Seeing Things

by Suzanne Linsey-Mitellas

  “She will die; all at the hands of that nincompoop Andy, who has been messing with things he doesn’t understand.”

  “It’s not my problem. She should have left the entity here – it amused me – but, no, she compelled it to return with her; and now it’s gone wrong, I am meant to bail her out?”

  Angrily, she sat up in the bed again. He saw she wore a loose black T-shirt, and her hair tumbled down to her waist in messy tangles. In his lifetime and youth, he probably would have been inside the covers by now, joining her in the bed, but not this time. More important things than lust were at hand.

  Dr Maxwell became desperate. “Look, I do not believe she compelled it to do anything, it sort of attached itself to her whilst she was here, and now it will kill her if we do nothing.”

  “I am not a powerful psychic; I cannot help deal with any entity that Rachel has got herself tangled up with. Call the police or something.”

  “I can’t call any police; I can’t use telephones or anything.” He waved his hands back and forth through her torso to prove a point. “Please help me, Laya; I don’t know what else to do…”

  Muttering, she climbed slowly out of bed and rubbed her eyes; under the T-shirt, she wore small shorts, which showed off her tanned, slim legs. He found himself staring at them as she stood before him, lit gently by her small bedroom lamp.

  “How am I supposed to get to her house? It will probably all be over by the time we get there,” she stated.

  “You have a chauffeur, don’t you? He can drive fast?” the doctor suggested.

  “What do I get for this? I am not risking my life for nothing. The driver will want a big payout for this as well, to keep his mouth shut.”

  Putting his hand to his face, Dr Maxwell looked desperate. “If you can get rid of the entity, I will come here and stay with you; forever, if you want. I will do anything. Please, Laya; you can see them, which means you can compel them.”

  Muttering something under her breath in Arabic, she walked to her wardrobe and removed one of her many flowing, long, black robes and struggled to get it over her head. After adjusting the dark folds, she pulled black, satin gloves over her hands, and reached for the niqab and lifted it over her face.

  “I can see spirits, but I do not know how good I will be at removing them,” she explained.

  “But you will come and… try to help? I cannot do this alone,” the doctor stated.

  “For you, yes. But if I die…?”

  “You will not.”

  “You probably didn’t think you would die when you did, Dr Maxwell.”

  “You have a point, madam.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “14C Rainton Avenue, Burwood.”

  “My driver will find it. Now go,” commanded Laya.

  Drawing his mind back to Rachel, frightened and strangled in the hold of the entity, he found himself transported back to her open doorway. By now, the purple fog had completely blocked the hallway. He made a couple of attempts to fight his way through, but was constantly driven back. Even though he was a spirit, and did not have real lungs to speak of, the mist seemed to fill him with a hot and cloying ash, weakening him at each step and forcing him to remain outside.

  It seemed like he waited on Rachel’s doorstep for hours until Laya appeared. A supercar – a silver Bugatti – purred silently to a stop outside the house. A very well-built Saudi Arabian man in robes and headdress leapt from the driver’s seat and rushed round to help her out. Some words in Arabic were exchanged by the roadside, then he nodded, got back into the car and quietly drove away.

  “This has cost me dearly, William,” she complained as he hurried towards her. “I have had to pay my driver, Ahmed, and one of my sisters, Maryam, to pretend to be me in my bedchamber, in case my husband visits.”

  “Wouldn’t he know it wasn’t you?” he asked.

  Laya frowned. “Probably not,” she said, and inclined her head towards the open door. “They are in there?”

  “Yes,” confirmed the doctor.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the front door, which was still encased in fog. Turning back, she looked at William, who smiled at her weakly; she then faced the door again and was swallowed by the deep mass.

  Dr Maxwell went as far as he could into the hallway, as if to follow her, but was driven back again. Standing outside doing nothing made him feel as useful as an umbrella at the opera, so he decided he would go and try to find Henry, who could possibly do something to move the mist so he could enter. Yes, that was it. Willing himself elsewhere, he vanished, hoping to find Henry, wherever he might be.

  Chapter 45

  Laya put her hands to the veil covering her mouth, and pressed on down the hallway. Although not like physical smoke, the entity felt thick and heavy about her person; it was like walking in water when it was up to the neck. She felt the force of its presence all around her.

  Ahead of her, to her left, she saw the kitchen door, and at the bottom of it was a shadow, rounded, with an uneven surface; was it perhaps fur? Then two little, bright-red eyes popped open at the top of the figure, which was like a dreadful, hirsute dwarf.

  For a moment, Laya and the creature looked at each other. She felt no fear or horror, just curiosity as to what the thing was.

  Then it spoke. “You have come to help, yes? That saves me doing anything.” Its monotone voice, like something generated artificially, had no accent and gave no clue as to sex.

  A spindly, long, dark, clawed hand pointed to the room. “Go on then…”

  What was this thing? It looked like a large, scruffy cat, or some kind of tatty, miniature caveman. Was it one of Rachel’s friends, caught up in this madness, dressed in a costume? But slowly, as the hairs on her arms began to stand on end, she realised what it really was, rotten and evil to the core.

  “I cannot compel entities,” she said.

  “You can now,” it uttered, giving a deceitful smile that swiftly turned into a grimace, as pointy teeth immediately became visible amidst its obsidian coloured fur.

  She glanced sideways and saw horror. The entire kitchen was now a swirling, pumping, purple-and-black mass. Like a translucent snake that had swallowed its prey, she could see Rachel and Andy crushed together at the centre of its vortex. Both were either dead or had lost consciousness.

  “Go,” the thing hissed, “Rachel cannot die.”

  Stepping into the room, Laya looked around her; she had no idea what she was meant to do. In her house, the entity had been like a slightly aggressive friend, whom she had welcomed into her life as a distraction from the monotony. But it had only ever appeared in a smaller form, not like this; not as powerful as this. Something in Rachel’s house must have caused it to grow in size and strength.

  “Remember me?” she called out to the fog. “You left my home to come here. Please… let them go.”

  She expected it to stop turning, to shrink back perhaps or to at least acknowledge her, but nothing happened.

  She stepped forward. “Stop!” she called out. “Please release them.”

  She watched as the entity began to constrict. Tighter and tighter, she witnessed invisible tentacles press against Rachel and Andy’s bodies, squeezing every last bit of air from their lungs. Andy’s eyes popped open and his tongue began to protrude.

  In helplessness, she turned back to the creature, who had stepped out into the light. It now looked more like a grotesque chimpanzee, with a stocky, hunched, muscular body; short, bent hind legs; and strong, long arms which rested on the floor. Its head was small and human like, but covered in the darkest, thickest fur, and with little ears, like a cat’s, slicked back on its head.

  Its tiny red eyes turned to her. Saying nothing, it lifted both its spindly hands out in front of its face as if pushing back. “Compel it to leave,” it hissed. “Like this.”

  Turning
back to the swirling, dark hurricane before her, Laya lifted both of her arms, at first uncertain, spreading out her gloved hands as the creature demanded. All at once, she felt as if invisible gauntlets had been placed on her, from her shoulders to the tips of her fingers, holding them firm and resolute. Closing her eyes, she started to concentrate.

  The mist stopped swirling, and its face formed before her again, almost filling the room.

  Opening her eyes, Laya willed it gone and, out of the blue, was shaken by a force ripping from both palms of her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the creature was now behind her, in the same position as her, with its claws outstretched, but its eyes were clearly tightly shut.

  Like a firefighter struggling with a high-pressure hose, she could barely maintain her footing as the energy streamed from her hands and smashed into the entity. For a moment, it screamed and whirled, and then, with an ear-splitting scraping noise, like nails tearing at a blackboard, it was gone.

  Rachel and Andy dropped over three feet to the floor. They both appeared to be lifeless.

  Debbie appeared from a corner, dragging herself along the ground, and sporting a heavily bruised eye and split lip. Taking almost no notice of Rachel, who was pale and prone on the linoleum, she dragged herself to Andy’s side. Taking him in her arms, she began to weep. Laya heard Andy emit a small cough, and his arm moved. He would be fine.

  Rachel.

  Laya hurried across the room. Debbie started at first on seeing the dark-robed figure rush past her, thinking it was another evil force, come to wreak havoc; then, on seeing it was a woman, she smiled weakly.

  Laya fell to her knees and looked at Rachel. Her lips were blue; her face pale as snow. Putting her ear to Rachel’s mouth, Laya stayed quiet, but heard nothing; she wasn’t breathing. She placed a gloved finger to the pulse point on Rachel’s neck, and felt nothing. Rachel really was lifeless.

  The furry thing appeared by her side.

  “She is dead,” whispered Laya.

  Without hesitation, the creature took Laya’s hands in its own and pressed them to Rachel’s stomach. She felt the burning heat of its claws pressing down on her fingers, which, in turn, touched Rachel. Laya almost felt compelled to look away from the beast, fearing that looking straight at it would burn through her eyes into her soul; strangely though, she felt no urge to pull away, or fight it off.

  Andy was retching, and as Debbie cradled his wounded body, she looked up to see Laya, on her knees over Rachel, appearing to do some kind of chest compressions. Rachel was clearly not breathing; Debbie could see that much from where she was sitting. “Please help her,” she cried.

  The creature frowned at Debbie momentarily, then looked straight at Rachel’s body on the floor and muttered something. Laya didn’t know what it was; it was in a foreign language or dialect, but not one she had ever heard before.

  Rachel began to transform. Colour swept from her neck and across her face, and her lips began to turn pink. Laya was relieved to see she was now breathing on her own.

  The thing removed its hands, freeing Laya, and sat back on its haunches. The creature looked satisfied, but then frowned. It moved nearer to Rachel, squinting closely at her left temple.

  Chattering gently to itself, again in an odd dialect, it placed its hands on Rachel’s head. Closing its eyes again, it muttered some more words, gave her head a little pat then sat back. “All done,” it proclaimed; and, with that, it frantically scratched its flank (making Laya jump) as if it had been bitten by a flea. It then flashed a terrifying smile, filling one-third of its face with pin-sharp, thin teeth, swivelled around on its long arms, then scuttled away through the kitchen door.

  Laya looked up to see Debbie by her side, weeping.

  “You have saved her; she is alive…” Debbie wailed.

  “How is Andy?” Laya replied.

  “He is shocked but he will be fine, I think.” She looked over to where Andy had sat up by himself and was holding on to a kitchen chair.

  “I am Laya, by the way. I met Andy and Rachel when they got rid of this… er… problematic spirit I had.”

  “I guessed you were… Andy told me about you. You are a heroine.”

  Just as Laya went to leave, two policemen hurried through into the hallway, although, at that point, both the dark creature and the purple entity had long gone. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Laya didn’t know.

  Chapter 46

  Rachel lay in the hospital bed. She had absolutely no recollection of what had happened to her three days before, with her last memory being of Andy pushing her into the kitchen; that was it. She remembered nothing more, except coming to in an immodest, blue hospital gown, lying in a bed once again.

  She had asked the doctors if she had suffered another brain haemorrhage. The doctors had said no, just crush injuries, and it had looked like her heart had stopped. She had been told how Laya had somehow appeared in her kitchen and performed cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) on her, which had saved her life; all witnessed by Debbie.

  There had been bad news, though. In the scans taken when she was admitted, it appeared that the site where she had suffered the original brain bleed had a bulging artery or something, which would need further surgery to prevent it bursting. She had been told that, providing she didn’t take part in any violent sports or bungee jumping, she would be OK for the moment, as the bulge – despite being present – didn’t pose an imminent risk. Rachel would need surgery soon though, and had been asked to think about it, whatever that meant.

  Debbie had kindly brought some women’s magazines in for her to read, about famous singers and z-list celebrities having affairs and taking their clothes off. This reading material was not to Rachel’s taste, but it was better than having nothing to do at all.

  Debbie had also kindly delivered the local paper, the Burwood Echo, which had a story about Rachel (this time on page three), entitled ‘LOCAL PSYCHIC INJURED IN PARANORMAL BATTLE’. There was the old library photo of her – the mental-looking one that it had used last time – to accompany the story. The text informed readers how Andy Horton had done battle with a poltergeist that had attached itself to Rachel, and how, thanks to the speed and efficiency of his response, she was going to be OK. The last line carried the Spirit of London Paranormal Investigations’ phone number and website details.

  She had been told by Andy that, after checking the digital SLR camera that Debbie had been taking photos with all evening, not a single shot came out. Every single one was completely blank, as if taken in a dark room with the flash disabled. The video link recording on the night had also apparently failed, showing nothing but static, so not a jot of evidence remained that anything supernatural had occurred at all that evening.

  At least there was no mention of Laya; Rachel thought it was probably best that her husband didn’t know that she took to the streets at night, like some robed crusader, fighting dark forces.

  But there was no doubt who had fed this story to the press. Andy looked like a hero, and she, as usual, looked like a crazy fool. This had further dampened her spirits.

  Since awaking in the hospital, she had also suffered a constant, dull headache, which came and went in severity on a whim; this was interspaced with severe stabbing pains in her temple. Whether this was stress, a normal headache or this bulging artery, she had no clue.

  Whilst pondering this, Rachel saw a movement at the end of her bed. It was Dr Maxwell. She had seen him at her bedside a couple of times in the past day or so, but couldn’t remember much about it. Rubbing her sore head, she propped herself up.

  He broke the silence. “Hospitals have changed significantly since my day… They’re more disordered now…” He looked about nervously. “How are you anyway?” William continued. “I heard the doctors saying you had another problem with your head?”

  “Yes, a bulging artery or something. It’s lucky they
caught it when I came in here, or I would have been walking about with it and not known. They say it might have burst, but it seems stable for the moment,” she told him.

  “Where is it?” He came closer.

  “Where the original bleed was.” She pointed to her left temple. “It’s a bit sore.”

  “Oh, I see. You need surgery?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or…?”

  “Or I die.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Pardon?” Frowning, Rachel put her magazine to one side. “I don’t really want to die, so yes…”

  William looked sheepish. After removing his pocket watch, he gave it a bit of a polish before returning it to his waistcoat. Shortly after playing his part in saving Rachel’s life, he discovered that he was finally able to manifest his treasured gold pocket watch, gifted from the College of Surgeons. He was at a loss as to why he was suddenly able to make it appear with ease, after spending his entire deathtime trying to do so without success. He wondered if it was perhaps a sign that, in finding his watch, he was beginning to find himself. “If you died we could… well… be together…”

  Rachel sat silently for a long moment, slightly embarrassed. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. We could court, perhaps?” He looked doubtful.

  “But you are a ghost.”

  “Yes, and if you died, you would be a ghost as well.”

  “What if I got sucked up to heaven, and you stayed stuck here? Then we couldn’t.”

  “No… perhaps not.”

  Silence.

  Rachel decided to change the subject. “I was taking my medicines and everything, so I don’t know why this would come back again.” She tapped her head.

  “It’s probably because of what you do. Perhaps you moving between the living and the dead is how you can see us, and why spirits are drawn to you: because you yourself sit between these two worlds… alive but seconds from death with your aneurysm. You cannot get into spiritual water without getting wet, if you understand my meaning…”