The Darkness Within Read online

  “Do they ask for your help too?”

  “Sometimes.” I nodded and shuddered despite the sun that shone down on me. “I always say no because they things they ask are awful, hideous things. But sometimes it’s just so draining. Just saying no can take up all of my energy.”

  “And it’s them you don’t want in your mind?”

  “Exactly.” I nodded. “I can deal with the rest but the dark spirits get to be too much. That’s why I started drinking in the first place. They began to multiply, their voices filling my head as I tried to sleep. I soon forgot about the imaginary friends I had and the times we’d spent playing. All that I cared about was getting rid of the dark ones.” We lapsed into silence as we walked. I was still there in my mind, cowering beneath the sheets willing the voices to stop, begging for anything to release me from the torment. I’d found it a few years later and never looked back. Now that I was sober, the thought that I had opened myself up to that darkness once again sent a shudder down my spine. So far so good. I’d heard voices, but nothing like the dark desires of the monstrous spirits of the world.

  I wondered whether seeing a psychic would be any help. I doubted it. In my experience, nothing quieted the voices of the dead until I found alcohol. Plus even I, someone who understood the world wasn’t on just one plane, was a little sceptical. I’d seen all those shows about the people who pretended to be what they said and I told myself there was no way I was walking into this place and instantly going to believe whatever I was told. Yet Olivia was right, there was no harm in trying and if it helped at all, I was willing to go with it.

  We made it onto the high street where the bustle of the morning was starting. It was just after nine but already, people paced back and forth, salesmen stood in the centre of sidewalks handing out leaflets or trying to gauge interest. Shop doors stood open and the automatic ones constantly slid.

  “There it is,” Olivia announced pointing at a small doorway crammed in between a newsagents and an optician.

  I squinted as I tried to read the lettering. We closed in and I saw the words Sylvia Lee, Psychic written on the frosted glass in black lettering. My stomach churned. This felt different to anything I’d experienced recently. Going to meetings was different. Those people understood where I was coming from, mostly. A psychic was a different kettle of fish. Somehow, meeting someone who may or may not be able to read parts of my mind and understand something I was going through was both daunting and exciting. I tried to keep my apprehension to a minimum. After all, this Sylvia could be a fraud.

  “You ready?” Olivia asked, fingers wrapped around the gold handle. She paused there, eyeing me slowly.

  I took a deep breath. Would I ever be ready for this? I doubted it. I had never been ready to disclose that I heard the voices of the dead but there I was standing outside of a psychic with my best friend who had not only listened but not ran away. I nodded. “I’m ready.”

  Olivia pushed the door open and stepped into the dimness of the stairwell. I followed her in, feet moving automatically as we climbed a set of narrow steps. The door fell shut behind me with a dull clang, cutting out the sounds of the outside world. The landing at the top was bare and as I turned right into the shop, I walked through a beaded curtain in an array of dark colours. They fell together behind me, clicking together in a satisfying way.

  The whole place smelled of sandalwood. It hung thick in the air like dense fog and an immediate sense of calm washed over me. I felt my shoulders sag as I let out the breath I’d been holding. It was almost like the weight of everything I carried had been left behind that beaded curtain.

  The room was as dark as the stairway had been. The windows were blocked with blackout curtains and candles were lit around the room. Overall, I felt calm and relaxed. It was the first time I’d been in this place but I already felt at home, like I was always welcome here. I strolled across the hardwood floor, my feet tapping gently on the floorboards.

  From behind another beaded curtain at the opposite end of the room, a middle-aged woman stepped through. She wore a dress that swished around her ankles as she walked and her flat shoes padded on the wooden floor. “Good morning, ladies,” she greeted us with a warm smile. The corners of her mouth crinkled and the webbing moved up to fire off lines around her eyes. Much like the shop, Sylvia immediately set me at ease. “How many I help?” She looked from Olivia to me with dark brown eyes and I thought I saw her brow twitch in amusement.

  “We were wondering if you could help,” Olivia started, taking the initiative and taking a step forward. Her voice carried a soft quality almost as if it had been adjusted to match the ambience of the room. “My friend here, Peyton, she um…” Olivia trailed off and Sylvia’s eyes switched to me.

  “You see things?” she spoke to me directly. It was posed as a question but I knew it was a statement. She knew exactly why I was there.

  “I do. Or at least I think I do.” I laughed nervously. It felt strange to be talking about this—something I had spent years hiding through alcohol—with a complete stranger.

  “Come with me.” She motioned to a chair set up in the corner of the room. I sat down on it, sinking into the cushions. I watched as Sylvia gathered the green fabric of her dress, with the practice of someone used to sweeping up her skirts, and lowered herself into the second chair. This one, closer to the beaded curtain, was reserved for her. I got a sense that no other person sat upon it. A table was between us, small and round, a candle burning in the centre. I was barely aware of Olivia moving to the other side of me until the cushion sagged slightly beneath her slender frame. She leaned close, eager to hear what was said.

  “Tell me,” Sylvia started, watching me closely without blinking. In anyone else it would have been unnerving. In her I just knew it meant I was her complete focus. “How long have you had the gift?”

  “Gift?” I scoffed. I wasn’t sure I would call it that. More of a curse. Sylvia just nodded, ignoring my scorning use of the word, waiting for me to go on. “Well, I guess as long as I can remember.”

  “Did you ever tell anyone about it?” she asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I was always too scared. Olivia is the only one who knows.” Olivia and Jake who I’ll probably never see again.

  Her mouth crinkled into a small smile as her eyes flicked to my best friend and back to me. “Many are. But surely your parents would understand?”

  My stomach clenched and I glanced at my hands where they were entwined in my lap. “My parents passed away when I was seventeen.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her hand grasped mine fleetingly and her touch was warm. “That must have been a difficult time for you.”

  “It still is,” I admitted, taking a deep breath. “They died in a fire in our home above the funeral parlour that they owned.”

  “Your parents were undertakers?”

  “Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it?” I huffed out another forced laugh. This conversation was not going anywhere I thought it would. Instead it was pushing boundaries and testing my emotions. She just looked at me with curious eyes. Suddenly I felt hot around the collar and a lump stuck in my throat. I focused on my hands for a few minutes, grounding myself. This was harder than I thought.

  When she opened her mouth it wasn’t to agree or disagree with me. “Having the gift can be both a blessing and a curse. I suspect you are akin to both?”

  “I would say so, yeah.” I nodded.

  “And you want me to help you rid yourself of the ability?”

  “I don’t really know.” I shrugged. Was that why I had come here? To get rid of the ability? For some reason, that felt like a cheat. Giving something up would be like giving up a part of me no matter how hard I found it to deal with. “I don’t know anything anymore. I guess… I want to know that what I’m seeing is real. That I’m not crazy.”

  Her mouth curled into a smile. “I can most certainly reassure you, you are not crazy. Seeing the spirit after it leaves the body is a phenomena. Many people thro
ughout their lives will be touched by a spirit from the other realm, but you are one of a kind.”

  “What if I don’t want to be one of a kind?” My voice was a whisper.

  “There are things that can be done.” She nodded once. I felt my chest loosen and I sucked in a deep breath. So the gift could be reversed, or at least changed. It was good to know I had options. “However, I would urge you to think strongly about this. Once the gift has been altered, it will never return to its original state. There are many uses for such an anomaly in your genetic make-up.”

  “Such as?”

  “Becoming a psychic. Séances. Finishing business. Ghost hunting.”

  “Ghost hunting?” The words almost stuck in my throat as they squeaked out. I had seen plenty of ghost hunting shows in my time as an alcohol-fuelled, late night couch potato. Was I a ghost hunter? It was something I’d never considered before despite having the right brain wiring for the job.

  “Yes, ghost hunting.” She smiled. “There are many uses for the gift and without it, it would almost be like a part of you disappearing.”

  “But you could get rid of it?” I asked, leaning forward.

  “Not me personally, but I know people who can help. But Peyton, I would advise you to think on this, strongly. It is not a decision that should be made lightly.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. I will think about it. I think in the meantime, it’s just good to know that I’m not crazy.” I laughed and I felt Olivia’s hand reach across and pat my leg. “I think we’ll go now.” I stood up and thanked Sylvia again. At least knowing that I wasn’t alone in this, that I had no need to hide what she called the gift, made me feel a little better. It did add to the layer of guilt that was stacking up inside my chest. I could have avoided this whole thing, the whole becoming an alcoholic, if only I’d swallowed my pride and gone to talk to someone.

  This time Olivia followed me as I moved out of the shop and down the stairs. As I stood outside in the sunshine, I felt somewhat lighter and a little more positive about my outlook in life.

  “So what are you thinking?” Olivia asked as we made our way along the high street. I spotted the coffee shop and homed in on it like a missile ready to strike.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “What you’re going to do.” Her hands went out in exasperation. I felt it rolling off her but it didn’t affect me. I was in my own little world, Sylvia’s words scrolling through my mind on a continuous loop. She called it the gift. It made it sound like something special everyone wanted, that everyone else would envy. Me? It could split for all I cared. A normal life. That’s all I wanted and having something like that hanging over me meant I could never reach the unattainable. Yet at the same time she was right, the gift was a part of me and what would getting rid of it do to me?

  “I don’t know,” I finally answered shaking my head. “It’s a lot to think about.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “It’s not like you have to make a decision right now. At least you know you have options.”

  We reached the shop and I held the door open, motioning for Olivia to step inside. The place was bustling. A long counter took up most of the right wall, a glass case displaying the wares of tasty-looking treats and further along, a barrista took orders. I hurried along to join the queue. Olivia ogled the cakes as we passed.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Flat white. And a brownie.”

  “How do you manage to eat like that and stay looking like that?” I motioned to her thin figure.

  She shrugged but a smug smile formed on her lips. “Good metabolism I guess.”

  “Hello, can I help?” A young man asked me. His hair was styled and his skin was clean-shaven. He reminded me in a small way of Jake. Jake. The guy who gave me a glimpse into normality. The guy who stood at my side when Olivia banned me from drinking at her brother’s wedding and made sure I was kept topped up all day. The guy who made me think about the possibility that there was another way to deal with everything.

  “Peyton!” Olivia nudged me with a hiss.

  “Sorry,” I apologised as a blush crept onto my cheeks. “Can I have a flat white and a latte please. Also a brownie for this one.” I hitched my thumb towards Olivia and ignored the tut that I received in return.

  “No problem.” He nodded, setting saucers up on a tray. He typed the order into the till and charged me. I handed a note over, marvelling at the fact I received change. Normally my money would have been spent on drink but now that I wasn’t touching the stuff I was able to do nice, normal things. I could buy a good amount of shopping, treat myself to things I hadn’t had in a lot of years, go out for food. It was nice to be able to treat Olivia. There was no way I could thank her for everything she had done for me but at least I could show her now and again.

  The coffees were set on the tray and I grabbed it, strolling carefully to the table Olivia had taken, being careful to make sure I didn’t spill anything. Mostly the shakes had gone. They had been really bad for a week and I couldn’t hold a coffee without spilling some of it down my front but they had subsided and I wasn’t in danger of slopping every time I tried to put something to my mouth.

  “Thank you.” Olivia told me as she sank into the big chair, setting her cup on the table and the brownie just beside it. I set my own cup in front of me and put the tray aside.

  “Thank you for taking me to see Sylvia.”

  “Are you sure about that?” She raised her brow.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I didn’t know what to expect and when you first mentioned it I was worried but honestly, I’m glad we went. At least now I know I have options.”

  “What now?” She took a bite of her brownie, catching the crumbs in her free hand.

  “I think I’m going to think on it for a while. It kind of helps to know that I’m not alone in all of this, you know? I spent years thinking I was going nuts and hiding it from the world was hard. Now I know I’m not alone I’ve got a feeling I’ll sleep a little easier. Plus, I know where she is now so I can go back if I need to.”

  “With me, I hope.”

  I smiled. “Of course with you. I just feel like I’m monopolising all your time.”

  “You are.” She shrugged and my jaw dropped. “But I don’t mind. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re brutally honest?”

  “It’s one of my best qualities.” She grinned and stirred her coffee. Then picking it up with both hands she pressed the cup against mine. “Here’s to the future.”

  I nodded. “Let’s hope it’s a bright one.”

  After my coffee with Olivia, I stopped monopolising her time—on my insistence—and she went home as I took myself off to a meeting. I wasn’t exactly into the religious side of Alcoholics Anonymous but going to the meetings and being with people who were in the same boat was doing wonders for my confidence. At least I knew I wasn’t the only person in the shuggy boat chugging its way out of the tunnel.

  I stepped into the hall and winced as the door creaked and slammed after me. It echoed around the huge hall and I expected everyone to be looking in my direction but it looked like I was one of the first to arrive.

  “Peyton,” Mila greeted me. She marched across the room on heavy, flat feet and drew me into a hug. Taken aback, I let her squeeze me fiercely before she let go and bounced back on the balls of her feet. “It’s so nice to see you. How are things?”

  “Okay.” I nodded.

  Mila frowned. “Okay is better than bad but good is better. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No. But thanks. Do you want a hand setting up?”

  “That would be great.” Mila tucked her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ears. “I’ve got so much to do. Would you take care of the hot water canteens for me?”

  “Sure.” I had been going there, to that particular meeting, twice a week for a month now and I knew it like I knew my own house. Grabbing both of the huge canisters, I made my wa
y towards the back of the old church where I knew there was a kitchen. I filled both kettles and set them to boil, leaning back against the old stainless-steel benches.

  I took my phone out of my pocket, I checked to see if I had any messages. Going back a month and the answer would have been most definitely no and that’s even if it was charged or had any credit. Now I had a contract—albeit a cheap one—and my list of contacts was beginning to grow and that meant people making contact more and more. Sometimes I found it hard to deal with after years of near-solitude but other times when things were tough, picking up my phone and seeing a message could be the difference between staying sober and sliding down the rocky slope.

  I had a message from Adele. I opened it up and read the short text. She was on her way. I had met Adele right here at the AA meeting at the old church when I first started. I came in feeling like I was in way over my head. I was like a child lost in a store. I didn’t know what to do, who to talk to or whether I should even stay. I had just about made up my mind that I would call it quits before it even started when she came over to me. Before she even knew my name, she wrapped her arms around me, squeezed me tight and then looked me dead in the eye. “I’m Adele.” She had grinned then and took the time to shake my hand. “I guess you’re new.”

  It had all gone from there and I hadn’t looked back. Whether Adele had seen the fear in my eyes or whether it was something else, I’d probably never know but without her support on that very first meeting I would probably be back in my pit of self-despair, wallowing in my shabby living room and certainly back on the booze.

  The first kettle boiled, steam rising into the air behind me, and then flicked off. I turned to fill the urn and repeated the process as the second kettle boiled. Making sure the tops were screwed on securely I lifted both canisters by the lids and made my way back into the hall. It was beginning to fill up, individuals milling through the doors, offering greetings and handshakes with one another. I smiled as I placed the urns down on the table. Despite not always agreeing with everything AA had to offer, I did love the warmth that radiated from this place. It was like it pulsed around the room like an energy and it was infectious. There were times that I had walked in this room in the worst mood imaginable and minutes later I felt better, surrounded by my friends. No, they were more like family. A family who knew exactly what I was going through, who would support me right through, just as I would do for them.