Dark Confluence (21 page)

She had sensed the
Gancanagh here also, pursuing yet another mortal woman. The woman was an odd one, small, unassuming and plain to behold, yet possessing a quiescent power. It was no wonder that she drew the Gancanagh to her, for despite her unprepossessing looks, she shone as brightly as a flame to the Fae. Moira had been in two minds as to whether or not she would be a nuisance, and then coldly dismissed her, since the mortal seemed frightened of her own shadow. Even if she could act, she would not act; despite her power, she did not have the character to do so. Stupid mortals, they were so easy to control and fool. Still, she thought, the mortal was worth watching, her protections only extended so far and she might yet be manipulated through her friends and associates. It was a pity that the old mortal man had died under his own steam, it would have amused Moira to plant the seeds of despair and horror in his mind.

Moira turned away. Soon she would be away from this human fouled place and back to the old lands where the history and essence of her kind was overlaid on every barrow and standing stone. There she could build her own court and rule over all her own kind.

*

Bill Anders from the Brisbane Channel Eight Network cursed as he tripped yet again on the footpath, this time almost falling flat on his face.

“What in God’s name is wrong with this footpath?” he growled, cursing under his breath. “Geezus, either I’m going blind or the council must be lax with their repairs. That’s the fifth time I’ve tripped in the last hour.”

“I’ve had the same problem,” said Trent. “This place is bizarre. To make it worse, I’ve been getting all these weird interferences on the audio files.”

Bill turned around to stare at his soundman, “What sort of interferences?”

Trent shrugged, “Well, you know that audio report we did yesterday on the tremor here?”

Bill nodded, “Sure, you sent it back to the station this morning, didn’t you?”

“Sure did, right on time too. Mind you, I spent most of last night trying to clean it up.” He paused and yawned, “It’s hard to tell, I mean at times I could swear I heard giggling and whispering in the background. I had to try and isolate the interferences and then edit them out, it was the devil of a job.”

“What caused it?” Bill asked.

“No idea, but it reminded me of the old crossed-lines problems we used to sometimes get with telephone landlines.”

“Hey guys, take a look at this,” Deven breathlessly called across from where he had been setting up his camera equipment.

The other two men walked over.

“What’s the problem?” Bill asked, picking up the note of fear in the young cameraman’s voice.

“You mentioned the problem with the footpath before, well take a look at this,” he indicated that Bill should look through the camera lens.

Bill peered through, “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Deven stood at his shoulder, “Tell me what you see.”

Bill squinted, “Footpath, people tripping...good, it’s not just me. Hmmm, lots of cracks in the concrete, crap job the council are doing here. Oh, and that’s odd, the fog seems less severe looking through the camera” He looked up, “Anything else I should be seeing?”

“No, now take a look around you. Do you see the same as through the camera lens?”

Bill looked around him, “Well to the naked eye the cracks aren’t that visible, and the fog is definitely heavier too.”

Deven cleared his throat, “Now take a look at the same area with this camera.” He passed over to his boss a small hand-held digital camera.”

Bill obediently peered at the screen and immediately swore.

“Hell, where did they come from?” Bill lifted the camera away from his eyes, stared again, shook his head, and then looked back to the camera screen.

“What?” asked Trent.

“Take a look for yourself,” Bill said, handing the camera over.

“Geezus! Where did all those trees come from?” gasped Trent.

Bill turned to the cameraman, “You pulling our legs, mate? Is that some kind of trick camera?”

Deven shook his head, “I wish it
was
a joke. The only thing different about that camera is that it is a full spectrum model; it can see both into the ultraviolet and into infrared. You see, I’ve always had a bit of an interest in the paranormal, love watching those ghost hunting type shows on cable telly. They use these types of cameras all the time, most usually at night, so I invested in one, do a bit of ghost hunting myself on the side; never been able to catch anything...until now.”

Bill spluttered, “Are you trying to tell me, Deven, that all those trees that are tangling and tripping people up are...are…ghosts?”

Deven shrugged, “Perhaps, perhaps not, but it does seem to be a paranormal phenomenon. You saw for yourself that they are only visible outside normal human visual range. Explain that to me.”

Bill shook his head, “I can’t explain it.”

Then Deven grinned, “Which gives me an idea for another angle we can do here - Emerald Hills, the Possessed Town.” He turned to the others, “What do you reckon?”

Trent nodded, “It’s a new angle, and we can work our experience at the hotel into it. Perhaps, we can sneak back in and try to do a bit of ghost hunting ourselves?”

Bill shuddered, his face going grey with fear, “Look, I’m all for following up on an angle, but that place really freaked me out. I’m not sure if I want to go back in there.”

Trent stared at the normally hard-nosed reporter, “That’s not like you Bill.”

Bill shrugged, “War-zones, fine, riots, I can handle, and when it comes to political shenanigans, I’m like a pig in mud – but this, paranormal stuff...it’s fringe. I’m not sure if the network will want to follow it up. Do we really want to go there?”

“It seems to be where the story is, Bill.” Trent reminded him, “After all, Deven’s camera seems to give us the proof. When was the last time that a regular news team went after the paranormal?”

“Which is my point, exactly,” Bill said. “If we do this we’re on our own. Even if we break a big story we’ll lose our serious news credentials. Do you really want to do that?”

Trent looked at him, “I’ll follow a story wherever it leads me.”

Bill glanced across to Deven, “What do you think?”

Deven grinned, “I’m keen for it. This would be like a dream come true for me.”

Bill groaned. “Ok, but first I want to run it past Mac back at the office. I know it is rare for me to go checking with a producer before we run with a story, but I’m getting the heebie-jeebies about this one.”

Trent nodded, “Fair enough mate, let’s check and see. In the meantime we can at least do some groundwork here.”

Deven indicated his camera, “I’ll keep filming with this. There may be other things that might turn up, not just the ghost trees.”

*

Chapter 18

Jen surveyed herself in the bedroom mirror. The charcoal grey suit that she had bought for client meetings was still in good order and seemed suitable apparel for attending a funeral. Grey stockings, black low-heeled shoes, and her long dark hair tied back neatly – she presented to the world a sober, almost puritanical picture. Jen frowned in annoyance. Her face seemed paler than normal, as if she was the one being coffined today and not Tom. Inexpertly, she applied a little makeup, but that made it worse than ever, now she indeed looked as if she was the end-result of an undertaker’s endeavour. Hastily, she took a washcloth and removed the makeup. She would remain pale; after all, it was not as if she was attending a party.

She glanced at the alarm clock, still an hour and a half before the funeral was to begin. There was time enough to drive into town and pick up a local paper from the news agency.

Outside the house, the mist persisted, hanging heavy and flaccid across the countryside. Already, there seemed to be a subtle change in the environment. There was now lichen growing where there wasn’t before, and a slimy, slippery surface underfoot in places where there grass did not grow or was dying off. Jen noticed more mushrooms too; most of them were the usual poisonous varieties, also other types unknown to her. The dampness clung to everything, both inside and outside the house, and Jen had spent most of yesterday scrubbing mould from the walls and other surfaces, and despite her strenuous efforts, she had awakened this morning to find most of the mould back again. At times, Jen wondered if the sun would ever shine again over Emerald Hills.

In town, there weren’t as many people on the streets and those who were there were strangers, their faces unknown to her. It seemed as if the locals were staying home, or moving away entirely. Jen hoped for their sakes that the latter was the case. Everywhere she looked, the town seemed to be showing signs of decay or malfunction. Even the traffic lights, if they worked at all, intermittently flashed red, as if their warning extended beyond directing traffic flow, onto the world at large.

She pulled up outside the newsagent, and sat for a moment in the comparative safety of the car. On the other side of the road, she watched a group of youths sitting on the footpath with a collection of half empty beer bottles at their feet. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves, and occasionally, Jen would hear a raised voice, although she could not make out exact words. Mindful of her own safety Jen furtively observed them. The last thing she wanted was to attract their attention and for them to come over to her car.

Jen frowned; there something seemed to be odd about them. Their hairstyles were shorter than usual and the cut of their clothing seemed peculiar, almost vintage. Jen wondered if they had been to a 1930’s themed fancy dress party the night before, and then spent the early morning hours drinking in the town. As she watched, they all stood up and heedless of the traffic, walked across the road; their obvious destination ‘The Royal’ on the other side of the street. Suddenly, a car barrelled out of the mist, and without slackening speed, ploughed into the entire group. Jen stifled a small scream, inadvertently, turning away as she felt her own stomach twisting and roiling as images of her own car accident flooded her memory.

Then just as suddenly, the car vanished back into the mist, and the group of youths, unharmed and unmarked, continued their careless and carefree walk across the road.

‘Ghosts!’ Jen breathed in equal parts relief, amazement and horror, and as she watched, the youths turned and looked at her, finally sensing her presence and her awareness of them. Jen froze in the car, unable to turn away, unable to look elsewhere. Silently, they gathered about her vehicle, and Jen shivered as the temperature plummeted, her breath condensing in the air before her.

Slowly, she became aware of an insistent whispering - the youths seemed to be telling her, asking her something. Her hands visibly trembling, she wound down the driver’s window so she could better hear.

“I don’t understand,” she pleaded softly, “What
is
it that you want?”

They stared at her, at first murmuring and muttering, then speaking, and finally shouting in a terrible cacophony of
noise. Eventually, three words became decipherable from the din. Jen clearly heard
‘trapped’
and
‘free us’
. Then just as suddenly, both the voices and the figures faded immediately into the mist.