Phil Rickman - Midwinter of the Spirit

One thing puzzled her.

‘Miss White, I can’t… What are you doing in a place like this?’

‘Ah, yes… why not the bijou black and white cottage? Why not the roses round the door and the Persian cat in the window?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Because then, my little clergyperson, one would be obliged to prune the roses and feed the cat, to shop for food and employ workmen to preserve the ancient timbers. How much more space there is here… inner space, I mean. As well as beautiful hills to walk in, should one be overtaken by the need to commune with nature.’

‘But how can you…? I don’t know how to put this.’

‘Be surrounded by twittering biddies, patronized by the dreadful Thorpe? That is simply the outer life. The Thorpes suspect I have enough money to buy the whole place, so they don’t pressure me. All right, when one gets very, very annoyed with them, one can be… mischievous…’

‘I bet.’

‘… while at the same time’ – Miss White smiled almost seraphically – ‘giving one’s fellow inmates a welcome, nostalgic frisson once in a while.’

His name drifted serenely in the air between them.

‘Sholto,’ Merrily said eventually.

‘A-ha.’

‘How did you do it?’

Miss White selected from the bookshelves what turned out to be a stiff-backed folder, and took out a yellowing photograph pasted on card.

‘This is him?’

He wore a pinstriped suit with wide lapels. His hair was dark and kinked, his moustache trimmed to a shadow.

‘I bought him in a print shop in Hay,’ said Miss White. ‘I liked his little twist of a smile. No idea who he is or where he came from – there’s no name on the photo. I thought he rather looked like a Sholto.’

Merrily said, ‘I’m not going to ask you how you did this.’

‘Good, because I should refuse to tell you. You could find out easily enough, if you studied. It’s a very well established technique.’

‘He isn’t a ghost at all.’

‘He’s a projection. Do you know what I mean by that?’

Merrily said, ‘Can I think about it?’

Projection ?

Psychic projection, psychological projection – a grey area. Come on, Huw, what are we dealing with here?

We don’t fully understand this, but if we assume, to put it simply, that an imprint exists on a sensory wavelength or plane parallel to our own, then it follows that some people are capable of tuning into that wavelength, sometimes allowing the imprint to be transmitted in a way that renders it visible to others. They may be able, consciously or unconsciously, to lend it the energy it needs to manifest. They may even create their own imprint, projecting it like a hologram. If you come across one of these, you’re unlikely to be able to get rid of it through prayer or ritual alone. You’ve got to stop the person from doing it .

Merrily imagined, in the part of the passage where the bulb had blown, turning it into a black tunnel, a man in a doublebreasted suit bringing a match to his cigarette, exhaling the smoke towards her – smoke which rose in a V, a grey, sardonic smile – before shrivelling up into his own vapour like a silently bursting balloon.

‘You’re thinking, is this devilry – aren’t you?’ The light through Miss White’s glasses was intense and focused, like when as a kid you used the sun through a magnifying glass to burn a hole in a newspaper.

‘I suppose I am.’

‘Would you settle for naughty ?’

‘I’d love to, but I don’t think I’d be allowed to. You see, the problem – as I see it – is that you’ve created an energy form separate from yourself, but possessing a few atoms of your transferred… intelligence?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘How far is that from it acquiring a level of existence of its own? A primitive level, perhaps, but then other – possibly negative – energies might be attracted to it. And then you could have trouble that’s not so easy to control: a volatile – a poltergeist. Or worse.’

‘Yes.’ Athena White sat down next to Merrily. ‘I follow your argument. It’s unlikely, though, especially if I’m here.’

‘But… I’m sorry, Athena, but you’re not always going to be here, are you?’

‘He’ll die when I die.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Oh, you are a pain, Mrs Clergyperson. All right, I’ll consider it. But it’ll be a frightful wrench – for all of us.’

‘I’m sure he’ll live on in all your memories.’

‘I’ve said I’ll consider it,’ Athena snapped. ‘Now tell me about Denzil Joy.’

There was a rapping on the door, and Susan Thorpe said, ‘Miss White, is there a woman in there with you?’

‘I’m here, Susan,’ Merrily said. ‘Miss White’s been helping me.’

‘I hope she can keep her mouth shut.’

Miss White said loftily, ‘You may, for once, count on it, Thorpe. Now leave us.’

‘You know I can’t drag the party out much longer.’

‘Well, tell your husband to take his clothes off.’

‘Oh!’ said Susan Thorpe. They heard her footsteps recede.

‘That makes me feel quite queasy,’ Merrily said.

‘Wait till you’re as old as they are.’ Mrs White stood up. ‘Merrily, I’m very disturbed by this. I think he’s feeding off you.’

‘Don’t.’

‘If one doesn’t face these things, one can’t take remedial action. I suspect you haven’t been yourself for some days. Tired? Depleted? Prone to emotional outbursts?’

‘Well, yes, since you ask. And also flu-like symptoms: vaguely sore throat, blocked nose, temperature. I put it down to stress.’

‘Losing the will to fight it?’

‘Half the time I just want to run away. I mean… Well, to be quite honest, this was going to be my last job as Deliverance consultant… diocesan exorcist.’

‘You were giving it up?’ An eyebrow rose above the spectacles. ‘While, under different circumstances, that is a decision one might wish to applaud—’

‘I felt I couldn’t cope. I felt under attack from all kinds of different directions.’

‘As you may well be. This could be precisely what’s happening. How many people know of your appalling experience with this man?’

‘I don’t know. The nurses involved… my daughter, Jane… my Deliverance course tutor. And Canon Dobbs, of course.’

‘As he appeared to have arranged it for you? The sheer ignorance of the clergy dumbfounds me. Who else?’

‘There’s no one else I’ve told, I don’t think. It’s not something I enjoy talking about. What’s the significance of that, anyway? If I mishandled the job in the hospital, and I’ve let him in, that’s not their fault.’

‘Admittedly, the idea of an unhappy spirit desperately clinging at the moment of death to a living person is not unknown, particularly in a sexually charged situation. But I think you must also consider the possibility of psychic attack by person or persons unknown. Which is far far more common than most people would imagine. Merely thinking ill of someone is its most basic form, but we may be looking at something more complex in this instance. If I were to lend you my copy of Dion Fortune’s Psychic Self-Defence …’

‘What are you trying to do to me? I’m a Christian.’

‘As was Fortune herself, after her fashion. Merrily, how soon after the incident at the hospital did this unclean presence make itself apparent?’

‘I felt tired afterwards, but that was natural; I’d been up all night. But I don’t think I really became aware of it until I was called in to cleanse a desecrated church.’

‘Interesting. This was during your service?’