The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 6

“You need to calm down and tell us again, without jabbering like a lunatic, what happened,” said his grandmother, sitting next to David’s bed on a precarious-looking dining chair, dragged from a dusty corner of the attic. His aunts stood behind her. Aunt Stella looked concerned, while Aunt Angela just looked irritated. She was holding a very large glass of red wine in one hand, while the other rested on the side of a Victorian chest of drawers, probably to keep her upright.

David recounted again his experience on the lower astral plane, rushing over the time in the stinking pub and focussing on the encounter with William and his sighting of the odious shadow creatures.

Now that she had fully comprehended the content of his story, his grandmother also looked concerned.

“Well, this is not good,” she said, massaging her temples and staring at David as if his face would reveal more details.

“What were those things?” asked Angela.

“Demons,” said his grandmother, resting her powder-white hands in her lap. “And I assume this William was one too – an empathetic demon, just like little Lucy.”

“A what?” David and Angela asked, simultaneously.

“An empathetic demon is one that takes on a form it thinks will appeal to the person it is trying to trick,” explained Aunt Stella, followed by a nervous cough. “Their main weakness is that they need to be invited to share the host’s body. They can’t just invade it. But once they are in, they are far more dangerous than the thing that has John, because they are intelligent beings who can live and operate in the real world, having an influence not just on their host but on everyone around them. I seriously believe there are people in positions of great power who are possessed by empathetic demons.”

“The question is, why are demons congregating on the lower astral plane here?” said Miriam. “The chances of one of these primal demons finding its way to the Earth-bound astral plane are a million to one, for there to be dozens all gathered in the same place is unheard of.”

She looked at David again. “Demons generally exist on their own plane, The Dark Plane. Very occasionally one of these low-grade demons you saw will slip through to what we call the upper astral plane, the level where people like us can visit and create all kinds of wonders with our imagination. Sometimes a stray demon will latch onto someone’s astral form and try and hitch a ride back to their physical body, and then battle for control of it. I can’t tell you how rare that scenario is. Even more unusual is for a demon to find its way to the lower, Earth-bound plane. Again, if it ever happens it is usually an accident, they just fall through a tear in the fabric between planes, or become dislodged while trying to piggyback a person’s astral body and tumble onto the lower astral plane. If you saw several demons all in the same small area, then something is going on. Something or someone is organising them.”

“Organising them to do what?” asked Angela.

“I’m guessing it has something to do with us, dear,” said Miriam. “Three talented Blackwoods in one house, plus a young Blackwood ripe for manipulating.” She glanced at Jason, who was huddled under his bedspread looking at them with wide, unblinking eyes.

“I assumed John’s possession was a freak misfortune,” she continued, “But it looks like it may have been planned. They obviously decided to pick off the weakest first. It looks like the demon that possessed John wasn’t just coincidently passing by, but had been lying in wait for an opportunity to take over his vulnerable body.”

“What do we do?” asked Angela, now sitting on her son’s bed and pulling him close to her. She’d left her wine glass on top of the chest of drawers.

“I think our plans have changed,” said Miriam. “The safest place for us all is the cottage. My mother and her mother spent years building up protective measures against demons. They were into all that occult stuff – magic symbols and all that. I wouldn’t know where to start, but at the cottage the work has already been done.”

“I have cast protection magic in this house too, Mother,” said Stella. “If it wasn’t working surely these things that David saw would be in here by now.”

“I think I’d rather put my trust in the cottage, Stella, and your grandmother and great grandmother’s years of experience and wisdom,” replied Miriam.

“Is it safe to travel while those things are out there?” asked Angela.

“You’ll be fine,” said Miriam, making the statement sound like an insult. “And if their aim is to possess a Blackwood, then we should be fine as long as we don’t take any walks on the astral plane. We can risk sleeping when we get to the cottage.”

“I can draw some protective symbols on the car,” said Stella. “I’m quite knowledgeable about all the occult stuff too.”

“That’s nice, dear,” said her mother, standing with a groan. “I’m more worried about Angela driving us after downing several fish bowls of wine.”

“And what about John?” asked Angela.

“I’ll worry about him once we are all safe,” said Miriam.

“Should we warn the others?” asked Stella, following her mother onto the landing. “Stephanie and Dale, and Jack?”

“Jack shouldn’t be in any danger, unless he suddenly discovers a latent talent at the age of 45, and as for Stephanie, last I heard she was touring the UK using her gift to blackmail poor, easily confused souls and dragging that poor boy, Dale, around with her. I have no idea how to contact her in the conventional way, and neither of us is going to risk astral projection while we are here. Get some clothes packed and let’s meet downstairs in half an hour.”

***

Dale didn’t want to kiss the other boy, but he knew his mother would kill him if he didn’t. It was all so sordid. A caravan on a campsite in North Wales, rain battering the metal roof, the caustic smell of the chemical toilet sneaking under the door to the loo, and he, Justin, was all expectation, bristling with sexual yearning, standing just inches from Dale, his back pressed to the tiny sink, hands flapping at his sides like injured birds. His bulbous blue eyes stared hopefully into Dale’s, waiting to hear why he’d invited him to his caravan, with a seductive wink thrown in so that he wouldn’t miss the implication.

Even though Dale knew this was just a dream, the thought of actually seducing poor gullible Justin was making him feel sick.

It was his mother who had spotted him on their first evening at the camp, in the entertainment centre. This was the camp’s big draw, the attraction that drew weekenders to the sorry site even out of season. Adverts promised unparalleled performances by some of the UK’s most talented stars.

Shining brightly on the stage that evening had been a man called Brian Sylvester, who had apparently had a top-10 hit in 1974.

“Dale!” his mother had hissed close to his ear, making herself heard over Brian’s off-key rendition of Spandau Ballet’s True. He’d run out of his own hits after two songs.

“What?” Dale pretended to be entranced by Brian’s horrendous vocals.

“The boy in the baggy shirt with the hideous vomit pattern is staring at you.”

“So what?”

“So, I think he may be queer.”

“And?”

“Have you seen his parents, Mr and Mrs Middle England. Do you think they want a queer son? Do you think their queer son wants them to know he’s queer?”

“Mum, shut up!” They were sharing a table with a family of five – two fat parents and three kids, all on the way to being just as obese. All eating massive bags of crisps. They probably couldn’t hear his mum over the crunching in their heads and Brian’s howling, but Dale didn’t want to take that risk.

“Well just take a quick look at him so you know who I’m talking about.”

Dale sighed, dragged his attention from Brian, who was just murdering the iconic bridge, and glanced casually over his left shoulder.

“Two tables back, the boy in the shirt,” said his mother.

Dale saw him, and his shirt, which was hideous, slouched in a plastic seat next to his father, who was nodding along to True without enthusiasm, while his wife, a quaffed Stepford wife, stared trancelike into the distance.

The boy caught his gaze for a second and then did a good impression of his mother, focusing on a non-existent something in a far corner of the entertainment centre. Dale smiled and turned back towards the stage.

“Told you,” said his mother.

She’d dropped the subject, thank God, until they got back to the caravan that night.

“So,” she said, pouring herself a large vodka from the bottle she’d brought in their suitcase. “Do you think you can do it? Get into his dream?”

Dale was lounging on the narrow bed at the rear of the caravan, which was barely long enough to accommodate his lanky frame. He had let his blonde fringe fall across his face so that he wouldn’t have to make eye-contact with his mother.

“Please don’t make me do this,” he moaned.

“It will only take a few minutes. A quick snog, get a few details from him about who he fancies, anything gay he’s done, and then I’ll do the rest. I’ll corner him tomorrow, ask him what he thought he was doing seducing my poor innocent son, and name drop anyone he mentions to you. You know how it works, Dale. He’ll be so confused and terrified of me talking to his parents about his sordid secret life, he’ll hand over whatever I ask for. I just hope his father carries plenty of cash. He looked the type.”

“Can’t you do it?” asked Dale.

His mother joined him on the bed, stroking the hair back from his face. “I don’t think a 35-year-old woman is going to work with this boy, Dale. I think he’s more interested in a wet dream about a stunningly handsome 17-year-old lad.”

“Mum!” Dale pushed her hand away and sat up.

“Oh, don’t get coy. It wouldn’t be the first time. At least this time it will just be in a dream.”

“It doesn’t get easier,” said Dale. ”Anyway, who says I can even get into his dream? I only saw him for a few minutes. I don’t even know his name.”

“I have a feeling he’ll be thinking about you before he goes to sleep,” said his mother. “He may even be dreaming about you, which will make it easier for you to target him. Just make it seem real, so that when I confront him he actually has to question whether he dreamt it or if it actually happened. And get some names, some incriminating details. It’s either that or do it for real tomorrow. You wouldn’t need to work too hard at getting him into bed.”

“Mum, please!”

Dale had eventually relented, taken the sleeping pill his mother offered to him, and drifted off, thinking intently about the boy from the entertainment centre. When he entered a dream state he was standing at the edge of the swirling tunnel, which had always been the way he entered other people’s dreams. He knew from speaking to his mother that this was peculiar to him. Everyone had their own method, she’d said. Once again, he thought intently of the boy, his target, picturing him at the end of the tunnel, which dipped downwards, swarming with stars and bursts of light. Image firmly fixed in his mind, he stepped over the lip of the tunnel entrance and slid down it, as if it were a cosmic slide.

When he landed he was standing outside the entertainment centre, which seemed much bigger in the dream, more like the spectacular venue described in the adverts. Standing by the exit, looking lost, was the boy. Dale walked towards him. The boy glanced in his direction and his face exploded with joy. Dale felt evil.

“Hello,” he greeted. “Aren’t you cold?”

The boy looked down at his t-shirt and baggy grey trousers.

“A bit,” he said.

“Why don’t you come back to my caravan,” suggested Dale. “It’s nice and warm there.” And that’s when he’d thrown in the wink. Not that he’d needed it, Justin had been gripping his arm and urging him onwards within a second of the suggestion being made.

And now, here they were, inside a dream version of Dale’s caravan – which was as close to the real thing as Dale could manage – with Justin practically bursting with lust.

Dale leaned in for the inevitable kiss. It had to be done. He and his mother needed to eat, and buy petrol and pay for the next caravan site or hotel. Justin’s mouth engulfed his face, sucking on his mouth as if he was trying to drain the last ounce of juice from an orange.

It’s just a dream! It’s just a dream!

It was like snogging a Great Dane. Justin’s saliva flooded his mouth, tasting salty and stale. Dale had to pull away. There was a sound like a sink being plunged as their mouths disconnected.

“Let’s get naked!” said Justin, pulling his t-shirt over his scrawny torso and flinging it onto the bed. “Come on, you too!”

“Wait!” said Dale, taking a step backwards. “We don’t need to rush.”

“I might wake up!” insisted Justin, “And this is the best dream I’ve ever had.”

He began unbuttoning his trousers.

“I’m sure you’ve had dreams about boys before.”

“What?” Justin looked up, obviously wondering why his imagination was not skipping straight to the naked writing bodies part.

“You said you’re 18. Surely I’m not the first boy you’ve fantasised about – or maybe there’s been some real love action in your life.”

“Only David Harrow when I was sixteen. But I didn’t fancy him. He was just the only other gay boy in college, so I gave him a hand-job over the park.”

“Nice,” said Dale. Surely, he’d done enough for his mother to work her wicked magic.

“Come on!” urged Justin, throwing himself backwards onto the bed, now struggling with the fly of his trousers.

“Sorry, Justin, but I have to go now,” said Dale. And he screwed his eyes closed and counted to five. When he opened them again, he was lying on the narrow bed in his caravan, and his mother was looking down at him with an eager, hungry expression.

***

Impatient for morning and her chance to confront Justin, Stephanie decided to take a short walk on the astral plane. Who knew, maybe she’d stumble across an elicit liaison between campers and have some more ammunition to use before they left the following afternoon.

Sadly, the campsite was deserted and most of the caravans in darkness. She spotted a light on in one and passed through the metal wall only to find a couple playing draughts across a fold-down table. No scandal here. She phased straight through the table and game, sending out a small burst of energy that sent some of the pieces flying from the board. This was one skill she had that her sister didn’t. The woman gave a shrill cry and the man sat back sharply, staring at the dislodged pieces in wonder.

Stephanie half-walked, half floated between caravans, already bored and resigned to the fact that this had been a wasted trip. Something darted from under a van just ahead. At first, she thought it was black dog, but as it scuttled under the neighbouring mobile home, she saw its elongated body like a solid oil slick, its front legs more like arms, with splayed fingers where paws should be.

Demon.

Its head poked out from under the caravan, a squirming mass of dark matter, gaping mouth filled with spasming tendrils.

She closed her eyes and boomed the command in her mind. Back! Back now!

She rolled from her bed and crawled the short distance to where her son lay, shaking him awake.

“We have to go now!” she said, as he came groggily to consciousness.

***

Jason froze on the top step to Aunty Stella’s house, pulling his mother, who held his hand, to an abrupt stop, two steps down.

“Jason, what’s wrong?” She was looking back at him, pulling on his arm, but also hesitant because of the look of terror on his face.

“They’re everywhere,” he finally stuttered.

“What’s the matter with him?” asked David, already standing by the car. Aunty Stella was busy loading suitcases into the boot, while his grandmother battled to open the front passenger door. And all around them, in the doorways, twisted around lampposts and hanging like huge strings of black snot from gutters and tree branches, were the demons. At least twenty of them, blazing eyes fixed on their Blackwood prey.

“What can you see?” demanded David, climbing back up the steps.

“The things you saw,” said Jason, gripping his mother’s hand.

“Come on!” called his grandmother. “Why the delay?”

“He says he can see demons,” said David.

“That’s not possible.” His grandmother made her way back up the steps, shivering in the cold evening air. “Jason, darling, it’s all going to be fine.”

“I can see them!” screamed Jason, pointing to each of the waiting horrors in turn. “There! There! There!”

They seemed to writhe and tremble at his attention.

“I think he can see something,” said his mother, crouching in front of him and looking into his eyes.

“He could see me before,” admitted David, obviously reluctant to credit his cousin with any special ability.

“What do you mean?” asked Aunty Stella, running breathlessly from the car to join the huddle around Jason.

“When I projected my astral body earlier, he could see me. He thought I was a ghost. He nearly cried. So maybe he can see them too.”

“Good God,” said his grandmother. “Get the poor boy to the car. He must be petrified.”

Jason went limp as his mother picked him up and stumbled down the steps, handing him to Aunty Stella, who had slid into the back seat of the car. David sat next to him and pulled the door closed.

As his mother started the engine, Jason saw the creatures crawling from their various vantage points, skulking like hunting lions towards the car.

“Hurry, Mum!” he screamed, as the car shuddered into life and groaned the first few feet along the road.

“Don’t stall, don’t stall,” whispered his mother, as one of the creatures leapt onto the rear windscreen.

Jason released a frantic wail.

“Jesus!” exclaimed David, following his cousin’s eyeline.

Finally, the car lurched forward, and his mother pressed her foot to the accelerator, crunching through the gears and screeching down Aunty Stella’s road fast enough to dislodge the demon. Jason watched it roll along the black tarmac before leaping into a crouching stance, almost invisible, apart from its wild red eyes, which watched until the car turned a corner with a scream of brakes.