The Rain Ghost by Garry Kilworth

Author:Garry Kilworth [Killworth, Garry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Encyclopocalypse Publications

Chapter Seven

Steve woke suddenly to the sound of heavy rain beating against the window panes. He felt terribly cold, as if he had been locked in a freezer for some time. It was not the coldness of winter winds, nor even of snow and ice, but the zero temperature of a place beyond this world.

He sat up and blew on his hands, trying to get some feeling into them. Dreaming. He had been dreaming of something, or somewhere, beyond now, beyond here. None of the images remained in his head, but there was an aftertaste lingering in his conscious, of a land of terrible misfortunes. Perhaps he had read a comic lately, which had failed to register properly in his waking mind, but which he recalled in his sleep? That was possible.

Steve rubbed his feet back and forth on the bedclothes, hoping the friction would warm them. The window panes still rattled with the rain. It seemed to come in sweeps and gusts, drumming one minute, and tapping the next. It was not a night to be out and Steve hoped that Whopper, who slept on a dirty old tub moored near the oyster beds, was not suffering too much. Steve had been on the hulk where Whopper stayed when he was not in The Plough and Sail, and he knew it to be rotten throughout. The craft, which was not even a house­ boat but an old cockle boat, leaked both from above and below. It was a wonder that Whopper had not caught pneumonia before now.

Steve switched on his bedside lamp and stared up at the window. The swirling, whirlwind night hammered at the loosened panes, trying to squeeze between them. He could see the raindrops smacking against the window, running down as bright drops in the lamplight. From outside came the sound of wind crashing in the trees and the creaking of branches rubbing against boughs. Somewhere in the night a creature was shrieking: a fox or a squirrel. A bin clattered in the distance. Steve felt very uneasy, restless. He certainly could not go back to sleep and, for some reason, the room seemed forbidding.

Perhaps Steve should go and see if Whopper was all right? The old smuggler's pride was such that he would never knock on a door, even if he knew he was on his last legs. It wouldn't take much to put on his Kagool and run down to the wharf.

Careful not to wake Susan or Jack, Steve got up and dressed in warm clothes. Gradually the heat was coming back into his bones, into his limbs, though deep inside he still felt chilled. It was a strange business. He sat for a few moments, one sock on and one in hand, trying to remember his dream. Perhaps when you had a nightmare, your mind commanded your body to react to the temperature of the place in your dream? Psycho-something, it was called. After all, Steve told himself, the mind was in the brain and the brain told the rest of you what was happening.

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