showing there was nothing more she wanted from him.
“Is that it, then?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“You can bring us another couple of beers,” Aeron hiccupped, decidedly sloshed.
“Sure. No worries,” he said, walking away.
Bronwyn leaned conspiratorially in to Aeron.
“We’ve got to get him to the house. We have to get him in front of Elin!”
“Why?” Aeron nearly choked on his beer.
“It might jog her memory, remind her why she feels safe in our house. He could be the reason!”
“Won’t he think it’s odd? We’ve not invited him before.”
“Leave it to me.” She called out for him to come over again. He looked nervous. As he began his approach, Bronwyn leaned in again. “Just follow my lead,” she whispered.
Jon plonked two more beers on the table.
“Sorry. Were you waiting long?”
“Don’t worry about that, presh. You wanna sit down. Take the weight off your feet for a minute.” Jon looked around, deciding if the busy bar could spare him.
As soon as he sat, Bronwyn placed her unshod foot on his thigh, provocatively near his crotch. She moved it back and forth seductively. As Jon squirmed uncomfortably, it patently had the desired effect.
“Sorry I made you jump earlier,” she said, staring at him with deep doe eyes, her foot still thrusting, her top arranged to show just the right amount of titillating cleavage. Aeron watched, eyes wide in horror and disbelief.
“I’d love to make it up to you, presh.” Jon glanced nervously at his large subordinate. “Don’ worry about Aeron,” she gushed, and then added in a loud stage whisper, “he likes to watch.” It was too much for Jon. When Bronwyn made it plain it was a now or never offer, it was obvious which choice Jon wanted to take.
“I’m ever-so tipsy, you see? I’ll probably pass out later,” she said with an exaggerated wink.
“You sure about this, Aeron?”
It took all his strength to swallow back the bile that had risen in his throat. Bronwyn had better know what she was doing. “Yeah, sure.” And then, the three of them left. Bronwyn arm in arm with both the men, just to keep up the pretence.
Elin was bored. They knew she was here. They knew who she was, but they still acted as though she was something to fear. And so she’d been left on her own, trapped in the dingy lounge all day. Even her mum and dad had gone. She struggled to stay calm, although the relief being back in the safe haven this house seemed to afford her was a huge comfort.
It wasn’t a nice place to be. When she lived here she rarely spent time in this room. It was just a way to get to the kitchen. Beginning her student life eating at the table, she then, like the rest of the housemates, took her meals to her bedroom. Debating exploring the house to relieve her boredom, she decided it would be intrusive. It also wasn’t worth the risk of getting stuck. Stay here, in the lounge, where everyone knows where she is.
An unexpected optimism rose within her and she smiled. Hope was in the air. Knowing she had made contact; that the people who loved her most were doing everything they could to save her, gave her a lightness and she smiled a heartfelt smile.
Suddenly, her peace and boredom were broken with the bang of the front door bursting open. Her heart exploded into action at the anticipation of company who may have the answer to her salvation.
With an air of disappointment, she realised it wasn’t her mum and dad. She could tell before she even heard them speak. It was the wrong sort of noise, too bustling. And then she heard a voice she was sure she recognised, and it disquieted her.
“Why are we going in here? Shouldn’t we go straight to your bedroom? We don’t want to be seen.”
“Don’t you worry about that, lover-boy,” the raucous cry of the girl declared, shoving the door open with her foot. She led him in by his tie before pushing him onto the couch. Elin gasped, horrified. What was she doing? Why would she do this when she has a boyfriend?
But then he appeared too. Closing the door, he stood in front of it, blocking the exit like a club bouncer. The girl stood up shaking her head, apparently in an effort to sober up. She cleared her throat to speak.
“Elin? Are you here?”
Stunned to be addressed, she rushed to give a sign and wobbled the curtains. “We’ve brought you something,” the girl announced, waving her arm towards the couch. Elin peered at the offering unsure what to expect. And then she recognised him.
A sudden terror spewed forth as an excruciating scream. She knew him. She knew who he was; his voice, his weasily face from the pub. But now he was in her house!
Shaking, her whole body, or its ethereal representation, convulsed as she tried to control the horror raging within her. Glaring at him from high on the ceiling, shuddering violently and uncontrollably, emotion, stuffed down, dormant for months, erupted forcefully to the surface. And, from the terrified faces blinking up at her, was there for all to see.
Her poor body racked with the sheer power of distress and panic coursing through her unearthly veins. Clutching her head in her hands, she tugged at her hair and screamed, “No!”
Breathless, she glowered at him. As he cowered in her fearsome presence, her anguish was overpowered, slowly at first, and then overwhelmingly by the next level of her emotion: rage.
A power she had never known surged through her. The horrified looks on the faces below told her it looked as it felt. Memories of exactly why she hated the man on the couch were hazy. Sudden, excruciating flashbacks lanced her thoughts—him standing over her, his breath on her neck, the terror choking her.
From nowhere, she lunged. Striking him shocked her. She hadn’t known she was capable, but it was so much more satisfying than merely scaring him. As she saw the deep scratch reddening on his grey pallor, her wr
ath exploded.
With a screeching roar and flailing arms, razor-sharp talons thrashed at his clammy face, gouging skin from flesh in a vicious frenzy she felt powerless to stop. She hated him, and he would know what that meant.
Chapter Forty-five
To ensure Father Jenkins’ cooperation, Glenda made sure he joined them in their car. It was a squash, but he didn’t complain. Travelling in uneasy silence, they arrived at the house a few minutes later. Still silent, they filed up the uneven path and steep steps, Father Jenkins sandwiched either end of the line by Neil, Matthew and Sylvie in the front with the Treharne’s bringing up the rear.
Before they even reached the door, the screams emanating from within made them shudder. They shared a look of terror.
“What on earth…” Neil hadn’t expected to be scared. Father Jenkins filled with fresh purpose to his enforced visit. The screams were surely the phantom squeals of a demon.
Neil’s initial reluctance to open the door turned to paralysis. Father Jenkins forced his way past Sylvie and Matthew, both happy to let him. The key turned, and the stocky bulk of the priest barged through like a police raid.
Without the rotting wooden barrier, the sound of the screams filled the air, echoing from every surface, filling them with dread. “It’s only Elin,” Neil whispered under his breath. “No need to be scared.”
When, after a mighty scream of anger the shrieking paused, other sounds reached their heightened senses. They hurried en masse along the cramped corridor. The priest rattled the handle, but the door was firmly closed. From beyond, they were sure they could hear voices.
“Oh my God. Oh my f…ing God!” Bronwyn’s Welsh lilt filtered faintly through the door. It sounded as though she was crying.
“What on earth is going on?” Emyr demanded. Pitiful sobs found their way to the collective ears straining to listen.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”
“Who’s that?” Emyr asked again. Neil and Matthew shrugged. It wasn’t Aeron’s voice.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 59
