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

One Good Deed…

The day was fine and what made it even finer was Ethel Grayley had successfully passed her driving test! Oh, she had soared through the theory exam with flying colours and the practical test was just a stroll down ‘memory lane’. She had asked her sister Maud’s son Renton to show her what all the ‘bits’ were under the bonnet and she memorised where they were situated and what their purpose was. She had been so ready for the driving test after twenty lessons that with old Mr James, her instructor sitting alongside her, Ethel felt that she could have driven to the Moon! Actually wrongly or rightly, she had bought a car for herself before the test, which was how sure she felt about being able to pass! Oh, it wasn’t a very expensive car, in fact it was what is commonly called a ‘banger’, but it worked well and with four new tyres on it, Ethel felt that she would be floating on a cloud.

That was until today when Mr Froydd the postman had slipped a brown envelope through her letter box containing her driving licence. Now she could drive on her own through the country around Gaxminster, her home town, cover miles through the highways and byways and maybe stop for a cream tea at the little picturesque villages. But Mr James would not be there, giving her advice and tutting when she accidentally drove into a pothole; she would be completely on her own.

So, after making up some sandwiches and a flask of tea, Ethel walked out to her car, yes, her very own car! She could hardly believe it as she carefully unlocked, opened the car door and got into the driving seat.

First, she inserted the key and then she checked the gear stick was in neutral and after turning on the engine and releasing the brake, she was off! That was until she remembered that she hadn’t put on her seat belt, what would P.C. Crockatt make of that, if he saw her! Ethel shuddered to think.

The car was a dream to drive and as Ethel whisked through the country lanes she began to relax and enjoy the trip. She paid special attention to the road signs and slowed as she approached junctions.

A herd of cattle was being driven up the road by a young man and his dog. Ethel stopped and for a minute she was totally surrounded by mooing, sweaty cows whose long tongues drooled saliva over her shiny bodywork. Oh well, she thought, a trip to the car wash may be required tomorrow.

The large town of Ambrose was next on her tour and as she drove into the built up area she felt a frisson of fear. She had to watch for children coming out from behind parked cars or ladies pushing prams. Oh dear, the country lanes are so much easier she thought, as she dropped gear in expectation of an approaching zebra crossing.

Near the centre of Ambrose was a traffic light controlled crossing and as Ethel approached it she was glad to see the lights at green. She touched the accelerator pedal with her toe and began to cross when, the car came to a sudden stop! Ethel turned the key to restart the engine but it just did not want to start and after several attempts and achieving nothing she began to be conscious of the sound of horns blowing. She tried once again with no luck, then as she was about to open the door a couple of young men ran up and after telling her to release her handbrake, pushed her off the crossing and onto the side of the street. Ethel was so grateful she got out to offer the men a financial reward or her thanks at least, but the good Samaritans had vanished as quickly as they had appeared and rather disappointed, Ethel got back into her car. Upon turning the ignition key the engine sprang into life and once again she was mobile.

That night as she lay in bed awaiting sleep, her mind went back to her day’s car journey. After Ambrose she had driven to Fordon and then onto Whipsney where she had stopped for a cup of tea and a scone with strawberry jam. The café was a lovely rustic type with a thatched roof and climbing roses around the door. The birds were singing in the trees and a light breeze tickled Ethel’s hair. The sky was a light blue and wispy clouds moved slowly over it like galleons on the sea. 

Then she remembered her unpleasant incident in Ambrose. What could have happened with the car? It was working alright up to the crossing and started no problem afterwards, but on the crossing the engine had just refused to start. Oh well, Ethel thought, she would have to expect these little mishaps if she was a car driver. She rolled over on her side and closed her eyes as sleep overtook her.

She was back driving in Ambrose town. She recognised the little houses with red coloured tile roofs and black tall chimneys and the church with the crooked steeple. She instinctively knew that around the next bend was the crossing where her car had stopped. In her dream state, she wondered if the incident would be repeated. The lights were green as before and Ethel again touched the pedal and the car raced towards the crossing, but suddenly there was someone on the road crossing and as Ethel fumbled with the foot brake in an attempt to stop the car, it just sped up and, oh horrors, hit the person and sent the figure tumbling over the car!

Ethel woke with a shriek and it took her a few minutes to realise that it had only been a nightmare. Oh dear, she thought, it was so real! She couldn’t remember whether the person she had struck was a man or a woman, but in her heart of hearts she instinctively knew that it had been a woman!

When Ethel woke in the morning after a restless sleep, she still remembered the dream and cringed inwardly as she recalled the moment of striking the person. Why had she dreamt it? Upon stalling her car at that crossing in Ambrose, she had set up a sort of paranoid fear within her mind.

Well, Ethel thought, giving herself a mental shake, I will return to Ambrose and drive across the crossing and I bet nothing untoward happens. She experienced a tiny frisson of fear, but shrugged it off with a laugh.

“I really think that you should get a garage to look at your engine,” said the tall policeman. “There is obviously something wrong with it. How long have you had the car?”

“I bought it three months ago, officer and since I started driving it I have had no problems…till now,” said Ethel, not wishing to tell him about yesterday’s similar incident.

Ethel had driven to Ambrose and this time had had to sit in a queue of cars at the crossroads awaiting the changing of the lights from stop to go. When they finally changed she had engaged the engine into first gear and after releasing the handbrake had given the accelerator pedal a small push and moved off over the crossing, then horror of horrors – the car stalled in the same spot as the previous day!

Hopefully, looking through the car windows for the good Samaritans of yesterday, Ethel was dismayed to see a policeman standing, watching her dilemma. As a cacophony of horns began to sound from behind Ethel, the officer of the law set off in her direction.

Initially he suggested she try switching on the engine again but as that was what she had been doing constantly since the engine stall, she did not hold out much hope in that direction.

Finally, the policeman commandeered some aid from a few male passerbys to push Ethel through the crossing and deposit her back at the same spot as yesterday.

After the policeman had given Ethel some advice about having her engine checked by a garage, Ethel turned the key and lo and behold – the engine started!

“I reckon us pushing the car must have cleaned some dirt out of the engine, but I would have it checked over anyway, madam. Goodbye and drive carefully,” the policeman said and with a wave he walked off leaving Ethel to slowly drive off.

When she arrived home, Ethel took the policeman’s suggestion and rang the garage where she had bought the car. She made an appointment for the following day to have a service carried out, although Mr Grant, the garage owner and whom she had bought the car off, insisted that the car had been running in ‘tip top’ condition when she had bought it.

That night her dreams returned her to Ambrose and as the day before, she was sitting in a queue at the lights waiting to approach her anathema, the centre of the crossing.

The lights changed and the line of cars before her began to move. A large gap appeared before Ethel’s car as her forward motion slowed. She was moving at a snail’s pace towards the crossing when she suddenly saw a figure standing in the centre of the road vehemently pointing down towards the road surface. Ethel’s car suddenly picked up speed and before she could brake, the car drove into the person and sent them flying.

Ethel woke screaming, her bedclothes had been thrown off and her body was saturated with sweat. Why was she having this precise dream? And why would her car refuse to cross that piece of road without stalling?

Next day, Ethel arrived at Mr Grant’s garage to have her car serviced and inspected. The owner invited her to sit in a small area that had been laid out with a television, newspapers and tea and coffee on tap, for customers to wait, while work was being carried out. Ethel selected a copy of the local paper and began reading about all the happenings in her area of the country.

After about an hour and a half, during which time Ethel had had two cups of coffee, read two magazines and the paper, Mr Grant appeared to tell her that her car was ready. Ethel followed him to the office to pay her bill and when she was there she asked if anything untoward had been found.

“Not a thing, Ms. Grayley,” said Mr Grant as he totted up the sums of money on the bill. “Everything was working perfectly.”

“Well, that was two days when the engine stalled and refused to start,” Ethel said in a hurt tone.

“Alright, I will give you a discount as it hasn’t been long since you took the car.”

“Thank you, but did the previous owner of the car have any problems?”

“Your car was previously owned by…hang on, just give me minute, “Mr Grant said turning to the garage’s reception desk where a large bosomed, blonde haired lady sat filing her nails. “ “Glenda, could you bring me the used car sale book, please?”

After consulting the ledger Mr Grant turned to Ethel. “Yes, I remember now, the car was owned previously by Mr Thompson. The poor old guy gave up driving after he had an accident.”

“What accident?” Ethel asked sharply.

“He knocked someone down in Ambrose,” replied Mr Grant. “Crumpled up the front of his car, but we managed to get the dent out.”

“What happened to the person he knocked down?”

“Oh, I think she died, didn’t she,” said Mr Grant turning to Glenda for confirmation.

“Yes Mr Grant, the poor woman was pronounced dead at the scene of the accident.”

As Ethel drove away from the garage the sentence ‘pronounced dead at the scene of the accident’ played over and over in her mind. She had asked Mr Grant and Glenda where and when the accident had occurred, but both were unsure of the date and location, so she decided to visit the local library. They would have old newspapers available.

The Gaxminster local library was a lovely old building created in the form of a castle with two turrets and the walls sported crenulations. The stonework was in very good condition and glowed a rosy red in the afternoon sunshine.

“Do you have old newspapers that I can look at?” Ethel asked one of the library assistants.

“Through that door and on your right,” replied a lady wearing a tweed suit and horn rimmed spectacles.”If you have any problems just come back and I will see if I can help.”

Ethel entered a spacious reading room and caught sight of a large pile of newspapers lying on a table. She put her handbag down on the table and began looking through them, first of all checking the headlines then skimming through the internal content.

Realising that the accident must have occurred some weeks ago she dug down into the pile and selected one that had been produced a month before.

It wasn’t until Ethel had just about exhausted all the newspapers that she spotted a headline that read ‘Ambrose car accident – victim dies’. Checking the date, Ethel saw that it had happened two and a half months before and as she read the article she felt as if a stream of ice cold water had run down her spine – it had been a woman, her name had been Agnes Hobbs, the same age as Ethel and she had been killed on the crossing at Ambrose!

That night Ethel hoped that now she knew about the accident that her sleep would be dreamless or at least free of nightmares. She read a silly romance novel until she felt her eyelids begin to close then she closed the book, put out her bedside light and prepared to sleep.

All at once Ethel found herself in her car following a queue of car towards the crossing in Ambrose. The car began to stutter and as the engine slowed the gap in front of her increased. Then she spotted the figure in the road, but rather than standing the person was crouching down and once again pointing down at the road. With a sickening crunch Ethel’s car hit the figure and once again it tumbled up and over the bonnet and roof of the car.

Ethel had had enough of this nightly torture, so getting out of bed; Ethel got dressed and getting into her car, drove off towards the town of Ambrose. It was about three o’clock in the morning and as she had hoped the streets were empty of traffic and pedestrians as she drove into the sleeping town. Soon the crossing appeared in the distance picked out by the street lamps. Ethel pulled to the side of the road as close as was safe and parked. Getting out of the car she made her way to a spot close to one of the traffic lights and after checking in all directions that nothing was coming, walked over to the centre of the road looking for anything unusual.

Ethel checked all over and found nothing, but as she was about to give up she saw something glinting on the road surface and upon kneeling down, saw that it was a gold coloured coin. She reached down and attempted to pick it up but was unable to do so, as the object was firmly embedded in the tar.

Returning to her car, Ethel selected a screwdriver from her toolbox and upon returning to where the coin lay, she levered it out of its matrix of tar. As she lifted the coin a broken chain appeared threaded through a metal loop on the coin.

Back in her car, Ethel switched on her overhead light and checked to see what the coin was. It depicted a person carrying a small figure on its shoulder across a stretch of what looked like, water. It was a Saint Christopher’s medallion.

Ethel carefully put the medallion down on her bedside table as she settled down to sleep, hoping that now having solved the mystery, she would be able to sleep undisturbed, but although not a nightmare, a dream was waiting for her as she fell asleep.

It was a sunny, bright day and the scent of flowers filled the air. Looking about her, Ethel saw that she was in a very tidy, well looked after cemetery and rather than exuding a melancholy atmosphere, there was a feeling of peace and tranquillity.

“Thank you for what you have done for me,” a voice sounded from behind Ethel and upon turning round, she saw a young woman standing there.”Have you brought it with you?”

Ethel knew instinctively that this was Agnes Hobbs who stood before her and reaching into her pocket drew out the gold medallion and handed it over to the woman who cradled it in the palm of her hand before affixing it back round her neck.

“Oh…I thought that the chain was broken,” said Ethel hesitantly.

“No, like myself, it has been restored,” Agnes said and gave Ethel a beautiful smile. “Thank you and until we meet again, have a happy life.” With that, the dream faded and Ethel woke up with tears in her eyes. Upon checking her bedside table, she saw that the medallion was no longer there.

Two weeks later, Ethel had to drive to Ambrose to collect a parcel from the post office. As she approached the town she wondered about Agnes. She hoped that the woman was now at peace and felt a warm sensation in her heart that she had helped someone, albeit a spirit.

There was a long queue at the infamous crossing and as Ethel pulled in behind the last car, rather than feeling worried, Ethel felt totally relaxed.

It took two traffic light changes before Ethel was up at the front of the queue waiting for the lights to change to green. As the colour changed, Ethel took her handbrake off and touched the accelerator…and the engine stalled! Frantically Ethel tried to restart the engine, but it just would not go. Then suddenly, there was a crash and large chunks of masonry began to rain down on the centre of the crossing, right where Ethel would have been had her car not stalled.

That night Ethel dreamt again of the serene cemetery and Agnes.

“Thank you,” said Ethel. “I know that you were responsible for saving my life today.”

Agnes smiled again and the dream began to lose colour until it completely faded away and Ethel slept like a baby.

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

01/01/18

Cairniehill

Arbroath

The Incoming Wave

The World had been in a constant state of war for the past ten years and before that there were skirmishes resulting in bloodshed and continuing hostility. America was at war with Africa, the Middle Eastern States were at war with Japan and the Chinese were at war with Britain. Each of the conflicts could have been solved diplomatically, but the weapon makers were offering cheap artillery and munitions and rather than back down by talking to one another, each country launched itself into total war with its adversary.

Refugees migrated all over the globe but found no where that was not a war zone. Many were killed or wounded and lay where they fell often being injured further by stampedes of people who ran heedlessly over them.

Everyone looked after Number One and to hell with his neighbor.

The first of the time travellers arrived on the afternoon of the 15^th of October 2067. Their arrival was totally unprecedented and gave everyone present a nasty shock.

Old Mrs Merriweather had been in a catatonic state for the previous five years. The nursing home where she was being cared for didn’t give the relatives much hope of any sort of recovery.

“She’s had a good innings,” commented the matron, “ she is ninety three years old.”

Mrs Merriweather’s niece Julie and her husband Tom were just finishing a cup of tea and nibbling on a ginger nut when the bell rang heralding the end of visiting time.

With a sigh of relief Julie leant over to plant a kiss on her auntie’s forehead when the old lady sat up and looked about her.

“What year is this?” she demanded to know.

Julie gave a little scream and jumped backwards, standing on Tom’s toes.

“What year is this? I must know right away.”

The matron entered the room and asked what all the noise was about.

“My aunt’s suddenly woke up,” Julie gasped.

The matron rushed to Mrs Merriweather’s bedside and began to fuss around the old woman, taking her pulse and checking her facially. “You’ve been asleep for a very long time,” the matron whispered.

“What year is it?” Mrs Merriweather asked for a third time.

“It’s 2067” said Tom bluntly. “Why is that so important?”

“Because,” said the old woman angrily. “We’ve only got twenty years before the sun explodes!”

After everyone had calmed down it turned out that Mrs Merriweather thought that she was now a person called Rudyk Karslen and had travelled from the year 2086 to escape a solar catastrophe which would destroy the Earth. She/he intimated that other souls from his era would probably be arriving soon, but that they needed a person with a ruined mind to oust if habitation was to occur.

The matron tutted as she injected the old lady with a sedative. “Now Mrs Merriweather, you must have been hearing something from the television channel, last night was Sci-Fi Night and that T.V. channel Mr Higgins insists on watching was running a ‘Disaster Night Fest’ . I’m sure there was one film about little green men attacking Earth. That is what you are imagining.”

But, as she slipped back into unconsciousness, Mrs Merriweather carried on insisting that provisions had to be made as soon as possible for preventing the series of cataclysmic occurrences which were to occur leading to the Sun’s destruction and destruction of the Solar System.

“I tell you,” shrieked Mrs Merriweather in a thin, reedy, piping voice. “my name is Rudyk Karslen. More will be coming, it is a total evacuation…” Then the old lady fell sound asleep.

Over the following weeks, Mrs Merriweather/ Rudyk Karslen’s warning began to occur. Reports from asylums, old folk’s homes and hospitals all over the World, told of a sudden bout of schizophrenia infecting some of their patients. Not all were possessors of ruined minds and perfectly sane people going about their lives were suddenly displaying a totally different personality and announcing that there was to be a solar catastrophe and that the government must take action.

“Well, I don’t know, Carruthers, “ said Sir John Gray, the secretary to the Prime Minister. “Do you think that we should give credence to this madness which is making the rounds globally, this end of the world scenario?”

James Carruthers, head Scientific Officer to Parliament shook his head. “We have checked all the Sun’s parameters and apart from an odd sun spot old Sol is as healthy as it can be.”

“But, what should I tell the P.M. then? To forget all about it, as we are all gradually overtaken by this…disorder?”

“”Look, Sir John, I am interviewing a recent case involving this ‘change of character’. Let me attempt to get some sense out of him and then I will prepare a report for you.”

By the time James Carruthers arrived at Regent’s Hospital, he could hear his patient screaming in a room two floors up. Running up the two flights of stairs the chief scientist arrived outside the room designated for the interview. Throwing the door open he saw two nurses struggling with a man seated in a chair, he was suited up in a strait jacket.

“What’s going on?” shouted James, as he rushed into the room.

“Oh, Mr. Carruthers, Mr James here was brought in ten minutes ago for your interview, but he just suddenly went berserk!” said one of the nurses.

“Ok, nurse,” said James. “Leave him to me. I’ll give you a call if I need you back in the room.”

James watched the struggling man. He was quite red in the face and was sweating freely.

“You ought to calm down or you will have a heart attack,” he said.

“The Sun is all set to explode in twenty years if you don’t do something about it!” the man shouted. “Why won’t you heed our warning?”

“Because we have checked and there are no signs of any potential solar irregularities happening now or expected to, in the near future.

Now, tell me about this method of time travel that you and your colleagues used supposedly to come back from the future and invade random people.”

Suddenly, the man went still and closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand its nature. We have harnessed Time in our era and travel freely into the past.”

“So why not travel back further into the past and avoid this disaster?” James said humoring the man.

“Because, it is in this year that the problems arise that lead to the Sun’s explosion.”

Months passed and the number of cases of takeover increased. Soon the affected in the world numbered thousands and the world leaders had to do something about it. Meetings were held in different countries between representatives of the various governing bodies and spokespeople from the ‘time travellers’.

“Did you receive any prior warning of solar breakdown?” asked Chief Scientist William Browne of Merril Dysak, one of the travelers.

“Yes, the sun’s corona began to appear predominantly green,” came Dysak’s answer. “Various dark patches also began appearing on the surface.”

“What about the light and radiant heat, was there a reduction detected?” Sir Cyril Faulkner of the Astronomical Society, interjected. “Did your observatories make any measurements?”

“The luxor and thermal levels were recorded and both had diminished and were falling,” Garret Sillop, another traveller, confirmed.

What must we do?” wailed one of the scientists. “Can we begin to bolster the solar surface with material?”

“We might trigger an earlier deterioration!” shouted another science boffin.

“What of your time travel machines? Why not travel further back into the past and give the world a greater chance of doing something about this? Gerald Laker, secretary to the United Nations, asked.

It is this time era which has the greatest chance of averting the disaster. Your technology is so advanced,” Dysak said.

“We made the mistake of putting all our technology into armament to fight countless wars with our neighbours,” Sillop added. “We hope you don’t make the same mistake.”

All the meetings held over the world came to the same decision. Halt all armament production and begin establishing habitats on planets outside the Solar System and start building arks to ferry people away to their new homes.

“Twenty years is a small amount of time, but if we all work together, we can succeed!” said Xan Dysare, Secretary to the United Nations and in fact, to the whole world.

Within five years, colonies had been established on Protine in the Galaxy Fodor, Durran in the Galaxy Soldor and Yolast in the Galaxy Vasyio. Each of these colonies began building other colonies on their planet’s surface and soon large areas were ready for receiving Earth’s refugees.

On Earth factories all over the world produced rocket propelled arks which could carry large numbers of passengers to the three planets.

The thing was that men, women and in some cases children of all colours and creeds worked side by side in perfect harmony to allay the approaching disaster.

All this fervent activity was watched on by the humans who had been ‘taken over’ by the time travelers. They felt that they had been the catalyst to activate the Earth’s citizens and give them timely warning. They explained to those who asked why they did not work to aid the eventual evacuation and diasporas to the planets, that they had done their bit and expected to be exempt from the hard work. The answer to this was a decision that was made to restrict all personnel who did not actively partake in aiding the rescue of Earth’s millions, to the last of the Arks leaving Earth. The time travelers accepted this decision.

Then came the time that had been decided for the start of the evacuation of Earth, the Arks sat on launch pads in different parts of the World and the three planet’s colonies awaited the arrival of the new inhabitants. Everything was in readiness.

Among the spectators who awaited the departure of the Arks throughout the planet, the majority of them were the humans who had been ‘occupied’ by the people from the future. They stood watching the loading of the passengers and talking quietly amongst themselves. They had become outcasts amongst their fellow mankind due to their attitude of non- participation, people wondered what would happen when they arrived on the new worlds.

Suddenly, throughout the World’s skies, gigantic space craft began appearing. They hovered menacingly over the various land masses like birds of prey. Messages were transmitted on all frequencies and in all languages but they all were interpreted in the same way. “Stop the lift off of your Arks until we have met with your leaders!”

In all Earth’s parliaments, the politicians were visited by a very similar avatar who resembled an old man with a long beard and dressed in shimmering gown. He stood seven foot tall and something about his demeanor demanded respect and attention.

“We are the Caspique, an ancient race who has attained supremacy in the Universe. We travel far and wide, but up until now, never interfered in a world’s affairs. At this time we must, for we cannot willfully stand by and watch this travesty of justice.”

In Britain, the Prime Minister, Gerald Smallwood, jumped to his feet and approached the country’s avatar. “What do you mean?” he shouted.

The Caspiquan beckoned him over to a window that overlooked a large square where a crowd had gathered. Among them were the ubiquitous time travellers making up a large proportion of the gathering.

“Down there, “he indicated. “Await your enemy!”

Smallwood looked out at the people and then turned to the avatar. “They just look like ordinary people to me,” he said.

The Caspiquan raised his hands and spoke a short foreign sounding sentence.

Instantly a large number of the crowd fell to the ground and moments later clouds of iridescence rose into the air and vanished into the sky.

“The snakes have been vanquished,” said the old man.

“But, …” stuttered Smallwood. “What have we witnessed?”

“The entities that entered a large number of your inhabitant’s bodies were from the future, but their intention was to take over the Earth for themselves. With everyone gone they would have won a bloodless battle and duped you into the bargain. You furthered their cause by refusing to evacuate them till last. They would have destroyed the last Arks and remained on Earth as the victors.”

Gerald Smallwood looked up at the face of the Caspiquan. “Thank you for rescuing us from the clutches of these invaders. I, personally feel ashamed that we were taken in by their lies. The money and resources that we have wasted in organizing this evacuation of Earth will set us all back for years.”

The avatar smiled a sublime smile. “It is not wasted, just decide who among you wish to leave Earth to populate new worlds. It is all out there awaiting for you.

My fellow Caspiquans have been saddened by the way Earth was going, the constant wars, the dying, the refugees and most of all the displaced children. When the threat of the Solar destruction existed, you all put aside your petty bickering and worked together – in harmony. Don’t lose sight of this as you now prepare to embark on exploring the Universe. We will guide you and ensure that we all go forward together.”

……………………………………………………………+…………………………………………………………Cairniehill

Arbroath

27/12/17