Paranormal Investigations: No Situation Too Strange

by EH Walter

  A short walk reunited me with my car. I ached from a day outside. The cold had seeped into my bones and I longed for a nice, hot, bubble bath.

  My car was safe to leave anywhere - no one would steal it. It was an old red Astra, now faded to a pinkish red, stained with rust and tree sap and with dents bumped in by London drivers. To get the door to open I had to kick it to spring loose. I then had to sit and wait with the heating on for twenty minutes to clear the fog from the screen before driving was possible. Whilst I was waiting I dug my phone out of my pocket to check my messages - it had been on silent all day as I'd once been busted on a stake out when it rang just as I was about to reclaim a stolen puppy. I'd got bitten on the hand by the puppy and thwacked on the head by the criminal, an elderly lady with a purple rinse called Iris.

  I had two voicemail messages and three text messages. The first voicemail was from someone trying to sell me a timeshare in Spain. I deleted it. The second voicemail message was from my father.

  "Hello Leo - happy birthday! Speak soon, Dad."

  I gave a humph and deleted that one as well. My own father couldn't get it right. And I didn't like the reminder - soon I would be one quarter of a century old. I gave a shiver. Man, that was old.

  My father is not your average father. He was never there at parents' evenings and never took me to play in the park. He was - at best - an absent father and - at worst - neglectful. I had never lived with him and he rarely visited. Even GA Mildred wouldn't talk about him - he was from the other side of the family.

  He's one of those men who never seem to look any older, a bit like George Clooney. I certainly didn't get my dominant genes from him as I already had a couple of white hairs creeping through my scalp.

  It was with these thoughts that I finally managed to clear the windscreen with a final blast of hot air and drove the short distance back to East Barnet. Barnet is a bit like New York - the lights never go off. And that's where the comparison stops. The kebab shop and shish bar were still open and Budgens was already doing a roaring trade in Halloween pumpkins.

  I parked up, locked the car door and went into my flat building.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  First Night

  I slept late into the morning and then woke, sitting straight up in bed as I realised it was Jez’s press night that evening and I had nothing to wear.

  Bob had made coffee, which was interesting since I owned neither coffee beans nor instant granules. I declined the mug he offered me and then accepted when he looked crushingly disappointed. There was only one thing for it, I would have to steal one of Rose’s pot plants from the office so I could do away with it.

  “I’ll take it into the shower with me,” I told him which seemed to make him happy. I tried not to examine the brown liquid too closely as I then poured it down the plughole.

  “I’m off out today,” I told Bob when I was clean, dressed and coffee free.

  His lip wobbled. “Will I be safe?”

  “We haven’t had any problems so far, have we?”

  “I suppose not. And Trevor is still outside?”

  I nodded.

  “Could I perhaps ask him in?”

  “The two of you made an awful mess last time. I think I’m going to have to say no. And besides, he can’t keep an eye on the building from inside it, can he?”

  As I grabbed my enormous Mary Poppins bag he asked:

  “Shall I put your dinner up?”

  “I’ll eat out, Bob.”

  His face fell again.

  *

  I was a bit uneasy in High Barnet and automatically kept checking the windows for any odd reflections behind me. I tried to put fairies from my mind - I had a mission and an ancient credit card hidden away in my purse under my organ donor card. I would shop and look gorgeous tonight. Jez would finally realise what he had left behind when he left for Hollywood.

  On my way to Monsoon, the shop-I-could-never-afford-except-when-using-my-forbidden-credit-card, I caught a blur of light in my peripheral vision as I walked past Mr Simms' Olde Sweet Shop. I stopped dead. What had Bob said? Most people only saw them as a blur of light?

  I pressed my face against the shop window and looked in. At first I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There was a shopkeeper serving a woman and her son and two girls browsing the selection of chocolates. I took a deep breath and slowly my vision began to clear and I could see extra images above the clear reality. There appeared to be two blurs of light dancing around the shop. They seemed to be having some effect on the customers as the woman was swatting the air as if a fly was pestering her and one of the girls had to keep picking up a bar of chocolate that kept slipping from her hand to the floor. Very suddenly, like a whoosh of cold air had shaken me up I saw the reason she kept dropping the chocolate. A fat fairy about the size of a large Yorkshire terrier with a mischievous face kept knocking it out of her hand. The other blur of light was another fat fairy that kept plucking at the woman's skin and clothes. Both were chuckling maliciously.

  It was a curious sight observing something you had never seen before. As Bob had described, they had wings shaped like a dragonfly's except they seemed to move almost as quick as a hummingbird's wings and were the length of their bodies. They weren't naked, but I couldn't make out their attire - I was still blind to some aspects of them. Were these fairies the same type as Orla, in a different form, or were they a different sub-species?

  Fascinated, I watched as the shopkeeper weighed out lemon sherbets for the boy on old fashioned scales. The man frowned as the weight seemed to fluctuate randomly - I could see this was because one of the fairies was putting his weight on it and then letting it off. The two fairies seemed to find this hilarious.

  All of a sudden one of them noticed me and they both turned to glare at me. They were so angry they flew right towards me and smacked into the glass like bees. It was my turn to laugh. They looked at me fiercely, one of them was rubbing his head - both were scowling. It was a good old fashioned stand -off, two fairies against a human with only a pane of glass between us. I'm not sure where it would have gone next, but I'm sure it wouldn't have been pretty when my phone beeped and buzzed to tell me a text message had been received. Both of the fairies immediately clutched their ears and flew backwards, retreating to the far corner of the shop. Interesting to know. Bob had said something about fairies being adverse to modern technology, it seemed as if a mobile could be used against them. I'd better keep it charged.

  I took this as my opportunity to disappear and dashed off to do my must-look-like-a-fox-tonight shopping.

  *

  I managed to waste time trying on a multitude of expensive Monsoon dresses and wandering the shops - which was quite an achievement considering there are so few shops in High Barnet. Then it came to a time when I could dilly dally no longer. I had to leave or be late. I nipped into the ladies' toilet at The Spires, ripped the tags off my new dress (an emerald green satin dress with a wrap waist) and changed. Of course, I hadn't stopped at the dress and had every accessory you could imagine to go with said dress. I had also purchased one of those enormous Mary Poppins style handbags to put everything in. The credit card debt was worth it as long as I looked good to the ex. It was an emergency transaction - like getting home from a foreign country during a coup or emergency knocked-over-pet surgery.

  Another long journey on the Northern Line racked up my anxiety. At least, by getting on at the end of the line I had a seat, which I was grateful for as I was battling against commuters from Finchley in. The thing about press nights was they were always scheduled earlier than regular shows, this was fine as long as you didn't mind commuters - I did. They drove me mad with their rude-shove-you-out-of-the-way ways. I made sure to fix my elbows in position as I fought for the Waterloo exit. No one would budge to let me through so the elbows got a good work out and a few commuters went home with purple ribs.

  I didn't have time to linger as I still had to pick up my ticket so I walked briskly out of the station
. Then I retreated back into the station. It was chucking it down. Bloody typical. I didn't have a coat or an umbrella as it had been an unseasonably warm day and I hadn't intended to stay out for so long. The rain was so heavy I could barely see three metres in front of me. I gave it five minutes, during which I kept anxiously glancing at my watch, and then decided I would just have to dash for it or be late.

  I got soaked. I don't mean that soaked when you run for a bus or run out to get the washing in from the line - I mean soaked through my brand new dress, which was now several shades darker, and through to my skin. If I went swimming in a very expensive dress I couldn't have been wetter.

  I entered the theatre and queued at the box office. I got a few strange glances from the other patrons. Especially when the water on my hair sent rivers down my face and along the length of my nose before dripping off on to the floor. After a few minutes a cleaner appeared and began mopping up behind me as I progressed down the line.

  When it was my turn at the ticket desk I gave my name as if this was just a new look I was trying out. I half wanted the woman to say she couldn’t find it so I could say, “Oh it must be under Jeremy Flynt’s name then, my mistake” and everyone within hearing distance would know I knew the star of the show.

  However there was a ticket with my name on it which I then decided was just as well as it meant I hadn’t been forgotten and so was saved the embarrassment of having come all this way to be only to have to slink away without being seen.

  Ticket in hand I heard the five minute bell and scurried towards the auditorium. The ticket, now wet from my hand, came apart in the usher's hand and she sighed as she gestured me in. I looked for my seat. I was in the stalls. The expensive seats. As I progressed through the auditorium I realised I was in the second row. It meant I would have a great view of the play, however this also meant I was going to be very close to Jez. I hoped he and his fellow thespians weren't from the spitting school of enunciation or I was not going to have any chance of drying out.

  As I sank deep into my seat I thought my embarrassment was over. Then steam rose in spirals from my warming body. I pretended nothing was wrong and that the people looking at me were merely curious as to where I got my hair styled.

  It was easy to spot the critics, they were the ones in the very best seats with the notepads balanced on their knees. Some were frowning already, they didn't like the holy sanctum of theatre being trampled on by those from other media - they classed them as unworthy and unqualified.

  The lights went down and my tummy quivered with excitement. A smoke machine cranked up and when the stage lights went on three witches were on stage. Great, I couldn't leave Paranormal Investigations behind for one bloody evening.

  *

  It was pretty good, I mean - the Scottish play is pretty fool proof as long as you have actors who actually understand what they're saying which was not always guaranteed, believe me. When you've seen as much of the Scottish play, A Midsummer Night's Dream and Romeo and Juliet as I have you become bit of a connoisseur. I always play 'spot the numptie who hasn't got a clue what the text means'. There were thankfully few in the National production so I didn't have much to complain about other than the fact I was continuing to steam in my seat.

  Jez looked hot, even going psycho (his was a very 'street' interpretation) he looked hot. If I was a man I wouldn't have been able to move from my seat at the interval for fear of an enormous tent pole in my trousers. As it was, I dared not move for fear of people seeing my drowned rat impression.

  The applause was riotous at the end and understandably so when you considered most of the audience was made up of friends and family. A deliberate action to counteract the negativity of the critics.

  I waited for almost everyone to leave and then went and stood under the hand dryer in the ladies, thankfully I managed to find one that wasn't a Dyson. Dyson - a great inventor, but he never thought about women needing to dry off from the rain when he designed his energy efficient hand dryer.

  Looking a little bedraggled, still shivering slightly and generally feeling less than gorgeous I trudged around to the stage door where Jez had told me to meet him. This was a bad idea that was now a whole lot worse. The wet look worked on some people, normally hot men with white shirts, not on me in a new satin dress. I did debate just going home, but I knew that would offend Jez. Better he saw me looking like a freak than think I hadn't cared enough to come. It was his first night after all.

  The reception area by the stage door was really busy. I gave my name to the stage door keeper and loitered by the door. It was kind of satisfying that when Jez came through he made straight for me and ignored all the other people who wanted his attention and time. It made me feel rather smug.

  Did I say he looked gorgeous? His eyes twinkled as he looked at me and parts of me twinkled in response. His eyes looked me up and down and then he burst into laughter.

  "Thanks," I said.

  "You really shouldn't have made such an effort, Leo."

  "Arse to you to Hollywood."

  He was still laughing as he showed me through the hallowed stage door and into the inner sanctum of the theatre.

  "There's a party in the bar," he said as he took my hand, "we don't have to stay long though."

  Oh shit - what did that mean? Why did mean always have to talk in twisted tales? How was I meant to interpret and respond to that? Why was he holding my hand?

  I would have got lost down all the corridors without him to guide me. He took me up to the backstage bar, a large room heavy wooded in decor. It was full of people, I recognised some of the actors from the play and the techies were distinctive in their blacks.

  "Let me get you a drink," Jez said and left me for a moment. I watched as other people's eyes followed him, male as well as female. He picked up a couple of glasses of champagne and was back shortly.

  "None of your family here?" I asked, "Your big night and everything?"

  "Mum's allergic to Shakespeare and my brother still thinks I'm a twat for having such a namby pamby career."

  "Well - he has a point."

  "He still thinks it means I'm in the closet."

  "He's seen your Liza and Dolly collection."

  Jez laughed. How many men would allow an ex to poke fun at their masculinity?

  I couldn't have Jez all to myself, he had to meet the angels and so I got pulled around on his arm. It wasn't a bad thing to be pulled around on the arm of a Hollywood movie star - I mean there are plenty of things worse. Like having to live with a goat, for example, and keep a troll in mangoes.

  I drank the champagne far too quickly and it hit an empty stomach. This made it much easier to smile at strangers and I even managed to engage in some mild conversation. When people talked about the play I put on my serious look and 'ummed' and 'ahed' with much vigorous nodding. When pressed I suggested it was a 'bold' production which always works in making you sound intelligent and confounding people as to what to say in response. I think I said a lot more, but the booze had really kicked in by then so I have no idea what I said exactly.

  The last group of angels we were introduced to consisted of a very tall, handsome man in a suit and open necked shirt, an Asian woman in designer glasses and a short, round, red-faced, bald man. They were the ones who had put in the most money and part of their reward was to schmooze with the star. Oh, and the girl hanging off his arm because she was a bit tipsy and her heels were too high to let him go even for a second even if she wanted to.

  They smiled and proffered their hands for shaking. The woman and the fat man weren't interested in me and didn't offer their hands. They then angled their bodies away from me and spoke wholly to Jez. The other man, the one in the open necked shirt was different. He offered me his hand and held it longer than one needed to for a hand shake.

  "Ignore them," he said in a pleasing voice, confident we were not being overheard "they are only in this for the opportunity to drop names at their next cocktail party."

  "A
nd you?"

  He smiled. "I’m an angel."

  “Yeah, I know that,” I indicated the others, “you all are. But why?”

  “I like meeting new people.”

  “Well, there’s a Hollywood star not two metres away and you’re talking to me.”

  “Maybe I want to talk to you. Maybe I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

  I glanced at Jez, he was enthralling his two angels and had them absorbed in some tale of when his trousers got ripped off during a stunt. I couldn't tell which of them was enjoying picturing Jez naked more, the man or the woman. I had an advantage - I could use memory instead of imagination. There was a smile on my face I admit.

  "They'll be a while," the man said to me, "shall we go to the bar?"

  I caught Jez’s eye. He gave me a brief nod without pausing in his story. I shrugged and looked at the angel, "Might as well."

  "Rex Windsor," he said as he gave me his arm and we walked the short distance to the bar.

  "Leo Fey," I replied.

  He took my hand. “I am very pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Well Miss Fey, do you come to the theatre regularly?"

  He gestured to the barman which had the effect of two glasses of champagne appearing within seconds. I didn't really like champagne, but when it was free it seemed churlish to refuse.

  "I only come when the tickets are free."

  I sat on a bar stool and firmly placed my elbow on the bar for support. Rex stood and appraised me with his eyes. It was a little weird having a stranger looking at you in this way - it was too familiar, like the way a lover looks at you in the early days when there is still the mystery of what is to come.

  As he was looking at me I decided I would look at him in great detail as well. He was in his forties with brown hair and traces of grey nudging in at the temples. He was handsome and magnetic. I wondered why the other women at the party didn't seem to notice him, he was dripping charisma which thankfully I was immune to as I already had a rather gorgeous man I was keeping tabs on.