Into the free....one for the forgoten, one for the lost and one for the road diary of an occult resolution assistant.
So I had been recognised by a complete stranger. Do I have my own tune playing around me signalling my presence to all who can hear it. Normal humans, of which there are the vast majority of the population, do not sing out; this was something I thought I knew well. Even a tiny ammount of 'Other' in the blood generates ....... generates what? A song, music of the Gods, Angels and Demons or something else. Who can hear it, Xanthic once said he could not; but you should not always beleive everything a self confessed Demon (or demon for the well watered down ones) tells you.
The child and mother had walked out of the shop with a bottle of milk and no sweets. The milk in a small bottle hung from the mother's finger, the lack of sweets were very vocally advertised in a whinny voice by her hip.
I looked at the child and no clues could be made from the clothes over its gender, its shoulder length hair also so aid and the round face with reddened cheeks under water filled blue eyes could have been both boy or girl. I felt parents should give us at least a mild chance of knowing what their offspring were, a pink bow in their hair or a blue top with 'Daddy's little man' written across the front, would be ideal.
The mother looked tired, not just sleepy but worn down and staired straight ahead as if not hearing her child's pitiful call for sugar coated sugar treats.
''The worm man has gone.'' The little one said in a bright voice almost in the same breath as the whine and pulling on here hand in the direction of the bus shelter and myself.
''What?'' commented the adult as if this was the first she was aware the child was there.
''The wormy face man. He winked at me and looked wiggly.'' Proudly stated and happy voiced the child spoke with confidence of children everywhere when passing on really exciting experiences such as soil and water make fun construction partners and slow worms in the hand can make big sisters scream and wet themselves.
The mother stopped and knelt down facing her love, using a tissue obtained from her sleeve to wipe away snot and tears from it's face. ''You have to stop seeing these things, he was just a dirty man, they are all just people and talking about worms and flies can upset them. Imaginary things are not there and should not be talked about. Please can you just forget it?''
''That lady is singing in my head.'' came the reply making it obvious the advice of it's mother was not sinking in.
The mother looked over at me well aware I could hear the conversation, with a look of the down trodden but no offence meant and we all know what kids are like these days eh (it's amazing how expressive a face can be whilst at the same time being almost blank.
''She's singing of Samantha.''
The mother changed, hardening up and falling apart all at once.
''We...I...'' she started and then stood up and started in my direction and I then felt a panic hit me like a punch to my tummy, adrenaline poured into my heart and legs and I began to think about escape routes from this box I was sat in, unfortunatly three sides were well boarded and secure and the forth direction led to a marching mother.
''Do you know Samantha, my Samantha?'' I was asked and I had to honestly answer I did not.
''She does,'' Came from the child.
''I've only been here a day.'' I said, ''I came down from London yesterday and don't know anyone here, unless she was one of the girls in the pub last night.....'' I couldn't continue as the lady in front of me involuntary gave a blub and quickly forced herself back together bringing her child free hand up to her face to cover her eyes and then down to hide her mouth.
''I'm very sorry, but my Samantha went to London six weeks ago and I haven't heard anything from her since and I am so worried.'' The mother pulled her remaining child closer to her and clearly causing it some discomfort. I was well out of my comfort zone and completely at a loss of what to say or do, I thought of Annie and Clive and their lost daughter, is this something parents from small villages have to cope with? Every road leads to London, or somewhere bigger than here at the very least, and the draw to the biggest of cities (in the mind if not in georgrphy) is hard to ignore; Hell, I flew the coupe and headed that way as soon as I was old enough to stop the social working nazi's from stopping me and dragging me back to the children's home. I never made contact with my past life from day one, but I never had anyone, or at least no one close, to contact even if I wanted to.
A great sadness drew deep from a well insiode me and I could see this mirrored in the woman in front of me. How strong must she be, to stand there and face days, weeks without a child and be there for another younger one who is still there. How does she cope?How can she get out of bed every morning to face a day where her love does not contact her to let her know she is safe and thinking of her? Hope that today was the day she would recieve that call.
I don't remember what was said next and nor do I know what happened but I wrote Natalie's number in my notebook with a description of Samantha and a vague impression of a crushed embrace. Natalie took her child and bottle of milk and walked away into the village.
''Well,'' I said out loud once I was alone and regained some function over myself. ''I need a bloody big drink.'' The Jolly Reaper had its double doors open and lights calling to me so I set off across the village square with determination.
*
The child and mother had walked out of the shop with a bottle of milk and no sweets. The milk in a small bottle hung from the mother's finger, the lack of sweets were very vocally advertised in a whinny voice by her hip.
I looked at the child and no clues could be made from the clothes over its gender, its shoulder length hair also so aid and the round face with reddened cheeks under water filled blue eyes could have been both boy or girl. I felt parents should give us at least a mild chance of knowing what their offspring were, a pink bow in their hair or a blue top with 'Daddy's little man' written across the front, would be ideal.
The mother looked tired, not just sleepy but worn down and staired straight ahead as if not hearing her child's pitiful call for sugar coated sugar treats.
''The worm man has gone.'' The little one said in a bright voice almost in the same breath as the whine and pulling on here hand in the direction of the bus shelter and myself.
''What?'' commented the adult as if this was the first she was aware the child was there.
''The wormy face man. He winked at me and looked wiggly.'' Proudly stated and happy voiced the child spoke with confidence of children everywhere when passing on really exciting experiences such as soil and water make fun construction partners and slow worms in the hand can make big sisters scream and wet themselves.
The mother stopped and knelt down facing her love, using a tissue obtained from her sleeve to wipe away snot and tears from it's face. ''You have to stop seeing these things, he was just a dirty man, they are all just people and talking about worms and flies can upset them. Imaginary things are not there and should not be talked about. Please can you just forget it?''
''That lady is singing in my head.'' came the reply making it obvious the advice of it's mother was not sinking in.
The mother looked over at me well aware I could hear the conversation, with a look of the down trodden but no offence meant and we all know what kids are like these days eh (it's amazing how expressive a face can be whilst at the same time being almost blank.
''She's singing of Samantha.''
The mother changed, hardening up and falling apart all at once.
''We...I...'' she started and then stood up and started in my direction and I then felt a panic hit me like a punch to my tummy, adrenaline poured into my heart and legs and I began to think about escape routes from this box I was sat in, unfortunatly three sides were well boarded and secure and the forth direction led to a marching mother.
''Do you know Samantha, my Samantha?'' I was asked and I had to honestly answer I did not.
''She does,'' Came from the child.
''I've only been here a day.'' I said, ''I came down from London yesterday and don't know anyone here, unless she was one of the girls in the pub last night.....'' I couldn't continue as the lady in front of me involuntary gave a blub and quickly forced herself back together bringing her child free hand up to her face to cover her eyes and then down to hide her mouth.
''I'm very sorry, but my Samantha went to London six weeks ago and I haven't heard anything from her since and I am so worried.'' The mother pulled her remaining child closer to her and clearly causing it some discomfort. I was well out of my comfort zone and completely at a loss of what to say or do, I thought of Annie and Clive and their lost daughter, is this something parents from small villages have to cope with? Every road leads to London, or somewhere bigger than here at the very least, and the draw to the biggest of cities (in the mind if not in georgrphy) is hard to ignore; Hell, I flew the coupe and headed that way as soon as I was old enough to stop the social working nazi's from stopping me and dragging me back to the children's home. I never made contact with my past life from day one, but I never had anyone, or at least no one close, to contact even if I wanted to.
A great sadness drew deep from a well insiode me and I could see this mirrored in the woman in front of me. How strong must she be, to stand there and face days, weeks without a child and be there for another younger one who is still there. How does she cope?How can she get out of bed every morning to face a day where her love does not contact her to let her know she is safe and thinking of her? Hope that today was the day she would recieve that call.
I don't remember what was said next and nor do I know what happened but I wrote Natalie's number in my notebook with a description of Samantha and a vague impression of a crushed embrace. Natalie took her child and bottle of milk and walked away into the village.
''Well,'' I said out loud once I was alone and regained some function over myself. ''I need a bloody big drink.'' The Jolly Reaper had its double doors open and lights calling to me so I set off across the village square with determination.
*
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