A pause.
“What did he—”
The look from the woman, Ivy, let him know that shutting up and doing precisely what had been asked of him and no more, was absolutely the safest course of action. Her eyes narrowed. There was a rumbling of sweet wrappers from the corner of the room where her friends from the rest home were watching and waiting for their turn.
“OK, let’s give it a try.”
Ivy was the first of the group. As the organiser, she didn’t wait to be asked for her turn; it was just assumed that she was first.
Seth hadn’t read for anyone since Ravenmeols, but he was desperate to get out from the vicarage and his bank account was precariously low. He was living off the goodwill of Malc and Georgia, and from the way they’d been with each other that morning, it was obvious that he was very much in the way.
Bookings had been light these last few months. There was more competition for one thing, and he’d heard on the grapevine that some of his regulars had defected. Today’s booking was new, though, and Ivy Edwards and her knitting group promised it would be the first of many.
“Harold,” Seth began, hearing the hush from the others as he started his spiel again. “I know you can hear me, and I’m glad that you’re with us today.”
“Is he here?”
Seth glanced at Ivy. At this point, her guess was as good as his.
“He’s on his way.”
“He was always late,” she replied.
“When you’re ready, can you give me a sign?”
Nothing.
“Harold,” he repeated. “I have someone that wants to speak to you.”
Seth let the words hang until he could bear the silence no longer. It was now or never. He swallowed, looked at the glass of water set before Ivy and wished he’d thought to bring his own drink with him.
The table rocked. Gently. Seth stared at Ivy’s face but Ivy hadn’t noticed the movement. Seth kicked the table leg again with his right foot, the foot that was most likely to be out of eyesight from the other residents.
Ivy squealed with delight. “Harold! You better not give me a shock like that again or I’ll swing for you.”
Worked like a charm. Now that he’d convinced Ivy that Harold was here with them, the rest should be relatively straight-forward. He’d practised this act for so long that the patter flowed in a steady stream. He knew how to manage his client’s expectations, hone the experience to deliver a quality encounter that they’d be talking about for weeks.
“I don’t think that was Harold,” a fat lady said from the edge of the room. “I think your man there knocked the table.”
Ivy frowned. “Is Harold here?” She bent, agonisingly slowly and peered under the table.
“Oh yes, I’m sure he is. I can see him now.” He threw a look at the corner of the room but the fat lady had her eyes fixed firmly on what was happening beneath the table surface. Fine, if that’s how they want to be.
None of this should be necessary. A typical medium reading was twenty percent setting, thirty percent theatrics, and fifty percent patter. With Seth, this had always been different, being that he was actually able to communicate with the dead, a skill ninety-nine percent of other mediums lacked. And it was a skill he’d presumed was a core part of himself, but since sitting down at the table and being made to perform, he’d realised something terribly inconvenient.
Seth’s gift had been affected by his encounter with the Adherents of the Fourth and the subsequent loss of Charlie.
In technical terms, Seth would explain that Charlie was a passive entity that had hitched a ride on his body when he was eight years old. It had never sought to harm him, had in fact helped him immeasurably over the years, but Charlie left him during a fight on the top of Ravenmeols Hospital. Seth had been fighting for his life against the shadowmen and their leader, Adam Cowl. It had been a close thing and Seth had barely escaped from that place with his life. But the cost was losing Charlie.
And whilst Charlie wasn’t the source of his mediumship ability, there was a link of sorts. The net effect was that Seth was off his game today. Seth was sitting here, deaf and blind to the spiritual plane for today at least, unable to contact Harold—unable to contact any that they would ask him for.
The theatrics and patter might not be enough to see him through, but if he just gave up, what was he going to do instead? Go back to Malc and tell him he had no source of income. Get a proper job?
“Harold? Are you there?”
Seth had the option of putting on a voice and ‘becoming’ the spirit, but he really wasn’t in the mood to try such a trick.
“He’s here, Ivy. He misses you very much.”
“You always were a bullshitter, Harold.”
“He’s agreeing with you and he’s sorry that he’s not here to help take care of you.”
“You would have been useless. You could barely take care of yourself. Now, where did you put the key for the shed? David is trying to get to the lawnmower and he can’t get the padlock off. I’ve told him to cut it but all the tools are in the shed and what with him being as tight as you, he’s not prepared to buy replacement tools when there are some on the other side of the door.”
Seth couldn’t work out who David was. He presumed he was related to Ivy and Harold, their son perhaps, but he wasn’t about to risk asking.
“Have you tried the kitchen drawer?” Seth asked.
“Of course we’ve tried the kitchen drawer,” she said, a little snappier than Seth felt he deserved. “That was the first place we looked.”
“That was from Harold.”
“Oh. It’s a bit confusing. Harold, we’ve tried the kitchen drawer. Where else might it be?”
“He says check his bedside table.” Everyone had a bedside table, didn’t they?
“No. Not there either.”
“I’m afraid he’s out of suggestions.”
“If you don’t help me Harold, I swear to God I will burn that blasted shed down.”
Seth suspected that Harold didn’t give a shit what she did to the shed.
The next reading went just as bad, although by this point Seth had settled into the idea that he was going this alone, so the panic subsided a little and the adrenaline kicked in, making the patter more fluent, the lies easier to his lips. The fat lady had pulled out a bag of knitting and was blindly working on a jumper whilst whispering to Ivy and keeping a tight eye on Seth and the table. Yvonne, the second lady, wanted to speak to her mother, dead thirty-three years. The longer ago the deceased had passed, the easier the lies should be but Yvonne was as sharp as Ivy and didn’t give him any clue how to shape the conversation. Seth resorted to claims of static in the spirit plane and how tiring it was when there were so many spirits waiting to speak.
By the time Crystal, the fat lady, took her place at the table, the others seemed bored and Seth felt more confident. He wasn’t as cocky as to try rocking the table again, but he did risk a few incoherent utterances and claimed that her husband was attempting to temporarily occupy Seth’s body.
“I’d like my money back,” she said at the end of her reading—a reading that had ended limply after five minutes of her refusing to answer other than a yes or no to Seth’s questions.
“I don’t do refunds,” Seth replied and straightened up. Across the lounge, the rest of the knitting circle had perked up, attentive to Crystal’s conversation.
“I paid twenty pounds for that and you didn’t tell me anything you couldn’t have guessed at. I’ve had readings from some of the best mediums in this country.”
Damn. Why did there have to be a fanatic in the group? Fanatics were unpredictable. You never knew whether they would be on your side, forgiving of every slip up, just happy to believe, or whether they were chronic sceptics who couldn’t let go of the hope that there was someone out there they could believe in. Crystal was his worst nightmare of a customer, and if he didn’t contain her quickly, the others would soon follow her lead.
“I’m sorry th
at you weren’t happy with your reading. The spirits can be unpredictable and today they were hesitant to talk.”
“You’re a fraud.” Her voice had risen in tone. Ivy and the others had stopped their quiet chattering and were indeed taking an interest in their conversation.
“Is everything all right, Crystal?” Ivy piped up.
“It’s all fine,” Seth replied.
“He won’t give me my money back,” Crystal said. She folded her arms and lifted her head. Her chins wobbled as she levelled her eyes with his.
“Why do you want your money back?” Ivy asked, coming over and putting her hand on Crystal’s shoulder. She too was now glaring at Seth. He’d never have thought two old ladies could instil such a fear.
Seth stood, pulled his coat from the back of the chair and slipped into it. “You’ve had a good two hours of my time. I think that’s worth the money.” Crystal’s eyes began to water and when she spoke, her voice wavered. Is this what she was like whenever she didn’t get her own way? Surely this was classic spoilt child syndrome. He wondered whether her family had put her in a home because her behaviour was just so tiresome.
“I want my money back or I'll call the police.”
Seth wanted to laugh, to tell them that the police wouldn’t be interested. But, did he want to take the chance of putting himself in front of the police again?
“To show good faith, I’m willing to offer a twenty percent reduction.” He fished in his jacket pocket for his wallet. Going home with most of the money was better than none.
“Why would you offer to do that if you’ve done nothing wrong?” Ivy’s scowl made her look like an ugly little pug dog.
“I don’t want to leave with unhappy customers.”
“You’ve got your reputation to consider,” Crystal said, the wavering in her voice mysteriously vanished. Seth glared at her. Had they set this up from the beginning? Scammed by old ladies? A noise at the entrance to the lounge and Seth flicked his attention to see the second lady, Yvonne, returning with the owner.
“I warned you not to upset my ladies. Anne is telling me things I don’t want to hear. About how you’ve been treating my residents with disrespect and fleecing money out of them.”
“They’ve paid for a reading and they’ve all had a reading.”
“He’s a fraud,” Crystal started and Seth had to bite his lip to stop himself telling her to shut her cakehole.
“That’s slander.”
“You’d have to prove it’s not true,” Ivy replied as spry as a fly.
“Not sure that’s how it works. You have to prove that it is true.” Seth had no idea if this was the case but he began eyeing up the door ready to make a quick exit. He doubted these ladies could keep up with him if he were to put a bit of a sprint on.
“Give them back their money,” the owner said.
Seth sighed. “Really. Listen, mate—”
“I’m not your mate. I warned you not to mess them around.”
“They’re the ones messing people around.”
“He’s a fraud. I saw him kick the table leg to make it move.”
“And he told me that Harold was happy but that can’t be true because he’s dead and what kind of person tells such lies?”
Seth moved towards the exit. “I’m just going to go. I’m sorry you’ve not had the experience you were after.”
The owner clapped a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Pay them back.”
And then things got a little confused.
Seth tried to explain to the police later on, when the situation had calmed down and once the Mr Blocker’s nose had stopped bleeding, that he genuinely had only meant to free his arm from what he perceived as an imminent threat. Mr Blocker, had likewise told a similar tale, from his point of view, he had a charlatan on his private property and was concerned about the well-being of three vulnerable residents.
“Did you in fact hit him?” Inspector Goulden asked. She was a sturdy woman with a neat, uninspired hairstyle that was showing flecks of grey around the fringe. Her voice somehow matched a balance between total authoritarian and amused school teacher. She’d arrived within minutes of his fist connecting with Mr Blocker’s ear and Seth suspected that Yvonne had already called the police as she’d gone to fetch the manager.
“My fist connected with his ear. It was not an intentional punch. I was trying to get my arm free: he was trying to stop me from leaving.”
“And you were leaving because there was an argument about some money for services rendered.”
“Yes. They weren’t happy and wanted a refund.”
“And you wouldn’t give it to them?”
“I don’t offer refunds. I never guarantee results.”
“What is it you do, Sir.”
Ah, that fateful question. “I’m a medium. I held a private reading for them.”
She paused writing her notes; the pencil held poised above the paper. “Medium like those stage performers?”
“Well, not exactly. I work in close contact with my clients. I don’t do group shows in front of an audience or anything like that.”
“There were three clients in the room.”
“OK, yes, but it wasn’t a performance. They were just waiting for their turn.”
She nodded and added some more lines to her notes. “I know your name, don’t I?” Goulden glanced up and smiled. “You’re the man that went missing during that nasty business at Ravenmeols, aren’t you? I don’t think I got the chance to interview you when you eventually turned up but I was there that night and helped sort out the fallout.”
“Yes, I was at Ravenmeols.” Seth didn’t see the value in adding anything else. Malc had told him about an acerbic police officer who’d been especially unhelpful in attempting to track down Seth.
“You wasted a lot of police time.”
“I’m not sure that this applies to what’s just happened.”
The thin smile dropped. “It’s relevant because I need you to understand where I’m coming from when I ask you to do this next thing. As far as the police are concerned, you are at the very least a troublemaker. There was a lot of damage to the building that night and people died. The eyewitness statements are the only thing keeping you out of prison.”
Seth’s mouth could have absorbed a gallon of water right then. Yes, people had died, he’d been there to watch it happen. But, none of that night was his fault, at least not directly his fault. And so far, the police had failed to track down any of the perpetrators of that night. Roy Oswald had died and his son Johnny had died after being possessed by the mad occultist Adam Cowl. And there were others. Arjun and Peter had been murdered. Michael was still missing. This wasn’t going to go away.
Goulden continued, “I will let you go with a warning, as long as you give these people their money back.”
Seth held his anger in check. He doubted whether these clients had ever intended to pay. They were only after a free bit of afternoon entertainment. But if he went against the policewoman’s wishes, he would be antagonising the very last people he wanted to. His disappearance at Ravenmeols caused a lot of headaches for Malc, and his subsequent reappearance at the vicarage could not be easily explained. Only Malc knew that he’d reappeared through the doorway to the Almost Realm that had been lurking in the vicarage for months. A doorway had saved him from certain death when he stepped off the roof at Ravenmeols, and it had been days later that he’d finally returned. His memory of the time spent in the Almost Realm was hazy at best, nightmarish at worst.
Suffice to say, he hadn’t told the police any of this, only that he'd been injured at the hospital and it had taken him several days before he came to his senses and returned to his friend’s house.
“So, what do you say? Are you going to give them their money back?”
Seth pulled out his wallet and turned to see the three ladies from the West Street Retirement Home smiling at him.
7
He’d parked on the far side of the service b
uilding at the centre of the cemetery and had taken the scenic route through the garden of remembrance before halting mid-step as he saw his parents walking away from him, towards his sister Kelly’s graveside.
Seeing them after all these months gave him a curious feeling in his stomach, like the first drop on a roller coaster. Seth didn’t realise he was backing up to the main building until the wall hit him and he looked for a suitable place to observe. He settled on a spot to the right, a place obscured by trees and shrubbery. If they turned around, it would take them a while to filter away the obstacles and see their son, but by that time, he’d already have slunk back into the shadows.
He’d go over in a minute. That would be the right thing to do. But in this moment, Seth needed to collect his emotions and form an idea of what he might say to them.
Today was Kelly’s birthday but Seth hadn’t been here for over ten years. He recalled standing by her grave in the month after her death and trying to shape the words that needed saying. The words eluded him then, and it had taken him over a decade to tell her he was sorry for failing her.
Of course his parents would come today. They came every year. Hell, they always invited him. Every year except this year when the communication between them had fizzled to an all-time low.
Seth couldn’t blame them for their change in approach to him. As their only other child, it must have been difficult to hear that he’d died at Ravenmeols Hospital, even if it had only been for a few hours. Malc had acted as his messenger boy again, and managed to keep them at arm’s length, just about. Seeing them didn’t feel right. He didn’t fit in that place with them anymore.
His mum placed the bunch of flowers she’d been holding in front of Kelly’s grave, then touched the gravestone for a while before retreating. His dad folded her in his arms. He wondered what they were saying to her, whether they had ever come to terms with her behaviour.
Seth had heard a lot from Adam Cowl on the rooftop of Ravenmeols Hospital about his sister and why she’d snuck out of the house in the middle of the night. Seth had found her in an outbuilding behind the hospital. Back then, when it was full of patients the place had filled him with a terrible feeling of dread, fuelled by the unfortunate reality of living so close to the site. Seth only had to open his bedroom curtains as a child to see Ravenmeols before him. At night, if he squinted hard, he’d see movement in the lighted windows, and wonder what was happening up there. Did those patients never sleep?
The Dark Corners Box Set Page 27
