Memory Scents (11 page)

              She’d felt safe enough to have the doors open and allow some fresh sea air to weave its way around the stagnant old cottage. Perhaps that was what had made the difference, she’d thought to herself as she put flowers in vases, lit oil burners, and unpacked the rest of her books.

              She’d not seen a soul that day and had thoroughly enjoyed having some fairly nerve free time to herself.

              Opening a bottle of wine and sitting down at her kitchen table with a steaming plate of pasta and fresh shellfish from the local shop, Chrissie let her new home envelope her. She’d even felt comfortable enough to play some music on her stereo, something she hadn’t done since she’d arrived, having found comfort and company in the television. She had felt the noise from it had drowned out the spirits that haunted her.

              The only thing that made her jump out of her chair that evening was the sudden rush of cats through her open kitchen door, as they made chase with one another in the slightly breezy late summer evening.

*

              After a shockingly peaceful night’s sleep, Chrissie, having finished making the cottage as homely as possible, sat outside with a cup of coffee and watched her garden.

She loved the transitional stage between summer and autumn where bo
th seasons amicably merged, celebrating the end of one and the beginning of the other.

              As she sipped her coffee, Chrissie glanced down towards the bottom of the garden and debated whether or not to venture into the shady area to the old brick shed. The fresh atmosphere of the house had encouraged her to explore her surroundings and wholeheartedly embrace her property without fear.

              It all appeared to be peaceful and silent and the only way to conquer it all was to face it and alter the atmosphere herself. After all, this was her house now, and whatever had happened before was in the past and that was where she wanted it to stay.

              Feeling a bit more assertive, Chrissie began to wander across the grass, making a mental note of the plants and flowers as she went by, as if by acknowledging them she would be sweeping a new ownership over the entire house and garden.

              As she approached the bowed trees which led to the clearing down to the stream she couldn’t resist the urge to quickly look behind her. But there was nothing, no horrible feeling, no cold atmosphere, nothing.

              Chrissie made her way slowly through the trees, ducking slightly to avoid catching her hair in the branches. There was the stream and the old brick shed which was secretly disguising itself as a chapel. And that’s all she could detect, except for the slight anticipation in the pit of her stomach.

              Braver still, Chrissie went towards the shed and put her hand on the large metal latch. She turned it and pushed the decrepit door forwards and stared into the empty darkness. A cold, damp breeze swept passed her face and apart from the birds singing and the slight rustle of the leaves in the trees, there was a gentle silence.

              Chrissie breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward to grab the latch on the door and pull it shut. The door seemed to be caught on the floor of the shed and as Chrissie yanked it forward she looked up and noticed the top of the door had come off its hinge.

              A vision, albeit brief, swept across her mind and the hairs on her arms lifted, magnetised by the sudden memory. It was of her falling through that very door and scrabbling on the ground in a panic, followed by a need to escape. From what or who she didn’t know. Even though the flash in her mind had been brief, she was aware of a feeling that came with the vision that someone else was there. Someone, who she was desperately trying to escape from. She sought the comfort of the cottage and ran rather than walked back to the house.

CHAPTER EIGHT

              In the morning Chrissie started preparing the dinner for the evening ahead. She just about had time to make a nice autumnal casserole for the slow cooker before her friend Sarah arrived. She’d put the previous night’s incident down to another psychic vision. Considering it had unnerved her somewhat, she’d still managed to have a fairly peaceful night’s sleep.

              She didn’t want to dwell on it too much for fear of bringing back a horrible atmosphere or attracting spirits. She didn’t understand it all, but it had made her wonder whether or not someone from beyond the grave was trying to lead her to the guilty party.

              She shook the thought from her mind and concentrated on the job at hand. A knock at the door made her realise how jumpy she’d become again.

              “Goodness me, you gave me a fright! You’re early…” said Chrissie, flinging the door open to an equally startled Sarah.

              “And you look like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Come here!”

              They hugged for quite some time and there was more to their embrace than two old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a while. Sarah was hugging her friend to give her comfort as though she’d just rescued her from falling down a cliff. Chrissie felt this emotion from her, and allowed Sarah to comfort her. The tears started and she felt like they’d flow forever.

              “Come on, let me get in and I’ll make us a nice hot drink and then you can tell me all about it,” said Sarah, shivering as she entered the strange cottage, unsure whether it was just from what she’d been told or a genuine sense of foreboding.

              After Chrissie had explained wearily every little detail of the activities that had been haunting her, Sarah insisted on a tour of the old house. They avoided the garden for the time being because Chrissie was feeling rather uneasy again. Postponing the garden had relieved Sarah. She hadn’t liked the sound of the old brick shed that looked like a chapel, not if the house was anything to go by. Sarah didn’t say anything to Chrissie, not wanting to frighten her anymore than she was, but the house had the most awful atmosphere and Sarah couldn’t understand what charm anyone could possibly see in the place. The garden and the look of the cottage, she accepted, was very attractive, but once inside it gave off a feeling of terrible foreboding.

              ”Right,” said Sarah, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and plonking herself down in it, “we need to work out whether or not these feelings are coming from you or from an outside influence.”

              “What do you mean? Of course it’s an outside influence. I’m not making it up.”

              Chrissie stared meaningfully at her best friend, praying that after all she’d told her she wasn’t going to say it was all in her mind.

              “Calm down.” said Sarah, making herself more comfortable in her chair and tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, “I didn’t mean that at all. What I meant was it could be a memory from your past that is being stirred by these surroundings or there is some sort of spirit trying to reach you with a message. I suspect it is the latter after you told me about the child that was found at the bottom of the garden.”

              “How could it be something from my past? I’d know about it, surely?”

              “Not necessarily. All our memories are logged somewhere in our brains, but we aren’t always capable of accessing them. Sometimes due to fear we block them. I wasn’t actually talking about memories from this life, but maybe you’re experiencing something that has come from a past life. And I did just say I don’t think that is the cause.”

              “I don’t know what to think anymore. Oh God, I feel like I’m going mad! You know when you feel like you’re just about keeping it all together but one little thing could cause you to tip over the edge?”

              Chrissie put her head in her hands, and Sarah sat quietly, deep in thought watching her, whilst she drained the dregs of her tea cup.

 
              ‘Why don’t you have a therapy session with me while I’m here?’ Sarah rubbed Chrissie’s arm, trying to comfort her friend.

              “Do you think it’ll work or will I just be stirring up more trouble?” Chrissie squeezed Sarah’s hand and got up from the kitchen table to get herself some tissue from the downstairs toilet, so she could blow her nose. She wasn’t sure she believed whole-heartedly in what Sarah did even though she was a professional hypnotherapist, Chrissie found some of her views hard to grasp.

“Of course it’ll help, I’m not saying it’ll be easy and it might reveal
some things that you may have to confront and deal with, but if you don’t...”

         
A loud scream caused Sarah to throw back her chair and run to Chrissie who was still in the toilet.

            “What is it!?” Sarah grabbed Chrissie.

              “It’s ok… I’m ok,” Chrissie stuttered through gasps as she gripped her chest, “it’s a bloody great black spider…”

              “You frightened the living day lights out of me! I thought there was a headless figure in here or something!” she laughed and put her arm around her friend.

              “Now, that’s not funny.” said Chrissie.

              “And neither is your irrational fear of spiders…”

*

              Tim watched his mother as she rattled on about the issues she had with the staff in the retirement home. He couldn’t quite fathom how you could so passionately love someone but detest them at the same time. He hadn’t even loved his own daughter like he loved his mother. Loved her yes, but not with the intensity that he did his mother. He’d never been able to understand that paternal bond that all his friends talked about. He just remembered having these strange, confused feelings for her, knowing that she was his daughter and he was supposed to feel this overwhelming love for her. And he’d assumed when she was born that it would be similar to the love he felt for his mother. He’d waited and waited, but nothing, other than a growing feeling of fondness because he thought she looked a little bit like him. But then she’d betrayed him and whatever love he’d had for her had dissipated like early morning mist. Unbeknownst to Tim, she couldn’t have looked anything like him; it wasn’t possible, as she didn’t belong to him.

              “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said have you? I don’t know why you bother coming to visit me at all if you’re just going to sit there and stare at the wall.”

              “I was listening Mother, I always do. I’ve told you before that if you’ve got a problem with the staff here then you must make a complaint to the manager when you see her.”

              “And what good is she going to do, pray tell? She’s just as useless as them. Don’t worry about it, Timothy, I’ll ask Eve when she comes to visit.” Daphne gave Tim one of her scathing looks and continued taking out her anger on the innocent blood orange she was peeling.

              “What’s she been visiting you for?”

              “Her in-laws have moved in here and we bumped into each other. When she pops in on them, she often comes to see me as well, if you must know.”

              “Grace never said.”

              “Why would she? It’s none of her business. So, tell me son, what have you been doing with yourself? Nothing you shouldn’t, I hope?” Daphne concentrated on the task in hand, not wanting to meet Tim’s empty gaze.

              “Oh, nothing much, just the odd boat trip to do a spot of fishing…” Tim glanced at his watch. He was finding the visit quite strained and terribly boring.

              “If you need to be somewhere, just go. I don’t want your pity and I certainly don’t want you sitting here when you’ve clearly got other more pressing things to do.”

              “Ok, Mother, I’ll see you next week.” Tim chose to ignore his mother’s sarcasm and seized the opportunity to leave. He kissed her on the top of her head, harder than he’d meant. For a second he thought she was going to topple forward off her chair, but she didn’t. She just stayed where she was as if rigour mortis was paying her a visit.

              Tim couldn’t believe how much older she looked compared to other people of her age. There wasn’t even any disease speeding up the ageing process. She’d smoked up until a few years ago, and now, she was stooped and pruned like a wizened old woman.

              He could have understood it if she’d had a hard, poverty stricken life filled with worries. But apart from one trauma that had happened before he was born, she’d lived a life which many people could only hope for.

While Tim was busy filling his head with thoughts of his mother, she was doing exactly the same about him.

              Daphne sat for quite some time in her little chair, staring at the segments of her blood orange, as if she had revealed the answer to all life’s problems inside that one piece of fruit.

*

              “I thought we’d go outside today, Daphne, get some fresh air?”