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

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Another nightmare. Why was she having these recurring dreams? She had to believe it had something to do with her recovery, and would end soon. It may well have a lot to do with staying in this unwelcoming house. The sooner she could get well and find her own place, the better.

  Emyr invited her to go back to sleep while he cleared up the mess of the broken lamp. After he left with the Eubank in tow, Elin was wide awake. She elected to read for a little while which turned into a long while.

  The cacophony of the dawn chorus from woodland birds residing in the many trees Erw Lon boasted roused her from precipitous slumber. But when she dropped her book for the third time, she gave in

  Despite her struggle to get any decent rest, Elin forced her weary body from her bed at a reasonable hour of the morning, determined to build her strength and move on.

  If she walked and worked hard at regaining her fitness, it would have the added benefit of making her extra tired. Perhaps, she might achieve some nightmare free nights of exhausted sleep.

  She would exercise on her own today. Alis was feeling too unwell anyway, what with her awful cold (poor Diddums), and Glenda kept worrying she was overdoing it. Well, Elin wanted to overdo it. At least she wanted to push herself to her limit so she could find out what her limit was. She might never get better with the baby steps she had been allowed to take under her family’s supervision.

  Wrapped up warm, she snuck out the back door. In no time she was at the stream bordering Erw Lon’s land. She impressed herself, carefully picking through the stepping stones, even leaping the final few feet where the last stone was covered by fast flowing water after some heavy rainfall.

  Slipping as she landed, she giggled and regained her balance. Walking at almost a normal pace for nearly a mile meant a return journey would be a post glandular fever record. She felt pleased with herself, until halfway back, she realised her mum’s concerns had been well founded.

  Fatigue set in hard and she was struggling. Fire in her legs and arms caught as her muscles burned, her limbs shaking uncontrollably. She had no choice but to rest.

  It took a good twenty minutes for her to recover enough to attempt moving again. Aware she might be causing concern back at the house if they’d noticed she was gone, she tried to hurry. Soon, she was once again stood on the muddy bank of the boundary stream.

  The stride to the first uncovered stepping stone was too far to make safely. She stood ponderously on the side, debating if she could make a leap for it. She knew in her shattered state it was far more dangerous jumping to a wet stone than it had been jumping from the same wet stone an hour earlier.

  She had no choice but to get across. Any alternative route avoiding the stream was far and uphill. She would never make that distance, so decided stepping onto the nearest stone which was underwater, and then quickly moving to the higher stone, was her safest bet.

  It took a while to coach herself into action. But as soon as her weight leaned forward towards the submerged rock, she knew it had been a mistake. Through the rippling water she misjudged its position. Her ankle slipped, and she brought her other foot to join it for balance.

  The current was surprisingly strong, and she immediately fell forward. Icy cold water splashed her face, then pain as she hit her head, then… nothing.

  The strong arms of her retired father plucked her from the water. Cradling her like the baby she would always be to him, he lay her on the flat grass. “Come on Elin. Come on!” he bawled preparing to do CPR.

  Without much of a cough, she opened her eyes and roused, cognisant again. “I think I slipped,” she offered apologetically. Emyr gave her a look that told her exactly how foolish she had been before helping her get soggily to her feet. He put one arm around her wet waist and another under her elbow, supporting her back to the house.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I’m getting better. But I think I’ll take it easy for a while longer.”

  “And don’t go out without company until you are completely better!” Emyr berated. Elin nodded. That had been a close call.

  Reaching the house, they were greeted by a frantic Glenda and Alis.

  “I know you want to build your strength, but if you want to go swimming you should go to the pool!” Alis joked. Elin glared in scathing good humour. Glenda embraced her daughter, and when she was convinced she was okay, she pulled away with distaste at her cold wetness.

  “Go and have a hot shower and get something dry on. I hope you haven’t put your recovery back,” she said, more to show her displeasure than from keenness for the day Elin went on her way. “We’re having your sister’s favourite, fagots, for dinner. She’s decided to go back to Bristol tomorrow.”

  Elin called ‘okay’ as she walked upstairs, trying hard not to show the pain she was in and how exhausted she felt. She struggled to haul her weakened body all the way up. She turned on the shower and undressed, leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor.

  The scolding water was gorgeously purging. Her aches and pains soothed under the hot flow. After a long wash and soak she exited the steamy room in a fluffy dressing gown of her mother’s. It was all extremely luxurious, and for the first time since she had arrived at Erw Lon, she felt a reluctance to leave.

  At dinner, Elin ate the fagots purchased from the local butchers who declared them to be ‘the best in the world’, with a sweet potato mash and thick tasty gravy. Very heartening after her exhausting mini adventure.

  Alis, unsurprisingly, took over the conversation, with the others happy to let her because they would all miss her after she left tomorrow. They all gave Elin the benefit of their opinion that she had been an idiot, and a lucky idiot at that.

  As if to appease her family, but in reality to compensate for her utter exhaustion, Elin agreed to an early night. It was a very early night in fact as she ventured upstairs after food and just after it became dark. Despite the early hour, she didn’t recall her cranium colliding with the duck down pillow before falling fast and heavy once again her nightmare. Her only hope, that somewhere in the depths of her subconscious, she might have answers that would make sense of it all.

  At once, she was back in the lounge of number twenty-four. The girl wasn’t there, but noises of movement came from somewhere. Icy goose pimples were quick to cover her arms. The noise came closer, and this time was definitely more than a girl on her own.

  Their voices, loud and animated, paid no heed to quietness. If whoever she could hear were confident and fearless, it was in exact contrast to Elin’s swelling dread. Her racing heart shifted into high gear preparing her for action.

  As she scouted the room for somewhere to hide, she realised the futility. It was small, and any space had been filled to brimming with furniture and junk. The couch touched two walls, and any room under the table taken up with boxes and empty beer cans. Why? Why were they there? It was usually tidy, she always made sure of it.

  In the last moments before she would have to confront whoever was coming, instead of bracing herself for battle, she fumed at the mess. She scrutinised the room. So many things wrong. Whose clothes were they, hanging on the backs of her chairs? And who was in the photos in frames dotted about? She didn’t recognise anyone. It didn’t make any sense.

  The door burst open, and they were upon her, shocking her back to her fear, forcing her to confront them. Adrenaline surged through her as she prepared to fight, and then caused her to judder as the conflict she had anticipated gave way to utter bemusement.

  There were half a dozen or more. Most of them young, about her own age and a few of her parents’. What astounded her was their apparent unawareness of her. None of them even looked as they pulled out the clothes laden chairs and proceeded to sit around the table.

  One of them squeezed past and lit a candle. And then… it was her! The girl from her last nightmare, standing right in front of her.

  “Er… hello!” Elin barked, no longer afraid and more than a little peeved. “Hello. Am I invisible or so
mething? Hellooow!” she cried, waving her arms from side to side. Still oblivious, the intruders began to talk in hushed tones.

  The red candle-light gave the room an eerie glow which only added to Elin’s bewilderment. The group laid their hands flat on the table, little fingers touching. One of the older members of the group, an scruffy, tousled haired woman spoke.

  “We, sitting in union around this table, wish to speak to spirit, please.” It was an authoritative, floaty voice “Is there anybody here?”

  Elin moved towards the table.

  “What on earth are you doing?” she demanded to no response. Just then, the girl she had seen before opened her eyes and looked straight at her. Elin would have been afraid but for the abject terror obvious in the other girl’s eyes. The woman next to her looked too, but it wasn’t clear if she could see her.

  The untidy woman spoke again,

  “I can feel you here,” she said, in the same eerie voice, and then, “If there is spirit here, please give us a sign.”

  Elin wouldn’t give them a sign. She wasn’t spirit. She was a girl having a nightmare about her own house. What these people were doing, messing the place up and acting in such a peculiar way, she struggled to comprehend.

  “Jacqui? Is that you Jacqui?” the odd lady persisted.”

  Jacqui? Who’s Jacqui? Elin was annoyed now.

  “We want to help you,” the woman said.

  Heat rose within her. Eyes bulging and fists clenched, ready to explode. This was too much. This was a liberty too far. Coming, uninvited, invading her home, her sanctuary and calling out someone else’s name!

  An evil, wry smile formed on Elin’s taut features as a glimmer of conception shone into the dark recesses of her disgust. She reached over to the window where a pretty pathetic looking plant sat, almost begging to be put out of its misery. Elin took hold of it and slid it off the sill and onto the floor. CRASH!

  She laughed as the group jumped back in unison, causing the table to rock on its unstable feet. There were murmurings of disdain, and then the odd woman riled her when she piped up yet again,

  “Don’t be afraid, Jacqui. We want to help you!”

  ‘Me afraid?’ Elin’s mind spluttered. ‘No! Not anymore,’ she fumed.

  She picked up the sickly companion to the already sacrificed plant, and threw it, with considerable force, at the wall behind the table.

  ‘CRASH!’

  “I am not Jacqui!” she spat at the foolish group.

  Elin couldn’t believe what happened next. In amongst the nervous kerfuffle she had created with her kamikaze plants, she watched open mouthed as the strange woman set up a Ouija board.

  The people around the table put their hands on the glass and proceeded to ask questions of whomever Jacqui was. Elin leaned over and moved the pointer for them to spell out: not Jacqui. She yelled at them that this was her house.

  When they still failed to listen, she spelled that out for them too. And the terse command to get out!

  “Get out! Get out of my house!” she screamed. She was so incredibly angry, and wasn’t even sure why. Of course, they had invaded her refuge. Broken her sanctuary. But she didn’t want to hurt these people. They appeared not to know what they’d done. And it was just a dream, after all.

  So, instead of hurting them, she threw things. She barely looked at what they were. When she ran out of objects within easy reach, she opened the cupboards and continued to empty their contents to the floor, screaming and yelling the while.

  Gratified to witness the group hot-footing it from the room, tumbling over one another along the narrow hallway in their haste and leaving her house, she yelled after them following behind and slamming the door. Standing in the centre of the hall, she laughed with relief; a guttural purging of long trapped emotion. Her safe haven returned.

  Her raucous laughter cackled through the dark silence the house had briefly sustained. She laughed and she laughed. Her sides began to strain with the hilarious relief of it all.

  She was still laughing when she woke up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was a peculiar sensation, to be woken by the noise of her own mirth. “What was all that about?” she demanded aloud of her empty bedroom.

  Dawn broke, and Elin felt calm and rested. It wasn’t until she attempted to move, she realised how rigid her overworked muscles were. “Damn!” Flopping back down, she prayed more rest might just do the trick.

  She was still laying, staring at the ceiling, when Glenda came in with a cup of tea.

  “How’re you feeling, cariad?”

  “Stiff,” Elin had no choice but to admit. It was all too clear as she shuffled painfully around to reach the fresh cup that ‘stiff’ was an insufficient description.

  Glenda couldn’t help but further reprimand her for her foolishness yesterday.

  “Sorry, Mum,” she shrugged. Glenda smiled and leaned in for a cwtch which turned into helping her out of bed and steadying her down the stairs. Elin hobbled, clutching her mum’s arm for support and letting out a yelp of cramp pain with each step

  A few more ‘tuts’ and Glenda successfully assisted Elin to the couch where she’d spent so much time. Elin hunched miserably, clutching a blanket about her. Remembering her suffering was self-induced, she plastered a smile on her face.

  “Alis will be off later.”

  “Oh. I’ll miss her,” Elin said, as a look passed between the two demonstrating just how much, both sure the terrible atmosphere would inflame in her absence. To lighten the mood, Elin decided to tell of last night’s visions. Glenda sat with the forced smile of anyone required to listen to someone else’s dreams.

  As Elin recounted, her cheeks reddened, realising that apart from waking up laughing, it hadn’t been uplifting at all. Just peculiar, and slightly unnerving. She neglected to mention the séance, initially due to poor recollection, but then a conscious denial. Mention of ghosts and spirits seemed unwise in her mother’s current delicate state.

  Her cheeks flushed and her mouth dried as telling of her nightmare became a lamentable tale. From the horror on her mum’s face, she regretted it at once. The ill-prepared narrative ended in an embarrassed hush.

  Glenda broke the silence, and what she said, Elin couldn’t believe she was hearing. “I’ve done it, too. To our old house, I mean.”

  “You’ve had dreams about our old house in Bridgend?” Elin asked, not grasping the significance.

  “Not dream. It’s more than that. Much more,” Glenda revealed. “I actually go there”

  It made no sense. What was she inferring?

  “What do you mean? You go on the train and visit?”

  “Not on the train, no,” Glenda said, trying hard not to show irritation at her daughter’s denseness. “Or the car, or a bike,” she added, in case Elin planned investigating other modes of transport.

  “I travel in my dreams. I put myself in a quiet place in my mind and picture it. And then I’m there,” she explained. “It’s nice to be back in the old place.” She paused to gauge if Elin understood before continuing. “But I do become resentful, I suppose—of the new people living there. And I sold them the house! They clearly have every right to be there, but I do resent them. It still feels like home. And so I punish them,” she revealed guiltily.

  “Punish them. How?”

  “Well, you know… shake the curtains, hiss in their ears, throw stuff around, that type of thing…” she finished sheepishly. “I suppose they must get scared.” She allowed a dry smile to decorate her face at the power she enjoyed.

  “It’s nice to go. And it’s nice to feel I could scare the new owners enough to take it back if I wanted to…” Realising she might have gone too far, Glenda revised her gleeful tone. “But truly, it is good to touch base. I did love that house…” she drifted off, misty eyed.

  Elin shook her head. This was unbelievable. Was she seriously suggesting she physically appeared in their old house? That she could interact with the people there? />
  The story was just like her own. She had done those things in her sleep. And more besides. But it wasn’t real, was it? It couldn’t be. It had to be a dream. It all stopped when she’d woken up. But her mum believed it was true.

  Her mind struggled to make sense of it. From anyone else, at any other time, she would laugh. But from her strong, sensible mum? Still in shock, she asked simply, “How?”

  “Because, like I said, I loved that house. I’m connected to it.” She glanced in the direction of the hallway and gave an involuntary shudder. “I sometimes wish we still lived there. This is lovely and everything, but…” Stopping abruptly, she folded her hands neatly in her lap as she was prone to do.

  And that made even less sense. Elin didn’t feel connected to twenty-four Rhondda Street. She didn’t even like it much. Unlike her mum’s love of their perfect neat home in Bridgend, there was absolutely no question of her yearning to live back in Swansea.

  “I don’t think that’s what’s happening to me, Mum,” Elin stated decisively. “I’m just having nightmares because I’m on the mend, and my mind is restless—anxious to start thinking about something. Anything. I didn’t even like that house much.”

  Glenda looked unconvinced. A flicker of irritation, or maybe anxiety, flashed behind her emerald eyes. Sighing, she let it go. There seemed little point in arguing. Removing, and then replacing her hands in her lap, she smiled at her daughter.

  “More tea?” she offered. And that was that. Subject closed.

  Taking occasional sips of tea, the conversation declined to ‘nice weather for the time of year’ interspersed with simpering smiles and interrupted starts. Before the atmosphere became too tense to stomach, the doorway was filled with the effervescent presence of Alis announcing her goodbye.

  “Don’t you have a big hug for your favourite daughter and best sister?” she demanded, hands on hips.