Strange
Dream
I’ve
heard of this strange phenomenon
many times, but never thought it would happen to me.
I’d
been working very hard and I was
tired. I took a small whisky to help me to sleep, as usually when
overtired I find it difficult to rest, and it means I lie
there with a thousand worries and torments going over in my mind. I
washed my hands and face and crawled into bed and I think I just
drifted off.
I
am standing by my bed, looking down at myself sleeping. A strange
sensation comes
over me, as my spirit is outside of my body. I’m floating around,
peering into nooks and crannies in my house. I look through a keyhole
into a room across the corridor from where I sleep. I feel fear like
I’ve never felt before. The scene I’m gazing into is horrific. I
tried to scream, but no sound would come. Something in this room had
the look and physique of a tortured demon, the face was
unholy, and then it fixed its gaze upon me. My whole body felt as if
a million knives were cutting me, right down into my soul.
I
can’t move, my eye is stuck on the key hole.
That
thing wanted me to stay and watch, I heard chanting and other demons
joined the thing and surrounded it. They are like horrific shadows
changing form and dancing amid great flames. This must be hell and
I’m standing outside of it, looking in. The scene changed and
focused upon the clock on the wall, it’s just after midnight.
There’s a compass next to the clock and this is going crazy, as if
it had no idea of North and South, just going in different
directions.
No!
Something is not right about any of this. I asked to be forgiven for
my sins. Still I could not move, and I was
being forced to watch terrible acts being performed. A whisper in my
ear, by someone unknown, it told me to take my eye away from the
keyhole. I answered, saying, No
I can’t, it won’t let me, it
needs me to watch. Again the voice
whispered, “Remove your eye from the keyhole.”
I
responded and took my eye from that hellish scene. I turned and
became more confused, as I believed the door to my bedroom was just
opposite this one. I glanced around and found I am in total darkness
and I don’t know where I am. I’m desperate to get back to bed and
wake myself up, and I also believe that if I don’t I will die. Then
I notice a light, it’s like someone has a torch, and the whisperer
said, “Follow
the light.”
I
found the light welcoming and did as I am asked to do. Here I am now
in the library, where the
light lit up a book. I took the book and almost dropped it, as it’s
so heavy, I then placed it on a table, the leaves opened themselves.
The leaf-turning stopped at a picture of the awful thing I had seen
in that room. I read, or tried to read, the passage and became
fearful again.
A
horrendous clap of thunder sounded overhead and lightning lit up the
room. Instinct told me to turn around, I wished I hadn’t, it is
there, stood behind me. Lightning and thunder is sending down
torrents of rain and is lashing the windows so hard. It felt as if
the house would crumble and wash away. The whisper came again; it is
loud enough for me to hear over the storm. “Read the passage in the
Manual,” it
said.
Light
from the torch lit up the words, but I felt obliged to keep looking
at the dreadful thing. I forced myself to read the passage in the
huge leather- bound book.
“No,
you must read this aloud, and forget that demon and concentrate on
the words.”
The
voice was stern but gave comfort. I began slowly reading the verse
from the book.
“Keep
on repeating this, until that abomination is gone.”
I
gained more confidence as I continued to read. After what seemed
like a long period of time I plucked up the courage to glance behind
me. The nightmare is over, that thing is gone, and I hoped for good.
The
huge storm had passed over and the faint light of morning came
through the wet windows. I looked around the room in the early grey
streaks of dawn. I am standing by my bed looking down at my form
lying there.
The
whisperer said, “You must hurry and re-join your body and spirit,
to delay will be fatal for you.”
I
pulled back the sheets and climbed back into bed. When I opened my
eyes at six o’clock I lay for a while. The alarm went off and so I
sat up and swung my feet out of bed. The room is cold and I can see
my breath. I padded across to the huge bay window and looked out; the
scene is not what I expected.
Instead
of everything being soaked through, it’s blinding white. I squinted
my eyes as I’ve become snow-blind. I pulled a gown around me and
sat in the window seat, asking myself what the heck was all that
about last night.
As
the sun came up I saw the birds’ footprints outside on the sill.
The little sparrows are pecking the window, begging for food. I
obliged by putting the rest of last night’s sandwich out for them,
also an apple core which they marmalised
in a hurry. I am confused by what I dreamed last night; it’s silly:
how can someone leave their body unless they die? I pinch my arms and
legs, am I dead?
No,
I still live. I made my mind up that it is nothing, just horrid
imagination. I had convinced myself that is what it is. I felt the
life and colour come back into my being, until I reached my bed to
make it, and there was the
large leather-bound book on my bedside table.
I
am afraid to come to bed tonight.
Part
two
It
took courage to remove the book from my bedside table. I passed the
library and deliberately went down into the cellar. Although there is
a light down here, it seems very dark and dismal, and
I felt my flesh crawl. The leather bound
book is very heavy, but I threw it on a shelf. I shivered and ran up
the steps, and leaving the room, locked the door behind me. I felt
breathless and stood with my back to the door for several
minutes.
Going
into the kitchen, I switched the kettle on and made a cup of tea.
Still shaking, I put a drop of whisky in the tea cup, this made me
feel better. While I was
sat drinking the tea I made a plan to go to the great library down
town. The plan is to check any information about my house and its
history.
I
have always wondered why I managed to purchase the house at such a
small price. It is a three storey
house and has many rooms. I’ve lived here now for almost a year and
have done my best to sort the rooms out to how I want them. I never
had any trouble with that thing until now, and was happy with my lot.
My garden is still overgrown as I haven’t had time to deal with
that, but there’s no hurry. Today will be the decider of whether I
shall stay on at the house. I dread the thought of keeping
on having dreams as bad as that one last night.
Going
through the news about the district that I’m living in, I finally
came to news about my house. I read that many people have purchased
the house, but would not stay for any length of time, selling it on
for a fraction of the true price.
OMG!
I can’t believe it, as it seems that in the eighteenth century a
billionaire owned it. I read about how much cash he managed to
accumulate over the years, and this alone is staggering. It appears
that folk that lived around him had begun to ask questions about
this. They say he wasn’t particularly bright or amazingly good at
any sort of skills. Some of the people living around the outskirts of
the house began to check on the
background of
Clive Mortens (the Master of the house) for themselves. It seems that
his neighbours found out about his parentage. There had been a lot of
gossip surrounding Clive’s people and there had been many
disturbances spoken of by staff and domestics. Some were recording
strange chants, and suspicious lights coming from one room in
particular. More gossip was saying they were holding black masses and
there was even
talk that people were disappearing, vanishing without trace. Some of
these were domestics and waiters.
There’s
a large piece that says the Police had begun to investigate and even
some of these Police officers had disappeared in strange
circumstances. The Police force lost interest, or were too afraid to
go on investigating, or maybe budget-cuts
stopped it dead in its tracks.
The
more news that came to light the more my heart raced, my head is
thumping. I have to decide what to do: whether to sell the house and
lose a great deal of money or to stick it out and find out what the
hell is going on. I am a widow and feel if I had a partner I could
stick it out with a husband’s guidance and his company. I do miss
Mark, and I wonder what he would do? Deep thoughts filled my being as
I left the library.
I
made my mind up to get a priest in, maybe an
exorcism might
help, or make it worse. I had to pass the church on the way home and
so went in. I had a long conversation with the local priest who
stated that he couldn’t promise, but to leave it with him. It
seemed so endless, the wait for his answer. The horrors went on and
the scenes were very dark and distressing, I became unwell with the
stress.
I
waited about a week for a response and the news came that an exorcism
would take place, only
due to the facts that have been accumulated over the years about this
dwelling.
In
the time that it took for the ceremony
to be arranged,
there were far more distressing and terrifying happenings. The
abomination was becoming stronger and some nights it was
standing by my bed.
I
am outside of my body watching it and wondering what it will do. I
know that I have to re-join my body and spirit before a certain time
and that thing is there doing its best to stop me getting back. The
whisperer is back and it asked me where the book is? I said that,
I’d put it in the cellar.
“Go
to the cellar and get it, and hurry.”
It
is strange, but I am in my bedroom one minute and in the cellar in
the other. I was back so quickly.
“Read
the passage out loud, and be sharp, as time is getting short.”
I
did what was asked of me and read until the thing had gone.
Tomorrow
the exorcism will take place. Tonight is very windy and the tree
branches are scratching my window. I can’t sleep, and the
scratching and banging is getting worse. I began to drift off, but
woke again to the loud scratchings of the branches hitting my window
pane. I lay all night to that sound and I had not left my body. No
occult happenings tonight, I guess because I didn’t sleep. Maybe
I should sleep through the day, but dismissed this idea, as I’m
very tired today.
The
priest arrived and began by asking me many questions about the
time of these occurrences, how long they
take, and what actually happens. The priest is startled by the fact
that I leave my body and wander around the house. He did query why
nothing happened last night and I told him that I hadn’t slept.
This
seemed to give him a clue as to what and why. He then asked me about
my background and a little about my family tree.
Now
the ceremony of exorcism
begins.
Josie
Smith
The
Norsemen
“Shush
shush. Don’t make any noise, Laysa. They won’t find us here.”
I
put my hand over my sister’s mouth, gently. We were tucked down
behind bales of straw in the corner of our barn, listening to the men
outside. I knew they were men from the cold North who had first
raided Lindisfarne and killed the monks living there.
My
parents had gone to visit the Overlord of our area who was to be
crowned, and my Father was one of his supporters, having vowed to
fight the Vikings when they came. There had been no attacks for some
time and my parents had felt sure we would be safe for a few days.
We
heard them break down the door to our farmhouse and I knew they would
find the bag of coins that my Father had hidden under firewood. I
prayed they would not burn the house.
Laysa
was shivering with fear and with the cold as we had not had time to
prepare well when I heard the Vikings coming.
“They
may not stay long,” I tried to reassure her.
That
was a vain hope. Soon there was a fire burning in the yard and a
cooking pot on top, hanging from a quickly-fashioned triangle. The
smell from whatever was cooking made my mouth run with saliva. We
were both so hungry and thirsty that I felt quite faint.
There
was one possibility of escape: the overhanging roof left a small gap
between itself and the walls. If I could get the ladder up behind us
I might be able to widen the gap to get through. Putting my finger to
my lips, I motioned to Laysa that I was moving to get the ladder. She
clung to me and let out a muffled scream. Within seconds there
appeared a fearful countenance over the bales. A Norseman’s helmet
with horns. My imagination had him breathing smoke, which was
probably only his breath on the cold air.
Two
of them dragged us out to the yard and, seeing my sister shaking and
shivering, one fellow draped a hairy rug round her and sat us both
near the fire. I made sure we were very close together. The rug had
strange symbols woven into it, looking like bones and skulls, but it
was obviously warm, as Laysa had stopped shivering although she was
still terrified. They soon brought us wooden bowls of the tempting
food from the pot, along with what I thought was barley bread. It was
very stale but filling dunked in the liquid. I thought of refusing to
eat but knew that, without sustenance, we would not survive and it
seemed as though they did not intend to kill us; at least not yet.
After
they had all eaten, they passed round a goblet belonging to my
Father, taken from the house.
My
instinct was to refuse to drink but I knew that the only person to
suffer would be me. Following my lead, Laysa drank deeply and
spluttered as the powerful liquid hit her throat but, almost
immediately, she looked revived and warmed. The Vikings laughed at
her discomfiture but, it seemed to me, not in a nasty way.
Gathering
in a group, about five of the men seemed to be having a heated
discussion, pointing at us and shouting. I felt sure our fate hung in
the balance. Eventually they came and tied my hands together, then
put Laysa on a pony and indicated for me to walk beside her. We
seemed to walk for miles. At times I would doze off and jerk awake
again until every muscle and sinew in my body ached. I was also
trying to stop my sister from tumbling off the pony as she had gone
to sleep, slumping forward.
As
a cold sun rose palely in the distance we reached a clearing in the
wood. The centre was taken up with a large tent-building covered in
straw. The Norseman who had first found us, and seemed to have
authority, lifted Laysa down and, urging me forward, took us into the
tent where there were many more men.
The
change of atmosphere had revived me a little and, looking around, I
studied the faces of the people, wondering why they all wanted to
come to Northumberland and steal from us. I had heard from Father’s
friends that some Vikings had moved further across the Country and
were settling down after battles in which they had taken over whole
villages. I couldn’t stop thinking about the terrible shock my
parents would have when they returned to the farm and saw that we had
disappeared. They would, of course, realise that we had been taken
captive. If only I could have let them know we were still alive
was my main concern.
We
were fed again with some strange, stringy meat and water to drink.
Rugs were put down for us to sleep, which we did. I do not know how
long I slept but I was wakened by a lot of noise and shuffling of
feet. I reared up and rubbed my eyes, hardly believing what I saw.
Over at one side of the tent was a group of rough looking Norsemen
holding and pushing a man and a woman.
My
heart sank when I looked again and saw that my Father and lovely
Mother were stood looking bruised and battered with their hands tied.
I tried to rush over but was pushed down by a Viking who was the one
I had feared most from the beginning.
Circling
round my mind was terrible anticipation. ‘What was going to happen
to us?’
Part Two
I
saw that there was great tension between the fierce red-haired man,
Ergo the Red, and the other, kindlier Norseman who had helped us.
Ergo kept pointing at my Father and his attitude was hugely
aggressive. The other one, whose name I could not catch, and thought
of as Norgo, went over and handed my Father a sword. The Vikings
made a huge circle into which Ergo and my Father were pushed.
Obviously my Father was to fight for his life against the champion,
Ergo. My Mother shouted and struggled but was knocked to the ground,
sobbing. I had no chance to intervene, pinned down by two strong men.
It
was obvious that my Father was at a huge disadvantage with exhaustion
and some beating but he made a valiant effort against the Viking.
They circled and swung their swords, getting closer with each move. I
was surprised and elated when my Father caught Ergo a glancing blow
on the arm, drawing some blood. However, the tough Viking just shook
himself and continued as if nothing had happened. They continued
dancing round each other swinging their weapons. The swords were so
big and heavy that actual thrusts were more difficult to do. The
macabre dance seemed to last a long time but it was really only
minutes and then, with a huge lunge, Ergo smashed his weapon down
onto Father’s shoulder, close to his neck, and there was a gush of
blood, spreading everywhere.
My
Mother’s scream will stay with me forever.
The
man holding her let go and she flung herself down by my dying Father,
soaking in his blood. I also was freed to go to him and I tried to
catch the words he muttered with his last breath but they were too
burbling for me to understand. My little sister appeared too stunned
to be aware of what was happening, sitting with a glazed expression
but with tears running down her cheeks, wetting the neckline of her
gown.
The
events that followed passed in something of a blur, and between
trying to console my Mother and tending to my little sister who, I
believe, had her seventh birthday during this time, my grief,
although terrible, was pushed into the background.
The
Vikings treated my Father’s death in the same way as they did their
own. A pyre was arranged high off the ground. It was shaped like a
boat, as was their custom. My Father’s body, lifted on top was
surrounded by tools and weapons, apparently to help him into the next
world. Reluctantly I was impressed by the care and formality shown by
the Norsemen. The fire was ignited from underneath, with a huge
torch, quickly burning fiercely. I had the impression of my Father
rising up in the smoke and flames and disappearing heavenwards. All
in my imagination and part of the eerie spectacle. My Mother was
surprisingly docile, kneeling down, saying prayers until the end of
the ceremony with glowing embers puttering down, when she sobbed my
Father’s name to the skies.
“Cuthbert,
we need you. Come back to us. Come back.”
Afterwards,
no time was wasted and most of the tribe were made ready to move on.
I gestured to Norgo to ask where we were going. He obviously
understood my query and scratched a rough map in the earth. It seemed
we were going to an area near a river called Trent. I had heard some
word of this place, mentioned by my Father’s friends, and knew
there was already a settlement down there.
Norgo
managed to convey to me that it would be about seven days’ march.
Supposing that we might walk about twenty miles each day I put our
destination at about one hundred and forty miles away.
Truly
a daunting trip for all of us, particularly my Mother who seemed
distracted, only remembering to cuddle Laysa when she came to her
notice. I prayed that Mother was not going mad!
We
set off on the journey with my Mother and Laysa on ponies, for which
I felt reluctant gratitude.
Norgo
was really kind to my Mother, making sure she had eaten each time we
stopped.
After
two days we reached a place where there was a wide stream and were
allowed to wash in the water. I tried to shelter my Mother from the
Norsemen but they made sure that there was no chance of escape by
having two guards on the opposite side of the brook. She seemed
happier after cleaning herself and Laysa, rubbing sand into their
hair, then dipping it into the water.
Ergo
would watch my Mother and then talk to his particular cronies with
lascivious looks and laughter. I knew our main security lay with
Norgo, who, I believed, was growing fond of my Mother.
Secretly,
I was making a plan to kill Ergo if the opportunity arose. I knew I
would be no match in a fair fight so I planned to try and set a trap
for Ergo, by making him follow me as I pretended to escape.
That
night I crawled very slowly towards the door opening, went out and
just inside the nearby wood I dug a hole, using a flat stick and my
hands. I made it quite deep and then found many small sticks with
pointed ends and forced them into the bottom of the hole with the
most pointed parts upwards. I then covered over the hole with
brushwood and leaves. It was so crude that I knew it would be seen
for what it was in daylight and decided to put my plan into practice
while it was still dark.
I
crept back unobserved. I believed that they would expect me to stay
with my Mother and sister while they were so distressed, so the
Vikings were not as vigilant as previously. I immediately put my plan
into action, picking up a chunk of wood and hitting Ergo, who was
dozing near the fire. I did not hit him too hard and immediately ran
off to the wood with him following. I felt sure I could remember the
location of my hole and sure enough I ran towards it. I managed to
circuit the place and Ergo, half asleep, dropped right down into it
with a thud and a yell.
As
several Norsemen arrived in response to Ergo’s shout, I ran back to
the hut without being seen and pretended to be asleep. Ergo was
carried back and his few small puncture wounds tended. He was on his
feet the next day and I was really surprised that there were no
investigations or reprisals. This worried me more than any
punishment, leaving me wary of being quietly murdered in the night
from then onwards. Ergo’s embarrassment at being hoodwinked must
have been the reason for his silence.
Much
of our journey was fairly uneventful and after six sunrises we came
to the banks of the river. Some of the men went in and were able to
spear fish which made a welcome variation to the stews and barbecued
birds we had eaten. There seemed to be a real affection developing
between my Mother and Norgo and while one part of my mind was angry
and jealous, I knew that if she was to survive, the protection of a
powerful Viking was her best chance.
When
we reached the area called Trent there was feasting and celebration
and our tribe were settling in. A few days later Norgo took my Mother
as his mate and both seemed happy at the event.
She
and I had talked, the previous night, and I told her I understood. I
also let her know that as soon as the opportunity arose I would leave
and find some of our own people as it was a certainty that Ergo would
kill me when he could.
Two
weeks later I kissed my little sister, in her sleep, going westward
as quickly as possible, not knowing if I would ever see my Family
again.
Linda
Dalzell
