Read Paranormal Investigations: No Situation Too Strange Online
Authors: EH Walter
Paranormal Investigations: No Situation Too Strange (6 page)
Sitting side by side on the sofa nearest the window were Bob and Trevor. This would sound fairly normal to most people but when you remember Bob was at least half goat and Trevor was a short, ugly troll it painted a very different picture. It was a twisted sitcom that not even Channel 4 would pay to produce.
Bob had his feet up on a box of my books and Trevor was desperately trying to copy but his legs were too short so instead he had seated himself on a cushion and was resting one leg on the arm of the sofa and the other one was dangling over the edge of the seat. Between them was a bowl of popcorn and almost as much as was in the bowl was scattered over the sofa and floor.
Trevor made a growling sound and tossed a piece of popcorn at the TV. This was evidently not a new idea, as there was a sprinkling of popcorn around the base of the TV as well. The popcorn hit Tim Wonnacott on the nose, right between the silly glasses on a chain. They were watching Bargain Hunt. Of course they were watching Bargain Hunt, what else would two impossible beings choose to watch?
"That'll never make a profit dumb ass!" Trevor rasped at the presenter who was holding a glass and silver ewer, "go for the coffee pot!"
Bob threw a hand full of popcorn in his mouth and then chose to speak. Particles of half masticated pop corn danced out of his mouth as he enunciated. "He should get the sparkly thing."
They hadn't noticed me so I had a chance to survey my previously fairly clean and tidy room. One day had wreaked havoc on my personal space. At the kitchen end used crockery and pots were piled over all the surfaces and the sink, there was also a strange collection of smells wafting towards me and I tried not to think about what these could be. It seemed Bob had tried washing socks, although they couldn't be his as he didn't wear any, and said socks were drying at various inappropriate places in my flat - along the edge of my bookshelves, the kitchen counter and one even lay over the lamp. Mud and straw had been trodden into my carpet. It looked like a barnyard and nothing like the lovely little flat it had been the day before. I could have cried, instead I stomped into the room, gathered a handful of damp and smelly socks and threw them at Bob's face. Even he didn't like that. Then I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. They both had the gall to groan before they registered the fury on my face.
"Look at this mess!" I shouted at them, "it's disgusting!"
They were even worse than the Northern Irish boys I had shared a flat with in my first year at drama school and that really was saying something.
Bob blinked and looked around hopelessly. Trevor leapt off the sofa and tried to jump up and wrest the remote from me, I held my hand higher and he jumped like a toad to try and grasp it.
"Why don't you get a cleaner?" Bob asked innocently.
My response was part growl, part scream. "I can't afford a cleaner! And if you hadn't noticed - before you arrived I didn't need one!"
He shrugged. "Get Brownies."
"The UK has very strict child labour laws."
"Not children," he blinked, "Brownies, helpful sprites who enjoy cleaning. They like to keep things clean and tidy."
"I wish you were part Brownie!" I said, "I am going out for a very long walk and when I get back this place had better be tidy!"
I slipped the remote control in my pocket and then pulled the TV's plug socket out of the wall. I prised the back off and removed the fuse. Let them figure that one out.
*
Although it was late, I went to the park to clear my head, steering clear of any bridges because I really had had enough of trolls. It was dark and cold and pretty miserable. At least it made me want to return to the warmth of my flat even if it did now smell and look like a home for cattle.
I didn't see anything unusual in the park, so much for being a 'Seer'. Perhaps my dad had it wrong.
What did it mean to be a Seer anyway? I suppose the one person I could have asked was GA Mildred, but if it was true - why hadn’t she told me? And if it wasn’t true I would appear to be as crazy as she was. If being a Seer meant being like her, screw it - I could find something else to do. No one could make me be something I didn't want to be. I could always go back to acting, Jez would help me. Jez...
I sighed. He wouldn't want anything to do with me if this stupid story got out. I needed Bob out of my life and quick. I sighed. The only way to get Bob out of my life was to sort out his problem and send him on his way. Okay, I told myself, I'll sort out Bob - and then that's it, Paranormal Investigations and I would part company. It was time I found my own way again. I was my own person and no one told me what to do, least of all an absent parent.
*
Back in my flat they had made an effort. Bob was wearing my cat apron and had tied a hand towel around Trevor. The kitchen was full of soap suds and the socks were now in a mouldering pile on the sofa. That was about the extent of the tidying, although it clearly wasn't for want of effort. They both looked harangued, although only Bob looked apologetic.
Bob looked at me with sorrowful eyes. "I cooked you supper," he said and I felt like a complete shit as all this kitchen mess had been for my benefit.
I looked at the plate he indicated. Something was definitely burnt - to ashes - and the rest seemed to resemble a raw potato with a side of chocolate ice cream.
"Lovely," I said, using all my acting skills, "yum yum! It looks just delicious.”
“Try some,” Bob said, offering me a fork.
“In a minute. Let me get settled.”
Something tugged at my leg and I looked down. Trevor looked up wide eyed and pleading.
"Hey lady, can I have the magic box? I need to know what happened, whether the ewer or the coffee pot went fa’ more."
"No," I said, "I happen to have a good relationship with my neighbours. I don't want to piss them off with loud noises and I also don't want them coming round here and seeing...” the two looked at me pathetically and I bit back the words
you two:
“…seeing I am subletting."
Trevor crossed his over-long arms and pouted, which had the effect of making his overbite look even more pronounced. Sulking didn't look good on a troll. Did any expression look good on a troll?
"Is it time for you to eat now?" Bob asked.
"Later," I said, "Now sit down - both of you."
Obediently Bob trotted to his sofa and sat down. Trevor remained where he was, arms crossed, face scowling. I think he may have been muttering under his breath as well, something that sounded a little like 'stoopid dame'. Fine, I thought - of that's the way you want to play it. I turned my back on him.
“Have it your way Trevor, I am suddenly feeling less generous with mangoes.”
“Stoopid dame,” he muttered and kicked the floor with his toes.
“That’s it! I don’t want either of you in my life or my home. I am very, very tired and I am going to bed and I am going to sleep very well, for a very long time. When I wake up I am going to find a way to help you Bob and then you and your your little green muscle man with the crappy attitude can get out of my life.” I turned to Trevor, then Bob. “Until then I suggest warty over there returns to his culvert and Bob, you settle down quietly on the sofa. If I hear any noise above the level of a whisper in the night I will have no problem in tossing you out into the street and the fairies can do what they wish to you."
As Bob gave a shudder, I left the room.
"Stoopid dame," muttered Trevor under his breath.
Lost Pets and Errant Spouses
From the door I could hear Rose talking to Great Aunt Mildred on the phone, it was difficult not to with her voice.
“Well yes dear, she is making bit of a hash of it.” Rose was saying as I opened the door.
Great Aunt Mildred had retired to Torquay, the British version of Florida but with slightly less palm trees, however that did not stop her interfering with business in Barnet.
“I’ll take it from here,” I told Rose and put my hand out for the phone.
Rose pushed her glasses up her nose and blinked at me.
“Bourbon?” Rose asked, proffering a plate of biscuits with one hand and passing me the phone with the other. Honestly, sometimes I think she only worked at here for the biscuits. I shook my head.
“Hello Auntie,” I said with little enthusiasm into the phone.
“Is it your birthday yet?” Great Aunt Mildred barked, cutting right to the point. Where some elderly female relations obsessed about potential husbands and the pitter patter of tiny feet, Great Aunt Mildred was singularly obsessed with my twenty-fifth birthday. And now, thanks to my father, I had an idea why.
“No Auntie. You know my birthday is at the end of the month, the thirty-first of October.”
“Yes I know, twenty five on the thirty first. What’s the date today then?”
“October twentieth.”
“Oh.” She sniffed.
“Why the interest in my twenty fifth birthday, Auntie?” I asked coyly.
“Got to go, Leonora. I’ve got Agatha Christie coming over for afternoon tea.”
Like many of her generation she hanged up without saying goodbye.
I shook my head sadly. Agatha Christie had been dead since 1976.
“Any post?” I asked Rose.
My office had been last decorated in the seventies, the decade that taste forgot. It might have been quite stylish when Great Aunt Mildred first moved Paranormal Investigations to Cockfosters. Now it was as dilapidated as the building that surrounded it. The furniture hadn't been new in the seventies and I suspected Great Aunt Mildred had herself inherited it. Some of it was Victorian, other pieces heavy pre-war oak and the rest unidentifiable clutter. Great Aunt Mildred didn't like to throw anything away and I didn't feel the business was sufficiently mine to do so myself.
On my messy desk I had a pot plant, a rubbery green thing which needed no watering as the leak in the ceiling above did that for me. The plants were the only sign of life in the office - you couldn't really count Rose, she was pretty ancient and gave no indication of a beating heart and breathing lungs - unless there was a plate of biscuits in the offing and then she had the instincts of a ninja.
I went into my office and shuffled papers for a bit. It did me good to make the office look used by moving things from one side of the desk to the other, in truth there was little work to do as the last case had been a missing cat three months ago and that situation had been wrapped up when I informed the client her cat had been adopted by, and was currently being overfed by, her neighbour. The business should really be called ‘Lost Pets and Errant Spouses’ rather than ‘Paranormal Investigations’. There was no hope of things ever getting better. You see, the problem was I just couldn’t believe in the paranormal. No sir. Not ghosts, ghouls, demons, aliens or anything else that might be described as paranormal or supernatural. I had long thought the name held us back, but Great Aunt Mildred would not hear of changing it, it’s part of her legacy she says, and the name stays. Stupid old bint. I hated the fact my work was a joke and there wasn’t even a decent wage in it for me.
Two years ago I was a jobbing actor, busy failing at auditions and being told a size twelve was too fat to fit in the pre-made costumes. I was used to rejection, poverty and defeat. It was my way of life and strangely – I was happy.
For years Great Aunt Mildred had told me there was a place for me at Paranormal Investigations and for years I managed to put her off without offending her – she was practically my only family after all. Then, two years ago, it had seemed everything was going wrong – the love of my life went to try his luck in Los Angeles and I crumbled. I was not sure I had ever told Jez he
was
the love of my life and perhaps I should have, it might have made things take a different path. It’s hard though, when you fall into a relationship from a friendship, to make that leap into saying ‘I love you’. I hadn’t taken the risk and had acted so cool at his leaving, he left thinking I didn’t care at all. See, those three years at drama school weren’t completely wasted.
Heartbroken and alone Great Aunt Mildred sucked me in. “Help me out for a while,” she had said and like a fool I had moved north to ‘help her out’. I started by watering the plants and doing the filing. Then she had asked me to do more and more: answering the phones, meeting clients and finally stake outs when her ‘varicose veins hurt too much’. Last year she had retired and left me to it. I had been out of acting too long to return and I felt I would be letting her down if I didn’t keep the business going.
“Better than post! We have a new client!”
I stopped. This was monumental. Goat men aside, I couldn’t remember the last time I actually had a genuine client. “For real? It wasn’t one of those prank calls?”