Evil Across Time

By Roy Askham

Edwina moves into a five hundred year old Tudor cottage in the north of England. Little does she understand what is about to happen in her bed on her first night. Having a very lucid out of body experience, she is alarmed when she is zapped back in time to medieval England, where she encounters a man who is stripping off his own clothes and replacing them with a dress. The man cannot see Edwina in her out of body condition. She watches on as a woman unexpectedly appears on the scene much to the horror of the man.

Each and every night for months on end, Edwina finds that she cannot retire to bed without her bedroom decor changing to the decor of the medieval period. She continues to watch the man on his travels from England to Scotland where he finds himself in grave danger. As Edwina watches, she is devastated to learn that besides being trapped in time, she is also possessed by an evil entity, which causes devastating consequences for her in the twenty first century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roy Askham
• Release date: Nov 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311064516

Roy Askham

Having numerous out of body experiences and witnessing psychic phenomena, over a long period, Roy Askham, wanted to know as much as possible about these topics. Consequently, over the last thirty five years, he has read hundreds of books on these subjects, and accordingly formed his own opinion about the meaning of life. Roy, has acted out his beliefs in this edge of seat excitement novel, which has an ending you will not see coming.

Book preview

1 – All roads lead to Wetherby 

Driving from Leeds to Wetherby, on this very warm late summer's day, without a solitary cloud for miles, and when all should be well with the world on a day like this, I have a strong gut feeling that something terrible has happened. I think, Every time I have this feeling, something bad normally happens within minutes.

Approaching the roundabout on the edge of the Wetherby Township, I realise that I'm driving on auto pilot and not even thinking about where I'm going. For the last fifteen minutes, I've only been thinking about Aunt Jean and how she always makes me feel welcome with her warm smile and a cuppa, which will be ready the minute I get there. She's a lovely woman who always wants to help anyone she can, even if she has to go out of her way to do it.

The minute I arrive, and in her strong Yorkshire accent, she'll say the same thing as she always says—it'll be, Come in luvie, ya tea an' scones are ready, ya can sit down an' tell me all that's 'appened to ya since ah saw ya last an' we'll 'ave a nice long chat me an' you, as we normally do luvie.

My thoughts of Aunt Jean are abruptly interrupted in a way that scares the hell out of me as I see the Mack sign in large letters on the front of very large truck, which is now bearing down on top of my car, and then bang! That's the last thing I remember about my car smash.

The next thing I know, a man is shaking me and saying, Are you alright Ms.? In a daze, all I can see is a ball of flames and a cloud of smoke surrounding a car on the opposite side of the road. I thinknd l o, Oh my god, some poor person has had a really bad car accident. The thought of that, makes me feel sick, knowing that no one could survive such a thing. My thoughts are interrupted with the piercing noise of a siren that is becoming louder by the second, as I ask, Where am I? Why am I sitting here at the side of the road?

You are in Wetherby Ms; do you know who you are and where you were going?

My name is Edwina and I'm going to visit my Aunt Jean here in Wetherby.

Well that's a start Ms, an ambulance is here now and a tow truck is also on the way for your car but we need to know where your friend is Edwina?

I am puzzled. What does he mean, my friend? and what the hell is happening here? I'll ask him. How do you mean, my friend? I was by myself.

Well Ms, I'm told that apparently a tall woman kicked the driver's side door off the car and crawled out before it burst into flames, and it seems she has completely disappeared from the scene.

Then all of a sudden I realise, Oh my god, it's my car over there in flames, but who the hell was the tall woman. Then once again, I see a mind image of the large Mack sign again, as I did in the same moment that my consciousness left me.

I look at my car; it's impossible for me to even think how any person, let alone me, could ever escape from such a mangled wreck. The man said that the door was completely removed by someone kicking it from the inside. To my way of thinking, only super woman could escape something like that and there's no way that I fall into her category.

Three months later

This morning as I walk towards the Wetherby church, I am consciously meditating on the here and now; it is a technique I have learned that stills the mind and brings one into contact with the present moment. The way the technique works, is by one concentrating on what is happening with one's body or the area that is in close proximity, however, any sensation received, should not be analysed, but merely observed.

Since my accident, I have deliberately avoided thinking about the event and the tall woman, because I have had nightmares ever since wondering what the hell is going on. And this technique helps me to prevent thinking about the past.

Other than witnessing my own actions, my mind is blank, and as I enter the churchyard, I am conscious of the thick frost that covers the gravel that crackles under my feet. The freezing cold air stings my face as I head towards the gate on the opposite side of the church where Emily is now entering.

As we meet, I smile and say, Hi, Sis, You look great, but I can't help think, Damn, she always looks better than me. Then I think again. What's wrong with me? It's not a fashion contest, we're going to a funeral for crying out loud; although I do feel a little jealous. She is radiant and as we hug, a waft of expensive perfume washes over me; something I can't afford.

Walking arm in arm towards the church door past a bunch of people I've never met before, Emily turns and smiles, Jim spares no expense for my birthday. I just finished my makeover.

Wish Jack was like Jim. I sigh, then smile. He satisfies me in other ways I guess. I'd be happier if he were around for longer though.

Still working away?

Yeah.

Entering the church, we sit on a carved hardwood pew. I whisper to Emily, Weird isn't it? all these people, an' we don't know any of 'em. Aunt Jean sure had heaps of friends.

Yeah I know, I wish Mum, Dad an' Shawn could have made it. A trip from Australia is just a bit far I guess.

Who was Jean Mary Sutherland? the vicar boomed. "She was a woman with a lot of friends. S

I don't need to look at Emily to know that just like me, she's wiping tears from her face.

The service must have lasted for twenty minutes, but I'm just guessing and wouldn't really know; I haven't been listening at all. I've been in a world of my own thinking about how Emily and I became close to Aunt Jean when Mum, Dad and Shawn went to Australia.

Mum wanted us all to go to Australia, but just like Aunt Jean, Sis and I could not leave the country that we loved, and we moved out a few weeks prior to their departure twenty years ago on a very sad day, when I thought, Why the hell do you have to leave? When will we see you all again? And to this day, we haven't seen them. Emails are going back and forth all the time with photo attachments showing where they are living and family barbecues etc, but they have never been back for a holiday.

Emily and I went to live in an apartment together in Leeds. When Aunt Jean's family had all but left, we started visiting her every week and we became very close. So close in fact that she eventually considered us to be her next of kin. I think she felt that Mum had deserted her and she became a makeshift mum in a sense; she became very dear to both of us.

Prior to her death, Aunt Jean told us that we would be the only benefactors of her will. We would inherit her cottage and approximately two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, and it would be up to us to decide who had the cottage and who had the money.

Emily and I lived together in the apartment for a year until she left when she married Jim, a C.E.O. for a large marketing company and within a couple of years, they had enough money to pay off their mortgage. Consequently we had agreed that I have the cottage and Emily and her husband have the money.

I have always been a bit jealous of Emily because she seems to land on her feet in every regard, whereas I always seem to be fighting an uphill battle financially. One reason for my recent financial problems was due to not looking for a smaller place when Sis moved out; for some stupid reason, I stayed in the same apartment which I couldn't really afford. I realise that money is not everything but am sometimes frustrated, because I want to look good like Emily but I can't afford it like she can. She always looks incredible.

Then I think, Hang on a minute Edwina, that's childish and everything happens for a reason, and kharma must be involved here somewhere so don't worry; everything is exactly as it should be.

I reflect on my current situation, realising that things are not really all that bad. I'm thirty eight, a five feet six inch tall brunette and fairly attractive with a handsome boyfriend, so what the hell is wrong with me. Well, he's not here, so that's what's wrong with me. Then I think: You idiot Edwina, just have the patience that you are known for and calm down. But that's easier said than done since I lost my job as a columnist with Psychics weekly and can no longer afford to pay my rent, so Aunt Jean's cottage came up in the nick of time although, I'd sure rather have Aunt Jean here anytime.

After all of my selfish contemplation, I realise that I have just missed the important parts of Aunt Jean's funeral and now feel ashamed; so much for living in the moment. I whisper: Please forgive me Aunt Jean, I didn't mean it, I got carried away with my own selfish thoughts.

After the service, as our tears flow freely, we say our goodbyes to Aunt Jean as her coffin is lowered into the freezing cold ground of the Wetherby cemetery.

Without any s hWithoutconversation, Emily and I walk briskly to Emily's car that is parked on the opposite side of the churchyard to mine. I guess we are both involved with our own private thoughts of sadness and the shortness of life.

Reaching Emily's Mercedes, I say, A beautiful service Emily.

Emily smiles and shivers. It certainly was, and very befitting for Aunt Jean. Should we get goin'? It's a bit cold standin' around here.

It sure is. Okay, see ya back at my place! I quickly walk to the other side of the churchyard and jump in my mini and head out of town in the direction of home in Leeds. Driving across the bridge over the Wharfe river, I think about what it will be like to live in Aunt Jean's cottage here in Wetherby.

She had lived here all her life. In her strong Yorkshire dialect, she used to say, By gum, ya know lass, I love this ole cottage o' mine. One hand on the wheel I retrieve my wet handkerchief.

I arrive before Emily, quickly put the kettle on and get out the chocolate cake. Can I come in? Emily shouts from the front door.

Yeah sure, grab a seat in't lounge, I'll be there in a sec. I amble into the lounge with a tray of coffee and cake. Emily is gazing at an old photo on my mantelpiece of Aunt Jean in her younger days.

Here we go, your favourite. I set the tray on the coffee table.

Thanks Love. Emily smiles and takes a deep breath, So she's gone; God Love her.

I hug Emily and we both burst into tears again. Yeah, she's gone, but she'll be in a nice place. I finally manage, Sit down love, let's have our cuppa.

Emily smiles; she has a quiver in her voice. She got to ninety-five, I guess she had to go sometime.

Yeah I know; at least we both got to spend a lot of time with her over the years.

Yeah we did. I really enjoyed her company as much as she enjoyed ours, but it's sad that it all has to end sometime. I hate that bit. Emily gazes into her cup.

I feel the need to explain to Emily that it's not all bad. I look at this way, love. I've had a lot of out-of-body experiences over the years an' due to things like that, a lot of the fear of dying disappears. I don't know how you look at it, but as far as I'm concerned our body is really only like a coat for the 'real' life which leaves at the time of our 'death'.

If our body is just a coat, where does our soul go?

We don't know, but I believe it moves into another dimension until it is time to reincarnate and start off again from where we left off.

So, you definitely believe that?

Well ... yeah ... I do. I believe that all of our traits and mannerisms are kept intact in our soul. When we are reborn an' gradually progress through our lives, we intuitively tap into these traits and mannerisms. That's where our natural talents come from, our previous experiences. But I don't think we actually remember our previous lives per se, we just draw on the traits etc. I notice that Emily seems a bit uncomfortable with the subject.

So when are you movin' into 'Aunt Jean's' cottage or I should say, 'your' cottage, now? Emily asks.

I reckon, a week tomorrow. Saturday is a good day for it; also David, this friend of mine, is helping me move a few things. I've never had much furniture, but now I think it is time for a change.

It sure is. Are you really okay with this arrangement? I know you needed a house, but two hundred and fifty thousand pounds is a lot of money.

Definitely. I love Aunt Jean's cottage. Besides, it just feels like the right thing to do. I'm thinkin' about drivin' over to Wetherby tomorrow to have a look. Ya wanna come over?

Sure. Jim is workin', but I'd love to come over. By the way, I'll give ya the four hundred before Iidtred bef forget—is that enough to cover your bills?

Should be! Thanks Love, I really appreciate it. I give her a kiss as I say: You're a life saver.

Well, you were a 'life saver' for me, so I guess it's my turn now.

That's what you tell me, but I can't remember any of it. It's as if my body was there without me for about thirty minutes. It's all very strange.

I was confident to give her the answer that I just did because I knew she would be talking about the time that I saved her and I from being raped.

Don't you even remember teasing the boys? Emily asks

What? No. Why would I do that?

Well, from time to time you would say stuff like, 'Ya wouldn't know what to do with it if ya had the chance'.

That's what you tell me but honestly? I can't remember it.

I know but you did, an' ya did it quite a lot. Do you remember the day we went into the toilet and four boys followed us in and said, 'Get ya knickers off girls'?

Only vaguely. I said that to Emily, but I couldn't remember any of it. I can't help but think: These things have happened on numerous occasions without me knowing anything about them, what the hell is happening to me? I'm still finding it very hard to get the tall woman of my car accident, off my mind.

Emily continues. Well, I've never seen anything like it; all hell was let loose. It was as if you changed into 'Wonder Woman' or somethin'.

Emily is swinging her arms around as her body language goes into gear acting out karate moves in order to explain what is happening.

You sent all the boys flying one at a time into the brick wall. It was absolutely amazing. When they had collected their senses, Andy McPherson said, 'C'mon guys, let's get out of this shit hole. They can't take a joke'. Then ya said, Fuck off boys, before I smack your asses."

Emily breaks into laughter and I join in, even as I'm still trying to process my behaviour. It's all very strange, I can't remember a thing; perhaps I have a guardian angel?

A kick-ass one. Emily chuckles.

Yeah that's a good one. A kick-ass one.

I chuckle too, then say, Another cuppa?

Yes, please. And then I'll have to get goin'.

Won't be a sec, I head for the kitchen. Have another piece of cake, I shout.

Emily grabs a piece of cake and follows me to the kitchen door.

You were always a sex maniac Edwina; Emily laughs. Well not really a sex maniac, but you know what I mean.

I think, No, I haven't got a clue what she is talking about, that came right out of the blue but why. She has said things like this before, it's as if there's another me, like the boys in the toilet scenario that I don't know anything about. Although I do recall missing periods of time now and again and am wondering what the hell is going on?

I must be sub-consciously blanking my mind from something but what could it be?

With a frown on my face, I say, You are always saying that, but I never know why? I don't think I'm over sexed or anything am I?

Well, I'm not sure if I would say over sexed but you were always flirting and giving boys the 'come-on' when we were young, giving the impression you would jump into bed with them at the drop of a hat.

Honestly, I'm not really conscious of doing that, but anyway you never really held yourself back either; remember when we ran around the garden naked when Mum an' Dad were out?

I sure do.

We head back to the lounge and I put the mugs down on the coffee table.

Emily sighs, This isn't right is it Edwina, talking about sex on the day of Aunt Jean's funeral? I thh=neral?ink, Here we go again, Emily always seems to have a hang-up about sex, I'm not sure why she has because it's a natural thing.

But Emily, Aunt Jean certainly wouldn't want us to be miserable on her account. Besides, she used to talk about sex herself, even at ninety-five, remember?

I sure do. We both smile and sip our teas.

She was one of the guys eh? Emily chuckles.

She sure was and anyway, why shouldn't we talk about sex? I mean why is there such a taboo attached to it? There is nothin' wrong with sex whatsoever, in my opinion. I mean, the taboo was attached to it when organized religion came on the scene. Prior to that, sex was a joyous thing that was practiced in the open and no one had any inhibitions. Then, the church's teachin' told us it was a sin unless used for procreation. It seems that most people enjoy sex, but in a lot of cases, do not want to talk about it.

I reckon we're a weird mob for sure. Emily frowns, staring into her mug again.

I continue. There are practices that use the power of sex in order to attain enlightenment. Sex is the drivin' force behind Kundalini Yoga.

Emily goes to speak but I'm on a roll. When a person manages to raise this awesome energy, they become 'one' with God. If sex is a way to God, then I believe that there is nothing morally wrong with it. Maybe we are just a pack of prudes.

Well, it's a bit deep for me. Emily admits, then drains her mug. At least I'll always have an open mind about these things. I mean if we decide that we are all hung up about sex for no reason, what do we do? Start walkin' around naked? We would sure get some strange looks, wouldn't we?

We certainly would.

Emily gets up from the couch. What time tomorrow?

About 1 p.m., okay?

Yeah that's fine. At the door we stop and hug, I'm reluctant to let her go. I'll say a prayer for Aunt Jean tonight, I whisper.

Me too. Love you. Emily breaks the hug and heads down the drive.

Love you, too, I shout. Well, that's over, and tomorrow is a new day; have to move on. I can't wait to have a look at my little cottage in Wetherby.

On Saturday at 12:45 p.m., I pull up outside Aunt Jean's cottage and open the gate in the picket fence. Once again, as I have done many times in the past whilst visiting Aunt Jean, I walk along the short crazy paving path that cuts through the middle of the front lawn—which now looks a little neglected. I have a good look at my very lovely Tudor home. It has three wooden steps leading up to the centre of the front verandah with white painted handrails on each side that turn at right angles in both directions along a hardwood deck. The deck runs right along the front of the cottage. The whole cottage has recently been renovated, but its old world charm has been kept intact.

The exterior has been cladded with cement fibre boards and the board joints have been covered with timber strapping which has been painted black so as to keep the cottage's Tudor feel. According to Leeds City Council, the house is five hundred years old and furthermore it's the oldest house in Wetherby. It's nestled amongst some willow trees on the edge of the Wharfe River. There are two large timber windows with very small panes of glass, one window each side of the door in the centre which resembles a church door. It has a circular top and large wrought iron hinges. I'm over the moon with the cottage.

I look at all the hanging baskets on the veranda. The plants are wilting. I walk around the side of the cottage through the side gate into the back yard and pick up a long water hose which has been neatly coiled under a water tap at the side of the back door. I gradually unroll the long hose and drag it around to the front verandah. I hav atandah. e just finished watering the plants when Emily arrives.

Hi Sis, I say giving her a big hug.

Hi love. She loops her arm around my waist and we head to the front door.

I'm sorry, I'd offer ya a cuppa, but there's no electricity till Tuesday.

Don't worry, love, I'll survive.

As we enter the cottage, I feel as if something is missing. It seems very strange not to hear Aunt Jean saying, Hello, luvies, come in, ah'll put kettle on an' tea'll be ready in a minute. My eyes moisten.

Emily says, It's hard isn't it, love?

It sure is, but I reckon Aunt Jean may still be here watchin' and smilin'. Shall we see what memories she's left behind? I ask as I go to a nearby wardrobe in the front room. I open it and look through Aunt Jean's dresses.

Emily starts un-packing an old wooden trunk to check out the contents.

Sorting through the dresses, I notice a cardboard box on the wardrobe floor. I remove the box and lift off the lid and begin to remove the only package inside. I slowly peel back the muslin cloth and lift out a beautiful dress. I hold it up to have a good look.

Em, isn't this incredible?

Emily looks up from the box of old books and photo albums.

Look at this dress. See the embroidery. And you have to feel the material.

Emily appears amazed. My! It looks like somethin' from the Middle Ages.

I agree, it's magnificent. It must be all hand stitched. Takin' its age into consideration, it's in excellent condition.

Sure looks it. Emily continues rummaging through the trunk.

It's ancient. I say as I trace my fingers over the beaded square neckline and gently lift the long flowing sleeves. I hold it up. It's just incredible."

Sounds really interesting; Emily murmurs.

"It's probably hardly been worn. Maybe