Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9)

by Michael Christopher Carter

  The expression of mild anxiety forming on Claire’s face relaxed again into meditative serenity. Chris forgave her ignorance, and was sure the locals would too. She was immensely charismatic.

  They arrived promptly in Newport. Claire, oblivious to the extra time for the journey Chris had allowed, bustled, panicking, into the lobby of the hotel they would stay in that night. Chris and the hotel’s porter arrived with the bags to be taken to their room.

  “Mr and Mrs Sharpe,” he informed the concierge. He usually checked in with their actual name rather than his wife’s stage name. It wasn’t that he worried fans would track them down; he had no intention of being ‘Mr Voyant’.

  They were given the keys along with directions to their room which was a beautiful suite facing the wide river. Newport’s famous transporter bridge could be seen from the window of their room, but it attracted little attention from either of the occupants.

  Chris enjoyed a well-earned nap whilst his wife sat in meditation ‘omming’ in the corner. They enjoyed a meal from room service at around half past four before making their way to the impressive and modern glass fronted Dolman Theatre a little way from the river, and close to the hotel.

  “Ah, Claire. Lovely to meet you,” a theatre official proclaimed as they arrived in the foyer. “Would you like to see the stage?”

  “Oh, yes please,” Claire answered, and followed the man through the back stage area onto the boards where she would perform her psychic act in an hour or so.

  “It’s lovely. Superb!” she declared, genuinely thrilled. “I will easily see everyone. It’s going to be great.”

  While she relaxed in her dressing room, crowds gathered at the theatre doors. The seats filled, and the hubbub of excited anticipation filled the air. There was about half an hour to allow the venue to fill before Claire was due on stage. Some of the earliest entrants were becoming jittery.

  The importance they’d put on the possibility of a message from a deceased loved one was tangible. In reality, given the time constraints, most wouldn’t receive a message themselves. For them, the reassurance of witnessing Claire’s accuracy would allow them to further believe in an afterlife where the objects of their grief could live on. It seemed to provide a great comfort.

  Over the sound system came the dulcet tones of the announcer.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen. Please may I have your attention?” the deep Welsh male voice began.

  “Could you give the warmest of Welsh welcomes for her first date across the water… I give you…” and in a much louder voice “Claire Voyant- Medium at Large!”

  The Newport audience (who had actually come from far and wide and some of whom bought tickets for the Cardiff and Swansea dates as well) erupted into a cacophony of appreciation.

  Claire moved gracefully onto the stage wearing a light purple and white satin robe that had the effect of disguising her large frame, but more importantly of making her look quite holy. Once the applause had subsided enough for her to be heard she spoke to her fans.

  “Oh, hello!” she called giving a double take, acting almost surprised they were there. Her voice was amplified by the sound system and her face magnified by a screen behind her. The audience chuckled their appreciation at the humour.

  Claire understood it was best to get straight to business. She’d been inundated with spirits wanting to give messages to loved ones as soon as she got here. There was no point delaying things with more introductions.

  “I’ve got a lot of spirit here,” she said to her rapt audience. She closed her eyes a moment before connecting with her first message.

  “I’ve got a man here. Very smartly dressed. Oh! He’s changed. He’s wearing an army uniform now. Not recent, no. Old uniform, First World War, I think,” she paused. “He’s showing me that it’s hot. He’s too hot in his uniform.”

  The audience bubbled with possible candidates but one woman in particular seemed to be muttering to her companion. Claire continued.

  “His name is odd! Yes. He had one name, but was known by another… Jack. That wasn’t his name though was it?” she asked. The lady shook her head, tears in her eyes.

  Claire closed her eyes, evidently in deep concentration.

  “William! His name was William.” With that the lady broke down and confirmed her father, who’d been a Sergeant Major in India during the Great War had recently passed away to terrifically painful lung cancer.

  “He says he’s fine now, Darling. He’s fine, and he’s not in pain anymore. Okay my love? He’s in no pain now.”

  A playful frown grew on Claire’s handsome face.

  “He’s showing me a police helmet! Was he in the police, too?”

  The lady shook her head but spoke up. “My boyfriend’s a police sergeant.”

  Claire nodded knowingly. “Your dad says you’re thinking about tying the knot with your policeman. Is that right?” The lady nodded, tears now streaming down her face. “He gives his blessing, my love. Your dad is giving his blessing to… Mark?”

  “That’s my boyfriend!”

  “And who’s Jane?”

  “That’s me,” she croaked through her emotion.

  Claire nodded solemnly. “William’s happy for you both. Go forward with your dad’s blessing. Okay, my love? Thanks for coming. You can sit down again now.”

  Brushing herself off as though the connection with William had drained her, she shook herself to full alertness and moved on to her next connection.

  “I have a little boy. Blonde hair, he has. Lovely blonde locks. And green eyes.” She looked around the room. “He’s about… so high,” she indicated just above her waist. “About five or six years old I think. He’s showing me a red car.”

  The room remained silent. “Oh!” she exclaimed “Oh no! Oh no,” she fretted. “He was hit by a big red car. Oh poor little man!” She looked genuinely anguished.

  A young-ish couple stood, broken, holding on to one another in mutual support. “It might be our son,” they rasped together.

  “Who’s Jake?” Claire asked of the couple, who confirmed it was their departed son, and that he’d been run over and killed a year ago today.

  “I’ve got your son, Jake, with me then sweethearts. He says he wasn’t in any pain. No. He’s telling me. He didn’t feel any pain. It happened so suddenly, you see?” The couple nodded tentatively in agreement, seemingly comforted by the information.

  “He says; ‘I’m with my granddad. I’m okay’. He’s with his granddad, darlings” Claire repeated. The couple crumpled into further tears, barely finding the strength to raise a hand in thanks before returning to their seats.

  Claire paused to take a sip from the glass of water she had on a table on stage with her. “Thirsty work this!” she announced, lightening the mood, to the appreciative murmurs from her audience. She couldn’t afford to get attached to other’s grief.

  Striding back to the centre of the stage, Claire looked to be making connection again. “I have a lady with me,” she announced. “Ann?” Several people in the room pricked up; until that was, she continued with the description.

  “She appears to be about… late sixties?” Claire scoured the room for takers. “She’s wearing clothes that could quite possibly be homemade!” She felt sure that would mean something to somebody. But people merely looked at one another blankly. Like a class of children failing to understand trigonometry, they gazed self-consciously at their teacher and back to one another for confirmation that ‘no’ this wasn’t for them.

  “Her hair is grey and close cropped to her head.” Claire continued. The murmuring was becoming quieter and quieter. “She’s definitely linked to someone here. Ann?” Claire confirmed becoming impatient.

  Staring out at the crowd for some corroboration from her audience, interest in Ann was undeniably failing to materialise. She checked her connection. Sometimes, her wires got crossed, but this felt strong.

  “Yes, it’s positively Ann!” she affirmed. The room remained silent. “No
takers for Ann, then?” Claire probed one more time before being forced to move on. She ignored her strong link with Ann and allowed the next spirit its connection. It didn’t take long.

  “Who’s Donna?” hands shot up straight away. “She says she loves you and is happy now. Does that make sense…?”

  After the performance and post-show praise, Claire retired in agitation to her hotel suite where room service provided plenty of alcoholic and carbohydrate comfort.

  “What’s eating you?” Chris asked in amused annoyance.

  “I don’t know. That woman, Ann. I know it was a powerful connection. I don’t know why there were no takers,” she answered dejectedly.

  “You’ve had dead-ends before. Plenty of them!” Chris teased, a wry grin on his face. “Why be bothered about this one?”

  Claire feigned irritation at his mini-dig at her abilities. She knew she was good, and even on a great night she was likely to experience some connections that went nowhere. She couldn’t explain her torment at this one.

  “I don’t know. It just felt really clear I suppose.”

  Without pausing, Chris came up with the perfect explanation. “I bet it was a spirit who has someone with tickets to another night, that’s all. They were just being a bit over-eager.”

  Claire beamed. “That’s it! Of course. You’re a genius.” She got up and smothered Chris’s head in loud, wet kisses. He grinned as he endured the gesture from his relieved wife. She jumped on the bed with the tray of treats and tucked into a particularly sticky, sweet looking pastry.

  With her mouth still full she spoke, spraying little bits of pastry onto the bed sheets. “You’re definitely right. I bet she’ll crop up again another night.” She refilled her emptying mouth and allowed herself a little chuckle as she flicked through the channels on the hotel television.

  Chapter Four

  After a relaxing morning enjoying the hospitality of the breakfast buffet and the hotel’s spa, Claire and Chris packed their bags and made their way to the Welsh Capital for the next date of the tour.

  “Now, this is the Capital city of Wales, Love. See, it is an actual other country.” Claire gave an enthusiastic nod to Chris, impressed with the information she deemed reserved for elite members of society. Chris, in turn recognising his wife’s misplaced minor awe at his knowledge, shook his head in rueful incredulity.

  They booked into their hotel, then set about enjoying the city’s sights. Claire gushed with delight at the castle and the old white colonial buildings of the civic centre. She thrilled when she thought she recognised parts of the city from television programmes.

  Al-fresco coffees were enjoyed on the quayside (even though it was getting nippy) and Claire felt ready for her preparations for this evenings show more than ever.

  “I’m looking forward to tonight, Chris,” she informed her husband whilst tucking into her second latte with biscotti cookie.

  “Good. I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied.

  They made their way back to the hotel for beautifying and meditative preparations (for Claire, anyway). After which, with plenty of time available (but with the usual exaggerations from Chris), they ventured from the hotel to this evening’s venue.

  “I thought you said it was a new theatre? It looks a hundred years old!” Claire queried as they arrived at the antique structure.

  “I said it was The New theatre. It’s actually more than a hundred years old. One hundred and eight, to be precise,” he enlightened from the information in the programme featuring Claire’s beaming face.

  They were greeted by the usual type of representative and shown to Claire’s dressing room.

  “I can feel a lot of spirit here, Chris,” she reported. “A lot of spirit. It’s going to be a good night.”

  The crowds queued and filled the theatre as every other night. The Compere announced the eminent Claire Voyant to the stage and instructed a warm welcome from the audience. Claire made her usual, gracious entrance. Everyone was welcomed and thanked for coming. And then, she got straight on with business.

  She was pleased when her first connection came through strong, but also a little apprehensive because it was with Ann again. The same description was shared with the audience as last night, to the same lack of response.

  She stood before an impassable torrent of anxiety. Ann, ridiculously, seemed to be an exceedingly rare name. It perplexed her, especially floundering at the first hurdle.

  The connection was even stronger than last night’s, and so she invoked a sturdy determination to push on. Creasing her forehead in avid concentration, determined to improve the clarity of her channelling of this particular spirit. Perhaps she just wasn’t getting the crucial information needed to light the spark of recognition with someone in her audience.

  “She’s showing me something…” she paused as she struggled to comprehend what she saw. “She’s showing me… prawns! For some reason she seems to be showing me prawns,” she said. “Is there some connection with the sea perhaps? A fishmonger or something? Maybe a chef?” the audience mumbled in their joint failure to recognise to whom Claire was referring.

  “Ann. Is that you, Ann?” Claire attempted, upping her efforts for clarity. “Ann? Is that you?”

  She persisted for as long as she could. The connection effectively blocked all others. Her mouth dried as she had no option but to just keep repeating herself in desperation. Beads of cold sweat popped up on her clammy face. The audience faded in her hazy vision and the floor melted beneath blunt steps. With a gulp of despair she was forced to abandon the stage to angry muttering from the audience.

  Chris walked on and did his best to explain how his wife had been troubled by the same spirit the night before, and how distressed she’d been. Unconvinced, the crowd sat in simmering silence.

  Off-stage, Claire was back in meditation. Deep breaths, and counting backwards from ten to zero regained her that place within herself she strived to maintain. It wasn’t too long before a real calm developed and she relaxed again.

  Many voices from the ether jostled for attention, and she had no trouble making connections. After a deep steadying breath, she returned assuredly to the stage to a slightly doubtful audience.

  Any scepticism was quickly blown away by incredibly accurate and poignant readings, one after another after another. Devastating body blows from the heavyweight champion, forcing the audience to take notice. They grew convinced easily. The precise material flowing effortlessly from the great medium had them mesmerised.

  Apart from the initial hiccup, the performance proved to be one of her best. She took comfort in that knowledge on her way back to their hotel afterwards. But the whole ‘Ann’ situation had shaken her badly.

  “It will all make sense soon, I’m sure,” Chris reassured her. “It’s obviously a spirit who’s super-keen to be heard. I bet you’ll find who Ann is trying to contact, and they’ll be so moved and grateful, it’ll all have been worth it.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Chris,” she agreed. “I found it really hard to connect with anyone else when she was there. I wish she could just wait until the recipient of her message is actually in the audience. It would be a big help!” she concluded a little crossly.

  Confident Chris was right, she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive that she might struggle with her performance if Ann’s interference became any worse.

  Whilst Chris wound down with some mindless television, Claire closed herself into the bathroom. A few minutes later she came out looking perturbed.

  “Whatever’s wrong, my love?” Chris asked, tearing his gaze from the T.V.

  “I tried to contact Ann again.” Chris winced, vaguely annoyed. She continued, “I was struggling. I’m really worried she’ll interfere with more shows.” Chris shook his head disparagingly. Claire persisted, oblivious to her husband’s discouraging gesticulations.

  “I want you to help me connect. If you link with me, I might be able to find out what she wants… without the
pressure of an audience.”

  She quickly cleared the little room-service table, putting the tray on the dresser out of the way. Chris was instructed to sit opposite her. Placing her hands on the cold, flat surface, Claire indicated for him to copy her. With hands arranged in such a way that their little fingers and thumbs touched one another, she closed her eyes and Chris followed suit.

  She could faintly perceive a connection. It was better with Chris’s help, but not much.

  “Ann?” she paused, listening for a response, “Is that you, Ann?” She thought she could discern her answer. Questioning who she was. “It’s me, Ann. Claire. You’ve been trying to contact me.” There was no comeback to her reply. She listened closer, pressing the table firmer as if that would clarify.

  “Ann? Ann?” she called out again. “I think she’s frightened. Ann? She seems to be distressed.” She gave Chris a decisive nod. “We’ll leave her for now. Okay, Ann?” she called a little louder, as though lack of volume was the reason for the poor link. “We’re going to leave you for now.”

  She moved her hand away from Chris’s, breaking whatever connection they had achieved. “Well, that was a waste of time,” she declared. “We may have succeeded in frightening her away, which might be an advantage to tomorrow’s performance, but not to my sanity! I really want to know what the bloody hell she wants!”

  Claire struggled to rest after her unsuccessful Mediumship and managed only a fitful night’s sleep before the next day’s travelling. When, in the morning, she seemed sleepy and reluctant to move, Chris decided that paying for a late checkout, would be a better option than Claire arriving at tonight’s venue tired and in a bad mood.

  He quietly phoned down to reception to make the arrangements. The hotel were more than happy to accept a small payment to allow their esteemed, minor-celebrity guest a lie-in.

  When she eventually roused, she panicked at the lateness, flapping the covers off and rushing for the bathroom.