Quietly, Rachel was led up two flights of sumptuous stairs by the cloaked wife. Laya then turned to her right and, with a gloved hand, opened a large door within a carved, golden frame. Rachel wondered how hot it must be to wear robes all the time, especially in Saudi Arabia where the sheikh was from; she decided there and then that she was glad she didn’t also have to wear this attire.
They both entered a large bedroom, bedecked in gold and red, with a huge four-poster bed in the centre of the room. Laya turned the lock on her door, and removed her veil, revealing a very beautiful woman of about 25, with dark hair and eyes, full lips and a flawless face, which was, surprisingly to Rachel, adorned with make-up.
“Please sit down.” Laya gestured to another one of the hard-backed chairs the house seemed to be festooned with.
Rachel sat whilst Laya remained standing; her accent was unusual, a mix of Arabic and English, but again with perfect pronunciation.
“You see spirits, they tell me; is this true?” Laya sat on the bed facing her.
Rachel wasn’t ready for such direct questioning. “Er… yes… I had… er… something happen to my brain, and from then on I could see spirits, just like everyday people see living people.”
“This… gift… how do you feel about it?”
“Er… I’m not sure. It’s good to be a liaison between the worlds of the living and dead, and I have met such lovely people in the spirit world, but… well, some can be troublesome.”
“Troublesome? How?”
“Oh, in the same way as living people, being argumentative and difficult to deal with.” Rachel glanced around whilst she was speaking, but saw nothing untoward.
Laya looked up at her. “I will be blunt if you will permit me. I had no idea my husband would actually get a real psychic to come here; I expected a fraud, so I think it’s best I simply tell you what spirits lie here, and you can then, how shall we say, deal with them as appropriate?”
Rachel sat stock still, slightly stunned.
The wife stood and walked slowly to the window, and her voice drifted back to where Rachel was still sitting. “There is a woman who walks from the hallway and through the wall into our back kitchen area; she probably causes the voices the wives hear, and she follows the layout of the house that was here before. She isn’t a spirit as such; I believe it is simply residual energy… You understand this?”
No, Rachel didn’t. This was ghost speak that Andy understood, not her. “You have seen this lady? Walking in the hallway? What do you mean she is ‘residual energy’? No, I don’t know what that is.”
Laya frowned. “Residual energy is like when something has happened a while ago, and the imprint of it plays out like a recording. You know it’s that and not an active haunting, because the person does the same thing time and again, like walking a certain route through a house or saying the same thing… You cannot interact with residual energy like you can a real spirit.”
Rachel was stunned. “You obviously have read up on this.”
Laya returned to her position on the bed. “I will tell you something now, but you must tell no one; I think you are probably a good person to confide in, being as you are, well, saddled with the same supposed gift. I see them too, you see – spirits and… other things that exist; I have from a child. My mother had second sight and, now, so do I, but we do not speak of it, as it is haram. This means forbidden.”
“So, let me get this straight; you claim you can see ghosts as well? But what do you mean by har… er… forbidden? Forbidden by whom?”
“Yes, I see them… Why are you surprised? You see them… but it is forbidden by my culture and my religion. If I confessed to seeing the undead, I would most likely be cast out.”
“I don’t think that would happen…”
“What would you know of my life? My existence? Yes, I would be sent from here in shame. To see those that should be passed… Where do you think this so-called power comes from?” She had clearly become slightly angry.
Rachel looked sheepish. “God?”
“I don’t want to debate religion. Anyway, you should be concerned with the other entity that lives here; the old lady is nothing, a faded memory of the past, but this… thing… that’s something else entirely.”
“Entity?” Rachel didn’t like the sound of that.
“What it is, I do not know. It is some wandering force, dark and malevolent; it is that which grabbed me under the bedclothes. Its face was not human. It frequents everywhere; it goes where it pleases. I am sure that if you remain in the house long enough, you will see it as well.”
“How do I get rid of it?”
Laya pursed her lips. “You are the psychic; you tell me. My husband has called you here to solve the problem, and, trust me, I know my husband; he will not pay you a riyal until this spirit is gone from our house. The old lady, she is just an annoyance, and you cannot remove residual energy anyway… but the other spirit… good luck with that.”
The voice of Andy rose up in the hallway “Kum by yah… oh spirit… speak to me…”
Laya looked towards the sound, then returned her gaze back to Rachel as she reattached her niqab. “You asked me if this power to see comes from God; well, to answer you, foolish sister, it comes from the evil one.” Coming closer, she pointed to her bright, brown eyes, visible through the slit in the face veil. “Malevolent forces give us the eyes to see… When you think of it like that, it makes it clearer, does it not?”
Laya then walked over to her door, unbolted it and was gone. Rachel was left in the silent, spookless room with the sound of Andy calling nonsense which reverberated around the house. It hadn’t made it clearer at all; in fact, she was more confused than ever. Up till now, she had been under the impression that she had been touched by God, and given a spiritual power, but that was all now in question – and she didn’t like it at all.
Chapter 34
The thing sat alone on a burnt-out car shell; being solitary was really what it was all about. Its kind avoided others of the same ilk, in the same way that spiders avoided their fellows. If they should meet, they either fought, or one had to leave the other’s space; that was how it was and how it always will be. But the thing did what it could to avoid battles, as – even if it won – it would take a lot of effort to recover, and besides, fighting its own kind took up valuable resources that were better spent elsewhere.
It had been told that if it took the most souls, it would get to do what hardly any of its kind had ever done: see the supreme leader. It had remained unconvinced about this, wondering whether it was an untruth told to it by its superior to reap more souls, but – considering that the thing enjoyed capturing souls – it had agreed.
It shifted its position slightly; it was crouched, as usual, surveying its surroundings. There was a dark, red sky, with a hot wind blowing that rustled its fur. Here, it was twice the size it was on earth, and it could move more quickly. Burnt-out cars from every era littered the dark desert road, stretching off in a scorched, higgledy-piggledy line. The road was flanked on both sides by the shells of ruined buildings, interspersed with parched, lifeless trees. Its eyes followed the road off into the distance. The air was thick with the familiar acrid sulphur smell, mixed with the heavy stench of burning matter; it sniffed the hot air through its nostrils with delight, as one would enjoy a strongly fragrant flower.
Many of its kind simply possessed the bodies of the living, then killed them and claimed their souls that way. At times, they would use the body of a mortal to carry out a task, then simply leave it and move on without taking the life, depending on their purpose.
But possessions were sometimes troublesome, particularly on the rare occasions when the soul fought back, which could drain the creature’s energy. A failed inhabitation could be disastrous, as the struggle could cause the beast to make mistakes whilst mimicking the mortal, which could lead to detection. The
ir mission was to enter the physical body of the living, use it as a tool to do what they had to do, then leave undetected.
While it enjoyed the silky thrill of taking over a body, it had grown to find the process slightly distasteful. Entering the meat sack that was the mortal body, then merging with the minds of these pathetically weak and backward humans was beneath it. The creature was more than capable of possessing a person if it chose to, but it had, in its cleverness, devised another, more elegant method of carrying out the task; but without the danger of detection, or anyone thinking anything was amiss. There was far more potential in manipulation, and using the stupidity and evilness of man against itself.
It was a smart plan, one expertly hatched and that had already worked with that girl, Kayleigh, but…
It leapt down from the car onto the boiling sand. Heat didn’t bother it; in fact, in the fire was where it was created and where it drew its power from.
Picking at its ear absent-mindedly, its thoughts went back to that psychic girl in the woods. Who or what was she? She had seen it clearly, it was sure. It had seen the surprise in her eyes when their gazes met in that place; it had leapt out of the way, but perhaps too late. It had felt her eyes scraping along its form as it jumped. What should it do about her? There were hardly any mortals who had the power to see its form; very, very few. It sensed this girl was dangerous; it would have to keep a watch on her and perhaps reap her soul in time.
It wasn’t too bothered at this stage. There was too much out there she would have to deal with first: the ghosts of dead mortals were the least threat to her; possibly, an entity would get her first or another one of its kind. She seemed naïve and unsure of herself, which was dangerous for one who would now come into contact with darker forces on a regular basis.
It smiled, with its pointy, little teeth reflecting the glow of the swirling sky. Its eyes, small and red, stared off into the distance. It twitched and, instinctively, its long, dark fingers scratched at its flank in a desperate motion, just like an ape or monkey when bitten by a flea. But this was no primate; it was not born of earth, blood, bone or seed. To compare it to anything on earth was akin to comparing an earthbound spark to the fires of hell.
*
Rachel had woken at 7.30am after a night full of dreams. There were dark shapes coming and going like smoke down walls and through floorboards, and the furry ape-like thing she had seen in the woods was there as well. For some reason, it was sitting on a scorched, burnt-out car, just smiling at her. What the hell was that about?
Her second thought after the dreams was the pain. The niggling, small migraine that had started yesterday when she had alighted from the Tube, that had begun like a small mouse nibbling gently at a piece of cheese in her brain, was now like a pneumatic drill piercing her skull. The moment she opened her eyes, she felt the sick realisation and panic flood through her that she was going to be out for the count for at least two days. Goddammit.
Two days were thus spent moving from the bed, to the chair and to the bathroom to be sick when the agony in her exploding head made her stomach retch. It was a hellish two days, made worse by the fact that the sheikh had requested she and Andy spend a few days at his house to address the problem, so she wasn’t even in the relative peace of her own home. During this time, she was assisted by two women that Sheikh al-Rahman had kindly provided. Rachel gathered that these were normally handmaidens to the wives, but the sheikh – presumably wanting to make sure she didn’t ruin his room, and trying to ensure that she actually got some work done whilst they were there – thought the assistants might help.
On the third day of her sickness, Andy appeared at her door; he only opened it a crack, as if she was struck down with some terrible contagious disease. He asked her when she would be fit to begin investigations at the house; she replied that it would be tomorrow. He then went away. Goodness knows what excuses he had made to the sheikh about this, but, according to the women helping, he had made full use of the home’s pool and spa complex, even bothering Sheikh al-Rahman for the hospitality of the luxurious 30-seat cinema he had in the basement, to watch heaven knows what.
On the fourth day, she got up and dressed, ready to investigate whatever had been occurring in the palatial house. She was not exactly fully recovered, however, because a point of pain – like the tip of a nail stuck in her skull – still remained; she was also a little weak from the sleepless nights. Nevertheless, in a determined mood, she decided to make a trip to see for herself the residual energy Laya had spoken of. Rachel hadn’t seen Laya since their discussion in the bedroom; well, she thought she hadn’t, but there were black-robed wives floating gently around everywhere, so maybe Laya was one of them; but if so, surely she would have acknowledged her?
Rachel had arranged to meet Andy in the main hallway. As she descended the magnificent stairway, she saw him bending over some equipment on the floor: the little box with the mike attached and the music box/mirror thing. Sitting on a side table, she saw a small video-recording set; the little, green light was blinking, so it appeared to be recording. Attached to the recording unit was a small speaker.
He looked up. “Are you OK now? What brought that on, eh?”
“I don’t know why they come; I feel a bit washed out, but the pain has mostly gone,” Rachel confirmed.
He stood up and shook the box-and-mike contraption gently. “Prince al-Rahman told me about the ghostly old woman that walks here; this is probably the main issue he has, so I have set up a recording to catch her if she walks past. I am thinking that if we get her, you can tell her to leave, like you did that rabbi, and then, Bob’s your uncle, we can get the cash and scoot.”
Rachel frowned. “Did he tell you about… er… any other ghosts here?”
“No, why? Have you seen any?”
“Well, no…”
“Good.” Andy seemed satisfied at this. He rubbed his hands together, then bent down and picked up the little contraptions on the floor, and put them in his holdall. “Right, I am off.” He began to walk away.
“Where are you going? Aren’t you going to wait for the old lady?”
“She could be ages… and, besides, I have a hot date with a Red Dwarf Blu-ray in the sheikh’s cinema. If the camera records anything spooky, a tune will play to alert us, so don’t worry.” With a slightly jaunty step, he vanished down the hallway.
Brilliant, now what? Rachel had got out of bed for nothing it seemed. To kill some time, she decided to go outside into the garden area and wait for something to happen. This was the last day here, so if nothing happened, Andy would have to front up to the sheikh, who looked like a man who meant business.
The gardens attached to the house were magnificent, as was everything else. A bleached, white, stone path, bedecked by fragrant, bee-covered flowers, wound its way to a round island encircled by trickling water and hedges cut into square shapes. On one side of this beautiful area was an empty bench; on the other side was a seat with two robed wives sitting on it. Well, at least Rachel thought they were wives; she had been assuming every woman in a burqa was a wife, but maybe they were handmaidens to the wives.
She sat down and mused how she would be glad to leave this house, for all its luxury, and decided she would try to see Dr Maxwell. She kept thinking of him, where he was and what he was doing. He probably didn’t give any thought to her from one day to the next. Her mind began to wander.
The two wives, or whoever they were, sat silently, looking forwards at the fountain, which gushed water lit by a myriad of bright-coloured lights. Like two dark chess pieces against the sunlit background, with every inch of them covered, they looked slightly sinister. Again, Rachel thought about what life must be like in this place, with such opulence, and everything anyone could want materially and more, but something was missing. She wondered about all these young (and older) women being married to this one elderly man. Did he sleep with them all? Or was it marr
iage in name only? She could see no evidence of hordes of children; maybe they were all packed off to a nursery or private school somewhere.
Then she heard it: an odd tune that didn’t seem to fit in with the surroundings, drifting on the breeze…
She turned round to the source of the music and recognised it as being Eye of the Tiger. She couldn’t imagine the sheikh listening to such a song. As she turned back, she noticed the wives were gone.
“Rachel!” It was Andy, shouting from the house. “The spook is here.”
She jumped up and hurried to the doorway; rushing through, she entered a scene of chaos. The video player that Andy had set up was now whirring away, and, oddly enough, playing the offending tune simultaneously, at quite a loud volume from its deceptively small speaker.
Andy was standing there with a Red Dwarf T-shirt on, pointing in an animated fashion to the kitchen doorway. “Look, look the ghost! It’s sprung the video.”
She whirled around to see just the last glimpse of the smoky figure of an elderly woman hastening down the corridor and through the wall, next to the kitchen doorway. She could only be seen from the knees up; below that just a small cloud of mist. But it was clearly an old woman; Rachel could see this from the shapeless cardigan and fluffy bubble perm.
“What you waiting for? Jesus Christ.” He immediately grabbed the camera and speaker, then set off in hot pursuit, with the theme tune following him.
The sheikh appeared, as if by magic, from a gold-framed door. As usual, he was wearing his white robes, but this time he was holding a smoking pipe.
“What is this commotion? And music… music of a Western persuasion is forbidden in my house!”
Rachel looked around, but Andy had gone. From behind the sheikh, Laya stepped out; she knew it was her from those brown eyes, burning out from the niqab.
Seeing Things Page 19