by Ayse Hafiza
The Ghost in the Mirror
Ayse Hafiza
Copyright © 2018 by Ayse Hafiza
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Dedicated to those who see what others can’t explain.
Contents
1. The Squat
2. The Isle of Eigg
3. Home at last
4. Settling In
5. The Legend of the Mirror
6. One Escapes
7. Attraction
8. Discovery
9. Taunting
10. A Safer Path
11. Nanna Hamilton
12. The Gift
13. Ending the Curse
14. The Nightmare
15. Friends
16. The Connection
17. Inside the Prison
18. Guidance
19. Spells
20. Another Escapes
21. Inside
22. The Gifts
23. Portal
Also by Ayse Hafiza
Afterword
About the Author
1
The Squat
If Frank had been a younger man he would have fought, sworn at the injustice and demonstrated outside the councilors offices. He would have held placards and chanted slogans about ‘the man’ on footpaths outside. There were a million things he would have done, but he was in London, and it was the 1980’s. Frank was not a particularly young man, at thirty-nine he was a man who had aged beyond his years.
He could have screamed and worked himself into a panic, but as he watched the heavy machinery drive onto the site, he was secretly glad life's choices were being made by providence. Standing with the other squat dwellers, he knew it would be anarchy to express his guilty glee at the destruction of their home. His fellow squatters understood the subtleties of anarchy because they loved to incite it. But, in this instance, he knew to keep his mouth shut and emotions hidden.
As the wrecking ball smashed through brickwork, he let go of the last semblance of hope and expelled air in a gasp. It was over, his home for the last twenty years was reduced to rubble and plumes of ash. Deep down in his heart, he wouldn’t miss it. He turned to look at his fellow commune dwellers. Already some had walked away, making a head start to the homeless shelters. They knew the shelters operated on a first come, first served basis.
When they had been fighting the council workers and builders they had a sense of community. Because they were being threatened, now in the face of defeat where had their sense of community gone? Asking that question would be an act of treason.
Where should they go?
The question hung in the air. He looked at the people around him, a blond-haired young woman named Sophie, a Mom of identical twin girls, stood between them holding her palm on each of their chests. She glanced over at him and gave him a friendly half smile. Even with her matted hair and disheveled look he felt warm and at ease. They listened to the conversation between the remaining twenty people all standing with their backpacks and meager belongings some of which were in metal supermarket trolleys.
‘Where indeed?’ Thought Frank as he listened to them argue about their plans, none of which inspired him. Frank had always been a loner in the commune. Everyone knew he was a Shaman and they would come to him when they were troubled, or so he could interpret their dreams, but they knew nothing of his troubles. And, he wasn’t the type of man to share easily.
He watched another couple whisper among themselves and drop away from the group. The London street seemed like an African jungle, if you hung around too long, life’s circumstances like any predator would devour you.
Frank paced a little behind the people wearing backpacks and tucked his hands into his brown corduroy trouser pocket, he felt the circular wad of money between the pad of his fingertips. Digging his nail between the leaves he reassured himself the cash was there. He hadn’t counted it for a while. Frank had worked for ‘cash in hand’ employers for such a long time, he had stashed the money in a shoebox below floorboards in his room. He didn’t know exactly how much he had, as the opportunity to count it never presented itself. The commune had been a very busy place.
He wondered how long the money would last. He would be alright for a while, but that wasn’t going to mean very much, not in one of the most expensive cities in the world. He tuned his ear into the conversation of the people in the middle of the circle.
“We can go to another house, break into a school or we can go to an abandoned factory. . .”
Turning his attention away, Frank thought about climbing spiked fences, and walls topped with glass shards. He looked at his shoes, did he want to do that? Then he realized the deeper question he was asking himself was if he wanted to continue living like this.
With a square piece of cardboard begging strangers for small change and having the cold penetrate deep into his bones, struggling to keep his feet dry and warm. None of it appealing, and in the next ten years, he would be approaching fifty. The thought of getting to fifty and being insecure and still living on the streets sent a shiver along his spine. Getting to fifty might be a milestone he would never live to see.
The answer inside his head was a deafening no. He wasn’t prepared to carry on living like this. But that decision necessitated a move from London. If Frank wasn’t going to live in the capital, then where?
He thought about the house he owned, the one he had never seen. It was purchased with inherited money from the sale of his parent's home in South London. He bought it, but he had never even seen it. It was an ancestral home on his Mother's side. Likely deserted and crumbling, it was a family home that he wasn't sure about. All Frank needed to do, was to phone the estate agent’s office and the keys would be given to him when he got there. The estate agent had told him it was a decent building with a solid structure but in need of love and care. She had stated it could, in the future, crumble into the sea as the back garden edged a white cliff. The good thing about it? It was remote and nestled into the Scottish Isles.
The idea of going there never appealed to Frank, until now. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to take on the fight he knew had been brewing for the last twenty years, but maybe this was providence. He thought about it as he connected the dots in his mind if he went there the house would need an army to restore it. Where and how much would he need to pay builders? Again, he ran his nail against the wad of cash in his pocket.
Observing the group of people in fierce debate standing before him. What was a group of homeless people if not also an army? He stopped himself opening his mouth, as Frank was a Shaman if he said anything they would take it with the appropriate gravitas. Before he spoke a word, he needed to make sure the house was still standing.
Having picked his wording, he swallowed thickly before he announced.
“Wait one minute. I might have a plan,” his voice barely audible among the conversation that was happening.
They quietened down and looked at him. He knew how they judged him, he was the quiet weird guy who was skinny and slightly older than them. The one who wore corduroys and comfortable sweaters. They could see he was once a handsome man, but those days were moving swiftly on as middle age crept in.
He had their attention.
“I need to find a phone,” Frank announced.
They nod
ded and turned away from him, so he left in search of a phone box. Only the young twins watched him as he walked away.
Red telephone booths usually smelled of urine being that drunks would use it as a place to relieve themselves, so he held his breath when he entered. The yellow phone books inside had pages ripped out and scattered on the floor. Ignoring it all and focusing on the task he put a battered old silver coin into the slot and quickly dialed the number he had ingrained in his memory. It only rang twice, before a breezy Scottish accented female voice answered.
“Hamilton’s Estate Agency,” she sang.
“Hello, this is Mr. Frank Blades.” He could feel his face color as he tried to explain himself. “I bought the old Hamilton Farm quite a few years back.”
“Mr. Blades, it’s a pleasure to hear from you,” said the woman.
Her words like a gentle caress, he felt himself ease slightly.
“I am planning on coming to the farmhouse, and I just wanted to check. . .it hadn’t crumbled into the sea?”
“Oh aye, it’ll be there for as long as I’m alive, and probably a few hundred years after that Mr. Blades.”
“Please, just call me Frank.”
“Frank. . .when can we expect you?”
“Very soon.”
“Is there anything that I can do? I honestly feel very guilty, when we sold you the house we made a commission and you never even came to see it. We put some of your mother’s things inside, but honestly, we just don’t feel that we’ve looked after you at all.”
“I think the reason I’ve stayed away, is that I’ve believed that there wouldn’t be much work for me there.”
He surprised himself, he was speaking openly with a woman that he had never met before.
“Aye, I understand your concern, but there is work on the island for any man wishing to earn a living. We say here that making money is earning a crust.”
Repeating her words in his mind, it eased him a little.
“If you’re coming, you might need to spend some money on the house, just to freshen it up a bit. You may need to get the water and electricity back to how it should be. Obviously, there’s going to be manual work involved.”
Frank nodded. So far that was what he’d expected.
“But nothing that hard graft won’t fix. So, are you planning on settling here?”
He nodded his head up and down. “Yes. . .I think so.”
“Well, the Islanders will be glad to have a descendant from the Hamilton clan back in the Hamilton Farm. You’ll be our very own prodigal son. Most are enticed away by the bright lights and big city. Your return will be something for us to celebrate.”
He smiled, someone was excited to see him.
“Will there be a Mrs. Blades coming with you?”
The smile left his face.
“No just some friends, maybe around. . .” in his mind he counted the people who had been standing around, Sheila and Ken, Sophie and her girls, Roger, Phil and Paul, Stacey and himself. “Maximum there will be ten, I think.”
“Sounds like a grand plan. Having a few strapping lads will give you a chance to get the house tidied up faster.”
“So, when exactly are you coming?”
He held his breath for a second or two before answering.
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh, I better get down there today and check it over,” said the woman in a panic.
He wanted to say not to bother, but he stopped himself. Any help getting the property back on its feet would be needed.
“Thank you and see you very soon,” Frank said just before putting the receiver down.
Holding the phone, he didn’t want to part with it, the warm black plastic phone receiver confirmed what he felt deep inside, he knew this wasn’t just providence, it was fate calling. Frank was a descendant of the Hamilton clan, and he belonged on that farm in the Scottish Isles.
His decision was already made. He wasn’t going to live in another squat, he was going to live in the home his ancestors had lived in for centuries, now he knew it was still standing. Shoving the heavy door of the phone booth, he took deep breaths to clean his lungs and slow any emotions as he made his way back to the group.
Sheila and Ken had left, and he chided himself, here he was wondering about where they were going to live, and they hadn’t even waited to say goodbye.
He walked slowly along the concrete paving, questioning himself. Was going to a house he had never seen before a good move? ‘Of course it was,’ he thought as raindrops started to fall. With the imminent rains, he wondered why he had never gone there before. When dealing with the lady from the estate agency, he had always got the impression that the Scottish were a cheery sort.
He bought the house when it came up for public auction by the council, it had been an absolute bargain and he instructed the agent to keep the keys. When Mom died he sent her things to the agency, so he knew her things would be in the house. It would be a shelter and that was what he needed.
“Okay, so I have access to a property on the Island of Eigg in the Scottish Isles. It’s remote, it’s not in great condition, it’s going to need your help to fix up. But if you want to join me that’s where I’m going,” he said making his invitation.
“But Frank can we make money there? You say it’s an island, is it completely isolated?”
He knew this question was coming.
“Yes, I’ve been assured by the lady who owns the property that there are things you can do to earn a crust,” he repeated the estate agent’s words, and he deliberately lied about who owned the house.
“Look. . .we’ll have a base, we won’t need to live like this,” said Frank pointing at the heavy machinery that was moving on the building site. Even the builders seemed to sneer at them.
“How do we get there?” asked Heaven.
All the adults turned to look at the little twin girl who stood in front of her Mom. Even her twin sister, Nevaeh, looked at her. At that moment Frank wanted to give her a hug, those bulldozers hadn’t just broken their old home, they had broken their community. Frank sensed the abandonment, but with the little girl’s comment, he knew she was feeling it deeply.
“We need to take a sleeper train to Glencoe, after that we need to travel to the port then take a ferry to the island,” he announced reciting directions he heard twenty years before.
“Is it safe?” asked Sophie.
“Yes, it’s an island, far safer than the streets of London.”
Sophie, Heaven, and Nevaeh moved and stood next to Frank. Sophie wore her weary half smile.
The others let out a deep sigh, they needed to decide soon because the rain was pelting down, soon it would be unforgiving and one thing worse than being homeless, was being wet and homeless.
After giving moments of consideration one by one they agreed to join him. Frank smiled as he turned from the place he once called home and walked with the others toward the tube station. Passing the doors, he glanced at the ground where he usually sat with his sleeping bag and cardboard sign asking for cash. With a small tight smile, he walked past it and went deeper into the station. He had a house and he was finally going there.
On the overnight sleeper train to Scotland, excitement filled him, he couldn’t sleep. He wondered why he never went before. Frank was on his way now, after taking the first step the journey didn’t seem daunting or scary. Then he thought back to the mirror, what it had done? He felt the scar that covered his mental wound inside his mind, he moved away from it. He wasn’t ready to pick at it. In the pit of his stomach he felt the stir of hope as the train journey closed a chapter in his life taking him away from the poverty he had known.
His thoughts were dominated by the looks on people faces when he had been begging, the way they made him feel invisible and subhuman, he was leaving that behind too. He wouldn’t miss their mass indifference to his unfortunate life circumstances.
With the movement of the train he smiled at his reflection in the carriage window, in
Eigg he was going to be king of his own island farmhouse, that was the lesson providence taught.
2
The Isle of Eigg
The clean air of Scotland delighted their lungs, as they greedily inhaled. Waking as the train passed vast, rugged fields on their journey, and it was only through seeing large heaths that the group started to appreciate how different their lives could be. Hope was contagious.
The difference between the gray foggy streets of London and the lush green world was welcome. They felt firmly out of place but the warmth of the Scottish people on the train, made them believe that things were about to change.
Well, they were. They would be living in a house which would be safe, they understood that it was going to be dilapidated to some extent, but they would be able to make it their own. They imagined sitting together around a roaring fire, but they could build and sculpt their own community again. None of the other anarchists were with them, none of them had decided to travel to Scotland. Without the dominating personalities of the commune, they were looking for another leader among themselves. Frank was aware of this, knowing that they were hoping someone to take on the reins of organizing them, of thinking about all their needs, and although it came naturally to him, he shied away from the task, it was a responsibility he felt inept and unwilling to take on.
Frank was happy to be their healer and Shaman, he wasn’t happy to be their leader. He knew it was on his shoulders to get the group to the island, but after that he promised himself that they were on their own. The group would need to think for themselves, and everyone was welcome to contribute.