Things The Spirits Saw.

Things The Spirits Saw.
I think there's just one kind of folks. Folks. - Harper Lee.
I believe we are still so innocent. The species are still so innocent that a person who is apt to be murdered believes that the murderer, just before he puts the final wrench on his throat, will have enough compassion to give him one sweet cup of water.
-Maya Angelou.
Chapter One
Suspicious Signs
I have to admit: I never really liked Sutherland. Not just because I was forcefully, yes forcefully moved there, when I was five but because of the delicate but remote ambience. It was near Luton and near Hertfordshire, but not anywhere within itself.
Prior to her selling the house when I was thirteen, mum and me lived in Aunt Alditha’s house until she started to rent it out and moved into sheltered housing. We put down a deposit on the house a few months before it was sold so it was perfect timing.
Aunt’s old house seemed an age away when we moved, I missed it but I knew one day we would have to. The new house wasn’t that for away from Alditha’s but it seemed nearer to an age away when I left. The garden was nice in the new house it had a ledge which you could sit on and during the summer I would run my battered bare feet through the rich harlequin grass or weeds I couldn’t tell which was which anymore. I much preferred the old garden it was overgrown and probably much smaller but I guess I didn’t spend much time in the actual garden. There was a tree that hung over our half-broken garden fence, treading carefully I would climb into the tree when it wasn’t raining outside.
Over the years I assumed the house was abandoned and I remember writing in the tree about why the house was abandoned but as I got older I threw it out as lame and started to draw the house instead which was probably on the same calibre or worse than writing about it. The house baffled me and I was inquisitive. One day, I was sat in the tree and I am guessing it was around six o’ clock it was one of those summer days when the sun can shine and doesn’t dim for just a few hours longer. Alditha told me once is that this is because during these days the world’s vision of dreaming and actuality gets blurred and this can mean that time and space can all change in an instance. I asked my mum about it one day before I went to bed and she said it was just a quote from an old German folk tale and it was hardly true.

As I said, the day was still bright but dimming and I started to sense something. I looked up from the tree and saw a black figure moving inside the house. It was faint but you could see it just barely through the window. I shuddered and as quietly as I could, made my way back into my garden and into the house.
Today was Sunday, and it was a lazy day. Every few weeks we would visit Alditha and the day had come to go back. Aunt’s new house was dressed with antiques and looked strangely like her old one even though it was a bungalow. The chairs’ where itchy and were made of what I called carpet fabric it was patchwork and so corny it was sickening. She had had them since I had come to live in the old house and had probably become part of her livelihood.
In her wobbly voice and somewhat strict accent Alditha spoke: “When you go back do make a stop at the old house. I think there may be some stuff I left over there I didn’t mind to much when I was renting to that lovely little painter girl but I don’t like these new people- their coming in a month, from abroad. Don’t trust them.” she shook her head. “You just take them back to your house and when you next come to visit me you can give them.”
I rolled my eyes, this meant another stop and I was already burnt out.
My mother and Alditha looked engrossed in conversation so I tapped in.

“Yes I heard, the boy hasn’t been seen for a while.”
“And the saddest thing is I used to know his father and the little boy what a schön little boy, you know. The eyes, very striking looks, from his Pa.”
The conversation swerved a little and eventually me and mother made our way back into the car and on our way back.
We stopped at the house which now looked strangely alien to me as if I had never seen it before. Mother opened the door and the house seemed to echo. I yawned when we got inside.
“You can take the bus home if you want. I can see your tired Channah.”
“Maybe,” I said stretching my arms.
She nodded with a confused face then turned around. At first I thought she may have been confused because of my answer but looking back I think it may have been the cause of the urn which Alditha had not described in much detail, not to mention it could have been taken by the people which had lived in the house. She went upstairs.

I stood there for a while pondering and then decided I couldn’t be bothered to walk to the bus stop. I thought I would be help to look for it. So opposing to my mother I went down to the basement or rather cellar, I had only been down there a few times mainly because it was small, uncomfortable and always smelt damp. It was quite dark not pitch, but dark. I ran my hands across the side of the wall searching for a bump or inconsistency. When the stairs stopped I felt the side of the wall and felt something leathery and scaly. Without warning, I felt something pull me and my head banged into the corner of a wall. It ached. On the bottom left hand corner of my face I felt fingers pushing in and soon figured out my mouth was being covered by a hand. I breathed heavily.

“Don’t say a word.”
Hazed Readings
Yesterday was a blur, it was if reality and dreaming had come together into one this had convinced me altogether that what my grandmother told me was in fact true. I couldn’t believe what had happened and didn’t want to run it over in my head. Maybe unconsciously, I did.
When I went down there I was in a daze, it didn’t seem to make sense. It would have made much more sense if it was a dream and I wish it was. It all happened so fast, when he pushed me into the corner it felt like it was a gust of wind and somehow I had done it to myself purposefully. Then I felt the warmth of his hand touch my face and his breath on my forehead. I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t scared. This man he just felt like a presence not a risk.
The clack of the lock slightly worried me, but still my breathing kept it’s pace and I began breathing more lightly. He turned on the light I heard his footsteps go fade then reappear. He had turned the light on.
First I saw the back of his head it was taupe but I could tell he wasn’t that old. He had a big stature and his back was slightly hunched, his neck was fully straight. His hands were grubby and his fingertips were smudged with black dust.
His head spanned, his eyebrows were slightly pointed and his eyes were teal he seemed to have a twitch in which both of his eyes shut for a matter of seconds. His nose was slightly crooked to the right and his hair was very coarse and curly. He started walking towards me he seemed not to care that his loafers were creaking the floorboards.
“You must not tell anyone you saw me here.” He attempted to whisper.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I slipped.
“Don’t worry.”
I looked down at the floor my hand slightly shaking.
“Are you hiding?” I asked.
“I said,” He began to shout though softly.
“Maybe I am, but that doesn’t matter any to you.” He said rushing me out to the stairs.
“Wait..” I stopped him abruptly.
“I’m not going to leave until you tell me.”
He groaned clenching his fist as if holding on for dear life.
“I cannot let anyone see me, and it’s better off you not knowing otherwise..”
“Otherwise what?” I asked, I was surprised at my confidence.
“You’re in real danger just by being here now go.”
“Uh,”
“Chan….Channah, where are you?”
I ran up the stairs careful not to lose my rhythm, the stairs were slippery and I knew I couldn’t fall.
“There you are, find anything?” she asked.
“No, um.” I struggled to speak.
“Okay,” she glared at me strangely, her head twisting.
“Well I guess we’ll have to have another look when we can.” Mum sighed her eyes rolling at the same time.
I was still panting but my mum seemed to not notice, I found that incredibly hard to believe though especially because what seemed a minute ago I had been slouching and yawning.
I jumped in the car and slept for the 15-minute drive home.
Today was Monday and it was sticky. I was moist by noon and sweaty with anticipation. I had thought about it continuously throughout the morning and decided I wanted to go back to the house. I felt a kind of undying sympathy for the man his eyes seemed so tortured and instead of walking he seemed to gently waver side to side. I couldn’t help being interested.
My friend Alice seemed concerned with my behaviour’s that day and did not cease to show it. She would squint with her right eye then widen her left when I did something she consider strange like buy sandwiches and not eat them and how I did not walk to the same bus stop she did when we left school.
Everything was wet with condensation the pole and the windows. The worst thing was some of the windows were slightly fogged so it was hard to see exactly where you were. Sutherland buses are less sophisticated than most, we are probably the only county left that still use vintage buses. When the bus is about to stop the driver sounds a horn and tells the passengers which stop it is. I sometimes wonder if the bus driver is exactly the same person each time, they always seem to have the same dreary, cold voice.
The door to the house had a wooden, bare bottom but the rest was painted red with a few pieces of wood chipped off. The door was only very slightly ajar and a snippet of darkness emptied out through pure daylight. I pushed the door and it screeched and groaned open, I felt a feeble agitation within the door, the hinges seemed shaky and when I gripped it, it seemed to tilt. I left it and closed it as best as I could.
The room was congested with darkness just like yesterday, but it seemed slightly lighter. There was a door at the back of the basement but it always remained locked- it was small could hardly fit two bodies in. It had a grate at the top which was visible from the front garden. Most of it was blanketed by entangled, overgrown weeds but during summer when the sun was in the right place glimpses of light would shower into it.

A dark figure was lying curled up in the small room. It was big but baby-like and seemed to be rippling.
The door looked locked but when I twisted to open, of its own accord it swung outwards. The body was illuminated, it was celestial. I felt something grip my ankle. It was his hand. His head turned over toward me and some drivel now sat on the floor.
The odour was pungent and the smell of rich beer seemed to engulf the vicinity. I inhaled and exhaled more densely than I had when I was out in fresh air.
His eyes slowly rolled open. He stared at me for a minute. But then seemed to shake himself in a hurry.
His face was flustered.
“I thought I told you to leave yesterday and not come back. What are you doing here?” He pushed himself up on his elbows looking agitated.
“I wanted to come back, to find out why you were really here and why you were in this basement.”
He knocked his head on the pavement that layered the floor in the small room then said:
“I told you before, I can’t, now just go.” He yawned.
I was scared but started:
“This is illegal, you know.”
“Whatever you say, you’ll never understand.”
“Well tell me.” I said.
He rubbed his forehead and gently brushed through his black hair.
“I’m doing this to protect you.”
“But I don’t know you, so……” I was stopped abruptly by his standing up.
My head spanned around but my body stood in place:
“You realise the door is broken.” I said intimidated by his height.
He raised his hand and half clenched it then started to kick the wall.
Bottles of beer littered the floor, one was broken but many were still intact and the crimped metal lids lay scattered on the floor.
“Are you okay?” I asked shaking.
“Do I look okay?” He screamed, a bottle falling to the floor.
“Stupid alcohol, I am not my father; I am not my idiot father!” He shouted uncontrollably.
From the side of the room he grabbed a bottle and poured it down the grate.
Even though I knew it was morally wrong; I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t tell anybody he was there. I felt an urge to protect him. He seemed lonely and he was on an edge. I knew if I kept on pushing too far, I would regret it. At first going to see the man seemed something exciting, something fun and a secret which I could keep to myself. But soon enough it seemed more of an obligation. Rather than being scared of him, as I had been, I became scared for him.
Even though he wouldn’t tell me his name, I knew a lot about him and most of the things I knew he hadn’t told me. During the day I would sit and think about what would make him so much like this. At first I thought that he was just running away from home but this didn’t make sense and I soon realised it was something much deeper than that.
He wouldn’t talk to me, just sit there most days. For the past few days he had been rocking and wouldn’t say anything. I didn’t know where the beer came from but if there were any lying around I would pick them up and throw them away. I stopped eating lunch and instead gave him the food. He wouldn’t eat in front of me but when I came back the next day the packets would be empty.
Alice called me ‘gloomy and uninhibited’ and labelled me depressed.

Heckling Spirits

It was Thursday, the day was depressing and tiresome. Everything seemed to last longer, when you blinked it seemed to lengthen things instead of make them speed in an instant.

When I got off the bus it was grey. The wind gently froze my whole body, leaving my knees wobbling and my toes wiggling to keep warm.
When I left when I was thirteen Alditha gave me a key to the house, because I had really wanted one since I was seven. I don’ t think it had a particular meaning at the time; more of a joke than anything.
The door locked temporarily anyway, I had no idea what he’d done with it though. The room was alight but barely and the bulb eerily lurched. The basement door was open halfway and you could hear the light gently humming from inside. I walked into the basement doorway and walked down the stairs, each step was one creaky note lower than the above had been.

When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I heard the echo of my footsteps follow behind me….

My eyes were distorted and the darkness in the night sky seemed to drift into the clouds which were slowly disappearing. I closed my eyes tightly and a jolt of energy rushed through my inanimate body blocking thoughts and actions in my head. My head was fried and it felt like I was experiencing the aftermath of drilling a gaping a hole inside my head.

It was only then I noticed the head above me; the palest shade of alabaster, his eyes seemed to open up the heavens. His lips wobbled and his eyes watered.
“I am so sorry.” He mouthed, hovering over me.
He then got up and started walking and then drifted past my sight, so I raised my head from the ground. It was a cascading stream of water; his feet were in it and his fingertips were curled over the edge of rock above the stream.
I raised my head and slowly shook my legs out of their painful sleep.
I ran over to him.
“Where are we? What are we doing here? I…..” I started to get aghast and I kept on blinking every few seconds to make sure I wouldn’t let the tears come out.
“I’m sorry that I tried to do this, I’m sorry I tried to get rid of you please forgive me. I need you to forgive me.” He said his voice quivering. His head wasn’t turned around but his spine was bent and his head was rested in the palm of his hands.
“For what? How can I forgive you if I don’t know what……….”

“I tried to get rid of you for good,” I got closer to him then sat down on the edge too.
He turned his head to look me in the eye.
“I tried to k..kill you.” He spoke in breaths.
I looked down at the water and realised it was deeper than I thought it was. The water started fifty centimetres down from where I was sitting.
“Why….?”
“Because, I knew you would find out and if you did then you would……….figure it out.”
“My name is Scott Elliott and my father was Donovan Elliot the mayor for 10 years of Sutherland. To most people he was the most loveliest man that ever walked these pavements but at home he was monster, a drunken scary monster. Don’t make him angry or he’ll shout or worse.”
“My mother died of a drug overdose when I was ten she was depressed but no one knew.”
“Just two months ago, I found some boxes loads of them of Prozac in my father’s drawers. Why would he have that, why?” His eyes widened.
“He came in the room and saw me looking at them. He freaked out and started hitting me throwing me even my Mother’s lamp. He got the gun, it was in the bedside table and pointed at me, he shot two times and missed. I knocked the gun out of his hand and took it. He started calling me a coward and said I would never shoot the gun. So I did. I didn’t think about it, I thought about all those times he hit me and taunted me. I didn’t know what to do so I took the gun with me and left the body there. Alditha used to be my neighbour and when we moved she gave me a key. So I opened the house and she wasn’t in there. I didn’t want anyone to see me so I stayed in the basement.”
“I’m a murderer, a cold-blooded murder, my mother she’s probably ashamed of me and has disowned me as her son.” His face heavily creased and he whimpered.
I turned to him again.
“You’re…..”
“You’re not a murderer, there’s a difference you killed someone, but you were trying to protect yourself it’s human instinct and you can’t help give in. I think, I would have done the same if I was you.”
He didn’t reply but stopped and cleared his nose.
The palm of his hand lay flat on the ground and I put my hand over his.
For a while we just sat there but it started to get very dark, the feldgrau had changed into a rich ebony.
He got up slipping his hand. He went over to a payphone which was on a streetlight. He stood there for a few minutes speaking then put the phone down.
“I need you to play along, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Police sirens blared and three cars pulled up.
Scott grabbed onto my waist and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a gun.
“Sir, put your gun down and we won’t hurt you.” A policeman said through a megaphone he began to approach us.
“No. And if you try to shoot me then, then I’ll shoot her.”
The police man grabbed what looked like a speaker from his belt.
“Sir, I advise you to let go of that girl.”
Scott didn’t speak.
A policeman ran up to the current one and spoke.
“Scott, is that you?” The police man said.
Scott gulped.
He loosened his hands purposefully to let me go.
“Go.” He whispered in my ear.
I ran off to a police car and a police man soon came bearing a towel in his hand, he put it round my shoulder and asked what my parent’s number was, I didn’t reply.
Suddenly a bang broke the air. Scott had shot his gun but had been careful to miss anyone.
Then, a bang followed his a few seconds after but not from him. It shook my whole body and I froze.
He fell to the floor and the police rushed in.
I held my hands together, closed my eyes and prayed.
At least Scott was with his mother now.

Afterword
I hope that by reading this, you can make your own decision about it. Is this the end? I know it is implied but most, in fact all stories are open ended. You can make your own decision of what comes of the people in it.