Neverlight

by Weatherer, Dan

  The soldier in front of me raised his rifle, his eyes a mix of fear and uncertainty. Inwardly I laughed: What has he to fear? He is the one with the gun!

  Then he shot me.

  And as I lay dying on the sand I felt pity for my killer.

  Against All Odds

  “Find a reason to bleed and you have found a reason to live.”

  It is dark here, and there is little in the way of content. There is the ground, smooth in parts, rough in others and then there is the sky, an all-encompassing blanket of black. Nothing could survive here, yet there are two souls that walk this barren place. Neither is aware of the other. They know nothing of existence but silence and isolation. However, there is a force that draws them towards one another, a force that pays no heed to time or distance. The paths of these two individuals, both lost (yet not knowing such a concept), are intertwined.

  As we observe from afar (if it were possible to do so) we would see two tiny specks of light flicker into being. Should we continue to give our attention to such a delicate distraction, we would observe that each step taken towards the other would intensify their flame.

  Driven forwards by a call they cannot help but heed or ever hope to understand, the darkness that held sway over them begins to retreat. The coming together of two souls destined for none but the other is akin to sun colliding with sun. At the touch of their embrace, all darkness is forever purged from their world and life begins to flourish anew.

  This is the dance that only the fortunate experience. When two souls are meant to come together and become one whole, fate forges a path, and the universe sits back powerless to intervene.

  Time Flow and the Spectral Realm

  A Theory by Professor Gregory Stilson

  While languishing through my latest bout of insomnia, a thought occurred to me. Often in times of unrest I find that my mind wanders of its own accord, offering tantalising glimpses of questions yet to be asked. On this occasion, the revelation was so stark that I shook free the shackles of fatigue, and I found myself suddenly sitting bolt upright and wide awake.

  What thought jarred me so unceremoniously from my torment I hear you ask? It is a simple query, but as with all questions of merit, the potential answers that may be uncovered hold the promise of changing the way in which we perceive the world, nay, our reality!

  What if time is not a constant?

  Allow that thought to settle for a moment before reading on. I will wager that your first reply would argue the futility of such an idea and that of course, time is constant. How do we know this? A man measures time yes, but the unit of time itself is an idea devised by man and applied to his environment by his laws. Nature did not suggest such a measurement. Those measurements that nature does display are affected by the science of gravity. The cycle of the moon, the movement of the tide and the rotation of the earth are all governed by this external force. So why not time?

  Imagine if you would, that time can warp, like an old LP that has seen too much of the sun. Imagine if the time sped up, slowed down or even skipped a beat. Would we as passengers notice such a change? I argue that we would not. The measurement of time would move alongside any such change of direction and we, unquestionably, with it. Though we accept time as a flowing constant, I do not believe this to be so.

  What evidence have you? I hear you say. Aside from the principle of gravity and the effects that it displays upon the known universe, very little. Einstein’s Theory of Relativity touches on similar areas as does the quantum realm and Frequency Theory. There is one area of science which may just add credibility to my theory—the area of parapsychology.

  Let us discuss the supernatural and the appearance of apparitions. I suggest that these may well be the result of a time-slip in which the person witnessing the apparition is acutely aware of the overlapping of the present and the past (or indeed—the future). This idea would explain a vast majority of spectre sightings, and I ask you—is it any more outlandish a theory than seeing the spirits of the dead? In essence, this is still true, as the form witnessed is of person(s) long since deceased.

  I also propose that the ‘ghost’ is also privy to this time-slip and can in some cases witness the person(s) situated in the present. To them, this would also appear to be a ghost sighting.

  I realise that my theory is bold and that it shall be mocked and belittled by most that stumble across it, yet I felt it important to document. Perhaps I have merely scratched the surface with my musings? Who knows how close to the truth my ideas sail? I have my fears regarding this idea. For example, we live within three dimensions but are aware of the existence of many more. What other entities lurk just beyond our reach? Separated by mere milliseconds of time, a gap that can easily be traversed under certain conditions. Are these beings aware of us as we are now aware of them and how close are we to the threat of invasion and annihilation?

  I digress, my superstitions have likely clouded my judgement, and I beg of you not to let those final worries soil my initial ideas. Who knows what lurks in the void between this minute and the next? I advise that we explore with caution.

  My First Horror Story

  Timmy was pleased with himself. It was not often that a boy of ten could strike the kind of deal that little Timmy had brokered. While most boys his age were out back playing football or building dens, Timmy had set himself up for life.

  It was easy really. Last week’s R.E lesson had discussed the importance of Heaven (and to a lesser extent, that of Hell), and Timmy had left school that day with an idea. The teacher had talked long and hard about the soul and its value in the afterlife. Lead a good life, help people and generally be kind and you will be a good soul, destined for the pearly gates of Heaven. However, lead a life where you lie and trick your way towards your own selfish means, and you will be judged an evil soul, sentenced to spend eternity in the fiery pits. However, according to the teacher there existed a pretty large loophole meaning that no matter how evil a person had been in life, if they begged forgiveness and accepted God any time before their final breath, then they were a certainty for heaven. Apparently God was all about forgiveness.

  This concept intrigued Timmy, and his young mind began to mull over ways in which he could improve his own, modest existence without condemning himself to Hell. The answer struck him one night while he was taking one of his enforced baths. He decided that he would sell his sister’s soul.

  ***

  Suzie was six and annoying. She cried all the time and seemed to be upset by anything and everything. She was prone to unpredictable tantrums and prolonged screaming fits which positively drove Timmy to distraction. His parents had long given up trying to pander to her irrational needs and their apathy towards his sister’s behaviour seemingly knew no bounds. Timmy reasoned that even his parents would be glad of his recent dealing in the long term once he explained the conditions of his contract.

  God had been Timmy’s first port of call; he felt it only right that he should at least see what the other party interested in the harvesting of souls may be willing to trade. It turns out that God was not exactly enamoured with the idea, and that the best he could offer was a stern word against his plan and the promise of eternal peace for his sister. That deal was clearly a non-starter.

  The Devil, however, was a far more likeable and engaging chap. He listened keenly to Timmy’s plan and confirmed his immediate interest with a tempting offer. Eternal peace was all well and good but was nothing when compared to a pile of cold, hard, cash. Timmy had no real need for money, the concept of which was still beyond his young years, so he asked the Devil for the next best thing—a lifetime supply of toys.

  The Devil accepted these terms and Timmy’s room became a haven of fun. He only had to think of the toy that he most wanted to play with, and it would appear within reach. Timmy had never been so happy, and he lost many hours to the plastic wonders that the Prince of the Underworld had bestowed upon him. Though his parents were initially b
affled by his sudden toy influx, they believed his story about swapping with friends. Besides, they were far too busy attending to Suzie’s escalating demands to pay any proper notice. Not only was Timmy an excellent negotiator, but he was also becoming a top class liar.

  One thing that you must know about the Devil is that he never misses a trick. He may have hundreds of thousands of contracts to manage, but you can bet your bottom dollar—just when you think you have escaped his attention that is the very moment he will choose to make an appearance. The Devil was annoyed with Timmy, but a certain amount of tact was required, especially for one so young. Though he was yet to deliver payment, any forceful negotiations could potentially backfire if Timmy saw the error of his ways and sought forgiveness. So, with a calm and level demeanour (that tried the Devil more than he would admit) he gently reminded Timmy of his promise and that it would soon be time to deliver. The boy seemed to understand even if he was entirely absorbed by the latest video game that had found its way into his grubby little hands courtesy of Saint Lucifer. The Devil returned to the blazing depths satisfied that his youngest client had understood the message and that payment would be imminent.

  ***

  As far as Timmy understood, the soul lived somewhere deep within the chest. You couldn’t just ask it to leave, though; it liked its fleshy prison and was content to see out its days there. No, there was only one way to get at a soul, and that was to crack the shell, just like a nut!

  Timmy pushed Suzie down the stairs. She tumbled and bounced down every single one of the thirteen steps without uttering a sound. When she landed at the bottom of the stairs, she sat up, shook her head a little and burst into tears. Her chest remained intact, her soul still inside. Timmy was sent to bed with no pudding that night.

  After watching a cartoon about vampires, Timmy sourced a mallet and a chisel from his father’s tool box. Then he waited until Suzie was fast asleep, crept into her bedroom, placed the tip of the chisel on her chest and raised the mallet. The cold from the chisel tip woke Suzie, and she screamed so loud that she woke the entire street. Timmy was confined to his room after coming home from school for the next two weeks.

  He tried to push her into the oven, but she wouldn’t fit. He attempted to nudge her under a bus but she stepped out of the way, and he fell into the road. The bus narrowly missed him, and he still got into trouble even though he was almost squashed! Timmy thought this most unfair. He even cut the brakes on her bicycle, but she managed to steer into a neighbour’s hedge and walked away relatively unhurt. Of course each failed plan was met by an uncontrollable outburst of wailing from Suzie, which meant added punishments for Timmy.

  By now you might think that Suzie might be something of a nervous wreck, what with her older brother trying to kill her at every turn. Suzie was preoccupied with her ever-growing collection of shoes and clothes. Had Timmy taken the time to notice this he may have stood a chance of delivering his sister’s soul, thereby repaying his debt. As he soaked in the bath, eyes closed, pondering his next diabolical murder attempt, he failed to notice the bathroom door creep slowly open. Nor did he hear the soft pat of his sister’s delicate footsteps approach the side of the bath. It was too late for him to utter a sound when he finally saw Suzie, holding the ghetto blaster, arms outstretched above the water. He quickly noted that the power cord was plugged in before she let it tumble into the soapy water.

  ***

  Timmy had failed in his attempt to repay the devil, and his soul was sent straight to Hell. Though Timmy’s parents were shocked by the turn of events that had led to the electrocution of their only son, they seemed satisfied with their daughter’s explanation as to what had happened. She had merely wanted to play her favourite pop song to her brother, an innocent mistake; one might call it a tragic accident. Though thinking back and taking into account Timmy’s recent homicidal tendencies, they agreed that it was probably for the best.

  As for Suzie, well she was never going to be without something new to wear, not after delivering her borther’s soul to the Devil and her outfit for her brother’s funeral made her the talk of the family.

  The Specimen

  I remember the spider in the frame. It hung on the wall in my father’s study in the gap between the bookcase and the door. I remember flinching from it every time I entered the room.

  It was spread as wide as a man’s palm, an explosion of hair and legs. I would watch it for hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. Many times I heard the patter of its feet upon the glass and I told my father so, yet he would scarcely believe me. He explained that the spider in question had been transported from the Amazon in the early 1920’s and was housed in the Natural History Museum for some years before it came into his possession. It was, he continued, quite dead.

  Which makes the sight that I see before me all the more puzzling. The frame is empty yet the glass is unbroken. The spider from the Amazon is gone though I will wager not far, for I can hear the tiny patter of its feet coming from somewhere within this room.

  Meadow View

  It didn’t matter what label the doctors deemed most appropriate to explain Dahlia’s behaviour. There was no one else alive that could understand what she had experienced these past few tempestuous years. No one.

  She observed as the three psychiatrists pored over the documents that constituted her medical history. They rifled through hours of interview transcripts and copious medical reports without acknowledging the details that were contained within. The pages may well have been blank for all the interest they had paid to them. During those interviews at the beginning of her therapy, she had tried in earnest to explain her difficulties to the numerous psychiatric professionals that came and went. All were highly accredited, but all remained distant and closed to Dahlia’s truth.

  Back in those early days she had held a modicum of hope that perhaps one amongst all of the experts that she had seen could perhaps cure her. At the very least she hoped that somebody would understand. That hope had died long ago. She knew perfectly well that the opinions of the panel gathered before her today would change nothing.

  The one with the wire frame glasses and pinched face cleared his throat.

  “Anthrophobia,” he announced. “With underlying threads of agoraphobia, anxiety and reactive depression.” Pinched-Face sat back in his chair.

  “I concur,” said the portly, middle-aged woman sitting to his left. “Excellent diagnosis considering the vast array of symptoms displayed!” Pinched-Face nodded his approval.

  “Thank you, Dr. Robbins.”

  Dahlia’s mother dabbed a sodden tissue to a tearful eye. “Yes, but Doctor, what does all of this mean? I don’t understand all of these terms, is my daughter sick?”

  Pinched-Face leaned forward and pushed his glasses further towards the top of his slender nose.

  “Oh yes, quite Mrs. Harris. Dahlia does indeed suffer from a complicated and highly distressing array of psychological and sociological disorders. But by bringing her to Meadow View Psychiatric facility you are taking positive steps to help alleviate your daughter's suffering.”

  The third member of the panel cleared his throat and began to speak. “May I just say that Meadow View ranks amongst the finest intuitions in the field of adolescent mental health care.”

  “Now Dr. Foster, you know as well as I that we treat Teen Adjustment Issues here,” corrected Dr. Robbins. “Mental Health is not a term that we like to use. Too many negative connotations, don’t you agree?”

  The panel of Doctors nodded as Dahlia’s mother reached for another tissue. Dahlia decided that she had held her tongue long enough.

  “Isn’t anybody going to ask what I want?”

  Dr. Robbins fixed a firm smile and began to address Dahlia’s mother. “Of course we are sweetie; however as the informed professionals in the room it is ultimately our decision as to what course of action we take regarding your condition.”

  “Conditions,” corrected Pinched-Face
.

  “It is our professional opinion that your daughter be admitted to our facility at once. It is imperative that we start to treat the cause of her demons immediately.” Dr. Robbins turned her smile towards Dahlia. “I think that you will find your time with us both therapeutic and enlightening.”

  Dahlia sank back into her chair. Her attention drifted back to that of the dark shape that hunched over the shoulder of Dr. Foster. Nobody else in the room was aware of its presence.

  ***

  Dahlia was a sociable child, but then it could be argued that that was where the roots of her current problems had begun to manifest. Dahlia had a lot of friends, far more than any of the other children that were in her class. Amongst these friends, she counted Mr. Brannan, the old caretaker; Bill Whyseman the milkman and Mary Foggen, who was often seen hanging out her washing come rain or shine. There was Sly Bob, Cecil Rankins, little Susie May; the list of Dahlia’s friends and acquaintances went on and on and seemed to grow by the day. She would talk about her new found friends all of the time. Her classmates heard about all of the latest adventures of Herman Munse, her teachers heard about poor Tim and his gammy leg and her mother heard no end of stories about Sofia and her small pet poodle Tammie.

  At that time all was well, after all it is only natural that a child should have an imaginary friend or two, and whilst Dahlia had nigh on a small village of them, her doting mother merely credited her daughter as having an unusually gifted imagination. As Dahlia grew older, the number of her imaginary friends seemed to grow too. Though the school had shown a small amount of concern regarding Dahlia’s tendency to fantasise, her mother paid the issue no heed. That was up until Dahlia began to talk about seeing her Nana around the house.