A Mindful Afflatus

By Steve Bennett

Based on a true story of a very strange two-week eerie phenomenon that took place in an old flat in south London. Live my thoughts and feelings around the scary happenings as the uninvited guest gradually consumes my daily life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528956581

Book preview

Epilogue

About the Author

Steve works as a dispensing optician and is currently living in Somerset with his wife, two sons, daughter and two rather large Leonberger dogs. He spends his relaxing time (when not being hounded by the dogs) trying to play guitar and writing songs and has been designing and developing a board game on and off for the past ten years!

About the Book

Based on a true story of a very strange two-week eerie phenomenon that took place in an old flat in south London. Live my thoughts and feelings around the scary happenings as the uninvited guest gradually consumes my daily life.

Dedication

You suddenly appeared and I pulled you close, such a blubbering wreck as I kissed your nose, and later that day I wrote a letter to you, the contents of which I now haven’t a clue, but soon you will read for the year is near, my emotional writings to you my dear

Ellie,

Colourful lots xxx

To Lewey Lee, Squeezebox and Gibbs,

Just file this next to my CD, or you could even read it.

To Avril,

True, it’s not your cup of coffee, but give it a stir sometime, you never know…xx

Copyright Information

Copyright © Steve Bennett (2019)

The right of Steve Bennett to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

Based on true events. The names of individuals have been changed to maintain anonymity.

ISBN 9781528956581 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

There were two members of my family who unconditionally supported me during the writing of this book. Their complete attentiveness and devotion never wavered, and I would like to say how grateful I was for their efforts to keep me warm in the conservatory during the long winter evenings.

Lying across my feet really did work!

Max and Teddy, thank you.

Based on a True Event

I’ve never seen such a bloody clean bike!

His words were laden with sarcasm as he sat astride his mud-splattered machine, like a general about to go into battle.

My bike was better than clean, it was immaculate; I was always polishing it. But in this situation, I suddenly didn’t want it to be shiny any more. I wanted it to be dirty and streetwise like theirs.

His two ‘soldiers’ laughed and swore in approval of his ridiculing observation and excitedly over-revved their 250s, in an attempt to create acclamation sounds from their engines.

I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t know where this was going.

They had approached us and instigated the dialogue, taking great pride in telling us that they were uninsured, untaxed and seemingly unbothered about anything.

We just listened and cautiously laughed at the right times, having an almost envious appreciation of these bad lads of the night…

Suddenly, his bald rear tyre revolved into life, spitting out dirt and dust in one fast short spurt of antisocial defiance.

Let’s race to Harlow! he yelled.

It was a statement rather than a command, but we reacted. He wanted us to join them.

I looked at Mike.

He was already manoeuvring his Suzuki, and there was excitement in his eyes as he glanced at me.

We didn’t know these lads; in fact, we were about to call it a night before they appeared on the scene, but here we were; about to go into highway battle with the nightriders…

We took off up the A11, like bats out of hell, with the bad lads shouting and screaming, like banshees, as they weaved their bikes from side to side in front of us, in a display of complete disregard to road use normality. We watched in disbelief as they cut through the intersection to ride the wrong way up the opposite side of the dual carriageway, then crossing back over at the next break to reappear in front of us again, to continue with their crazy show.

They were mad, absolutely irrational, and we were being sucked into this fanatical early-morning charge by the exhilaration and anticipation, that was increasing at every second.

Wow…! What a rush.

We soon hit a long straight piece of road, and I lowered myself down onto the tank. I was barely peeking over the top of the rev counter in a vain streamlining attempt to keep up with them all as two-stroke smoke peppered the warm night air in front of me.

Come on! Come on! Faster! Faster!

My normal world of law-abiding regulations, full of consequential thoughts and concerns, had vanished. I was now living completely for the moment. All that was significant lay directly ahead of me in a one-way blinkered tunnel of sight and sound.

I wanted to go faster; I needed to go faster…

…and then suddenly…he appeared!

WHERE did he come from?

My soaring feelings of adrenaline-pumping excitement immediately plateaued and dramatically fell into one of trepidation and panic as I saw that he was driving level with me on the other side of the road.

His outstretched motionless hand was a signal to stop; in fact, it was more; it was telling me to go back. It was a strange feeling, but I knew that’s what he wanted me to do. They were immediate thoughts, and I just knew.

I couldn’t see him clearly, but he was there behind the wheel: a dark figure of authority, with a statuesque extended arm aimed towards me. It seemed to project an invisible line that I should not pass…a line that he did not want me to pass.

I kept looking into the car.

Had we almost stopped moving?

It felt like we had. Time seemed to have slowed right down. I was somehow connected with the car…I couldn’t change focus, I couldn’t look away. I must look away…I must look at the road…

Go back! Go back!

I slammed on the brakes and watched his car slingshot ahead of me.

Did I hear him say that? It was a shout more than anything, and it certainly snapped me out of the hypnotic hold the car had on me. How could I have heard him? The passenger window wasn’t down! Blimey, that was really weird, and I say I was connected with the car, I think it was with him…I felt the connection was with him somehow…

I watched as he sped after the others. He wasn’t slowing…he didn’t want me; he wanted to catch the bigger, faster fish. I felt really odd as my mind subconsciously was analysing what had just happened, and how it happened. I couldn’t have heard him. I just simply couldn’t have!

I had come to a halt now, and there was just the sound of my bike engine ticking over as I viewed everyone disappearing around the bend in the far distance.

Was it an unmarked police car? Well, that’s what I had assumed, and I felt relieved that I hadn’t been officially stopped. I stared ahead down the empty road, almost expecting them to reappear and come charging back towards me. No, that wasn’t going to happen, but something would, I had a strange feeling that something definitely would!

I turned around and rode slowly back home.

My head was buzzing with what had transpired over the last ten minutes or so. I felt I was jumping from one emotion to another. And now I was concerned…concerned about what was going to happen to Mike.

I cut my engine when I saw the lay-by and glided quietly to a stop. We always met and chatted here for a while after a ride before going back to our respective homes; and tonight, I’m sure, would be no exception.

I sat and waited. After ten minutes or so, I started to listen more definitely for the distinctive sounds of his 250. He’d be along soon after his ‘talk’ with the police. I’d hung my crash helmet over the right mirror, had folded my arms, and was impatiently listening into the calm early-morning air.

Come on, Mike.

I was feeling more and more agitated and unsettled. Should I ride back? There was only one answer to that, and I had already agreed with it.

I started the engine, put my helmet back on and rode towards the A11 and then onwards towards Harlow.

The only racing going on now was in my mind. Perhaps they’d all been arrested. Perhaps the nightrider gang were REALLY bad lads, and the police were now obviously assuming that Mike was one of them too!

I swung right at the second roundabout and headed towards the town centre. The roads were so quiet and deserted. Wouldn’t it be superb if they were like this all the time?

That thought soon evaporated as I quickly focused on something going on further up the road. I could see a figure sitting on the kerb edge, looking towards me, which I soon realised was Mike. I then noticed loads of what seemed to be sheets of paper strewn everywhere as I tried to digest the scene that lay before me. Oh no, hold on…I’ve seen this before. I’ve dreamt this, I know I have…

There was a bike lying in the road and another that was parked on its side stand, which I recognised as being Mike’s Suzuki.

He raised a hand in a dejected greeting as I pulled over. I glanced back down at the paper in the road again. The ‘memory’ was so clear now. The paper was everywhere, and it was reflecting in the lights from the yellow street lamps. I could see that there was also bits of plastic and metal intermingled, and I soon realised that they were bike parts.

I walked over to Mike with my hands out in front of me…

You’re not going to believe this, but this was in one of my dreams, it was just like this…paper all over the road!

That’s our cancer and polio leaflets. My top box burst open when I came off…and thanks a bloody million for not warning me!

(We did a money collection every two weeks going to certain houses, and some were a bit off the beaten track, so we used it as a good excuse to ride out.

The front part of the leaflet was always made glossy, and that was the bright reflection that I could see.)

And where d’you go? he continued. One minute you were there, the next you’d gone…

Mike’s tone of voice was one of annoyance. I did feel guilty for leaving him, and I definitely shouldn’t have started talking with the dream. I knew that he was aware of some of the ‘premonitions’ that I’d been having over the past few years. But there was no way I could have prevented this. It only just came to me when I saw the paper everywhere anyway.

I know, I’m sorry…the police car freaked me out. So what happened? Where are the others? Has he gone after them?

As I was speaking, both our attentions were being drawn across the road to a car that had just pulled up, and the driver’s window was being wound down.

Is he OK?

Yeah, we’re fine, no worries…thanks a lot, I replied in an overzealous reassuring manner as Mike stood up on cue.

I knew Mike was alright; I just needed to get us away from here and back home.

Do you want me to do anything? Do you need an ambulance? said the rather nervous lady driver.

No thanks, no honest, we’re fine.

I could tell that she had only morally stopped rather than for any genuine concern. She understandably just wanted to get on her way, and her car was moving forward slightly in gear as she spoke. She soon drove off, edging slightly to one side to avoid the motorbike that lay in the road.

I immediately went over and pulled it back up. Blimey, it was in a right old state. The front wheel was completely bent in, the forks were pushed under the tank, the rev counter/speedo mounting was non-existent…it really was in one heck of a mess!

The wheels were jammed, so I slowly struggled dragging it a bit closer to the kerb and then let it fall back on its side, sort of half on, half off the road. It weighed a ton. I looked over at Mike. He’d sat back down again.

Are you OK?

Yeah, I’m alright…come on, let’s get out of here, he said seriously as he stood back up again and walked over to his machine.

Where’s the bloke? I said, pointing at the wrecked bike.

He went off with the others…

What? I said, with a completely puzzled look on my face.

I know, don’t worry about it…I’ll tell you later, came the pressing response.

He pulled his helmet back on and started his bike.

What shall we do about this? I said, pointing to all the paper and debris that littered the road.

Leave it! Come on…I just wanna get back.

I restarted my Honda; and at a sedate pace, we made our way out of Harlow and back down the A11. Mike was alright, just a bit shocked I guess, and his bike seemed alright too, thank goodness; although I could see him looking down at the tank every now and then as if checking something.

We were soon approaching ‘our lay-by’, and I wasn’t sure whether he would pull in or not, but he did. We turned off our engines, took off our helmets, and it was there that he then began to tell me what had actually happened.

The three nightriders were racing side by side in front of him when one of them seemed to suddenly go straight over the handlebars, like he’d hit a brick wall. Mike had braked hard to avoid collision and had skidded out of control and had toppled over.

The crashed nightrider was in a bit of a bad way, and there was a mad panic to get him up off the road and get him away from the scene.

He managed to get on the back of one of the bikes, and they rode off towards the town centre.

So, what about the copper? Wasn’t he trying to stop them? I said.

It was at this point that we entered the twilight zone when Mike voiced that he had no idea of what I was going on about.

I elaborated further; in fact, I went on and on about it. But, he absolutely insisted that…

There was never a car chasing us!

Prologue

In 1982, I moved away from the family home to take on the role of a managing dispensing optician at an optical practice in South London. I had recently qualified in the profession and was quite nervous at the step-up and unfamiliarity of my new post. But at the same time, I was very excited of being able to live away from home and was really looking forward to experiencing my first true taste of independence at the ripe old age of 23.

My new living abode was an oldie worldie flat, with high ceilings, beams and pillars, that was situated on the second floor (which was the top floor), above the actual opticians practice.

On the first floor, directly below my flat, lived a lady of 40 odd years called Jackie. She was about