by Nick Moseley
‘But why?’
‘I was asked to. We didn’t think your Sight would show itself yet, but clearly it has. Quite unusual.’
‘My sight? I’ve been able to see my whole life,’ said Trev. ‘Who’s this “we”, anyway? Are you talking about those shadow things? And the faces in the mist?’
‘No,’ said Agatha, very firmly. ‘I am not talking about them. I was referring to Bernard. Your Grandfather.’
‘Granddad?’ blurted Trev. ‘My Granddad can see you too?’
‘Of course he can,’ said Agatha. ‘He is, after all, the Custodian. I think it would be a good idea if we went to see him. Your unfortunate experience in Bandstand Park has rather changed things, I fancy.’
‘What things? What do you mean by “he’s the Custodian”? What the hell are you on about? Why are you talking in riddles? Why won’t the lot of you just leave me alone?’ Trev was up off the bed now, his reddening face close to Agatha’s pale one.
‘Well really,’ she replied. ‘A certain amount of confusion and shock was to be expected, but I had hoped you would conduct yourself with a little more decorum than this.’
‘Decorum?’ replied Trev. ‘I’ve been threatened by a possessed man who then went off and battered two people to death, I’ve had you playing hide-and-bloody-seek with me all day, I’ve seen shadows that seem alive, heard creepy whispering, seen eyes in the mist in Bandstand Park and all you’re worried about is my manners?’
‘Such as they are,’ Agatha sniffed. Her expression softened. ‘But listen to me, Trevor. I can’t explain all of this to you in a few minutes. Under normal circumstances we could have broken this to you gradually, over time. It softens the blow, so to speak. But these aren’t normal circumstances. The Sight - and I don’t mean your normal sight, I’m talking about the ability to see those such as myself, and the others, the ones in the mist and the shadows - is found in very few people. In cases where it appears, it invariably does not show itself until after the person’s thirtieth birthday and may take several years to fully develop.’
‘And I have it,’ said Trev, blankly.
‘Indeed you do,’ replied Agatha, ‘but your Sight appears to have reached that fully developed stage in less than a day. That’s more than unusual. It’s almost completely outside my experience.’
‘And how much experience do you have?’ said Trev. His anger had subsided as he grappled with what Agatha was telling him.
‘Over one hundred and thirty years, woman and spirit,’ she replied.
‘Oh,’ said Trev, in a deflated voice.
He was struck by the irony of it. All his life he’d wanted to feel that he was special, that he stood out in some way from his peers, that he had something they didn’t. Now he found that was actually true, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.
‘Your encounter in Bandstand Park proves it,’ Agatha continued, apparently oblivious to Trev’s lack of enthusiasm. ‘I was there, and I saw what happened. You could hear them as well as see them, couldn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Trev, shuddering a little as the experience came back to him. ‘I heard them whispering. I think they were excited about something.’ He looked back at Agatha. ‘What are they?’
‘They’re called Shades,’ said Agatha, her disapproving expression back with a vengeance. ‘They’re spirits, of a kind.’
‘But not like you.’
‘No.’ Agatha said this with such finality that Trev took a step back from her. ‘Not like me.’
‘Then what are they?’
‘We should go and visit with Bernard,’ said Agatha. ‘He should be involved in these discussions.’
‘But it’s the middle of the night!’ protested Trev.
‘It’s eight o’clock,’ said Agatha, indicating Trev’s bedside clock-radio.
Trev frowned. Of course it was. He’d gone to Granddad’s straight from work and he hadn’t stayed long. The traumatic events of the walk home had made him lose track of time.
‘All right, then,’ he said.
Trev felt more than a little reluctant to leave the relative safety of his flat, and had even less enthusiasm for the prospect of walking back to Granddad’s. He had a car that he could’ve used, a clunky old black Rover that he’d bought for a couple of hundred quid and seldom drove (he lived within easy walking distance of work and didn’t want to pay town centre parking prices every day); but as he’d had a couple of large drinks that evening he decided not to risk it and called a taxi instead.
Agatha said she would meet him at his Granddad’s and simply disappeared, winking out of existence as if somebody had just switched her off at some otherworldly power socket. Trev was left to listen to the cabbie’s suspiciously imaginary-sounding list of famous people he’d given rides to. He didn’t feel much like small talk, which was fine as the little fat driver seemed happy enough to talk for both of them. Trev’s sole contribution to the conversation was to say ‘Robert de Niro’s been to Brackenford? Really? I never knew that.’
Mercifully it was a short ride, and before long Trev was back in the creaky armchair with a gentleman’s measure of Scotch close at hand.
‘So you’re telling me you knew this was going to happen to me?’ said Trev. Agatha floated nearby. She’d popped back into sight in Granddad’s lounge as suddenly as she had disappeared, causing yet more bad language to flow forth from a startled Trev.
Granddad shrugged. ‘Not exactly. The Sight generally runs along a bloodline, though sometimes it’ll skip a generation. Your mother is my only child, as you know, and she doesn’t have it, so it seemed likely that you would. Not certain, though, by any means. Occasionally it skips two generations. In one or two cases it’s just vanished from a bloodline altogether. Nobody knows why. And sometimes it’ll turn up in a family with no previous history of it.’ He shook his head. ‘Those cases are difficult. If the signs aren’t spotted and the person doesn’t get support, they usually go insane.’
‘Not surprising,’ said Trev. ‘And it’s supposed to develop after you turn thirty but not usually all in one go.’
‘It’s not a case of “not usually”, Trevor,’ said Granddad, leaning forward over his desk. ‘It’s more a case of “almost never”.’
‘So Agatha told me,’ said Trev glumly.
‘Let me ask you a question. How solid does Agatha look to you?’
Trev looked closely at the spirit woman. Apart from the fact that she had no shadow and was levitating, she looked very real.
‘As solid as you,’ he replied.
‘Really?’ replied Granddad. ‘To me, she’s decidedly see-through.’
‘See-through, eh? What colour underwear has she got on?’ asked Trev with a smirk. ‘No, wait, don’t tell me. Is it black?’
‘How dare you!’ snapped Agatha, her eyes blazing. ‘Bernard, I find it hard to believe that this disgusting man is any relation of yours.’
‘Well he is, I’m afraid,’ said Granddad. ‘Trevor, please try and be more polite to Agatha. She’s been invaluable to me, and I’m sure she’ll be a great help to you as well.’
‘Help? Help me with what?’ Trev asked, but Granddad appeared to be thinking and ignored him.
‘I’ve racked my brains and I can’t think of anyone I know with the Sight who claims to see spirits as solidly as the living,’ he said after a short pause. ‘And you can hear the Shades, as well. Many people with the Sight can’t. I can, but it’s very faint. Remarkable, really.’
‘You know a lot of others who have the Sight, then?’ asked Trev.
‘Oh yes.’ Granddad smiled. ‘Quite a few. I know this is a lot for you to take in, Trevor, but don’t think for a minute you’re alone.’
Trev wasn’t sure whether this was good news or not.
‘The vast majority of people see just the surface of the world,’ said Agatha. ‘They don’t know, don’t want to know, whether there is anything beneath what they see.’
‘Are you talking about underground?’ sai
d Trev, not following the metaphor.
‘Not exactly,’ replied Agatha, patiently. ‘When I say “the surface”, what I mean is what you would probably call “real life”. The human world. That’s all people see and know. What they don’t know is that there is an enormous amount going on just beyond that.’
‘Such as the spirits? You, and the... what were they... the Shades?’ asked Trev.
‘Yes, but there’s a lot more even than that.’ Granddad had poured himself another Scotch and was idly swirling it around his glass. ‘Not just spirits. Other things. Lycanthropes. Haematophages. Ghouls.’
‘Er, ghouls? And what the hell are lycanwhatnots and er... the other ones?’
‘Lycanthropes,’ said Granddad. ‘You’d probably know them better as werewolves.’
‘You’re joking,’ said Trev. Granddad’s face remained impassive. ‘You’re not joking?’
‘No,’ said Granddad.
‘And the other ones?’
‘Haematophages,’ said Granddad. ‘Vampires, Trevor.’
‘Is this the point where a giant with a West Country accent walks in and tells me that I’m a wizard?’ said Trev, making no effort to keep the scorn out of his voice. They were taking the piss out of him, surely?
‘What?’ said Granddad.
‘Pardon?’ said Agatha.
‘Never mind,’ said Trev. ‘Look, the spirits I have to accept because I’ve seen them. But bloody werewolves and vampires? Come off it. People would’ve spotted them. You can’t tell me that there are whole communities of supernatural creatures living among us, that’s bollocks.’
‘You’ve heard of the dodo, haven’t you?’ asked Granddad, not in the least perturbed by Trev’s outburst.
‘Fat, useless bird. Extinct.’ said Trev.
‘Absolutely,’ said Granddad. ‘It couldn’t adapt to the arrival of humans and their domestic animals. Couldn’t change its behaviour, and it was wiped out. But what if instead of the dodo you had creatures with intelligence, Trevor? Creatures that knew they were outnumbered by humans and could never compete with them, but had the brainpower to adapt? To live in places away from humans, or to live among them secretly?’
Trev thought about it. Werewolves, according to books and TV, were human most of the time. It was just the full moon that gave them body-hair issues and a tendency to piss on lampposts. Vampires looked like humans, bar the fangs, but they could only come out at night. Could they disguise themselves enough to blend in with the majority?
Granddad seemed to guess Trev’s train of thought.
‘How closely do you look at your fellow citizens?’ he asked. ‘Not very, I imagine. Eyes down, personal stereo on or talking into your mobile. You pay just enough attention not to bump into anyone, but that’s it. It’s the same for most people. Could communities of supernatural creatures live among us, Trevor? Of course they could. They do.’
‘I’m still not convinced,’ said Trev, clinging tenaciously to his last shred of scepticism. ‘I’d have to see them.’
‘You will,’ said Agatha.
‘She said you were the Custodian,’ said Trev, abruptly changing the subject. Agatha’s last comment had worried him.
‘She?’ muttered Agatha. ‘I do have a name, you know.’
‘Indeed I am,’ said Granddad, holding up a mollifying hand to Agatha.
‘What does that mean?’ pushed Trev.
‘In short, I am an observer, and Brackenford is my patch,’ said Granddad. He took a large mouthful of Scotch. ‘As I said, there are others with the Sight. We see beneath the surface. We try to keep the balance, maintain the status quo. We work to avoid conflict between humans and the... other communities. Sometimes we work to avoid conflict between non-human species. The lycanthropes and haematophages don’t get on, for example.’
‘And they accept your authority?’
‘Mostly,’ said Granddad. ‘They know that they wouldn’t last long if the “real” world became aware of them. They need us, though they aren’t necessarily happy about that fact.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Trev. The thought of Granddad smacking an ill-behaved werewolf on the nose with a rolled up newspaper and shouting ‘Bad dog!’ entered his mind, and he had to suppress the urge to laugh hysterically. ‘But why do you keep the status quo?’ he managed to ask. ‘Why not let the werewolves and vampires get wiped out? Don’t they kill people?’
‘Only in self-defence, as a rule,’ said Granddad. ‘Though there have been exceptions.’ He sighed and took another mouthful of Scotch. ‘In answer to your question, we don’t let them be wiped out because they have as much right to live as we do. Some of these species are among the most endangered in the world, though you won’t find them on any of the lists with tigers and polar bears and whatever else. It’s not widely known that some of the great works of art and music have been created by non-humans. They’re intelligent beings, Trevor. Why should we subject them to genocide?’
‘All right, all right,’ said Trev. ‘Point taken. But what about the spirits? Agatha seems pretty normal, but what about the Shades?’
‘Pretty normal?’ repeated a despairing Agatha.
‘I was coming to them,’ said Granddad gravely. ‘We’re rather concerned about the Shades.’
Eight
‘But what are they?’ asked Trev. Granddad looked to Agatha, who nodded.
‘When you die, your spirit leaves your physical body,’ she said. ‘In most cases the spirit then leaves the mortal plane and passes on to the spiritual one.’
‘You mean Heaven?’ said Trev.
‘Heaven; Nirvana; Paradise; Valhalla, call it what you will,’ replied Agatha. ‘They all mean much the same. The spirit is free of the cravings and urges that are caused by inhabiting a physical form. It is a release. However, some spirits are reluctant to abandon the mortal plane. They don’t want to leave their physical desires and pleasures behind them, and so they become trapped between the planes. They can’t become mortal again, but their refusal to release themselves from their desires means they cannot move to the spiritual plane either.’
‘Trapped between the planes?’ echoed Trev.
‘It’s known as Dark Limbo,’ said Granddad. ‘It’s a mirror image of this world. Think of it as a photo negative. The Shades see the living as beacons of life-energy. They sense a person’s most base desires - anger, lust, greed - and it attracts them like moths to a lightbulb. They press against the confines of Dark Limbo, desperate to sample those feelings for themselves again, but they can’t.’
‘But they can!’ said Trev. ‘I saw one of them possess Byfield, and he went and committed two murders!’ Granddad didn’t seem shocked by this information; he merely nodded.
‘I thought as much. Earlier tonight you said you’d seen something just before Byfield threatened you, and I wondered if it had been a Shade that made him do what he did.’
‘So they can break through?’
‘Occasionally, yes. Some of them are strong enough to force themselves back into the mortal plane if they can latch onto a particularly strong desire or emotion from a living person.’
‘Byfield was angry at his wife, and wanted revenge,’ said Trev. ‘That’s what drew the Shade to him.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Granddad. ‘If a Shade can join with a mortal, it will amplify its host’s desires so that it can experience them for itself. The host then behaves in an exaggerated way until the Shade burns itself out.’
‘They burn out?’
‘Yes. They crave mortal feelings and desires but they are no longer equipped to deal with them. A short but concentrated burst is more than enough to make a Shade flare out of existence altogether. It’s a total sensory overload for them. Sadly by then the host may have done, well...’ he indicated the newspaper, which was still on his desk. Byfield’s face stared out at Trev.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said.
‘When people talk about the “red mist” coming over them, “just snapping” or “losing c
ontrol”, it’s sometimes a Shade that’s to blame,’ said Agatha. ‘Not always, of course. Some people simply have short tempers. Fortunately most Shades are so weakened by forcing themselves through from Dark Limbo that they burn out quickly. You might not do more than kick the cat in anger. But the strong ones can last longer. A lot longer, in some cases.’
‘That’s not a comforting thought,’ said Trev.
‘I didn’t intend it to be,’ said Agatha. ‘But you needn’t worry. You have the Sight. You’ll sense, see or hear a Shade before it can attempt to possess you. When you know that one is there it’s easy enough to resist. Even the strongest Shade would struggle to possess someone that was actively fighting against it.’
‘But what about when you’re asleep?’ asked Trev, imagining a dark shadow creeping up his bed as he slept.
‘They need an active, awake mind,’ said Granddad. ‘They can cause powerful nightmares, though. It’s as if the unconscious mind knows instinctively how to fight them off, whereas the conscious mind doesn’t.’
‘Now I know they exist I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep again anyway,’ said Trev with a grimace. ‘You said you were worried about the Shades, didn’t you? Why? Can they really be any more worrying than they already are?’
‘They're too active recently,’ said Granddad. ‘That’s what’s worrying. There are more of them breaking through, for one thing. Brackenford is a thin spot between the planes anyway, which doesn't help matters. Even the Shades that can't break through are pressing harder and harder against the barrier between our reality and theirs. Something’s drawing them here. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something powerful, a beacon of negative psychic energy.’
‘And at the same time we gain a powerful new ally ourselves,’ said Agatha. ‘I don’t think that’s a coincidence.’
‘Who’s this new ally?’ asked Trev.
‘You, obviously,’ said Agatha. ‘Your Sight is unusually strong, and may well get stronger. You could have other abilities as well.’
