 
Sir Ian Peters

RIP Dr Samuel Johnson

20/05/1900 - 27/05/2007

Text copyright 2013-2019 Kevin Pearson All Rights Reserved. Smashwords Edition

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Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Katarzyna for her cover picture of Sam caught out on a cold night. To contact Katarzyna regarding possible art projects, please contact her directly via email.

Katarzyna Waszewska-Adamowska

Email: pracownia.labarte@gmail.com

To those that doubt, may you believe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Pine Meadows 1920

Chapter 1

20th May 1970

Dearest Edward, my most trusted son,

With my Northumberland property, I leave you an account of a decidedly strange, but enlightening experience from youth. I feel it re-emphasizes the complexities of life and our still highly uncertain position in it. Keep this letter close to your heart, sharing it with others when it will do most good.

Don't tarry on erroneous thoughts of madness, nor disbelieve because my words seem bizarre, or suspect they arise from an ageing mind. My faculties are still uncannily close to my younger days in 1920 when these curious events unfolded. I'd sworn never to reveal this tale till a series of signs had passed. Those signs climaxed last week with a glorious visit by the main protagonist in this piece and your dearly departed mother.

Though now armed with a raft of information, I've been unable to tell of all events that transpired during and after 'Sir Ian's' visit, so have set down just some of the main events. I believe this is the best course of action for now. Please understand that not all the situations can be explained as the only spirit that may have been able to has passed on. I pray the tales true meaning will shine through.

Edward, in 1920 at aged 20 I was a tall, thin, gangly youth who sprouted far too early. Sadly the rest of my body didn't wish to follow suit. Muscles were non existent. My torso gave the impression of a soul damned to suffer the endless torment of eternal malnourishment, whilst my unusually protracted face carried the ensanguine pallor of one cursed with a singular aversion to sun.

Hair was an abhorrent straw like mix of rich brown and darkened ginger, growing every which way possible at unbelievably different rates. The only serving advantage was it took notice away from my unfeasibly large ears.

With my body 'twas an impossible task to try and restore any semblance of order, which I craved ceaselessly in all areas of life. Thankfully the more I searched for order, the easier it became to uncover. 'twas a most beautiful discovery - almost as if life designed it to be so. Order can be explained in many ways. For instance, absence of order in society allows the strong to prey upon the weak. Order consists of a clean, alphabetized library to assist time challenged scholars.

I found order of a most invigorating kind in the exciting field of mathematics. As children we learn order exists in the perfect alignment and calculable orbit of our galaxy's planets in conjunction with our life giving sun. Order is unsleeping in our natural world, whether we acknowledge it or not. To my mind, a world without order is one where only chaos reigns.

Simply put, without order not one of us would be alive today. But above all back then I believed order was there to save us time. And we're told time is one of the few constants in our universe. Order gave my life a deeper meaning and comfort. At least I used to think this way. But tell me, what if order were snatched away and replaced with gnawing uncertainty? How would you react? Please stay whilst I attempt to convey the significance underlying my words.

Nowadays youngsters consider these practical jokes old hat, but in 1920 such childish self indulgent pastimes were new and very effective. By aged 20 I was plagued. Not by vermin or crawling insects, but by the thoroughly evil mind of a far more cunning animal - my 12 year old brother, Edward.

Edward's maturity hadn't yet caught up to his high intellect. His all consuming passion was carefully erecting childish traps, or 'engagements.' Their sole purpose was to 'meet the mission objective,' which often led to me being sprayed with a noxious, sticky substance at the most unexpected, inconvenient moments.

I later discovered Edward's thick war manual containing notes on all previous engagements. Each mission had been marked using a sliding scoring system. Sadly, results had been pretty impressive. Included were complex back up plans and exit strategies in case the unthinkable happened and the mission turned pear shaped.

My heart fell at the final note: 'No information concerning forthcoming missions can be released, due to enemy intelligence networks. Spies constantly circle us like ravenous sharks, ready to tear our army's heart asunder. Forthwith, mind your own damn business!' signed General Claus Gordon Davis of the queens own regiment, first battalion.' Such insane ramblings beggared all belief.

As Edward's relentless campaign intensified, his missions grew more ingenious and thoughtful. One fateful day I'd been particularly busy at work, completing many complex calculations. Back home I was greeted by my strangely attentive sibling, who was munching through a fresh batch of chocolate buns. I swiftly reduced the largest one to crumbs seconds before Edward's gluttonous hands lit on it. And why not? Hadn't I earned it? Victory was mine! Throwing Edward a salute of success, which he happily accepted, I retired to bed as the day's toils had left me tired and vulnerable.

I awoke an hour later with a terrific start. Angry, thunderous monsters rumbled deep down in my stomach. I took flight downstairs, staggering, stumbling through cold night air to the outside toilet at the bottom of the garden. I'd barely assumed the required position when my bowels opened up with such a furious vengeance that can never be accurately described. Between quickening breaths I plaintively bleated for help, whilst deeply contemplating the sheer futility of further existence.

My psyche instantly imploded discovering cellophane tightly covered the toilet pan. Back blasts surpassed tidal proportions. I almost collapsed finding all cleaning material strangely absent. I don't recall when or how my cowed mewing turned to horrific unrestrained screams bringing parents plunging into inky darkness to save me from a raging murderer. Neighbours modern lanterns shed light on my true misery. One farmer had rushed over from 2 miles away!

As I stumbled round, shamefully undressed, cold, shocked, confused, and er, still not finished, wild giggling drifted from the mad general's warm bedroom. Curtains twitched and swished as uncontrollable laughter propelled his twisted person round the room like a ragdoll.

Next day huge swollen tear lines bloated Edward's eyes and my local reputation recalled that infamous day for a lifetime. E.g. Mrs Jenkins who farmed nearby till 1970 used to call monthly with her eggs. She tried valiantly to disguise it, bless her - but I knew exactly what she was thinking!

Only divine wisdom, healing prayer and hope in eventual justice prevented me developing a debilitating fear of unlit lavatories. General Davis never truly admitted his guilt in this disgusting affair, only suggesting I'd been hit by a modernised 'double pincer' attack. Apparently it gave him little pleasure to hear of such reprehensible approaches, but sometimes war veterans suffered from battle fatigue, making their actions unpredictable. Such political philosophising didn't impress me. Justice would prove swift and decisive.

Chapter 2

'Trials' were held in our back room, overlooking countryside. Father would judge, sagely stating that if the accused was found guilty, then it was only a short walk to the garden's noose. Judge Johnson regularly laughed at harrowing evidence, calling the crimes thoughtful devices, silly japes and singular tricks. Pertinent data was thrown out of court with alarming regularity. Such was the seriousness of the proceedings.

My dear flustered mother attended in a vain attempt to restore balance, when proceedings became heated and pillow fights ensued between prosecutor and accused. If the bailiff became overwhelmed, the judge intervened using his very own handmade wig, which 'only looked like a tea cosy.'

When my face matched a merry bright crimson, the judge would leap up, almost dancing, "Order sir, order! The prosecutor will see humour hidden within!"

He'd state 'the court' would provide me a new shirt/trouser/jacket etc, and then finish for lunch. Lord knows how much it cost father, who was far from rich. He only spoke to Edward firmly on rare occasions when a potentially serious injury was divined.

The 24th of January 1920 was an overcast Saturday morning I'll never forget. Still, the hall mounted thermometer said 10 degrees and rising. I rattled round our front door, mulling a country walk. Decisions of this nature granted a strange delight, as they differed from busy working office life, and consequences were distinctly less severe.

Strangely I finally decided to place my future in fate's trusty hands. Just before I turned the doorknob, a loud shrill voice rang out. "I really wouldn't do that." A curious tingling sensation sneaked from head to toe, bouncing feet. My eyes fogged, bringing a deathly consuming blackness that slowly cleared, like when standing too quickly and blood pressure needs to catch up.

A brisk walk cures a sleepy brain I thought, reaching for the doorknob when instinct screamed out. "Fool!" I'd forgotten basic checks and was about to hand pompous General Davis another easy victory!

My mind flew. A mouldy, sour milk cup balanced on top the door? A stinking hollowed out death pit beneath the doormat? A greasy, disgusting substance smeared beneath the poor little door knob? Ah, was the metal door knob connected to some rudimentary electric apparatus? Luckily old blackened window putty was undisturbed. I escaped, calling out allusions to the general's weak character and feeble nocturnal bladder control skills, leaving the greasy, diseased rat to his dirty little hole under the stairs. Victory was mine!

Through the garden gate I was bowled over by the postman's cycle. I stormed inside, sorely winded, to the same piercing, mocking voice. "Poor, poor Sam. Thinks he knows everything! Will you listen next time?"

I dropped to all fours, starting a fingertip search of the hall, profoundly disturbed by mother and Edward who'd just arrived back from town.

"I knew this would happen," Edward smirked confidently, "It was inevitable. And here's the living proof. Now you've finally admitted that I'm your lord and master, you may now rise to your knees."

"Samuel Johnson, stop crawling around in the dirt at once. Really, how much washing am I expected to do? Are you all in on a terrible scheme to kill me?" mum cried out.

Deeply troubled, I retired to bed, where the voice continued whispering sheer nonsense from deep inside my ear. Presently the voice grew sharper and more intense. Perhaps my brain had finally given up, having been subjected to foul predicaments during its most tender, formative years? Such dark thoughts filled my being till early hours, when the internal debate suggested I'd simply developed an aggressive ear infection.

Chapter 3

'Last night upon our stair,

I met a man that wasn't there.

He wasn't there again today,

I wish I wish he'd go away.'

William Hughes Mearns circa 1899

At 12 pm Monday I poured out my predicament to the doctor, stating the noises were similar to far off wind or rushing water when pressing a shell to one's ear. Medical knowledge was archaic in this field back then. If I'd been honest I'd have faced life in a Victorian asylum. That pivotal moment's intuition defined my future.

The old quack just flushed my ear. I'd barely stumbled back into the crowded street when the voice chirped up. "You made the right choice for once. I wagered you'd collapse and reveal all. You might have some potential."

"Enough!" I shouted angrily. "Who are you and why are you persecuting me?"

"Steady on champ!" came the swift, piercing reply. Worried folk were pointing in my direction. "Out of the frying pan, into the fire, eh?" the entity ventured, "Perhaps I'll answer if you find me. Let's call it hide and seek."

The next 3 days were spent suffering incessant childish babble whilst attempting to fathom the mystery. A glorious epiphany granted the answer. I painstakingly constructed a 12 inch high thin wire framework, attaching 12 tiny mirror circles at carefully calibrated intervals to reflect the image of my inner ear into the dresser mirror.

For 30 minutes I tried every possible angle, finding nothing in my ear. My neck finally spasmed under the unusual torture.

The voice laughed. "Well, what did you expect to find? A troubled pixie posing for a photograph? One chatty gnome waving and smiling? A shrunken goblin with painful haemorrhoids? Think about it – you see the world as you are, not as it is."

"Horrible beast," I blurted, "What wild devil derives pleasure from wasting another's precious time?"

"It's more bemusement, Sam. Though a deals a deal, and if you'd like to picture me as a lovable pixie you may, but you'd be wrong! First, my name's none other than Ian, Ian Peters."

"You lying little..."

"Now, now Samuel. There's no call to get all flustered like an old washerwoman. First of all, I never lie. My name is Ian Peters for this incarnation. I chose it from billions. It's special to me in so many different ways you simply wouldn't understand."

(Likely 'Ian' had chosen this name as some sort of 'in joke', perhaps like the child in us laughs at silly names or references.)

"Secondly, I'm not persecuting you. That's a spiteful human trait. You're not possessed or mad either."

"Yes, despite talking with an invisible man called Ian Peters!"

"I only need a little more time to finish my work. You won't be harmed by my familiarity."

I only felt a little reassured by Ian's words. After all, this entity could enter my consciousness at will. Where did its true intentions lie? Where did he come from? What did this intolerable situation say about physics, the nature of reality? Ian's words appeared to ring true, though he didn't seem to extend such good wishes towards some other folk.

Not 7 days later I arrived at work late for the first time ever, harassed by weather and Ian's wild stories. Along the long accounts corridor our cleaner's rather ample person arrested my progress.

"Excuse me madam, I've a rather pressing matter to attend to, may I pass?"

"Really my dear? Is that so? How can I help?" friendly Elizabeth Dowry ventured coyly, bargaining for a compliment.

Ian screamed out. "By slimming woman! Good God, just look at you! Stay out of my life you foul bloated guttersnipe!" Simultaneously my dull voice involuntarily echoed his shameful words, reducing poor, undeserving Elizabeth to a hopeless sobbing wreck.

I'd no idea whatsoever how to console women, so shamefully stumbled out of there as Ian's abuse continued. "You freak, you freak! Quick, go back Sam, go back - she's a right little porker!"

I feigned illness, returning to bed, constructing humble apologies and picturing gifts that may engender forgiveness. Lies are generally destructive, but I confessed to Elizabeth that I suffered from a rare neurological condition triggered by work and domestic stress. Luckily she was blessed with tender kindness, instantly accepting apologies, professing deep concern for my welfare.

I shunned that haunted corridor for weeks, using weird and wonderful excuses to justify this odd behaviour. Elizabeth soon left the cleaning job, reporting my condition had finalised secret yearnings to become a nurse. She found a wonderful soul mate on her first week.

Chapter 4

4:30 pm Wednesday. I gazed out Edwards's chamber window, unable to avoid gloomy sky. Misty clouds covered adjacent valley tops, swathing countryside in dark, depressing doom. 'Surrender all hope.' I mused.

Atop the opposite hill sat the great oak we named Rufus after a brave general who always led his troops into battle. Once standing proud and potent, Rufus now crouched naked and vulnerable. The bitter winter campaign had also taken a heavy toll on his loyal soldiers whose torn brown jackets lined darkening woods behind.

Scurrying woodland creatures frantically collected ammunition discarded by our valiant warrior, whilst dark forces slowly overwhelmed him once more. A century he'd fought, but now silently formed battle tactics, gaining strength for a spring counterattack. Efficient little aids attended to dry, lifeless corpses and rotting clothing strewn carelessly in the stiff breeze as a furry red jacketed spy sneaked downhill, disappearing off east.

Closer to home, a shabby ladies cycle sliced shadows on our fence, her once striking paintwork flecked with thick copper pebbles and her royal seat once fat with luxurious padding now crushed into a paper thin meld of dried sweat and worn leather. Beneath a bowed body, rounded feet buckled with lifetimes of thankless burdens. That explained the curious scraping whilst I surveyed the battlefield.

Father answered the door to one Constable Bray, who'd failed to arrest floodwaters streaming down his face, despite being armed with a giant's towel. About the reddest, fattest officer I'd ever seen. Rogues must have drawn lots to work on his beat. I listened from the stairs.

Old man Parson's farm way up on the hill had been attacked by mindless vandals every night for 2 weeks. Rotten eggs pounded his workshop, loud knocking at ungodly hours, weird disembodied voices screamed obscenities and expensive tools stolen or damaged.

Not only that, someone had flooded his barns, leaving strange tracks. Father knew nothing of it and the officer suggested Parson seemed an odd character who liked a tipple. So who knows what had actually happened on the lonely moor? With that the officer trudged towards town, pushing the dying bicycle up the hill.

Father barely mentioned the incident at dinner, never even suggesting his boys had anything to do with it. I knew General Davis wouldn't attack anyone other than me, though asked someone who may have done that night. "Nothing to do with me Sam," Ian answered airily.

"One can't help wondering."

"Well one can stop now, can't one?"

Chapter 5

Circa 4 weeks later, on a Saturday I dropped by the town pub after work, hoping to drown Ian out for the night. I was unused to such close companionship and wasn't quite ready for it. I'd had a most trying week. Ian had taken great delight in throwing numbers into my head during important meetings, interspersed with outbursts of "Boring!" and "Sales forecasts mean nothing!"

After the third pint Ian's philosophical ramblings ceased. I then spent an enjoyable evening soundly putting the world to rights with barflies. A young profound thinker, David Allcock solved the worlds growing food supply problems, answering all our searching questions perfectly. Incredibly clever and more than a trifle strange.

Even stranger, David was only able to perform such feats whilst drunk. Surprisingly, alcohol exponentially increased, rather than dulled his reasoning. David's conversational skills without drink were trying and diffuse. He couldn't read or write and couldn't have learnt in a thousand lifetimes. Look out for and help these rare people in any way you can, Edward. Their brains often brim with so much useful information, no space remains to look after themselves. David's are born to transform lives, not just nudge them. As much God given talent lives in lowly backwaters as in blue blooded aristocracy.

Sadly, due to alcohol consumed, we didn't note any important conclusions. Even sadder was David died in an avoidable industrial accident not long afterwards. David had helped an old friend that day instead of dictating a series of groundbreaking books. May he rest in peace.

So it was very late when I stumbled out the pub, with a confident, cheery smile and matching swagger. A full 5 hours had passed since Ian spoke when my transcendental mood was interrupted most despicably at maximum volume. "Hey, hey! Guess who? Enjoyed yourself?!"

I snorted violently. "There's no call for that behaviour. You nearly deafened me!"

"Come, come young man! Quick, you've 3 chances! Don't dare waste them!"

"Alright! Is it a terribly annoying, fat, bloated, warty, hideously ugly toad with no social skills and feelings for others, as parents didn't look after him, so developed untreatable body odour?"

"Oh no, and you were so close! But I'm very sorry to report your first guess was far too long and unnecessarily intricate, therefore you forfeit your last two chances."

"That's a big, big shame."

"Yes, yes, isn't it just," Ian agreed enthusiastically. "Anyway young fellow, I happily gave you 5 peaceful hours and need you to take me to a certain place this very instant."

"I shall do no such thing. Listen very carefully. At home I'll drink my liquor miniatures and sleep."

"But it's only once!" Ian pleaded.

"I really don't care. And don't waste effort trying to persuade me otherwise." Ian's sorry pleadings turned into alternately blasting eardrums for the next 10 minutes. "Ssss...aaaaa...m." "Sam!"

"Just go yourself," I said eventually.

"I can't Sam, honestly. It...it wouldn't be right," came his strange reasoning. I remained firm.

My face flicked deep purple shades, while just across the deserted, dimly lit street, 2 large blackguards appeared with designs on my wallet. My face was set with such grim determination and fury that despite my lean young frame, they shrank back into grimy shadows, waiting for an easier victim.

It was now after 10 pm. During a 6 mile walk home, cold howling wind relentlessly whipped exposed skin. I finally reached our front fence when Ian's incessant pleading grew to an even lower fawning, culminating in explosive, pitiable sobbing.

"Alright, I'll take you, but I expect a hefty favour in return, Ian."

"Whatever blows your skirt up. Head directly north. You'll see."

"Yes, I do. You'd have me stumbling in the dark, through swampy woods and across muddy fields whilst still drunk."

"Things are rarely as bad as they seem Sam. Hark at the striking full moon. What better night to be abroad adventuring?"

"Quite!" I mused, strangely calmer now.

"Never fear, I'll ensure you don't get into mischief!" Ian promised.

Sanity, and its friend reason slipped by me that night, so I trotted off, guided by a voice in my head.

In the very early hours I yearned to turn back, but was hopelessly lost, drained of all energy. Doubts set in. I'd been dragged over devilishly high chasms packed with evil briar patches which raking skin into deep valleys lighting up horribly in pale moonlight flashing through towering tree tops.

I trembled in creepy shaded areas in between yellowed light shafts, imagining tiny footfalls in vegetation behind. Yes, faint echoes of fresh turning leaves, crisply breaking twigs and a horde of unspeakable shadowy creatures sneaking through forest litter, carefully examining my footprints.

And as I tried facing fears, crawling insects magically multiplied to unstoppable plagues. One crept down my spine, leaving me squirming in horror. For one terrifying minute I thought I'd been indelibly marked as a squirmy family's new home. Ian blithely claimed these tougher areas were key unavoidable landmarks.

So we swept on, silently slipping over dark mystical meadows hosting strange glowing flowers, queerly shaped roots and intoxicating odours. Meandering mountain streams dressed with miniature dancing grasses hid secret bubbling entrances beneath carven rocks, and shiny winking pebbles lined their shimmering floor. Further on, oozing mud banks sucked a foot in, reluctantly coughing out the other.

Next I plunged through high brushwood, between ancient trees creaking and moaning forbidden warnings in the ghostly half light, while watched vigilantly by a curious yellow moon, and harried by distant whoops, hollers and piercing shrieks. I vividly recalled talk of a large exotic cat which escaped from a local menagerie. "I heard cats' sense easy prey miles away," Ian shared nonchalantly. After about 10 miles his teasing died down. "Wait. Quiet. Can you hear it?"

"Hear what? Anyway, you're making all the noise."

"I'm talking about the hum, Sam. We're close."

Suddenly my senses caught a curious edge, air grew sweeter, shifting, thinning like travelling over high mountains. Flora developed a shining, shimmering, fantastical hue, bringing an incredibly relaxing, contented happiness and tranquillity.

Like a summer heat haze, glistening, ghostly vapour encompassed and constantly rose from every organism, soared high into sky and back again in an unending supply. Curiously, I wasn't surprised that skin also emitted this ethereal substance. I realised this was a tiny glimpse of how life actually worked.

"Come on Sam, stop dawdling!" came a cheery voice, selfishly breaking the ancient spell.

"Do you see it? It's beautiful."

"Of course I see it, I have eyes! I'm surprised you can. A future gift may buy my silence. Forward, march, duck!" he chuckled as my head brushed a low branch.

The dreamlike voyage continued through a thickening wood, turning into a mad, muddy scramble over a steep grassy knoll. Over the other side sat two large ochre rocks smothered with coloured lichen and exotic flowering plants. I fancied these silent sentries weren't stone and could spring to life any time.

"I don't think she'll be here after all," Ian remarked to himself as we were channelled between a leafy treed corridor. Threatened with unending torture at the dead end, I reluctantly pushed through thick brush onto a narrow trail enclosed by dense, dripping foliage.

Pale light sprinkled ahead, always flitting out of reach and I lost all sense of time. Suddenly, with an enormous start light dissolved into a clearing circled by elderly beech trees. Inside this mysterious ring lived a tiny, iridescent mushroom circle adorned by tiny yellow flowers. Small oval impressions sat in soft earth beside 4 mushrooms. One had been recently brushed with rich dirt dried by dappled moonlight cleverly lighting the inner circle. A small rocky table stood dead centre, scribed with lines of unearthly, undecipherable text.

Soft scratching drew me to a nearby tree, catching 2 orange glows above. Ian yelped, fell quiet, the glows vanished and suddenly hypnotic phosphorescent orbs whirled round treetops, glowing, buzzing and clicking, colliding with bark, exploding in a colourful cascade, reforming on the other side unharmed, revitalised and more excited.

When I realised ground was carpeted with a hundred shades of spongy moss it moved! I stood gazing, examining, dreaming endless unanswerable questions, till overcome with a distinct sentiment that I'd been politely asked to leave.

Ian was still uncannily silent and for some reason I moved further into darker woods, though as dawn broke a freaky blink found me trudging over familiar fields. Taking a misty short cut a mighty bullock rose up, taking my impromptu appearance as an audacious challenge for his large harem. Steaming defiant clouds and furiously pawed mud whipped up a whirling storm. Before the powerful beast pounded me to dust I'd 'bravely' leapt the fence 20 yards behind, hearing other snorting bullies eager to join the fray.

I finally reached home, sneaking upstairs. Just before I collapsed to sleep, a hastily stifled lament issued from the rocking chair overlooking countryside.

11:15 am the same day, I awoke to Ian's whispers. "Sam, it's of utmost importance you tell no one of last night."

"Why? Surely no one could ever find such a secretive place?"

"Nevertheless, promise to never speak of me till I give you leave. Mankind won't gain hearing of these events before this time."

I promised, tentatively asking of the secret clearing. After a long pause, Ian sighed deeply. "I'd heard tell for centuries. An idea most of us dismiss as idle talk, similar to human folklore or myth, though secretly knowing myth is often based in fact."

"What's so special about it?"

"It grants dismay and joy."

"I thought it may be a magical graveyard. Did a friend die?" I asked softly.

Ian snapped an 'answer'. "There's no such thing. I've seen it. It's over. Allow the matter to rest."

I mumbled an apology, surmising it wasn't good form to press folk in trying emotional circumstances.

Chapter 6

Following that bizarre night I never heard a peep from Ian for a full week. I wager he took leave when I slept too, haunting people and places in ways I'd rather not imagine. Settling down for the night in bed, I couldn't help smiling at the peculiar resonance of his shrill, ringing voice which enjoyed chirping up at the most inappropriate moments. He'd an insatiable appetite for learning like a gifted child's endless questions, except Ian never slept.

I remembered when his distracting 'improved' rendition of: 'The cow jumped over the moon' almost sent me under a speeding car. Apparently the driver was often very careless, so needed to be taught a lesson. But why at my expense? Perhaps Ian wasn't such a selfish, mindless spirit?

"Hey! Hey! Miss me? Don't lie," Ian suddenly piped up. "Shame onlookers didn't know those suspicious stains on your new trousers was coffee, Sam!"

I deduced Ian had been 'listening' to reminisces, slyly waiting for the perfect moment to rejoin me. I indulged him for a change, sighing like an adult at a naughty child.

"Oh, very good!" Ian shrieked delightedly. "So some of my exceedingly clever teaching hasn't been in vain!"

"So where've you been, Ian?"

"On a treacherous journey through the cosmos, far beyond the sun!"

"A boring affair?"

"Not exactly my good man. For needs must as the devil drives! For I am neither here nor there!" he stated soundly.

I laughed. "Shamelessly ripping off other people's material isn't very endearing."

"I'd apologise in the most profound manner ever if I thought you may understand it one day, Professor Johnson! I've been entertaining."

"You mean mindlessly annoying innocent people and talking to animals? Trying to instigate a revolution, eh?"

"Nothing I do is mindless per se. Believe it or not; there is strict purpose to most, if not all my japes, besides the immensely rewarding humour."

As Ian was in such a happy mood I posed a question he'd always dodged. "What are you actually doing on earth? I'd wager your evil plans involve rather more than sightseeing."

"Oh, a host of weird and wonderful things. Yes, as you said, it's awfully good fun imagining I'm an animal now and again. It's just marvellous how they speak, feel, think, cope with situations without my skills. I can become anything I like here too, that's the magical beauty of it. You know I once wondered what it would be like being a marble..." he admitted, drifting off into a long self indulgent daydream.

I remembered a bone I had to pick. "Why didn't you help me that morning with the bullocks?"

"You didn't need it, and I wasn't there. Don't worry your little head, the cheeky little chap was probably just showing off. Phew, what a frightful little boaster."

"Just showing off! If I hadn't ran it would have killed me. And how the hell do you know what I'm talking about if you weren't there?"

Silence, then Ian giggled profusely. "So, killer cows eh?! Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"It's nice to know you're taking this seriously and have my best interests at heart," I mused.

"Well, suffice to say, I have eyes and ears, so doubt you were ever in any real danger. Need I say more?"

"I don't suppose there's much point if you continue taking my views with large pinches of salt."

"That's the spirit, my poor deluded, innocent young child!" he mocked. And that, it seemed was that.

Chapter 7

March 15th, 2 weeks later, a quiet Monday night. One of my fondest childhood memories was playing chess with father in our living room. I'd been unusually weary recently, but always gave these matches my utmost attention. I'd have to concentrate very hard to stand any chance of beating him. The wily trickster married Edward's military strategy with the survival instinct of an arctic fox.

I was just about to take father's rook when I glanced up at our clock. 3:33. I noticed nearby draughty curtains only revealed darkness. Curious. Nevertheless, I proudly claimed the piece. I examined the highly detailed, gallant young knight. It'd be prudent to be better acquainted with my prisoner during his imprisonment. It's not sensible to make enemies unless strictly necessary.

But, what pray tell was this? We possessed 2 chess sets. One was a farthing set sold by street peddlers. The other contained these grand pieces carved from boxwood and a board crafted in finest mahogany. Grandfather Phillips had been presented with this expensive set by European royalty for selfless bravery. He willed it to his 2 sons who shared it 6 months each.

I allowed father to mull over his move, as niggles disturbed my concentration. My eyes flitted round restlessly. Our ticking clock still read three thirty three, curtains fluttered a little more. 3:33 and darkness outside? When had we ever played chess at 3 am on a board that I now remembered was far away with uncle? Yet I still played. Father spoke far off in the background.

"Your move Sam," but in a female voice, instantly awaking me with an awfully frightening start.

My watch read 6 am. All was black and still, though decidedly chilly. I almost dropped back to sleep when roused by suspicious rattling under the bed. Ian! I'd warned him, but all was neat and tidy under there. I dived back into bed, sleepily knocking my watch off the drawer. 3:33? How could a watch move backwards?

I mulled this mystery over, falling asleep again till awakened by clanking outside our front door. This was Ian sure enough. His childish antics mounted each day, but he'd no right to annoy me during sleep! Angry red mist cleared to confusion, remembering Ian had left for the night. He'd promised to and was much, but no liar. Folks didn't call at our rural home at 3 am by accident. Burglars!?

Thick fog invaded our front garden, obscuring nocturnal visitors. I frantically ran room to room, finding family still sleeping soundly. Even our beautiful retriever Elsa was chasing dreamy rabbits. I was about to slip downstairs to carefully attempt criminals descriptions when turmoil ceased as a light flitted behind the house. Aha! So the insolent rogues thought folk sleeping through such rabble wouldn't hear soft creeping footfalls either. Yes, that was the ghastly little plan – and round the back no one would see their wicked work too!

Vision blurred, stomach churned violently and my spindly legs wobbled. What'd heartless thieves do finding me awake? Who'd they take revenge on discovering nothing of value? How could I stop such wicked designs? I almost wished for Ian. How long till dawn? 3:33? Could I scare them off?

I made mistakes when scared, so nervously crept to my bedroom window as the disturbing light flickered closer, drunkenly swinging back and forth at the flimsy back door. A lengthy pause stopped my breathing and 3 solid knocks set my heart racing. I certainly wasn't going to answer.

I don't recall how I mustered enough courage to tentatively peer over the windowsill like an innocent little child. No one there! Yet the light still shone and increased. Ah, I'd simply left a lamp outside and it was swinging in the breeze! The moment I recalled we'd run out of oil, the light vanished. I awoke shivering, confused, alone. My watch now read 7 am - time for work.

The dreams were so vivid I'd thought them reality. Smells and sounds had been recreated perfectly. Until the final moment I'd realised I was dreaming, I truly believed I'd woken each and every time. Not surprisingly, the bizarre events took pride of place in my new dream diary.

On my way to work I caught unidentifiable tracks or trails swirling round the muddy front garden, which eventually made off up the hill towards woods. I was far too tired to follow them, and they'd vanished by evening.

Ian returned that night to a full, babbling account of my dream experience. I'd have been most grateful for a long complicated explanation this time. Instead he simply said, "I'm so very pleased for you Sam, you experienced a set of false awakenings. Yah - hoo. Written it down have we? Quick, let's telegram the king! No, even better, I'll stand outside for the next 3 days dressed as a jester, demanding passers bow down and pay patronage to you." He knocked notes off my dresser, pretending to be searching for something. "Lay off cheese at night is my advice, lard lad. Keep forcing that rotten stuff down your gullet and you'll never see your shoes. Isn't that right chubby?"

"Oh," I said, understanding the delicate situation better. "I see, someone's in a huff because I pointed out a home truth to them yesterday. Ian, you were being most bothersome. Besides meddling with personal items without permission, you insulted our prime minister whom I truly admire. Turncoat was the expression."

"Yes, well you would wouldn't you, and isn't he?" he snapped, "I've a pressing appointment by the way Sam, but give my regards to your best friend Mr George at your next illicit rendezvous. If you love him so much, why don't you marry him? Be careful though, he wets the bed profusely."

"How dare you Ian. I met him once. He seemed very reasonable."

"Did you really? And did this absolute fantasy occur in a very small and empty place named your head?!"

Ian squealed like a teenage girl, turning the place upside down as he made a rather dramatic exit.

"Leave her alone, she needs a bloke, not a joke," I shouted after him, deducing what was on the sly little blighter's mind. Ian had become preoccupied with a certain raven haired girl. I really mean enamoured, he rarely did emotions by halves. What did he hope to gain out of such a one sided relationship? It wasn't as if he could talk to her like he did with me. Was he homesick?

Chapter 8

On the last Saturday of Ian's 3rd month it appeared he'd broken a promise, having agreed to give me one day off a week after the wild moonlight trek. I chose Saturday because General Davis's warfare which increased on weekends had ceased recently. Edward had discovered a hitherto unknown group of Homo Sapiens called females and was romantically involved with a sensible girl from school, the poor thing! I wisely stopped reading his war journals.

I was enjoying the liberating freedom of an extremely entertaining dream, travelling over vast mountain ranges eerily lit with peculiar blue green shades. Curious low humming noises emanated from everywhere at once. Beauty and scale of it all was truly staggering. As I approached luscious valleys nestled below, the striking scene was interrupted by a curious far off whispering, numerous exaggerated coughs and an annoying tapping, a rustling, then the sharp thud of a solid object colliding with my dresser. I awoke instantly. "You swore an oath," I said angrily.

"My oath hasn't been broken," came the excitable return.

"I can see, I have eyes. It's 11:30, Saturday night. Please go away."

"Sam, it's actually 12:30, proving what young man?"

"It proves you've shamefully tampered with my clock."

"It proves you haven't set your clock forward by one hour, as is the strange English custom." Yet again, overly cheerful Ian was quite correct.

"Alright, but is there any need to be so loud about it?"

"I'm really so dreadfully sorry Sam. Who knows, perhaps there wasn't. But I'm celebrating. I'm already well underway with my task."

"Oh, this mysterious divine task? I'm sure it's so very important. Can't you leave me in peace, to relax and dream just this once?"

"Soon Sam, I promise. And of course I have a task. Did you honestly believe I exist purely to keep you amused?"

"Well why not at least hint at the details?"

"Shan't!"

"Why on earth not?"

"Because police might come!"

"You really are nothing less than a little child!"

"Not strictly true. I've long since passed my five hundredth year. And besides, I don't make all the decisions. I have thousands of intricate jobs. Many need to be performed simultaneously, with meticulous attention to detail. I have to think on my feet and maintain the finest of balances you know. This could prove to be my finest hour. In the great scheme your case is the smallest of side quests. I was simply strangely drawn to your soul, deciding to tarry on a whim."

I sensed an unusual opportunity. "Strictly speaking, you're not in charge then? You'll forgive me if I say how much that idea gratifies me."

"Well, young Sam. Broadly speaking, in terms of my positioning relative to mankind, I am as near the boss as makes no difference and the cleverest being on this planet. However, as you know, I don't like to boast!"

"Yes, I noticed that."

"And the very notion of one creature being arbitrarily placed higher than another makes my spirit slightly risible."

"Quite right too! But are you really 500 years old?"

"Why lie? I sometimes feel a little older. Certain forms, places, people, experiences produce that curious effect. But of course time is an entirely human concept - insatiably imposing order on what they regard as a wild, untamed world. Time does not exist to us. Any contrary notion shows just how little science has progressed since your recent conception, despite countless blatant clues."

"So you don't subscribe to good Charles Darwin's theory?"

"Pah! Really Sam!" he snorted, "'Good Charles Darwin's 'theory' dissolves to dust in milliseconds."

"Yes, I think I get the general idea now thanks," I said, trying to draw the conversation towards other possible revelations. Ian was caught up in one of his long rants, so I let him express himself, hoping this may grant me more future sleep.

"How absurd, how blinkered, how single minded to intimate animals and humans share the same ancestry? He should have spent more time on research and deep philosophical thought, rather than growing silly little beards. I have the gist of the theory. Small minded Darwin does demonstrate a rather dull schoolboy reasoning in vague smatterings of half truths."

"Ian, it's rude to ridicule folk just because they're less intelligent than you."

"I'm not ridiculing him yet. I'm just pointing out fundamental, immutable facts," Ian indignantly replied, raising other points. Many were questions I'd pondered on much since his arrival, when I'd conceded our world was vastly different than I'd imagined, and that there was far more to our limited existence than what we see and hear.

I learnt dogs see smells, lions communicate outside our feeble hearing range and most other animals can see far more colours than us, such as infra red and ultra violet light.

Ian claimed millions of unseen forms and substances existed all around us. Some hinted at their presence - scents, sensations. Like dogs with fleas, unseen inhabitants often brought other substances along too. These beings remained unseen as our brains filtered them out so we'd function normally without too many distractions. This was 'nature's nanny.' My eyes were opened to the tiniest fraction of these events during our moonlit walk. On rare occasions certain people could catch brief, tantalising glimpses of our world as it truly was via deep mediation, rare drugs or vivid dreams.

Ian talked of the strange black mist caught out of the very corner of the eye, which vanishes when one looks directly at it and how sometimes personal items can be found in the very same place a person left them, minutes or years later. He advised me to work on instincts, especially when folk can feel another person staring at them.

Ian swore Homo Sapiens were not the product of natural evolution, but annoyingly refused to divulge anymore, because to hear and to understand were two entirely different things. Imagine trying to teach a toddler how to build a rocket? Our universe made children of humans. Not only is the universe stranger than you imagine, it is also stranger than you can imagine.

"Thanks for sharing Ian," I said cheekily. He warned me of his beautiful singing voice, claiming King George the Fifth had recently knighted him. Apparently the eccentric old man now awarded honours for bringing washing in or remembering your name when drunk. So from now on I had to address him as Sir or face the consequences. I was then admonished for deliberately keeping him up all night, a frightfully wicked thing to do. He ignored the fact he'd said he never slept when away from home.

What naughty little Ian divulged about the afterlife was like spirits were drawn to like. His shrill voice grew softer, till it was naught but a faint whisper.

"I can see much of the future Sam, if you care to embrace it. Remain selfless. Never entertain foolish notions of wealth and power, or life won't work to your advantage. Yours has been extended as a by product of my presence."

Ian gave future signs to prove his words. 1st: A blue horse! 2nd - in early 1997 a gaseous comet of colossal proportions would storm across our sky. Soon before I passed to the next life, he promised to return with a loved one. I solemnly pledged not to divulge these events until then.

Were his predictions wise? Surely man should never glimpse his future? Would Ian get into trouble? His guarded reply was suspiciously vague.

"Sam...it's frowned on."

"You're not supposed to be talking to me at all are you?" I said loudly, perhaps a little bit too triumphantly, especially considering how open he'd just been. "Besides that, you're not even supposed to be on this planet at this time!"

"How deductive!" he announced, quickly adding, "I've just remembered something, something really rather important. See you later, Sherlock!"

Early next morning I was greeted at the breakfast table by father watching my slow, tired progress round the kitchen.

"Sam, mother says she heard you talking in the early hours. I heard nothing. As you know sleeping is one of my favourite hobbies," he said, chuckling conspiratorially.

"Sorry Father, I was practising an important speech for work. I lost track of time."

"Oh, a speech eh? I don't want my eulogy stating I didn't help my son realise his ambitions!" he laughed, winking. I despised lying, but had little alternative. A strange silence swept over. Father eyed me closely, thinking deeply.

"You know my close cousin David once told me a rather revealing tale. At 25 he developed the curious habit of knowing other peoples affairs, though wasn't an eavesdropper. I couldn't make head nor tail of it myself, berating myself over the years for not thinking deeper. At the time I couldn't be sure David wasn't jesting as he often told me bizarre stories in confidence.

David said: 'I haven't been sleeping very well the past few weeks, so yesterday I devised a fiendish plan to find out why. Telling myself I needed bread, I sent myself up to old man Fordacres bakery. Whilst I was away I climbed into the loft and drilled a little hole through the ceiling above my bed, cleverly managing to clean the mess up before I got back. The idea was when I went to bed last night, I'd get into the attic and watch to see why I wasn't sleeping.

At 10:30 I told myself to make a nice cup of tea and whilst I was doing this I sneaked into the loft, carefully positioning myself over the hole to see what happened in the bedroom. Well I stayed there until 9 this morning and nothing happened. I didn't even go to bed. I'm positive I didn't fall asleep and miss myself retiring. When I got out of the loft and went downstairs, what do you know? There I was having breakfast! I didn't say anything so no one would know I was spying on myself, but I'm sure to catch myself tonight.

I'm certain I must have gone out fishing or to an all night party, so this evening just before I go out to the toilet, I shall sneak outside and hide behind the wall, and when I come out I will follow myself. Will keep you informed about what we both got up to.' He never did though. I don't quite know why. You know now the area I'm referring to Sam?"

"Possibly."

"It's nothing to be afraid of, although it takes some getting used to. Different people obviously have greatly differing talents. I couldn't dream of attempting any of the feats David's achieved, and vice versa. It's all about relaxing he said, and he was absolutely right. The only real barrier is your own negative thoughts and insecurities that merge to muddle your brain which has been heavily conditioned by society. I've noticed that you never seem to get any further in your efforts unless you take your time to take in all surroundings and learn from them. There's no need to rush. What would be the point? Real excitement comes from savouring the moment and carefully planning your next move. Only fools jump into the deepest part of the river if they're weak swimmers. Stay in the shallows to build up a little more confidence and strength. Now, if you consider the case of..."

Mother descending the staircase silenced father's thoughts.

"We'll discuss this later. Don't mention this to your mother. When I hinted at it she almost called for an exorcism. It extracts lots of mental energy from some folk to acknowledge the esoteric, and accept 'all knowing' humans don't hold all the answers, so all such thoughts are locked away in a solid chest and buried in the cellar nearest Satan. I tried explaining I was only guilty of subtly influencing my dreams, but that only made things worse."

Father, never discussed it again. The situation never seemed quite right to broach the subject, though this enlightening tale was enough encouragement to slowly increase my weak dreaming skills.

Yes, I had dreams much like other folk, but they were bizarre, brief, uncontrollable, unremarkable. Obviously Ian's presence prompted these changes which eventually enabled me to perfect distinct changes in certain dream states, on rare occasions almost at will. One particular recurring dream always eluded me, one which didn't change, no matter how powerful the influence upon it.

At times when I felt ready for it and attempted to will it into existence, it steadfastly refused to materialize, staying frustratingly out of reach. When furthest from my mind, and thus mentally unprepared, it would dissolve into being, taking divine precedence, super imposing its distracting, haunting presence over anything and everything. I knew I'd been there before many times, paradoxically even in my infancy, before the first bewildering visit.

Each time I saw it slightly more distinct than the last. 50 years later rather foolishly I feel I now know the real reason why. We are not and cannot ever hope to be masters of all we survey, no matter how accomplished we become or how deeply we dare to dream. There lie situations which are far beyond man's corrupting influence for very good reason. I guessed father knew these dream places well. He knew their true purpose. I now know this too.

Chapter 9

May 2nd, in my bed chamber, enjoying an early summer evening. Lying pondering life, Ian, the future, I instinctively opened the bedside drawer. It could have been a particularly ugly spider, manure, or other unmentionable playful Ian had left in that drawer, but on this occasion the scrawled message read:

'About time you rose from your sweaty little mud pit. Wallowing and wondering without purpose never got anyone anywhere. Forget that foolishness and get up to old man Parsons Farm right now. It's happening again. Terrible things are forming up here. Dirty work is afoot.'

I guessed Ian had some terribly poor joke lined up, but if I hadn't investigated he may have kept me awake later reciting annoyingly childish poems. So I reluctantly rushed up there.

Old man Parsons Farm is still exactly as it was then - 4 outbuildings, with a small cottage sat in the middle, surrounded at the back by wandering beech trees. Large tracts of cultivated land lie either side and a beautiful sparkling stream winds lazily across the front of the property, squeezing under a tiny bridge. Early sunset reflected a turnstile and timber gate just across the brook.

As I reached the gate our doctor burst out the cottage, striding down the long wet track, his face burnt angry red. Kinder mutterings were: "Hypocritical fool. Philistine. Who the hell does he think he is? This is the modern world, not the dark ages."

He rushed headlong through the beck, looking straight through me. As the doctor was a particularly genial gentleman not given to such outbursts, I gingerly edged up the path, as Parsons wasn't known for his kind temperament. An ominous presentiment filled thoughts, and I experienced that terrible sinking, helpless feeling when one's about to be involved in an accident, but can't prevent it.

Thick, nauseous, eye watering odours streamed past the gate. Overgrown grass banks and nettle strewn hedgerows wandering at track sides hid rusty equipment. Differing tools from differing trades were idly tossed to one side, amidst countless empty sacks sticky with queer brown residue. Longer grass swept upwards to small alien tracks dancing merrily behind outbuildings holding deep pits in shoddy paintwork.

Cracked stones lay in messy heaps, dried egg splattered doors, and large deep scratches were viciously worn into Parson's beleaguered cottage, which had become a playground for wild animals of all shapes and sizes. Stone was mortar free, cracked and chipped. Her roof had long given up any hope of recovery. Missing tiles, oddly matched with coloured and cracked ones resembled a gigantic draughts board. The world's crows nested in leaking gutters, creating slippery pools of creamy gloop on dirty, uneven cobbles.

Decades of thick spider's webs smothered inside and out of petite lattice windows, cruelly dulled by heat, dust and long congealed grime. Ancient paintwork was home to dry rot and swirling borings of voracious woodworm. Holes the size of golf balls littered the ground base of the neglected cellar structure crumbling below.

"Christ, this smells worse than cattle's business. Right young man. About time too. Quickly, spread that paper from your top pocket. Make haste."

"Alright, I'm doing it aren't I? Why keep reminding me when I'm doing my best?"

"Your best isn't good enough then is it?" Ian chided. "Take the paper, fold it there, here and here. Now put this marking on the tail, no, not like that, like so. Do it properly or not at all. Put the effort in will you? Tsk, right good. Now do it."

I peered through the cellars cracked, darkened glass at Parsons perched on a shaky pile of firewood. His great bulbous head was buried deep into unfeasibly large, hairy hands. A shotgun and old starting pistol lay nearby. The deeply disturbed man sighed, trembling. As he trembled he breathed deeper each time, like after an upsetting accident, or when learning of a loved one's death and vainly attempting to stifle the overwhelmingly horrific cry of pain that rises up in our darkest hours.

"Good God, I'm not throwing a paper plane at him - he's at death's door!" I cried.

"Just do it, or I will you pathetic loser!" A dying candle spluttered on a makeshift wooden shelf to the man's right. Then I did it. I'm still ashamed. It hit hard on the back of the skull. The candle flickered brighter. Parsons angrily rose, but the dark window and looming dusk hid his aggressor.

Gathering his wits, he presumed the plane had fallen from high, examining it closely. He opened it flat, starting backwards. The paper was blank, but he saw writing clear as day. Parsons trudged upstairs to the front room, bathed in peaceful flickering light thrown from the fireplace. I watched intrigued and silent. As earlier creeping fear subsided, so did the incessant chirping. Twilight surrendered to night's still blackness when prying noses poked out of dusty, crumbling cavities at my feet.

The fire roared into a blind rage. Huge trails of red hot flame relentlessly bellowed up the flue, viciously attacking warped metal. Parsons crumpled said paper, put it on the disorderly mantelpiece and walked to the window. A minute later he picked it up again, reading a little more. At one point he almost threw it onto crackling, welcoming flames, thought better, dropped it, picked it up yet again, then sat down on a chair, got up, read a bit more, looked worried and sat down heavily on the chair again.

Parsons rose once more, paced to and fro, ranted, raved, swore, then finally gave up, stroked his chin, then laid flat out in the chair staring at nothing for an awfully long time - All while the fire blazed wildly. Parson came to senses with a start, placed the note in his top pocket and went upstairs. Each dusty step saw the blaze die down that touch more. Soon deep rumbling snores circled the yard. I shivered in growing cold, flabbergasted at such puzzling sights.

"What the hell was that!? Don't dare tell me one your childish jokes was on that paper..."

"It most certainly wasn't," Ian said gravely, "Parsons is an intemperate fool and an extremely talented, frustrated inventor lacking patience. I said his long project would take another 18 months, bringing content and benefiting the sick enormously. If essential components didn't exist, he'd have to invent them. Respect was earned, not given away. If he didn't change his life today, he'd never be happy."

Parsons a gifted inventor? He seemed a selfish drunken waster. As years slipped by, society's boundaries relaxed, confronting, offering solutions for our fragile psyche, the horrors of addiction, and championing the enduring strength of our spirit.

Chapter 10

June the 5th was a normal early Saturday morning, considering. Family were staying at uncles till Monday. Ian graciously left me to my own devices on Friday near midnight after a few choice words concerning misbehaviour – saying the wizard was watching. He saw fit to return a minute later to leave a rude story, calling it a parable concerning silly teenagers who'd forgotten extra trousers on a terrifying journey through a deep, dark wood. I feigned interest.

"Oh, sorry Sam, have you heard it already? I believe you can sympathise with these young gentlemen can't you? Having a bad habit of pooing oneself at the first hint of trouble is hardly going to further your precious, pointless career any is it? Here endeth the lesson," Ian said, letting out self satisfied sighs of utter content. "Now, wait while I lean my precious head on your desk for a bit. Sam, please count down to 1 with me whilst I do so, it's very important."

"I'll do no such thing."

"You must, you must, it's essential for the piece." Wood knocked a weird tune, a passing mention of 'Spoilsport,' followed, then infectious laughter rang out.

Cascades of paper balls and my prized pencil collection shot out the desk, ending up against the far wall amidst beautiful showering sparks. It looked rather good, but I wasn't going to admit it.

"Just as I thought Ian, all totally unnecessary."

Coming from the cleverest being on the planet, he sure could be boring.

"Heard that!" he hissed accusingly, before finally leaving. I waited for his inevitable return and usual pretence of forgetting something when my wardrobe doors rattled annoyingly. One of his few constants was the irrational need to do things in threes. We're still told today good and bad events often appear in threes. Ian argued he came up with the idea in the first place!

Ian didn't return and I fell into sleep beset with queer randomness, uncontrollable visions and wanton destruction. Negativity faded when I thought what Ian may have made of the experience.

I flitted back to familiar territory through ancient woods to our local rock pool's granite face. To the left peaty ground fell away, leaving a wide decaying chasm devoid of life. The other side remained untamed forest.

Behind me a gentle waterfall sprayed fairy rainbows off a steep ledge. Just out of reach of the beautiful mist lay a long, flat rectangular rock dripping with thick green fungus. Each crumbled edge held a small round impression. The slab looked wet and squishy, growing soft, dry and inviting closer up. A fantastic seed sprouted. I'd never heard of anyone falling asleep inside a dream.

Eyes grew heavy as it became increasingly attractive to lie down to relax. What harm? My dream diary would love it. This was a safe, comforting place. I lay on the inviting emerald bed, shrouded in soft silky sheets gliding silently from perfumed leaves below. The intensely soothing sensation cocooned in heavenly warmth floated me above, yet still part of them. Warm waves caressed toes to crown, supremely relaxing each part, till it brought closing eyelids delicate sensations of floating and falling without fear. My dream world slowly fell away, dissolving inwards. Colours, sensations, sounds broke up, moving towards tranquil oneness, a grey inky blackness and unbroken stillness.

I woke believing I was home starting another day. A pin prick of light flashed momentarily through thick darkness. Another, then another. I tried sitting up, but couldn't move. Where was I? What was that appalling smell? What the hell was going on? I became dizzy, nauseous and anxious, desperately trying to calm down and think.

Vision remained disturbingly blinkered and dulled. I blinked continuously, thinking like metal shorts electrics, I may escape a nightmare. I didn't wake, but vision slowly cleared, focussing on the brightening light now hovering silently above.

I was lying above a large rock slab, finally making out candles at the corners fading in and out of focus through swirling mist. Once, when I focused for a painfully long period I ventured beyond their straight lines, finding cold hard stone reflecting back. Why had the peaceful situation changed so drastically? I had no control here.

I needed to take in surroundings if only for sanities sake, yet still couldn't move. I was hopelessly trapped in a small cave. In a terrifying instant my mind went numb. Sweeping melancholia arose. I started remembering small fragments. I hopelessly tried picturing the sequence of events leading here.

For days or years I toiled, till at long last I recalled a singular lesson learned on earth. Time, past present and future was but an illusion, so all were one, and so I continued long on this concept till the light grew dimmer and memories brighter. My invisible shackles loosened somewhat.

I remembered friends, acquaintances, good, bad, delightful walks in the countryside with family - mud, snow, sunshine, laughter, tears. A few black spots grew here and there, memories and situations that were jumpy and jerky, less detailed, like the grainy black and white cinema pictures, or the hollow recollections of a bad dream as they fade with morning light.

It was with some relief it dawned these darker collections seemed to consist of only bad memories. I believed they had been marked as such from when they first came into being and were eventually going to be erased altogether.

I thought back carefully over my life, still unable to restore any form of chronological order. Stark significance and blind fun seemed inexplicably intertwined. One bright memory kept recurring. I remembered my one and only dog, Elsie. 20 years old when she passed. Could never bear to find another. I fondly remembered her wet, investigating nose hunting out forbidden snacks in the kitchen. With great delight I recalled her fake expressions of guilt as she tried desperately to change the subject when her villainous treachery was discovered.

I pictured us out walking together, how reaching a certain point in the woods she'd always race down the steep slope heading to the stream near the graceful waterfall. For 5 minutes she'd bark crazily, following unspoken commands from invisible creatures. There she returned to her childhood, blissfully playing with unseen friends. Magnetic qualities in the rocks and odorous plants that had curious effects on the canine brain were some of the theories put forward to explain this behaviour. An elderly doctor of note, then in his late nineties was the only one brave or eccentric enough to venture another possibility. I pictured his round, ruddy face, youthful, sparkling eyes and his playful grin.

"You be careful up there young man. Those water sprites can be a little mischievous at times. I should know, I visited them a long time ago, when I were young. Cheeky little buggers! It's not always them that's the trouble either, it's the darker creatures their singing attracts. Any farmer worth 'is salt ul tell yu it ain't just foxes attracted to rabbits squeals. Careful lad, you may go up there one day and never come back!"

That must have been it! Elsie could interact with sprites safely whilst awake, but I'd entered their domain in spirit form, giving them far more control. The mischievous creatures were probably making fun of me for their own amusement. How long they intended to keep me I had no way of knowing. My future wasn't on such a forsaken plane, so I'd have to escape. My bonds loosened a little more.

How the idea first occurred, how it came into being I cannot say, but it refused to be quieted. Facts flooded forth. Distinct recollections of youth and my entire life as an adult were becoming more intense, moving as vivid images in unison with the light above as it grew brighter and brighter. Everything I'd ever done, said, dreamt, everything I was ever going to do down to the tiniest detail. 'twas uncannily as if my life itself had already taken place; I had already lived it and this was my final judgement. But this could not be - I was only 20 years old. Ian had foretold when I'd pass from this world. Nevertheless, it appeared in this unknown place usual rules did not apply. Why would playful sprites behave this way?

This startling revelation accepted, a spectacular streak of argon electricity blazed downwards, barely missing my head, accompanied by unnerving, rasping cackles. Bright light flickered then faded, leaving the cave lit dimly with an odd red glow exuding from the walls. 4 candles burst into life, adding a flickering orange glow to the tightly wound cavern. Instantly the ties that bound were severed.

Then I knew what was wrong. My body sparkled weirdly, seeming vaguely out of focus. I made to pick up a candle, watching my hand pass straight through. This didn't bode well, but at least my spirit was free. It was utterly ridiculous at first. Trying to walk in this state was completely impossible. Finally I reasoned movement could only be achieved via the spirit. I had to learn to plan 3 moves well in advance.

Oh the terror as I attempted my first simple movement forward. Oh the fear as I pictured my head crashing relentlessly into rock. Oh the joy as I finally abandoned all efforts at decorum, allowing myself to drift aimlessly, at peace at last. Oh the relief, the overwhelming, indescribable bliss realising, yes it was possible to dive through rock without sustaining injury. No limits were apparent, yet.

As delightful as this child's play was I vividly recalled the reasons why this behaviour was possible. Of course I needed to wake post haste. And acrobatics aside, there really was only one way out and that was forward.

The shape I had taken for a reflective piece of shiny rock earlier was revealed as a metallic plaque inset into the surface, bearing words passing for Latin. My translation was a weak: 'Bye ye wisdome shalle ye knowe me.' One to mull over later, escape being the priority just then.

Penetration further than a few metres into rock proved impossible. Despite coming across interesting fossils sealed up in the core, movement seemed to be using up precious energy. Finally I plunged forward through the plaque.

A brief moment of ecstasy overtook me. Flickering red, yellow and orange vapour swirled everywhere. Shapes vaguely familiar and others not of this world slipped closer and closer, all still amidst a twisting, turning, snaking mass. 6 that morphed were highlighted brighter, watching, trying to figure out who or what I was, what my next move may be and whether I be classed a threat. One bolder fellow flew up to the bridge of my nose, staying a while. His tail fizzed intensely with arcing jolts of energy like trying to burn my features into his memory. The scout returned to its group when all commenced their unnerving behaviour just as before.

Then the scene lit up in blinding violent flashes. In a fraction of a second the world transformed into one only a little more familiar. So, was I free? Oh? And what was this? A small, stout man, generous of figure sat waiting on a log only a short hop away. He looked like a garden gnome, though I'd swear he wore a mask. In the background lay a small white path leading onwards towards a rolling green hillside. Deciding he was merely another non sequential image imprinted randomly in a fantastical dream, I tried floating past when he said with an air of authority.

"Took your time didn't you."

"Who are you Sir?"

"Tsk, they're getting younger and younger," he remarked to himself.

"Well what are you then?"

"First things first lad. I operate strictly on a need to know basis and you don't need to know," he replied slowly, eye balling me with playful authority. After allowing me to process this fact he followed with, "I'm here to make sure the wrong folk don't get past."

"Wrong folk?"

"That's right, your floppy ears didn't deceive you, they heard me quite correctly the first time," he answered bluntly, barely concealing a wry smile.

"Yes."

"Then why did you feel the need to ask twice?"

"I really don't know."

"Do too," he said, furrowing his brow. His bushy eyebrows moved skywards, and he delighted in taking more interest in what I perceived to be an increasingly odd conversation.

"Er, right. What, where is this place?"

"You don't know!?"

"Alright. I admit it. I don't know what I'm doing here, nor what if anything I'm supposed to be doing."

"You're looking for something," he prompted, rolling his eyeballs.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Er, like what exactly?" He stood up, gazing deep into my eyes. Before I'd the chance to react the cheeky little creature brushed his grubby finger lightly on my forehead saying, "I can tell this hasn't been thought through properly." Then without a word of apology for such rudeness said, "Something very important to you. An article that was taken from you against your wishes. An item that was dear to your heart, that will leave you unfulfilled until it's safely back in your custody. Feel free to jump in at any time or we'll be here all day."

"Oh, yes, I remember now, you are quite correct." I said, pretending to understand the situation, "How did you know?"

"Aren't they all," he said, reverting back to a bored drawl.

Then before I could quiz him further a faded recollection brought with it the raging flood of many dreams past.

"I know you don't I? Sorry, I don't know you of course," I blustered, "I mean I've seen you somewhere before... in a dream. Yes...you were burying something."

"Hardly," he replied firmly to the former, looking far across the queer, but beautiful landscape.

"I think not," was his firmer response to the latter, shaking his head like a wet dog.

"Sorry," I said, realising how fortunate I'd been thus far. Things weren't quite as simple as I'd imagined they may be safe in my bed chamber. Luck, I recognised by past experience was something that rarely came in pairs. Best not push it too vigorously, lest it sprung back.

"Go on then. Far be it from me to keep you," he said, waving me past dismissively. With that he plonked back down heavily, picked up a silver chalice, wet his lips, then froze, stone cold and lifeless. Some watchman that I figured.

I floated off following a tiny greying path of stone over the stretchy hill. Stretching up to the purple horizon wobbled a hundred crimson suns, burning brightly with welcoming flames. Further still sat a thousand crescent moons pulsing and dancing rhythmically, lighting the background with peculiar colours. On either side of the path grew strangely bendy trees, swaying and pulsing in an invisible breeze. I boldly struck out between them, wondering what lay hidden within.

Not a soul was in sight to break the dull monotony. Soon I realised the same trees were repeated over shorter intervals. Scenery looked real enough, yet there was no moisture to be found in the ground, no difference in foliage colour and no new growth visible either. Eventually I found myself on the opposite side of the path at exactly the same place, leaving no choice than to continue onwards.

In order to effect an escape from this weird place I'd have to put a great deal more thought in. So I floated onwards up the white path far over the hills beyond, till under the gaze of a crimson sun I chanced upon a hefty ornate door beset with marvellous tales from other worlds.

Now I was stuck, marooned in a vague, empty nothingness, therefore I grasped at the solid handle, revealing a deep blankness stretching off into infinity. Without warning a whirling mass burst forth. Millions of tiny blue energy particles built over billions of lifetimes swirled round at dizzying speed. Their mesmeric droning granted a sense of peace and tranquillity, like the far off wind or rushing water when pressing a shell to one's ear.

Energy swirls bulged out from deeper within, sucking me inside with tremendous force. In a blinding flash I materialized at one end of a grand ballroom, drifting inches from the marbled floor. Instantly an impenetrable wall hung with grand ornaments shot up behind.

In front highly detailed tapestries and intricate golden carvings were woven seamlessly into towering walls depicting rolling vistas, abstract thought forms, complex shapes and philosophies, transcending earthly expression and life itself. Off to the left lay a long bar, and behind that lay a pure white background lavishly decorated with highly detailed golden intertwined scenes of gods, grandly sitting in judgement at unknown places. A silver inscription bore the Latin: 'Council of the God's.'

On the bar top glasses and tankards were randomly strewn around. Some lay transparent, empty and lifeless, others seemed solid and full. Behind them sat a weighty, unwieldy till. The dusty drawer sprung open displaying a solitary new penny dated July the twenty fourth 1920. Mmm, the date wasn't too far off. Suspended above hung a miniature grandfathers clock and barometer, presenting the information 'three thirty three' and 'chance of showers.' Temperature fluctuated wildly between 5 and 15 degrees. What the blazes was this place?

Glancing down the oaken topped bar I noticed patrons mechanically draining glasses of green liquid over and over. It was impossible to say what the gooey mess was. From their weird expressions I fancied it a psychological hit of information. Separate from the overly eager barflies, hundreds of spectral forms moved to and fro across the imposing marble floor. Some even walked up and down walls and along the ceiling. Great numbers scurried round anxiously, keeping tightly to walls like mice frantically searching for a precious meal.

2 swarthy Egyptian types faded into view behind the bar, dropping to their knees furtively. One produced a sharpened yellow sandstone fragment and marked a series of capital 'L's' on the floor beneath the till in 6 straight lines. Every second L was inverted and its horizontal line placed above the first. The second phantom acted as a lookout, constantly checking over his shoulder anxiously, fearing discovery at any second.

When 6 vertical lines were completed, both spirits stood bolt upright. Each clasped a glittering, jewelled scarab necklace which lit up brightly, and the nearest one chanted a repeating chorus. The symbolic configuration on the floor trembled as the area shook in unison. Hazy energy waves burst from outer walls, racing ever inwards. A tight circle of blue smoke materialized on the floor as the repeating letters rearranged themselves into series of 3. It seemed the characters crude designs were met with a positive answer and both ragged characters launched themselves into the decreasing ring which instantly disappeared.

I was the only spirit to show any interest in the curious spectacle. Other spectral forms merely stood staring at a fixed point, confused and alone. Officious types stood off to the sides, walking along walls at odd angles, huddled in strange little cliques, engaged in lively debates.

The strange door I'd arrived through reappeared with a clashing boom, randomly changing size, direction and angle. A lively guide bravely weaved a path through the ethereal mist ever onwards towards the twisting portal, followed closely by his faithful troop.

At the far end of the ballroom one patron rose above the crowd. This enormous bruiser sported the hair of a badger mating with a filthy cleaners mop, wearing pock marked clothes to match. Despite the room's activity his gaze was always slyly fixed on me, which quickly became terribly unnerving. The urge to flee became overwhelming, then the tall stranger materialized directly in front of me, blocking escape. His last position remained highlighted for a second before fading away.

"Might 'av known. I figured ya woz different than t' other folk, up t' no good. Made the wrong move there, didn't ya son? Who sent ya?" he shot accusingly.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out my good man," I answered loudly with utmost confidence. Fortunately it was true - I'd just realised I was unlike other folk - They were dead. This could only work in my favour. I'd nothing to fear from his sort here. I'd only just finished forming a mocking triumphant smile when the brute pinned me half way up the back wall. My handkerchief, a stubby pencil and small notepad fell uselessly to the floor.

"Said who sent ya?" he thundered. "Better own up smartish lad. So 'elp me, I'll throw ya back down there!" His preposterously thick finger pointed through the floor.

"The... man outside the cave," I cried desperately.

This old savage's brain seemed to be evolving at last. Perhaps he may develop opposable thumbs given long enough. His choke hold eased up, then came the deafening bawl of, "Doctor Solomun!" The good doctor appeared instantaneously. It was the weird gnome from the road. Why the devil can't I do that I thought enviously.

"Let the boy down Gustav," he said softly, though seeming annoyed at being prematurely woken.

"'aven't been 'ere for fowsand cycles just to let folk run round as they pleases. Got's me orders, me stripes to think 'bout."

"We've talked about this before. Those stripes aren't a badge of honour. They were given to you for a reason. This is just one of them," he stated kindly, like a gentle family physician might to a very young child.

"Sez ya let him in," the mountain quaked unsurely. "Ya vaatch for 'im do ya?" he said even slower, clutching his swollen forehead. Solomun edged forward carefully.

"Yes, I vouch for him," he said, slipping closer still.

"Gustav, let me tell you a story. Listen up, you won't have heard it before. When your earliest ancestors first came to earth I was there. When Phoenicians first discovered the Canaan lands, I was there. When Romans conquered the ancient Britons, I was there. And when Mr Bell invented the electric telephone, I was there."

"What woz ya doing there doc?" he said, shifting his great head inquisitively.

"Well, pull up a seat old man, I'll tell you all about it. May as well now that I'm up," he sighed. The way Gustav's hands shook it must have took all of the great oaf's concentration just to keep me held aloft. This was my chance to break free! Like a caged tiger I sprinted for the moving door. As fate would have it, it disappeared at the last second. Sheer momentum propelled me through a curtained off area, straight into a small hushed group huddled round a makeshift Ouija board. This secretive place was lit with eerie ancient lanterns, set with suspicious smells and decked with occult symbolism. I'd disturbed an impromptu séance, here of all places!

All spiritualists threw their arms up in shock as I burst straight through the table, scattering precious contents far and wide. An elderly fellow quickly gathered his wits, made a series of symbolic gestures cutting the misty atmosphere, whilst others frantically made the sign of the cross, muttering anxiously with bowed heads. I was swept backwards by a powerful wind. Back, back, through the twisting exit door like a wild gust of wind.

Chapter 11

One flashing instant later I lay on a dry sand bank at the fringe of a sprawling wood. Picking myself up, I became overwhelmed by warming orange light streaming from deep blue sky. My form pulsed slowly, till what luck - I became quite solid! In moments I felt invigorated, frightfully optimistic and truly alive. A flash of movement from brush to the side brought a gasp of astonishment and sheer joy.

"Good lord! Sam, is that you?! It is, it is, young Sam! Why heavens, look at you! But surely not, please...you're still so young."

"No, I'm not. Well, pretty sure I'm not... yet," I replied in sheer delight. Here was my favourite Aunt Rose! Everyone remembers dear Rose. A more genuine loving, selfless soul you could never dream to meet. Beautiful flowing blonde locks and the sweetest aura of kindness danced around her gentle brown eyes. My fondest memories of Rose were the infinite well of love her heart contained. Father always said the fairies must have brought her, for she'd enough affection for every living soul on the planet with more to spare. I used to think if I could marry one girl it would only be one with the same selfless heart as Rose.

Behind her the ornate door wobbled, flexing and creaking as if giant hands pulled it from all directions. Its elaborate framework shook violently to the most extraordinary mix of high pitched beeps and deafening crashes.

"What?!" I gasped nervously, flinching as the whining cacophony ended, and the door folded up in on itself and vanished.

"Oh, it always does that," Rose said, shrugging.

"So glad to see you aunt."

"I'm awfully glad too!" she bubbled, standing back in admiration and clasping her hands together in boundless joy. "Sam, there's something quite different about you, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Well I wish someone would."

"Welcome to Pine Meadows, but quick now, I don't know how long you'll be allowed to stay. Hope there'll be time for answers later. Come now, stay close. Tonight you'll dine with us," she cried, grabbing my hand.

"You do realize I'm 20 now?"

"Of course dear, but you'll always be that cute little 10 year old to me, for none of us truly grows up, my special little friend," she laughed, tipping me a beautiful wink. "Oh, your uncle's face when he sees you, we shall tease him so!"

We walked together hand in hand alongside a small babbling brook. Amidst bendy trees the air turned crisp and thin and sweet smells of fresh lavender permeated the delightful atmosphere. Twigs crunched softly beneath our feet and fresh apple blossom petals floated around as two happy souls leisurely meandered down the winding woodland path towards the village.

Aunt explained carefully arranged planting of nutritious vegetable matter provided villagers with sustenance. Whilst unnecessary, some felt better in the knowledge there was an inexhaustible supply of luscious wild berries, healing herbs and flowering plants. Seasons were similar to our own English climate, but more traditional black, depressing ones were less dense and of a much shorter duration.

"I'll take you down to her wonderful place first. You'll love it, everyone does," she gushed.

"Oh, Jacob's mother Elsa dreamt it up," she cried, anticipating my next question, "Partly for him, partly for her, mostly for all. It was one of her greatest dreams as she travelled the plains. Elsa and your great grandfather were some of the very first pioneers you know, when the American west was truly old, long before others came bringing selfish greed."

"But we do not dwell on the past here. So this was one of the scenes she always wanted to build. For her it represented peace and true harmony with nature. When their family finally settled down to roost, survival reared its head. Crops had to be sown and defended, while hungry little mouths were begging to be fed. Wasting precious time and resources on flights of fancy by creating a portion of paradise could not be justified." Our path became more detailed, welcoming and really quite delightful.

"Ah, we're nearly there. This is the perfect time as well. At sunset it never looks more adorable. Sneak a look through the trees Sam. See it?" she whispered earnestly.

On the village outskirts where all paths converged lay a green grassy mound dotted with miniature bushes and shrubs, nudged by a family of larger trees. Surrounding this heavenly knoll flowed a miniature moat. It's crystal clear water slipped back into a charming little stream where rainbow coloured fish gurgled, jumped and swam gracefully. At one side a tiny wooden bridge garnished with strange symbols and topped with exotic balustrades crossed the water. The inviting walkway faded away into growing shadows, leaving a shimmering moonlit rainbow spanning the banks. Rising from the glittering brook, low musical hums bounced between trees and spun around our heads.

I watched intrigued as dusk fell on the strange, lovely paradise. Tiny nameless forms leapt, darted and flitted amongst the silky grass. From tree to tree phosphorescent creatures buzzed and clicked serenely, lighting background with magical glows. Just above the treetops energy swirls mixed in dazzling flashes of colour which floated to the ground.

Rose whispered that on rare, unusual nights the atmosphere became infused with happiness, love and villagers' thoughts for a wonderful future. At those special times sharp, tiny noses appeared off in the background, carefully poking their way through the scrub, playfully retreating from dappled rays of pale moonlight that strobed the isle. She named them the keepers. No one knew their story.

The sunset, the beautiful scene, the tiny little animals, and the tranquil lullaby of those dreamy, placid waters allowed my heart to gently slip away into the sweet serenity of it all. Their combined effect became healing, hypnotic. There was something more here, some indescribable force carrying the isle on slowly towards some unseen goal. A world within one, that was itself evolving, that only did so because of the presence of these extraordinary souls sharing its vision. I became transfixed, attempting to coax answers out the isle.

"See, I knew you'd feel it," Rose squealed, studying me as a doting mother watches an excited child. "I come here every day with Brian. Every day we notice something new and even more exciting. Sometimes it's just a colour on a leaf, others it's the behaviour of the endearing little ones. Once we got so swept up in the atmosphere we didn't notice any changes till we were back at home. It's growing Sam, right before our eyes! Your great gran's a clever lady, born well before her time. There was always something special about her, she can do things other folk can't. I realised that the moment I met her. You're the only other I felt that way about. Remember?" she said, cuddling in.

"Yes, I remember it well, but I was a little too small to understand."

"Oh, Sam. I knew you were different, but didn't know how to explain, you were far too young. Studies weren't for you, they weren't part of your future, for others absolutely, but not for you. You'd have been so much happier escaping in an exciting book. But never mind all that now. You're here now, that's all that matters."

"So, how did Elsa do all this?"

Rose's answer was drowned out by thunderous cannon fire and the subsequent arrival from behind the island of 3 miniature battleships from days of yore. Each had been meticulously crafted to represent a vessel of some distinction. I recognized one as Admiral Nelson's ship 'The Victory.' The second 'The Mary Rose,' a fearsome looking vessel armed to the teeth executed a perfect flanking manoeuvre. I made out the grinding noise of her cannon battery shifting, heard the sudden rush of flooding waters and she started listing dangerously on one side. Another mighty craft displaying skull and cross bones, bearing the moniker 'Queen Anne's Revenge' took the opportunity to sneak through the party leaders.

"Battle stations!" came the excited haroo as a thrilled child hurtled past.

"Hiya Auntie Rose. Can't stop. Forward men!" I only caught a fleeting glimpse of him as his navy proudly sailed past. Their twinkling mainsails left strange recurring images flickering in the iridescent twilight.

"Who the dickens was that?" I laughed.

"Young Jacob, your great grandmother's child. He's been here since he was very young, 1883. A trifling illness, something doctors nowadays are able to treat in an afternoon. Elsa looks after him now."

"Can't he... Well doesn't he realise that he...doesn't he understand, he's well, you know..."

"Of course he does Sam, everyone here works that out in their own way."

"Why is he still a child? Isn't he allowed to grow up and experience other ways, as a teenager or an adult?"

"Of course. Gran's explained all. He's chosen to stay that way for the foreseeable future. Having such a short, painful life the boy wants to experience everything he missed out on before he takes such a path. And who can blame him? I mean just look at him Sam, he's in childhood bliss here - Living in the moment. There's no cares, no stress, no limits, nothing."

I must admit, ecstasy doesn't go any way towards describing the tiny little fellow's immense delight in his games. I delighted in watching him run the length of the stream, laughing at his wild joyful shrieks. There was no more struggling for him, nor hardship or pain, only unadulterated bliss, which only got better with each passing moment.

"So, what's it like Rose? The passing, er, being here?" I said, watching Jacob closely till he faded away.

"Beautiful, simply beautiful." Her mind wandered a little, as it reminisced, lost in a series of ever happier dreams. "One never has to be scared to say the word," Rose whispered. "'tis only a word. Besides, it's only our bodies that failed, not our imaginations or spirits, they were let loose and are now in a completely free, natural state. When Brian and I first came here, he thought the whole thing was some crazy dream. I think a tinsy little part of him still does. Now having mellowed a bit, he says even if it is, 'tis one he never wants to wake up from."

"Oh, yes, Uncle Brian," I said, "'twas strange I never met him. Mother said she found him a trifle brusque."

"Yes he was at times, he had a lot on his mind then, all of us did. Married to work many would say, but I think you'll find he's quite the card nowadays. That's what generally happens here, it brings out the best in all of us."

"I can see that. And may I say you yourself look truly remarkable."

"Why thank you young Sam, quite the knight in shining armour you turned out to be too."

"Those island creatures, are they real? Are they solid? Can you reach out and touch them?"

"Your gran has once. She says they're as real and solid as you or I," she answered, tapping me playfully.

"What of the others?"

"Oh, they're just shy. Give them time. I bet they're just as curious about us. Existence would quickly get so dull if they all became our friends instantly."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Aren't they simply gorgeous?" she gushed, sighing blissfully.

"I've never seen anything quite like them," I confessed wistfully.

"Nor are you likely to any time soon, thank the lord."

As the sun drifted into quiet slumber, we tarried a while talking of life, love and secrets of the universe. Aunt Rose and I sat happily under moonlit stars, watching 3 moons playfully jockeying for position across purpling sky. Further on moved 3 smaller companions, different colours, but not shining as intensely. "Their babies," Rose pointed out confidently.

"Everything's so intense," I remarked. "Colours, lights, creatures, emotions. How on earth does all this happen?"

"Sam," she said thoughtfully, "We don't know for sure yet, perhaps we never will. We just help it along a little with our thoughts and leave it at that. As long as it makes us happy, that is all we really need to know."

"Yes, I can see that now. Things are a little clearer."

"Good. Oh, your uncle, the tea. Come along now," she cried, jumping up, taking to her heels at high speed. "Follow the road," she added, smiling over her shoulder.

Rose and her husband Brian passed together very quickly in their mid forties, but here she possessed the speed and stamina of an Olympic runner. I only just managed to keep her in sight by carefully keeping to shifting ground levels whilst rounding each corner. Woodland passed by faster and faster in a crazy euphoric blur. Up, down, a left, a right, then another. Soon the tall, towering trees either side melded together with the scrub, bushes, grass, flowers, and the far off sounds of a soothing piping, till all I felt was the gentle, calming whoosh of wind rushing past my face. The faster I moved, the more exhilarated and energized I became.

"You see how amazing it is?" Rose said, rounding the final corner, "And neither of us even out of breath!"

We'd arrived at a quaint country cottage, thatched with finest gold heather. Thin wispy puffs of smoke drifted from the neat chimney pot and colourful plants dripped down the walls. A white, knee high picket fence enclosed the front garden. Hung over a garden gate 'Westbury Lodge welcome to our home' was highlighted on a little sign.

"It's what we've always wanted," Rose confessed proudly, opening the gate quietly.

"First let's see what Brian's really up to." Tchaikovsky's uplifting nut cracker suite drifted from the slightly ajar ground floor window.

"Oh, look at him go! I knew it, he can't resist – its Igor the Russian dancing bear!" Rose giggled. "I'll be having a quick nap he says - my bum!" I peered through the window, catching one of the most amazing sights ever witnessed. A giant of a man with full beard, moustache and wizard's top hat seemed to fill half the room. With hands clasped tightly to an imaginary partner, he whirled them round crazily to the addictive tune. When the melody reached certain memorable parts he left her momentarily to prance about on his tip toes like a playful little mouse.

"Ah ha, caught you!" Rose exclaimed, throwing the front door open.

"Almost," Brian cried, sitting down clumsily. He pretended to be sheepish, then burst into laughter.

"Guess who's come to visit?" Rose cried. "You have 3 chances."

"Oh, dear me," he laughed again, "Chances like these shouldn't be wasted. It couldn't possibly be gran again?"

"No."

"Then, James, yes, Jolly James Jodphur the Judicious Japer from Sutton Coldfield?"

"Don't be so silly Brian. Besides, I told you he's gone visiting."

"Yes, you did, so you did. Well, that can only leave...um...Jacob," he said, after a lot of mock thought. "Come for your new toy son? It's in the library drawer lad, all finished. Hop in and fetch it, bring it through, I'll show you how it works."

I stepped inside. He looked up from his chair with a probing start. "Why, I know you. How could I forget? Your aunt showed me pictures all the time. It's, that's right, it's your Margaret's lad isn't it Rose... Sa..."

"That's right, Sam," I beamed.

"But you're so youn..." he started. As his mind whirred his wide grin faded.

"It's okay Brian, everything's fine, he's not here to stay," Rose stepped in.

"Well thank the lord for that. You had me worried for a second." Brian let out a huge sigh of relief as his enormous smile grew even larger. "Then come in lad, come in," he boomed. "You are most welcome, take a seat. Here you are sit down, sit down," he fussed, soundly patting my shoulder. "Tell me what you've all been up to. Not too tired are you?" he inquired kindly.

"No, I'm fine so far, considering," I said, gladly taking the offered seat.

"Considering? Sounds ominous. Problems lad?"

"Well young fellow, you've dropped in at the right time. I'm looking to outline a new project and would be grateful for a few warm up exercises. I'm still an inventor you know. Your aunt tell you that did she?"

"Stop fussing Brian. Let the lad breathe. He can tell us all about it as and when he likes while we have tea. I promised him that much, and what sort of an aunt doesn't make good on her promises?"

"Rightio Rose. Just thought we could have a bit of a chat, man to man, make up for lost time."

Our party moved into the dining room where a grand oak table had been set with dazzling tableware.

"We don't have to set it or wash up, though sometimes I do just for the experience," Rose remarked. Glancing down I realised that food I'd always dreamed about, but could never afford was there waiting patiently. Succulent, delicious, those heavenly aromas wafted everywhere. All had been prepared and cooked to total perfection. I knew I'd never taste another meal quite like it, so savoured each bite.

"Not too bad, eh son?" Brian remarked.

"There are no words," I nodded, enthusiastically trying dish after dish. In between mouthfuls I told all as well as I could possibly remember. Everything from the age of 10 when my tender eyes naively thought they'd spied Rose for the last time, to the undeclared war with the evil General Davis, my work life, the arrival of Ian, everything. My recall in this place was vivid and animated. Fine details seemed much crisper, whilst reasons for certain people's actions appeared much less annoying and rather less obtuse.

I told them all. Nothing was to be left to chance, as craftsmen cannot work without tools. I'd only promised Ian I wouldn't tell a soul on earth. That promise has still been kept to the letter. Brian's expressed genuine amusement at the thoroughly embarrassing toilet incident. Throughout the winding tale his enormous brain rapidly digested and analysed all the facts, placing them in logical order for further evaluation.

Brian worked mainly physically, using mind in conjunction with hands. He thought things through logically, whereas Rose worked mainly with emotions, using deep inherent spirituality and feminine intuition. Naturally their respective solutions to most scenarios were going to turn out slightly differently. But that in itself was no bad thing. For I've learnt its best to listen carefully to all points of view before making final judgements.

Rose grew emotional at my memories of her death, remarking she only wished she could have done a little more, but when one has just arrived here it can take an awfully long time to influence people back on earth.

"I sent dear Gregory to that end, remember? He was the only person near you whose brain was open enough in that way. I knew in my present state I couldn't break through your pain to reach you. I whispered orders to him as he dozed in his broom cupboard between shifts. Bless his little cotton socks, I think he thought I was a teacher talking to him as I passed his room. I wasn't strong enough then to do much else, none of us were."

I remembered Gregory Basil our school caretaker alright. Unfortunately the poor chap suffered from what society now calls learning difficulties. A thin, gaunt, stick of a fellow with the mind of a confused young teenager who always wore a long, scruffy tartan scarf regardless of temperature, because his mother said he may get a nasty chill. Gregory alone guided me through the heartache, whether he was aware of it or not.

Instead of allowing me to mope alone, he'd chase me outside to play football in the sun. Once he gave me a toy rabbit he'd found in the lost property box, claiming, 'Miss told me to give you this.' Luckily one thing he excelled at it was good old fashioned determination and loyalty, which lots of folk with twice his intelligence hadn't mastered. Incidentally that last message passed way over my head at the time. It was only years later I realised that rabbits had always been aunts firm favourite.

Rose found Ian a bit of a naughty meddler, though overall there for the greater good. Brian said he understood his humour, suggesting it granted character and thought his behaviour, particularly the self indulgent jokes smacked of boredom. Neither could say for certain why Ian chose me, what he was really up to on earth or how I got here. Both agreed soundly Ian wouldn't let any harm befall me, but in the same instance remained puzzled as to why he appeared to have abandoned me in this state.

"Sounds like a damn fine chap to have on your side. If he cannot get to you, you can bet your bare behind there must be damn good reason for it," uncle said, sitting back, lighting yet another delicious vanilla pipe. Outside, the brilliant moon crested the olive tree tops in the garden. A tiny speck of moonlight crossed Brian's gleaming eyes. He remarked stoically, "So Sam, it seems you're stuck for a time. Ordinarily I would have said that was no bad thing, but..." he continued slowly, choosing words carefully, "Sam you are a singular case. One can eat all one likes here, you may take that to the bank. However, our food only nourishes the senses and spirit - surely it cannot do the same for your physical body, wherever that may lie."

Frightful electric tingles raced up and down my spine as his statements true significance sunk in. Aunt Rose felt it too, for she looked at me aghast for a fleeting moment.

"A quick and practical man you are Brian, one of the many reasons I married you."

"I wish that it were not so on this occasion, Rose. Nevertheless, these matters must eventually be given the credence they deserve."

"Granted," Rose and I agreed, wondering why we'd failed to think of such an important point before.

After a pregnant pause, Rose pursed her lips. "That Sam, if it happens will be in the far future. We must concentrate on the present. We'll ask gran tomorrow what her feelings are on this. Elsa's been here the longest. And there'll be another opportunity at James return. His japes and jokes are merely a way to disguise great intelligence."

We moved back into the sitting room, chatting gaily long into the early hours of times gone by, speculating on the meaning and future of it all. Some time had passed when my host's voices gradually moved slightly out of synch with their mouths, fading into the distance. I leant back against the soft cushion, beginning to truly relax, letting go of all troubles thus far. My shoulders tensed, sinking for the last time.

Rising sun sent her first gleaming rays skipping across brightening sky. Deep orange fingers dove down to play amongst golden meadows. In the woods talkative shadows melted before hazy light spots, where strange creatures slipped into existence. Finally a thin, solitary beam trickled through the cottage window, warming air to an intensely relaxing daze. My eyes grew heavy and weary. By degrees the couples calming voices grew softer, till their images faded out of focus and the room spun softly in thick black shades.

Chapter 12

I came round to bright blazing sun. Brian sat opposite watching closely, much amused.

"Good morning young fellow. No need to ask how you slept. 'twas like watching a new born baby sleep for the very first time. I've never seen such a peaceful sight. Seems there are more things you are capable of here than you should allow."

"Possibly," I agreed sleepily. "Do you sleep uncle?"

"Yes, but by choice, not through tiredness. And you may call me Brian."

"How long?"

"3 days, Sam, 3 days. That's quite some feat," he mused.

"And you've been sitting here all this time watching?"

"Mostly. Sounds silly - we just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Well that's very considerate of you, I feel much refreshed."

"Good. Now come along old bean, Rose is waiting in the village. Elsa wishes to meet you at our square."

"Walk this way," he said, clowning around, quickly sashaying down the front lawn. Folk who walked like him were often arrested. Brian turned left out the tiny gate, comically opening and closing it carefully. His long, thick, tree trunk legs gave him an unfair advantage over a youngster like me. The peculiar fashion in which his legs and feet pounded the dry forest ground, in conjunction with the forward swinging motion of his arms meant his body leant forward like a giant ape.

Enormous number and variety of flowers and plants adorned the trail's sides alongside the talkative brook. This fresh young chap was a remarkable specimen, whose clear waters could only be found in high mountain streams. His spine was a combination of fine rich sand and golden nuggets topped with tiny polished crystal shards.

The dapper gentleman had been dressed in a rich blend of moist, luscious moss and delicate ribbons of purpled grass that danced delightfully for the pleasure of the noon day sun. Many of their colourful friends met in the middle, providing a magical playground for silvers of fish that darted and leaped through the miniature reeds. In a fit of joy I cupped a handful of the sparkling liquid, letting it trickle slowly between my fingers. Yes, perfectly clean and chilled.

Surrounding this meandering water spirit lived an eclectic mix of trees - healthy specimens thriving in harmony alongside others I couldn't place. Small, freshly dug holes sat at the side of the path. Some stood out in the open between fresh green ferns and wild grasses. Others were hidden beneath sneaky plant roots or shimmering silver bracken clumps. Sadly, it seemed their inhabitants were strictly nocturnal or just plain shy.

"Marvellous isn't it, Sam? Plants change mostly every week, always some new arrangement, it never gets boring here."

Following some outstanding sightseeing we started down a slight incline. At the bottom stood a very impressive hedge, taller than the big man himself. Its thick leaves stretched off for miles in either direction. Brian paused, counting from the bottom upwards. Near the top grew a purple flower boasting a faintly spotted centre. Brian's giant fingers moved her delicately to one side and reached past, pulling gently at the velvety green stem beyond. A large section creaked outwards. The hedge had been grown into a natural gate. Fresh supple branches formed the hinges and locking mechanism.

"Good eh?" he stated proudly. "If I'd have melded the 2 styles together on earth, I'd have been a very rich man indeed and a far happier one," he confessed, ushering me through.

We now stood on a cobbled square where alterations were well underway to transform it into a wondrous artwork. Brian explained the idea was to take the existing square shape, spin it around to the left a few degrees to form an offset circle, then build a larger rectangular structure all around it. The brickwork, flaring outwards in an ever increasing spiral looked absolutely fabulous.

Rose rushed over. "Sam, this is your great grandmother, Elsa." Elsa was a hard faced, weathered woman. Tall, thin, her grey hair parted widely at the front was kept secure using a large decorated peg at the back. This rigid style only accentuated an abnormally long neck. Her keen, hawkish eyes shrunk to a dot, sizing me up for faults. She certainly looked like one of ours.

"You'll do," she decided finally in a slight American twang, extending a long bony hand in friendship. "Welcome Sam." She paused, looking me over once more a little longer.

"I fancy you'll be back," she nodded. "Grab a spade boy, let's get this lot finished first," she cried, starting work again.

"Glad to help," I blustered, picking a spot close by. I shifted some soil, glancing around. Some truly unique art works stood here. The homes for one, which were mostly from the last century, but marvellously kept. Without doubt the most beautiful and complex work was the large golden angel figurine perched high on a marble pedestal, looking down protectively on the workers. She proudly held a magnificent silver harp. Noonday sun sat proudly behind, shining a dazzling gleam through the harp strings. I broke off work to gaze intently, expecting the guardian to rise of her marble stand and challenge me at any moment. I wondered whether she was sentient, if she knew I was here, whether her golden eyes could see me, or if she could read feelings. What was her function? 'twas no ordinary garden ornament for sure.

Another mystery was the lack of people. I counted ones I knew so far - Aunt, uncle, Elsa, Jacob, Jolly James, and his partner Mary. Between acute bouts of fatigue on my first night there'd been mention of some others. But besides those, that seemed to be the present inhabitants of this world - a strange quandary for a place that didn't seem to have any limits.

"We don't let just anyone in here boy. Places have to be earned," Elsa croaked. I nodded thoughtfully. Elsa moved closer. Why I posed such a personal question at such an odd time I cannot explain.

"Where is Jacob's dad, why isn't he here?"

"No doubt he is where he belongs. An exceedingly selfish man who abandoned me with child before the poor boy was born."

"Elsa, I'm so sorry to hear that. I had no idea your life was so difficult. Things must have been terrible for you back then."

"One finds ways to survive."

"Yes, needs must," I agreed. A light breeze brought salty seaweed wafting over the area. Elsa kept silent for a time.

"You remind me of him. About the same age too."

"Oh, really?" I said, finding this frank admission a trifle disconcerting.

"Purely in looks, Sam. It doesn't seem to be present in your eyes."

"Well that's a relief. One likes to think they have a tad more responsibility than that."

"Perhaps so."

Talk petered off. A time later work was deemed over for the day, so we adjourned to Elsa's house. Elsa's home sat at the northern edge of the village, nestled between stunning grassland and a small tributary of the northern sea.

It was a dramatic example of very early American wooden homes boasting an open plan garden, complete with functional water wheel attached to the northern side. A sturdy rope bridge set further up the river spanned the divide towards the distant beach. Lush green flowering vines sneaked their way leisurely up brilliant white walls, rose, ebony and ivory planks made up the roof, and chocolate plants stood proudly on each outside windowsill. It was such a strange contrast of colours, yet worked perfectly.

Elsa obviously liked to cling to the good old days, where life was harder, tools were solid and bulky, but reliable. She could have had any home she liked. Some folk are perfectly happy with the basics in life and good for them. Our family certainly were back in the twenties, despite being poor. As you've probably guessed an antique spinning wheel was perched on the front veranda, set up to run in conjunction with the water wheel outside, as were most of her home comforts which we take for granted nowadays.

Inside the charming home compromised two main levels with a large dusty attic accessible only via a strong wooden storage box beneath the trapdoor labelled: 'R H Boone Trading Company.' After the exciting tour we sat together in the spacious front room. Chatting pleasantly whilst trying to commit the place to memory and mulling over exciting discoveries was no easy task.

Over in the kitchen in front of me, one of the old wooden blinds over the window happened to be partially closed. Light streamed through the thin slats, highlighting dust particles that are always present in the air. This was uncanny. Similarities to our world were simply staggering. Why, even ascending stairs had revealed the customary squeaky step. If I'd been allowed longer in the dusty attic, I bet I could have found mice sign! This marvellous home had been loved for generations, silently gathering memories, carefully storing sounds. 'twas a beautiful, timeless piece, filled with extraordinary treasures, mysterious objects and never ending surprises.

A large timber fan spun above, slowly gaining momentum in the hot, thick atmosphere as Elsa idly toyed with its rope controls on the wall. While we chatted of familiar things, I noticed she was staring at me from time to time, just as intently as before, lips pursed tightly, hawk like eyes narrowed. I wrestled with myself whether it would be good manners to try and engage her in direct conversation when Rose spoke up. "So, what do you make of it all gran?" Brian had been recapping my story so far, along with his own interpretations, which took quite some time.

"I'm sorry, but I really can't tell Rose. I just can't work him out," she admitted.

"I am who I say I am Elsa," I said kindly.

"Of course you are Sam," aunt and uncle agreed immediately, "We should know straight away if it weren't so gran."

"I agree you are no imposter. You would not be here if you did not belong. I just can't put my finger on it. I find it very difficult to read you. Past experience tells me when I can't read someone it normally transpires they're hiding something. It's hard to dismiss such a strong feeling because it kept me alive for so long."

Chat quieted for a time. A glittering butterfly glided smoothly between the fan's sluggish strokes, taking refuge atop the door frame, nudging a delicate shaving that floated silently to the polished floor. At the open window songbirds warbled sweet love songs. Just behind me the fire crackled back to life, showering golden sparks over the wicker hearth. Sunlight dripped and drizzled through imperfections in the floorboards above, creating tiny havens between shadows, carving enchanting little shapes on beautiful timber beneath our feet. Brian glanced upwards as a golden beam caressed his forehead. I watched closely. Twinkles of light darted between his mischievous eyes. That same colossal smile arrived back, directed at us all.

"Gran, your senses are working as well as they always have. What we haven't taken into account is that Sam is here as a guest well before his time. Thank the lord our saviour he has not passed. One cannot possibly expect to be able to read him as easily as any of us. To do so would defy all logic. His intellect, his spirit is here, but only part of it. Where his soul actually lies we could debate for all eternity."

Brian left a dramatic pause. "That gran is why you wonder, that is why you cannot read him, that is why his future and intentions are beyond you, and that is why Rose married me," he cried triumphantly, rising to dance a comical jig. He finished off the hilarious performance with a charming little bow, asking donations be sent to his favourite charity.

Rose laughed. "Alright Brian, no one likes a boaster!"

"That explains it then," Elsa accepted at last, sighing with relief. "I apologise Sam. I should have put more thought into the situation."

"Forget about it Elsa. It really doesn't matter," I said.

The front door burst open. In rolled a big, brightly coloured ball, followed by a lively little boy and an even livelier little puppy. 'twas an incredibly cute, loyal little creature that could have snuggled perfectly in the palms of your hands. She let out an excited little yip and sat down patiently, looking fervently at each of us as if awaiting orders.

"Hi Auntie Rose, hi Uncle Brian."

"Hullo Sam," Jacob said, bowing in jest. "Auntie Rose says you're special." Flakes of soil dropped from a mop of ginger hair, whilst thick tar stains hid most of the tiny brown freckles adorning his grubby, plump cheeks.

"I don't know much about that Jacob," I replied, smiling broadly.

"No? I guess not then," he shrugged with the naked candour only a child possesses.

"So what have you and Jess been up to Jacob my lad?" Brian asked eagerly.

"Been training her to fetch on the beach, just like you showed me. Just came for some more treats."

"Good for you lad. Now remember, if you look after her, then she'll look after you. There's an effective method to training men and beast."

"Yes, thanks Uncle Brian."

"Oh mama, Auntie Mary says the angel is glowing again," Jacob threw casually over his shoulder, chasing the delightful puppy into the kitchen.

"Expecting someone Elsa?" Brian quizzed.

"Oh yes, Aida Bell," she replied with a beautiful smile. "I do hope it will be her. This will be the third time. I thought it wouldn't be too long. What a lucky girl, she'll be more than a hundred by now. We'd better go up there and help her. Bless her, she'll be a little confused. What with the strange experience of coming through, who knows what she's thinking."

I understood the idea of someone coming through, as in through the strange, warping door, but was lost as to the angel statue's relevance. There was little opportunity for questions as everyone rushed off, heading up past Rose's house to where I'd first landed. I rounded the corner first, met with the bleak picture of an extremely elderly lady whose back was bowed and bent. Her stark white hair moved in all directions while she scratched around on the ground.

As I drew closer she picked an object up, placing it on the bridge of her nose. Now her vision was somewhat restored she straightened up as best she could to tentatively gaze around her. The rest of the party arrived. Peering intently at me her slender neck strained, stretching forwards. I noticed her wrinkled hands and face shook. She croaked hoarsely, "Danny, is that you?" I stood deathly still, shocked into silence at such a distressing sight.

"No Aida, I'll explain later, it's me Elsa, your daughter."

"Elsa?! Really? My, my, really? Is it? It can't be. No, no. Who, Elsa? Come closer little one. Oh yes, I can see you a little better now. You haven't changed a bit my child," she said, bursting into tears. "But you're gone Elsa," she sobbed, "I lost you. This is just some wonderful dream and I'll wake up soon all alone. Can't I stay, just this once. Oh, please do tell me I can stay. I'll be as quiet as a mouse and promise not to get in anyone's way. Things have become dreadfully strange of late," she bleated mournfully.

"Of course you can stay ma, for as long as you want," Elsa replied, almost breaking up herself. "But first you need rest. You know how you get when you don't sleep. Here, take my hand," Elsa offered in complete devotion.

"And then I can stay?" Aida entreated with the wide eyed, hopeful expression of an expectant child. "You can stay," Elsa nodded, smiling sweetly. Barely a moment later the old dear placed a trembling hand inside Elsa's and their spirits joined together tenderly for the last time, dissolving in blinding white light.

"Crikey, will she be alright?!" I cried, "I mean, there's a terrible touch of dementia there."

"She'll be absolutely fine son, promise," Brian said, patting me reassuringly.

"So, where've they gone? How did they vanish?"

"To Elsa's house. Elsa will be making sure she gets enough rest. We'll visit her in a few days when all earthly aliments will be gone," Rose explained.

"Well that's a relief. I was worried she may be stuck that way forever for some strange reason," I confessed. We headed back home, Brian saying it was good manners to leave them to a reunion in peace.

"What a singularly odd experience," I thought out loud.

"It's a great deal to take in," Rose admitted. Elsa made them vanish. I don't understand how she does it, neither does she. As far as I'm aware it's only happened once before under very specific circumstances. We can't do it, but Elsa's been here for a long time now we must remember, and as I told you at the island on your first night, things would become very boring very quickly were great gifts so easy to come by."

"So you did. Well I'll look forward to meeting Aida later if I'm still here. "Why didn't Elsa tell us she was expecting her mother?"

"I should imagine she couldn't be sure it was going to be her. Intuition isn't perfect. It's not always who you think it is, but always a beautiful surprise all the same. Gran probably didn't want to get anyone's hopes up, especially her own."

Chapter 13

2 weeks later I sat patiently at Elsa's magical island. I'd visited every night at twilight during my 3 week stay. Those magnificent moons began their magical dance again. Their amazing show was still just as spectacular and had been added to, yet tonight it failed to lift my mood. I became distracted, increasingly worried for the future. How could I return to my body before it weakened? No one had any workable ideas so far. Despite my marvellous hosts, for the first time ever I felt alone. I believe this is why I dreamt that night. I dreamt I was safely back at home, fast asleep. Fast asleep before any of this uncontrollable madness happened. Long before the arrival of Ian, long before I'd been forced to face the stark fact we were not alone in this universe. It was an exceedingly deep sleep, the kind that normally leaves one refreshed and rational.

Ian woke me, jabbering incessantly. Ignoring him proved useless. Warm covers were thrown against the wall in a most disorderly manner. I glanced at the bedside alarm clock – 2:22 precisely. The work shy fob wouldn't grant me a moment's peace. Must sleep, so tired. Damn him! Ian's words were garbled, earnest, awfully mixed up and terribly faint as if a trillion universes away. I would find no rest here, so struggled downstairs in a daze. In our hallway I glanced at the thermometer soaring to 10 degrees.

Outside our front door rising warmth vanished, turning the world cold and sinister. Way beyond the garden lay a pale horribly cold and malignant horizon. Stretching far off into the distance swirled a tunnel, warping, twisting, spitting spitefully. Everywhere else a disquieting dead silence prevailed. The door swung shut behind me with a decisive click, followed by whistling wind and the far off rushing water one hears at a seaside shell.

Then came the muffled voice again, bursting out the hazy, evil twilight, louder than before, but no clearer. It was Ian alright, the damn fool. What was this crazy nonsense? Why the devil didn't he help put an end to this situation? Now the noise swept from the back of the house, stopping as soon as I investigated.

Behind our home in the year 1920 there sat a small outbuilding - a crusty, ancient structure well past its prime. Lord knows what still held it together. Memories father used to joke. In its place now lay a dilapidated well, it's once proud structure sorely stained and neglected. Things couldn't get much stranger. From deep within the wells pitch black darkness Ian's shrill voice pierced shadows with increased urgency. 'Sam...out...stop it...not funn...beg...remember that...night...time is...she will...' Each word echoed dully off the dirty walls as it rose, only to frustratingly merge in with the next. His voice looped endlessly. I kicked the stone in sheer frustration. 3 small ornaments fell from on top the structure, which weren't there before.

The first, a classic ghost lay flat at my feet. If the treacherous moon here could be trusted I judged it pointed almost south. The second a gnome, a fraction smaller than the spectre lay on its side. His pointy cap lay at angle of 90 degrees to the right. The third article landed right way up squarely between the other two. My word \- a miniature replica of the angel from the village square! What intrigued me more was the fact this harp worked.

What in the name of Satan's bed fellows was one supposed to make of these? I lifted the angel aloft when all noise stopped dead. Besides its sharp detail there wasn't anything special about it. No compartments lay secreted in the bottom, nor helpful words. No, that would have been far too straight forward. Was this some sort of communication from Ian?

Finally I'd had enough. This, everything, my life so far, the whole damn scenario had finally reached ludicrous heights. I marched back to the front door which swung open in a rush of wind. the door closed haughtily on my clenched fist as I went through, crushing the angel into useless white dust.

I lay awake a while feeling my thumb throb weakly, watching a bruise forming. This wasn't home, it couldn't be. It was just me wishful thinking again. I eventually rose again, starting a wild crusade, checking round the house in a frenzy, searching for the tiniest clues. Even my precious handkerchief, pencil, jotter and pocket watch were there on my dresser. Nothing seemed out of place. No other living soul was around. And why would there be? After lengthy soul searching, I finally accepted I could do no more. I turned over dejectedly to allow 'sleep' to take me under her ancient spell once more.

I awoke confused and sweaty. Soft silken covers were now shoved disrespectfully to one side, near the wall. I must have acted out my troubles during sleep. Warming sunlight streamed in fiercely through the window. Yet another beautiful day. Of course I was still at aunt's, where else would one be? I searched the bedside cabinet for a change of clothes, noting I still looked the same in the dresser mirror. Ah, my hand was still bruised! This couldn't be a coincidence. Didn't Ian declare coincidence a load of old hokum? Brian's thunderous voice cannoned up the staircase.

"Sam, rise and shine! Quick lad, James is back!"

Whirling down the spiral staircase, I saw a small, older man, with an oversized, bulbous head and shock of white hair. He wore flamboyant and colourful monkish robes patterned with symbolic characters and animals. Strangely, no matter where they were placed, none seemed to take precedence over another. A symbol between his shoulder blades showed ourobouros or the Chinese symbol for ying and yang. I'd have thought him a profoundly eccentric professor if he were dressed in suit and tie.

"Mr Jodhpur I presume. Pleased to meet you," I stuttered, darting into the front room.

"Who? Oh, James is fine. Some call me the three J's, though those folk are fools!" he giggled.

"I was never good with words, my forte lies with numbers," I replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Exactly," he tittered, smiling widely.

"Apologies, I've just woken up."

"Will give you fair warning next time, Sam."

I nodded enthusiastically while James twirled round for Rose's benefit, who was enamoured by his new clothes.

"I've just slipped up from gran's, Sam. The old dear filled me in on your circumstances. Mind you, her mother can't half talk. In the end I had to sneak out the kitchen window like a criminal. I dearly wanted to take her delightful little puppy away if only for the night, although I fear it's too late for the poor girl now." James nudged Brian, breaking into laughter again.

"Now, to business," he said, calming a little, finding a seat. "The problem as I see it is threefold," he stated firmly, slyly handing Brian something who looked bemused, then highly appreciative. "1, how you got here in the first place. As everyone knows there is generally only one way that can happen. Who sent you on this wild trip? 'twas most unlikely to be your pal Ian's doing, otherwise he'd have rescued you long ago. We all know there are all sorts of shady characters out there, but thankfully none of them can penetrate the world you dwell in now."

"2, why you are here seems equally as important as the first. 3, which is probably the most important is how can we get you safely out of here? It goes without saying my good man, the third looks to be inextricably linked with the other 2 at the moment. Now Brian tells me you are able to sleep here. Not only that, it appears you also seem to be refreshed by it, much as on earth."

"Correct."

"I must say, most irregular, most enlightening. It seems you are bound fast by some rules, yet not others. For instance, we can recreate our dearest wishes here, whereas you cannot. That suggests much to me. Um, should we make a comprehensive list of such possibilities, leaving nothing to chance it should prove simple enough to make a comparison. Knowledge is power! Pray, sit with me a while, relax as best you can," he asked, politely offering up a wicker chair opposite. "Try to think back, not with emotion as that can sometimes cloud ones judgement. Use the part of your mind that deals solely with common sense issues. Speak from that angle only."

"Think back from the very moment you arrived here. What was different from when your arrived in the cave to now?"

"I could touch, feel, run as if I were solid and back on earth. I can rhyme, reason, move objects, sleep, smell, sweat, draw, I can dream, eat..."

"Why wasn't I told you could dream!?"

"'twas only this morning I knew."

"Oh, well fair enough. This case is far more complex than I first realised," James mused thoughtfully.

"No matter Sam, it will make solving it all the more satisfying. You have some of the finest minds known to humanity here, as well as your uncle," he quipped. Brian smiled. "But what of the dream's significance James?"

I related my tale from the moment I fell asleep back on earth.

"Sam, describe the imps at the waterfall."

"Have never seen them, just witnessed their effects."

"Shame, if we had we may surmise what their playful game was, and what sort of power they may possess, though this situation is very unlikely to be their work."

"Of course Sam, you do realise that you are most assuredly asleep right now dreaming, that the second dream started when you chose to fall asleep by the waterfall, that the third dream state you entered this morning was the third dream within a dream?"

"Er, I suppose. I've never really thought about it as deeply as that before."

"No, you wouldn't, they wouldn't, they don't. It's normally the outsider that has to step in and sort out all the complicated matters afterwards."

"I envy you Sam. I've studied dreams most of my life, but never come across one so complex and lucid. As Holmes would say – A most singular case. Intriguing on so many levels. One of the reasons why I became so interested in this subject was that I rarely dreamt, or remembered them, so have been living vicariously off others experience's. First I wanted to find out why I didn't dream much, why others did, and if there were explainable reasons for this."

"I see. So where is my body now James?"

"Oh, in the woods, by the waterfall, laid out on that rock you spoke of. That is the key to how you got here, but unfortunately is not the way back. A one way trip I'm afraid. You can't just go back to the 'cave of echoes', even if you were able to work out how to and expect to come and go as you please. Our spiritual universe as I know it simply doesn't work that way."

James continued. "The time I spent there convinced me it was where all memories and learning from all earths' inhabitants are held, to be accessed by the knowledgeable few."

"How did I get to the woods in the first place? I was asleep at home when the whole thing started."

"Ah, the possibilities are endless my child. You may have simply sleepwalked through stress. Seems you take work far too seriously and don't have other outlets such as hobbies. At the moment there are other considerations. For instance, I distinctly remember Ian saying dirty work was afoot earlier at Parson's Farm."

"And just where is Ian in all this?" Rose asked James.

"Exactly where I'd be. Standing by his side, watching over him. You have your very own guardian angel Sam. For the moment your physical body is safe. Though as Brian rightly said, that cannot possibly last forever."

"It does seem a little strange that Ian will not show himself to you. Of course it may well turn out that to see him in his true form may harm you in some way. I arrived at the firm conclusion long ago that nothing physical can penetrate this place unless a higher power allows it, so it's not surprising he had to contact you in this way via a bizarre dream. And we can be sure he sent you that dream in yet another way. You recall the temperature was 10 degrees when you first sensed Ian? And 'twas the same in your dream? It sounds like he needs this temperature to manifest himself in our world. It wouldn't surprise me if he could manipulate weather. And one simply does not travel at will around the universe and choose earth as a holiday destination, so obviously Ian is up to far more than petty meddling, if only we knew what. Sam, when we meet here again I shall tell you, or you shall tell me."

"That may be a very long time, I hope."

"For you, not for us."

"Then it's settled James, the game is on."

"It most certainly is," James agreed, pumping my hand. "In the meantime, we shall work these clues together. By together I mean me, by myself, with not a lot of help from anyone else!"

James sat on the grand chair nearest the window as Brian whispered to me, "Fancies himself a Victorian detective. Likes to sit at a certain angle while figuring out problems. Says sunlight beams directly into the brain, sends him secret coded messages, helps him work on a higher plane, transporting him to a different land. Cloud cuckoo land more like!"

"I am much better than that my fine fellow. The famous detective you speak of was based on me and me alone. The only major difference being I actually like people."
"That's possible," Brian said.

In due course James settled into a rhythm.

"Our first major clue seems to be when you arrived Sam. Apart from the restraints and the odd scratching noise you reported in the cave of echoes, our experiences match. The inscription on the plaque seems an odd mix if indeed it is Latin. It may be ancient, a new language, a code, or maybe a peculiar mix of all 3. Don't discount it may have served as a hypnotic suggestion designed to keep you there. It's also quite possible it's a red herring. Translated, the phrase means: 'Verily ye wisdome ford ye to occupy me.' Not: 'Bye ye wisdome shalle ye knowe me.' The second clue is that 'gnome' you met when you left the cave. There was no gnome when we passed through. That odd fellow really gets my gander up."

"But he helped me in the ballroom later with the doorman, remember?"

"Oh yes, right after he read your mind by touching your forehead!"

"Sam, a fellow who reads thoughts without permission is no different than a blackguard who distracts you whilst his confederate clubs you aback your head. 'twas a ruse, nothing more. For all we know the nasty occurrence in the cave and the gnome outside may well be the work of the same creature. Something says these earth imps weren't involved this time."

"We should now be thinking along the lines of what did he or she get from your mind, even though that will prove to be the harder of the two to answer. You'd seen him before in another dream long ago? I'll file that away for now."

"Moving on to our third clue. When I arrived at that point years ago the weird door was across the path, close to the cave, requiring little effort to find. Never forget you are here by a powerful force and some odd coincidences, and choices made by all parties have grossly distorted the final picture."

"Next we'll move on to what I deem minor points, starting with the so called doorman who assaulted you. He never gave us a second glance. We can discount him as a suspect. Threatened to throw you back down back to earth? I rather doubt he could. The fellow's dull wits have kept him there for so long. Gustav is just an unhappy pawn, blissfully unaware of his role in this affair."

"That the being masquerading as the gnome facilitated your run through the bar suggests he was determined you take a certain course, via the revolving door, which would have led you where? The séance you interrupted panicked them into accidentally sending you here instead. Those rank amateurs didn't even know where they were themselves! Now we have one filthy schemer etched out - the chameleon, we should look for co conspirators."

"Next one wonders what these shady looking Egyptian fellows were up to. Running from something or themselves?"

I drew the symbols on the floor.

"Nice. And the answer to their request?"

"3 symbols formed. I couldn't see them properly through the blue smoke."

A few quiet minutes passed. "'tis no ancient language I've encountered. 'tis likely a basic but effective portal spell."

"So we'll file that one away for the moment too, alongside the nimble fingered chameleon."

"Watch out for those Egyptian's Sam. I'd wager you'll bump into them again when you leave here and you can help each other."

"But how James?"

"Oh, I'll help all I can."

"You also mentioned the clock on the wall above the bar. 3:33. I recall it stopped at 12 when I breezed through. Definitely 3:33 and definitely still moving?"

"'twas 3:33 all right, but I couldn't say if it was still working."

"I see. Then your latest dream. The clock read 2:22?

"Correct."

"Then outside, the numbers changed again back to 3, 3, 3. The position the 3 ornaments fell in spelt it out. When you picked up the third all noise stopped. Sounds like you had the right idea there. Ian has helped us out far more than I first thought."

"No one sees the significance of the numbers?"

Not one of us did.

"'tis a blatant clue exactly as I said earlier," James re-emphasized.

"There's one more thing, my pocket watch is missing."

"Don't worry about it or of the future. There's reams of information to digest, but the air clears soon enough. Yes Sam, things will look up soon. If you think of anything, drop by any time. Can't stop for tea Rose, must rush, promised Mary I'd help with her costume. Wait till she hears all this," he said, picking up his large note stack. "I'll get right on it. Never fear friends, we'll talk soon" he promised. In a flash he was hurrying down the path.

Chapter 14

Several wonderful days passed which were spent exploring, eagerly mapping the area. One never knows when the lie of the land may prove useful. Moonlit nights were mostly spent gawping in awe at the island, making mental notes and trying to make out new constellations under strange stars. Then early one morning Jacob threw an invite through the front room window.

"Am meeting Henry, see you later," he said, speeding off.

"Oh, er...Henry the hazelnut tree," Rose explained.

"Henry the tree? Jacob has a fine imagination. We could make a promising writer out of him."

"I've never heard Henry talking, but stranger things have happened," she declared.

We were invited to celebrate my favourite aunts great, great grandmother's mother's 'first day.' 'First day' meaning the day she became fully aware and conscious of her new existence. The first few days didn't count, because she remained 'asleep'.

Aida's transformation was incredible, speaking with such depth, lucidity and passion. Her face had changed too, no eye glass for a start. Skin was tighter, plump, and far less wrinkly, like she'd been fully hydrated and pumped with nourishing food and vitamins during sleep.

Hair was darker, back straight, and she happily sat up without pain. And she was actually 108! Every so often excitement would build up so much Aida would leap up to hug everyone.

One couldn't mistake her family connection on Aunt Rose's side. Brian couldn't contain himself any longer. "Hey watch it girl, tea stains!" he joked, provoking her to more laughter and more hugs. Talk on her travels here was short and sweet. Aida never passed through the same stages as the rest of them. She remembered being in a dingy hospice, feeling a little woozy, then slipping into a dream. Her next memory was our bewildering meeting in the woods. Since then she'd improved beyond her wildest dreams.

"So you got a by. You probably deserved it," Brian piped up.

Our party nodded in agreement, so Brian decided chancing his luck. "So, tell me Aida, who is Danny? Got yourself a younger fancy man?!"

"I honestly don't know anyone by that name, worse luck!" she exclaimed gamely.

As much as I wished to stay, time was pressing.

"Sam, the things I can tell you. Come by later before you go, I'll give you pointers that will stand you in good stead," Aida promised amiably. I nodded enthusiastically. 108 years is an unimaginable amount of time to accumulate useful information, so it would be awfully wise to listen to her. I left the happy little company to it, while they giggled like naughty schoolchildren. I'd an important engagement to attend at James's home.

James had schooled me daily for the past week, emphasising the importance of my forthcoming trip out of here. When I arrived James was poring over large maps listing of many destinations he and Mary were to visit.

"Sam, I get the feeling this will probably be our last full session, so feel free to ask me anything relevant. I've formed an incomplete, working hypothesis. Our very good friend the angel watching over us is a big part of our path into here. It seems the heavenly girl is also a way out for you."

"Being a mischievous, prying imp, in your dream you found that the miniature angel in the garden well had a working instrument. The fact that it was crushed, leaving a lasting bruise suggests its importance. I also imagine someone, perhaps Ian wanted us to know that in certain circumstances the full version could be coaxed to play."

"I've studied that magnificent lady, but then Sam, you have access to various other areas we do not. For instance the mysterious hum you spoke of which was present at the midnight walk with Ian on earth and the weird shape shifting door. We can't hear it, but none of us have had the pleasure of Ian's company."

"When Ian took you on that wild woodland walk, he inadvertently left you with this extra auditory sense. 'tis only a faint shadow of its former self though, explaining why you hear it louder at some times than others. If we can accentuate and augment this endowment, even temporarily, then it shall boost your ability to pick up clues beyond us." I agreed, happy things were making a little more sense.

"So take yourself off around town to soak up our atmosphere. Sounds casual, but I'm counting on a positive outcome to complete a theory. You see, when a person is alone for an extended period, their senses can become vastly more acute. Meanwhile I'll create a working miniature musical harp."

"You see, our solution lies with sound waves. Much as some singers shatter glass, a replica angel's harp will resonate at the frequency necessary to produce the desired effect. I can't predict what that effect will be just yet. However, once the frequency is in the bag, I don't expect any outcome other than favourable."

"What else were you wondering about?" James asked intuitively.

"Why do I get strange tingling sensations in my fingers and toes?"

"Pins and needles my dear boy! Now, I've some more work here to complete."

"I'll leave you to it, James. Hope to see you soon, and thanks again for the lessons. If they don't get me home nothing will."

"Child's play. It'll be like you never left!"

What a most agreeable chap. I shall always remember him I thought, letting myself out.

Chapter 15

The weekend drew near. Day time jaunts had produced other unexpected wonders, but I hadn't seen much success with James' proposal. On the other hand I'd been lucky enough to speak to most of the villagers. People were polite, clever, existing modestly, yet could have had castles in the hills if they wished. All spoke gaily of the untold beauty of their village late at night, warming me to the idea of a midnight jaunt.

Today was Thursday the 24th of June 1920, 11 pm, though lord knows what date it was on earth. Rose and Brian had retired for the night. I stood in the front room marvelling at Rose's art work again under warm friendly candlelight.

Strange noises drifted from the garden. I cracked the front door open, finding a medieval torch set at each side. One crackled into life with a pungent, resinous smell. Just what I needed! I held it aloft, watching fiery globules drip onto grass. Thick shrubs rustled and parted behind me. "Bah, shucks, caught!" Jacob cried, dashing across the lawn.

"Gran is waiting to tuck you in!" I called after him.

"Yeah, see you Sam. Come on Jess." Jacob took off towards town, melting into growing darkness. Only rocks happily plunging into the stream broke the wonderful dreamy silence. I followed the path slowly, marvelling at mysterious, shadowy shapes created by the spitting torch. I fancied it gave tantalising glimpses of other paths unavailable to me till I was a permanent resident. Soon thick night air grew lighter, cleaner, fresher, invigorating. Before I knew it I'd turned off the main path and arrived at the beautiful isle. My torch dimmed.

Tonight the tiny wooden gate across the small divide lay open, showing a lively group of cute creatures gathered in a circle just beyond. One stood in the centre on tip toes, rising above the rest. From faint whispering sneaking round the trees I guessed he was finalising plans. His whiskers stiffened as he elegantly bounded backwards. The moment he landed cleanly each half of the circle broke up, slipping left and right to swirl patterns in the grass. As performers whirled faster and faster, others gracefully leapt over them, shooting sparkling rainbows between shimmering trees.

I applauded loudly, hoping for an encore. Instead the gifted troupe formed 2 parallel columns, allowing me between moving bushes. Blinding flashes shook ground as warm wind whooshed round trees. Next I was sitting on the moonlit island, looking out at the silent woods. Ground felt soft and warm, animals bounded near and a gorgeous firefly lighted on my hand. I glanced behind to see the glorious isle stretched off way further than it seemed to someone looking across the bridge. If only I had more time!

A minature fog horn sounded down towards the village. Mischievous Jacob still hadn't made it home. Its faint toot reminded me I had to move on. I needed sleep as well and had to meet James early morn. When I stepped off the isle my torch relit, weirdly lighting smaller treetops. Its soft tones shone into vegetation at the sides, creating a fantastical feeling of unreality to the shimmering woods.

Presently I arrived at the village entrance. Through the glowing gate all lay dark and quiet. All the torches burst into life one by one in a big circle, just enough to light the square with a dull, welcoming glow. Low murmuring sprung from near the angel figure. I found no known cause, but at the front of the base just below the soil line, I discovered a finely chiselled set of numbers: 15, 11. Bright blue moonlit streamed through taller trees behind the guardian. His long beams highlighted the musical instrument resting in her left arm.

My thumb throbbed softly, giving a weirdly strong compulsion to investigate the marvellous harp further. The feeling grew stronger still. Whilst I stood deliberating in the dim light the need grew even more intense. The town clock struck 12 once. I prayed none of the villagers would peer out of their windows to see me clambering all over their golden saviour. In a flash I'd climbed half way up. Gold proved very slippy, and I ended up clinging frantically to her chest in an embarrassing embrace.

Fresh winds called from far out to sea, shattering my weak grip. I fell to the ground in slow motion, squealing like a startled young girl. My freaky cry resonated shrilly round the square, reverberating like a grating whining air raid siren. I scrambled to my knees, expecting bedroom lanterns to light up. Luckily this never happened.

Whether it was the peculiar tone of my desperate scream resonating through the delicate strings, or the natural undulations of the whispering wind, the harp struck up a haunting tune, as if plucked by ghostly hands. Sadly the noise was louder than mine earlier! These people had been awfully kind, so I had no wish to disturb their sleep or mediation with such childish foolishness. But what was this? The tune continued, yet the strings had stopped vibrating. Soon it became obvious the strange, mounting melody was audible only within my head!

I'd report this to James tomorrow as agreed. No doubt he'd make far more of it than I could. The hour was late and I could hear the nearby northern sea gently calling. This would have to be my last call. I slipped silently past gran's house, witnessing a small shape slipping through the front window like a ninja master.

I navigated to the beach by moonlight, following a smooth sandy path thick with curious plants thriving on such powdery manure. I soon discovered a vast turtle army had sailed ashore from the oceans depths. Right up to the grassy bank, legions of blinking eyes shone like fallen stars. Far to the right I noticed a single gap in an almost unbroken line – that poor fellow only had one eye! Moonbeams danced across their shells, tracing gleaming multi coloured arches. I strained for mile upon mile, without spying a single speck of unoccupied sand. For a moment the open sea lit up behind the relentless charge. In those dream filled waters floated more, and behind more still. I became so overwhelmed by the incredible scene I felt faint. For quite some time all I heard was the constant churning of soft sand, the delicate plops of millions of eggs being placed carefully in their cradles, and foamy waves lapping gently against the heaving shore. I wondered whence the' invasion' came and if they were indeed mere turtles.

Jutting out a ways to the left lay a small empty wooden quay, but still seemed very interesting. When I drew near an odd greyish ghostly mist quickly swirled the length of the deck. The vaporous haze dissipated, slowly revealing sleek sailing ship masts, and a spotless brilliantly shining deck. Her lower hull was gay with mottled weed of the deep, festooned with coloured barnacles dripping with salty odours from breathless voyages across timeless oceans. This magnificent white ship had been expertly crafted for speed and longevity.

Up on the quay nary a soul stirred. I remembered such a ship from a weird tale in a magazine. An adventurous lighthouse keeper named Basil Elton had taken to the sea on such a fine vessel long ago, and had been dreaming on it ever since. But if the story were true he wasn't here now, and I had to head back home. As I passed through the square an urgent hiss darted from James' back door.

"Mary and I love watching turtles on the full moon. At a stretch we can see them from our bedroom window. Every year I tell her we can get a splendid view from down on the beach, but she is worried we may startle them. Well, you know, perhaps next year," he sighed with a grin. "I saw your amusing little display earlier. Quick, tell all." James seemed delighted at the night's occurrences, promising to stay up all night thinking it through.

"That's it 15, 11 – music! I told you didn't I? Good boy Sam, I knew you wouldn't let me down. Oh, one last point – I've discounted those mischievous imps you suspected as your captors. Now I'm leaning heavily towards all this being work of a powerful, disturbed individual that 'Sir Ian' knows very well. All facts fit so far. Wish me luck Sam. I can do this, just 2 more days! See you tomorrow, or rather today, bye."

The outside lamp went out with an imploding puff, and he'd vanished. I heard a table being knocked over in the dark, then nothing. James was a rare character. I still laugh out loud when thinking of him.

Chapter 16

'The best things in life aren't things.'

Art Buchwald

On waking I remembered this should be my penultimate day here. I'd hardly slept anyway, constantly waking at regular intervals, with weird flashing images like broken dreams. Ah, it'd be sad to leave here, but I still had an earthly life to live.

As I bounced out of bed floorboards creaked under the sudden onslaught. I threw open the delicate drapes to be greeted by a fabulous new world. As far as the eye could see countryside was lined with a perfect covering of crisp, delicate snow.

Thick, glistening icicles a metre long had formed from gutters. 2 fell off in the middle, showing Jacob whizzing past the front garden. The joy on his face as he bumped along the frozen stream showed this was his very first snow. Emitting alternate cries of disappointment and total delight, he attempted to master the intricacies of ice skating in an instant. Jess, his faithful little puppy gambolled along behind, yapping furiously, trying to catch each tiny snowflake before it fell to earth.

A homely circle of snowmen waited patiently on the front lawn, all complete with carrots stuck in very strange places! A baby squirrel tried climbing the frozen trunk of Rose's fine olive tree. Failing miserably, he chattered and clicked in frustration, much to the amusement of his boisterous friends. High in the treetops birds whistled and hummed merry, searching tunes. Their excited calls told all to spread the incredible news - Winter had come to Pine Meadows!

Well, quite a change by all standards. Enormous smiles played across my face as I descended the stairs, wondering what all the fuss was about. Hushed voices were engaged in conspiratorial whispers near the front door.

"Happy Christmas!" Aunt Rose cried, blowing a rolled up party toy loudly in my face.

"God... I nearly die.." I blurted, jumping backwards.

"We've never celebrated Christmas here before. It was Brian's idea," Rose confessed. He was chatting of days gone by last night, when he realised he never did find the time to spend a Christmas day with you, not once."

"It's true," he admitted guiltily.

"Well, go on give it to him," Rose whispered, playfully digging Brian's ribs.

"Sam I remember you earnestly knocking on my shed door from time to time, eager to see what inventions I may have come up with, whilst I continued deep in my work. Um, a bad case of monomania I suppose it was, though I could have controlled it better. Anyway, those times are gone and I've made you this," he said, handing over a small wooden oval object. "It's not much I know, but I hope you'll accept it in the spirit it's given."

"That's perfectly alright Brian. I understand now more than ever no one in this life is perfect, let alone me," I laughed. "I promise to treasure it. Er, what is it?" I said finally, turning the article over in my hand.

"Now that's the thing," Brian said, brightening up. "I'm not absolutely sure. I found it in our back garden yesterday. It wasn' t there minutes before. I instinctively worked it on my lathe, thinking there was a beautiful ladybird inside, eager to get out, but realised that splitting the wood would take away from the piece. I somehow knew it was almost perfect, so added a few nicks that felt right and attached a necklace cord. A good luck charm maybe? I just hope it will prove of some use to you on the outward journey."

Rose cut in. "James thinks you can take 2 objects out, possibly a third," she confessed, handing me a tiny velvet pouch filled with gold angel dust, saying it was part of the plan I'd discussed earlier and James would explain more later.

"Keep this till you get back home too," Rose added, pressing a small note into my hand.

"We're all off to the hall Sam. Today's the japer's birthday. You're welcome to join us. We'll be there till 3."

"It will be a riot!" Brian agreed enthusiastically.

"Thanks, but there's a few things I really need to finish here first."

As said earlier, I'd been awake most of the night thinking. Amongst issues already touched on, I desperately needed some sort of present to leave for uncle and aunt. Something thoughtful, along with a commitment to their wonderful philosophy.

As mother often worried about Rose and Brian, I wished I could tell them I'd advise her they were safe and blissfully happy, but knew I couldn't make that promise, for I'd already promised silence to Ian earlier. Perhaps I could ask him to bend his rules just once?

So what else could I leave? They had everything they needed here. Then I remembered whenever I complained about the increased expense it was costing me to keep him, Ian always made throwaway remarks, usually taken from philosophers of old. One in particular was: 'The best things in life aren't things.' The kind couple had talked much about situations they'd dearly liked to have changed when alive. Why it never occurred to them to ask yours truly to complete them back on earth is another of life's many mysteries. Rare selflessness seemed the answer. I left a note on the mantelpiece where uncle lit his pipe after an early evening stroll.

'To my favourite aunt and uncle,

The past 3 weeks have been the most memorable and happiest times in my entire life. I wish there was some way, indeed any way I could thank you more. Your genuine kindness has been entirely selfless, beyond all compare. Not if I lived for a thousand lifetimes could I dream to be graced with the good fortune of finding a more delightful group of people, nor a more charming place to spend eternity.

Could you possibly reserve me the enchanting little cottage opposite the angelic statue in the square? The week's retreat I spent learning with James there proved most exhilarating. The setting, the atmosphere, dare I say demeanour? When I left I took with me the strangest of feelings that the place was genuinely sad to see me go. I know how funny that sounds!

Rose. With regards to mother. As you know, her only brother was one of the brave souls that sailed off to the Great War, and never returned. All mother received as poor comfort was a brief note via the war office. Even now, whenever anyone mentions him the poor thing retreats to her room for the rest of the day. Father follows her without fail, but always comes back a few minutes later sad and defeated.

Mother always said she yearned for a sister, confessing she'd love it to have been you. The life after death debate leaves her dreadfully nervous, full of questions she daren't debate. E.g - Is your spirit still alive, or is death simply an unending empty blackness? Deep down she'd dearly love to have some sort of closure to finally put her mind at rest. Some folk require certain proof before we can allow ourselves to believe. If I can return to earth I'll concoct a plan to convince her of your survival. I pray Ian will help.

Brian, I remember you talking of your lifelong friend Thomas Davison, your younger sister and those lost patent documents you hid for safe keeping. Your partnership shall continue from across this great divide, as I will hand him those papers, with Thomas and Irene benefiting per your last wish.

Next I'll help Irene further. Before I left the gardener from the lordships manor was talking of a procedure called plant hybridization. If this proves a dead end I will see to it myself. It may take some time, but, mark me - Irene will have her proof of your survival too.

Once again, thank you dearly for sparing no kindness and for brushing aside the many faux pas I've made.

You say you sometimes see our earth's moon if you concentrate for long enough and think of us. I shall wait till it is full and happily gaze out there too. If it changes colour I'll know you are thinking of us too. Till we meet again under this cloudless sky when time stands still.

your adoring nephew,

Sam.'

I'd barely placed the note on the mantelpiece when the village clock chimed 12 dully in the distance. Infectious waves of laughter, music and singing drifted past the opening front door. There was only a few hours left before I joined them. I'd almost decided what I wanted my last day to turn out like. So off I trotted, chiding myself for not being an artist able to capture these magnificent scenes for posterity, though up here if I concentrated on a scene for long enough, it became indelibly etched somewhere in my mind.

My first port of call starting a large circle was Jacob's tree house at the far side of the woods. Leaving the cottage behind, my footsteps broke the top layer of harder snow with a wonderful crunch, puffing up beautiful fine powder into the cool air. Halfway there snow grew deeper, revealing I was first to venture thus far this morn. I trotted further still and over the brow of the hill when a wispy bearded gentleman twirling a shiny walking stick walked briskly towards me. Drawing near he broke the silence with a cheery hallo, playfully breaking snow apart with his stick. "Almost pleasant isn't it!?"

"Indeed," I replied, chuckling heartily - his genial manner tickling my fancy. As he passed he nodded knowingly. "Come along now Grace." Yet no one else was there. I watched him go his merry way. Now and again he'd stop, raising his stick here and there, pointing out interesting places to his invisible companion. Even curiouser that he left no footprints. Aunt had told me certain rare visitors were always welcome here, so I stood musing as he grew smaller and smaller.

In fresh snow ahead small prints led off into the trees. A new arrival? Every few metres prints would halt, change direction, restarting further on. Perhaps some exciting new bird?

10 minutes later I reached Henry, a grand old hazelnut tree standing at the entrance to thicker woods, proudly watching over his companions. Such a rare giant was particularly impressive dressed in snow. I entered the wood, hearing a string of creaks from the old fellow sounding like laughter.

Last up was Elsa's stunning isle. Still as staggering, just as interesting. There was no show this time though, but something seemed different. I'd no idea what.

Down in the village the clock struck 3 times, so I made my way quickly to the square, intending to head to the beach after the party. All lay unusually quiet. This was odd. I thrust my head expectantly through the town hall door, but the large room lay dark and deserted. A single spluttering candelabra revealed the riot planned earlier had gone perfectly. Gleaming musical instruments were still placed in their positions, complete with music stands for the score. Talented musicians had played Ravel's Bolero. Shame I missed that one.

Off to the left sat a large projection screen. Hanging from heavily decorated rafters right down to the floor swung a massive white sheet declaring: 'ALL AT PINE MEADOWS WISH THE THREE J'S THE HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS AND AN EVEN HAPPIER RETIREMENT!' Folk had written their own personal niceties and amusing anecdotes beneath. 'James Jodphur - 93 today and still an adorable little child at heart!' - Probably a sly one from Brian or the japer's amusing mother!

'To our universe's most tiresome meddler - Remember, I still have those photographs - Stay away from my vegetable patch!' – All the best, John.

'Thanks muchly for the amazing pep talks Jamie.' - Andrew.

'Thanks for letting me win your special birthday prize Uncle James. Will keep it to myself till needed as promised.'- Jacob, Jess and Henry. One lively character had left a poem: 'Jolly James Jodphur - The Naked Truth.'

'All were sitting round the fire busy lightly chatting.

The atmosphere fully charged,

yet all was calm and quiet.

In an instant in James barged,

and it turned into a riot!'

'twas late one tumultuous Friday night, invited to a ball.

As the Japer's jokes bound around, he thought he knew it all.

When time for speeches came around he feigned a great disaster.

The first time he made a sound the hall fell about in laughter.

If you'd seen him then as you see him now, you'd love him ever after!'

'Once upon a Christmas morn things were looking grim.

All us folk were sickly poor, all weak and deathly trim.

We adore how he trounced all before, clean and neat and prim.

For from beneath his cloak he produced a poke,

and all were filled to brim!'

'A desperate day in mid July, our village rife with thunder.

In the working shed the japer sped, his selfless mind asunder.

His ideas were for others where lesser would have plunder.

Down to his amusing socks, he really is a wonder!'

'twas party time once again,

even gran and friends were able.

Into the night they prance, their grace and dignity fable.

James the fellow gave up all to dance,

he ended up through the table!'

'Finally his earthly time had come,

most would cry, scream and pout.

Off his bum such a chum, we scarce could do without.

He joyly opened up the door so all could hear about.

'Come get my things before bell rings or simply do without!'

Now the time had come to rehearse James' theory. Out into the square went I, nervously checking pockets. My harp, the velvet bag. Yes, everything I needed was still there. 3:25 pm. On cue as I gazed into her eyes, the angel's harp glowed bright blue phosphorescence, increasing in increments of 3 every minute. Gosh, that meant 'twas actually today! Still, he'd only been a day out. James was a genius!

Now the blue haze became smoke melting into the woods. In response to the tiny replica harp being close to its brother, there came a grinding, and a marble stairway wound upwards from the angels base, terminating 12 feet above the guardians halo. I felt eager to be off, so flew up there. Half way I took out the tiny harp, pressing the delicate mechanism into action.

On the third rendition of the repeating tune lasting 3 minutes, the full sized harp started up at precisely the correct point, turning the piece into an exquisitely beautiful, harmonic number. Singularly peaceful, tranquil, warming, gentle as a summer's breeze, I imagined lying gazing up dreamily at cloudless skies. Such stirring music told of a journey with a grand, selfless purpose, long before needless greed and suffering.

More evocative secrets lay hidden in between notes - Hints of a state before the notion of time, a oneness with everything. A unique passage delving into those long forgotten dream realms, when even the universe was young. Peace and freedom roamed wild and free, great spirits glided through planets empty valleys, gently caressing unborn souls of plants and trees, whispering them into existence, soothing, nurturing, speaking softly of wondrous beauties they could become.

For endless aeons they travelled till the cosmos heart beat at last. Faint and faltering at first - an uneven, yet steady beat, then faster and faster to a mighty roaring thunder. And at the resonance of the glorious hum even the gods stopped to rejoice, marvelling at the magnificence they had wished. The sun itself was born, granting sentient life to barren planets, constantly radiating outwards.

I broke out of the captivating trance at exactly 3:32. Where had everyone gone? How could I say au revoir? The air became cool and still. Across the square soft crystalline flakes tumbled soundlessly. Seconds later muddy footprints were replaced with a fluffy velvety white carpet. I moved up steps a little higher and swung round. There they were - huddled in a happy little group at the foot of the stairs, gazing up proudly. James smiled broadly and winked. It was now or never.

"Quick son, this is your chance!" Brian urged. I waved gaily, climbed, then hesitated. For as exciting as the feeling was to climb those marble stairs ever onwards, I felt the compelling urge to drink in the intoxicating scene one last time.

Snow melt trickled down the glistening window pane of my homely cottage across the square. Late afternoon sun sneaked out from behind a cloud, melting all footsteps I'd left behind. Her rich, deepening rays tip toed up the steps, stopping respectfully at each one. And as I turned away, headed into the unknown, somewhere in the far distance I heard the haunting echo of a clock chime for the last time. 3:33. This was it!

A potent poignancy overcame me. I placed my feet carefully on the final step, the very one suns warming light had just reached. Buzzy, weirdly pleasant feelings tingled through my restless body, arching my back like a snake. For once in my life I felt truly positive for the future, realising come what may, the glorious sight of this peaceful village and these joyful, beautified faces would remain etched in memory forever.

Chapter 17

When you're going through hell, keep going.

Winston Churchill

I'd been warned such a dramatic shift in realities wouldn't be instant, so this interim period should be spent preparing mind and spirit. One simply couldn't expect to arrive back on earth instantaneously. James had been quite clear that at first things would be slow. After that lands and dimensions I may visit on my journey home could only get faster and stranger. He stressed to exhaust all avenues of investigation in each area whenever possible, as it would be impossible to go back.

Training had compromised many areas: Thinking on ones feet, stealth, camouflage, using available terrain to my advantage, how to take in a scene quickly to avoid making wrong, dangerous decisions.

Reading subtle clues in a character's body language, and their possible interpretations came next. This encompassed a whole host of phenomena like plants, animals, gaseous, water or fire based and spiritual and electrical life forms. James informed me that contrary to popular belief carbon based life was not the be all and end all. Since his passing he'd found that particular element made up only a tiny fraction of possible life forms out there. Life could spring from any substance, anywhere in any form.

Aliens were classed as anything that wasn't human in body or spirit. Therefore all they did was likely to be alien, thus difficult for me to interpret. E.g human morals could not be relied on with these 'fellows', for who could say one would not betray you, being unable to grasp the fundamentals of friendship and loyalty? The Jolly Japer clearly delighted in such lessons, the way he paced up and down the floor proving theories - he had such a thirst for knowledge and an innate need to pass it on it inevitably became incredibly infectious.

"If you fail, I shall fail Sam. And if that were to happen, it shall be because of a wholly unexpected factor outside the realms of our universe itself, not because I didn't give you all the ammunition you could possibly need." His learning was staggering. James Jodphur was a rare genius and an extraordinarily loyal friend.

In a blue flash I arrived on solid ground. As predicted I was back to an awkward, spectral form. Night had fallen. All that lit the way ahead was a pale, gibbous moon. I floated nervously just above a large dirt track. To my left lay an enormous cliff. Ground at its sides appeared cracked, crumbly, highly unstable. Despite obvious opportunities afforded by my current state, a flash of intuition warned me to stay clear. My top priority was to find a way back to my body as quickly as possible before it was too late.

To my right rose a steep clay bank, beyond which lay black, menacing nothingness. At the foot of said bank stood thin trees, whose trunks grew crooked and twisted. I moved forward gingerly till striking the top of a rise.

Thunder roared, lightning flashed, highlighting my vague, bent silhouette against the high sandy banks. Heavy rain followed, passing through me, relentlessly pounding muddy ground. Dirty brown sand and filthy water pirouetted high into the air. Slamming back down, they created colossal shaky craters passing for giant's footsteps. Backwash flooded them quickly, oozing out fresh, bubbling mud from deep beneath the surface. I shivered violently. My ghostly ethereal form shuddered as my memory seemed to float off, often returning fractured. Something felt terribly wrong, like my life force was failing. I continued onwards, praying for answers.

Down in that deathly deep gulf all stayed dark and dreary. No rain fell there, only a pale suspicious mist rising steadily. Up here a raging storm begun again without wind. Lightning flashes betrayed a log cabin not far ahead. Now rain fell horizontally, attacking the sodden bank. Trees creaked unnervingly under the strain. Creeping closer to the cabin I brushed aside grimy webs hanging over the stairs. Up hewn steps lay a thin veranda, just wide enough for a person to stand and gaze out over the landscape, or for someone to gaze inwards.

Smoke chugged out the chimney like a steam train, hanging in air, gathering into large elliptical clouds jiggling from side to side. Suddenly a single sooty black puff shot upwards, joined by an extraordinarily malodorous smell. Solid rock behind the cabin reached far too high to float over. To my left lay a small garden, bordered by thick bushes. Exploring this area tickled my fancy. There was no room behind the cabin, so I contented myself to go over it instead! Tumbling over and over I eventually effected a textbook landing. Aha, over in the far corner was a miniature grey gravestone. Fresh cut exotic flowers poked their heads out a crystal vase at the base. An inscription read: 'Here lies the mortal remains of Charles Dancer Smythe. Passed quietly as foretold in the season of the Great Spirit, aged thirty and two.' Written beneath lay:

'When we dream, we will find each other.

Love always,

Jade.'

Apart from a spectacular plant display and a healthy wooden bench, there sat a small ornamental dry fountain. Cleverly hidden under a bush against the fence line lay a small, square shaped contraption, soundly locked by thick, twisting roots burrowing their way deep underground. An exit?! This would prove quite a test of my limited spiritual powers.

I decided to check out the lodge for clues first through its only window on its right. Background noise quelled my stealthy approach. My training was paying off. Positioning myself where the pale moon cast most shadows, I carefully timed swift glances inward to coincide with intervals between lightning strikes.

Sitting with her back to the door, warming hands over a crackling fire was a lady, clad in a neat brown shawl. Long tresses of raven black hair tied up in neat lengths reached the floor. I suddenly realised she seemed to be staring deeply into the fire as if waiting for something. Every so often I swore she smiled. Of course, she could see me! This shrewd woman had been cleverly waiting patiently for that extra flamey flicker that leaps from the blazing coals fiery belly. If one stares in the same spot for long enough, one can sometimes glimpse what's behind you, though this requires intense concentration and faultless discipline.

Here sat an adept at subterfuge, toying with me. Fears attacked me from all sides. Again I felt that nervous feeling that something was very wrong here, so I clumsily headed for the exit. I attempted to spiritually connect with its intricate locks. Bah, foiled again. My heart plunged hearing a weathered door thrust open, light footsteps and honey blossom scents. I inhaled deeply, receiving a sense of endless meadows, towering peaks and gay abandon revelling in the joy of life and nature itself. One remarkably cheerful voice floated down the steps.

"Leaving so soon? Shame, I thought we may become friends."

A commanding female presence now peered in the garden entrance. My word she was indescribably beautiful.

"You were observing wrongly by the way," she laughed, noticing my fixed stare, throwing her locks away from gorgeous emerald eyes. I noted they naturally expressed a distinct sense of trustworthiness - a rare look indeed.

"Come in Sam. Creeping about in this weather, you'll catch your death!" she mused, sashaying up the stairs.

So there I sat in the cabin, watching attentively while her eyes stirred up the fire. Fresh flames highlighted hidden lustres in those elegant locks. Jade would make a perfect spy. Folk would tell her anything. I sat with my hands placed on my knees, unconsciously eyeing the door.

"There's no need to be nervous," Jade purred sweetly, "You followed your instincts, feeling the negative one that came before, which was why you fled," she explained in a sumptuous, heavenly voice, pointing at clothes and a crude mask in the corner. "We had a nice, polite chat. I told her she had no business here, so she left with her tail between her legs."

"Oh, introductions. I'm Jade. Welcome Sam."

"What was Doctor Solomon doing here?"

"Hush, he wasn't. I can only tell you what you need to survive. Ah, do you realise how precious that amulet around your neck is?"

"No, yes, no, well a bit, a friend made it for me," I stuttered, feeling terribly foolish.

"Then it was a clever and especially good friend indeed. I'd keep such a rare treasure exceedingly well hidden."

"Are you a spirit?"

"After a fashion."

"I see, what was it you wanted to discuss, Jade?"

"How to talk to girls," Jade teased.

"Why would you want to help me at all?"

"Some of us are like that you know. There's no hidden agenda. We see a like minded soul in distress and we act. My time here is short. I regret I cannot answer many questions, but I can give fair warning of events to come."

"Come, take my hand," she offered. Glorious pulsing electricity sped up and down my spine, lodging at the back of my skull. Jade looked deeply into my eyes, searching for some hidden cue. She could have stared into them for eternity for all I cared.

"I can tell you that before this is over you will have been tested beyond virtually all on earth. If you fail there will be no sanctuary this time. The moment you truly give up hope will be your last. Fight to the very end. Never surrender!" she cried urgently. "Ah, I see it now - a dark shadow watches over you."

"Ian?"

"No. That is all." She stopped abruptly, sitting back heavily. Atmosphere grew quiet.

"Jade, who's Charles?"

"My other half," she sighed.

"This was his house when he lived, though it was far from here. I come here once a year to laugh, cry, sing and honour his memory. Imagine my disgust to find his abode sullied with lowly ruffians like her, who'd mindlessly destroyed land he'd tended for centuries."

"Do you expect him back soon?" I asked quietly.

"Sadly I cannot tell. 'tis often so with loved ones. A gift such as mine has two sides. He's been away so much longer than expected. Where he resides now, in a thousand years he has not dreamt. That is the problem."

"Perhaps this may help?" I said hopefully, pulling the miniature velvet pouch out. Between leaving the village and this moment it had somehow been imprinted with the symbol of ying and yang.

"You're sure? There's but a thimbleful there," the beauty asked doubtfully, gazing longingly at the glittering substance.

"We'll share. Father says you can take the measure of folk if they treat you well when they have no earthly reason to. Please help yourself," I offered.

"Bless you Sam," Jade murmured. "This precious dust cannot be found or stolen - it has to be given freely without deceit on the receiver's part, or its powers are nil. I need a mere third," she confessed, dabbing a touch into a silver chalice.

"I shall sprinkle it over his grave under a yellow moon and dance amongst the stars," she laughed, jumping to her feet. "I shall bear his children, each one prettier and quicker than the last," she swore, dancing round the room. "Soon we shall be together for all eternity. Sam, I shall tell him of you, of my castle on Eikorion, of your gracious gift and selflessness. Now you may join us when you're ready. Come, take my hand, there is one more."

Jade looked deep into my eyes, searching through limitless time and space, speaking softly.

"Sam, make haste. There isn't long - though he'll die before you do."

The room partly dissolved, leaving vague, ghostly shapes. Morphing amongst furniture swirled a forest, a crystal clear waterfall and a youth wearing thin night wear lying on a long rock slab. Around his pale face hung a ghostly grey pallor, tainting eyes with an unnatural mix of dirty brownish black. I hardly recognised the ailing youth as me.

I watched the scene updating in weird flickering stages, as if certain parts had happened earlier, and others later. Forest animals bounded over 2 sets of footsteps leading into the clearing. A wide circle around the scene lay green and lush, whereas outside this warming sphere of light hung an oppressive black cloud, swirling ceaselessly.

Good lord! My eyelids flittered rapidly, my chest rose slowly and my lips turned blue. Instantly a small golden ball burst through the darkness, rushed to my chest, glowing brightly. Trees bent inwards. All life within the circle lost its fabulous sheen. A buzzing droned as the ball grew rapidly to an enormous size and vanished. In a blink it returned, bursting over my body in cascades of golden sparks. My breathing became more regular, but the rest of my body seemed the same. Back to its original size, the ball made a final pass, before hanging in the air above my right shoulder.

Nightmarish scenes faded away as the lodge slipped back into focus. A few smouldering embers clung desperately to life in the charred grate. Morning had broken. All was calm, dry and quiet. Sadly beautiful Jade had gone. I floated to the escape route, stopping at the fountain spouting liquid rainbows high into the fresh air. I caught a glimpse of my spirit form in the spray, noting its colours flickered uncertainly like a failing bulb.

Luckily the escape hatch now lay open. Deep down in the tight, dark tunnel my amulet glowed dully enough to see muddy water trickling down dank mossy walls across a sandy floor. I searched vainly for hidden passages by travelling into the sides. This maze meandered up and down in all directions, yielding many false and real dead ends.

Rounding a steep rise, I floated past a torch embedded in a niche. I grasped it when it burst into life. Then there drifted a faint scratching echoing against walls far to the rear. I continued onwards. The urgent noise grew louder, accompanied by heavy, excited breathing, like hounds at the start of a wild hunt.

In panic I dropped the torch, which went out. Stifled by the gloomy atmosphere I panicked further. Walls wobbled, pulsated, moving in faster and faster as I flew onwards. Still the wild scratching drew closer, melded to a fevered rasping, choking, screaming of increased excitement and malevolence. My pursuer kept pace no matter how fast I went, slowly gaining. I screamed in terror as the entity cackled and laughed insanely close behind.

My chest suffered sharp, intense crushing sensations deep inside. Ahead a tiny circle of light pierced the oppressive darkness. I flew through the tiny hole, exploding outside into a bizarre world, falling helplessly to an unseen floor far below. At least that was what I imagined was happening. After falling endlessly with no reference point with which to ascertain speed and direction, I heard, nay felt a small pressing crunch at my crown, realising only at that instant the sensation of falling made no sense - if anything I'd actually fallen up?!

The small land mass I'd been driven into turned in a series of juddering motions through 180 degrees, leaving me still stuck in the same precarious position. Odd, soft, rubbery clear material wobbled vigorously across its length, like gigantic waves on an increasingly violent sea.

Whilst still fixed rigidly, I hurtled at increasing speed towards an endless horizon, till three tunnels of light opened up, each blinking constantly before gaining final fullness. Two lay below, one above. At the same moment a morphing blob appeared on top of the lands furthest edge, constantly changing size, phasing in and out, mindlessly slithering this way and that.

At one point it dropped towards me, taking no heed of the presence of the cosmic vortices that ran horizontally at a horrendous pace. I wondered whether I was in fact moving at all or maybe the sensations were just happening inside my head, because the only view I had was through my legs. Then the senseless movements of the blob changed, turning towards me again with deadly purpose.

Partially congealed globules dripped off the glistening thing when the inevitable happened. The incredible force generated by those energies above built up to such a degree that only tremendous howls increasing beyond all measure remained as my spirit spun out of control, sticking me fast in the smallest tunnel. Naught but screaming turmoil was unleashed within.

Upwards I saw the translucent life form had now gained solidity, changing to deep, sooty black. I vainly attempted to reach my golden dust, but was far too late. An increasing build up of energy behind spat me out through the horizon in wild showers of super heated sparks and eye watering blurs.

Now the scene became deathly deep, booming black till small white flashes lit the area up far and wide, only highlighting random unknown objects. I floated aimlessly around many incomplete ones, whilst others were exceedingly bizarre, alive in some weird sense, exquisitely detailed, throbbing with charged energy from the preceding world.

When I wondered on the meaning of it all the background flashed to eye melting white, a far off screeching gained definiteness, never quite fading away, and dozens of different 'items' were now highlighted in pulsing black flashes. Incomprehensible shapes appeared when this new world turned as blue as a rare new moon.

Everywhere started rippling crazily. I stared down at my hands, equally thrilled and vexed as millions of tiny black, greyish specks fizzed angrily, forcing me to a nauseous, debilitating angst. If I'd been able I'd have retched uncontrollably. I concentrated instead, quickly closing and opening eyes 3 times.

On third glance space cleared back to white and thick black passages snaking from behind, leading everywhere. This was when the real confusion began. Upon this new 'board' vague shapes and human like figures merged at weird angles, still with that terribly unnerving cacophony screeching incessantly, which seemed to drain my spirit and will to continue. For the first time I chose to move towards them, only to discover that this curiosity moved them away in equal measure.

Yet again the environment slipped to a blank nothingness for quite some time. Immeasurably perplexed I finally dared to move again, when this existence built itself up in conjunction with my own movements, perfectly keeping up with me faster and faster, but only in the direction I was currently facing. For if I looked away, then those avenues for potential progress were wiped out and permanently closed.

Directly behind stayed highlighted, only not quite as brightly as ahead. It seemed return was impossible that way, because from out those infinite depths spewed nauseous blackness. Whereas previously there was no atmosphere as such, there now roared deathly cold.

Then the unnerving scratching returned like dragging nails on a blackboard. This time I couldn't bear to see my pursuer and immediately used a pinch of dust. Woe! Far too much spread far too quickly in too much haste in a wide arc all around.

Dust spread out further and further, each grain pursuing its own agenda, but working together as a whole as if possessing a single mind, forming a large golden ring, yet with dangerously suggestive gaps left. I fretted it wasn't enough - the circle was incomplete. Just as fresh energy flow passed between each one of them, the golden ring melded together forming a wide, well rounded barrier, which moved me slowly into the scene at odd angles. Spirits were raised here. This was it! Freedom! All lit up as the ring moved slowly past and it seemed the space, while still unfeasibly large wasn't as limitless as first imagined, 'twas only because of the limited view earlier.

None of the wild imaginings of before followed, only frustrated screams of my maddened pursuer as I drifted away from them. As those angry cries grew fainter the protective ring dimmed, slowly moving inwards. When reaching my body's weak outline it shrunk down to a minute point, taking my consciousness with it.

Extremely difficult to explain further. Was asleep, then wasn't. Was running for my life through our woods, then was standing still, enclosed in perfect serenity. Unfamiliar woods sprang up. I would have sworn Ian was there because that tingling sensation ran down the back of my neck, till I discovered an uncomfortable, thick swelling there instead. I almost threw it off in fear and loathing, till realising 'twas simply my amulet thrown about in the mayhem.

Shadowy trees bent, snapping viciously to the grim tune of a dark shadow moving in from the south. In desperation I ran, throwing down some light, shimmering powder which glowed duller. Only a few grains remained and I was blowing hard. I didn't have the strength to jink left or right. I sorely needed rest.

My only escape was a tiny niche in towering rock dead ahead. I strove onwards hopelessly, knowing my failing spirit couldn't penetrate more than a few metres through solid stone. The sheer emotion of the chase and the accrued momentum of the desperate flight must have carried me through. I felt being held back near greenish light, then delivered head over heels on a dull sandy floor, becoming completely solid again.

I scrambled forward, discovering all around was dry rock and stone, rising hundreds of feet above. Beautiful, I was trapped, and now I heard heavy breathing and ceaseless snorting as a raging creature forced its way through the wall. I fell to my knees, feeling utterly defeated.

I'd been thrown on this forsaken plane, left alone to survive. To have come this far only to be frustrated was the sad story of my entire existence, for now I would unable to fulfil promises, and have no future in our waking world. Would anyone ever find my earthly remains? What of my spirit? Where in God's name was Ian, and why would he let this happen? And so, in a final act of desperation and defeat I wept bitterly at the ungodly injustice of it all.

There was now no heaven for me, only hellish emptiness of infinite space, a mindless slave to a demonic spawn who'd... I barely looked up when that foul snorting increased in ferocity, so scarcely registered the gold dust dropping at my side. There was no where left to run, the game was well and truly up. Now there was only one thing left to lose. My spirit had nothing left to give. I gazed blurrily at a forming red haze, my head maniacally lolling to and fro. I weakly called all God's names, begging forgiveness.

Red turned to blue haze. An ever shifting amorphous black mass hovered closer, becoming denser, coalescing into something resembling gigantic boar and many others. Although my senses were nearly gone I knew it circled with increasing menace, watching, waiting till the time was right. It was master here so would dispose of me on its own terms. It didn't care one bit for the dust that lay by my side, just kept snorting and wailing terribly, threatening bloody vengeance. Presently the dull golden shimmering faded away.

Then blinding blurs brought a whiff of centuries of exploding sweat and sand, blotches of dark skin and trailing white smudges. God almighty, they'd landed plumb on top of the terrible beast! 'twere only stunned, and in a second it turned to face this new threat and would have run the smaller one through, but for dozens of gleaming flashes of a stubby scimitar from behind. After a terrible moaning and thrashing it was no more.

I'd laid flat out on the sandy floor by now, with those two familiar Egyptians from the barroom towering over me. I couldn't speak yet and was unable to attempt sign language. There was still no exit and the taller of the two still held that dripping dagger tightly, looking around furtively. The excited pair jabbered wildly, roughly pulling me half way to my feet.

Over at the bubbling, stinking mass that once was some ungodly creature, piercing furious screeches interrupted our meeting as a dark orb flew at me with fantastic speed, grazing my amulet as it soared by, smashing the wall behind, exploding into a thousand sparks that shot up through the cavern high above.

I sank to my knees again. Now he knew I was no threat, and their enemy was also mine, the rather grimy fellow tried to help me up, yet I was still too weak. He offered tiny sips from a smelly leather flask. I watched curiously as the other fastidiously checked walls for hidden switches? Lighter coloured sandy stone was given special attention. Strange, his dogged persistence reminded me of an old nursery rhyme.

His violent companion had calmed down, sitting crossed legged, staring blankly - looking into space itself for an answer. His partner didn't give up so easily. Eventually the hopeful man ceased searching walls. His face grew grimmer, and he began a new quest for a hidden key or mechanism by tirelessly digging in shifting sand.

I had to admire such boundless spirit and tenacity as he divided ground up into ever decreasing circles. Presently he drew closer, motioning me to move. Suddenly he almost leapt out of his skin, violently staggering backwards.

In a moment he was up, eyes fixed, unblinking, larger than giants dinner plates, gleaming like erupting volcanoes - like a devout zealot facing God. 'twas like if his eyes left me, I may fade away. He crept closer unnervingly, obsessively pointing at my chest. I shrank back. My movement slowed when his friend bowed to me, tapping his chest. My word, he desperately wanted my amulet through barter, but showed empty hands and frustration as he'd nothing to trade.

I needed to explain our situation as best I could to the eager fellows. I feigned sleep, rubbing my eyes, thrusting arms out in front, reminiscent of a horror film.

Then I drew the pair of them as best I could in the sand, lying flat out on a ritual Egyptian death slab, with their spirits rising above them. They jabbered for a while in shock and sadness, but now both understood they'd died long ago. I placed my amulet in front of them, tracing the ritual I saw them perform earlier. They knew what their part of the trade would be. The taller fellow talked vigorously, pointing at the heavens, through walls, energetically recounting strange tales of strange lands and increasingly stranger experiences.

They'd travelled this way since their death, hunted by strange, nameless things haunting these other dimensions. Filth encrusted dress, pale, pitted skin and crude tattoos spoke of thousands of years ago to the time of powerful pharaohs, when they were forced to work on pyramids that channelled great magical power to the ruling elite. The hapless pair met untimely deaths under heavy stone. Perhaps they reasoned they'd angered mighty gods, this constant, never ending chase being their punishment. Now both were very eager to move on to their final destination.

I bowed low, presenting them the rare amulet onto a nearby rock. One prised a ruby red scarab beetle from his own amulet that instantly absorbed into mine. The new construct buzzed loudly like angry bees, sprouted legs and wings, turning to face its master.

The fellow chanted, drawing strange floating designs in the dusty atmosphere, touching each of us in turn. The weird creature lighted on his shoulder, humming agreeably.

Overwhelming happy, the fellow indicated I should be ready for the final ritual. This began by drawing symbols on floor, chanting, followed by tremendous earthquakes conjuring green pulsing smoke combining with red dust drawn from deep within quaking walls.

Then the symbols morphed into a transparent bubble which I stepped inside, watching its hypnotic liquid colours ebb and flow like a gentle sea, but growing faster, swirling clockwise motions, turning the syrupy substance to a light rolling shower.

3 jarring bumps spaced further apart shot through my chest, jerking me back and forth like a drunken puppet. In between starts was the strangest sensation of falling backwards continuously, uncontrollably, but free from fear, faster, faster and faster.

Everything happened so quickly my eyes bulged from the rushing, rising, blasting wind. Between the blurry scenery the wind carried the most peculiar noises I swear whispered my name, willing me to stop. Once I passed one of such enchantment, a mournful, yearning, gorgeous song I'd have stayed forever. Thankfully I'd no control for the bubble's integrity held me fast, increasing in speed even more, making more alluring visions frustratingly brief.

At the edges of vision were jagged glimpses of a floating desert island whirling crazily round a bright flashing star. Further down, the captivating illusion of an elderly mage, replete with crystal staff perched atop a precariously high tower. A wooden torch flickering behind oddly lit his long, knee length beard shifting pendulously in the stiffening breeze.

Above formed a decadent golden city complete with inhabitants waving and beckoning from fabulously high balconies, whilst in courtyards and open grassed spaces gay pipers floated sweet, soft melodies upwards on friendly currents of warm air. Below remained a kaleidoscope of twisting, churning, shimmering colour and a queer chomping sound as the bubble picked up yet more speed. This and more are what came to pass during that fantastical flight. I knew these were but few of the infinite other dimensions, all as tempting as any on earth, only infinitely more beautiful.

I felt another bump when sensations, music and voices increased significantly, petering off in smaller waves till a solid, final bump, when sights ceased into the blackness of deepest sleep.

Chapter 18

I came to cold, wet and weak on the forest slab, being roughly roused by father. While carried back home on his bumpy old dog cart, he disclosed the postman said he'd glimpsed me at the edge of our woods, dressed from head to toe in bright green, beckoning furiously through early morning mist. Obviously this was totally impossible. Knowing how religiously I kept to a strict timetable, holidays included, father's suspicions were aroused further discovering my empty bed chamber. Once at our woods forest entrance, father recalled running around wildly, shouting, 'I have 2 sons, I have 2 sons.' 'tis most strange how a parent's brain reacts in times of mortal crisis. I'd been gone at least 36 hours by then in unusually cold temperatures. If Ian hadn't helped me during this very vulnerable period I'd have easily died.

"This behaviour goes beyond a joke Sam. If your mother ever found out about this she'd never let you out of sight for the rest of her life. I ask nothing this time," he said, looking gravely disappointed, "But mark me, if anything of this nature ever happens again, I will be asking a whole lot of questions, and you'll be answering them." The bizzare situation was left at that. Nothing more was ever said. Having dried out somewhat, and after devouring a hearty meal I waddled upstairs, lapsing into sound, unbroken sleep, only waking after 12 hours to incessantly rattling kitchen cupboards.

My family had gone to town. On the bed side table lay my handkerchief, pencil, jotter and faithful pocket watch still ticking away and set correctly, which was bizarre, but a huge relief.

Whilst dressing I was delighted to find Rose's letter still intact too. Crass and ridiculous as it sounds I slipped it into the drawer for safe keeping, leaving it untouched for almost a year! I immediately stormed down to the kitchen, adamant I was to be granted an explanation, finding a very casual Ian.

"Oh, hello there young fellow. Have been through all the other rooms. Just checking out the kitchen. See, look closely, aha, just as I thought - There lies a nasty splinter on the handle, best be careful, a chap may really hurt himself on that. Yes... suspect I could probably fix that if I'd the mind to. However, was just thinking of..."

"I'm waiting," I cried loudly, not distracted by such childish behaviour.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, after rambling mindlessly. In that instant all he'd subjected me to – the late nights, the broken days, the teasing, the secrets – every single incident flew to mind in vivid, animated colour - everything came to a head and I lost my temper for one of the few times ever. To my shame I confess to have thrown my frustration at the general at Ian too.

"Sorry won't work this time Ian," I shouted truculently. "What I've been dragged through requires a whole new vocabulary. This has to be something to do with you."

"Er, sorry. But can't..."

"One claims the sacred ties of friendship," I argued angrily, pacing the floor, shouting loudly, "But one is no friend at all if one does not trust the other implicitly." With that outburst he was gone, leaving me sitting at the table, head in hands, sinking deeper and deeper into inconsolable, black depression. One half hour later he returned, a tad more subdued. There were no words at first, but I knew enough about him to recognise the signs alright.

"Alright you were correct, Sam. I should have told you earlier, but was distracted."

"Distracted. I see. And this distraction took divine precedence over my well being?"

"No, not exactly. I thought this situation would have been remedied long ago, but has proved to be far more tiresome that first expected," he said, sounding like he was put out at having to even think of it.

"I see, now we're getting somewhere," I nodded wisely, beginning to sound more like a priggish headmaster disciplining a pupil, than a chancer way out of his depth.

"Was searching for a soul," he confessed, seeming suitably chastened.

"A rare soul sought by many others without my discretion."

"Ah, ha, I might have guessed – Decorated Sir Ian Peters, a common bounty hunter."

"This soul has nothing to fear from me. She was once my friend, my pupil, my..."

"Psh, quite what she'd be doing with the likes of you," I spouted, adding, "So what do you plan on doing when, or if you finally catch up with her?"

"I will allow her to find rest."

"Hang on there, that doesn't sound a far cry from what other fellows would do to her!"

"There's a marked difference. Do you realise how deeply she planned this, with what forethought? She deliberately waited till your house was empty, so there was a sufficient period for her to work when you would not be missed, and then she tried to kill you Sam, purely to distract me. I cannot allow her to get away with such despicable, wanton cruelty as that, else where would we be?"

Ian continued frankly, which made a very pleasant change. Take from his story what you will.

"Before you ask, she has no name that could be translated into English. Will call her Fira for now. When we're young and reach a certain age, we're requested to take an interest in those from neighbouring dimensions who didn't have the advantages in life we're lucky enough to enjoy. We couldn't pick them ourselves, they had to pick us."

"This particular female had the highly unlucky fortune of being an orphan. I say orphan, of course she had parents as such, only they left as soon as she came to be. No one knows where, nor why. Because of this I truly felt for her Sam. I was blessed with the most delightful childhood, indulged in every whim, so felt compelled before the outset of our ceremonies to request her as my pupil and confidante. Her or no one. I almost drove mother to madness to this very end. Believe me, that is no small task. 'It is not my place to intervene. Rules are there for good reason,' she'd smile sweetly. 'Whatever will be will be.'"

"That indescribable night our 'wedding' ceremony went exactly as I hoped. As soon as we met I knew we were destined to become greatest of friends. Relations between teacher and gifted pupil progressed extremely rapidly. Our kind mature extremely quickly up to aged 2 you see. One of your earth years being equivalent to 9 of ours. Then our maturation naturally slows to a crawl. We're one of very few in this universe that can achieve this. I have decided recently never to die. Barring very few catastrophes, none of us need to either. All of us are created with what you will come to call the genetic imprint, the extensive memories of our parents and immediate grandparents, though these are capped, buried deep till we reach the age of one, and are revealed at our parents discretion."

"As I keep telling you time as a constant is a complete fallacy. It doesn't flow there as on earth, it isn't allowed to. We learn to manipulate 'time' for our own benefit and amusement. So unless we desire it there's no day, no night, no seasons, no weather, no atmosphere, no pain, no death. If we wish to experience our world in a different light, we simply wish it. If I wanted to see what my home planet looked like as a gaseous purple cloud with baboon legs, I'd simply change it."

"If another wished to experiment with weather, mixing hail, rain, fog, sunshine, and so on all at the same time they could. The only limit is our imagination. And just because I wanted to play football with surrounding planets, whilst a friend was using them as giant gobstoppers to impress a younger playmate, neither of us need worry about harming the other, for we make our own reality using an entirely different time frame, experiencing it purely in the present. Again, all other residents need not be affected in any way. This isn't magic, just a fundamental understanding of ourselves and constituents around us. Because of these singular skills we've remained hidden from the envious eyes of those who'd seek only to dominate, use and destroy."

"After our ceremony some choose to live in the past, some only in the present, some in the future. Some beastly show offs make the convoluted choice to live in all 3! Don't ask me to explain that one, for to you it would be as infinitely complicated as it sounds. On earth I fear too many of you live in the past, while not enough choose to live in the present, whilst planning for the future. Well (sighing) that brings me back to, where was I? (pause) ...After the ceremony."

The poor little fellow talked with a rare depth of real feeling, showing such innate vulnerability, it proved far more difficult to feel anywhere near as annoyed as earlier. Consequently the intense anger which was contrary to my nature subsided and I actually started sympathising.

"By the age of one and a half I'd experienced such wonders with her...Sam, I'd have shared, given her anything she wanted, anything she needed – and she likewise. I can't describe it in any other way - I was her and she was me. You may choose to call it passion, devotion, love, yet it was something far more. I trusted her implicitly, but alas she stole from me one night, from all of us, then fled."

"Yes, I still can't quite accept it as true, even after everything that's passed since. She stole from me while I slept. Information it seems, don't know exact particulars, how much, let alone why. She knew I was vulnerable while I slept, we all are to some degree. For all our learning we cannot defend ourselves from those we truly care about. My usual automatic blocks failed miserably. As soon as I awoke I knew. I felt it deep inside. My aura, my life force, my very being itself had been damaged. We all have 3 energies at birth. With her went not just important data and trust, but one of mine."

"For almost 5 of your centuries I've chased her through a thousand stars corona, across a million universes, a billion planets, earth being the latest. She knows I'm following her, whilst I furiously attempt to repair the increasing damage she selfishly leaves behind, for 'tis my fault - mine alone. I trusted her, so must take sole responsibility. I fear her end game seems dangerously vague. Does she seek her parents? I don't know. Her immediate concern seems to be leaving widespread panic and destruction in her wake. Fira seeks the weak, the defenceless, those creatures, those souls across endless stars that harbour deep resentment for troubles past. Here she sows hateful seeds - feeds them wildly dangerous ideas well above their station."

"Sam, I can feel your brain exploding. Yes, Fira was the entity who fished young Timmy Bridewell's corpse living out the river. Fira haunted old man Parsons for 2 months straight, driving the deeply confused, intemperate fellow to the brink of insanity till we intervened. Yes, she was also present earlier at what you call the woodland glade, though I thought I'd missed her and yes, it was her that trapped you so dangerously in the dream. Those false awakenings you made a meal of in March – I'm sorry, I was too distracted to put them together till it was too late. That was her testing you to see how malleable your thoughts were."

"Please, if my friendship ever meant anything, know that I have never lied, but have kept some truth from you. Sam, I apologise for trusting her, for choosing you, for not acting quicker, everything. I'd banked on this being over long, long ago, but didn't count on her resourcefulness, her willingness to involve you in this sordid affair, yet still her latent flair for subterfuge and depravity. I can only ask, no beg. Please, can you ever forgive me?"

"Quite a story Ian. Of course you're forgiven. The problem as I see it was not of your making. And I also apologise for my rudeness earlier."

"How the devil did she know of that strange, magical place hidden in the woods, though?"

"Told her didn't I, along with other ancient earth legends, including the best conditions to visit, and what may be achieved there spiritually."

"Mmm, sounds as if she's taken off on a wild crusade to find her long lost parents," I mused.

"Sadly that's probably your heart speaking Sam. I doubt her intentions are as transparent as that now. I wish I knew," Ian muttered sadly, "But she needs to be stopped before others catch up with her."

"Sam, the point is Fira's filled with hatred, running around your universe and dimensions, using my skills and my energy. That's part of my future, not hers. I may have given these had she asked, had she needed them. But the scary thing is although she's unable to pass this information on to another, given the right conditions a like minded evil could take it from her. This would be no easy feat, but it could be done, eventually. Immediate consequences to her would be eternal damnation. Consequences to our kind could prove fatal. We remain hidden because of our unique skills. Were such information to leak, we could only survive in pockets, always on the move, never able to relax, unable to grow in spirit. And remember, many others survival depends on ours, in the same way every organism on earth is connected, each co dependent on each other to fulfil its potential."

"Where is Fira now?"

"Gone from earth for now it seems, or it appears so. You helped with that. That was her first big mistake for centuries, underestimating you and the intelligence of your friends. She's fled again, the trails gone cold for now."

"Surely your parents, the other residents of your planet could have sorted this all out long ago? Seems they can pretty much do as they please."

"Have talked to them at length. This time we don't see eye to eye. Not wishing to get involved further than is strictly necessary our elder members engaged the talents of those known as watchers, one time pets, but, to put it crudely, glorified bounty hunters. Even the true Elders remain resolute. We cannot be seen to condone violence, physical or mental, let alone murder, no matter the cost. It is inconceivable for them to undertake such a task. It may drain their very souls."

"But this dangerous energy you speak of – she stole your life force?"

"Of course. And once more, I'd gladly have given it to her had she genuinely needed it."

"But yet without it you still seem... Ah!" I jumped, suddenly remembering. It hadn't escaped my notice over the last 2 months that occasionally Ian would stop mid sentence, become distracted for a time, only to start talking again exactly where he left off. 'twas almost like when talking over the phone and from conservation you gain the uncanny notion a person's staring out the window, tired after a long day or engrossed in a newspaper. This behaviour was sometimes a bit of a relief considering how so many of his rants would tail off into how he'd run the country 'with freedom for all' and how many pies the king ate for lunch. '8 Sam 8! Does anyone really need to eat 8 pies? I think not. There's no need for it. No need at all.' Hearing this story certainly explained why Ian was growing odder. Even his silly jokes made less sense.

"I never claimed to be perfect, if that's what you're getting at," he said, picking up my thoughts. This was something new. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"Do what?" There was that far away voice again. This is all getting a little too rich for my blood I reflected, worried about privacy. I told Ian about the note I left for aunt and uncle, and he offered help. Brian's part he'd leave to me, as it all seemed fairly straightforward and didn't require adult supervision, while dealing with Rose's side himself, citing 'plausible deniability' as the main overriding factor. I may have to wait a little for him to help mother though. I told all that had happened during my enforced holiday. 2 hours passed without Ian opening his enormous mouth.

"I see Sam. I thought better of you, missing most of the blatant clues," he sighed dolefully.

"What clues?"

Why the barefaced number clues for a start. The significance of 3, 3, 3 for one. Tsk, mind of a mathematician, brain of a tadpole. Lucky for you James was around."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but there was the confusion of the 3 twos to deal with also."

"No there wasn't! Come on, you don't expect me to believe that! The 3 twos were of no importance, they were simply me warming up. Wise up! How easy do you think it is to influence people's dreams during such deep unnatural sleep?"

"The meaning of the numbers was, surprise, surprise – threefold! I've told you over and over again I disliked the human obsession with time. I hoped you may realise it was really me contacting you and you may recall telling me of your false awakenings, how the same number kept cropping up 3 times before you awoke for real. That was Fira accidentally predicting how important these numbers would prove later. Putting the 2 incidents together in context should have been straightforward enough."

"I told you, had you been listening, rather than drawing crude maps and making friends with weird creatures, that your false awakenings had been a dry run for Fira, seeing how easy you were to manipulate when asleep. Useless asking me to explain it, but being privy to her nature, not only was this your ticket out of heaven, there'd also be a total of 9 different stages for you to pass through to get home - 3, 3, 3. So I was trying to give you hope. After all, you'd already cleared 3 stages."

"But there was actually 10. So you slipped up there didn't you?" I said smartly.

"Pointless trying to second guess me Sam - There was 9. That unexpected visit to your relatives obviously wasn't part of her nefarious plan."

"Okay, I get the message. Er, perhaps this sounds a little hollow, considering how thoughtlessly I acted earlier, but thanks for looking after me. Jade showed me a glimpse."

"Least I could do, though even I started to tire. I directed every scrap of my power straight to your brain to keep you thinking during your visions, which was why your body was failing. Sam, the sheer amount of energy it takes to keep a human alive is astounding. Mark me - each one of you is a walking bomb."

"Yes, it looked far from straightforward," I said reflectively, asking, "do you really look like a golden orb?"

"In certain situations. Of course you can never gain an accurate picture of me from that perspective. A seer's view of one such as I is coloured by so many different shades, and shades between shades. The physical distance involved is a large factor, the mental expanse even greater. The mental acuity of the subject involved, along with the natural talent and training of the seer are all mitigating factors towards the subjective quality of the whole experience too. Seems the fine lady Jade can crudely contract and dilate time. All in all I'd say the old girl did quite well considering circumstances and limited mental capacity of her subject. Such skills aren't just given away. I never guessed she was there either. Mind you I was very busy and her intentions were pure."

Ian paused here for a time, making out he was thinking deeply. "Yes, I think I'd very much like to meet Jade."

"I bet you would. Honestly Ian, you need help."

"Well that may be so, but on this subject I believe it would be insanity to take it!"

"So how does a seer perform such feats?"

"A seer is able to see ones past, present and future."

"Ah, and thanks for leaving Brian the amulet."

"Wasn't me."

"Then I wonder who did," I said, momentarily drifting off into other realms.

"So what of the well in the dream?"

"Another one you couldn't figure eh? Sam, I'd no idea whether I was getting through to you at all, where you were mentally, nor what was truly happening. I could just work out when you were going through times of great stress by following rapid eye movements. During the time you told me you were visiting your relatives, it looked like you were deeply sleeping as normal. Even the occasional smile crossed your ugly face. All was well on earth apart from the fact you were in the middle of a forest wearing very thin pyjamas, on 2 of the coldest nights of the year. You ask me of the well? Sure you don't want to think that one through again?" (Pause.) "No ideas? Tsk, typical. To educated folk a well represents life itself, water see? So the fact that I spoke to you from the well's depths should have reemphasised the importance of heeding my words. Though then again, you were asleep I suppose."

"Shame I couldn't put your words together."

"Perfectly simple, as are you at times. They were: 'Sam get out of there now. This whole thing has gone far enough. It's not funny anymore. I beg you remember that Friday night, time is short, she will not give up.'"

"Sam get out of there? What did you think I'd be trying to do - Booking a weekend's retreat apple picking in sunny cider country!? Honestly."

"Originally I thought you were faking, being rather unsporting, trying to pay me back for amusing jokes I played in the past."

"Seriously, you thought I was shamming?"

"Yes, till I checked your vital signs and realised this was something far more serious. So then I asked you to recall that Friday night moonlight jaunt, when you saw things you weren't supposed to - recall that night and try to work out what was real and what wasn't. Knowing these 3 items would be stuck in your mind, ghost, gnome and angel, I told you to take them and what to do with them for time as far as you were concerned was short. Needless to say the ghost was you and the gnome Fira, who was using that form for herself from one of your earlier dreams. James' reasoning was correct about the positioning they fell in too you know 3,3,3, and that the angel was the crucial one."

"I tried taking the angel, but well you know the rest. Your plan seemed rather complicated, Ian. I'm a mathematician, not a rocket scientist."

"To you maybe. Jeez, I didn't mean literally take the items. I meant take them in upstairs in your mind, remember and understand them, then use them to free yourself. Obviously you couldn't have taken the small model angel out of there, it only existed as a figment of your imagination in a dream. Honestly, it's a wonder you even survived at all, you must have been goofing around uselessly like a right twonk!"

"Alright, I don't think enough time has passed to allow for jokes about this thank you. And my bruise?"

"To remind you of the angel and that you were still very much alive and mortal. And lucky it worked wasn't it? Needs must."

"How was it the entire message seemed to be one part of a flowing whole if these confusing communications took place at different times?"

"Bound to be some sort of disparity with the mind bending concept of differing realities between dimensions. We mustn't forget realities between them either. The difference between where you and I are mentally is an entirely different reality anyway, with vastly differing rules. It sounded to you as if I were a million light years away from you because I was. You were unnaturally unconscious also, see? I had to attempt to breach these countless realities in turn, rather like you like to place work files into strict alphabetical order. And like you, manually flicking through an unsorted warehouse full of overflowing data cabinets becomes all consuming and equally frustrating after a while, see? It's possible many other creatures wrongly received that very same message if they were dreaming also. 'tis also possible some of the more friendly ones I contacted for back up passed it on correctly, only at differing intervals. See?"

"I think I grasp the essence of it all," I said, if only to stop his convoluted explanation. I'd read very little on space/time theory, advanced quantum physics or whatever it was he was trying to explain.

"Finally Sam, thank the lord." "There's one more possibility..." he said, trailing off again, then he was gone.

Chapter 19

Late June melted into a stifling early July. Tuesday the sixth. Life in the Johnson household settled down to pretty much normal. Ian was still here now and then as he fancied, whenever he felt the need to use me as a sounding board for outlandish theories, ridiculously far fetched stories and silly jokes.

Father had been working many extra hours, hinting he was out having oodles of fun with old friends, but I knew 'twas so he could purchase the family a single gift each for the festive period. I was walking to work when who should return? One who nobly knighted himself the king of kings. Not even bothering to say hello, he piped up with, "I've been thinking. This James fellow, I should very much like to meet him."

"That can be arranged," I smiled, surprised with my new found gallows humour.

"Crude jokes simply don't suit you Sam."

"Never claimed they did."

"Never said you did," Ian replied, saying, "Oh, this is tiresome."

"You started it all."

"Didn't."

"Did so."

"Did not. Oh, yes, I see what you mean, I did didn't I, good eh?"

"If you say so."

"Thanks Sam, a joker cannot live without his audience."

"I'm just glad you're finally growing up Ian."

"Here, found this," he said proudly, dropping a new pencil. How clever! An object falling from thin air, yes, that would prove incredibly easy to explain! Ian was becoming far too complacent, flying too close to the wind for comfort, and once more before I was able to explain these points he disappeared, saying, "Don't be a stranger!" and cheerfully deserted me again. It was an ordinary, quality pencil sure enough, with 'J B' stamped near the top. At that point it wouldn't have surprised me if he'd stolen it. Ian really was getting stranger and stranger. I vowed to be ready for him next time, continuing into the building.

"Ah, Samuel, right on time as usual." Checking his watch was Mr Davis - proprietor of 'Ariana P Davis Financiers.' He was an old, sprightly, monocled gentleman, who chose the name to grant his dear wife a part in his business. His zeal for business and working numbers perfectly matched my own.

His company provided secured loans to big business, but more recently to carefully vetted individuals who'd demonstrated an instinctive ability to grasp a promising project with both hands and wring every last idea out of it. The man was canny indeed, possessing an unfailing predator's eye for such people.

Recently Mr Davis had hinted he may retire soon and had grand plans for the lucky predecessor. My views were mixed on this after the past 6 months mayhem, but I'd promised him a certain period's service. In return the kindly fellow had promised assurances of fair conduct, and in writing too. So it was with great reverence I shook his outstretched hand as vigorously and sincerely as I could muster.

A sheepish youth even younger than me stood by his side, whom Mr Davis introduced as his wife's cousin, one Julian Brisket.

"Pleased to meet you Julian," I cried, extending a warm welcome.

"Thanks Ssssam," he stammered, nervously mumbling something along the lines of 'get up to speed.' His feet constantly shuffled to and fro almost independently.

"Julian, Mrs Stahl is expecting you upstairs with some tests, I'll fill you in later." Off the jumpy character went. "The boy's got a highly logical brain I'm told, despite the erm, other problems, which I'm sure we can work through. I promised we'd look after him for now. I trust you'll keep him on the straight and narrow. Sam show the lad the ropes, see if he has any real promise."

"I shall introduce him to the chains we keep in our dungeon as well if I may sir."

"Show him whatever you like as long as it's during break," he laughed out loud, granting me a friendly nudge.

"Well, must be off. Time waits for no man a wise philosopher once said. Never met my wife," he mumbled, cantering out the main door, half turning on the hoof. "Oh, Sam, get on to maintenance will you, it's getting awfully cold here at nights - middle of blooming July as well." "God's work is never done," he added, lowering his voice. "Have another word with Ged as well, those hairy little buggers paws are all over the back yard again," he confessed, touching his nose conspiratorially.

"Will do sir." This could prove a godsend. After all that had happened so far I had future plans which didn't involve this office. If Julian was half the brain he was cracked up to be, this could prove my ticket out of here. Life wouldn't be easy of course - slogging up to the good parts rarely was. Extra hours would have to be worked to compensate for the increased workload, but I could have Julian up and running at my speed in 6 months. Mr Davis could have his new manager, and I could have a new life.

I trotted up to work on a high. 2 hours later I was still toiling on the new Parson's account. Seems the poor chap had finally got his act together. He must have done to convince shrewd Mr Davis to finance him I can tell you. Who the devil calculated these projected figures though I wondered, flabbergasted at such obvious errors. Seems they just plucked them out of thin air, jumbling them up a few more times for good measure. No wonder the amateur didn't have the good grace to sign their names to it. I'd have been ashamed to too. A sudden draught caught the top page, spiralling it perilously close to the open window. It was lucky I now had my own little office off the beaten track where Ian's childish outbursts were unlikely to be observed. I flew over there, determined not to let the document escape, and suddenly Julian Brisket was stood right in front of me. "Er, you're a sneaky one, didn't see you come in."

"Mr Davis needs the Peterson account," Julian said, betraying none of the previous nervousness. He'd been with Esther all morning. I bet she'd been mothering him like a newborn lamb I thought. She was like that with all new starters, the old dear.

"Have it right here," I replied, checking my heavy filing cabinet behind. "Oh, the bliss of the English alphabet, 'tis such a time saver," I joked, "Here you go fellow."

"There's something missing," he said dully, thumbing through the thick file at an incredible pace. There's no way he could have read it that quickly, unless he really was some sort of prodigy. "Really? I don't think so Julian, I'm normally very thorough." I turned back round to the cabinet to investigate further, only to be struck heavily from behind. I came to balanced unnaturally against the cabinet. In between thick menacing fog rolled a terrifying guttural hissing, as if a creature's windpipe were being used for the first time. Words formed after what seemed an age, in 2 echoing voices before gaining any semblance of meaning.

Julian dragged me to my feet, thrusting my face into the open cabinet drawer, squeezing my throat tighter and tighter. "Sam, tell of her."

My mind fell utterly blank and a terrific pounding in my head grew worse. "Who? You're mad," I screamed wildly.

"Where is she Sam?" the voice hissed again.

"I never ask more than once," grated the second.

"Leave now and I won't inform..." I gasped weakly, hopelessly caught in temporary amnesia.

"As you wish. Will find her the painful way," they sighed together, squeezing even tighter. Julian whirled me round away from the wall, throwing me over the table. I heard a dangerous crack and knew I was seriously injured and utterly helpless.

The next second a wind blast pinned me to the back wall, picked Julian up and tossed him like a rag doll through the window, which exploded out like a bomb, taking half the wall with it. The sickly crack of bone echoed dully from the pavement far below. My poor, innocent office lay in tatters. Debris and brick dust were scattered everywhere, whirling round in weird, confusing cones. My desperate, deafening screams echoed over and over. Ian's adrenalin charged voice drifted from where the window once lay. "Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans, look at them go!"

"Ian, what the hell?" I screamed.

"Will speak later Sam, am off to see the wizard!" he giggled insanely. When the room cleared everything was back to normal and I was sat at my desk shaking uncontrollably, doubting any wizard in his right mind would want to see him. What sort of weird madness was this? What had the crazy fool just done? I wanted out and fast. The clock struck 12 and I nervously made my way downstairs, very worried indeed about a repeat incident.

On my way there Esther said Julian had been with her all morning and was very fast at her tests. At lunch I sat thinking deeply whilst most food made its way down my freshly pressed shirt. Whilst changing into a spare in the toilets I whispered uselessly to Ian for an explanation, but his silence lay unbroken, so I trudged back to work. That hot, muggy July afternoon, instead of working I thought. Yet this only led to more unanswerable questions like strange verbal torture.

Home time arrived. I rushed outside, dodging youths playing street soccer. An unfortunate looking young fellow inquired as to the time, as the rusty tin can passing for a football trundled over my newly polished shoes.

Later I sat in my bed chamber staring mindlessly out of the window, blind to the picturesque summer scenery and gazing deeply into the mirror, unhappily hoping some older legends were true, and one really could find answers to such odd questions, even ones hearts desires if only one looked into the glass at certain precise angles. It worked in a book I once read when very young, but there were consequences, and that was just a book wasn't it?

I sat and waited, then waited some more. The hour touched 3 am and a brilliant yellow moon still hung high over the misty dew dressed meadows. Her gorgeous beams trickled silently across a starless sky, slowly forming a gleaming golden arch over the woods. I looked closer, intrigued.

Smatterings of thick grey smog rolled up languidly from hidden valleys yonder, yielding the startled lowing of steaming black and white beasts taking shelter under the wise old oak tree. Out there air parted, allowing an immortal spirit to return. Gentle whistling noises behind pulled my head bolt upright to 'face him.'

"Still up, Sam? Thought you'd be fast asleep dreaming of friendly giants, mischievous imps, defeating mighty dragons and rescuing beautiful princesses' now the world's back to normal."

"Hardly back to normal though is it, Ian?"

"What d' y' mean kind sir?"

"Besides the incident at work and totally ignoring me afterwards you mean? Those points don't quite sit right."

"Er, the incident?"

"Forgotten already have you? Figures."

"Oh, you mean the incident?" he said, mocking my emphasis.

"Dealt with Sam. Is that what you've been up half the night worrying yourself to death for? Forget about it."

"Fine bedside manner you've got. And just how would you suggest I forget about it Doctor Peters? It happened didn't it?"

"Well, it happened sure enough, you were there. But then again, it hasn't, d' y' see?" he said mysteriously.

"Yes, thanks again for letting me in on the 'plot' Ian. I suppose 'tis only fair seeing as I'm the target," I threw sarcastically. "If you're ready to answer one thing, just tell me what you did to those 2 characters when you were giggling at the window. Surely you remember that much?"

"Just... just chased them around a bit," he admitted in odd blank intervals like a naughty schoolboy.

"Chased them around a bit? How old are you - 3?!" I cried, bewildered and strangely amused. I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh - such odd behaviour shouldn't be encouraged. I'd stake my future if I'd asked where he'd been I'd have faced the equally vague answer - 'out.'

"So there'll be no trouble later?"

"Not from them fellows."

I drew a deep, cleansing breath. "Good." Edward, I now formed a small idea of how fatherhood may work. Realising it was going to take extensive planning and boundless patience, I vowed to start research that very day.

Ian coughed deeply as rain fell just outside my window, leaving mysterious little trails meandering down our lane. The odd fellow wasn't any more forthcoming than that on this subject that morning. I surmised his long, tiring hunt coupled with the traumatic loss of his precious energy served to affect him in more ways than were apparent too. It seemed even spiritual beings such as him could suffer forgivable patches of forgetfulness and eccentricity like most of us. He'd found the predictive clue with the pencil sure enough, though no wonder he couldn't put it all together so neatly like in the past.

Still, despite this developing problem we talked long into the night like old friends. Finally Ian fell quiet. Outside rain ceased, dawn finally broke, and as I slipped into a happy dream I heard sleepy chirps somewhere in the distance, weird faint cries fading across the way and the far off chime of a lonely church bell.

Chapter 20

24th of July 1920 found me hard at work, self confidence brimming over. I'd even volunteered to work on a Saturday to help young Julian learn. It won't surprise you one bit to learn that Ian chose that very day to reaffirm the same attempts at shameful trickery that had so successfully landed me in real trouble with the poor, rotund cleaner some months earlier.

He found it worthwhile nearly all that day to cut short my thoughts regarding future pricing etc, predominately during important meetings with senior staff. The gist of his 'highly intelligent' argument was: "Boring! What are you still doing here Sam?! Look, yes, yes, I knew it, there is a sun outside! Opportunities. A chance for a real life! Oh, and need I mention the women Sam?!"

"You really like girls don't you," I stated, when fate found us alone at last.

"Of course, don't you?!" he asked incredulously.

"But why?" I asked, genuinely puzzled, "After all, whatever for? I mean, not that I don't find girls attractive or anything, it's just that you're...well, not of the same race," I postured lamely.

"Not of the same race?!" Ian echoed extremely sarcastically, "You really do need to work on English more Sam. Maths really isn't the most romantic of subjects," he advised solemnly. "And considering you asked, as you well know we have females too. Just because I have an entirely different physiological make up, that doesn't mean I can't truly appreciate earth girl's wonderfully delicate frames, admire the tender softness of their beautiful, silky skin, nor marvel at the certain bounce as they glide angelically down the road," he crooned dreamily.

"That's disgusting Ian, I'm trying to work here!"

"How dare you!" he screamed at the top of his voice, "I meant the bounce of their hair Sam! Why, I ought to spank your bare bottom for suggesting otherwise! Grow up! Now, if you will be so kind, stop interrupting the marvelling, because I haven't even started yet! What soul could not gaze in awe and wonder at a true lady's graceful majesty, nor be swayed, prepossessed even by the very thought of just a touch of her gorgeous, succulent, luscious lips, which would provide a pure, radiant heart such as I with such a level of intoxicating warmth, that, Sam, even with my truly extensive learning, I can't quite describe out loud...How...It would...simply...If...I would be...Surely...If only I...could...Sam...Sam...SAM...I believe I would die! Yes, that's it! Sam, Sam," he screamed violently in wildly high pitched tones, "For the love of God call a doctor! Help me, I'm about to experience a cardiac arrest!"

"Stop this mindless, babbling nonsense this instant! Ian, you're a complete disgrace! Children behave better."

Evidently he'd been struck deaf as he continued unbowed, whispering softly, reflecting a truly poignant tone. "Their thoughts Sam, can you guess how frightfully endearing and delightful some are? And I'll wager you've caught those times the way a truly beautiful woman looks on the outside? You know - The exquisite, divine beauty of it all? If you gaze deeply enough in their eyes on these rare occasions, at the correct moment you can truly perceive any present inner beauty also, for it radiates out in wonderfully warm waves of light. At these precious moments this beauty combines together around them, creating an overwhelming sensation of their truthfulness and depth for love. It genuinely shows their compassion and their true soul, their very spirit laid bare. It's simply beautiful, their eyes sparkle like diamonds and my heart dances with joy."

I agreed to keep him quiet, "I suppose it's nice you've put a little thought into something other than yourself for once."

However, Ian was far from finished. "Beauty," he said, completing a long, deeply reflective sigh. "By that I mean natural good looks, I see quite often. Thankfully it's evenly spread across the globe. But this inner beauty," he murmured wistfully, "this indescribable magnificence appears a little less abundant than first thought."

"Thanks for sharing Ian, but I have work..."

"Further more intensive studies will have to be carried out in these areas, you understand?"

"You'll let me know the results then Casanova?"

"Indubitably my good man!" he said cheerily. "Now, let studies begin," he announced triumphantly. "For every day at precisely this time, the very vision of loveliness passes this stuffy old building. The absolute pinnacle of lusciousness, the peak of perfection. This rare, blessed maiden possesses the most striking physique. Her radiant smiles speak only of genius and only hint at the depth of her passions, whilst her voice, oh, her accent, Sam, its enchanting tones and list will echo forever! If only we could record it's soothing, deeply revealing tune."

"So that's the poor girl you've been following, Ian. There'll be laws passed for folk like you."

"No matter, no matter. There are many ways round that anyway. Why, her elegant, raven hair alone, the fascinating way it cascades so alluringly around her sparkling, emerald green coquettish eyes, then drifts down over her..."

"Enough!" I screamed, "What the hell do you think you're doing, you raging madman!? 20 minutes! Cease this foul gutter talk instantly! Listen up, there exists certain thoughts it is clearly better to keep to one's self!"

"Oh, hark at you - getting all excited? Do be careful Sam, the wizard is watching!" was the nub of his reply. "There's no call to get embarrassed, it's perfectly normal for males of every species to feel that way. How many of us would be here if it weren't so?"

"One just needs to be a little more careful about what they share with each other, that's all." Despite his exasperating persistence, his jocular tone quickly quelled my annoyance.

"I was only truthfully answering your question," Ian said innocently. "I felt I just needed to impress on you these few points, just a small number of the limitless reasons why I'm so justly grateful for the existence of the female, including and because of all her intricate complexities."

"I think we gathered that much Ian, a long, long time ago."

"It's just that human females are without compare, the prettiest, the most delicious in the entire known universe in every possible way, excepting my own species of course," he crooned. "'tis a most perplexing mystery why this should be so, that's all," he said, again lapsing into deep thought over possible profound connotations.

"Right," I said, very glad his long impromptu lesson seemed to be over, "I believe I've stayed here long enough."

"How long have I been telling you that?" Ian said, tutting like a steam train.

"Right, I'm off. You can stay if you like," I remarked, half wishing he would. "Hey maybe you'd like to finish off the work you deliberately stopped me from completing this afternoon?"

"Your comedic timing is slipping Sam, we both know who the true talent is here." "We're off!" he shouted loudly as I hastily made for the exit. "I know what I'm doing. I don't need a commentary Ian."

I headed for a nearby news stand, watching tiny tepid water spots appearing on the pavement ahead. I was more than a touch annoyed that the seller had left, probably because I was rather later than usual, which was not of my doing. Because I needed the late edition to prepare for work tomorrow, I strode towards our town centre at the risk of missing the last bus service home.

All these thoughts and more raced endlessly in ever widening circles, twisting and turning through my straining brain. Of course they weren't helped by Ian's glib remarks. Apparently if I'd only stopped wittering away to him about girls earlier, then I wouldn't be faced with such a situation. Therefore I only had myself to blame.

Thankfully I found a news stand tucked away in a side street. To my utmost delight I noticed a crisp inviting newspaper still patiently awaiting my arrival. Ian suddenly mirrored a curious, dog like sniffing. All of a sudden this playful manner changed to the petulant begging of a spoilt young child. "My present! You promised, remember!" My teeth clenched involuntarily, relaxing as I admitted that Ian was absolutely right. "What is it?" I asked, under my breath.

"There! In that bottle! I knew it was true. Fancied they could trick me did they? I may be getting old, but no one fools the like of Sir Ian Peters!"

"Quick, buy it!" he urged incessantly. This discerning vendor possessed quite an eclectic mix of merchandise. The bottle in question was a small vial proudly claiming to be: 'Purdy's Finest Wax and Camphor Solution,' containing 15 ml of pure oil. For the princely sum of only 6 pence it could be mine. 6 pence! Surely this could only be liquid gold, used only by mighty pharaohs!?

Now, before you think I'm mean and greatly exaggerating, please understand that back then 6 pence represented nearly one month's hard work. So you can appreciate I was more than a tad reluctant to purchase Ian such a magnificently expensive gift. However, I'd made a firm promise sometime earlier, therefore would not baulk from my duty, no matter how painful the consequences.

I must make mention of the moment when handing my coin to the ecstatic vendor, because he seemed to experience quite some trouble prising it from my unusually firm grasp.

"May I commend you on your wise purchase sir?" Ian cracked as I forlornly trudged down the lonely street. I quickly realised I'd forgotten a paper, seeing a chap buying the last one. "This better be worth it Ian, because it shall be the very last present I ever buy you!"

"Oh it is my good man! Truly excellent stuff and no mistake. Oh, by the way Sam, I think you'll find you're going the wrong way."

"Why's that?" I asked suspiciously.

"Because, you are invited!" he chirped, over and over. My heart fell. I was under no allusions as to his meaning. More often than not this phrase spelt out a heady mix of confusion, embarrassment and unthinkable spiralling ramifications to me, a poor unsuspecting soul or both.

"For God's sake Ian, no!"

"Watch out, the wizard is watching!" he squawked in delight, which turned out to be one of his favourite phrases, second only to: 'Yes, I can see, I have eyes!'

"Why can't you give folk some time to themselves away from your little games? Can you please just give it a rest for once? Haven't you tortured me enough today?" I pleaded hopelessly.

"This won't take long," he promised, adding, "I think you may very well like this one." I'd little choice than to follow his maddening voice, as he led a merry dance further into our town centre.

Very soon I was at a park entrance, stood behind a crumbly old wall. "Stop. Take cover!" Ian demanded. 20 metres away ruffians and hopeless beggars sat round the town statue. "Wait!" Ian ordered, drawing my attention to the unelected leader of this disparate rabble, who as per usual was engaging in 'begging' from passer bys. Any individual who did not do him the courtesy of acknowledging his stately person, especially ones who dared pass without paying what he considered a fair toll would be met with the coarsest of profanities, whether man, woman or child.

"Ian, the man's an absolute disgrace!"

"I can see that Sam! I have eyes! But, I also have a plan which will bring an end to this aberrant behaviour, once and for all!"

"Do it yourself!" I said despairingly. "I wish no part in this depravity! Ian, for the love of God and all that is holy, surely you are acquainted with this fellow's ghastly reputation? He has a marked propensity to wicked, shameless violence," I said, hoping against hope this may sway Ian's conscience.

"I know," Ian admitted, "I have eyes, I have seen him before."

"Well why didn't you stop him earlier?"

"I admire your passion Sam, but it would serve you best to scrutinise the finer facts," Ian said quite sensibly, "For I think you'll find things are rarely exactly as they first appear." Aware his guidance had been acknowledged, he quickly ran through his cunning plan which predictably fell on me to carry out. He swore if I followed it to the letter I may come through unharmed. His warlike terminology and harrowing description of the upcoming scene made it sound like a mass assassination. Whilst I 'engaged the enemy' he swore to watch for interlopers from a high tree.

I mused sarcastically. "I must say, it really does sound perfectly simple."

So, suitably armed with 'the incredible power of knowledge' I wandered towards the drunken gang, disguised as a casual shopper. As predicted the massive fellow sat there, boldly demanding payment 'for his war service.' In a weird, suspicious fumble I managed to grab hold of my lucky penny, which I'd vowed never to spend. His deep, coal black eyes lit up and he shifted his mop of greasy hair, eager to see his prize. Stale beer and older vomit wafted off his rags, sickening me. I coughed, holding the shiny, tempting coin just out of reach, gazing deeply into those unfeeling eyes, speaking loudly and clearly as if my words were unquestionable fact.

"Your mother dearly wanted me to give you this." The greedy oaf deliberately ignored this, reaching unsuccessfully for the penny. I repeated the words, making certain he acknowledged them. His eyes flashed blood red with demonic, animal frustration, his face grew wilder and wilder. It seemed he was about to utter the most heinous of curses, but being so incensed couldn't find the right one. My arm shook uncontrollably. For one terrible second I thought I was dead. Indeed, I was ready to collapse at his feet, curl up, play dead and pray for it all to be over as cleanly as possible. He wrested the coin out my twitching hand, and I felt his whole demeanour inexorably alter. Unbridled anger changed to true perplexion in an instant. The shiny gift dropped from his grasp, landing unclaimed at his feet with an odd tinkle.

That was my cue to run and hide back behind the wall to 'bravely' watch the unfolding scene. The singular occurrence did not go unnoticed by the beggar king's avaricious compatriots. Spits of rain turned into a fresh, light shower as the gang began a mad, vicious scramble for the precious coin. Dirt, rotten teeth and torn clothing were thrown high into the air as the shameful rabble wildly fought each other for but a hint at perceived happiness.

Ian's mood lightened as he screamed encouragement like some crazy invisible coach. But I noticed the king's confusion had now moved to a state of genuinely deep reflection. Every part of his being sung the dizzy heights of profoundest contemplation.

10 long minutes passed. Officers eventually broke up the wild melee. Ian's weird idea of fun seemed over for the day, when the king voluntarily gave up his throne in what seemed a strange bloodless coup, springing to his feet, forsaking his cloth swag bag.

Now he saw fit to disregard his divine robes of state too. The vagrant king then strode purposely across the square, soon lost forever amongst the bustling crowd, never to be seen again. He was one of the few Ian 'helped' whose fate never become apparent.

Still soundly puzzled, I walked the long way home that late afternoon, quizzing Ian regarding his true intentions today. Admittedly I didn't quite push for answers as much as I should have as he was still buzzing with today's 'fun'.

"It was beautiful Sam, beautiful I tell you! Did you see the king, or were you distracted by the wild fighting? I saw both."

"Yes, I saw him Ian, I have eyes! I was in the middle of it all."

"Honestly, it was truly magnificent, you could actually picture his emotions!" he crooned. "Why, if you hadn't taken to crouching behind the wall in abject fear, then you could have reached out and touched them! Yes, Sam, I can still picture it: 10, 9, 8! 3, 2, 1...Yes Houston, we have lift off! Auntie Anne, Auntie Anne, it's a twister, it's a twister!" he announced rather peculiarly.

"What are you talking about?!"

"Oh, you wouldn't know about that would you? Well no matter. Did you cop that fat nosey farmer skulking like a wild animal in the background? I bet the greedy swine's eaten most of his stock before he got to market! Thought the beached whale was going to intervene, almost wished he had. I'd left a very nasty surprise for him."

For the life of me, I couldn't work out whether Ian was so happy about the king leaving, or the ensuing riot. I hesitate to suggest maybe it was a little of both? When he'd calmed slightly and stopped giving stupid, childish answers, I was granted a small window of opportunity.

"Ian, who is the king's mother? How do you know her?"

"His mother's been dead for some time," he said stoutly.

"I see." I said, though I didn't.

"I won't dwell too long on this, as it's nearly time medicine time. Some sickness, particularly those of the flawed human brain are easily solved by a being such as I, but to most of your scientists these prove far more complicated. Their roots run deep and wide, though spread from the same source."

"Never allow folk to tell you any disease is more convoluted, more insidious than afflictions of the mind. Nor that the king's wild intemperance was a disease. Now our fun's over, quick, hurry home, it's only be hours now," Ian stated firmly.

"As you wish master!" I agreed, thoroughly looking forward to the safety of my soft, warm bed.

Halfway home light, warm showers from earlier progressed to large ice cold water drops, pounding my forehead and delicate eyes.

"There's something dry you can use under the next bush, Sam." Sure enough I uncovered a tatty cloth sack brown with age. Thankfully the outside had been smeared with beeswax. This will do nicely I thought, holding it above my head, shouting in triumph.

Success was short lived. Thousands of dried mud beads and smelly mould drops camouflaged within were propelled by their sly raindrop friends above - every one launched downwards in a perfectly timed strike, covering me with fine dust, followed by disgusting liquid muck. Desperately clearing my face only spread the filthy menace.

"Look before you leap - one of your favourites isn't it?" Ian tutted, sandwiched between fits of maniacal laughter. Between the king and this, today was one of his best days ever. Now he was free to laugh at both events in turn at his convenience.

"Thank you, 'twas most invigorating," I blurted, remaining as dignified as possible. And as if this incident wasn't quite enough, as we neared home Ian's excited trash talk stepped up another notch. It sounded like he was preparing for something particularly big, but I didn't see why he had to be so rude, reminding him I had the liquid he coveted so.

"That's alright Sam," he sniffed casually, "I didn't really want to try it anyway. I was just mucking around, deliberately wasting your time and money. If the truth be known, I'd much rather just improve my wordplay skills by reading the dictionary aloud, which I've longed to do for quite some time. Let's see...starting a...A...a... yes, A, Aardvark. Now after each definition I'll bless you with my own interpretation of the word. As a special bonus I shall include reasons why the dictionary's definition is so patently erroneous!" "And," he promised, "And, young man, you will listen, for ''tis so clearly for your own good! I will not tolerate insubordination by any of my class! No sir! Not for one second. If I catch you slouching, if you even..."

"Alright," I said, shaking my head in despair, "I was only joking."

"Oh, a 'witty' jest eh? Well that's alright then, isn't it? Things worked out best for the both of us then didn't they?!" he said sagely.

"Yes, strange how that sometimes happens," I duly agreed, purely to keep the peace. As we had both reached a pleasant accord and were in my bed chamber once more, Ian gave another unnecessarily long winded explanation about how to best administer the medicine to him. This boiled down to simply pouring the fluid into my right ear, without spilling a single drop. The weird, pungent liquid must have evaporated somehow as nothing spilled back out. One full 6 pence gone forever.

Ian's mood rose swiftly, becoming more excitable, even more than I'd ever conceived possible. Delighted squeals, incoherent babbling noises and gracious comments of the most endearing nature poured forth incessantly from his person. Without warning the little fellow's funny ramblings took a different turn. "Charlie, can you hear me?" "Ah, 'tis you! I knew you couldn't keep off the stuff!" "Charlie Bamforth!" "Truly? And where is he?" "Oh, he's away at...no he isn't! Come out Harold Krenshaw, as if!" "As usual I chose the best name." "David, you may as well own up as well, you can't hide from me, you two stick together like lovers. Honestly, you fools must think I've gone senile!"

Ian was in deep conversation with at least 3 other entities. Try as I might, I followed very little actual dialogue regarding the many wildly varying topics under discussion, because the only audible hint of these came from Ian himself, presenting me with a decidedly stilted take on dealings.

Suggestive conversational snippets indicated all were separated by vast swathes of time and space. Any attempt to get through to Ian during this discussion failed. I felt his presence here as usual, yet his spirit, the real him was somewhere way out there, deep in the farthest flung reaches of incalculable space.

Their chat was a jocular, kind hearted ribbing passing between folk that have grown very close over a prolonged period and hadn't seen each other for an awfully long time.

I guessed this camphor was a rare narcotic for Ian's, with the added bonus of allowing others to visit certain events, times or places of their choosing and interact with the inhabitants thereof, even if other parties didn't use the substance at the same time. As long as participants had taken it themselves at least once and visited this place or person once before, then the effect may work indefinitely. Presumably because not all spirits Ian associated with shared his powers of bending time, this was why he prized this substance so highly. On certain days, in certain places, with the correct knowledge it may even prove possible to commune with those spirits long passed.

The fact that camphor was widespread and Ian hadn't shown any interest in it before suggests this particular bottle held a rare purity.

Ian's behaviour lasted almost 3 hours, though lord knows how long it was for the participants operating on different timelines. Presently Ian's emotions balanced, his fuel ran out and he jolted back to me on this plane, becoming very tired, relieved and grateful. Yet behind all this emotion I garnered a secretive, distant yearning. When asked of his health he'd only mutter, "Ask the quest..." "Not answer directly. "I will tell you all when..." The weary old fellow didn't elaborate on these puzzles, leaving yet another frustrating lost opportunity for answers.

Very soon even these murmurs faded out, till at long last I welcomed the passing of a blessèd gift - a truly enchanting golden silence, interspersed with a strangely mesmerising droning akin to a distant fly, or the gentle fluttering of a moths delicate wings. I truly believe that for the first time in almost 5 centuries Ian Peters slept.

Chapter 21

I awoke at the entrance of a brightly decorated alley on a long lazy slope. I drifted slowly over tight cobbled streets speaking of older, wiser days. Hope ran free between those welcoming doorways, ancient gabled roofs and mottled arches.

I reached the mighty gothic cathedral once more. Father was there at the door. Though much older now, his eyes filled with child like wonder gazing down the luscious valley, waiting patiently.

Drawn westwards I swept through immaculate gardens, brimming with colourful rainbows and misty forms of folk I'd known when young. Merry groups smiled dreamily as I passed, circling a fabulously adorned water fountain that gurgled and splashed. My spirit floated higher and higher over that indescribably beautiful place - at the peak of the green hill.

"Wake up! Sam, wake up!"

"It happened again, the dream!" I exclaimed. "It was so outlandishly weird, yet so incredibly peaceful. I know what it is now, it's dad waiting for me when I pass..."

A storm swept in over yonder hills. "Sam, I feel so strange."

"What do you mean strange?"

"Just odd."

"Well, you are a trifle odd."

"Sam, this is serious," he said, in the most sombre tone I've ever witnessed.

"Are you ill?" I inquired, a touch more concerned.

"I can't say, I've never been ill," he confessed. "My stomach feels like there's hundreds of tiny insects crawling around. Their whirling and buzzing gets faster and faster."

"Ah, a hangover!"

"No."

"Guilt then?" I proffered rather hopefully. "Ah, this better not be one of your tasteless monster jokes. They may impress little children, but they don't serve me in the same fashion."

"It truly isn't Sam, I swear. I feel terrible, terrible. Please help, I beg you!" Ian moaned pitifully. I rose to my feet at a total loss, feeling terrible fearful pangs.

"Sam, when I slept they tried to take it!"

"Surely not?!" I cried, understanding instantly.

"There's 2 outside, and he's coming now, I can feel him searching."

"Who?"

"A relative."

"Ah, good?"

"No, I'll lose track of her now."

I slipped to the window, curious to the gathering storm looming across the countryside. Just outside the gate stood 2 strangers I recognised. One was a teenager playing football that wild day outside work, the other the fat, nosey farmer hanging round the town square last night. Both stood swaying blankly, oblivious to pouring rain and booming thunder.

"Let's get out there, my family will be back soon!" I cried rather stupidly, without a plan.

"Wait for me," Ian shouted weakly.

I rushed outside only to be slammed against the stone wall across the lane. I started up the hill to draw them off. Then I saw him, bathed in slender shadows thrown by the grand oak sat at the top. An unnaturally tall, thin man whose face lit in weird lines of streaked lightning.

"We have a rotten traitor in our midst. A horrible little sneak!" Ian ranted weakly.

"Maybe we can reason with him, you deserve more time," I said, surprised at my new found confidence, though the tall fellow shook his head.

The growing tempest brought endless darkness. Cloud after cloud exploded with billions of volts of raw electric sending weird rushes of choking air rippling violently through trees. In a frightening whoosh our entire forest moaned in terror at a great, relentless black beast roaring wildly just behind the oak. The tall man held his arms casually out to the sides, holding it back in a massive, growing arc.

"Remember everything Sam, I shall return," Ian said, fading away.

"Wait!" I cried, instantly caught in a sphere of pulsing green light. My 2 possessed pursuers were held just as fast. Whirling lightning balls illuminated countryside for miles, whizzing over our heads, pouring into trees. Many blasted harmlessly off my shimmering green sphere. This fearsome show intensified, till deafening explosions and demonic roaring sounded like a terrible unending war. Last thing I remember was the weird tall man nodding at my fears, then I fell into a welcome swoon.

I awoke with a breathless jerking start, lying in our front room at 3:30 am with pillows placed carefully beneath my head. I vividly recalled events up to Ian's arrival as one hopelessly jumbled, incomprehensible mess. As I rose, my eyes fell on the tiny form lying unnaturally still to my right. Then I remembered everything and Sir Ian was gone.

Of course I knew he wasn't truly dead, this was simply a part of him he no longer needed, shown in a recognisable shape our limited human brain could comprehend. By his own admission he'd never really been alive here. But still, gazing on his miniature, vulnerable form I could barely control the terrible sadness touching my spirit like gigantic waves on desolate shores.

Although Ian was but one inch, his features were incredibly detailed, looking remarkably similar to a classic elf or pixie one sees so expertly illustrated in story books. Hair was finest blond, eyes purest emerald. But Ian's expression will never leave me - total and utter ecstasy.

When my tremors subsided I respectfully wrapped his minute form up in a small velvet swatch, making haste to the only place I could think of. When undergrowth got thicker, I held him closer to my chest, struck with awful nagging fears that he may be lost forever amongst the dense scrub.

I've no idea how I found it again, though after much time I scrambled and stumbled into the beautiful forest glade which had brought him so much excitement. The oval mounds were still present, just as before, though a fourth had been carefully excavated. Here I gently laid his form down to rest, staying a while talking softly, seeking answers, kneeling, wondering, praying, deliberating.

Presently atmosphere grew lighter and a hushed buzzing filled the air, focusing on the only open sphere. Soft, dry earth was taken up from nearby, grain by grain, filling it in completely. 4 striking blue flowers rose from the soil, blooming instantly. Then Sir Ian's bed became much as one of the others as surrounding grasses quickly covered its oval sides. Very soon only signs the area had ever been disturbed was the presence of those stunning blue flowers spraying glorious perfumes.

For but a moment the entire forest was abuzz with excited chattering, the sky lit up brilliantly, invisible creatures moved along the ground and colourful whooshes flitted through trees. The curious humming rose further, matching the forests high pitched intensity, suddenly abated, then all became calm and still.

Chapter 22

Following that emotional stormy morning in late July I tried settling down to life as best I could. Urges to share my incredible experiences with the funny little fellow outside the confines of my mind grew stronger and stronger, if only to give some ailing folk hope. Luckily this tempting feeling waned as I recalled my promise to remain quiet, finally accepting a pact was indeed a pact. It wasn't easy, it took time and discipline as these things tend to. As best I could, I finally accepted Sir Ian had gone for good.

He'd always said once he left he'd never return to bother me till I'd passed my century, joking he'd far better things to do! Despite knowing this there remained alive within me a small hope he may keep a certain promise made all those months ago, if only he was able. I'd been allowed access to so much that should have remained hidden and was eternally grateful, but yet to let this yearning die would have allowed a small part of me to perish also.

Edward, sometimes when the full moon hung high in the heavens and a faint shooting star trailed across our endless sky, I'd wake breathlessly from a wild dream, a faint flutter in my heart, imagining owls hooting in the trees was the misguided young fellow messing around with garden vegetables, or allow myself some comfort for a mere minute or two that noises in yonder misty meadow were tiny little footsteps collecting catnip in an mysterious effort to attract all cats in the area.

Of course one never got up to check, or dared speak his name out loud for fear that may shatter the delightful illusion. However, we are told when infants if one wishes selflessly and does so with a true heart, providing we are judged to deserve it, maybe just maybe, once in our lifetime we may be granted our hearts desires.

I'm extremely pleased to announce the last 7 days of October 1920 were exceptionally sunny for that time of year. Not only were we blessed with no clouds to speak of during the day, there were widespread reports of the unusual brilliancy of our moon throughout that entire week.

I can still picture dear mother now with such vivid distinction it may well have happened only last week. Every morning for the last 10 years since Rose had passed she'd tumbled into the kitchen, grabbing the local newspaper. A few minutes later she'd lay it down looking bitterly disappointed. Sometimes she'd allow herself a morsel or two.

This Monday morning was distinctly different. If only I'd known during those earlier years what I know now, I'd have pieced it together in an instant. Seemed to me mother had been searching for something all this time in the papers classified ads.

Yes, today started normally enough, apart from a puzzled look at the paper as part of her daily routine. Tuesday came and went and she left the kitchen briefly, looking flustered. In retrospect, Wednesday the 27th seemed to be the turning point - a raising of her eyebrows and a quick, thoughtful glance. By Thursday night gone midnight she'd dragged father outside to stare wondrously at the curiously bewitching moon.

Friday morning I noticed her making discrete notes of her findings which she carefully kept in her pinafore, quickly transporting them to safety upstairs.

On the sixth day, a Saturday, there was no paper, so she sat nervously peering at her clasped hands. Every so often she glanced expectantly at the clock and the window. I looked her up and down, pondering whether to start a conversation. I noticed father glancing her way from time to time too. It seemed he was experiencing feelings along these very same lines.

Before either of us could formulate any sort of plan, at 12 precisely a beautiful robin redbreast chirped happily on the outside window ledge, almost dancing a jig. Mother rose briskly, heading straight upstairs, where strange rustlings could be heard between deep rumblings of a neighbouring tractor.

Faltering engine noise faded away into the distance, and not 30 seconds later she returned, placing bacon on the stove, balancing thickly sliced bread on her plate. This was most irregular. As sun rose gently over the horizon, for the first time in 10 years I saw that winning smile return that I remembered fondly back in her brighter days when I was young. This was unbelievable! Yet there was more. When she smiled she hummed a cheerful, warming ditty, bringing back more warm memories of aunt from my tender childhood.

I looked at father, he glanced back at me. I peered over at Edward who gazed uncertainly at father. Father looked back over at mother as if to convince himself, gave us both the once over again with his eyebrows raised, during which I successfully deflected any involvement, then threw his hands up, blissfully content the situation was finally solved. He continued with his breakfast, thoroughly enjoying a contented little smile. Father was clever that way - clever enough to understand when to push and when to hold back. Strange times indeed he remarked as the festive period drew ever closer, for Christmas day itself was a roasting 10 degrees.

Edward, parents the world over have their own tale of how they met. Some speak of coincidence, others are tragic and painfully short, a few feature true romance, many are just downright hilarious. I find my own story particularly special, possibly even unique.

'tis now June 17th, 1970 and vivid memories of those amazing days in the roaring twenties are now flowing freer than ever. Can you believe I almost forgot to include this!?

This very minute I finished reading Aunt Rose's letter again, as I like to every wedding anniversary, for it always grants me great comfort. Old times flood back and accompanying emotions are overwhelming. During this magical period I get excited, starry eyed, overly talkative and feel like screaming with joy. I also like to talk our amazing life through together with Constance, speak endearingly of endless love, hinting of even happier times to come.

Rose's Letter:

'Dearest Sam,

This is one for you only. Please listen carefully! One is the truth that you have 80 years left on earth. Sadly Brian and I barely managed to scrape that between us. Think what you can do, see, accomplish. Seize every opportunity, not always the one to make endless piles of money either – you're wise enough to understand that money doesn't bring you happiness, merely security and increased options.

As for Mr Peters, try to allow the naughty fellow a little slack, after all he didn't have to choose you, and I understand some of his points regarding too much work etc, remember!? I won't mention the fact that the naughty chap's far cleverer than any of us can ever hope to be. One only has to keep one promise to make us happy and that is to promise to try.

Secondly - Remember Constance Gray? Stop blushing - you do too don't you!? Once I came to pick you up from school as Margaret was busy. Passing the classroom window I saw you gazing in each other's eyes, though 'twas mere seconds. In that brief poignant moment of crystal clarity you saw something you recognised in her and her in you. At that early age it must have been extremely difficult to know just what it was or where you recognised it from, but Sam, as you grew older by God you knew. Yes, you knew and you understood the true significance of what happened that special summer's day.

At the tender age of 10 physical beauty wasn't part of the equation for either of you, so you simply recognised that Constance was attracted to the true you, and at that very moment she saw inside you, past any facade, finding the true, selfless part that possesses unlimited love. We'll take it as read you saw exactly the same thing in her. I too know this wonderfully magical sensation and guarantee it is extremely rare. Exactly the same thing happened to Brian and I more than 40 years ago and we'll be together for all eternity, longer!

I bet you've hardly spoken to Constance since, poor girl. Sam, I can't explain how I know this, but I promise if you question her she'll confirm every last detail. Constance is now a very sweet, beautiful young woman who still sits and thinks about you when alone, wondering of times that may be to come. Each passing year her visions and hopeful future expectations fade a little more. She will not come to you the way you are now. She thinks you at present a trifle too selfish and single minded, though knows deep down that is not your true heart.

Go to her now child, when you have these points truly in hand, for soon it will be far too late - a girl of her sweet nature and singular looks will have a thousand suitors vying for her hand. We both know she will not wait forever - alas she cannot - she has too much love to give.

I know you'll give these points the greatest of thought because of the person you are and where they came from. Aunt Rose would rather die than steer you wrong, my special little boy! Sam, I trust you'll make the correct choice. So looking forward to seeing you lovebirds in Pine Meadows!

Till then,

Love from us both, always.'

I foolishly waited nearly a year before opening this note, wrongly believing it contained something entirely different. Of course Rose's words were perfectly true. I felt strongly there had been an unspoken agreement between Constance and I that special day to be together in the future. I'd never courted before and besides lacking courage, I'd long wondered what sort of life I could provide such a rare beauty. Didn't she deserve far more than such a work centred bore? And the way I was then, I couldn't possibly hope to provide her the happiness and security she truly deserved. I knew then as I know now, if I wasn't truly happy, then neither could she be. Breeding such a situation would have been exceedingly selfish of me.

By the time I'd opened the note I'd left my stifling office, moving on to exciting design work, feeling far more confident with life and my place in it. So at dawn next day I sprung out of bed, knowing it was now or never, praying precious Constance hadn't given up.

Mother revealed Constance had been travelling on the continent, but was now living with her mother 10 miles from town. There was no bus service out there, so I set out at a brisk pace, buying 2 attractive bunches of budding roses along the way, one white, one red. I gently coaxed a flower out in the middle of each bouquet, so perfume circulated freely.

When I arrived at her home earlier confidence sagged. Old doubts slyly crept in. How incredibly foolish would I look turning up unannounced after all this time? I'd barely spoken to poor Constance since school and felt thoroughly ashamed. My being here now - did that make me a chancer, a cad? Why would she even talk to me? This bright girl may well think me mad, setting her dogs after my worthless hide. She may well be correct and I may well deserve it.

I felt faint and weak. My stomach pulsed, tightening uncomfortably - a nasty, nagging pain crammed with nausea and sharp, stabbing hunger pangs. So I stood at the end of the track, transfixed to the spot for a full 15 minutes, shaking, willing the growing negative feelings to pass. After a while it became apparent they were here to stay, perhaps as my just punishment.

I shuffled nervously up to the door, knocking ever so quietly. An infant could have knocked louder. Several long minutes passed. If no one were home, then all would be for naught, I just knew it. An old door lock chinked in pain and the door slowly swung open. I recognised the elderly lady as Constance's mother. Whoever she was expecting, 'twere most certainly not me, for she started backwards in genuine surprise.

"Constance please," I mumbled, glancing uncomfortably at the floor.

"One moment," she whispered, leaving the door slightly ajar. Bare wooden stairs betrayed hurried clomping and a rush of muffled voices echoed round the wide hall. My heart fluttered uncontrollably, hearing nimble feet negotiating the long staircase a fair few steps at a time. The door creaked open and there she was – beautiful Constance Gray. Rose had been quite correct - the angelic young girl was totally and utterly perfect. A vision in a bright blue dancing dress. Golden hair shimmered radiantly across bronzed skin gleaming with a healthy, heavenly glow drizzled in warm sunlight streaming across the doorway.

Constance's beautiful chestnut eyes lit up brightly when she saw me, but then her eyebrows moved upwards and stayed, while her arms automatically folded. "Sam?" she asked, tilting her head and pursing her lips tightly. A terribly uncomfortable silence followed, my head pounded and my legs trembled. "Constance, I'm so very sorry," I said, crestfallen.

She studied me closely for several agonising minutes. "I should say you are," she finally declared, relaxing. "Are you here to stay Sam?"

"Yes, if you'll have me."

"Come in then, I'll show you around," she cried happily, taking my hand, granting me a gorgeous smile, gratefully accepting the flowers. 'twas as if we were already an elderly couple, I'd been found guilty of a misdemeanour, had admitted it and been forgiven.

Her mother sat by the fire, disguising her great interest in proceedings by knitting furiously.

"Her gran always said she felt Constance was waiting for someone. Well, I never ever guessed it would be you Sam," she confessed, smiling happily. "Here son," she cried gleefully, rushing over to a dresser, coaxing out an antique golden necklace and an even older silver ring. Both had been sleeping there for quite some time. She hung the necklace around her beaming daughter's neck and placed the magnificent silver filigree piece in my hand, pressing it firmly closed. "Mind you take good care of these precious gifts Sam Johnson, or gran and I will be back to haunt you!"

Edward, that was the most terrifying, surreal and happiest day of my life thus far. We married in a beautiful moonlight ceremony one year later, the 17th of June 1924 under the attentive gaze of a full, colourful moon. Constance confessed everything, confirming all Rose had said. That very week she'd almost given up on me ever courting her, blaming herself, wondering what she could have possibly done wrong. Just like me she'd told no one of her feelings, holding a crazy idea that if she did her life may not work out as planned.

Folk married far earlier way back then, some at 16. So, at aged 21 I'd gotten there just in time. No matter how much your dear mother likes to joke, our life together has been pure, unadulterated bliss. In 46 years I can't recall a single argument. And to think I nearly missed out on all of it and all of you. Luck? Destiny? If only there were words far greater in imagination and infinitely more descriptive.

Edward, I long for the moment when I can discuss these events in far greater detail. To finally be free to speak with a fellow human on this very subject with the gay abandon it begs would be nothing less than pure joy.

Your Loving Father,

Samuel Johnson.

END

Thanks for reading. Please recommend this tale to anyone polite enough to listen! Time permitting, please leave a brief review on your purchase site. Email comments, questions, constructive criticism to: glossyturnipstories@yahoo.co.uk

Other stories in my E Book collection available at - http://www.smashwords.com

The Phantom of Pilberry Place

The Legend of Brandice May

Into the Light

Gift of the Fire Queen

Under construction: Masha and the Magic Gate - A tale from Earth's Secret Valley

Tales from Lenora - Passionate stories sharing how magical Lenora drew her most famous characters.

The Ghastly Tricks of Baron Von Stuttenhoffen - Sequel to The Legend of Brandice May

Pine Meadows 1920

