Cutting the Threads of Time: Ghosts Demons and Angels: Travelling Towards the Present, #5

By E.M.G Wixley

Step into the captivating world "Bound by Shadows," where the delicate balance between light and darkness teeters on the brink of chaos. As the Edwardian Era dawns with promises of hope and renewal, the Webb family grapples with their troubled pasts and an uncertain future.

 

Ever attuned to the whispers of the unseen, Noah senses a looming threat that could shatter their hard-won peace. Meanwhile, in post-war Britain, Maya struggles to reconcile her harrowing past with the grim reality of her new life, navigating a landscape tainted by greed and treachery.

 

In this gripping tale of resilience and redemption, familial bonds prove to be the only steadfast anchor amidst the swirling shadows. Can they confront their demons and carve out a path to salvation, or will they be consumed by the darkness that threatens to engulf them? Prepare for a journey of love, loss, and the unyielding human spirit, where every page turn unveils new depths of intrigue and emotion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.M.G Wixley
• Release date: Mar 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224055999

E.M.G Wixley

Elizabeth Wixley was born in Hertfordshire in the United Kingdom but has moved many times during her childhood. She attended the Camberwell Art School and joined a design studio in Convent Garden. Moving to Bristol, some years later, she worked full time for the Local Education Authority supporting children suffering from emotional and behavioural difficulties, whilst ensuring that the transition into a mainstream school was done in a supportive and nurturing manner. Whilst providing children with a safe haven for learning, she raised two sons as a single parent while studying for a degree in education at the University of the West of England. Her love of fiction started at the age of six when Elizabeth’s grandmother died of cancer and to ensure that the rest of the family was safe, she would spend the nights roaming the house looking for the 'C' monster to make sure that he did not claim any more victims. One sunny bright day, her sister told her that fork lightning would come and strike her down after which she would spend her days hiding in the garage and when she heard that the sun was falling out of the sky, well needless to say, she very seldom ventured out. With trial and error, Elizabeth soon realized to fight her foes, she had to stare them straight in the eye, explore them and conqueror the inner demons in order to stand righteous. This helps fuel her love of horror and the many mysteries of the world. Creating a why and what if scenario that runs prominent in her fascinating fiction. Throughout Elizabeth’s life, creative arts have been her passion whether it is visiting galleries, painting or writing. She enjoys nothing more than sharing a compelling horror story with others and holding the sanity of her readers in the palm of her hand.

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CUTTING THE THREADS OF TIME

GHOSTS, DEMONS AND ANGELS: BOOK 5

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This book is dedicated to my caring and kind mother, Jean, who passed on the 11th of December 2022. Go with the angels. I would also like to thank my family and friends for all your encouragement and support in my endeavours. Furthermore, I would like to thank my good friend George Ellington for his outstanding narration of my audiobooks and all his hard work and dedication to this series.

Copyright: E.M.G Wixley 27th January 2023

Cutting the Threads of Time: Ghosts Demons and Angels

Book 5 of the series: Travelling Towards the Present

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Where real locations have been used, their settings and characters are entirely fictional.

Contents

Chapter One: Prop Room (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Two: Unbelonging (Post-1945)

Chapter Three: Friendship (Post-1945)

Chapter Four: Market Life (Post-1945)

Chapter Five: Keeping it Light (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Six: Invisible Guardian (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Seven: They Walk Among Us (Post-1945)

Chapter Eight: The Illumination of the World (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Nine: Dark Ascension (Post-1945)

Chapter Ten: Play Room (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Eleven: Just Another Day (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twelve: Diamond Dreams (Post-1945)

Chapter Thirteen: Family Meeting (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Fourteen: The Veiled Face (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Fifteen: The Doctor (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Sixteen: Maya’s Miracle (Post-1945)

Chapter Seventeen: Shadows Passing Unnoticed (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Eighteen: A Cruel Engagement (Post-1945)

Chapter Nineteen: Shadows Under the Skin (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty: After the Party (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty-one: A Heavy Secret (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty-two: Stepson (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty-three: Powers of Lies (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty-four: The Brittleness of Blame (Post-1945)

Chapter Twenty-five: Cutting the Threads of Time (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty-six: Rendezvous (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty-seven: The Miraculous Machine (Post-1945)

Chapter Twenty-eight: The Brutality of the Brooding Brain (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Twenty-nine: A Dreamer’s Mistake (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Thirty: Invisible to the Eye (Edwardian Era)

Chapter Thirty-one: A Familiar Place (Edwardian Era)

Prop Room

Chapter One (Edwardian Era)

There was little privacy in the prop room as every aspect of life played out on stage was echoed behind the scenes. Conversations were loud and hurled in all directions, and every gesture was exaggerated. The atmosphere was high energy, and emotions were amplified as actors anticipated the coming performance.

Standing in the doorway, Hannah scanned the room, watching the dust drift through the air every time someone removed a costume hanging from a rail or reached for props stored on high shelves. It was good to be away from the servitude of serving wealthy, unappreciative customers who visited their jeweller shop in the Burlington Arcade.

The sun streamed through the skylight and danced over Solomon’s creation as he pressed his fingers into the mound of clay moulding and manipulating. His stern, raven eyes glanced in her direction, and then he picked up Noah’s ornate knife and resumed his work carving in fine details.

Lucas was pirouetting within the cramped space. His skin was tight, almost transparent over his high cheekbones, and his dark blue eyes darted ahead, taking in every detail, preventing him from tripping over any stray objects. In an ominously dazzling way, the boy bursting with ambition and flamboyant nervousness was engaging to any audience. Lucas flicked his blonde fringe from his brow and flushed when he caught sight of his friend's older sister and, for a moment, looked younger than his fourteen years.

Hannah’s gaze dropped to the floor, where she spotted Liv, William’s daughter, lying on her belly with her legs hidden under the hems of costumes, playing with an enormous and impressive doll’s house. The toddler was biting her bottom lip in concentration as her active fingers moved the tiny figures. Hannah walked closer and watched, listening to the child's nonsensical conversation that she was now holding with the little people.

She stooped to get a better look at the house and its fine craftsmanship. There was a proper entrance hall and dark corridors. On the ground floor, there was a kitchen with a dog begging for food and a laundry room complete with tiny utensils. Next door was a dining room with an elaborately dressed table with crockery and cutlery. On the floor above, dolls wearing the finest clothing were relaxing with books in two ornate reception rooms furnished with gold-framed artworks, mirrors, and miniature chandeliers. The floor was decorated with woven rugs. Everything was in proportion: ornaments, clocks, furniture. The bedrooms had four poster beds with matching bedclothes, while in the nursery, there were two cots, each with crisp white sheets tucked around extremely realistic-looking babies, both girls. In the attic, there were two extra bedrooms for the servants.

Liv opened one of the glass windows, and her mahogany-coloured hair stirred slightly as if disturbed by a breeze. The child turned abruptly, her great, searching eyes moving from the house up to Hannah. A pleasant smile broke over the woman’s lips but faded when she remembered she was there for a purpose. She straightened and then froze when she heard the faint trickling of sweet music. Searching for a source of the mellow tune, she glanced back to the doll’s house and noticed the tiny keys of the grand piano placed in the corner of the drawing room were being played by invisible hands. How is Liv doing that, she thought, slightly disturbed. Is it possible for one so young to move things with their imagination?

You’ve tracked me down, Solomon called without lifting his gaze from his model. People seem to love the small, but I prefer the big, he added.

Not exactly small. I’ve never seen a doll's house that large and so exquisitely detailed.

The audience needs to see it as it is an important part of the story, Solomon said. Noah told me that it was Mary finding such a stunning replica that inspired his play.

A good contrast large and small as people both fear and are exhilarated by anything different like giants and fairies, Hannah said, walking over to the bench where her younger brother was working. Noah wanted you to have this amulet for your colossal sculpture. She held up the chain, and Solomon snatched it into his moist clay-covered hands.

He’s got you running errands while he gets to play with jewels and manipulates natural elements or goes drinking with his pals. He laughed, and she noticed the dark lavender shadows under his eyes. I will have to make it in separate parts, but it will be magnificent when it’s finished. I’m using the best clay straight from the banks of the river Lea. As Mary says, it is where the spirit energy drops from the clouds and enters the earth. A place washed in the eternal consciousness.

You don’t want to be taking what grandmother says too seriously. In case you hadn’t noticed, she is a bit strange, she said, worried for her brother’s sanity. What is it? It just looks like a very large lump of mud to me, and the face is cracking.

An angel many sizes bigger than a man. The amulet will give him supernatural strength and make him invisible at times. The wings will be the hardest to construct.

What about school?

Grandmother asked Noah to write the play. I think she thought if he wrote down all his crazy ideas, they would leave his head and make some money at the same time. I suppose she wanted to utilise our natural talents as well, and after everything with Mother, I think she wants us close. He looked over at Lucas, who was practising his lines with another member of the cast.

I wonder what my mother would think if she could see me dancing across the stage when she had a lame leg, Lucas said, breaking from his lines. I hope if she is watching, she thinks well of me.

You should never doubt your talent. She would be proud, Hannah said, disguising her disappointment at only being viewed as a gift-less shop assistant and a runner of errands within a family of high achievers. Despite her needs since her mother’s death, she had taken over the care of her siblings, but at times, it was stifling being depended on by so many, and her brothers gave her little respect. Encouraging the young to reach their potential had become one of her many imposed roles in life.

Hannah felt small arms wrap around her leg and, looking down, saw Liv in her pretty coral pink dress smiling up. She felt a pang of pity for the little girl who would one day grow up and be forced to leave her imaginary cocoon.

Of course, Mary has chosen Lucas to play the part of the giant angel, Solomon continued as always, he was compelled to dominate every conversation as though what he had to say was most important. Hannah allowed him to speak as it was Noah and Solomon's way to conceal their troubled minds and broken hearts under many layers of escapism.

Grandmother says the props are very much needed as an artificial life mingled with the audience’s imaginations helps to make the experience transformative. This will become Avra, the angel, he said, opening his arms in front of his sculpture as though introducing a friend. A manifestation from the great cosmos who can’t be harmed by humans. He is called upon to protect the children of the house from Lilith, the killer of children, he said, nodding towards the doll's house. He is sent to guard them for all their lives, killing anyone who gets close. He takes his task too literally, and by doing good, he becomes evil and is punished by God. Ultimately, he is returned to the riverbank and chained to darkness for all time while waiting to be reanimated.

In a way, victims and perpetrators share a unity as they’re both controlled and broken by outside forces, Hannah said to display some understanding while envying the emotional intimacy the artist had with his work.

It’s far from finished, but Father has seen it and seemed very impressed, he added. The upsurge of resentment towards her brother nearly swallowed her whole. He never gives me such praise, she considered. I suppose nobody knows how I feel as I never complain.

All I need to do now is place the Hebrew name for truth into his clay body, and he will come to life, Solomon said with silver points of mischief flashing in the darkness of his eyes.

Hannah’s skin crawled. Oh, please stop showing off, you will scare Liv. She looked down at the tender child and saw her cheeks were flushed rose red, and her eyes widened as she stared up in fear. And what are you doing using Noah’s precious knife?

He insisted I use it.

Maya, Solomon, Liv whispered.

What does she mean? Hannah said curiously.

That’s the names she’s given to the dolls in the house, he said unconcerned. Stop worrying she is too young to understand, he whined. It’s just a story. Solomon turned back to his work. Hadn’t you better get back to the shop, he added dismissively.

I have my dreams, too, she fired with sudden ferocity and hurried away. Perhaps I’m causing harm by doing good like the angel, Hannah pondered gloomily. Mother used to talk of her time visiting libraries and museums. She, at least, would be supportive of my little secret.

Unbelonging

Chapter Two (Post-1945)

Maya’s journey to England had been via Sweden, where she found a city full of electric lights and food, oranges and bananas and all sorts of things she hadn’t seen in years. She’d thought London would be equally exciting and glamorous. Instead, she found it unwelcoming, austere, and depressing, and everything was grey, especially the people and weather. Harsh rationing was still in place, and nothing inspiring was happening, as the loss of a generation meant the old held onto power and influence. Nothing matched up to her expectations.

She’d discovered the only way she could enter England was through the Ministry of Labour’s foreign domestic worker scheme and was informed that if she didn’t take a job in domestic service, then the police would come knocking, and she would be thrown out of the country. Being used to antisemitism, she’d expected prejudice from the British state but had been well received by officials who were polite and moderate and claimed to dislike intolerance, but she had not foreseen the hostility and exploitation she immediately received from her own community.

MAYA HAD TAKEN THE bus from East London to Hampstead Heath and, on arrival, had gazed at her surroundings in amazement. The single-family homes of the street rose majestically from raised gardens with sweeping lawns full of border flowers and every kind of thick greenery with views from the windows of an expansive park.

Standing before the steps and climbing towards the door of a large house, Maya shuddered at the thought of further enforced changes to her life. The building was in sharp contrast to her abysmal shared room with its grimy, mouldy green walls that lacked adequate amenities and where she’d discovered she and Fay were being charged thirteen shillings in rent while others paid ten and six.

She was quickly ushered into the house by a mousy servant girl as though she were an embarrassment and was left waiting in the formal drawing room. Rooted to the spot, she viewed the opulence out of the corner of her eyes, noticing the heavy, luxuriously designed drapes, thick carpet, and the large dining table where the family met to share their meals.

Maya sensed the interview would be another unpleasant experience as she’d been kept waiting far beyond a reasonably expected time. The thought of being plunged into another controlled situation caused a re-surfacing of fear and panic. She breathed deeply to keep herself calm and to prevent herself from struggling to escape her familiar emotional quagmire.

It was the cruellest of things, that sense of being out of place, of sorrow and loss, loneliness and isolation. She needed a mantra to keep her mind steady. Be humble and brave. This is one more thing that must be gone through, she repeated and took another gulp of air. As she exhaled, the latch on the door clicked, and a slightly built, stern-looking woman entered the room dressed in a smart, tailored skirt and jacket with silk edgings and wearing shoes with small heels and pointed toes. She perceived that the woman’s decent and respectable appearance was deceptive. Her aloof and haughty manner showed that the lady of the house considered herself better than anyone else. Her eyes aimed at the girl, who had a sad and bewildered expression on her face. I hate her already. She thinks she knows who I am, Maya thought angrily. I must be grateful I’m here and aware, unlike thousands of other poor souls.

I’m Mrs Goldberg, she said, her face staying stiff. I deal with all matters concerning the family, community and home. I have interviewed quite a few potential domestics off the boats but have found them all lacking. Around these parts, we feel our hard-won status is being jeopardised by the influx of ill-mannered Eastern Europeans who only speak Yiddish, dress like peasants and refuse to adapt. Still, help is hard to come by. If you’re selected, I’m in charge, and if I give you the job, you will answer to me alone.

Maya faced her, blandly conscious of her rags and the trimmings of death stitched into her soul. Does the reflected evil in my eyes scare her? she considered, sensing strands of the woman’s enmity whip around her body and mind. She wanted to cry and was struck by the revelation that she was more fragile now than she was in the camps. At some point, she’d transformed from stone back into vulnerable flesh and was occupying an in-between space of not fitting in with the English or the established Jewish community. Does bearing witness to such horrors make me equally as diabolical? She probably thinks I will murder her in her bed or steal her jewellery.

Are you unable to speak? Most of the girls I’ve seen can’t even count or read and are just not devout enough.

I lost out on the last years of my schooling, but I reached a good standard of education before the war, and I’m attending English classes.

I wonder if you will be good enough for us, the woman pondered. You might have to look after the children on occasion. I think you girls would be better off finding yourselves a good husband. The role of a woman in our community is as a wife and mother. A good Christian English girl might be a better choice, she mused aloud. After much consideration, I’ve decided to try you out, but it would need to be at a reduced rate. You see, you have no skills and would need training.

The woman then offered Maya an extremely low salary. She thinks I’m desperate, and she’s getting a bargain, Maya thought angrily. No English girl would choose this type of work.

Before the war, my family were wealthy and educated. I believe I have much to offer, she spoke out and then remembered she no longer understood what was considered to be normality and wondered if she could cope with family demands. I’ve been away for a while, but I’m quick to adjust, she said, ashamed of being poor and Jewish with a German background.

You can start straight away, and if you prove your worth, we might consider increasing your pay.

She has lived cocooned from the war and does not realise that things nobody thinks are possible can become possible. Had she been born in mainland Europe, she and her family would most likely be dead, Maya thought, swallowing back a sense of nausea. Already, people have forgotten the death trains, the moats and the guard towers surrounding the camps and being deprived of light and food day after day.

Mrs Goldberg, I don’t think I would be happy here and may find better work elsewhere, she said abruptly, turning and rushing away. I’m a displaced person, not subhuman.

You won’t get another opportunity like this, the woman shouted as, without being shown out, Maya shot towards the front door. If someone reports you to the police, you'll be thrown out of the country. Nobody cares a hoot about the war anymore.

The woman’s dangerous and sly, and I’m not going to be treated like a misfit anymore, Maya’s inner voice screamed as she slammed the front door. I will not be beaten after escaping by the skin of my teeth so many