Read A Death Displaced Online

Authors: Andrew Butcher

Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Fantasy

A Death Displaced (9 page)

Juliet wrapped up the plans with Roy, headed home, and let the remainder of the week unfold.

By Sunday, she felt
so
much better. Nothing even remotely strange had happened since seeing Tamara. She’d confirmed in her mind that it was purely stress, related to the car incident.

But the next day was Halloween. Tamara’s words itched inside her head.
The Spiritworld can be unpredictable that day. Halloween will be a vulnerable day for you.
Anxious, Juliet had a restless night, but she was also annoyed at herself for letting it get to her.

Halloween. She woke and instantly busied herself.
Just have to get past today, then I’ll be confident Tamara was wrong, a complete fraud.

Kim had invited her to Amiton to see the celebrations, but Juliet had replied saying she would rather die of boredom than waste her time celebrating Halloween of all things.

She prepared a full English breakfast, and after eating she cleaned the entire house, not that there was a speck of dirt to be found anyway.

It only took her to mid-day before she ran out of house chores. Going in to help at Chanton Hillview would have been ideal, but she didn’t want to see it in progress. Leaving Roy in charge of the whole project was actually so she could jump straight to seeing the end result. She wanted the surprise, a kind of gift to herself. Also, there was that ghostly incident in her office …
Better not to risk it today.

Trick-or-treating wasn’t common at her house, but she went out and bought a variety of sweets in case. When she returned home, she gathered some old clothes, DVDs, jewellery, and other items she no longer wanted: three large bags full. Then she took one bag each to three different charity shops.

Afterwards, she cycled out towards the sea. Chanton was on high ground, and cliff edge ran along the west side of the town. The north of Lansin Island was mostly steep cliffs along the coast line. Juliet took a cycle path which led her to a spectacular view of the hills.

The exercise, the picturesque scenery, and the crisp air gave her back some confidence. Early dark fell upon her as she cycled home.

By evening, she’d busied herself to the point of exhaustion. But at least Halloween was almost over.

Allowing herself to finally relax, she sat down to watch television. The local news showed footage of the earlier celebrations and highlighted the evening’s entertainment across Amiton.

In her exhaustion, her eyes started to give in. As they did, the picture on the television began to flicker. A nearby lamp post burned brighter for a few seconds and then switched off completely. The television alternated channels before the picture froze on a random image.

The half-sleep that consumed Juliet prevented her from witnessing the phenomena, but, when the window blinds swayed and clattered, the noises startled her.

Her first thought was that she was dreaming. Then the temperature dropped; she felt more awake than ever. The air seemed to swirl and howl, creating a circle, surrounding her on the sofa like a vortex.

A gentle hue coloured the room, a bitter icy blue. She wanted to run, shriek, get out of the house, but she found herself petrified.

She attempted a scream but the sound stifled in her throat.

Out of the agitated atmosphere enveloping her, a figure appeared. This time it was fully visible, unlike the amorphous shape that had appeared in her office. This was a woman, and she looked solid, real. Her eyes brown, her face pretty, her hair chocolaty.

‘Help me,’ she said, her voice an echo.

Juliet couldn’t vocalise. Breathing proved difficult and her chest painfully rose and fell.

‘I need your help.’ The woman’s empty eyes stared at her. ‘I don’t mean to frighten you, but I can’t stay long. Please listen to me.’

Finding her voice, Juliet said, ‘You’re not real … I’m hallucinating … or I’m dreaming.’

‘Even if you were, you can still see and hear me. I am real in that sense, but please, I don’t have time.’ The woman’s ethereal tone filled Juliet’s mind.

The spirit continued. ‘My name is Samantha Crystan. I need you to find my son, Nicolas. You can find him at Creaky Crystals in Amiton, find him and ask him to go to Grendel Manor. He thinks I wanted to abandon my family, but he needs to know the truth.’ The spirit conveyed no emotions as she spoke; her eyes seemed glazed and distant. ‘Tell him to go to Grendel Manor, and that he must take his …’

Juliet’s house phone rang, causing her to jolt, and as she did the spirit disappeared. The room returned to normal within a split second. Juliet blankly stared at nothing.

Her mind raced.
Nicolas Crystan, Creaky Crystals, Grendel Manor, he needs to know the truth, he must take his … take his what? What was she going to say?

‘Take his what?’ she called out, but received no reply.

Chapter 7

Nick had a nightmare last night.

In an open field it was raining, but even through the heavy downpour he could feel heat, like the intensity of an enormous bonfire. It smelled thick of smoke but was too dark to see where it came from.

Then he heard screams, but in a dream things didn’t exactly make a sound, or at least not the correct sound, though he
knew
the wails were of children in agony.

The rain stopped and he was somewhere else, an empty place; well, it was more like being nowhere than any particular location: a dark nothingness. But someone was there with him. His mum, but she was slightly out of reach

Desperately, he tried to stretch his hand out to her. She floated backwards. The faster he attempted to run, the more his legs ached and were unable to move.

He couldn’t shout or make her stop. He was helpless to do anything. Drifting, she fell out of sight into the nothingness. Then steps appeared, and Nick walked up them, hoping to be led out of the darkness. When he reached the top, though, he looked back and realised the steps weren’t designed to be walked
up.

At the bottom, where he’d started the ascent, was a pit. The smell of smoke hit him again. Enduring a choking sensation, he turned back to move further up, but a man appeared in front of him and blocked his path.

The man’s face was kind. Something about his eyes inspired feelings of safety. He put one arm around Nick’s back, directing him up and away from the pit. When they reached the top of the stairs, the man put a hand in his pocket and drew out a large knife. A beautiful knife, ancient and engraved in a dream-language Nick could not interpret. He was enthralled by the blade, admiring its beauty.

Staring at it for what felt like eternity, his eyes were finally drawn away by the appearance of his dad, John Crystan. Out of the nothingness, John walked up to the other man. The unknown gentleman passed him the knife. Nick felt happy for some reason at the knife being in his father’s possession, like it was an honour.

The man fixed his gaze on Nick’s dad, and John began to approach his son, weapon in hand. He stuck the blade deep into Nick’s stomach, and then pushed him.

Twisting and falling down the steps, his bones snapped on the way down before he landed in the pit. Fire enveloped him, pain consumed him, and that is when he woke.

Upon awakening he realised he’d slept on his arm in a position that cut off the blood flow. It had gone completely numb. Stupidly, in his only-just-woken-up state of mind, he feared his dead and heavy arm would have to be amputated. But after a short while the sensations returned, pins and needles lingering in his hand for longer than he cared.

The sheets were damp with sweat. His thoughts returned to the nightmare. Usually, he’d brush it off and go back to sleep or forget about it, but since the premonitions he’d been placing more importance on the activity of his mind.

It was nothing like the vision of the woman falling, or the recent one of the attackers; those were clear and so, so real. This dream was nonsensical and unrealistic.  But for all he knew, it could be another form of premonition. Like the way his grandmother had supposedly dreamt of her final moments.

Maybe the future was construed in metaphorical imagery, being a dream after all?

The most likely scenario was that he was over-thinking the entire thing, looking for meaning in a nightmare that was probably nothing more than a common dream-like interpretation of his fears. After all, he had dreamt of his mum being out of reach, and she was. He’d dreamt of his dad stabbing him, and although he didn’t fear that in itself, his relationship with his father could have been better. The smell of bonfire and the sounds of screaming children could be due to Halloween, and the heavy rain because it always chucked it down on Lansin Island. As for the ancient-looking blade, Creaky Crystals sold ritual knives, athames.

He could find logical reasons for everything in the nightmare, except for the man with the kind face who had led him up the stairs and had passed his dad the knife. Who was he? In the man’s presence Nick had felt complete safety, but shortly after his dad was passed the knife, they both turned against him, his dad the minion with orders from the overlord, Mr Kind-Face, to stab him.

Too creepy to think about, and he didn’t need to ponder it any longer.

He stretched and yawned, pleased to have got some sleep; working Halloween yesterday was hectic and exhausting. It always amazed Nick to see practically the whole of Amiton dressed up. Customers had heaved in and out of Creaky Crystals all day long.

The only comparison he could think of to sum up the craziness of Halloween in Amiton was the hype at Disney World, the way people bought items they would
never
purchase if they weren’t in a giant theme park. Disney World hype: buy a Mickey Mouse hat you’ll never wear! Halloween in Amiton hype: buy a set of tarot cards you’ll never use!

Nick had only been to Disney World once, with his mum, dad, and brothers when he was young. Recalling it, he thought about the way his dad was back then, and how he didn’t recognise his father in the withdrawn man he’d become.

For work, Nick had dressed as a zombie wearing a poncho and a sombrero, which had received some interesting reactions to say the least. Michael had been a vampire (surprise, surprise), Mora a witch (though it wasn’t so different to her usual attire), Janet had put on devil horns (boring), and Alan had dressed as Shrek.

Friday came around quickly. After parking up, Nick headed for Creaky Crystals. On his walk through the lower grounds, a sense of dread grew in his stomach. Ahead of him, he could make out a collection of flowers and other items propped against the bottom of the 50ft wall. He was bemused at first, and then realised what had happened. Someone had died there.

But the woman … I saved her, didn’t I?

Quickening his pace, he squinted to get a better view of the omnium-gatherum of flowers and other items. A picture of a woman had been placed there, and Nick recognised her. It was the waddling witch wannabe, the customer who’d enquired about different wands a couple of weeks ago.

She’d died here, but how? Why here, in this spot where the woman from his vision had hit the ground?

Under the picture was her name: Rowena Helen Howard.   

‘Did you know her?’ a man with short black hair asked, as he placed down a bouquet of flowers with an attached note on it, reading ‘Rest in peace’.

‘No. I work just there.’ Nick pointed a finger towards Creaky Crystals. ‘I’m about to start.’ His voice quavered.
How am I supposed to feel?
‘What about you? Did you know her?’

‘Not very well. We were in the same class at school. She was always nice to me,’ he said, looking unsure of how to feel too. ‘It’s sad. I feel awful for her family, not knowing how it happened.’

‘What did happen?’
Stupid question.
He bit his lip, frowned, and looked about. There were a couple of girls stood a few metres away. They stared sullenly down, tears in their eyes.

‘No one knows. I saw about it on the news last night. She was found here yesterday morning, but she’s too far out from the edge to have fallen. It’s like she was thrown over, or maybe … jumped.’ His face tightened and he peered down at the picture of her. ‘It’s not right talking about it here. Whatever happened, it looks like she’s going to be missed by a lot of people.’

At that point it began to rain, the sky a morbid colour. The man had pale skin and his scalp became more visible as his black hair collected the wet.

They stood in silence while Nick watched the memorial notes begin to smudge and crumple. At least the flowers would endure. He firmly wiped a hand over his hair to rinse out the soak. ‘I better go to work,’ he said. ‘Take care.’

The black-haired guy nodded goodbye, then ascended the steps to the upper grounds.

If Nick had watched the news more often, then he might have seen about this incident and would have been prepared for today, but he avoided the news because it depressed him.

Passing through the door to Creaky Crystals, he came over queasy and his thoughts swam in circles.
Is it my fault the waddling witch wannabe is dead?

Mora smiled on his entrance, and walked past him towards the front door. ‘I’m going on my lunch now, Nicolas. Michael said that someone came in to see you the other day. Ask him about it, okay?’ She spoke speedily on her exit.

Nick didn’t know who would have stopped by to see him; he wasn’t exactly Mr Social Life.

After chucking his jacket out the back, he returned to the shop floor. Michael and Alan approached him. ‘You’re looking a bit peakish, Nick! ’ Alan said, and mockingly kept his distance as if Nick were contagiously ill.

‘I’m alright. I’ve just heard about the woman who fell and died out there. It took me by surprise.’

‘Who says she fell? She might have jumped! Maybe she was pushed … maybe she was killed somewhere else, then dumped there. Or actually, she probably did fall … it’s not called The Fallend for no reason!’ Alan cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrows.

Michael interrupted. ‘That’s not cool, Alan. She only died yesterday; shouldn’t be talking about it like that. It’s not funny.’

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