Dead Loss (standard:horror, 3634 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: May 27 2002	Views/Reads: 4493/2579	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Who are the ghostly characters Darren encounters and what are the reasons for their visits?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Don't you honey me. Fifteen years of marriage; fifteen years. Why,
Darren? Why?” 

“Right! I'll settle this once and for all.” He picked up the telephone
and dialled, tapping his fingers on the table, his impatience apparent. 
“Melanie, is that you? What the hell's going on? What are you playing 
at? I come home from the office and Joy's in a state. What goes on in 
that mind of yours? I was in the cafe alone.” 

“I saw her Darren; I'm sorry, I didn't want this to happen, but I had to
tell Joy. She's my baby sister.” 

“You're mistaken, Mel, there was no girl in the café. Two lorry drivers,
but no girl.” 

“I'm sorry, Darren. I hope you two patch things up.” 

He slammed down the telephone and stormed out of the kitchen. Joy chased
after him, sobbing. “Where are you going?” 

“To the pub. There‘s no inquisition to face there.” 

“Oh, yes, you go to the pub; your solution to everything isn't it? The
washing machines not working, I'm off to the pub. My mother's coming 
for dinner; I'm off to the pub. Will she be there? Will she?” 

“For the last time, there is no girl. Now you believe what you want to.
I need a drink.” He slammed the door when he left the house. “Don't 
wait up,” was his last comment. 

He fell over the doorstep as he opened the door, and put his finger to
his lips. He had drank alone, and tonight, he had one too many. He 
gripped the banister and struggled to make headway up the staircase, 
his vision blurred, and the house spinning. Halfway up, his progress 
was halted. Someone was standing on the landing. 

A boy looked down on him. He looked to be between eight and ten-years
old.  He was wearing one of those Fauntelroy suits with a bow tie; the 
ones with the large collar. His hair was cut straight across his 
forehead, a strange dated haircut. 

“Who the hell are you?” slurred Darren. 

The boy never spoke. Darren tried to focus his eyes on the boy. His
initial distorted thoughts were that he had caught a burglar in the 
act, but what burglar dresses like that? And this was just a small boy. 
 Darren continued on his way and the boy faded, before disappearing 
completely. 

Darren, at last reached the landing and checked all around. He staggered
to the twin's bedroom and even checked under the bed. He felt a hand on 
his shoulder and let out a muted scream. He turned to face Joy. 

“What're you doing?” 

“I'm looking for the ghost.” 

“The ghost? You're bloody plastered. Come to bed before you wake the
twins.” 

She helped Darren into their bedroom and undressed him. Tears were
forming in his eyes as he caressed his wife. 

“Joy; I would never ever cheat on you. I love you.” 

“I know you wouldn't, Darren. Perhaps Mel was mistaken... Drink is not
the answer. You haven't been yourself the last two or three days... 
Darren, have you anything you want to tell me?” 

He looked like a schoolboy who had been scolded when he lifted his head,
his red eyes swollen, due to his crying. He lay on the bed and Joy 
stroked his hair. 

“Joy, either I'm going mad, or we've got ghosts.” 

“Don't Darren. Stop it now. You're scaring me.” 

“I'm serious. These last three nights, I've seen different ghosts.
Tonight was the fourth.” 

“You're pissed, Darren You don't know what you're saying.” 

“I know what I see, but why? Why me?” 

“Christ, you're serious.” 

“The first night, a man appeared to me at the end of the bed. He wore a
black blazer and white slacks, with a boater on his head. A cravat hung 
around his neck. He looked like one of those Hooray Henry's.” 

“Did he say anything?” 

“No, that's just it. None of them have said anything... He just stared
at me, unsmiling, his eyes so full of sadness. He must have been there 
for ten minutes before fading away. Then the next night, it was a bloke 
in a top hat and black suit. He had one of those handlebar moustaches 
and was carrying a cane... Then last night, it was a woman, who was 
wearing a Victorian dress I'd say. Green it was, with puffed sleeves. 
She had on a bonnet, and believe it or not, she was carrying a bloody 
parasol. She looked familiar, but I couldn't say where from. Then there 
was tonight; the young boy... “What does it all mean, Joy? Am I going 
insane or are they real?” 

“Sleep, Darren. Tomorrow, we'll talk about it. Sleep, darling.” 

The following evening, they pulled into the long driveway of Melanie's
house. Darren turned off the engine and sat for a moment, sighing 
heavily. 

“Come on, darling; its for your own good,” urged Joy. 

“I shouldn't have come. This is crazy.” 

Joy continued. “He's a good friend of Mel's; besides, what have you got
to lose?” 

“You mean, apart from my prestige and dignity?” 

They rang the doorbell and were greeted by Melanie, who kissed her
sister on the cheek and eyed Darren up rather gingerly. She was not 
expecting him to be in the throes of joy, not after her phone call 
yesterday. “Come on in, he's waiting.” 

They entered the dimly lit lounge, which was decorated in pink. Mel had
a thing about pink. A roaring fire blazed in the open grate. The warmth 
was welcome to the couple, who rubbed their hands together. 

Darren looked towards the man sat on the pink sofa. He had grey hair and
was dressed casually in a grey cardigan and slacks. He looked about 
forty-five, but Darren suspected that he must be younger, after Joy had 
mentioned that he was an old university pal of Mel's. He raised himself 
up from his seat and shook hands with the couple; his eyes never 
leaving Darren. 

Melanie returned with a couple of bottles of wine and served her guests.
The room was lit by candles, the pink colours giving the room a warm 
glow. Bach was gently streaming from the impressive stereo unit. Anyone 
could perceive from the room that Mel was unattached. It was definitely 
a woman's house. 

“This is Paul Levitt. Paul, meet Darren and Joy. Paul and I go back a
long way. He's now a successful hypnotist.” 

“Yes, I want you to be relaxed. I'll be frank with you; I may be able to
hypnotise you, but if there is any deception, then this exercise is 
futile. I need to know before we start if you have been completely 
truthful. From what I gather, Mel says she saw you with another woman, 
which you deny emphatically. Also, you claim to have seen ghosts. Four 
in all I believe?” 

“Perhaps five,” corrected Mel. 

“Five! I saw only four,” insisted Darren. 

Levitt poured another glass of wine. “Mel has something she wishes to
tell you. She is special; very special. She has kept this from you for 
a long time.” 

“Yes... Joy, Darren; I'm psychic.” 

“What!” 

“I'm sorry I kept it from you, Joy. I realised from my university days.
You see, several friends, Paul and me used to conduct séances. At first 
for a bit of fun, and then; well then it got serious. You see, I 
discovered that I could see dead people. Sometimes I could actually 
communicate with them.” 

Darren laughed. “Wait a minute; I think I see where this is leading. You
think the girl in the café may have been a ghost?” 

“Its possible Darren,” said Mel. “Joy trusts you and believes you'd
never cheat on her.” 

“And you. What do you believe?” 

Mel continued. “Joy talked to me today about your experiences. That's
why I suggested this meeting.” 

“But hypnosis. Don't you think you're taking this a bit far? You say you
can communicate with the dead; so why use hypnosis?” 

“Paul is brilliant at what he does. If you want to find out about these
ghosts, he'll delve into your subconscious mind. The answers may be in 
there.” 

“Nobody is forcing you, Darren,” uttered the hypnotist. “Its entirely up
to you.” 

Darren looked across to his wife. “I don't know.” 

“Your choice,” said Levitt. 

Darren was seated on a footstool, his back to the blazing fire. Levitt
sat opposite, the shadows of the flames contorting his rugged features. 
“Please close your eyes. You will ignore any sound, apart from my 
voice. If you hear anything, it will only make you feel more relaxed. 
You see only darkness, emptiness, a complete blank... You're standing 
at the foot of a hill, looking towards the horizon, greenery 
everywhere. The sky is blue, and wispy clouds are travelling across 
it.” 

Joy frowned and chewed on her fingernails as the hypnotist continued. 

“A gentle breeze tickles your face... The air smells clean and
wonderful... You turn around slowly... You now see the green contours 
of the hill, reaching for the sky. There is an object on the top of the 
hill... Darren, I want you to walk up the hill... The object is getting 
closer and you can see it more clearly... It is a wishing well... Can 
you see its white stone and red roof? Peer into the well, Darren; look 
carefully... It isn't a well after all, but a lift. A lift with a solid 
roof and armchair... Sit on the chair, Darren...The lift is descending, 
and you feel relaxed. The walls are getting darker and darker as you 
descend into the perfect blackness. Your mind is relaxed and at 
peace... As I count down from ten, your body will become even more 
relaxed... Ten, your body will become twice as relaxed... Nine, it is 
four times relaxed... Eight, seven, six, relaxing all the time... Five, 
deeper... Four, three, two, deeper and deeper; so relaxed... One.” 

Levitt left his seat and walked towards Darren. He examined his eyes. 

Mel held Joy's shaking hand for support. Outside, the downpour had
started; the howling wind throwing the rain against the window, and 
startling Joy for a moment. 

“Now, Darren, where are you?” asked Levitt. 

The words that escaped from his mouth were not his, but the murmurings
of a child. 

“I'm by the river, tossing stones and making ripples.” “Who are you?” 

“I'm James. I do so love the river.” 

“What is the name of the river, James?” 

“The River Thames of course; what other river is there?” 

“James, what year is this?” 

“Why, 1817 of course.” 

Joy held her hand over her mouth. She swore that the fire had grown, as
the pink room was blinking with the rhythm of the flames. The window 
rattled violently with the force of the whistling wind. 

A loud scream coming from the lips of Darren made them all jump. “Noooo!
The water; it's so cold... Help me please!” 

Joy flinched again, when the voice changed to that of a woman. “Doesn't
the Queen look splendid in her beautiful dress?” 

“Who are you?” asked Levitt. 

“Sarah.” 

“Where are you, Sarah?” 

“Outside the palace. Look, can you see her?” 

Joy was startled. Hearing a woman's voice come from the mouth of her
husband had her spooked. Mel could see that she was disturbed and 
clutched her hand more tightly. The room fell silent; the only sounds 
could be heard from the crackling fire and the ticking of the carriage 
clock. 

“What a sad day this is!” boomed a deep voice from within Darren.” 

“And why is it a sad day?” asked Levitt, taking a sip of his wine and
loosening his collar. 

“He is dead! He is dead!” 

“Who's dead?” 

“Haven't you heard? Charles Dickens has past away today. He had a
stroke, the poor soul.” 

Levitt placed his face close to Darren's. He was trying to determine
whether he was faking. He could usually tell. 

“Such a queue. I only hope this is worth it,” said another male voice;
an upper class twang to the accent. 

“Why are you queuing?” 

“I simply must, darling. The Ten Commandments is playing at the Elite.
Cecil B DeMille is such a genius, don't you think?” “Who are you?” 

Darren fell silent. The flames blew inwards and Joy gasped. “That's
enough for now,” stated Levitt. “At the snap of my fingers, you will 
waken, Darren” 

Darren opened his glazed eyes. “Well, what happened?” 

Levitt spoke. “Here, have a glass of wine.... Four people talked to us
through you. Four people from various eras... Now, I've seen people 
attempt to fake being hypnotised before; but you did not show the 
symptoms of a fraud, Darren.” 

“What people?” 

“A young boy. His name was James. Then a woman who was watching Queen
Victoria, I believe, if it follows the usual pattern.” 

“Pattern?” 

“Yes, I've seen this before... Do you believe in reincarnation, Darren?”


“I've an open mind.” 

Levitt deliberated. “How can I put this?” He took another sip of his
claret. “I believe Darren, that these people were actually you in 
another life.” 

There was a prolonged silence. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Indeed I am, Darren... As I've said, I've seen it before... Don't you
see? First of all, there was the boy. He sounded about eight or 
nine-years-old. It appears that he met a tragic end in the waters of 
the Thames. When he died, he was born again as Sarah, the woman who 
witnessed Queen Victoria at a special occasion. That puts the date 
somewhere in the 1820's... When she died, she became the man who spoke 
of Charles Dickens death. That I believe was in 1870. He died, and 
assumed the life of the man who spoke of the Ten Commandments. 1920's, 
if I'm not mistaken... Why did they speak to us from specific times and 
places? Could it be that they died on that day? We know the child 
did... My mistake was to not ask the names of the people... Do you 
realise what we have here? You could trace back in time your history. 
What an opportunity this presents for you, Darren. If I could hypnotise 
you again, at a later date perhaps, we could find out exact dates and 
times. Discover who you were.” 

“I'm not sure I want to.” 

“But Darren; you have the chance to unravel one of life's mysteries.
Like, where do we come from? Who knows how far we can go back in time.” 


Joy placed her arms around her husband and kissed him. “You say you've
hypnotised others and came across similar results. Why then, didn't 
they let you pursue your investigation?” 

“Because, Joy, they were afraid to... Darren, it's your shout. Think
about it.” 

Darren mused over the facts. “The woman, the one with flowers in her
hair. Where does she fit into this?” 

“I imagine she followed on from the man in the 1920's; don't you see.
The era is right. She could have been one of those hippies, flower 
children, or whatever they liked to call themselves.” 

“So why didn't I see her in the cafe that time?” quizzed Darren. 

“That I can't explain... Maybe she didn't want to reveal herself to you
at this time.” 

“So why didn't she speak through Darren just now, asked Mel. 

“Perhaps she would have if we went on.” 

“Hold on,” insisted Darren. “Why do my memories only go back as far as
the boy?” 

Levitt shrugged. “Perhaps they don't. You've only just started to see
these ghosts. Something must have sparked off a chain reaction. Perhaps 
someone didn't want to die, or believes he or she is still alive. 
While, he or she roams the living world, perhaps they're dragging with 
them the past... I believe you'll see more and more spirits, going even 
further back in time.” 

“I'm not sure I'm ready for that.” 

Levitt tied his scarf. “I must go now. There is no hurry for your
decision. I'll be in touch, Mel.” He kissed her on the cheek and was 
gone. 

A thousand thoughts were going through Darren's mind when he drove home
from the office. Everyone in the accounts department had noticed the 
change in him His mind had not been on his work, and his usual chirpy 
nature had deserted him, as he withdrew more and more into himself. 

He turned on the window wipers, and his thoughts turned to his latest
visit last night. A military man in a red uniform with gold braiding 
had shared his bedroom. The ghost was wearing a tall black hat, and a 
sword was hanging from his scabbard.  Darren assumed that he was a 
soldier from the Napoleonic wars. Again, he said nothing, and 
eventually faded away. 

This time, Darren had studied the face. There was definitely a striking
resemblance between the soldier and himself. Tonight was to be special. 
Tonight, he would allow himself to be hypnotised again. He had to know 
more. 

The snow came down even heavier, and he pressed his face against the
windscreen. The car felt strangely cold, but not the effects of the 
weather conditions. His icy breath was visible, as he battled with his 
heater. 

Darren checked his mirror and saw the face of a woman in the back seat.
Assorted flowers adorned her wild hair, and a string of beads hung from 
her neck. It was difficult to put an age to the face. Darren stared at 
the woman, her large eyes peering from behind the Lennon style 
spectacles. She was emotionless, her sad demeanour suggesting a 
disturbed mind. Darren swore that he could see tears running down the 
woman's face and onto her long, grey, fur coat. 

“Who are you?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road for one second. 

That's all it took; one second in time. He hit the black ice and skidded
across the road, hitting the central barrier. The car somersaulted and 
burst into flames. Darren could not feel his legs, for he was suspended 
upside down in his seat, the seat belt holding him in place. The strong 
odour of petrol was all around, and his stare remained focused on the 
fading woman in his mirror. He felt the heat off the flames licking at 
his body, so hot, but he sat motionless, awaiting death. The woman 
smiled kindly before vanishing completely, and then Darren saw 
blackness. 

The joyous woman smiled proudly when her husband picked up the newly
born baby. He kissed the child and looked into his eyes; such happy 
eyes. The nurse and midwife offered their congratulations. What they 
did not see, was the multitude of ghostly, prying guests that were 
gathered around them. Another era had dawned. 


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