The rising sun was casting violet light around the fringes of a loured cloud as Matthew unlocked the backdoor and entered the warmth of his house. He ran upstairs and pulled clothes out of drawers; he then pushed them into a black holdall. Wait, a minute! Where was he going? What of his work? The Maas valley, that’s in Holland, yeah that’s right - Maastricht, he thought.
At half-past eight Matthew phoned the library. “Brian its Mattie here, listen something’s come up, I must go away for a few days.”
“Okay Matt. Anything I can do to help?”
“No, but thanks, it’s a sick relative in England.” Matthew lied.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that; we’ll see you when you get back.”
Next, he thumbed through old travel brochures he had lying on the shelf under the coffee table.
With his fear of flying another option was to take the ferry.
He booked himself on the next available crossing from Newcastle to Amsterdam which was, the next day at six PM.
Matthew then phoned Jane. “Hi, listen Jane, I’m going away for a while.”
“Eh! Where are you going?”
“Remember what I told you on the events at the cliffs, and the attack on my house.”
“Oh yeah, your ghosts,” she scoffed.
“Yeah well, it’s more serious now, and I must go to Holland.
“Holland!” Jane exclaimed. “I’m coming,” she continued.
“No, it will be dangerous.”
“I’m coming,” she affirmed. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow,” he sighed, “if you must come meet me at the railway station at half-past eight in the morning.”
Matthew phoned the shipping company and booked Jane onto the ferry. He then went upstairs to resume packing and have a shower. On the way up the stairs, he was thunderstruck. What about the men observing the house?
In his bedroom he paced back and forward. He decided he would head into work and make things look as normal as possible. So he dressed and then headed off trying to look as if he had slept-in.
At the library he knocked on Brian’s door.
“Brian I’m taking the sleeper to London tonight so I thought I’d come into work.”
“Good to see you Matt, but you didn’t have to bother if you needed to pack or something.”
“Nah that’s done... thanks, anyway.”
After work Matthew walked up Ponderlaw Street, then turned right and walked through a passage into Bellevue Gardens, which was a residential scheme of late nineteen sixties bungalows.
Number seventeen was a well-kept detached house with a low privet hedge which surrounded a neat garden. The pathway along which Matthew walked looked as if it had been swept twice that day.
He went round the back and knocked on the door. After a short while a small plump woman with old fashioned curlers in her hair answered.
“Hello Mum.”
“Mattie, come in; what a pleasant surprise.”
“Is Dad in?” he asked as he walked through the kitchen into the hall.
“He’s in the living-room as usual.”
“Hi Da,” Matthew said, taking a seat looking out the large rear window over a perfect back garden.
“Matt, it’s good to see you son.”
Bob Wilson was a retired bricklayer. He had the typical weathered facial skin of a man who had stood outside most of his working life.
“How’s it going?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, fine.”
“Do you want a cup of tea Mattie? Betty Wilson asked.
“Nah, just a flying visit Mum.”
“Always just a flying visit,” she sighed.
“Dad, Mum, this might sound stupid, but I’ve been having vivid dreams.”
Bob glanced at his wife with worry in his eyes. She returned the look with a ‘tell him’ nod.
“I wondered when this would start,” said Bob.
“Then it’s true; about the line?” Matthew quizzed.
“I don’t know about any line, but when I was younger than you are now, I was told I would have dreams where a man or woman would come seeking my help. At first it scared the you know what out of me; my mother told me to forget about it, but they kept coming back year after year, some nights I'd wake up screaming.”
“Yes, but Mattie you must try to do the same,” pleaded his mother.
“It’s a bit late for that now because the dreams have come alive.”
“Oh no!” she cried.
“Matthew, listen son, don’t you do anything daft… I mean it son,” stressed his father.
“I won’t, I’ll forget about it,” he lied.
“Before she died, your grandmother told me I would pass the dreams on to you, that’ll be the line you’re talking about,” said Bob.
“I’m going off on a short break with Jane to London.”
“Good idea, I like that girl; you two should get married,” said Betty.
As he walked along the pathway, he glimpsed a black Citroen parked down the road. It’s them, they wouldn’t bother my parents? he thought. Nah, anyway my old man would have those two for his breakfast.