The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

she had at last appeared downstairs the girl had admitted to being very hungry. ‘So, what you’re saying is that I can switch this off when I want to.’

Bea nodded. ‘I’m not saying it’s easy. What you see is seductive, however horrible it is, and of course when you’re swept into the story it’s hard to keep one foot on the ground of your real life.’ She was talking about herself, talking about something that had never happened to her before, not like this, not so insistently, but if the same thing was happening to Emma, then she had to find a way to help her. ‘That’s the bit you have to learn. But once you know it’s possible to step back, you’re halfway there.’

‘Is this to do with reincarnation?’

‘I don’t think so. Not in this case. That feeling that you have been somewhere before, that you know the people you encounter, in real life or in your dreams perhaps, is a different thing. Here you are a witness rather than a participant.’

Was that true? Yes, even though Eadburh and Nesta could see her, she wasn’t there, with them.

But she was, wasn’t she. Eadburh had seen her and Nesta had drawn her in.

‘Bea?’ Emma was staring at her. ‘What is it?’

‘Sorry, I was thinking about something that happened to me recently.’ Why not be honest with this girl. Think of her as an apprentice rather than a victim. But don’t tell her everything. That would only terrify her more. ‘I had seen something spontaneously, and I came out of it spontaneously. I wanted to know what happened next because it was relevant to a haunting I was dealing with, and that was when I used a touchstone. I picked it up from the site of the haunting; in this case it was literally a stone, and I formed the intention that I could only see the story when I had the thing in my hand. If the story gets too upsetting, I drop it.’

‘And that wakes you up?’

‘Yes.’ She said it firmly.

It wasn’t always true, of course. Surely Emma would see through the over-simplification.

‘Hello, I’m back.’

Mark’s voice in the hall saved her from the tangle of her own thoughts. ‘So, how was the bishop?’

‘Amenable. If they want the Tenebrae, he’s fine with that. I’d better ring the churchwarden and tell him.’

‘What’s the Tenebrae?’ Emma watched as Mark disappeared towards his study.

‘A rather lovely late-night service. Part of the Easter story. They are going to have it on Maundy Thursday – that’s the Thursday before Easter Day. The church is candlelit, with no electric lights on, and they will blow out the candles one at a time until the church is completely dark, then someone will slam the door loudly. The sound symbolises the rock being rolled across the entrance to Jesus’s tomb. It’s very dramatic. Then they will meditate on Jesus’s death.’

Emma grimaced. ‘I don’t go for that stuff. And,’ she leaned forward on her elbows, ‘I’m surprised you do. I suppose you have to, if you’re married to a vicar.’

‘I don’t have to do anything because I’m married to a vicar,’ Bea said gently. She brought out a loaf and the butter dish and began to lay the table. ‘But obviously we talk about things. We have interesting discussions.’

‘In our family, “interesting discussions” usually means blazing rows,’ Emma folded her arms.

‘That’s sad.’ Mark returned in time to hear her remark.

‘I hate it. Mum is a bit fierce sometimes. She doesn’t really like the same things as Dad. She wishes he had a proper job.’

‘Our children had the same problem, I fear.’ Mark smiled. ‘It’s not very cool, having a clergyman for a father. We’re generally regarded as wimps.’

‘But you’re not a wimp.’ Emma spoke with feeling.

Bea turned away to hide a smile. She gave the pan of soup on the stove a quick stir. ‘Indeed he isn’t,’ she said.

‘And you believe in ghosts. You must do,’ Emma went on earnestly. ‘Dad said you dealt with his ghost.’

‘Not very effectively, sadly.’ Mark sat down opposite her at the table. ‘Strictly speaking, the Church doesn’t believe in ghosts.’

‘What about the Holy Ghost?’ Emma knew that much at least.

He nodded. ‘I’m always asked that, and the answer is complex. I’ll tell you what we do believe in, and that is demons.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes widened.

Bea turned to glare at him. ‘Mark, I think poor Emma has enough to deal with right now without an added layer of mystical obfuscation.’ She searched for the soup bowls.

‘What is a demon then?’ Emma persisted. ‘The actual definition.’

Mark threw Bea a quick apologetic look. ‘From the Christian’s point of view, it’s a fallen angel who has chosen to serve Satan.’

‘Is Dad’s ghost a demon then?’

‘No!’ Mark responded sharply. ‘I personally think she’s a lost soul. If she returns, either Bea or I will speak to her and comfort her and send her on her way to God and thus give her, and your father, peace.’

‘And can you teach me to do that?’ Emma turned back to Bea.

‘I can certainly give you some pointers,’ Bea said guardedly. ‘It takes a long time, Em, to learn all about this, and a lot of experience, but I will give you a list of books you can read and give you some starting points. Enough to deal with your own stuff, at least. It’s like studying psychology. You have to analyse yourself before you can start on other people. Later, if you’re still interested in taking this further, we can talk some more.’

As Bea began to dish up, Mark caught her eye. ‘I think tonight we might have a quick blessing before we eat. To clear the air.’

‘Because you think there are demons here?’ Emma caught on at once. ‘Round me?’

‘Because it will give us peace.’

It was very late when they finally went to bed. Bea lay still a long time before she was sure that Mark was asleep, then she slid out of bed and, grabbing her dressing gown, she