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

by Michael Christopher Carter

  They drove near to the imposing colonial style civic buildings in the centre of the city. The formal gardens looked beautiful in the winter sunlight.

  “Here will be perfect!” she proclaimed. “Quick! Find somewhere to park!”

  A bus pulled away leaving a convenient but illegal space behind the bus-stop. Chris pulled in and jumped out to accompany Claire to the gardens in front of the white buildings.

  “Head for that bench over there. I can feel her really powerfully, Chris. I’m certain that now is the right time!”

  Sitting on the stone bench, she was soon in deep meditation. After chanting for a few minutes, she requested out loud a connection with Angharad. She nodded and smiled knowingly, indicating she had a strong link.

  “Angharad? Angharad. Listen to me. You have passed away. You are dead my love, and it’s time to move into the light. Follow my voice and go into the light. Angharad, go into the light.”

  Whilst Claire sat, eyes closed, chanting on the stone bench, something else grabbed Chris’s attention. It was that bloody smelly little car again. It had parked behind their car, slightly encroaching onto the bus stop.

  He watched, bemused, as a grey haired lady exited, apparently in a fluster, clutching a mustard coloured home-knit about her whilst attempting to close the door with her elbow. He was alarmed when she gesticulated towards him.

  She must want a row about that near accident on the mountains, he deduced, shaking his head in disbelief. She must be a right nut to follow us all the way here.

  He strode towards her, keen she shouldn’t disturb Claire whilst she was finally getting somewhere with the week’s conundrum. He jumped in bewilderment as he heard his wife’s shrill voice shriek from behind him, “Angharad! Angharad! Is that you?!”

  After the over-taking incident, Angharad regained her composure and had driven along the mountain roads and through the lakes of the Elan Valley without seeing a single other car. She became confused as she made it onto the main road and had been forced to stop to consult her map.

  Cardiff was sign-posted at most junctions so she wasn’t confused for very long, numerous road-signs confirming her route. Before long she arrived at a junction that directed her into the city.

  She didn’t have a clue where the theatre would be that Claire Voyant was due to perform in. She thought she could do a lot worse than follow the signs to the city centre. The traffic was heavy, but it looked worse heading the other way. She mouthed a thank you to her newly appointed, anonymous deity. Her cheeks flushed at the hypocrisy.

  Anxiety grew in her mind as she realised she was in the middle of a busy city without a plan. How was she going to find out where to go? She could just about make out the hand-writing the shop girl had provided as guidance if Angharad decided to go to Cardiff instead of Aberystwyth.

  She had, of course gone to both now, but how could she find out the theatre’s location? She might ask a passer-by, but part of her still felt uneasy she was not as alive as she had speculated after the near miss on the mountain pass.

  She was still pondering, whilst negotiating the heavy traffic, when the all too familiar voice of her tormenter filled her head.

  “Angharad, Angharad, You have passed away…” A huge sob of despair erupted from her taut lips as any hope the mournful messages for ‘Ann’ had not been meant for her, evaporated. The use of her actual name crushed that.

  “No! No I have not!” she cried her objection. “Stop it! Stop saying that. It’s not true!” she shrieked loudly.

  Some of the other drivers stared at her screaming angrily to herself as they witnessed her through the car window. Pessimism made her sure they were looking because she somehow didn’t look ‘right’. That she didn’t look alive. Tears of hopelessness streamed hard and heavy down her cheeks.

  She was about ready to give up. But then she spotted something. As the imposing white colonial style buildings loomed, she couldn’t believe what. The same car that had foolishly forced her to swerve uncontrollably along the mountain road was parked just metres away from her.

  She wasn’t usually one to shy away from telling someone exactly what she thought of their lunatic driving, but the same fear of how someone might react to seeing her made her incapable of action.

  But then, she noticed something else. Something that must indeed be a miracle, what were the chances? Claire Voyant, looking every bit as large as life as she had on the small television at Glandy Stores, was sitting on a bench, apparently in meditation.

  Once more filled with hope, she felt as a glass going from freezer to hob with her ever-changing fortunes—ready to crack.

  She had to stop Claire talking to her like this. Why was she so certain that she was dead? Now she had her chance to finish this and make sense of it at last.

  She pulled up behind the car that was parked inconsiderately in a bus-stop. But she wasn’t there to argue about driving etiquette. As she flung open her door. The wind caught her off guard and swung the door into the traffic.

  She scrabbled out best she could, holding her cardigan closed so she didn’t blow away, whilst trying to close the door again. She just caught it flapping with her elbow. With a grunt, she summoned the strength to fling it closed, hoping the distraction hadn’t made her miss her opportunity for peace.

  A man, probably with Claire, or, it suddenly struck Angharad as more likely, the driver of the other car, strode purposefully towards her. A startling outburst of the same calling, unquestionably not just in her head, filled the vicinity.

  “Angharad! Angharad! Is that you?” Claire Voyant screamed at her.

  It all happened in a flash. Angharad perceived it in the slow-motion that these things always are.

  The bus bore down on the ill-fated, shorn headed lady as she closed the door of her car. It was, she recognised, exactly the same as she had seen before in her dream.

  It got closer and closer, with her looking incredulously into the eyes of the panic stricken bus driver. As the squeals of the brakes and hissing hydraulics filled the air, and the smell of burning rubber and diesel filled her nose, Angharad noted in the slow-motion how faithfully it followed her dream.

  Ah! And there she was. Reflected in the windshield of the bus as she had seen she would.

  She didn’t know, as no-one knows, what this moment would be like. The pain she expected was very brief she noted gratefully. She suffered the impact and felt herself fall, and then… well, that was all she remembered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Angharad. Angharad? Can you hear me?” it was a different voice, but saying the same thing. She was aware of bright lights, but couldn’t discern their source. Then, the groggy realisation her eyes were closed. She braced herself to open them, unsure who or what she would see when she did.

  Slowly, she opened them a crack, and then, when she recognised where she was, she opened them fully. A nurse was smiling down at her.

  “How’re you feeling?” Angharad didn’t know. “You gave us all quite a scare. Do you remember what happened?”

  Angharad remembered distinctly what had happened. She was about to get to the bottom of what Claire Voyant had been contacting her about for days when it had all become devastatingly self-explanatory. Well, almost.

  “I was hit by a bus. I thought I was dead. But unless Angels dress as nurses just to cause confusion to the recently deceased, I suppose I must have survived.”

  Angharad’s explanation was regarded to be a joke by the nurse who chuckled at the dry humour. She had been entirely serious. It was her way of thinking the situation through logically.

  “There’s some people here who will be very pleased you’re okay,” said the nurse. “They’ve been worried sick.”

  Claire and Chris timidly entered the cubicle whilst the nurse looked through some notes.

  “I’ll leave you to it for a moment,” she said, turning to leave. The pair stood beside the bed, unsure what to say. Claire broke the silence.

  “You’re not dea
d. I thought you were dead, my love!”

  Angharad looked at her, pleased to hear confirmation from someone, and a someone who ought to know, that she was alive.

  “I know. I’ve been hearing you order me into the light for days. That’s why I came to find you. I thought I really must have died, and I was in denial.” Claire and Chris gasped in unison, staring at her in stunned disbelief.

  “So you’ve been able to hear Claire—telepathically?” Chris almost stammered

  “I suppose that’s what it must have been… But there was more.” She explained,

  “What convinced me most of all—that I must have died—was when I saw it,” she said. “I saw what happened with the bus—precisely. I saw the whites of the driver’s eyes. The last thing I dreamt, or whatever, was seeing my reflection in the bus windshield!” she stopped, breathless.

  “I had to find you. To make sense of it all. I thought you were going to help me pass over to the other side. When I did find you, I almost was killed.” She considered her position a moment before adding, “How am I here? How did I survive?”

  Claire explained, “It all happened in slow-motion. We stopped the car so I could contact you on the inner planes. I sat and meditated in the pretty garden. When I saw you standing in the road, I couldn’t believe it.

  “I thought you were a really clear psychic image, or… I didn’t know what to think. And then the bus! Just like I had seen. I thought the whole thing was a ghostly image. An imprint on the past. It was Chris here who saved you.”

  Chris spoke next, “I didn’t know who you were, other than that we had er… passed you on the mountain road… sorry about that. We were in a hurry…” Angharad didn’t have the energy to react.

  “I thought you had tracked us down for a row.” He looked sheepishly down at the floor before regaining eye contact as the story took a heroic turn.

  “I saw the bus. I could tell, somehow, that you hadn’t. I rushed down to you…”

  “He was like Superman! The Flash. I couldn’t believe anyone could move so fast!” Claire added proudly.

  “I got to you scarcely in time and almost pulled you clear, but the mirror of the bus just glanced you. It knocked us both to the floor.”

  “When you were unconscious, I thought my eyes had deceived me and you had hit your head. The ambulance crew couldn’t find any injury though, and you seemed fine, apart from being unconscious.

  “We’ve been here hours. They even gave me the once over,” he explained.

  “Apparently you’ve had scans and things, which were all fine,” chimed in Claire. “Shock, they said. That’s why you wouldn’t wake up.” She looked Angharad up and down. “You seem fine now,” she pronounced, matter-of-fact.

  Yes, she thought. She was fine. At last she understood what had been happening to her all week, even if she didn’t appreciate why. A broad smile which turned into a grin, then a chuckle, and before long, hysterical laughter, echoed in the room. She managed to say to the worried looking Claire and Chris,

  “Yes. Yes, I am fine now! Thank you very much.”

  The nurse re-entered the cubicle and spoke of scans, and doctors, and staying in overnight, but Angharad wasn’t really listening. She was fine, and she was alive!

  When dawn broke the next day, she was surprised she still had visitors.

  “We couldn’t leave without making sure you were alright, could we?” Claire said joyfully. It had been a difficult day. The matinee performance had been cancelled due to the unanticipated trip to hospital.

  It wasn’t just that Chris needed checking out, they both felt a responsibility to the lady who had come to Cardiff to almost meet her death because of some strange disturbance in Claire’s psychic powers.

  Since then, understandably, Claire had felt uneasy about performing again. She had nearly caused Angharad to lose her life. She needed to understand why before she could do her act again. This might not be just a one off.

  Angharad smiled gratefully at them both.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, my lovely.” Claire began. “I don’t understand what happened. Obviously I was having a premonition, but if you hadn’t been able to hear me… Well, the premonition wouldn’t have come true, would it?”

  Angharad, surprisingly, had thought little about it. She was so thankful to be alive she had taken the time to rest. She agreed Claire was right. The only reason the bus vision came true was because she was seeking Claire out. But that was also the reason she was alive now. Because Chris had saved her.

  A thought struck her. She formulated it into a coherent suggestion before seeking assurance of its credibility from her new psychic friend.

  “Maybe I was meant to die. Or I had a choice. A pre-determined time to die!” Claire looked intently at her. “I don’t want to die. I love my simple life. I still think, even at my age, I mean since leaving work—I’m not old, I have a lot to give. “Maybe the way I was to die was… flexible,” she suggested, incredulous at how her own beliefs had changed so dramatically since her first contact with Claire.

  Claire was so impressed with the proposal her mind raced to complete it. “Yes! That makes sense, doesn’t it!” she exclaimed. “Part of you wanted a choice, so your soul made you aware of the imminence of your planned passing… through me!” she was pleased with the explanation. It meant she had done good after all.

  “The bus vision we both saw… It made you know that you wanted to be alive! It made you appreciate yourself and your life,” she exclaimed, before adding, “It must have made Chris more ready to react to save you as well. Hearing how the bus had hit you. And Chris’s speed. I’m sure a higher power must have been involved in that! You chose life. And we helped you do it,” she declared triumphantly.

  Angharad wasn’t unreservedly sure, but she was happy enough for Claire Voyant to take credit for the whole thing. She had helped her more than she might realise. No longer was she scared of dying. It was something she hadn’t realised she had been afraid of, but she knew now. If she was being honest with herself, it had been a constant worry since her retirement.

  Now she no longer feared the moment of death, and thanks to Claire utterly proving her paranormal abilities, she knew she would go on after death too.

  Maybe she would feature in one of Claire’s future performances from the other side, she amused herself a little morbidly, before taking an altogether more positive view.

  “But only when it’s my time,” she knew assuredly.

  The End

  An Extraordinary Haunting

  Glossary of Welsh from the story:

  Cariad – Darling, love

  Bach – term of endearment. Lit. ‘small’

  Hwyl - Used as goodbye. Lit. ‘fun’

  Cwtch – Cuddle. (can mean cubbyhole)

  Prynhawn Da – Good Afternoon

  Chapter One

  White knuckles gripped the rusty gate. The bottom hinge had corroded, causing a struggle to lever it open; an effort Neil Hedges couldn’t bring himself to make. The tarnished metal provided a barrier against having to go inside the house.

  Flakes of faded red paint, clinging desperately to the swollen wooden door a few feet away, stuck out like tongues poking their contempt. Neil shrank back, feeling it. He was being a fool.

  Biting too hard at a quick on his finger, he flinched and shook his hand.

  “Come on, Neil. Go in. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” his timid voice fell unconvincingly from his dry, chapped lips, his own words of encouragement lost in the winter air, barely reaching his ears and falling far short of his resolve.

  His bladder joined in persuading him to try, and he silently cursed himself for not using the toilet back on campus. Still gripping the rusting green gate, he hauled it to the open position.

  Before taking a step onto the weed infested cracked path, Neil’s gaze drew slowly to three small windows. Lifeless rooms beyond shed no light from behind dirty glass. The emptiness peered out at him through the inky b
lack eyes of a spider, with him fused to the streetlamp like an encumbered moth.

  Cuffing a dewdrop from the frozen tip of his nose, he forced his foot forwards. The impetus carried him, step by tentative step, to the door. Fumbling in his pockets, he grasped for the key and offered it, in trembling fingers, to the lock.

  He paused, took a deep breath, and plunged it into the depths of no-return. As the barrel turned, his heart flipped, pounding in his ears. The latch free, the door had only to receive a gentle shove to swing open. Neil looked up and offered a silent prayer as it creaked back on its hinges. Light from the streetlamp shone dimly inside illuminating the stairs and partway down the hallway.

  Taking a cautious step over the threshold, nothing happened; which is exactly what the logical part of his mind expected. Eyes flicking in every direction, his racing heart finally slowed at the confirmation of stillness. Sighing with relief, he almost laughed.

  Shaking his head, he bent to pick up the daily pile of junk mail accumulating behind the door, placing it carefully on the nearby chair in case any of his fellow student housemates might be tempted by the offers of two-for-one pizza deals, or loft insulation.

  Reaching above the chair to the switch, he turned on both the hall and landing lights together to give greater illumination. Keen for the brightness, but nervous of what it might show, he flinched back a step, then snorted at his silliness.

  Stepping down the hallway leading to the communal lounge, and beyond that, the horrible, dirty little kitchen the housemates took turns risking their lives from salmonella to cook in, he smiled, pleased with himself. He was inside. And he was fine. If one of the others had returned to find him trembling under the streetlight, he would have died of embarrassment.

  Reaching the lounge, he opened the door quickly and thrust his hand to the light switch. With the room lit, Neil was almost sure everything was as it had been this morning. But then, with a sickening realisation, he glanced back to the table, aware of something not quite right.