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The Showman And The Shade
The Showman And The Shade
The Showman And The Shade
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The Showman And The Shade

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Jack Wrightman was desperate for the success that had eluded him his entire life. This was until he stumbled upon an ancient book granting him power over the dead. Using dark magic he binds an unwitting soul to his will. His goal: to use the enslaved spirit to act as an intermediary in talking to the deceased, and to become a world-renowned spiritualist medium (and filthy rich to boot). What Jack doesn't count on is the unwillingness of his new-found assistant...

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 22, 2014
ISBN9781502780478
The Showman And The Shade
Author

Nicky P Gardiner

Nicky P Gardiner is a newly published author and illustrator, with his début novel 'The Showman and the Shade'. A tale of revenge with a paranormal twist. This is his first novel in what will be a series of books in the 'Deadly Shades' series following his paranormal characters and their ongoing story.Nicky Lives in Essex, England. He has a keen interest in history as well as anything that offers him a degree of escapism.Nicky has a Facebook page and welcomes anyone who wishes to talk about the book, or wants to ask him a question regarding the novel. It is also a good way to find out about his up-coming novels.He can be found on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/Nicky.P.Gardiner.Author

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    The Showman And The Shade - Nicky P Gardiner

    The Showman and the Shade

    By Nicky P Gardiner

    Acknowledgements

    I would like to acknowledge the help of my partner Davina in making this novel a reality. She has helped motivate me, kicked me up the bum when needed (far too often than I would like to have to admit) and tried her best to keep me on track. As well as correcting my spelling and grammar when required, she has also given me much needed feedback. Davina has also been helpful in formatting this book to get it to where it is today.

    Thanks to my friend Marian for initially saying I should write a novel and planting the idea in my head.

    I’d also like to thank my parents and brother for having always been there for me when needed.

    Lastly thank you, the reader, for buying this book I hope you enjoy it.

    Dedicated to the memory of the following people

    Jamie (Jay) Bennett

    Sydney Lacey

    (My Great Nan) Ivy

    Richard (Richie) Payne

    Clifford Gardiner

    I am sitting paused at my tiny desk in the dark with pen and paper in hand ready to start writing, to try and tell you all my tale, but so unsure of where to start. I have sat here for more than an hour now. Most writers start with something witty, do they not? Something clever and compelling to grab the reader by the hand and whisk them away? But although this may seem like fiction to some, I swear that it is all real and based on fact. Well, I can at least vouch for the part that I witnessed first-hand.

    I wonder at my goal in writing this account? To make money? Once that would have been enough. Oh, I have written before with some success but I have no need of money, not really not any more. I guess the reason then is to prove my innocence, to tell how I came to know this story and became embroiled within it. I feel I have never really got to tell my story. The Police listened. Lawyers listen. But they do not believe me, no one ever believes me. I have been vilified by the media and by those that knew me. Those people I thought were my friends now come forward and sell their story saying things like I was always odd, not right in the head, etc... How quickly people can turn on you.

    I wish to justify my actions, although I was not in control of what happened, it was not my fault what happened I am as much a victim as anyone else! It’s unbelievable; I know that much or I would not be in the situation I find myself in now. I know that others who have heard what I have said have branded me as mad or trying to appear as mad, maybe to be granted some kind of leniency, or pity.

    But as I said I became embroiled within this tale nearer to its’ ending. It all started with a different man not so long ago……

    Prologue

    ‘Endings and Beginnings’

    Scotland

    December the 28th

    (Approximately 11 years ago)

    Frank Long peered out of the windscreen of his black Ford Fiesta trying to see past the heavily falling snow. It fell in great clumps like giant cotton wall balls, being picked out by his cars headlights, it gave the impression of speeding through space seeing the snowflakes pass by like shooting stars as they passed the beams before being lost in the all-surrounding darkness of the Scottish Highlands. Frank was glad of the heater although it rattled loudly and was making the windows steam up in contrast to the cold outside. Yet again he inwardly cursed his wife’s decision to book a cabin in Scotland rather than go somewhere hot. Frank preferred the heat. For starters it made his aching knee more tolerable. A hell of a lot more tolerable than this unholy weather. But Stephanie, his wife of the last three years had said hot weather is not very Christmassy. In truth he thought she was scared of flying as she was expecting their first child.

    Frank did reflect that she had opted to stay in the warm while he made a quick supply run to the nearest shops. They had seen on the weather news that more snow was expected so he had made the decision that they should stock up or else be left without food if they were snowed in. God I hope we don’t get snowed in and she goes into labour thought Frank. Frank looked at the picture of Stephanie that was blue-tacked to the dashboard. She was a redhead, 35 years old, and the same age as him although she looked significantly younger. They had met in College, and then went separate ways before meeting again at a mutual friend’s party. Next thing they knew it was 10 years later and they were expecting a kid.

    The wind howled suddenly and the car shook more violently and Frank steered into a skid as the car struggled for grip on the snow and ice. He peered out of the window, had he missed his turning? he wondered. It all looked so different with this much snow, darkening sky and poor visibility. Maybe a bit further and if he hadn’t found his turning he would have to back track. Shit, why did I not bring the SATNAV? he said glancing at Stephanie’s picture. Because you have been back and forth along this route several times now? he said to himself in mock reply of what Steph would have said to him. He loved her and this sort of banter was normal for them. He pondered whether he should call her and got out his phone, but decided he should not worry her in her present condition; she had seemed tired and may be resting. Also, it was taking all of his attention to stay on the road. So he placed the phone on the passenger seat with the shopping bags. The wind howled again this time pushing the car more wildly to the right; Frank slowed the car a bit as he did not feel in control of the vehicle at all.

    Suddenly there was a loud bang, a flash of light, and then almost instantly the feeling of motion as Frank felt he was suddenly pushed to his left. He felt pain flare in his right side and his head snapped left then right, striking the window. Next thing he knew, he was rolling, over and over, as if the car had been turned into a washing machine. His phone, shopping, loose change and other items tumbled from the floor to the roof and back again and again and again. Frank felt it was never going to stop. Then with another loud crash he was proven wrong, a searing pain like lightning flared in his shoulder and chest. Then blackness enveloped him.

    Frank awoke groggily, his whole body hurt, he could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth as well as wetness down his front and in his lap. It felt unpleasant and cold, his head lolled awkwardly as he fought against the darkness that threatened to engulf him again. He forced his head up, the flaring pain making him wish he hadn’t, to feel the cold breeze on his face where the windscreen had shattered. Opening his eyes he could feel that one was caked with dried blood probably from his head. He caught a glimpse in the rear view mirror. Shit, you’ve seen better days he thought. He went to laugh and the pain came flooding in, blood dribbling down his chin in an undignified manner.

    Frank was not sure if he had lost consciousness again. His head was lolling to face his lap; he felt his heart beat faster as fear gripped him. That’s a lot of blood, that’s my blood. Oh shit, oh shit, this is not good. If I don’t do something I am going to die he realised. He could see that the steering wheel had been pushed back into his chest. Looking out to the front of the car through the now missing windscreen he could tell he had rolled down a steep embankment or cliff and had only stopped due to hitting a tree, which looked decidedly bent over and weak to be holding the weight of the car at such a steep angle... Looking further into the distance he could see no finish to the drop ahead. It was as if the slope just kept going and then vanished into the whirling snowfall. He was far from safe.

    Ok he thought, I probably have broken ribs and I am bleeding heavily from somewhere. Frank tried to raise his right arm, it flared with pain. HHe gasped and fought to stay conscious. Ok, broken or dislocated arm, not good. Phone, where’s my phone? Frank looked around as best he could but there was no sign of it. Shit! Frank could only see the picture attached to the dashboard. Stephanie’s face stared up at from amongst the debris of piles of spilt shopping, including a burst carton of milk. Unbidden, the saying ‘Don’t cry over spilt milk’ came to mind almost mockingly. Shit, Stephanie, what she would think when the news reached her?

    Hang on, what hit me? Frank realised with a start that it must have been another car coming out of a junction that had hit him side on. There was no sign of it down here so it must be either on the road or disappeared further downhill. Frank scanned the snow trying to keep his movements to a minimum for any sign of tracks disappearing off the edge he now faced. No sign. The snow has not filled my tracks yet, so it must still be up on the road, that’s possible help Frank realised. Frank pressed the horn of his car with his left hand, again and again. He tried to shout for help but something was not working properly in his chest when he tried to pull in a lung full of air to shout. Actually, he felt very cold, shock or blood loss he realised, or both. After some time he saw a figure approaching, painfully slowly, down the embankment. He could see the figure unsteadily reaching an arm out from tree to tree as they made their way down towards him. Frank wished he had the ability to scream hurry up, I am dying! With inevitable finality, and the speed of a drifting continent, the figure appeared at Frank’s driver’s side window.

    The man said something that Frank could not understand, before pulling the scarf from round his face down and repeating, Ye alreet, pal? Frank regarded the craggy faced man that had been revealed, he could not tell a lot about his appearance as he also wore a big winter hat with earflaps. Wh…, Frank began before pain seared in his chest, before forcing out what does it look like? Help me. Please.

    The craggy faced man looked around the car peering inside at the damage to Frank, as well as outside at the damage to the car. I think ye are done foor he declared matter of factly, planting his mitten-covered hands on his hips. Frank realised with a start: this man is drunk. The man was visibly swaying on his feet.

    What? said Frank, the pain and the strange behaviour being too much for him to cope with, he gasped with pain again. Get help please, hurry Frank stated again through gasps of pain. What the fuck was this odd man talking about?

    Were ye travellin' by yerself said the craggy-faced man in his thick Scottish accent.

    What? Why? I don’t understand replied Frank.

    Cooldnae live wi' myself if I’d killed a wee bairn said the craggy man sadly, before lighting up a cigarette. He then began kicking the side of the car with his thick black boots, again and again. Frank felt the car shift and heard the tree that was supporting the car creak alarmingly. What are you doing, are you mad! Frank screamed as loud as he could. Panic and pain flared in Frank’s chest in equal measure. He felt very light headed, his body screamed at him to lay his head down to sleep and to die, but Frank held on to the image of Stephanie and forced himself to stay awake, to fight!

    Ah ain’t mad, pal, I am nay going to prison for ye. Ye shooldnae been on the roads, I cannae have ye saying I caused this. Best ye disappear, Yoo're gonnae die anyway. Wa should we booth have our lives ruined? Especially as ye are on yoor way oot said the craggy faced man, before taking a swig from a hipflask, pocketing it, and continuing to strike the car. Frank realised this man, this drunkard, was trying to dislodge the car, to kill him. Through immense pain, Frank swung his arm out of the car to fend off his drunken would-be killer. The man batted Franks flailing arm away with ease, with no more trouble than if Frank were a mere child. Doorn’t be like that pal, It's naethin' personal. Frank watched as the man walked a few paces away, picked up a broken tree branch and headed back towards him. The man held the branch out and Frank tensed and shut his eyes awaiting the killing blow. It did not arrive. Frank could hear the man huffing and puffing and so opened his eyes slowly, scared of what he may see. The man was bent over. He had levered the branch under the front right tyre from the side of the car and was pushing down to try and lift the wheel free of the damaged tree that was partially under the car, in its semi-broken state. There was much snapping as more of the tree broke under the strain and under the Scottish man’s ministrations.

    Franks mind went into a panic. What could he do? Pinned, dying, on a mountainside, moments before he would probably plunge to his death. His mind raced. A lighter, he had a lighter! He reached shakily into his trouser pocket, feeling the damp coldness of the blood, his blood, that saturated his lap. With numb fingers he pulled it free. Now what? Frank thought. The car lurched again, rolling forward slightly, as the tree bent further under its weight, the man’s makeshift crowbar slipped free. He cursed and then went back to work, forcing it under again. The Scottish man even began whistling a jolly little tune as he worked to free the tyre and send Frank on his way! He’s not just drunk, he’s insane Frank realised. It was then that Frank saw it. Amongst his shopping, a can of Brut deodorant was wedged right next to him, between the handbrake and the driver’s seat. Frank passed his lighter to his damaged and weaker right arm, and then grasped the can with his left, on his second, fumbling, attempt.

    Hey mate, wait! Frank called. Are you really going to push me off this edge without taking the money I have?

    There was a long pause, all noise of the Scottish man working stopped and he slowly appeared at Frank’s window again as he rose up from working on the tyre. Give me yoor wallet he said and searched his pocket to retrieve his hipflask again. It was then that Frank unleashed his makeshift flamethrower straight into the face of his would be killer. The lighter ignited the flammable contents of the can with an angry hiss as it jetted towards the Scottish man’s face. Arrghh! he screamed in pain, hitting the floor and curling up into a ball. Frank was unable to track his target as it dropped so suddenly from view, he was barely able to hold the lighter at all in his right hand. He dropped it in agony hearing it hit the snow.

    Long seconds passed, turning to what felt like minutes. Frank just lay back. He was definitely dying, and he could not stop shaking. He could not feel his legs or his hands neither seemed to move when he tried to make them. He just watched the snow gathering on the battered hood of his car. It was so pretty, he did not think he had ever seen such a beautiful sight. It reminded him of those old fashioned egg timers that trickled sand down which gradually collected, piling up together in the bottom. The way it gently gathered together, he thought it strange he had never noticed how beautiful the snow was before. He could hear the Scottish man gradually recovering, cursing and swearing as he assessed his damaged face. He seemed blurry to Frank, at the edge of his vision. Frank lacked the energy to even turn his head, his breath was coming in increasingly shallow rattling gasps. He knew it was not long now. The Scottish man appeared at the Driver’s side window again, looked at Frank and called him a feckin’ cunt, spraying spittle as he swore onto Franks face. He then began to manipulate the steering wheel back and forth, left to right. The car slid more and more. Frank felt no fear now, only bitter hatred and regret. There was a pop noise and the car began rolling again. The Scottish man glanced in the car one last time. Fuck you uttered Frank defiantly, before he disappeared from view.

    The car picked up increasing speed, the cold air and snow rushing in where the windscreen used to be. It bumped its way down the slope, each impact shooting agony through Frank. Frank glanced down at Steph’s picture. He was so

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