Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5) by David Gatward (best love novels of all time .txt) 📕

removed the shawl from the table to show the items which were hidden beneath it.

‘Mum’s wedding ring,’ Ruth said.

‘That’s a great photo of Nana,’ Anthony said.

The other item was the book she had taken during her previous visit.

‘I asked James to provide these for this evening,’ Beverly said. ‘It will give us all something to focus on.’

‘Now what?’ Patricia asked. ‘We just stare at them, do we, while you mutter some mumbo jumbo and pretend you’re communing with the dead?’

‘Something like that, yes,’ said Beverly, ‘but without the mumbo jumbo I hope.’

James was impressed with how Beverly was so totally unphased by his daughter’s attempts to scupper what she was here to do. It was almost worth having her here just for that. Almost.

‘I need to ask everyone to close their eyes,’ Beverly said. ‘I’m not going to do anything to you, and I can’t anyway, because my hands are being held. It will just allow us to not be distracted.’

‘But we can’t see what’s on the table,’ Dan said.

‘No, you can’t,’ Beverly said, ‘but you know they’re there, don’t you? And when you close your eyes, you’ll be aware of them, more so, actually. Because of what they represent, and whom.’

James closed his eyes, intent on leading by example, but then opened them again just a few moments later, to make sure everyone had followed suit. And, to his surprise, they actually had. Even Patricia.

‘Now,’ Beverly said, ‘what I want everyone to do, is to try and empty their minds—’

‘Oh, for goodness sake . . .’ Patricia sighed.

‘Patricia, please!’ Ruth said. ‘Just go with it, okay? For Dad?’

James squeezed Ruth’s hand and felt a squeeze in return.

‘As I said,’ Beverly said again, her voice calm and soft, ‘I want everyone to empty their minds, and to focus on Helen. A mother, a wife, a grandmother, a friend. Just think about what she meant to you, who she was, her voice, the times you spent together.’

James heard a sniffle at his side from Ruth.

‘Good,’ Beverly said. ‘Now, if we can all just think about what we would say to Helen if she were here now, how we would greet her if she came into the room to join us . . .’

James’ mind wasn’t empty, it was full. Bursting with memories of Helen. He could see her and feel her, and there, yes right there, wasn’t that her perfume? And oh, that laugh! It was music, wasn’t it? God, he missed her. How could he ever be expected to live without her? It was impossible! But these memories, they were so rich, so wonderful, that he didn’t want them to stop, and the only way for that to even be, was for him to continue, wasn’t it? He had to live, surely, to experience them?

‘Now,’ Beverly said, ‘I want you all to keep your eyes closed, to keep your minds focused on Helen, and to let go of each other, and to sit back, to relax, to just sink into those memories . . .’

James let go, sat back, felt the tears warm on his cheeks.

Then came the sharp sound of something tapping at the window, and even Patricia screamed.

Chapter Eighteen

‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Dan said, his voice like the sharp bark of a dog.

‘Keep your eyes closed!’ Beverly snapped back, and Anthony, who had said he’d join in, not just to support his mum, but because it all sounded like a bit of a laugh, something to actually talk about at school, maybe even make him a little more popular—though that wouldn’t exactly be difficult, would it?—was now not too sure about any of it. He almost considered heading back to the cottage and to his room, because there was always Call of Duty to play, wasn’t there? But something kept him in his seat—a mix of fear, not wanting to leave his mum, and just enough inquisitiveness to have him wondering what might happen next.

‘But what was it?’ Anthony asked.

‘Please,’ Beverly said, ‘if we can all focus on Helen, that would be really helpful.’

Anthony wanted to open his eyes, not just to look at everyone else, but to also make sure that there wasn’t some hideous apparition floating around the place. Though seeing that really would be something to chat about on the bus to school, wouldn’t it?

The tap came again, this time not just one single knock, but a quick rat-tat-tat.

‘Is that Helen?’ James asked and Anthony heard the desperation in his Granddad’s voice. ‘Is that her? It can’t be, can it? But is it? Is it really her?’

‘We need to all be quiet,’ Beverly said, ‘so that I can hear if someone is trying to come through from the other side,’ and Anthony noticed that the cheery, relaxed voice she’d entered the room with earlier, had now been replaced with something a little more on edge. And that didn’t exactly make him feel good about what was happening.

For a moment, everyone was quiet and Anthony found himself focusing now on every tiny sound in the room and the house beyond. He heard creaks and taps he’d never noticed before. The wind outside was howling around a fair bit as well, and then he was thinking back to the numerous horror films he’d watched, most without his mum knowing. And if there was one thing he’d learned, other than to never go into a dark cellar to investigate a strange noise, was that séances, contacting the dead in any way at all, well, that was never a good thing in the movies, was it? Creaking floorboards, squeaking doors, taps against the window, usually all meant the same thing: someone was about to die. And horribly.

Anthony took a deep breath and tried to get his imagination back under control. But it wasn’t easy.

‘Helen?’

The voice was Beverley’s, but there was something else about it, Anthony noticed, an echo maybe? No, that was stupid, of course, there wasn’t an echo! But it didn’t sound quite right, did