As she wandered through its historic streets and twittens, Ruby would often muse about the amazing number of interesting and influential people that had lived in this small Sussex county town: famous writers, artists, poets, musicians, physicians, scientists, even an Archbishop of Canterbury at one time. Sometimes she’d stroll through the ruins of Lewes Priory, on the outskirts of town, imagining the goings on in what had once been one of the richest monasteries in England; at others she’d take a walk up towards Offham Hill, picking up residual feelings from Lewes’s famous battle of 1264 as she went. Thankfully, most people seemed to have passed successfully now. For such an ancient place, Lewes was surprisingly spirit free. Not even the souls of the protestant martyrs (who were burnt at the stake in the town for their supposedly ‘heretical’ beliefs during Catholic Mary Tudor’s reign and whose sacrifice was also marked on Bonfire night) remained. Although again, residual feelings did – far too powerful to be erased from the atmosphere entirely, Ruby would regularly experience insights into a torturous death she could really do without.
Shuddering, and not entirely because of the chill night air, Ruby pulled her coat closer. She could rely on the pub to be warm, a log fire almost always burned in the grate during the winter months. She would sit beside it, plough through several chapters of her book, sip at her drink and then return home for that well-earned bath. A perfect evening by anybody’s standards, she decided as she stepped through the door. The globe lights that Gracie had chosen during a recent refurbishment cast a golden glow, embracing her like an old friend. The pub was virtually empty inside, but then it was Monday. Lewes barely rocked on a Friday evening let alone the beginning of the week.
“Hi, Ruby,” greeted Gracie as she walked to the bar. “The usual?”
“Yes, please, but the coke part, I’ll have the full-fat version this time.”
“Much nicer,” agreed Gracie, winking at her.
Paying and taking her drink, she sat down at her favourite table, pulled out her book and began to read.
On the third paragraph of chapter eight she became aware that Gracie was speaking to her.
‘Now isn’t that odd?” she was saying. “You two, reading the same book.”
“Sorry?” said Ruby, confused.
“You two...” Gracie repeated, nodding at her and then at a young man sitting a few tables away, also with a book in his hands. A young man who must have come in after her as she certainly hadn’t noticed him on arrival. “You’re both reading the same book.”
The man in question looked up. Glancing at her book cover first, he then checked his own as though needing to reassure himself that Gracie wasn’t in fact deluded.
“So we are,” he muttered, surprised.
“Never heard of it myself,” chirped Gracie, wiping down a beer pump. “Any good?”
“Yes,” both readers chimed back in perfect unison.
Smiling now, the man turned towards Ruby. Holding up his copy, he pointed to it with one finger and mouthed, “Are you enjoying it?”
At least that’s what Ruby thought he was saying; she wasn’t quite sure. As if realising this was the case, the man picked up his book and his pint glass and walked over to her.
“Drive Like Hell, are you enjoying it?”
“Oh right, yes, the book,” she replied. “Yes, I am actually. It’s pretty good. Are you?”
“Yeah, so far so good.”
There was a slight pause, only a second or two but Ruby felt the weight of it. Quickly, she shifted over, indicating it was okay for him to take a seat beside her.
“Dallas Hudgens,” she said, referring to the book’s author as her new acquaintance sat down, “he’s not exactly No.1 in the Bestsellers list, is he? Who recommended him to you?”
“A guy called Wes Freed, have you heard of him?”
“No,” Ruby shook her head.
“Oh, he’s great. He does the artwork for a band called The Drive-By Truckers.”
“Never heard of them either,” said Ruby, a little confused.
“Well, Wes Freed, he’s a fan of Dallas Hudgens, gave his book a big shout out on his website. That’s how I heard of him.”
“Oh, I see,” replied Ruby, even though she wasn’t sure she did. “I found him by accident, in a charity shop, £1.50, a bargain I’d say.”
“Too right,” he said and then, offering her his hand, “I’m Cash, Cash Wilkins.”
“Hi,” said Ruby, noting what a firm grip he had, “Ruby Davis.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ruby.”
“Likewise.”
Taking a sip of her drink, Ruby couldn’t resist asking: “Cash, that’s unusual. Is it some sort of nickname?”
Cash shook his head. “No, it’s my actual name, after that bad boy Johnny. My elder brother’s called Presley – our mum’s mad about Elvis too.”
“Aha!” said Ruby, enlightened. “Good names... I like them.”
“Yeah, not too bad I suppose. I dread to think if we’d had a sister what she would have been called though, Dolly perhaps? Not so good.”
Another quiet moment passed.
“Do you come here often?” said Cash, attempting to fill the gap. “Sorry, that’s such a cliché! I just meant I haven’t seen you in here before.” He looked mortified.
“That’s okay,” Ruby rushed to reassure him, “it’s as good a question as any, and yes, I do come here quite often. It’s my local; I work just up the road.”
“Oh right, I’m usually at the other end of town actually, at The Snowdrop, thought I’d pop in here for a change tonight though. I work locally as well. What do you do?”
And here it was, so soon, the question she always dreaded. How should she reply? The answer: ‘I see dead people’ rarely enamoured her to strangers even if they had seen and enjoyed the film Sixth Sense. Rather, it tended to make them look at her with barely concealed horror before making some excuse, any excuse, no matter how trivial, and hightailing it from her, condemning her mid-flight as some sort of fruit loop. Until they encountered a problem of the spiritual kind that is. Then they flew right back.
Refusing to be embarrassed, however, and reminding herself that her profession was just as valid as any other, she replied confidently, “I’m a surveyor, a psychic surveyor.”
“A what?” he asked, clearly baffled.
Holding her head high, she continued, “I run a company called Psychic Surveys, just a short walk from here up the High Street, opposite the castle. I survey houses for paranormal presence and, if such a presence exists, I work either alone or with a team of psychics to send that presence into the light, where it belongs.”
“You’re a ghost hunter?” gasped Cash, his eyes wide, not with horror she was quick to note, but fascination.
“We don’t call them ghosts, we call them spirits,” she pointed out. “And we certainly do not go hunting for them.”
“Wow! I never thought I’d be sitting in a pub on a Monday night talking to a ghost hunter!”
“As I’ve just explained,” Ruby replied, a little peevishly this time, “I am not a ghost hunter, I’m a psychic surveyor. There’s a difference.”
Nodding towards their empty glasses Cash said, “Well, whatever that difference is, I’d love to hear about it. Another drink?”
Ruby contemplated declining. It had been a long day and that hot bath she had imagined earlier, filled to the brim with bubbles, poured from the green bottle, the one that promised to ease her aches and pains, was calling to her. But there was something about Cash that intrigued her and it wasn’t just their mutual taste in books.
“Okay,” she conceded, reaching for her purse, “a rum and coke, please.”
“No, I’ll get these. It’s a shame this is a Harveys pub and not a Shepherd Neame. If it was Shepherd Neame I’d get a pint of Spooks, as it is Bonfire Boy will have to do.” He winked cheekily at her before heading to the bar.
With his back to her, Ruby was able to scrutinise Cash more closely. He was tall, six f
oot at least. His skin light caramel in colour and his black hair closely cropped, giving him a clean, streamlined look. In jeans, Timberland boots and a jacket, he was dressed casually, but not without style. Attempting a stab at his age, she’d put him at around twenty- eight – four years older than her.
When he came back with their drinks, Ruby endeavoured to change the subject.
“So, what do you do for a living?” she asked breezily.
“I’m a website designer, freelance.”
Ruby sat abruptly up. “A website designer, seriously, you’re not kidding me?”
“Er, no, I’m definitely not kidding you.” Clearly he was amused by her somewhat extreme reaction.
“It’s just, I need a website,” she attempted to explain her enthusiasm before adding somewhat dejectedly, “but I suppose you’re expensive. You guys always are.”
“Hey, not so fast, I’m very reasonable actually. We could come to some sort of deal, I’m sure. But enough about my profession, it’s not exactly mind-blowing, not like yours. Tell me more about Psychic Surveys.”
Ruby sighed. She did think his profession was pretty mind-blowing actually, the wonderful world of computers as mysterious to her as the paranormal world was to others. Still, at least he wanted to know more, this man beside her; at least he wasn’t running in the opposite direction.
“What do you want to know exactly?” she asked, slightly defeated.
Cash ran his hand across his smooth, stubble-free chin. “God, where do I start? Actually...” he continued, suddenly looking rather pleased with himself, “that’s as good a place as any – God. Do you do all this spirit banishing on behalf of the church?”
“It is not banishing,” she corrected once again, wondering how often she would have to do so during the course of their conversation. “It’s sending spirits to the light, home in other words, where they belong and where sometimes, for a variety of reasons, they are reluctant to go. And no, I am not working on behalf of the church nor do I affiliate myself with any type of organised religion. The church carries out exorcisms; that is their domain and quite different to what I do.”
“In what way?” quizzed Cash, his eyes reminding her of melted chocolate.
Striving to remain professional under his gaze, she continued, “Let’s just say Psychic Surveys promotes a more holistic approach to paranormal problems. In my experience, humble though it may be, trapped spirits are far from demonic, they are simply confused and upset, frightened even. They need a helping hand, compassion, a little reassurance. They tend to go quite peacefully then. There is really very little drama involved.”
Taking a swig of his ale and leaning back in his seat, Cash was obviously warming to the subject.
“So, what about gadgets? Do you take lots of gadgets with you when you go to a haunting?”
Gadgets? Ruby was baffled. What is it with men and gadgets?
“No,” she replied, exasperated. “There’s really no need for EVP recorders, EMF metres or indeed ambient thermometers, despite what you may have seen on Most Haunted. And anyway, that kind of equipment is usually used to detect presences. We don’t need to do that. We use psychic connection to detect. Afterwards, when a spirit has been sent home, we use crystals, herbs and bells to cleanse the atmosphere, to renew it.”
“Are you psychic?”
She was taken aback by his bluntness. “Yes, yes I am.”
“You actually see ghosts?”
“On occasion, but more often than not I sense them. Very few spirits are able to summon up enough energy to manifest. That’s more the stuff of horror movies.”
“Cool...” he said, taking another long swig.
“Believe it or not, most people have some sort of psychic ability; but the tendency is to suppress it.”
“Really?” said Cash, clearly unconvinced. “I can quite honestly say I’ve never had a psychic experience in my life, not once, ever.”
“I said most people. We’re not talking about an exact science here.”
“It’s annoying though,” continued Cash, undaunted. “You know, when people start telling you about a ghostly experience they’ve had and then everybody starts chipping in with spooky tales of their own? Well, I’m out on a limb, I can’t contribute at all. I’ve got nothing to say. It’s dead boring,” and then realising the pun, he laughed.
Ruby was really warming to him. He seemed harmless enough, relaxed around her, which counted for something. She also liked the fact he was totally closed to the spirit world, accustomed as she was to being in the company of other psychics, it made a refreshing change.
“Believe me,” she said, finishing the dregs of her second drink, “being psychic is no picnic. When you’re standing in line at the post office, that’s all you want to be doing, not dealing with some spirit tapping you repeatedly on your shoulder, begging you to give a message to the person standing in front of you.”
“Has that really happened?” Cash was aghast.
“It has,” Ruby nodded.
“And what did you do?”
“I waited until we’d left the post office, went over to the person in question and imparted the message. She, however, threatened to call the police. Thought I was mad, even though I’d told her something I couldn’t possibly have known, that only her aunt – the spirit tapping me on the shoulder – could have known. But what could I do? The message she had to relay was important. I couldn’t not say anything.”
“Tough call.” The expression on his face was suitably grave.
“On occasion, yes,” Ruby agreed. “But at least I’ve had expert guidance in how to deal with my ability. It runs in my family. Through the female line.”
“Guided by your mum you mean?”
Keeping her voice steady, she replied “No, not my mum, my grandmother.”
“Oh,” said Cash, leaning forward slightly, clearly interested in hearing why – Ruby, however, was not about to go into details with a complete stranger.
Cash must have sensed her reluctance because, to his credit, he didn’t pursue the matter. After a few moments, he said, “Can it be taught, this psychic ability?”
“Taught? Not exactly. Developed perhaps.”
“Even in me?”
“Even in you.”
Seeing the doubt cross his face, she continued, “You say you have no psychic ability at all, but how many times have you thought of someone, your mum say, and the next minute she’s ringing you? Or perhaps you’ve left the house one morning feeling uneasy? Because you need to be somewhere fast, you dismiss it as paranoid nonsense. You drive to work and a car comes out of nowhere, narrowly avoiding you. You remember that feeling of unease; you think perhaps I’m not paranoid after all. Any of that sound familiar?”
Looking surprised, Cash thought a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I can identify with that.”
“Well, that’s your sixth sense – an ability to tune into the unseen world around you. And you do have it, Cash, even you.”
“Hmmm,” said Cash, tongue-in-cheek now. “I’m psychic after all!”
Ruby returned his smile, noting as she did so how white and even his teeth were. She liked good teeth in a man. And a good set of strong, wide shoulders. Just like his.
“Another drink?” he asked after a while.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she teased.
“Maybe...” he batted right back. “Another rum and coke?”
“Okay,” Ruby capitulated, the relaxing effects of the first two drinks kicking in. “But this will have to be my last, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Here, my shout.”
“No, you can pay next time.”
Next time, thought Ruby as Cash returned to the bar. How come he’s so sure there’s going to be a next time? Annoyingly, her intuition remained silent.
Returning with the drinks and settling himself in beside her once more, Cash asked, “So why do you do it? This job you do. Why spend a lifetime dealing with the dead?”
“Because they need
help; every bit as much as the living. Because... it’s my duty.”
“Your duty? How come?”
“Look,” said Ruby, picking her drink up then placing it back down without taking a sip. “The spirit world is not full of crazed ghouls, it’s populated by those who were once human, ordinary people like you and me, who have found themselves caught between this world and whatever lies beyond. They can’t move on, for so many reasons – perhaps their death was sudden, unexpected, perhaps they can’t bear to leave a loved one behind, a child perhaps; very often a child. But they have to. Their time on earth is over. The next adventure calls. If I can help them on their way, then it’s my duty to do so.”
“That necklace you’re wearing, it’s nice. What stone is it?”
Her hand reaching up to touch her throat, she was surprised at how swiftly he had changed the subject. Had her talk of other-worldly matters finally unsettled him?
“Erm... its obsidian,” she replied after a few moments.
“Unusual,” he said, still eyeing the purply black stone in its solid silver setting.
“It’s...” she hesitated and then, thinking Sod it, she continued. “It’s one of several stones used to protect against negative energy. It can come in handy sometimes.”
Cash was grinning now, quite openly, definite amusement in his eyes.
“What?” Ruby said, unsure whether to be offended by his reaction or to laugh along with him.
“Nothing,” he replied, breaking eye contact to finish his pint. “So, you need a website do you?”
“I do, yes.” Ruby finished her drink too.
“I’ll strike a deal with you then.”
“A deal? What...?”
“I’ll design and build a website for you if you let me accompany you on one of your... surveys.”
Surveys? Not a haunting? He was learning the lingo at least. But no, she couldn’t possibly take him to a survey, what would Theo say? She was about to protest when he started again.
The Haunting of Highdown Hall Page 3
