Boundary Park

Not every haunting is grounds for a vacation in a Mental Institution. Take mine, for example. Selene was a perfectly ordinary girl, somewhat plain but that’s only to be expected. It came with the territory of her age. She did have talents, though, and one remarkable ability that set her apart from the Great Unwashed. But, more on that later.

It was just after dusk, as I recall, when we met. I imagine we were both enjoying the curious, almost haunting stillness that the onset of evening wears like a cloak. So there we were, strolling through Boundary Park in opposite directions. I think, no I’m certain, with all that’s since happened, we were fated to meet. We didn’t even have to say hello, just smiled and the world folded in on itself and we stepped out the other side: together. Best of friends. As if that had always been the case.

From that moment on, Selene managed me like a carer in a nursing home. She had all the attributes despite her young age: strength of will, infinite patience and an unrivalled sense of humour. Whereas I… I tended towards the miserable side of existence. Not always, just often enough. Like a poet, I suppose, searching for that one elusive phrase. On those occasions Selene would goose me, mimic my hangdog expression or simply laugh. As you surely know, it’s hard to stay miserable in the face of someone else’s laughter, even when you are the target.

Now, here’s a really weird thing. From the moment we met, Selene was always with me. Right? Wrong! Well, sort of. You see, my friend, she was never with me during the day, only at night. Although I knew she was there. Somewhere. In the background. Oh dear! It’s so, so hard to explain. It’s like, you know for sure you have a heart, lungs, kidneys and all those necessary internal bits. You can’t see them but you know they must be there or you wouldn’t exist, would you? It was the same with Selene. I always knew she was there even when she wasn’t. I’m sorry, I need to take a break here. A headache…

That’s better. Your painkillers worked really quickly. Now, where was I? O yes, I mean, no! I don’t want to talk about weird things any more. You saw what it did to me. So, nights with Selene were some of the most pleasant times of my life. We would retrace our paths round the three small lakes in Boundary Park, sit on our favourite bench or tiptoe through the woods, tracking the foxes and badgers. Yes, although they are rare these days, there are badgers in the park. A whole family of them. They can be really bad tempered or just plain temperamental so we steered well clear of them. We looked, yes, but went no closer.

There was a downside though. I remember one time seeing an old man being beaten by some youths. Selene thought the victim had only been night fishing so what wrong could he have done? Probably nothing. It was either a mugging or some perverted form of fun. There are people like that, you know, ones who enjoy the smell of blood, lots of it. Horrible, horrible. We ran away. Afterwards, neither Selene nor myself spoke of it again. Enough! Bad memories. I think I’ll have a quiet lie down, if that’s alright with you. Thank you.

Why do you keep asking about Selene? I told you, she’s a night bird but you keep insisting that you want to talk to her in the daytime. For goodness’ sake! I mean, I don’t know where she goes to. I’m not her keeper. If anything, it’s the other way round. And another thing: she’s quite shy and you, well, to be honest, you can be quite rude at times. I don’t like saying that but, sometimes, you just have to take a deep breath and dive in. To be honest, I’m not sure how Selene would respond to you. It’s not a warning, mind you, just a piece of friendly advice. When you meet her, if you meet her, be polite, have respect, that’s all I’m saying.

I remember one time she wanted to be more. More than just best friends, she said. I baulked at that, I mean, things were perfect as they were and there’s that old saying about what not to do if it’s not broke… Why rock the boat when the water’s calm beneath you? That’s what I asked her. She just sulked for a bit and that made me feel awful. Then, with a hint of a glint in her eyes, she whispered,

“OK. Just one small kiss then. On the lips, you know, a taster of what might have been.”

If only I had been braver. There’s a universe of regret in those two words: if only.

It took time but in the end I think she came round to my way of thinking. Either that or she gave the idea up as not worth pursuing. It did worry me that she might have given up on me but there was no sign of this. We still acted as friends. On bad days, I chewed over the gristle of that thought: acted as friends. Only acted? And I would get depressed and Selene would laugh me out of my mood. Then I would ask myself, is she helping me because she wants to or, because of our strangely convoluted relationship, does she know that she has no choice? I would get depressed again and so the cycle would continue.

We needed a change of scenery, something new to distract us, to lift us out of the boring routine we had slipped into. So I booked a holiday. Two weeks in Italy. A town called Sorrento, in the Gulf of Naples, with lots of nearby attractions. The archaeology of Pompeii or Herculaneum, for example, and the glittering Amalfi Coast. We had just settled down into our seats on the plane when some drunken holiday thug tried to sit on Selene. There were words, at first, then harsher words that escalated to pushes and ended up as fisticuffs. We were dragged off the plane and arrested. The thug, when he had finally sobered up, was merely cautioned. I, on the other hand, was questioned by several groups of police officers, all different factions. Just like you, they were very interested in Selene. She said not to tell them anything, she was none of their business, so I remained silent. I heard later that they removed all the passengers and searched the plane, end to end, looking for Selene. Something about a terrorist plot. For intelligent people they were really stupid. But if nothing else came out of the whole sorry affair, at least I got to meet you, my friend.

The garden here reminds us of Boundary Park. Selene wants to go back for a romantic stroll down memory lane (her description, not mine, I hasten to add). So I guess one night she’ll pick a lock or two and we’ll make our way there. I said she has strange abilities. Lock picking is just one of the minor ones. Ho hum… An idea has just struck me, a real lightbulb moment. You want to meet Selene, right? Well, I’ll let you know when we’re going and if you wait in Boundary Park, I’ll introduce you when we arrive. There’s a cream coloured wooden bench by the smallest lake. It’s one of those special places, a favourite of ours. It’s got our initials carved on the backrest. You can’t miss it. We’ll meet you there.

One evening, there was music in the lounge, old fashioned and scratchy like a seventy-eight record under a worn needle but we were dancing anyway, ignoring the static, the jumps and scratches. We could hear the music perfectly inside our minds. Those thoughts were linked and that let our feet glide in tandem, so utterly carefree. Speaking purely for myself, I know I have never danced so well. I waltzed like a soldier, straight backed and sublime. And then the music wound down like clockwork failing. When some evil troglodyte turned off the lights, both Selene and myself became very angry. Granted, we do as we’re told and eat our carrots but that doesn’t mean, as the old wives’ tale goes, that we can see in the dark. I don’t want to think about what happened next. I’m not ashamed of her reaction and Selene said something else I can’t repeat. Even so…

We are walking in the garden now. It’s dusk and Selene looks beautiful in the rusty moonlight. Ah! If only… Never mind because amongst the razor edged shadows of nature and man, down between the freshly planted flowers, are remains of the residents’ gardening exploits, the late summer’s dregs. There are withered stalks of peppers and spring onions and so many tiny forgotten tomatoes. With any luck they will burrow their way into darkness and then sprout again next year. There is a dwarf-like creature pruning the roses. He looks ridiculous but I shouldn’t laugh. I can hear the cogs in your brain turning. Why am I telling you this? Why, you think, could you possibly be interested in tomatoes, in this pettiness? Because it is anything but petty! It is a clue! Concentrate! Use your brain. Look, I am no dreamer, no artistic wide boy. I am just normal. I use normal words and if you can’t grasp my meanings, when they too are normal after all, well then, that’s your problem. Have you thought of seeking professional help?

Selene does not smoke. She has never smoked. In fact, she gets quite loud and rowdy when she attempts to describe her feelings about it. I believe there is someone or something in her past she cannot or will not reveal. Something awful. So I save my habit for the daytime, when she’s not around and make sure I wash thoroughly and brush my teeth as the sun begins to wander off towards the western horizon. We’re friends and that’s what you do, isn’t it? It’s called respect. So when that lounge troglodyte’s twin brother came stomping up to us in the garden, an amorphous mass in the twilight, and blew cigarette smoke over Selene as he mumbled some gibberish about time and bed, well, you know the result. Now you also know it was not deliberate. It’s called provocation. He provoked Selene and she merely responded. I fail to understand why you are so angry. The man only had to visit A&E. It’s not like they kept him in the hospital. When these trogs learn that respect comes first, most of your problems will disappear. But if you continue to back these thugs up then I regret any respect I have for you will also disappear. I’m very upset so I’m leaving now.

La la la la. I’m not talking to you. Go away. La la.

It’s almost time. I’m still not talking to the Rude Man and Selene made me promise not to tell him, not even to drop the faintest hint, that we have fixed the day for our adventure. Our trip back to Boundary Park. I’m no wuss, I can keep my mouth shut. I think. While I’m awake at least. We planned the whole thing for a weekday night. It was just like a military operation. Selene would fix the lock on the back garden’s barred gate for me and then disappear, ready to meet up in the Park. I would stroll out, totally unconcerned and no one would even think to stop me. Why should they? As far as the troglodytes are concerned, this place of theirs is locked up tight. The devil alone knows why, because I don’t.

It is time. I have slept most of the day away, firstly to conserve my energy for the night’s adventure but also to avoid the Rude Man. No slip ups, remember! Oh Selene would be so proud of me if she were only here. Like a slinky model I am a study in casualness as I wander through the hall and out into the garden. One troglodyte does peer at me suspiciously, a little too hard-eyed for comfort, probably thinking I have nothing to be so relaxed about. So I play the game, pull a horrible face, poke my tongue out and give him the finger. That seems to answer any question in his mind about my mental capacity, or lack of it, for he turns away. Idiot. And now I’m at the gate. Selene has done a beautiful job. I gently take hold of the padlock and it just falls to the ground. So clever, that girl! I’m out suddenly and picking up speed now. The street lamps are flickering into life beneath the darkling sky, layers of velvet and make-up, mascara around the eye of the early moon. Don’t you just love this time of day? I do. After all, it is full of mystery, the substance of Selene. It has become my personal heaven.

Through the gates of the park. I know Selene’s around because the padlock is hanging open. And then we are holding hands, walking slowly, overcome with the strangest emotions. We leave the pathway, with its cheap stuttering lamps and dissolve into the gloom. We know the way having trodden this route many times. Out of the darkness, the lake appears and there, our favourite seat. Oh no! Damn no! The Rude Man is waiting. How did he know? I gave him no clue, did I? And surely not Selene? Not a whisper… There is a smarmy sneer on his face. We sit and I just know, I don’t know how, that some of his troglodytes are hidden nearby, waiting for a signal. Leaning forward, he pokes me in the chest with one stubby, nicotine-stained finger.

“Well now. Time’s up. I’m ready. So, introduce me to this Selene of yours.”

He often spits when he’s excited, sort of little additions to his words, gravy to the meat.

I open my mouth to reply but it’s not my voice. Selene says,

“Hello, daddy. Suffocated any other babies recently?”

Even in the darkness, his face shines, whiter than candle wax. Beads of sweat burst out across his forehead. He struggles the words out, gasping,

“But, you can’t be… We buried you!”

An arm reaches out. It is not me, it’s Selene or whoever she really is, and my hand, her hand, a tiny newborn hand, rests flat and gentle on the man's chest. His heart stops.

Sensing something is wrong, the troglodytes are running towards us so I stand up and shout for help.

“Got to make it look good, haven’t I, Selene? Selene? Selene?”

Nothing. The world is hollow, suddenly empty.