ANGRY SPIRIT PART 2 Chapter Two

Almost a week since Janice’s departure passed. Each day made it agonizingly apparent that Nathan’s nightmares were no longer confined to his long nights of restless sleep. Items about the house moved, or mysteriously vanished without trace. The silence of his solitary existence was constantly interrupted by strange and menacing voices. Messages appeared on a variety of surfaces. Steamed up mirrors hosted fingered words of threatening content. The recently decorated bedroom wall behind the head of his bed became a bulletin board for discarnate communications, which seemed to fade as the darkness of night gave way to the welcome invasion of sunlight from the window.
With a realization that shuck him to the core, Nathan could have no doubt that his nocturnal horrors had transgressed into a living nightmare, with no hope of escape available. The brief comfort a waking state of mind had afforded him was now a thing of the past, Nathan Harrison was now a prisoner, condemned to suffer relentless torment in a world of unimaginable horrors.

Consumed by fear, and numbed in a constant state of partial drunken stupor, Nathan had but one faint hope of salvation, to call on his allies from his nightmare world. The mediums Miranda and Alice and most of all the illusive Max Deacon.
It was only when exhaustion and alcohol took its inevitable course that Nathan allowed himself to fall from consciousness. A strange sense of relief soon followed when a soothing, distant voice beckoned him further towards blurry images of comfort and a total immersion in sleep.
"Come forward, Nathan," The voice urged, "Come forward, listen only to my voice. Pay no heed to those who seek to divert you."
The voice was soothing, welcoming and strangely familiar. He paused for a brief moment when other voices seemed to increase in volume, their words were undecipherable, though clearly their intention was intended to drowned out the soothing one.

"You must come quickly Nathan!" the voice urged with increased urgency. "I can’t hold him back much longer!"
"Who are you?" Nathan called.
"She is no one" Boomed a croaky, male voice. "She cannot save you, Nathan Harrison. Your soul is mine! Come to me now, you cannot escape the hand of my revenge. The power of darkness decrees you my eternal slave. Accept your fate pathetic mortal, resist and I shall crush every last breathe from your …"
"Ignore him Nathan, focus on my voice alone. Hurry! You have but one chance!" The female voice screamed a desperate plea.
Nathan reached out a trembling hand before him, fear and instinct taking over his better judgment to turn and run.
The male voice cried out in fevered fury when a delicate hand, with feminine fingers appeared from a swirling mist, traveling swiftly as if carried on a strong breeze, intent on engulfing whatever lay before it.

In a second, Nathan was shielded from the darkness that held so much overwhelming fear and anger. The eddy smell of jasmine brought instant calm, washing away the traces of raging panic. The approaching hand wrapped around Nathan’s fingers and began to pull him gently, yet swiftly forward.
"You are safe now, Nathan. Joshua Edwards as no power in the world of light." The voice assured him before beginning a dire warning; "His power is strong, but he can only enforce it when darkness conceals his evil intentions, and the poor lost souls of his followers can move among the shadows to carry out his dastardly bidding.
"Who are you?" Nathan pleaded. "Why have I been drawn into this scary world? Why can’t I just wake up and leave all this madness in my dream?"
The voice appeared amused by Nathan’s naivety, she laughed, though her laughter held no ridicule. "Who I am is not important. To reveal my identity would only serve to confuse and frustrate you on your journey to find the answers you so desperately seek".

"You are not drawn into this world of your dreams, nor can you escape it. Your dreams are another part of your existence where consequences, good or bad, are as real as any in the reality of your conscious world."
"Then who is Joshua Edwards? Why is he so damn bent on punishing me?"
Slowly the hand released its grip and Nathan began to sense a gentle descent, more gliding than falling. The voice faded to a distant call as it issued a final warning.
"You have many lessons to learn Nathan Harrison, and little time to waste. Follow the path of light and you will defeat the dark forces that haunt you."
"No! Wait!.... Nathan called out, desperation and despair where in equal abundance as his descent concluded with the harsh realization that his dream was ended, leaving him panicked in confusion, but painfully awake.
After hours of wracking his brain for the slightest morsel of logic or reasoning, Nathan eventually decided that throughout his entire dilemma, three names had become formally etched in his torn and fragmented memory; Miranda, Alice, and for some unfathomable reason, the name Max Deacon stood out as intrinsic to any hope of forming an escape from this terrible fate that had already robbed him of so much.

The more thought and recall on his confused memory he expanded, the more his head ached from the effort. In a dismal attempt to divert his focus Nathan instinctively picked up a local newspaper, that had sat unread on the coffee table since Janice had left. After scanning the pages he eventually stumbled on a framed advertisement in the personal section. It was the accompanying photograph that initially caught his eye. The face that looked back at him from the paper caused his heart to pound, he starred in disbelief when he continued his inspection of the advertisement and read the surrounding text.
In bold letters he read the name, Miranda St Claire, Psychic Medium and Clairvoyant. His decision to ring the phone number contained below name was immediate. For the first time since his life had hurtled into chaos, Nathan felt overwhelmed by the joy of seeing at least a little hope of finding some kind of explanation, he had long since abandoned the prospect of finding any kind of resolution and conclusion to his torturing existence.
"Hello!" He exclaimed with unrestrained enthusiasm into the receiver, when the ringing stopped. "Miranda St Claire?"
"Yes…. This is Miranda St Claire." A rather surprised voice replied. "Can I help you?"
"Oh, if what I believe is right, you most certainly can!"
"Can I ask who is calling?"
"Nathan… Nathan Harrison!"

"I’m sorry, Mr. Harrison. Do I know you?"
For a brief moment Nathan’s burning enthusiasm dipped, and once again depressing reality seared into hopes.
"I was praying you knew me. You were my last hope of resolving this God awful mess I’m in."
Obviously impressed by the amount of genuine anxiety in Nathan’s voice, Miranda launched into a barrage of questions. However her voice continued to reflect a level of well practiced understanding and sympathy, clearly a developed trait of her chosen, dubious profession.
Nathan had spent so long, locked in the confused mayhem that raged within him, he was taken aback when the one person, he was convinced could resolve the whole agonizing matter seemed to be reluctant to appreciate the gravity of what was happening to him.
However, when Nathan brought up the name of Max Deacon, the medium’s reaction was profound and emphasized by her sudden silence.
"Hello! Are you still there?"

"Yes! I’m still here." Came the hesitant reply. Mirada’s voice had instantly become shaky. Again there was silence for a moment before she spoke again, this time with tones of urgency resounding clear and determined;
"We must meet Mr. Harrison. Would it be convenient for me to come and visit you?"
After agreeing wholeheartedly and sharing his address with the obviously shaken medium, Nathan felt definite relief when she announced she would be with him within thirty minutes.
When he placed the receiver back on the hook, his hand remained in a vice-like grip, somehow reluctant to let go of the strange sense of security his brief connection with the medium had impressed upon him.
Any comfort or feeling of welcome self control he may have experienced was to be short lived. A sudden coldness, akin to a drought from an open window teased the skin of his neck, causing the short hairs to stand proud. He detected a faint pounding, quickly increasing in volume and frequency in his ears, announcing a worry surge in his blood pressure. Once again his frantic heart beat pumped adrenaline laden blood through his entire body, a clear indication that whatever had decided to rob Nathan Harrison of his sanity was about to manifest yet again, and its helpless victim had no doubt or defense against its dire consequences.

He sat rigid with fear. To run was useless… to hide impossible. Whatever this evil thing was it was resident inside his head, ready to invade his every thought, action and intention.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?" Nathan screamed, furiously.
No words came in reply. Instead, an onslaught of events materialized around the room, each succeeding the one before in severity. A large painting hanging securely for more than three years suddenly shuck itself free of its fixings and fell broken with its heavy frame splintered on the floor. The thick velvet curtains bellowed horizontally into the room, as if suddenly attacked by raging winds, yet the windows were firmly closed and locked. Finally, Nathan screamed in agony when a collection of pens sitting in the desk tidy on the desk in front of him, launched into the air, one of which struck his upper arm, penetrating the pale blue material of his shirt and buried itself deep into the soft flesh.

Stunned by shock and mortifying fear, Nathan starred in painful disbelief as the pale blue gradually transformed to crimson red. The pen had struck with the force of an arrow from an archers bow, the shaft remained firmly seated, its inky tip embedded deep in muscle, sending a trickle of warm blood down past his elbow, and quickly beginning to congeal as its course was slowed by an ample covering of hairs on his forearm.
Engulfed in agony when the shock subsided, Nathan fell into the inevitable clutches of nausea and dizziness. The pounding in his ears was quickly replaced by ringing as he fought to maintain his consciousness.
The dual tone chime of the door bell ringing was a symphony of welcome relief. Nathan rose from his chair, and made his way with a faltering gate towards the hall and the front door beyond.
Releasing his grip momentarily to release the latch, Nathan stood a pathetic figure of pale weakness in the doorway before the horrified Miranda.

"Oh my God, Mr. Harrison!" she gasped, before lunging forward when Nathan fell heavily against the door frame. "What on earth has happened to you?"
"Its been here again!" came his shaky reply. "Whatever this thing is, its out to kill me!"
Struggling to support his weight Miranda led him into the house. Her first intention was to stem the flow of blood that had by now colored the sleeve of his shirt dark red, in painful contrast to the ashen hue of his skin.