A Call in the Night

‘Gregory’s Time Tours’ materialised above Danwich’s High Street. Mr. Gregory took his speakaphone and addressed his clients: “Here we have a typical down town, 21st century town.”

A scaly skinned passenger stood up and shouted, “Can they see us?”

“No”, said Mr Gregory with a smirk. “Anything contained in the Zeta forcefield cannot be seen.”

“Can we interact with the town dwellers?” hissed a furry bear looking character.

“No, no interactions can take place. Didn’t you read the literature we ximmed to you? It is imperative that we not contaminate the present with anything from the future…even your perspiration, Miss Geet, could alter our time as we know it.”

The tour vehicle could be best described as a disc with an open top where Mr Gregory’s passengers sat. Below the disc sat two propulsion units connected into two time dilation/constriction units. (Two in case one malfunctioned, (to be sure, to be sure.))(The inventor was Irish). Food and drink were served to each of the seated customers from a small cabinet that constantly moved among the seats issuing little whispers of: “Can I get you anything?” The required item was synthesised within the talking cabinet in an instant.

One of time travellers had just ordered an ancient foodstuff, roasted cheese on toast. It was duly served and the aroma made his mouth water and drool. Sadly the saliva of a dweller from Planet Gasron is highly corrosive and upon dripping to the floor of the seating area - it burnt right through and in turn, dripped on the housing of one of the time units, (luckily not the active one.) The housing dissolved quickly releasing the unit and allowing it to drop out of invisibility to visibility and hurl down towards the town of Danwich.

The unit landed on Felsham road  and bounced twice before coming to rest in the middle of the road. It resembled, for all intents and purposes, a small top, pointed at either end and with an expanded centre. Innocuous, looking like normal road junk, but with a tremendous potential!

One week previous to the time travellers’ visit, John Baxter, a bank teller who worked in the West and Midlands Bank plc. had been having an interview with his manager, a Mr Clarence Dudby. Mr Dudby wanted John to take over two very important accounts. “You’ll have to watch these clients like a hawk, Baxter,” said Mr Dudby handing over two pink coloured files. “The Inland Revenue have had both of these gentlemen under scrutiny for the past year, but have not found any proof of malpractice, but we better make sure we are not found wanting.”

“No, Mr Dudby,” replied John.  “I will give the two clients my full attention.”

John had been glad when his manager had picked him out for this extra special job, for he had been feeling rather sluggish over the past few days. He blamed it initially on sitting up one night late, to watch the end of a football match. He had been up early the next day, but hadn’t really caught up with his sleep. Tonight would be different, a bath and an early night. His wife Dorothy, would probably stay up and watch some of her recorded sports, but he would sink into oblivion and make up his sleep deficit.

After closing the curtains, John quickly changed into his night clothing, a sweat shirt and shorts. Pulling back the covers he stepped into his bed and lay down, relishing the soft feel of his pillow on his head. He snapped the bedside light off and drifted off to sleep. He didn’t even wake when Dorothy came to bed, even though she lay reading for a bit.

A silence fell over the neighbourhood as light after light went out in bedroom windows. Somewhere far away a fox screamed and a barn owl gave a hoot as it savoured a mouse it had captured. All was quiet, apart from the light soughing of a night breeze. A full moon shone down on the area and some stars twinkled in the vast ceiling of the sky. All was at peace…then suddenly…

The telephone began ringing in the Baxter house. It rang and rang until both John and Dorothy woke up.

“I’ll go,” said John. “It’ll probably be a wrong number. It’s three o’clock!”

Making his way downstairs, John approached the annoying instrument, picked up the receiver and said: “Hello! Who is this please?”

John could hear nothing except a low murmuring. It sounded like a cross connection, what a pain, he thought, but just as he was about to put the receiver down a voice sounding like his own, spoke: “Don’t…don’t…don’t…” then the connection was broken and he was left holding a disconnected call.

Swearing under his breath, John returned to bed and after explaining to his wife that it had been a wrong number, tried to return to sleep. But the more he tried, the more awake he felt and John ended up getting a very poor sleep leaving him even groggier in the morning. As he drank his double espresso coffee at breakfast, he hoped that it would wake him up.

Work at the bank that day was pure purgatory and John forced his way through columns of figures and attempted to get them to add up. Every so often Mr Dudby walked through the office and John tried to look wide awake each time the manager passed. One set of figures just did not add up and John thought a set of gremlins had taken over his calculator. The information had been gleaned from one of the files Mr Dudby had given him the previous day. If the data was to believed, the client, a Mr. Zachariah Amman , had amassed a fortune trading in various cereals, but no import tax had been paid by him. The bill had accrued to a sizeable amount of money and John could see why Inland Revenue would be interested in him.

Returning home that night, John had an early tea with Dorothy and then moving to his study and after shutting the door, spread Mr Zachariah Amman’s file and relevant documents onto his desk and began to scrutinise them closely.

When Dorothy came through an hour later with a cup of tea, she found her husband sound asleep with his head on the desk top. Nudging him awake she made him drink his tea and consider going to bed.

“I would love to, sweetheart, but I have all this work to do,” John explained.

“But, you’re exhausted,” she said. “Surely, you can’t work out anything while you are like this?”

“Five more minutes and I’ll go to bed. I just have to tot up these figures.” But, when Dorothy came through to the study she found John, once again asleep. Not taking ‘no’ for an answer this time she chased him off to bed, where upon pulling the covers up to his chin he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“Ring! Ring!...” the instrument of torture  blared out and once again John and his wife were wakened. The time was again three o’clock and John made his way unsteadily downstairs to the hall.

“Yes, who is this?” John asked angrily, but as the previous night all he could hear was the electronic murmuring. “Now, come on, speak up!” he shouted and was once again about to put the receiver down when the voice like his own, sounded: “Go near…go near… go near…” Then the line went dead.

The next day John could hardly keep his eyes open and Dorothy flatly refused to let him go to work. “I am going to tell them you are sick!” she said, pulling her husband’s shirt out of his hand. “Now get back to bed!”

Later that day John felt rested enough to come downstairs and work on the two client’s files on the dining room table, the more he checked Mr. Amman’s figures, the more he was convinced that there was something wrong with them. He decided to go into work the following day and report the discrepancies to Mr. Dudby.

That night both John and his wife stayed up late, the morning snooze having refreshed John, as they both put their bedside lights out and kissed each other goodnight, John remarked that he hoped they would have an unbroken night’s sleep.

No such luck! At three o’clock the telephone began to ring and John , upon picking up the receiver, went through the same ritual but the message was different. “Felsham Road…Felsham Road…Felsham Road.” Once again John was left with a dead line. What could it mean, he thought to himself? Felsham Road? Don’t go near Felsham Road? Why would someone sounding like himself be warning him?

The next day upon arriving at the bank, John made an appointment to see Mr. Dudby and upon being allowed instant access to him found himself before his manager’s desk.

“Well, Mr Baxter. I hope you are feeling better now. I understand that you were unwell yesterday?” Mr Dudby said rearranging some papers on his desk fussily. “Do you have anything else to discuss with me?”

“Yes sir,” said John respectfully. “One of the clients, whose file you asked me to look at, is showing discrepancies with regard to import tax.”

“Oh yes, and which one would that be?”

“Mtr Zachariah Amman, sir.”

Mr Dudby picked up his telephone receiver and after dialling a seven figure number, began to speak to someone on the other end of the line. “Mr Sullivan? This is Clarence Dudby at the West and Midland Bank. I think one of my tellers has discovered that Mr Z. Amman has not paid any import duty on his incoming shipments. Yes, I will send the information over to you by courier. No, thank you Mr Sullivan, it was you that alerted us to the fraud.”

Turning to John, Mr Dudby shook his employee’s hand. “Well done Baxter, I knew that I could rely on you. Now, how about the other client I asked you to check out?”

John Baxter looked down at the floor. “Mr Eammon O’Conner just seems to be a potty scientist to me, sir.”

“Potty or otherwise, he has attained a lot of money from somewhere and as I said the I.R.S. are very eager to speak to him about it, but as with Mr. Amman, they have no proof. See what you can dig up, Baxter.”

John spent the rest of the day instituting computer searches into Mr E. O’Connor. He had graduated from Oxford with a First in Physics. He went on to attain a professorship at Cambridge and eventually left there to build his own experimental laboratory twenty miles outside London. There he produced very advanced equipment which allowed oil fields to be charted out from above ground. Among many of his other experimental pieces of the early part of his career, the atomic particle collider was the most successful and had earned him a lot of his current wealth.

As John finished for the evening, he locked up his files and after handing in his office key to the security man, made his way to his car in the employee’s car park. He was just inserting the key into the door lock when he was struck from behind.

When John recovered consciousness, it was dark and he realised that he had been sat on a chair and tied up, a gag covered his mouth.

“I am sorry for this, Mr.Baxter, but I get worried when I am told you have been making computer searches to discover information regarding my colleague, Mr. O’Connor.” A voice spoke from in front of John.

“Who are you?” John spluttered through the gag. “What do you want with me?”

A light suddenly came on and John could see who he was talking to. A large, swarthy looking man dressed in a suit sat behind a desk, facing John.

“I am Mr. Arkand,” said the man, “and I know you are John Baxter. Why have you been taking an interest in Mr. O’Connor?”The man leant over and pulled the gag from John’s mouth.

“I am not at liberty to tell you,” said John.

Mr. Arkand leant over and pressed a button on the desk. A door opened behind John and he was grabbed roughly and bundled out of the office. As the door swung shut, John heard Mr. Arkand mutter, “Then you will stay here until you talk.”

After being pushed down a flight of stairs, John was thrown into a room and the door was locked. As he came to John saw that he was not alone.

“Who are you?” John said to a crouched figure in the corner of the room.

The figure moved and upon raising its head said: “My name is Eammon O’Connor, I used to be in charge round here.

O’Connor untied John’s bonds and then collapsed back into the corner. “There is no hope for you,” he muttered.

After questioning Eammon, John realised that a group of criminals had taken over his business. The tycoon had, due to research into the structure of atomic particles, been able to build a rudimentary time machine utilising a certain type of powder extracted after the atomic collisions. Mr Arkand had initially come in to seek the possibility of a partnership with Eammon, but when turned down, had taken the business over by force. His four associates had provided the strong arm tactics and soon the entire industry was under their command.

“But, what benefit was it to them?” asked John, slightly mystified.

“We have been travelling back in time to harvest gold and silver from ancient times,” said Eammon, unhappily. “But, it’s never enough for Mr. Arkand, he always wants more. He has search engines in his computer which look back over ancient documents to pinpoint caches of treasure and he and two others travel back and steal it.”

“But, how did he find out I was investigating you?”

“He has very sophisticated equipment that trawls the Internet seeking key words and discovering what they are related to. My name was put in as a key word search and, well, your enquiries came to his attention. By the way why were you investigating me?”

“Because your firm’s finances were showing up with unexplained amounts of cash and we at the Inland Revenue were interested to discover where it was coming from.”

“These idiots, when Mr Arkand and his mob had obtained money from selling the metal artefacts, he was banking it in my account, thinking it would be undetectable. What a fool!”

As they chatted John began to yawn and felt his eyes closing.

“You seem sleepy,” said Eammon, “they didn’t drug you, did they?”

Then, as a way to pass the time, John told Eammon about his mysterious, middle of the night telephone calls. “I just don’t know what they mean.”

Eammon was silent for a few minutes and then he began to speak. “You say that the voice warned you to stay off a certain street in town?”

“Yes,” said John. “It was most specific, although only, a couple of words at a time.”

“That is strange, because, as you know we have been experimenting with time travel and in some of our early experiments, we got really bizarre effects. But, one of the strangest was when one of our laboratory staff came in contact with the Atomic Collision Residual Dust.”

“So, what happened?” asked John.

“Well, he vanished and to this day we never discovered where he had gone. The strangest bit was that I began to receive phone calls seemingly from this person. They were all single words, starting with ‘Help’, then ‘me’, followed by ‘I’, ‘don’t’,’ know’, ‘where,’ ‘I’ and ending with ‘am’. After that we heard nothing more, we assumed that his mobile’s battery had given out.”

“And you didn’t report his loss to the police or to his relatives?”

“What could the police have done? And as for his relatives, he was always going missing, something about a broken home and a lot of fostering.”

At that point Mr Arkand opened the door of the room and indicating John, told the four thugs to ‘get rid of him’. John was hustled out and told to climb the stair. John stumbled as he made his way up and the man behind him reached forward to grab his collar, but at that moment John straightened up and caught the man on the nose with the back of his head. The man gave a cry and fell back holding his bleeding nose and knocked the following men down the stairs.

John ran for the front door and pulling it open found himself looking at three cars parked by the road. Quickly, he jumped into one and checking for keys found none. Next he got out of the car and ran to the next one in the line. Hallelujah! The keys were sticking out of the ignition. John turned the key, put the car in gear and zoomed off down the road.

Weaving round parked cars, John drove the car as fast as he could. Pedestrians jumped out of his way and luckily all the traffic lights were green as he passed them.

Mr Arkand and his four men were quickly in pursuit, before long the car John was in loomed up before them. “Quick!” shouted Mr Arkand. “Ram him or do something to stop him!”

John looked desperately ahead, how could he get away from them? He was on Frobisher street which took him into Felsham road. Then, John remembered the night phone calls. ‘Don’t go near Felsham road’ and he looked frantically for a side street.

Bummies Lane came into view and John swung the car into it. It was so narrow that the sides of the car made shrieking noises as metal ran against brickwork, but he was through!

Mr Arkand’s car totally missed Bummies Lane and he told his driver to head up the road and they would cut John’s car off. The end of Frobisher was parked on both sides and Mr Arkand’s car narrowly missed a head on collision with a car coming the other way. “Stupid fool! Watch where you’re going!” Mr Arkand screamed as they flew past.

Into Felsham road and along past the shops went Mr Arkand’s car. They were bound to catch John now, thought Mr Arkand. And he knew what he would do with him. Oh yes, concrete shoes and dropped into the river!

Lying at the side of the road in Felsham road was a small metal object that resembled a child’s spinning top. It had been splashed with water and oil by passing cars, but, it had avoided getting flattened - so far.

Mr Arkand’s car screamed down the road and just at that instant a small boy saw the top shaped object and swinging back his foot he kicked it - right under Mr Arkand’s car. The object flattened and a puff of dust escaped coating the car. It vanished. One minute it was there and the next - it had gone, the small boy’s eyes widened in amazement before turning round and running home to tell his mum.

Well that is where the story ends. The crooks had gone, who knows where. John realising that he was not being pursued any more, returned to free Eammon, who eventually set about returning the stolen riches, the ones he could, to their correct time periods.

When the night calls began, Eammon realised that Mr Arkand and colleagues had gone to an area somewhere in the Universe and were keeping the laboratory assistant company.

Eammon surmised that in another Universe, John had gone down Felsham road and had been transported to where ever instead of Mr Arkand.

Eventually Eammon changed his telephone number and got some sleep!

…………………………………………………………….+…………………………………………………………………

29/01/18

Cairniehill

Arbroath

Angus

Report from a Star

REPORT: Sentinel 0006753. Location: DARRA Moon  VERSAVIA Planet. FARSAL Quadrant.

Current 234/ 90

Radar assembly checked – OK. Life support Habitat – OK. Pulsar weaponry – OK

Number of micro-meteor strikes – 5672.  Self diagnosis and tests – OK. Traffic – 0

The robotic unit ended its report and instituted, send. The message started its long journey back to Earth. It would take Earth minutes to traverse the empty void that separated the galaxies, planets and stars. The uNit stood up from where it had sat at the consul and going over to its power unit it fitted tightly into the metal coffin that was its docking station, then almost as an afterthought – plugged in the charger unit to its body. It slept or as near to human sleep as was possible, to an assembly of circuits and wires. It dreamt, for sub-programmes ran diagnostic checks on all its systems and images formed, dissolved and reformed in its computer of a brain. All was peaceful and would remain so until six Earth hours had elapsed when Sentinel Unit 0006753 would again check all was well in its watchtower on Darra Moon, Versavia Planet.

The watchtower had been placed on the moon by the last deep space probe which had made moon-fall over two hundred years previous. The Sentinel uNit was atomic powered so would run almost forever and having nanotechnology built in to the unit which not only diagnosed problems, it would repair and replace when necessary.

Its purpose was to keep guard on a white hole, No. SYH. 5643 which orbited around a neutron star in the Karsii system. The white hole being an outlet from its twin, a black hole, in another galaxy could be used for interstellar travel if the race had the necessary technology to withstand the colossal pressures found between these twins of destruction. The race, the Xarrtippi, that could use it had been defeated in the Third Styrian War and massive embargos and privations had been forced on this race to ensure that they would never sally forth on a war-footing ever again.

Such was the Sentinel uNit’s remit, an eternal watch for an event that would never happen or was this a naïve hope wished by other peace loving races?

S.U. 0006753 reached for the charging plug and withdrew it from its socket. There was the background sound of small pings which signified a mass of micro-meteors striking the outside of the habitat. As the uNit left its docking unit it observed the meter that recorded the strikes on the outer shell and logged their severity. After a certain amount of impacts the habitat would grow another outer skin and the original would be absorbed, recycled and stored for use in growing subsequent outer skins.

The radar gave a chirrup to attract the uNit’s attention. Something had been picked up on the long range detector. It was moving contrary to normal star movement and this anomaly had been discerned, logged and reported.

“Powered vessel, two light weeks out. Fusion drive,with minimal weaponry,” the mechanised voice reported and a million relays clattered the information straight to the intel- gatherer to be relayed to Earth on the next report.

The uNit moved slowly over to the electron telescope and spent a few Earth minutes setting the focus and its tele-extrm-lens. Applying its two light receptors to the viewing lenses, the uNit gazed at the incoming vessel. It was a series of connected orbs which spun about an axle which was the ship’s body. The markings on its hull showed strange cyrillic type writing, totally unknown to the uNit. The ship sported various spine like projections which could be weapons or simple sensing equipment.

Upon establishing the approach of the unidentified vessel, S.U. 0006753 immediately began preparations; these instructions had been built into its neural-psyche over two centuries before, but were as fresh as if it had received the orders one Earth day before.

#1 Check docking bay for receipt of lander.

#2 Make ready various atmospheres which would be available for different race species.

#3 Arm the self destruct unit and program in the initiating code WQ.13467.

The last instruction being the most important as, if all else failed; the in house technology could never be allowed to fall into the grip of an attacking race.

The uNit sat down at the consul to make its regular report. It began inputting the data:

REPORT: Sentinel 0006753. Location: DARRA Moon  VERSAVIA Planet. FARSAL Quadrant.

Current 234/ 91

Radar assembly checked – OK. Life support Habitat – OK. Pulsar weaponry – OK

Number of micro-meteor strikes – 5672.  Self diagnosis and tests – OK. Traffic – One vessel, fusion drive, minimal weaponry. Two light weeks out and closing, approaching from the direction of the Dargal system. No motion at or around No. SYH. 5643.

It prepared to send the report off when a red light began pulsing on the consul. “Electromagnetic interference. Unable to transmit. Check for local magnetic disturbances!” pulsed the mechanised voice.

The uNit stood up and went over to check the various readouts, but nothing showed any extra- habitat irregularities. Space in this quadrant was as ‘still as a veritable millpond’ and apart from background radiation was as silent as the grave. The uNit gently tapped the assemblies in case of a malfunction but nothing registered.

Then, an alarm went off. “Activity detected in SYH 5643” wailed a mechanoid voice from a loudspeaker. “Report to Earth required immediately!”

The Sentinel uNit once again tried to send a message to Earth, but with a modification

REPORT: Sentinel 0006753. Location: DARRA Moon  VERSAVIA Planet. FARSAL Quadrant.

Current 234/ 92

Radar assembly checked – OK. Life support Habitat – OK. Pulsar weaponry – OK

Number of micro-meteor strikes – 5672.  Self diagnosis and tests – OK. Traffic – One vessel, fusion drive, minimal weaponry. Two light weeks out and closing, approaching from the direction of the Dargal system. Motion reported in No. SYH. 5643.  It put the last two sentences in red to draw Earth military’s attention to two separate unusual occurrences. A circuit clicked in the S.U.’s computer-brain. Could they be linked? It rationalised.

Still the horn screamed “Electromagnetic interference. Unable to transmit. Check for local magnetic disturbances!”

Sentinel 0006753 was now entering what to a human would be panic. It ran through its system, but like a chess game each of its moves was blocked. It attempted again to transmit, but with the same outcome.

Then, as it all became too much for the uNit to handle, a circuit connected in its computer-brain. It didn’t have any knowledge of the circuit’s existence but the logic bridge it activated made the uNit raised its metal arm and sticking out, what was in fact a metal finger, used it to poke a small red button on the consul before it. There was a loud click which was echoed throughout the habitat and below the uNit’s steel feet, a grinding noise commenced followed by a loud bang. The uNit looked about it. Had an attack begun? Were these noises the start of a massed attack?

A steel trapdoor opened in the floor of the habitat and a sound like something climbing up a stair resounded out of the opening. Minutes later a figure stepped into the control room. It was humanoid, six feet tall and probably weighed about 210 pounds.

“What’s the problem, dude?” asked the new arrival. “You woke me from a deep sleep. What year is it anyway?”

“It is Year 234…What are you, I do not know …” the uNit mechanically stuttered.

“Chill out, my metal friend. I was put into cryogenic sleep whenever our masters built this watchtower. I was to aid you in the event of… So what has happened?”

“I am unable to transmit a message to Earth, reporting the presence of an incoming vessel and activity from SYH 5643.”

“Syh…what?”

“The white hole that the watchtower was constructed to watch.” The uNit was finding interaction with the humanoid illogical. “You have been asleep for two centuries. My role is to warn Earth of any possible transitions using the black/white hole conduit.”

“But, why?” the humanoid said scratching himself. “I would have thought after all this time; travel would be by using hyperspace.”

“The Xarrtippi are the only race with the necessary technology to use this link and they would be on a war footing from the point they emerged.”

“Oh, right,I get you mate. So, what have you in the weapon’s department?”

“Nothing, Earth was to send hyper-light ships in the event that I reported activity in SYH..the white hole!”

“You mean you have nothing to retaliate with?”

“No…although I was instructed to self destruct in the event of a possible takeover by the enemy.”

“Is there any coffee?” the humanoid asked. “It always gets me thinking clearly.”

“I can construct a beverage if that is what you want, but we are in the throes of an emergency, what is your purpose?”

The humanoid, whose name was Jed Garret, had been left in cold storage within the basement of the habitat by Earth Command to be the organic component of the Watchtower System. If the Unit found itself in a quandary, as what to do, certain chemicals would be released within its computer-brain, which in turn would activate a circuit, which would connect with a logic bridge and activate a cryogenic wake up of the humanoid. The humanoid or Jed, as he would rather be called would provide an alternative approach to the uNit’s dilemma.

“My purpose is to aid you in making decisions,” Jed grunted as he surveyed the consul. “When did this sombitch appear?”

“Somb…This term is unknown to me.”

“O.K. When did this vessel appear on your scope?”

“Two Earth days ago.”

“And when did you lose the ability to transmit?”

“I tried one Earth day ago.”

“Could the vessel be interfering with your ability to transmit?”

“Yes, this is possible,” the uNit replied.

“You think? Let’s get the scope on this incomer.”

The vessel had moved closer reported the uNit. “It is only one light week away now.”

“What about the activity in the white hole/” asked Jed, looking across to where the white monstrosity rotated. “What would trigger your alarms?”

“The profusion of X-rays, which would speed out from both sides of the conduit.”

The uNit and Jed checked and rechecked all the data that had been coming into the Watchtower from its various sensors.

“Hell, mate!” said Jed angrily. “This is a set up; the vessel is blocking our ability to warn Earth to allow these, what do you call them, to come through?”

“The Xarrtippi. A warrior race.”

“The Xartippi were defeated before I was put into cryogenic sleep,” grunted Jed. “How come they are able to mount an invasion…and use hyperspace technology?”

“Reports have been coming in for the last Earth decade of activity in a Universe running parallel to this one,” the uNit reported. “This would explain the utilisation of SYH 5643.”

“Do you have a plan B?”

“What is a…Plan B?”

“A contingency plan to use, in the event that you were somehow unable to get aid from Earth.”

“Darra Moon is orbited by a moonlet Categorised DS 6936.”

“And…? What use is this moonlet?” asked Jed.

“It is artificial and contains weaponry with nanotechnology backup.”

“Come again?” Jed asked with a querulous look on his face.

“DS moonlets are capable of launching nuclear missiles and possess enough fissionable material in their interior for nano-bots to construct at least three more complete replacement of the missiles,” the uNit reported.

“Well, now you’re talking! Let’s just launch the missiles and destroy the rogue ship that is blocking our transmissions.”

“The moonlet is in the wrong configuration. It was always thought that an attack would come from the direction of the mouth of SYH 5643.”

“But…you can alter the direction of their targeting, can’t you?”

“I could, if signals were not being blocked by the incoming vessel.”

“Can they be reset manually?”

“Of course, but there is no one on DS 6936 capable of making the changes,” reported the uNit almost with a human impatience.

“Do you have space suits with jet packs attached in this station?” Jed asked.

“Yes…but they are only for use on the moon’s surface.”

“Are the jets powerful enough to propel me to the moonlet?”

The Unit hit some buttons on the consul and after a few minutes reported: “A jetpack will carry you to the moonlet. The orbit is within the acceptable distance and with drag factors removed, it is possible.”

“So, in short, yes!” hissed Jed. “Can you get me one now...please?”

The uNit hustled away to a different room within the habitat and returned after five minutes with a space suit with jetpack attached on the rear. “Your oxygen supply will be the only restricting consideration to your journey,” reported the uNit. “You cannot carry enough to sustain yourself on the moonlet.”

“Is there no oxygen on the moonlet?”

“Yes, but it is used by the nano-bots to produce new sets of missiles.”

“Can I not tap into the supply?”

“I have insufficient data,” the uNit said pushing various buttons on the consul and bringing up schematics of the moonlet.

“There,” said Jed pointing to a sketched tube on the blueprint. “I could cut into there and obtain oxygen.”

“You will reduce the moonlet’s capability of replenishment of arms.”

“Needs must,” grunted Jed. “And the Devil drives!”

“How will you be able to avoid detection by the incoming vessel?” asked the uNit.

“When is the moonlet due? If I can position it between me and the vessel, my trip will not be detected.”

The uNit looked down at its viewing screen. “In three Earth hours the moonlet will be in a position that you require, but the odds on you surviving are very low.”

“And you think that we will be allowed to survive once the Xartippi emerge from the white hole? I would imagine that they will use this habitat for target practice!”

Jed stood surveying the distance that he would have to ‘jetspace’ over. It seemed immense and would he have enough oxygen to gain entry to the moonlet. The uNit had furnished him with the location of the airlock and the combination required to open it, but would he manage to get inside, obtain a supply of oxygen and finally, reprogram the missile strike area?

As the moonlet appeared round the side of the habitat, the uNit stepped over and stood beside Jed. “This is a very brave thing that you are about to do,” It stated.

“Hey, imagine, a robot with feelings!” laughed Jed.

“I have an empathy chip included in my assembly,” the uNit explained simply. “I can feel certain degrees of emotions.”

“Well, simply put, unless I get over to that lump of rock and reset the missiles, Earth and all inhabitants of this Universe are going to be annihilated. I fought the Xartippi three hundred years ago and they were the most bloodthirsty race I have ever known. They killed and destroyed everything in their path.”

“Did you lose anyone close?” the uNit said quietly.

“Just my whole family…” Jed said hanging his head sadly.”My wife Maureen and our two daughters Gail and Sylvia.”

“Was this why you requested to be cryogenically stored?”

“Well, there was nothing back on Earth for me and I felt that I could possibly, in a future existence kick back at someone…something!”

The uNit stood silently absorbing the human’s pain. Its empathy circuits attracted, disseminated and fed information into its computer-brain. Synapses flared and logic gates passed as the pure essence of Jed’s feelings were processed. The uNit raised its metal arm and placing it on the human’s shoulder gripped him tightly. A moment passed when metal man and human stood in a universal hug which meant everything to them both simultaneously.

Then it was over and Jed stepped up to the airlock and looking over his shoulder at the uNit said: “Better stand back a bit, don’t want to damage you.”

Under cover of the moonlet Jed soared through the empty vacuum of space. He looked back momentarily at the habitat gleaming on the Moon’s surface. The white hole stood in the background, a vast reversed vacuum cleaner, material, gases and radiation pouring out of it. The Xartippi would be approaching the mouth where they would halt to check their weapons before sallying forth at the beginning of their wave of destruction.

The moonlet’s airlock proved to be difficult to be entered. Meteorite strikes and general temperature gradients had warped the metal of the outside hatch. Jed checked his oxygen, the needle sat on the halfway mark, so it was imperative that he gain entry as soon as possible. Inserting a crowbar in the edge of the hatch Jed leant on it. He had entered the combination correctly but the door just hadn’t budged. Until now, the crowbar seemed to free all the gunk that had accumulated on the seal and as Jed watched the hatch door swung open. He carefully entered the airlock and closed the outside hatch. A sharp hiss of air registered being cut off from the vacuum of space. Jed twisted the handle that would open the inner hatch.

Inside the moonlet it was dark, but upon switching on a light that Jed wore on his helmet he could see the interior of the spherical weapon’s delivery system. Quickly locating the oxygen supply pipe, Jed screwed in a valve that would allow him to replenish the oxygen in his tank.He watched as the needle on his readout was sitting on full before he screwed the valve shut and disconnected the supply to the tank.

Approaching the area where several sharp nosed missiles pointed, Jed slid an observation window open. Realising that the thick glass that he was looking through showed him the mouth of the white hole, he could see several craft lying just inside and recognised the Xartippi emblems painted in massive cyrillic figures on the hulls.

Suddenly a space vessel hove into view and Jed saw that it was the incoming vessel that had blocked the transmissions that could have warned Earth of the potential Xartippi escape. Drifting over to a consul, Jed switched the power on and saw a schematic displayed of the moonlet, complete with missiles. How could he launch the missiles manually and would the missiles be enough to stop the invasion?

The uNit in the habitat looked over at the orbiting moonlet. It could see the space vessel near the entrance to the white hole. It was obviously communicating with the Xartippi within the hole. Checking the equipment the uNit was dismayed to see that the electromagnetic waves from the vessel were still incapacitating any outgoing signals being made from the habitat to Earth.

All at once the unit observed the moonlet begin to rotate. A dark faux crater on its surface was the mouth of the weapons delivery system; the human was moving it round the wrong way.

Within the moonlet, Jed had spun the missiles round so that they were pointing into the middle, rather than outward. Touching a button that he had discovered rotated the moonlet till it was facing away from the mouth of the white hole.

When all was still agin, Jed took a deep breath and pushed the firing button for the missiles. The outside surface of the moonlet with the faux crater on it was instantly blown away into space as the missile’s jets roared. Suddenly the moonlet began to move out of orbit, right towards the space vessel and the emerging Xartippi fleet behind it.

The uNit watched unable to comprehend what was happening.

The moonlet was moving out of orbit and slowly increasing in speed in the direction of the white hole and its gathered assembly. The space vessel started to move sluggishly out of the way of the incoming moonlet, but it was too late and it was struck amidships and carried towards the mouth of the white hole.

The explosion was colossal but totally contained within the white hole. The missiles detonated, the fissionable material within the moonlet exploded along with the reserve fuel and oxygen stored within.

The white hole just collapsed in on itself, issuing Xrays and gamma rays into the void. The Xartippi fleet ceased to be as the massive forces within crushed them to particles, parts of the space vessel was mixed in with the tortured remains. The invasion was over.

REPORT: Sentinel 0006753. Location: DARRA Moon  VERSAVIA Planet. FARSAL Quadrant.

Current 234/ 92/3

Radar assembly checked – OK. Life support Habitat – OK. Pulsar weaponry – OK

Number of micro-meteor strikes – 7689.  Self diagnosis and tests – OK. Traffic – 0

SYH 5643 no longer exists, request redeployment elsewhere.

Loss of cryogenic subject and moonlet DS 6936.

Recommend Jed Garret for Universal Medal of Honour.

………………………………………………………………+……………………………………………………………………………..

21/01/18

Cairniehill

Arbroath

People in the Walls

The house creaked loudly as the storm winds battered it. I always imagined that it was like being on one of my father’s ships as they made their way through the China Sea during a typhoon. He had been a jute importer, Gerald Bracknell & Co., back in the days when the high masted vessels plied the oceans of the world seeking produce to turn into riches for themselves.

‘Windwearie’ had been built from some of this wealth before I was born. My heavily pregnant mother’s first sight of the house was three months after the builders had left. Her reaction had been a sharp intake of breath which my father had taken as awe, but in fact, as she confided to me after I had attained my teenage years, was a fierce feeling of misgiving.

After my birth I was handed over to a nanny/ housekeeper. Mrs Berkinshaw was a sullen, odious woman who although purporting to having had children, displayed none of the maternal, loving demeanour one would expect. When I was ill she dosed me with castor oil, promising that it was the only way to fight off the infection… how I hated her!

Now, I was mistress of the house, but due to my advanced years and infirmity, had to rule from my bed chamber.

The door to my bedroom creaked open and in waddled, dear old Dawes, a butler to the family for many years. He was old now but had been a spruce young man when he arrived. I remember that dapper man as if it was yesterday, but there had been many yesterdays since and the years had not been kind to him. Oh, old age, it is a real leveller.

“Your  supper, Ms. Mathilda,” said Dawes, laying a tray, upon which sat two pieces of lightly buttered toast and a mug of cocoa, down in front of me.

“Thank you Dawes,” I said wearily. “It sounds as if it is going to be a wild night.”

“Yes madam, they say that the foul weather the Americas have been experiencing has crossed the ocean to give us a taste.”

“Oh dear, I suppose we will just have to bear the brunt.”

“Goodnight, madam. Sleep well.”

After Dawes had shut my bedroom door and descended the stairs to his apartment, I realised that no sleep would visit my bed that night. What with the ferocity of the wind and its effect on the fabric of the house, I was to have a perfect background for my visitors.

It was one year after my poor, dear mother had passed away that a true black, gloom descended on ‘Windwearie’. The house had been in mourning for the customary year and my father had just returned to his transactions in and around the China Sea. He may still have been under the crushing depression left by mother’s sudden demise, for he was careless in his dealings and fell foul of one, Akhabir Khan, an Asian businessman. Khan was purported to have connections with the Purple Kris, an evil group made up of mercenaries, turncoats and sorcerers. He accused my father of swindling him out of many thousands of pounds and threatened him with repercussions if the debt was not honoured. My father reported Khan to the authorities and the businessman was hauled off to prison. The man was ultimately freed by bribing the prison officials, but now my father had a powerful enemy.

Several weeks after the unpleasant incident a large packing box arrived at ‘Windwearie’, it was addressed to my father, but in his absence, Mrs Berkinshaw was authorised to open it. As the packaging fell away it revealed an ornate wooden box roughly having the dimensions of a good sized coffin. Dragons and other fantastic creatures were carved into its lid and sides, their eyes were inlayed with precious stones. Brass metal straps encompassed it and ran to a large metal lock, which was securely locked. Mrs Berkinshaw was furious and stamped her feet. “Whoever would think of sending a locked box without a key?” she had shouted angrily before ordering two of the servants to carry it down into the basement where various tools were kept.

It was not until late the following evening that the odious housekeeper turned her attention again to the box. This time she announced to the servants and kitchen staff that she would not be thwarted. Various drills and cutting equipment had been laid out ready for the assault on the casket.

I remember it was another stormy night, with lightning and rolling thunder claps which shook ‘Windwearie to its core. I had been sent to bed to say my prayers and prepare for sleep, but had I known what was to transpire I would have prayed longer and harder for deliverance.

I could make out the sound of hammering and sawing coming from the bowels of the house. It echoed up the stairwell as I lay awake hoping that it would finish and I could get some peace to sleep. All at once there was an almighty crash from the heavens which coincided with a scream of terror. The following silence was truly deafening and I lay petrified with fear, hiding beneath my bedclothes.

All at once I felt a tangible chill enter the room; it was as if a north wind was breathing its icy breath over everything. I threw back the bedclothes and groped for my overgown which was fur lined, as I pulled it on I could see my breath in the air, the temperature was that low. A gloom had spread itself about the room hanging below the ceiling and swirling about the frieze high up in the room. As it swirled I could imagine an evil looking face that dissipated and reformed over and over. With a scream I ran from the room and down the stairs…right into the arms of Mrs Berkinshaw.”Olivia,” she had grunted as she staggered from the impact of my retreat. “What are you doing down here?”

I could see in her face that she had had a shock and I wondered what had been terrifying enough to cause this woman fear. “What did you find within the box?” I asked tentatively. “Was it treasure?”

“No…”stuttered the woman. “just some stinking bits of cloth, now get back to your bed, this instant!”

Some days later I learnt from a thoroughly frightened young valet who had been present at the opening of the box, that rather than just foul smelling, soiled material, it had looked as if a body wrapped in cerements had been lying within the casket, but that upon being exposed to the air the form had collapsed leaving just its wrappings and the pungent odour of rotting flesh. “We just slammed the box closed and ran out of the basement,” explained the young man. “But, it felt as if something was following us as we made our escape.”

For the following weeks before my father’s return the house was not a quiet one. Mrs Berkinshaw blamed the mice, the wind and the settlement of the house’s timbers, in fact anything than admit that an evil presence now occupied ‘Windwearie’ and was bent on driving us out.

Each night I demanded that a candle burnt by my bedside as in the dark all manner of things could be heard creeping, scuttling and dripping onto my floor. Sometimes the smells that permeated were a mixture of sour, spicy and downright revolting. I knew decisively that something had escaped from the wooden box and it was not of this world. We were a beleaguered house held in thrall by something powerfully evil.

My father arrived home some months later in time for my seventeenth birthday and knew right away that all was not as it should be. He called for Mrs Berkinshaw to come to his study and after closing the door, demanded an explanation from the woman.

She attempted to blame the servants for opening the package and ultimately the casket, but father explained that it was she who had been left in charge and so it was her responsibility. Father realised that his adversary, Akhabir Khan, was the root of the trouble and although conscious of the man’s infamy, equally knew that if his housekeeper had not opened the accursed item, possibly, the trouble could have been handled more prudently.

That night Father went out and did not come home until the small hours arriving with a cart, out of the back of which, he and one of the servants carried four bulky, blanket-covered items into the house.

Strangely, that night, the house was silent and the presence that seemed to haunt the house was absent. The atmosphere felt warmer and I noticed some of the servants actually smiling! What had Father done and what were these objects that he had brought in?

I crept downstairs as quietly as I could and on the bottom flight of stairs I peeked through the banister rails down into the great hall of Windwearie. Father had inscribed a large five pointed star on the flagstones and he stood in the middle of the strange design, the blanketed forms that Father and one of the servants had carried in, lay at four of the five points.

“I command you to appear, djinn!” shouted my Father, into what seemed the empty air.”I command you in the name of Falgassa, head djinn of your sect!”

Suddenly a strange greenish light began to materialise in the air, above Father’s head. It strengthened as I watched and took on the shape of a tall flame, continuously flickering. “You summoned me infidel!” a voice from within the flame called loudly.

“I have fulfilled your requirements, spirit, now leave my house and never return!”

The flame lowered until it hung above one of the blanketed shapes and then it stretched out and ignited the blanket covering. As it turned to ash, I saw to my horror that it was a corpse that was exposed. The eyes were missing and the mouth hung open.

“Where is the fifth, infidel?” the spirit screamed. “You have not completed the ritual!”

“I am awaiting the arrival of the fifth,” my Father said turning towards the end of the hall as the front door opened and let in some sort of wolf. It was carrying a bundle in its teeth and as it moved into the light, seemed bewildered.

“My familiar, Grydak has provided the remaining piece of this cosmic jigsaw!” said Father as he called the wolf towards him. The animal trotted up to him and gently laid the bundle down on the previously, empty fifth point.

“I go,” screamed the djinn. “But, be warned if you leave, but a chink in your armour, I will return…and I will not be alone!” Suddenly, there was a noise like a rushing wind and the flame disappeared.

How I managed to get back to my bed undetected, I will never know. My legs felt like rubber and the scene that I had witnessed seemed to be burnt into my brain. Pulling the sheets over my head, I shivered in the darkness till merciful sleep took me and gave me a welcome oblivion, until I was awakened by Mrs Birkenshaw.

“Breakfast is ready, please make your way down to dining room,” she said in a sepulchral voice.

As I descended the stairs I wondered if there would be any trace of last night’s happenings, but I was relieved to see that the great hall’s floor was devoid of anything save some small rugs. I could see no sign of any of the blanketed corpses or of the inscribed star. There were, though, a pile of parcels wrapped up in silver and gold foil. It was my birthday and Father had brought my presents with him when he had returned home. He descended the stairs from his bedroom and bade me begin discovering what he had bought for me.

As I opened the boxes and found beautiful clothes and jewellery, Father watched on with a strange look on his face.

Eventually, after I had opened all the gifts and had given Father a hug and kiss, I asked him why he was not happier than he was, I mean, it was my birthday.

“Go and have your breakfast,” he said. “I will explain when I have completed my toilette.”

“You are to stay with your cousin Agatha, Mathilda,” my Father announced when he had joined me at the dining table, looking as smart as ever, not a trace of the sleepless night he must have had.

I looked up from my porridge and asked why I had to go.

“The builders are coming to make a few alterations to Windwearie. It will be dusty and dirty for a week or two, so you would be better at Agatha’s house. You can take some of your presents to show her.”

Now my cousin Agatha is the most vacuous and selfish person I had ever met and two weeks in her company would seem like two years. “Must I go Father; I would rather stay with you, here?”I groaned.

So began an interminable period in which I had to grit my teeth to stop saying anything untoward and keep my arms by my sides to avoid walloping my dear, sweet cousin. If she thought before she spoke life would have been much better.

But, as time will, time passed and soon I was bidding Agatha and her family goodbye, on my way back to Windwearie. Was I happy to see the old house appearing in the distance? I imagined my arrival, seeing Father again and being able to sleep in my own bedroom. Even the prospect of Mrs Birkinshaw didn’t deter my good feeling.

Later that day as I went into the lounge to bid Father, goodnight, I noticed that an area of the wall had been replastered. The surface was darker than the surrounding walls as it still had to dry.

“Did you get all the work done satisfactorily, Father,” I asked, as I approached where he was sitting.

He looked up from the book he was reading and saw me looking at the drying piece of wall. “Yes, it has been done. I suspected dry rot in the woodwork. It always helps to ‘nip it in the bud’ when you discover it,” he said with a little laugh.

The night, as normal was stormy. Windwearie had been well named, as the area seemed to attract gales and stormy conditions. The old house was used to bracing itself against inclement weather.

As I snuggled deep down under the sheets trying to deaden the wind’s shriek, I realised that I hadn’t blown out my candle, so pulling the covers down, I leant over and extinguished the flame with a puff of my breath.

I thought that there had to be another candle alight in the room for although I had put out my bedside candle, the room was still weakly illuminated. Looking over to the far corner of my room, I was shocked to see a small glowing ember hovering in the air, getting brighter and brighter. As I watched it began to fashion itself into a figure – that of a small boy.

Nearly out of my mind, I shrieked again and again as the boy became clearer and finally I jumped out of bed and made for the door to my bedroom. I threw it open and there stood Mrs Birkinshaw, a look of fury on her face.

“Have a nightmare?” she said in a mocking tone. “Get back to bed this instant!” she hissed as she pushed me back into the room and slammed the door in my face.

I began to scream again and pull at the door handle, but the housekeeper had tight hold on the handle on the other side of the door and the door refused to budge.

Suddenly, I heard my father’s voice asking Mrs Birkinshaw what all the screaming was about. I pounded on the door and screamed to be let out. All at once the door was wrenched open and I rushed out and into my father’s arms.

“What is the meaning of this, Mrs Birkinshaw?” I heard my father ask quietly, although I knew that from past experience, he was keeping his anger under control – for now.

“She just had a b-b-bad dream, sir,” stuttered the housekeeper. “You can’t afford to mollycoddle her or she will never learn.”

“Learn what, exactly?” my father’s anger was rising.”She is still, only a child!”

”Spoil the child…” Mrs Birkinshaw began to say, but was cut off by my Father.

“Get to your room, Mrs Birkinshaw, pack your things and get out of this house – now!”

“But, sir…!”

“Go…now.”

The housekeeper glared at me balefully then spun on her heel and marched off to her room, I never saw her again.

When I returned to my bedroom with Father, I could see that the room was empty, but there was a palatable chill about it and I quickly got into bed

Father asked if I would be alright now and lit a candle by my bed.

“To give you some comfort, my dear. Good night,” he whispered, before shutting my bedroom door.

I glanced round the room to convince myself that I indeed was alone then pulled the covers up and over my head.

It was about five minutes later when I heard a scuffle from  the far wall of the bedroom.

“Matilda…” a tiny voice called out and I shivered with fright.

“Matilda…please, speak to me. I won’t harm you, I promise.”

I gritted my teeth and slowly lowered the blanket. For a few seconds I couldn’t see anything, then the figure of the child began to reappear. I made to run to the door again, but the voice spoke again. “Please, please, don’t run away.”

I sat back in the bed and witnessed a little boy looking as solid as you or I, suddenly appear.

“I am sorry to scare you, Matilda, but I must speak to you. Are you willing to listen to me?” he said sadly.

It transpired that the boy’s name was Samuel and he was four years old. He had been bought from an orphanage and strangled by two men. One had looked very smart, while the other looked dirty and unkempt. The young boy’s spirit watched from above his body as it had been hidden in an old warehouse; then, two days ago when it had been transported, covered in a blanket to an area near Windwearie where it was left. Samuel saw that the body lay there for quite some time until a dog or some animal carried it into the house.

“My spirit cannot rest, Matilda,” said Samuel. “for my remains have been used in a magical ceremony which binds me to the earth.”

Matilda remembered what she had seen from the stairs when she had witnessed her father standing in the hall with the large star inscribed on the floor. Samuel’s body had been the small bundle that had been brought in last. It had been a magical ceremony, she thought.

“What can I do to help?” she asked the spirit. “Is there anything I can do?”

In two weeks time, the great Festival of Baroc would take place, which signalled the beginning of a period named the ‘Days of Unrest’, the djinn would return to Windwearie to check for loopholes that would let it take occupancy again, Samuel explained to Mathilda.

“We have to do something that will break the circle of power that was set up during the ceremony, Samuel whispered.

“But, that will let it take over the house again and make it uninhabitable,” Mathilda hissed.

“Not if you do what I tell you,” Samuel said. “Do you really wish to leave here?”

The next day, Gerald Bracknell left for London. He called for Matilda and when she came downstairs, he told her that he was to be away for a few days, but upon his return, she would be going back to stay with cousin Agatha for two weeks. From what Samuel had told her, the period of her absence would coincide with the Festival of Baroc. No wonder Father wants me out of the way, thought Matilda.

That night, Matilda made her way into her father’s study. Mrs Potts the cook was acting as housekeeper until a replacement could be found for Mrs Birkinshaw. The cook loved her ‘after supper’ tipple which rendered her unconscious very quickly, so Matilda knew that no one would notice her presence in this part of the house. Closing the door of the study quietly, Matilda crept over to her father’s desk and checked the newly plastered portion of wall, behind it. Samuel had told her that his remains had been placed in the wall as part of the occult protection for the house.

Picking up a heavy ruler from the desktop, Matilda began to strike the wall until the plaster cracked open revealing a large hole. The smell issuing from within made Mathilda choke and she covered her nose with her hand. Carefully, feeling inside the hole she located a soft heap of cloth, it was the boy’s corpse.

A gibbous moon hung over the garden of Windwearie as Mathilda carried Samuel’s body to a spot beyond the large greenhouse. The soil was dry and light there so she had no problem digging a hole and burying her sad, little bundle.

Next, she went and found Mrs Potts and reported that the new plastering in her father’s study had collapsed and that the plasterer would have to return the next day to repair the damage. “If it is done right away Father will never notice,” Mathilda explained to the cook.

Upon returning from London five days later, Gerald Bracknell went straight to his study and Mathilda held her breath after the door closed. Her Father had brought back a lot of documents which required his attention immediately, so did not notice anything untoward. Even so, Mathilda had had one of the servants hang a large picture over the newly plastered wall to make doubly sure.

Upon arriving at her cousin’s Agatha’s, Mathilda was pleasantly surprised by being told that her cousin had been confined to bed with a slight fever. Mathilda was forbidden to visit her ailing cousin for fear of contracting any sickness and thus passed her days in trivial pursuits like walking and riding sometimes alone or with her uncle and aunt.

A week later Mathilda was called to her uncle’s drawing room. When she entered she could see that both her aunt and uncle were upset and upon being made to sit, Mathilda was told that there had been a terrible accident at Windwearie and that tragically her father had been killed.

Fighting back the tears, Mathilda demanded to know what had happened.

“When the police arrived at the request of Mrs Potts, they had discovered two bodies lying dead in the hall,” explained Mathilda’s uncle. “The second body was that of a business rival of your father’s, one Akhabir Khan.”

I had no allusions about what had killed them, for by removing Samuel’s corpse, I had allowed the djinn to return and take possession of Windwearie. Upon returning home I had returned Samuel’s remains to the wall, thus returning the spiritual protection to the house and ousting the djinn.

I felt deeply shocked by Father’s death, but I felt that as he had dabbled in black magic and had been instrumental in Samuel’s death, it had been a just outcome.

Father had left a fortune in his will to me and I had become mistress of Windwearie.

The wind and rained battered my bedroom window as I returned mentally to the present. I sipped my tea and then turning down the light till I could just about make out the furniture in my bedroom, I called quietly, “You can come out now!”

Samuel’s spirit was the first to appear. He had never aged and still had the appearance of a four year old, but with the intellect of a person much older. “Good evening, Ms. Matilda,” he whispered.

The other four spirits appeared in different areas of the room; with their remains secreted in various parts of the house, they were earthbound until a discovery was made of their earthly bodies and subsequently buried in holy land.

But for now they were my constant companions, I never learnt their names but their loyalty to me was absolute. If Windwearie was engulfed in a night storm, they all appeared to allay my fears and to ensure I was not alone until I fell asleep. What more could I ask for?

……………………………………………………………….+……………………………………………………………………………..

11/01/18

Cairniehill

Arbroath