Psychic Surveys Book Two: Rise To Me - A Supernatural Thriller Read online

  “Naturally,” Cash said, smiling again.

  Taking his comment in good heart this time, Ruby elaborated. “It’s where she and her friends hang out at night. A lot of the local kids do, with bottles of cheap cider and beer too no doubt. They go there to contact the ghost and when I say contact, I don’t mean in a good way. The daughter was very scathing about Emily, said they like to wind her up, call her names. She said it’s the ghost that’s frightened of them, not the other way round.”

  “Ah, so it’s a taunting, not a haunting.”

  “It is,” Ruby agreed. “A taunting of poor Emily.”

  “And she’s real is she? This Emily?” Cash asked, turning from Ruby, back to his laptop and typing the words ‘Emily’s Bridge, near Uckfield’ into the Google search engine.

  “I got directions and stopped off on the way home and she’s real enough,” Ruby confirmed. “I couldn’t ‘see’ her but I could sense her and she seems to be in great distress. And I’m not surprised, if teenagers are making fun of her, night after night.”

  “What else do you know about her?” asked Cash, his eyes scanning the list of pages that had come up on screen.

  “Not much really, I thought I’d come back to the office, see what I can find out.”

  Cash was on the case already. “There’s nothing about an Emily’s Bridge near Uckfield on the ‘net, in fact there’s nothing about any haunted bridges in Sussex. There’s plenty about Clayton Tunnel though, which is just outside of Brighton.” His attention captured, he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Actually, Clayton’s pretty spooky isn’t it?”

  Ruby leaned across to peer also at the picture he was examining. A grainy shot – the entrance to the tunnel shrouded in mist.

  “Now you see, that pisses me off too. If they had posted a colour picture on that website instead of a black and white one, it wouldn’t look half as dramatic. It’s all done for effect.”

  “Even so, it says Clayton is haunted by the ghosts of those killed in an horrific pile up in the tunnel running underneath the signalman’s house. It happened in 1861 and was the result of a misunderstanding between the signalman at the north end and the signalman at the south end. One train was in the tunnel, a second was trying to back out and a third crashed into it.” Cash paused. “Nasty,” he said, shuddering. “Twenty-three people died and their bodies were laid out in the house above, their spirits continuing to linger.”

  “The haunting, it’s an urban myth,” Ruby dismissed.

  “How do you know? Have you been there?”

  “No, not me but Theo has,” she replied, referring to another member of the Psychic Surveys team – in her late sixties, she was the eldest amongst them and very often the wisest. “She went there, not because she was asked to but to check it out. Years and years ago it was, before I’d even met her but I remember her talking about it once. The signalman’s house was empty by that time and by empty, Theo wanted to ensure it was exactly that. It may even have been derelict but whether it is now I don’t know. It’s probably been reincarnated as a cosy family home. Anyway, she levered the door open and went in, cleansed it with oils and herbs, just in case.”

  “She broke in you mean?”

  “But for a good reason.”

  “To try and minimise the chances that something would attach itself to the building, something attracted by the loneliness of the place, thinking it a good place to ‘hide’.”

  Ruby was impressed.

  “You’re becoming really quite expert in spirit behaviour aren’t you?”

  If Cash was the type who blushed, Ruby was sure he’d be doing so right now. He seemed genuinely pleased she’d said that. Along with Theo, Ness and Corinna, her ‘usual’ team members, Cash had joined them several months ago – albeit in an unofficial and, more to the point, unpaid capacity. Unlike the rest of the team he was not a psychic, he was a freelance website developer and he had work enough of his own to occupy him. When he could though, he helped out, as he had done with great effect on their most challenging case to date, the removal of 1950s movie star diva, Cynthia Hart, from her somewhat baronial home in East Sussex – Highdown Hall. Not only had he helped out, he had stepped into the role of boyfriend too – hers. Although he usually worked from his flat in Lewes, a technical den, stuffed with Macs, PCs and printers – all the stuff he needed to test his websites on – he sometimes brought his laptop and worked alongside her at the cramped office she rented in the High Street. ‘Any excuse to be with you,’ he had said once. And today was such an occasion. The three of them, including Jed, a black Labrador – long since passed – rubbing along very nicely together. Although Cash couldn’t ‘see’ Jed, from time to time he could sense him and he seemed to be as fond of him as Ruby was, or as fond of the ‘idea’ of him at least.

  As Cash continued to peruse the Internet, Ruby finished her tea.

  “Ah, here we go,” he said, “I’ve found something, not under haunted bridges, under ‘Sussex Local Legends’. Emily Harvey, aged eighteen, threw herself off the bridge in question when she was jilted at the altar by her lover.” Cash sighed. “Suffering from a broken heart apparently. The same old, same old.”

  “Cash!” Ruby admonished. “There’s no same old, same old about it. I’m sure Emily was heartbroken at being jilted by her lover. Anyone would be.”

  “But perhaps there was a reason she was jilted. Perhaps she was a pain in the arse.”

  “Read on,” Ruby commanded imperiously.

  Cash started to read verbatim. “Distraught and humiliated, Emily, the daughter of a local landowner, rushed from the empty church, across the fields to the bridge. Despite her father running after her, pleading with her, begging her to wait, she threw herself off the bridge, her body crashing onto the rails below. The fall proved fatal.”

  “Ouch,” Ruby winced. “Poor her and her poor father. What a thing to witness.”

  “You should also feel sorry for the groom,” Cash said sombrely. “According to the article on this website, he hadn’t jilted her but had been severely delayed. En route to the church, his carriage wheel got stuck in the mud. He was heartbroken too, apparently.”

  “A twist in the tale,” Ruby commented. “When did this take place?”

  “1898,” Cash replied before sighing again. “I mean don’t get me wrong when I say this, but Emily seems a bit highly strung to me, you know, jumping to conclusions and all that.” Realising what he said, he continued, “Ha, jumping, do you see what I did there?”

  She did but it was Emily’s story that was occupying her mind not Cash’s joke.

  “Does the article mention any sightings of her?”

  “I should imagine so, that’s the whole point of it isn’t it?” He scrolled further down the page. “Okay, people have reported a sensation of being touched or scratched as they walk under the bridge, wailing, never during the day, always at night of course. Some have even seen a white apparition hovering around the area and incredibly, one bright spark’s managed to capture it on camera, thanks to a bit of jiggery-pokery on Photoshop I reckon, because it looks like someone dressed up in a white sheet to me.” Pointing, he said, “Yep, you can see his or her shoes sticking out, they forgot to Photoshop them. It’s the usual stuff they put on these and a million other ‘death’ sites.”

  “Except in this case it could be true if what I sensed is anything to go by.”

  “But you’ve never heard of Emily’s Bridge before?” he double-checked.

  “Cash, I’m not a walking encyclopaedia of haunted places you know!”

  “I suppose…” Cash said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Contemplating for a moment, Ruby stood up and grabbed her bag.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Back to Emily’s Bridge. Want to come with me?”

  The bridge, set within the countryside near Isfield, close to the Lavender Line, was actually quite beautiful. Typically Victorian, it was built in red brick with a gently curvin
g arch disappearing into bushes either side of it. The rail line that had run beneath it had long since been tarmacked over providing a route for walkers and cyclists instead. It was the beginning of summer and the trees were in full bloom, contrasting shades of green interspersed with the tiny white flowers of cow parsley, which grew in abundance. Looking at the bridge straight on, Ruby sighed.

  “What can you feel?” she asked Cash.

  Although he claimed no psychic ability, sometimes he could be intuitive. Corinna, the youngest team member at twenty-two was not a psychic either, only Ruby, Ness and Theo were but Corinna was a ‘sensitive’, someone who could tune into the spirit world, who could sense grounded spirits even if she couldn’t see them. Cash was the same, Ruby suspected, but his ability was very much in its infant stages.

  “It’s not a particularly happy place to be,” he said after a while. “It’s bloody depressing if I’m honest, there’s something bleak about it. How about you? See anything?”

  “Not yet, I need to tune in.”

  Drawn to the right hand side of the bridge, Ruby went and stood closer. Cash kept a respectful distance, holding in his hand the black holdall in which Ruby kept Psychic Survey’s ‘cleansing’ paraphernalia – herb wands known as smudge sticks which they used to cleanse the air, an assortment of crystals that cleansed and protected such as obsidian, citrine and the queen of them all - tourmaline. Oils too, amongst them eucalyptus, geranium and cinnamon bark, all created from pure ingredients. For added protection, Ruby had dabbed fennel oil onto her neck and wrists as well as Cash’s before climbing out of the car. Besides smelling nice, the scent was useful in warding off psychic attack. After all, they had no idea how pissed off Emily might still be. Around her neck was her great grandmother’s tourmaline necklace – a treasured family heirloom and around Cash’s was the obsidian necklace she had given to him soon after they met – he rarely took it off. Tooled up, as she thought of it, Ruby began to tune in, surrounding them both in white light as she did so – more protection. The path was empty and she was grateful for it. Being called in to tend to a problem with Psychic Surveys was one thing – she was acting in a professional capacity, on demand as it were. Out here, she was still acting in a professional capacity, but she might have a hard time convincing a passer-by of that!

  “Emily, can you hear me?” she began, saying the words aloud but only for Cash’s benefit. She was perfectly able to communicate with spirits by thought alone.

  It took a bit of prompting, but finally Ruby got a reply.

  My name’s not Emily!

  The tone of voice was distinctly waspish and Ruby sighed. Bloody Internet story, that was one detail wrong of God knows how many.

  After apologising, Ruby asked what her name was.

  Susan, the spirit said but the information was given reluctantly.

  “Susan, that’s a nice name. How long have you been here?”

  I don’t know! How should I know?

  Again that angry tone – undaunted, Ruby introduced herself.

  “Please understand I’m not here to upset or provoke you. I’m here to help.”

  There was silence at this but Ruby detected a slight lessening of anger. She wished she could actually see Susan but at this stage all she could do was sense her.

  You’re different, the spirit said at last.

  If she meant she wasn’t a teenager, Ruby could only agree. She’d just turned twenty-five, her teenage years long gone.

  “Susan, how old are you?”

  Old enough.

  She sounded defensive and Ruby wondered why. She tried asking another question.

  “Do you know what year it is?”

  Of course I do! It’s 1966.

  1966 as opposed to 1898 – another detail that blew the Internet story right out of the water. Had Emily even existed or was she just another urban myth? If she had existed, she was haunting the bridge no more, Susan was, and she was clearly having a hard time coming to terms with her physical death. Ruby’s job, of course, was to help her understand. Once she understood – or rather accepted she had passed, she’d be able to move on, go home. That was the theory anyway. Realising Susan was speaking again Ruby inclined her head to listen.

  Why is everything hazy? I can’t see properly.

  “Everything is hazy, Susan, because you’re in spirit form.” She took a breath before venturing on. “You have passed, from what you’ve told me, in the year 1966, which was nearly fifty years ago. For some reason you remain grounded on this plane, but I can help you move on, move towards the light, where we come from and where we all go back to one day. There’s no need to be afraid, the light is safe, the light is home.”

  Initially spirits of the grounded variety didn’t tend to take the news they’d ‘died’ too well and Susan, it seemed, was no exception. Ruby could sense a build-up of energy around her and she wished for Jed. She had ‘met’ him at roughly the same time she had met Cash. His spirit had been guarding a house long after his owners had departed. The new owners, who could sometimes ‘hear’ him, didn’t appreciate his presence at all, no matter how benign or well intentioned. Although Ruby had tried to send Jed to the light, he had attached himself to her instead, his protective instincts still needing an outlet. And she couldn’t deny it, she felt safer when he was by her side, more confident. Well, him and Cash. As the atmosphere grew tenser still, Jed did indeed appear and Ruby found herself smiling. What was he, a genie of sorts? That thought had crossed her mind many times.

  Before Susan could get too het up, Ruby spoke again.

  “I know you’re upset. If a death was sudden or traumatic, it can take time for us to come to terms with. But, Susan, you’ve been here for a long time now, too long. I know the local kids upset you. They don’t mean to, not really, they don’t understand your plight. It’s a miserable existence for you here, but if you go to the light you won’t be miserable anymore. There is love and joy in the light, you’ll be going home – you’ll be welcomed.”

  They call me Emily!

  Clearly this enraged her.

  They say I was jilted. I jumped to my death. I didn’t!

  “What did happen?”

  I was pushed!

  Ruby started. Perhaps because the story of Emily was fresh in her mind, she had presumed Susan was another jumper.

  They call me Jilted Emily, Stupid Emily, they laugh at me! People always laugh at me!

  Ruby cursed the teenagers as well as the Internet for feeding them such rubbish.

  “Susan, tell me what happened. Who pushed you?”

  The air around Ruby rippled, Susan trying to gather enough energy to materialise. Jed stepped forward, sniffing tentatively. Cash looked from side to side, aware too of the change in atmosphere. Even the trees started swaying despite there being very little breeze. Like it or not, they were heading towards crux point, often a dangerous time, the moment a spirit either denies or accepts what has happened to them. At this moment, Ruby couldn’t call it either way.

  He pushed me. He said he loved me but he pushed me!

  Susan’s voice had become scathing.

  Patiently, Ruby repeated her question from earlier. “Who pushed you?”

  He did. He was nervous. He’s not like that normally.

  Losing that scathing quality, she sounded dreamy almost.

  Normally he’s nice. He said I’m pretty. No one’s ever said that before.

  Ruby calculated the years once again – this ‘nice man’, was he ever convicted for his crime? She tried to prise his name from her, he could still be alive, but Susan refused to play ball. Changing tack, Ruby asked why she thought the man had pushed her.

  Because I said I’d tell his wife about us if he didn’t.

  Ah, she’d had an affair with a married man, the same old, same old after all, as Cash had said.

  “Tell me his name, Susan, please.”

  Why should I?

  As frustrated as she felt, Ruby had to remind herself the only thin
g that mattered was sending Susan to the light. Later perhaps she’d investigate her case – she couldn’t deny it, her curiosity was piqued.

  He pushed me!

  That was the only thing Susan was concerned with.

  He pushed me and then he walked away, smiling.

  Squinting, Ruby could just about see the misty outline of a shape starting to materialise, a female form, short not thin and waiflike, as she’d been half expecting but strong and robust. She focused, tried to see her clearer. Something was different about her and it took a few moments for Ruby to realise what. When she did, her mouth fell open. Susan had Down’s Syndrome! Not only that she was young, really young – a teenager. The reason she’d been defensive when asked about her age? Not the same old, same old, after all, far from it. Ruby was appalled. The girl had been taken advantage of in the most heinous of ways. Her determination to investigate Susan’s case increased tenfold. She wanted to check justice had been done on her behalf and if not, rectify it.

  “Susan, what’s your surname?”

  Perhaps she’d be more forthcoming with that information. Susan, however, wasn’t listening.

  “Susan…” she said again but the shape turned from her, towards where Cash was standing. Before Jed could dive in between them, before Ruby had time to reinforce his protective shield, Susan had lashed out, raked nails down his face. Immediately, three thin lines of blood appeared on his cheek and his hand shot up to where he had ‘experienced’ the attack. This scratching business, the article on the Internet had got that right at least.

  “Ruby, what the…”

  Instead of answering Cash, Ruby darted forward.