Since it’s almost Halloween I thought I’d write a fun short story with our two favourite ladies experiencing some things that go bump in the night :eek


High Spirits



Chapter One



For Helen Stewart the last few months had been nothing less than hectic. She had been in constant demand, ever since a six-month long documentary, focusing on the lives of women in Larkhall prison, where she was Governor, had been aired on British television. She knew it was controversial, and that the subject matter would certainly cause a stir, from the papers to parliament, but never for one second did she think it would propel her into the limelight and subsequently, stardom.

It had all started out as a ploy on her behalf to get the Home Office to sit up and listen to her. For years she had tried to make them see sense. But no matter what grade she worked her way up to, or what backing she got from area management, the Home Office brushed her and her theories on women lifers aside. She knew, had she been a middle-aged man with a membership to a golf club, she would have been taken seriously and Larkhall would have been running exactly as she wanted it. But as it was, she was a woman in her early thirties, single and, as the powers that be saw it, a loose cannon who could easily shake up their foundations.


Ranting and raving on a daily basis to the Home Secretaries right hand man was getting her nowhere fast and the stresses and strains of what felt like an ongoing losing battle were beginning to take their toll. So, she decided to stop fighting, and If Mohammad wouldn’t come to the mountain, then she would have to take matters into her own hands, and the metaphorical mountain materialised in the shape of the BBC.

Surprisingly her request to have the documentary team film in the prison was granted and for Eight long months G-Wing became like a television set. She had been sure her idea would have immediately been vetoed. The government were never keen to have their dirty laundry aired on primetime for millions of viewers to see, for it usually caused a public outcry that would end up hitting them where it hurt most; their pockets. So with a signed contract in her hand, and a smile on her face, Helen ran with it, all guns blazing. She would show the bastards in the old boys network who was boss and make them sit up and take notice of all that was wrong in the prison service.

Her plan had worked, and within days of the first episode being shown, Area Management were in with the board of inspectors taking notes and promising prompt changes. It was exactly the result she had envisioned. But what she had not envisioned was the private publicity it brought her. Dubbed as the new darling of reality TV, Helen Stewart was thrust into the celebrity scene without a word of warning. All it had taken was a few interviews and she was everywhere. She couldn’t even get to the local supermarket without being stopped every few seconds for an autograph.

It had been nice at first; a novelty. But that novelty was wearing thin, and rapidly. She couldn’t as much as scratch her arse without it making front page on the tabloids, and quite frankly she was sick of it. The only good thing to come of it, was the prisoners in her care seemed so in awe of her that they actually listened to what she had to say; a far cry from how things had been before.



As she sat in her office compiling paperwork for a lifers up and coming appeal date she had long hard think about how her life had turned out. Nothing had gone to plan, not from day one. She had her plans, and it seems like the Gods of fate had a very different life map all laid out. Not that it really bothered her. Here she was, 32 years old, running a prison, successful, with a nice house, car and money in the bank. She was happy, sure she was, anyone in her position would have been. But something was missing. Or was it someone? She had been single for far too long, but commitment to work meant very little time left for a social life. So she had resigned herself to the fact that that’s the way it was, and the way it would probably be for a long time to come.


Just as she was about to close over her file and call it a day, the shrill echo of the telephone ringing filled the room and caused her to sigh and pray that it wasn’t a problem on G-Wing that would keep her in work for the night. It was Friday. A night to unwind in front of the television with a takeaway and a bottle of Russia’s finest vodka. Not a night to try and calm 300 rebel rioters with a bee in their bonnet about the justice system.


“Hello, Helen Stewarts office?” Helen’s voice was monotone, borne from exhaustion.

“Ah, Miss Stewart, so glad to have caught you.” Helen rolled her eyes. She knew from the unmistakable voice who it was and she wished she hadn’t bothered to answer.

“What is it Kenny? I’m busy.” Kenny Cassidy was a middle-aged showbiz agent who had been in the business of making people stars long before the term celebrity had been coined. He was as camp as a row of pink tents, flamboyant, fun and extremely persuasive when he wanted to be, not to mention bloody moody when things didn’t quite go his way.

“Helen, darling, don’t be like that! At least pretend to be happy to hear from me; you know I can’t stand rejection! You wound me with that blasé attitude you have. It’s no wonder you can’t find a man to put a ring on your finger.”

“I can find a man, I just don’t want to, okay?”

“No, not okay. Darling, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Kenny!” Helen tried to sound appalled. “I was with someone recently, actually, if you must know.”

“Oh, darling, don’t lie to me. I can hear the moths fluttering in your knickers through the phone line. Listen to me Helen, I know what I’m talking about. A woman’s crotch is like a piercing - if you don’t put something in the hole it will close over quicker than you can say born again virgin!”

“Kenny!” Helen repeated, this time with a giggle and a slight blush to her cheeks. “Please stop talking about my sex life, or lack of it and get to the point. Why are you calling?”

“Ah, yes. Now, Helen, darling, don’t get mad…” Helen felt the joy of the last few moment sweep away and in turn anger began to build for she knew what was coming. “Don’t get mad” was Kenny’s favourite line to use when he had got her a job he knew she would hate.

“I’m not doing it, Kenny. Whatever it is you have got me into, you can just get me right back out of it!”

“But sweetie you are going to love it! You haven’t even heard what it is yet, so don’t so no just yet.”

“I don’t need to know, because I am not doing it. I already let you talk me into doing an advert for Ann Summer’s new range of handcuffs, and I warned you then that it was my last job. So whatever it is you have up your sleeve you can go and get someone else to do it.”

“But, I’ve already agreed you would do it. The production company wanted you personally and I said you would be there…tonight.” Kenny’s voice dropped to a sheepish whisper and awaited the tirade.

“Tonight! Oh, you’ve really taken the biscuit this time.”

“Please, Helen, this is the last job I promise. But if you don’t do it, production won’t go ahead and it will cost me thousands.”

“You should have thought about that before then, shouldn’t you!” Helen sighed. She knew she was going to do it, because Kenny would eventually talk her into it, like he always did. But she didn’t have to like it. “Ok, so tell me, what am I roped into this time?”

“You are a star! I knew you’d see sense. Pack your case and I’ll meet you at your house in an hour…I’ll tell you all about it on the way there! Ciao darling.” Kenny hung up before Helen could get the chance to interject and demand an explanation, yet another of his annoying traits. So, as per usual she would be left flying blind until the last minute, when it was too late to back out.

Ten minutes ago she had been looking foward to her weekend and now she was filled with a dread that told her she may just be heading into the worst three days of her life.

Great start to a new story! :clap

good cant wait...need more lol

Its been a while since Halloween, but here's an update anway :D








Chapter Two



Helen stood on her unlit front doorstep, with her over night bag in her hand and a large scowl on her face. Not only was Kenny late, but he had managed, yet again, to rope her into job which she knew she would undoubtedly despise. Tapping her foot on the concrete stair to try and alleviate the building impatience coursing through her body, Helen watched the deserted road like a hawk awaiting its prey. All the while her brain was going ten to the dozen, imaging the scenario of when Kenny would finally arrive and the bollocking she was going to give him. She wanted to drag him free from the steering wheel and throttle him with her bare hands, whilst hurtling a tirade of four-letter obscenities his way. But in reality, she knew that would never happen, for he would turn up full of over-exaggerated enthusiasm, smiles, and air-kisses, and her anger would dissipate in the blink of an eye. However, it wouldn’t stop her feeling put out at having to give up her much needed Friday and Saturday night lounging with a bottle of Stolichnaya on the sofa. This job had better be worth.



It wasn’t long before Kenny put in an appearance - pulling up into the quiet cul-de-sac in his newly acquired, bright yellow two-seater Porsche boxster.

“Oh no, you didn’t.” Helen rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you just love it!” Kenny opened the tiny fluorescent trunk like a kid at Christmas. “I saw Oprah in Vogue with the exact same one, and I just had to buy it!”

“Kenny, it’s an eyesore. The only place that car would look good is at the scrap yard.” Helen threw her bag in the back and reluctantly got in, leaving Kenny to look like a wounded animal.

“It’s beautiful. I don’t care what you think. If it’s trashy enough for Oprah, then it’s trashy enough for me!” He flung his head back dramatically like a male Joan Crawford.

“Yes, trash is your middle name it seems. At least when it comes to getting me jobs. So come on Miss Hilton - what have you lined up for me this time?”

“Well…you know the BBC programme, “High Spirits”?” Kenny looked at her with a grin.

“Yes…” Helen drew the word out. She had seen the show once or twice but it really wasn’t her cup of tea at all. Ten members of the public locked in a “haunted” building for days, with a spiritualist medium, getting scared witless was not her idea of good television. The dread which had already consumed her suddenly multiplied, for she knew what was coming.

“Ok. So, for Halloween, the Beeb have commissioned a celebrity version…and you’re one of them! Isn’t it fabulous!” Kenny clapped his hands together like an excited seal on speed, but Helen just sat there - speechless. “Three days of luxury, living at Bosworth Hall…and you’re getting paid for it!”

“I should bloody hope so! And no…it wont be luxury, it will be torture! All that ghost bollocks is a lot of crap.” Kenny gave a sharp shriek of shock and threw his hand over his mouth to accentuate the point that he was aghast at the very suggestion of there being no such thing as the paranormal.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead, Helen! These things really exist.” Kenny gave a knowing nod. “You know, I once went to this clairvoyant in London, and do you know what she said to me as I walked in the room?” he asked rhetorically. “She said to me: You are gay! Can you believe that!”

“Wow! What a shocker!” Helen sarcastically widened her eyes before she let them roll in the sockets. “Kenny, I hate to dash all your illusions, but there are people who are blind, deaf and dumb who know you are Gay upon first meeting you. So the fact that some con artist picked up on that really does not surprise me.” Kenny went to butt in but couldn’t get a word in as Helen continued on in her tirade. “It‘s all a big scam to get money out of gullible people, and this TV program is no better. It gives people false hope, just like these so-called psychics.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Hel. You may just get more than you bargain for later.” Kenny gave her a quick glance as he drove along the motorway to see Helen’s reaction, but the suggestion didn’t seem to perplex her in the slightest.

“I very much doubt it.” She added dryly.

“Haven’t you seen “the exorcist“? That was a true story you know.”

“Yes, I have. And quite frankly, the only head spinning and projectile vomiting I want to encounter is after a long night between me and a bottle of Stoli’.” Helen fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. Not for a minute did she believe in anything remotely supernatural, nor did she think that there was any possibility that she would manage to be scared witless. Real life, especially real life in Larkhall, was more terrifying than any cheap television show, commissioned solely for the purpose of getting Z-List celebrities back on the box. A typical day for her in the prison could leave her trembling on the inside whilst she tried desperately to remain the consummate professional on the outside. This would be a walk in the park in comparison. “Give me Casper over Shell Dockley any day,” She mused to herself, a wry smile creasing her lips.

“Fine. Be that way, just don’t say I didn’t warn you. When things start to go bump in the night, don’t come running to me.”

“Don’t worry, I wont. What’s this supposed “haunted” location anyway?”

“Look right in front of you…” Kenny pulled the car right onto a gravel driveway that led towards the most gorgeous house Helen had set eyes on. The dark, wooded back drop of the Tudor Mansion house gave the building an eerie presence and for a moment Helen had to gulp to push down a small wary feeling that made its way from her stomach to her brain. “The one and only Bosworth Hall…fit for a queen.” Kenny pointed at himself and for the first time that evening, Helen allowed herself to smile.

“So, what happens now? Makeup first, or shall we all be briefed on when to scream like idiots?”

“Tsk, Helen Stewart, that prison is turning you into an negative old crone. There will be no acting involved, it’s a genuine ghost-hunting show. The makers are trying to prove the existence of an afterlife. If I didn’t think it was legitimate I wouldn’t have you do it.” Kenny looked sincere but Helen wasn’t buying it.

“Negative old crone I may be, be I am also a realist.”

“Pessimistic sceptic more like. Why don’t you believe?” Helen fell silent at Kenny’s question, her eyes dropping to her hands.


“I’ve just never had an experience to make me think otherwise and I doubt I ever will. So, can we please let it go so that I can get this pantomime over and done with?”

“Ok, but can I just say one thing before we go in? Just because you’ve never had an experience, it doesn’t make others who have less valid.” Kenny gave her the gentle fatherly reprimand. “And one other word of advice, don’t let Nikki Wade hear you debunking all things paranormal…she’ll have your head on a platter!” Helen furrowed her brows.

“Who’s Nikki Wade?”

“What planet have you been living on, Helen! Nikki Wade! Medium to the stars! Spiritualist-extraordinaire! She makes John Edward look like Jay Leno.”

“Those names mean nothing to me.” Helen scoffed.

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me. The only “celebrity” you would recognise is the Home Secretary.” Kenny exited the car and took Helen’s bag from the trunk. “At least after tonight there will be ten more names added your list of pathetic showbiz knowledge, Nikki Wade being one of them.”

“I wouldn’t bet your money on it, Kenneth. I’m pretty sure when this weekend is over the name Nikki Wade will slip away easily from my memory bank. I have no reason to remember it.” Helen shrugged.

“Oh really? Let’s just see, shall we.” Kenny grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Right, Ms. Disbeliever…let’s finally get this show on the road…”

Great chapter great writing. would like more though. :dazzler :dazzler :dazzler

Chapter Three



The grand entrance hall at Bosworth could only be described as magnificent. With its sprawling spiral staircase as a centrepiece, marble flooring that caused an echo that went on forever and the period furnishings to set off the whole look. Immediately you felt transported back in time 500 years, to bodices and boudoirs, bloody battles and banquets. The only thing that tarnished the atmospherics slightly was the very much 21st century media paraphernalia that had been rigged up throughout for filming. But despite the crude disturbance from the television crew, Helen still felt the magic of the place against her will.


“Look!” Helen felt her reverie end with a nudge to the ribs from Kenny’s elbow. “Over there, in the corner with that guy with a clipboard and the cute peachy bum….that’s Nikki Wade, the medium. Isn’t she just glorious! If I had just the slightest bit of heterosexuality in me, I’d be asking her to take a look at my crystal balls, if you know what I mean…” Helen didn’t notice the cheeky wink that followed the statement for her eyes were glued to the tall brunette who looked deep in conversation.

“As uncouth as ever, Kenny.” Helen finally broke her gaze, aware that she was staring a little too long for her own liking.

“You know, ghosts aren’t the only spirits she deals with. She runs a club in Soho…women only of course; very exclusive. I did however manage to get in once.” Kenny gave a smug grin.

“How did you manage that?”

“Ah, all in the name of drag, darling. With a Versace gown and these cheek bones, the world is your oyster.”

“So what else do you know about this Nikki Wade?”

“Oh darling, where do I start? I could write a book on that little piece of perfection over there.”

“The basics will do just fine,” Helen fixed Kenny with a warning glare. “I don’t need her life story.”

“Well…” He paused for effect. “Obviously she’s a lesbian…”

“Really? It wasn’t that obvious to me.” Helen had trouble hiding the shock from her face.

“That’s because you’re the worst type of heterosexual…the kind that is oblivious to all things G A Y.” Kenny spelt the word for effect.

“I am not! And I am appalled at the assumption.”

“Ok, then name someone who is gay…”

“Ellen DeGeneres!” Helen shouted the name in a fit of excitement at actually being able to answer, in turn forgetting the echo of the rooms acoustics and her cheeks reddened as she gained a huge audience, including Nikki.

“Tsk, not someone famous, someone you know…”

“You…”

“I don’t count…” Helen’s face went blank as she tried to think.

“See! Heterosexual to the core, with a broken gaydar into the bargain.”

“There are some lesbian women in my care at Larkhall,” Helen added feebly.

“Being prison bent doesn’t count….that’s just a sexual inevitability.”

“Can we just drop this ridiculous conversation now, please.” Helen snapped agitatedly, her jaw tightening so hard that Kenny could hear the grinding of teeth.

“Fine, whatever you say.” Kenny’s nose was out of joint, but it didn’t take him long to bounce back with enthusiasm. “Anyway, despite her sexuality, I’m sure you will get along just great with Nikki. She’s a bit of a firecracker too.”

“I hope that “too” isn’t in reference to me.” Helen raised her eyebrows and Kenny shrugged coyly, but before he could get a sarcastic comment past his lips a body edged it’s way in between them.

“Ms. Stewart, how very lovely to meet you. I‘m Eric Roberts, the producer of “High Spirits“.” The man extended his hand, which Helen took in her own and shook, but she didn’t get the chance to return the greeting as Eric continued his speech. “As you can imagine, we are on a very tight schedule here, as the programme is going out live tonight at 9pm and time is of the essence. We already have the live warm-up show airing at the moment, building up for the main show in one hour. So, if I could just get you to your room quickly to deposit you belongings and get you over to the greenroom to get yourself acquainted with the fellow celebrities. We like you all to build up a rapport beforehand. It makes our job easier in the long run.” Helen nodded obediently, but Eric could tell from her sombre expression that she was going to be hard work; much to his chagrin. Spoilt celebs were the bane of his life. “Great, just follow Domenic here and he’ll show you the ropes.” A tall, blondish man, who looked no older than 25 appeared from the sidelines and took Helen’s bag from her. “Helen, this is Domenic McAllister, from the decorating show, Makeover Challenge. He’s been here helping us set up Bosworth Hall to create the proper ambience and has kindly agreed to take over from a celebrity who dropped out earlier today.” Domenic gave Helen a shy smile which she politely returned. The poor lad looked a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, not at all like one of these showbiz types that relished the attention and the glaring rays of the spotlight. “And you…” Eric turned to glare at Kenny. “You can join the other managers in the Winnebago outside.”

“A Winnebago? That’s a glorified caravan.” Helen smiled at her friends arrogant and disgruntled whisper. Maybe spending three days cooped up in a cold, sterile mobile home with nine other men just like himself would teach him a valuable lesson. With a quick air-kiss the pair went their separate ways; Kenny to his worst nightmare, and Helen to hers.



~*~


The Greenroom that had been allocated for the purpose of relaxation between filming was no bigger than Helen’s kitchen at home, yet it was crammed full of loitering people, smoking, and drinking the cheap complimentary wine supplied by production. A few faces she instantly recognised from reality television shows, but the majority were foreign to her. She had no doubt they were “famous” for something or other, but she had no clue what. Kenny was right. Her knowledge of all things celebrity was pitiful, and was sure to cause a few red faces when she had to ask who people were and what they did. It was a good thing she had Domenic on side to help out, but to be honest he looked just as clueless as she did.


“Right, folks, can I have your attention.” The authoritive voice of Eric their producer rang around the room and the noisy chattering of the crowd subsided as all attention focused on him. “We are 30 minutes away from going live, and before we do, I want to hand you over to Nikki Wade, our Spiritualist Medium, for her to give you a short brief on tonight’s proceedings.” Eric stood back and the slender brunette whom earlier Helen had been transfixed by took his place.

“Hi ladies and gents…as Eric said, for those of you who don’t know, I’m Nikki Wade…”

“Anyone who doesn’t know who you are must be brain-dead…” The flirty interruption from a tall blonde at the back of the room caused a few giggles amongst the group, but Helen just sneered and took an instant dislike to the woman, whom she knew to be Caroline Lewis, a sneaky showbiz gossip columnist who had slated her a few times.

“Thanks Caroline, but I’m sure that’s not true.” Nikki shot her a polite modest smile. “Anyway, i want to give you a few guidelines that I hope you can all stick by. I know not all of you here tonight are believers, but still I would like full cooperation. Spiritualism is by no means a game, despite how it is portrayed in the media, this show included, and I want you all to try and respect that. I also want you to be aware that although spirits cannot harm you, there is still an element of danger involved. That’s why I’ve chosen to put everyone in pairs for the duration of the show. That includes sleeping arrangements, there will be two people to each room. Please try at all times to stay in these pairs because if you don’t and something occurs, we cannot be held responsible. And lastly…have fun. Does anyone have any questions?” Nikki scanned the room for a response but most seemed quite satisfied at what they had heard…all except one person, whose hand was in the air.

“Yes…?” Nikki struggled to place the face with a name.

“Helen Stewart….about these sleeping arrangements…I can’t say I’m too happy about it. How do we know who we’re sharing with?” It didn’t take long for Nikki to work out who Helen Stewart was. She recognised her as the ball-breaking Governor from the prison docu-drama that her ex-girlfriend Trisha had been so engrossed in. But Nikki had far from enjoyed the programme. She thought the regime at Larkhall was appalling, the women in the care of incompetent officers treated atrociously and the portrayal of lesbians in jail grossly misinformed for the basis of entertainment. And from what she could see, Helen Stewart was the problem around which Larkhall orbited.

“Well, M’am, no one else seems to have issue with it, and I’m sure if you hadn’t been late in making an appearance you would know by now who you were being shacked up with.” Nikki could see Helen’s cheeks redden and her jaw vise together and inwardly grinned. “But if you come with me now I’ll check.” The nine others huddled back into their group to resume their excited chatter and Helen followed Nikki as requested.

“Ah…” Nikki cast her eyes over a sheet of paper which was clamped securely in a clipboard. “It seems the ratio of men to women has meant you’ll be sharing with Domenic McAllister. Hope you don’t mind.” Again Nikki smiled in to herself. Her Majesty, Helen Stewart, Queen of Scots was getting a taste of her own medicine.

“As a matter of fact, I do bloody mind. I can’t share a room, or a bed with a guy I hardly know! And I’m sure that sneaky poor-excuse for a journalist, Caroline Lewis would have a field day with the knowledge. I can see the headline now… “Prison officer and a gentleman,”.


“I see your problem, and if it helps, the left-hand side of my bed is free. But I’m sure sharing with me would pose as much of a threat to you. So it’s up to you, a man or a lesbian? Take your pick. “Prison officer and a gentleman” is a lot better, I’m sure, than “Lusty Lesbian Handcuffed By Governor.” Nikki said hoping to put Helen Stewart off her guard. But she was sorely disappointed as Helen seemed to ponder for a moment, but her mind was already made up.

“I’ll take the risk…but I want the right-hand side.” Both women smiled stonily at each other, and it wouldn’t be long before they were replaced by scowls.

Thanks, SIAA :)

very enticing updates....

I can't wait to see how this plays out. Thanks for the updates. :clap

Thx for the update,the dance begins more please. :clap :clap :clap

The update dance worked :) Here's the next bit.... :D



Chapter Four



“Five, four, three, two, one…on-air.”

“Welcome to all our viewers, I’m Yvonne Atkins, this is High Spirits live from Bosworth Hall and these are our ten celebrities, about to be famous and frightened on our Halloween special!” Yvonne Atkins, the flame-haired television presenter, renowned for her honest, forthright approach to journalism, made her introductions flawlessly without fault. Live TV was daunting at the best of times, but Yvonne didn’t know the meaning of the word nervous. As far as she was concerned, if you fucked up, you fucked up. There was no point stressing over the little things in life, not when there was much bigger fish out there to fry. Reality TV wasn’t her cup of tea, but she had taken on the job as its main face as a favour to Nikki Wade. Nikki had started out as her spiritual advisor after her son Ritchie had taken his own life, and now they were firm friends.


“Bosworth Hall is a Tudor mansion, built in 1545 for Lord James Bosworth, second-cousin of Henry VIII. The house may look the picture of grandeur and serenity, but the history books tell a very different story. Murder, corruption, and dark-secrets lurk in the shadows…but can our teams of celebrities, with the help of Medium Nikki Wade, uncover the clandestine goings-on within these walls? We have three days to investigate.”

“CUT TO VT! 5 MINUTES” the producer screamed his command and the signal of being off-air, everyone dropped their professional fronts to have a hasty catch-up.

“Nikki, love…long time no see…you’re looking better than ever. Dumping that cheating harlot must’ve done ya the world of good.” As Yvonne and Nikki embraced and caught up, Helen’s ears pricked up, against her will and better judgement, and without seeming to be nosy, she listened in. Another little titbit in the life of Ms Wade, which by all accounts, seemed to be quite coloured…unlike her own, which was decidedly beige and dull.


“3 MINUTES!” The producer screamed into the air.


“You don’t seem to be scared, Helen?” Helen turned sharply, caught off guard by the hand on her shoulder. When she saw who it belonged to she mentally sighed. She didn’t want idle chit chat with a dull twenty eight year old, she wanted to hear what Nikki Wade had to say for herself.

“That’s because to be scared you first have to believe…and I certainly don’t.” Helen sounded almost irate, which made Domenic nervous.

“I’m a bit the same myself,” He smiled, thought not quite convincingly. “I’m an open-minded sceptic. I’ll believe it when I see it.” Helen raised an eyebrow, but bit down on her terse response, as he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and there was something familiar about him, but she could not put her finger on it.

“ONE MINUTE, FOLKS…EVERYONE GATHER IN THE MAIN SITTING ROOM.”

The crowd went quiet and began to disperse to the first location of the evening, with Helen dragging behind unenthusiastically, and Domenic by her side like a shadow.

The red light flashed on the camera and the ten celebrities, along with Yvonne and Nikki stood stagnant before it whilst Yvonne delivered her script, drawing the viewers in with its mystic undertones.

Everyone in the room listened with bated breath and building excitement - all except Helen who seemed decidedly bored. She wasn’t listening to a word that was being said, instead choosing to silently pray to any Deity who would listen, that a riot would break out at Larkhall and give her the excuse to drop out of this farce - but so far no one had taken her up on her wish.

“Nikki, what can we expect from tonight’s show?” Yvonne questioned and Helen finally came back to reality when the tall Londoner spoke in a soft capturing voice.

“Well, hopefully some conclusive proof that will prove the existence of life after death, and with a little bit of luck we can convince some of our sceptics to change their minds.” Nikki turned to make split second eye contact with Helen, who felt like she had just been reprimanded by one of her parents. If it hadn’t been for the fact they were going out live, she would have stood up and defended her beliefs, but instead she reluctantly bit her tongue. There would be plenty of time to set Ms Wade straight.

“I took a tour of the Hall earlier today, and I must say there is plenty of activity going on. We won’t be short of scares this weekend.” Uncomfortable laughter echoed around the room, drowning out Helen’s grunt of contempt. As far as she was concerned, this weekend was no more than a 72 hour ride on a theme park ghost train - fake, foolish and incredibly futile.

“I want to start the evening by splitting the group into two. One half will join me in the cellar for a séance, and the rest will go to meet guest medium Julie Saunders in the gardens, where the figure of a lady in white has been seen taking a leisurely stroll in the dark.” Nikki grinned widely and Yvonne took over.

“Right folks, join us back here in three minutes to see if we can capture our first televised ghost, and to find out what our mediums have to say on the spirits of Bosworth Hall.”

The red light on the camera dimmed and with little time to spare, Nikki began to break the team up.

“When I call your name, come stand by me. If I don’t call your name, follow the runner out into the grounds.” Nikki began to survey the crowd for who she wanted on her team.

“Caroline Lewis,” The blonde journalist grinned smugly as she pushed her way towards Nikki. She wasn’t here just for the fun of it. She had many a hidden agenda and so far things were going exactly to her plan. And the idea of coping off with a certain dark-haired psychic in to the bargain made her feel like all her Christmases had come at once.

“Monica Lindsay,” The older woman was no stranger to reality TV. She had been runner up on the popular BBC show, “The Apprentice,” and had been odds to win until a national newspaper had uncovered previous dodgy business dealings, dealings which almost landed the woman behind bars.

“Barbara Hunt,” Again, like Monica, Barbara was a woman in her late Fifties. An accomplished novelist whose fame was only achieved after she hit the headlines for the apparent mercy killing of her dying husband.

“Domenic McAllister,” Domenic ambled forward, giving Helen a backward glance. He was reluctant to leave her behind and she noticed. Please don’t pick me. She thought to herself.

“And finally, Helen Stewart,” Helen had known it was coming. For her luck of late was non-existent, and if there were indeed such a thing as spirits, then she was sure they were mocking her from the other side. She ground her teeth and walked reluctantly after the others towards Nikki Wade.

“Karen, Thomas, Sean, Sylvia and Zandra - You’re all with Julie for the rest of this evening. Right,” Nikki turned to her group. “Follow me.” Nikki quickly led her team of five down the winding corridors in silence, followed by a lone cameraman and a boom operator who would be there to capture anything that chose to occur.

The walk to the basement of the hall seemed to go on for miles but, with little fuss, they finally made it.

“Less than 30 seconds to air.” The voice in Nikki’s earpiece advised and she passed the information on to the others as she had them sit in the chairs around a circular table in the darkened, chilly room.

As Helen took her position she glanced down to the wooden table which had letters strategically placed around it and a glass in the middle. Great, we’re playing teenage party games now. She thought irately as she noticed the manmade Ouija board. She remembered her friends making one and playing it out in the woods when they were kids and how she had pushed the glass to scare them - a feat easily achieved.

“Link hands please.” Nikki asked politely but with authoritarian command. She bent her head and began to mumble something unintelligible under her breath, but Helen caught the word “protection”. She eyes raised upward. In her opinion the only protection these people needed were from themselves; with the aide of straight jackets.

“We’re back on air, Yvonne’s doing her link back to you…get ready.” Nikki nodded to the invisible voice of her producer who was out in a Winnebago relating the information back to her.

“Put your fingers on the glass; gently.” Everyone did as ordered. Helen felt Monica’s body reverberate as she shivered next to her and she had to admit the temperature in the room had dropped in a matter of seconds. But ever the doubter, she put it down to nature. The room was a wine cellar, it was meant to be cold and besides, it was in the middle of the winter in a drafty old mansion.

“If there is someone there, could you please move the glass towards yes.” Nikki hadn’t even managed to finish her sentence when the tumbler began to edge across the table to the requested word. Domenic and Barbara gasped and Helen was tempted to laugh. She wasn’t pushing it herself, but she kept a firm watch on Nikki’s index finger to see exactly what it was doing. She didn’t trust this so-called medium one bit.

“Thank you.” Nikki gestured. “Can you tell us your name.” The glass stayed stagnant, which didn’t surprise Helen. “Did you once live here at Bosworth?” The glass shot towards No and Nikki raised her eyebrows. “Did you visit here regularly?” Again the reply was an instantaneous No.

“Are you here for someone at this table?” Nikki’s eyes followed the direction of the glass. “ Yes? Can you tell us who?” The minute the glass pointed at H, everyone turned their attention to Helen, who didn’t as much as flinch as it spelt out her name. What followed, however, made her back stiffen and her jaw tighten in rage.

“Mum?” Nikki asked and as she did Helen rose sharply from the table, pushing her chair roughly away with a loud scrape. And before anyone could try to intervene, she was off, out of the door, which slammed behind her.

OOh, great update :clap

Thanks for another great update.

Maybe Helen should have stayed a bit longer - it was probably spelling out "Helen luvs Nikki"!

More things that go bump in the night...though not our girls...yet ;)





Chapter Five



Nikki watched the retreating back of an extremely angry Helen and decided it was in everyone’s best interests to stop the séance and hand the show back over to Yvonne, who was presenting from one of the sitting rooms.

When she was sure the camera’s were off and now focusing on the team Julie Saunders had with her, she excused herself and went in search of her own disgruntled team member.

She retraced her steps back towards the main hub where they had all started off, making sure Yvonne wasn’t on air before she barged in like a bull in a china shop.

“Yvonne, did Helen Stewart come this way?” Yvonne shook her head in bewilderment.

“What the bleedin’ ‘ell happened? One minute she‘s fine and the next she‘s up and off, like a rocket up a cat‘s arse. The producer is fuming.” Nikki sighed, knowing all too well that the head of the production would come down on her like a ton of bricks for this major faux pas.

“It looks like we may have made contact with her mum, and I don’t know if she’s upset or angry, so that’s why I need to find her, or we will be one celeb’ down this weekend.” Yvonne nodded in acknowledgement and felt sorry for her friend. She knew how hard it was to pacify the media darlings whose blood flowed with showbiz.

“Try her manager. He should be in the production Winnebago with the others. If she’s so keen to go AWOL then she’ll need to speak to him first.” Nikki thanked her friend and set off running to the grounds outside where the oversized caravans were placed. By the time she had found the one she needed she was out of breath and desperate. Not only was her own career on the line, but Helen’s too. Publicity like this had ruined bigger stars.

“Helen Stewarts manager?” Nikki gasped out, low on oxygen, as she entered the production hub.

“Yes?” Kenny stood up, flattened his eye-sore suit, and ran a hand through his balding hair. He looked more flattered than worried. Celebrity medium plus drama equated to a very happy gay man.

“Have you seen her?” Kenny looked around him as though to check Helen hadn’t slipped into the room without him noticing.

“No. Should I have?” He placed his hand on his chest theatrically and in a rather high pitched voice full of false concern he said. “Is she Ok?”

“She will be when I find her. We’ve just had a bit of a… misunderstanding.” Relief coloured Kenny’s face and he giggled heartily, although Nikki couldn’t see the source of amusement.

“Ah, that sounds just like my Helen.” He squeaked heartily. “She calls me a drama queen, but where there is a squabble, Helen is always at the centre of it. I personally think she has issues…but of course she doesn’t tell me anything.” Kenny feigned a wounded look and went to carry on but Nikki cut him off. She didn’t have time for homosexual histrionics - she had enough of that at the club.

“I’ll bear that in mind, thanks.” She smiled sardonically and made a hasty retreat out of the cramped space, packed to the gunnels with sweaty, suited men and, as she sprinted back to the mansion building ,she racked her brains to where Helen could be. Then it dawned on her; the bedroom they were meant to share would be the ideal hiding place to go and calm down. So, with no further thinking required, that’s exactly where she headed.

Without chapping the door she burst into to see Helen sitting on the edge of the bed looking like a rabid dog awaiting its prey.


Instantly Helen was up and off the mattress to go for the jugular.

“How dare you use my mother as a form of entertainment.” Nikki tried to defend herself but couldn’t get a word in edge ways for the red-faced, ranting Scot. “If you want to showcase your “gift” then recruit some other mug, but don’t you dare involve me or my family.”

“You what?” Nikki scrunched her eyebrows together, confused at the misguided accusation.

“What did you do, Google all our names to find out our backgrounds? Did you think we were all stupid enough to fall for that bullshit? Maybe the others are, Nikki, but I most certainly am not. You picked the wrong fool this time!” Helen stopped her tirade to get some air back in her lungs and Nikki took the short opportunity to defend herself.

“You think I’m some bloody con-artist, who does my research before I read for people? You are way off the mark! You’re no fool, Helen, and I am certainly no fake. And I take massive offence to the suggestion.” Nikki felt her blood starting to boil proportional with her temper as she continued
“If you don’t believe in this fine, I won’t force you, but don’t ever again accuse me of not doing my job properly or accuse me of lying.”

“I’m just stating a fact. There is no way in earth that that was my mother moving the glass downstairs, for one thing, she is dead…dead and buried; gone; forever.” Helen was finding it hard to stay composed as her anger was replaced by the feeling of a deep-rooted sadness. The last thing she wanted to do now was break down in tears and make an idiot of herself in front of a relative stranger. She didn’t even allow herself to cry in front of the people she was closest to.

“If you really believe that, then I pity you, Helen.” Nikki shook her head in disappointment, no longer feeling angry either. What she felt now was the need to shake some much needed sense into the woman before her. People were entitled to their own opinions, unless they were wrong and then they needed set straight; just like Helen.

“You have your beliefs and I have mine, lets just agree to disagree.” Helen snapped back, almost petulantly. But Nikki wasn’t prepared to let it go. It was obvious Helen still thought she was a fraud and if there was one thing she couldn’t stand it was people doubting her ability.

So, like a spark to a flame, Nikki decided that, whether it was wanted or not, she would prove her ability.

Helen watched Nikki as she walked towards her case and pulled out a small laptop. She sat it unsteadily on her knees as she perched herself on the bed and motioned Helen to sit next to her; which, with reluctance she did.

Making full use of the wireless internet connection, Nikki pulled up a webpage and typed Helen’s name into the search bar before hitting enter and thrusting the mini-computer at her doubter.

“There, Miss Know-it-all…not one webpage with information on you…you don’t even have a bloody fan site!” Helen’s first reaction was to feel deflated at the suggestion no one cared enough about her to construct even a simple site for her, but that was quickly replaced by irritation.


“How do you know I have no fan pages if you haven’t already ran a search for me?” Helen questioned smugly, believing she had caught out this so-called medium in her tricks…but she couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Nikki‘s cheeks reddened at having been caught out, but it wasn’t at all due to what Helen was implying. She hadn’t been searching for information on the small Scot to dupe her; far from it. The actual truth was, whilst Helen’s prison documentary had been on air, Nikki had taken to her computer to find out more about the suit-wearing, stroppy blonde who had captured her attention. However, she had no idea how to explain herself without admitting to something that would give Helen Stewart the upper hand. So she decided to settle for a poor excuse that would drop her in the hole she had dug for herself.

“Well, I’m assuming, since the first page of links consist only of media retail sites.” Nikki tried to lie convincingly, but no one, herself included, believed the words that left her mouth. The challenging look in Helen’s eyes proved that.

“Don’t try and bullshit a bullshiter, Nikki.” Helen stood from the bed once more, picking up her suitcase from the floor as she did.

“I don’t share my bed with liar’s, so I think it’s best if I share a room with Domenic after all, don’t you?” The rhetorical question left Nikki without an answer. But inside she knew it wasn’t a good idea and wanted to scream the fact jealously in Helen’s face. Where that emotion came from, she didn’t know. But once again she had to sit and watch as Helen’s body walked out of the door ; and this time it felt like she had been kicked in the stomach.

She couldn’t stand the fact that this woman seemed to hate her. Any other person would have been told in no uncertain terms to go and take a long walk off a short pier…but she couldn’t bring herself to just brush Helen off so hastily.

She had two days left to try and convince Helen she wasn’t the conning-monster she thought her to be. All she would have to do would be to get Helen to listen to her and that, she knew, would be no easy task. For that she would have to pull out all the stops. But that didn’t seem to faze Nikki in the slightest. She smiled smugly, for she knew something about Helen Stewart that no other living soul did, and the cat was about to be let out of the bag.

aww fantastic hunni more soon please :D

Thanks SIAA. Lets just hope that it's not a curious cat ...... :)

Hey Karen. Great update, as usual :)

:silly oooo this is getting good!!! :popcorn great update by the way..... :D


:love2
---------------

Thanks Girls :wub:



Chapter Six




As Helen departed back to the bedroom she had originally been allocated, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. The long walk down the corridor was giving her time to think and she couldn’t help but feel she had been slightly too harsh with the tall Londoner. She hated being taken for a fool, but even more she hated how she herself always seemed to jump to conclusions and air them so readily.

It was true; there was little information out there on the world wide web about her, other than recognition for her prison work. Her private life was something she held close to her heart and not much of it had managed to be leaked to the press, not even her being known by the public after her appearance at the documentary about prisons. But still her rationale told her Nikki could have found out her mother was dead. It was hardly classified information. It could have been nothing more than a lucky guess on the mediums part, as a 35 year old woman, the odds of having at least one deceased parent was high.

The room was deathly silent as she entered. She closed the door, and the darkened room seemed to swallow her up, surrounding her with a grave silence. She sat down her small suitcase and looked around to take in the décor, which differed to the bedroom Nikki had. Helen could not help but feel a bit lost, being there on her own.

For the second time that evening she felt like she had stepped back two hundred years. Wood panelled walls, beamed ceilings, portraits of unfamiliar faces hung around the walls, all gave her a sense of nostalgia. But underlying was an eeriness that she couldn’t shake off. The room felt suddenly cold as an icy wind swept through it.

She shivered and clasped her hands onto her arms to bring up her body heat. The temperature had seemingly dipped dramatically and the cold air swirled closely around her. For a split second the inner child in her felt a fear and she quickly checked behind her to make sure no one was standing there watching her back. It certainly felt like there was a set of eyes boring into her.

She laughed nervously at herself and the irrational reaction she was having to her surroundings. It had been a long time since the idea of the bogeyman under her bed had managed to terrify the living daylights out of her. The only thing that could rouse terror in her these days were the postman and a wad of bills.


For her entire childhood she had had to listen to her Minister Father preach on about God, and the bible, heaven and hell. She had actually believed in it all - that was until the man her father adored so much decided to take her Mother cruelly away from her. Then she had stopped believing, much to her fathers disgruntlement. In fact they had never since agreed on the religious side of life. Well, they had never agreed on anything since, and they hardly spoke two words to each other.

So, aged seven, all notions of Angels with outstretched wings and halos sitting on fluffy clouds flew away and with it they took her belief of anything remotely ethereal, spiritual or Biblical.

For years after the death, she continued to pray to her mum, begging for some sign, any sign of life after death. She was desperate for proof that somewhere her mother was listening to her, that death was only a transition and didn’t mean the end - but no sign ever came. She had finally given up praying, and had become a firm non-believer. Death was final, the end of everything, and Helen was determined not to waste any more time on dead people.

So, the idea that after nearly thirty years her Mother had decided to communicate through a makeshift Ouija board, with a millionaire medium and not her, well it all just seemed preposterous. It had to be a con…wasn’t it?


The quick rasping knock of a chap at the bedroom door stirred Helen away from her reminiscing musings and gave her something new to fret over. She involuntarily cringed as the knock on the door was repeated with an impatient rhythm.


It had to be Nikki. Her stomach flipped at the thought, though she was unsure why. However, the idea of having another truculent argument with the woman wasn’t exactly a pleasant thought, but, it was not the only reason for the emerging butterflies at the pit of Helen’s stomach. She had a very hard time admitting it, but she actually felt herself strangely drawn towards the tall dark-haired woman.

“Time to put my tail between my legs and apologise.” She thought to herself as she edged towards the large wooden door.


“Listen, I’m sorry Nikki,” Helen said in a rush as she wrenched the heavy door open, but her voice soon trailed off. Instead of the tall medium, a small skinny girl with mousey coloured hair, pointed nose and an enormous headset making the head looking even smaller was standing just outside in the corridor. She looked a bit scared at the intimidating glare Helen gave her.

“Erm.. Ms Stewart…..” she finally managed to stutter. “I was sent here to ask, if you were participating in the second half of the show?”

Helen fought the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation. Did they not have anything else in their bloody minds than that fucking show? A second glance at the timid looking girl made her bite back the curt remark she had wanted to throw at her. Instead she said shortly through clenched teeth.

“No… I’m not going to participate…”

And with that she closed the door with a bang before the poor girl could raise another question.

Inwardly seething with unexplainable repressed anger, Helen started to pace up and down the floor. Why had she snapped at the girl? It was not her fault that the producers only thought was focused on making money by luring innocent people into reality shows like this one.

Helen started to consider why she always erupted in these angry outbursts, not only now but also previously when confronted with the ghost of her dead mother. She did not like what her conscious came up with. Facing her inner most demons was, to say the least, unnerving for her. She felt naked and exposed with all these unfamiliar people so close to her. She folded her arms protectively around herself and starred out of the window into the darkening garden, the blood red sun just visible on the horizon.

Her mind wandered back to a time not that long ago. With her mother gone, she was alone with her father. That alone made her different from most of her classmates at school. Adding to the fact that her father was the minister of their small community she had automatically become something special, though not in a way she relished. It had been hard for her to make friends as most of the children in the small village had been terrified by her father, hearing him promise death, destruction and punishment from the pulpit in the church every Sunday. She had felt utterly different from all her peers, but she did not want it to be that way. She wanted to fit in, to be like any of the other kids, even if she knew she was not, and never could be.

Things had not improved as she moved on to high school. She had still felt like a social outcast, but in her effort to be like the others she had denied her true self. She had pretended to be something she was not. She had gone from boyfriend to boyfriend never feeling satisfied or genuinely happy. Nor had she been in love with any of them. She had liked them, but never had she felt the emotion of true love. She knew the real reason behind it, but was not inclined to admit it, not even to herself. Even less so when one of her only friends, Dennis, had been driven to commit suicide after being taunted and humiliated for being Homosexual In an age when it was still frowned upon. It didn’t help that it was a narrow-minded and bigoted community she had grown up in, her father been the main reason as he had encouraged his flock to despise the free spirits and alternative minds of the town.

Helen had been so deeply immersed in her thoughts that she had not noticed the darkness in the room nor that the heavy door had opened behind her. She gave a tiny gasp as the light suddenly flicked on and bathed the room in a blinding white light that stung at her pupils. Helen spun around and stared into the pale face of Dominic, who looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Helen…” he stammered. “What are you doing here?”

“Going to sleep…” Helen said pressing her lips together and picking up her back. With determined movements she pulled out her nightdress, her toilet kit and a dressing gown and pushed past a dumbfounded Dominic, into the en suite bathroom.

Dominic heard the distinct click from the heavy lock as Helen turned the key. He was stunned. Not only had he been shocked to find her there, expecting to be on his own, but the very thought of having to spend the entire night in the same bed as Helen Stewart was intimidating. He was not sure if he could hide his attraction to her. He had glimpsed the light purple nightdress and the images it created in his imagination ran rampant making blood flood to parts of his body where it was not supposed to be, unless he wanted to embarrass himself in front of her. He desperately tried to think of a way out of his predicament, but none came to mind.

To be true, he had desperately hoped for an opportunity to be alone with Helen and even more so to be able to spend a night with her, but now when it was actually happening, he could not for his life find anything appropriate to say or do. His brain had stopped working and rendered him speechless, only dreams of him holding and kissing Helen found their way to the surface and made the pressure in his trousers even harder to bear.

Helen swept out of the bathroom, casting a quick glance at Dominic, who flushed a deep red, as he was sure she had looked somewhere beneath his belt, and quickly got under the covers of the bed.

“Goodnight,” she said hastily and turned out the light of her bedside lamp.

Dominic murmured something incomprehensively and hurried into the bathroom, where he stayed for an age. Or so it seemed to Helen, who had fallen asleep when he finally emerged. He carefully crawled into the bed and rolled on to his side away from Helen as not to wake her up, casting just one last longing look at her porcelain cheek before he did so.



* * * * * * *


In a daze Helen half crept and half rolled out of the vast king sized four poster bed she had shared with Dominic, who did not stir, but happily slept on despite Helen’s thrashing around. She felt the cold sweat trickle down her back leaving icy traces on her bare skin underneath the silky light purple nightdress she wore. The perspiration lay as a fine film all over her alabaster skin. She heaved for air in the clammy room and quickly grabbed a bottle of water from the dressing table with a shaky hand. It’s cool liquid softened her dry lips and took the edge off the cold sweat that had overcome her during sleep.


Helen did not know what made her walk to the door and open it, but a sudden urge to speak to Nikki made her lose track of her better senses. It may have been a little after 3am, yet time was not enough to make her turn back and reconsider her actions. Like invisible hands were on her back, pushing her forward, she tiptoed down the winding corridors until she got to the room marked “The Tudor Suite“.


With a sharp, deep intake of reassuring air, Helen raised her balled-fist and rapped quietly on the door, slowly at first, until she got no response and she picked up speed and vigour.

“What the f…” A bleary-eyed and dishevelled Nikki yanked the door wide open, the look on her face enough to make Helen take a step back from what could end in a black eye.

“Nikki, I’m sorry, I wanted to say that, well, I’m sorry…the way I spoke to you earlier was bang out of order.”

“And you waited until 3:20am to tell me this? Thanks Helen, much appreciated.” Nikki drawled sarcastically. “Is that all?”

Helen didn’t answer immediately. Instead she took a moment to contemplate whether to say it was and walk away, or bite the bullet and explain the real reason why she had taken it upon herself to make such an untimely appearance.

So, with the silence between them growing more awkward by the second, she made a snap decision. She slid in past the gap Nikki had left by the door frame and pulled the dark-haired woman with her. There were things that need said, and they needed said now.

:silly O.M.G... i must know what those things are!! great updaye by the way.. cant wait.. no i mean it ... i cant wait.....lol.... :dazzler :silly

:love2

:wub: Please update soon!!! :wub: Thanks for another great update.

Thanks for the update ..... but you always stop too soon!

Love it, K :)

Another update - sorry it took as long :D



Chapter Seven



Nikki was still half-asleep and dazed when she felt Helen shimmy past her at the door and grab her arm. She hazily rubbed her eyes as though it would make her have a better grasp on the situation, but she was further bamboozled when she saw Helen climb into the unoccupied side of her double bed. Helen Stewart was a conundrum she didn’t think she had the energy to solve.


“What in the hell are you doing?” She questioned somewhat more tetchily than she wanted to come across.

“What does it look like.” Helen retorted, equally as impatient.

“It looks like you’re getting into my bed, but what’s puzzling me is why!” Nikki looked around the room to see if there was a hidden camera, convinced that this was someone’s idea of a wind up.

“Well, you started all of this, so therefore it’s your responsibility.” Helen pulled the duvet over her torso and crossed her arms.

“Eh? You’ve lost me, Helen. Started what? And what exactly is my responsibility?” Nikki furrowed her brow as she racked her brains for what she could have possibly done. But nothing at all came to mind.

“How did you know my Mother was dead?” Helen ignored Nikki’s questions and asked her own instead.

“Oh not this again. Listen, Helen, I told you before, I’m a medium…there is no other explanation. And since you don’t believe me when I say that, there is nothing else left to discuss.” Nikki gestured towards the door, signalling that Helen should get up and leave.

“And what if I do believe you?” Helen ignored the gesture and stayed put under the warmth of the covers.

“You believe me?!” Nikki’s eyes widened in feigned shock.

“I never said that, I said what if…” Helen corrected her.

“Nope, you’ve lost me again, Helen…” Nikki scrunched her eyebrows together, trying to make some kind of sense of this disjointed conversation.

“I saw something tonight,” Helen paused to replay the memory in her head, as if she could make sense of it and explain it off as delusion. “I saw my mum at the bottom of my bed and she was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t hear her.” The second the words left Helen’s mouth she laughed and pulled the duvet away from her. “Oh this is just craziness. I was obviously dreaming. Sorry to disturb you Nikki.”

“No wait.” Nikki held her hand up and Helen halted in removing herself from the bed.

“What?”

“Tell me what you saw.” Nikki perched herself on the edge of the bed., genuinely interested in what Helen had to say. Helen may have doubted what her own eyes had seen, but Nikki didn’t.

“It was nothing really.” Helen sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I was sleeping, but not deeply. I could hear Domenic snoring and I guess that’s what roused me. It was dark but I could see a light shining into the room from under the door. When I looked over I could see a shadow, and…oh I don’t know, for a split second I could have sworn my mum was standing there mouthing something to me. When I sat up to get a proper look she was gone.”

“And you were frightened?” Nikki questioned and tried not to sound patronising, but still Helen jumped on the defensive.

“Well wouldn’t you be! Forget that, it was a stupid question. Of course you aren’t frightened by it, you’re a medium.”

“I still get scared sometimes.” Nikki valiantly admitted. “It’s human nature to feel fear now and again. Nothing to be ashamed of, Helen.”

“Well I do feel ashamed. You know I don’t believe in stuff like this, and to have a reaction like I’m having…it’s ludicrous.” Helen shook her head. She didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or irate. “It’s got to be psychosomatic, I’m reacting to my surroundings.” Helen’s statement was said in a way that made Nikki believe it was more a question the Scot wanted answered. Nikki smiled at the sight of the pleading eyes.

“That I can’t tell you, but what I can is that seeing spirits at the bottom of your bed isn’t a rare occurrence. Throughout history there’s has been thousands of documented sightings exactly like yours. Whether they are figments of the imagination, or actual sightings of a spirits, well, that’s for the person to decide.”

“Very diplomatic for you, I must say. I thought you would be champing at the bit to convince me I’d seen my Mother.”

“I’m not here to prove anything, I’m here to do a TV show. Personally, I don’t care if people believe, because I do, and that’s all that matters to me.” Helen nodded. “Of all people you should understand belief…your father was a minister, was he not?” Helen stopped nodding and looked straight into Nikki’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, that wasn’t a psychic vision, I remembered you mentioned it on the documentary.” Nikki grinned playfully and Helen noticeably relaxed.

“You almost converted me then,” Helen laughed and let out a sigh of relief, but it didn’t last long. Again she looked up into Nikki’s eyes.

“Why do I feel like you’re reading my soul when you look at me?” The atmosphere in the room instantly intensified thanks to Helen’s huskily spoken words.

Nikki didn’t know how to answer the question. In fact, until now she hadn’t been fully aware of the way she had been looking at Helen whenever she was in her company. What she did know though was that the mere sight of the small blonde made her heart lurch and her thoughts drop into the gutter.

“You’re very perceptive.” Nikki managed to utter, but now it was Helen’s eyes that were doing the intense staring and she was growing nervous under her gaze. So much so she had to look away. She drew her eyes down to the hands she was anxiously wringing.

“What?” Helen furrowed her brow as she watched Nikki. She had an Honours degree in psychology and, as Nikki had so rightly observed, she was perceptive thanks to it.

Helen’s question broke into Nikki’s thoughts of how she could this woman away from her. She needed a respectable distance put between them, for she didn’t know if she could be held responsible for her actions if she allowed her to stay. Helen Stewart was delectable - Nikki had always thought so. But right here, right now, within touching and tasting distance, Nikki was beginning to lose track of her better senses.

Nikki shook her head as way of answer and pulled her hands apart, realising her awkward body language had been spotted.

Helen watched the entwined fingers break apart and drew her eyes up the woman’s torso. It was the first time she had noticed Nikki was wearing no more than a tiny pair of short and a tight fitting spaghetti-strapped top. She felt all too familiar stirrings start to consume her and like she always did, she pushed them away to the furthest recesses of her mind. She didn’t want to believe that only a woman could make her feel so physically and emotionally turned on - the way Nikki was making her feel right now.


But as much as she tried to shut it out, her brain felt hypnotised and her eyes continued to wander upwards. Nikki’s breasts - Nikki’s lips - Nikki’s eyes. Her imagination began to conjure erotic images that she was enjoying far too much for being heterosexual. Those breasts gently swaying against her own as the deep brown eyes penetrated her soul, seconds before the perfectly shaped lips made a passionate assault on her mouth.

Nikki finally lifting her head to meet her gaze shook her awake like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her. She held the stare momentarily and without another word spoken she turned to the bedside lamp and switched it off.

“Goodnight, Nikki,” Were the last words she uttered as she shimmied under the protective confines of the duvet and turned on to her side to think of anything other than the tall, dark, gorgeous Nikki Wade.

Thanks for another great update, simoneisanangel.

For some odd reason, I think Helen's going to get even less sleep in “The Tudor Suite“! :)

That was a fantastic update!!! :clap :clap :) cant wait for the next one!!!!!

Awesome update :clap waiting patiently for the next one, thanks :hug2

Great update as always Karen :)

Awesome story!!!!!!!!!! :hug2