Master of the Scrolls

by Benjamin Ford

  Even as he spoke, Gloria could hear the note of uncertainty as it crept into his voice. There was anguish in his loving eyes: Peter’s anguish. Poor Peter, she thought. Poor Phil! Peter Neville’s spirit was clutching desperately to Phil’s existence, even as Isabella’s had failed to relinquish its hold over her own.

  Phil stepped a little closer. There was no anger in his voice, no violence in his demeanour, only an aura of love permeating his very being. ‘Please, Isabella, come to me. I need you. Cease this hiding, I beg of you.’ Tears trickled slowly down his cheeks.

  Gloria felt pity – for both men. Phil’s countenance stared blindly back at her; clearly he had no idea what was going on. The tears fell from Peter’s eyes, not Phil’s; Peter himself might have no idea what was really happening: perhaps he was as much an innocent in all this, believing him to be in his own body.

  Compassion overcame her fear, and Gloria stepped closer to Phil. She tenderly touched his cheek, wiping away his tears as she smiled weakly. ‘Oh, Peter, you poor lost soul.’ She kissed his cheek, and then found her lips upon his. Pushed aside within her own mind as Isabella struggled to take hold once more, Gloria felt her self-control slipping away.

  Peter’s voice floated nearby as Phil spoke. ‘She is with you still, I feel her presence. Let her come to me!’

  He reached for her once more, but Gloria backed away, screwing her eyes tightly shut as she struggled to keep a grip on her perspective of reality. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I won’t give in to this madness! It is not real. None of it is real! It’s all in my head!’

  She heard a sob and opened her eyes to find Phil crumpled on the floor. Isabella was banished to her subconscious mind as she realised Phil had regained control of his own body. He looked up at her, his tearstained face filled with pain and confusion. ‘I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘I try to control him, but Peter’s too strong for me. When I think of you, Gloria, Peter thinks of Isabella, and his spirit takes hold of me.’

  Gloria helped Phil to his feet and led him into the kitchen, where the kettle had recently boiled, and she made two mugs of strong black coffee.

  ‘You are aware of his spirit?’ In spite of her tumultuous anxiety, a curious relief suddenly filled Gloria. ‘I’d started to believe I might be going mad. In a curious way it’s good to know I’m not imagining things, and that Isabella’s spirit really is inside me!’

  Phil nodded. ‘I never really believed in reincarnation before, but I do now. Their love for each other must be phenomenal for them to be able to take control like this!’

  Just then, the doorbell rang again. Gloria went to answer it and returned, holding up the takeaway. ‘Chinese?’ she asked.

  Phil managed a weak smile as he set down his mug. ‘I’d like that. Thanks.’

  As they settled down side by side at the breakfast bar to eat the meal while it was still hot, Gloria wanted to know what had possessed Phil to come down to see her. ‘It’s pretty foolhardy, don’t you think?’

  ‘I agree, Gloria, but it wasn’t me. It was Peter. I was thinking of you, as I have done on too many occasions since… well, since Peter and Isabella showed their love for each other back at Ravenscreag Hall. I was thinking of you, and the next thing I know I am laying on your floor. He had complete control over me all the way down here.’

  ‘Phil, what happened between us at Ravenscreag Hall must never happen again. It wasn’t us; it was Peter and Isabella. Like you, I did not believe in possession or reincarnation. What has been happening has been so fantastical and unbelievable that I am still having trouble getting my head around it all. One minute I believe it’s all true, the next I think it’s all just part of my imagination.’ She chuckled slightly. ‘That’s a problem I sometimes have while I’m writing. My characters really do take on a life of their own, and I sometimes have to force myself to stop thinking of them as real people!’

  ‘But this is all real!’

  ‘I know. I think I realised that at Ravenscreag Hall. It’s just that I have been denying it all because of the prophecy, which has apparently been my family’s curse for so many years. It was foretold that I would relive Isabella’s last days.’

  ‘Then it is right, what’s been going on between us!’ gasped Phil

  ‘No, Phil, it’s not right. Isabella and Peter were cousins, and Isabella was married to another man. Their love for each other was wrong back then, and what they are doing to us now is immoral! We should be allowed to live our lives as we see fit, not allow them to relive theirs through us. They had their time back then, and if they screwed things up, then that’s just tough! It’s our time now. What’s happening is very wrong. I have a boyfriend, someone I love very much. I may not be able to change what destiny has in store for me, but we cannot continue this clandestine love affair that isn’t ours!’

  There was hurt in Phil’s voice as he spoke. ‘You mean we shouldn’t see each other again?’

  ‘I think that’s wise, don’t you, Phil? When we’re together their strength grows unchecked and they take control.’

  ‘Peter takes control when I think of you.’

  Gloria sighed sadly. ‘Then you must stop thinking of me.’

  ‘How can I? How can I stop myself from thinking of you when I love you so much?’

  Gloria shook her head sadly. ‘No, Phil, you mustn’t confuse our feelings of friendship with the lustful feelings Peter has for Isabella. Please try, for both our sakes, to put things in proper perspective.’

  ‘You’re right of course. But it’s so drastic – to not see each other again!’

  ‘It’s the right thing to do, Phil. You know that, as well do I. I value your friendship enormously, but we have to take steps to make sure we don’t allow Peter and Isabella to repeat their performance.’

  Phil sighed. In his heart, he knew Gloria was wrong about his feelings for her. He had fallen in love with her before Peter had manifested himself. He did love her, and his heart ached with desperate longing every time she entered his thoughts, but when he thought of her, Peter thought of Isabella, and Peter’s spirit seemed stronger than his own.

  ‘Maybe we should consider an exorcism?’ Phil joked half-heartedly.

  ‘Perhaps,’ mused Gloria, ‘though I have a feeling Isabella and Peter will, in time, leave us of their own free will. I think Isabella at least has something she needs to let me know. I just wish she’d get on and tell me.’

  ‘How much longer must we put up with them?’

  Gloria shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Guess we will just have to be patient. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but it might be best if you were to leave. Where are you staying? I’ll drive you there.’

  Phil shrugged helplessly. ‘I wasn’t in control, and I don’t think Peter thought about booking a hotel room before we left Ravenscreag Hall!’

  Sighing deeply, Gloria rose to her feet. ‘Well then we’ll have to risk you staying here for the night, but first thing tomorrow you are to return to Scotland. Did you come by train? Have you got a ticket?’ Phil searched through his pockets and found a return ticket valid for a month. ‘Good. Tomorrow I’ll drive you to the station, and then when there’s hundreds of miles between us, and when you’ve stopped thinking about me, we’ll be a bit safer!’

  Phil nodded in acquiescence. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled, knowing her words rang with a hollow truth.

  Gloria led him up the stairs and showed him into the pretty, blue spare room that was always ready for surprise visitors. ‘I know it’s a bit early, but it’ll be best if you stay in here till morning. Try to keep control of your own thoughts. Be strong, and for Heaven’s sake don’t let Peter get the upper hand on your mind!’

  ‘I’ll try my best,’ Phil said with a wan smile.

  Gloria bade him goodnight and closed the door behind her as she left the room. She stood for several moments outside the spare room, fighting to get her breathing under control. She did not want to admit it, but she actually wanted to kiss Phil, and for once was uncertain that Isabella was in charg
e of her emotions.

  Once downstairs she cleared away the remains of the takeaway, made a fresh mug of coffee, and returned to her office to continue with her writing. Inexplicably the words would not come and she felt unable to continue. It was a peculiar sensation, writers block. It was something that had never happened to her before. Sure, she sometimes had difficulty starting a novel, but once started, there was no stopping until the novel was completed.

  Lack of concentration was understandable, but her wavering enthusiasm for writing was not. It was like a premonition of doom, and a sense of foreboding overwhelmed her. She actually felt ill at ease with Phil – or rather Peter – under her roof.

  She chided herself silently. If you are that worried, why did you let him stay?

  With a sigh, she packed away her writing materials, tidied her papers and picked up her coffee, returning to the comfort of the living room. She sat in silence, staring out of the window at the glorious golden sunset, watching the encroaching darkness as it enveloped the view, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

  *

  Phil fell into a deep contented sleep the instant his head hit the pillow, and he remained in a state of slumber until he was awakened early the following morning when the dawn chorus drowned out his shallow snoring. When his consciousness surfaced from the depths of sleep, he felt such a sense of inner peace with himself that it was as if he had no worries in the whole world.

  At first, he was unsure of his surroundings. Sitting up sharply, he threw the pale blue cotton sheet from his body, and clad only in his boxers, padded barefoot to the window, throwing open the curtains to reveal a view almost as stunning as the view from any window at Ravenscreag Hall. Opening the window, he leaned outside and breathed in the heady smell that was unique to the lush greenness of the countryside in summer. It must have rained at some point in the night for the smell was truly intoxicating. He loved the earthy smell of fresh rain in the morning; so clean and healthy.

  He listened to the glorious bird song, wonderful to his ears with no noise pollution to dull the sensation, for which he was grateful. There was no doubt in his mind: he simply could not ever live in a city; they were too noisy, too dirty, and too unhealthy.

  Give me the clean, fresh, healthy air of the countryside every day!

  He pulled on his jeans, appalled at how dirty they were, opened the door as quietly as he could, hoping not to disturb Gloria in case she was still asleep, and tiptoed downstairs, heading for the kitchen. Opening the fridge door, he was delighted to find a carton of orange juice. He sniffed it cautiously – it smelled okay. Rooting around in several cupboards until he found Gloria’s glassware, he filled a tumbler with juice, replaced the carton in the fridge and made his way into the living room.

  Only when he settled himself in one of the comfortable armchairs did he realise Gloria was slouched on the sofa, still sleeping contentedly. She looked remarkably relaxed and peaceful and Phil wondered whether she had spent the entire night on the sofa, or whether at some point in the night, unable to sleep, she had come down for a drink and dozed off. He made a great effort to not wake her, so contented did she look.

  He felt something stirring within his body, something that was neither his nor intended for Gloria. ‘Oh, go away!’ he whispered, closing his eyes and throwing back his head, uttering a silent cry of despair. The unnatural sensations departed and he felt it was safe to open his eyes again. He sat there, sipping the orange juice, drinking in Gloria’s incumbent form opposite until she slowly roused from her repose some considerable time later.

  As she opened her eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of her sleep, Gloria vaguely saw Phil sitting close by, the empty glass in his hand, and she shivered, though whether from unease or excited expectation she was uncertain. She sat up, circumspect in her scrutiny of him, wary of the danger she could smell in the air.

  Phil did not move as Gloria shifted her position. The desperate urge to reach out and touch her was almost too painful to bear. He simply did not trust himself to even reach out and scratch the itch on the end of his nose, knowing that if he so much as moved a single muscle he would most likely throw himself across the short distance to where Gloria sat.

  I must stay calm, he forced himself to think as he felt his control begin to slip away.

  Gloria gasped suddenly, almost as though in pain. Her sharp intake of breath cut through the silence like a foghorn blasting its way through a sullen mist, and her eyes rolled heavenward beneath her flickering lids.

  Phil felt his heartbeat thumping ferociously in his chest, blood pulsed painfully through the veins in his neck, and he pushed himself as far back into the chair as possible, appalled at his foolishness. He should have realised that upon waking, Gloria’s mental concentration would be at its weakest, affording Isabella the perfect opportunity to seize control.

  ‘Gloria!’ he roared, his voice as loud and forceful as he could manage, hoping to startle her own consciousness back. He mustered as much angry energy as he could, until he felt his lungs would burst from the effort. ‘Fight her, Gloria! For pity’s sake fight her!’ With his heart pounding frantically in his ears, along with Gloria’s laboured breathing there seemed to be a lot of noise in the otherwise silent room, and Phil held his breath expectantly.

  Gloria opened her eyes slowly. Was it his imagination, or was there a slight red glow in her eyes, diminishing the instant she opened them? Just the briefest snatch of red, but Phil was certain it had been there. It was gone now as Gloria sat there, still and silent, her unblinking eyes looking through him as if he was not actually there.

  Phil leaned forward hesitantly. ‘Gloria?’ he whispered softly.

  Gloria smiled, but otherwise remained still. ‘Have no fear, all is well.’

  As he heard the voice that came from Gloria’s mouth, Phil’s eyes widened in shock. Husky and breathless with urgency, it was without a doubt Isabella’s voice. He cowered back in the chair as Gloria rose, drifting in a surreal dreamlike state towards him. She fell to her knees before him, touched his hands tenderly. ‘I am here, Peter, my darling.’

  Her touch was icy cold, though it quickly warmed, but Phil swatted her hand away fearfully. ‘Get away from me! Please, Gloria – concentrate!’

  Gloria’s eyes flickered with anguish, glowing vaguely red once again. ‘Come to me, Peter,’ she commanded. ‘I await you.’

  ‘No!’ cried Phil, struggling to his feet, pushing Gloria back onto the floor. ‘I want Gloria back!’

  ‘It is not yet time. I am trapped here because of a curse, placed upon me by Sawyl Gwilym. My only salvation is to find my one true love. Peter. When we have consummated our love, I shall be free!’

  ‘Is that right?’ sneered Phil contemptuously. ‘Peter is your cousin, Isabella. I for one do not believe he is your true love, and I doubt that consummating your union with him will break the curse you’re under.’

  ‘It will. It must!’ gasped Isabella through Gloria’s lips.

  Phil felt pity for her as she told him of the curse, forced to wander through eternity, searching for the lost spirit of her one true love. ‘In that case you should be free, because you and Peter consummated your ‘love’ through Gloria and me in Scotland.’

  Gloria’s countenance smiled. ‘I remember. It made the waiting and the searching worthwhile.’

  ‘Then why aren’t you free?’

  ‘I… I know not.’

  ‘There are three possible reasons that I can see. One is that the curse cannot be lifted; the second, because your love for your cousin is unnatural; the third, because Peter is not your one true love!’

  ‘Who then might it be?’

  Suddenly growing tired of all the questions, Phil loomed over Gloria. ‘I don’t really care! All I care about is having Gloria back! Get out of her mind! Give her back to me. Relinquish your hold over her. You don’t belong in this time. Go back to your own!’ Each sentence he spoke raised Phil’s voice slightly until he was almost shouting in Gloria�
�s face, his anger and contempt palpable.

  Gloria’s face changed slightly. A few more of her own features started breaking through the mask as Isabella slowly began to lose her controlling grip. ‘No! I shall not give in to you! I shall not let Samuel Wylams win.’

  ‘Come on, Gloria,’ cried Phil, deciding to appeal to Gloria’s strength of character to break through Isabella’s hold, since appealing to Isabella’s own humanity seemed not to work. ‘Come on, fight her! You can do it, Gloria. You know you have the right to be here – Isabella does not. Fight her. Show her who has the most strength. Fight her and come back to me!’

  ‘No…’

  The protracted scream of despair began in Isabella’s voice then dissipated into Gloria’s, and her body collapsed on the floor.

  Phil scooped her up and laid her on the sofa. ‘Gloria?’ he whispered as she stirred.

  Gloria smiled as she opened her eyes and focused on his concerned face. She reached out and touched his cheek. ‘Phil,’ she sighed. ‘Good morning.’

  It was obvious she had no recollection of what had transpired. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. When she frowned, he added, ‘You don’t remember anything, do you?’

  Gloria recoiled from his touch. ‘Oh God, we didn’t–’

  ‘No! Don’t worry, we resisted. Peter was weak today and I was in control. Isabella spoke through you, but you beat her!’ There was pride in Phil’s voice. ‘You beat her!’

  ‘Does this mean we are free of them?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t really know. I hope so!’

  ‘Could you fetch me a glass of water? My throat is dry.’ As Phil disappeared into the kitchen, Gloria called after him, ‘If we are free then there is no need for you to go away. We can be together if Peter truly is not Isabella’s one true love.’

  Phil, returning with the glass of water, stared at her. ‘How did you know...’