Copyright © 2021 Suzanne Linsey-Mitellas
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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Acknowledgements:
Thank you to my family, both the living and the dead, who supported and encouraged me through the toughest of times, without them I would not be here now.
I would especially like to thank:
My husband and best friend Alan, for his love and devotion, and for the many hours he spent editing and improving my novel. Without his support ‘Seeing Things’ would never have made it to publication.
My eldest son Lewis, who has grown into a strong, intelligent and wonderful young man that any mum would be proud of.
My youngest son Trent, for his interesting plot and character ideas.
My late mother and father, Maureen and Peter Linsey, for their love, support and strong values that shaped me into the person I am today.
Last, but certainly not least, a special thanks to my late grandmother, Alice Whitfield, for her strength of character, and her fascinating stories and experiences of the paranormal which were the basis for this book.
Let no one be found among you who consigns his son or daughter to the fire, or who is an augur, a soothsayer, a diviner, a sorcerer, one who casts spells, or one who consults ghosts or familiar spirits, or one who inquires of the dead.
Deuteronomy 18:10-11
Behold, I set before you this day a blessing and a curse.
Deuteronomy 11:26
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Prologue
The boy walked down the middle of the magnificent room and sat beside the old rabbi. Being dressed mostly in black, with a white shirt, skull cap and ringlets, the boy looked much the same as his fellows whom he had left playing and cat-calling to each other on the synagogue steps.
“I must speak to you, Rabbi. It is a matter of importance,” he declared.
The old man, who had been deep in prayer, frowned. He removed his small horn-rimmed spectacles, rubbed them on his sleeve and replaced them on his nose before looking slowly at the child. “Unless you have something important to say, Adam, you should not be talking in the shul.” He dropped his head back down to resume his devotions.
“It is most urgent; it is about a vision I had, about something to come. I must tell you so that you may act upon it.”
The rabbi made a low, grumbling noise and turned to the child. “Visions… fortune telling… it is not permitted. I am aware that your family knows more about this than most, but you must refrain from entering the darkened path of the soothsayers.”
The boy looked into the distance. “I was allowed to see this vision by our Creator, so we might be saved… all humanity might be saved from an evil coming to this world. I was instructed to find you, Rabbi Lieberman, and tell you about this, so you could stop it.”
The old man turned sharply. “Immodesty is wrong, Adam. You believe He would speak to you about a matter such as this, even though there are older and more righteous men walking the earth, who are far better placed to take on such a message of importance? Why would He choose a young boy? How old are you?”
“I am nine, Rabbi.”
“A nine-year-old child, chosen by Him, to speak of the coming of evil. It would not be right.”
“Let me tell you my vision. He asks I share it with you, so I must.”
The old man went to open his mouth, then closed it again. Looking to his right, he saw the child’s father with the other men, standing deep in conversation, forming a mass of black coats and hats. Should he listen to this transgression? If he didn’t, Adam would no doubt disturb his prayer further. He rather hoped that there was nothing substantial in what the child was about to say, but, knowing Adam’s lineage, anything the boy said should at least be heard out. “To me, it sounds like a load of baloney,” he said. “But if you must speak, make it brief.”
“Yes, Rabbi.” Adam settled down, and spoke slowly and deliberately. “His voice came to me in a vision. It was not a dream; I was not asleep but was walking to my room when I saw, through my own eyes, what may come to pass…”
“Continue.”
“There was a woman, who was maybe thirty, walking slowly across a bridge that was like one of those rope bridges you see in jungles, which sway in the wind. It was suspended between two sheer cliffs: one in sunlight, warmed by the sun, and the other one in front of her, darkened and cold, as if in shade…” Adam hesitated, looking intently at the rabbi, before saying, “He spoke to me and told me about this woman and her importance.”
“Is she a Jew?” broke in the rabbi.
“No… but she had some kind of misfortune, which means she can see the dead and shedim, but without ailing or her sight being robbed from her. She is powerful, but is unaware of the importance of the treasure she commands. He told me that, unless it is stopped by good men, evil will use her for its own ends. The creatures that live in darkness will see this power and use it against the righteous.”
“Is that it?” asked Rabbi Lieberman.
“No, there is another woman, who is young… She also has the same powers as the first, but is not manipulated by the creatures of the darkness. She may be our ally.”
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br /> “Is she a Jew?”
“No, but she wears something across her face, like a curtain.” To demonstrate, Adam held his sleeve helpfully across his own face, so only his eyes showed.
“Harrumph… So what your so-called vision tells us is that an evil is coming to wreak havoc, and the only two people who can stop it are non-Jews and, what’s more, are women?”
“Yes, Rabbi.”
“This is all preposterous. I believe none of it.”
“He told me that you would one day witness the first woman and that it would be up to you to assemble brothers to drive the shedim from her, or if that fails, to make sure she does not remain in this world or the next.”
“Do you mean murder her? Go to your father, Adam. I wish to hear no more.”
“Only you can stop it. This is why I have spoken of my vision. He has entrusted the future of all of humanity to you.”
The old man turned angrily to the boy. Pointing to an older man in robes who was speaking to Adam’s father, he spat, “Why not tell this hokum to your own rabbi? See, him there… Tell him this tale of evil about to assail all mankind, and the ridiculous idea of women… and me… saving the world from darkness. Why tell me when he stands before you?”
Adam stood up on seeing his father approach. “Because he is no use, Rabbi Lieberman. Like me, he is alive, but you are dead, and we need someone on your side of the veil to be effective.”
With that, he walked away, leaving his perplexed father to stare at the completely empty seat his son had just been speaking to moments ago.
Chapter 1
Sitting in the classroom alone and listening to the children playing outside, she knew there was about two hours’ worth of work to do in about thirty minutes. She had got so behind, and she knew why, but playing on her mind more and more was how she was going to catch up and get her life back on track.
The children could be heard outside, screaming and laughing distantly; they were so carefree. Looking back down at her lesson plan, which had been due two days before, her mind immediately went blank. Her head had been pounding recently, worse than normal, and she had been doing everything possible to try to stop the pain so she could get on with her life and—
“Cough.”
The noise made her turn around, only to see the headteacher, Mr Andrews, filling the doorway. To his right, the wall was decorated with a poster, showing a rough drawing of a bird with the words ‘Penguins need love’ in a child’s writing over the top. Some said Mr Andrews resembled a fat bird; more specifically, a turkey.
“Miss Holloway, have you got the lesson plans for next week?” he enquired.
She hadn’t done them; the pain in her head twisted like a corkscrew. What shall I say? Shall I admit I haven’t done them or lie? “I have started them,” she said, “but I thought they needed some fine tuning, which is what I am doing now. They will be ready on Monday, without fail.”
“They should have been on my desk today.”
“I know, Mr Andrews. Apologies for that, but I wanted to make some last-minute changes.”
“Monday; last chance, Rachel.”
Somewhere in the distance, a bell went, and the school began to rumble at once with the feet of hundreds of children, as if it had instantly stirred itself to life. Mr Andrews jumped at the sound, like an antelope hearing the growl of a tiger, and rushed away.
Monday. I need to get it sorted for Monday, mused Rachel. Her head ached again. She checked the clock on the wall, clipping time away gently; there was approximately three minutes before her next class came in.
Rachel closed her papers in front of her, reached into her bag and pulled out the shiny, small wrapper that contained her migraine medication: her magic – or not so magic – bullet. She popped a pill out frantically and swallowed it with a small mouthful of water from the bottle on her desk. Please let this kill the migraine, she thought.
Before putting away her bag, she pulled out the textbook needed for the next class. As she stood up ready for the children’s arrival, she saw a small movement out of the very corner of her eye; it was almost imperceptible, but it was there. A flicker, then it was gone. A mouse? Please, God, not mice again. She would have to tell the maintenance staff.
*
Rachel had woken up worried. Everything had felt different, but she didn’t know why. She had been feeling unwell since yesterday and her migraines had been growing steadily worse during the last three weeks or so. Her vision had also become increasingly blurred, and she had felt dizzy a few times as well. The doctor had said her blood pressure was extremely high, so had increased her medication. She knew what the problem was: stress. That little word that creeps up on everyone. That modern plague of stress. But what was she supposed to do about it?
Her job as a primary school teacher, which had been her profession since leaving university, had given her a lot of pleasure; however, as the years had passed, the work had become more and more bureaucratic. There had been more paperwork, more and more difficult parents (or so it seemed) and more incidents where her teaching ability had been called into question. There were also longer hours now and more classes to deal with.
It appeared that the children coming through the gates were becoming more challenging. Some even arrived at school in nappies, unable to read or write, or without the slightest grasp of basic life skills or manners. Rachel thought a lot about the children. She had gone into teaching to help young people, and now, more than ever, she felt she was making less and less of a difference. Less of her time was spent working with the children in the classroom, and more and more of her time was spent fighting for equipment, resources and help for her increasingly vulnerable pupils. It had taken its toll on her.
She had felt so ill recently, what with the blood pressure and the migraines that were barely held back by this dam of pills that she kept popping – a dam of pills that was constantly springing leaks.
Rachel got out of bed slowly, as she always did. After getting ready, she decided to finish the lesson preparation notes, which would at least be one less thing to worry about on Monday.
With papers and pen at the ready, sitting in the room, she forced her mind back to the lesson and being back in the empty classroom. Then she felt it; it was as if someone was gently pressing a finger into the side of her head. It was an odd feeling, like a hand that wasn’t there, pressing into her left temple. Then the familiar pain began, increasing slowly with each heartbeat. She went to get her bag again. It was time to pop another pill.
Chapter 2
The fact that all the lights were off in their flat should have been taken as a sign, but then John was never very good at heeding subtle signs. He always said it would need to be a six-foot-high sign, embellished with lights, before he would notice it; it was a joke he always said in pubs or at birthday parties. It wasn’t clever or funny, but that didn’t stop him saying it.
He let himself in, dropped his bag by the door, switched on the light and walked past the table, which was strewn with school books. He glanced at them, then went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. He frowned to himself, thinking, Rachel? Where the hell is she?
He went to the bedroom. Rachel was in bed. She’s probably ill again or maybe suffering another headache. Which one? I’d better show sympathy. “Are you OK?” he asked, and then he sat down by the bed. He couldn’t see her, just a shape.
“No, I’ve got a bad head… I’m really ill. It’s a bad one; my eyes are hurting too now,” Rachel explained.
“Oh, have you taken your pills?”
“Yeah, they’re not working.”
It’s best to leave her to it when she’s like this. In the two years that John had been with Rachel, he had noticed her health had got worse. She had her good days and bad days, but now she was sick more times than she was well. “I don’t suppose you want to do anything tonight?” he murmured, already
knowing what the answer would be.
“No, sorry; I really don’t feel well at all.”
Well, that’s that then. Another Saturday night blown out. He felt himself caught between going out, and therefore making himself resemble ‘the uncaring boyfriend’, or playing safe by staying in and falling asleep in front of the TV. He felt like an old man, and he was only thirty. Screw this. “OK,” he said.
Rachel felt his upset, but what could she do? She had worries of her own, and the pain was terrible, as if someone had put a power drill to her head, and was drilling slowly right into her skull and brain. She could feel the pulsing of the drill and the scraping of the bit. She lay on her left-hand side, where the pain was, hoping that might help. It didn’t.
She went off to sleep eventually, but her dreams were plagued with nightmares. She saw dark figures, flashing back and forth, then the dream cleared, and she found herself on a flimsy rope bridge, strung between two cliffs. Standing in the middle, being buffeted by the wind, she saw both of the cliff edges: the one behind her was in sunlight, and she could see people standing there, watching and calling to her. She turned to what lay in front of her, where the bridge was tethered. Here, the cliff was in dusk. Figures were standing there as well, but they were silent and in darkness. They were not calling, just watching; watching her…
*
On Monday morning, Rachel felt a whole lot better. She had been unwell most of Sunday, but she had slept it off and was pleasantly surprised to find that the pain had gone. She was almost back to her normal self, and she was grateful about that because she was going to be very busy at school that day. The inspectors were coming in later in the week, so everyone had to be on top form. Rachel felt good; nothing was going to stop her now.
Rachel had noticed John had left earlier than usual that morning. She was sorry she had messed up his plans for the weekend, but she had been so ill and was sure that he would understand.
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