Repossession

Do you ever get that feeling that there is someone there behind you, only to turn around and see nothing? Or you see a movement in the corner of your eye, but that’s just nothing too?

I do.

I sense it all the time – especially when I’m on my own at night. Like, I’m not completely alone. I feel that I’m being watched or listened to, or like someone is trying to get my attention.

It always occurs in dim or no light. Never in daytime or when all the lights are on in my house at night. It’s no wonder that people fear the dark, because in the shadows, imagination runs wild. Mine certainly does. But then, it has reason to.

I am a writer of fiction, so scenarios and events fill my waking and sometimes my unconscious thoughts. But no amount of creative character invention ever prepared me for what I am about to reluctantly relay to you. I say this with trembling trepidation that the events of the previous two weeks have challenged my reason and made me question if we are ever alone in this world.

Whether it be parallel dimensions or the presence of a de-existence zone between the here - as we know it - and the after - as we don’t; there will always be those that offer up multitudes of conjecture on the unknown. However, my personal testimony carries a chilling weight of truth regarding the previous fortnight’s wandering no-man’s land flanked on one side by the here and on the other, the after.

It was a dark and stormy night. Yes, I know, Cliché. But how else am I to tell this tale. This time of year brings many fierce weather fronts and on this particular evening, the violence of the wild weather deluge had knocked out all the power across the Eastern Seaboard. I had just finished my supper, when suddenly, I was plunged into total darkness. The only light filling the hallway and stairwell came from flashes of streaky lightning illuminating the sky as it cast jagged shadows across the walls.

Retrieving a flashlight from a kitchen drawer, I tried to turn it on, but leaving the batteries in for an eternity without replenishing them, had completely drained the energy out of their power cells. Fortunately, I remembered that I had a couple packets of large black candles and three candelabras recently picked up at a yard sale to be used in the upcoming Halloween celebrations as ghoulish decorations. Splendid in their old style of the brass objects of yesteryear, they held my flickering nightlights in perfect position.

With all three romantically gripping four candles apiece, the warm glow and comforting light provided a little comfort amongst the flashing of lightning - eerily casting darting shadows across the walls, while the following roar of tumultuous thunder shook the foundations of my house.

I had set one candelabra on the dining table adjacent to the open-plan living room. Its light managed to cover an area from the kitchen to the living room door, saving me from tripping on anything unseen. The second candelabra was positioned on a wall table out in the hallway, near the base of the staircase. My plan was to use the third candelabra for roaming the house like the ghost of Dorian Gray ready to sell his soul for eternal youth and beauty. But in my case, its purpose was to guide me safely up the stairs, so it remained on the mantle above the living room fireplace. The only current source of heat in the house - its roaring glow of embers lulled me into an early sleep, as I sat on the sofa opposite warming my hands and legs.

Without realising, I dozed off into dreamland, but was abruptly awoken by a huge clap of thunder that seemed to rattle every window in my spacious house. One window in particular - several steps from me - vibrated, signalling that it wasn’t shut tight, so I rose from the sofa and approached it, pulling the curtains back to lock it shut. As I did this, another flash of lightning lit up the inside of my living room, reflecting the room onto the inside of the glass. An icy chill ran down my spine, for in the reflection, I distinctly saw the silhouette of a human figure standing directly behind me.

A debilitating fear gripped me like a vice that slowly tightens, without a handle to release it. I could feel my heart rate increasing and my breathing becoming shallower. What was I to do? Someone had entered my house uninvited. I thought that it may have been an opportunist burglar taking advantage of the stormy dark night, so I collected as much courage as my trembling knees could muster and turned to face the interloper. My eyes darted left and right in anticipation of being accosted, but to my relief, no-on was there. The atmospheric evening coupled with a runaway imagination was playing tricks on my mind. Or so I thought. Not entirely convinced that I wasn’t seeing things not there, the oxymoron thought held me motionless waiting for movement in the shadows - cast by the flickering candles, but again, nothing. My back to the window and my front facing inwards toward the shadowy room, I felt another chill slowly creeping its way up my back, causing me to sharply swivel and face the window again, but as before, no-one was there. Suddenly another flash of bright light shot through the opened curtains and a scream rang out not more than six feet behind me.

“The light, it blinds me,” a female voice spoke in a wincing tone of pain. “Please, make it dark, make it dark.”

Complying with the stranger’s request, I closed the curtains, then slowly turned toward the direction of her voice. In a semi-dark corner of the room, I could see movement in the form of shadows flickering in synchronisation with the flames of the candles nearby, so with a deep intake of breath, I courageously approached it. But with each step closer I took, the distance between us appeared to be the same.

“It is not possible,” the female voice said in a wispy, echoey reflection of sound. “Already, the barrier between our worlds has been disrupted by the electrical energy in the air. Any further impedance will have unreliable results.”

I reached slowly for the spare candelabra to shine it toward the direction of the voice, but the light unveiled nothing. For a brief interruption in heartbeat, I questioned whether I was awake or still asleep. Perhaps, this is a dream, I spoke out loud to myself.

“You are not dreaming,” the voice answered. Look to the corner of your eye, then tell me what you see.”

I darted my eyes to my right, but nothing materialised.

“Without moving your eyes,” she continued. “What do you see in your peripheral?”

My eyes continued to strain to the right, and without moving them, I could make out the form of a female figure filling the left side of my peripheral vision. Her shape suggested that she had long straight hair – but everything else was a clouded shade of grey, preventing any further details to register in my head.

Not able to maintain the strain on my eyes, I broke concentration and in pursuit of clarification, my eyes looked over to her corner of the room.

“I can only be where you can’t look directly,” she explained. “That is the law of our physics.”

“I don’t understand,” I grumpily claimed. “Who are you?”

“Sometimes, it is easier to see me if you stare into the blank space where I am not.”

“Okay, let me try,” I replied.

I thought a broader perspective of my surroundings would be achieved if I stared directly at the floor in the middle of the room, so I concentrated my attention to an open patch of the parquet floor.

“You learn fast,” she said. “What do you see, now?”

Without breaking my gaze, I could make out items of clothing, along with colours; however, she was out of focus. Like a camera trying to use too powerful a zoom to look at the moon, she appeared jiggly – for want of a better word.

“We can never be in full focus from your side,” she explained.

“From my side?” I curiously enquired.

“Only when you enter our domain, can you really know us.”

“You use the terms We and our side,” I pointed out. “Where are you?”

“I have unveiled too much already,” her voice began to trail away, but her image in my off sight remained in the same place.

Up until I could opaquely see her, I felt uncomfortable with what was happening, but I curiously found myself getting braver with every passing interaction with her.

“Wait!” I spluttered. “What is your name?”

“Ivy,” she quietly replied – following a moment’s hesitation.

I reasoned with myself that keeping her engaged in conversation would allow me to understand this strange experience that I still could not bring myself to comprehend.

“Where are you from, Ivy?” I asked before realising my lack of manners. “I beg your pardon, Ivy. My name is Joseph, and this is my house that you have interloped on.”

Her reply came as a mild shock to my senses. I had not anticipated such a startling revelation.

“I too dwelled within these walls from an infant until my untimely passing.”

“But I have lived in this house for nearly thirty years, Ivy. When did you last reside here?”

I expected her to say that she had been the previous occupier. That she had met an early end for whatever reason, but she remained intently silent, like she did not want to divulge anything further.

I had bought the house in a distress sale public auction, so had not been provided any history of previous owners – nor was I that interested in those who had lived here in the house’s one hundred and fifty years of standing. I am a person of the here and now, and not one of reminiscent pursuits of melancholic inquisitory practices. To me, the house was mine and had always been. The large amount of money I spent on renovations stamped my seal on its ownership and possession. So, this eery conversation had certainly taken me by surprise.

I sensed Ivy was grappling with something, like she needed to work at recalling her past.

“Time is an illusion,” her distracted answer threw my train of thought out of my head and toward another direction.”

“How are you here?” I altered my line of enquiry.

“The storm,” she replied without hesitating. “It alters realities. It creates fissures where our worlds collide and crack – opening portals in the illusion.”

My mind raced through what she was saying, trying to analyse the ramifications of a second existence living parallel to what I have always thought was singular. By this time, fear had abandoned me and was replaced with science curiosity. As a writer, I have to conduct huge amounts of research into developing my stories, so my intrigue was bristling with enthusiastic – almost self-centred hunger for unique material to possess.

“You live in the light,” Ivy further explained. “We exist in the shadows. We are aware of you, but you are seldom aware of us, until a portal opens and one or many of us fall through.”

“The lightning?” I offered up some armchair analysis in question form.

“It blinds us,” she confessed. “Makes us stumble from our chosen path and through the doorway to your world.”

I tried to steer the conversation toward finding out who Ivy used to be.

“When did you live here?” I probed.

“Time is irrelevant,” she rebuked. “It is not about when, it is about who, and their desire for reclamation.”

“I don’t understand, Ivy,” I apologetically stated, while maintaining my fixed gaze at the floor.

“It is also about those that have not come to terms with their leaving,” she added.

I was about to demand that she elucidate further, when another flash of lightning, followed by a loud roll of thunder, signalled the storm was directly above us, causing statically charged follicles to raise the hairs on the back of my neck in a straight line. However, when the crash of thunder subsided, I realised the uncomfortable sensation I felt was not entirely due to the storm, because I was suddenly aware of an additional presence in the room.

“I’m sorry, Joseph,” Ivy’s unsolicited apology sent another chill rushing through me. “He wants it back. I came to warn you but not soon enough.”

“Who wants what back?” I confusedly demanded to know.

Not wanting to break communication, I continued to focus my gaze at the floor, but in the opposite side of my peripheral vision, I could make out another form – this one, male - standing beside the stone surround of the fireplace – hiding in the shadows. His form darted in agitated jerks of movement, and I could sense anger emanating from within its cradle.

“Ivy?” I calmly requested. “What is happening?”

“Time is fleeting, but he has been walking my world discontented for a long time.”

“Who, Ivy?” My tone of voice became more demanding.

“He is known as Frederick. A resident here almost as long as me – if the passage of time matters any.”

“What does he want?”

“To return to your world.”

“Can he do that?”

“I don’t know. All I know is he is determined.”

“Does he speak?”

“His anger is too concentrated,” Ivy explained. “It prevents him from communicating to you rationally.”

“But you understand him?”

“Yes. I’ve always understood his intentions. In your world, he was my father.”

“And what of your world?” I pressed for clarification.

“He is one of the unsatisfied. Familiarity supersedes relation. But I feel that I must warn you. His intentions carry nothing but malice prepense.”

I had been distracted while conversing with Ivy, and belatedly noticed that Frederick’s jagged and jittery form had moved closer to my position.

“Does he intend me harm?” I bluntly asked.

Ivy’s straightforward reply sent a shiver of panic through me.

“As he did me harm in your world, he most assuredly will mean you ill will.”

“What should I do?”

“Remain in the light,” she said. “Never walk in the shadows.”

“But won’t you both go away when daylight breaks?” I shrewdly asked.

“I cannot answer that of what I do not know,” was her twisted answer. “Once we come through a portal, we have no discoverable way back.”

Her manner of speech resembled something out of the Victorian era, so that made some sense to me. However, I was left wanting more in terms of a solution to my growing quandary.

Breaking my gaze, I quickly gathered the spare candelabra into my possession. The light – though temporary – held a key to ending my plight. It also prevented me from seeing or hearing anything from Ivy. However, I could still sense the presence in the room of both father and daughter. I could also sense that the light was acting as some form of shield, like an ephemeral force field preventing Frederick from getting any closer. I spent the next two hours quietly listening for movement, while sat on my sofa next to the candelabra, before finally succumbing to sleep.

I awoke at the first ray of light on the following morning, convinced the previous evening’s events had been nothing more than a bad dream. Opening the curtains, light shone into the room, providing warmth and a sense of safety. Some of the floor lamps were on, signifying that electricity had been restored. All the candles in the candelabras had burned themselves out, but if the previous night’s events hadn’t been a dream, then they had served their purpose and had kept me at a safe distance from the lurking Frederick.

It was when I stepped into the hallway that the nagging shiver returned to crawl through my skin. In the shadowy sections of the passageway, I could see something moving – its energy violently shaking, as it rushed at me. Feeling a gust of hot breath on my neck, I flicked the hallway light switch on, immediately halting the alarming sensation. Assuring myself that I was awake, I noticed I had broken out in a cold sweat - my forehead dripping perspiration like I had just run a 10K race. I knew right then what I had to do to stay safe. This was something no-one else would understand, preventing me from talking to anyone about it. So, for the past two weeks, I have put in place methods and reminders to never walk in the shadows and to always remain in the light – for I am being haunted.

I continue to sleep with the light on in my bedroom. In fact, I keep all the lights on throughout the night until dawn breaks. On several occasions, I have absentmindedly forgot my self-made rules, allowing Frederick the opportunity to take advantage of the lapse in my defences. The noises echoing through my house at night that I can’t explain without sounding like a madman, are a timely reminder of Frederick’s continuing presence. Angry, frustrated growls that seem to curse my name, accompanied by a gentler voice trying to calm the situation before her blood-curdling scream jolts me wide awake.

The more deprived of sleep I become, the greater the chance of error and mistake. Searching for movement through the corner of my eyes has had a negative effect on my nerves. My doctor has prescribed sedatives, but they would only aid in my loss of control and decision making. Perhaps, that is what Frederick is waiting for. Another opening. This time not of doors to another world, but for a repossession of a house from another time, no longer his…