Paranormal Investigations: No Situation Too Strange (10 page)

I fell asleep on the tube, another advantage of living at the end of the line - you could fall asleep safe in the knowledge it was impossible to miss your stop.  The problem was, I didn't live exactly at the end of the line - I still had to get a bus back to East Barnet. 

I don't imagine I looked good as I made my way home, but I'm sure there are those who have looked worse after a night out.  Even if I had been followed this far and this long by fairies or their kind I doubted anyone would recognise me as the same person who had met Orla earlier in the day.

It took a long time for a bus to come and there was no way I could have walked barefoot that far.  By the time I made the short walk from the bus stop to my flat it was very late and I was very tired.

I paused in my car park to lean over the railings and peer down into Trevor’s culvert.

“Trevor,” I called.

“He’s not here and he’s asleep,” came Trevor’s voice.

“I’m sorry.”  There was no response.  “I’m sorry if I was mean.”

“If?”

“I’m sorry I was mean.  Bob needs you.”

Something like a snort came from the culvert.

“He said there were strange noises tonight.”

“Nah.”

“Are you sure?  He was very worried.  You didn’t hear anything?”

“Nah.  I was here all night, rearranging the rocks down here.”

“Do they happen to make a strange noise?”

“Dunno.  It was too loud.”

I sighed.  “Mystery solved.  Good night, Trevor.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“I’ll survive.”

I crept inside the building and up the stairs.  From the snoring drifting out of the living room I surmised Bob had forgotten his fears and was asleep on the sofa.  At least I could have a shower without being disturbed by requests to eat his culinary creations.

I had just turned my phone on to silent and set it down on my bed when it lit up.  I didn’t recognise the mobile number calling, so I answered it.

"He's screwing around!" a tear-sodden voice screamed down the phone.

“Miss X?”

"He was meant to be meeting me in Spizzico for our anniversary meal tonight and he never came!  I waited for hours and kept calling him, but he never picked up.  He must be with her - but what if it's not a
her
, what if it's a
him
?"

"Calm down," I said, sitting on my bed, "tell me everything."

"We always spend our anniversary in Spizzico - it's the restaurant we went to on our first date.  We have a long standing booking with them.  Every year.  So I was there and he never came - never!  I felt like a complete fool and I kept ringing and ringing and it's not like him to have turned his phone off!  He's having an affair - I know it!"

"I didn't find any evidence on my surveillance."

"He's with this person now, you have to go and find out for me!  I'll pay you double, only please, please go!"

I looked at my dirty, bloody feet. I
really
didn’t want to go out again. "It's kind of awkward right now."

"But it's your job!  I want you to go and find out who it is he's screwing!"

"I’ll go.  But I won’t call you tonight.  Get some sleep and I’ll fill you in in the morning.”

*

My feet were filthy and it took some scrubbing to clean them.  I then applied antiseptic cream and put on the softest, comfiest pairs of socks I owned.

In a pair of jeans and an old t shirt and sweater I was ready to go out again.  I glanced at the clock, it was after two am.

It took my car the customary twenty minutes to warm up and clear the screen, I dared not sit in there as it was doing so, as I was guaranteed to fall asleep, so instead I walked up and down the car park.

The moon was beautiful, waxing and bright.  Even some stars were fighting through the light pollution to be seen.

"Sh up there!" came a rasping voice as I walked over the patch by Trevor's culvert, "some of us is tryin' to get to sleep down here."

Car clear and warm, I drove to Friern Barnet and, given the hour, felt safe to make the presumption of parking in the visitors' car park.  I hadn't figured on the gates being closed and only openable with a code, so I had to park on a nearby residential road and walk over.  It was getting increasingly hard to ignore the pain in my feet.  At least I was now in comfy shoes.

When I got back to Princess Park Manor I had to climb over the wall to get into the grounds - not an easy task, but one I managed eventually with very little skill or grace.  Then I would have to dodge security as a place like this would undoubtedly have a heavy presence.

Princess Park Manor was truly a beautiful building.  The Victorians were a weird lot, think of all those parks they set up as philanthropic interests - Britain would look a very different place with them.  It was a time of great cruelty and hardship and yet enough people believed in giving the poor access to open spaces to found parks.  They may have treated the mentally ill at best with ignorant good intentions, and at worst with knowing cruelty, but they housed them in these amazing mansions of great beauty overlooking beautifully sculptured grounds.

Mr X's flat was within the main building set behind pillars and beneath a dome.  They may have been flats rather than houses, but you still had to pay over a million pounds for each one.  No wonder Miss X saw her future with him.  Who'd let a man with that much money get away?

I had to walk around the large building to find a way of getting in.  The main entrance was out of question without a code.  At the back there appeared to be some kind of service entrance and the door was open.  I looked around.  No one was in sight, I crept inside.

"Yolanda!" barked a voice.

I froze.

A greasy haired man was wagging a finger at me.  "Yolanda from the agency?  You're late!  You were meant to be here an hour ago." He pointed at his watch in case I struggled with understanding his words.

I shrugged.

"Get changed and get to work!"

He threw a uniform at me.  It was a maid's uniform, only a few inches away from being a French maid's costume. 

I grinned nervously.  I really hoped he was mistaking me for a cleaner and not a hooker.

"Get changed and get up to the second floor!  I want the dusting done and the polishing.  No hoover, comprende?  It's too late for hoovering.  Hoovering no, yes?"

Was I meant to be foreign?  "Si."

"Get to it!" He was obviously from the school of 'shout louder and the English language is immediately translated into the mother tongue'.  He gestured to a small changing room lined with lockers and after closing the door I slipped out of my clothes and into the maid's uniform, making sure my phone went in the dress pocket as I would need it to take photos if I found Mr X messing around.  It was not my favourite part of the job, but clients never really believed you even with photographic proof.  Even then some tried to find a rational explanation why their spouse was naked and in close proximity to another naked person who was not them.

The room seemed to exist entirely for the cleaning firm and there was a list of apartments on a small whiteboard that obviously paid extra for the inside of the flats to be cleaned.  I looked along the list, yes - Mr X's was one of them which meant there would be a spare key kept somewhere in the vicinity.  After a little search I found a small wall mounted metal cabinet.  It had a lock but on investigation it had been bent and knackered so much that a vigorous pull opened the front.  Inside was a selection of keys, all clearly labelled.  I put Mr X's in my pocket with my phone.

I locked my clothes into one of the lockers and then thought better of it as I might very well have to scarper quickly.  I tucked them in a bag of cleaning cloths and reappeared in the hallway holding the bag.

"Second floor!" he said again, pointing down the corridor.

I nodded.  "Si."

"Cleaning thingies in cupboard, yes?"

"Si."

What a piece of luck - I was in and all I had to do was a bit of polishing and dusting.  I didn't go to the second floor, after raiding the cleaning cupboard I went to Mr X's part of the building.

The plush surroundings were deathly quiet, it was too late for anyone to be about - apart from the cleaning staff that is and they so far seemed to consist of me.  I did a bit of polishing the brass fittings as I went in case there was anyone looking and stumbled on another cleaning cupboard where there was a state of the art vacuum cleaner and even more supplies.

It was a bit spooky moving through a silent building where people with mental health problems had been imprisoned over one hundred and fifty years ago.  Even my overpowering sense of logic could not completely eradicate my sense of unease at this late hour.  It didn't help that as a child I had been utterly and completely petrified of ghosts, to the extent that an imagined one could send me into a screaming fit.  I may have been older and wiser, but I was fundamentally the same person with the same irrational fears.

Outside Mr X's apartment I listened carefully, ear to the door.  I couldn't hear anything and there wasn't a beam of light under the door crack.  I reached for the key and inserted it silently into the lock.  It turned easily.  I pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind me.

As it was dark my other senses went into overdrive.  The carpet beneath my feet was thick and plush.  The apartment smelt clean, but also of new things which made sense as he had only recently moved in.  I used the screen of my phone to illuminate my path through the entrance hall.  Some of the internal doors were open, living room, spare bedroom... as I made my way deeper into the apartment I began to hear muffled noises, like someone having a bad dream.  I tiptoed towards the noises and what I presumed was the bedroom.

I put my phone on to the camera setting ready, as you often didn't get a second chance at these things.  I made sure the screen darkened so I would not take any light into the room with me.  I placed my hand on the door handle and turned it slowly.

The door opened silently and, as I stepped inside, the noises became clearer.  There were definitely noises coming from two people.  This didn't bode well for Miss X and her would-be future children.

I blinked and let my eyes adjust to the light.  It was lighter in the large bedroom than it had been in the passageway thanks to the light of the moon outside the window and the open curtains.  Within a few seconds my vision had improved to see the sight before me.

Mr X was asleep - or seemed to be, his face was turned towards me, his eyes shut and a troubled look on his face.  His lips parted and he mumbled incoherently as people do in their sleep.  He was one of those people who slept naked.  I knew this because he was lying naked on the bed, a sheet twisted off on to the floor.  Riding him hard was a pale figure in a floaty, see through robe.  She seemed to be shagging him in his sleep.  And believe me, she was getting a lot out of it.

Then I realised she wasn't exactly human, she was almost entirely see-through.  I took a step back, my heart rate shot up and the only thought in my head was - flee!

The ghostly figure's head turned toward me as no human's could.  Her mouth opened wider than should be possible and a furious scream erupted from deep within her.

I heard another scream.  It came from me.

I stumbled backwards and fell on my arse.  I scrabbled desperately to get up again as I felt rising panic growing within me.  I felt like a child again, there was a memory trying to nudge through and it made me sick right to the pit of my stomach - my mother was there, in this memory, and I think perhaps my father too so I must have been very young.  I repressed it - sent it back to the recesses of my memory where it had come from.

On the bed, Mr X blinked awake and started as he saw the female figure on him.  He cried out and tried to claw himself away from her.

The figure growled and began to float towards me.  She obviously blamed me for spoiling her fun.

I looked past her and into the terrified face of Mr X.

"Oh God," he said in a trembling voice, "please help me!"

On my feet again, I ran through the corridor like those girls you see in horror films, panicking and looking everywhere for escape, heart pounding and breathing hard.  The door leaving the flat should have been easy to open but my hands slipped and I couldn't think how to open the bloody thing.  All I could think about was 'she is going to get me'.  I made the mistake of looking back, she was closing in on me.

"Help me!" came the voice of Mr X again.

The image of her fixed in my head like a photograph.  She was in one of those old fashioned down to the floor, up to the chin night gowns.  She was mid-twenties and had long, long hair.  She was also utterly mad.  Oh shit, I thought, I'm going to get killed by Bertha Mason.

Her claw like fingers reached out to my neck and I felt a tightening pressure in my throat.

Finally I managed to fling the door open and I fell forward onto my hands expecting her to be on me any second.  I steeled myself and turned around to see that she seemed to be caught within the threshold of the door.  She couldn't cross it.  Her face contracted in a snarl.  Then she looked back to Mr X who was now standing in the doorway of his bedroom, clutching the door frame for support.  Her lips curled into some kind of wicked smile.