| By: Nils Durban |
It had been so long since he had owned a mobile phone that Sleet actually jumped in his seat when
its strident tones began blaring from his inside jacket pocket, resulting in a partial spillage of the
cappuccino which had been midway between the table and his lips. He cursed out loud, attracting
the attention of the nearby young waitress who rewarded him with the type of sideways look that
he guessed was reserved for the slightly more eccentric patrons of Eric's Café. In addition, he
received a glare from the only other customer occupying the outside terrace - an elderly gent
wearing a trilby seated three tables away who was obviously unimpressed by the noisy interruption
of his scrutiny of The Times newspaper.
He was momentarily undecided whether to attend to his now damp trousers or to silence the
raucous strains of the theme from Mission Impossible which were emanating from his person. The
latter course of action, he presumed, would be more likely to reduce the level of attention he was
drawing to himself. He reached within his pocket and withdrew the slimline Nokia handset that
Helen had purchased for him.
Who the hell could be calling him, anyway? he thought, nobody had his number yet. And then
realisation dawned upon him - except, of course...
He raised the phone to his ear. "Hello, Helen," he said, resignedly.
"Is he there yet?" she asked in an excited whisper.
"There's no need to whisper, Helen. He's not going to hear you from where you are, is he? Mind
you..."
"Sleet!" she scolded, "be serious, will you?"
"Okay. He's not here yet," he made another attempt to raise the mug to his mouth, successfully
taking a sip of coffee this time, "but it's only five to two. If he's punctual, and I expect him to be,
he'll be along in a few minutes."
"Unless," she conjectured, "he's already there and he has you under surveillance."
He took a deep sigh. "Helen, you're not making this any easier, you know. Can you stop trying to
turn it into some kind of spy thriller? Which reminds me, thanks for the ring-tone, turned to full
volume by the sounds of it - bloody well scared the shit out of me."
"That's just how it came," she replied, distinct merriment in her voice, "I can re-set it for you later, if
you want me to."
"Yes, I want you to," he glanced up and down the street, recognised the figure of Perry walking
briskly towards the café from the direction of The Seven Sisters. "He's here. I'll see you later." He
didn't wait for a goodbye, simply slid the phone shut and popped it back into his pocket. He then
picked up his serviette from the table before him and began dabbing at the wet patch on his lap. I
bet Tom Cruise doesn't have these problems, he thought, as he gathered his wits for the upcoming
encounter.
Perry, who was clad in a knee length grey overcoat as protection against the autumn day's bitter
chill, scanned the cafe frontage as he approached and, due to the scarcity of patrons willing to
brave the elements, his eyes quickly fell upon Sleet. A somewhat out of place and foreboding grin
appeared upon his face and vanished just as quickly. Sleet felt suddenly perturbed by this and
untimely second thoughts surfaced momentarily at the forefront of his mind. He banished these
with an almost imperceptible shake of his head and watched as Perry preceded to skip airily up the
half dozen steps onto the terrace and navigated the handful of tables to where Sleet was sat.
Sleet adopted a premeditated nonchalance of the figure stood before him, choosing to sip once
more at his coffee rather than acknowledge Perry's presence.
"Mind if I sit down?" Perry asked.
Sleet looked up at his boyish features and noticed once again the nervous tic which twitched away
at the corner of his eye. For no reason that he could put his finger on, Sleet experienced a sudden
feeling of pity for the younger man. What if he was a much a victim of circumstances as he was
himself? He gestured expansively towards the three plastic chairs which were arranged around the
table. "Help yourself."
Perry took the closest seat to his own and leant forwards conspiratorially, a somewhat desperate
look in his eyes, as if he was struggling to contain whatever words and wisdom he had come to
impart.
Before he could begin, however, he was distracted by the waitress who had also noticed his
approach and was making her way towards them. Perry held up a hand to forestall her. "Nothing
for me," he said, dismissively.
"We don't want any interruptions," he said, returning his attention to Sleet, "do we?"
Sleet looked him in the eye, "I suppose not, no."
His attention was then attracted downwards to where Perry's hands were wrestling uncontrollably
with each other below the table. Perry self-consciously placed them both upon the table top before
him and interwove his fingers, locking them together.
"There are things that you want to know, Sleet," he began, "I realise that. And there are things that I
definitely need to say. All that I ask is that you allow me to say my piece and then, once I'm done, I
will genuinely try to fill in any gaps for you. After that, I will tell you what's going to happen next and
then we will arrange our next meeting. Does that all sound okay to you?"
"Not totally, no," Sleet replied. "I'm not overly impressed with you telling me what's happening next.
I wouldn't assume that it's going to pan out like that if I were you."
Perry smiled at him, a trait which Sleet was rapidly finding unnerving rather than comforting. "I'm
sorry, Sleet. I didn't mean to sound dictatorial. It's just the way it's going to be, that's all. I'm not
going to force you into anything."
"I don't really see how you could."
"No," Perry glanced away across the street in the direction of the reservoir, "of course not."
"Start talking then," Sleet said, "I haven't got all day and I do want some answers."
Perry turned his attention to where his hands were folded together on the table top. "I have told you
no lies, Sleet. I am, or was, a student, and quite a gifted one or so I was repeatedly told - I'm not
trying to blow my own trumpet, you understand?"
Sleet nodded impatiently, keen for Perry to get to the kernel of his story.
"I was invited to London to work for a short while with a friend of mine. Nothing particularly
interesting - merely the opportunity to take a break from my studies and to immerse myself in the
melting pot of the capital. I'm sure you know what I mean."
"Is any of this of any consequence?" Sleet asked, before draining his cup, "because it doesn't
sound it."
"Have patience, Sleet. I'm just giving you a bit of background, is all."
"Well I'd prefer it if you got to the point."
Perry sighed in exasperation, but continued nonetheless. "I was accosted late one night by one of
your Shadows, Sleet. I was partly inebriated and alone, wobbling along in the general direction of
the house I was staying at. I know that you don't need me to describe them to you. I was petrified.
The thing literally fell out of the sky, totally silent, no warning whatsoever. It was horrific, it's eyes
glowing like red coals. And, although I was scared shitless, I couldn't turn away, couldn't move a
muscle, couldn't even as much as blink. I was mesmerised."
"What did you see?" Sleet couldn't help his interjection. He had recognised a method by which he
could determine the authenticity of what was being relayed to him.
"A bright blue light," Perry whispered. "I was drawn to it, drawn into it. I could no longer see the
face of the monster confronting me,Sleet. Instead I saw the faces of people that I knew, or had
known in the past. My parents, my sisters, my friend, Joel, and then…. you."
"Me? But, when was this?"
"Before we ever met. Before I ever clapped eyes on you, honestly."
"I don't understand," Sleet said, "how could you picture a face that you had never seen?"
"I didn't." Perry stared at him. "The creature did. The Shadow. It knew you."
Sleet took a deep breath. "Perry, listen. I've been in that exact same situation, so I know that you're
telling the truth. I saw the faces of family and friends too. But no strangers."
"Then let me finish, Sleet. Let me tell you the rest of it."
"Go on." Sleet relented.
"The Shadow planted your image, as well as your name, in my head," Perry explained, "and then
we were interrupted. There was this girl walking along the pavement towards us. It was so dark and
she was so prepossessed with her ipod that she didn't see the creature until she was virtually upon
us. She screamed, but the Shadow cut it short. It captured her attention instantly, held her there,
frozen. It was my opportunity to run for it, to get away from there as fast as I could, but my legs
were like jelly. Although I realised that the creature no longer held me under it's spell I think that I
was still experiencing the after effects. I couldn't even look away, and I wanted that so much.
"It drained her, Sleet. It sucked the life from her. It was over in moments and when it was done
what was left was little more than a pile of ashes."
Sleet nodded. "I know, I've seen it."
Perry rushed on, seemingly desperate to be done with his story. "And then it returned it's attention
to me. I had seen what it was capable of, over and above the fact that it's demeanour was so
physically threatening anyway. It delved once more into my brain to remind me of your image, to
imprint it there. And then I did it."
"Did what?"
"I did a deal with the devil. I sold my soul. I knew that it wanted you, was searching for you, and
that it had been unsuccessful. It had decided upon an alternative solution. It wanted one of your
own kind, it wanted me, to to it's work for it, to carry out it's bidding. It wanted me to bring you to it,
to them. In return, I would be allowed to live. How could I refuse an offer like that? I would have
done anything just to get away from it right then."
"You couldn't refuse. I don't blame you, Perry. But how did you find me, by the way?"
"It wasn't difficult. I have a talent for computers, you see. For systems and records. I think I could
find anyone, anywhere. Even if they've gone to ground, like you."
"So, you found me, but you can't seriously believe that I would willingly hand myself over to them?"
"Yes," Perry replied, "I do."
"Then you are mad!"
"Sleet. You wanted answers and I've provided you with as many as I can. You still need to know
more. You have to find out what they want with you. I know that you do. You know that it's never
going to end otherwise. Listen to me, the Shadow imparted one other piece of information before
it released me from it's control. It let me know that it's intention, their intention, was not to cause
you harm."
"Pah!" Sleet scoffed. "The bloody things have been trying to kill me from the very first. You've
certainly convinced me that I am their prey! Right from the night that they appeared in my brother's
living room and proceeded to suck the life out of him, whilst I cowered in the corner. Not going to
harm me? You've lost your wits!"
"I think sometimes that I have, yes. They won't leave me alone, you see. The images - your image.
It's what I see every night when I close my eyes and try to sleep. It's turned me into an insomniac.
One of the bloody things must be perched on my roof at night, projecting it into my head. But I do
believe, Sleet. I trust them when they say that no hurt will be done to you. Do you really think that
you would be here right now if they simply wanted you dead. Have they not had their chances to
accomplish that? They want you alive, Sleet. They need you alive. And you want to know why, I
know that you do. Before harm comes to those who are close to you."
"Is that a threat?"
"How can I threaten you? I'm merely stating was has already occured, more often than you'd care
to admit probably. And I'm offering you an end to it. For my own sake as much as yours and those
who are dear to you. I don't know any more. It's up to you to find out the rest for yourself."
Sleet shook his head from side to side in disbelief. "And when is this supposed to happen?"
"Tomorrow evening," Perry answered. "I don't know where and when yet. That information will be
imparted to me soon."
"And how will I find out?"
"I'll text you. Give me your number and I will send you the details once I have been made aware of
them."
Sleet could only stare at him, weighing up his options and coming to the realisation that he actually
had very few. Perry was correct. He wanted to know what was going on, and preferably he wanted
to find out before anyone else lost their life. He took his phone from his pocket and flipped it open.
He selected 'Contacts' and saw his new number there alongside the word 'Me'. Helen had been
right when she'd said that he'd never remember it. He read it out to Perry who already had his own
phone in hand and efficiently entered the number into it.
"Until tomorrow, then," Perry said as he arose from his chair.
"You'd better be telling the truth, Perry." Sleet warned.
Perry frowned down at him "What do you think?" And with that, he turned about and walked away.
Sleet watched his back as he retraced his steps along the route by which he had arrived. Then he
shook his head as if to clear it of a fog and turned to summon the waitress so that he could pay for
the cappuccino. As he did so he was startled to find that she was already stood at his shoulder.
"I was asked to pass this to you," she said, brandishing a folded piece of writing paper at him, "by
the old gentleman."
"The old Gentleman?"
"Yes, he was sat over there," she pointed over to where the old boy with the trilby and the
newspaper had been sitting. Sleet hadn't noticed his departure but he was in no way surprised by
this, as engrossed as he had been in Perry's revelations.
He reached out and took the proffered paper whilst fishing in his trouser pocket for the handful of
coins that he knew would be sufficient to cover the cost of the beverage.
"Thanks, and keep the change."
She voiced her appreciation before moving away.
He looked down at the folded note in his hand. He felt as if he had had more than enough mystery
for one day (Helen would be loving it, he was sure), but he unfolded the paper immediately
nonetheless, in order to discover its contents.
The handwriting was spider-like, but legible. Most noticeably, although it had been written in proper
letter form, there was no date or addressee at the top and there was no signature at the bottom.
Having digested this he turned his attention to the matter of the letter itself.
Dearest Sir,
I beg your forgiveness with troubling your good self with my own woes. Although I can readily
affirm that I no nought of your own troubles, I am somewhat inclined to believe that my own must
pale into insignificance when set alongside them. Please do be assured that in haranguing you so I
had nowhere else to turn. Furthermore, I would wish to impress upon you the fact that I have no
expectation whatsoever in connection with what I am imparting to you herein. This is merely my
desperate, and quite possibly my last, course of action in this regard. Think of it, if you will, as the
proverbial message in a bottle - cast into the waves as a final, and probably quite hopeless, throw
of the dice. Forgive me also for not launching into chapter and verse on the events that have
befallen me and, more particularly, my only child. Know only that her name is Greta and that she
was wrenched from me and, indeed, from this very Earth, some five years past. The forces at
work were otherworldly, although we were not completely innocent in the fate that overtook us, and
took poor Greta away. I will say no more, dear sir, apart from to boldly state that I believe you
have an understanding of the nature of the forces to which I refer and that, should you ever find it
within your power to grant succour to my dearest daughter I would be eternally grateful to you. As,
indeed, I am already for the precious courtesy you have granted to me in the perusal of this
shamefully pitiful missive which I now urge you to destroy with haste.
With the kindest of Regards to you and a blessing upon any endeavour that you determine to
undertake,
Five years ago? How on Earth could that be?
Sleet had had enough for one day. He stuffed the note into his pocket and left Eric's Cafè, heading
for the nearest tube station at Manor House.
its strident tones began blaring from his inside jacket pocket, resulting in a partial spillage of the
cappuccino which had been midway between the table and his lips. He cursed out loud, attracting
the attention of the nearby young waitress who rewarded him with the type of sideways look that
he guessed was reserved for the slightly more eccentric patrons of Eric's Café. In addition, he
received a glare from the only other customer occupying the outside terrace - an elderly gent
wearing a trilby seated three tables away who was obviously unimpressed by the noisy interruption
of his scrutiny of The Times newspaper.
He was momentarily undecided whether to attend to his now damp trousers or to silence the
raucous strains of the theme from Mission Impossible which were emanating from his person. The
latter course of action, he presumed, would be more likely to reduce the level of attention he was
drawing to himself. He reached within his pocket and withdrew the slimline Nokia handset that
Helen had purchased for him.
Who the hell could be calling him, anyway? he thought, nobody had his number yet. And then
realisation dawned upon him - except, of course...
He raised the phone to his ear. "Hello, Helen," he said, resignedly.
"Is he there yet?" she asked in an excited whisper.
"There's no need to whisper, Helen. He's not going to hear you from where you are, is he? Mind
you..."
"Sleet!" she scolded, "be serious, will you?"
"Okay. He's not here yet," he made another attempt to raise the mug to his mouth, successfully
taking a sip of coffee this time, "but it's only five to two. If he's punctual, and I expect him to be,
he'll be along in a few minutes."
"Unless," she conjectured, "he's already there and he has you under surveillance."
He took a deep sigh. "Helen, you're not making this any easier, you know. Can you stop trying to
turn it into some kind of spy thriller? Which reminds me, thanks for the ring-tone, turned to full
volume by the sounds of it - bloody well scared the shit out of me."
"That's just how it came," she replied, distinct merriment in her voice, "I can re-set it for you later, if
you want me to."
"Yes, I want you to," he glanced up and down the street, recognised the figure of Perry walking
briskly towards the café from the direction of The Seven Sisters. "He's here. I'll see you later." He
didn't wait for a goodbye, simply slid the phone shut and popped it back into his pocket. He then
picked up his serviette from the table before him and began dabbing at the wet patch on his lap. I
bet Tom Cruise doesn't have these problems, he thought, as he gathered his wits for the upcoming
encounter.
Perry, who was clad in a knee length grey overcoat as protection against the autumn day's bitter
chill, scanned the cafe frontage as he approached and, due to the scarcity of patrons willing to
brave the elements, his eyes quickly fell upon Sleet. A somewhat out of place and foreboding grin
appeared upon his face and vanished just as quickly. Sleet felt suddenly perturbed by this and
untimely second thoughts surfaced momentarily at the forefront of his mind. He banished these
with an almost imperceptible shake of his head and watched as Perry preceded to skip airily up the
half dozen steps onto the terrace and navigated the handful of tables to where Sleet was sat.
Sleet adopted a premeditated nonchalance of the figure stood before him, choosing to sip once
more at his coffee rather than acknowledge Perry's presence.
"Mind if I sit down?" Perry asked.
Sleet looked up at his boyish features and noticed once again the nervous tic which twitched away
at the corner of his eye. For no reason that he could put his finger on, Sleet experienced a sudden
feeling of pity for the younger man. What if he was a much a victim of circumstances as he was
himself? He gestured expansively towards the three plastic chairs which were arranged around the
table. "Help yourself."
Perry took the closest seat to his own and leant forwards conspiratorially, a somewhat desperate
look in his eyes, as if he was struggling to contain whatever words and wisdom he had come to
impart.
Before he could begin, however, he was distracted by the waitress who had also noticed his
approach and was making her way towards them. Perry held up a hand to forestall her. "Nothing
for me," he said, dismissively.
"We don't want any interruptions," he said, returning his attention to Sleet, "do we?"
Sleet looked him in the eye, "I suppose not, no."
His attention was then attracted downwards to where Perry's hands were wrestling uncontrollably
with each other below the table. Perry self-consciously placed them both upon the table top before
him and interwove his fingers, locking them together.
"There are things that you want to know, Sleet," he began, "I realise that. And there are things that I
definitely need to say. All that I ask is that you allow me to say my piece and then, once I'm done, I
will genuinely try to fill in any gaps for you. After that, I will tell you what's going to happen next and
then we will arrange our next meeting. Does that all sound okay to you?"
"Not totally, no," Sleet replied. "I'm not overly impressed with you telling me what's happening next.
I wouldn't assume that it's going to pan out like that if I were you."
Perry smiled at him, a trait which Sleet was rapidly finding unnerving rather than comforting. "I'm
sorry, Sleet. I didn't mean to sound dictatorial. It's just the way it's going to be, that's all. I'm not
going to force you into anything."
"I don't really see how you could."
"No," Perry glanced away across the street in the direction of the reservoir, "of course not."
"Start talking then," Sleet said, "I haven't got all day and I do want some answers."
Perry turned his attention to where his hands were folded together on the table top. "I have told you
no lies, Sleet. I am, or was, a student, and quite a gifted one or so I was repeatedly told - I'm not
trying to blow my own trumpet, you understand?"
Sleet nodded impatiently, keen for Perry to get to the kernel of his story.
"I was invited to London to work for a short while with a friend of mine. Nothing particularly
interesting - merely the opportunity to take a break from my studies and to immerse myself in the
melting pot of the capital. I'm sure you know what I mean."
"Is any of this of any consequence?" Sleet asked, before draining his cup, "because it doesn't
sound it."
"Have patience, Sleet. I'm just giving you a bit of background, is all."
"Well I'd prefer it if you got to the point."
Perry sighed in exasperation, but continued nonetheless. "I was accosted late one night by one of
your Shadows, Sleet. I was partly inebriated and alone, wobbling along in the general direction of
the house I was staying at. I know that you don't need me to describe them to you. I was petrified.
The thing literally fell out of the sky, totally silent, no warning whatsoever. It was horrific, it's eyes
glowing like red coals. And, although I was scared shitless, I couldn't turn away, couldn't move a
muscle, couldn't even as much as blink. I was mesmerised."
"What did you see?" Sleet couldn't help his interjection. He had recognised a method by which he
could determine the authenticity of what was being relayed to him.
"A bright blue light," Perry whispered. "I was drawn to it, drawn into it. I could no longer see the
face of the monster confronting me,Sleet. Instead I saw the faces of people that I knew, or had
known in the past. My parents, my sisters, my friend, Joel, and then…. you."
"Me? But, when was this?"
"Before we ever met. Before I ever clapped eyes on you, honestly."
"I don't understand," Sleet said, "how could you picture a face that you had never seen?"
"I didn't." Perry stared at him. "The creature did. The Shadow. It knew you."
Sleet took a deep breath. "Perry, listen. I've been in that exact same situation, so I know that you're
telling the truth. I saw the faces of family and friends too. But no strangers."
"Then let me finish, Sleet. Let me tell you the rest of it."
"Go on." Sleet relented.
"The Shadow planted your image, as well as your name, in my head," Perry explained, "and then
we were interrupted. There was this girl walking along the pavement towards us. It was so dark and
she was so prepossessed with her ipod that she didn't see the creature until she was virtually upon
us. She screamed, but the Shadow cut it short. It captured her attention instantly, held her there,
frozen. It was my opportunity to run for it, to get away from there as fast as I could, but my legs
were like jelly. Although I realised that the creature no longer held me under it's spell I think that I
was still experiencing the after effects. I couldn't even look away, and I wanted that so much.
"It drained her, Sleet. It sucked the life from her. It was over in moments and when it was done
what was left was little more than a pile of ashes."
Sleet nodded. "I know, I've seen it."
Perry rushed on, seemingly desperate to be done with his story. "And then it returned it's attention
to me. I had seen what it was capable of, over and above the fact that it's demeanour was so
physically threatening anyway. It delved once more into my brain to remind me of your image, to
imprint it there. And then I did it."
"Did what?"
"I did a deal with the devil. I sold my soul. I knew that it wanted you, was searching for you, and
that it had been unsuccessful. It had decided upon an alternative solution. It wanted one of your
own kind, it wanted me, to to it's work for it, to carry out it's bidding. It wanted me to bring you to it,
to them. In return, I would be allowed to live. How could I refuse an offer like that? I would have
done anything just to get away from it right then."
"You couldn't refuse. I don't blame you, Perry. But how did you find me, by the way?"
"It wasn't difficult. I have a talent for computers, you see. For systems and records. I think I could
find anyone, anywhere. Even if they've gone to ground, like you."
"So, you found me, but you can't seriously believe that I would willingly hand myself over to them?"
"Yes," Perry replied, "I do."
"Then you are mad!"
"Sleet. You wanted answers and I've provided you with as many as I can. You still need to know
more. You have to find out what they want with you. I know that you do. You know that it's never
going to end otherwise. Listen to me, the Shadow imparted one other piece of information before
it released me from it's control. It let me know that it's intention, their intention, was not to cause
you harm."
"Pah!" Sleet scoffed. "The bloody things have been trying to kill me from the very first. You've
certainly convinced me that I am their prey! Right from the night that they appeared in my brother's
living room and proceeded to suck the life out of him, whilst I cowered in the corner. Not going to
harm me? You've lost your wits!"
"I think sometimes that I have, yes. They won't leave me alone, you see. The images - your image.
It's what I see every night when I close my eyes and try to sleep. It's turned me into an insomniac.
One of the bloody things must be perched on my roof at night, projecting it into my head. But I do
believe, Sleet. I trust them when they say that no hurt will be done to you. Do you really think that
you would be here right now if they simply wanted you dead. Have they not had their chances to
accomplish that? They want you alive, Sleet. They need you alive. And you want to know why, I
know that you do. Before harm comes to those who are close to you."
"Is that a threat?"
"How can I threaten you? I'm merely stating was has already occured, more often than you'd care
to admit probably. And I'm offering you an end to it. For my own sake as much as yours and those
who are dear to you. I don't know any more. It's up to you to find out the rest for yourself."
Sleet shook his head from side to side in disbelief. "And when is this supposed to happen?"
"Tomorrow evening," Perry answered. "I don't know where and when yet. That information will be
imparted to me soon."
"And how will I find out?"
"I'll text you. Give me your number and I will send you the details once I have been made aware of
them."
Sleet could only stare at him, weighing up his options and coming to the realisation that he actually
had very few. Perry was correct. He wanted to know what was going on, and preferably he wanted
to find out before anyone else lost their life. He took his phone from his pocket and flipped it open.
He selected 'Contacts' and saw his new number there alongside the word 'Me'. Helen had been
right when she'd said that he'd never remember it. He read it out to Perry who already had his own
phone in hand and efficiently entered the number into it.
"Until tomorrow, then," Perry said as he arose from his chair.
"You'd better be telling the truth, Perry." Sleet warned.
Perry frowned down at him "What do you think?" And with that, he turned about and walked away.
Sleet watched his back as he retraced his steps along the route by which he had arrived. Then he
shook his head as if to clear it of a fog and turned to summon the waitress so that he could pay for
the cappuccino. As he did so he was startled to find that she was already stood at his shoulder.
"I was asked to pass this to you," she said, brandishing a folded piece of writing paper at him, "by
the old gentleman."
"The old Gentleman?"
"Yes, he was sat over there," she pointed over to where the old boy with the trilby and the
newspaper had been sitting. Sleet hadn't noticed his departure but he was in no way surprised by
this, as engrossed as he had been in Perry's revelations.
He reached out and took the proffered paper whilst fishing in his trouser pocket for the handful of
coins that he knew would be sufficient to cover the cost of the beverage.
"Thanks, and keep the change."
She voiced her appreciation before moving away.
He looked down at the folded note in his hand. He felt as if he had had more than enough mystery
for one day (Helen would be loving it, he was sure), but he unfolded the paper immediately
nonetheless, in order to discover its contents.
The handwriting was spider-like, but legible. Most noticeably, although it had been written in proper
letter form, there was no date or addressee at the top and there was no signature at the bottom.
Having digested this he turned his attention to the matter of the letter itself.
Dearest Sir,
I beg your forgiveness with troubling your good self with my own woes. Although I can readily
affirm that I no nought of your own troubles, I am somewhat inclined to believe that my own must
pale into insignificance when set alongside them. Please do be assured that in haranguing you so I
had nowhere else to turn. Furthermore, I would wish to impress upon you the fact that I have no
expectation whatsoever in connection with what I am imparting to you herein. This is merely my
desperate, and quite possibly my last, course of action in this regard. Think of it, if you will, as the
proverbial message in a bottle - cast into the waves as a final, and probably quite hopeless, throw
of the dice. Forgive me also for not launching into chapter and verse on the events that have
befallen me and, more particularly, my only child. Know only that her name is Greta and that she
was wrenched from me and, indeed, from this very Earth, some five years past. The forces at
work were otherworldly, although we were not completely innocent in the fate that overtook us, and
took poor Greta away. I will say no more, dear sir, apart from to boldly state that I believe you
have an understanding of the nature of the forces to which I refer and that, should you ever find it
within your power to grant succour to my dearest daughter I would be eternally grateful to you. As,
indeed, I am already for the precious courtesy you have granted to me in the perusal of this
shamefully pitiful missive which I now urge you to destroy with haste.
With the kindest of Regards to you and a blessing upon any endeavour that you determine to
undertake,
Five years ago? How on Earth could that be?
Sleet had had enough for one day. He stuffed the note into his pocket and left Eric's Cafè, heading
for the nearest tube station at Manor House.
| Chapter 8: Shadow on the Mind's Eye |
| December 2009 |
| Serial Fiction |
| Copyright 2009, 2010 by Nils Durban |
In which we learn what transpires during Sleet’s rendezvous with Shaun Perry, desperate as he is for an explanation
to the increasingly concerning puzzle of the avid regard with which the Shadows appear to hold him --N. D.
to the increasingly concerning puzzle of the avid regard with which the Shadows appear to hold him --N. D.
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