Rooms Without A View , livre ebook

eBookPartnership.com - Augustine Nash

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

144 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

'The angel sat studying them all, then he began, "Each one of you here will be inspected on your earthly life, just like the tests you did at school. At this point in the proceedings you will remember the years you lived and how you lived them."''The Artful Dodgems', a young street crew decide to deface some monuments in their local cemetery. Little do they know, a skeleton is watching them and it decides to make them pay for their sins.Bootlegger, The Artful Dodgems' newest member is the first to pay and is soon followed by his fellow gang members. They are picked off one by one, sent to a 'middle ground' between Heaven and Hell while they are shown the consequences of their actions and are judged on their life on Earth. Where they end up, and what happens next is up to them...This book was written on my fathers flippant word " I bet theses graves have some stories to tell".

Informations

Publié par	eBookPartnership.com
Date de parution	01 mai 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783014255
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

2014 Augustine Nash
Augustine Nash has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by eBookPartnership.com
First published in eBook format in 2014
ISBN: 978-1-78301-425-5
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eBook Conversion by www.ebookpartnership.com
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
Thirty
Thirty One
Thirty Two
Thirty Three
Thirty Four
Thirty Five
Thirty Six
Thirty Seven
Thirty Eight
Thirty Nine
One
It was the hour... the appointed hour. In the distance the church clock strikes two, a time when all humans should be in their beds, except for those on the prowl and up to no good. A murky fog has slipped silently down over this place of decay established in 1839. In Victorian times it was magnificent, but now neglect is unchecked, a city of the dead.
Only dark shadows can be seen of the steadily advancing vegetation, thick roots creeping over once magnificent graves, masonry strewn across fallen columns to make known a life cut short. A huge white marble angel stands on a plinth with outstretched wings gazing downwards, a gentle smile on her face.
Trees stand in weird shapes, trunks reaching out in all directions to enclose the tombs in a grip of destruction. Here a wreath, marking victory over death; next to it a child s grave depicted by the pure innocence of a lamb. Overturned monuments strewn across unkempt paths leading up the hillside, and an impressive collection of mausoleums , elaborately carved tombs and gravestones, so beloved in a bygone Victorian age, this is the oldest section.
In the spring this eerie overgrown place is filled with wild flowers, some managing to flourish from broken gravestones, and daffodils lovingly planted so long ago bloom along the paths having multiplied in numbers. Here in this silent place small animals live and foxes roam undisturbed. Birds are left in peace to build nests in many unlikely places and hatch out their chicks.
Rumours have abounded here right from the start, where the occult practised dark magic leaving their mark on a catacomb door. Robbers dug up bodies searching for anything valuable, in this atmospheric cemetery. A vampire was purportedly seen by many over the years, describing him as very tall wearing dark clothing and a top hat and eyes which glowed in the dark as he leapt over the perimeter wall and then disappeared. To join those tales, a floating nun who was seen moving through the dense overgrowth, habit stretched out behind her. Very few mortals would have ever dared to enter such a place after dark.
The silence is as oppressive as the darkness where no light shines, perhaps feet coming into contact with gravel, or rotted wood snapping, crushed into little pieces. Passing through a huge gateway which is modelled on The Valley of the Kings, so popular in its day, and towering obelisks showing a degree of what was seen as an important upper-class burial ground.
Tonight, in the month of November, in the year 1954, the fog has descended to blanket the many acres of this consecrated ground, where terrifying shadows loom and very little can be seen of the catacombs where families lay in their coffins on the shelves, some still in use even though having deteriorated over the years. The cast iron doors are marked by inverted torches denoting that the fire of life had come to an end.
Not even the huge cedar tree planted so long ago can be seen, dominating all else in its magnificence by spreading its boughs as a protective parent might in comfort.
However, as was said in the beginning, this is the hour...the hour of awakening.
He told me I would go to Heaven...he promised me...Oh God, why did you turn me away?...I was too young to die...I wanted to do so many things...visit lots of places...turn my life round...but you never gave me a chance. Mum...help me...
A commanding voice well-respected in the past, barked out, Stop that snivelling at once, what you obviously needed was a good clip around the ear. Are you new here?
Yes, they buried me two days ago, who are you?
It matters not. Once I was a Cavalry Commander in the military. You will never have heard of me, because History has wiped me off the face of the earth. I am Sir Loftus Otway, laid to rest on June 7 th in the year of our Lord 1854, however sadly I have been forgotten. What is your name?
It s Jacob Smith...what am I doing here in this tiny room...I can t find a way out there are no windows or doors...?
Get a grip on yourself, we have all been placed in the same position and have to wait for the call, the voice with an upper-class accent answered, heavily sighing. He had been waiting so long that he had just about given up.
But I am not supposed to be here, I thought when I reached the gates I would be let in...but all the keeper said was Go back there is no room for you here. I was so disappointed when I saw the gates were not golden as I had imagined, in fact they had gone rusty. Jacob wanted to stand up but his head would touch the ceiling. The coffin they had buried him in stood in the centre of the room, lid off. A blue haze surrounded him, with just enough light to see his empty surroundings.
Suddenly a new voice spoke, soft and sincere. I am Eliza Barrow; I did not wish to come here either, but you see I was murdered.
Murdered, how terrible, a mate of mine was knifed to death, right there on the High Street in broad daylight, not a copper to be seen anywhere. Do you mind me asking how it happened?
For crying out loud, do we have to listen again to your earthly experiences, I for one am bored to tears with your winging, another voice loudly proclaimed, sounding irritated.
Oh it s you Edward, well I should have thought with your upper-class background you would have been taught it is not manners to interrupt someone else, Eliza answered, her words holding no malice.
For Pete s sake, how many are there of you? Jacob asked.
I m not sure, but it must be several thousand, even after all this time the cemetery is still in use. Shall I continue, Jacob, as you asked?
Yes...well...if no one else minds.
I was a spinster, never married as it did not appeal. I was fairly well off and when I was 49 years old I decided to move into a top floor flat in Tollington Park, London. At the time I saw it as the best thing that I could do as you understand I was not getting any younger. I had four rooms and found it most comfortable.
There was a silence before Eliza resumed talking. Now, on looking back I realise I was foolish and too trusting. My landlord, Mr Frederick Seddon, lived in the ground floor flat with his wife and five children, and an elderly father. He appeared to me as being a trustworthy family man who was an area supervisor employed by an insurance company. At any rate he was very persuasive, which was the beginning of my downfall.
I understand where you are coming from; I was absolutely hooked when at twelve years old I was given cannabis outside the school gates. At first it was free, and then I had to steal to pay for it.
Cannabis, you say, what sort of food is that? a new voice enquired.
It s a drug, you fool! someone else snapped, eager to hear the rest of the story, after all it was the only entertainment down here, if you could call it that.
Keep your hair on old chap, never heard of it in my day.
If you have all quite finished may I continue before I run out of time? Eliza pleaded.
Jacob heard a loud clamour of voices obviously in agreement.
I was completely taken in as he and his wife made me feel so welcome. I suppose I must have mentioned at some stage owning properties in Camden Town because he began to persuade me to manage my business accounts, in return offering me a small annuity and a reduction in my rent. Frankly, I was glad to be shot of the responsibility, and it did seem to be a good deal at that time. Then in 1911 he increased my annuity again in exchange for my Indian stock.
Jacob interrupted, I don t understand about those sorts of things, how my poor mother must have suffered when I stole off her...
Disgraceful! a voice shouted.
Eliza sighed almost ready to give up. Anyway, to cut a long story short through lack of time that summer I became ill with tummy troubles and had to take to my bed. Little did I know that Margaret, Seddon s daughter, had been sent to the chemists to buy a box of flypapers, which were coated in arsenic. These were hung round my bed in the pretence of helping me, suspended over water to aid evaporation. A few days later mercifully I died, and was quickly buried in a pauper s grave. My cousin Frank Vonderahes wondered why I had not been buried here in the family vault. Oh! The indignity of being dug up when I had only just settled in, however my body was found to contain fatal amounts of arsenic. Seddon and his wife were arrested and brought to trial for my mur