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Introduction
Could a taxi journey change
your life forever?
It does for Jen Rickmand.
Abused by her stepfather, Jen
flees her childhood home with hopes of starting a new life. Struggling with
agoraphobia, panic attacks, and concerns for her wellbeing, Jen finds comfort
in the spirit world, developing connections with the paranormal that she never
thought possible.
A simple taxi ride turns her
life inside out when she finds herself transported back in time to 1965, where
a husband and child await her. Despite her protestations, and her husband’s
thinking concerns, Jen is desperate to return to 2011, but only if she can take
her new daughter with her.
Horrified when she is suddenly
whisked back to the future without her, Jen is torn between the two worlds.
Will they eventually collide, allowing her to find the happiness she truly
deserves?
A Haunted Past Life is an intriguing
blend of spirits, ghosts, and time-travel with a heady mixture of love, tangled
emotions, and relationships.
Chapter 1
Early Years
‘Home,’ Jen Rickmand muttered,
mopping the kitchen floor. ‘This isn’t a home; I’m just the unpaid char.’ She
wondered why she had let herself be used and bullied for so long, allowing her
stepfamily to eat away at her self-confidence to the extent that she now
suffered from agoraphobia.
For years, anger bubbled
beneath her calm exterior, but she hid it well. Whenever they picked on her,
she would take a deep breath and count to ten. She never once retaliated;
instead she would bite her tongue and tell herself not to give them the
satisfaction of knowing they had got to her with their spiteful remarks.
Her stepsisters made her life
a misery, commenting almost daily that she looked like a beanstalk and her hair
was nothing but a frizzy mess. In fact, Jen was pretty, tall, and slim, with
beautiful, long, naturally auburn hair.
Jen’s only escape from them
had been her interest in the paranormal, unfortunately, they had found out
about it by snooping in her bedroom. They made snide comments such as, ‘Fancy reading books about ghosts. Have you
been talking to them? You idiot. You’re nuts, you are.’
She often heard them talking
about her as she went about her chores.
‘Have you seen the mess she looks today, especially her hair?’
Thelma would ask of her sister Monica, who would laugh.
‘Yes, she looks like a haystack on fire, doesn’t she?’ Their
spiteful laughter would drift into the kitchen where she would be preparing the
evening meal or doing another household chore.
They would deliberately throw
rubbish on the floor and then order her to pick it up. ‘Come on, you’re the cleaner, pick it up or we’ll tell our dad about you
when he gets home.’ They knew the more they derided her, the more their
father would favour them. And he did, buying them CDs and giving them money,
making certain Jen was around when he handed them out.
Her stepfather was the worst;
he would push her against the kitchen wall when no one was about, standing
close to her, threatening with how he would make her regret her idleness. He
would grab a handful of her hair and pull it hard, telling her if she yelled
out, he would make her regret it one way or another. He was pure evil, she
never doubted that one way or another, he would attack her if she wasn’t
careful. Whenever he was around, she would appear even more meek and mild while
doing what he said, presenting a serene exterior, but all the time seething at
him, and deriding herself for being such a weakling. The truth was she lacked
self-confidence; it had ebbed away like the outgoing tide over the years of
torment and abusive comments.
Should Jen ever look as if she
was going to retaliate, her mother would shake her head, knowing it would be
the worst for Jen and herself if he was provoked.
Her father died when she was
three years-old; she had vague memories of being whisked up high in the air,
held by a strong pair of loving arms. How she wished he was still alive; their
whole lives would have been entirely different if only she had known him. Her
mother worked hard to bring her up and provide as many treats as she could so
Jen never felt different to the other girls. When Jen was thirteen, her mother
met a widower, Derek, with thirteen-year-old twins; Jen was bowled over when
her mother married him, thinking they would be one big happy family. Only this didn’t
happen and she quickly discovered she
was the odd one out in her mother’s new marriage.
From the first day, she was
expected to do all the household chores, including the cooking.
Jen never complained, she
would come straight home from school and do the tasks her mother and stepfather
had left for her. She was never allowed to have friends over or any type of
social life. Even when she left school and started working in a bank, her home
life remained the same. She was still head cook and cleaner; woe betide her if
she missed a chore, her stepfather or sisters would be on to her immediately,
calling her an idle slut. Gradually, her anxiety levels were so high that she
began to experience panic attacks. Leaving the house became a problem and she
had to force herself to go to work. It was almost a relief to be at home
despite the bullying; at least it was a familiar world where routine existed.
She longed for approval; trying
hard to meet her stepfather’s high standards, but sadly, she never achieved
this. The harder she tried, the more he mocked her attempts, telling her she
was, ‘thick and stupid’.
She knew she was neither, but
would question herself. Was she stupid? Was she thick? She must be to put up
with what she did. How many women of twenty-three came straight home from work
and did everything in the house their mother should do, and put up with the
daily tormenting and insults? At times, she wanted to rebel when yet another
task was added to her list, but she didn’t, she simply plodded on and
consequently, her confidence was at an all-time low.
Jen was fully aware that her
unhappy home life had contributed to the awful anxiety she experienced. Her
step-siblings’ taunts and jeers made matters worse. Although she disliked her
home life intensely, she felt safer inside than out; she knew this was
ridiculous as she wanted to escape her environment more than anything, but she didn’t
have the confidence to try to find a way out of her situation.
She had never been allowed to
have friends.
Her stepfather would tell her,
‘You have far too much work to do in the
house,’ whenever she plucked up courage to ask if she could go out.
Gradually as the years passed, she stopped asking and refused all social
invitations.
Secretly, she agreed with her
stepfather when he called her a loser, she must be or she would have left years
ago, wouldn’t she?
This morning, as she cleaned
the kitchen, she mulled over her years of servitude and suddenly decided, No more, I’m leaving.
As the words entered her head,
her stepfather jabbed her in the back, telling her, ‘You’d better get this
kitchen cleaned up and our dinner ready or else you’re for it!’ He then did
something he had never done before. He began to stroke her hair. She was rigid
with fear as his hands moved down her back. My God, this was terrible, the
disgusting swine was getting fresh with her.
‘Get your filthy hands off me,’
she shouted at the top of her voice.
‘Come on, Jen, you know you’ve
always fancied me.’ He pushed her up against the kitchen wall, his hands
roaming around her body.
He was too strong for her to
fight off. This was awful, he was going to rape her. What could she do? Why
hadn’t she seen this coming? The more she tried to kick him, the harder he
pushed her against the wall, ripping at her clothes, his hands clawing at her
breasts. She was lost; she would rather be dead than take this from him, who
she had hated for so long. As if from nowhere, she found the strength to give
him an almighty shove and he staggered away from her, coming to rest by the
kitchen table.
He looked at her. ‘God, you’re
beautiful,’ he drooled.
She had nowhere to hide and
she could not go outside, her blouse and bra were in shreds, everyone would see
her. If she went upstairs, he would follow her and get her on her bed.
