Jinn Series Short Story Compilation Featuring The Jinn: Jinn Series

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1. The Seance

Chapter One

He's

gone

Frank would have loved the flowers, Eleanor thought to herself as she surveyed their beauty. The bright, beautiful yellows brought a half smile to her face. She knew that yellow signified friendship, and it complemented the autumnal oranges that were a nod to the grief the day brought. Eleanor didn't much care for the chrysanthemums in the arrangements. She internally tutted at them—they were, after all, a very cheap flower, but they did look cheerful. She couldn't rob them of that quality .

Maxine squeezed her hand as they walked together behind Frank. For Eleanor, having Maxine’s support reminded her that she was alive.

Loved ones and friends arrived to support the family. So many of their friends had come to pay their respects and waited patiently to console Eleanor and her family. They all stood huddled in a mass of black clothing, and Eleanor acknowledged them respectfully. She saw the pity in their eyes, and instinctively, she wanted to make them a cup of tea. Tea always made things better. As she dwelled on that thought, she remembered that they should be the ones making her a cup

of

tea

.

With a heartfelt sigh, she thought about how today was going to be the hardest day of her life. It was going to be the day she would say goodbye to Frank.

Eleanor reminisced about Frank, the love of her life. He was the man who stole her heart at the tender age of sixteen, the man the cosmos had conspired with so that they could spend their lives together, and the father of her children. Eleanor considered how gently their love had developed in the early stages of their courtship. Marriage came and brought an intimacy. When they became parents, her relationship with Frank grew again. He was no longer just her best friend, husband, and lover, but also the father of her children. Her love for him developed into a deeper and richer ocean. She knew they were happiest when they were a struggling, young family—they had laughed the most during those times.

Everyone else in Eleanor’s life paled in comparison to Frank’s radiant and loving presence. He was her best friend. He knew all her vulnerabilities and secrets.

Eleanor thought about how she now walked with her daughter, Maxine, to say goodbye to the most wonderful companion in her life and the man who had brought her joy and happiness every day. Abruptly, she didn't want to be there. She wanted to stop following the coffin that held her beloved Frank, but she knew that creating a scene wouldn’t make the cremation disappear. She bolstered herself with the thought that she could not stop everyone else from saying their goodbyes. Everyone needed this ceremony to heal. Maxine needed to heal. It was just Eleanor who didn't want to say goodbye; she wasn’t ready to use

that

word

.

Frank and Eleanor had a secret that they had whispered to each other on their pillows at night. It had deepened their bond and been a source of strength in the tough days of their marriage. They told each other their love was eternal and that it existed before time and would exist after it. Eleanor reasoned that in the space of infinity, there was no room for goodbye.

Frank's cremation was at noon. Eleanor didn't know how to react with so many eyes on her. She thought about how if Frank were here with her, he would whisper into her ear, 'Keep your chin up, love.' That always used to give her support and confidence. She tutted internally to herself again as she thought of him. Initially, that phrase had been so sweet and welcome, but after a few years, that phrase had driven

her

mad

.

She didn't know how to behave at his service, and she fought to conceal her emotions. There was no handbook for a new widow that suddenly arrived on the doorstep when her husband—she stopped herself. She couldn't bring herself to say the word, but her inner voice whispered it anyway: died. Yes, that's the one, she thought to herself.

Listening to the beautiful eulogies and hymns, she tried to pull herself together, as people were watching. She was a reserved and conservative woman. She hated public displays of emotions and tears. She resolved to pull herself together just for today. She decided that she would say goodbye in her own time: today, tomorrow, or in a year. No beautiful church service would change that. She would secretly hold onto Frank in her heart. She needed to have something left

of

him

.

Maxine could see that her mum had suffered through the service and wake. She looked at the beautiful flowers, that people had left. It was a comfort to see how much love surrounded her mum and their family. She didn't doubt that tough times lay ahead of them, and she resolved to be patient with her mum and let her take her time to grieve the loss of her father. Maxine knew the road ahead would require patience and a lot of adjustments.

Eleanor would never be able to fill the chasm in her heart, the void of missing him. Frank was gone, but she preferred to think of him as having gone out to get the paper or a bottle of milk. She expected him to walk in the front door and give her a kiss on the forehead. She thought of the coolness of his nose brushing against her skin; that comfortable familiar feeling was

now

lost

.

The wake was filled with the retelling of happy stories, but Eleanor was disconnected. The cremation ceremony had been for the family, not for her, and Eleanor was here to support them while they said goodbye. She busied herself to stay distracted from reality.

Eleanor was sixty-seven years old. Maxine knew her mum felt she should be serving their guests as if they were sitting in her front room and not a church hall. Maxine could see her mother struggling with every single condolence, but she met each one with a reassuring half-smile.

Eleanor knew they were genuine condolences, but she didn't want to accept that this meant Frank was gone. Eleanor wished there was more variety in the British language so that everyone didn't sound like an automated recording. Those things unfailingly left her in a muddle and made her feel stupid; she always ended up in the wrong department speaking to the wrong person. She had always been grateful for Frank because he dealt with them, but he wasn't here now. It was these little things that Eleanor knew would be a challenge.

Maxine stayed with her mum the night of the cremation, and it was a comfort to have her under the same roof. Maxine felt the roles of mother and daughter swap as she watched her frail mother go into her bedroom. She needed to rest after the

long

day

.

As Eleanor lay down, she thought about how this was her and Frank’s bed—their bed in their bedroom in their space where she would be by herself. She let the mask of formality slip, unravelling and wallowing in the sorrow of

the

day

.

Frank and Eleanor had spent over fifty years sleeping next to each other. The bed was vast without him. Getting comfortable was difficult. There was no warm leg to brush her feet against, no warm body to dig her perpetually cool toes under. It was different without Frank. The double bed felt like a strange land. She needed someone next to her, a substitute Frank to help her sleep. Her hand brushed against Frank's space in the bed. Usually, a big lump of a man would be lying next to her, but the comforting sound of his rhythmic snoring was no longer there. Alone in the dark, she let herself cry. Alone in the dark, she let go of the pent-up emotions of the day. She sobbed into the pillows to muffle the sound. It was the sound of her heartbreak, a pain that constricted her chest and would not let her breathe. The physical symptoms took hold of her body and penetrated

her

soul

.

She would not say goodbye to Frank tonight.

Secretly, she was annoyed at him. She was the weaker one. She was the one with the worse health, the one the doctor had told him to keep an eye on. She was upset that he had won. He had won the ‘Who will die first?’ competition. Eleanor thought, It should have been me. I should have died first. Frank would have been so much better at being alone than she was; he was so much stronger.

Eleanor felt she couldn't function without him. Unable to remove her hand from the space where his body used to lay, she tried to get comfortable in the bed. She nuzzled closer to his pillows and smelled the faint scent of him lingering on the pillowcase. She would never wash them again. She lay in bed exhausted with big, wet tears rolling across her wrinkled face as she finally allowed herself to feel her emotions.

Sleep that night was not restful. Frank wasn't there; it was as if she had lost a limb, but she didn't know which one. She was lost and confused without him. In the morning, she searched for his when she opened her eyes. She wondered if he had gone to the bathroom, and for a moment, she considered what she should make for breakfast, what food was in the fridge, and how many eggs they had. It took a few minutes to remember. When she did, she lost him again. It was like a wall falling on top of her, pushing the wind out of her lungs and slamming her heart into the back of her ribs. She remembered that they had cremated him yesterday, and that he wasn't with her in this life anymore. She cried into the top of the duvet cover, using the edges to wipe away her tears. She realized again how much she missed him. The morning was painful without him, and she wondered if she would always wake up and torture herself like this. She thought about how people had said time would heal, but she wondered if time just numbed the pain and healed nothing

at

all

.

She turned to her bedside table and looked at their wedding photo. He was so handsome, so dashing that day. All the girls were staring at him, but he had been hers. He had wanted Eleanor. A girlish grin flitted across her face. He pledged himself to her that day. He was my man. He

was

mine

.

Maxine knocked on the bedroom door and came in with a cup of tea. Frank would do this on special occasions like Mother's Day or their wedding anniversary. For a brief moment as the door creaked opened, she hoped to see him walk in, as if yesterday's cremation had been some elaborate trick and he was alive. Eleanor braced herself.

She didn't mean to look depressed when she realized it was only Maxine coming into her room. The sadness must have registered on her face. Feeling the need to compensate, she patted the empty side on the bed, and Maxine climbed on. The way she moved reminded Eleanor of when Maxine had been a

small

girl

.

Maxine sat with her, drinking tea and asking what she wanted to do today. Eleanor didn't feel like getting out of bed. She wanted Maxine to go away and leave her to drown in the oasis of her bed and memories. Maxine was a good daughter, and Eleanor knew she wouldn't leave—her children had been raised better than that. Although Eleanor didn't want a fuss, she didn't want to be a burden. Eleanor decided that she needed to find a way to manage Maxine.

With some thought, Eleanor decided to let Maxine feel that she was helping. It was a temporary solution to have Maxine stay over. She couldn't ignore the fact that Maxine would be reporting to the rest of the family. If Eleanor could prove to Maxine that she could cope, she wouldn’t be scrutinized. Maxine had her own family, and soon enough, a drama would draw her back into her own house. Maxine didn't need the burden of an old mother to keep

tabs

on

.

It took a lot of effort to leave the house for a walk. They went to the duck pond and fed the birds. Maxine came home with Eleanor, and as Eleanor sat in the living room alone, Maxine pottered around in the kitchen. It was odd. The hardest part of Maxine being in the house was the sound of her moving around; it reminded Eleanor of Frank being home. Whenever she walked in or out of the room, Eleanor’s

disappointment

grew

.

Eleanor fought to keep her tears at bay, determined that she would show Maxine that she could cope. Determined, she struggled through a week of Maxine staying in the house before her daughter left to go home to her own family.

After Maxine left, Eleanor dropped the act and submitted to her heartbreak. She felt the intensity of her pain in full. She longed for her Frank. Relieved that she was not being watched, Eleanor submitted to the cloud hanging over her. She would breathe in the pain and become one

with

it

.

Chapter Two Alone

Eleanor’s son-in-law, John, delivered Frank’s ashes to the house and stayed to chat for a while. He offered to help with little household chores, and it was a relief that she could call on him. He was a pleasant man, although she wondered if his good nature had an

expiration

date

.

Eleanor had a strategy when speaking with John. She announced that her decision was made and that Frank's ashes were not to be scattered yet. This was against Frank’s wishes, so there was a little backlash and some surprise, but Eleanor informed them that after her cremation, their ashes should be mixed together and then scattered. Her wishes had not been in line with Frank’s, but they were accepted as a romantic and wistful gesture. Eleanor imagined their joint ashes released into the winds over the White Cliffs of Dover, where Frank and Eleanor had honeymooned a lifetime ago as teenagers. The White Cliffs were a silent witness to Frank and Eleanor’s eternal pledge of love for each other.

The children respected her wishes, and nothing further was mentioned about scattering his ashes.

After all, the children had said their goodbyes during the church service. They knew in the depths of their hearts that Eleanor had not said hers. They were tied up, busy in their lives with children, play dates, and birthday parties. Eleanor's children's lives were about their families. She did not recall approaching child-rearing in the same fashion, but times had changed. Of that fact, she was painfully aware.

Her challenge every single day was to get through the day. Every morning, her hand wandered toward Frank's side of the bed. Feeling the coolness of the sheets was an eternal disappointment, and she relived his loss before starting her day. This became her routine. She couldn't be cheeky and spread out in the bed. The middle of the bed was not comfortable. She couldn't take away the space that had been his. Every day, she felt his absence in her life. Every day was a punishment when she remembered he was no longer with her. Every day, she cried.

She told herself she was silly and the pain would lessen with time. Every day, her longing for

Frank

grew

.

He was gone. Crying didn't

change

that

.

She kept up pretenses by pretending that she was functional while a black abyss sucked her into its oblivion. The pain attacked her in waves, each stronger than

the

last

.

How could she go on? What was the point? There was no one to share with. She needed Frank in her life for her sense of self-worth.

Eleanor found more comfort in routine than in reality. It started innocently. She was making a cup of tea and, by accident, she made two. For fifty years, she had made two cups. Rather than throw his cup of tea into the sink and chide herself for wasting a teabag, she decided she would put it on his side of the table just as she would have done if they were still together. She was a woman raised to serve her husband and treat him like a king. Those were her mother’s words of advice shared on her

wedding

day

.

Later, her family would say this was when her dementia began.

The power of routine gave her more comfort than the logic of Frank no longer being alive, so Eleanor gave into comfort. It started with cups of tea and then grew into buying his favorite pink powder bon-bons. After that, she bought his newspaper, which she left folded neatly on the arm of the armchair.

She would sit and drink her tea while his treats and paper sat waiting for him. Her logical brain knew that the tea would get cold, and the sweets and paper would be thrown in the trash, but she needed the routine to feel safe and comfortable.

She practiced her smile in the mirror, the one she perfected the day of Frank's cremation. The ever-so-slight half a smile that she presented to all those who wanted to inform her how sorry they were for her loss. She wished that she could show Frank and get his opinion.

More than anything, it bothered Eleanor that she couldn't speak to Frank. Why was she no longer allowed to communicate with him? He had crossed a line that divided them, but their love was eternal, so Frank must be eternal. The resentment that festered inside her from Frank’s sudden departure plagued her inner peace.

She stood in front of the urn on the mantelpiece. It was a polished, white marble, and it reflected Frank’s sophistication. She stared at the urn holding Frank’s ashes for hours each day, willing the urn to speak

to

her

.

Why was she not allowed to speak

with

him

?

Eleanor was angry. So she spoke to the urn, and despite the one-way communication, it gave her comfort. In front of the urn, she practiced her smile, watching herself in the reflection.

So what do you think? Do I look sincere? she asked

the

urn

.

Of course, the urn did not reply, but Eleanor felt comforted as soon as the words escaped her mouth, and a small feeling of closeness to Frank entered her heart.

They weren’t allowed to communicate because he was dead. What did that mean? Really, what did it mean? She couldn't share anything with him anymore. Frank’s death had angered and

frustrated

her

.

New habits formed as Eleanor started speaking to Frank all the time. After a while, she didn't need to stand in front of the urn. She pictured it in front of her and began to speak. The urn on the mantel was a poor version of Frank in her mind, but the fact that he was still in the house gave her comfort. She spoke to Frank when she was in the queue in the post office or the supermarket, quietly so no one would think she was crazy.

Although she knew her new habits would not bring Frank back, she realized she had not lost him completely.

The rawness of her emotion abated when she realized she still had some of Frank with her, and it was up to her how much she chose to let him go. Eleanor couldn’t tell Maxine because she knew that Maxine would worry.

Anything Eleanor did made Maxine worry. Maxine tried to come and visit as much as possible. It was nice to know she cared, but at the same time, Eleanor had to restrict her conversation with Frank when Maxine was around. Maxine wouldn’t understand. Maxine offered her mother a dog for companionship. Eleanor didn't want a dog—she wanted space and time to speak with Frank in her self-constructed fantasy world, where Frank was still very much alive and

with

her

.

Naturally, it was just a matter of time before Maxine would catch Eleanor, and it took a few months for it to happen. Eleanor thought Maxine had left the house and was talking with Frank as she made them both a cup of tea. Maxine heard her talking alone in the kitchen. Eleanor tried to explain it away, but it was too late. Eleanor had given Maxine cause to worry.

With the dog refused, a deal was struck between mother and daughter, and Eleanor was pushed into getting out of the house. Daytime was taken up with volunteer work in the local charity shop a couple of days a week. It was something to do, something that was meant to give Eleanor a sense of purpose.

Eleanor enjoyed the work. It was a welcome distraction from the pain of missing Frank and the fantasy world that she had created. Eleanor even made a friend named Julie. Julie was also