Flux

totally vanishing, leaving only a thick malodour in the air as any indication he’d ever existed at all. That and an indentation in the bed where he’d been sitting.
    Great; now I have to change the sheets too. Iain got up, ready to see what the new day would bring.

Chapter Twenty-Six
    Demons

    Not quite sure what to do with himself, Iain decided a long walk was the order of the day. It didn’t matter where to, as long as he felt the air in his lungs and the sun on his face. He opted for the canal again and soon found himself at the hump back bridge where he’d had his re-acquaintance with ghosts. Clambering down the small dirt path between the hedge, he glanced at the bridge; no hanging man there this time, simply the still water disturbed only occasionally by a drip from the brick work above.
    Since embracing his ‘gift’, Iain felt strong; stronger than he ever had in fact. As if a charge passed through him, exciting every neuron, thrumming in his fingertips and electrifying his spine. Although no ghosts had presented themselves thus far in the morning, and unbeknown to Iain, his sense of perception was also strengthening. Each passing day put him further from the possibility that drugs could contract his mind and quiet his visions.
    He saw no kingfisher that morning, even though he kept his eyes peeled. There were plenty of other things for him to wonder at though; a heron, standing one legged and proud taking off with a beating of its huge wings as he approached; a shoal of carp swimming close to the surface, their scales reflected iridescent in the sun. He watched these for a while as they swam slowly along the length of the canal. Keeping pace, they seemed to accompany him as he walked the tow-path, only turning and leaving his side as he passed beneath a low concrete bridge where a major road crossed the narrow water filled cut in the landscape.
    Trees stood tall on either side of the canal now, casting deep shadows on the water. Spots of sunlight danced on the surface where it shone through leaves rustling in a light breeze. He thought he detected movement on the opposite bank, far within the undergrowth, but couldn’t be certain. A sense of being watched came over him and he paused, scanning the trees, but nothing presented itself. He shrugged and moved on but the feeling didn’t leave him.
    Coming to another bridge, a small brick structure very much like where he’d joined the waterway, Iain left the canal and found himself in a small village. There was a pub of course, along with a church and a handful of small cottages. It was one of those places which are plentiful in England; seemingly untouched by the hand of time apart from the modern additions of cars and telegraph poles. There were none of those here and he met no other people as he walked towards the pub.
    The sign outside the red lion creaked as it gently swung upon its gallows-like pole. Iain tried the large round knob in the centre of the door to find the pub locked. Having no means to tell the time, he couldn’t be sure but thought it must be well past lunchtime, and therefore opening time. Disappointed at being unable to sate his thirst he shrugged and looked around, a little at a loss as to what to do next.
    St Michael’s church stood directly opposite; he knew that was the name because of the carved wooden board outside. A small wooden gate set into the hedge led into a churchyard full of headstones. Amongst them was a number of more elaborate small statues and gracing the centre of the yard stood a large stone angel. Softly carved features and blank lifeless eyes looked upon the gate; wings half folded and one hand stretched skywards it gave the impression of reaching for heaven.
    Looking up, the steeple of the church rose high, etched onto the sky. The weather vane at the top appeared to sway gently and Iain found himself succumbing to vertigo as he watched small white clouds scud across the sky behind it, having to look away and back towards the ground.
    He turned the iron ring to unlatch the gate, it swung open with a loud squeak which rang clear in the calm air. Over the threshold and into the church yard, the atmosphere had about it a definite stillness; completely different to the road outside. It felt ancient. Silence reigned and not even the sound of birdsong came to his ears as he stood quietly. Any hint of a breeze that had prevailed before, was now gone. Yew trees, old beyond imagination stood dotted amongst the