LUCID Nightmare

Valentine’s Day

  Claire had gone to work early to preview a house for a client. Clay waved from the window as her white Polo drove away. Within a few minutes, Clay found himself in the middle of a call with his insurance company. He advised the representative of the latest developments and was instructed to return the check via recorded delivery immediately.

  Clay sat in the brand-new Jaguar XKR with the crumpled check in hand. Just before he inserted the key, a black sedan pulled in right beside him. Two men in suits exited the vehicle.

  “Are you Mr. Thompson?” asked the older gentleman.

  Clay opened the door slightly to respond. “Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

  The older gentleman removed his sunglasses and identified himself.

  “I’m John Boyle from Excalibur Car hire, and this is my associate. We’ve come to collect our vehicle. Please remove any items you may have inside, and my associate will take the keys.”

  “But that leaves me with no transportation,” Clay replied in desperation.

  “Well, come with us, and I’m sure we can extend your contract. You can hire it for the week for only four hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “I think I’ll pass. It’s a beautiful car, and she was a pleasure to drive. Here’re the keys.”

  “Great, there is just one thing I need you to sign.”

  “Sure, what’s that?” Clay asked.

  “According to your insurance company, you were not entitled to a courtesy car. So we need you to sign a modified contract so we can bill you for the time it was in your possession.”

  Clay reluctantly signed himself up for yet more debt. The Jag shot out of his driveway like a race car.

  A dark cloud seemed to follow Clay at every turn. It was Valentine’s Day and there was little joy in his heart. Once again, he peered into his wallet. He removed the yellow sticky note from behind his Halifax debit card. On the back of the sticky note was Nefertiti’s address—the Brampton Estates. A cold chill darted down Clay’s spine as he glanced at it. His superstitious perception of the mysterious estate took a backseat to his desperation. He was committed. He walked back into his home.

  “Yes, I would like a taxi within the hour. Do you have any available?”

  “Sure, we’re a bit slow at the moment. Where would you take to be dropped off?”

  “Ah, uhm…the Brampton Estates.”

  “Wait one moment, please,” the dispatcher replied. After a short delay, she came back on the line. “I’m sorry. We’re all booked up at the moment. Try Steve’s Taxis, I’m sure they can help. Goodbye.”

  Click.

  After numerous unsuccessful attempts to hire a taxi using his best English accent, Clay managed to book the journey. Initially, he believed it was a form of anti-American discrimination. It wasn’t—it was a different type of trepidation, fear of the paranormal. A red taxi arrived on time and greeted Clay at the door.

  The pair set off.

  “I imagine you made several calls to the competition to book this journey,” the driver commented in a heavy Slavic accent.

  “Yeah, I almost gave up. I’m surprised you took the job, no one else wanted it. I detect an Eastern European accent. Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Poland, but I speak Russian too. Do you speak foreign languages?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Have you ever visited Poland?”

  “Never.”

  “Last question. Are you a Christian?” Clay asked.

  The driver glanced at Clay in the rearview mirror. “How’d you know?”

  “The wallpaper on your mobile phone is a picture of Jesus,” Clay commented.

  “Well, I gave the first thirty-five years of my life to the devil, so I decided to give the second half of my life to God. It saved my marriage, you know. Remember this, Jesus will never fail you.”

  Clay immediately broke eye contact from the rearview mirror. He looked out the window and remained silent.

  As they drew nearer to the estate, his anxiety grew. His palms were sweaty and his heart rate was slightly elevated.

  The driver stopped about a hundred yards from the entrance of the estate. He stopped the meter.

  “This is as far as I go, mate. That will be 10.40, please.”

  Clay was not impressed having to walk about a quarter mile into the estate. “Hmm, most Christians I know don’t believe in the supernatural,” he commented.

  The driver turned around to address Clay. “The Bible teaches us not to tempt God. Well…I don’t tempt spirits either. I stay out of their way. If you need a ride back, here’s my number. I’ll meet you at the Frost Garden Centre across the street. God bless you, my friend.”

  Clay waved goodbye to the driver, who did a U-turn and backtracked. He ignored the warning voices in his head as flashbacks of Kevin’s persuasive sales pitch to make the appointment with Nefertiti played on a loop in Clay’s mind.

  As he entered the macabre manor, there were several observations to include an intense feeling of being watched by the trees as he passed them. The trees had patterns in their bark that resembled faces, sad and tortured faces.

  As he passed each house, he had the same thought. Was this the house where the murders happened? Clay drew nearer to the address, feeling even more anxious, but he never thought of turning back.

  There were large overgrown fields that had once been parks, but there was no sign of animal life with the exception of a large blackbird perched on the powerlines overhead. The bird extended its large wings and swooped in Clay’s direction.

  Caw, caw, caw. The crow sounded in midflight. It was as though the crow was leading Clay to the house. Clay extended his stride and increased his pace as he grew wary of the large black bird. As Clay approached his destination he noticed the crow had disappeared.

  Clay found himself in the blowing wind, standing in front of the house. It was a two-story red brick home from the 1960s. There were no lights on anywhere, but the door was slightly ajar.

  “Hello, is anyone home?”

  After several knocks on the door, Clay heard footsteps coming from the back of the house. He took a few steps back; he wanted to run but he couldn’t. Anticipation and fear of the unknown overwhelmed him, until a soft voice spoke.

  “Come inside. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Although the house was cloaked in darkness, the woman’s voice soothed Clay’s apprehension. He entered cautiously.

  “I can’t see.”

  Hiss! Hiss!

  “Ouch! Damn,” Clay shrieked. “I think your cat just scratched me. Please, can you turn on the lights?”

  Click.

  The light nearly blinded Clay. He blocked the brightness with his hands. A woman in dark sunglasses sat in a recliner in the living room. Dated furniture mostly covered in plastic sheets filled each room. Spiderwebs, large dust balls and the smell of mothballs seemed to indicate the home was uninhabited.

  Clay had imagined Nefertiti to be a frail old woman with no teeth. She was not.

  “I was expecting you to be much older,” Clay responded nervously.

  “Sit down. Does my beauty intimidate you?”

  Nefertiti wore a silky black smock that was sheer, almost see-through. A gold chain draped across her womanly hips. Her skin was an olive complexion complemented by her high cheekbones and heart-shaped face. With her dark eyeliner and flowing jet-black hair, she resembled an Egyptian goddess.

  Clay felt an intense seductive aura radiating from her. He sat opposite her in an antique wooden chair.

  “Why do you sit in darkness? And why are you wearing sunglasses in the dark?”

  The woman smiled at Clay seductively. “I have no use for the light. The light is for the lost.”

  She removed her sunglasses.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” Clay responded.

  “Although my eyes may be cloudy, I see very clearly,” she said assertively.

  Clay checked his phone to see the time as he
did not want to leave under darkness. He noticed he had no signal, which added to his anxiety.

  “You said you were expecting me. I’m confused.”

  “You are the last referral of one of my clients,” Nefertiti explained. “His debt to me is finished. You are Clay, and you are right on time.”

  “Time? How do you keep track of time?” Clay asked.

  “Time? Time is only important to mortal men,” she responded ethereally. “It has little relevance to entities which are eternal,” she revealed.

  “Okay, let me explain why I’m here,” Clay said nervously.

  “I know why you are here,” she interrupted. “You are here because your faith has failed you,” she said in a sultry voice.

  Clay countered. “No, I’m here because my wallet has failed me. My faith is fine.”

  “Don’t you think it strange that we both find ourselves alone together on Valentine’s Day? I can see your heart is already claimed, yet your soul roams in the lost and found.”

  Clay felt threatened by her dark charm and seductive patter.

  “No, I don’t think it’s strange. I just happened to be the day before my psychological assessment. Can I ask you a question?”

  She nodded.

  “Your name, Nefertiti. It’s definitely not English. Where are you from?”

  She stood and walked toward a large portrait covered by bedsheets.

  “I’m not from here. I live in the hearts and minds of men like you, Clay.”

  Clay felt the initial assault of spiritual warfare. Yet once again, he ignored the voices in his head telling him to leave immediately.

  “There’s a voice that’s telling me to run far away. But I can’t. I don’t want to. It’s so strange,” Clay confessed.

  Nefertiti whisked the sheets from the portrait.

  Clay stood, mildly shocked. “My God, she bears an uncanny likeness to you. She’s absolutely stunning. But it can’t be you. This portrait looks like it’s from the late eighteen hundreds. Is this an ancestor?” Clay marveled.

  “No.”

  Clay was spellbound by the portrait of timeless beauty. It was a nude painting of a woman lying on a red velour Victorian couch with a black cat by her feet. The resemblance was striking, and the portrait’s gaze followed the onlooker from every angle.

  She smiled and grabbed Clay’s hand.

  “So who are you? What are you?” Clay asked.

  “I’m whatever you need me to be,” she whispered into his ear.

  Her voice permeated Clay’s inner core. The seduction had begun.

  “So tell me what are you thinking, Clay.”

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” he answered defensively.

  “Liar! I know what you are thinking. You are wondering if I’m wearing anything underneath this sheer garment.”

  “No, I’m not,” he recoiled.

  “Admit it. You want to force yourself upon me and take me. You want to spill your seed inside of me. Say it!”

  Immediately, Clay saw the vision she conjured in the next room. He was mesmerized and consumed with lust watching it.

  Clay covered his ears and shook his head violently. “Get out of my head, please,” he pleaded.

  The vision faded. Nefertiti continued. “Ah, the nectar of lust is sweet. Guilt is a flawed emotion that serves no purpose. Sit down, Clay.”

  She reclaimed her seat opposite Clay.

  “So what are you, some sort of witch or medium?”

  “No.” She placed her dark glasses on her face. “I may be sightless, but I see everything.”

  Clay managed to reinitiate eye contact.

  “Like the future? Like what?”

  Nefertiti clasped her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes and entered into a light trance.

  “I can see the night watchman of your dreams is vigilant.”

  Clay was captivated.

  “Yes. That’s my brother. My brother Darryl,” Clay said excitedly. He wanted more.

  “He has a spirit name, which I shan’t say. He is a fierce guardian in the spirit world.”

  Clay’s captivation intensified. “Can you reach him?”

  Nefertiti’s charcoal-black eyes opened wide. “That is not allowed!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry I asked.”

  The room grew quiet, but the silence was interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from the next room that grew louder and louder until it reached deafening levels.

  Clay covered his ears. “What is that sound!” he yelled.

  Nefertiti stood and beckoned Clay to follow her into the kitchen.

  He obeyed her command.

  She pointed to the corner where the wall met the ceiling. There were hundreds of bees swarming there.

  “You see, the queen bee found herself trapped in the spider’s web,” she explained. “Her entire colony blindly followed her. The colony is lost because their queen has perished. The colony continues to congregate and grow, yet their leader lies in death. I call this behavior Christianity.”

  Her words sent shockwaves to Clay’s spiritual consciousness.

  Nefertiti turned towards Clay. “Have I upset you?” She stroked the side of Clay’s face.

  “There’s a part of me that just wishes this was a dream so I could wake up.”

  “So how do you know this is not a dream?”

  Clay retreated into the living room and sat. “If this were a dream, my brother Darryl would be here to guide me out of this…whatever this is,” he reflected.

  “Okay, how much is this gonna cost me? I don’t have much money.”

  Nefertiti knelt in front of Clay.

  “Just your loyalty. And I require two referrals. I will deliver, and I demand you do the same.”

  “Can you guarantee my financial problems will go away and that I can keep my house?”

  She nodded. “Just sign this contract.”

  Clay examined the two-sentence agreement on faded yellow paper.

  “Contract? How is this binding?”

  “Believe me, it is,” she assured him.

  Clay felt the spiritual battle inside of him intensifying as he removed a pen from his shirt pocket. His hand shook violently as he scribbled his name.

  “Okay, so what now?”

  Nefertiti smiled. “It is done. When you have your interview tomorrow, I will be with you,” she assured him.

  “You don’t understand, you can’t be there. I have to do this alone.”

  She kissed Clay on the side of his face. “I will be there. Leave early—there are opposing forces at hand,” she whispered in his ear.

  A gust of window flung the front door open, startling Clay. He was pleased to see his temptress lead him to the front door. The door closed behind him, the house went dark.

  As Clay walked through the bristling wind, he noticed the sun beginning to set. He completely lost track of time. Immediately upon exiting the estate, guilt and betrayal crept into his consciousness in a major way.

  “What have I done? I’m sorry for not trusting you and being disobedient. Lord, please forgive me.”

  A strange man approached Clay in front of the estate. He looked unkempt, disheveled and broken. He had a cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth.

  “Hiya, matey. I’m not from around here, but I’m looking for this address.” He presented Clay with a scrunched-up piece of paper.

  Clay looked at the man and saw a reflection of himself just hours before, desperate and distressed. Clay pointed to the house he’d just come from.

  “Yeah, I know where it is. It’s over there. The last house on the left.”

  Chapter 7: The Assessment