The Shropshire Shadow                      By N. K. Reynard

Introduction

 Having lost both of my parents, thinking about them seems somehow counterproductive. I prefer to think of my grandparents, who are long passed over. My memories of them - I guess because they're so distant - seem incapable of making me sad. Their kindness, hospitality, and abundance of sweet treats was enough to make them well worth a visit. They were great company to cheer my mother up after her being stuck in our house for sometimes months on end. She didn’t get out much, and she wouldn’t get a job until I was thirteen years old, as she didn’t trust me not to burn the house down. But back to my nan and grandad! My memories of them go back to around thirty years ago. My nan was warm, welcoming and always took care of our bellies. Grandad was amazingly creative! His garden had to be seen to be believed! Because of his talents in the garden, the council gave him control of a large area of wasteland behind his already decent gardening space. He turned it into one of the best private gardens you could ever hope to see!

 I only remember meeting my grandmother from my father's side of the family once, and I never heard anything about his father, never mind meeting him. But with the few memories I still retain, I can't really remember any of my predecessors ever telling me or my siblings any stories! Maybe they did and I just can't remember? But I'm pretty sure I'm right when I say that they never once told me anything fictitious. They just weren't the story telling type! I often wonder how many other people were deprived of this traditional and seemingly majestic privilege? I sometimes think about all the grandparents in the world today, and if they are anything like what they were in the nineteen eighties when I was a young boy? Surely there are at least a few less storytelling grandparents in the world now than there used to be? At least by percentage!

 Do you remember any of your grandparents telling you stories as a young child? Like in the beginning of Edward Scissorhands or Charlie And The Chocolate Factory? In these movies grannies and grandads are often seen as warm and wise storytellers, to comfort, teach, entertain, and sometimes scare children for their own good.

 I'll always remember Annie and Ken (my mother’s parents) appearing to be quite old, with what seemed like deep wrinkles on their faces. Nan with her brown fingers stained by cigarette smoke and grandad often with a slightly grumpy look on his face, unless he was seeing to his garden.

 I'm sorry if this appears judgemental, but I can’t help comparing how things were ‘back in the day’, to now. Some Grandparents nowadays can be under thirty years old. Great-grandparents can be around the early forties! And if the sickness of child abuse is to be considered, god knows how many generations could be born in an unbelievably short space of time. Again, I'm really not judging anyone for having children early! I know life can just kind of, do things to us, if you know what I mean?

 I think our government has a lot to answer for! Putting aside all the truly sick individuals that persecute humanity, our leaders really need to take a look at society's mental health problems, people's fear of working to earn money, the divide between men and women, justice for victims of prolific criminals, obesity, the list goes on! But nothing is more relevant to me at this time than addiction! Addiction could well be responsible for a lot of child abuse, neglect, broken homes and the lack of understanding, tolerance and general decency that sometimes seems to be missing from society. Of course, most of us are capable of being amazing and caring people. Especially when we're partying or getting our fix from our choice of poison (mind altering subsatance). It's often at times like this that happiness and thoughtfulness appear in no short supply. But if we can't let go of that party attitude - at least when it includes drugs or alcohol - suffering on some level is almost inevitable. I am not writing to complain about the failings of politicians, or how I blame them, and maybe even democracy for my mother and father's relationship problems. I'm actually trying to gather as much truth as I can remember, about the people I know who have passed away, in an attempt to fathom some of the strange things I've experienced.

 Often as I lay in bed trying to get to sleep, I'll hear a thudding sound which seems to be within a couple or three feet of me. Sometimes I think to myself  'that's gotta be one massive spider to be making such a loud thump, maybe it's eaten so many insects that it's too heavy to cling to the wall and has crashed to the floor'. Other times when I hear similar noises whilst trying to nod of to sleep, I just open my eyes slightly whilst thinking 'what the f....k!'.  Then I just casually drift off to sleep. Odd noises like this happen quite a lot, and have done over the last two to three years. They never really make me too uneasy though, which might be a little odd in it's self?

 There are quite a few similar experiences I could talk about. Experiences that are just plain strange. But when I started writing this, I just meant to touch on my thoughts of people who have passed away, the possiblity of an afterlife, and then smoothly and effortlessly issue an invitation to witness what might be the creation of a trapped soul. I guess the ‘smoothly and effortlessly’ might have fallen in bits, as there doesn’t seem to be a suitable sentence to casually drop the words ‘trapped soul’. Nevertheless, it is a soul trapped somewhere between real-life and the other world. The world so many people claim is fake or just a passing thought from our wandering and sometimes dark imaginations. But how this soul might have come to be trapped is a very long story. And I'm not even sure if I believe in souls, ghosts or spirits, and them having anywhere to be trapped. Anyway, I repeat! This is just an invitation! The story of the actual creation of this trapped soul can wait for another time. But right now, if I told you there has to be at least one more dimension, infinity must be set in stone and nothingness cannot be possible, depending on your scientific knowledge and/or beliefs, you could either struggle to understand this sentence, or have a good idea where I'm coming from. I am of course talking about death, and life after it! Many claim to know of it, or to have seen proof of it. Including one of my close friends. I say close! We were drinking partners and, for a short time neighbours. To cut a long story short, before he died, he often mentioned how he saw people that many of us couldn't see. People who would bother him until he did something for them, like pass on a message or warning to a loved one. Apparently one or two of his relations could do the same. His brother was definitely a professional clairvoyant. The way my friend spoke about his alleged ability did seem somewhat believable.

 If belief is to be believed to be what I believe it to be, then that means these words could have everything! In a loose sort of way. Because without belief, some would say, we have nothing! No belief in ourselves, belief in happiness, belief in the world we see every day, and maybe most importantly, the belief in our leaders, parents and grandparents. After all, if we can't believe in them, how could we let them teach us right from wrong.

 Don't think this is just a story! Like the ones so many trusted elders have lovingly told their grandchildren and children alike. Most of what your going to hear, isn't just a story. It's all truth! Truth with only a few – impossible to know – blanks filled in. The truth! Just like I'd expect to hear from my Nan and Grandad, as well as plenty of questions and offers of food, drink and chocolate but, as far as I can remember, they never once offered me a word of lies. A joke maybe, but no lies!

 Memories of my grandparents go back to when I was under ten years old. I'm now a little over forty. Strangely enough, I'm the same age as two of my friends (one I mentioned earlier), who also share the same name and are both deceased.

  I often look at this coincidence (both of my friends having the same name and dying at the same age) and think 'I've reached the same age as them two. They say things always happen in threes. This year could be the year I join them on the other side'. I am not overly fond of coincidences, neither am I particularly troubled by them! But, as I think of my dead friends, who were addicts, could I really be the third addict (although I'm now clean) to die at the same age? If so, I haven't got many months left. I best get packing some warm clothes. I hear the other side’s pretty chilly this time of year.

 To be honest, I really don't care too much about dying. If I do, so be it. If not then, er, great! I'm actually starting to enjoy life more and more these days.

 But as I sit here alone, in a bedsit built in the nineteen fifties, in Shropshire, England, thinking about all the suffering that addiction causes, and reminding myself of all those people I used to know, I can't help but notice darkness all around me! Not so much obvious darkness, or anywhere near definitely visible, but without a doubt, seemingly making it's self present. Could it be death it’s self coming to take me? A dark angel having a giggle? Or the essence of a dead friend or loved one trying to warn me about my dark past of addiction creeping up on me? I'm thinking it could be almost all of the above, and then some! But whatever it is, I'm starting to feel more and more strongly that it could be the culmination of a fight between two domains trying to hold on to a tortured soul. One domain trying to stop it from escaping, and the other seemingly trying to welcome it with what seems to be inexplicable reasoning. Is it the transition of an untouchable presence into something a little more solid?

 At this moment in time, I'm here typing at 04:30 hours, with the clock ticking well after the time I told myself I would be in bed. My eyes are tired and my brain is racing. Out of my peripheral vision I can see a constant flickering of what seems like candles all around me. Candles that simply don't exist. Almost every time I look away from my computer screen I see a shadow on the wall, usually showing it's self for around a second then quickly merging with the rest of the dark colours and shadows in the room. I would normally convince myself that I was just tired and that when I get some sleep the shadow(s) will be gone, but knowing what I've witnessed tonight (a peanut butter jar jumping a few millimetres off of my kitchen work top before quickly rattling back in to place, a definite digital voice coming out of my guitar amplifier, and more light flashes merging with the darkness than I can easily explain), I'm now almost convinced of the existence of a parallel and maybe twisted reality. I know it sounds crazy. I am crazy! But I'm not insane. If I were insane I wouldn't be aware of my craziness. This old definition of insanity explains my reasoning: to feel certain in a belief, especially a belief that you are not crazy when the certainty in your belief is false.

 Now I'm feeling more and more certain that something or someone is trying to grab my attention, or similarly, make it's presence known for some reason that may not have anything to do with me. I could just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wrong time being 04:35 hours, and the place: a bedsit, not far from Wales, in the United Kingdom.

 As I sit in front of my laptop typing, thinking about the peanut butter jar, a moaning sound coming out of my guitar amplifier and my TV remote flipping countless times off of the chair arm before crashing into the floor, I'm not quite able to believe all the light and darkness fusion anomalies I'm seeing just above my eyes point of focus. I can't believe it! This means I am at least, just slightly crazy, but far from insane.

 If belief is everything, and insanity must be a certainty in something that can't be true, then let me share this certainty that is as sane as sane can be: this introduction has gone on way too long! It has for me anyway. I really need some sleep!

 I feel I have already shared a little too hard to digest chunk of insight relating to this. This being the best glimpse I've had so far. An absolute and undeniable glimpse, of what just might be, The Shropshire Shadow!

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