A Death Displaced

by Andrew Butcher

  In that particular meeting they worshipped ‘the Goddess’ or ‘the Mother’, invited her into their circle and asked for some kind of protection over their family and friends.

  Nick didn’t know what to expect before attending, but it turned out that he felt extremely uncomfortable with it. Their Ritual Leader, as the group referred to her, asked Nick if he was on a spiritual journey, if he wanted to devote himself to the study of Wicca and be initiated into their circle. She told him that they initiated people sky clad (in other words, butt naked). He decided against joining; seeing his manager and a co-worker naked wasn’t quite his cup of tea.

  The Ritual Leader said it was to show to the Goddess that he wasn’t afraid to be in front of her the way he came into the world, something about being ‘reborn’ naked as he was first born. He wasn’t ashamed of his naked body but he didn’t want to prove it by stripping off in front of a group either.

  There was probably more to it than that and he didn’t like to judge too hastily, but still… no.

  ‘You know… a man your age should really have a woman by now!’ Janet commented.

  ‘I’m only twenty four.’

  ‘Exactly, you should be in a long term relationship, working up to marriage and then having children, else you will be an old daddy.’

  He chuckled, ‘I’m only twenty four, and who said I want to have children? I can’t even afford to look after myself.’

  ‘Well what’s the point of having a girlfriend if you don’t want family?’

  ‘I never said I wanted a girlfriend. You’re the one pestering me about it!’ his voice raised, but as far as he could tell, she was only winding him up. He hoped.

  ‘Hmmm, I still don’t think it’s right. You should be at least looking out for that special someone.’ she said with finality and a cheeky smile, then sauntered off.

  Nick thought of the woman he saved. He didn’t even know her, never got her name, but she was beautiful. Her face was imprinted in his mind and he felt warmth throughout his body in thought of her.

  Before the shift was over, he mulled over asking Michael if he’d noticed anything out of the ordinary with Tom recently, but his conscience stopped him as Tom had made it clear that it was personal. It would have been inconsiderate to arouse suspicion when he obviously didn’t want to share whatever it was with everyone he knew. I’ll just have to wait and find out.

  Nick put more effort into his dinner that evening than the usual sling-it-in-the-oven or microwave meal. He had a chicken and mushroom pasta bake with Parmesan cheese. The effort paid off and he dwelled on why he didn’t prepare his own food more often (and came to the conclusion that he couldn’t afford to buy ingredients all the time, that’s why!).

  Thursday was approaching, and Nick was due to see Caroline. He was in such a light mood that he considered not going. He even pondered cancelling the therapy sessions altogether, but that would be a bit rash. It was just that he felt so much happier since having a premonition. He knew in his heart that it meant something, but he didn’t know what, yet.

  He attempted to meditate again, knowing he was a tad desperate to have another vision. He tried to recall how it happened the first time: He was in Creaky Crystals, lazily and half-heartedly meditating instead of working… and then he was daydreaming. Well, he thought he was, but he was actually seeing the future. Maybe I’m trying too hard this time?

  For over an hour he let himself relax, hoping a vision would come to him, but nothing happened.

  Then images flashed in front of him: flowers, cobbles, a wall, rain, soggy black hair, pictures, flowers, the lower grounds, flowers, notes, flowers, Creaky Crystals, bouquets of flowers, tears.

  There were fleeting sounds, he felt the imagery, sharp but too quick to grasp. There, then gone. Rapid, stinging.

  A painful throb entered his skull; he opened his eyes and groaned. He dropped his heavy head into his hands and squeezed both eyes shut as if it would force the splitting headache away.

  Arrghh! What the hell was that?

  Chapter 4

  Juliet Maystone was becoming disconcerted. She had thought that the strange happenings would have stopped by now.

  She was wrong.

  The night of the incident, an ethereal voice filled her room as she tried to sleep. It sounded like it tried to say something: ‘Allld… Gre…’, ‘Saam… Cr…’, but Juliet smothered her head and ears under a pillow and forced herself to sleep.

  The next morning, she dropped her cup of coffee, and the mug smashed when a shadow flittered across the tiled floor of her kitchen. It was as if someone had run past her.

  When nothing more happened for the rest of the morning, she returned to her rational and realistic grasp on reality. After thirty minutes on her treadmill, she went house shopping, returned home, then stocked her fridge and freezer. She wasn’t frugal: everything was bought in surfeit, so the refrigerator was crammed. She couldn’t possibly get through all the food alone but at least she had the option of variety.

  Being in her empty house kindled loneliness in her. She resolved to call her parents.

  The dial tone rang for an age before an answer came.

  ‘Hello, Juliet Maystone!’ her mother answered, elongating every sound.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ she said, and paused, as if waiting for permission to say more.

  ‘How are you my angel?’ the word ‘angel’ became ‘ayyyngel’.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum; I was just thinking of you and Dad and thought I would call,’

  ‘Aw, sweetie, how lovely.’ her mother said mechanically, ‘You’re most welcome to come and visit.’

  ‘I’ll see when I can.’ Juliet said. Her parents lived in Marbella, Spain. It wasn’t hard to travel there but Juliet liked to keep herself busy, and she had Chanton Hillview to manage.

  Mr and Mrs Maystone were one of the first couples to win the UK National Lottery jackpot in 1994. It was a substantial amount of money, so Juliet grew up in wealth, but as soon as she turned eighteen, her parents moved to Marbella. Juliet wanted to stay in Chanton, so her parents bought her the café and gave her their house. They owned and rented property across Spain and had made profits on various investments, so the money didn’t seem to be wearing thin.

  ‘Well, let us know in advance darling. We’ll pay for everything.’

  ‘Thank you, Mum.’ Juliet was now twenty five, but when she spoke to her mother she felt reduced to the age of ten. ‘Something happened yesterday, Mum, I was almost hit by a car.’

  Juliet’s body relaxed with subtle relief; it was good to tell someone about the incident.

  ‘One second, Juliet, bear with me.’ the voice disappeared, and Juliet heard her mother talk to someone else in the background. ‘I’m back, sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I said I was almost hit by a car. It could have crushed me.’

  ‘Really? Gosh, sweetie. Well, I’ll get your dad to wire over some money. You go and treat yourself; forget all about it.’ she said in a stolid manner.

  ‘No, Mum, it doesn’t really matter. I just wanted to talk about it.’ hurt was apparent in her voice.

  ‘Well, you’re alive aren’t you? That’s all that counts.’ Mrs Maystone said dismissively.

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ Juliet held back tears. She mentally told herself to stop being so stupid and self-centred. Why should her mother care?

  ‘Anyway, sweetie, your dad’s in the swimming pool. I‘ll have to dash. Let us know if you’re going to visit. Kisses, mwah!’

  ‘Can I say hello to Dad quickly…?’ but Mrs Maystone hung up mid-question.

  Fighting off her self-pity, Juliet found a trashy novel to read and placed herself far inside of it.

  When her mind drifted back to the phone call, she rationalised that it was childish expecting a reaction from her mother anyway. Gran would have cared, she thought, Stop it, they do care.

  Finding things to do, she sketched up a new layout for the café and fantasised over the thought of redecorating the ent
ire place. She later cleaned the house, worked a shift at a local charity shop she volunteered at, went cycling, read a book on nutrition, ate dinner alone, and had a long bath. The whole time she was alert and half expecting for something seemingly paranormal to happen.

  That night passed without anything strange happening. On Sunday, she did some garden keeping and then spent the rest of her day practicing Spanish, and working on an assignment for a Diet and Nutrition home-study course she’d enrolled on a few months ago.

  The home-study course was purely out of interest but some of what she’d learnt so far was useful for the café too. Learning Spanish was a practicality so she could have better experiences when visiting her parents.

  On Monday morning, she was in the kitchen, filling the kettle with water. Her mind was on the car incident and how lucky she was to be alive. With a smile, she looked up at her reflection in the kitchen window. The only problem was: the reflection she saw wasn’t her own. Somebody else’s face was on Juliet’s body, and it looked back at her.

  Throwing herself backwards, she screamed and fell onto the kitchen floor. The impact hurt her wrists, but there was no time for self-pity.

  When she stood back up, the reflection was her own again. She touched her face to validate that it was hers. She then rotated her wrists to wrinkle out the pain caused from saving her fall.

  As she turned to leave the kitchen, she heard a voice, crystal-clear, ‘Help me.’ it said. A chill prickled down her spine. She ran to her bedroom. She wanted to sob, but what was the point? I can't cry, no. Covering her ears, she waited until her confidence returned. When it did, she decided to seek help.

  Remembering someone she’d heard of, she pulled out her laptop and searched on Google: Contact number Tamara Trewin Lansin Island Willow. The website she was looking for appeared. She clicked the link then read the ‘about’ section:

  Tamara Trewin, the last living descendent of the famous Lansin Island Witches. Psychic. Medium. Healer. Clairvoyant. She performs psychic readings, dream interpretations, energy healings and more. Party events are considered. Tamara also harnesses the ability to communicate with spirits: your loved ones who have passed on. To book an appointment with Tamara, call the contact number below. Located in Willow, Lansin Island. Directions can be given over the phone.

  Juliet squandered no time. She booked an appointment to see the medium, and as if by fate, Tamara had a cancellation for the next day. So Juliet waited.

  *

  Deciding what to wear for the appointment proved difficult; she checked both of her wardrobes and just couldn’t decide. She felt fragile, and what if the medium wanted her to do some kind of ritual dance or something? What have I got myself into? Having never been superstitious before, she dreaded the appointment and felt completely and utterly embarrassed about booking it in the first place.

  There was no denying the phenomena that she’d witnessed; getting to the bottom of it was the most logical step, even if it meant seeking help from unusual sources. Or so she told herself. With that logic firm in mind, she shoved on the most basic clothes she had. After all, there was no one to impress in a little hamlet such as Willow.

  A green jumper-style hoody, black skinny jeans and fur-lined boots were sufficient. Not everything she owned was designer. She remembered to grab a pair of gloves on the way out.

  Buses to the tiny hamlet of Willow ran only one every hour and a half. Juliet almost wished that she’d purchased a car, but she had little use for one as she lived walking-distance from everywhere in Chanton that she needed to visit, and transport to Amiton town centre would run on a frequent basis.

  On arriving in Willow, she remembered the directions she was given: Facing the plaque in front of the white willow tree, follow the path to the left and it’s the second house along.

  The houses in Willow were primarily thatched cottages, some newer and larger, built to match the style of the smaller abodes that looked centuries old.

  It was a quaint place; picturesque, time moved slower in Willow.

  ‘Are you lost, love?’ a man’s voice grabbed her attention.

  ‘No, I’m just getting my bearings, I think it’s this way,’ she pointed.

  ‘Ah, visiting Tamara?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s the only reason any one comes to Willow.’ he said, matter-of-fact.

  ‘Oh, I suppose it is, yes.’

  ‘She’s a descendant of The Lansin Island Witches, you know? The ones who were burnt alive. More rightly, a descendant of some of them, you see.’ He shook his head in acknowledgement of the wrong committed on Lansin Island all those years ago.

  ‘Yes, I read that on the internet.’

  ‘The internet,’ he snorted, ‘I can’t get my head around this technology.’ He rambled for a while about people’s privacy and how technology would someday bring the end for us all. Juliet nodded along; there was no point in being rude.

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s terrible.’ she offered. Personally, she loved the internet; it was her favourite way to shop, but she couldn’t expect everyone to have the same opinion.

  ‘Anyway, I’m holding you up aren’t I? You be sure to tell Tamara I said hello.’ he smiled a pleasant but rotten-toothed smile, ‘My names Peter, she’ll know who you mean.’ he turned and waved.

  At this time of year, the white willow tree had lost some of its leaves. It was in the centre of the hamlet and almost thirty metres tall, appearing enormous compared to the little cottages.

  The day was cold and the wind nipped at Juliet’s face, but she wanted to read the plaque in front of her:

  Legend tells of a Willow tree here in the centre of the hamlet. In the 16th century, the tree was abnormally tall and lived an impossibly long life. It’s said that The Lansin Island Witches worshipped the tree, extending its life and causing it to grow over fifty metres in height. After the horrific witch-burnings on the island, the story tells of the willow tree withering and dying. No evidence has been found to prove or disprove the tale, but this willow tree has been planted here in memory of the legend and in memory of the innocent people who were burnt alive.

  Juliet had never cared much for the history of Lansin Island. With the phenomena she’d been experiencing, she contemplated if the legend could have been real; after all, stranger things had happened the past few days than an oversized tree living a long life.

  It began to rain steady drops, so she made a move and ducked her face away from the rainfall.

  Tamara’s house, to the left, two doors down, looked like the oldest cottage around. It was fairly small but the roof appeared newly re-thatched. Plant pots were dotted about and vines neatly climbed up the walls of the building. The cottage looked loved.

  With only two minutes until her appointment start time, she knocked on the door and hoped that she wasn’t disturbing an appointment already in action.

  The door opened slowly.

  ‘Hello, hello. You must be Juliet Maystone. Please come in.’

  ‘Hello. Yes, that’s me.’ she confirmed as Tamara directed her inside.

  ‘I’m Tamara, it’s wonderful to meet you. Come take a seat.’

  The room they were in had a low ceiling, wooden furniture and a floral rug in the centre. The rug seemed old, not tatty, but the design was outdated. Juliet thought of the word ‘hovel’ as she gazed about herself; though the room wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest, just small, confined.

  An open fireplace was to the far side of the room; it was lit, and it warmly clothed the room. It was cosy enough for Juliet’s standards, although she could imagine the entire place going up in flames with its thatched roof and all.

  ‘I just bumped into... Peter? He said hello and that you’d know him.’

  ‘Peter’s a conspiracy nut; he didn’t ramble for too long did he?’ Tamara asked.

  ‘No, just a little.’

  Juliet sat down across from Tamara after being offered a hot drink but kindly refusing. She noticed a large chest
in the corner of the room, and next to it was a broomstick. The chest looked hand carved with an intricately detailed pattern of flowers and leaves.

  She got a picture in her head of Tamara flying on the broomstick, but quickly batted away the image, condemning herself for being so childish and for getting into this situation in the first place.

  ‘So why did you come today?’ asked Tamara, ‘You didn’t give any information when you booked. I haven’t prepared like I usually would.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t know how to say it over the phone.’ she started, ‘And I don’t know what you can do to help. I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  She noticed for the first time what Tamara wore. She had on a dark purple robe that covered her whole body. It didn’t look as ridiculous as Juliet would have expected but it did clash hideously with Tamara’s orange hair.

  ‘Do you believe I can help you?’ Tamara asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t seem to know a lot.’

  ‘Well I know that a week ago, I wouldn’t even have thought of coming here.’ she replied, then realised how curt she sounded.

  ‘Do you not believe in the work I do then?’ Tamara’s voice was raw like a sound from the earth itself, grindingly natural, and real.

  ‘Not really… no.’ Juliet winced. None of this matched her frame of reference.

  ‘Please leave then. I can’t help you.’ Tamara glided to the front door and held it open. Juliet rose proudly to leave but as she reached the front door she expelled a heavy breath and began to cry.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Tamara closed the front door and turned to her guest.

  ‘This isn’t like me. I never cry like this. It’s not that I don’t believe in the work you do. It’s just that I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I’ve had a horrible week. I’ve been seeing things that aren’t really there, that aren’t possible. I need your help… please.’

  ‘How do you know these things aren’t actually there?’