There are moments when I feel at ease. I forget and silently drift to a place I used to know, where a wash of bliss consumes my body and a peaceful warmth blinds my sore eyes. I once read that the final stages of drowning are beautiful, the silence overwhelms the senses and your body is overcome with a warmth akin to a mother’s embrace. In these moments, I drown, but every time to my disappointment I somehow survive; the releasing rapids always come crashing in a cascade of bitterness and I wake up.
It was my twenty-second birthday. I had vivid memories of my twenty-first which informed my choice to not ‘go-out’, and instead spend time with friends in a place where I, a) could have and hold a meaningful conversation; and b) wouldn’t have to taste a bile-tainted version of what I had eaten earlier that evening – last year that was a lovely seafood tagliatelle in a cream sauce. My best friend and serial womaniser Eric was eager to change things however.
“Oh come on man, you need to get laid on your birthday! It’s the birthday law! If you don’t, you’re just setting a precedent for the rest of your year. You’ll have more chance of laying an egg!”
“And you’ll have less chance of fertilising one if you don’t stop taking coke you knob! It’s twelve in the afternoon and you’re round my Nan’s for tea, what are you playing at? “
Though we’d been friends for some fifteen years, we had taken different routes to get to where we were. Our thoughts diverged on quite a few topics, but somehow that seemed to work, we just chatted about our differences and joked about how the other was wrong. He was wrong.
“And if you feel yourself about to say something stupid, shove some Victoria sponge in your gob.”
“Look, it’s just that you’re my best mate, and I want you to have the best night. Last year got out of hand; and I shouldn’t have done what I did. And I’ll never do it again, but let’s have some fun, ok?” Providing fun was based on my idea, without drugs, I was happy.
After he’d settled into his buzz and Nan went to fill the teapot up, I told him what I wanted to do, “My mum’s been watching these ghost hunter like programs, I know it sounds lame, but maybe we could do something like that.”
Somehow, even though this was definitely not his type of thing, a smile broke across his face. Initially I suspected it was the coke, but then he replied, “Ok, one condition.”
Unsure of how he could take this idea too off the rails I agreed, “Ok, what is it?”
He replied excited, “I bring the girls!”
“Eric, if you can get girls to consent to this, and they have to consent! But if you manage to bring girls to this, I would allow it.” What kind of girls would be interested in going to a graveyard with two lads they’d never met for a birthday do?
That year’s November was cold, I used to hate my birthday being so late. As a kid it was difficult, friends didn’t want to leave their houses and we couldn’t exactly play out a lot. Most of my childhood birthdays were spend indoors at home with mum and the cats, but, I grew to love it. It isn’t one of the party filled summer birthdays with half naked girls enjoying barbecues, festivals and their newly found relaxed morals, but it can be enjoyed. November, in England at least, feels almost magical. The crisp, clean air; seeing your breath reach out and extend to the streetlights in a tornado of curiosity. The full-body relief of stepping into a warm home from the cold, that moments before had devoured every inch uncovered skin with the numbing reminder that Christmas was near.
I wrapped up warm getting ready to go to the local cemetery. Apparently I was meeting Eric there. Told me he wanted to plan it all so I left him to it. There was no mention of girls though. I did think he’d failed in sorting that bit out, of course that was until I got there. Stood proudly at the entrance of the 17th century cemetery was one Eric, dressed unusually smartly and wearing one horrendous and rather frightening smile. Even I, his best friend, found it a little disconcerting seeing him standing outside a place full of dead people smiling like that.
“Where are the girls? I had to ask, even though it wasn’t my goal to get with anyone, I’d been thinking all evening about whether he’d manage to find some.
“Don’t worry mate, they’re here. They’re just round that tree having a piss. Needed to go together apparently because it’s ‘scary and dark’. You might be on to something here mate. Forget scary movies at the cinema. Get a girl, take her to a graveyard and when she’s comfortable cuddling you because she’s scared, shag her. There’s no one to tell you not to!”
I’m not sure what exactly my face was doing, but it wasn’t showing agreement, “Do you even realise what has just come out of your mouth?”
“Yeah, it’s brilliant isn’t it!”
The girls emerged. And I gladly welcomed the change of moment. “Hey, I’m Clara.”
“I’m Jess. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too”, I didn’t really know what to say; these girls looked intelligent, well presented and not bad looking at all. “Erm, I’m Jim”.
It was very dark, almost impossible to see where to step, or even to locate where your foot was. It wasn’t a particularly clear night either so the only light we had were the lanterns supplied by the girls. “I have to ask, where did Eric find you girls? And how come you’re so prepared?”
Jess was a slim girl, with long nutty hair and the softest voice, I didn’t quite understand why, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She was equally as hot as Clara, who with long vanilla locks and a set of sapphire eyes was way above our leagues. I just felt really warm to be near her.
“Well, me and Clara are psychology students at the uni, but we run the paranormal investigation society. Eric came in and asked for some advice and asked us if we’d like to come to a hunt.”
Clara giggled quite noisily, turning her head suggestively to the side, “There’s that Jess, but he did also promise us a hot friend, which he delivered!” My face flushed pink.
We found a clearing near the back of the church and set down our picnic blankets which, not accustomed to the sapping cold, were still drenched with the smell of hot sun and grass. Out of a small P.E. bag came the kit. Dictaphone, more candles, matches and a bottle of spiced whisky. Eric made sure we all knew it was triple distilled, as if encouraging some kind of praise or reward. It would not be the last we would hear about its distillation.
For hours we drank and talked, and sang and messed about trying to find ghosts and ghouls. Much to the dislike of Clara, Jess seemed to stick by me, which worked in Eric’s favour. Jealousy threw its weight and landed Eric a rumble amongst the headstones. I didn’t care, I was being looked after.
“Ok, while they go for a walk, how about we mess about too?” She stared at me wide eyed and with the brightest smile started giggling. “Oh, no! I just meant we do more ghost stuff!” I was embarrassed, but before I could even fumble with more words she shuffled closer. In a microsecond my stomach sank and it felt like my soul was trying to escape through my throat. Her pillowed cold lips climbed up to mine, without a word, without a breath, they touched me. My body was on fire. I felt warm. It felt like an impossible current was running between our lips and through my core. When I was finally able to unclasp my lips from hers and encourage my eyelids back to life, I was looking into a mirror. We didn’t say one word, just smiled and hugged.
“If there are any ghosts or ghouls or evil things around, touch Jim!” Eric called as they emerged from the dark, cocky, but rightly so. “You been up to much Jim?” he asked, but before I could even respond he began singing, the drink was taking over, at least I hoped it was the drink and that in the darkness he hadn’t indulged on anything other than Clara. “Get him, touch him, do something because we’ve seen nothing! Do you even exist?”
I stood up sharply, “Eric stop.”
“Yeah you dick” Clara added, “you’re scaring me”.
“Come on, there’s nothing really here anyway. Touch him, touch Jim and prove you exist, or are you a pussy? See, nothing.”
A dagger tore through my spine. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t even looking through my eyes anymore, the fear was blinding, but I could see what was happening inside so clearly in my mind. An obsidian blade was splitting me in two, turning and fracturing; oozing poison as it tore its way to my neck, my skull. Flickers of a sharp face, shiny and armoured like a beetles husk taunted as the venom broke through my body, dying it black as the floor on which I was stood. Like ivy, vines crawled and constricted my brain, a black frost tightening and freezing, quickly consuming and taking control. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t do anything. The pain was unnatural, beyond death. I felt like I had died a hundred times, yet it took just a minute. The floor felt warm as I hit it and I was thankful for the pain. It graced me with a deafening silence that so blissfully concealed the screams and numbed my mind to the reality I had left behind. I didn’t need to realise the pain of those I loved, I’d have the rest of my life to suffer that torment.
Eric doesn’t visit me here. Mum says it’s because he feels guilty, though she doesn’t really know why. The cats have grown and gone and mum comes less frequently now. I don’t blame her, it’s not like I can indulge her in great conversation anymore. Jess visits me once a week. Guests are only allowed half an hour. She tells me stories about her life, and somehow knows that past my emotionless shell, I feel. Though dull, the world is vibrant. I see colours now, a rainbow every day. But she is the only gold. Her entire body glows with a warmth and brightness I never knew possible. When her soft gentle fingers grip onto mine the blackness begins to fade, to release its tight hold and disintegrate into ash. But she never stays long enough.
The worst days are some of the best – however much of a cliché that may be, it’s true. The south facing window allows sun to burn into the cavernous white box I’m confined to, I’m reminded of the happiness found in the simplest of actions; exploring, playing with insects, and kicking piles of autumn aged leaves into the air, dog shit and all. I’d cry if I could, I still get the feeling. That fat lump hiding invisibly somewhere in my throat and a swirling heaviness in my stomach. I pray for more time before my iris flickers away from the window, if even for a second, in case I see the punishing clock beside it. I never realised the real meaning of monotony before all of this, but being sat in front of that characterless clock with its unforgiving, ‘Crick-crack-crunch’ all day and night teaches you much, a bitter lesson when you are able to communicate so little.
hmm scary i liked it