Undeparted

Foreword.

Extract from The London Times 16 February 1855

Chapter 1: Death note.

Chapter 2: Churchgoers.

Chapter 3: Bardo.

Chapter 4: The uninvited guest.

Chapter 5: Welcome home.

Chapter 6: A little bird told me.

Chapter 7: The thirteenth chair.

Chapter 8: Leopards and spots.

Chapter 9: Special essence.

Chapter 10: Consequences.

Chapter 11: The masked lady.

Chapter 12: Fight and flight.

Chapter 13: Moscow calling.

Chapter 14: Splashdown.

Chapter 15: Sin list.

Chapter 16: Spring in London.

Chapter 17: Sulphur Lick.

Chapter 18: Monsters in history.

Chapter 19: Spring in Prague.

Chapter 20: The Protector.

Chapter 21: Pity is a poor substitute for deed.

Chapter 22: Woe to those who call evil good.

Chapter 23: Grave consequences.

Chapter 24: Jack of all trades.

Chapter 25: The Fury.

Chapter 26: Soul stripper.

Chapter 27: The camera never lies.

Chapter 28: The Voice.

Chapter 29: Measure for measure.

Chapter 30: A darker shade of pale.

Chapter 31: Long time, no see.

Chapter 32: Time wounds all heals.

Chapter 33: Blacker cats.

Chapter 34: The Gytrash.

Chapter 35: Halt, who goes there?

Chapter 36: Life’s a lottery.

Chapter 37: By the fruit only!

Chapter 38: Eyes, wool and over.

Chapter 39: Ben Joseph.

Chapter 40: A warm welcome!

Chapter 41: The uninvited guest part 2.

Chapter 42: The Maid.

Chapter 43: The Evil that man does.

Chapter 44: Ambrosia and quince.

Chapter 45: Always work for an undertaker.

Chapter 46: Pleasure before business?

Chapter 47: The Angel of Mons.

Chapter 48: Soul gift.

Chapter 49: Pandemonium.

Chapter 50: Angel favour.

Epilogue.

Milieu.

Acknowledgments.

Back to top.

Foreword

We are born and we die, just two moments in time. It is the human soul that is eternal and what it learns between these two moments is all important.

Souls travel through this world in pods and will seek to find each other life-time after life-time until reincarnation is finally rejected and judgement is sought. Déjà vu occurs when our souls briefly allow us to recall events from our past lives to help guide us through this one.

This book is based on the story told by one man of his near-death experience. His was a journey of damnation and culminated in a visit to Hell, yet he was given another chance and dragged from the edge of the precipice back up into this life. He stands witness to the existence of Hell, Satan and our deepest fears, so now he has a message for us all, told within the pages of this book. The facts of this message are interwoven with fiction to help your soul learn and remember what will become an important weapon in your armoury against evil. Our souls are the most precious things in the universe, the ultimate prizes that the Devil desires to corrupt and gather unto him into Hell.

Evil does not want your soul to be protected through its own wisdom and knowledge so be warned that satanic forces may try and intervene from the moment that you open this book. Evil works through the hearts of weak and selfish adults and these are the very people that will try to make it difficult for you. They will not realise what they are doing but they will certainly attempt to distract you from your task. Who are these people? Well, sadly they could be anyone and may even be amongst those closest to you; your family or friends. As you read on and begin to understand how to shield your soul, be ready and be strong for when they fail, they will get angry and accuse you of being all the things that they in fact are!

Protect your soul; know the Psychomachy.

Taken from The London Times 16 February 1855

Considerable sensation has been evoked in the towns of Topsham, Lympstone, Exmouth, Teignmouth and Dawlish in the south of Devon, in consequence of the discovery of a vast number of foot-tracks of strange and mysterious description. The superstitious go so far as to believe that they are the marks of Satan himself; and that great excitement has been produced among all classes may be judged from the fact that the subject has been descanted on the pulpit.

It appears that on Thursday night the 8th February there was a very heavy fall of snow in the neighbourhood of Exeter and the south of Devon. On the following morning the inhabitants of the above towns were surprised at discovering the marks of some strange and mysterious animal, endowed with the power of ubiquity, as the prints were to be seen in all kinds of unaccountable places – on the tops of houses and narrow walls, in gardens and courtyard enclosed by high walls and palings, as well as in open fields. There was hardly a garden in Lympstone where these marks were not observable. The tracks appeared more like that of a biped than of a quadruped and appeared as if cloven in form. The creature seems to have approached the doors of several houses and then to have retreated, but no-one has been able to discover the standing or resting point of this mysterious visitor. On Sunday last, the local Reverend, Mr Musgrave alluded to the subject in his sermon and suggested the possibility of the hoof-prints being that of a kangaroo; but this could scarcely have been the case, as they were found on both sides of the estuary of the Exe. At present, it remains a mystery and many superstitious people in the above towns are actually afraid to go outside their doors after night.

Chapter 1: Death note.

Once more Samantha stood alone in the large office with her arms crossed, staring out of the window down onto Central Park in full bloom. The hope had faded with the 25th and as the rage simmering within her reached boiling point; she kicked an innocent trash can clear across the office. Logically, he must be some kind of lunatic or sick stalker, yet that didn’t explain how he made it all seem so real. In her darker moments, she wondered if it had all been just a dream, but not even she, with her rampant imagination could have come up with that story! Despite no intrinsic reason to believe him, she had spent the last four months like a drug addict, obsessed with chasing that high, wanting to know more and neglecting all else. She did, however, ignore his advice to get her affairs in order and while she was no stranger to late nights at the office, now virtually lived there. The events of that night had left her essentially tied to her computer, terrified of missing another e-mail and constantly searching for references to his Order of the Polymath, which were not to be found no matter how many pages she scrolled through. However, it hadn’t been a complete waste of time for she had become an authority on Polymaths; people whose expertise spanned many different subjects, and although she had spent weeks researching the list on Wikipedia from Aristotle to Ziryab, his name was never to be seen.

During sleepless nights, she lay with her cell phone on her pillow counting the times she had visited that bench, both physically and mentally. It had been an exquisite form of torture, being forced to wait in constant anticipation of giving him the answer to his offer. Why the Hell was he three days late and why was she still breathing? She looked at the battered trash can balefully, closed her eyes and thought back to that wintry night.

Suddenly, she was back in the same office, gazing at the calendar on her desk and viewing her upcoming thirtieth birthday with something approaching distaste. It wasn’t that she was worried about getting older as she had never been bothered about how she looked. A typical New York woman in terms of an often aggressive attitude and naked ambition, she could not have been less like her peers when it came to her appearance. She had never felt the need to succumb to the twin temptations of wrinkle remedies or fillers and plastic surgery would not have featured anywhere on her list of wants or desires. She even resented having to power-dress for the office and swapped her high heels for trainers at the earliest opportunity each day. She kept her make-up to a bare minimum and wore her hair and nails almost too short and square. This was partly because Samantha did not believe in wasting time on what she considered to be unnecessary frivolities such as manicures but mostly because she spent every free moment in the gym, honing her skills in martial arts. Short hair meant less time in the shower and more time on the mat. Despite, or perhaps because of that lack of vanity, she had an air about her, a certain charisma. Her athleticism meant that she had a toned, lithe body and she knew that people, especially yet not exclusively men, considered her attractive, she however, remained resolutely single. She did not lack offers and had even taken some of them up, but she always felt strangely unsatisfied the next morning. There had never been anyone special and she sometimes wondered if the fault lay with her, for if she had a body clock, she had never heard the faintest tick. Finding Mr. Right had never been exactly high on her list of priorities, because deep down she knew he wasn’t out there. Samantha was rarely lonely but often, like tonight, she felt very alone. Nearly thirty years old and still she had not found any meaning to life, no answer to that calling eating her up inside.

She looked up at the clock and registered that it was nearly six thirty in the evening. That meant home time had passed over an hour ago and she was last in the office yet again. She would have stayed even later, but with all her work done and no pending e-mails, she was out of excuses. Time to go home, feed the cat, eat the rest of yesterday’s takeout, do a bit of surfing and then get into her empty bed to hopefully sleep until the alarm sent her back onto the treadmill. Same shit, different day, was that really it? Was that all there was to Life? All that she had achieved, all that she potentially had to look forward to, it simply wasn’t enough. She had always felt that she was in the wrong place or, to be more precise, the wrong life. She wondered if perhaps someone else had stolen her real life and was living it to the full, while she stagnated in the drudgery of this second rate rat-race one. If anyone had asked Samantha what it was that she wanted, she doubted that she could have told them. It was just that she didn’t want what she had. A part of her knew that she was probably being ungrateful. Physically, she could not have been fitter and she was blessed with a sharp mind and quick wit. She had friends and as a general rule, she was very fond of them, but there was only a couple with whom she felt really comfortable. A childhood spent in foster care had taught her that offence was the best form of defence, hence the martial arts. The negativity of self-pity was not for her, but her eternal optimism was fading fast. She had tried to find herself like so many other women with too much time and money on their hands, but the answers were not in yoga, boot camps or expensive life mastery weekends. Somehow she just knew that whatever she was looking for was not to be found. After her martial arts, her only passion was destroying opposing armies during on-line gaming, and even she realised that couldn’t be good for a girl!

It was a cold night in February and she was about to log out when that irritating computer voice informed her that she had mail, she dithered before touching the mouse to bring the screen back to life. She did not recognise the sender but knew that it couldn’t be spam, as the Company firewall has a very low tolerance for that sort of nonsense. The subject line read, Grace, please read me NOW. She wasn’t Grace, but she was a woman and so the e-mail was opened.

The Park is beautiful tonight, Grace. Meet me on 65th Street Transverse Road on the bench nearest the Carousel in 10 minutes.

Love K.

She had stood up, walked over to the window, crossed her arms and leant on the frame, just as she had done so many times before and since. The office was on the fifteenth floor and, from its vantage point on Central Park West, had a fabulous view of the Park itself. It was that same view that had drawn her to this office, not any career aspirations as she could have easily have done this job in her sleep. Although spring was just around the corner, New York was still in the throes of the final icy blast of a late winter and the snow had painted everything white. She tried to focus on the Park itself, but the falling snow obscured her view as she said aloud, ‘I’m sorry K, but you’ve got the wrong e-mail address. I’m not Samantha…err... Grace.’ She paused, continuing to stare at the view that she had so often taken for granted. ‘But you have got one thing right, K, the park is beautiful tonight.’

She sat back down and re-read the message, with a bigger part of her than she was prepared to admit wishing it was meant for her. Whilst tapping her fingers she looked around at her colleagues’ desks, festooned with pictures of family members and loved ones and then down at her own contrastingly bare work space. She suddenly felt very sorry for K and thought, of course, I could just go down and see who K is and tell him he’s got the wrong address so the poor man doesn’t have to wait in vain. What if K is a woman? Should I let a fellow female sit alone and possibly scared? K doesn’t sound like a woman though… She continued to ponder, what am I thinking of? That would be very, very stupid. A lone female meeting a stranger at night in the park! I’ll just reply to him by e-mail. That won’t interfere with Grace’s life and her potentially sordid night-time liaisons…lucky cow!

The senders’ address was shown as K21g followed by a string of numbers so Samantha wrote back; I’m sorry but you have the incorrect e-mail address, and sent it. She sat looking at the screen for a while before attempting to log out, only to be stopped by that electronic voice again. This e-mail just read; Failure to deliver. Address unknown.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘it looks like you are going to have a cold long wait for nothing, K, but I did try.’

On the second attempt, she successfully logged out and switched off her computer, contrary to the specific instructions of the office techs. They kept talking about something to do with the firewalls but it just didn’t seem right to leave the computer on, so off it went. She changed into her snow boots, picked up her bag and sighed with disappointment, wishing she was the enigmatic Grace. ‘This is what I mean. Exciting things like this happen to girls called Grace, not Samantha. It could be a joke, or a rapist creating a trap, but what if he is a really nice guy and maybe really hunky too…?’ she said aloud, double checking first to ensure she really was still alone.

She left the office with the mystifying K still on her mind, trying to picture him as she wondered who he was and what he was like. She pondered on what he did for a living and if he, like most of the desirable men in her life, was already taken and Grace was his bit on the side. Maybe he was trying to lure her in with romantic little e-mails. Had he brought flowers or a sharp knife? Why did she still feel that the message was for her?

In the corridor, she pressed the elevator call button and waited for all of a second before walking over to another window and looking down onto the park again. Although the Carousel would be dark and silent, closing as it did at dusk in the winter months, she new the area all too well and did so love the Carousel. She had always adored fairgrounds yet there had been precious few opportunities to visit them as a child. She treasured the atmosphere, the smells, the lights and that overwhelming feeling of wonderment. There was something special about the Central Park Carousel; it was so old yet so beautiful, even though Samantha had always thought it a shame it was housed in that ugly brick building to protect it from the elements. She had a fellow feeling with those horses just going up and down to the old time musical songs on their never-ending journey around and around, trapped within that rotunda and never seeing the light of day. She regularly walked through the park on her way home, just to go past the Carousel, so why not that night as well? She convinced herself that she wouldn’t be there to see him, she would just be walking home and after all, she could certainly look after herself. All she had to do was give him a passing glance as she walked by that particular bench to satisfy her curiosity. He wouldn’t know who she was and she didn’t have to stop or talk to him. The sensible part of her insistently tried to remind her that curiosity killed the cat and that she did actually have a cat at home that needed feeding. Samantha and sensible however, did not always go together.

The elevator finally arrived and she continued to debate the matter as she travelled down, her thought processes not helped by the awful canned music in the background.

As she walked through the foyer, Jeff, the night duty security guard stood up and wished her good night as she went out onto the street, resolutely heading for the park. As she arrived at the entrance, she glanced at her watch and saw to her consternation that the ten minutes were nearly up. She tried to peer through the falling white flakes, but to no avail. There was only one way to find out more about K and that was to go in. She opened her handbag and checked that her cell phone was fully-charged with a good signal, then took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.

The anticipation numbed her to the cold and the sheer beauty of the park took her breath away as she watched the falling flakes grow thicker. The ground was hidden by the fresh untouched layer of virgin snow and the trees were iced with crystals. It was so unbelievably peaceful. The park was surrounded by one of the busiest cities in the world, yet the snow absorbed the traffic sounds and the sirens, turning it into another world a million miles from the Big Apple, ancient and untouched.

It was strange, really, how she never felt lonely or scared in situations like this, the sort that would have most people trying to look in all directions at all times. The only time that fear or loneliness hit her was at parties and it was then that the feeling she referred to as the calling was at its strongest. The only calling that she could hear now was the blissful silence and she revelled in the wonderful sensation of the snow on her skin. She looked up as she walked along, allowing the cold new flakes to land on her face and smiled, totally forgetting that she would soon be at the Carousel.

‘GRACE.’

The voice came from out of the snow and it startled her so much that her heart missed a beat. Fight or flight, a sudden kick of adrenaline surged through her and for the first time in a very long time, she was afraid. She spun around to see a man sitting on the bench nearest the Carousel, just a few yards away and just as she should have expected. She had always been able to conquer her fear and she knew how to use that adrenaline to get an edge, to be quicker and stronger, yet she felt confused. Suddenly, she was wracked with indecision and she didn’t know whether to run away or prepare to fight.

‘Grace,’ the voice repeated in a softer tone. Samantha felt a strange, almost uncontrollable urge to answer YES to this man as he continued, ‘Grace, please come and sit down.’

Despite the mesmeric voice, Samantha decided to do the sensible thing for once in her life and continued to walk, giving him as wide a berth as possible. She glanced across briefly, but could only see K in silhouette, and she felt a little reassured because he remained seated. After a few seconds, she looked back, trying to convince herself that it was to make sure that he wasn’t following but it was actually that wicked failing again, good old-fashioned curiosity. The falling snow quickly erased any view of him or the bench, so she stopped as her heart rate rapidly returned to its normal slow resting pace, a legacy of her work in the gym. It was very strange how it all felt so familiar and how she so wanted to be Grace. How could one stupid, misdirected e-mail cause her so much anxiety yet also so much excitement? It was like being a child again. You knew that just one more sweet would make you sick, but you still had to eat it.

Impulsive as ever, Samantha turned and walked back to the bench. As K became visible once more, she noticed that he had not moved and so she approached him from behind. Her brain was telling her that he could be dangerous, but part of her knew she had nothing to fear. She stopped a few feet away from him, coughed to clear her throat and said, ‘I’m sorry but you’re mistaken… I’m not Grace… I just came to tell you that you have the wrong e-mail address.’ She was calm now and this all felt so right, so comfortable.

K, whoever he was, had not even looked round and just said in a soft voice, ‘it’s been a long time, Grace,’

She replied, ‘yes, a very long time’, before pausing, surprised by her instinctive reaction, and then adding, ‘why did I say that? She waited for a response, but K knew the power of silence, forcing her to continue, ‘I’m not Grace… am I?’ He neither answered nor turned to face her. She started to feel annoyed and thought, why won’t he look at me? I’ve just traipsed all the way down here, a lone female in the snow, on a cold, dark, dangerous night and he won’t even do me the honour of turning around to look round at me!

Full of self-righteous indignation, she stomped around the bench to face him, well within grabbing distance, but K did nothing other than look up at her. He was about thirty, white and medium build, no oil-painting but not bad-looking, even by her-own, rather exacting standards. She didn’t recognise his face and yet there had been something so very familiar about him. Feeling unaccountably secure, she brushed the snow with the edge of her right hand from the other end of the bench and sat down. Although still nervous, she felt as if she had finally found fulfilment and that elusive something that had always been out of her reach. She could not remember the last time that she had ever felt as content as this and she had absolutely no idea why.

‘I’m not Grace.’

‘Oh, but you are and always you will be Grace.’

‘No, my name is Samantha, but why do I feel I know you? Have we met before?’

‘Ah, Grace, so full of questions no matter what body you inhabit! You know I’m not dangerous. You know me.’

Samantha glared at him. ‘I should warn you that I am quite capable of looking after myself.’

‘I’m fully aware of your abilities, those that you already know and those you have yet to discover.’ Samantha’s eyebrows rose and then almost disappeared from her forehead as he continued. ‘You were born on 8th March nearly thirty years ago and your mother abandoned you at birth. You have no idea who fathered you and you pretend not to care. You moved from children’s home to foster home and back again more times than you can remember. You are intelligent and pretty, yet you’ve never had a serious relationship and you live alone with your cat, Dolly. You are a black belt in three different martial arts and you collect fairground memorabilia, which is why I knew that meeting by the Carousel would appeal to you. You know that you spend far too much time playing war games on the internet, but you do it to distract yourself from thinking about the yearning… the calling that you feel. A calling that you can now finally answer, should you wish to do so.’

Something stirred inside her, deep and forgotten and she suddenly desperately needed to know what it was, whatever the consequences, but her cautious side asked, ‘just how long have you been stalking me?’

He ignored the question and carried on. ‘You feel alone in the middle of a large crowd and it’s then that the feeling, that calling is loudest.’

‘That is probably true for a lot of people.’

‘No, it applies to only a very few in fact, because it is only felt by those that are the last