“How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also if I am to be whole.”
― C.G. Jung
There had to be a mistake. Disappointment weighing heavily on my shoulders, I pointed to the handwritten advertisement, the monthly rent circled in red ink.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s because of that.” Mrs Parker nodded to the wall behind the spiral staircase where brown streaks spoiled the crisp white paintwork. “The bedroom wall and ceiling are marked as well. Cracked roof tile.” She grimaced. “It’s been fixed for ages but I haven’t found time to redecorate.”
The water marks were indeed unsightly but appeared to be the only blot on an otherwise pristine, spacious property. A far cry from the pokey bedsit I’d rented the last time I’d run. That had stains on everything and smelled as bad as it looked.
“It was fitted out as a place for relatives to stay,” said Mrs Parker, smiling at my obvious bemusement. “Do you like it?”
“Oh yes.” I gaped at the leather furniture, plump cushions, and sparkling chrome kitchen appliances. The advertisement said fully furnished but for low rent properties that usually meant the bare minimum. “It’s lovely.”
“Good.” She lifted her chin and her smile grew. “I had plans to renovate the old stables as well but this place didn’t get many bookings so—” She shrugged. “Some of the staff have lived here but they don’t stay long. Too close to the house, I think.”
I could see the Manor through the window, partially hidden behind a row of mature beech trees and evergreen shrubs. The thick foliage smudged the view, especially on a blustery day like this when branches moved constantly and leaves fell like gold and copper rain. But the house was indeed right on the doorstep.
“It’s a care home, isn’t it?” I’d noted the word ‘Institute’ on a faded sign at the main gates.
“Yes.” She hesitated. “For patients with mental health issues. Extreme cases.”
“Oh, I see.” I glanced uneasily at the house but my attention quickly returned to the white walls and plush furnishings of my potential home. “Do you need a deposit?”
“No, just a month’s rent in advance.”
“Fine.” I picked at a loose thread on my cardigan. “My bags and things are in the car. I don’t suppose…”
“Yes. Move right in.” Mrs Parker handed me the keys she’d been clutching. They were warm. “I’ll pop round later to check everything’s all right.”
When she’d left, I leaned against the door and clapped my hands in glee. The Coach House at Highbridge Hall was beautiful with thick oak beams spanning the ceilings and a polished flagstone floor. The décor was fresh and the high-end furnishings looked new. Even the bed was made up and the bathroom equipped with towels and toiletries. The windows rattled in the wind but modern central heating would keep the autumn chill at bay. I couldn’t ask for more.
The Coach House sat at the north end of a cobbled courtyard at the side of the Manor. No windows overlooked it and with the old stables and storerooms enclosing the other side, it was secluded. A perfect, comfortable bolt hole two hundred miles from my home. No-one would find me.
I took my time unpacking, finding drawers and hangers for my clothes, window ledges, nooks and crannies, for the few treasures I’d thrown into boxes and bags as I fled. I found a wicker ‘welcome hamper’ of provisions in the kitchen; a pleasant surprise. And Mrs Parker returned that evening with a cottage pie and vegetables. Leftovers from supper at the Manor, apparently.
I accepted gratefully. Without the pie and hamper, I’d have gone hungry. I shared a bank account with Jake so I’d put a lighter to my card after withdrawing as much cash as I could from the dispenser in the local Co-Op. That, along with the money I’d squirrelled away from my housekeeping allowance, was all I had. Five nights in bed and breakfast accommodation, two tanks of gasoline, and basic provisions had made a substantial dent. A month’s rent in advance wiped out the remainder.
Poor as a church mouse, with no idea what I’d do when the month was up, I sank onto the leather sofa. Then I exhaled for what seemed the first time in years.
***
The visitations began the first night. Snuggled in bed, I watched the bright moon peep from behind scudding clouds. A light rain began, gusts of wind blowing the droplets against my window, the irregular patter interrupting the peace. I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep. God knows, my fatigued, aching body needed it. But my mind wouldn’t rest.
Surrendering, I paced the floorboards listening to trees rustling in the wind before prowling to the bathroom, clicking on the light and starting the shower. Undressed, I examined my body in the wall mirror above the bath. My bruises had changed from angry black and purple to soft autumnal reds and browns. Even the one beneath my rib cage had faded, though it remained the largest by far. Sighing, I stepped into the shower and immersed myself in the steaming water.
The sense of being watched was immediate: a prickling at the back of my neck, a surge of adrenaline that sent my heart racing. Muscles tensed, I turned off the taps and stood frozen, listening. Nothing. Stepping quietly from the shower, I grabbed a towel and tiptoed to the door. I peered into the darkness, scouring every corner, seeing nothing.
Still, the sensation plagued me. I listened for movement, breathing, anything, then carefully descended the iron staircase. Even in the gloom, I could see that the front door was closed, the key on the coffee table where I’d left it. I tested the lock then scurried to the kitchen to check the rear door. All secure and not a thing out of place. I stood in the living room unsure what to do then, shaking my head, chastised my nervousness and returned to the bathroom.
Back in the shower, I nervously hummed a tune while I soaped my skin and washed my hair. The smell of shampoo was bliss after two days in a budget Bed and Breakfast with an unsanitary shared bathroom I couldn’t bring myself to use. My muscles slowly unknotted as I lost myself in the scent, the heat and rich soapy bubbles.
I was drifting peacefully when I felt the touch. It was the gentlest caress, a mere glance on my cheek like an angel’s breath, but it sent me running from the bathroom, shrieking.
“Who’s there?” I cried, water dripping from me as I cowered behind my bed. “What do you want?” A strange scent reached my nostrils. A strong aroma, tangy and spicy… Aftershave. “Jake?” I whispered, my voice cracking.
Eyes searching wildly, I strained to hear. There was no movement, no sound other than the wind moaning through the trees.
I don’t know how long I crouched, naked and shivering, convinced he’d found me. It felt like hours. When I summoned the courage to move, I dressed hastily, pulling on the first things I found. Then I ran from room to room, switching on lights and searching every corner, every cupboard, every hiding place. Nothing. Not a thing.
Exhausted, I collapsed onto the leather sofa, curled into a ball, and burst into tears.
***
I awoke with a jolt. I could hear knocking. Close. Loud. A voice called my name. Jake? I turned stiffly toward the sounds, my bleary eyes focussing on a face at the window. I sighed when I recognised Mrs Parker. Looking concerned, she mouthed ‘you okay’ and held up a Tupperware box. I walked unsteadily to the coffee table, retrieved the door key and let her in. Daylight streamed through the doorway, the brightness stinging my eyes. When did I fall asleep?
Blueberry muffins, apparently baked by Mrs Parker herself, filled the Tupperware box. She thrust it into my hands and, clucking like a mother hen, felt my forehead, declaring I had a fever. Without further ado, she dashed off to fetch painkillers.
I watched her go. In spite of the brightness, a thick morning mist blanketed the world, erasing the line between earth and sky. The house was invisible and Mrs Parker vanished like a phantom as she hastened toward it. Yet, as I stared, the sun broke through, its beams catching moisture in the air like a Super Trouper catches motes of dust on stage. And the spotlight was on me. I lifted my face to the sun’s warmth, the gentlest caress… What happened last night? Did I have a vivid dream, a hallucination? Was it fear playing tricks on my mind? Fear of him?
My head throbbed. I was hot. Maybe I did have a fever. I waved at Mrs Parker as she re-emerged from the fog and, putting on a brave face, smiled gratefully while she handed over a bottle of pills and issued instructions. Although I appreciated her kindness, I was greatly relieved when she kept her visit short.
I sank onto the sofa, head in my hands. My skin smelled of floral soap and my hair was matted from showering without brushing it out. Whatever happened last night, that much at least had been real.
The sun had given up by mid-morning and the mist mutated into a chilly mizzle that clung to the window panes and made diamond necklaces of the spider webs in the corners. By lunchtime, fat raindrops were falling from slate grey clouds that scarcely skimmed the treetops and shrouded the house.
I barely moved from the sofa. Despite the events of the night, it was peaceful in the Coach House and the novelty of having nothing to do allowed me to sit quietly, staring at the clouds and listening to the wind’s song. Precious moments of peace. I picked at muffins, took more painkillers, and watched the latticed helix shadow of the spiral staircase move across the wall then fade into the gloom.
Leaving the lights off, I hauled my limbs from the soft leather and padded around in the dark, determined not to be afraid after what had turned out to be the calmest day I could remember. I showered again. In the dark. Just me and the blissfully hot jets in a void. No cares. No worries. Not governed by time, stress, or the whims of another. I emerged clean and fresh. What’s more, I felt safe.
I took two more painkillers before retiring to bed. Cocooned in the duvet, I watched a smattering of raindrops waltz down the windowpane, dancing in time to the click and twang of the radiator pipes and soft whoosh of a night-time breeze. My eyelids grew heavy, my head too. Sinking into the pillow, I let the world dissolve.
***
An icy chill awoke me. Adjusting to the darkness, I saw my breath clouding the air, yet condensation beaded the inside of the windows, pooling on the sills. I pulled the duvet tightly around me and rolled onto my side. The central heating pipes still clanked merrily but shivers ran up and down my spine. The room, so snug when I’d gone to sleep, felt arctic… Why?
Comprehension dawned when I felt it approach: cold – extreme cold that set my teeth chattering – followed by a wave of equally intense heat and energy. The sudden warmth sent an electric tingle rippling across my skin. It travelled back and forth, enveloping me. I shuddered, jolting violently when the strange scent from the night before invaded my nostrils. It wasn’t Jake’s aftershave, I could tell the difference now. This was floral. Herbal, perhaps?
A caress, soft and gentle as that I’d experienced in the shower, touched my lips. I gasped, inadvertently drawing the searing energy into my mouth. A sizzling sweetness burned my tongue, the heat quickly dissipating – like strawberries drenched in flaming brandy, alight in my mouth. Strange. Delicious. I salivated and swallowed.
A tingling warmth slid down my throat and crawled into my belly. It grew, spread, fingers reaching out along nerves and sinews, setting me on fire. Heat radiated from my body, sizzling, vibrant, and I snatched a sharp breath when my pussy began to throb. I writhed and arched my back. So hot, so needy… Lusty desire clouded my vision like a mist. I yearned for penetration, needed to satisfy my mounting hunger and—
Wait! Alarms screamed in my brain and I flinched. The word no formed on my tongue but before I could utter a syllable, the entity vanished.
I sat bolt upright, gasping. Hastily gathering up the duvet, I rushed downstairs and huddled on the sofa. I sat quivering, scared to move, my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Time held its breath while I listened. Still nothing. Then the minutes ticked on. The central heating pipes continued to click and the wind whistled through the trees, torturing them until, exhausted, it blew itself out. The trees stood silent, the rain ceased, and the sky melted from thunderous black into palest blue. As the sun appeared above the horizon, I finally gave in to sleep.
The rest of the day was remarkably bright. Mrs Parker woke me with bread rolls, jam, and a cheery smile. Fortified, I ventured beyond the cobbled courtyard for the first time since moving into the Coach House.
Highbridge Hall could have been at a National Trust Property or one of English Heritage’s beautiful stately homes. With soaring sandstone walls, perfect symmetry, and vast – if slightly sagging – Welsh slate roof, it was a stunning example of seventeenth-century architecture. Only the bars across its wrought-iron casement windows, and the presence of security guards, betrayed its true identity.
The spacious grounds were well maintained. A wide gravel driveway swept past the house and on to the gated main entrance. Luscious lawns and flower beds still in bloom so late in the year stretched toward a slight incline where woodland took over. Mainly beech trees, the swaying giants shed leaves at the feet of shorter fiery red acers and evergreen shrubs.
I crunched over the gravel toward the house, surprised I wasn’t accosted by the security guards loitering in the porch. Neither looked my way. Nor did the orderlies in starched white who walked with their patients or a few paces behind. With the sun on my face, I meandered as far as the tree line, my mind wandering. What was going on in the Coach House? What was happening? Was there a presence in the house, a spirit of some kind?
A piercing scream made me turn abruptly. A girl, perhaps my age, was running full tilt across the lawn, screeching like a banshee. An orderly gave chase while two security guards headed her off. She ran for the side of the house, towards my Coach House. She was almost there when the guards caught up, ending the manic dash. I stood gaping, mute, like the other patients, watching impassively while the girl cried and squirmed, fighting her captors. She lost the battle and was bundled away.
Show over, unease sent me hurrying back to the Coach House. Inside, I locked the door and drew the curtains. My gaze fell upon the stain behind the stairs. Well, that wouldn’t make tenants leave this place but disturbing behaviour from the psychiatric patients certainly would. My heart was racing. And what about the strange night-time visits: had previous tenants had similar experiences? Had they fled in panic? Should I?
Flee where? I could get in my car and drive aimlessly, but then what? I couldn’t go home and I had no siblings or close friends to turn to. As for my parents… I’d trusted them, confided in them. But good-looking, silver-tongued Jake had convinced my parents I was dreadfully clumsy and prone to flights of fancy. They believed him over me, offering to pay for psychiatric counselling before sending me back. Back. Back to playing the dutiful wife. Back to hiding in the shadows, fearing Jake’s temper. How could they?
“Stop thinking about it,” I muttered, digging fingernail’s into my palms to stem the sting of tears. “And there’s nothing here, no entity. It’s all in my head.”
It had to be. Things like that didn’t exist.
The following day seemed to prove my theory: all was peaceful. I spent the daytime dozing on the sofa, watching the sky darken and the rain return – lightly at first, then heavier. That night, I slept soundly, waking refreshed. I felt good, calm, and thanked my lucky stars I’d found The Coach House in spite of the strange occurrences and patients next door.
***
A tin of white paint and paintbrush in the bathroom cupboard gave me an idea. I could reach the water damage downstairs from the staircase and tackle most of the wall in the bedroom. I’d need a ladder for the ceiling but I’d paint what I could. What better way to thank Mrs Parker? She was an angel. She’d fed me every day for a week now and for that, I was truly grateful.
I set to work with a light heart, losing myself in the swish of the brush and the smell of the paint. It was satisfying to watch the ugly stains disappear beneath clean white strokes and, while working, thoughts of Jake were obliterated as completely as the marks on the wall: his belittling rants erased, put-downs wiped out, and fists stilled. I felt alive again. Whole.
I was balanced on a chair reaching for the top of the bedroom wall when I noticed the smell: flowers, herbs… lavender? I felt the presence – close, surrounding me. My heart pounded but I willed myself not to fear it. After all, why should I? It hadn’t hurt me. On the contrary, the last visit had felt good… so good I’d been almost disappointed by its failure to visit again.
It was here now. Scared, but intrigued, I drew a deep breath. I’m ready.
The entity closed in. It wrapped around me, immersing me in warmth that felt like affection as if its molecules exuded oxytocin or were made of it. I gasped, my body shuddering with pleasure. I felt weak, breathless. Loved. The paintbrush fell from my hand, clattering on the floor and, consciousness momentarily swimming away, I teetered and fell.
I expected pain but there was none. The entity broke my fall, catching me in a blanket of pure energy, invisible to the naked eye. It was the strangest sensation. Cocooned yet floating, I should have been terrified but fighting my instincts, I trusted instead. Nestled in its warmth, the entity carried me to my bed and deposited me on the mattress with the care of a lover – like Jake on our honeymoon, when he was tender and sweet. When we were in love.
The entity touched my lips and, eager to feel its power inside me, I opened my mouth wide. It probed, then slipped inside. I tasted the burning sweetness and quivered as the electric tingle crawled down my throat. The fire in my core was stronger this time. A powerful inferno. My veins ran with molten blood, synapses fired wildly. A deliciously hot, needy itch made my pussy throb. I writhed, breath catching in short gasps, and tore at my clothes, stripping them away, desperate to scratch that interminable itch. I touched my labia, fingertips alive with the entity’s energy. Hot juices flowed instantly from my slit, soaking my thighs. I moaned and rubbed feverishly.
The entity’s energy sizzled against my clitoris. So hot, so good. Sweat beaded on my skin as I rubbed and rubbed. A clitoral orgasm built and peaked. Gasping for breath, I thrust my fingers inside as my pussy muscles contracted, sucking hungrily. I rode the waves that roared through me until the tremors ebbed. Breathless, I panted but the energy inside me grew ever stronger and my need grew with it.
I stroked my slick tunnel then thrust hard, hand banging against my labia. Every thrust felt like everything I’d ever wanted. Everything I needed. Tiny spasms collided, colluded, and combined until an orgasm the like of which I’d only dreamed of, erupted within me. I writhed on the bed, flipping like a fish out of water, jolted by waves of mind-numbing bliss. Coming down gradually, I wiped sweat from my brow and lay, breathing heavily, on crumpled, damp sheets.
The entity wrapped itself around me, its power diminished, leaving me encased in comfortable, lulling warmth. Safe in its embrace, my heavy eyelids closed and I relaxed. Consciousness slipped away.
It was cold when I woke and I was alone. Shivering, I burrowed under the duvet and lay still trying to recall details of the night’s encounter. I concentrated but the memories were already cloudy and rapidly retreating. Surely, it wasn’t a dream? I touched my pussy, wincing at the ‘used’ soreness. No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. Smiling, I moaned softly and lay back, arms above my head.
***
The weather got even colder. Rain became sleet and a bitter wind tore the remaining leaves from the beech trees, leaving their naked, twisted branches exposed to the elements. I turned up the central heating but still, I shivered.
My duvet permanently draped around me, I mooched around, pacing restlessly. I wanted another visit. I longed for it. I could feel electricity in the air, but the entity didn’t appear. It hadn’t for days. Frustrated, I stalked to the window and gazed out. It was early afternoon but the skies were menacingly black. A distant flash confirmed a storm was approaching and I clasped my head as sudden pain stabbed my temples. A change in air pressure, perhaps? I hunted for more painkillers then retired to bed.
The bedroom felt warmer – surprisingly warm. Stripped, I lay naked on my side above the covers. I stroked my thighs, imagining the entity’s sensuous, tingling touch upon my flesh. My breasts ached as I fondled them, nipples hardening at the mere thought of that sizzling electric heat. I closed my eyes.
“Come back to me,” I whispered. “Please come back.”
A spike of electricity in the air seemed to move the very molecules surrounding me and the aroma of lavender – pure untainted lavender, my favourite perfume – filled the room. Rolling onto my back, I parted my thighs and sighed. Thank you, thank you… The temperature plummeted. Cold before heat. I braced myself.
There was no hesitation this time. The entity delved into my mouth before I’d even recovered from the intense heatwave that followed the initial icy blast. A fire raged inside me, flames fanned by my rapid pulse. My pussy swelled and throbbed. And this time, the stroking and thrusting were not controlled by me. I didn’t command the fingers that pinched my nipples and kneaded my breasts, nor did my mind control the depth and ferocity of the thrusts that stretched my pussy.
The entity took charge. It fucked me. Fucked. It was raw sex and I loved it – energetic, abandoned, passionate fucking. Exactly how I liked it. Yet, when it was over and I came down, exhausted, I was again wrapped up in love. Affection replaced lust, warmth quietened me where fire had scorched. Then the entity did something I hadn’t expected – it retreated inside me. It slid down my throat – in its entirety – and curled deep in my belly.
I lay on the bed panting. Time ebbed and flowed meaninglessly while my body pulsed with aftershocks, the entity still smouldering and sparking inside. Lying still, I listened to the storm. It was close now. Loud. Fierce. The wind hurled leaves and twigs at my window. Lightning split the sky followed by deafening thunderclaps moments later. The Manor was illuminated by the flashes and I pitied the patients locked in their rooms while the storm raged overhead like a monster from their worst nightmares.
Rain pelted the slates above me and I jumped at another almighty crack and blinding light. Then, as I blinked, I saw two lights sweep across the courtyard. The low rumble of a car engine filtered through the storm’s high decibel orchestrations. At the window, I watched a dark car park on the cobbles next to mine. I screamed inside when the occupant stepped out. Jake.
He stood unflinching in the driving rain, then, looking up, his eyes bored straight into mine. Horror filled me – cold, dark dread. Fleeing from the window, I grabbed my dressing gown and cast around, panicked. Downstairs, the door was being battered and, with a splintering crack, I heard it bang open. Fear threw my body into spasms as great as those I’d experienced at the hands of the entity. Rooted to the spot, I listened. Waited.
“What the fuck’s this?” Jake’s booming voice rang out below me, harsh and angry. “Get down here. Now!”
Feeling physically sick, I stood still. I wanted to run but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. And if I cried for help, no-one would hear me. No-one would come. Resigned to my fate, I walked shakily to the stairs. My gaze met Jake’s as he stood at the bottom glaring up. His face was flushed, teeth clenched, and even from a distance, I could smell whiskey mingling with the overpowering aftershave he insisted on wearing.
“Trying to wind me up, are you?” he spat. Staring, I shook my head. “Then you must be stupid.”
What had I done this time? I waited in silence, watching him rant and gesticulate madly towards the wall I’d repainted.
“Dumb bitch. Where’d you find the paint?” His eyes, reddened by drink, flashed hatred. “In the bathroom, was it?”
Still confused, I nodded.
Jake shook his head. “Come here,” he beckoned. “Come right here.”
He spoke as if chastising a dog who’d chewed the sofa or a child who’d drawn on the TV screen. Shaking, I obediently descended a step, then another.
“Stop there,” he said almost in a whisper and I halted halfway down the stairs. “Look.” I followed his gaze to the wall. “You’ve used matt paint on the walls,” he snarled. “Matt’s for ceilings, silk’s for walls. Silk. Fucking silk.”
Was that all? I felt the life sucked out of me. Nothing I did was ever right. Dead inside, I braced myself for the physical onslaught he would surely deliver. But, as he raised his fists, a spark ignited deep inside me, a tiny ember that sizzled in my core. The fire swelled, the entity grew. Feeling its power, I descended another step… and another. Anger flashed before my eyes, fear turned to hatred. I wouldn’t take this anymore.
I’m not altogether clear what happened next. The events are hazy. I know that I was thrown backwards onto the iron stairs. I know the entity leapt from my body and lunged for Jake. I know because I watched – watched the whole thing. I saw the entity encircle Jake, snaking around him like a living fog, black as night. I saw it pluck him up and throw him hard against the wall, heard him scream and watched him sprawl, hurt, on the flagstones. He looked to me – our eyes locked – and I saw fear in the face of the man I once loved.
Good.
Jake cowered, too afraid to run. Lightning illuminated his demise as he was swallowed by the swirling void. Then the entity reared up and roared triumphantly, its cry colliding with the thunder to become one enormous, almighty crash.
The Coach House shook. Knocked backwards again, I hit my head on the iron steps. Woozy, I watched flames sprout from nowhere. They danced and played all around me, distending into a wall of heat that ate the plush furniture in the sitting room, and melted the shiny chrome kitchen fixtures. The paintings on the walls caught alight. Photographs, too. The gilt framed wedding photo over the mantelpiece smouldered then burst into flame, my smiling face melting along with Jake’s.
I watched. I laughed. Laughed and laughed. I felt free. Truly free. At last. Lying back, I watched the Coach House burn – the house Jake and I had restored, loved, lived in happily. For a while.
The heat increased and the world concertinaed in on itself like a bedsheet folded corner to corner, end to end. Lights flashed in the darkness – coloured lights, red and blue. Sirens wailed. Rain soaked my clothes and, sensing it was time, the entity came home. It gently kissed my lips then crawled into my mouth and retreated deep inside. It sizzled as it nestled down.
***
The room is white, glaringly so. Light pours through the window, casting shadow bars across the starched white linen of my bed. Mrs Parker’s face looms into focus.
“You’re safe, you’re in a safe place. Nothing can hurt you here.”
I turn to the window, catch some sun on one side of my face, but the restraints on my wrists and ankles prevent further rotation.
“It’s good that you’ve started to open up.” Mrs Parker strokes my arm. “But for now, you need rest.” She lifts the sleeve of my nightie and I feel a sharp pinch and a sting. “Sorry, dear.”
I gape at her. I don’t understand. But as the world drifts away, I exhale slowly. My body sinks into the mattress, passes right through it and is swallowed by the ground beneath. I float downward into oblivion, deep down where nothing should exist. Yet a vibrant energy burns here: passionate, alive. I sink into its embrace.
Everything is going to be okay now. Everything is fine. We have each other.
