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  “Ralph Stoner lives near your aunt,” the woman continued hastily. “He’ll pick up your stuff later this evening and bring it ‘round for you. Just bring it into the store here; he’ll be by later, maybe an hour.”

  “Right.” Richard picked up the box he had been sitting on and manoeuvred it through the doorway and past the magazines and candy. He managed to say ‘thanks’ as he moved the last of his luggage into the brightly lit interior and put it down near the cash register. Access to the store was almost completely obstructed by his modest collection of belongings. The storekeeper, who had been watching with the air of a government supervisor, led him out of the door once he had finished, and pointed up the winding road around the other side of the building.

  “Now, if you just walk up the hill there, and follow the road around, well, you’ll find a little blue house with yellow trimmings; that’s Enid Schroder’s place. She’s not equipped to help you with that lot – no car. That’s why she asked Ralph to help.” Then she added conversationally: “Pillar of the community – is our Ralph.”

  Soon he had shouldered his carryall and was striding up the hill. As he walked, he tried once more to convince himself that he had made the right decision. The realisation that he would be living in Redcliff, starting a new life, essentially alone, hit him once more, threatening to tip his emotions out on the quaint old street, like groceries through the bottom of a brown paper bag inadvertently placed in a small patch of water.

  Huge maple trees rustled in the slight breeze, making the only sound he could hear. After a moment, Richard realised that he had stopped. He began to walk again, then came to an abrupt halt seconds later. Up on the ridge he could make out the silhouette of a strange building. A jagged edge, no – a battlement – against the stars!

  A castle in Redcliff? He stopped again in wonder. As he paused, an immensely powerful beam of microwave energy began to pulse imperceptibly from the shadowy structure up into the night sky.

  Mom always said this town was weird! Richard recalled his city-dweller mother’s opinion of her sister-in-law’s choice of homes. A trace of a smile showed for an instant on his face. He shook his head, then walked on with a spring in his step.

  After passing a few rejuvenated retirement cottages and subtly dilapidated houses, he came at length to a little blue house. It sat back a few yards from the now narrow road; an air of neglect was evident in the weeds and long grass that surrounded it. A shattered shade spread asymmetric patches of light from the porch lamp, and a broken screen was propped up against the doorframe. A few flakes of yellow paint still adhered to the doorstep at each side of the worn-down hollow where countless feet had trod. As Richard walked up to the entrance, the boards underfoot creaked. The door opened before he reached it, and a short, thin woman wearing a shawl looked up at him. Her face was lined with fatigue, and her eyes were dull and without hope. She tried to smile.

  “Hello, you must be Richard; Martin said you were getting tall.” She gestured into the open doorway, and he stepped inside. “You’re probably hungry after your trip. I’m afraid we –ah – I don’t have much of anything to offer you,” she said sadly. “What with last Saturday and all that, I haven’t -ah- had time to go shopping since.” She steered him down the hall, into the kitchen and pointed at a threadbare armchair.

  He lowered his carryall, sat down and leaned back awkwardly. The chair creaked as his weight settled into it. Silence descended like a wet blanket, cooling the warmth of the enthusiasm he had temporarily possessed.

  “How was your journey?” Enid asked as she sat down at the huge kitchen table.

  “Fine,” Richard admitted. “Just routine.” His statement felt so obviously false that he fell silent once more.

  Enid cleared her throat nervously. “Your father and I haven’t been close since I left home. He was just a little tyke then, and I was only sixteen.” She looked at him a little warily and the uneasy silence returned to the spacious, though rather dingy room. Then she continued a little more positively. “Perhaps we can help each other a little…” Her voice trailed off, uncertainly.

  “Why yes, Aunt Enid,” Richard replied, “I’d like to do that. I’ll fetch some groceries first thing in the morning, if you’d like me to.” He wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the right words.

  She seemed satisfied, however, and stood up. “I expect you are tired from the trip; I’ll show you the room that’s going to be yours.” She turned towards the back of the house and led the way down the hall to the last door on the left. Richard stepped inside and looked around. He felt like he had travelled back in time; the furniture and wallpaper were at least fifty years old. An old iron bedstead occupied the space under the window; the mattress was covered by a thick woollen rug-like blanket that hung down almost to the floor.

  “It gets a bit cold here in the winter, so it’s best to be prepared,” Enid observed.

  Richard sat down on the bed and was relieved that at least this item of furniture did not creak. In front of him was a large, solid-looking oak dresser, complete with a mirror with scalloped edging. Low down on the right hand side the silvering was worn and faded.

  “This wardrobe smells a little musty, but it holds a lot of clothes.” His aunt opened the doors of a huge, dark wardrobe and gestured at the shelves on one side and the rail full of wire hangers on the other. “It’s not Boston, but…”

  Richard smiled back at her rather forlorn face. “It’s just fine. I’m sure I’ll like it. Makes a change from the past.” And I need that.

  Enid saw the effort he was making and, realising that he was not as self-absorbed a teenager as she had been, felt a little less apprehensive about their future life together. Richard followed her back into the hall. “The bathroom is right next door.” She gestured at the old-fashioned taps that gleamed brightly as she turned on the light. “And my room is right opposite the kitchen.” Enid pointed at the open door. Through it Richard could make out a padded rocking chair with a pale blue dressing gown draped over the back. “That just leaves the living room.” She led him back towards the rear of the house and turned right just after the bathroom. Richard could not help staring at the huge projection television in the far corner of the living room; it seemed so out of place, jammed between an old chair and the cracked wall panelling. Enid noticed his interest.

  “Oh, Henry bought that a few weeks ago, so he could watch the horse races. Trouble is, he never got the antenna mounted properly, and it fell off its mount against the chimney in the storm a little while back.”

  “I could take a look at that in the morning, too, if you have a ladder.” Richard volunteered.

  “Ralph has one he’ll lend you; he only lives a few doors up the street. He was meaning to fix it, but I suppose he’s been too busy again.”

  Richard’s stomach growled loudly, and his aunt raised her eyebrows in a manner that looked reassuringly familiar to him. Like my Dad!

  “Come on now, and when did you last eat? You’re too thin by far to be missing meals.” She fussed over him, suddenly full of life now she had someone to mother. “I’m sure I can find something in the pantry.” She hurried back to the kitchen and pulled open the plywood door in the corner. “Ah-ha!” In a moment she was opening a can of ham, and then she was flipping back the lid of the bread-bin. Inside was a crusty loaf of full-bodied white bread. Richard’s stomach growled again, and he returned her smile as she gestured to him to pull back one of the kitchen chairs and sit down.

  “That’s very kind of you, aunt.”

  “Think nothing of it. Oh- there’s some milk in the ‘fridge, just help yourself.” She pulled open a drawer, removed a massive bread knife and started cutting thick wedges off the loaf. “Oh, and one other thing, Richard; could you forget the ‘aunt’ bit and just call me Enid? I don’t like formalities much.”

  “Sure, Aun- er Enid,” Richard responded as he picked up the milk carton. He eyed the mayonnaise uncertainly for a moment, and then put it on the table.
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br />   “Good. Why don’t you grab a knife and put some of that on the bread I just cut?”

  “Thanks.” Richard slathered the creamy white stuff over the bread and slipped some of the ham into it. He sighed as he bit through the thick crust.

  Half an hour later, Richard finished off the last slice of bread and downed the last dregs of his second glass of milk. He thanked Enid for the meal and excused himself until the morning.

  Once he was in the privacy of his new but old room, his teeth brushed and his clothes laid over the stool at the bottom of his bed, the net effect of his emotionally and physically draining day caught up with him in a rush. He felt bone-tired, but more than that, the prospect of returning to school on Monday seemed to be draining away the small measure of enthusiasm he had for life. He lay back on the bed and rested his head on his pillow. It seemed fairly comfortable, nothing like his ‘hand-me-down’ waterbed of course, but he had almost forgotten what that was like, it had been so long since he had slept in it. He pulled the curtain aside. A few stars twinkled above the trees and between the small clouds. He realised that on a clear night he would be able to see thousands, much more than he ever saw from his suburban home in Boston.

  Life would be very different. It was not only that he was a year older; he had always been one of the oldest in his grade. He wondered more significantly if he could fit in with the regular students, if he would be able to adjust to life in a small community school; his experiences made him feel like a totally different person from the one who went out to celebrate his brother’s birthday with his parents, could it have been only a year ago? Also, he was not sure how much he would remember, academically, from before the accident; there were a few blanks in his memory where he felt certain there had once been notable events.

  In addition, it was already September and the crash had happened in August; more than a year had passed since he last had studied. He remembered what the doctors at the hospital had told him about getting back ‘into the swing of things’. He was supposed to take things easy at first; they said that he should not be put under any stress. It was apparent to him that his recovery was unexpected, almost a miracle. Even Doctor Hebner had been reluctant to release Richard from his care, but he had made such good progress that the doctor had no real reason to keep him. Even so, the physiotherapy that he had undergone to restore his wasted muscles had only been completed a few days previously, and, though he would not admit it to anyone but himself, he really did not feel totally recovered yet.

  Richard decided to get an early night; he flipped back the covers and climbed in. He smiled at the feel of flannel sheets; it had been years since he had enjoyed their warmth as a child. Turning off the light with the old pull-cord above his head, Richard fell into a deep sleep quickly. Soon the old dream returned, and he was alone once more in the thick grey mist. It swirled around him, sometimes lighter, sometimes darker, but always it was ever-present. Then something seemed to coalesce from the very vapours in the distance, until he was sure his visitor had returned. At last, the figure, in grey robes this time, started to approach him. Richard smiled as he slept, and reached out his hand as the cowled figure stood before him. One arm reached out towards him, and a pale hand was revealed. Just as he was about to touch the hand that was raised to meet his, he was awakened by the sound of a bird singing outside his window. He felt refreshed and happy, and was astonished to find that he had slept continuously for ten hours.

  Sunday passed fairly uneventfully. Richard fixed things around the house and got some groceries for his aunt from the Redcliff store, which she had told him was the only place in town that was open. The castle-like building seemed even stranger in the cool of the fall day, but he had spent a lot longer than he had expected fixing the T.V. antenna, so he forced himself to rush by, secure in the knowledge that the curious structure was not about to disappear overnight!

  As for the prospect of living with his aunt for a year or more, Richard had become less concerned at how things would be. He found her more animated than she had been the previous day, and realised that she was relieved to find that he would not be a burden to her. After a good meal of roast beef – he discovered his aunt was an excellent cook – he sat and chatted with her about what she remembered from her childhood, especially concerning her younger brother, Martin, Richard’s father. Things like teaching him how to say ‘Rhinoceros’, taking him to the zoo and rescuing him from the elephant’s trunk whilst there (he lost his peanuts), picking him up from school and even chasing off some bullies. They found a strange sense of comfort from each other’s company, and it was quite late when Richard excused himself and retired for bed.

  He sat on his bed at the end of the evening for a half hour or so, sifting through his belongings. His boxes had been delivered by the rather slow but still helpful Ralph Stoner, whilst he was getting groceries, so he still had not met this celebrated member of the community. Richard put old familiar books, clothes, and his small collection of CDs away in the available storage space in his cosy room, but the treasured family photo-albums were placed on the dresser, in a position of prominence. As he did this he realised that everything he had was more than a year old, and this inevitably made him think about his new beginning once again. As he pondered, he started to feel a strange sense of anticipation concerning school the next day that exceeded anything he had felt since he had escaped from the coma.

  He went to sleep almost eagerly, in anticipation of the new, improved version of his dream that had once been a nightmare. In the illogical timelessness of sleep, the figure appeared in his dream once more, dressed in robes of deep blue. On this occasion, however, the billowing grey mist that had always shrouded the scene blew away, and the main street of a small town was revealed in exquisite detail. The blue-robed and cowled stranger began walking towards him from a point some distance down the street. Richard tried to move, to complete the encounter, but found he could not. The figure began to hurry, seemingly realising that he could not budge, when suddenly an amazing mass of people rushed out of the little side roads on either side of the main street – hundreds of them, perhaps even thousands, all desperate to get away from something, some nameless fear. The converging masses collided in the street, turning, pushing, filling it, and inadvertently blocking the way between Richard and the stranger he so much wanted to meet. Those that could still move milled crazily around, some chasing each other, others greeting friends happily, the fear forgotten, but most still seemed scared, or sad. More and more entered the street, more than any such town could ever contain, until the whole assemblage ground to a halt, seemingly without purpose, just feet in front of him. Glimpses of his visitor could be seen, and it was clear that this enigmatic personage was still trying to enter the strange assortment of society from the other end, to make their way towards him.

  Perversely, Richard found his legs were released from the strange paralysis that had held him bound; he tried to walk towards the figure but found, after the few steps that took him to the edge of the multitude, that he could not move any further because of the press of the mob. As he looked over the heads of the jostling throng, he saw the blue hood between the heads of the crowd. It was moving further away, not closer, as more and more people pushed their way into the street. The swarm expanded, forcing those at the edges further and further back. Richard found he was being hurried in the opposite direction. He tried to shout out something, but found his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and with the inevitability of most dreams, finally the blue-robed stranger disappeared from view, pushed far away, or perhaps even trampled underfoot by the increasingly angry mob.

  Chapter Four

  Light is still my friend – Idahnian (apocryphal)

  Edward Baynes waited impatiently while the old police launch crept away from the Florida coast towards the limitless horizon. It was an old Contender, with outboard engines which functioned well enough, considering their many hours of service, but no longer put forth the rpms needed for a
chase – or a long haul offshore, in his opinion. It was used mainly for river patrols, but the ideal sea conditions had resulted in its current mission, miles from the sheltered river system.

  Ed stood towards the stern of the slim vessel. He leaned over the starboard side in a somewhat futile attempt to cool himself in the breeze created by the long boat’s forward motion. His slightly receding but still black hair revealed a forehead glistening above hazel eyes, barely visible now as he frowned into the glare. His face was slim, browned, and still slightly pitted due to adolescent skin problems now long past. Below the rugged face his age showed slightly through the thin white polo shirt in the form of a paunch overhanging the wide belt of his khaki shorts; the slight tremor of his hand on the rail hinted of something approaching an addict’s familiarity with alcohol.

  He looked upwards. Overhead the sun poured out heat into a cloudless sky, just as it had done the previous day. The barest hint of a swell could be seen developing around the launch. Ed Baynes had the (until now) dubious pleasure of being the chief of the National Unusual Incident Team. The National Unusual Incident Team (or NUIT) was a recently formed and little-known division of the FBI. It consisted of Ed and two or three other operatives, and was intended to (or at least Baynes had planned that it would) investigate any possible extra-terrestrial contacts.

  In practice this had translated into investigating long-abandoned murder mysteries or child abductions which the police services had finally given up on, not at all what he had intended to be doing when he had finally succeeded in persuading some old friends in the government to recommend NUIT be set up and funded. After a while, Ed had concluded cynically that all really significant happenings were probably being handled by an even more secret group, kept hidden from him, and that he was being stone-walled.