Parallel Existence

She could not sleep at night. Instead, she slept whilst the sun
pointed an accusational finger through a chink in the curtains. In the
depths of sleep she could hear birds singing, traffic humming. She
could feel life close by and was comforted by it, although strangely
was not a part of it. Yet, there was something else. For a while now,
she sensed that something was watching her, a relentless, unblinking
gaze penetrating her sleep, troubling her, but she would not open her
eyes to meet its stare, whatever it was. She had a strong sensation
that there were others in her home because she heard voices during the
day whilst she slept and they became interwoven with her dreams so that
she did not know what was reality any more. Occasionally, she felt
someone brush past her, like a summers breeze, or heard someone bustle
into a room unaware that she was there - but one knew she was there.
One watched her all the time.

When darkness fell, she woke, and shook her head to clear the mists
that had invaded her mind. Her vision was blurred, as though spiders
had built their webs across her eyes. So cold. Her little chilled hands
trembled as she calmed her hair and wrapped her arms around her body to
try to warm herself. Stiff from the cold (had someone turned the
heating off), she slipped from beneath the covers and tentatively
placed a frozen foot on the stripped wooden floor. She cocked her head
and listened, for the darkness magnified all the sounds of the night.
Although she recognised the familiar noises of the house - every creak,
every groan, there were other sounds now - sounds she did not
recognise. She listened very carefully, holding her breath. There was
something else. Afraid, she strained her ears to listen, every tendon
in her body tensed - scared of what she might hear. The sound came to
her clearly at last. It seemed to grow louder in her ears until it
became unbearable, deafening. She knew instantly what it was - the
sound of someone breathing. It was so close, so near to her. Horrified,
she froze inside her own body. Unable to move. Like a statue she
remained sitting on the edge of the bed listening to the thick, heavy
sound of someone breathing as they slept. At last, an eternity later,
she quietly stood and as her eyes adjusted to the half-light, she
absorbed the shadows in the room. How strange this room seemed to her,
which once was so familiar. She felt lost, alone. Frowning she tried to
think. Something was not right, everything was wrong. But she could not
remember.

Downstairs, the rooms smelt differently and the furniture had been
moved. She padded softly across the hall and watched through the leaded
window as a harvest moon glided across the charcoal sky, hurried along
by an Autumn wind.

When she entered into the kitchen, the flames were still dancing in the
open fire-place and she reached out her palms towards the heat, but did
not feel the benefit of it. She sat on her haunches and gazed into the
dying embers. Eerily, she could feel it watching her, as it always did,
staring at her in a detached sort of way, almost disinterested. When
she turned from the fire and stared out into the blackness of the room,
she could see its eyes, cold, like two precious stones, and piercing.
Piercing the very soul of her. It did not move, it did not react that
she had seen it at last, its presence confirmed.

She felt as though a cold hand had closed its icy fingers around her
heart, capturing her soul within its grasp. Never before had she been
so afraid. She could hear someone screaming, someone close by, high
pitched, piercing the silence of the night.

Upstairs, Mrs Dooley woke and sat bolt upright in bed. She could hear
the screams from downstairs, bloodcurdling. She felt the blood pounding
in her head and could hear her heart thumping so loudly it almost
drowned out the screams. She could taste her own fear in her mouth,
foul and bitter. Shaking she switched on the lamp beside her bed and
the light gave instant comfort and reassurance. Perhaps it was Thomas
fighting with another cat. The screaming began again and Mrs Dooley
clutched the bedcovers violently, as though they could offer protection
against whatever was making that noise.

She had known that something was not quite right ever since she first
moved into this house two weeks ago. No matter how hard she had tried
to make it her home, someone or something prevented her and she felt
like an unwelcome visitor. She felt a coldness in certain rooms that
tingled down her spine like a warning. Thomas had taken to staring into
empty corners, watching something that no human eye could detect. He
could see it though, a sixth sense, a psychic ability that cats and
animals have to see beyond this world into the next. She shook her
head. She was being ridiculous. The screams had stopped and the silence
hung emptily on the night air with a heaviness that seemed to suffocate
her. The bedroom door swung open as Thomas crept in and jumped on the
bed beside her. She stroked him, glad he was there and remained like
that for the rest of the night, propped up in bed with the lamp on,
dozing occasionally but with her senses alert - just in case, and
Thomas sat blinking at the door, watching, waiting.

Daylight came and she fell into a sleep that was not calm, but full of
dreams and voices, memories. She tossed this way and that to rid
herself of the images in her head - that boy again calling her, calling
her with his arms outstretched. She knew he wanted her but he called
her by a different name. She wanted to cry out loud. She heard her
voice calling his name (how did she know his name?) over and over and
the terrible yearning to be with him, a longing like none she had ever
known.

Downstairs Mrs Dooley made coffee and squinted as the sun poured in
through the window like melted butter and lit up the kitchen. It was
such a lovely Autumn morning that it was difficult to believe the
events of last night had taken place. She shuddered and then chided
herself for being so silly. No sooner had she done this when she heard
someone - a woman - calling out a name over and over,

"Robbie, Robbie, Robbie".

She heard the desperation in the voice, the words catching in a sob,
and felt suddenly unafraid, just terribly, terribly sad.

The local vicar came straight away with news that shocked Mrs Dooley. A
young woman and her son had lived in the house previously and had both
died in a road accident outside. The little boy, Robert, had been
killed instantly but the woman, Sarah, had died a week later in
hospital from her injuries. He began with prayers, blessing each room.
Mrs Dooley lit a candle.

Sarah woke from a sleep so disturbed, so distressing, she could taste
her own tears on her lips. It was still daylight but the mists in her
head were not so heavy. She knew he was near, she could smell
him.

"Robbie," she whispered, suddenly remembering everything.

He stepped out of no-where, his arms outstretched and she clutched him
to her, the son she loved and had been parted from.

"I've come to get you mum" he said, "I've been waiting for you but you
came back here instead, you need to come with me now."

Nodding, she understood what had happened. She held his hand tightly
and felt the warmth of him tingling her skin as he led her to that
other place, where the sun always shone and she would never feel cold
or alone again.

Downstairs the cat flicked his tail and curled up in front of the fire,
staring into nothingness and knew that she had gone at last.