Legacy Of The Stone
Christine Anderson
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© Copyright 2011
Christine Anderson
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ISBN- 978 1 78069 003 2
First Published 2009 in paperback by Vanguard Press
First Published as an e-book 2011
E-Books Publisher
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About the Author
Christine Anderson is married to Dennis, has lived in the North East of England all her life and has been a practising spiritual medium since the early nineties. While her written work has mostly been spiritually inspired verse and philosophy, this is her first novel.
Dedication
With grateful thanks to my own Guardian, whose steadfast patience guided me along the slippery path to completion and kept the hill from becoming a mountain.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
It started with a kiss, a simple gesture placed upon his brow by a loving grandmother. It made him feel safe, offered warmth of protection, saw him off to school each weekday and to bed every night. That kiss, which he pretended to dislike as he grew older, still held great emotion for him. Though he would come to know many women who kissed him in a different way causing a stirring in his loins which flushed him with pleasurable memories, no memory would ever be as strong as that one kiss placed upon his brow by the one woman he truly adored, his grandmother.
If true to fairy stories it should have been a mother’s kiss but he had no memory of a mother and was too young to resent it. He only knew the love of his grandmother who he called ‘Nan’ and he felt no worse for it, even at school where other boys singled him out for derision, he was immune to it. The lowly back streets that he came from were filled with his friends and this gang of playmates included two who also lacked a motherly presence so he did not feel alone in that singularity.
He was wiry but strong, held his own in any fight, feared no one living and of those dead, he only feared Count Dracula. His vivid childish imagination was improved by avid reading, especially his ‘Oor Wullie’ annuals for he felt an affinity with the young boy whose escapades held moral lessons for his followers. He loved books too becoming engrossed in a good adventure, then capturing his friends’ awe-like attention as he related the story to them. He had the ‘Gift of the gab’ as his Nan would say and was full of life until he saw life taken from him, reacting with frustrated, hostile anger.
Up to that moment all the usual childhood pranks were committed, knocking on doors and running away, stealing apples from the orchard of the mansion house and stealing chocolate bars from the local newsagent’s which was his initiation into the gang that his mates had formed. He saw it as minor pilfering but his grandmother saw it differently, making him pay his penance by carrying in the coal for a full week, beating the rugs and turning the handle of the mangle while Nan fed the wet washing through its rollers, as he listened enviously to the gang playing football in the lane beyond his back gate.
All of it was done under feigned sufferance for part of him loved being with his Nan while another part of him, minute to begin with, felt different from the other boys. He could not have explained how he differed but knew that he was not like Archie, who preferred playing with the girls and their skipping ropes while the boys called him a sissy. Archie wanted to be part of the gang but something always held him back and after his fourteenth birthday when most of the gang were growing facial hair through pubescent spots, Archie’s appearance did not change. He and Rory shared a unique bond that neither fully understood; Archie was different because he liked boys in the same way that Rory liked girls but Rory was different yet did not know why. There were times when the gang hatched a plot for mischief but Rory wouldn’t play along, not that he was scared for he had proved his nerve on many other occasions and they wouldn’t dare call him a sissy. Yet if he had told them he wouldn’t take part in their plans because a voice in his head told him not to, they would have called him far worse names than sissy. He would be accused of being barmy and though he sensed he was different, he was more afraid of being outcast by them than he was of the voice. In his ‘Oor Wullie’ books there were times when the boy had a choice to make before doing a naughty deed; on one shoulder would be the devil urging him to carry out the crime and on the other shoulder would be the angel begging him not to commit the sin. Young as he was, Rory knew that the voice in his head was like the angel sitting on Wullie’s shoulder, it asked him not to do the naughty deed and up to now he had obeyed.
He wasn’t a religious child yet went to Sunday school because his Nan wanted him to and he would do anything that she asked of him; it also gave him insight into how the ‘other half’ lived – those respectable people in their Sunday best clothes which they also wore through the week, who looked down their noses at the likes of him, yet revealed the true value beneath. When he sat at his kitchen table to do homework while listening to his Nan and Mrs Preston discussing the local gossip, he recognised names that were spoken. Then he would sit in silent awe on a Sunday, looking at each respectable personage, all of them with hidden secrets that he knew of. He didn’t fully understand how these secrets affected the people concerned for pregnancy out of wedlock and illicit affairs between married folk meant little to him; he just knew that they were bad things because his Nan spoke of them in hushed tones of accusing incredulity.
He learned about ‘double standards’ or as his Nan put it ‘One rule for the likes of them and another for the likes of us’, as he marvelled at how these people could sit in God’s house without fear of punishment. He also wondered why the voice never spoke to him in God’s house, assuming that he wasn’t good enough yet wondering if God spoke to all these other folk. He didn’t realise that the voice had no need to speak to him in church where he was always on his best behaviour and as he gained in wisdom he would realise the only voice that spoke to these people was the true voice of conscience, whether heeded or ignored. All the knowledge that he gathered would come back to him as he matured, proving that mortal men have weaknesses which can ruin a lifetime.
He grew up with a great tolerance of others’ weak spots for he had tested his own and found them lacking. After his Nan was taken from him in his fifteenth year he turned his back on the voice and its advice went unheeded as he mixed with an element of the gang that, through boredom, looked for more thrills.
The gang leader was Tommy Walker whose father had served time in prison making him a hero in his son’s eyes, turning him into a latter day Robin Hood, robbing the rich to pay the poor – the rich being anyone better off than the Walkers, the poor being the Walkers themselves! Nan had forbidden him to associate with Tommy believing him to be from a bad lot and though Rory knew this to be true, when Nan was no longer there to chide, the wanton streak inside him was steered to Tommy’s side.
Archie didn’t go near the teenage gang. He feared violence and knew that Tommy would not suffer ‘queers’ in his gang because his father said they were evil creatures. Rory didn’t agree but distanced himself from Archie simply by being in the gang when Archie wasn’t; he would come to know how the sins of the father are truly visited upon the child and he began with Tommy whose own father began with petty crime. Tommy, in a fevered bid to emulate his father would strive to prove he was made of the ‘right stuff’. Rory would assist him aided by ‘Hatchet’ George Dickson, a boy taller, wider and heavier than all the gang put together.
Hatchet couldn’t read or write, having missed too much schooling, finally being expelled for fighting which gave him an elevated status in the eyes of all other schoolboys. No one picked a fight with Hatchet, he was too powerful an adversary and that power was honed earning extra money for the family by chopping logs into sticks, hence the nickname. His father worked for the local coal merchant and Hatchet was kept from school to assist until his final expulsion, when he started work earlier than the rest of his schoolmates.
That work was hard and he progressed from chopping sticks to carrying sacks of coal thus developing more defined muscles, making him look like a ‘heavy man’ so that it was natural for Tommy to claim him as a bodyguard. Tommy would progress to serious villainy, Hatchet would be his constant companion and Rory would come to be thankful that his crime spree was short-lived. But at fifteen, fresh from his mourning phase, though still steeped in grief and unable to confront it, he decided that he didn’t need to obey his Nan’s wishes.
She had dared to leave him and if she didn’t care enough to stay or even let him know where she was going, then why should he care what she thought. She had developed a bad cough and they took her to a place called a sanatorium but he never saw her again. His grandfather said she had passed away, Aunt Celia said she had gone to be with the angels but all he saw was a patch of turf with a headstone claiming that his Nan lay beneath. He would not believe it, became angry and cried in secret while his grandfather began a short-lived affair with alcohol. If he could have seen her one last time, talked with her before she left it might have helped but the voice had not given him prior warning that Nan was leaving so he stopped listening to it. Deep within he convinced himself that she was not dead, it was all a secret plot to take her away from him and that was when he came to his decision. If he could provoke her anger she would have to come back and chastise him, so he did all that he could to assist Tommy in his crime spree, wishing only that she could see how he was breaking all her moral codes. He did everything he could think of to undo her good work on him and it was successful because eight months later he was caught breaking into a local tobacconist’s shop. He stayed silent, Hatchet did the same but Tommy’s fear of prison loosened his tongue and they were beyond help, Rory more than his comrades.
Hatchet was seen as dim and easily led, the blame for his decline laid at Tommy’s feet. Tommy, following in paternal footsteps was lauded by his family and pitied by everyone else. Rory was the one they scorned, a good lad gone bad of his own choosing and Rory couldn’t argue with that. His grandfather washed his hands of him, Aunt Celia said it was out of character, her husband Geordie said it was only to be expected given the stock he came from. When Rory asked what that meant his grandfather, hurt, drunk and angry, told the first lie about his only daughter, Victoria – getting herself pregnant by a filthy gypsy, giving birth to Rory then running off with the gypsy when Rory was a few days old. It was a revelation to Rory for it explained his dark unruly mop of hair, his olive complexion and perhaps, the voice in his head. He had wanted his Nan to come back and discipline him but the court meted out his punishment of three years in approved school.
With Tommy and Hatchet for company it didn’t seem so bad during the day for he could occupy his mind, keep busy, avoid the bullies because he had Hatchet’s protection. But the nights were harder. He could not sleep, sure that his Nan was a drone of Dracula and while he had longed to see her again his dreams were filled with creatures so horridly deformed that he feared Nan was like them or held captive by them. He couldn’t tell anyone about the nightmares, put them down to his emotional state and prayed that the time would pass quickly.
Hatchet slept well, guarded both his friends during the day and survived unscathed but Tommy found the true horror of incarceration impossible to bear. He feared all those who sought to prove that his father was no role model, strove to avoid attack, clinging to Hatchet for safety and Rory for solace. But time did pass, they did survive it and when released, Rory obliterated every memory of the sentence from his mind, returning to his grandfather’s home on trust, vowing to get a job while proving that he could be good.
He was fortunate to get a job down the mine working alongside his uncle and knew that Geordie along with his grandfather had called in some mighty favours to get him the job now that he had a criminal record. Rory had no choice in the matter, he had to take the job to prove that he had learned his lesson and was striving to be good but it would well nigh prove to be the unhinging of his mind. Geordie would look out for Rory down the mine, acting on instructions from Celia for he was, as his grandfather often said, so much under the thumb that it was a wonder he didn’t have a flat head! Rory was just grateful to be given the chance to prove himself worthy of their trust but it was a strange place, which he feared yet could not show it for these were hard men who toiled, coughed and laughed. They knew him, knew where he had just been released from and why he’d been there, he could have no secrets here.
Some thought him a rogue, resenting the fact that strings had been pulled to get him the job but most knew and respected his grandfather. They had also known his grandmother, understood how grief had caused him to stray and were willing, like his grandfather, to give him one more chance. Before starting the job his grandfather’s instructions had been brief: he must do as he was told, give no cheek and work hard. He did his best to follow those instructions but the work was dirty; no one came up from that place clean and he ached in places he had never ached before. But Geordie looked after him, worked alongside him to show how it should be done and he built up muscle as well as experience. Though he had come through approved school he was still a boy, and the boy that went down the mine came out of it a wiser young man as his first week passed without note. His grandfather saw how hard he was trying while Geordie reported back to Celia that the lad was doing alright and all was well until Rory met Will.
The men had moved to an offshoot of the main shaft and Rory had heard them moaning about having to work in the area so he asked Geordie what the problem was. Geordie told him to pay no mind to their woes, they were simply worried about Will and when he asked who Will was Geordie told him not to worry, that he’d look out for him. But as they worked he could sense the tension rising, these men were nervous, almost afraid and masked their fear by making fun of the new boy, Rory, as if frightening him would calm them. He had listened to ‘Mind Will doesn’t get you’ with ‘Run like the wind if you see Will coming’ and their baiting did not concern him but the tension in the air did. It was tangible, so strong that he could almost taste it.
The shift had seemed to last forever and he was thankful when the final whistle blew so that he could pick up his belongings ready to head for the pit shaft bottom when he heard a voice say ‘Be strong, stand firm.’ He turned to see who was speaking and found himself alone for the men were away in front of him, while behind him was darkness vaguely illuminated by his helmet lamp. The voice had seemed familiar yet he could not quite bring it to mind for it wasn’t spoken in any local dialect but as he strove to remember it his vision was interrupted by a shadow moving in front of him. Within the range of his helmet lamp a man was walking toward him. Rory waited, allowing the straggler to catch up with him so they could continue on together. While he waited for the man to approach, he pondered over what had been whispered in his ear. ‘Be strong, stand firm’ what could it mean and how did the man closing on him manage to throw his voice? Rory was about to find out as his brain began to function and he realised that a whisper could not have been heard from that distance.
He could only stare stupidly at this coal-smeared miner who didn’t wear the regulation orange overalls but wore normal clothing instead, consisting of a shirt with waistcoat, trousers tied below the knee with string and good strong work boots. In his outstretched hand he held a Davy lamp which gave off an eerie green glow. The man was so close now that Rory could make out the gold albert chain hanging from his waistcoat pocket, the neckerchief beneath a face daubed with coal dust like Rory’s own but different in one aspect for this man only had one eye and half his head was missing! He flashed a row of pearly white teeth at Rory who was too stunned to do anything but smile in return while the man held up his lamp and peered into Rory’s face, sizing him up with his remaining eye.
Rory did not know how he was going to escape until he heard Geordie’s voice break through the heavy silence. “Rory, come on lad,” but he could not move for realisation had filled him. The voice he had heard was not from this man, it was the voice in his own head. Silent for almost three years, it had returned to bring a warning. In the past the voice had always been right, if he’d only heeded the advice it gave who knows where his path would have led but he had learned a harsh lesson from it. “Be strong, stand firm” the voice came again, no longer whispered but calmly spoken and Rory marvelled at the advice because he could not have moved even if he’d wanted to. Then the man standing before him opened his mouth to speak and Rory could smell a stench so awful that it made him retch as the man said, “They’ve got work for you to do lad. Don’t be frightened of it.” Geordie called out for the second time and Rory watched in awe as the man turned and walked away into the darkness of the chamber while calling out, “All clear this end, all clear.”
When Geordie reached him, Rory was rigid with fright, unable to move yet jumping with surprise when Geordie clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Seen Will have you?” Rory could only nod his head dumbly while Geordie put a protective arm around his shoulders and led him away along the tunnel. “Poor soul, has to spend eternity walking these tunnels just to look out for us.” Rory nodded his head knowingly as Geordie continued, “We only see him if trouble is coming, that’s why no one wants to set eyes on him. But deep down we’re grateful for his presence; it’s his way of warning us so that we can get out of here when he couldn’t, do you see?” Rory nodded again to show that he understood for he saw quite clearly and with great clarity which struck him dumb for a while. The other men, when told of his encounter, laughed and congratulated him on his induction while sharing knowing glances with each other. Geordie had said that Will only appeared to warn of danger, now they were all secretly thankful to be going off shift and were trying not to think of the consequences for the men coming on to the coal face.
Rory knew with certainty that Will had not come to warn of any lurking danger but to communicate solely with him and he made his way out of the workplace, listening as the men quietly passed on the news of his encounter. They seemed to hold him in a new respect for he had seen Will and it would make him a man. Rory knew that simply doing the hard work without complaint had earned him his grandfather’s respect. It was enough for Rory, the wage was welcome too but he handed over more than was expected so his pockets would be light, thus removing the temptation to spend it in town for in town trouble would beckon. The work was indeed hard but it served to forge his thoughts onto the future. He would not spend his working life down the pit like his grandfather had done, he wanted more and though he was unsure what that ‘more’ would involve, he was certain that mine work did not play a part in it but he kept these thoughts to himself while he ate with the family.
All talk was of Rory’s meeting with Will for Granda had known him, knew his wife and grown up children who still lived in the village. He’d been a schoolmate of Will’s. They’d started at the pit together. But Granda had not been on the shift that suffered the cave in, where eighteen men lost their lives, with most of the bodies recovered except for Will, who at twenty-five years old, left a widow and two young children. Rory felt that Granda was still saddened by the fact that he had not seen Will since his death when so many other miners had and that air of sadness seemed to hang around the table where they sat.
He was glad to leave it and go to bed but he did not sleep well that night or for many nights after for he constantly went over the meeting with Will in his mind. Though looking at Will’s face was horrifying, it was the words which haunted his dreams for he really did feel as if this dead man knew him and how could that be when he had died years before Rory was born. The words the man had spoken perplexed him: ‘They’ve got work for you to do, don’t be frightened of it’, and the confusion those words caused did breed fear in him for he was sure that Will had not been referring to the mine work but what did it mean? Telling him not to be afraid only served to unnerve him and the voice from the past became the precursor to the dream which was specific. He was in a very dark place that he did not know the way out of. As a child he had always been afraid of the dark yet did not know why but Nan let him sleep with the light on. In approved school there was no such indulgence. When it was time for lights out a small light in the corridor outside his room afforded him a dim glow through the upper pane in his door but it was enough to ease his fear and let sleep approach. When he finally came home, Celia and Geordie had moved in, taking over his old room while moving his belongings into the smaller room at the rear. He was relieved because this room held no memories of his Nan giving comfort after a nightmare or nursing him through measles, mumps or chickenpox.
This room had a street lamp outside its window so he had all the illumination that he craved but in the dream there was no light, only black darkness that wrapped itself around the victim preventing movement in any direction simply by the implication that something might be waiting in its depths. His nightmares as a child were of Count Dracula but now the nightmares had no substance other than the darkness and for the last three nights he had woken, screaming and bathed in sweat. It was Celia who first came to him and he had screamed even louder on waking because he thought his Nan had come to comfort him from beyond the grave.
The second night, Celia had come again asking if it was Will who scared him in dream state but he gave a firm denial, too scared to admit his weakness but telling her that if he could only see through the darkness he might be able to escape that dark place.
On the third night Celia came with Geordie and the concern on their faces was appreciated but what could they do? He felt so alone, afraid to let sleep come, afraid that they would think he was going mad and suspecting that he might be.
By the fourth night of entrapment he was exhausted and when he came down to breakfast the family were in the middle of a heated discussion which he caught the tail end of. Granda’s seldom raised voice was shouting, “The lad is not going to a place like that, I won’t hear of it!”
This was followed by Celia’s placating tone, “I thought it would help him, that’s all I want to do,” which was ended abruptly when Rory entered the room.
But it did provoke a talk with his Granda later in the day when he wanted to know what these dreams were about and Rory told the truth, that he was alone in a dark place with no way of escape. His grandfather said, “There must be a way out, use your head lad.”
Rory replied honestly, “I don’t know how to,” for he had racked his brains trying to find a solution but none presented itself. He was physically exhausted for lack of sleep and changing shift patterns had all served to weary him which was why he fell asleep at the work place.
He sat down to have his bait and felt so tired that sleep took him easily; no sooner had his eyelids closed than he was in that dark place. No miners’ headlamps shone here, no sound was made where seconds before he’d been listening to the banter of the men as they enjoyed their break period. The dark place was welcoming him, wrapping itself warmly around him and he almost gave in to it but the noise of the men picking up their tools to begin work again woke him with a start. He was lucky that no one noticed he had been asleep and got up to follow two other men until they branched off, leaving him at a solitary spot in the tunnel to answer a call of nature. There were no conveniences here, you sought out a private place where you hoped no one else had previously been and in this spot where he could still hear the men working yet could not see them, he did what was necessary.
He took a few moments to waken his sluggish wits but his mind was still swamped with darkness and the exasperation of it until his grandfather’s words echoed in his head ‘There has to be a way out, use your head.’ But his head ached with the frustration of it all as ahead of him he saw a glimmer of light approaching and he straightened himself ready to move off for if this was Geordie looking for him, he’d best look keen to work. If it was another miner looking for a private spot, he’d better move away for the men liked their privacy. It was different up top where they used communal showers but down here in the bowels of the earth you showed respect for a man and his motions. He picked up his gear, looking toward the approaching light, which hung low, not at head height unless this was a dwarf wearing a helmet lamp, and slowly realisation crept over him. This light hung low because it was hand held and the man carrying it knew every inch of these tunnels, even if he only had one eye in his head. He was coming toward Rory and there was no escape not that he could have run away for his legs were frozen to the spot.
It was usual to turn off your light if you wanted privacy but the total darkness that this created was too much for Rory to face and he would not switch off his light, no matter how dangerous that might be. So he had removed the helmet and placed it on top of his pick handle which rested against the wall, where it shone a beam of light up at the ceiling. This meant that Will did not need to hoist up his Davy lamp between them and stood six feet away with the lamp held at waist height which Rory felt was to spare him the gory sight of Will’s halved head. “Didn’t know you were Arthur’s lad, he’s really worried about you so I’ve come to help.” As Will spoke Rory felt the lump of emotion in his throat, fear and exhaustion surged through him as he felt the tears prick at his eyeballs. He could hear the concern in Will’s voice. “Don’t take on lad, this is my choice. See, I have my light in the darkness.” To illustrate this he swung the lamp to and fro. “You have yours.” With this he pointed to Rory’s helmet light still propped on the pick handle. “Your Granda is on the right track, use your head and use your imagination, shine your light for all to see.” He pointed again to the helmet so Rory turned, picked up the helmet, placed it on his head and turned back to find Will had gone!
He didn’t fully understand Will’s advice and his legs still felt like they were full of jelly but he felt a little easier about everything. He joined the men to resume his toil and decided it was more convenient to let everyone think that he was constipated than to tell them Will had come again. He was unsure how to broach the subject with his grandfather yet knew that he must be honest for Granda did not like lies and he had told too many in the bad days when he’d gone off the rails. So he waited until Celia had left the house to attend her meeting which she did each Tuesday and Thursday. Geordie always slipped out to the local tavern after she’d gone and ensured that he returned to the house before she did.
It was on the Tuesday evening while he and his grandfather had the house to themselves that he decided to broach the subject uppermost in his mind. “Granda?”
His grandfather looked up from his newspaper over the top of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. “Yes Lad.” His grandfather smiled and Rory knew there was no going back.
“You know the dream I keep having.” The old man put down the newspaper to give his full attention and that gesture meant a lot to Rory for this man had been a giant influence upon his life. He had played with him in childhood as a father would have done and though he knew that somewhere out there in the world his father did exist, it was this old man who had been a father to him. He was never one to chide for Nan did that but when Rory was at his worst, Granda was always there with wise words and firm fairness. Until grief overwhelmed them all but Nancy’s death was not solely for Arthur’s suffering and he made the monumental error of pushing the boy away, which was the moment that Rory’s grandfather toppled from his perilously high pedestal. Now Rory was keen to place trust in his grandfather one more time. “You said that there has to be a way out, that I should use my head.”
Arthur watched him with eager eyes. “I did lad, there must be a way out,” and Rory confessed.
“Will came to me at work, he said he didn’t know I was Arthur’s lad but he’d come to help me, he pointed to his lamp and said ‘I have my light in the darkness, you have yours’, then he pointed to my headlight and said ‘your Granda’s right, use your head. Shine that light for all to see, use your imagination’, then he went away but I don’t know what he meant. What does it mean Granda?” Arthur Sylvaby was perplexed, part of him dreaded that the lad was going insane, part of him was filled with sadness that his poor friend Will was wandering that black mine for eternity but he was glad that Will remembered their friendship and came to offer help to his grandson.
Then his mind was suddenly filled with a memory of his wife’s voice saying ‘There are more things in heaven and on earth than we can ever know’, but what would she have said in answer to the lad’s question? This grandchild of theirs, now a fine young man who she had cherished was in need of advice, but what advice should he give? As the thought was processed he was struck by another memory from the past, when Will had been lost in the pitfall and Nancy had been in the crowd of wives that waited for news. Arthur had been part of the rescue team and it had been a harrowing time for all concerned but Nancy had been the first to offer help, watching over Will’s children so that his wife could keep her vigil in vain. Nancy was a respected pillar of the community with birthing and laying out the dead as part of her duties but long after others had forgotten Will’s family, she continued to help in any way possible. When the first sightings of Will’s wandering spirit were reported it was she who said, ‘the Lord works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform and those who serve him shall be well rewarded.’ As she saw it Will’s spirit was doing God’s work in warning the men of impending danger thus preventing more disaster.
If she believed that then he had to believe it too. He had tried to help Rory but had to admit that he didn’t know what Will’s words meant. Yet how could he tell the lad that; he knew Rory was troubled and looked to him for guidance but what guidance could he give? Deep within his mind he silently begged Nancy to help him find a solution for their grandson, and, as he thought of her, all the while conscious of the lad’s eyes fixed upon him, they heard Celia enter the room. The spell was broken for Rory. Now he wouldn’t get advice and was no nearer to escaping his dilemma but Celia bustled around the room setting crockery with cutlery upon the table. “Put the kettle on, there’s a love. Geordie’s on his way with fish and chips for us all.”
He was about to get up from his chair when Arthur spoke. “I know just the person to get us the answers we need, leave it with me lad.” Relief washed over Rory for if his grandfather couldn’t help then he would find someone who could and he happily went to put the kettle on the stove.
Celia was watching her brother. “Everything alright Arthur?” She smiled at him as he rose from his chair and walked to the table where she stood.
“The lad has asked me for help that I cannot give but you know someone who can give him the answers he’s looking for. I take back what I said; he needs to go to a meeting. Will you take him?” He said the words even though he didn’t hold with them but he had asked Nancy for help and Celia had appeared so he knew then that she was the one to help Rory. His reward was the feeling of intense warmth around his shoulders, which felt like Nancy’s arms being wrapped around him in a loving embrace and he closed his eyes in remembrance, as the aroma of her perfume filled his nostrils. He recalled her beautiful singing voice that once filled this kitchen but then the spell was broken by Celia saying, “She got through to you then? Mrs Grisholme said that she would.”
He opened his eyes to smile at his sister, saying, “Yes, she got to me alright.” This was how Rory found out about Celia’s meetings, that she attended every Tuesday and Thursday evening. Granda told him that he’d given the matter much thought for Rory’s problem did need specialist help. There would be a lady at Celia’s meeting place who could help him and when she next attended she would request a ‘sitting’ for Rory. He didn’t really understand any of it but he knew that his family were trying to help him and he didn’t feel so alone anymore. The dream continued and he still felt drained of energy but his young body coped well with the lack of sleep. Though it had only been three weeks since the recurrent dream began it felt more like three months to him.
The work was repetitive and required little skill but there were dangers to be avoided so he tried to stay alert, especially since meeting Will. He toiled and waited to hear news of his visit to the woman he hoped would be able to help him. That toil involved crawling through the smaller offshoots leading from the main tunnel where the floor was covered with razor sharp shards of rock and his kneepads were a blessing. He shovelled this loose rock into the tubs but there were often larger pieces which had to be hoisted by hand and his gloves were a blessing too. Using a pick to break the large pieces into more manageable lumps caused his hands to callous despite the gloves but the skin did gradually harden and he knew that being a probationer meant he could not use a pneumatic pick like Geordie. He would eventually be shown how to use this advanced tool, if he lasted that long but he did his fair share of the work, kept out of trouble as per grandfather’s instructions, did as he was told, gave no impudence to his elders and betters for he did feel that these men were better than he could ever hope to be.
They were strong, hard men yet he had been welcomed into their extended family so he heeded Geordie’s advice on who to trust and who to ignore but was wise enough to spot the troublemakers for he had been one himself after all. His past association with up and coming villain, Tommy Walker, preceded him so would-be bullies left him alone and he only had to watch out for the shirkers who did as little work as possible. Since his schooldays he could size up a person and though he never understood how it worked, he could see through a person’s façade to see beyond the front that they presented to the world. His Nan called it instinct and it did come instinctively to him, which helped keep him away from all bad influences, giving him that unique ability to differentiate, to know that he was different in some unknown way. In this same way he knew that Archie was different to other boys while Veronica Garthwaite who always wore trousers, kept her hair cropped short and preferred to be called Ronnie, was different to other girls.
When he started to hear the voice in his head it reiterated these insights, always with an understanding edge tempered with loving warmth. Ronnie longed to be in their gang but the boys wouldn’t hear of a girl joining the ranks and though he tried to persuade them, they would not yield. He knew that Ronnie held a soft spot for him, whether it was because he fought to have her admitted to the gang or because she suspected that he knew what the others had not yet realised about her, he was never sure.
The voice in his head was finally silenced shortly after his Nan’s death and in years to come he would understand why his family had waited so long before telling him that she had gone, wishing to protect him from the pain of grief at such a young age. But it only served to make him angry, more so with the voice which had not warned him of Nan’s approaching departure and when he rebelled in the hope that she might come back to scold him, it was the voice that came to give mild rebuke which was so easy to ignore. It was a testament to his strength of will that he could ignore the sound advice the voice gave, could lie to his family and deceive them to go off the rails at his own pleasure. But he was not pleased. It had not been a happy time for the more he dared to do in order to instigate his Nan’s anger, the less he enjoyed life.
He was ashamed of his misdeeds yet had only apologised to his grandfather in the hope of having a home to come back to when the approved school spat him out. Now he was beginning to think that the dream was his punishment and working down the pit was further atonement for those misdeeds. He knew with absolute certainty that when his atonement was ended, he would do whatever it took to escape this dark place and never, ever return to it. He admired the constancy of these men who toiled in the bowels of the earth for they were truly better men than he, but he was young with a full life ahead of him and if he learned anything it was that he could do better, be a better man in a different way to these men.
He must use his head just like his grandfather said but first he needed the restorative qualities of sleep and in order for that to happen, the dream had to be stopped. Celia was the only one who could help him now and she had made enquiries at her Thursday meeting, telling him the following morning that Mrs Grisholme was willing to grant him a sitting. When he asked what that would entail she launched into a detailed explanation, which caused his grandfather to beat a retreat to his allotment. It was obvious that he still did not agree with whatever it was that Celia dabbled in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but Rory needed help so Arthur was willing to allow this if it aided the boy.
When he had left the house, Celia visibly relaxed and though Geordie was engrossed in his newspaper, Rory knew that he could still hear his wife’s voice yet allowed them the freedom to talk. Since Rory was in total ignorance of what Celia was involved in she had to explain fully just what Rory would be venturing into, and fond as he had been of doing just as Geordie was now, pretending to read while avidly listening to Nan gossip with Mrs Preston, he could not recall hearing anything like that which Celia was now telling him. Nancy Sylvaby left the house on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday evenings to go to bingo or that’s what he’d always believed but now he was hearing about a side of his Nan that he’d never known.
Celia began by telling him about the meeting place, a house on Saville’s Row in the affluent part of town, peopled by professionals like doctors and lawyers. This was a big Georgian terrace with houses that had stone steps leading up to imposing front doors, all tied to the very profession by which their owners had prospered: a doctor’s surgery, a lawyer’s practice, a dental surgery and a veterinary practice. The only property still used as a family home was that of Mrs Grisholme, a well-to-do, childless widow, and Rory was intrigued when Celia told him that this lady was a ‘trance medium’ for her voice took on an air of awe at this statement, which served to arouse Rory’s curiosity.
He was eager to know what the title meant but Celia was not to be rushed. “I’ll get to that in a minute, first I have to tell you how it all started for me. When I was fourteen my granny died of a sudden heart attack, collapsed right in the middle of the weekly wash and I had to help Arthur finish the laundry but she was gone, just like that! For the next three nights I saw her at the foot of my bed, as clear as I can see you Rory but I wasn’t afraid. I told my mother but she just cried. I told Arthur but he said I was going mad, so I told Nancy who had just become engaged to Arthur and was like a sister to me. She told me not to worry, that my granny was just showing herself to me so that I would know she was safe and I believed that with all my heart. It was Nancy who took me to Candlish Street, do you know that area?” Rory did know it because that was where Hatchet Dickson had lived but Rory had never heard him speak of a ‘Spooky Church’; perhaps he had been kept in the dark about it too.
“The house in Candlish Street was acquired by Mrs Grisholme with a select group of like minded people who shared the same beliefs, as a meeting place where many attended in secret because the orthodox churches frowned upon such things.” What things she was in no hurry to reveal so Rory had to be patient. “Your Nan took me to my first meeting there, we sang hymns, said the Lord’s Prayer and nothing scary happened. I went there hoping my granny would come but she didn’t, not that time. Nancy had been to the church lots of times and she told me what might happen but all I got was a headache. Yet she introduced me to Mrs Grisholme who said I should attend regular meetings because I was a good ‘power source’. I’ve been going to the church ever since then and we also meet at her home in Saville’s Row. I told her about your dream and she wants to speak with you, so I’ve to take you with me on Tuesday evening.” Rory could only seek more patience and hope that the weekend passed quickly.
When Tuesday evening finally arrived the bus took them into town while Celia told him that when they entered Mrs Grisholme’s home, he must sit still, keep quiet and not let her see that he was scared. Until that moment Rory had been unafraid but curious, now as they walked along Saville’s Row toward the imposing house, he began to wonder what he had let himself in for. He was nervous and his stomach churned with anticipation like it does when you know you’re going to be sick but no vomit comes – like Christmas Eve excitement, waiting agonisingly for Santa Claus to come, or the dread of knowing that Count Dracula is about to bite your neck and the sun has not yet risen. All these emotions swam around in Rory’s head but Celia said it was just nerves and he wondered if he would find that out.
They climbed the steps from the street to the sentry red door and Celia lifted the lion head door knocker, letting it fall twice, then the door was opened by a short plump elderly lady who Celia introduced as Emmy, Mrs Grisholme’s sister. She was a glum looking woman, dressed in garishly bright clothing, which gave Rory the impression that she was trying to look much younger than her years and failing miserably! She admitted them to the hall where they removed their coats which she hung on the large hallstand. Now he was inside and could no longer run away from his problem for there was nowhere left to hide. He took in his surroundings. On the right was an impressive staircase while the floor beneath his feet was ornately tiled and he could imagine servants going about their duties somewhere in this vast house, yet did not know if there were any. Celia had already disclosed to Emmy that her nephew, Rory, was expected by Angelina, but he didn’t have time to ask her who Angelina was because Emmy had opened the door to their left and was ushering them into a large reception room.
The room was lit by candles placed strategically around the outer circumference, the thick velvet curtains were drawn at the window and the furniture consisted of a long elegant sideboard against the back wall with ten mahogany dining chairs forming a wide circle in the centre of the room. Sitting in front of this sideboard, directly opposite the window in a large carver chair was a lady and Rory could tell, even though she was seated, that she was much taller than Emmy. She was slim to the build, dressed entirely in black with stark white hair cropped short and she sat firmly upright with her hands draped loosely over the arms of the chair. Rory saw her gold wedding band but his eyes were drawn to her right hand where she wore a huge red stoned ring that looked like a giant ladybird; he would come to learn that this was a scarab beetle. She seemed to be asleep which unnerved him for he imagined that she may just have risen from her coffin thirsty for his blood but Emmy was leading him to the chair directly opposite this vampire, where he sat waiting with bated breath for her to open eyes that would be red with blood.
He jumped in his seat when the vampire said, “Welcome Rory,” opening her eyes to reveal a piercing blue sharpness with warmth of welcome shining in them. The illusion was shattered for those vivid blue eyes held no vampire traits and some of his anticipation ebbed away to leave a gnawing ache in his stomach. “Celia tells me you are having troubled dreams, is that so?” He dumbly nodded his head in reply to her question. “May I have your voice, please?” She said it kindly with great patience as if she had said this phrase many times and was growing tired of it.
“Yes, that’s right,” Rory replied, struck by how timid his own voice sounded.
“Can you remember when these dreams first began Rory?” Her voice was soothing, lulling him into a relaxed state and he replied.
“There’s only one dream, it’s the same dream and it started after I’d seen Will for the first time.”
She smiled knowingly. “Ah yes, dear brave Will, who serves the Lord by walking the mine and safeguarding the men. Did you see him solid?” She must have seen the look of puzzlement on Rory’s face because she continued, “Did he look as real as you or I?”
Rory gave assent and found himself describing the first meeting with Will in vivid detail as she listened patiently while nodding her head in encouragement. She did not grimace as Celia did when Rory described Will’s caved-in skull with its one remaining eye adding the dried blood, and the stench that came from him. She simply continued to nod her head in a knowing way. When Rory paused to take a breath she asked him how he felt and he told her that he had been scared. When she asked him how he had felt physically he told the truth, that he felt nothing at all. Satisfied with this she moved on asking him to explain his dream, so he told her about the darkness, the fear of being lost in its thick palpability and she listened intently to his every word, finally saying, “Did you ask for help?”
Rory told her that he’d asked his grandfather for advice and had been told to use his head because there must be a way out but he had racked his brain without result for the dream continued. He told her about Will’s second appearance, how his grandfather was so worried he had prayed for help, that Will had come to provide that help and then she asked, “What did Will advise you to do?”
Rory began to talk fast, feeling agitated yet not knowing why. “He said that he had his ‘light in the darkness’ and he swung his lamp about, then he said, ‘You have yours’ and pointed to my helmet light.” He was now sweating, aware that he was close to some kind of revelation yet unknowing as to what that revelation would be but she soothingly told him to carry on. “Will said that Granda was right. I had to use my head, shine my light for all to see, use my imagination then he vanished and the dream keeps coming!”
He almost jumped out of his skin when Celia gently tapped him on the arm and gave him a glass of water, while Mrs Grisholme told him to, “Drink, cleanse, and replenish.”
He drank the glass dry while she held him steadily in her gaze. “What do you think Will was trying to tell you, Rory?”
It had not been his intention to shout when replying, “I don’t know!” but exasperation had the advantage of him and while he thought ‘Stupid woman, if I knew what Will meant I wouldn’t be having the dream, I’d be out of this mess by now’, his voice remained silent.
Her voice was calm yet firm enough to hold his attention. “I must say to you Rory that we all have a dark side, the part of us that is capable of giving in to evil if we allow it. We also have the light, that spark of God which illuminates our soul, the inner light which we call our spirit. Everyone can use this inner light for the greater good. Many of us can use this light within to communicate with higher spirits, those souls who have passed beyond the veil into the spirit realms. We are all shown this spirit light when we pass on but it is our choice to embrace it or abandon it. Rory, I believe you are capable of communicating with the spirit world for Will has spoken to you and told you that they have work for you to do. You heard him, you saw him and not many have the gift as strongly as you do but first we must prove to you that we speak the truth by helping you to escape the darkness.”
She studied him for a long while then said, “Do you know what evil is Rory?” and he told her that it was bad people doing bad things as followers of the devil. She asked him if he ever went to church and he told her that Nan made him go to Sunday school as a child but after her death he had stopped attending. Her next question perplexed him. “Do you believe there is a God?” and while he could not admit that he despised God for taking Nan away from him, ultimately he did still believe that there was some form of almighty power at work here so he said, “Yes.”
When she asked him if he believed that all true evil could be vanquished, his mind was filled with the image of Count Dracula crumbling to dust in the light of the sun’s rays and somewhere within him a spark of insight flickered as she asked him, “Tell me your thoughts boy.”