Notorious - John Jones (read after .TXT) 📗

be homeless. He didn’t have any kin, or any real friends who could even let him stay until suitable accommodation arose. When the vehicles came to flatten the farm, Ted had picked up a pitchfork and chased one of the workers. The man had left his lorry and ran into a hay-barn, next to the stables, in panic. He had left the handbrake off, and while Ted followed the man into the shelter, the vehicle gathered speed on a gradual incline. All Ted saw was fury. Everything around him was shut out.

 

The scared, cowering man had become even more terrified when a shadow had fallen over them. He pointed and screamed for him to look out, but Ted realised too late. The huge machine had crushed him beneath its wheels. The worker pressing himself against bales of hay as the vehicle had thundered past, crashing through the wall, to gradually come to a halt in the field.

 

Despite Ted’s demise, the only damage done to the farm was that done by the lorry. Funding for the project had been cut, and it meant that the dual-carriageway would never be built. In the story, as the students understood it, people that went there were soon leaving, as Ted’s ghost soon haunted them into leaving. He believed they had come to take his home away from him, and was also bitter about dying for nothing. The farm was now derelict, home to rodents and insects, his company.

 

The students were to try and film the spirit and basically establish whether or not there was any truth regarding the activity of any supernatural occurrences. Any evidence at all that they deemed to be mysterious, and unanswerable by logical means, meant that they would have to give serious consideration to any implications and connotations of the reality of the paranormal as they saw it, and record any deductions and conclusions they would reach in their documentary.

“How are you getting on with the equipment?” Melissa asked Stuart.

“Well, I’ve got two digital video cameras, a Geiger counter, and a Gauss Master,” “A what?” asked Adam.

“A Gauss Master. It detects energy levels around it, and makes a noise when it fluctuates.

I got it second hand in a market. Tenner, which I think was a bargain”.

“That’s it then,” said Jane. “If we’re starting this tomorrow, then surely we’re going to need more than that”. Jane was 24, had red hair, was small and thin, and wore no make-up or cosmetics that could have enhanced her looks. She even ‘dressed down’.

“What happened to that psychic we were going to ask?” asked Melissa. Nobody answered. They hadn’t given it serious thought.

“He could help us a great deal. If we have a genuine psychic there, then it may boost our marks”. Melissa was 27, tall, had dark brown wavy hair, and wore a stretch trouser suit. “Let’s just see how things go for now,” said Adam. “We might require his services if it all screws up”. Adam was 31, slightly overweight, wore thick rimmed glasses, and most of the time wore different shades of green.

“We still need to finalise exactly how much we are going to film, and what exactly we’re going to say,” said Jane, “ So I’ve written a few notes down in case you may want to say them in the event of the ghost not showing up. ‘Cos if it turns up, then that’d be great, we’ll have our doc”. She rummaged in her bag and brought out a notebook, flipped it open and rifled through the pages until she had found what she was looking for.

“Here we are. This is not like a script or anything. Say it however you like: ‘With the popularity of this place as what can be called a haunting ground, I believe that there has to be some truth in it. Not everybody can see the same apparition without it being based in reality. Therefore, the spirit of Ted Lester must still be here. Not all believers can be wrong’. There what d’you reckon?” Melissa shrugged.

“That’s a concluding statement isn’t it? I suppose I could say that, but obviously nearer the time it comes to say it, it might change”. Jane nodded. None of them noticed Anthony approaching. They all looked up when he loomed over them.

“Hi,” he said, a little nervously. Being around females was never a strong point of his. “How’s the project going?”

“Not very good,” said Stuart, “We haven’t got much equipment. We don’t really know how we’re going to go about it. I think most of it’s going to be improv, but we’ll just have to see how it goes. We could do with the ghost showing up”. Anthony was holding a newspaper, folded to a specific page. Placing it on the table, he pointed to the article.

“It’s that psychic you were going to ring. Five in a row now. He must have genuine ability, and look, there’s his number. Anyway, hope you get on alright, see you later”. He then turned and wandered away to the entrance.

 

In the foyer, Tom was waiting for Anthony while he gave the students the newspaper. Anthony crossed to a confectionary vending machine near the main entrance. He slotted in a few coins and waited for the spindle to drop his bar of chocolate.

“So how long do you think Ryvak will stay open?” Anthony asked. Tom looked deep in thought.

“I dunno. I’m hopin’ that it will close before any animals are brought in. Imagine their faces if they realised where their money is actually going”.

“So you’re definitely still going to close it?” Tom nodded.

“Absolutely. It’s my moral obligation. The money will be distributed to those charities until it closes”. Anthony retrieved his chocolate bar, and ate it as they both walked out of the building into a sunny morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

28

 

 

Curio had thought about buying some form of transport. He did not like having to rely on buses and trains. They restricted him somewhat in how far he was willing to travel. At £20 per reading, he had made, since the publication of his article, £140. Together with his jobseeker’s allowance, he knew that even a good bicycle would be expensive. As for a car or motorbike, they were still distant, but he was hopeful they would come.

 

He was stood next to a wall, bordering the car-park of a leisure centre, counting through some of his money. He had just come from a private reading at a client’s house. It went quite well, he thought, as had most of the others. Only one had wanted their money back. ‘A reading is a reading, and if you’re not happy with what I say, then I cannot help that’ Curio had said.

 

The person had accused him of being a fraud, and had enlisted the help of his wife who had been upstairs, watching a hospital programme. She had sided with Curio. He left them arguing, and still £20 better off. He was pleased with the other readings, as they proved to him that he was developing his abilities and becoming a more competent psychic. He knew that nothing beat experience.

 

Practising for a certain task or skill was all very well in preparation, but unless you experienced what you practised for, then proficiency would come a lot faster. Curio ‘knew’ he had psychic abilities, and nothing would convince him otherwise. Lack of success simply meant he was still not fully versed in its art. With practice, he was sure he would be able to access the spirit world easier, and find whoever the client required, communicate with them and convey the information. In his mind’s eye, a blurred image of the person would emerge, would relay information to give to their loved ones, and tell them things that Curio could not possibly know, according to the client.

 

He guessed that the image, with practice, would become clearer. The money certainly helped to confirm that people also thought that he had ability. The prestige received certainly helped his own convictions, helped to reinforce his knowledge that he was a unique individual with a gift. He had never had doubts, so had never had misgivings to reinforce. Curio believed and spoke his own truth.

 

The next entry in his newly acquired diary read: ‘Kimberley Elaneor-11:00am. 39 Roseacre street’. The house was situated across the road. It was a bungalow, mostly painted white. Somebody had had the bright idea to paint the roof tiles white. There was a small, neatly kept garden, fronted by a white gate and white wall. That was the place, he thought.

 

He was soon ringing the bell, and it was soon opened. A woman wearing an orange linen mix dress answered. She looked to be around Curio’s age, and if Curio had not been so preoccupied with his own agendas and certainties, he would have found her attractive.

“Curio Enchantment?” she said. He nodded authoritatively.

“Yes, you wanted a reading?”.

“Come in,” she said, stepping back to allow him in, then closed the door. The hall was gloomy, helped by the fact that the wallpaper was dark green. The only light came in through a small panel in the door, and the window above the doorframe. They both had net curtains. Curio took off his coat and hung it up.

“Through there,” she said, pointing to the lounge. He walked in and saw that the curtains were closed, and drapes were across the furniture. A coal fire smouldered, and two candles burned on the mantle-piece, creating a sombre, pleasant ambience. There was a footstool before the fireplace upon a pseudo sheep-skin rug. Kimberley followed him in. Curio simply stood there, looking around.

“Nice place,” he said.

“Yes, I thought it would help create an atmosphere, beneficial to the session”, she said. “I understand you do healing as well”. Curio nodded.

“Yes, I’m afraid a healing costs more. Altogether it’ll be fifty pounds”. Kimberley nodded. She walked through into the backroom and disappeared through another door, returning moments later with the money. He slid the notes into his wallet.

“So what’s the problem?” he asked.

“Well I’ve been feeling rather depressed lately. Ever since my husband left me, I’ve been taking anti-depressants, but I want to get off them. I’m a great advocate of natural therapies. All ailments can be cured naturally. We don’t need pills”. Curio nodded in agreement.

“Absolutely,” he said. “If you’d like to sit there,” He pointed to the footstool. Kimberley sat, facing the fire. He looked at her hair and slender figure, standing directly behind her. “If you could just give me a minute,” he said. “I need to see and feel for your aura”. Curio placed his hands palm downwards around three inches above her shoulders. He concentrated, staring at her. Eventually, he perceived a slight glow on her outline, and his hands detected sensations.

“There are slight dark patches here,” he said. “Your aura is multi-coloured, but there are black marks. This is your depression.” His hands then proceeded to slowly push away these marks. It was as though his hands were feeling through fog. He slowly waved these patches away, not considering that other feelings must also be affected. Or that the aura was a creation from his own mind. He saw that there were no more dark patches, and that her aura radiated like a vivid kaleidoscope. Not once was there any temptation to touch her skin.

“Ok,” he said, “All the negativity has gone”. Kimberley stood up, a beaming smile on her face. She wrapped her hands around him and kissed his cheek.

“Thank-you,” she said, “I feel much better”. Curio’s face had turned red, but the fire light made it look like a light shade of orange. She stood back.

“Okay, have you got some item of personal value that’s exclusive only to you?” said Curio,

“Something you’ve had for a long time. A set of keys perhaps”.

“Yes,” she said, then went and retrieved them. She gave them to him and he sat down on the footstool. He gestured to the couch. She sat opposite him, but leaned forward, watching