On the Edge of Darkness

The word in her head was spoken with a strange foreign accent. An accent she remembered vividly. Her eyes flew open and she stared into the dark shadows of the studio. With the blackouts drawn and no light save the small glow from her cigarette end the room was completely dark. The sound had been in her own mind, and yet, somehow it seemed to come from outside her. Hastily stubbing out the cigarette she swung her feet to the floor and sat still, listening. The drumming of the engines had faded into silence now. She could hear nothing but the soft murmur of the wind in the chimney of the stove.

Every sense was alert.

She could feel it more clearly now, probing in her mind like a finger inching its way over the surface of her cerebellum.

A-dam?

‘No, you bitch!’ Sliding off the bed, she shook her head violently. She cannoned into a chair and swore loudly, rubbing her shin. ‘No, you’re not finding him through me. I’m wise to you, girl. What kind of a sneaky witch are you, anyway?’ She rubbed her palms against her temples as hard as she could.

Switching on the lamp, she put a match to the gas and put on the kettle, taking comfort from the companionable hiss of the flame. The room was very cold. Pulling her scarlet shawl from the bed she wrapped it round her shoulders, shivering. It was there again, probing into her brain; she could almost feel the sharpness of the little iron-bladed knife digging the secrets of her life out of her head.

‘Why me? What do you want with me?’ She found she was backing across the studio, trying to move away from this horror in her mind. ‘You must know where he is? What do you want with me?’ It was the third time this had happened. And it was the worst. It was like hearing someone knocking, in the distance. At first it was not frightening – not even irritating. Then it would become more persistent and slowly her body’s responses would begin to work. The dry mouth, the cold tight stomach, the prickling at the back of her neck, the icy shiver gripping her lungs until she could hardly breathe as the weight of someone else’s mind slowly began to pull her down.

Suddenly it was too much. The empty building was too quiet around her, the echoing studio too lonely. Tearing off the shawl and her dressing gown she groped for sweater and jacket and a pair of woollen slacks. In two minutes she had let herself out of the building and was running along the path, divided from the river by old twisted railings, heading up towards the town.

Adam was woken by the hammering on his door. Fighting his way out of sleep he groped for his wrist watch, but he could see nothing. The blackout was still firmly drawn. He had no idea what time it was. Fumbling for the light switch he made his way to the door.

‘You’ve got to let me in. That bitch gypsy girlfriend of yours is after me! She’s using some kind of occult technique to get inside my head, Adam. You’ve got to do something about it.’ Liza pushed her way past him and sat down on his bed. She was shaking.

He glanced behind her down the darkened stairwell and closing the door he turned the key. ‘What happened?’ In the light of the single bulb in the ceiling he had established that it was four-thirty in the morning. He ran his fingers over his scalp. He had been studying his physiology notes until one and his head felt like a pan of mashed potato. ‘How did you get here, Liza?’

‘I ran.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘I know it was stupid. I didn’t want to bring her to you, but I was scared. She was in the studio. In my head. She’s mad, Adam. Completely mad.’

He sat beside her and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Tell me what happened. Slowly.’

There wasn’t much to tell. How can you explain intuition? Knowing something deep inside you? Instinct – and the pain of the probing knife?

‘When did you last see her?’ Calmer now, Liza stood up. She pulled one of Adam’s blankets off the bed and wrapped it round her shoulders. She was still wearing her coat and gloves.

He took the hint and went to light the small gas fire. ‘I haven’t. Not properly. I thought I saw her in the street a couple of times, then you said you’d seen her in the studio. Then nothing. Not a squeak.’ He looked up at her from his position in front of the fire. ‘She does know strange things – occult I suppose you could call them – and she told me she was studying things like that. But gypsies know these things anyway, don’t they? They have powers, the second sight.’

‘I have the second sight, Adam.’ She spoke so quietly he didn’t register what she had said for a moment. ‘That is why she can reach me. That is why I understand what is happening.’

He stared at her. ‘You don’t mean it. That’s ridiculous. That’s evil!’

‘Oh, there speaks the minister’s son! I knew you’d react like that if I told you.’ Her voice became bitter. ‘Adam, for God’s sake, I thought you had realised by now just what a bigoted, narrow upbringing you’ve had. Just because people don’t conform to what your father allowed in his narrow-minded little world doesn’t mean they’re evil!’

‘No, of course not.’ He blushed. ‘I didn’t mean that –’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘Liza …’ He stood up and went across to her, taking her hand. ‘Don’t let’s quarrel, please. Whatever you think of me and my background, don’t let it come between us.’ He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully for a moment, then he looked at her. ‘I don’t think Brid is evil. At least she wasn’t. But she had different values from us. From you as well as from me. If she wants something –’ He stopped speaking with a shrug, then he gave a deep sigh. ‘I still don’t see how she could have got here. She knows nothing about our way of life, nothing about our century –’