Notorious - John Jones (read after .TXT) 📗

look back at him, and Adam continued to watch the screen, centred on Curio. It watched him as he screamed out in pain, then fall to his knees. Adam surged forward, his natural instinct had forced him to try and help.

“No!” said Melissa, shooting out a hand to stop him.

“Keep filming! It could be dangerous to interfere”. Adam composed himself and centred Curio again. The screen saw that he was staring at the floor. It saw him slowly look up, then get to his feet. His eyes stared at the students with hatred.

“GET OUT!” he yelled, his arm gesturing away, finger pointing. He came forward. The students scattered.

“GET OUT OF MY FARM, GET OUT OF MY FARM, NOOOW!” he screamed. He

only managed four steps before his eyes rolled upwards and he collapsed back to his knees, his hands clutching his head again. He gave another cry of pain, breathing heavily, then stared at the floor for a few moments.

 

The students were in the yard, all at various distances away from the car. They all looked at each other for answers. Eventually, Stuart edged his way back to him. Curio slowly stood up, rubbing the back of his neck as though it were aching. He looked at the students.

“That’s never happened before,” he said.

“You’re back?” said Stuart. “It’s you, Curio?”. Curio nodded.

“Yes, I’m sorry, but I need to go home,” he said. Stuart put his arm around him. Curio allowed himself to be helped to the car. Nobody spoke. They were all trying to understand what it was that they had just seen.

 

All of them believed in some aspects of the supernatural to one degree or another, so Curio’s ‘possession’ caused them to contemplate their own ideas about it. They each gave it credence and were in no doubt that Curio had some link, or connection to the unknown, to areas where science did not tread.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” said Jane from the wound down back window of the car. Curio nodded.

“If you need me again, well, just ring” he said. The car drove away, turning a corner.

They had dropped him near Leigh recreation grounds after he had told them he needed fresh air. It was only half a mile from his flat, which he slowly headed towards. Eventually, he closed the door behind him, and slowly managed to hang his coat up. The kettle was soon boiling, and he was staring in fascination at the cup he had readied. Possessed, he thought. I was possessed.

 

He guessed that his mind was not strong enough for such a phenomenon just yet. It was Curio’s psyche which had broken the link because it was unable to sustain it for more than a few seconds. With more possessions, he knew he could probably hold the connection for longer. However, his whole being came under Ted’s control, and Curio wondered just what forces he was getting himself involved with.

 

The kettle boiled and he poured himself a cup of tea. Walking into the living room, he crossed to the window and looked out at the car-park, sipping his drink. How dangerous was it? he thought. What am I getting myself involved with? His mind, he knew, was becoming more and more receptive to spirits, which meant he was gaining more ease of access into their world. It was as though his mind was a key to a door leading there. The door to the spirit world was, however, a giant steel entranceway that only the most determined and strongest of minds in the real world could open.

 

Curio did not know how wide it was. His calling to Ted had allowed him to come through directly into his mind. He wondered if other souls may venture through the entrance. Was it now possible for them to stream out and interact with him at will? He thought perhaps that each person had a metaphorical doorway to the world of the spirits. When he had discovered his ‘gift’, that was the moment when the door unlocked. To the unreceptive, untrained, maybe even disbelieving mind, it remained firmly closed. They didn’t even have a key, and the key was belief. With more experience, it would gradually open wider and wider, allowing Curio easier access to spirits. Perhaps each person's door automatically unlocked upon their death, enabling them to cross the threshold to the afterlife, to their new home.

 

Curio left a quarter of the tea on the window ledge. He was tired, and turned and walked through into his bedroom. Possessed, he thought again. He didn’t think he would be quite as fearful as he was, but there was no practice quite like experience, so he knew that should he be possessed again, he would welcome it. Curling himself up on his bed in a foetus-like position, Curio rested.

 

 

 

 

 

32

“Where are the others?” asked Malcolm, standing outside the corporate communications building. Only Melissa had turned up.

“They decided it wasn’t worth them coming. They didn’t need to be there. All I need to do is film it”.

“So he was possessed?” said Malcolm, looking rather cynical. Melissa nodded.

“Yes, he was, I’m quite certain. I know at least that that farm is definitely haunted. It’s on film. I haven’t got the tape here, but I’ll show it to you”.

 

They saw Curio walking along the pavement to them. He gave a small wave. Melissa didn’t want to make reference to what had happened to him, as it may have upset him to talk about it, if he wished to discuss it at all. If he did, then he would be the one to bring it up.

“Right,” said Melissa. She walked up the few steps and pushed open a large blue door.

Curio and Malcolm entered. They followed Melissa up a flight of wooden stairs to room B18. She walked into a small room, occupied by too many tables. On one wall there was a white board which featured a lot of numbers. There were a few algebraic equations. There were also too many plastic chairs, but Curio and Malcolm eventually settled near the back, sitting facing each other and leaning forward. Melissa stood nearby holding up the camcorder.

“Whenever you’re ready?” she said.

“Did you bring a personal item of your father’s?” Curio asked.

“Yes, I brought these”. He produced from his pocket, a pair of glasses.

“Are these alright?” Curio nodded.

“Certainly”. He took them, and closed both hands over them. He closed his eyes and brought them to his fore-head.

“I need to speak to Peter Selden,” he said. “Can you hear me?” There was a few seconds silence before he continued.

“Ah, yes. I can see you. I feel that you are a kind, mild man. I have here your son, Malcolm. He wishes to speak with you”.

“What? I thought you did the speaking,” Malcolm said. Curio did not answer, as though he was in a little world of his own.

“He wishes for you to provide him with answers as to why you…erm”.

“Killed my mother. Might as well tell it like it is”.

“Killed, his mother”.

“Is she there? Can you call her?”. Curio was silent for a few moments.

“Peter says hello, and also says he and your mother are happy together, as they were, as you knew them, in the spirit world. Your father says that if you want answers to the ‘realm of the partisan’, which will let you know why he did what he did, then travel to Liverpool, to the pier-head, to see an old friend of his. Ian. Your father says to see Ian, and give him what he wants. He is a vagabond, and will be around that area.

 

His wife left him, taking the house. He became an alcoholic, and he still is, but he will still know Peter. A sad state of affairs, really. He had such potential, but you can still give him what he requires. You’ll make him so proud. You’ll give him back his respect, his dignity. You can make him a valued enthusiast once again”. Curio then shivered, as though an ice cold droplet had slid down his back. He opened his eyes and handed back the glasses.

“Well I don’t know what you make of that,” he said, “but that’s what he said. Ian will have the answers if you travel to the pier-head”.

“Realm of the partisan? Enthusiast? What does it mean?” asked Malcolm.

“I don’t know,” said Curio. “It’s just what your father was telling me. All I can do is relay the information. What you make of it is down to you, I can do nothing else”.

“Well, you could get in contact with him again, I suppose”. Curio nodded.

“It’s not easy, and spirits do not always like to be disturbed. Granted, your father seemed the type who would not mind, and, I can try again if you wish, but not today. I have other appointments”. Malcolm nodded, thoughtfully.

“I have sympathy for you, I really do,” Curio continued, “but please understand, the price must still be the same”.

“Er…Oh,” said Malcolm, rummaging in his pocket for a £20 note. He gave it to him. Melissa stopped the camcorder. Curio stood up, and shook both their hands. “If you need me again...well, you know where I am. I’ll see myself out”. He left the room, the door closing quietly.

“If you’re going to the Pier head,” said Melissa, holding up the camcorder. Malcolm smiled slightly, but there was no humour there at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

33

“Thank you Mr Enchantment, that was excellent”, said Mrs Cassian, handing him a £20 note over the garden gate. He had given her a reading, and like most of the others, she did not question, simply took everything he said to be absolute and true. Curio thought that of himself also, so both existed in a state of blissful ignorance of the reservations that could be levelled against its validity. Doubt was a stranger in the believer’s mind.

“Can you give me another reading sometime?” she said. “Next week, perhaps”. Curio was about to say that that would prove to be fruitless, because the prophecies he had told her would be the same. When they came to pass, then another reading may be justified, but he would be telling her the same predictions and information, but, he thought, if she wants to pay for the same facts, just worded differently, then what was wrong with that? “Okay,” he said, “give me a ring”. She gave him a wide, satisfied grin, and waved him farewell.

 

As he passed by Greenoaks shopping centre, two teenage girls walked past him with big wide grins on their reddened faces.

“Hi, Curio,” one of them said, giving him a brief wave. They were obviously too embarrassed to stop, so quickly walked on, glancing back slightly before walking across the main road. Curio couldn’t help but smile. Fans, he thought. They recognised me. He walked into a newsagent’s and bought a loaf of bread and a newspaper. It was hard to not smile, even walking all the way up the flights of stairs to his abode.

 

He was soon relaxing in front of a blank television, reading the newspaper, the only sound that of the pages turning. Perhaps the story that piqued his interest more than anything else was filed away in a side column on page nine. ‘Charity worker suicide’. He read how a Miss Isabel Clemence had been talking to a volunteer in a charity shop with which she was associated. She had been on a lunch break, the volunteer standing at the till. It is reported that midway through a normal conversation, Isabel had pulled out a knife, taken out her tongue, sliced it across, and put her hand tightly over her mouth to stop any blood coming out. The volunteer had been frozen to the spot while Isabel choked to death.

After a few minutes, he was standing at the telephone. There was one message. He played it:

“Curio..please help”. The woman sounded upset, as though the very act of talking was