Veiled Intent

There are places where the walls between realities are thin. Places where communication is possible; where doors can open, Death's dark veil can be parted, and things can pass either way. Protect yourself from evil or you will be lost...

Cameron had to admit it, he was enjoying the evening so far, despite himself.

A few months previously, his dippy and delightfully long-legged girlfriend had announced she'd won a competition. Finally, all the vacant hours spent poring over a myriad of celebrity gossip and competition mags had paid off, and they'd arrived at what was reputed to be 'The Most Haunted Inn in Britain' late in the afternoon.

He'd sighed inwardly as they arrived. The middle of Bodmin Moor wasn't where he wanted to be. Only the idea of a dirty weekend with the recently enhanced Gwen had kept him going. No clubs, no Spearmint Rhino, no scantily clad bimbos parading themselves around to letch at. Cornwall appeared to be all gorse, sheep, real ale and rocks. No real estate to buy into, no business ventures, no chance to add to the family fortune.

The lights went out and their host's voice whispered into the darkness.

"You are now in the most haunted room of the Inn. It is rumoured that this room was built on the site of a standing stone, with several ley lines crossing through the centre of the room. Stand still and wait, see what you can feel."

Cameron was already taking the opportunity to feel a large handful of the giggling Gwen's rear end and was content, but he stopped as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Wow!" gasped a lady behind him. "You won't believe this!"

He'd noticed the eccentric looking middle-aged lady as they walked in. She looked like she belonged on the set of Ghostbusters and had brought a specially modified camera in with her, all infrared gadgetry and hypersensitive light monitoring sensors. She spun back the footage and showed the built in screen to the other five people in the room. Twenty seconds of footage showed a mote of light wink into life, wander jerkily around the room and caress the back of Cameron's shoulders before darting away into the wall in front of them.

"I think you've pulled Cam," giggled Gwen. "And you said I was the only one who gave you goose bumps."

The lights came back to life and the dapper man guiding them around the Inn beamed at them. "Right, well that was a good start. This way everyone."

Cameron hung back, holding Gwen to him as he muttered in her ear. "Good air conditioning and the woman with the camera probably comes on every tour. Come on, let's find our room and do a little more exploring?"

"Honestly, all you ever think about is sex. Come on, we've got the Burning Girl to find."

Cameron slouched along at the back of the group sulking for a few moments, but cheered up as they passed through one of the small bars that dotted the Inn. A few minutes later he caught up with Gwen and the rest of the group, a large whisky warming him inside, another in his hand.

"Sorry pet, fancied a drink. Want a sip?"

"Shhh," Gwen stage whispered as the man carried on his monologue.

"... and some people have smelt burning or heard the crackling of flames. Nobody knows why the girl haunts the Inn, as we think she died in the Great Fire of London. Perhaps she came from the area and returned when she died, or maybe she visited here and the Inn held a special place in her heart. Unfortunately we've never managed to find out." He shrugged and gestured towards a nearby door.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for the next part of your ghostly experience here at the Jamaica, please proceed into the room on your right and we'll see if we can make contact."

"Wuh?" said Cameron who was glazing over as the whisky took effect.

"The wee-gee board thingy silly," said Gwen. "I told you all about it in the car on the way down."

Cameron, who had been listening to a new album and making appropriate noises during the drive, had only a vague recollection of a conversation about ouija boards, but grunted in acknowledgement anyway and followed her into the room. He didn't like the idea of contacting anyone from the other side. People who were dead should damn well stay dead as far as he was concerned.

A few minutes later they were all seated around a circular table with another man facing them. He was sombrely dressed and spoke in a hushed tone as he addressed them.

"Now before we start this, are you all agreed you will do as I say during this process?" Nods of assent prompted him to carry on. "You will all repeat after me a short passage. This will prevent evil or malevolent spirits from taking you over. I know there are sceptics among you but please don't take the chance."

His eyes lingered on Cameron as he continued. "If you do not say this you may leave yourself open to whatever lurks on the other side of this reality and I may not be able to help you."

"Ooh, do you think we'll be able to contact anyone from our families?" whispered Gwen as they moved to the table.

"I bloody hope not, I prefer my family dead and buried thank you very much. My parents were idiots and the best thing that ever happened to the silly lesbo bitch sister of mine, was breaking her neck falling down the stairs."

A few seconds later the final words of protection had been spoken. Even Cameron had joined in in a loud clear voice, determined to be on the safe side and make damn sure nothing was going to ruin his evening. Six fingers met on the squat shot glass in the centre of the ouija board and the session began in earnest.

"Is there anybody there? I seek a guide in the spirit world. If you can hear me, please make yourself known to us now."

The lights dimmed somewhat theatrically in Cameron's opinion, and he glanced at Gwen. She was lapping it up, the dozy bimbo. His eyes wandered to her cleavage and he found himself thinking of the evening ahead. God he fancied a good long.....

His hand moved.

His attention snapped back to the table as the glass scribed a perfect circle through the letters on the board, stopping at the centre.

"Please make yourself known to us. Is there anybody there?"

The sonorous voice of their human guide carried through the quiet air, with everyone's breathing quickening as they leaned into the table, rapt in attention.

Yes

The glass had moved again, this time to the upper corner of the board where the stock answers of "Yes" or "No" were scribed.

A few terse questions later and they were apparently in the presence of an old man who had died in the Inn after drinking too much and falling into the water trough outside the old stable block. Jim was his name and he'd wanted to know how Mabel was. A few seconds later and the sombre man said they were alone once more.

"Jim's a regular," he said. "He's often the starting point, and lets us know we've managed to pierce the veil between the realities. Everyone concentrate please. Now is the time where we see who else we can contact. Ready?"

Nods of assent dipped around the table, everyone attentive to proceedings.

"This is cool."

The quiet whisper came from behind Cameron. The camera was still whirring as Ghostbuster Woman continued to film the evening. She'd been exclaiming over things for most of the night, particularly when the Burning Girl had apparently been in the room, the camera picking up what she claimed were ghostly heat ripples.

Cameron grinned at her and took a swig of his whisky, grabbing Gwen's hand again. He had to admit it was a good show, the atmosphere was great, the whisky was top notch and rubbing his leg against Gwen he was beginning to think it would be a great weekend. With one hand in Gwen's, the finger of the other rested on the upturned glass. Again the sombre man intoned and again the glass responded.

Everything changed then. The hairs on his arms lifted, and looking over at Gwen, he could see her powder-blue eyes widen in shock as the room darkened with menace.

A gasp from behind him carried over the noise of the whirring camera as Ghostbuster woman recorded more activity.

Their host's voice cut through the room. "Keep calm everyone, you have nothing to fear. This is a spirit unused to communication, unused to making contact in a controlled manner."

The steadying voice broke through the initial shock and everyone settled as the atmosphere chilled. Breath steamed in the cool air, and the glass began to move rapidly over the board in front of them.

Gwen

"Oh God." Gwen gripped Cameron's hand with bone breaking intensity as it carried on dancing across the board in front of them, everyone spelling out the words as they formed.

I Love You. Be well

"Dad?" The tiny question rose to his right. Cameron looked over. Gwen was pale in the wan light of the room, tears flooding her eyes. She looked at him.

"He always said 'be well', don't know why, but he always said it. "Dad?"

Yes. Love you

The glass span in sudden clattering discontent as Gwen's hand disconnected, following the rest of her to the carpeted floor in a dead faint. Ghostbuster woman was replaying the scene on her camera, exclaiming repeatedly over the footage, and over several motes of light that had winked into existence, one directly over Gwen's head, the other closer to Cameron. A few moments later, when Gwen had revived and assured the rest of the group she was okay; they carried on.

"He said he loved me. He never said it when he was alive."

To Cameron, Gwen seemed happy. She was still pale, but radiant with a kind of inner joy. He was not. The thought this was real was beginning to reduce the warm glow produced by several large whiskies. He sat through several more minutes of uncomfortable silence as they tried in vain to contact another spirit and then their host stood up.

"I think that's it for tonight everyone. The force of the last contact was extraordinary. May I suggest we head to the bar and buy the young lady here a drink? Well done everyone, that was a great session."

The group moved away from the room, Gwen and Ghostbuster lady talking animatedly, Cameron the last to leave as he cast a glance back at the ouija board.

Half an hour later Cameron sat on his own in the room where it had happened. He had left the group talking in the bar and, pleading a need to use the facilities, had made his way back to the room to investigate. He was deeply unhappy. There were no wires, no hidden trapdoors, no pipes, vents or hollow walls: nothing which could explain what had happened. He sat down, brooding, another glass of whisky in front of him.

Drunk and upset, he watched with dull and uncaring eyes as the glass moved of its own accord on the board in front of him, almost quicker than he could follow:

Cam

Sobriety kicked in, with his frantically screaming brain cutting through the alcohol in a rush of adrenalin fuelled terror.

Grabbing the glass, he sat sweating and alone, watching in disbelieving horror as his hand, with the glass clenched inside, moved again of its own volition.

Off

He released the glass, his hand tingling in pain, heart hammering as it carried on moving, now free of his sweaty grasp.

You killed me

"No!" gasped Cameron.

You pushed me

"No. I was drunk, it was an accident."

The glass spun crazily for a second as if in the throes of anger, and then it stopped abruptly in the centre of the board, halting briefly before it spelled out one final message.

Die

Cameron lurched to his feet, trying desperately to escape as the temperature in the room dropped. As his breath billowed in clouds from his mouth, pain filling his core and he sank to his knees gasping horribly in the now freezing air.

Darkness fell.

~

"You were amazing last night."

A languid arm draped over Cameron's naked form, as a smile traced his lips. Gwen stretched languorously, and swayed naked into the bathroom, fully aware of the effect she was having, closing the door with a smile over her shoulder.

"Very nice," came the thought.

"Camille? You bitch!" screamed Cameron silently. "Get the hell out of my head."

"My head now I'm afraid little brother. You see I've taken over this rather odd body of yours. I think it'll take me a while to get used to being a man, but I have to admire your taste in women. You are the result of what I believe you would call a hostile takeover. You left yourself open to attack and well, here we are."

"I said the damn mantra. I said it!" Cameron whined. "This isn't fair Camille. You said I was going to die."

"The mantra protected you from evil. I am not evil, merely angry. And fair? Fair is being allowed to live your life how you want to without being killed by your little brother in a fit of homophobic pique. Now, I get a second chance and you, brother mine, get to watch. We are going to spend the next forty-odd years together, with me in total control. As for telling you you were going to die, well I had to get you to lose that last little bit of control before I could take over. And, speaking of control, I believe I can turn you down. Ah, there we go. Enjoy the show little brother, we'll speak more soon."

Cameron's scream of outrage faded as she mentally screened him out.

A second chance.

Camille glanced round the room, taking stock; Porsche keys, nice; a wallet with plenty of money and a company director ID badge. The egotistical little bastard had done well.

The bathroom door opened and a freshly perfumed Gwen stepped naked into the bedroom.

Very well indeed.

"It has to be said," she thought, "this definitely beats a trip to the afterlife."

~~~ The End ~~~