During the week Molly had organised with Kirsty to do her interview on Saturday. Kirsty had invited them to share lunch. She and her brother lived in a cottage near the beach at Paekakariki, a quaint village on the Kapiti Coast just north of Wellington. Kirsty travelled by train to work. Being a student and working part time, a car was not a priority and besides she could get wherever she wanted to by public transport, her bike or hitch hiking.
The little one bedroom cottage was nestled on the side of a hill amongst established pohutakawa trees* with a breathtaking view over the beach in the distance. Inside, the cottage was open planned, one large room containing a daybed, dining table, two arm chairs, a smaller table, and a TV. Through a door was the bedroom and beyond that the bathroom. Outside on the back verandah was a cupboard style laundry containing washtub, machine and drier. On the front verandah which looked out over the coast were two wicker chairs, a matching table and a hammock slung between two verandah posts. The cottage was the original building now redecorated but retaining its original retro feel and a part of a larger property where her landlords lived in the house closer to the road. As their family had grown they had built the larger house. She liked this arrangement, it made her feel safe living on her own. Her brother had come to stay, recovering from an illness to which she had not yet named.
Being a warm day, Kirsty had the French doors onto the veranda open and they ate lunch outside overlooking the treetops to the beach. Kirsty’s brother, James, looked quite unwell, but was happy to meet Molly and Will and share lunch with them. He was quiet and withdrawn. Despite this, Molly sensed a brightness to his eyes and a gentle feel to him. Although she also sensed something unnerving in the house, she could not put her finger on what it was. She caught glimpses of what appeared to be a dark shadow following James around. It had no shape or form to it, but it felt slightly sinister and unsettling despite James’s calm energy. He seemed unaware of this.
Molly had offered to help make lunch with Kirsty giving Will the opportunity to take some casual and random photos for his portrait of Kirsty for the book. James put some music on which helped everyone feel a little more at ease. After lunch, Molly suggested to Kirsty that they go for a walk on the beach, leaving the boys to discuss a common interest in digital photography. James had been studying graphic design until he became unwell, but was hopeful of continuing his studies once he had some of his energy back. Kirsty took Molly to a pathway she liked to walk, which led them through a reserve and directly onto the beach. She liked the privacy of this rather than walking along the road.
Kirsty had a gentle demeanour to her, a quiet achiever, eager to please. Molly sensed an underlying tiredness to the bubbly persona that she presented to the outside world. Molly thought walking on the beach may help her to open up a little. Kirsty and James was born in Hamilton. Their parents separated when she was five, her mother removing the children from an abusive relationship and a court order was placed on her father, whom they did not see again. Apparently he left to live with his new girlfriend in Australia. She still had not heard from him, nor wanted to contact him. Memories of her childhood haunted her occasionally, and talking about this, Molly could feel her energy withdraw.
“So tell me about your studies”, Molly changed the subject to shift the focus. Kirsty was in her second year of studying Fine Arts at University in Wellington and she loved it. She was a keen learner, hungry for new experiences. But for such a young person, there was a heaviness that sat on her shoulders. Walking along the beach talking about her passion, Molly could feel Kirsty relaxing into her company a little more.
“And what are your dreams Kirsty? Your wildest dreams?” asked Molly.
“Oh that’s easy!” Kirsty replied, becoming more animated. “I want to study art in Paris! I want to travel the countryside in the south of France, to meet the people who have lived there for generations and those who may be new to the area. I also love to write, I think that’s why my assignments come so easy. I have no idea how this can happen, but I feel it in my bones. It will happen, I have no doubt about it.” Her energy shifted and the weight on her shoulders lifted temporarily. Then Molly felt it drop again.
“Kirsty, what do you think of The Little Book Publishing Company? If it were your business, is there anything you would change?” Molly enquired, as they walked along the dark coloured sandy beach.
“Oh they are like family to me! What Tom and Delilah have created is awesome! They care for us like family and it pays off coz everyone wants to give their best. It’s a fun place to work, and even the cleaning is fun because it is such cool place to clean! I love the quirkiness and I wouldn’t want to work anywhere else. There is such a feeling of freedom and creativity, and its good to know that someone will always listen to you. Even the clients who come to the office are interesting. They always include me in staff meetings too, and appreciate what I have to say. No, there is nothing I would want to change, nor would I want to run the business myself. They are doing a great job at it. My heart yearns for Paris. Whether it is the dream of it or the actuality of it, I am not sure. But the dream of it helps me through the rough patches…” Kirsty stops walking, staring down at the ground, she buried her toes nervously into the sand, clenching her hands into tight fists, only just able to hold her emotions in check. Molly watched on silently as a large stray tear dropped into the grey coloured sand, making a black spot where it landed.
“Oh honey, what is it that weighs heavy on your heart?” she asked Kirsty, putting her arm around her, wanting her to feel better. Somehow talking to a stranger is so much easier, maybe its because they don’t know the story already.
“It’s James. You know he is unwell. Well, that is kinda true, yes he is unwell and he is recovering…..from addiction to methamphetamine.” Unable to hold it together any longer, Kirsty buries her head into Molly shoulder and sobs uncontrollably, the wild wind on the beach carrying her tears and sadness out across the ocean. Molly held her, the empathy she felt for this young woman, not much more than a girl really, overwhelmed her, but she remembered the importance of holding the energy of Love when someone is in this kind of space. So Molly said nothing and just held Kirsty tight, the wind swirled sand around their feet. Molly felt the strong nurturing presence of Spirit People. When the sobbing subsided to hiccoughs, they both began to giggle.
“Oh wow, where did that come from?” asked Kirsty, looking up and smiling slightly at Molly.
“Kirsty, are you doing this on your own or do you have any support?”.
“Well, kinda both. I have the experience from taking care of my mother. When I was 13 she went through addiction and rehab. She’s good now, and runs her own business, has a small shop and studio at Petone repurposing stuff. But she is not ready to deal with James, coz, well he is not long come out of rehab. He is doing well and is determined to create a whole new life for himself. He was studying in Auckland, but has put that on hold. He does not want to return there and will see if he can pick up his studies either externally or from Wellington. But he isn’t ready to do that just yet. His body has taken a beating and Rehab are assisting him with outside care through a nutritionalist and psycho therapist.”
Feeling more at ease now, Kirsty went on to explain, “James is essentially a shy guy, but he found Meth gave him a new sense of confidence. At first he was enigmatic, then he became demanding, then bossy and then outright rude, obnoxious and self-righteous. He quickly disassociated his old friends and turned his attention to his new group of friends, sharing the common interest of the social drug. It was like something had taken over him, possessed him. He came to my house early one morning, manic, his behaviour very odd, insisting that I ‘lend’ him some money, saying that he had lost his job and needed somewhere to stay. I told him he was welcome to stay, but he would have to find a job, I could not afford to support him as well. Then he got demanding and when I would not give him what he wanted, he slapped me. It was a moment when it seemed like Time stood still, it made both of us freeze. He realised what he had just done, and the recollection of childhood abuse washed over both of us. That was his turning point. He broke down and I knew in that moment, he would stop what he had been doing. He collapsed like the floor had gone out from under him and began to cry hysterically. He had said in a weak, pathetic voice of a little boy, “Kirsty, please help me. I can’t do it on my own.” And that was it, since then he has been on the up. He has the focus and incentive to create a new life for himself, but it meant leaving his life in Auckland behind. And he has. I know he will honour his word, and will never touch the stuff again. I am so proud of him.” Kirsty sighed deeply, relief washing over her, she even looked like she had physically put down a heavy bag. “Oh god, please don’t say anything to anyone, oh please…promise me!” realising what she had just shared with Molly.
“Honey, that stuff is just between you and me. You have my word on that, please trust me.”
Kirsty looked Molly in the eye with a deep, searching gaze, like she was looking for something. Satisfied with what she saw, she relaxed again and smiled.
“Thanks Molly, I do feel so much better.”
They wandered back slowly to Kirsty home, chatting about The Little Book Publishing Company. Molly was already thinking about visiting Grace, as she would not be able to even talk to Will about this. She didn’t like to keep secrets from him, but had promised to Kirsty that she would keep her word.
That night Molly made the time to write to Grace and meditate. Leaving Will in his office to begin his portrait of Kirsty for the book, she went upstairs to her little office. This was the first time she would be writing in her new journal to Grace, and she wondered if the experience would be the same. Molly lit a candle and stared at the blank page, and then she heard it again. The vaguely familiar voice…
“I used to write to an imaginary friend whenever I got writer’s block. It got the creative juices flowing again. I could write about anything to her.” The encounter was brief….no further words and no visual experiences, yet. Molly continued to stare at the blank page. Taking a deep breath, she started….
Wow, it feels like ages since we have done this. Feel a little apprehensive, but I guess I’ll just keep writing words and see what happens.
Did you see what was happening today? What was that dark energy around Kirsty’s brother James?”
Molly closed her eyes and imagined being at the bottom of the stairs to The Attic in her home in Lockyer. She felt the shift immediately, and as she walked up the stairs there was that familiar tingle, almost like static electricity. The door was partially open and a soft light poured down the stairs. Excited to see Grace again, she walked through the door eagerly. Grace meets her with a finger to her lips, indicating to be silent.
“Sit and listen, it is important and urgent,” she pointed for Molly to take a seat.
“What you have been witnessing today is that of The Unwanted Ones. They are like energetic vampires who feed off people with addictions, not just drugs but alcohol or pharmaceutical drugs too. You will know their presence by either the sense of something unsettling or a visual of a shadow hanging around a person or masking their face. So you may see them pretending to be friendly but capture glimpses of a dark shadow lurking behind it. They do not want to be seen and despise those who can see them. They are pure fear and that is what they feed on, other peoples fear. Caution must be taken when you encounter The Unwanted Ones. They are nasty creatures and will go to the end of the world to get what they need – energy, energy from others. This is why people who abuse drugs and alcohol appear undernourished, lacking in vitality or of a nervous energy. Their energy is also feeding these lost souls, whom are attracted to the despair, drama, desperation and depression in others, their vulnerability creating an opportunity. Then like parasites, they latch on and will manipulate the human host to do whatever is required to maintain this source of energy. These lost souls have become completely detached from God, or Source Energy. They dwell in the darkness where no light can penetrate. These are not for you to deal with Molly, they are to be given a wide berth and left alone. There are others out there in the world who are better suited for soul saving! Be warned now, do not go there! Keep your energy up, for as your vibration is higher, they will not be aware of you. However, if you are able to see them, then take care, take heed, do whatever you can in that moment to raise your energy, for as you do, you will become invisible to them. This is of utmost importance, do you understand?” Grace explained, with a look of concern on her face.
Molly nodded, unable to talk, taking in this new information from Grace. Looking around the room, she was half expecting Annabelle to be here too. Grace caught Mollys inquisitive look. “Annabelle is not ready for this! I have been meeting with her in her dreams, it is much easier for her to accept the information when it comes in this way, less resistance when she is asleep. You will know when she is ready, because you shall see her here! For now, leave her to me, I will take care of her, you need to focus on these stories. No need to meet with Annabelle in meditation just yet, as I said, you will know when she is ready, as she will be here with me when you come to visit. Good night Molly,” Grace smiled. Molly became aware of the heaviness of her physical body sitting in the chair at the writing desk. She opened her laptop and began to write Kirsty’s story. Behind where Molly sat writing, oblivious of her invisible muse, on the small bed relaxed Grace Simpson, smiling as she looked on, waiting for the right moment to make her presence visible. “Not yet,” she decided silently, “It would only distract her.”