###
Later that evening I leant back against my kitchen worktop, nursing a large glass of red wine. With beans on the stove and toast in the toaster, I certainly knew how to have a good time. I mulled over the situation with Cassia, pondering about finding a chance to call her mother in to school for a chat.
What kind of woman had a daughter such as Cassia? What must their home life be like? It was entirely feasible that Cassia was simply mimicking the sort of things her mother might say and do. If Jacinta Veysie knew about Bryony Wright’s death, she might have told Cassia about it, simply to use her as an example of the importance of road safety. There are so many ways that little minds become twisted, not always through intent.
On the other hand, perhaps Cassia really did have some strange sort of gift.
My reverie was interrupted by a sudden pop and hiss from the toaster. An element had blown. A thin curl of smoke drifted upwards and quickly dissipated. I recalled the way Cassia had made the exploding motion with her hands, and the ‘poof’ sound she’d expelled.
And shuddered.
###
Parents evening.
Jacinta Veysie turned up slightly late for our appointment, clutching a little box of goodies. I peered into the box, slightly taken aback, to find a number of iced buns, decorated by Cassia with little faces, home-made lavender soap, and a bergamot face balm in a small glass pot, beautifully wrapped in fresh clean tissue paper and tied with twine. Were these the ‘medicines’ that Jacinta cooked?
“That’s very kind, Ms Veysie” I said, regarding the pretty woman sitting across from me with more than a little curiosity. She was slight, her hair dyed black, but naturally curly.
“Jacinta, please. I brought these as a sweetener. I expect you have your work cut out with my daughter,” she said candidly.
I smiled, “She is a little… unusual. Not nasty or poorly behaved at all, but some of the things she says…”
“She has a tendency to speak plain,” Jacinta nodded. “I’m not unhappy about that.”
“Her school work is good. Her written expression and her willingness to learn are exceptional. Especially when we undertake nature projects. However, I worry that she’s lonely,” I said.
Jacinta gave this some thought. “Cassia is not to everyone’s taste, and children can be cruel at times. I feel she will grow into her skin and her personality, and be happy later in life.”
“Do you think…?” I hesitated not sure how to phrase what I wanted to say, “that Cassia tells tall tales?”
Jacinta sat back in her seat and regarded me warily.
“Does she lie, you mean?” Jacinta frowned.
“Perhaps she has an overactive imagination?” I suggested, back pedalling quickly.
“Cassia is not a liar,” Jacinta said emphatically.
“Oh, I’m not suggesting…”
Jacinta bristled. “It sounds as though you are.” She stared at me, her brow furrowed, but then she must have seen something in my expression that made her look twice. “Wait.” Her eyes searched mine. “Oh I see,” she said quietly and her face softened as she regarded me with sadness.
For some strange reason I found myself on the verge of tears. Make it go away, I wanted to beg Jacinta.
“Is it true then?” I whispered. Please say it isn’t.
“Oh Cassia,” Jacinta sighed. “What has she done? I’m very sorry Miss Parsons. I will talk to her about this.”
“But…” I stumbled for words. “When will it happen?” Jacinta shook her head, looking increasingly uncomfortable, I raised my voice. “How long?” My cry echoed around the hall and other teachers and parents looked my way.
Jacinta flushed and stood. She pushed the little box of goodies she had brought with her closer to me.
“Live for now. Make each and every moment count.”
Then she turned on her heel and ran out of the hall, and left me to my turbulent emotions.
###
It is difficult to live when you under sentence of death and for a few months I languished in misery and anxiety, but I turned my world around when a friend approached me to do a tandem parachute jump to raise money for a children’s charity. At first I baulked at the idea but then I realised, Cassia had told me I would die in smoke, not from a fall from a height.
I did the jump.
And then I did more jumps. I quit teaching and I backpacked around Asia and Australia. I bungee-jumped. I camped in the wild. I rode a raft through white water. I took journeys alone to remote areas. I hitch-hiked through inaccessible and remote areas. I faced up to men with guns. I taught for a while among communities affected by disease.
I got sick. It was never life-threatening. I got better.
I lost my sense of fear. I made the most of life’s opportunities.
Life was good.
This morning I boarded the underground in London, excited to be off on my travels once more. The carriage was chock full of people, some chatting, and some staring into space. One young man, dark haired, wild-eyed, a large plastic bag at his side, caught my attention. He returned my gaze, his face devoid of emotion.
Already dead inside.
In that fraction of time, I understood what was coming.
A poofing sound.
Followed instantly by a blinding flash of light. I closed my eyes and my body spun in the air, pushed violently in different directions.
Seconds later I opened my eyes, and found myself on the floor of the carriage, horror and devastation all around me. Perhaps people were screaming, but my ears were ringing, and I couldn’t hear anything. Cloying smoke and grey ash billowed through the carriage and swirled in silence in the space above my pounding head.
My jaw was rigid, panic beginning to set in. I knew I was hurt badly, but there had to be a way to come back from this. After all, Cassia had told me I would not die by myself. Then from nowhere, someone or something unseen lay a calm, cold hand on my arm.
“I am with you,” said a small child’s voice next to my ear. “You are not alone.”
Beyond the Veil
(Published 12.07.2018)
Don't open the door.
Don't look inside.
Because some doors are best left closed.
Detective Adam Chapple had always assumed that death was final.
However, when his ex-wife is killed, the boundaries between fantasy and reality, truth and lies, and life and death, crumble beneath his feet.
Because the woman who is mistaken as the main suspect in the murder insists she is actually his star witness.
Why? Because she met the killer once before.
When they were dead.
As part of his investigation, Adam seeks out Cassia Veysie. A self-proclaimed witch, Cassia claims to be able to communicate with the dead, and considers herself the perfect person to help Adam with his case. Unfortunately, when they join forces, the situation rapidly deteriorates. A gateway to a sinister world beyond the veil is ripped open and the fabric of their lives begins to disintegrate.
As unquiet spirits are unleashed into the world, can Cassia and Adam find a way to shore up the breach in the veil and keep the demons at bay?
With time running out and a murderer on the loose, the nightmare is only just beginning …
Get Beyond the Veil now.
Available here: http://mybook.to/BTV
Other Books by Jeannie Wycherley
Crone (2017) Available http://mybook.to/CroneJW
A Concerto for the Dead and Dying (short story, 2018) http://mybook.to/ConcertoDead
Deadly Encounters: A collection of short stories (2017) http://mybook.to/DeadlyEncounters
Keepers of the Flame: A love story (Novella, 2018) http://mybook.to/keepers
Short and Saucy by Jeannie Wycherley writing as Betty Gabriel
The Fly Man (2017) https://www.amazon.com/Fly-Man-Short-Saucy-ebook/dp/B01N4VRRGG/
Autoerotic (2
015) https://www.amazon.com/Autoerotic-Betty-Gabriel-ebook/dp/B019YNUSAK/
Non Fiction
Losing my best Friend: Thoughtful support for those affected by dog bereavement or pet loss (2017) http://mybook.to/LosingMyBestFriend
Follow Jeannie Wycherley
Find out more at on the website https://www.jeanniewycherley.co.uk/
You can tweet Jeannie https://twitter.com/Thecushionlady
Or visit her on Facebook for her fiction https://www.facebook.com/jeanniewycherley/
Sign up for Jeannie’s newsletter http://eepurl.com/cN3Q6L
About The Author
Jeannie Wycherley is the author of the award winning novel Crone (2017) which won an Indie B.R.A.G Award, and a Chill with a Book Award. She is a contributor of many short stories and articles in publications across the globe.
Jeannie lives somewhere between the forest and the sea in East Devon in the UK and takes inspiration for her stories from the incredible landscape. She collects dogs, hugs trees, and cooks her evening meals in a cauldron.
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