Paranormal Nonsense

by steve higgs

  ‘You scared the crap out of me man. Who the hell are you?’ he asked from his prone position.

  ‘I scared you? You think I scared you? What do you think the old couple upstairs have been going through with this ridiculous act of yours?’ I was a little incensed. Of course, without idiots like this chap I had no work, but picking on an old couple and scaring them from their home seemed like such a cowardly and awful thing to do that it had made me somewhat irrationally angry. I was keeping it under control for my own sake rather than his. The righteous bit of me wanted to break his arms off and feed them to him.

  His arms were now either side of him, palms down against the sofa as if ready to push off. ‘Stay there, Sir. Or, I will make you stay.’ I saw him look me up and down and then come to a conclusion. It was not the right one.

  He tensed, which was a lot like announcing by loud speaker that he was going to try something daft. He then threw himself up and off the sofa. I actually thought he was just going to bolt for the cupboard he had come out of, or possibly for the door out of the room just so that he could get away, but he was braver, or crazier than that and he actually came at me.

  Ready for him anyway, I met him as he rose towards me, stood on his right foot, placed one hand on the top of his rising head to deflect his motion then shoved him to the right and onto the floor. I grabbed his left arm as he went and pulled it around from the wrist into a classic arm-bar.

  ‘Arrh.’ he said again, but with less Scooby-doo-esque spookiness than before and then ‘ooofh.’ as his chest impacted with the floor and the air left his lungs in one go. I had him in a position I felt was secure enough, so I called for the Cranfields to join me.

  I could hear the them moving around upstairs now. Doubtless they had been unable to sleep wondering what might happen or had been woken by the idiot noises as their Poltergeist had started his routine.

  I had his left arm behind his back and could keep him pinned with very little effort, but I put a knee between his shoulder blades anyway for good measure.

  ‘Stay there now. There’s a good fellow.’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ he managed between breaths.

  ‘The chap the good folks here hired to investigate the strange goings on recently. So, my question to you is: Who are you?’

  He kept silent, but I noticed then a wallet shaped lump in his back pocket. Partly surprised that tracksuits came with pockets for wallets given their intended use was running and other sporting activities. I plucked it out and flicked it open. It was a cheap, black leather-effect thing that must have been years old given that the fake leather was falling off. The first card announced that I was currently sat on Leslie N Davy.

  ‘Leslie? I asked him. He didn’t answer, but swung his head to the side to try to look at me better.

  I could hear the Cranfields coming down the stairs now. I called for them to come in advising that I had the culprit restrained.

  I leaned down so that my mouth was a few inches from Leslie’s right ear ‘I am going to lift you up and sit you back on the sofa whereupon you are going to answer some questions. I have taken finger prints from broken and damaged items in this room. I also have two cameras that have recorded your performance this evening. So far you are guilty of several counts of breaking and entering and of wilful destruction of property.’ I adjusted my position slightly so that I would be able to lift him off the floor without releasing his arm ‘You have some explaining to do and I had better like what I hear.’

  With that thought still in his ear I grasped his right shoulder, and keeping hold of his left wrist I pulled him off the carpet and pushed him onto the sofa. I released him then, but stayed right in front of him so that I formed a physical block between him and the Cranfields who were now entering the room.

  ‘Meet your Poltergeist.’ I invited.

  ‘Oh goodness, oh my’ said Barbara.

  ‘Leslie?’ asked Winston. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You know this man?’

  ‘We both do. He is our next-door neighbour.’ a piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The cupboard next to the fireplace must be hiding a hole through from his house. I would check shortly.

  Leslie looked terrible now. His face appeared to be trying to decide whether to cry or wail or find a quick way to become invisible. He was shrinking into the sofa, physically making himself smaller and clearly embarrassed.

  ‘Barbara, would you like to make some tea?’ I enquired. It seemed like time to calm everyone down, get some answers from Leslie and wrap this case up.

  Her reply came immediately ‘Bugger that, I need a brandy.’

  ‘Here, here.’ agreed Winston

  ‘Me too.’ from Leslie. I fixed him with a raised eyebrow. ‘Sorry.’ he offered.

  ‘Nothing for me, thanks.’ I had to drive home yet, but a stiff glass of something did sound like a cracking idea.

  Behind me I heard a decanter being moved and the quiet glugging of a spirit into one glass then another. I moved slightly to one side so that I was still stood and closer to Leslie than the Cranfields but no longer blocking their view of him.

  ‘Start explaining.’

  ‘No need really.’ said Winston. ‘I know what this is about.’

  Case solved. Friday September 24th 0245hrs

  It transpired that Leslie had moved in five years ago, and the once tidy house next door with its delightful clipped privet hedge had gradually declined under his ownership. I had observed that the garden was overgrown myself when I first arrived. Further inspection later would reveal that the drain pipe was hanging loose, the paint was flaking off and in general the property was fairly grubby. The driveway had two battered looking fast Fords parked on it. A tarpaulin was hanging off of one.

  About six months back, after a period of politely asking Leslie to tidy his bit of the street, Winston had become a little firmer in the tone of his requests and then when his requests had been rebuffed with unpleasant language he had complained to the local authorities. Eventually someone had paid attention and the net result was that he has been awarded an ASBO.

  It seemed a little harsh, but I was not here to discuss that, just to find a poltergeist and my task was largely complete. Anyway, Leslie had taken umbrage and refused still to address the appearance of his house instead striking upon the idea that he could alleviate the complaints by driving the complainers away.

  He had discovered the loose brickwork leading from the cupboard next to the chimney in his property when he was installing a television unit a few weeks ago. Removing a couple of bricks, he saw immediately that he could get into the house next door and the poltergeist idea had just come to him.

  ‘Well, Leslie.’ I said to the rather withdrawn form sat on the Cranfields armchair. ‘You have something of a problem now. You have committed several crimes.’ I turned to face Winston ‘Winston it is time for you to call the Police.’

  ‘Wh wh wh what? The police?’ Leslie stammered, somehow surprised that he might actually be in trouble for his actions.

  ‘What you have to realise, Leslie.’ I began ‘Is that you are a bit of a tit. So, of course, the Police.’ I wanted to pontificate but stopped myself. I would get paid for my work and there was no further need for involvement on my part. ‘You broke into someone’s house, destroyed their property and generally menaced them. I am an investigator not a vigilante, my task was to determine what was going on here. Punishment is down to the authorities.’

  Winston nodded his head slowly in agreement or perhaps acknowledgement that this unpleasant task was necessary, and he shuffled out of the room. Minutes later a muffled half of a conversation could be heard from deeper in the house. It did not last long; the audible click of the house phone being put down preceded Winston returning moments later.

  ‘They will be here in a few minutes.’ he announced. I simply nodded and watched as Winston joined his wife at the cocktail cabinet and took a healthy slug of his brandy.

  Thankfully only a f
ew minutes of uncomfortable silence had to be endured before flashing light began to illuminate the gaps around the edges of the now drawn curtains.

  I turned to Winston and Barbara ‘What you do next is your choice. He has broken into your house and damaged your property. There is a hole through to your house from his which ought to be professionally repaired. The Police will escort him from your property, probably under arrest and will process him and give you a case number for insurance purposes should you need it. I will provide you with a statement detailing my investigation and video footage which is still running and has recorded all of tonight’s events. It can be used by the Police and I will attend any interviews and a court case if necessary. I will send you an invoice for my services in the next couple of days. Is there anything else you need me to do?’

  ‘We would just like to get this finished and get to bed, if that’s alright, Mr Michaels.’ said Barbara.

  I checked my watch: 0257hrs. ‘I do not appear to have anything further to do, mystery solved and all so getting to bed sounds good to me as well.’ We stood for a brief moment just staring at each other waiting for someone to speak.

  If it lasted any longer it was going to be weird and they were clearly waiting for me to say something. I gave a sort of “I’m off” motion with one hand ‘You have my number if you need me. Good evening to you both.’ I gave them a cheery smile and headed into the night passing the Police on the driveway.

  My House. Friday September 24th 0914hrs

  The dogs greeted me at the door as always, forcing me to shoo them back so that I could get in. I was tired, so after letting them out and giving them a pat I shrugged off my gear, shucked my clothes and got into bed. It was 0334hrs and I had no plan to get up at 0530hrs for a workout.

  I awoke at 0914hrs with a dog asleep on my neck. The bed was low enough that the boys could clamber on and snuggle down on the duvet if they wanted to. I wondered sometimes whether it was an entirely hygienic practice but had elected to not care too much as I liked having them there. Perhaps this satisfied some unfulfilled longing for a dog to be curled at my feet when I was a boy.

  I reached up to poke the warm ball of dumb, but it just wriggled a bit and snuggled in deeper to my neck. The tip of one ear was draped across my mouth with the tip tickling a nostril as I moved.

  Reluctantly, I reached up with my other hand and using both arms lifted him to the side. I could now see that is was Dozer, although I had suspected it would be because this was typical behaviour for him. As I levered him off of me and back onto the duvet he opened an eye but went directly back to sleep.

  Bull was somewhere under the covers having burrowed there during the night. I left them to it, slipped out from under the delightfully warm goose-down duvet and went for a shower.

  A little later downstairs I sat eating scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on whole-wheat toast deciding what to do with my day.

  The simplicity of the Cranfield’s case had made it a quick boost to my cash flow, provided they paid in a timely manner of course. I had taken a deposit upon engagement so there was at least some money in my account already. Now though, I was back to having no paid work to deal with again.

  But a crazed murdered dubbed The Vampire was killing people in the local area. Three known victims so far and no reason to believe the death toll would stop until someone caught him.

  I had spoken with Liam and although I now had pictures of the poor Mrs Hancock I did not really know any more than I had before. Liam had chanced upon the body and there appeared to be no more to it than that. The first victim seemed equally random and the name of the third had yet to be released. I needed to speak to Darren Shrivers, an old friend at the local constabulary, but he was inconveniently off getting trained for something or other. The option of getting free information from the police seemingly closed to me I was going to have to do things the hard way.

  I had most of the day to dig into this case, so do I go after Mrs Hancock or Mr Grazly first? I flipped a mental coin and elected to continue looking into Mrs Hancock. Her friends had been named in the newspaper article online and given the geography I felt confident I would be able to find one or all of them in the phone book.

  The three ladies were Mrs Jean Winters, Mrs Rebecca Masters and Miss Rosemary Green. I got a strike on my first look with Mrs J Winters. There was only one in the book, which with an Allington address had to be the right one.

  I made my usual introductions when Mrs Jean Winters answered her phone. She answered a phone like my Mother did by saying the phone number. It had always struck me as an odd thing to do. If you had just dialled the number, then you already knew it. Answering with hello or maybe saying your name made more sense. But I got “902301” as my Hello. Perhaps all persons over a certain age answered the phone like that.

  Mrs Winters was clearly very keen to meet with me and invited me over straight away. She then paused to have a brief discussion with herself about what would be best. The decision she arrived at was that the other two ladies would never forgive her if they were not involved, so I should come to her house at 1230hrs although she said it as ‘half past twelve.’ like a civilian always does. With time on my hands I turned my attention towards the first victim, Mr Brian Grazly.

  An internet search revealed numerous newspaper articles about him, or more accurately about his murder, but by piecing together the snippets of information in each report I was able to build a picture of Brian and his life. Brian was unmarried with no children and no living relatives. He worked at Chilwell Castle on the banks of the river Medway. I googled Chilwell Castle to learn that it was a privately owned stately home that had been built in 1647 by Mr Robert Chilwell. It had remained in the Chilwell family for centuries until poor financial decisions in the 1960s, by the then resident Mr Antony Chilwell, forced its sale.

  The current owner was a gentleman from Dubai whose family had made their fortune in steel. There was no further information about the family on the page I was reading and it seemed unlikely I needed to know anything much about them. I read that they were not in residence at the time of Brian’s death but had expressed their shock and apparently, they had pledged money for his funeral costs.

  Brian was the groundsman and lived in the grounds of the Castle. His body had been found at the edge of the garden of his little cottage. My guess was the cottage was a perk of the job. I flicked to a newspaper article which showed the cottage. It was painted bright white, but had black exposed wood beams running across it, along it and up it which were undoubtedly original structural fittings. There were flowers in well-tended beds around the outside of the cottage at the front and a path centred to the house which ran in a straight line from the short garden wall to the front door.

  Between the articles relating directly to his murder and a few associated searches there was not a lot of information and what there was did not give me much. It gave me a background picture of the man though which may prove helpful at some point. I noted that the Castle grounds touched the river almost opposite the River Angel pub and that the address Mrs Winters had given me was less than half a mile from the Castle. I wrote on my scratch pad Three murders are all very close to each other. Then looked at the note for a minute, tapped my pen twice on the paper and then circled it. It didn’t mean anything yet and the Police would be well aware of the geography involved.

  I pushed my chair back and got up. Dozer raised his head to see if I was going to do anything interesting - like bring him a sandwich. We locked eyes briefly and he came to the conclusion that it was not worth being awake, so plunked his head back onto the sofa and began snoring again in seconds.

  Not long afterwards, but still an hour before I was due to arrive at Mrs Winters house I was in the car heading to her general area.

  Bull and Dozer were on the passenger seat, one atop the other as usual. I had decided that they needed a decent walk, that the ladies would probably welcome them and that if they did not they could just sleep in the car while I
was inside. Walking them along the river path that bordered the Castle grounds also gave me a chance to have a little look at Chilwell Castle. From memory, quite a bit of the grounds could be seen from the river path and as it was now autumn I expected the summer foliage to be dying back to leave a view through.

  I might see nothing worthwhile, but if so I had lost nothing and the boys would be walked.

  I parked the car at the end of one of the streets that terminated at the river. Parking was easy as it was a working day and only a few cars were present in the street. I clambered out, scooped the dogs and plopped them on the grass next to the car.

  They immediately scampered off heading towards the river, so I let them go. I tucked some baggies into a back pocket, tapped my other pockets to make sure wallet and phone were in them, plipped the car shut and headed after them.

  I had last brought the dogs to walk this route perhaps six months ago. The temperature was probably about the same then as it was now which was warm enough for me to be out in just a T-shirt, but still cool at the same time. It was warmer today than it had been the last few days. Even so I would be too cool if I were standing still. Leaves were turning brown and yellow creating colourful patterns on the path as they fell. The river was flowing towards Maidstone, but moved so slowly one could only tell which way it was going by watching the progress of water fowl.

  There was no one else about which made the walk all the more pleasant for me. On this side of the river the path was more regularly used than on the other as on this side there was a small housing estate bordering it in places. On previous outings, I had seen people walking their dogs, joggers taking advantage of the picturesque, traffic free route and person in suits and office wear clearly on their way to a job somewhere.

  The path was a mix of some kind of shale that had been laid at some point, concrete here and there and well-trodden dirt. It was a little muddy in places but easy enough to pick around. The path bordered the river but was several feet higher, in some places there were trees or bushes between the path and the river. In other places a foot or so of grass and in yet other places the path edge was at the river so a wrong foot would leave the unwary person in the drink. Along the way there where spots were the bank led down to a platform for anglers and a few bins for litter or doggy poop. In the weeds, brambles and nettles that bordered the path there was quite a bit of litter making me wonder whose task it was to clear it up and also how much was just dropped here by the uncaring and how much blew in on the wind or got deposited by flood tides.