I know I haven’t posted in ages. I’ve been going through a few things recently and it’s just been too heavy to write so openly about it. This whole year since John’s funeral hasn’t been easy. When he passed away everything went dark in my life. It made just getting out of bed in the morning a nightmare, waking up in that big empty bed was a stark reminder I’d never see him again. Our huge house became cold and eerie where before I was always telling John to tidy up his gear because I was always tripping over it. In those then empty evenings I found it easy to finish a full bottle of wine listening to bad romantic ballads to starve off the tears. I know, cliché.

I became intensely private, didn’t want to go out too much, barely talked to anyone outside of work. I got fed up with people asking, “are you alright? Is there anything I can do?” and it became easy to pall of friends’ worry with a fake “I’m fine. Just tired.” Well I was tired (shattered, destroyed, exhausted and so on) but I was also not fine. All I wanted to do was wallow in my private sadness. At the back of my mind, I thought that was as low as I would go and I would just thread this depth of depression forever. Then something happened and I found I could go much deeper.

Two months after John’s funeral, I was restless in the middle of the night. I just couldn’t sleep, every time I closed my eyes, I started to dream and that was something I desperately wanted to avoid. I didn’t want to think much either so I huddled up in my big duvet to fight the bitter cold because I no longer bothered putting the heat on at night for just me. I liked the quietness of the late of night because it felt somehow eternal, never-ending, a way to forget forever. But a screaming cat broke the stillness and I stuck my head under the corner of the curtain to see if I could spot the annoying minger. And that’s when I saw him.

He was standing outside our house, on the pavement, looking straight up at my window; a homeless man with a dirty tattered coat, a mottled blue woollen hat, black beard, scruffy and downright freaky. For ten minutes, I watched this guy but he didn’t move. I turned on the light and in that brief distraction to find the lamp the man was gone. Puff, disappeared like a magician in smoke.

I was quite shaken up. It reminded me of the night John died - I was home late from work that night. I remember coming in, throwing my shoes off and calling out for him, but he wasn’t there but I didn’t worry, just assumed he’d be home later. And then there was that knock at the door, two Gardai standing in the doorway, the blue light of the police car flashing in the background. I remember John’s body, cold and motionless, laying in the white room and me nodding, saying, “yes it’s him,” but not hearing the words actually come out of my mouth. It made me freeze, deep inside. Something went dead in me right then, but also another part of me wanted to run, wanted to buck everything, escape the nightmare. But this night, when I saw that homeless man, that part of me reared up again, yelling at me to get away, to escape, that it wasn’t real. My heart thumped vigorously for hours. But he didn’t appear again that night. If that was it, I would have been okay. I would have dismissed it, a once-off, that’s all.

The days after, I was a little paranoid, looking over my shoulder all the time and jumping at everything. I started to relax, started to forget the incident. Three weeks later, I had worked late again and on the Dart home, the train carriage was nearly empty. I was sleepy, nodding off for a few seconds at a time. That’s when I caught sight of the mottled blue woollen hat. I jumped, turned around and there at the other end, he was sitting looking at me. I stood up moving backwards and toppled into another traveller. I panicked at the door-open button and luckily the train was stopping at that moment. I got off, didn’t care where. I looked back at the train as it moved off from the platform, but I couldn’t see him any more, even though I knew he had moved.

I was a wreck then. I watched everywhere, but I never saw him. It was only when I wasn’t looking that I would see him. I tried to work as much as possible from home, avoided travelling anywhere. When I did travel, I always did it when loads of people were around such as at rush hour. Weeks passed and I couldn’t keep it up. I couldn’t keep hiding. But it was when I relaxed, when I wasn’t really looking, that I saw him. I saw him once when I was shopping and I hadn’t been concentrating on what I was doing, he was there in another aisle, staring motionless at me. Another time, when I was dozing at my desk, I spotted him outside my office, the crowds flowing around his motionless watching form.

I did contact the Gardai about it, but, as usual, they couldn’t do anything about it. The freak hadn’t threatened me, hadn’t even approached me, no breathing down the line or dirty calls. My stalker wasn’t considered a critical threat according to them. But I felt my life was under siege. I was trapped in our empty house and when I let my guard down, he would be there, watching. Once, late in the loneliness of night, I imagined that the stalker was John, come back from the dead for he was about the right build and height. That just shows you how fucked I was getting, all Helsinki-Syndrome.

I couldn’t live like this, a slave to my own fear. So it was one night, when I had been woken up by the screech of that annoying minger cat, I felt a strange determination. That part of me that wanted to flee was strangely quiet. It was replaced with something hard, something curious, something fearless. Without much thought, I grabbed my coat and walked to the front door. I paused briefly with my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t know what I was doing, just felt it was now or never, that I either stand-up or forever crawl into my bed in search of the bliss of forgetfulness. It wasn’t cold that night but there was a wind that nearly pushed me down the street. I had to hold strong and compose myself but then I followed it. I don’t remember how long I walked, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was only when a gruff a voice called out “ho!” I turned around to face the voice and I stumbled in shock. My eyes were deceiving me for I saw two scrawny monsters approaching towards me. They appeared generally human in form, but one had only a huge gaping mouth of sharp awful teeth instead of a head, the other one had two wailing bunch of tentacles instead of arms. They were approaching me slowly, like predators approaching a trapped prey. I couldn’t scream or even run, all I could do is watch these two things zig-zag slowly towards me.

Then the mouth-head leaped at me, its mouth wide open so that I could see the awful tongue that danced in anticipation of biting down on me. But there was a sudden flash and the mouth-head was rammed against a wall. Something was ripping into it, I saw a glint of a short but broad golden blade, striking down so many times I couldn’t count. Blood splattered the wall. The tentacle-armed freak seemed to move back in fear, and then this something with its golden blade was tearing into it. In less than a blink of an eye, I saw it gut the tentacle-armed freak in two, its innards spilling all around.

And then I recognised who this something was… the mottled blue woollen hat, the dirty tattered coat, the black beard… he turned towards me, in his hand the golden blade dripping thick red blood. I started to move away, my cold determination slipping away, lost in his fury of the blood. My stalker stood there, blood splattered across his face. He looked like he was waiting for something from me, he stretched out his hand for me. I was horrified, shocked and when he saw the fear in my face he recalled. I swear I saw tears as he pulled away. And in a flash he was gone and I fell unconscious to the pavement.

When I awoke, I was in a hospital bed. I was thankfully unhurt. A Gardai in plains clothes was sitting there asking me questions about what happened. Apparently the two “monsters” I had seen must have been a trick of the light or some weird delusion of my paranoid state. They had been two old drunk guys looking for trouble. They asked a lot of questions about my stalker and I told him everything, I told him how shitty he had made me feel, how locked in I felt and he just listened. And for some reason, I felt unburdened and when I went home, I dared to say, I felt free.

Three months later and it brings me up to today. No sign of my stalker, the fucker seems to be gone. I even went out with the girls last week for the first time since John’s death. I smiled today. It has been a year and a day since John’s death and it is beginning to feel like I’m coming out of the dark tunnel and letting light back into my life.

He didn’t seem to notice that there was only one place set out in the restaurant and that the chief, who also acted as waiter, was waiting patiently for him to arrive. “Any news?” Mr. Grey asked but his tone implied he didn’t really care. And anyway before the waiter replied he knew what the answer would be. They had gone through the same ritual three days in a row. “No, Señor Grey. No Señor Grey,” would be all that Mr. Grey got. “Well then I’ll have the usual,” Mr. Grey replied and passed back the menu.

The concierge and the cleaner stood in the hall watching as Mr. Grey ate. He seemed so unconcerned, unworried even. Mr. Grey ate methodologically. First he cut up his sausages and then he pierce the yellow of his egg and dipped each piece of sausage in the yellow. Finally he cleared up the whole mess with pieces of his bacon rashers.

After that, Mr. Grey retired to the poolside (it was more like a big pond than a pool) where there was a small bar. The regular barman had left with his family who had headed for higher ground in the hopes they might survive, so the concierge had to step in as barman. But that was okay because Mr. Grey was the only guest.

He didn’t go for a swim. He sipped tea in the morning while reading some of the worn paperbacks left by other guests. After lunch he would vary his routine and have a light beer. In the evening, he had a small dinner in the restaurant (the only patron) before retiring to bed around ten in the evening.

This had been the routine for three days.

It came as little surprise that he was found dead on the fourth.

It doesn’t matter what happens on the fifth.

The small town, what was left of it anyway, was somewhat disappointed that Mr. Grey was dead. It had meant that the only reason they were still going was gone. Yet it didn’t distress them as much as one would expect. The peace he had given them was something to be treasured and they idly faced their fate as if it didn’t matter. Life would go on somewhere, that, they felt, was certain. Mr. Grey might have told them otherwise had they but asked him.

The town was just a little tourist trap. There was nothing, or at least little else, to it. Mr. Grey had arrived the day after they had received that terrible news. The place was in a panic with people overloading their cars trying to leave even though it probably wouldn’t make a difference and there was chaos on the small streets as people simply lost it. Two killed themselves.

But when Mr. Grey arrived in the hotel reception and asked for a room, something clicked. The concierge lifted himself from his gloom and served the man. The hotel manager rallied the town and the few remaining staff, with the cry that as long as there was a guest in his hotel there was work to be done.

And so for three days the town ticked over, nearly as normal.

Mr. Grey wasn’t his real name. He had forgotten it and neither did he care. Because, it was his fault the world ended.

The Mortician came up to the Mayor and the young man could heard the Mortician’s wispy voice say, “ah, if it is dead there is no problem…” It was too much for the young man and he yelled at both of them: “HE IS ALIVE!”

All the assembled town folk, who came to see the head, audibly sucked in their breath and followed by a low mumbling as they conferred among themselves. The Mayor sighed and approached the young man. “Now there is no need to be so outrageous. Seeing he is dead there is a little worry for us…”

All this time the head was listening. The head was definitely male and in the late thirties the young man had figured. The young man was a scientist and he gone about all the regular tests the moment the head had appeared. The head didn’t mind too much and occasionally complained that some of the tests ‘tickled’ (a sure sign the head was alive).

“Excuse me but could someone scratch my nose?” This was the first time the head had spoken to the assembled crowd and again they all sucked in their breath again. The Mayor walked up to the head quite slowly showing that he was purposeful even though he hadn’t a clue. He attempted to circle the head. The head’s eyes followed him till he was nearly out of sight and then the head slowly rolled around so that the Mayor couldn’t get to the back of the head. The Mayor continued his slow circle three times in an attempt to see the back.

The young scientist was agitated with frustrated and went striding forward to scratch the head’s nose but the Mortician and the local Publican held him fast. The Mayor stopped and then stared through his monocle at one of the head’s eyes. The head blinked and the Mayor stepped back.

“Seriously, my nose is quite itchy. Just one scratch, please!”
“Your… nose?” the Mayor asked as if it wasn’t obvious.
The head spun slightly so that it’s nose nearly knocked the Mayor over. “Yes my nose.” The Mayor slowly scratched it and the head let out a sigh.
“What’s all this fuss that our young scientist is worried about you being dead?”
“Actually, I’m alive. I’m pretty sure of it. Last thing I remember was sipping some coffee at…”
“Cough. Ee.” The Mayor repeated, considering each syllable as if it was of some importance. The crowd repeated the phrase.

Only the scientist was ever convinced the head was alive but the rest of the town folk came to quickly accept the head and even the head begun to enjoy its new condition. The head’s only complaint was that there was no day here and the only light was from the moon.

But they included the head in everything, from festivals and town meetings to birthdays and births. They even setup a Head Committee who’s sole purpose was to take care of the head, cut his beard, trim his hair, clean his ears, etc. Old Grandma would tell her stories in the town square so that the head could listen. The children would sit around him and some of the more adventurous would climb up using the lobe of his ear and sit in his hair.

She told the story of the Angels. That when an Angel died it would ‘wake up’ here on it’s way back to Heaven. It would take a long time to really wake up and it was said that while it was waking you could whisper things to it and it would believe it but when it finally woke up it would see right through the lies. She had stories of men who tried to manipulate the Angels to do terrible things for their greed but always got their comeuppance either by the Angels’ own hands or by their own fate.

The head got tired of these stories and once sighed when the Grandma started one of them. The Grandma gave him a frightful stare and after she had told the story and the kids had gone home, Grandma poked his cheek with her walking stick. “You don’t like the stories?” she poked him again.

“Ouch! They get old quickly…” he answered only to get another poke.
“That’s ‘cos there made nice for children.” She replied and then yelled “Grandpa!” The old man appeared in the door of the tavern and hobbled over. Some of the other men and women came out as they knew Grandpa was going to tell a story, a story for adults.

“There was a beautiful lass I knew when I was a young’in. She had a husband and three kids. She had good liv’in.” (That’s ‘living’ or having a good life as opposed to profession or being alive which are apparently very different as the head had come to learn). “This story is a tragedy and though it starts from a good place, it’s a bad thing that I must begin with. A great lizard-dragon burnt their home down while she was at market. All her family gone, except she. Struck with a terrible grief she mourned them for years until the town could no longer stand her crying.”

“Being ignored did her no good either and she started to try and kill herself. She asked the Mortician, the Soldier, the Publican and even the Doctor (though he did offer her things worse than death). But none would kill her. How could they? Action breeds responsibility and no-one was willing to face that for her.”

“But that’s when she saw a Star fall. An Angel had died. She trekked across the land looking for the little piece of broken Heaven and found the sleeping Angel in a rundown shack. ‘Angel,’ she whispered to it, ‘I am not worthy. You should kill me.’ The Angel stirred in its slumber. The girl had heard the stories, knew that Angels could be tricked as they slowly awoke. What she didn’t know is that Angels’ greatest weapons are not like metal swords. They are the razor sharp edge of truth.”

Grandpa took a deep breath. He said he had to get the words right.

“The Angel spoke ‘I have brought down nations, I have raised the humble to heroes, I have betrayed God and found Faith. I am waking and I have not yet the strength to strike you down. Tell me why I should kill you.’”

“She replied a little like this, ‘I have nothing, I have no-one. I cry and lose my living. I look only to the past. I am not worthy, you should kill me.’ The Angel, in it’s white smock rose from up from the depths of sleep as if it was a great fish climbing out of the depths.”

“The Angel responded, ‘I know you. I know what happened to you. The lizard-dragon was meant to be dead but I had failed to kill them all and so your tragedy is given from my guilt and failure.’”

“‘Then you should kill me now then, it’s all I ask.’ The Angel was now awake and he stood up, his glory barely concealed by his simple smock. His glory is a true vision to behold but it would be your last if you saw it.”

“‘You are a fool. I am awake and I see through the lies.’ The Angel said. “You do not really wish to die, but only crave the attention suicide offers. You wish the very heavens to feel sorry for you. Yet I will kill you.’”

“She went that kinda deathly pale when you see your own shadow wak’in. But that’s another story for another night, Mr. Head. The Angel said then ‘I will kill you because I see the truth and you are not worthy and do not deserve living. I will kill you slowly and painfully for Heaven does not care for pity.’ With that he revealed his full glorious form and she burnt in her mind for years until it was ash and her body was consumed by the light.”

Grandpa stopped speaking. The assembled people nodded their head in understanding. If the head was able to nod, it would have too.

(Sometime later, the head asked Grandpa where the woman was buried. Grandpa spoke slowly as he explained that the woman was still dying but the light of her burning soul was so bright that they threw it up into the sky once her body had gone. Her name was Luna.)

We were afraid to just go in. Parents wouldn’t even look at the shop and we never saw anyone else go in or out. It might have been one of those places where they didn’t allow children at all and then we “might see something we shouldn’t.”

We had been playing with coin coppers on the pavement across from the shop when Ciarian came by. He was the same age as us but twice as big and our resident bully at the time. In the long run of things he was unimportant, but right then he was a sort of catalyst.

He stomped over our coins on the ground and was going to pick on Mick, the smallest of kids. The last time he did, he took all Mick’s coins and including one of mine that I had lent him. So I stood up to Ciarian, pushed myself in front of him. My personal rebellion must have caught him off-guard because he didn’t push me out of the way (which he could have done with ease), instead he took a very small step back. But his bravado was matchless and he laughed at me.

“Wimp!” he yelled at me. “Look, you’re shak’in,” (actually he was shaking, I was fine). He pointed down at me. “If you’re so tough, go get something from that shop.” He jabbed his thumb at the fudge shop. Mick and the others all inhaled at the same time.

But I was determined. Armed with my few remaining coins in my pockets, I pushed in the main door. A little bell sounded and the door closed neatly behind me.

An old man looked up from the counter. He was covered in old-person’s wrinkles. His face was not defined by shape but by the lines made by the wrinkles. He wore round-rimmed spectacles, which he lifted off his nose when he saw me.

“Well, well, well, young man. Are you here on business or pleasure?” His grin stretched and pulled the wrinkles to their limits. I could barely make out his eyes, so deeply set in folds of skin.

I didn’t say anything. I looked around, trying to spy something familiar. But there wasn’t anything. The light was too low and everything was drenched in very deep shadows. The walls were lined with objects I couldn’t make out and there was an odd smell soaking the place.

A growling sound came from the back of the shop. “Excuse me, young man. The old ball and chain is calling.” The old man turned slowly and went into the back. His motions seemed painfully slow like he was a giant robot from some Godzilla movie. Being a kid at the time, I had no idea what ball and chain meant. I imagined some sort of monstrous dog out back. The image in my head froze me to the spot.

But my curiosity was stronger than my fear. I broke free and ran up to the counter and studied the items underneath it. Though the dusty glass pane on one shelf there was a selection of snow-balls: they each contained statues of three women but each ball was subtly different. On one it said Fate and had three women in grey smocks, on the next it said Destiny and the three women looked like crying angels and the next said Love and showed a young girl, mother and grand-mother. There were also ones titled Fear, Death, Life and Hope and more behind that I could just about spy.

Above that shelf there were action figures, which I thought I knew all about. But I didn’t recognise the brand or the figures themselves. They didn’t seem to be of any one particular movie, TV series or comic book. They weren’t even those weird Japanese ones. There was a superhero-like one with a cape and mask and a plastic bit you tuck on to make him look like he was shooting lasers from his eyes, another wore only animal furs and had club and animal skin cape, one wore an astronaut suit and had some sort of laser gun and another one was dressed as a samurai with a sword that was marked “glow in the dark”.

No prices were tagged to any of them. In the background there was the constant low sound of the old man talking to something.

I went over to the wall opposite the counter. There were numerous shelves containing books and I quickly scanned the titles. But I couldn’t make out the letters. They weren’t written using the English alphabet.

“Well, well, well, young man. Are you still looking? Have you found anything interesting?” The old man had reappeared and was leaning again on the counter. He wasn’t even looking at me, just reading some newspapers there.

With my courage used up, I ran out. Ciarian had vanished having taken Mick’s coins and leaving him with a sore shoulder.

But that little visit had sparked something. I was curious and now fearless: a dangerous combination. I knew that it sold toys, but toys unknown to me. I wanted to go back, I wanted to see what else was there. I wanted to buy something.

The following week I ventured back to the shop. I went alone and didn’t tell my friends. I pushed the door very slowly, hoping not to ring the bell but it still chimed. Some tall man was standing at the counter. He glared at me with barely hidden malice and shivers ran down my back. I nearly left right at that moment.

But as I said, I felt fearless. I stepped in and just stood there. The old man winked at me from behind the counter, his whole face animated by the movement of the wrinkles.

The customer turned his back to me and talked in hush tones to the old man. This customer was wearing a long raincoat that went right down to the tops of his shoes. I could see they were covered in mud.

I noticed two things that told me that this guy was not like everyone else. First the smell, like burnt toast or when my mum used to leave the dinner on too long and the whole house would stink of smoke and burnt food.

The second was the bulge in his back. It was just about waist height. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except it moved occasionally and when it did, something moved all the way down to his shoes.

Three times the man scratched the bulge and seemed to rearrange himself. But on the third time, I saw something: a small red triangle peeked out from underneath his raincoat but only for a moment.

I was about to bolt right then. But then the old man called out my name. I froze like stone. He knew who I was. He said, “Don’t come back here for a little while, young man. Am going to be having some very dark customers coming. They might not take kindly to children, particularly curious ones.” From the way he said it, I got the impression that these dark customers didn’t just not like children but did bad things to them.

I had nightmares for the next week. Demons with huge bat wings and monsters made of shadow chasing me through a never-ending store where I couldn’t read the signs to find my way.

I didn’t go back for much longer than a week, actually quite a while. I was seventeen the next time I did.

My father had been dead two years by then. I was bonking-off school that day. Well in truth I was bonking-off from everything. I wasn’t dumb, far from it. We had a computer at home and I could program and even hack a little. I traded my warez on BBSs.

I was flunking school too. Didn’t give a crap, everything the teachers said sounded like bullshit to me. My mother didn’t seem to care either. She didn’t care about much after Dad’s death.

I was walking down by the shop that day and I stopped. Perhaps it was my rebellious nature that pushed me to go, fighting against my natural instincts.

The little bell chimed. The place hadn’t changed. The old man was there, at the counter reading some papers. His wrinkles formed into a large grin. He said my name and then asked, “How are you doing my young lad? I heard about your poor father. Tragedy.”

“I’m okay. Wanna buy something.”

“You already have. It’s in the making. These things take time to unfold.” The old man twisted around and shouted to the back something I couldn’t understand. Something responded. “Would you care for some tea?”

“What’s ‘in the making’?”

“If I tell you, I’ll ruin the surprise.” At that moment, an old hunched lady appeared from the back of the shop, rattling a tray with tea and biscuits. She stared at me with eyes that dripped viciousness. She slapped the tray on the counter and wobbled back into the darkness of the shop.

I took some of the tea and biscuits. “Do you know anything about these new fangled machines? Can’t get it to do anything.” Behind the counter he had an old BBC Micro computer. A small screen showed 3D vector graphics of a box.

“What are you tying to do?”

“Well, this is meant to be a room and I’m trying to put doors in it. It’s a game I’m building…”

“Can I try?”

The old man smiled and let me behind the counter. I took me less than thirty seconds to figure the interface and add the doors. He had a hand-drawn map he wanted to put in and so I helped him, suggested improvements and customisations, where monsters and treasure should be put. “You have a knack,” he said more than once, his old face smiling at me knowingly.

The old man left me alone while he attended to some customer. I glanced up and saw a green skinned man (with a kind of cone shape head) in a very shiny suit. Obviously it was some Star Trek fan dressed up, I thought to myself.

Later more customers distracted the old man. I was surprised; I had imagined that customers were an infrequent thing. I looked up and saw a couple; the woman was incredible with long blonde hair that danced in curls on her shoulders. There was something ethereal about her and her eyes seemed far a way. I didn’t even register the man. I hunched my shoulders I focused back on the computer. I think I caught the old man winking at me.

He pretty much left me alone and after a few hours I had inputted (and improved) his design. His little game was cute, I asked for a copy and he warmly agreed, digging out an old floppy to put it on. I thanked him as I left, something I didn’t do at that age.

I went home and then spent the night expanding and improving it. I send a copy of it to some of my online buddies who enjoyed it, asking for more.

It is only with hindsight now that I realise it was this point that changed the direction of my life. I started writing and designing computer game though I became more interested in the building of the game rather than the programming. I went to college, got a degree, got a good job designing games and even got married. All this time I never thought of going back to the shop.

It wasn’t until my mother got sick that I came home. My wife returned with me. She was a computer programmer, working in the same company. We couldn’t have kids sadly, another story not worth repeating here.

But it was one evening, late, that I was walking through town that I passed the shop. I went in.

Nothing at all had changed. The old man greeted me as if I was an old friend. Asked how I was. Told him about my wife and my mother. But I was older and a lot more aware and subtly I asked him, “how’s business?”

“So so,” he replied.

That was about as subtle as I was willing to be and so I asked him what he sold here, what did this little shop sell? He laughed a hearty laugh.

“Something similar to what you do.”

“What I do?”

“Come, I’ll show you.” I followed him into the back of the shop. The old woman was there, weaving something. He brought me to a door and said, “This is my latest project. I must warn you before I show you that some that have seen this process have gone insane. But I know you. I know it is safe for you.” His wrinkled hands grasped the doorknob and light poured out from the widening gap.

I can’t tell you what he showed me, not yet. I will, I promise.

It changed me. I came back the next day and the next day. I asked him about it, learnt about it and even sat in with him while he worked. The curiosity from my childhood was now burning me. But what surprised me more, was the questions he asked me and that he seemed impressed and even thoughtful about my answers. “You have an instinct,” he would say again and again.

But the other world intruded and dragged me back to a reality I’d rather have avoided. My mother died.

The wonders in that shop faded in my mind and the world seemed blacker. And eventually my wife and I returned to our home and work.

But in time I found myself thinking about the shop and its odd customers. So I told some ‘white lies’ to my wife and claimed I was going on business trips and returned regularly to my old town and that shop.

I often brought my laptop and asked the old man’s advice on my own work. He kept saying that he felt too old for this age. I talked about ‘modernising’ his setup a bit, how you use even a simple computer to help organise things but all he would say is “my old computer did everything I needed to” (he was referring to the old BBC Micro computer behind the counter).

An important life lesson I’ve learned is: it isn’t a good idea to lie to your wife. She started to suspect I was having an affair. I think she may have even hired someone to follow me but I’ve never been bold enough to ask.

But before things got me into real trouble it was the old man’s wife that offered a solution. As I was helping the old man late on evening, she tapped me on the shoulder with her long cane “you should bring your wife around for tea next time.”

So I did. She didn’t know what to expect and she was quietly surprised entering that little shop. We went upstairs to their living room and the old lady brought us tea and biscuits. It was awkward, I didn’t know what to say and they didn’t know either. But then the old lady said to my wife “I have something to show you. Please come with me…” she took her downstairs and I guess showed her what the old man did. She never told me though and refuses even today to tell me what she saw.

But when she returned she appeared a little shaken but there was a smile on her lips and she hugged me tightly. Her eyes told me “I understand now”.

The old man was uncharacteristically nervous. “I’ve got something to ask of you. You see we’ve been doing this a very long time, an Age in fact. We want to retire but the work must go on. You know how to do all the things the work requires and you are both bright and creative people who know this modern grey time. Would you be willing to take over?”

I was giddy with excitement, I wanted to blurt out ‘yes!’ but I didn’t know about my wife. I knew this would mean quitting our jobs, losing contact with our families and friends and even to a degree losing touch with the world.

It was my wife that quietly answered ‘yes, we will.’

So now we run this little shop. We’ve tidied it up, setup a web site, modernised it a bit, but not too much. My wife deals with the customers more than I do but we share the load and participate in everything. We’ve lost our names, but that’s okay, it comes with the job.

The old couple went on a long holiday that I suspect has no real end. We occasionally get postcards but they’re of places that don’t actually exist.

You see we’re all storytellers. Every story we weave tells something about being human. But often the stories become bigger and even more important than the story builders. That’s why we no longer have names and the old couple don’t remember theirs.

Now I promised I would you I tell you what the old man showed me: when I looked into that room, I saw a world floating in the centre of its own universe. Before my eyes he arranged the stars, shaped the lands and drew rivers. He sculpted cities and place figures among its plains. He added themes and atmosphere as if sprinkling sugar. He weaved stories like wispy strands of spirit through it.

He built worlds of imagination.

Our customers pay good prices for the stories that we create. For without them they would be nothing. They are fragments of ideas wishing to exist, born out of the imagination of humanity. Sometimes when I watch TV or read a book I catch glimpses of the worlds that the old man or I had created, always a little distorted but the essence of it is there.

   We have a view of the road from the car. The trees are apparitions as they reflect the white light from the headlamps. We are moving very fast as if someone has hit fast forward. We come into a clearing and there is a pub with white stony walls and a thatched roof. No name is visible. Still in fast-forward, we move to the old oak door, which opens suddenly.

   … everyone looked at us. Well, when I say everyone, I mean the bartender and two old farts sitting in the corner. The bartender looks mean. Big shoulders and a big bald head.
   “What the fuck do you shits want?” And he sounded just as mean too.
   “Four beers!” John said without fear.
   “Yea I’ll have a Bud, a Guinness for Keith and a… Heineken Sean?” Stephen offered.
   The bartender grabbed four bottles with no labels and slammed them down on the counter. “Four beers.”
   “Eh, okay. How much?” Stephen said. John was doing a ‘silence’ sound to us.
   “You’ve never been here before have ya?” the bartender grinned at us. “A few rules, you pay at the end of the night. You do not, and I mean this you shits, you do not go outside until the sun rises. And you drink what you’re given.”
   Okay… We took our beers and found a table at the back. The beer bottles were painted gold and there were some sparkle in the beer. But it was good, surprisingly good.
   Keith, still waking, slammed half the bottle down and let out a walloping good burp. With the ice broken, we chilled and talked crap.

   “Ride the wave of madness!” she yelled as she stood, posed like a model, in the doorway. Long curly red hair and a body that made the four of us gasp. “Barman. The usual.”
   “Coming up!” the barman said.
   Music followed her into the bar. It was a thumping lively beat that drowned out the tatters of any remaining conversation. She was then followed by, one, two, three, five… ten… I lost count as more people who were as beautiful, fashionable and loud as her entered.
   Within a few seconds the little bar was transformed into a loud, and definitely live, nightclub. Chairs and tables were moved and a central space was created so people could dance. One or two of the new people jumped behind the bar to help serve.
   It was John who broke us out of our open-mouth trance by standing up and dancing his trademark bob.
   The music stopped and a man in a white suit stood in the doorway. The way he stood there, the way he seemed to en-thrall everyone in that pub, the wicked grin on his young and wild face… it held us. He started to dance and the music returned.
   The door shut behind him with a sense of finality.

   “Bloody hell! John was right!” Stephen ate his words. John was already dancing amid a trio of girls. We were still sitting. I noticed that the man in the white suit was talking with the mean bartender and looking over at the three of us.
   The bartender gave him a large red bottle and four glasses and he came over to us. The crowds parted to let him by.
   “Gentlemen! Welcome.” He handed out a glass to each of us and poured what looked like red wine into our glasses. “I’m known around here as Mr. D. and fresh faces are always welcome to our never-ending party. But we have traditions.”
   I gulped at this but he winked at me.
   “I challenge you all to a drinking contest!” he sat down on John’s vacant stool.
   We all lifted our glasses to our lips and down it went.
   He filled our glasses again and again we drank down the red wine.
   And again he filled our glasses. The stuff tasted like dry wine but had a bitter bite like it was gone-off. It occurred to me, as I lifted the stuff to my lips, that the original bottle couldn’t have contained that much wine.
   Yet, he filled our glasses again. I was getting woozy but I always had the stamina, the will, to not buckle. It was the reason why John and me were friends. He couldn’t beat me.
   Why was I getting so woozy so quickly? It mustn’t have been ordinary wine. And another glass of it went down. Stephen signalled his limit and Keith quickly followed.
   “Just you and me,” said Mr. D and, without hesitation, downed another glass.
   Another one, and another, and another… I couldn’t see straight. There was three Mr. Ds in front of me. I lifted the glass to my lips but then Mr. D fell sideways.
   I had won. I tried to remain cool and slowly place the glass on the table but I missed and the glass smashed on the floor.
   The world spun…

   “Drink this,” someone was pouring something down my mouth. I gulped and my eyesight cleared but I was still heady drunk. She was beautiful.
   I wanted to kiss her but my attempt to stand seemed to make me move sideways instead. Mr. D was standing there laughing at me as if he hadn’t drunk anything.
   “You did good. Sean isn’t it?” he offered me his hand.
   “Eh thanks.” I said as he pulled me up.
   But as I stood, the world started to spin again. I couldn’t tell which way was up. The girl that helped me, grabbed me hand and said, “lets dance!” and she pulled me to the makeshift dance hall. Part of me knew that it was the same girl that had led everyone into the pub.
   I looked back at my friends. Stephen and Keith both had a girl beside them and they were laughing. I couldn’t hear them over the music. It was so loud…

   We see Sean being pulled onto the dance floor. We see all the beautiful young people dancing and moving to the supernatural beat. It is all in slow motion. The world flickers and they are not humans but satyrs, some have the legs of goats and small horns, and others have tails and cat’s ears. Sean dances, the only mortal among them. The world flickers again and we see only humans.

   … I don’t know how we got there. She was unbuttoning my top and I was fiddling with the complex knots on hers. In moments we were doing it on the bed. She was on top. Then we went at it again and I was on top. I don’t know where I had the energy but we went at it again and again. My hand gripping her curly soft hair.
   The music matched our increasing rhythm…

   … outside. I was naked but then they were also. The gang of us were running through the field. They all effortlessly jumped over the tall hedge. Somehow I was following them. She was encouraging me, holding my hand.
   John was at the edge of the field. He was calmly smoking, unaware that we were racing towards him, laughter in our ears…

   … they were ripping him apart. Blood thrown high in the air. I staggered back. John was my friend. No they can’t do this. But then I looked at my hands; they were drenched in red, John’s blood…

   … name was Sarah. She whispered it to me as we danced under the moons and made love on the cold grass…

   “Get up!” the barman shook me. The morning streamed in the open door of the pub. The place looked like a bomb hit it. Keith and Stephen were still asleep on a bench. “Time for you to leave. Don’t look back now.”
   “Where’s John?” I gasped from my dry voice.
   “He’s gone already. Got a lift back to Dublin with the party.”
   “We haven’t paid…”
   “John paid. In full.”

   The three of us were silent in the car back. Stephen drove. None of us argued or bickered even when we got lost three times, we just muddled through.
   But all the time, I kept thinking about the nightmare, the blood on my hands, and John’s look of horror as they, no we, descended on him. But when I awoke this morning, my hands were not covered in blood. Before we left I looked around outside. I found the field that I dreamt about adjacent to the pub. There was a spot where several cigarette butts lay. No signs of struggle or blood. I got so paranoid, I checked under my nails, like in the detective shows, but there was no visible dirt or muck.
   “So, eh, Sean… did you get it on with that girl, the one you were dancing with? You disappeared for so long we thought something must have happened?” Keith tried to break our mood as we arrived into the city. The early light and its red glow shimmered above the buildings.
   “I don’t really remember…”
   “That good huh?” Keith grinned.
   We didn’t say anything else.

   We went back to our lives and buried ourselves in work. It took a whole week before we realised that John was missing.
   You see, the weekends were ours, we let loose, went wild but during the week, it was work. I was an accountant, Stephen a consultant of some sort, Keith was trying to be a writer and John was some sort of mad computer whiz. We all worked hard and worked late but it all paid well and when the weekends rolled round we spent it like there was no tomorrow.
   But it was only on Friday when I was trying to arrange our hedonistic plans that we realised that no one had spoken or seen John since that night.
   I drove out to his bed-sit on the north side of the city but no one was home. I called his neighbours who weren’t very helpful so I broke in to his place. It wasn’t hard and there was no alarm.
   Food had gone rotten on the table, messages from a week ago on his phone, week old mail though his door, everything seemed untouched from a week ago. I called the Gardai…

   … didn’t believe us. We didn’t know the name of the pub, where is was or even how to get there. They implied we were all high on drugs and probably John decided he could fly. I didn’t tell them about my nightmare. How could I? They would think I killed him. I didn’t.
   I didn’t go to work for days. Called in sick. I unplugged the phone and radio and stayed in bed.
   Then I had the dreams. In one, I was making love to Sarah, both of us naked and drenched in dry blood. I’d wake up and find I had wet the bed. In another, I dreamed we were running naked though the fields, screaming in madness and power and we would slaughter any living thing we found with our bare hands. Then some would be about John, he would be drinking too much and I would drink more. Mr. D would be there, laughing at us.
   Anytime I slept I would slip into one of these nightmares. So I tried not to sleep, drank as much coffee as I could find.
   Keith called once but I didn’t answer the door. I heard him yelling outside saying he could see me moving. But I switched off the lights.

   The worst dream hit me near the end of the week.
   I refused to sleep but the nightmares would not be so easily avoided. They tricked me into thinking I was still awake. Everything would seem normal but have a surreal, blurred, edge to them. I would hear the music playing and I would rush around the house looking for the source of it. Boom. Boom. There would be too many rooms than in reality and eventually I would find myself coming into a room I knew didn’t exist. There I would find John dancing in his unique way to the beat. Except, half his face was clawed off, his body was covered in large gashes and blood dribbled from his wounds. I’d wake then, knowing it was a dream.
   I must have banged myself against a wall while I dreamed because I had two sore bruises on my forehead. My beard had grown unusually thick and I found my legs had started to itch…

   Boom. Boom. The music played. I had by now placed old newspapers against all the windows so nothing could get in (or out). I wasn’t dreaming, yet the music played constantly. It was calling to me. Occasionally the daydream would show me Sarah, dancing, enticing me forward, except she wasn’t human in these visions. She had the legs of goat and horns on her head. She was even more beautiful, more stunning. Boom. Boom. The music was in my head. I couldn’t stop it…

   We see Sean curled up in the corner of a room. The furniture has been pushed aside and bits of litter disgrace the walls. But Sean is different than before. Horns grow suddenly out of his head. His feet change shape. He buries his head in his hands. Our view suddenly shifts to the front door. The supernatural beat stops and someone thumps on the door. It opens and Mr. D. stands there grinning with wildness. Sarah goes by him, now in her full satyr form.

   … Sarah pulls me from the house. I do not resist. I can’t tell if it is a dream or not because she looks like the image from my nightmares. She whispers things to me but I catch little of it. We’re climbing into a van. Mr. D. is there with a gold painted bottle, offering me a drink. I take a sip and the music in my head dies a bit. He doesn’t flinch as my house explodes in the background and then he bursts into laughter.
   “The world is going to be swallowed in the tide of madness and we will be riding it, leading it. We are the wave. Ride the wave of madness Sean!” Sarah screams as the van pulls off. I was riding this dream. I no longer cared if it was real or not. The music would no longer overtake me. I would overtake it.
   A part of me, a dead part of me, wondered what John’s dream was…

The darkness had finally overrun its defences and we could see the great cities in flames. The tall glittering skyscrapers turned into gigantic dead pillars of fire. The sky was blacker than the coldest night and filled with deadly poisonous clouds. The horizon was a thin red line of flame and death.

We were too late. The war was over. We, the Angels of the Choir Virtues, could save nothing.

We flew across the sky. My bright burning sword felt light and ready in my hands. But there was no one to fight. There was no one to save. All were dead.

We saw buildings crumble and burn, petrol stations blow up, bodies crumpled at the side of the roads, cars overturned and crashed. Yet there was no screaming. There was no panic or tears. Nothing living stirred.

And then came the explosion. It was like nothing I had seen before. On the distant horizon there was a great flash that blinded us for a moment. We each had to pause in the air.

We didn’t know what it was. But it was coming. Like a great wall, a burning inferno that reached from the ground right up to the black evil clouds. It sped towards us faster than we could think, decimating everything its path as if it were made of dead dust.

We froze in hesitation and we shielded ourselves with our white holy wings but the light was so bright and so hot. It tore through us as if we had been flung into the very depths of Abaddon. It shocked me into the denial of unconsciousness.

When I awoke I was sore and battered. My white robes, signifying my glorious status as an Angel of God, were in tatters. The light had been so ghastly I was left partially blind and couldn’t see more than black shapes that moved and the red light of nearby fires.

‘Prop him up!’ The voice was sharp and bitter. I was tugged and pulled and lifted up. The hands that touched me were cold. I couldn’t struggle against them or help myself. My body was broken. But then I heard the moaning of others in great anguish and pain. A sound I knew for it was the sound of those nearing a terrible death.

I fought but it was pointless. I was too weak. My eyes cleared just enough so that I could look around. The source of the terrible moaning I could just make out, on tall twisted spikes of metal human forms were skewered and were wiggling helplessly. They were still alive but dying quickly. I heard the weak flapping of wings and the realisation shocked me cold. They were my brothers and sisters, the other Angels of Virtues. They were dying.

‘No!’ I screamed pointlessly. I pulled but they had tied me with strong ropes. They tensed and my shoulders were painfully pulled back. The cold clammy hands lifted me up and I felt the razor sharp point of metal sticking deep into my spine.

There was horrid laughter, a perverse pleasure from my captors. They must be servants of darkness, monsters of nightmares. I could not escape them and my voice rose in song of mourning and shame.

Then I felt a light, a wonderful light that I knew and recognised even in my partial blindness. It was accompanied by glorious and great singing. It was the one true light of Him the Almighty. My brothers and sisters, Angels of God, had come.

I felt myself lifted and my eyesight was instantly restored. I was whole and glad again and my pain disappeared. I was ready to continue God’s great work and ready to battle the darkness.

I turned to face my one-time captors, planning to send them back to the very coldness of Hell. But I felt a gentle touch hold me back. It was only a light touch but it held great strength and power and I knew if was one from a higher Choir.

‘No! Let me bring justice,’ I pleaded.

‘No, Anthony, my child. Do you not see who you would take your vengeance on?’ I recognised the voice. It was the Seraph Gabriel, one of the blessed seven of God and one of his greater messengers.

So I looked and I saw.

My captors were not servants of darkness, not foul monsters. They were the human survivors of that apocalyptic explosion! Their skin had turned frighteningly pale and the sickness of radiation poisoning was killing them while it mutated them. But they were still human. It was not the darkness that had destroyed the world but humanity!

There was one who stood on a pedestal where a makeshift throne had been erected from the rotting remains of others. He stared at us, undeterred by the light of God and there was hatred in his eyes.

‘This world is now part of the Deadlands. This war has been lost. Do not look further. Not even our tears can save them.’ Gabriel cautioned. His tone was sombre and sad.

But I could not look away. I could not pull myself from staring at those human survivors and the dead bodies of my brothers and sisters that still hung on the metal pikes. They had died before Gabriel had arrived.

My sword had returned to me. Recreated out of the very light of Gabriel. I didn’t look at Gabriel as I descended. Nor did he stop me as I brought my holy vengeance down on them and slaughtered them all.

I tore the eyes out of all of them as they died for they were not worthy to look upon the light of the one true Heaven.

*

The trial had been quick and functionary. They had heard from Gabriel what had happened. They asked me nothing and said nothing to me.

I had killed humans knowingly and for selfish reasons. There could be no redemption. I was mentally readying myself for an eternity of torture in the 2nd Heaven.

I awaited their sentence. But none came. They must have believed my actions required no punishment yet I yearned for it. I yearned to be punished. I saw the world die and I know it was humanity that burned it. How can we protect and love humans if they willingly destroy everything God has given them? How can we stand tall and serve God if we were once human?

‘Why?’ I asked him.

Gabriel looked solemn. He was among the most beautiful of Angels and none would have dared ask such a question of him. But he did not strike me or condemn me. He bowed his head for I could see he was crying. He said, ‘It is simply the way of things Anthony. For Hope and Light to exist, there must be the darkness and failure. It is the Divine Plan.’

I once had faith. Even when I saw my mortal family killed in a mortal foolish war, I did not question my faith. But now I did. ‘I do not understand anymore.’

‘Do not try to understand. You must accept what happened and move on. Know that it is God’s Will. Have Faith in Him for through Him we are all saved.’ His eyes seemed humane and sincere. He seemed to understand what I felt but he knew as much as I did that it was impossible to give me the words I needed to hear.

*

The Earth was cold under my feet. I was naked and the sharp wind of this place whipped through me.

I had burnt my wings and left Heaven for good. None had stopped me and my brothers and sisters of the Virtues had begged me not to and so I had gone far from them and had made the fall.

It was night and very dark. I had expected to fall on a dead world but here I was in a living place. This world had not burned. A city of lights was in the distance. It made the horizon sky a deep orange hiding the few stars.

I made my blackened wings hide and I started to walk towards the city.

I was confused. The world was dead but here it was alive. Had I been given a second chance? Or had God sent me back so I may understand why He would let such a tragedy occur? Or perhaps this was my punishment to see the world burn again and know I could not stop it?

I did not know. It was cold and I needed clothes and shelter.

   ”What is this place?”
   ”No one knows. It doesn’t seem to have a name.” A dorky looking girl beside me answered. She fidgeted with glasses that were bigger than her face. She wore a white but torn t-shirt, well-worn tight jeans, blue socks with pink fluffy clouds pattern and a book, as big as her, under her arm. “Do you think this is a dream?” She asked as she stepped back as if regretting asking the question.
   ”I’m not sure. Doesn’t feel like one but I don’t feel myself either.” I reached out and pinched her.
   ”Ouch!” She said rubbing her arm.
   ”You feel real.”
   The hall had no ceiling but was covered by huge statues of animal heads. Looking straight up I found myself looking into the stony nostrils of a giant horse.
   There were other people here, looking just as lost as I felt. It had the atmosphere of a first day at school. Girls and boys of varying ages and dress. Long Victorian dresses mixed with boys in grey shorts and tweed hats. American sport jocks in their trademark red jackets wandered among darkly dressed young wizards. The only noticeable similarity was that the clothes were idyllic stereotypes of what they represented, classic versions from our cultural collective, as if every one of them was playing a role in a vast ranging play. It must be a dream but I’ve never had a dream so vivid but yet it is so odd like a dream. If it isn’t a dream then how did I get here? If it is a dream then how did I imagine all this?
   Oh my, what must I be wearing if everyone is in some costume? Perhaps I’m naked like those anxiety dreams I’ve read about? There was a mirror against one wall and I decided to look at myself.
   My mouth would have dropped off if it could. I had been reduced in age quite considerable; I was now 13 perhaps 14 years old. I’m sure I was at least twice that a moment before but for the life of me I couldn’t remember exactly right then. I did remember vague feelings that 13 isn’t my best age.
   I was wearing a strange dress for a little girl that had a very distinctive gothic feel. Black with puff shoulders and a big black bow tying up my hair. At least I was wearing boots and red and black striped tights instead of blue and pink socks. The oddest thing was that I felt comfortable. I was pretty sure that before this dream (?) that I would have been pretty shocked to find myself dressed thus.
   That’s about when the woman on a horse seemed to appear beside me. She wore a long velvet robe and cap and seemed infinitely older than any of the people gathered. She winked at me. “Admiring yourself Alice?” She had a soft kind of laugh. I scowled and was about to complain to her as she obviously knew what was going on here but the horse moved forward under her command.
   She wasn’t the only one. Along the hall, other animals bearing robed figures had appeared. A grizzly bear bore a blond haired gentleman of wonderful beauty and he waved to the jocks. An elephant carrying a person totally covered except for her eyes which seemed to sparkle, a huge peacock with brilliant feathers carrying a large fat red-faced laughing man whose heels were barely off the floor, a dragon’s head (for it’s neck extended back into the wall where it’s huge body must be) was mounted by dark robed albino man carrying a sword and many more beside. Each appearing under the same animal statue as the animal they were riding.
   The woman on the horse strode out in the centre of the group I was nearest too. I got the impression that everyone was assigned to some group under each of the animal mounted figures.
   ”All of you follow me!” She commanded and then made the horse stand on its back two legs and turned one hundred and eighty degrees towards where there was now a door that opened. This must have been where she came from but I was pretty sure it wasn’t there when I looked in the mirror.
   Suddenly there was movement and I was moving along with the group through the door.

   ”Fascinating isn’t it?” He was quite handsome, dressed in somewhat Victorian suit. I couldn’t quite place what period but then I figured perhaps it was just a fantasy of a Victorian suit. He had that high upturned collar that gave him a dashing look. “I suppose.” I wasn’t too sure what in particular he was referring too. It all felt very fantastical to me and therefore I was a little disinterested. Such was one of the notable qualities of adolescence that I remembered I didn’t like. “I believe we’ve all been assigned roles and that we’re all to play out certain plots…” he didn’t seem to be directing his comment towards me, it was more of a rhetorical statement, a pretentious out-pouring. But then again he was taller than me. Something I better get used to again.    
   ”Like life really then, ‘we are but shadows on a stage’” I retorted. His eyebrows bent into a grimace at my comment.
   ”I suppose so… but I meant that it’s all been designed you know. That we are set up as certain figures and we’ll be played off each other until it comes to a conclusion…”
   ”We have no choice in all this?”
   ”Exactly. It’ll all play out and that’s that.”
   ”Hi” a tall girl with blond hair waved at us. I could feel my eyebrows repeating the grimace. She seemed much older than me and was all bouncy and nice. Her costume was very revealing but at least modern, I think. “I’m Mystic.” She brushed her hair back with her hand and reached out to shake with my handsome Victorian friend.
   ”I’m Matthew.” He seemed a little taken back by her in a way that seemed to me to be displeasure (which I guiltily took pleasure in) but Mystic took as embarrassment and brushed the other side of her long blond hair back to reveal her other soft white shoulder.

   ”Oh and who is this?” she bent down to shake my hand, which she didn’t need to do as I wasn’t really that much shorter then her. “And what’s your name?” I was about to spit poison but I bit my tongue.
   ”Alice.” I answered without shaking her hand. She smiled and said “Oh” and stood up again taking the full advantage at revealing her precious packages. I saw Matthew’s eyes expand as he got a rather full picture from his taller vantage point.
   We were still all walking down this tunnel following the woman on the horse. Mystic bounced and said “Ok, well I’m sure I’ll see you all around!” Sparkle of her white teeth and off she went.
   ”My God Alice. I hope I never meet that girl again. She scares me.” I felt smug.

   ”Oops I’m sorry.” It was the nerd. She had bounced into me and nearly knocked me over. She was hugging her book and looking decisively nervous. “My dear Lady are you all right?” Matthew asked her.
   ”Yes, yes. I think so.” She righted her glasses and then opened her heavy book once again and continued reading. But Matthew pulled her suddenly over as someone came hurtling down the path tumbling head over heels and stopped. The woman picked herself up. Her lip was busted and her knuckles were red. She was wearing a heavy leather jacket and black t-shirt with some white symbol on it. A grin came across her face. She yelled back “is that it?” and started walking back towards a group of similarly clad girls and boys.
   An incredibly tall man, who seemed to glide along beside us, turned his long neck and seemed to bend down towards us like a snake. “They have been fighting all this time. Me not understand how they do not do serious damage.” He swung his head from side to side in what seemed like an overly sad way and he glided on.
   ”Em. Thank you.” The nerd said, pushing her lopsided glasses back up her nose. She opened her book and kept reading.
   ”So what do you think are their roles?” I said, nodding to the gang.
   ”Trouble makers or maybe anti-heroes, time will tell I suppose. We are like all good characters in that we will be blind to our oncoming unchangeable fates.”
   ”That is a depressing thought. I believe we always have a choice.”
   He smiled, “to be a good little girl or a bad little girl yes? Take that bookworm that bounced into you. Prefers books over reality, if we can call this reality. She’ll either be a comical character, passing through the whole experience without realising it or being affected by it. Or perhaps a dramatic character, diving into books to escape her terrible loneliness and perhaps her story will end by death at her own hands…”
   ”That’s terrible. Then we shouldn’t let it happen…”
   ”It is her fate…” I kicked him in the shin. “OW! That hurt. You’re not wearing soft shoes.” He was hoping on the other leg.
   ”I know. And I’m tempted to kick your other one…” He made a mock shocked look.
   ”Okay, okay. I admit I’m being harsh but such is drama Alice.” I left him hopping to go after the nerd but walked into Mystic. I could tell Matthew was following behind me but once he saw Mystic he started hopping the other way. “Oh, hello again, little girl.”
   ”Alice.”
   ”No my name’s Mystic.”
   I didn’t feel like correcting her. “Matthew said he wanted to talk to you.”
   ”He did?”
   ”Said it was urgent…”
   ”Oh I better go over and talk to him then. Thank you Ann.” I swear she nearly was going to pat me on my head but imagining Matthews’s face was enough to prevent me from doing something obnoxious. She nearly ran to find Matthew. Which left me facing three guys in long black robes and white face makeup. They stared at me. I stared at them. We didn’t say anything and I left them to find the nerd.

   That’s when we stopped moving. We had come to another door. The woman on the horse shouted “Open!” But nothing happened. She yelled “open” again. But still nothing happened. She got off the horse and approached the door. I had failed to find the bookworm by now so I had wandered up to the front of the group. The woman sat on some rubble beside the door. There were remains of statues all along the wide tunnel to this door. I couldn’t tell what any of them were meant to be when they were standing.
   ”Ah Alice.” She looked up at me.
   ”Where are we?” I asked.
   ”All in due time you’ll be told. As soon as I figure out how to open the door. They’ve done some work on it you know.”
   ”All in due time?”
   ”Yes. You don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
   ”I’d rather know…”
   She smiled. “You are definitely special. I can’t wait to see how you turn out at the final ball.”
   ”Excuse me?”
   ”Help me up would you?” She was trying to get up off her stool of rubble. I went over to her and took her arms. But I really wasn’t much help, nearly falling over myself with the effort. But my hand did slip and something popped out of her sleeve. “Ah yes. That was it. The key.” She sat back down rather then continue the effort of getting up. “They put a lock on all the entrances, after the dogs incident we couldn’t be too careful. Fetch the key would you Alice?”
   I couldn’t see it. I looked around the ground where I think it fell. “What you looking for?” The tall man craned his neck to ask me. “A key to open the door.”
   ”Perhaps a garden on other side. I would like that.”
   I spotted a sparkle and kneeled down to pick it up. A tiny key, no bigger than my finger, but wonderfully ornate.
   The woman was up and standing at the centre of the door. It seemed she had no real problems getting up now. She looked at me and said, “Do you want to do the honours?”
   The horse shook its head and snorted. And as if that was a signal I walked to where the woman was. A small key notch existed between the doors. I placed the key in it and turned. Nothing seemed to happen.
   There was a glimmer in the woman’s eye. “Open!” she yelled. And the large doors opened.

   The corridors were a mix of straight gothic columns and arches and the rough raw walls of dark stone. Hanging between the columns were pieces of all kinds of art. There was something odd about all of them though, they were all unfinished. Half-complete marble statues that look like they were bursting into life from the stone. Nearly finished impressionist landscapes, which seemed washed-out but still retained their beauty in a haunting form. Sketches of everything, the beauty of the naked body, all types of houses and buildings and scenes from comic books. There were rough technical drawings of crafts of all kinds and other diagrams of impossible to decipher symbols. They had a tremendous element of sadness as if they were all ideas and art tossed aside by their creators yet presented in theses corridors they had a triumphant feel, a budding life, threatening us to be continued. Still it made me feel more sad than happy.
   There were many corridors going off this one. Not in any particular order and just as many as these offshoots were straight as were twisty. None of us left the group as we walked along.
   ”My name is Miss. Melpomene. You can all call me Miss.” It was the woman. Even though she was far ahead of me I could hear her voice crystal clear. Hers was definitively an old voice but it was full of mischievous warmth. She wasn’t riding the horse anymore, the ceiling was too low and the horse wandered alongside her without being guided. “I assume by now you all want to know where we are and why. You are here to learn for one year. You will learn how to be creative in unique and special ways.” She stopped at a junction and called out for Mystic and said something I could barely hear about it being her room. “There will be lessons but you won’t be learning how to write or play music or build things. Yes you two are in there.” She directed a young dark skinned boy with a turban and another boy who was dressed like a 80s punk including the dyed red tipped spiked hair. “No. Learning how to do those things is for the other place.” She resumed her talk.
   ”Alice!” She called me and waved me up to the group. “You two have that room. Go in and have a look and meet us all later in the hall.” The bookworm was standing there. She looked at me and then Melpomene and a deep red flush came across her face.
   I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the room.

   ”You can have that bed and I’ll take this one.” I announced. She didn’t say anything and sat down on the bed I had given her. It wasn’t a huge room but it was wonderfully cosy in a cluttered way. Old solid antique furniture leaned over the room. A beautiful mirror that had the silver fading away to yellow and framed in ornate black iron hung beside the bed I had chosen. There was a big desk at one end and a huge bookcase, which was twice as tall as either of us, full of ancient books.
   The cupboards were full of things. Sports equipment, dresses, jewellery boxes, broken toys. I pulled out a teddy bear but when I got it out I discovered it had no head. I threw it on to my bed.
   There was a wonderful big patchwork window at the end. I clambered over the bookworm’s bed to it and looked out. The sky was an unreal mix of deep scarlet red and clear blue but a thick mist hid the ground. I opened the window wide. “You shouldn’t do that…” the bookworm whispered. I leaned out and looked around at the building.
   I couldn’t see an end left or right. The ground was lost in the mist but it gave the impression of being miles and miles high. We were on the top floor. I could see the roof. In fact I figured I could get onto the roof quite easily. The roof was adorned with little towers and chimneys. The little towers all looked disused and home for the birds. Except for one, I could see a little light in it but it faded away as I watched.
   ”Look! It’s amazing.” I said to the bookworm but she had her back to me and she had opened the book on her lap and had resumed reading.
   I sat opposite her on my bed. I watched how her eyes quickly scanned each line. She hooked her finger in her mouth.
   ”What’s your name?” I had decided to start again and reached out my hand to shake hers.
   ”Huh?”
   ”What’s your name? Mine’s Alice.”
   ”I know.”
   I waved my waiting hand in front of her. She reached out timidly and took mine.
   ”Dinah.”
   I smiled.

   We found the hall quite easily just by following the corridor. Though it wasn’t what I had expected. I had expected a large grand hall, massive pieces of art towering down on us and some sort of grand display.
   It seemed small. Lit by sickly fluorescent lights. And there was a queue. It was a canteen.
   The blond hair gentleman, that I had seen riding the bear, smiled as us and pointed to a queue. I felt like an automaton as I picked up a tray on the way.
   The food was in large stainless steal containers. It was some sort of mush, each container containing different colours of mush. “What’s that?” Dinah asked.
   A pigish woman in a white coat (or perhaps it was a pig that just looked like a woman) behind the food said “carrots”.
   ”Carrots aren’t pink though.”
   The woman/pig didn’t answer but handed her a plate and slapped some of the pink stuff, brown stuff and white stuff on it. Bits flew onto her glasses. There seemed to be little choice and I said nothing as I accepted the plate with mush on it.
   The hall wasn’t as small as we first thought. In fact it was massive. Neat brown tables and plastic chairs were laid out in repeating intervals. Its just that they repeated out as far as the eye can see, like looking at a mirror that’s a reflection of another that’s reflecting the first… do you get me? It went on and on and on. And there was people sitting having food, occasionally popping up to return a tray. It had the effect of someone appearing between two consecutive reflections of a mirror.
   ”Is this for real?” I said. But Dinah had already started walking towards an empty table. I felt dizzy as she became part of the recursive view.
   ”Alice?” Her voice seemed far away. I shook my self, looked at the ground and walked towards the voice. “I found a table…” I sat down without looking up.
   Once seated the odd effect disappeared.
   ”Are you okay Alice?”
   ”Yes… just a little disoriented.”
   Dinah stuck one of her fingers in the pink mush and tasted it. “Carrots” she said.

   The girl was large, not fat but well built. She stopped with her tray behind Dinah as we were eating. The girl had rolled up sleeves and it revealed arms like a man’s arms. There was a smell of cigarette smoke. A group of girls bounced into her and fell back. She didn’t even flinch.
   I tried to not look at them, as I tasted the white mush that was apparently potato mash.
   The group of girls started to look at Dinah too and started to circle the big girl. They reminded me of vultures they way the eyed Dinah.
   Dinah was totally oblivious. She was munching on the brown mush.
   Dinah was a tiny ant compared to this girl.
   ”I want this table.” The girl spoke. Dinah looked up but didn’t realise the origin of the voice was behind her. Shrugged and went back to eating. She was as involved with her food as with her books.
   The girl reached down, it seemed like a gigantic motion and was thus slow, and grabbed the back of Dinah’s t-shirt and lifted her out of the chair, dumping her to one side. The girl laughed. The other girls laughed.
   ”You can’t do that!” I said, standing up and placing my hands on my hips. The girl stopped laughing. It took a moment for the other girls to realise they should stop laughing too.
   ”I don’t want this table now.” She shrugged.
   ”What’s going on here?” It was the blond haired gentleman again.
   ”Nothing Sir!” The girls all bellowed together.
   ”Yes there is! She pulled Dinah out of the seat…” I exclaimed.
   ”There there little girl. I’m sure there’s just some misunderstanding.” The gentleman replied. “Isn’t that right Lee?” He was referring to the big girl.
   ”Yes Sir. Misunderstanding.” The gentleman seemed to be waiting for something and so Lee’s filled the silence as quickly as possible with… “She fell out of her seat Sir and I was going to help her. The girls ‘ll back me up…” The other girls nodded with too much enthusiasm.
   The gentleman nodded. “Okay girls on your way then.” Lee and her gaggle nearly ran off. The gentleman started to wander off as well. I was gasping. I ran around the table towards the gentleman but it was Dinah who stopped me. “Don’t. I don’t want any trouble. Please?” I helped her up and set her big blue glasses straight on her nose.

   ”Coo-ee!” It was Mystic. She had spotted us. She seemed to be wearing less or at least something more transparent. She sat down beside Dinah. “I think we’re all in the same class or some thing like that. Hi. I’m Mystic.” She stuck her hand out at Dinah.
   ”Dinah.”
   ”Dinah’s a nice name.”
   ”Thank… you.” Dinah seemed somewhat enraptured by Mystic. She had even stopped eating.
   ”You played a nasty trick on me earlier. Matthew didn’t want to talk to me.”
   ”And?” I said.
   ”And? It wasn’t nice. I thought you were a nice little girl.” Now I had stopped eating the pink mush.
   ”Alice is nice.” Dinah blurted out. My left eyebrow raised!
   ”So do you know if we have classes and such?” Mystic just ignored the comment and kept going.
   ”I believe we do but I’m not sure what” I said.
   ”I hope it’s something interesting…” Mystic said more to the air then to us.
   ”I hope it’s about books” said Dinah.
   Mystic flashed her white teeth in a big smile at Dinah.
   I had had enough. I grabbed Dinah’s hand and pulled. “We’re going exploring.” I announced.
   ”Ok girls, see you later.” Mystic gave a small wave.
   We left her alone at the table.

   The wind roared up the wall nearly knocking me off the tiny ledge. I held on as tightly as I could. “Come on Dinah. It’s not that hard.” Dinah was leaning out the window watching me cling to the wall as I edged along. She shook her head.
   A brick came out in my hand but I managed to maintain my balance. Dinah nearly shouted in surprise.
   I decided to try and find out what that light on the roof was. It really had looked easy from the window.
   ”I’m nearly there…” I had a tiny leap to make. Unfortunately I looked down. I could see the wall go down a long way into shadows beneath the mist. It made my head reel for a moment.
   ”Alice, come back. It’s too dangerous.”
   I had figured that no real harm could come to us here. But now I wasn’t so sure. I felt as if my mind would make me feel the fall. It didn’t look pleasant in any context.
   It was just a little jump after all, I told myself. If there was no danger I could do it with ease.
   Before I had embarked on this I had seen the light from the little tower again and it faded away as soon as I spotted it. But now I could see it even brighter as if it too was worried about me.
   I placed the tip of my boot at the edge of the ledge. I took a deep breath and held it.
   Jump!
   Slipped, the slates under my hands just came away. My feet hit the gutter and stopped.
   ”It’s okay! I got over!” I yelled as much to assure myself as Dinah. Now that I was on the roof, it should be easier.

   I clambered up and started to make my way along. There were several chimneys along the way that I could see. The first one was rather large so I hugged it as best I could and swung around.
   ”Alice!” Matthew nearly jumped. He was sitting on the top most edge of the roof and had had his back to me.
   ”Matthew. Nice to see you here. I thought I’d be the only one up here. What’s that in your hand?”
   Matthew had a faded notebook in his hands that he had been obviously writing in. He jammed both the pen and the notebook into his inside pocket. “Nothing” he said as he crossed his arms rather hurriedly. I sat down beside him. He was going red in the face. The wind was strong and it blew through his air and gave him the look of a mourning lover from some penny-dreadful Victorian romantic novel.
   ”Show me!”
   ”Show you what?”
   ”What you were writing.”
   ”No.” I mockingly pretended to make a grab for the notebook but he nearly lost his balance as he desperately attempted to avoid me. “Okay, Okay! They’re poems.”
   ”Your poems?”
   ”Yes.”
   ”Can I read them?”
   ”No!” He was now scarlet in the face.
   Abrupt change in conversation was obviously needed. He had clamed up like a turtle. I looked out at the view and it was breath-taking. I could see a half moon clearly hanging between the deep red scarlet clouds and the now black and starry sky. The mist constantly moved like a sea without a roar. “It’s amazing,” I said.
   ”Yes it is.” I could see a thought forming in his face and then it came out… “What are you doing up here?”
   ”Exploring. I’m going to see what that light is.” I pointed to the tower from where the light had been but it was dark and empty now.
   ”What light?”
   ”There’s a light there occasionally but it fades away when you look.”
   ”Sounds like a Ghost. Alice’s Ghost. Good ring to it. Could make a great story.”
   ”I don’t know yet. I’m going to find out. Coming?” I got up.
   ”Err, no.”
   ”Will you let me read what you write?”
   His face went red again. “Maybe…” he mumbled.
   ”Ok, see you later!” I got up and made for the next chimney.

   The little tower was made out of stone. Gargoyles that had faded to lumps adorned its edges. At one time it must have had windows but all that was left was the half-rotted frame. I hadn’t seen any light from it, climbing up to it. I sat down and took a breath. I was exhausted.
   I put my hand down on a slate and the slate flew off making a terrible crashing sound as it went.
   I heard a voice “oh my God she’s fallen!” I looked up and I saw an opaque face looking down at me. It glowed with the same light I had seen from afar. I should have been surprised or frightened but the ghost seemed more frightened of me and it quickly pulled it’s head back inside. I got up and looked in the broken window.
   ”I saw you. I saw you from my window…” Suddenly my vision was filled with light and voice yelled at me “GO AWAY!” but something in the timber of his voice failed to scare me. It had a tinge I remembered from sometime. And there was a smell.
   The light faded away. That was not going to stop me. I started to climb in the window but then I felt myself being lifted and then thrown back. “Go away!” The voice pleaded.
   ”Hmm” I mumbled as I dusted myself off and got up. I went over to the window, stood as defiantly as I could, hands on hips, determined expression on face. That’s when I saw the bottle.
   It rolled on the floor of the little tower. It had a little left in it and then the smell and the sound of his voice suddenly made sense. “Whiskey” I thought.
   The bottle seemed to disappear in front of me. “Go away!” Its pleading reminded me of my father. “I’ll be back.” I said and went back the way I came.
   
   ”Help me back in!” I yelped. Dinah reached out her hands. The lights inside had all gone out inside. Dinah had changed into a long white night dress and the moonlight’s whiteness made Dinah look like some sort of creepy ghost with big glasses.
   ”The lights went out a while ago.” Dinah whispered to me as I fumbled to my bed. “I think we’re meant to sleep.”
   ”I’m not particularly tired though.” I declared but shortly followed it with a stifled yawn.
   ”I’m pretty tired too. I’m finding it hard to read with just the moonlight.”
   There were some nightclothes for me under the pillow and I quickly got into bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow I was asleep.

   ”Alice? Can you hear me?” His hand was on my forehead and I felt I knew his touch. I couldn’t see him but I think he kissed me then. The dream image swirled away to be replaced by the inside of a rolling car. I had no control over it as it rolled over and over and all I could do was wait for it to stop.

   The bright light was not particularly welcome. It glared in the big window and demanded my wakefulness. I reached out to the side desk and pick up the notepad and pen and wrote down the tiny fragment of my dream.
   It took me a moment to realise what I done. I didn’t remember a pad or pen by my desk though I recognised it instantly. It’s worn brown and cracked surface covered in tiny doodles of bits and pieces. I use to write all my dreams in this when I was young and it was full of them. I flicked through them, remembering some and trying to recall others.
   Dinah woke and made a bad attempt to fake a stretch. I think she had been awake for a while and had been pretending to be asleep waiting for me to wake. “What do you have?”
   ”It’s my little book of dreams. I used to write all my dreams down in it.” I opened at one page where I had drawn a monster with dragon wings chasing me across a field. Dinah straightened her blue glasses and looked.
   ”Did you just find it here?”
   ”Yep. Just beside my bed.”
   ”Weird.”
   ”Everything about this place is weird…”

   After getting dressed, breakfast was in order. I grabbed the headless teddy bear I had found earlier as we went out the door. I might as well act my age and anyway it’s kind of cute in a dark and anti way.
   The canteen had changed. It was like a mediaeval tavern for kids, dark but colourful, dank but actually quite safe. The canteen display of food really felt out of place.
   There were only people from our class. Many hadn’t even bothered changing from what they slept in.
   The pig-woman behind the counter dolled out the same coloured slop as before though I think she was more pig this morning. Dinah didn’t ask what it was this time. We sat down beside Matthew who had just finished eating.
   I could see Mystic eating her breakfast with a little spoon looking around at the other end of the table.
   ”Sleep well?” Matthew asked.
   ”I think so…”
   ”I didn’t. I wonder what happens now?”

   The classroom was large and old. Everything was made out of dark polished wood. It was a massive amphitheatre that, by all appearances, could fit hundred or just two people. It was all centred on a small section at the front where a modern day electronic overhead projector seemed out of place. The hard benches weren’t particularly comfortable either. Dinah and myself hid in the corner seats furtherest from the centre.
   Nobody told us to come to this classroom. A bell had rang and people started to leave the canteen. Matthew, Dinah and myself just followed them. None of us knew really what to expect.
   A box fell from the ceiling right beside the overhead projector. A small cloud of dust rose. It was a small cardboard box no bigger then a shoebox. It started to shake as if there was something inside it. Everybody was standing, trying to see it.
   ”Excuse me! Excuse me! Could you let me out?” a squeaky voice escaped from the box.
   A young man dressed like a medieval prince in velvet tunic and a sword by his side leap down to the box. He poked it with the scabbard of his sword.
   ”Ouch!” The young prince shook his shoulders, looked around at his fellow classmates and then with the edge of the scabbard prised off the top of the box.
   It shook even more mightily than before and the young prince took a few steps back.
   A leg shot out of the box. What was most bizarre was the foot was wearing ugly sandals and cord trousers. An arm shot out then. We could all hear the muffled grumbles from inside. With the arm it started to push on the ground and with a pop the rest of him popped out.
   He wore a green baggy jumper with a large hole in the right elbow. He was bald on top but had long wispy grey hair from his sides. He wore thin round glasses on his pincer-like nose.
   ”Thank you Percival.” The young prince bowed and then offered his hand to help the man up. The man accepted and while on his feet proceeded to take out large piles of paper out of the same box and putting them in Percival’s arms. “Give one to everyone, will you?”
   Percival looked bewildered as the man continued to pile on the sheets of paper until it seemed as if there was no Percival and the towering sheets of paper had legs.
   Percival wobbled a little to the left and then right as he clambered up to the start of each row and deposited a pile of the sheets. I was amazed at how easily he seemed to find his way seeing as his field of vision must have been a wall of paper sheets.
   Dinah handed me one of the sheets. It read rather strangely; ‘the streets are filled with jam which can be used on a nice piece of toast. The buildings are made of cheese but the inhabitants call it from�ge…’
   ”What do you make of this Dinah?”
   ”Something to do with the aboriginals?” she said.
   ”Thank you Percival,” the man said. “Attention everyone, my name is Mr. August.” The lights suddenly dimmed and the overhead projector came on. “That’s Mister” he put up a slide showing ‘Mr.’ then he continued with “A” and a slide of ‘A’, “U” and a ‘U’, “G - U - S and T” with an appropriate slide for each letter. “But you can all call me John but I prefer Sir.” I noticed some people were writing all this down but seeing I had no pen I couldn’t even pretend to be doing this pointless gesture.
   ”I’m going to tell you a little about where you are today and give you your first excursion so this’ll be your only class today…”
   ”Excuse me Sir…” somebody whimpered rather loudly but all I could perceive with the lights dimmed was a black shape with its hand up.
   ”John” Mr. August corrected him.
   ”John Sir, em, but why are we here?”
   ”That’s a complicated and deep question and not really my department. Best advice, ask the Gods or your headmasters might give you some guidance on who to ask. Where is such an easier question to grasp while why requires a course unto itself I would think.” He slapped up a slide with the words ‘WHERE ARE WE?’
   ”Please class, look at what Percival handed out. It is a sheet with some text on it. Read it to yourself now for a moment…”
   ’Merry, Merry, Mary. The punctuation is all wrong.’ The text had changed! Not a mention of jam or cheese!
   ”Now class, look away from the sheet and then read it again. You’ll have a surprise!”
   ’Horus had one eye. The other was sent forth…’ I looked over at Dinah’s sheet and I could see the text rearranging itself on the spot.
   ”An odd effect isn’t it? This is because we are somewhat in the higher levels of dreams and so the logic of dreams apply more so than any other logic.
   ”You see, we all dream and these dreams are most often individual dreams yet people dream of similar things, others claim to actually travel dreams and so on. Dreams have a reality. Common dreams have a lot of stability and form the great cultural mythos that waking man inherits.
   ”For example you can find Hell nearby; they let anyone in but only the dead can stay. Heaven lets no one in! Hell is quite progressive actually, great music nights; the Devil is one mean fiddler and sax player. Anyway, I digress.
   ”We are currently residing in a construct,” here he placed a slide with the word ‘CONSTRUCT’, “that has its own internal consistent logic and rules as formed by the construct founders…”
   ”Excuse me, John?” a more informed male voice interrupted.
   ”Sir” August corrected.
   ”Em, Sir-John, who are the founders?”
   ”Your head-masters and -mistresses of course. Wasn’t that obvious?
   ”Now do any of you write down your dreams?”
   ”Alice does!” exclaimed Dinah in a high squeaky voice. The moment of silence following struck her like a freight train and I swear, though one shouldn’t swear at all, that she seemed to actually shrink and turn bright red. I knew I should be embarrassed too but I think I was too surprised to be. I heard giggling and snickering in the dim light and instantly recognised it; Lee and her gaggle.
   ”Thanks for that high spirited but totally uncharacteristic outburst Dinah.
   ”So besides Alice, does anyone else?” No show of hands or other uncharacteristic outbursts. I nudged Dinah to make sure she didn’t disappear completely. She attempted a weak smile from under her glasses in reply.
   ”Alice, seeing your the only one would you come down to the front to help me?”
   ”I’m not suddenly going to be naked am I?” the possibility of that particular anxiety dream seemed frighteningly real. The class broke into fits of laughter. Luckily for them they couldn’t see the look I gave them.
   ”Good heavens no child. It’s not that sort of dream, but your thinking along the right lines. Just need to move your thinking sideways and a little higher!”
   I pushed out past Dinah and walked down the middle aisle. As I walked I heard whispers directed at me “freak”, “teacher’s pet”… Lee’s gaggle.
   ”Help me with this…” August was pulling something else out of the box. I found it ridiculously heavy and I couldn’t grasp it properly, but with a strong tug from August it sprang out and sent me falling and landed me on my backside. He grinned as he helped me back up. What did he think was so funny?
   There was a door freestanding beside the projector. With some drama he opened it and I could see a colourful town square with a little fountain and a bright blue sky.

   ”Class! Class!” Mr. August raised voice was barely audible over the small crowd that had come out of the door. Dinah and myself sat on the edge of the fountain, swinging our legs.
   It was a real town square, with simple but warm redbrick houses and odd shops whose windows were bright and colourful.
   The locals kept their distance but the feeling was mutual for the locals were rather bizarre. Some of them had strange textured skin or were even wild colours like blue or green, some of them were animals dressed up in clothes and walking on two legs.
   But I felt that I had been here before that I knew the place. If this was a place buried in dreams perhaps I had been here before, in my own dreams.
   ”Lets go look around.” I announced to Dinah. She looked worried and glanced up at Mr. August who was failing to control the class. Already the gang with their white symbol had headed off.
   ”Class! Just some simple rules!!” August desperately invoked.
   ”Okay…” whispered Dinah.

   The streets were all cobbled but each unique and different. We wandered down a street that was filled with furniture shops. All kind of furniture piled the street edges, from plastic modern deco to finely and not so finely crafted oak cabinets. People of all kinds (though all a little odd) wandered around the shop fronts and merchandise and chatted, argued and haggled with the shopkeepers.
   We watched with fascination as a toad in an Armani suit attempting to put an odd sofa made from black shiny metal in small handbag. He managed to stretch the bag so much that it covered half the sofa. It looked so odd, the sofa half sticking out of the handbag with a toad trying to push the rest in.
   It was then that a tall man stopped beside. He was rather high with pointed ears and shadowy eyes. He studied us over his long nose and then with a swirl pulled his long fancy coat and said, “Afternoon Alice!” and then pounded off.
   ”Wait!” I yelped.
   He glanced over his shoulder like some caricature Victorian monster and walked faster. I started to chase him, Dinah running behind me. But he only upped his pace. I speed up and he broke into a sprint. We followed him down one street that seemed to be just an street of houses, then another that was bordered by large gardens and then another which crossed a short courtyard. And then we lost him.
   We had stopped in a small dead end but there was only one door, a large wooden two-panel door. Dinah was wheezing, “where-did-he-gasp-go?”
   Rather then answer, I pointed to the door.
   ”Oh.”
   We sat down and got our breath back.

   ”I don’t think we should go in…” Dinah said.
   ”But he knew my name!”
   ”Someone might have told him.”
   ”I’m going to find out…” and I walked up to the wooden door. There was a black brass knob but I couldn’t reach it. So I just slammed my fist on the door.
   Instantly a little door opened above, big enough for someone on the inside to look out. But it was too high to see and instantly closed again.
   I slammed against the door again and instantly the little door opened. “Down here!” I yelped. An eye seemed to peer over the edge down at us and then instantly the little door closed. But before I had the chance to sigh another little door opened in front of me. The eye looked me up and down while I put my hands on my hips and made a posture of frustration. The door closed and a voice said, “Go away.”
   ”No!”
   The little door opened again. The eye looked me up and down again and then peered at Dinah behind me who had got closer to have a look.
   ”I’m only letting you because of who you are…” The voice trailed off as the little door shut quickly but then there was a sound of jingling and a key turning in a lock and the door opened.

   He had wings, semi-transparent but nearly as large as him. The wings occasionally flicked in and out. It made him looked knightly and snobby. “I suppose your happy now.” It was the same gent that we had chased but he discarded his coat.
   ”You’re a Fairy!” I exclaimed. Dinah reached out to touch one of the magical wings.
   ”You’ve always had the capacity to state the obvious. It makes for boring and unsophisticated conversation. The King and Queen are too busy to see you.” His wings flicked fully back to prevent Dinah touching them. “Don’t you know it’s rude to touch a Fairy’s wings!” he said to Dinah.
   ”Sorry, I didn’t know…”
   ”That was obvious.”
   ”Hey! She didn’t know, be fair!”
   ”I am. It was obvious. Now I must be off. I have an important package for the King.” And without any hesitation, his wings started to beat and he floated off.
   ”You know Fairies Alice!” Dinah said.
   ”All I know about Fairies are that they are rude!”
   We were in a large spacious garden. Behind us was the wall of the building and the door but it was just a fa�ade. There was no real building.
   There was white ornate benches, marble overflowing fountains, beautifully carved band stands and well groomed hedges that sported multitudes of flowers and colours and it was all filled with movement and light; fairies moved everywhere. Nearby a young group of girls ran after each other, further over another group hovered around, their movements animating their conversation and nearer an old couple sat on a bench singing to each other.
   ”So what do we do now?” Dinah asked.
   ”I don’t know.” I shrugged.
   One of the young girls had spotted us and was heading towards us. She wore a transparent lace dress and had flowers intwined in her golden hair. Her skin was silky white and her eyes a large green. “Alice!” She exclaimed landing in front of us and grabbing my hand, shaking it vigorously. The other girls floated around, lifting and touching our hair and clothes. It was quite annoying and I had to swing my arms to push them away as if they were flies. “I’m so happy to meet you, my sister told me all about you!”
   ”Really?”
   ”Yea, the oldies don’t like you at all. They call you a troublemaker and what you did at the wedding! Oh that’ll never be forgotten!”
   ”Wedding?”
   ”You don’t remember? I wasn’t there. I’m only four days old and it was years ago.”
   ”You’re only four days old!” I exclaimed.
   She smiled, “do you want to see our little place?” And at once the other fairies grabbed us under the arms and lifted us into the air.
   They didn’t lift us very high but still the view was astounding. It wasn’t just a garden, it was beautiful land, filled with light and rolling hills and extended as far as the eye could see. There was a great white castle with flowing tall turrets and hundreds of fairies floating around it. They flew us over a great garden maze and a crystal-blue lake where naked nymphs frolicked and sang on the surface.
   ”What’s that building?” Dinah pointed to a white (every building was white) building with huge roman columns.
   ”The library!” the young fairy said.
   ”Can we go there?” Dinah asked us.
   ”Lets!” I said but the young fairy exclaimed, “you don’t really want to, do you? Old wingless is there…”
   I could feel Dinah really wanted. I wasn’t really bothered, it was enough to be floating in the air with this magically land below us, but I nodded and so the group floated towards the fairy library.

   As we entered, the other fairies floated away but our young guide remained. “What’s your name? You know mine.” I asked her.
   ”Daisy” she smiled. “Do we really have to go in? The wingless here is always so grumpy…”
   Dinah had already climbed the steps and gone in. “I think so” I said.
   Inside it was much darker, no windows so the only light was from little laterns hanging from the ceiling. Huge shelves touched the ceiling, thirty feet tall, filled with books. Hundreds and thousands of books. Dinah was gob-smacked. She gently pulled a book open and was a gasp. “Alice it’s…” and then her eye was caught by another book and she pulled that one out too.
   Daisy sighed beside me. “Why do people like books. There just words. So boring…” She trailed her hand along the piled dust on the shelves.
   ”Who’s there?” yelled a voice and there was a sound of something shuffling along.
   ”Ug. Here he comes. Come with us Alice out of here, it’s so boring.” Daisy pleaded but it was too late. Dinah was sitting on the floor with small pile of books open around her. She was trying to read all of them.
   ”Just us, wingless!” Daisy yelped back.
   ”Huh! Is that you Daisy? You young whelp!” An old man bent over a cane appeared out of a corridor. He had big thick glasses and a bald shiny head but he was tall and even though the clothes he wore were rags they were somehow elegant and noble.
   Daisy flew into the air and then raced forward to touch him on the head and fly up to the ceiling, the old man didn’t like this one bit and he swung his arm at her. It was then I noticed his wings. They were all crumpled as if a huge hand had scrunched them like paper.
   ”Stop it this moment Daisy. That isn&