ANGRY SPIRIT Part 2 Chapter One

"Why can’t you see what’s happening to you Nathan?" Janice pleaded, her eyes streaming with tears of desperation. "You need help… Help from someone who knows what they are doing, not the crack-pots who are filling your head with God only knows, what kind of nonsense."
"And you would know all about what’s happening in my head, wouldn’t you?" Nathan’s reply was uncharacteristically venomous.
"Look at the state of you! You’ve changed so much Nathan. I don’t recognize you anymore. You spend most of your time either drunk or so angry and full of hatred I’m too scared to be near you any more."
"If you’re so scared to be near me, why are you still here?"

"Because, I love you! Damn it! I want things to be the way they were, before you started having the nightmares again. Why can’t you see that, and get the help you need from the right people, instead of listening to all these Spiritualists, mediums, psychics and all the other weirdo’s you’re inviting in our house. The only thing they can make disappear is the money we’ve managed to save. They can’t make the nightmares go away!"
"Now we’re getting down to the truth of the matter… You don’t give a damn about me, it’s all the money side of it that really pisses you off, isn’t it?"
"I can’t take it any longer! If you want to drink yourself stupid every day, and spend your nights sitting down here, because you’re too afraid to close your eyes… You do it… Go for it Nathan, but do it without me… I’ve had enough, I’m leaving. You are not taking me down with you!"

Nathan gulped down the last dregs of scotch from the glass, before hurling it into the wall, sending shards of shattered crystal in every direction. Although an action of instinct, rather than thoughtful intent, it was exactly the type of violent reaction that had reduced Janice to the nervous wreck that stood trembling and sobbing before him, and he instantly knew it, yet he could show no remorse nor regret, the perpetual lack of sleep and excessive intake of alcohol had left him guilty of everything his terrified young wife was accusing him of being.
Deep down, he wanted her to leave. Behind the anger, fear and confusion remained the minute remnant of the Nathan of old, the man who desperately still loved his wife and would be devastated should he harm her in any way.
"You go then. Do what you normally do when things get a bit tough… Go running back to mummy," Nathan yelled, "I’m going down to the off license…"
"You’ve lost it Nathan! You can’t survive without a drink in your hand. Can’t you see you won’t find the peace you’re looking for in a whiskey bottle!

"Maybe I won’t, but I’ll stand more chance of finding peace without you nagging at me, day in… day out. Just pack your things and run off to mummy’s. At least that will make the old bag happy. She’s never liked me since I married her precious daughter anyway.
Resisting the urge to reply in her mother’s defense, Janice made a tearful retreat to the bedroom. She paused briefly to open the cupboard under the stairs where she had prepared a large suitcase a few days earlier, when she realized that this final crescendo of shattered emotions was inevitable.
Once outside the front door, the feel the fresh, mid-afternoon breeze had an instant calming effect. The bitter rage that previously tore his nerves to almost snapping began to ebb away with every step he took. His decision to take the longer route along the rivers edge to the village seemed a natural one, made without conscious consideration.

Along with the growing calmness came the ability to assess his situation more clearly. The nightmares had robbed him of sleep, and were dangerously close to robbing him of his sanity too, but, at the back of his mind he knew that the horrors that haunted his sleep were no more than a brief prelude of worse to come, and now with the blessing of a clearing head he was thankful that Janice was leaving to stay at her mother’s. Whatever mayhem and terror lay ahead, he would face it alone, unhindered by his desperate need to protect his wife, despite the cruel way they had parted.

After stopping to light a cigarette, Nathan noticed the stone bridge that had spanned the river for many centuries. Once past this majestic old structure, were the steps leading up to the road above, and only a short walk to the village. By the steps was a dilapidated wooden bench frequented by weary walkers through the day, and by night it provided a secluded venue for courting couples. As he approached it now, he could just about make out the shape of an old lady, even from the distance he could see her clothes were little more than rags. A collection of three or four flimsy, plastic carrier bags were placed on the gravel about her feet.
The closer he drew towards her, the more obvious it became that the poor old dear was clearly one of the many homeless travelers who traversed the rivers edge, seeking the shelter and solitude that the peaceful environment provided.
"Can you spare a few coppers for a poor old lady, my dear?" she croaked, as he eventually approached the bench.

Instantly overcome by sympathy for the frail soul before him, he fingered a five pound note from his wallet and held it out for her to take.
Raising her head slowly to thank him, for his generosity, her smiling face suddenly fell ashen white. A look of concern deepened the furrows in her already wrinkled face.
"No. sir." She sadly exclaimed. "I cannot take money from a dying man!"
"What? What do you mean?" Nathan’s response was immediate and instinctive. The words struck him like a steel blade, he had not expected such bluntness and was taken aback by the certainty of which the old lady had issued them.
"Here! You take the money." Nathan insisted, once again thrusting the note forward towards the old lady.

"No. Sir. You keep your earthly ties, and guard them well. If I take what is yours then I am doomed to share your fate."
"Who are you? Why do you call me a dying man?" His words were tinged with anger, and more than a little confused fear, yet his consuming need for explanation held him firmly to the spot.
"Who I am is not important. I’m just a poor lonely soul who walks this path listening to the secrets that this wise old river whispers to me and passes them on to those who choose to listen without mocking or claiming me insane."
"Then why do you call me a dying man? You don’t know me. We’ve never met before.
"We’ve all met before, Sir." She began, with a strange smile, more a gesture of reassurance than a display of amusement. "The only thing more certain than that, is the fact that we will all surely meet again."

"That doesn’t answer my question!"
"No, Sir. It doesn’t. I cannot give you the answers that you seek but, if you sit here and afford this poor lonely soul a few minutes company, I can perhaps shed a little light to help guide you along the dark journey you are about to make."
Nathan gave no thought to his decision to sit on the bench beside the sad old woman. His suspicions about the old dear’s sanity were long surpassed by the burning curiosity to hear what she had to say. Had it been a week before he would have thought nothing of dismissing her rambling as senile insanity and passed her by with no more than a sympathetic smile, but now, her words were far too close to the dismal truth that had reaped havoc and mayhem into his desperate life. The painful truth of the situation was that at this moment in time when common sense and reality had deserted him, whoever this old woman was, she was sadly, the only person who could offer him any hope.

"That’s right young Nathan, you sit down here with old Flow, while she passes on the river’s words of wisdom…"
"How do you know my name?" Nathan gasped in astonishment.
"The river knows many things. It knows more about you and your life than you and your parents and your parents, parents before you. Heed these words well and harm yourself with their wisdom as you venture into the dark world, where shadows conceal all manner of fearsome beasts, that you cannot begin to imagine."
"This is insane. Why am I even sitting here listening to this crap?"
Before Nathan could rise from the bench and beat a hasty retreat for the steps to the village, Old Flow had a vice-like grip, a grip so strong from such a frail hand it stunned him motionless.

"In your dreams you have wondered into the dark world where the Lord of Blackness rules by inflicting fear and terror into the un-beating hearts of the spirits, condemned to spend all eternity in this dismal place as punishment for the sins they committed while their hearts beat strongly on this mortal earth."
Old Flow released her grip, yet Nathan felt a strange compulsion to hold his station as more revelations were unleashed upon him. He reeled in amazement as she described the ordeals of his nightmares as if she had been there and bore them witness.
She spoke in intimate detail of the angry spirit of Joshua Edwards and the consuming rage after Nathan had tricked him with the help of Max Deacon."
"But these are just characters from my dreams!" Nathan exclaimed, "They only exist in my head, not in real life!"

"Hold that belief and your fate is most certainly sealed. Open your mind to the warning you hear from me now and you may eventually emerge into the light and regain the treasures or your mortal existence. If you choose to ignore this warning, then, eternal darkness will be your prison and the angry spirit of Joshua Edwards will be your keeper."
"Ok! Lets say I believe your crazy idea, what do I do now? How do I escape this horrible fate?"
For the first time, Old Flow laughed openly at Nathan’s response. "First of all you must accept that you are about to enter a world were deception is the reality and the things you see are not always the things they seem. You must see with your mind and question what your eyes tell you."

"That should be easy enough, right now my mind is telling me that I’m imagining this whole crazy event, and that you are just an imaginary part of this process, and do not exist at all."
"In that case, you have learnt much during our brief meeting. So… do you believe your mind or are your eyes telling you the truth? Look at our reflection in the water. The river does not lie. What do you see?"
With anxious hesitation, Nathan shifted his gaze to the calm water at the rivers edge. He sat stunned and silent, frozen in awe by what he saw. Beside his own wavering image sat a beautiful young woman. Her blonde hair teased by the gentle breeze, and wearing the brightest of white long summer dresses. He guessed her age, certainly no more than mid-twenties. A happy youthful smile, beamed back at his astonished stare.

Clearly taken aback, he turned to face the withed old Flow by his side, only to discover the bench empty, his aged companion vanished! Only a flimsy plastic carrier bag occupied the space she had occupied only seconds before.
With a shaky hand Nathan removed a single item from the bag, a small metal disc hung from a delicate chain with the initials, ‘J.E.’ clearly emblazoned upon its ancient surface.