Blessed by Fire

by P W Hillard

  Chelsea sighed. She hated her town, its rows of grey worn down terraces, it’s boring people, her shitty job in the local Valueways. Some of her friends had left, mostly to Cardiff which was only a single train stop away. As though Pontypridd’s grim pull limited people born there to the same postcode most of their lives. Maybe this was a blessing, her way out. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s do this then.” Chelsea pulled her arms from the pockets of her coat. She placed one arm around her sister’s waist and pulled her tight to herself.

  “Ready,” began Mercedes “Three…Two…One…”

  “Hey!” they said in unison, dragging out the middle letter to an obnoxious length.

  “It’s your girls, the ghost sisters!” Mercedes continued. “We are about to enter this house, which we know for a fact, contains a real-life ghost. So, if you want to get the deets on this remember to like, subscribe and smash that bell!” The two girls smiled in the camera with fake exaggerated grins. Behind them the house stood, the morning sun behind it causing it to cast a long shadow. If they had stopped to watch the footage back, they would have seen a pale figure moving very slightly in the top right window of the house.

  Mark stood in his hotel bathroom, staring into the mirror. His eyes were sullen from lack of sleep. Behind him the hotel room was still a mess, Mark having left the do not disturb hanger on to keep the maids out. He leant down, dipped his hands into the pool of cold water he had run into the sink and splashed his face. He hadn’t been able to sleep, his mind racing over what he and Jess had seen yesterday. Mark felt a sickness in his stomach, a tingling in his fingers, an overwhelming fear that things were spiralling out of control. He filled a glass from the tap and removed a small white tablet from a silver packet he had brought into the bathroom with him, the tablet breaking through the foil with a satisfying pop. He placed the beta-blocker into his mouth and swallowed it with a gulp of water. Mark had suffered panic attacks many times in his life, becoming uncomfortably familiar with the first signs. He stood up straight and pulled the plug from the sink. Tiny needles pricked his feet as he walked back to his bed, the fine layer of iron filings proving to be just as frustrating for a living human as they were to any spirt. He sat down on the edge of his bed and picked up his phone from the bedside table. Still an hour before he was due to meet Jess downstairs. He opened an app on his phone and clicked on the large play icon that filled his screen.

  “Guided meditation, track three,” said a strange voice from the app. Oddly it was both calming and overeager at the same time. Mark lay on the bed and closed his eyes. “Now, think of a lake. Imagine casting a stone into the lake, its ripples echoing outwards towards the shore.”

  Lucille sat on one of her barstools. She wore the same look as a child who was sad at being told off, but still convinced what they had done was exceedingly funny.

  “You know that’s a breach of your protection agreement!” shouted Rajan.

  “Well, not technically, I didn’t contact anyone from my old life, just left them a tiny package,” replied Lucille, holding her forefinger and her thumb close together.

  “A package with instructions is contact,” Dale chimed in. “Why didn’t you give us the same information when we visited the other day?”

  “Because you would have been like a toddler in the deep end. Way out of your depth. Jinn are trouble with a capital T. If I had given you what I gave them, you would have some very dead police officers by now.” Lucille picked up a glass from the bar and took a long sip through a plastic straw. The drink was bright pink and poured over ice. A small green umbrella sat in the top of the glass.

  “We’ve done alright up until now,” Rajan said taking a seat on a stool next to Lucille. “We got you, didn’t we?”

  “I mean I handed myself in- “

  “That’s a lie,” interrupted Dale.

  Lucille shrugged. “I tell a lot of lies. Even to myself. You could say it’s a well-developed skill.”

  “Look, we need to know what you told them. You called us here Lucille, you want to tell us. Can we cut the crap on the tee-hee I’m the devil aren’t I so naughty routine.” Rajan pressed his index finger onto the bar to stress his point.

  “Ok, look. The little information parcel I dropped off contained a note letting my old…” Lucille thought for a moment, trying to find the right word. “Gang. My old gang know that Jinn are back and walking around. I did a little divination to see the rough area the Jinn were in and left instructions on a spell that would draw them in. Moths to a flame. Or I guess flames to moth in their case? Either way I thought getting them all in one place would make them easier to be deal with.”

  “And?” asked Rajan

  “And nothing. My contact never got back to me. Which means they either ignored me or did what I suggested, and it went horribly wrong. If it had gone right they wouldn’t have been able to resist rubbing my nose in it.”

  “How would they have done that? You’re supposed to be incognito,” enquired Dale.

  “I’m still the prince of darkness,” said Lucille lowering her voice to mock the title. “Leave a prayer at your local satanic church and it’s like a royal mail delivery straight to my brain. It’s incredibly annoying. You know how many teenagers who think they’re cool I get rattling around in here daily?” She tapped the side of her head.

  “Know how many Jinn are out there?” Dale said. He had pulled his phone from his pocket and was staring at the screen.

  “No idea,” Lucille admitted. “Bound to be a bunch though. Like I said last time you start with one and it holds the door open for others to get through. You need to deal with them all or the cycle will just continue.”

  “I think I know how,” said Dale looking up from his screen. He held his phone out in front of Rajan. “This is from Mark and Jess’ report. The recipe on the scroll worked.”

  “What scroll? What recipe?” asked Lucille, spying unsubtly over the phone screen.

  “We found instructions on mixing ingredients to make I guess Jinn repellent? Apparently a first dose forced the Jinn from its host body, a second got rid of the Jinn entirely,” said Rajan scrolling through the report.

  “Well, that is interesting, found that in your famous archives, did you? I need to pay a visit, seems I could learn a few things,” Lucille said, taking another sip of her drink.

  “Never in a million years. And it’s a bit early to be drinking isn’t it?” Dale said, disappointment in his voice.

  “It doesn’t work on me. Need to do more than just buy this girl a drink.” Lucille winked at him.

  Dale blushed. “I have a plan anyway. We’re going to need to know how you do the spell to draw them in.”

  “No.” said Lucille sternly.

  “What do you mean no? You broke the rules of your protection, we could toss you out on your arse you know?” Rajan said.

  “You won’t do that.” Lucille rolled her eyes. “We both know I’m way too useful a source to give up. You want that spell you need to make a deal for it.”

  “You’re asking us to make a literal deal with the devil?” Rajan said, his voice weary. He found dealing with Lucille particularly tiresome.

  “That is sort of my modus operandi, I will admit. What I want, is a trip away.”

  “A trip?” replied Rajan, slightly shocked at the request.

  “I’m locked in this bar day and night. Never go out, never do anything. I know the delivery guy from the Valueways around the corner by name. I want a holiday. To Blackpool. I’ve never been to Blackpool, I’d like to see it.” Lucille crossed her arms.

  “I’m sorry, you want to take a trip to Blackpool. That’s it? Nothing nefarious?” asked Rajan.

  “What do you take me for? I gave up that life. I just want a week away- “

  “Weekend,” interrupted Rajan.

  “Fine a weekend,” conceded Lucille. “You can send someone with me, so I’m supervised at all times.”

  “We’ll check with the boss,” said Dale, his head tu
rning to Rajan. “I mean, it’s not an unreasonable request I guess?”

  Lucille clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, I’m glad you agree. There is one more stipulation. I want D.S Cooper to be my…supervisor.”

  Aasif tapped the side of the rental van he had procured. It was old, the paint on the side declaring the rental company had mostly peeled off rendering it unintelligible. Aasif’s face beamed with pride. He had been sent in after the company had banned Jess and Mark, upset at the shredded tires of the previous rental they had made.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he asked.

  “It’s a bit beat up. Is this all the rental company had? We gave you our expenses card, couldn’t you get something? I don’t know? Nicer?” Jess said. She scowled at Aasif.

  “My Dad used to have one of these. Tough as old boots it was. The newer Transits are shit in comparison. Last one they had left on the court. Can you imagine that?” Aasif walked to the back of the van as he spoke, opened the rear door.

  “I can absolutely believe that,” said Mark, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Help me with this trunk.” Gripping one end each he and Aasif slid the heavy case into the back of the van.

  “Do you really need to carry all this wherever you go?” asked Aasif dusting off his hands.

  “Saved your arse when we needed a Quran,” Mark answered, tapping the leather fondly.

  “We could of just, Googled it? I’m sure I could have found a copy of the Quran online. Hell, a bunch of these books would fit on a tablet pretty easily.” Aasif stepped down from the back of the van.

  “We tried that once,” said Jess. “Mark is very, fussy, about his books.”

  “Look, what if we’re stuck somewhere without a charger, or whatever we’re dealing with messes with electronics?” Interjected Mark. “I’m just saying paper copies never fail you.”

  “I guess,” admitted Aasif. “Has either of those things ever come up though?

  “Well no,” stated Mark. “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t. We shouldn’t rely too much on new technology.” He stopped talking as his phone rang. Mark pulled it from his pocket and answered it, the irony lost on him. “Hey Raj. Right. Ok. It’s a date.” He put his phone back into his pocket. “Raj has a plan. He’s going to text us a list of what we need, and he and Dale are going to meet us here this evening.”

  Chelsea stepped slowly through the house. The last time she had been here was a riot of sound and colour. A rave at a supposedly haunted house had seemed a lot of fun. Now it seemed disrespectful. The signs of the party were still scattered about, lingering reminders of an insult to the dead. In front of her Mercedes strode confidently, phone held outstretched.

  “It was here, in this very house my sister encountered a real live ghost!” she said excitedly. “Spirit can you hear us? If you can give us a sign.” There was nothing. A pervasive silence that seemed an act of defiance. Mercedes stepped onto the first step of the groaning stairs. “It was up these very stairs, on the second floor that Chelsea first saw her. The ghost of a maid.” There was another low groan as she took another step.

  “I think we made a mistake Merce, we shouldn’t be here.” Chelsea zipped her jacket up further, somehow it was colder in the house than outside it.

  Mercedes stopped the recording. “Don’t baby out on me now. We’re already doing this in the day because you were too coward to do it at night. Come on Chel, we need this. I know you’re as sick of this shithole town as I am.”

  “It’s just, she clearly doesn’t want anyone here. I don’t like it. You shouldn’t mess with the dead. It’s not right.”

  “The dead shouldn’t have messed with you then. It’s only fair,” Mercedes said, seemingly pleased with her logic. There was another groan from the staircase. Mercedes hadn’t moved. “What was that?”

  “See, let’s get out of here!” pleaded Chelsea.

  “When the goings getting good? No way.” Mercedes started recording again and excitedly stamped up the staircase.

  The two girls stood in the room where it had happened. A barren awful place. Chelsea felt ill, like the peeling wallpaper was the world itself peeling away. The window she had fallen from had been shut, she hoped by the policeman who had come to see her. She wondered what he was doing now. Probably another case she thought, who would believe what happened to me? Chelsea stood at the centre of the room, almost paralysed as her sister orbited around her eagerly filming the room.

  “So, show me where you were standing when it happened Chels.” Mercedes prodded Chelsea in the back waking her from her daze.

  “Uh I was right here by the window,” Chelsea said, trying to keep as much distance between herself and the glass as she could.

  “Come on, move in get closer, people can’t see you there.” Her sister waved her hand beckoning Chelsea into the shot. She nervously slid to the side.

  “There’s a woman right there.” Said Chelsea.

  “So that’s what happened next?” Mercedes asked, her gaze fixed on the camera.

  “No, I mean right now,” whispered Chelsea, her body shaking with terror. Mercedes span around to catch a momentarily flash of a dress moving away from the doorway. She ran out through the door, trying desperately to catch a glimpse with her phone. There was a loud bang as a door slammed shut at the other end of the hallway. “Merce no!” cried Chelsea as she ran after her sister desperately trying to stop her.

  Mercedes stood in the room whose door had been slammed disappointed, another barren room like the first. Childish graffiti scrawled across it by someone eager to prove their bravery. “Darren was ere 2002” it read.

  “God you’re ok,” panted Chelsea, as she stepped through the doorway, the great solid door open swung open so far as to be nearly touching the wall. Her eyes streamed with tears. “Don’t run off like that, you scared me.”

  “Nothing in here anyway, couldn’t even get a good shot or anything.” Mercedes crossed her arms grumpily. She tapped her foot in frustration.

  “Look can we go home, I hate it here,” begged Chelsea.

  “Ok fine, we can- “Chelsea stopped mid-sentence. The door to the room creaked as it slowly swung shut. Behind the door was a woman in a maid’s outfit. All colour had been drained from her, a monochrome nightmare. Her face was twisted and stretched, her fingers long talons. She hung from the wall, feet and hands sticking like a spider. She hissed and leapt at the two girls, her talons held outwards.

  Chapter 17

  The van rattled uneasily as it trundled down the Pontypridd streets. Something clanged from the underside as it stomped over a speed-bump. Mark wobbled uneasily, squeezed into the middle front seat common on older vans but so very rarely actually used. On his knees rested his work issued laptop. It was a tiny ancient thing, the letters worn from its keyboard, the screen scratched from use. Some bright spark had mandated upgrades to the latest operating software, rendering a previously tolerable machine painfully slow. Mark lifted it pushing the screen close to his face to get a decent look at the webpage he had open.

  “This list of stuff Raj says we need is pretty out there. I’m not even sure what some of this is!” Mark dropped the laptop down on his lap exasperated. “One of them I can only find on eBay,” he said rapping the screen with his knuckle, “and who knows if this is real.”

  Jess took the computer from his lap and stared at its tiny screen. “A doll possessed by a ghost. Who has one of those and decides that the best course of actions is to sell it?” Either its fake or they’re really blasé about the whole thing.”

  “Possessed doll?” said Aasif. “I know where to get one of those.”

  “I’m sorry, what?!” exclaimed Jess.

  “Yeah, saw one the other week. There was a convention in town that had one on display.” Aasif stared forward, his concentration focused on the road.

  “A convention? For possessed dolls?” Jess looked visibly confused.

  “No, it was for mediums, psychics and that. They come every year, set up in the town
hall. Apparently, it’s a popular profession around these parts. There’s a big union? Association? However, they’re organised. They had the doll there on display for the public. Had to pay a few quid to go in and see it. Supposed to have been on the telly and all that.” The van shook as Aasif drove over another speed-bump. “I’m surprised you don’t keep tabs on them all.”

  “That’s because it’s a crock of shit mate,” said Mark. “It’s all bollocks. People preying on the vulnerable and grieving for a quick buck. Impressive magic trick I’ll give them that. Trust me, if a spirit really wants to make itself known there’s no mysterious powers required.”

  “Still we should go see them. We could use that doll. As for why I have no clue,” Jess chimed in.

  Marks eyes lit up. “Ah see, well the doll is a representative component. The doll is the human form, the spirit possessing it is a stand in for the Jinn. It’s actually a kind of sympathetic magic…”

  Jess leant forward and turned up the radio. “I wish I never asked.”

  They had parked the van outside a two-story building, its ground floor dominated by a letting agency. Photographs in the window described the samey boring houses of the town as “rustic” and “charming”. The inside was full of people sitting at glass and chrome desks wearing equally shiny suits. The expensive looking agency seemed at odds with the kind of bland terrace properties they were peddling. Around the side from the flashy agency exterior was a small door. A plexiglass sign screwed to the wall. “British Society of Spiritualists and Mediums” it was supposed to read, but some enterprising vandal had scratched off the letters, so it actually read “British society of tits and mums.” Mark felt himself crack a smile at the sheer childishness of it. He reached forward and pressed the button on a small metal intercom that had been haphazardly attached to the wall. Thick white sealant had been slathered on in an attempt to make it stick. It hadn’t worked, the intercom slipping before it had set, leaving it permanently at an odd angle.