Memory Scents by Gayle Eileen Curtis Page B

garden.
                  As she approached the bowed trees which led to the clearing down to the stream she couldn’t resist the urge to quickly look behind her. But there was nothing, no horrible feeling, no cold atmosphere, nothing.
                  Chrissie made her way slowly through the trees, ducking slightly to avoid catching her hair in the branches. There was the stream and the old brick shed which was secretly disguising itself as a chapel. And that’s all she could detect, except for the slight anticipation in the pit of her stomach.
                  Braver still, Chrissie went towards the shed and put her hand on the large metal latch. She turned it and pushed the decrepit door forwards and stared into the empty darkness. A cold, damp breeze swept passed her face and apart from the birds singing and the slight rustle of the leaves in the trees, there was a gentle silence.
                  Chrissie breathed a sigh of relief and leaned forward to grab the latch on the door and pull it shut. The door seemed to be caught on the floor of the shed and as Chrissie yanked it forward she looked up and noticed the top of the door had come off its hinge.
                  A vision, albeit brief, swept across her mind and the hairs on her arms lifted, magnetised by the sudden memory. It was of her falling through that very door and scrabbling on the ground in a panic, followed by a need to escape. From what or who she didn’t know. Even though the flash in her mind had been brief, she was aware of a feeling that came with the vision that someone else was there. Someone, who she was desperately trying to escape from. She sought the comfort of the cottage and ran rather than walked back to the house.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
                  In the morning Chrissie started preparing the dinner for the evening ahead. She just about had time to make a nice autumnal casserole for the slow cooker before her friend Sarah arrived. She’d put the previous night’s incident down to another psychic vision. Considering it had unnerved her somewhat, she’d still managed to have a fairly peaceful night’s sleep.
                  She didn’t want to dwell on it too much for fear of bringing back a horrible atmosphere or attracting spirits. She didn’t understand it all, but it had made her wonder whether or not someone from beyond the grave was trying to lead her to the guilty party.
                  She shook the thought from her mind and concentrated on the job at hand. A knock at the door made her realise how jumpy she’d become again.
                  “Goodness me, you gave me a fright! You’re early…” said Chrissie, flinging the door open to an equally startled Sarah.
                  “And you look like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Come here!”
                  They hugged for quite some time and there was more to their embrace than two old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a while. Sarah was hugging her friend to give her comfort as though she’d just rescued her from falling down a cliff. Chrissie felt this emotion from her, and allowed Sarah to comfort her. The tears started and she felt like they’d flow forever.
                  “Come on, let me get in and I’ll make us a nice hot drink and then you can tell me all about it,” said Sarah, shivering as she entered the strange cottage, unsure whether it was just from what she’d been told or a genuine sense of foreboding.
     
                  After Chrissie had explained wearily every little detail of the activities that had been haunting her, Sarah insisted on a tour of the old house. They avoided the garden for the time being because Chrissie was feeling rather uneasy again. Postponing the garden had relieved Sarah. She hadn’t liked the sound of the old