The Hill - Ben’s Story (Book One).: A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book One).

by Andrew M Stafford

  Phelps had received a generous grant to fund his research in child sleep disorders and the grant was paying for a week in the prestigious private hospital and for the equipment required to carry out a week of polysomnography tests on Christopher.

  The grant also covered Maria’s out of pocket expenses.

  Maria followed as she pushed Christopher in his buggy. She was in awe of the building. It was nothing like any hospital she’d ever seen. The floors were carpeted and the walls were covered in beautiful paintings. It was like a hotel. If it wasn’t for the occasional doctor passing her in the corridor she could have been visiting The Ritz.

  Phelps was carrying a black shoulder bag and was pulling Maria’s overnight case behind him.

  He stopped outside a door and used his ID pass to open it. The door swung open to reveal a hive of activity taking place in the room.

  A woman wearing a white coat was working on a keypad which was at the top of a three tiered desk next to a cot. On the middle tier was a printer and the bottom tier was a computer and some complicated looking equipment.

  On the other side of the cot was a stand, which looked like a stainless steel lampstand with another complicated piece of equipment attached to the top. A man, who was also wearing a white coat, was busy plugging in wires which were attached to sensors.

  They stopped what they were doing when Phelps entered the room followed by Maria and Christopher.

  “May I introduce you to Maria Jameson and her son, Christopher” said Phelps, as Maria closed the door behind her.

  Maria smiled at the busy white coated workers.

  “And may I introduce technicians Mike Prince and June Hudson.”

  Maria walked up to Mike Prince and shook his hand and then turned to Hudson who eagerly had her hand ready for Maria to shake.

  “Mike and June will be helping me over the next few days.”

  The room was large. It had a flat screen television on the wall opposite the cot, a table with a kettle and a choice of different teas and coffees from around the world. On the wall was a large framed picture of Winnie the Pooh and there was a large couch in the corner. To the right of the entrance of the room was door leading to a smaller room which had an adult sized single bed. In this room was a door which led to a bathroom, where there was a toilet, shower and a sink.

  Phelps carried Maria’s case into the room with the bed and gestured for her follow.

  “This is where you will be sleeping, so make yourself at home.”

  Her room also had a flat screen television, a bedside cabinet and a phone. On the shelf below the phone was a Gideon's Bible. There was a wardrobe where she could hang her clothes. It really was more like a hotel than a hospital.

  Phelps left her to unpack whilst he spoke with Hudson and Prince. Christopher was sleeping in his buggy. The journey to London had worn him out.

  Maria opened the blinds and peered from the window in her room which overlooked Great Portland Street. She watched traffic mill along the busy road and the mass of pedestrians making their way home. The triple glazed windows kept the noise out and it was like watching a movie with the volume turned down.

  She unpacked her clothes and hung them in the wardrobe and laid Christopher’s in a neat pile on a shelf at the bottom.

  Maria went back to the room with the cot just as the two technicians were leaving. Phelps was sitting on the couch with a large pile of paperwork and a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

  “Sit down Maria, we need to have a talk and you need to sign some forms. It’s a good idea to do it now while Christopher is sleeping.”

  Phelps explained that when Christopher is sleeping, Hudson and Prince will attach sensors at various points on his body to record information during the night.

  “Is there any chance that this could be harmful?”

  “Not at all, because what we will be doing is non-invasive.”

  “So you won’t be blasting him with microwaves or x-rays or photons?”

  Phelps laughed. “No, all we will be doing is taking measurements and hopefully the information picked up on the polysomnography recorder will teach us more about what is happening,” Phelps paused for a few seconds, “of course, all of this is dependent upon whether Christopher head bangs and talks tonight.”

  Maria was confident that he would. He had been head banging and chanting the same six words for the past week.

  Maria pointed to the computer,

  “I still want to know more about the polysomwhatsit machine before I sign the forms.”

  Phelps nodded.

  “We will place sensors around his body and record brain electrical activity, eye and jaw muscle movement, leg muscle movement, airflow, respiratory effort, EKG and oxygen saturation.”

  For the most part Maria was none the wiser.

  “But the most important information is likely to come from electrical activity in his brain.”

  Maria shuddered.

  “I suggest you wake him and bring him to the restaurant so we can all have a bite eat. Keep him up as late as possible so he sleeps well tonight.”

  The restaurant was huge and the food looked fantastic. Maria was still having difficulty comprehending that she was in a hospital. It was more like a five star holiday complex.

  Maria settled on a modest baked potato while Phelps had a plateful of tagliatelle.

  They discussed Christopher, and Phelps knew she was nervous and did his best to make light of the whole thing. He was both concerned and fascinated by the boy. In all the years he’d been working in the medical profession he had never seen anything like it.

  Later, Hudson and Prince joined them as Maria fed Christopher.

  Christopher was enjoying the attention and having great fun as the four adults took it in turns to pick him up and fuss over him.

  By seven o’clock Christopher was yawning and getting crotchety.

  “That’s his tired head,” said Maria.

  “Well I guess it’s time to get the show on the road,” said Phelps standing up and rubbing his hands.

  Maria, Hudson and Prince walked behind Phelps as they made their way back to the room. Maria carried Christopher in her arms.

  By the time they were back in the room Christopher was almost asleep. Maria changed him and dressed him in his white towelling sleep suit. She gently placed him in the cot and tucked Misty under his arm. He was asleep within minutes.

  Prince and Hudson placed the sensors on him, making sure they didn’t wake him.

  Six electrodes were attached to the top of his head. One electrode was placed above and to the outside of his right eye, and another was placed below and to the outside of his left.

  “These sensors record the movements of the eyes during sleep and serve to help determine sleep stages,” said Phelps as the two doctors continued to wire Christopher to the machine.

  It was too much for Maria and she rushed into the other room and sat on the bed.

  June Hudson stopped what she was doing and turned to walk into Maria’s room. Phelps held up his hand and gestured to leave Maria alone.

  “Give her some time, she’ll be OK.”

  Two minutes later Maria returned and apologised.

  “Just do what you’re doing and spare me the details,” she said wiping her eyes.

  By eight fifteen Christopher was wired up and fast asleep. None of the sensors and wires seemed to bother him. Prince made sure the wires were slack. Phelps had warned him that his head banging could become violent and he didn’t want any of the wires to come loose.

  Hudson stood on a chair and adjusted a camera which was fixed to the wall. Christopher’s image popped up on a little television monitor in the corner of the room, which Maria hadn’t noticed before.

  Prince typed at the computer keyboard and the printer began to slowly churn out a role of paper as little pens zigzagged across the page, recording the activity in his brain.

  Maria took the kettle into her room, filled it with
water from the sink and prepared a hot drink for her, Phelps and the two technicians.

  Over the hissing of the kettle she could hear the familiar sound of Christopher banging his head. She put her head around the door and watched her son doing what she’d seen him do many times before. But wired up to the machine he looked different. He looked like a little freak. She watched the pens on the printer whizz over the paper recording what was happening in his brain. And then the chanting began.

  “Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There.”

  Phelps knew what to expect, he’d already seen it on the video clip. But to see it with his own eyes and to hear the words coming from Christopher’s mouth was a different thing.

  Phelps and the technicians stood in silence and June Hudson found it hard not to show her emotions.

  Christopher had been chanting the same six words for a week and although Maria was getting used to it, she hated it more every time he did it.

  After a minute everyone jumped into action. Prince was typing at the computer while Hudson and Phelps were making notes.

  The pens recording Christopher’s electrical brain activity were frantically whipping across the paper and Maria thought the machine was going to break.

  Then everything stopped.

  Christopher ceased head banging and instead of chanting he was gently breathing.

  The pens on the printer stopped their frenzied jig and were slightly twitching and recording a gentle wave of lines.

  But it was the calm before the storm. Like a receding sea before a tsunami, what Christopher did next took everyone by surprise.

  Chapter seventy one

  The Awareness

  8.35pm

  Not long after Christopher had started to sleep, Ben began to stir and as always, he carried on from where he had left off, repeating his desperate plea.

  “Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There.”

  As Ben repeated the chant he felt different. He didn’t know what he was sensing, but something had changed. He was experiencing a tingling feeling. Although he had no physical body to truly feel the sensation of touch, somehow he was aware of this strange new sensation.

  Each time he chanted the words, he heard an echo. It wasn’t loud, but it was clear and distinct. He could hear his words and his own voice bouncing back to him. It was eerie and it caught him completely off guard.

  He didn’t stop, he continued with the mantra.

  “Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There….. Please – Let – Me – Know – You’re – There.”

  Every word had an echo and the tingling was becoming more intense. It reminded him of pins and needles.

  Then it occurred to him. Perhaps someone was letting him know they were there. As if, in some way, bouncing his words back to him was a way of saying ‘yes, I can hear you’.

  The electrodes attached Christopher’s head were picking up the electrical activity created by Ben’s thoughts. The tiny electrical current was enough to register on the polysomnography recorder and as the electrodes sensed the miniscule flow of electrical charge, an even smaller current rebounded off the electrodes and passed back through the pineal gland, where Ben’s essence had been existing since the instant he’d died.

  The tiny electrical charge which was bouncing back to Ben created an echo effect and even though the current which returned to Ben travelled at one-hundredth of the speed of light, his heightened level of perception was able to detect it.

  Ben stopped chanting and considered what was happening. Someone, or something somewhere had heard his voice and had let him know. His hard work had paid off. The relentless chant had resulted in someone saying ‘OK Ben, we’re letting you know we’re here, what’s next’.

  It was up to Ben to make the next move. He had to choose his next words carefully. He knew there was a limit to what he could say and whatever he said could make all the difference.

  Ben considered the ramifications of what was happening. If the next words he chose were to make a difference, what would that difference be? If he was set free from this strange prison-like existence then where would he go? Heaven, hell or perhaps back to where he came? What if he could be taken back to the time just before he died and be given another chance to fight back and protect Liz?

  Or perhaps he would end up standing face to face with god? He’d never spent much time attending church but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t a believer. He worried whether he’d been a good enough person in his life to deserve entry into heaven.

  He wondered about who it was that was listening to him. If it was god, then it was an odd way of communicating.

  He needed to know what to do next. So he asked the question.

  He tried to speak again.

  “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”……

  But something was wrong. He knew his words weren’t being heard. Instead of shouting he was whispering. He tried again.

  “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”……

  His thoughts had no power. He had lost whatever it was he’d had before to make himself heard.

  He became frustrated. It was like a dream in which no matter how fast he ran he remained in the same place. His frustration increased as he tried again to be heard.

  “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”…… “What – happens – next?”……

  But still nothing. The frustration turned to anger. He thought of Liz being attacked and the last time he saw her and the memory of the rock crashing into his head.

  As quickly as his frustration turned to anger his anger turned to rage. He had another chance to be heard and he was letting it slip away.

  Perhaps this was the last opportunity to be heard and if he lost it he could be stuck like this for ever.

  The idea of a lonely eternity made him bitter. This shouldn’t be happening to him. He had to get out.

  He felt claustrophobic, trapped in this strange place with nothing to keep him company other than his memories.

  This and the other thoughts were mixing and turning into a melting pot of anger and hatred.

  Then the energy returned.

  The words he said next were not planned and they had so much spit and bile that they took him by surprise.

  “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”

  His words echoed and the strange tingling sensation returned.

  He wasn’t going to stop until he was free from his lonely cell.

  “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from – this – hell”…. “Free – me – from –
this – hell”

  Chapter seventy two

  The Portland Hospital

  London

  8.42pm

  Christopher’s respite from head banging and chanting didn’t last long. According to the reading from the printer he had been sleeping gently and without incident for seven minutes.

  Then, just like a steam locomotive gradually gaining traction as it pulled out of its station, he gently banged his head against the soft hospital pillow. Each time he thudded his head he let out an ‘ughh’. He slowly thumped his head on the pillow then stopped. After two or three seconds he started again.

  “Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh.”

  And then another break, followed by, “Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh,” and another break followed by, “Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh.”

  The pens on the printer were swiveling across the paper recording his brain activity.

  “He’s chanting in cycles of five,” whispered Hudson.

  All eyes were on Christopher. His head banging and chanting picked up pace and within a couple of minutes he was banging his head at the speed he was doing earlier.

  “Listen,” said Maria holding up her hand as if she was stopping oncoming traffic.

  The four of them stood perfectly still and no one spoke as he chanted.

  Eventually Phelps spoke in his Australian drawl.

  “He’s saying something.”

  Christopher’s five cycle chant was forming into words. As the words were forming the character of his voice changed. He was moving away from the baby-like ‘ughh’ and his voice, although still childlike, took on a mature tone.

  A few minutes later the ‘ughh’ had completely changed and five new words were repeating each time his head thumped against the pillow.

  “Are we getting this?” asked Phelps, as Hudson typed at the keyboard.

  Hudson nodded.

  Prince checked that the camera was picking up the images.

  The five new words sounded eerie as well as clinical and were underpinned by the whirring of the electrical equipment.

  Maria dropped face down on the couch and began to sob, Hudson walked over and sat beside her without taking her eyes off Christopher.