Dark Thoughts, Dark days

We stood at the open grave and watched the dark wood coffin being lowered into its final resting place. A wind suddenly whipped up and blew a squall of leaves onto the top of the casket almost as if Nature had decided to pre-empt the traditional thrown handful of earth by the mourners. A light rain began to fall completing the dismal and gloomy picture. It was an autumn funeral with all the trappings.

“He didn’t deserve to go that way,” grunted John Allan. “He was a true gentleman.”

“Yeah, a real prince,” confirmed Benny Clark. “Too good for this world.”

As the groups began to break up and meander to the cemetery gates, I lit a cigarette. The wind blew out my first match but by cupping my hand round the flame I managed to get the tip alight. I drew a welcome burst of nicotine into my lungs, held it and then exhaled, sending a blue cloud scurrying over the moss covered tombstones. Yes, Dave had been the last person who I had expected to die and what a death, I thought, burnt alive by someone he knew.

“Jack!” someone shouted over to me and turning I saw Larry Hislop making his way across towards me. “Jack, I’m glad I caught you before you left,” he said. “You’re going to get the bastard who did this aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said taking another drag on my cigarette. “I’ll start looking right away.”

“If you need funds,” continued Larry. “Just give me a call.”

When I got back to my office I asked my secretary Sheila to make me a coffee. I always thought clearer after a caffeine hit and the fact I had got chilled to the bone in that cemetery, I felt I needed some heat inside me.

As I sipped the coffee I thought back to when I had seen Dave Andrews last. I was sure that it had been in Dominic’s bar down on Fern Street. The place was a real dive, but lots of hot gossip went round in that tavern and often it was as good as using a snitch for information – and it was free.

Dave had been bragging about a friend of his who had managed to get his hands on some jewellery that he was fencing for a gang. A robbery had taken place up at Chesterfield Heights while the owner and his wife had been on holiday. A quantity of money and personal effects had been stolen. It had been good stuff, no imitation trash, but real diamonds and other valuable stones.

Returning to Dominic’s that afternoon, I found the usual crowd there. The atmosphere was blue with smoke and a jukebox played disconcertedly in the corner of the bar.

“Hey Jack!” someone shouted from inside the haze. It was Butch Sawyer, an acquaintance of mine from schooldays. “How you doing mate,” he said. “Let me get you a drink.”

Butch had been the school bully, but after leaving and getting a job, he had mellowed and now, for some unknown reason, thought of me as a friend.

“Hi Butch. Yeah, that’ll be great,” I said. “A pint of Ostlers would go down a treat.”

As my pint was pulled I quizzed Butch carefully. You didn’t want to stamp down on someone else’s toes – inadvertently. “You remember Dave, Butch?”

“Dave Andrew?” replied Butch. “Yeah, I remember him. Why?”

“Oh, he was talking about a friend of his, last time I was in.”

“This isn’t the creep who stole all that money and stones from the big house?”

“Yes, Chesterfield Heights.”

“I think his name was Maurice Deston. Why? Have you been out nicking gear and need a fence to sell it on?”

“No, it was just that Dave was killed recently and I’ve been asked to look into it.”
“You a private eye now? I thought you were in the Army.”

“I took up the profession as soon as I was demobbed,” I replied unsure of his reaction.

“Good on you mate. What branch were you in the mob?”

“Kind of a pioneer type,” I said, modestly. “Mopped up all the mess made by the regular lads, after they had left.” I said with a laugh. The truth was that I had been in a crack team that infiltrated and destroyed enemy installations before attacks. We did go in after the action as well, but only to guarantee no one was left alive or building standing.

Butch looked at me with a kind of disgust. “A latrine cleaner, eh?” he said.

“Yeah, something like that, now, where can I find this Deston?”

The multi-storey set of flats looked fairly dilapidated and I could see all but a couple of the flats were empty, as attested by their broken windows. Butch had given me the address of Maurice Deston and I could see from the numbers on the side of the building that his flat was near the top. Oh well, I thought, the lift is bound to be out of order, so I’ll have to climb.

A quick look inside the lift confirmed my suspicions as the floor was covered with junkies’ needles, empty beer cans and the odd used condom and the lift’s control panel had been pulled out and the copper wire removed. So it was the stairs.

As I climbed flight after flight the smell of boiled cabbage, shit and piss got stronger. It was so strong near the top that it made my eyes water. I saw the door of Deston’s crib and it looked as if it had been regularly kicked in. The paintwork was heavily chipped and the wood interior showed through in various places.

“Deston!” I shouted as I pounded on the door. “Let me in!” .There was no sound from inside so I pounded again. “Come on Deston, I know you’re inside!”

All at once, I heard movement from behind the door. “Who is it?” came a timorous voice from within the flat.

“I’m a friend of Dave Andrew I need to speak to you.”

There was the noise of a security chain being attached and then the door opened by four inches and a face peeked out of the gap. “What do you want?” he hissed.

“I need you to tell me the name of your fence. The one you off loaded all the stuff onto from that robbery you did at Chesterfield Heights.”

“I ain’t got a clue mate. Never heard a thing about it.”

I kicked the door hard and it whacked him in the face. “I know you passed the stuff on to him!” I shouted.

Then suddenly Deston’s demeanour changed. “He’s dead! Burn’t to a crisp!” he cried.

“I thought it was them come for me, when you banged on the door!” Deston was visibly weeping now. A very scared man.

“Who is ‘them’?” I asked. “What is their connection to Dave?”

“I gave him one of the stones that I filched. I told him it looked real fake and wouldn’t sell for much. Dave had done me a favour or two and I thought that he would like it,” said Deston with a sob. “It has something to do with Chesterfield Heights, I’m sure!” and he slammed the door shut with a bang.

When I returned to my office I got Sheila to check all the back copies of the Daily Clarion, our local paper, for the previous couple of weeks. “You’re looking for fire deaths,” I said to her. “Including Dave Andrew’s.”

It took her an hour to discover the death of a local felon called Bill Haston whose burnt remains had been discovered in his house. Oddly, nothing else in the room he died in was affected. It was as if Haston had suffered a spontaneous combustion.

 Dave Andrew had been in his garden when he had been killed. The Fire Service who had been called by a neighbour had surmised that he had got petrol or paraffin on his clothes and something had ignited them. Although tests for accelerants had been made, nothing was found to be conclusive.

I scratched my head and wondered what could have caused the two suspicious deaths.

Sheila had also found an account of the Chesterfield Heights robbery in the newspaper. Over a thousand pounds had been stolen, as well as the owner’s wife’s jewellery which amounted to almost three thousand pounds. It had been a big haul and the police were still looking for leads.

I realised that I would have to investigate Chesterfield Heights. I had no official backing to allow me to visit legally, but I had to learn if anything untoward was happening at the house, so it would have to be a covert operation.

I packed a rucksack with various items of food and drink as well as dark coloured clothes and a thick jumper. I envisaged that I might be out for several nights so had to keep warm during the small hours of the night.

I informed Sheila that I was going ‘dark’ for a few nights. If there was a reason to contact me, I gave her my cell phone number. I would put the phone on silent mode but the vibration would warn me of any incoming messages.

I left the rucksack under a pile of leaves after I climbed over the surrounding wall of Chesterfield Heights. Scouting around in the woodland that encompassed the house I spotted an old summer house at the edge of the wood. It would make a perfect spot to survey the area from and, I hoped, would keep me dry in the event of bad weather. I set off back to pick up my rucksack then made my way to the summer house.

When I arrived at the summer house, I noticed that some of the glass in the windows was broken. I pulled the door open slowly in case it squealed, but all was silent as I fumbled my way inside and pulled the door to. Pointing my torch downwards, I risked a quick look at the inside, it was as in as bad condition as the outside and even with the missing glass in the windows the place stank. Someone must have tipped over a can of turpentine at some time and its odour hung about the atmosphere.

I decided on a spot to begin my surveillance. It was just below one of the unbroken windows and kept me out of most of the draughts. I could see the big house and the turning area before the front doors. I laid my binoculars on the floor and after I decided that I was set, screwed the top of my flask off and poured myself a cup of hot coffee.

The night wore on and as the time passed midnight and I had detected no movement or lights in the big house, I decided to do a little investigating. As I furtively left the summer house a fox barked in the distance and I could hear the wind soughing in the trees. I crept over a very well kept lawn and approached the house. Checking around the perimeter it wasn’t long till I discovered an open window and carefully I raised it and climbed inside.

The room I had entered was a library and three of the walls had fitted bookshelves displaying expensive, leather bound spines inscribed with gold lettering. The smell in the room was of opulence and expense, with a lingering odour of cigar smoke.

Trying the door of the library, I found it too was well oiled and opened silently. I found myself in a passage which I followed to where it entered a large reception area. A tall suit of armour stood against one wall and several shields and crossed swords covered another. The floor was chequered black and white tiles and I felt that I was crossing a gigantic chess board as I made my way deeper into the house, ever conscious of the route out, in case of emergency.

Reaching a large panelled door, I put my ear up to it and listened. I had just assured myself that the room was empty, when someone inside coughed. I stepped back into the shadows and crouched down behind a large sofa just as the door opened and two men emerged.

“It really is too much,” said one of the men, a tall man wearing evening dress. He sported a moustache and small beard.

“Why is that Lacey?” asked the other man, who was smaller and clean shaven.

“Damn it Wilson! You know why!” the one called Lacey said angrily.

“I only know that you have got the carnelian back with the minimum of fuss.”

“Oh yes and what about the causalities? Mysterious deaths attract the Press, you know that!”

“When is the next meeting?” Wilson asked, trying to change the subject.

“Tomorrow night, but I wish we could postpone. Too much has gone on.”

“They won’t allow it. You know that, Wilson.”

“Yes, I know, but we will have to keep the carnelian safe. Imagine a common thief having had his grubby claws on it?”

“Yes, and he will be paid for that as the man who tried to handle its sale was.”

I crouched down as low as I could. They were talking about the robbery and its aftermath, I thought. But what is this meeting they are alluding to and what is the carnelian?

The two men went off down a passageway and soon their footsteps became faint and then ceased. I crept out and made my way back the route that I had come into the house. I raised the previously open window and slid out into the night, remembering to leave it partially open, as I had found it.

I must have fallen asleep as soon as I got back to the summer house and my covert activities in the house brought the dreams and they in turn turned into something nasty.

I found myself surveying a Vietcong stronghold which, in my dream, we had discovered in the jungle. We were preparing to attack when a heavy machine gun opened up and several of my comrades were mown down. I dived for cover and raising my machine gun sprayed the area before me. Suddenly something like a black cape rose up and swamped us all. I was suffocating and tried to draw breath, but the material got into my lungs and blocked them. I was dying and in desperation I cried out and jumped up… smacking my head against the summer house roof. I staggered a bit and then remembering why I was there, dropped down again into a crouch.

I looked over at the house but all was still quiet. My noisy emergence from the nightmare seemed to have gone unnoticed.

As I settled down again I thought again about the dream. I had been involved in several sorties into the jungle when I was in the Army, but nothing as terrifying as what I had dreamt of. There had been sheer terror at the prospect of an ambush by the Cong, but being a trained soldier allowed you to bridle the feeling and live with it.

I hadn’t had nightmares like that for many years. My nights after demob had been punctuated by them, but gradually I sweated out all the memories…until tonight

Why had they returned, I asked myself? Had my subconscious picked up something in that house that I hadn’t been aware of?

The following day I hid out and watched the house through my binoculars, but once again nothing moved and as I waited I ate some of my provisions and drank a bottle of water.

As the afternoon wore on I noticed a little more activity. Several cars arrived and people got out and went into the house. As the evening wore on lights began to appear in some of the windows.

By the time it reached seven o’clock the front of the house had about fourteen limousines parked in front of it. Tonight was definitely the night and I realised that a lot of my questions might be answered. The secret was not to get caught for I realised that any mistake made would be terminal.

The roaring noise of an arriving helicopter woke me from my little nap that I had decided to take before sallying forth. It landed on the lawn and two dark figures emerged and were greeted by two men who had come out of the house. The helicopter promptly left and disappeared over the tree line. The four men then entered the house and the heavy front door was closed.

I made ready, taking my torch and knife with me. I slunk out of the summer house and approached the house by way of the shadows cast by the tall trees that bordered the garden. I returned to where I had gained entry the previous day, but found the window closed and secured. Cursing the vigilant servant who had discovered the open window and had closed it, I realised that I would have to find some other way in.

After several circuits of the building, I had just about given up finding anywhere I could gain entrance, when a door suddenly swung open and a man emerged and lit up a cigarette. He took out his mobile and after dialling a number began a conversation with whom it sounded like was his wife. He explained that he would be late home and for her not to wait up for him.

I slipped around the back of him and entered the house. It was the kitchen area and it was a hive of activity with men in chef’s clothes running around putting on pots and pans full of food. I had a few bad moments when I was almost caught, but luckily there was always a nook or a cranny that I could hide in as I made my way through the house. Soon I was back at the door into the reception hall that I had visited the day before. I furtively opened it and checked beyond. There were a few people standing around talking. They all wore dark suits and were in groups of two or more.

All at once the sound of a gong being struck sounded through the hall and everyone began to move through an open door at the far end. I could see that the room that they entered was quite large, there seemed to be a large number of people inside and they all seemed to be men.

The door to the meeting room had been swung shut after the last member entered and I was then able to cross the reception hall and hide behind a large cupboard allowing me to listen to what was going on inside the room.

“Good evening gentlemen!” roared a giant of a man dressed in a grey suit and wearing a flamboyant red cape round his shoulders. “Settle down please!”

There was a general murmuring then it all went silent.

“We are having this meeting tonight to inform you of the successful recovery of the carnelian. The thief who stole it has been dealt with and two of his colleagues,” said the caped man.

“But Damien, you should not have used the carnelian for so petty a reason,” a voice spoke out. “One of us could have dispatched the perps.”

“But, William,” replied Damien, theatrically flicking his cape. “We must know the power of the stone, if we are to use it for our main purpose.”

“But, you know that we were trying not to bring anything to the attention of the authorities before the event,” wailed William.

“Enough!” shouted Damien. “It is done and now let us forget about it.”

Outside the room, I could only guess what the ‘event’ was. I felt that it would not be anything good. These men were a group of criminals and I felt sure that they intended harm to someone.

Suddenly I was conscious of becoming warm and upon turning round I checked about me. Behind, there was a little table upon which sat a large vase with flowers in it.

Just to the left of the table I could see the air was behaving as if heat was rising through it. As I watched a small flame appeared and then became a single pillar of fire which began to advance on me. As I watched I realised that this was the ‘watchdog’ of the house that had been watching me the previous night. It now had me in its sights and was going to attempt to kill me.

Quick as a flash I swung my arm and knocked over the vase. It tilted and the water inside cascaded into the pillar of flame extinguishing it. The crash of the vase hitting the floor rang through the hall and as I raced away I heard the meeting hall door being thrown open and then someone shouted. “You, stop!”

I ran down the passages that I had crept up last night hoping upon hope that I could open the window that I had gained entrance to previously. But as I ran into the room which had had the unlocked window, I was dismayed to see that it was not only closed but had been locked shut. Turning about I looked around frantically for somewhere to hide, but something hit my head and I dropped into the dark of unconsciousness.

When I came to I was sitting in a chair in a small ante room. Four men stood looking down at me. They all looked very muscular and had scarred faces. I assumed that they were bodyguards. I tentatively moved and one of the men moved towards me. “Just sit still,” he growled. “Someone wants to speak to you.”

The door opened and the man in the grey suit and red cape entered. I felt a laugh rising in my throat, but decided to quash it. No, this wasn’t Superman, it was someone who could do me harm.

“Who are you?” asked the man. “Why are you in this house?”

I decided to stay quiet, but one of the muscular apes whacked me on the head and grunted. “Speak, when Mr Damien addresses you!”

I muttered something about being lost and having wandered into the house by accident. This was greeted with derision by the thugs, but Mr Damien just stood and glared down at me.

“I want you to take him out and get rid of him. Understand?” he said quietly to one of the bodyguards. He then turned and went back out of the room.

I was hauled out of the seat and frogmarched through the reception area by two of the guards. As we passed by the place where I had had the encounter with the flame, I noticed that the broken vase and flowers had been cleaned up.

We went out of the front door and began walking across the lawn. As we approached the trees one of the goons pulled out a pistol from his pocket. “There’s no need for that,” I said. “Just take me to the gate and let me go.”

This made the two men laugh. “Yeah, that’s going to happen!” one of them chortled.

I let myself be pushed into a little clearing where it looked like there had been some excavating being done.

“Handy hole that,” said the man with the pistol.

“Just get on with it!” said the other one.

I fell to the ground and began to plead loudly. “Don’t kill me! Please, don’t kill me. I beg you!”

“Get up you worm!” said the gunman. “Take it like a man!”

I rose unsteadily to my feet and said, “you take it…!” and threw a handful of dirt into his face, blinding him. Instantly I drove my fist into the other mans stomach and he dropped to ground winded. Spinning around I kicked the blinded man in the side of the head and he too collapsed to the ground dropping his gun.

I grabbed the gun from the ground where it had fallen and covered the two prostrate men. “I think I need some answers gentlemen,” I said waving the gun. “Who are these people in the house and who is the joker in the cape?”

Neither of the men spoke and I cocked the trigger on the gun. “I’m going to count to three then I’ll put a bullet into one of your legs!”

“Ok, mister. You’re a dead man anyway. They are called the Censorious. The leader is Damien Garwy. They plot and carry out attacks against the government. Their intention is to bring the government down, to allow them to take over,” the man who had had the pistol said.

“So why haven’t I heard of them?” I asked.

“Because, when they attack they do it secretly and then it appears like a natural disaster,” grunted the other man.

“And how do they get the power for all these attacks/” I was interested, but the only way to get information was to play dumb. I was good at that.

“Have you ever heard of a carnelian?”

“A carnelian? What’s that?” I had heard the name mentioned when I had gained entrance into the house the first time.

“It’s a stone…” began the pistol man, when the other man interrupted.

“We shouldn’t be speaking about it. The boss wouldn’t like us to. So shut up Lou!”

All at once Lou exploded into a burst of flame and died screaming. The other man got to his feet and began to run. He only got about ten feet away when he too burst into flames and collapsed burning to the ground. I looked about me for any clue of why the conflagration had occurred, but nothing was visible.

“I think you know too much my friend,” came a mellifluous voice, seemingly from the empty air.

And as I watched the air began to shimmer and my friend with the red cape materialised. “As I said, you know too much. Why are you here snooping on us?” he laughed.

“I am a private investigator and I am investigating the death of a Mr David Andrew.” I said as convincingly as I could.

“Well I think that you and I should have a little talk,” said Damien Garwy. He pointed towards the house. “And I think that you should relinquish yourself of the gun,” he added dryly.

I raised the pistol and pointed it at him. “I don’t think so Mr Garwy.” Instantly the gun began to heat up and suddenly I had to drop it. The weapon was glowing cherry red with heat.

Back inside the house once again in the ante room, but this time securely tied.

Several of the members of the group were gathered round me looking at me as if I was an animal or something dangerous.

“Why didn’t you just deal with him like your talkative bodyguards?” asked one man who was very fat and had about ten chins.

“Because Nigel,” said Garwy. “I want to know if he has left any information back where he came from, that is liable to be embarrassing to us.”

“If it was me I would beat it out of him!” snarled Nigel rather bravely until I attempted to lunge at him, sending him jumping back in fear.

“That will come, I promise you,” said Damien to his quaking colleague.

I was left alone and the door to the ante room was closed. Soon I heard doors banging and car engines starting up outside the house. The meeting had finished and the members of the Censorious, what a pretentious name I thought, were leaving.

Then after all the noise and movement, the house became settled back to its silence.

I wondered how long I had before the interrogation began. I knew that ultimately they would kill me and probably bury my body somewhere in the grounds.

Just then the door to the room was opened furtively and someone entered. I tried to turn my head, but I was tied up too tightly. Then someone began to cut my bonds as a voice whispered in my ear. “I have to get you out of here,” said a female voice. “They intend to kill you.”

A young dark haired woman stood before me as I pulled the bits of rope from my wrists. “Who are you?” I asked.

“My name is Veronica Gale and I am here working undercover. We had received a report of this group and I was asked to collect intel on them,” she said quietly.

“So, is it true that they are trying to bring down the government?” I asked.

“Yes, I am afraid it is and if we don’t stop them, they will be successful.”

“Does this have anything to do with the carnelian, which everyone seems to be talking about?”

“The carnelian is the source of the Censorius’ power,” Veronica said sadly.

“What is it?”

“It is a relic from about a thousand years ago,” Veronica said. “An archaeologist found it while he was digging in a temple in Iraq. You have read about people and towns being destroyed by fire in ancient times?”

“I thought it was just a myth?”

“No, this is the real McCoy and unfortunately the lunatic fringe has control of it.”

“You mean the Censorius?”

“Yes,  I mean the Censorius,” said Veronica. “Maybe you should tell me what your interest in them is about.”

I quickly explained that I was Jack Harrington, a private investigator who had become involved when my friend had died. The death, I explained, had been due to fire and that I was sure that the Censorius had been to blame. I added that Dave Andrew had been given something by a burglar who had stolen items from Chesterfield Heights and that Dave had died during the reclamation of the item.

Veronica nodded her head. “Yes, it was the carnelian that did the damage to your friend. Now I think you need to see it for yourself.”

“But, what about Damien Garwy? Is he not still in the house?” I asked unsure of how safe I actually was.

I have been an undercover agent operating as one of his servants. I can assure you that Mr Garwy is safely tucked up in bed dreaming dreams of anarchy and terror.” Veronica said with a snort of derision. “I took him up a nightcap just before I came to free you.”

I asked Veronica about the column of fire that I had managed to escape from earlier in the evening. She sighed and lowered her eyes to the floor. “That is the different facets of the carnelian. It can kill like the way it disposed of the two toughs that were sent to get rid of you or it can manifest itself as a pillar of pure flame. It acts as a kind of guardian of the house in that guise.”

I looked down at the innocuous red coloured blob of stone. It lay on a bed of velvet cloth and to me, having seen its power, it resembled a sleeping dragon.

“Nothing to look at is it?” asked Veronica. “But it is so dangerous.”

“Well, well, look who has been released?” said someone behind us. “I really think you have outstayed your welcome my friend” said Damien Garwy as he entered the room with two more bodyguards who were holding guns. “And you too Miss Gale. I always thought that you were far too intelligent for a simple servant.”

Once again I was secured to a chair alongside Veronica who was also tied up. Damien Garwys was mincing around in his red cape.

“Ah dear,” he said theatrically, holding his hand to his forehead.  “I think Chesterfield Heights has outlived it usefulness.”

“What do you mean?” asked Veronica, eager to keep the man talking. “Surely no one knows that this is the headquarters of the great and glorious Censorius?”

“Ah, Miss Gale, you mock my organisation and me, hissed Damien. “I am sure you know what power we have in our hands and we intend to use it tonight. Firstly to destroy this house…and you two and then to go on to London to destroy the Government. We have people sympathetic to our cause just waiting for the sign to begin the takeover. And that sign that will be fire!” He turned with a swirl of his cape and left the room.

“What do we do now?” I asked. I was sure now that we were to die, but hoped something would show up in the eleventh hour.

Veronica was reaching as far down the back of her leg as her bonds would allow her.

As I watched she touched a small, what appeared to be an embellishment on the heel of her shoe. Something sprang out and Veronica immediately began rubbing the ropes round her wrists on it. All at once her hands were free. She untied her ankles then came over to me and began loosing my bonds.

Suddenly we heard a mechanical roar outside the building and leaving me to complete untying my ropes, Veronica went over to the window.

“They’ve got the helicopter back. I imagine they will release the power of the carnelian upon the house from the \air. It is almost Biblical is it not? Thunderbolts, from the clouds.” Veronica said with a laugh.

I joined her at the window and watched as several men, the bodyguards and Damien climbed on board the helicopter.

“Don’t you think that we should get out of the house if Damien is going to set it on fire?” I asked wondering why we were dallying when we should have been escaping.

“When you saw the carnelian, what did it remind you of?” asked Veronica.

“I suppose it resembled an old seal made of melted wax,” I answered.

“Exactly and I am sure they have gone for it!”

“Gone for what?”

“I made a copy of the carnelian using red sealing wax. I pushed the stone onto the melted wax to give an impression of its surface.”

You mean…” I began to say.

“Yes, they have the copy and I have the real one!” she said triumphantly, pulling the stone from her pocket and showing me. “Quick, lets go out and see the denouement of this little fiasco.”

When we emerged from the house the helicopter was rising up into the sky. I could see Damien sitting in the front. When he saw us, his face screwed up in hate and I could see him pull something from his pocket. The helicopter swooped down at us and Damien held something pointed at us. It was the carnelian or what he thought was the carnelian. When nothing happened and Veronica raised the real stone to show him he looked furious…and scared! The helicopter rose and I imagined Damien ordering the pilot to ‘get the hell out of Dodge’…quickly!

The stream of fire that issued from the carnelian in Veronica’s hand struck the helicopter mid ships and bathed the body with flame. It seemed as if nothing was going to happen, when an almighty explosion rocked the night and Veronica and I were thrown to the ground. When we had picked ourselves up off the ground, all that was left of the chopper was a pile of smoldering metal. Of the men nothing remained.

Later, I watched as Veronica drove off into the night. She had the carnelian safely contained in a steel box and a list of all the ‘members’ of the Censorius. Arrest were about to start happening. She assured me that the stone would be safely stored away in the Government’s Black Museum. I hoped that the stone would never appear again, as a force like that should never be used by man against man.

I went home and tried to get my life back to normal. I got a few clients that required unfaithful spouses followed and photographed for future divorce proceedings. Ok, it is tawdry, but at least it is relatively safe…unless the errant spouse is male and built like a brick wall!

I often wonder about Veronica Gale, where she is and what she is doing, but then I remember the time we spent at Chesterfield Heights and am glad I don’t know what she is doing!

Cryptic Claude

The book launch of my latest ‘best seller’ had been anything but successful. A handful of ‘fans’ and a few people who had come along to see if Joshua Lakton looked anything like the picture portrayed on the dust jacket of the book. I signed copies for a while until it was time to answer questions. I suddenly felt as if my privacy was about to be abused and all my guilty secrets laid bare.

“When did you start writing?” a gentleman wearing a long raincoat and wellington boots asked. 

I mumbled something about beginning at primary school when my teacher, a rather ravishing red head called Miss Willox had asked the class to write about their holidays. “It went on from there. Later it was items for magazines and the odd bit for the local rag.” I said in conclusion. The man dressed for the next Flood didn’t seem to find my answer revealing enough and began to ask another question, but was interrupted by a dark haired lady who waved her arm above her head and shouted, “hey Josh, what happened to Cryptic Claude?”

Her name was Rachael Garren and she reckoned that we had attended the same secondary school in the town of Radeston, but I didn’t remember her. I am sure I would of as she was very attractive and well, I don’t forget those types of school ‘chum’.

The bookshop was empty by now apart from the owner who was tidying up the usual litter of empty bottles and half eaten plates of sandwiches. He didn’t seem to be in a rush to get rid of Rachael and me, so we dallied over our glasses of wine.

“Have you got far to go tonight?” she asked. It seemed a kind of loaded question so I gave it my best shot.

“Just up the road to the ‘Bloody Bull’. A kind of pub cum hotel thing, where I’m staying.”

“As long as you’re not driving. I wouldn’t like your death on my conscience.”

By now I had consumed about a bottle and a half of wine and I needed to make a trip to the ‘little boy’s room’, but how to break up this ‘reunion’ amiably?

“Look, Rachael, I need to go and ‘spend a penny’. Will you wait for me?”

She nodded her head and then turned to look out the darkened windows of the bookshop. It was by then, quite late and I wondered if she had a lift organised. Still, Nature called and I really needed to hearken to her.

Upon returning after my little foray, I was disappointed to find that Rachael was gone. The shop owner said that a bloke had come and knocked on the window. He had driven up in a Mercedes and had stopped outside the shop. Rachael had written something on a bit of paper and before leaving, had asked the owner to give it to me. I hoped it was her mobile number, but all it said was’ Cryptic Claude. One of your stories. How did it pan out? Rachel X’.

I thanked the bookshop owner then made my way to the ‘Bloody Bull’. The night was clear and I could see stars in the heavens. It wasn’t cold though and half way up the road I had to remove my coat. As I struggled out of it I thought about Rachael’s note. Cryptic Claude? I had never written anything with that name, I was sure. It was a name that I would have remembered.

After a hearty meal and two pints of best bitter, I retired to bed. I had brought a book with me, but after reading about four pages without having any memory of what had been written on them, I put the book away and lay gazing at the ceiling. My thoughts drifted back to the evening and my encounter with Rachel. She seemed quite adamant about being at school with me, but I had no recollection of a dark haired beauty like her. Then this so called story? What was all that about? I usually remembered everything I wrote whether I finished it or not. Could I have just sketched some ideas and then flung it in the old trunk to await inspiration or the next tidy out? The old trunk was full of half finished ideas but they usually had a corny title like ‘Happy Memories’ or a totally meaningless one like ‘Green Nights’. Still, they were titled for future use not as titles ‘carved in stone’.

The train journey back to Gladvale was long, dusty and endless. I never knew that there were so many little stations between cities. Little Whackham, Lesser Tolly and Magnus Bolter to mention just a few. I must have drunk a couple gallons of coffee by the time the train arrived at my stop and luckily I managed to grab a taxi outside the station. As I unlocked my front door I felt a great weariness come over me that I knew a glass of whisky would put right.

So, dumping my bags in the hall and throwing my coat on the sofa, I poured myself a liberal glass of the amber nectar. It went down a treat and instantly reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything apart from a couple of mummified BR sandwiches since leaving the ‘Bloody Bull’ that morning. Soon I had sausage and eggs frying in the pan and an apple pie heating in the oven. It was good to be home, I thought as I tucked into my tea.

The next day I awoke to the sound of rain hitting my bedroom window. It was being driven by a gale force wind which threatened to rip my roof tiles off. A day by the fireside, I thought or at least not far from it. Then, that stupid title came back into my mind. ‘Cryptic Claude’ that was it, now I wonder if the old trunk can give me a clue?

Going down to the garage I pulled a load of newspapers off the top of Granddad’s old leather trunk. It still bore stickers from exotic places like Trinidad and Singapore. Granddad had been in the Merchant Navy and had literally toured the world, before retiring and becoming a sedentary traveller via his armchair. Any television programme about foreign climes attracted Granddad and he spent the whole programme saying ‘Been there’ like a parrot.

The lid squeaked melodramatically as I opened it and I found I was looking at neatly piled sheets of paper. Picking up a sheaf of them I found a collection of short, long and half finished stories. These were my early attempts at being an author and I cringed when I read some of my well hackneyed phrases and obvious statements. These were my ‘finest moments’ or at least I thought they were at the time, but compared to my more recent material, I considered them diffident and puerile. But, hey, I chided myself mentally, these were the acorns from which the mighty oak trees grew! I was sure that there were a lot of great ideas in this pile of paper and handled in a more mature vein they could become great stories.

But what about this story that Rachel had alluded to? I lifted out pile after pile and sorted through the various tales, but could find nothing that was titled… what had she called it? Cryptic Claude?

Then I was looking at the bottom of an empty trunk and felt a moment of surprise as if I had expected to find the said story, but until being reminded about it at the book launch, I had had no memory of ever writing it.

It was at that precise moment when the lid of a small compartment in the top of the trunk swung open and caught me a glancing blow on the forehead. Uttering a few well chosen epithets, I gazed into the small, dark recess. There was something inside I realised excitedly and reached in and took hold of what felt like – more paper. Pulling it out I was amazed and fairly startled to discover that I was holding a stapled set of sheets with the title of ‘Cryptic Claude’ – unfinished.

It was late and I decided to read it in the morning. I placed it on the kitchen table and went to bed.

Next morning as I ate my breakfast I picked up the unfinished story and began to read it. I had a cup of coffee waiting to be drunk, but by the time I got to it, it was cold. After starting to read, I had felt compelled to read it all, right up to where it came to an end – with no suitable outcome. It left the reader in mid sentence and there was no more. In disgust I dropped it back on the table and cleared my breakfast dishes. As I washed them at the sink I thought again about the story.

The bare bones of ‘Cryptic Claude’ were that it purported to be an early recollection of my distant past when I had been eight years old. Cryptic Claude as he was cruelly dubbed by the local children, including me. His actual name was Claude Cripton and it felt to me that he had always been in the town. A sad example of a person who was mentally challenged – severely. He lived in a broken down shack at the edge of town, where an elderly woman looked after him. They weren’t related, it was just that the woman had never been married and had felt sorry for this shambling creature, so had taken him in, way back and had given him a home.

If you met Claude all he would do was to recite numbers at you. The same numbers over and over, 3,8,4,9,6,3,8,1. He would cry and hold onto you tight as he recited them, but no one knew what they meant, so people would often either try to humour him or if they were cruel, throw him to the ground where he laid and sobbed. If I saw him I always ran in the opposite direction.

The story went on a few years and a girl from town, called Rachael and I became quite chummy. Then it came to me, this had to be the Rachael I had met at the book signing!

 We would meet in a little dip in the ground at the back of our houses. We called it Hidden Valley and if I wanted to meet up with the girl, seemingly, I would just walk by her and whisper ‘HV’ and a number signifying the time.

Towards the end of the narrative it related to an occasion when Rachael and I were locked in a tussle of love when we heard the noise of an engine. We both hid in the long grass and watched as a dark coloured Dodge truck pulled in at the bottom of the valley. Two men got out and picking up spades from the rear of the truck began to dig in the earth. They dug for about half an hour and then a large sack covered object was lifted from the truck’s flat bed and rolled into the hole. The hole was then filled in and the truck left. Rachael and I were scared stiff and she began to wail. I told her to be quiet until I could go down and see what was what, but she demanded I take her back to town to catch her bus. As we waited at the bus stop, Rachael had regained her composure and suggested that I write a story involving the strange happenings we had witnessed. I promised that as soon as I got home I would and at that moment her bus hove into view and after a clumsy hugging and kissing session I waved her goodbye.

But, I was far from finished, I ran all the way back to Hidden Valley and finding the hummock of disturbed soil, began to scrape it away until I had dug quite a hole. I pulled a rock away from below me and found myself looking at the dead face of Claude Cripton. He had been killed and this is where they had dumped him. But why? Claude was a nuisance but hadn’t done anything to merit being killed. I filled the hole in again and crept away from Hidden Valley, desperate to get home and get this all down on paper.

And that was where the story finished. It had been partially written and then hidden away. But, again, why? I asked myself. And also, why could I not remember writing that account. I had had an active childhood living with my foster parents, now, both sadly dead, since they took me in as a baby. I had written from an early age and given time could remember all my full and partial stories – except this one.

Little did I know that that night the town of Radeston was over flown by a military jet and it spread a kind of ‘date rape’ gas over the entire population causing total amnesia of the whole previous twenty four hours. During this period I had written the story and shelved it for completion later and because of its mysterious connotations had hidden it in the lid of my grandad’s trunk.

As the day passed, my determination increased, to discover if the story had any true meaning or if it was just a figment of my over enthusiastic, testosterone driven teenager’s imagination.

That night I slunk down the main street in Radeston carrying a pick and a spade in a large sack. I had no idea where I was to dig, but felt that I had to have a go, if for no other reason than my peace of mind.

I slid down the side of Hidden Valley and found myself at the bottom of this quite deep ravine. A bright moon shone down giving me adequate light to see by. Trees had sprung up everywhere and what wasn’t covered with grass and weeds, had bushes growing all over. This was a waste of time, It was a classical ‘needle in a haystack’ and I felt in my heart that I wasn’t going t find the burial site.

Shouldering my sack I made my way across the surface of the valley floor, intent on climbing up the steep sides and going home. I would have to assign ‘Cryptic Claude’ to the dustbin as I had no chance of completing the story.

I had just reached the beginning of the slope when I had a strange feeling. It was as if I had stood on an electrical cable and had received a shock. I stopped and looked down at the ground. There was nothing special about the place, but I just knew in my heart of hearts that this was where Claude lay and putting down the sack began to attack the ground with my pick. For half an hour I chopped, dug, levered and hacked at the ground and soon I was about a foot into the ground. I had just plunged my spade in when it hit something with a metallic clang. Throwing aside the spade I knelt down and using my hands, scraped away the remaining dirt from what lay beneath. The moonshine glinted of something made of metal and I cleared more of the soil away and found myself looking down at a skeleton. But not an organic bone skeleton, but one constructed of steel or some metal which had remained lustrous even though it had been buried. Using the spade, I levered the metal carcass out of its grave and lay it on the ground. I stood for a moment gazing down at this ‘construction’. Its skull was identical in shape to a human cranium and the ribs, sternum, pelvis, humerus as well as the femur bones were all there.

Looking closer I noticed that there was a sort of switch mounted on the sternum. It was in the form of a button and leaning over I pushed it in.

Nothing happened for a minute and then the skeleton gave a little twitch and sat up.

I was suddenly engulfed in a feeling of longing for something I had no knowledge of. It was like looking out over an empty sea, the loneliness filled you with such pain. The loss it engendered was similar to the loss of a mother for her child. A bone numbing despair that runs through your whole being.

“3,8,4,9,6,3,8,1” the metal skeleton began reciting. “3,8,4,9,6,3,8,1”

I realised that this was Claude, but not the Claude that everyone in Radeston knew. This was something from a nightmare.

The skeleton’s metallic hands swung round and clamped on the sides of my head. Instantly, pictures began to burst open in my brain like budding fungi. I looked over desolate vistas that I knew were not on Earth. Cities that seem to have grown from the ground covered vast plains and were visited by insect-like vessels and larger transport like ships. I knew I was looking at a planet deep in space and I knew of it, for as the images kept coming I became aware that this planet was my home rather than Earth.

“3,8,4,9,6,3,8,1” came the repetitive voice from Claude’s remains and this time I knew what they meant. They were map coordinates.

“Yes Claude,” I said. “I understand, but when is it going to happen?”

“3,8,4,9,6,3,8,1” he repeated and the metallic skull tried to form a smile.

I found out later that the activation of Claude had caused a signal to be sent to an office one hundred miles away in Asterdon. A red light came on and began to blink accompanied by a harsh screeching siren.

“Someone’s found the construct!” shouted a man into a telephone.

“Get a chopper organised – now!” was the reply.

Within half an hour a Sikkorsky helicopter was ready and preparing to fly when a dark car pulled into the aerodrome. It stopped and four men emerged and bending low ran across to the helicopter and boarded it. The helicopter took off and flew towards the west.

I helped Claude to its feet and he stood gleaming in the moon light. I knew now that he and I shared some sort of bond. I felt like a Siamese twin, one of two and connected.

“3,8,4,9,6,3,8,1” Claude said again.

“Yes,” I said touching him gently on the metal cheek. “And we are going home.” Then we just stood silently enjoying being together, feeling complete in every way.

I heard the roar before I saw the helicopter and instinctively pulled Claude down behind a large bush. The helicopter began descending into the valley. It was tricky, but I realised that the pilot was highly experienced in these situations. This was military, but what were they doing here?

Ropes suddenly spiralled down from the helicopter and four dark shapes slid down them and dropped to the valley floor.

“Keep quiet Claude,” I whispered. “I think they are looking for you.”

“Mr Lakton!” a voice roared out of the darkness. “I think it would be easier if you gave yourself up.”

There were four of them, two, looking ludicrous in suits which had suffered from the rappel down the ropes and two uniformed soldiers holding automatic rifles. I stood in front of Claude and tried to shield him.

“What is this all about?” I demanded angrily.

One of the ‘suits’ stepped forward and shone a torch beam full in my face.

“We thought that given the gassing of Radeston, everyone in the town would have forgotten about Claude,” he muttered. “But now we have you together we can mop up this situation very effectively.”

“What do you mean?” I shouted. “Both together?”

The ‘suit’ looked over his shoulder at his colleague. “I suppose it won’t matter to tell you now that you are to be disposed of, will it Hugh?”

Hugh stepped forward and smiled. “No, I don’t suppose it will Harry.”

“A U.F.O. crashed twenty five years ago, at a location quite near to Radeston and we were able to extricate the occupant of the vehicle who was the pilot, but it was badly injured,” Harry said. “Our technology was very advanced at that time, I mean nothing like today, but good enough for us to keep the pilot alive.”

“Yes, his body was useless due to the injuries, so we ejected his persona and retained it,” laughed Hugh. “Until we could appropriate something to carry it.”

“That’s where you came in Lakton,” said Harry. “A newly born baby abandoned at the door of Radeston orphanage, just asking to be used.”

“So where did Claude come in to it?” I was annoyed at their childish amusement. They were behaving like a couple of schoolboys explaining their second year biology project.

“That’s the clever bit,” said Harry. “The pilot’s persona was too large and would have led to serious mental problems if it had all been given to you. So we had our laboratory create an android. We were producing some very acceptable units by that time, complete with skin and hair. It was so human like, it was scary.”

“Yes,” said Hugh. “But we only had a part left over the pilot’s mental capacity and it left poor Claude no better than the village idiot, but at least that preserved our visitor’s intellect.”

“But why didn’t I realise that I was carrying the persona?” I asked.

“Chemically induced schizophrenia, you possessed two personalities, but were only conscious of your own,” answered Hugh smugly.

“How did you know that I had discovered Claude?” I said looking round at the android that contained part of my other consciousness.

“Simple,” replied Hugh. “A sensor attached to the switch on Claude’s sternum. As soon as anyone switched it on, a signal came to our headquarters in Asterdon.”

“Who are you people?” I asked. “Government? N.A.S.A.? You seem to be have carte blanche to do anything you like. How did you get me and the town of Radeston to forget about Claude?”

Hugh pointed into the air. “Simple dispersion of Xyclenol 13 over the town by jet after midnight on the night you were seen uncovering the robot’s body. Everyone in town that day woke up with a hangover and a total loss of memory of the preceding 24 hours. We also put out a false message that finally the medical profession had decided to institutionalise for his own protection. Most people were glad as he had been becoming somewhat of a nuisance.

As to our origin, let’s just say we are a sort of ‘X Files’ type of department.”

“So what is to happen to us now?” I said turning to where Claude crouched on the ground. He was looking up into the darkness and his mouth was moving silently muttering his litany of numbers.

“You are to be terminated,” grunted Harold. “The pair of you are just too much trouble. After all these years you have just exceeded your ‘shelf life’.” He laughed cruelly and pulled a pistol from his pocket. “Stand over there by your ‘twin’. I’ll make it painless for you both. You, Lacton, I’ll will shoot and the Claude – thing will be deactivated.”

I made my way over to Claude who was still gazing upwards and reciting the numbers. I placed my arm round his metallic shoulders and once again I experienced the amazing one-ness that I had felt before. “Never mind Claude we had a few years ‘alive’,” I said fondly.

Claude’s gleaming skull turned to me and his chant faltered and changed. It was as if he had experienced the closeness that we had now. “38 West, 49 North, 63 East, 81 South. WE ARE GOING HOME!” he suddenly said loudly.

All I can say is the next few minutes that I experienced were shrouded in a kind of woolly memory. The details are at best hazy and difficult to rationalise.

A strong purple light suddenly bathed the floor of Hidden Valley. It was coming from a source high up in the star filled sky. The two ‘suits’, Hugh and Harold were suddenly vaporised, their particles rising in a cloud which settled on the grass like snow. The two armed personnel ran about waving their rifles, like headless chickens until they too were reduced to dust by the force from above.

It was suddenly silent except for the gentle soughing wind. I turned to Claude and we embraced. “I am going to miss you old friend,” I said sadly.

Claude raised a metallic arm and placed his hand on my head. “We must go, I am sorry,” he whispered.

Then it was if a part of my soul was pulled out of me. I could see a kind of ethereal mist that possessed form and knew that the major part of the interstellar pilot was before me. It hung in front of me until I raised my hand and said “Via con Dios – Go with God” then it approached Claude and together they rose from the ground and as I watched got smaller and smaller until they vanished into the purple source, high in the heavens. The light was instantly extinguished, leaving me in the pitch black.

That was ten years ago and although I think about Claude often, I refuse to write an account of the adventure. The original incomplete story ‘Cryptic Claude’, I destroyed.

Rachael and I met up soon after the incident and when she again asked about the story, I just said that I couldn’t find it. Discretion seemed the best answer as the two suits and the soldiers had to have originated from somewhere in the Government, however covertly. I knew that somewhere, someone would have my name and although over the following days and weeks, I was conscious of being under scrutiny, nothing came of it.

Rachael and I married and have two children, a girl called Cindy and a boy called, what else, but Claude. I still write but tend away from the science fiction and concentrate on the romances and historical genre.

I often look up at the night sky and wonder where the pilot of that crashed U.F.O. came from and whether Claude was kept intact as an example of what a human looks like cast in metal.

It does give you a warm feeling to realise that we are not totally alone in this gigantic Universe.

Storm Warning

The snow had been falling steadily all day and the weather forecaster said “there’s more on the way, guys”. The wind chill factor had dropped the air temperature by at least ten degrees. People were being warned not to venture far from their hearths and if a journey wasn’t necessary – forget about it!

The town of Pincossett always got hit badly by the snow and this year was going to be no different. Situated high up in the north of the country, the weather came directly from the steppes of Russia, dropping several degrees as it passed over the sea.

Shopkeepers were battening down their shops as yet another weather warning came over the radio. Shoppers stormed the supermarkets for food in case the town was snowed in and supplies couldn’t get through.

Rudi Hersault lived off Cedar Avenue and had a thriving business supplying the townsfolk with wood for their fires. During the summer, trade was fairly brisk as his customers bought wood to fill up their nearly empty wood storage areas. In the winter it was panic stations to keep everyone supplied and often Rudi had to go further and further a field to obtain lumber. He bought fallen trees from farmers, waste wood from builders and often collected drift wood from the beach. Transporting it back, to his saw mill, situated at the back of his house.

Pincosset was not a friendly burgh. It was populated by a lot of people eager to get out, but no one would buy their houses and so they stayed on – under duress. Lots of fights broke out due to the general feeling of frustration that everyone felt. As people became older they had accidents related to icy surfaces and general wear and tear which was never repaired. Doc. McFarlane’s surgery was always full of townsfolk with both real and imagined ailments

 Town committee meetings more than usually broke up in a vociferous argument between the attendees and the committee members. No one was happy and the prospect of being cooped up for weeks with people they disliked, despised or just down right hated was the final straw.

Rudi just kept his head down and worked away quietly, listening to his customer’s complaints about their neighbours and either agreeing or else just empathising with them. ‘Keep out of people’s arguments’ was his motto and he stuck to it.

That day Rudi had struck out to the high area behind the town. He knew that there were trees that had been blown down in the last month’s gales. As he made his way out of town on his cart led by Molly his old Clydesdale horse, he was shouted to by Pete Gisbern. “Watch when you’re out there, son. We’re in for a fair drop of snow tonight!” Rudi waved his thanks to the old man and raised his thumb to confirm his understanding.

The path to the high area was badly pitted with potholes and for short periods, Rudi had to lead the horse. Most of the damage to the road had occurred during a period of torrential rain, when large mud slides had occurred on the hillsides. Frost and ice had made the scars worse and rendered the road impassable to everyone who was not experienced. Rudi had made his way up there many times and he knew that if one put a foot wrong it could cause severe injury, if not death!

The large spruce tree had fallen sideways and ripped a chunk out of a neighbouring tree, before plunging down flat onto the forest floor. Its massive roots stuck up like a mess of cables and clay, earth and stones had been ripped out of the earth and spread about the fallen giant.

Rudi uncovered his power saw. He had topped up the reservoir that morning and knew that he had a couple of hour’s worth before having to refill the tool. Pulling the rip cord, the powerful saw roared into life and by adjusting the trigger, Rudi made it give a few throaty growls before approaching the fallen tree.

Working steadily all morning it wasn’t long before Rudi had filled his cart and decided to call it a day. Dark storm clouds were moving across the sky and the gentle breeze of a few hours ago had become a strong wind which howled through the forest. Covering his saw up under canvas, Rudi looked about him. The spruce was now partially cut into segments, which Rudi could return to and reduce in size at a later date. He knew that apart from Widow Grenstable, all the other townsfolk’s wood sheds were topped to the brim with his wood. This load would fill the Widow’s quota and have everyone set for the approaching storm.

As Rudi turned to grab Molly’s reins he spotted something lying in amongst the tree roots. It looked like a metal box measuring about five hundred centimetres long. It was badly stained by the earth and hung Christmas tree present like from the roots. Reaching over Rudi gingerly touched the box’s surface. It felt cold, colder than the surrounding air. Rudi gripped the box and pulled it out from its nest of roots. The roots gave up their prize with reluctance and Rudi realised that the box was older than the massive girthed tree that had grown over it.

Rudi polished the surface of the box with an old bit of rag. When the stains were gone, he could see that there were diagrams on the surface. Whorls and circles, triangles and other geometrical figures were inscribed deeply into the metal. Rudi could see that the box had a top that could be opened, but however hard he tried, he could not prise the lid off.

Placing it carefully in the cart under a cloth, Rudi began to lead the horse and cart down the precipitous path towards Pincossett.

“It’s about time!” shouted the Widow Grenstable as she saw Rudi and his cart approaching her house. “Where have you been, you lazy devil? I have a big gap in my wood pile and the storm is on its way!”

“Sorry ma’am,” Rudi said as he began offloading the timber into the wood shed. “It’s been a hard day up there in the high area.”

“Don’t give me your excuses…” the Widow’s expression suddenly changed. “I want you to charge me twice what you normally charge me. You are such a hard working young man.”

Rudi dropped the pile of logs he was carrying, “Excuse me! What did you say?”

The Widow was standing by the cart and her face wore a very pleasing smile. “I said that without you, this town would suffer and I for one think you should be rewarded.”

After Rudi had filled the Widow’s order and had been paid handsomely for it, he made his way down the street towards his house. Just as he was passing the bar, the ‘Star and Bull’, two men crashed out of the door and onto the street. They were punching at each other and Rudi could see that one was bleeding. The assailants rolled across towards Rudi’s cart and bumped into one of the wheels. All at once the fighting stopped and the man who was bleeding leant down and helped the other man to his feet. “I am sorry for causing all that…” began the bleeding man, but was interrupted by the other who proffered his handkerchief. “No, no, it was my fault; please accept this handkerchief to wrap round your wound and my heartfelt apologies for causing it.”

Rudi watched in amazement as the two men re entered the bar with arms round each other’s shoulders, like two best friends!

Putting Molly into her stable with some fresh fodder to eat and pushing the now empty cart into its shed, Rudy made his way into his house. The sun was setting in the west and a red sky hung like a blood soaked shirt. Normally a red sky at night would herald a good day to follow the next day, but this was not nature’s message tonight. Batten down the hatches for the creature has been released. Snow is coming!

All through the night the wind shrieked through Pincossett distributing snow wherever it touched. By midnight huge snowdrifts lay up against the houses and no one was seen on the streets. By three a.m the road into Pincossett was blocked and cars and vans sitting in the street were just humps of fallen snow. By six a.m. there was five feet of snow entombing Pincossitt and there was no sign of the weather improving in the near future.

The next morning the town of Pincossett was cut off from the rest of the country by large, deep drifts of snow. Rudi attempted to clear a path down to where he thought the road was, then slipping his snow shoes on, he made his way to the police station. It was his intention to hand in the box that he had discovered to Sergeant Muller, the town’s police authority.

As he trudged through the snow he waved to several of his neighbours who were out clearing the snow from in front of their houses. Rudi noticed many of the houses were covered with snow and it was unlikely that the occupants would manage to clear it as they were either old or infirm. Rudi made a mental note that when he returned he would begin clearing the snow for them, he knew that the able citizens of Pincossett would never consider helping any of their less fortunate neighbours. That was the nature of the town.

Sergeant Muller was hunched over his desk when Rudi walked into the police station. He looked up and glared at Rudi.

“Well, lad? What is it I haven’t got all day…” then the gruff sergeant stopped talking and slowly a smile turned up the corners of his usual down turned mouth. “It’s great to see you, Rudi. How can I help you?” he continued.

Rudi, once again, was amazed at the sergeant’s change of attitude. First it was the Widow Grenstable and now Sergeant Muller, who was well known for his surliness.

“Yesterday, I found this box up on the high area behind town. A tree had been blown over and the box was wrapped in its roots,” Rudi said handing it over to the policeman.

“Well now, that is a real fancy box. Have you opened it?” Sergeant Muller said as he attempted to open the lid.

“No,” said Rudi. “It seemed stuck and I was afraid that if I forced it, I may damage it.”

“Well, thank you very much for handing it in son; I’ll put it in the lost property room, in case someone comes looking for it.” Sergeant Muller said as he turned and left the room.

As Rudi left the police station a wind had risen and it was whipping snow into strange shapes. It would be a long time before the snow melted and Rudi hoped that it would go gradually and not cause a flood.

As he reached the main street he was pleasantly surprised to see some of the townsfolk beginning to clear several of the old age pensioner’s paths. They all wore smiles on their faces and were chatting amiably as they worked. Often one of the elderly house owners would come to their door with hot drinks for the workers. This surely was a magic occurrence, thought Rudi, these people were normally rude and gruff with one another.

Later that day Rudi received a phone call from Sergeant Muller. “Could you come back along to the station, please?”  the policeman requested politely. “There’s something I want you to witness.”

As Rudi made his way back he noticed that now all paths had been cleared along the way and knew that this new spirit of comradeship was alive and well…wherever it had come from.

As Rudi entered the police station he heard children’s voices and children’s laughter.

“Go on,” Rudi heard a voice say. “You ask it a question!”

The main office was full of children, which was in itself strange as Sergeant Muller disliked children and had as little to do with them as he could; but there must have been about fourteen boys and girls in the room, sitting around a table upon which sat – the box.

Sergeant Muller was sitting in a chair behind his desk wearing a very friendly grin on his face. “Yes, ask it what you’re getting for Christmas,” he said loudly.

“What’s happening Sergeant?” asked Rudi looking at the sea of children’s faces.

“Listen to what happens when one of them asks a question,” the policeman said with a laugh.

“Am I a boy? Once for yes and twice for no!” a boy with ginger hair shouted out.

The room went silent and Rudi could hear the tick tock of the police station clock.

“Bang!” the noise of one knock echoed through the room. The children squealed with pleasure.

“Will I get a rise in my pay this year?” Sergeant Muller asked before anyone else said anything.

“Bang! Bang!” the box sounded. The policeman’s grin vanished for a second. “Ah well…” he said grudgingly.

“How is it doing that?” asked Rudi.

“I don’t know, but the kids have asked some questions that they know the answers to and the box is always right!” Sergeant Muller said. “They had all come in for a school visit and I showed them the box in the lost property. One of the girls asked her teacher if it was a special box and the box gave out a loud thump. Well, that was the start, for all of them started asking questions and it was chaos until we got them asking one at a time. I brought the box out here because there was more room.”

“Will I have lots of children after I grow up and get married?” a girl screamed out excitedly.

Once again there was a pause and then the box announced, “Bang!”

That night as Rudi lay in bed he tried to fathom out what was in the box to give it the power to answer questions. It was behaving like some sort of verbal crystal ball, answering questions and making predictions.

Next morning there was another fall of snow and the town committee decided to have a meeting in the town hall, to discuss contingency plans for the weeks to come. Rudi was asked to bring along the box in case any of the townsfolk recognised it. He felt hesitant about going to the meeting with the box, for each day it became more and more mysterious.

“Right, I’ll start the proceedings today,” began Nathaniel Green, the mayor, but was interrupted by Bill Dagmore, the head of the town committee. “No, you won’t. I will!” The verbal wrangling, so common to previous meeting began the proceedings of the day. Eventually each man had his say.

“Welcome to everyone who’s come on this stormy day,” said Nathaniel Green.

“Thanks to all who made the effort,” grunted Bill Dagmore. “What’s the first item for discussion?”

Nathaniel Green jumped to his feet angrily, “I’m supposed to ask that!” he retorted.

Bit by staggering bit, the meeting continued. The two ‘leaders’ desperately trying to out do the other in front of the town and failing badly. Eventually they came to the item regarding Rudi’s ‘find’.

“Can you come up on the stage and show everyone,” Nathaniel Green called and Rudi, who had been standing at the back of the hall, made his way towards the front. Scowling faces looked round at him as he moved passed the end of the rows, but soon the faces wore smiles and people were talking happily amongst themselves.

“Right, come up!” commanded Nathaniel Green to Rudi, with a glare at his rival Bill Dagmore.

As Rudi climbed the stairs towards the committee who were seated on the stage, he wondered how the men could make decisions for the town when they could not be civil to one another. Approaching the table he placed the box down on it.

“Now, Rudi, where did you say you found this?” asked Bill Dagmore.

Nathaniel Green jumped to his feet and Rudi held his breath waiting for some petty argument to start.

“Yes, lad,” said Nathaniel Green smiling at Bill Dagmore. “You answer Bill’s questions.  What he doesn’t know about Pincossett is not worth knowing. That’s right Bill isn’t it?” Then he reached over and shook Bill Dagmore’s hand.

The entire atmosphere in the hall had changed and Rudi felt it. People in the audience were happy and it showed on their faces. The committee were shaking hands with each other and patting each others backs.

Nathaniel Green stood up and holding his hands aloft asked, “Can I have some volunteers to begin to dig out some of our less fortunate citizens please?”

Instantly there were about thirty men on their feet holding their hands up.

“That’s great!” shouted Bill Dagmore then paused. “Sorry to but in there Nat.”

“No problem neighbour, glad for your help!” Nathaniel Green said with a laugh.

The hall began to empty as the volunteers followed by their relatives left. No one had been allowed to see the box but Rudi felt that the box had made its presence known, in the turn a round of emotions by the town.

Soon the town began to look itself again. Large amounts of snow were transported to nearby waste ground and the roads were treated with salt and sand. The feeling of camaraderie spread throughout Pincossett and although the bad weather continued unabated, the heart of the town was warm and welcoming.

Later that week Doctor James Harswell, the town medic asked Rudi, if he could have a look at the box. Rumours of the strange inscriptions on the box’s face had been circulating around the town and the doctor wondered if he might be able to establish their origin. Rudi had spoken to Sergeant Muller who couldn’t see any harm in letting the doctor have a look at the baffling box.

“It definitely looks like geometrical symbols,” said Doctor Harswell as he looked at the box’s lid through a magnifying glass. “They are inscribed deeply into the metal”

Rudi rubbed his hands over the marks and felt again the coldness of the metal. “But why has the box’s temperature never come up to the air temperature?” he asked. “And why can’t we open it?”

Doctor Harswell walked over to where his surgical equipment lay. “I’ve got an ultrasonic drill here,” he said holding up a silver instrument. “What say we attempt to drill it open?”

Instantly there were two loud knocks from the box.

“I had forgotten about its ability to communicate,” laughed Rudi.

The story of the children’s inquisition of the box was another tale circulating the town.

“We have to know…” the doctor began to say, but was once again interrupted by two loud bangs from the box.

Rudi stepped forward and addressed the box,” We need to see inside. We won’t harm you and the lid will be closed as soon as we have seen what is inside…please!”

There was a long pause then with a slight click, the lid swung open. For a moment neither man could see the contents as a white cloud emerged from within the box.

“The interior temperature must be very low,” said the doctor. “That’s condensation.”

Then the cloud dispersed and Rudi and Doctor Harswell could see the interior of the box. It contained a long glass like tube within which swirled a bluey-green coloured gas. Within the gas there were bursts of star like flashes which lit the inside of the tube. After a few minutes, the lid began to lower and then shut with a loud snap. A gentle hissing could be heard within.

“The box is re-establishing its low temperature.” The doctor confirmed.

There was a knock at the doctor’s surgery door and a nurse came in. “I’m sorry to bother you, doctor, but Mr Simes is here and is desperate to see you,” she said.

Doctor Harswell turned to Rudi and said, “Would you mind waiting in the office outside for a few minutes?  This won’t take long.”

Rudi knew of Bertram Simes, the man had been in a car accident three months before and through some neural disorder, had lost the use of his legs.

Psychological treatment had not helped and the man travelled everywhere in a wheel chair pushed by his faithful and long suffering wife, Stephanie.

Rudi stood aside as Stephanie pushed her husband into Doctor Harswell’s surgery. “Sorry to interrupt you, Stephanie whispered to Rudi as she passed.

The door of the surgery closed and Rudi could detect the rumble of voices from within the room and moved over to the window to allow them some privacy. Outside, the gritters were busy spreading fresh sand on the road. That night it was forecast for the temperature to drop to well below freezing and the town council were taking no chances.

Suddenly, from within the doctor’s surgery, Rudi heard a loud whoop of joy and the door was thrown open by a beaming Bertram Simes. He jumped and skipped around the office before returning to the surgery. Rudi quietly walked over and looked into the room. Bertram was shaking the doctor’s hand and hugging his wife with the other arm. “I’m cured! I’m cured!” he shouted.

After Mr and Mrs. Simes had walked out of Doctor Harswell’s office, Rudi went back into the surgery and found the doctor looking closely at the box.

“It cured him,” he said loudly. “I am sure of it, Rudi.”

“What happened after they came in?” Rudi asked quizzically.

“Oh, Bertram said he was filled with pain and he had to have some more pills. I said that he couldn’t have any more as the increased quantity would kill him. Then he thumped his fist on to the top of the box and wailed that he wanted to be cured. Well, there was a loud knock from the box and before Stephanie or I could stop him, Bertram was on his feet and out the door into my office, well, you know the rest!”

Rudi looked at the box and said, “It cures peoples’ illnesses as well as their dispositions. Doctor, can you get a few of your medical cases over here to test its efficacy?”

For the next few hours a queue of patients waited outside Doctor Harswell’s office. One by one they entered and after touching the box and asking to be cured, they were healed. Mrs. Herron’s skin cancer, Mr. Garren’s tuberculosis, Mrs. Felsham’s bronchitis and even little Lucy Garnet’s broken leg healed in double quick time after they had been in contact with the box.

Truly a miracle, but what was it? thought Rudi as the last of the patients emerged from inside the doctor’s surgery.

The answer came two nights later and it was to open every one’s eyes – wide!

The weather had deteriorated again, but due to the increase of volunteering (unheard of before in Pincossett), the roads were kept clear and although no one could get into the town from the outside country, food was still available and no one was suffering.

As the sky darkened at the end of the day some folk rang Sergeant Muller reporting large lights in the sky off to the east. He had a check and told the callers that it was probably the planet Venus which was particularly bright at that time of the year. The callers had the last laugh when the strangers came into town.

Old Josiah Verqun spotted the first of them and immediately went inside to get his shotgun. He went out onto the road and pointed his firearm at the seven foot high creature. “It looked like one of those dragons that you see in kid’s story books,” he had said when questioned. “But walking on two legs!”

The next one to meet up with the visitors was Sergeant Muller. Deciding to close up his station early he had just locked the door when upon turning round he found himself facing one of old Josiah’s ‘dragons’.

“Man,” said the sergeant. “You’re not from around here!”

The ‘dragon’ had gazed into the sergeant’s eyes and words began flooding his brain.

“We are the Quai,” the creature transmitted. “You have a travel chamber that one of our race lost several hundred of your years ago. We must have it back.”

Sergeant Muller felt lost in the ‘dragon’s’ eyes. They were yellow with flecks of orange and black running through them. The pupils were shaped like a cat’s and gleamed a shiny black.

“What does your travel chamber look like?” replied Sergeant Muller bravely for inside he was quaking.

“It is like a box. It is made of Rrhydium metal and has engravings on its surface,” replied the Quai within the sergeant’s brain. “We use it for the transport of …items. We are a trader race and cover large areas of the Cghu or as you know it, the Universe.”

The sergeant led the visitor to Doctor Harswell’s office where they met up with five other Quai. The one, who had been confronted by Josiah, had left the old man unharmed but when he awoke he would feel as if he had a massive hangover. The doctor carried the box outside, Rudi went with him.

Rudi gazed up at the Quai. He was trembling, but knew that he had to know the secret of the box before it was reclaimed by their visitors.

“Can you tell us what the box is?” asked Rudi. “Its effect on the town has been one of sheer goodness.”

The six Quai looked at one another and then the one that seemed to be the senior answered. “Normally we offer client confidentiality, but as you are a primitive race, I see no reason to keep the truth from you.”

It transpired that thousands of light years from Earth there was a planet called Myrrax. On this planet lived beings called the Kert, that consisted mainly of vapour although they possessed highly sophisticated brains. Through evolution, they had attained a peaceful co-existence and offered the other planets of the area counselling and advice as well as being able to cure their maladies. Myrrax was a gem of a planet and the Kert were truly superlative.

Sadly, the substance of their planet began to break down and it looked as if Myrrax would explode and destroy a highly benevolent and important race of beings.

We, the Quai, were asked if it would be feasible to transport the Kert to another planet that resembled Myrrax’s atmosphere and land mass.

We agreed, for a fee, to move them to a planet several light years from Myrrax, which they called Yrmm. Yrmm’s size, climate and atmosphere were comparable to Myrrax’s, but Yrmm was a much younger planet.

The Kert were collected into a travel chamber and were prepared for travel to Yrmm

On the way to Yrmm, the space vessel crashed here on Earth and all the contents of the hold were ejected onto the planet’s surface. After many of your months, repairs were made and after the ejected units had been collected, the vessel set off again for Yrmm. It was not until they arrived that the absence of the travel chamber containing the Kurt, was discovered.

Upon its return to our planet the space vessel was attacked and destroyed by pirates and we lost the location of the crash site on your planet.

We have been searching for the unit ever since and it was not until one of you opened the container that a message was relayed to the Quai of its location.

“What did you see when you opened the travel chamber?” transmitted the senior Quai.

“A tube containing a sparkling gas!” said Rudi timidly.

“And you have been experiencing the effect of being in close proximity with the Kurt?”

“Yes, our sick have been healed, our injured have been mended and the town of Pincossett has become a thriving, happy community again,” interjected Doctor Harswell.

“Well, I am afraid that we Quai have a responsibility to our clients and must fulfil our agreed contract. We must take the Kurt to Yrmm.”

The senior Quai picked up the box and looked at its surface. “This chamber is empty!” the senior Quai transmitted and threw open the lid of the travel chamber. Sure enough, Rudi could see that the tube was empty.

“The box opened only once during the time we had it, I can assure you,” spluttered Doctor Harswell. “We saw the tube with the gas for a few minutes before the box closed and resealed itself.”

Raising its dragon like head into the air, the senior Quai closed its reptilian eyes and stood silently. After five minutes it opened its eyes and turned to the other five Quai and spoke. None of the humans understood what was said and waited patiently to find out what was to happen.

Silently the five Quai turned and walked off down the road. The senior Quai turned and transmitted. “I have spoken to the Kurt and we have agreed that the contract has been successfully completed. The Kurt have found their new home – with you.”

Rudi, Sergeant Muller and Doctor Harswell watched the night sky and after half an hour saw a large light rising above the hills before it vanished into the starry heavens.

“Well, Pincossett is going to be a totally different place now,” said Rudi to the doctor and the sergeant. “You may be out of jobs.”

They all laughed and after shaking hands went home.

After the snow had melted and the transport lorries bearing food and provisions rumbled into Pincossett, the drivers noticed a much improved community. People smiled and laughed. The stores they visited offered them coffee and food before they left and all bills were paid on time, if not early.

Visitors to Pincossett began returning and found a thriving, friendly community. It was not long before Pincossett was named as the ‘Friendliest Town in the Country’.