Happy Holidays, LadyLier (Gift 1)
Dec. 24th, 2018 04:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
goe_mod posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
go_exchangeTitle: THE PATH WE WALK
Recipient: LadyLier
Pairing: None
Rating: Gen
The Prompt: Young Madame Tracy. How she got into being a medium.
Warnings: None.
Happy Holidays I, LadyLier!
THE PATH WE WALK
"Marjorie!!! Dinner is on the table, come along now!!"
Little 8 year old Marjorie Potts appeared a few minutes later, hair in untidy plaits and paint liberally covering her arms and face.
"What on Earth have you been doing? Just look at you - come on, let's get that paint off before you sit down."
"Sorry Mum. Alec made me spill my paint!"
Mrs Potts gave a sigh as she scrubbed the child clean. It was best to say nothing, even if she did want to hold the girl's shoulders and tell her not to tell fibs. Alec always got the blame for a lot of Marjorie's misdemeanours, which wouldn't have been quite so irritating if it hadn't been for the fact that Alec didn't exist. He was a being created by her daughter's occasionally over-imaginative mind… Her "invisible friend".
Marjorie had been very reticent about discussing her little friend, but had, on one occasion, told her mother that Alec was a little boy in shorts and an old tweed blazer, with dirty knees and boots that tapped loudly on the floor when he walked. Mrs Potts had frowned and shaken her head - the rooms were all carpeted so there would be no noise. She had pointed this out to Marjorie and the response had just been a look of exaggerated patience from the child and a rolling of the eyes as she sighed and said, "They weren't when he was!"
They had moved out a few months later, Mr Potts having been promoted at work and feeling that this was a good time to find a slightly larger house. Mrs Potts was expecting their second child in two months and an extra bedroom was an essential. As they drove away for the last time, Marjorie had looked out of the car and up at her old bedroom window. She waved at the face looking down at her and wiped a tear from her cheek. He looked so sad… Both of her parents were surprised and somewhat relieved when mentions of Alec stopped once they moved into the new house.
The act of moving in was uneventful. The new house was a solidly-built Victorian dwelling in a quiet part of town. The thrilling part of it for Marjorie was that it had a cellar. She would sometimes creep down the steps into the cold darkness where she would make a den and amuse herself for hours at a time with the thoughts and ideas swimming around in her head. The only things that she didn't like about the new house were the miserable old man whom she sometimes saw shuffling past the doorway when she was in a room, and the photograph.
Marjorie used to hate going to bed because of the photograph. The first time it happened, she managed to convince herself that she'd been having a strange dream or that it was a trick of the light, but when it became a regular occurrence, she started to find it more disturbing. It would happen if she had been lying there with her eyes closed and had opened them. It would appear, hanging in the air a few feet away from her, and slowly move closer - a photograph of a man in a military uniform standing proudly beside a dark haired woman in a smart twin set from what appeared to be, from her dress style and hair, some time in the 1940s.
********
Marjorie and her new friend, Beryl, used to play in the cellar, and on one occasion they had smuggled a ouija board down there to play at occulting. They sat and giggled in candlelight, making comments to try to spook each other, when Marjorie suddenly felt the planchette move under her fingers.
"Beryl, cut that out!"
"What? I didn't do anything," said Beryl with a touch of annoyance.
"You moved the pointer!"
"I did NOT!"
"S…something did…"
Marjorie thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye and looked up quickly. The old man was standing near the shelves, shaking his fist towards them angrily.
"Get out!! Get out of MY house!!"
Marjorie grabbed the board and leapt to her feet. Beryl followed her lead. She could see Marjorie looking to the shelves with a look of horror on her face and that was enough for her. She pushed past Marjorie and was up the steps and into the hallway in seconds, with Marjorie hot on her heels.
Beryl grabbed her coat and left with hardly another word. She never accepted an invitation to come round to see Marjorie at that home again, and Marjorie kept well away from the cellar from then on.
********
The years passed, as years tend to do. Marjorie grew up and left school to work as a junior assistant in a hairdressing salon. Basically, this meant that she swept up after the customers had been trimmed, made the tea, and re-stocked the trolleys with clean rollers and shampoo. Occasionally, she was allowed to prepare a customer for their session with the resident stylist, and would wash their hair while the stylist grabbed a quick cup of tea in the backroom. She wasn't keen on the work, but it did bring in a bit of money so that she could give her Mum a bit towards the housekeeping every week, and had a bit to put aside in her savings account which she kept for a rainy day.
One thing that she did find interesting about her job was that it gave her a chance to play a little 'game' that she enjoyed. When she was washing a person's hair, she would find little ideas squeezing into her mind about the person, about their lives, their homes, their pets, their relatives. Usually she just kept quiet and thought her thoughts in private, but occasionally, she would find herself mentioning something that she had 'seen'. She was right in about 80% of those times. Sometimes it made her feel quite uneasy, and several of the customers seemed to feel the same way. Before long, the head of the salon stopped her from doing the hair washing because several clients had told him that Marjorie's comments had worried them. Marjorie couldn't see the problem, but had no say in the matter, so she carried on sweeping and re-stocking, convinced that she would find a more suitable job in the future.
********
When Marjorie was 24, she moved into a small one-bedroom flat over a little grocery shop and newsagents run by a Bangladeshi couple, the Rajits. It was quiet and warm. The landlord kept pretty much to himself and the only noises she ever heard were when the delivery man dropped off the shop supplies which were stored in a set of rooms across the corridor. According to Mr Rajit's son, he hoped to convert the rooms into a flat at some point in the future, when his father eventually retired and he took over running the business. Marjorie found herself hoping that this would be many years down the line. She rather enjoyed the peace and quiet of the little corridor and her little flat, which was a veritable haven after her busy days immersed in the hustle and bustle of the London street market where she now worked.
Her current job was really more of a hobby as far as she was concerned. She worked five days a week on a stall in the local market, selling trinkets and "supernatural" knick-knacks for Jericho, a tall and somewhat disturbing Jamaican lad who, Marjorie had to admit, at times made her feel most uneasy. Oh, he was a lovely chap, don't get her wrong, but he had a way of looking at you and smiling, as if he had just looked into your head and found something amusing or interesting in there. He could "see" things, so he said. He said that he'd seen angels in London. She wasn't going to argue. After all, she'd seen enough in her own short life time and wasn't inclined to be a disbeliever, but angels?
As she stood in the grey light of early morning, her mind drifted back to when she had first met him at the market, where she had been rummaging through a box on his stall which had a hand written cardboard notice on it saying "Bargains! Reduced to clear". Fascinated by the pile of beads, trinkets and small carved statues, she was carefully going through the box when she became aware of someone standing beside her and looking down. She glanced up warily.
"There isn't much of worth in there," said the lad, dark brown eyes regarding her carefully, as if he was asking a question and waiting for her to answer.
"I quite like this, actually… And these." She held out a small carved statue of a winged figure and a string of beads. The stall-holder glanced at the items and looked back up at her. After what felt like minutes, but was merely seconds, he nodded and took the items from her hands, allowing her to delve into her purse for a pound note. As she held it out to him, he held up a hand.
"Tell you what," he said, flashing her a sudden smile. "You can have them for nothing if you do something for me."
Marjorie stared back, wide-eyed with apprehension. "Er, I'm not sure wh…"
"Nothing bad. I need help running this stall. I think you could be a great help."
"I'm not sure. What would I have to do?"
"Nothing much, just taking the money and passing over the goods, and answering any questions if people need help. I think you'd be good at it. I can see it."
"Well…I…" Marjorie had to admit that the money would come in useful - she was getting tired of the hair salon, and, to be honest, the thought of being able to find out more about the fascinating range of things on the stall was appealing. "I... okay. Yes."
"Great! People call me Jericho." He held out a hand.
"Charmed, I'm sure," she found herself saying, shaking his hand. "When do I start?"
"Wakey wakey, dreamer!" bellowed a passing trader, giving her a friendly grin and waving a half-eaten sausage roll at her.
"Oh. Hello, Jeff. Sorry, I was miles away!" She shook her head, dragging her thoughts back to the present and carried on setting up the stall and pausing occasionally for a chat with fellow stall-holders who were milling around carrying steaming mugs of tea and munching on freshly made bacon rolls provided by the various refreshment vans dotted around the market area.
********
By the middle of the afternoon, a brisk November breeze was blowing through the market, causing Marjorie to wrap her arms around herself and stomp about to get her feet to wake up. It wasn't a busy day on the stall, that day. This time of year never was, but things would soon be more hectic. Christmas was approaching, and people would try to find last minute gifts of an unusual nature when the idea of a box of chocolates wasn't an option. Marjorie occupied her time re-arranging the stall and writing out a few new price labels on lurid pink and yellow cardboard stars which she attached to the various boxes using things that looked as if they'd been donated by the local car repair shop and which should have been on the end of a set of jump leads. Once she'd done that, she got herself a cup of tea from the next door stall, rejected the idea of a doughnut, and sat down to leaf through the pile of catalogues which Jericho kept in the back of the van. He was happy to let her suggest things for the stall now, and she had had a lot of people asking for dowsing pendulums and healing crystals lately, so she decided to check prices and suppliers before mentioning it to Jericho. She had just found a large section of crystals for sale when she heard a familiar voice.
"Marjorie?"
Marjorie looked up to see her old friend Beryl standing in front of the stall, hanging off the arm of a somewhat pale and extremely uninspiring young man. She put down the catalogue and stepped up to the counter with an inquiringly raised eyebrow, which she suspected was going to be expected. Beryl patted the young man on the arm and giggled.
"Marjorie, this is Ron."
Marjorie gave a little wave and a smile which she hoped didn't reflect her immediate opinions of the man. Personally, she felt that he didn't look as if he could fight his way out of a wet paper bag, but Beryl was clearly smitten and Marjorie couldn't really imagine Beryl putting up with anyone who might have the audacity to hold an opinion of their own.
"Nice to meet you," she said. "So what have you been doing, Beryl? Seems like ages since we’ve spoken."
"Nothing much. Ron and I have been to a few lovely little places - you know, ones mentioned in that book about hauntings and ghost sightings. Not seen anything, but Ron has a car so it's so nice to get out and about, isn't it?" It was a statement rather than a question. Marjorie smiled and nodded. She wondered fleetingly if she'd ever be able to afford a car, but it had taken months of scrimping and saving to be able to afford the little second-hand motor scooter which she had bought a few months previously. Beryl ploughed on, bludgeoning her way through any attempts from Marjorie to make a comment while she casually picked her way though the stall items, wearing a look of mild distaste as she did so.
"Ron's taking me to Glastonbury for the weekend. Aren't you, Ron?" Ron gave a watery smile and gave a subdued nod. Marjorie suspected that he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter. She raised an eyebrow at the remark.
"Why don't you come too? Rachel and Jenny are coming, you remember them - the twins; they're into all that sort of spooky stuff. We thought we'd look round some of those shops in the town, climb the Tor, and maybe go to see a film. Will you come? It'll be a laugh!"
Marjorie had to admit that a weekend in the company of Beryl and her cronies wasn't her first choice of how to spend a good weekend and most certainly couldn't have been described as 'a laugh', and not even 'a giggle'. The thought of going to Glastonbury, a place so swathed in mystery and occulting, made her decide that it might not be so bad. She found herself nodding and saying that she'd love to go, while Beryl rummaged around in her handbag and produced a scrap of paper which she passed over the stall, saying "This is the B&B address and 'phone number. Might be best to call ahead to book a room." She gave Marjorie a somewhat smug look and added, "Ron and I have already booked ours… It's a double!" Marjorie made a mental note to try to book a room as far from Beryl and Ron's as possible. She really didn't want to be kept awake by things going bump-in-the-night, especially when said things weren't even vaguely related to supernatural happenings. She suppressed a shudder of horror and pushed the paper into the pocket of her jeans.
Marjorie managed to get the Friday afternoon off by dint of promising to collect some supplies for Jericho from one of the large specialist shops in the town, and waited patiently on the pavement in front of the shop. She was wearing her best flowing skirt and blouse, with dangly earrings and had made herself up with dark eyes and pale pink lipstick. She felt that she presented a haunting sight. She was just entertaining the thought of a lovely drive across the country, her hair blowing in the breeze, when a rather tatty brown car pulled up at the kerb and a window wound down to reveal a grinning Beryl. She gesticulated to the back door and said "Quickly! Throw your case in the boot, there's a traffic warden coming!!" Marjorie hauled the door open and was greeted by two faces who she recognised as Rachel and Jenny. Neither of them looked particularly pleased to be squashed into the back and Marjorie's vision of the journey morphed into a more realistic feeling of hope that it wouldn't take long.
Nobody said much on the journey, if you didn't count Beryl's almost constant chatter about what she had planned for her and Ron that weekend. Nobody else seemed to be able to think of anything to say, and the three in the back spent a lot of time studiously gazing out of the window in an attempt to avoid having to look at Beryl's right hand, which kept sneaking across to Ron's leg, or up to his neck. Marjorie wished that the journey was over. She was starting to feel a bit queasy.
They arrived at the B&B at around 9pm, after grabbing a meal of fish-and-chips in a local village on the way. The guest house was a dark place; all dark wood panels and dark red carpets with a reception desk tucked away in a recess (a dark one), and sporting a telephone, a closed book and a large brass bell. , Ron gave a huff of self-importance and hit the bell hard while Beryl simpered by his side. , After a few moments of quiet, a door opened and a rather austere lady of later years shuffled out to the desk and peered at them suspiciously. She looked as if she had been interrupted from a cosy nap, and was in a hurry to return to it.
"Booking in the name of Ormerod," muttered Ron, drawing himself up to his full 5ft 6 3/4. The lady gave him a shrewd look which suggested that she certainly did not think that he was there with his wife, even though Beryl was doing her best to occupy the exact same bit of floor space. However, she handed over the sets of keys and gestured vaguely to where the rooms were, adding a stern "There is a kettle and beverages in each room. No noise after 10.30 and please do not spray water from the shower all over the place!" Marjorie took her key and headed for her room, glad to be able to get some time on her own. She had decided to spend the weekend doing things that interested her, rather than being dragged around by Beryl or the twins. They had all decided to pop out for a quick drink at the local pub, but Marjorie made her excuses and left them to get on with their evening.
The room itself was a continuation of the downstairs theme - dark brown and slightly dingy. The single small window opened onto the rear car park and was over the kitchen area. There was a residual smell of the night's dinner offering stuck in the room, but opening the window wasn't an option as the wooden frame was warped and wouldn't budge an inch. At least the bed was soft and had a good supply of warm blankets and a homemade quilt to throw over the top. The room felt comfortable. Marjorie trotted downstairs to use the payphone in the hall in order to let her mother know that she'd arrived safely, then decided to splash out an extra 50p to have a hot bath in an attempt to sooth away the effects of a long, cramped and somewhat tedious journey. That done, she headed for her room and settled down with a book and a cup of tea.
The next day she woke to the smell of bacon cooking in the kitchens below. Normally, she wouldn't bother with breakfast, but the smell and the fact that she had already paid for it was too tempting. She washed and dressed, then trotted downstairs to the dining room and joined Beryl and Ron. They had already ploughed through their bacon, eggs, sausage, beans and mushroom (singular) and were now tucking into a pile of toast and various condiments. Marjorie sat with them, keeping a polite silence as Beryl provided her with a full itinerary of her plans for the day She politely declined the offer of a lift to Bristol that evening where they and the twins were planning to go to see a film before going on to a club. She attacked her breakfast hungrily and drank her way through more tea than her body would be happy with later, but it set her up for the day. She had plans. She went to her room, grabbed her shoulder bag and purse, donned a shawl with beads and tassels, and sallied forth to investigate the town. Yes, she really did feel very occult.
After a short walk, she visited the Chalice well, before climbing the Tor and admiring the view across the flat lands of the Levels. Her mind swam with visions of how it must have been centuries before, when the area held power and became the place of Legend. She wished that she could step back into those times, just to see what it was like, then sighed wistfully and began the descent back to the town to get some lunch before browsing the shops and getting Jericho's supplies.
The town was small, but it seemed as if every other shop was selling craft items, occult wares or old books. She found herself buying various things. Scented candles, a few crystals and a crystal ball which was reduced in price owing to having a small chip, but that didn't put her off. It would be fine for practicing her 'seeing', and if the images were a bit warped, well, who would know? Jericho had asked her to visit the next shop where he had an order of tarot card packs for collection. She looked around the shop while the owner rummaged around in the back for the package. The shop had more tarot decks than she’d even known existed. Unable to resist temptation, she took a few different packs from the shelves and began to look through them, fascinated by the different pictures and symbols, feeling a strange power tingle through her finger tips as she turned the cards. The owner shuffled back into the shop with a small parcel which he placed on the counter before walking over to stand beside her. He stared at her with a frown, before taking another tarot deck from the shelf.
"If you are interested in buying, then I think these would suit you. They resonate with your inner power," he said.
Marjorie gave a nervous giggle. "Inner power?" she repeated.
"Indeed. I can feel it in you. You have the gift of sight," he continued.
Marjorie flinched slightly. It was all getting a bit creepy. She took the deck from his hand and studied it. "Thoth Tarot?" she read. "Wasn't that …?"
"Don't let that put you off. His reputation is perhaps dubious, but the deck is a work of art and I know a lot of people who say that they are the most accurate for readings. And, I could do you a small discount, as you know my good friend, Mr Jericho."
"I… I er don't even know how to read them," she stammered. She thumbed through the pack. They were beautiful in a strangely mesmerising way, a mix of geometric shapes, dark but with some images seeming to glow.
"The cards will lead you…" the man said, mysteriously, leaning towards her. Then he straightened up. "Besides, there is an instruction leaflet in the pack," he finished, and strode back to the counter. Marjorie gave the card deck a long look and decided to treat herself, even though she had a feeling that a lot of the Major Arcana cards might have to be hidden from the pack if she ever had to do a reading for anyone of a slightly nervous disposition. She slipped the wrapped package into her shoulder bag, passed over the money, picked up Jericho's parcel and headed back out into the real world. She was starting to flag; her feet ached and her back was sore from bending over to look at various items during her meanderings. She decided to head back to the B&B with her purchases and put her feet up with a nice cup of tea and, hopefully, a biscuit or two.
She set off along the street but found herself gazing into windows on the way, and couldn't resist stopping at a large bookshop which appeared to sell a variety of new and second-hand books. The interior was dark and full of people, but she decided to go in and see what she could find. As expected, there was a large section covering occult themes, so she started running her eyes across the books and taking a few off the shelves to study more closely. A couple of books about tarot readings started the pile off, followed by a book about hauntings in the Home Counties (for which she had been looking for ages and which was a decent price), and a small step-by-step pocket book about crystal healing.
It was at that moment that she became vaguely aware of a tall, blond man wearing a camel hair coat, standing by the alternative religion section in the bookstore, watching her with a curious expression on his face, as if he was remembering something… something distant… It was un-nerving. His eyes followed her as she walked round the bookshop until she was feeling really uneasy and almost scared. She had just about plucked up the nerve to ask him what he was staring at when she turned and bumped into someone beside her. He was tall, slim and dark haired, and obviously a bit of a poser with those designer sunglasses, which must have made it difficult to see in the dimly lit shop. He staggered a bit from the impact and hissed an apology. She wanted to turn away and get back to her pile of books, but something about him held her look. He held out a book.
"Channelling spirits: the art of mediumship." said the title. Marjorie raised her eyebrows; how had she missed that one on the shelves? She took the book hesitantly and thanked the man. She took a nervous glance back towards the alternative religion section again, but the tall blond had gone. She made her way to the till, pausing on the way to add a new novel to her pile of second hand books. She wasn't particularly fond of fantasy novels and had never heard of the author, but the picture on the front looked fun, and so she balanced a copy of 'The Colour of Magic' on the top of her others on the counter and fished around for the money.
At that precise moment, outside the shop, a tall, blond man was in conversation with a tall, dark man in sunglasses. Tall Blond leant in close to Tall Dark and muttered, "Why did you give her a book?"
Tall Dark opened his mouth to speak but stopped, a puzzled frown on his sharp features. He made a sound which sounded not unlike a hiss.
"Do you know… I haven't a clue. It just sssseemed important that I did. Odd."
"I hope it wasn't one of your attempts to lead the poor girl into wrong doing, my dear."
"Somehow, I don't think she needs my help. Judging by her book selection, she's making her own way to our side quite well on her own! Now, can I tempt you to some lunch? There was a nice little place down there I seem to recall. Although that was a while back… " He shrugged and the two of them turned and strolled away down the street, lost in their own conversation.
Marjorie staggered out of the shop laden down with her purchases and parcels, and headed back to the B&B, pausing to buy a sandwich and a sweet pastry to have for her dinner. She had already told Beryl that she was going to spend the evening reading, and it was with a certain feeling of relief that she closed the door behind her, put the kettle on, and spread her various purchases out across the bed. Looking through the books, she picked up the one about channelling spirits and stared at it with a slight frown. Her mind was dragged back to the book shop and the memory of two men, but despite it being less than two hours ago, the picture of them and the shop was fuzzy and unclear. She shrugged and reached out to pick up the crystal ball, placing it on the small table by the window. She passed her hand across it theatrically and felt vaguely disappointed when nothing exciting appeared within its depths. Well, she thought there was nothing… There was a strange sort of image in there, but that was surely a warped reflection caused by the flaw. Why else would she be seeing something that resembled a can of condensed milk? She blinked and took a deep breath. The smell of the evening meal was wafting up from the kitchens. Sprouts, if she was not mistaken. It wasn't pleasant but gave a certain comfortable ambience to the surroundings. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she headed for the armchair and settled down for an evening's reading.
She wasn't quite sure when the decision actually came to her during that sprout-scented, dark-roomed evening, but at some point, her mind suddenly became clear, the road ahead stretched in front of her as clearly as if someone had painted it fresh before her. She would set up in her little flat as a medium. She was sure that Mr Rajit wouldn't mind, and it would bring in a bit of extra money on top of the job on the market stall. Oh, she realised that it wasn't going to bring in quite the amount of money that she would like, but it would help, and she was sure that she would be able to think of a few other ways to supplement her meagre income. She'd think about that after she had got all the mediuming things sorted out. Yes, she decided. This was what she was destined for. This was her future.
********
A few weeks later, a nervous young Marjorie Potts was making the final adjustments to her shawl, her beads, and her numerous rings before the arrival of her first client for a basic sitting. There was just one thing left to do. She frowned. Somehow, the name Marjorie Potts didn't quite seem to have that allure which she felt was needed if people were going to take you seriously in the mediuming community. She needed a more suitable name.
She'd narrowed it down to two choices but couldn't quite decide which one to use. She wrote each name on a scrap of paper and popped them into her pocket, then she made a final check of her equipment… tarot cards... crystal ball… incense… table rapper in case of awkward silences… board and planchette, and a pan of sprouts just coming to the boil to give the rooms a homely feel.
The door bell sounded. In a last minute panic she remembered the issue of a name and, casting her future to the Fates, she reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the scraps of paper, reading it as she pushed through the beaded curtain en route to the door. Crossing the fingers of one hand behind her back, she opened the door with what she hoped was a smile of confidence.
"Hello," she said brightly to the middle-aged woman on her threshold. "Please, come in and let Madame Tracy Draw Aside the Veil…"
THE END…… or is it the beginning?
Next - Gift 2!
Recipient: LadyLier
Pairing: None
Rating: Gen
The Prompt: Young Madame Tracy. How she got into being a medium.
Warnings: None.
Happy Holidays I, LadyLier!
"Marjorie!!! Dinner is on the table, come along now!!"
Little 8 year old Marjorie Potts appeared a few minutes later, hair in untidy plaits and paint liberally covering her arms and face.
"What on Earth have you been doing? Just look at you - come on, let's get that paint off before you sit down."
"Sorry Mum. Alec made me spill my paint!"
Mrs Potts gave a sigh as she scrubbed the child clean. It was best to say nothing, even if she did want to hold the girl's shoulders and tell her not to tell fibs. Alec always got the blame for a lot of Marjorie's misdemeanours, which wouldn't have been quite so irritating if it hadn't been for the fact that Alec didn't exist. He was a being created by her daughter's occasionally over-imaginative mind… Her "invisible friend".
Marjorie had been very reticent about discussing her little friend, but had, on one occasion, told her mother that Alec was a little boy in shorts and an old tweed blazer, with dirty knees and boots that tapped loudly on the floor when he walked. Mrs Potts had frowned and shaken her head - the rooms were all carpeted so there would be no noise. She had pointed this out to Marjorie and the response had just been a look of exaggerated patience from the child and a rolling of the eyes as she sighed and said, "They weren't when he was!"
They had moved out a few months later, Mr Potts having been promoted at work and feeling that this was a good time to find a slightly larger house. Mrs Potts was expecting their second child in two months and an extra bedroom was an essential. As they drove away for the last time, Marjorie had looked out of the car and up at her old bedroom window. She waved at the face looking down at her and wiped a tear from her cheek. He looked so sad… Both of her parents were surprised and somewhat relieved when mentions of Alec stopped once they moved into the new house.
The act of moving in was uneventful. The new house was a solidly-built Victorian dwelling in a quiet part of town. The thrilling part of it for Marjorie was that it had a cellar. She would sometimes creep down the steps into the cold darkness where she would make a den and amuse herself for hours at a time with the thoughts and ideas swimming around in her head. The only things that she didn't like about the new house were the miserable old man whom she sometimes saw shuffling past the doorway when she was in a room, and the photograph.
Marjorie used to hate going to bed because of the photograph. The first time it happened, she managed to convince herself that she'd been having a strange dream or that it was a trick of the light, but when it became a regular occurrence, she started to find it more disturbing. It would happen if she had been lying there with her eyes closed and had opened them. It would appear, hanging in the air a few feet away from her, and slowly move closer - a photograph of a man in a military uniform standing proudly beside a dark haired woman in a smart twin set from what appeared to be, from her dress style and hair, some time in the 1940s.
Marjorie and her new friend, Beryl, used to play in the cellar, and on one occasion they had smuggled a ouija board down there to play at occulting. They sat and giggled in candlelight, making comments to try to spook each other, when Marjorie suddenly felt the planchette move under her fingers.
"Beryl, cut that out!"
"What? I didn't do anything," said Beryl with a touch of annoyance.
"You moved the pointer!"
"I did NOT!"
"S…something did…"
Marjorie thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye and looked up quickly. The old man was standing near the shelves, shaking his fist towards them angrily.
"Get out!! Get out of MY house!!"
Marjorie grabbed the board and leapt to her feet. Beryl followed her lead. She could see Marjorie looking to the shelves with a look of horror on her face and that was enough for her. She pushed past Marjorie and was up the steps and into the hallway in seconds, with Marjorie hot on her heels.
Beryl grabbed her coat and left with hardly another word. She never accepted an invitation to come round to see Marjorie at that home again, and Marjorie kept well away from the cellar from then on.
The years passed, as years tend to do. Marjorie grew up and left school to work as a junior assistant in a hairdressing salon. Basically, this meant that she swept up after the customers had been trimmed, made the tea, and re-stocked the trolleys with clean rollers and shampoo. Occasionally, she was allowed to prepare a customer for their session with the resident stylist, and would wash their hair while the stylist grabbed a quick cup of tea in the backroom. She wasn't keen on the work, but it did bring in a bit of money so that she could give her Mum a bit towards the housekeeping every week, and had a bit to put aside in her savings account which she kept for a rainy day.
One thing that she did find interesting about her job was that it gave her a chance to play a little 'game' that she enjoyed. When she was washing a person's hair, she would find little ideas squeezing into her mind about the person, about their lives, their homes, their pets, their relatives. Usually she just kept quiet and thought her thoughts in private, but occasionally, she would find herself mentioning something that she had 'seen'. She was right in about 80% of those times. Sometimes it made her feel quite uneasy, and several of the customers seemed to feel the same way. Before long, the head of the salon stopped her from doing the hair washing because several clients had told him that Marjorie's comments had worried them. Marjorie couldn't see the problem, but had no say in the matter, so she carried on sweeping and re-stocking, convinced that she would find a more suitable job in the future.
When Marjorie was 24, she moved into a small one-bedroom flat over a little grocery shop and newsagents run by a Bangladeshi couple, the Rajits. It was quiet and warm. The landlord kept pretty much to himself and the only noises she ever heard were when the delivery man dropped off the shop supplies which were stored in a set of rooms across the corridor. According to Mr Rajit's son, he hoped to convert the rooms into a flat at some point in the future, when his father eventually retired and he took over running the business. Marjorie found herself hoping that this would be many years down the line. She rather enjoyed the peace and quiet of the little corridor and her little flat, which was a veritable haven after her busy days immersed in the hustle and bustle of the London street market where she now worked.
Her current job was really more of a hobby as far as she was concerned. She worked five days a week on a stall in the local market, selling trinkets and "supernatural" knick-knacks for Jericho, a tall and somewhat disturbing Jamaican lad who, Marjorie had to admit, at times made her feel most uneasy. Oh, he was a lovely chap, don't get her wrong, but he had a way of looking at you and smiling, as if he had just looked into your head and found something amusing or interesting in there. He could "see" things, so he said. He said that he'd seen angels in London. She wasn't going to argue. After all, she'd seen enough in her own short life time and wasn't inclined to be a disbeliever, but angels?
As she stood in the grey light of early morning, her mind drifted back to when she had first met him at the market, where she had been rummaging through a box on his stall which had a hand written cardboard notice on it saying "Bargains! Reduced to clear". Fascinated by the pile of beads, trinkets and small carved statues, she was carefully going through the box when she became aware of someone standing beside her and looking down. She glanced up warily.
"There isn't much of worth in there," said the lad, dark brown eyes regarding her carefully, as if he was asking a question and waiting for her to answer.
"I quite like this, actually… And these." She held out a small carved statue of a winged figure and a string of beads. The stall-holder glanced at the items and looked back up at her. After what felt like minutes, but was merely seconds, he nodded and took the items from her hands, allowing her to delve into her purse for a pound note. As she held it out to him, he held up a hand.
"Tell you what," he said, flashing her a sudden smile. "You can have them for nothing if you do something for me."
Marjorie stared back, wide-eyed with apprehension. "Er, I'm not sure wh…"
"Nothing bad. I need help running this stall. I think you could be a great help."
"I'm not sure. What would I have to do?"
"Nothing much, just taking the money and passing over the goods, and answering any questions if people need help. I think you'd be good at it. I can see it."
"Well…I…" Marjorie had to admit that the money would come in useful - she was getting tired of the hair salon, and, to be honest, the thought of being able to find out more about the fascinating range of things on the stall was appealing. "I... okay. Yes."
"Great! People call me Jericho." He held out a hand.
"Charmed, I'm sure," she found herself saying, shaking his hand. "When do I start?"
"Wakey wakey, dreamer!" bellowed a passing trader, giving her a friendly grin and waving a half-eaten sausage roll at her.
"Oh. Hello, Jeff. Sorry, I was miles away!" She shook her head, dragging her thoughts back to the present and carried on setting up the stall and pausing occasionally for a chat with fellow stall-holders who were milling around carrying steaming mugs of tea and munching on freshly made bacon rolls provided by the various refreshment vans dotted around the market area.
By the middle of the afternoon, a brisk November breeze was blowing through the market, causing Marjorie to wrap her arms around herself and stomp about to get her feet to wake up. It wasn't a busy day on the stall, that day. This time of year never was, but things would soon be more hectic. Christmas was approaching, and people would try to find last minute gifts of an unusual nature when the idea of a box of chocolates wasn't an option. Marjorie occupied her time re-arranging the stall and writing out a few new price labels on lurid pink and yellow cardboard stars which she attached to the various boxes using things that looked as if they'd been donated by the local car repair shop and which should have been on the end of a set of jump leads. Once she'd done that, she got herself a cup of tea from the next door stall, rejected the idea of a doughnut, and sat down to leaf through the pile of catalogues which Jericho kept in the back of the van. He was happy to let her suggest things for the stall now, and she had had a lot of people asking for dowsing pendulums and healing crystals lately, so she decided to check prices and suppliers before mentioning it to Jericho. She had just found a large section of crystals for sale when she heard a familiar voice.
"Marjorie?"
Marjorie looked up to see her old friend Beryl standing in front of the stall, hanging off the arm of a somewhat pale and extremely uninspiring young man. She put down the catalogue and stepped up to the counter with an inquiringly raised eyebrow, which she suspected was going to be expected. Beryl patted the young man on the arm and giggled.
"Marjorie, this is Ron."
Marjorie gave a little wave and a smile which she hoped didn't reflect her immediate opinions of the man. Personally, she felt that he didn't look as if he could fight his way out of a wet paper bag, but Beryl was clearly smitten and Marjorie couldn't really imagine Beryl putting up with anyone who might have the audacity to hold an opinion of their own.
"Nice to meet you," she said. "So what have you been doing, Beryl? Seems like ages since we’ve spoken."
"Nothing much. Ron and I have been to a few lovely little places - you know, ones mentioned in that book about hauntings and ghost sightings. Not seen anything, but Ron has a car so it's so nice to get out and about, isn't it?" It was a statement rather than a question. Marjorie smiled and nodded. She wondered fleetingly if she'd ever be able to afford a car, but it had taken months of scrimping and saving to be able to afford the little second-hand motor scooter which she had bought a few months previously. Beryl ploughed on, bludgeoning her way through any attempts from Marjorie to make a comment while she casually picked her way though the stall items, wearing a look of mild distaste as she did so.
"Ron's taking me to Glastonbury for the weekend. Aren't you, Ron?" Ron gave a watery smile and gave a subdued nod. Marjorie suspected that he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter. She raised an eyebrow at the remark.
"Why don't you come too? Rachel and Jenny are coming, you remember them - the twins; they're into all that sort of spooky stuff. We thought we'd look round some of those shops in the town, climb the Tor, and maybe go to see a film. Will you come? It'll be a laugh!"
Marjorie had to admit that a weekend in the company of Beryl and her cronies wasn't her first choice of how to spend a good weekend and most certainly couldn't have been described as 'a laugh', and not even 'a giggle'. The thought of going to Glastonbury, a place so swathed in mystery and occulting, made her decide that it might not be so bad. She found herself nodding and saying that she'd love to go, while Beryl rummaged around in her handbag and produced a scrap of paper which she passed over the stall, saying "This is the B&B address and 'phone number. Might be best to call ahead to book a room." She gave Marjorie a somewhat smug look and added, "Ron and I have already booked ours… It's a double!" Marjorie made a mental note to try to book a room as far from Beryl and Ron's as possible. She really didn't want to be kept awake by things going bump-in-the-night, especially when said things weren't even vaguely related to supernatural happenings. She suppressed a shudder of horror and pushed the paper into the pocket of her jeans.
Marjorie managed to get the Friday afternoon off by dint of promising to collect some supplies for Jericho from one of the large specialist shops in the town, and waited patiently on the pavement in front of the shop. She was wearing her best flowing skirt and blouse, with dangly earrings and had made herself up with dark eyes and pale pink lipstick. She felt that she presented a haunting sight. She was just entertaining the thought of a lovely drive across the country, her hair blowing in the breeze, when a rather tatty brown car pulled up at the kerb and a window wound down to reveal a grinning Beryl. She gesticulated to the back door and said "Quickly! Throw your case in the boot, there's a traffic warden coming!!" Marjorie hauled the door open and was greeted by two faces who she recognised as Rachel and Jenny. Neither of them looked particularly pleased to be squashed into the back and Marjorie's vision of the journey morphed into a more realistic feeling of hope that it wouldn't take long.
Nobody said much on the journey, if you didn't count Beryl's almost constant chatter about what she had planned for her and Ron that weekend. Nobody else seemed to be able to think of anything to say, and the three in the back spent a lot of time studiously gazing out of the window in an attempt to avoid having to look at Beryl's right hand, which kept sneaking across to Ron's leg, or up to his neck. Marjorie wished that the journey was over. She was starting to feel a bit queasy.
They arrived at the B&B at around 9pm, after grabbing a meal of fish-and-chips in a local village on the way. The guest house was a dark place; all dark wood panels and dark red carpets with a reception desk tucked away in a recess (a dark one), and sporting a telephone, a closed book and a large brass bell. , Ron gave a huff of self-importance and hit the bell hard while Beryl simpered by his side. , After a few moments of quiet, a door opened and a rather austere lady of later years shuffled out to the desk and peered at them suspiciously. She looked as if she had been interrupted from a cosy nap, and was in a hurry to return to it.
"Booking in the name of Ormerod," muttered Ron, drawing himself up to his full 5ft 6 3/4. The lady gave him a shrewd look which suggested that she certainly did not think that he was there with his wife, even though Beryl was doing her best to occupy the exact same bit of floor space. However, she handed over the sets of keys and gestured vaguely to where the rooms were, adding a stern "There is a kettle and beverages in each room. No noise after 10.30 and please do not spray water from the shower all over the place!" Marjorie took her key and headed for her room, glad to be able to get some time on her own. She had decided to spend the weekend doing things that interested her, rather than being dragged around by Beryl or the twins. They had all decided to pop out for a quick drink at the local pub, but Marjorie made her excuses and left them to get on with their evening.
The room itself was a continuation of the downstairs theme - dark brown and slightly dingy. The single small window opened onto the rear car park and was over the kitchen area. There was a residual smell of the night's dinner offering stuck in the room, but opening the window wasn't an option as the wooden frame was warped and wouldn't budge an inch. At least the bed was soft and had a good supply of warm blankets and a homemade quilt to throw over the top. The room felt comfortable. Marjorie trotted downstairs to use the payphone in the hall in order to let her mother know that she'd arrived safely, then decided to splash out an extra 50p to have a hot bath in an attempt to sooth away the effects of a long, cramped and somewhat tedious journey. That done, she headed for her room and settled down with a book and a cup of tea.
The next day she woke to the smell of bacon cooking in the kitchens below. Normally, she wouldn't bother with breakfast, but the smell and the fact that she had already paid for it was too tempting. She washed and dressed, then trotted downstairs to the dining room and joined Beryl and Ron. They had already ploughed through their bacon, eggs, sausage, beans and mushroom (singular) and were now tucking into a pile of toast and various condiments. Marjorie sat with them, keeping a polite silence as Beryl provided her with a full itinerary of her plans for the day She politely declined the offer of a lift to Bristol that evening where they and the twins were planning to go to see a film before going on to a club. She attacked her breakfast hungrily and drank her way through more tea than her body would be happy with later, but it set her up for the day. She had plans. She went to her room, grabbed her shoulder bag and purse, donned a shawl with beads and tassels, and sallied forth to investigate the town. Yes, she really did feel very occult.
After a short walk, she visited the Chalice well, before climbing the Tor and admiring the view across the flat lands of the Levels. Her mind swam with visions of how it must have been centuries before, when the area held power and became the place of Legend. She wished that she could step back into those times, just to see what it was like, then sighed wistfully and began the descent back to the town to get some lunch before browsing the shops and getting Jericho's supplies.
The town was small, but it seemed as if every other shop was selling craft items, occult wares or old books. She found herself buying various things. Scented candles, a few crystals and a crystal ball which was reduced in price owing to having a small chip, but that didn't put her off. It would be fine for practicing her 'seeing', and if the images were a bit warped, well, who would know? Jericho had asked her to visit the next shop where he had an order of tarot card packs for collection. She looked around the shop while the owner rummaged around in the back for the package. The shop had more tarot decks than she’d even known existed. Unable to resist temptation, she took a few different packs from the shelves and began to look through them, fascinated by the different pictures and symbols, feeling a strange power tingle through her finger tips as she turned the cards. The owner shuffled back into the shop with a small parcel which he placed on the counter before walking over to stand beside her. He stared at her with a frown, before taking another tarot deck from the shelf.
"If you are interested in buying, then I think these would suit you. They resonate with your inner power," he said.
Marjorie gave a nervous giggle. "Inner power?" she repeated.
"Indeed. I can feel it in you. You have the gift of sight," he continued.
Marjorie flinched slightly. It was all getting a bit creepy. She took the deck from his hand and studied it. "Thoth Tarot?" she read. "Wasn't that …?"
"Don't let that put you off. His reputation is perhaps dubious, but the deck is a work of art and I know a lot of people who say that they are the most accurate for readings. And, I could do you a small discount, as you know my good friend, Mr Jericho."
"I… I er don't even know how to read them," she stammered. She thumbed through the pack. They were beautiful in a strangely mesmerising way, a mix of geometric shapes, dark but with some images seeming to glow.
"The cards will lead you…" the man said, mysteriously, leaning towards her. Then he straightened up. "Besides, there is an instruction leaflet in the pack," he finished, and strode back to the counter. Marjorie gave the card deck a long look and decided to treat herself, even though she had a feeling that a lot of the Major Arcana cards might have to be hidden from the pack if she ever had to do a reading for anyone of a slightly nervous disposition. She slipped the wrapped package into her shoulder bag, passed over the money, picked up Jericho's parcel and headed back out into the real world. She was starting to flag; her feet ached and her back was sore from bending over to look at various items during her meanderings. She decided to head back to the B&B with her purchases and put her feet up with a nice cup of tea and, hopefully, a biscuit or two.
She set off along the street but found herself gazing into windows on the way, and couldn't resist stopping at a large bookshop which appeared to sell a variety of new and second-hand books. The interior was dark and full of people, but she decided to go in and see what she could find. As expected, there was a large section covering occult themes, so she started running her eyes across the books and taking a few off the shelves to study more closely. A couple of books about tarot readings started the pile off, followed by a book about hauntings in the Home Counties (for which she had been looking for ages and which was a decent price), and a small step-by-step pocket book about crystal healing.
It was at that moment that she became vaguely aware of a tall, blond man wearing a camel hair coat, standing by the alternative religion section in the bookstore, watching her with a curious expression on his face, as if he was remembering something… something distant… It was un-nerving. His eyes followed her as she walked round the bookshop until she was feeling really uneasy and almost scared. She had just about plucked up the nerve to ask him what he was staring at when she turned and bumped into someone beside her. He was tall, slim and dark haired, and obviously a bit of a poser with those designer sunglasses, which must have made it difficult to see in the dimly lit shop. He staggered a bit from the impact and hissed an apology. She wanted to turn away and get back to her pile of books, but something about him held her look. He held out a book.
"Channelling spirits: the art of mediumship." said the title. Marjorie raised her eyebrows; how had she missed that one on the shelves? She took the book hesitantly and thanked the man. She took a nervous glance back towards the alternative religion section again, but the tall blond had gone. She made her way to the till, pausing on the way to add a new novel to her pile of second hand books. She wasn't particularly fond of fantasy novels and had never heard of the author, but the picture on the front looked fun, and so she balanced a copy of 'The Colour of Magic' on the top of her others on the counter and fished around for the money.
At that precise moment, outside the shop, a tall, blond man was in conversation with a tall, dark man in sunglasses. Tall Blond leant in close to Tall Dark and muttered, "Why did you give her a book?"
Tall Dark opened his mouth to speak but stopped, a puzzled frown on his sharp features. He made a sound which sounded not unlike a hiss.
"Do you know… I haven't a clue. It just sssseemed important that I did. Odd."
"I hope it wasn't one of your attempts to lead the poor girl into wrong doing, my dear."
"Somehow, I don't think she needs my help. Judging by her book selection, she's making her own way to our side quite well on her own! Now, can I tempt you to some lunch? There was a nice little place down there I seem to recall. Although that was a while back… " He shrugged and the two of them turned and strolled away down the street, lost in their own conversation.
Marjorie staggered out of the shop laden down with her purchases and parcels, and headed back to the B&B, pausing to buy a sandwich and a sweet pastry to have for her dinner. She had already told Beryl that she was going to spend the evening reading, and it was with a certain feeling of relief that she closed the door behind her, put the kettle on, and spread her various purchases out across the bed. Looking through the books, she picked up the one about channelling spirits and stared at it with a slight frown. Her mind was dragged back to the book shop and the memory of two men, but despite it being less than two hours ago, the picture of them and the shop was fuzzy and unclear. She shrugged and reached out to pick up the crystal ball, placing it on the small table by the window. She passed her hand across it theatrically and felt vaguely disappointed when nothing exciting appeared within its depths. Well, she thought there was nothing… There was a strange sort of image in there, but that was surely a warped reflection caused by the flaw. Why else would she be seeing something that resembled a can of condensed milk? She blinked and took a deep breath. The smell of the evening meal was wafting up from the kitchens. Sprouts, if she was not mistaken. It wasn't pleasant but gave a certain comfortable ambience to the surroundings. Pouring herself a cup of tea, she headed for the armchair and settled down for an evening's reading.
She wasn't quite sure when the decision actually came to her during that sprout-scented, dark-roomed evening, but at some point, her mind suddenly became clear, the road ahead stretched in front of her as clearly as if someone had painted it fresh before her. She would set up in her little flat as a medium. She was sure that Mr Rajit wouldn't mind, and it would bring in a bit of extra money on top of the job on the market stall. Oh, she realised that it wasn't going to bring in quite the amount of money that she would like, but it would help, and she was sure that she would be able to think of a few other ways to supplement her meagre income. She'd think about that after she had got all the mediuming things sorted out. Yes, she decided. This was what she was destined for. This was her future.
A few weeks later, a nervous young Marjorie Potts was making the final adjustments to her shawl, her beads, and her numerous rings before the arrival of her first client for a basic sitting. There was just one thing left to do. She frowned. Somehow, the name Marjorie Potts didn't quite seem to have that allure which she felt was needed if people were going to take you seriously in the mediuming community. She needed a more suitable name.
She'd narrowed it down to two choices but couldn't quite decide which one to use. She wrote each name on a scrap of paper and popped them into her pocket, then she made a final check of her equipment… tarot cards... crystal ball… incense… table rapper in case of awkward silences… board and planchette, and a pan of sprouts just coming to the boil to give the rooms a homely feel.
The door bell sounded. In a last minute panic she remembered the issue of a name and, casting her future to the Fates, she reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the scraps of paper, reading it as she pushed through the beaded curtain en route to the door. Crossing the fingers of one hand behind her back, she opened the door with what she hoped was a smile of confidence.
"Hello," she said brightly to the middle-aged woman on her threshold. "Please, come in and let Madame Tracy Draw Aside the Veil…"
THE END…… or is it the beginning?
Next - Gift 2!
