What they might witness when they prized open the door they were terrified to imagine.
Bang, bang. “Open up,” the priest commanded, in his element now, hammering hard on the flexing wood. No-one opened the door, but when he turned the handle again, it swung open. They crowded together at the doorway, unwilling to walk into the unknown prospect.
The spectacle revealed by the opening door was incomprehensible. Father Jenkins gasped and stepped back.
Bronwyn and Aeron were stood, faces etched in horror, staring at a dark mist which hovered over the cowering figure of a man on the floor. He lay foetal, repeating over and over how sorry he was.
The misty shape was perceivable as a girl, and to those who knew her, as Elin Treharne. Her form spectral, but distinct. Her outline stood breathing heavily like Al Capone having dished out retribution to a traitorous underling.
“Stop. Now, Demon!” Father Jenkins commanded. Her gaze fell upon the group, and seeing them for the first time, she shrank back shamefully.
The figure on the floor took its opportunity and rolled out of Elin’s reach. When they saw him clearly, there were more gasps. Everyone, except the priest, recognised Jon, but barely. His bloody face and torn clothes did well to disguise him.
Pushing himself up with what little strength he could muster, he stumbled to the floor and forced himself up again. With a huge sob, he barged through the gap which opened in the crowd. He ran, lurching down the hall and out through the front door.
When they looked back in the room, Elin had gone.
Chapter Forty-six
Elin recoiled from the crowd watching her ferocious outburst. Especially her parents. She didn’t know where the fury had come from. It wasn’t like her, but she hated him. And she didn’t understand why. She attempted to give it consideration but couldn’t bear to. A shudder rocked her, and she gave up.
Unaware of going anywhere she was surprised at a new scene opening before her, like a stage reset at the theatre.
Her enemy was no longer present. The rest of them: her mum, dad, the hippie woman, the small one, the fat one, the older looking one and the girl, sat in the familiar position for a séance. The priest was there too. Holding a large crucifix, muttering under his breath and splashing holy water around the room.
Smoke trails from incense sticks burning on the window sill combined with flickering light from various candles to give an eerie glow.
Everyone’s lips moved saying the same thing, but she couldn’t hear what. A compulsion made her listen hard to the hippie woman. Discerning her name a few times, she struggled to keep her concentration.
The room blurred and she shook herself to refocus. But when she did, it metamorphosised into another scene altogether. The more she tried, the more it swirled and changed until, eventually, she began to recognise familiar objects. The back of a chair. A glass. Then with a sudden gush of energy, she catapulted into the scene completely.
She sat sipping at a long drink at the bar in The Railway, a tugging at her psyche implied it should be significant. It should mean something. But she couldn’t for the life of her remember what.
“Top you up there, sweetheart?” It was the smarmy barman. She thought she might be waiting to meet someone. Who it was, she couldn’t recall.
“Yeah. Okay. Vodka and lemonade again, please,” she asked politely. She placed a five pound note on the counter to pay for it. The drink was duly poured, but the note wasn’t taken. She tapped it and pushed it further towards him but he still didn’t take it.
“That one’s on me,” he said with a wink.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Elin replied, not wanting to encourage him. The money remained untouched. Elin left it there, and hopped from the barstool with her drink to go to a table away from the unwanted attention from the creepy little barman.
As she sat sipping the vodka, she still couldn’t remember who she was meeting. Whoever it was, she’d have to cry off she considered, suddenly feeling terribly unwell.
Standing up to leave, her chair crashed to the floor behind her. She apologised, but didn’t know to whom. The room became hazy and difficult to decipher. When she reached the street, lights of cars passing were impossible to navigate. A car’s horn honked loudly as she took a hesitant step onto the road from the safety of the pavement.
“Come on. I’ll help you,” a familiar and unwelcome voice whispered in her ear. It felt wrong, oh, so wrong. She shoved him away and darted across the road. Not stopping to see if he followed, she strained to recall the way.
Remembering the entire journey escaped her, but she was sure it wasn’t long. Each time she came across a turning, it was with relief she grasped a hesitant inkling of which direction to head. The more correct choices she made, the more confident she became.
The promise of deliverance made her hurry more as she walked towards the streetlamp she always used as a landmark for picking out her path from the row of identical looking terraced houses. It seemed to have a particular significance but she didn’t have time to wonder why. She had to get inside, into the safety of the house.
The footsteps reverberated hideously behind her. She could see the lamppost only a few metres ahead. Nearly there, she urged. Dare she look back? Her neck stiffened, threatening to paralyse her. Trembling, a certainty of doom clutched her heart. A powerlessness to prevent a horrific inevitability.
The path lay just ahead, she could almost touch it. Catching her sleeve on the hedge, she lost valuable seconds as she fought to free herself from the simple tangle which so perplexed her addled faculties.
The activity forced her gaze to the direction of her pursuer. The shadowy figure swaggered towards her, echoing footsteps becoming ever louder.
She freed herself from the shrubbery and stumbled up the path. The uneven steps proved almost impossible to negotiate, but then she was there, at the door. Where were her keys? She patted herself furiously with fumbling fingers. Where were they? Rooting with one hand, banging the door with the other, she cried out hysterically for help.
The keys dropped from her pocket to the floor in her hurry to retrieve them. As she stooped to pick them up, still banging on the door, the figure loomed over her.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s in. Here. Let me help you.” She screamed, wriggling away. Soon the door opened and she was being shoved inside. “Come on. Don’t mess around. Go in the house. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“No. Get away from me,” but even she couldn’t recognise the garbled warbling escaping her dry lips. With all her force, she wrestled, desperate to be free from his grasp. The place she’d wanted to get to so desperately moments before—the place that seemed to offer sanctuary—she knew now would be the end of her.
As she fought, she felt her strength, and her will, ebb away. The manifestation of a shiny blade at her throat convinced her she had no choice. Her bodily control too impaired to fight off her attacker, she blacked out.
The next images entering her mind were spasmodic and traumatic: the sensation of being dragged, his voice, goading, “you know you want it, you little cock-tease! Lay still!” Determined to be as far from still as possible, Elin tried to writhe fiercely, but couldn’t even feel if she was moving.
A vicious slap, and the sensation of cold steel pushing into her throat flared the next memory. His grotesque face pressed against hers. The hot stench of his cigarette breath. The pungent aroma of sweaty sex. And immense pain as her cramping, dry, unaroused genitals were forced to accommodate his.
She sobbed, pushing against him, every fibre fighting against the ultimate intimate intrusion. Resisting the repugnant motion of her body rocking back and fore to the rhythm of the sickening violation. Her mind tried to take her away. Picturing her mum and dad and sister brought no respite, instead shaming her into despair.
Why was she here? Why couldn’t she stop him? She gritted her teeth and endured. Each desecrating thrust sending her further into an abhorrent abyss.
Anoth
er flash of consciousness and she lay alone on her bedroom floor, still unable to move; incapable even to curl into a ball to comfort herself. Paralysed with fear and humiliation. Unaware how long she’d lain, she could feel herself coming round. Still powerless, she somehow found the strength to open her eyes.
It was dark. A faint glow shone from her alarm clock. It looked different from her perspective on the floor. She wondered if any of her housemates were home. If anyone had come in who might discover her.
Torn between crying for help and wanting to hide, her mind struggled to make a plan. Couldn’t she get into bed and disappear under her duvet covers? Pretend it hadn’t happened? Her hand was forced when she still couldn’t move, and found she cried out instinctively.
A swift movement, and a face loomed from the darkness, stopping inches from her own. She squeezed her eyes tight again and did her best to wriggle out of reach. Arms shook by her sides as she trembled in terror. What would happen to her now? She couldn’t cope with any more.
The group huddled around the table in the séance heard everything. In a voice, a mixture of Elin’s and her own, Sylvie channelled Elin’s trauma and the rest had listened.
“I knew it!” Bronwyn exclaimed, catching Aeron’s eye and squeezing his hand. “I’m so sorry,” she added, glimpsing the ashen face atop Glenda’s torte body.
“So, that little shit we let run away through the front door; who I felt guilty had been attacked by the spirit of my daughter, he…,” Emyr fell silent, unable to continue his repulsive thought.
The priest wandered about the room, doing his best to ignore the séance, which he’d made clear he didn’t approve of—“it’s just this type of thing that got you into this mess”, he’d rebuked. He busied himself with his own rituals, which, in-between muttering, occasionally entailed him shouting out phrases such as: “Be gone Demon. Leave Elin. Let her have her body.”
Neil glanced at Matthew and Josh who’d been roused to join the others sometime during the cacophony when he’d momentarily removed his surround-sound headphones. “What now?” he asked.
“He can’t get away with it!” Glenda growled.
“I don’t think he has,” ventured Matthew, but stopped abruptly with a dagger stare from Glenda.
“If you think that is enough.” She shook her head slowly from side to side. “He’ll go away for this, and think himself lucky he’s not dead!”
Mumbled murmurs of agreement resounded. Sylvie, sat with eyes firmly closed again, let out a sudden gasp. Silence echoed as she gained the full attention of the group.
Even Father Jenkins, working his way around rosary beads in his hand and muttering under his breath, stopped and listened. Remaining motionless, her lips moved as though about to speak. The ongoing silence became painful to endure.
“What?” Emyr demanded. “What on earth is it now?”
She couldn’t get away. The paralysing effects of whatever had been slipped into her drink combined with the stiffness of being forced to lie motionless conspired to leave her utterly helpless.
She daren’t open her eyes again. Defenceless, she didn’t want to see what he was going to do to her. With her eyes tight shut, she forced terrifying images of him away. A sob forced its way from her throat, exploding and echoing around the room.
What would he do? Had he not done enough? He was going to kill her. She knew it. Force of life-sustaining will allowed her a brief surge of strength. With her arms raised inches from her sides, she didn’t trust them to offer much protection, but was determined to inflict whatever damage she could to the disgusting monster holding her in this drug induced prison.
Encouraged by her attempt, she knew she must use all her senses to make an effective strike. Perceiving his proximity from the shadows on her closed eyelids, and the warmth on her face from his, she took a final gulp of courage and opened her eyes.
“Elin? Oh my God! Elin!”
A wondrous euphoria washed over her as she gazed into the incredulous, tear-stained face of her sister. Her arms had reached the full extent of their range of motion which was scarcely enough to clutch at Alis’s sides. But the feeling of love arced between them as they both broke down in purging sobs.
Sylvie gasped one more time, eyes darting in all directions behind their lids. Her mouth slowly formed the upward bow of a smile. When she opened them again, her eyes twinkled with delight. The group waited with expectancy and baited breath. “She’s gone,” she announced.
At the same moment, a shrill, American style long ring-tone resonated in the hallway. It took a while to recognise what it was, so immersed had they been in their paranormal world.
Recognition finally struck Emyr, who realised he must have removed his jacket and hung it by the front door. He hurried down the corridor and fumbled in his pocket for his phone. It stopped ringing, reverting to answerphone after its set number of rings.
Examining the screen, scrutinising the ‘missed calls,’ it burst into life again. Before it had displayed the caller, he thrust it to his ear and almost shouted hello.
“Dad? She’s awake! You have to get back here. Elin has woken up!”
Epilogue
Neil arrived at the hospital and parked. He had been so many times in the weeks since Elin’s recovery he’d lost count. Elin had moved from the High Dependency Unit to a regular ward where most of the other patients were in their eighties.
She’d struck up firm friendships with several of them, and they cooed whenever Neil visited.
“Oh, your boyfriend’s here, cariad.” Elin always smiled politely and never bothered correcting them, persuading Neil in the part of his mind that harboured such fantasies, that her willingness to have him described so, meant something. His logical brain knew without a doubt she was just being kind.
He learned in the weeks Elin’s formerly motionless body began to cope with moving again under the strict care of the hospital’s team of physiotherapists, that as well as being the most incredibly beautiful girl he’d ever seen, she was also the most intelligent, kind and funny one, too.
After the emotional family reunion, Neil’s part in saving Elin was bigged up. It could have been argued that it was Bronwyn who saved her. But recalling how Neil had seen her at the window, and set in motion the events which led to the lifesaving discoveries; and that the rest of the group, Glenda and Emyr included, thoroughly approved of the pair spending time together, it had been agreed: Neil was her saviour.
Elin thanked him profusely, and now, she assured him his support and encouragement with her Physio was really helping too.
He blushed at the attention from the old ladies, smiling at him behind all-seeing, twinkling eyes.
“Come on, Neil,” Elin invited. “You can help me to the day room. We can have something to eat.”
Neil looked enquiringly.
“Yes. I’m allowed to eat now. Just something light. Maybe some toast.”
He felt sorry for her needing help to slowly hobble along the corridor. She’d improved loads since being bed-bound, to taking her first tentative steps, to now, walking with support. His sorrow faded at the thrill that once again, she had elected to use his arm for support rather than the Zimmer frame the Physio’s had provided. He could fool himself they were on a date, walking arm in arm.
Elin ate toast, which one of the nurses had happily provided, while Neil chomped on a ham sandwich from the vending machine. They dissected, for the hundredth time, the events which led them here. They’d resigned themselves to not ever understanding fully, but they couldn’t help but try.
“And you’ve never had any psychic ability?” Neil confirmed, chewing on the crust of his sandwich. Elin’s delightful, delicate blonde hair shimmered as she shook her head.
“I sensed things at Erw Lon—my mum and dad’s house. And I knew it worried my mum. But with our new perspective, I suppose we have to consider it might not be a ghost. Just the previous owner having a dream!”
“I hope I don’t go anywhere in my dr
eams. I have pretty weird ones!” Neil frowned. Elin laughed. It was a delight to see.
“I know what you mean. I’m sure I don’t travel every time. Just when there’s unfinished business.”
Neil looked thoughtful, unsure whether to broach the subject on his mind. He decided he should.
“Speaking of unfinished business… Jon,” Elin flinched at the name. Neil got to the point quickly. “They’ve found plenty of other witnesses. Loads of girls have come forward after some inquiries. You were by no means the only one.
“Because of the large amounts of drugs he forced on you and the others, they didn’t remember enough to make a complaint. And like you, they felt guilty. Ashamed, like they should have done something to stop him.”
“I re-lived it. I know there’s nothing I could have done.” Elin closed her eyes, the memories a scab over a sceptic wound. A tear glistened in the corner of her eye. Shaking her head, she swallowed it down. “They’ve found the knife,” she announced, a positive smile forced on her pretty face. “A policewoman came a few days ago. I think he’s going down for a long time.”
“He’s not at The Railway anymore,” Neil reported. “One of his near victims and her huge brother—he put him in hospital when he stepped out of line with his sister. Obviously nothing like he did to you or he’d have killed him—they’re managing the pub now. Looks like it’ll be permanent.”
Elin munched her toast thoughtfully. “I’m glad. I’m not looking forward to testifying in court, but I’m glad he’s not going to get away with it.”
“I haven’t seen him since you mauled him. I wonder how much damage you did.”
The damage was mainly superficial, but he’d been severely traumatised by Elin’s revenge. Scabs had formed on wounds all over his face, it wasn’t clear yet if some of them might scar.
But Jon’s life would never be the same again. Apart from the physical pain, and the distress of the peculiar circumstance in which he’d sustained his injuries, during the seeking of witnesses his likeness had been plastered in all the newspapers and even shown on television.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 60