The Visitation

Tommy knew this place like the back of his hand. Better than the back of his hand, because for him, the back of his hand was unremarkable and so he took it for granted. That was how it was and that was how it went. He’d been born with that part of his hand and he had another that, although not identical was pretty much the same. Yes, it had grown, but it had remained unremarkable even with the criss-cross of scarring and cigarette burns. His hand would be there regardless of any interest he may have in it.

Right now, he could not see the back of his hand as he stepped carefully along the debris littered floor. He didn’t bother bringing his hand up to his face because he’d done that any number of times. He was for all intents and purposes invisible. The complete darkness had swallowed him whole and he tiptoed like a ninja in its brooding stomach.

He liked the thought of his being a ninja. He placed his feet silently upon the ground. Feeling everything cautiously before he applied any weight on his leading foot. His fingertips brushed the wall as he ventured further into the derelict stately home. Even after all of this time, he felt saddened that something so filled with character and history could be abandoned. His heart almost broke with the force of such rejection, mirroring the heart of this old dame.

And the house was a she. A matriarch who had seen it all and more. She even smelt like an old lady. There was a fragrance that might have been lavender or rose. It failed to mask something sweet and cloying. Insistent whispers of decay. An end that was being staved off. Held at bay by an incredible force of will. Tommy feared the battle would one day be lost and with it a magnificent structure that had called to him and him alone.

Tommy’s deliberate movements were necessarily quiet. He wanted to listen to the house breathing. There were other sounds here. He fancied he felt them rather than heard them. Echoes from times past. Ripples in the rich tapestry of the life that had passed through here on its way to cold graves. Soon he would be in a large room that he had decided was the ballroom. There would have once been a huge chandelier in the middle of this ceiling. A crown of sorts to upstage the tiaras and diamonds the women below adorned themselves with. The old lady outclassed the lot of them. Always had and always would. This was the natural order. There was no other way but hers.

Sometimes, Tommy heard whisps of music on the breeze. A rhythmic wheezing of the house’s lungs as it sang to itself. A hypnotic tune breathing seductively into his ear, but he always resisted the urge to dance. The floor was littered with hazards, and were he not to have a care, he would trip and fall, landing on who knew what. Hurt and bleeding. He would be in a world of pain and trouble. No one would hear his cries for help. No one would come to the rescue. He knew only too well how that felt.

This perfect isolation was why he came here. The darkness cleansed him. The danger raised his heartbeat and with it, his spirits. He was alive here. Alive in a world that was all his own. He was a guest in the old lady’s world of course. He should not forget her. Respect was due, and if she suspected that he had ideas above his station, she would punish him without a second thought. Sending him on his way. Another disappearance into obscurity.

He was half way along the wall. Probably half way by his educated reckoning. Now was the time to venture into the centre of the room. Letting go of the wall was like a child unable to swim, kicking out into the pool itself. This raised the stakes and made the adventure even more worthwhile. His breath caught in his throat as he gingerly found his way forwards with his toes. Whenever he encountered an object he paused in case it was living. Nothing ever moved here though. This was a forsaken dusty mausoleum. A sacred and eerie place that wildlife gave a respectfully wide berth to. Tommy tried not to think about that. What it was about this place that marked it out and made it separate to its surroundings. Some things were best not said for fear that the words were a spell that could not be undone.

Judging the centre of the room was nigh on impossible, Tommy knew this and yet he ventured forth anyway. In the pitch black the room took on mammoth dimensions. The promised daylight of another day would diminish it in every way, shape and form, but that was another time and another place that could not exist in this moment. A fanciful memory, as all memories are. Distorted by hope and dreams. Right now, there was magic here, but it only resided in the darkness. This was when the magic came out to play. Tommy could feel its tendrils caressing him as he made his way further into the room.

You’re back.

Tommy nearly collapsed at those words. He clawed comically at the air for a purchase that was never going to be there. He was very nearly overcome by a blind panic and a suicidal urge to turn on his heels and flee. But the shock of the sudden words before him held him in place and that inertia helped dissipate the wave of adrenaline that had assailed him and almost pushed him into near fatal action. Still he silently berated himself for his monumental stupidity.

He’d thought he was alone, but now there was someone directly ahead of him. Senselessly he peered into the impenetrable gloom. This was a further antidote to his disabling panic. His curiosity sought answers to this unexpected development. His rational brain was taking charge. Then the reality of his circumstances returned to him, “you can see me?”

I see you well.

His heart was hammering in his chest. In all the times he had been here, there had never been a moment that approached anything like this. His mind reeled and he scrabbled for some purchase. Whether that was sanity or not, he no longer cared.

“You can’t,” he managed, “that’s just not possible.”

He was answered with an ominous silence, within which he attended to the first words. You’re back. The ground underneath him slipped sideways, considered its options and then betrayed him in the most casual of manners. There was no drama here. Tommy’s demise was automatic and lacked any sense of care.

As he lay there in the tomblike darkness, his breath reminded him that he was living and his presence came back to him with each rasping note. As his motor functions returned to him he turned his head this way and that. Of the speaker there was no sign and no further sound.

In the midst of the room he was cast adrift. As lost as he ever could have been. He’d come here to escape the futility of a pointless life and now he was further away from the shore than he could ever have imagined and drifting further all the time.

“Hello?”

He launched that single word out into the ether and the shame of his efforts swarmed over him in an instant. Hungry cockroaches of despair clambering over his very being. He wanted to cry, but that would only compound the ridiculousness of his self-imposed plight. He needed to try harder and be more. That was the only way open to him now. That or an ending that he would always fight against. Fighting to survive, he caused a change to occur.

“Is this really how you greet your best friend, old bean?” Those enunciated words rang out in the room and before their echoes had subsided, there was an eerie glow.

“Now that’s better, old chap.”

The room undulated in its uncertainty. Reluctant in the glow it gave forth. There was an unprecedented change here and it was not comfortable with its becoming a passenger in the proceedings.

You have no right…

Tommy grinned, an unnatural and unhinged expression that changed his face and changed him with it. Now it was his turn to use silence. He breathed it in as though it were the aroma of his toothpaste. It was nothing at the same time as being everything.

The room shrank as it glowed all the more brightly. Shining for Tommy and for the hoard he had brought with him.

An invisible orchestra struck up as an old lady’s voice trilled, a celebration of a childhood treading the boards and singing for her supper.

Tommy knew this place better than he knew himself. His selves. The ever expanding landscape of a crowd of being that he could no longer contain nor control. He was no longer himself. And he was so much more than himself for it.

He got up and dusted himself off.

“Shall we dance?” Rupert held out his hand and smiled radiantly as he examined the back of it. It was his turn now and this was his hand. And it would remain his forever. If he had his say.

Behind his sparkling eyes, there jostled an impatient and excitable throng. They would have their moment soon enough. They knew it. Could almost taste the flavour of their freedom.

Now Tommy did cry. Sitting in the darkness of himself. Hugging his legs to his chest. Watching the eager crowd before him. His eyes alighting upon a quiet, brooding figure at the back. Bigger than the others. There was a deadly intent in that one. Something beyond murderous. When he had his turn everything would change. He would bring the change they all clamoured for. There was an excitement in that brutal certainty. Now Tommy’s thoughts of vengeance eclipsed his need to be. Burnt away the joy of his most recent adventure. His memories slipped away until all there was, was the figure he called Daddy. Soon enough, Tommy was lost in the shadow of his festering hate.

Daddy would make them pay.

He’d make them all pay.

And they wouldn’t see him coming.