‘The Kissing Game’ Chapter 4 Short Story Serialisation, by Milly Reynolds

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That morning, Elena virtually pushed Michael out of the door. Today wouldn’t be about astrology per se. It would be about research. But first, she felt the need to confide with her great friend and neighbour, Mary Allen. Luckily, she was free, which she normally was after her recent retirement. Around thirty years her senior, Mary shared Elena’s passion for history and she knew a fair bit about astrology as well.

“I can’t sleep anymore, Elena. Nearly forty years of teaching has burned me out.” Mary began to bite at another chocolate digestive, she said it was making her coffee ‘less wet’. There were crumbs all over the kitchen table.

Elena was staring thoughtfully out onto the cold, dormant garden. “Well, thank God I was never a teacher.”

“Quite,” Mary brushed back her grey hair, “so what’s troubling you? I can tell these things. There’s another man, isn’t there?”

“Hm.” Elena looked directly at her friend. “You may joke, but you’re right, that’s why I’ve asked you round.”

“Cripes! Thank Heaven I never married. Come on then, spit it out, girl.”

“Mary, it’s not a real man.”

Mary Allen sat bolt upright, her chewing temporarily paused mid bite. “A woman?”

“No, no. Michael and I are fine.”

“Not a real man, you say.” Mary’s eyes narrowed, quizzically. “I came across plenty of those at school. Some of those heads were absolute demons, you know.”

“I’ve met him twice in a dream, the past two nights in fact. I’m in this dark church and, well, he’s there.”

“A dream. A vicar!”

“He’s no vicar.” Elena put down her coffee mug. “He knows my name and he likes to kiss me, on the lips.”

“Ew! Now that does sound gross. Not tongues as well?”

Elena felt herself beginning to smirk. “No, I think he might be quite a gentleman at heart.”

Mary took a deep breath. “No gentleman would scare the living daylights out of you in a dark church, Dear Elena.”

“I’m not scared, Mary, that’s the thing. But last night, as soon it began to get light, he went back out like a shot.”

Mary was nodding. “Mn, typical male, misogynist, leaving the poor woman alone in a cold dark church. They’re all the same, aren’t they?”

“So I began to follow him but it got lighter and lighter as I got to the door – then I woke up.”

Mary reached for another biscuit. “Do you know what this reminds me of?”

“I haven’t got a clue. Surprise me.”

“Hamlet’s ghost, that poor old soul having to disappear at soon as the cock crowed at the dawn.”

Elena watched Mary dunk the biscuit in her coffee. “The ghost of Hamlet’s father having to return to purgatory, you mean?”

“Because he was murdered without his sins being forgiven, all those ‘imperfections on his head’, so to speak.” Mary stared thoughtfully at what remained of her biscuit, its edges still dampened by the previous dunk and bite. “But we don’t believe in purgatory, do we Dear?”

Elena looked at her. “I’m not sure what I believe, Mary, not anymore. You could say it’s just a dream but when you’re in a dream it’s the only reality you know. Your consciousness can only be in one place.”

“Yes, and it does feel real, doesn’t it? This sounds very Neptunian, don’t you think? The transpersonal world contacting you.”

Elena had to agree. “Transiting Neptune is right on my ascendant now, funnily enough. I do have a strange sense of dissolution, confusion right now. And the experiences of the past two nights have left me feeling quite faint at times.”

Mary was pointing directly at Elena. “I’ve never believed in coincidences. Never.”

copyright Milly Reynolds 2020

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‘The Kissing Game’ Chapter 3 – Short Story Serialisation, by Milly Reynolds

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It was dark, no sign of an open book this time, though there was a faint trace of incense in the cool air. She heard a door creak behind her. There was a figure blocking what meagre light was coming through it. She knew it was him, that silhouette was so distinctive, the broad shoulders and the wild hair. Elena wasn’t scared, maybe it was a lucid dream, the kind you leave immediately once you realise what it is.

“Elena.”

Was that him whispering? Or was she merely wishing it to happen?

“Elena.”

The heavy door shut gently behind him, he began to walk slowly towards her. She remained in the middle of the small nave, not sure if she was able to move or not. She didn’t really want to try. She was able to perceive more as he got near. He was indeed just a fraction taller, his clothes as dark as the surroundings. As he got close, she could make out some odd looking line pattern on his shirt, like gold faintly shining. The buttons were shiny too. Was it a shirt? Then she began to feel cold, as if in the presence of a ghost. Elena was looking at him, his eyes. He was within a few feet of her now.

“Elena.”

His voice was a little louder, mid range like a young man, reverberating around the cold, dark stone. He came to a stop just in front of her. 

“Who… are you?” she said, falteringly. Was that her real heart racing, or some fantasy within this temporary sheath in which she found herself? 

He reached out with his right hand. His eyes were kind, sensitive, yet with an odd kind of derring-do about them that she liked. The hair was almost shoulder length, groomed but very full, a wavy dark brown. Still she didn’t move. She watched his lips, they were quite full. They met hers just as they did the previous night. He tasted sweet, though there was no attempt to probe her mouth. Was she disappointed? There was an outdated sensibility about him, which spoke of a much older, more chivalrous age.

As their lips parted, she became aware of more light coming through the windows. Dawn, or its equivalent, must have been breaking in this strange other world. He let her go, turning quickly round, walking away far more briskly than he had arrived.

“What’s wrong? Who are you?” she asked, but he was gone. The heavy wooden door clattered shut.

So she began to walk after him. It got lighter and lighter the nearer she got to that door. As she was about to open it, she felt herself return instantly to bed, lying on her back. Michael was snoring beside her. She eyed the clock. Five thirty, Monday morning. That was two nights in a row. She had to find out what was going on. Just how real was all this? And who was the fellow playing this strange kissing game with her? She had a feeling that she should know who he was. Then she began to feel strange, almost queasy again. It seems her nightly escapades were draining her of physical and emotional energy.

Elena switched on the bedside light and began to write it all down in her notebook.

copyright Milly Reynolds 2020

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