Read Online Aphelion by Andy Frankham-Allen - Free Book Online Page B

about. The whole house, which he eventually got to see in its entirety, carried with it a bearing of neglect, as if the old man merely existed in the house, not lived. There were signs that once upon a time the house had been lived in, but that time had long passed for whatever reason. Robert didn’t want to consider the reason; some things were best left unknown.
    He stopped at the kitchen doorway, situated at the rear of the house, and looked around. Neglect was putting it mildly. Filthy pots and pans littered the sideboards; plates with bits of food welded to them, and cups lying on their sides, the starch staining the insides so intensely it was as if it had become part of the natural colouring of the china. The stove itself was, unsurprisingly, old and rusted, except for one single square of the hob which gleamed against the rest of the dirty metal. This, Robert guessed, was the single part of the cooker still in use. After all, as bad as he looked, the old man clearly still ate something to sustain himself.
    Then there was the old man.
    Robert watched him sit at a small table, pushed against one wall. Papers and empty food tins littered the floor around it. He seemed to be broken. Not in a metaphorical sense, but actually physically broken. His entire shape looked as if every single bone in his body had, at one point or another, been snapped out of place and left to reset on its own. The result was a man who walked like a marionette without strings, coming to realise that it could in fact walk unaided, albeit in a fashion that barely resembled a normal human. His face was also one of brokenness; bruise upon bruise, an open welt above one eye, a nose that had seen better days. For a second Robert was reminded of the pictures newspapers liked to print from time to time, reminding people who were trying to enjoy their lives of the bitter and twisted nature of the world in which they lived. Grannies battered in their own homes, granddads beaten senseless while getting money from an ATM in town. Yes, that’s how this old man’s face looked, like someone had really been to town on it.
    “How do you know my name?” Robert asked finally, no longer able to stand the eerie silence that pervaded the house. And it truly was silent. Lifeless.
    “You touched my card,” the old man replied, his voice like dried leaves. To him the answer was an obvious one. Robert wanted to argue this, tell the old man that that was no answer. It explained nothing. “You want me to teach you how to project yourself beyond your body?”
    Did he? Robert wasn’t so sure. He still wasn’t even sure why he was here; what had compelled him to pick up the card, to call the number, and to visit the house? And he sure as hell wasn’t sure why he would want to take a trip out of his body. So he shrugged. “Suppose so,” he said.
    “Good. Close your eyes.”
    Robert blinked. “That’s it? No build up? Just ‘close your eyes’? I thought I had to go into a trance or something. Imagine myself lifting up, pulling away, looking down at my body.”
    “Ah.” The old man smiled at Robert, but his rheumy eyes contained the same balefulness. “Do you think that will help? Are you some kind of expert now?” he asked, his voice becoming more forceful with every word.
    “Well…” Robert swallowed. Hard. “No, of course not, but I saw something about it on Most Haunted the other week and Yvette said…”
    The old man sighed. “Robert. Just. Close…Your…Eyes.”
    Robert did so. He didn’t know what the old man was expecting as a result, but nothing happened. Apart from Robert becoming aware of the smells in the house. Rank, acrid; the smell of the dead. He went to open an eye—just the one, mind, to get a quick peek to see what the old man was up to—but no sooner had he thought about opening that eye than he felt something grab hold of him.
    Not his body. Oh no, because at that moment it occurred to him that he wasn’t his body. That was