by Matt Hilton
When conducting his debunking exercise of the parlour door, Steve had removed the wedge. It still lay on the floor behind the open door. As I turned to follow the women, about to attempt some consoling of Sarah, the door jerked away from the wall. It wasn’t a result of a loose floorboard, misaligned doorjamb, or errant breeze that closed the door. It was propelled violently and with speed, almost too fast to see, and the noise as it slammed shut was like a grenade going off. The trio of women all stumbled back, crying out in a mixture of alarm and confusion. I too jumped about a foot in the air.
‘What the hell?’ It was the first time I’d heard Hilary squeal in fear – or perhaps it was delight. ‘Did you just see that?’
Brianne wasn’t filled with the same awe. She turned and stared at me, suspicious. I held up my hands. Look no strings.
‘Still think there’s nothing here of interest?’ I asked.
Ignoring my comment, both Brianne and Hilary approached the door. Fingers crossed it would resist them. But when Brianne turned the knob, the door swung inwards. She gave it a test push back and forth. It creaked gently on its old hinges, but moved barely a few inches one way or another. Hilary looked around, as if she had the capacity for visually identifying breezes and draughts. The windows were shut. We crossed gazes, and I could see her pupils jumping wildly as she tried to make logic out of the illogical.
‘PK,’ she said to herself.
Brianne glanced sharply at me, before closing the door again. The door reacted exactly as an ordinary door should. ‘Maybe,’ she concurred.
‘What’s pee-kay?’ I asked.
‘Psychokinesis,’ Hilary explained. ‘You’ve probably heard of the term telekinesis, but this is the most accepted term for the ability to move or manipulate an object with the power of the mind.’
I tried to absorb what exactly she meant.
‘Are you saying I’m some kind of psychic and that I slammed the door?’
Hilary shrugged, her way of showing she believed anything was possible.
‘In certain poltergeist cases it has been shown that the activity was probably caused by PK energy rather than a spirit. Most times a prepubescent girl was in close proximity to the activity and that her latent PK ability was the cause of the unnatural movement of objects. It’s all subconscious, so there’s no trickery or deliberate manipulation of the environment involved…’
She stopped talking because of the scowl growing on my face. ‘I’m neither a girl nor prepubescent,’ I pointed out.
‘Those cases aren’t unique; there have been others where adults were involved. Usually they were under some kind of stress or duress when the phenomena manifested.’ She raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips.
‘The door closing had nothing to do with me.’
Brianne looked searchingly at Hilary. ‘Maybe we could convince Steve to come back.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘He can go to hell. He’s not coming here to study me!’
Brianne said, ‘But if we can document proof of your PK energy-’
I snatched my mobile phone off the mantelpiece, swiping it through the air between us and letting it go. It arched over the top of the settee and clattered on the carpet beyond. ‘Do you think I did that with my fucking mind alone?’
My outburst was met by stunned silence.
Brianne broke the spell, pulling open the door and rushing into the hall. She stood there in the threshold peering back at Hilary, her gaze exhorting her to get out of harm’s way. She looked from her friend to me and I could tell what she was thinking: she believed that I was potentially dangerous to them all.
But I knew otherwise.
Standing behind Brianne was the same coal black figure I’d witnessed before. It peered over her shoulder directly at me. Its face was featureless, an inky blot, but I could sense it was grinning manically back at me. I just couldn’t tell if it was taking enjoyment at the women’s reactions or that it could continue to torment me in this way.
I had no real dislike of Brianne – it was her husband I took umbrage with – and definitely wished her no harm. So when the shadow man loomed over her, his arms coming round to envelope her head and perhaps drag her off to the hellish world from where he came, I hollered loudly and pounced to protect Brianne.
She had to have been aware of the otherworldly hands enclosing her face, but she didn’t react to them. Her eyes widened, her mouth elongated, but her expression was all aimed at me. I grasped her by her shoulders and yanked her towards me. Brianne screamed. So did Sarah, as she grasped me in turn and attempted to tug me away. Hilary was out of my sphere of notice, and I’ve no idea how she reacted. As I tried to haul Brianne to safety, Sarah screeched loudly at me, and I felt her hands enfold my face – the way the shadow figure grasped Brianne. We all stumbled together and went down on the floor, partly inside the parlour, partly in the hall. We tangled, all pulling at each other, until I could get a foot under me and rise up. A gunshot of agony flared through my busted knee, and I moaned. Maybe my moan was more at the misunderstanding the women had of my rescue attempt. They were shouting and screaming, all of them – Hilary included – to stop what I was doing. I staggered back into the parlour, and Hilary showed there was more strength in her fragile-looking frame by shoving me hard. I bounced off the wall and went down on my knees on the hearth. A second flash of agony went through my knee.
I rolled on my side, pulling my knee to me. I emitted a noise like a pan of water boiling over.
When I blinked away the pulsing pain that starburst behind my eyelids I found Sarah standing over me. She had her legs splayed, her torso angled towards me. Tendons stood out harshly against the coffee cream skin of her neck.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she squawked.
‘Didn’t you see?’
‘You attacked Brianne!’
‘No! No, I was protecting her. Didn’t you see?’
Sarah looked back at Brianne. She had made it to her feet and was leaning on the doorjamb while Hilary consoled her. Brianne peered fearfully back at me. I pointed beyond her to the empty space of the hallway. All eyes in the room followed my gesture. The shadow man had gone. The trio of women, a consolidation against my apparent aggression cast doubtful eyes down on me.
‘He was right there!’ I was adamant, and jabbed my finger at the dead air beyond Brianne. ‘He grabbed you! I was only trying to stop him!’
‘Who grabbed her, Jack? Who are you talking about?’ Sarah demanded.
‘Who do you think? The bloody shadow man I’ve been seeing.’
Again their heads swivelled for the hall. Hilary even took an exploratory step into the hall before thinking better of it and returning to Brianne’s side. Sarah shook her head in regret.
Struggling to my feet, holding on to the fireplace for support, I said it again, ‘Didn’t you see? Any of you? Hilary. You were behind me, you must have seen him?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said quickly. ‘All I saw was you going for Bri’s throat.’
‘I didn’t touch her throat. I grabbed her by her shoulder, that’s all. I pulled her out of the way.’ Turning my pitiful expression on the injured party, I said, ‘Didn’t you sense him, Brianne? He had his hands around your face. You had to see his hands!’
‘I think we should leave,’ she responded.
‘You’re right.’ Hilary glared at me. ‘Somebody needs to get a grip of themselves.’
‘I swear to you,’ I cried. ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you! I was trying to protect you. Sarah, please! You know what’s been going on here: tell them!’
Sarah had tears on her face. She hugged herself. Her world had imploded in the last few minutes. I reached for her, but she stepped away, avoiding my fingers, shaking her head.
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘You’ve done enough already.’
Watching her, open-mouthed, I didn’t know how to react.
Sarah moved quickly past me, joining the other two at the doorway. They huddled together like the t
hree witches out of Macbeth, bent over their cauldron. Words passed between them but not for my ears. I still stood dumbfounded. Why was I the bad guy here? I’d only tried to help.
There was a flicker of red beyond the women.
It was a bloody visage that formed then dissipated in a stutter before solidifying. A fourth set of accusing eyes glared at me.
I threw up a hand, pointing at the spectre of my dead girlfriend. But none of the women were having any of it. They moved in their huddle for the front door. The image of Naomi blinked out, but not before a smile of satisfaction formed on her pulped lips.
Panic swelled inside me.
I could understand why Brianne and Hilary might make a hasty get away, but what about Sarah? Why was she leaving? I took a pace towards the door and a jagged lightning rod of pain shot from my knee almost to the crown of my head. I put out my left hand to stop my stumble, and got a grasp on the doorjamb.
And that’s where Hilary’s nutty theory of psychokinesis being behind the unnatural movement of the objects in my home held no substance. The door slammed, trapping my fingers, and I sure as hell had no intention – conscious or otherwise – of smashing my fingers. I screeched in torment, sinking down as all strength momentarily failed me. I found reserves of energy somewhere, because in the next instant I was scrabbling at the doorknob with my other hand, trying desperately to free my trapped hand, while I hollered and moaned for help. Blood streaked on the paintwork told me I’d sustained a nasty injury.
Beyond the door I heard the women’s response. There was a clatter of footsteps, garbled voices and then the front door was yanked open and they spilled out on to the pavement. I cared little at the time; too busy fighting to free myself. But I caught movement in my periphery. I took a hurried glance that way, and let out a howl. The shadow man had returned. He stood there watching me, rocking on his heels as he laughed at the spectacle. It was a familiar cackle that rang inside my skull.
‘Bastard!’ I screamed. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’
The door opened abruptly, and for the third time in minutes I found myself on the parlour floor. This time it was my damaged fingers I nursed. Again Sarah was standing over me. I pointed urgently beyond the settee. ‘Look, Sarah! If you don’t believe me, look there!’
In reaction she did look.
But she just stood there shaking her head.
I too looked, but all I could see now were Brianne and Hilary peering in through the front window at me. Their expressions of revulsion said it all.
31
Mortar Shells
If I thought that the last few days had been uncomfortable those that followed were even more so. Sarah didn’t abandon me. Not immediately. She’d gone to join the others on the pavement outside, trying to make amends on my behalf, but I knew that there was no way either Brianne or Hilary would ever come back inside my home. At least Brianne had agreed to take my supposed assault of her no further, but I bet when she got home that Steve would have other ideas. I almost welcomed him coming round, because I would smack him in the face, busted knuckles or no busted knuckles.
‘Stop that kind of talk,’ Sarah had warned when she came back inside and I told her what would happen if Steve showed up. ‘You’ve done enough damage already.’
Showing her my smashed hand garnered no pity, even though I was the only one with any physical signs of injury. She was brusque in the way she led me to the kitchen and made me run my hand under the warm water. I hissed and scowled as the water stung the abrasions and Sarah told me to stop being a baby.
‘Is that what you think of me? That I’m being childish?’
‘I think you over reacted, yes,’ she said, then rubbed her thumb over my cuts and grazes.
‘Aah!’
‘Hold still,’ she snapped curtly. ‘I need to check for any broken bones. She again rubbed her fingers over my hand, checking for unusual lumps or bumps. ‘Can you make a fist?’
I tried. Tentatively. Pain boiled up my forearm. I swore.
‘Try again.’
I did. This time I was able to form a loose fist, but it was a struggle to unfurl my fingers.
‘I don’t think you’ve broken anything.’
Only her heart?
‘I…I think I’m all right,’ I said.
Sarah’s face was sad. ‘You’re not all right, Jack.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do I need to explain?’
‘I’m sorry about that. I was still angry over what happened earlier, the way Catriona accused me of sending those messages like I was some kind of crazy stalker. When Brianne told me that Steve was writing me off as some kind of nut job, well, I admit I might have seen red.’
‘They aren’t writing us off. They simply said there was no evidence, and they didn’t think a follow up investigation would gather any either.’
‘Same difference. They’re clowns.’
‘They are my friends, Jack.’ Sarah stood away, folding her arms beneath her breasts.
‘Are they though? By doubting me they also doubt you.’
‘You weren’t listening to what they were telling you.’
‘I thought it was pretty clear. I was a liar, they weren’t going to waste any more time on me.’
Sarah shook her head again; it was becoming her default option whenever I tried to defend myself. ‘Well they sure as hell aren’t going to have anything to do with us now.’
I was happy to hear she said “us”: we were still united.
‘There’s no reason for you to fall out with them,’ I said.
‘I haven’t, but the feeling might not be mutual.’
‘Well, if they’re as shallow as that they’re not your real friends. What’s the worst they can do? De-friend you from their Facebook group?’
‘It isn’t a laughing matter, Jack.’
‘I’m only trying to lighten the mood.’
Sarah threw her hands in the air. ‘It’s about an hour too late for that!’
‘Sarah. Look. I’m sorry. I acted like an idiot, but it’s only because I felt we were being made fools of.’ I went to hold her, but her hands formed wedges against my chest. She eased away, walking without comment for the parlour. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked, following on her heels.
‘To get my coat. It’s time I went home.’
‘Don’t go,’ I said. ‘Not like this. Not while you’re mad at me.’
‘I’m not mad, Jack.’ Tears shone in her eyes. ‘I’m disappointed.’
‘There’s stuff we have to talk about,’ I argued. ‘The texts. The slamming door. Don’t say you blame me for any of those things happening. Psychokinesis, my arse! They’re making me out to be frigging Carrie or something.’
Sarah didn’t reply. She pulled on her coat. Fished out her umbrella from her handbag, and with it a pack of cigarettes. She pre-empted my offer of a lift home. ‘I want to smoke,’ she said.
Then she was gone.
I was left standing in my parlour feeling like a steaming pile of shit.
Sleep didn’t come easy that night. That damn Antigonish poem kept running through my mind. Finally I shouted at the darkness, ‘Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door!’
Absurdly I found my antics funny. I laughed, laughed some more, and somewhere along the way my laughter turned to hiccups, and then sobs. I think I cried myself to sleep.
In the morning I didn’t feel any better. My hand was sore, as was my knee, but they were simply physical pain. They paled in comparison to the gnawing pain in my chest and guts. I downed my meds, plus four paracetamol, which I dry swallowed. When finally I made it to the bathroom and caught my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I averted my gaze in disgust. Not because I couldn’t look at my swollen eyelids or mussed hair, but because I couldn’t bear to look myself in the eye. I knew that I was in the wrong last night, and whichever way I dressed up my excuses, cast blame on the members of the paranormal group, it was my behaviour that was inexcusabl
e. I’d acted like a petulant, selfish dick, and it was no wonder I’d turned them all against me. I could live without Steve, Brianne and Hilary in my small circle of friends, but not Sarah.
I phoned in sick for work.
Thankfully Daniel didn’t answer the phone. He was on another line to head office, so I got one of our colleagues instead. Lee Colman worked the customer information desk: he wasn’t a bad lad, and promised to pass on my message. I was glad that I hadn’t been put through to speak with my boss. The mood I was in, I would have told him where to shove his job so far that he’d need drain cleaner and rods to ease it out again. Breakfast was off the menu: I downed a few cups of coffee, one after the other, then headed out to my car. Yesterday’s rain had subsided during the night, the skies clearing, the temperature falling. There was a soft coating of frost on the windows that I scraped clear with the edge of a CD – it was one of Catriona’s discs that had been inadvertently left in the car when I left home.
It took around twenty minutes to negotiate the roads, the traffic heavy for a Thursday morning in town, particularly around Hardwicke Circus and the road north over the bridge. When I pulled up outside my old family home it was too late to see my children. They would have already gone to school by now. Mark Wilson’s car wasn’t on the drive. I wondered if he was so entrenched that he now did the school run. I didn’t immediately get out of my Volvo, just sat there looking at my former house. It was alien terrain: I felt no attachment to it any more. A light was on in the lounge, and also in the front hall.
Standing by the car, my breath misted in the air as I steeled myself. Then I strode purposefully for the front door. Catriona didn’t know it, but I still carried a key to the house on my keyring. I could have let myself in if I wanted to. Instead I banged my undamaged fist on the door. Waited.
I watched the lounge window. Catriona didn’t peek out. Therefore it was a surprise when she called from behind the closed front door. ‘What do you want, Jack?’