davywavy | Now that's what I call Davy, Vol. 6

It's busy busy time at work for me at the moment because as I understand it from reading the Guardian everyone else in the country has been made redundant in the Spending Review and I'm paying for everything now, so I dug out a story I wrote years ago to give everyone something read read whilst I get on with it. It's a thrilling boys-own style tale of horror and derring do. An actual, proper one this time.

It's a tale I call...

I suppose that I'm like most people, in that there are a number of chaps whom I know by sight, or to say good-day to when we pass, but really never get to know at all. Not so much ships that pass in the night, but rather ships that simply have no need to do more than run up flags of greeting when they spy each other, and don't heave-to to swap news and pass on letters for home but instead sail on, each happy to remain a mystery to the other.
I would say that any club is full of chaps like me, and them. We'll nod at each other in passing, and perhaps harrumph together over the latest news of idiocy from Westminster, but, under normal circumstances, that will be the end of our acquaintance; for all I know the other fellows could be villains or heroes or exiled royalty - and you'd never really know what sort of tales they have to tell.

Frobisher was one of those sorts. I'd say he was perhaps in his sixties when I first joined the Royal Overseas, and in the five years I'd been a member we probably hadn't exchanged more than twenty words to each other, despite seeing each other almost daily for all that time. However, it was he that really made me look at the other chaps in the club, and wonder about them, because it was from him that I heard one of the strangest tales of my career. He's dead and gone now -the funeral was Tuesday last - and that's why I'm finally setting his story down. I always thought it would be a bit of a liberty to do so when people might have been able to make comments to his face about it, but I'm as sure as sixpence that it is true. For one thing I think that he would have lacked the fancy to make such a thing up, and for another after I got to know him I came to regard him as being one of the most honest men I've ever met.
The only reason I spoke to him in the first place is because nobody else would, and I've never been the sort to refuse a man in need the hand of friendship.
As it was, he and I were sitting by the fire one December afternoon some years ago. The both of us reading our daily papers - when I happened to notice that Frobisher (whom I only knew in passing before then) was making an odd wheezing noise. Looking up, I was shocked to note that the old chap was actually crying. Well, as you'd expect, I didn't really like to intrude - and to be honest I felt slightly uncomfortable about seeing a man of advancing years blubbing there in public. But after several moments passed, I also felt rather embarrassed of the fact that everyone else in the room was also huddling up behind their papers, or continuing their conversations in a slightly louder tone, and, most of all, actively pretending that nothing untoward was going on. Inwardly cursing the selfishness of my fellow man (whom I would have only been too happy to join in that selfishness if only somebody else had happened by to take charge of the situation), I leant forward, tapped him on the arm, and asked if he was all right.
He started slightly, and then a series of emotions passed over this face in succession; irritation at being observed, shame at showing himself in public like that, and then one of resigned grief. He leant back and shook his head, blinking away the tears.
"Sorry to make a bit of an ass of myself like that", he said. "Quite forgot myself, or where I was, for a few moments. Just had a bit of bad news, is all."
He indicated the paper open in his lap, which was open to the obituaries page. "Chap I used to know passed away... terrible shame. You see, he saved my life, years ago..."
I adopted as sincere an expression of regret and sorrow as I could on short notice, and made suitable noises, hoping that I had done enough to justify an honourable retreat behind my paper and back into my own little world. However, Frobisher leant forward and took me by the arm instead.
"Actually," he said, "it's a devilish queer tale. Perhaps you'd like to hear it?"

For a moment I almost refused, but not only did I realise that that would be churlishness in the extreme to a man in mourning, but also there was something in Frobishers manner which intrigued me. In my experience of the man, I'd always thought him possessed of stolid good sense and a down to earth air. If a chap like that thought something devilish queer, then perhaps there might be something in it after all, so instead I nodded.
He tapped out his pipe on his heel over the hearth, refilled it from a small pouch he produced from his waistcoat, lit, and drew on it for several moments. The tobacco seemed to relax him somewhat, as he nodded slowly and said again "Devilish queer indeed. If not horrid." And then he began.

"I suppose you'll think that I'm the most awful liar when I've told you all of this, but, on my honour, it's a true as I'm standing here.
"You have to remember", he said, "that thirty years ago the world was a good deal bigger than it is now There were large parts of the world, especially in Africa and South America, which were still just blanks on the map. Even in this country anywhere off the beaten track was a journey in itself, and if you wanted to travel abroad, your best hope was to join the military or the colonial service - or have a fair amount of cash to back you. Luckily, in my time, I did both. I had spent some ten years in the army - as a captain for most of them - and seen a lot of service in Africa and I suppose I'd been bitten by the place because when I came out I decided to go back as a civilian. You see, I'd heard the tales of Livingstone and Speke and those chaps, and I thought there was room for one more on the list of explorers before we'd filled in the whole map and coloured it all pink.
"My father had made a sizeable sum in the wool trade, and that, coupled with a grant from the Explorers, ensured that I could finance an expedition into central Africa. You see, when I'd been serving down at the Cape, I'd heard of a tribe who apparently had never been contacted by White Men, and I determined to be the first - to add my name to the footnote of Empire and be the chap who brought civilisation to the Lagonje, as they were apparently called.
"I'll skip the next few weeks, as they'd be quite dull in the telling. I spent them equipping, trying to rustle up old army pals to come with me on this adventure, and generally trying to get a feel for the land I'd be going back to, and there is really nothing more interesting than that to say - other than to note that nobody was at all interested by the idea of heading into uncharted wilderness in search of a tribe who may or may not exist.
"So it was that a few months later my family waved me off on ship bound to Lagos. I think I must have been about your age, or possibly a little older, and I still had it in me to savour the excitement and anticipation of the adventure I was embarking upon. I'm not too big to claim that I wasn't motivated by the idea of fame or glory, and my time out in Africa stood me in good stead for knowing what to expect in the way of insects and ailments.
"The ship was set to take several weeks, plying down the coast of Africa, and there was little enough to do on board - except chat to my fellow passengers. And that was how I met Fairbrother, a fellow of about my own age, and possessed of the same glory hunting wanderlust as I was. He and I hit it off like old friends as soon as we met, and it was quite quickly decided that he would come with me on my quest as until that point he had been sailing off with no firm idea of where he was going, and a large inheritance from an Aunt burning a hole in his pocket.
Although he had little enough idea of Africa, his family had sizeable estates in Scotland and he was a dab hand at stalking and a crack shot, so naturally I thought he'd be an excellent companion. I have to say, it was one of the best decisions I ever made.
"We arrived in Lagos shortly after the end of the rainy season. Although that meant that the bush would be thick and green, it also meant that we had the best part of eight months ahead of us without serious downpours (or so we hoped), and having seen the speed that the African soil could turn to mud I had timed my trip to give me the best chance possible of avoiding that."

Here Frobisher stopped, and pulled slowly on his pipe again, looking thoughtful, before asking, almost as an aside, "Have you ever been to Africa?"
I indicated that I had not.
"Four things stick in my mind about the place. First, the heat. I remember coming out of my Cabin when we docked at Lagos, and a wave of it just hitting me, wafting off the land. At sea, the breezes can keep you cool, but on land, it gets stored in every nook and cranny and just radiates at you all day and all night. It can get intolerable after a time, I can tell you.
"Second, are the insects. For more reasons than one, but more of that later. Even under the best of circumstances, great swarms of flies and what have you will circle you constantly, looking to land and steal some salt from your skin. The natives will just sit and let them, but to a man raised in Derbyshire, they're a plague.
"Thirdly, is the stink. The air blowing off the land reminded me of my grandfathers bedchamber shortly before his death. Warm, and damp, and with a scent of decay about it. If I had had my wits, I'm sure I would have stayed on ship for the return trip to England, but I was young, and my head was full of fame and medals from the Royal Society.
"Lastly, and probably the most important thing to remember if you ever go there, is that African ports attract every sort of charlatan and ne'er-do-well from the world across. The man who made the ship fast was a Malay, and the first fellow I met when I went ashore was a Scot called MacKenzie, who first tried to steal my wallet and then tried to beg from me, claiming to be a former member of the Black Watch down on his luck.
"I told him I wasn't in the business of giving charity, but if he could direct Fairbrother and I to a reputable agent who could outfit us for an expedition inland then I wouldn't be ungenerous. He replied with a string of vile Caledonian oaths, but then proved to be a useful man, and introduced us to a great many of the right people in short order - I'm sure that were it not for him we should have been delayed in port for much longer than the process of outfitting actually took, and so I paid him honestly and well when several days later we took our leave of him, only to be thanked by another string of imprecations more vile than the first.
"Whilst outfitting, we had also made the acquaintance of an Italian missionary, by the name of Padre Jacopo, whom, as chance would have it, was also intending to set off in search of the Lagonje. He was a plump, prissy little man, which a constant sheen of sweat on his upper lip and an affectation of understanding little English whilst jabbering almost constantly in high accented Italian or French or even Latin - although he was eager enough to read our newspapers when he thought we weren't looking. Despite these potential failings - and the fact that the man was a Catholic - we were pleased enough to have another potential companion. Conversations between the same group of people can get very repetitive when they're pushed together for any period of time, and I thought it would be good to have another civilised man to talk with en route.
"And so it was that Fairbrother and I, along with a string of some twenty bearers, headed into the interior on a rough bearing of -----------, which was the best estimate anyone had been able to give us of the direction of the lands owned by the Lagonje. The going was fairly easy at the start, as we were in well travelled and populated lands, and we made good time - perhaps twenty miles a day over open country, in spite of the heat and omnipresent flies. With us, we had a native called Anjeete, who claimed to know the lands of the Lagonje when he got close enough, and was also a fine tracker and a fair shot, and between him and Fairbrother we ate pretty well over our first week or two of walking - exotic gazelle and deer that dotted the plain - and also kept away any larger game who thought our little group might provide some good eating.
"Like I indicate, our spirits were quite high after a few weeks or a month. Anjeete was convinced we were on the right lines, and we were well fed and moving quickly. I actually began to wonder why it was that many people had an idea of Africa being a forbidding place, when something happened that dashed our hopes entirely - and replaced them with entirely new ones, I must admit."

Frobisher stopped, and pulled on his pipe once again, and then called for a drink. I must admit I was quite taken with his tale - a little long winded perhaps, but he was telling it well, and with a storytellers rapture - he obviously was reliving every word as he spoke, which gave it a feeling of immediacy. After wetting his lips on a Scotch and water, he continued.

"We had, over the previous weeks, got the Padre to overcome his reluctance to speak English (and we never did get to the bottom of why he should be so reticent), and he had proven to be a surprisingly pleasant companion and conversationalist, well educated and willing to debate rather than argue as so many of his type do. I had also discovered that he had a certain weakness for the bottle which I had resolved to use to draw him out of himself, as he was still reluctant to tell us about himself. I found the excuse when we came to the edge of a thin forest, which Anjeete confidently informed us was the edge of the Lagonje lands. I proclaimed that this was time for a celebration, and, before anyone could disagree, promptly cracked open several bottles of good port and brandy which I had brought with me all the way from England and poured out generous measures for the four of us. Jacopo tried to object, but we soon had him silenced, and in short order he was hitting the bottle harder than any of the rest of us - and Jacopo was a terrible one for boasting when we was drinking. And so it was that was when the truth emerged.
"The Lagonje, it transpired, weren't unknown to white men after all. They had been contacted several years earlier by a Vatican sponsored expedition, and Jacopo had a fairly good idea of where to find them.

"Naturally, I was terribly upset. I felt that I had travelled halfway round the world on a fools errand, just because those selfish men in the Vatican had seen fit to withhold from the world their findings- findings which not only would have been of great use to science, but also would have saved me my wasted effort in setting out to find the tribe. But my harsh words were bitten back by what Jacopo went on to tell us. The Lagonje, it seemed, worshipped a great idol called Asasabulum, which was carved into the wall of a cavern near their chief village. And, of greater interest, Asasabulum wore a great gold chain as a symbol of his divinity. If you had been there, you would have seen the eyes of both myself and Fairbrother light up with those words. Now here was a real reason to come to Africa, I thought to myself... medals from the Royal Society were all very well, but gold was what built reputations. In that moment, without words, it was decided- far from making contact with the Lagonje, Fairbrother and I were going to rob them."

I was rather taken aback by this blunt statement. I looked at the aged, civilised man seated next to me askance, and he noticed.

"Yes, we were. You see, it was fairly obvious from what Jacopo was saying that he intended quite the same himself. You couldn't help but notice the way his fat fingers twitched when he talked about the Gold, or the gleam that came into his eyes. He was as mercenary as any of us, and I thought that if there was going to be gold removed, it would be as well it were to my benefit as anybodys. One thing was for sure - if the Padre had got hold of the gold on his own, the Good Lord wouldn't have seen any of it on the collection plate by the time he was done.
"By this time, you see, we were all quite drunk, and that peculiar seriousness came over us which sometimes does over a group of drunk men when they have serious matters to discuss. We quickly became plain speakers, and a deal was done. One third each. Jacopo would show us where to look, and Fairbrother and I would help him retrieve it - and hold off the natives if anything untoward happened.
"And that was really the size of it. In one drunken evening I went from noble explorer to ignoble thief. I think there was actually quite a lot of that sort of thing went on, and quite a few were motivated by more than mere curiosity, but looking back, and putting it like that, I'm actually surprised at myself. I would like to think I had more to myself than that..." And he smiled, distantly, and nodded to himself. "But that's the way it was. I shouldn't dwell on it, but instead get on with my tale."

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he continued in a different vein.

"I don't suppose you know how it was with those little African kingdoms - possibly how it still is, for all I know. For the most part, most of the native Africans you'll meet are the most generous and noble men and women on Gods Earth. Tall and slender, and muscular, and handsome to boot, they're the quickest to laugh and the quickest to share what little they have of any one anywhere. I suppose that when someone is so poor that all they own is their nobility and humour it rather brings out the best in them. The only problem is that, in the centre of these good and decent people who just want to be left alone to live their lives, you'll find their King. A great fat scoundrel, as like as not, all covered in furs and feathers and beads, with a vicious humour and short temper to whom an accident of birth has granted the pick of the best the tribe has to offer - women, food, riches, you name it.
"Putting it like that, I'm actually strongly reminded of our own dear King Edward visiting the deserving poor in the East End, so I suppose we're not all that different, when all is said and done.
"So it was with the Lagonje. We entered their lands proper a few days later - not like a thief in the night, but as guests of a foraging party of these selfsame handsome and noble men and women whom I just mentioned. They welcomed us with open arms, and through Anjeete quickly agreed to take us to meet their king. They were a lively bunch, too, and in fairly short order Fairbrother and I had them all singing along to 'Onward Christian Soldiers' in broken English that I don't suppose they understood a word of, and laughing at our attempts to try their language. All the while the Padre was fluttering amongst them, and it was revealed that one of the packs carried by his bearers contained ladies blouses and dresses which he was trying to get their women to wear to cover their naked chests - which just made them laugh all the more, you understand - and for all that he was trying to get them to cover themselves, you can be sure he was getting a good look at their sinful state of nature.
"We went on as a happy enough crew for a day or two until we approached their main town, or village. Jacopo has assured us that the cave where Asasabulum was to be found nearby, and we really had to go and greet their King. Sure enough, he was as I described. A gloriously rotund man decked up in every sort of native finery you can imagine. Just to complete the picture, he had a lazy eye and big, blubbery lips, which he had a habit of stroking when he spoke - which served to slur his words and make him that much harder to understand. We made all the proper obeisance's; Fairbrother and I bowed, and Jacopo dropped to both knees and said something about the soul of the poor sinner before him. Looking up from my bow, it was plainly obvious that the King didn't like the look of us better than not at all, so we quickly whipped out the various gifts we'd brought to try and buy favour. The one advantage that you have in dealing with these uncontacted tribes is that they really don't know the difference between a glass bead or a precious stone, and so his attitude changed pretty smartly when he saw all the pretty things we'd brought him. I even gave him my pipe, baccy, and matches, which he'd admired, and soon he was puffing in clouds of smoke and all his people were laughing along with him good-humouredly. By the time Fairbrother had rounded off the gift giving with a display of trick shooting that saw him take the cork out of a Champagne bottle at twenty paces, the King was all jollity and handshakes and smiles, and with a look in his eye that plainly said he was wondering how quickly he might reasonably be rid of us, and whether he might be able to divest us of our rifles to replace the pair of antique Arab Jezzails his bodyguards carried into the bargain.
"But for the moment we were all friends, and I felt that that state of affairs would continue for a day or two until the King got the measure of us, which would be more than enough time for our plan. Jacopo had told us that the cavern with the statue was apparently just upstream and into the trees from the village, and so we'd hopefully be able to get in and out before anyone even realised. So in the meantime we said (through Anjeete) all the things that one says to minor potentates - that we had heard of his glory across the sea and come to see if it were true, and now we saw it was we'd soon be on our way to tell our distant Queen of his great Kingdom, and would he mind if we looked over his kingdom before we left? He didn't believe this any more than it was true, but fortunately we were all too polite to say, so instead we all nodded and smiled at one another, and he ordered a few cows killed for a feast to celebrate our visit, and offered us a woman each for the evening. I refused that one, and I think Fairbrother did too, but I'm fairly certain that Jacopo saw his vow of chastity as being as much of an impediment as his vow of poverty, and I wouldn't be surprised if a few years later there was another plump little scoundrel of dubious parentage about the place to make the lives of the villagers miserable."

Now I would like to say that I was shocked by this story, but in truth by this stage I was enjoying it immensely. Frobisher was staring into the fire, and I have little doubt that as he talked he really was back on the plains of Africa with their heat and dust and velvet nights. The only thing that intrigued me was an air about the fellow that he was saying something he'd really rather not be, and soon enough, I was to find out why.

"The next morning, rested and well fed, we decided that here was no time like the present, and we headed into the woodland that surrounded the village at a tangent to the river, and then when we were well and truly out of sight cut back in the right direction. There were six of us - Fairbrother and myself, Jacopo, Anjeete, and two of the bearers whom we brought along in the hope of having valuables to carry back. Four of us had rifles, just in case, and we all had ropes and wooden torches.

"It took us a few hours of walking to find what we were looking for and be sure we weren't being followed. It was one of those caves formed by the roof of a cavern falling in, and a small tributary of the river flowed into it, creating a small waterfall. We actually found the place by following the sound of constant splashing. Fairbrother and I made the ropes fast on the dry side, and he went down first to scout out the land, calling up a few moments later that all seemed safe enough, and the cave went back quite some distance - why didn't we all come down, and leave one of the bearers at the top as a guard?
"This seemed like a good idea, and Anjeete, Jacopo, the second bearer and I were all soon standing on the top of a mound of rubble and scree which was evidently the remains of the former cavern roof. I can remember it now, and it was a beautiful sight. The water cascading down the other side made a rainbow, and the sunlight streaming though the hole illuminated the fronds and plants hanging over the edges like one of those pictures one sees of Babylon. Quite, quite beautiful."

It was at this point that I noticed the entire room had fallen silent. The usual rustling of papers and chatter of quiet conversation which one normally hears in the club reading room was gone, and I realised without turning that every ear in the room was listening to Frobishers tale. It seemed that of the two of us, only I was aware of this. Indeed, at that stage, I'm not sure Frobisher was aware of me, never mind anyone else. It was almost as if he were telling the tale directly, as if he were there at the time, narrating. With a slow sigh, he continued.

"We all lit up our torches, and headed in the direction of the water flow, where the cavern seemed to be the widest. I think there must have been bats in the roof, as we walked on very sticky guano, which was seething with insects - the big ones with nippers and far too many legs that abound in Africa. It didn't take much walking, even with the sticky goo beneath our feet, to reach the rear wall. And there, waiting for us, was Asasabulum, just as Jacopo had described.
"A huge statue. It must have been hundreds of years old, as certainly the villagers we had met did not have the skill to carve such a thing, it was of an African King. Enormously fat, and with distended drooping features, he was stark naked - proudly so - with his hands on his knees and a particularly unwelcoming smile on his face. And round his neck, sure enough, was a chain of gold with links as think as your wrist. Silently we walked towards it, all five of us, each trying mentally to calculate the immense value of that fantastical piece of jewellery. Even the bearer, normally quiet and undemonstrative was jabbering away in awe. Or so I thought
"At that moment Anjeete spoke: 'Bwana,' he said. 'He says we are not alone.'
"And then all our torches went out, and the rustling noises started."

There was a collective sigh in the room, as everyone exhaled at once. The tension was almost palpable.

"I don't mind saying that I was suddenly gripped by fear. I've never liked the dark, and the sudden extinguishing of our torches had caught me completely by surprise. And then there was the noise. It sounded like the rustling of a thousand newspapers or the crackling of a thousand quiet wood fires. It seemed to come from all around us, and then something swept past me in the dark. There was a shriek, and to this day I couldn't tell you if it was me or one of my companions, but I understood the sentiment entirely. My heart was pounding, and I was fumbling in my pockets for the matches I had given to the King the day before to try and relight my torch. Suddenly my mouth was dry, and something told me that what the native had said was correct - we were not alone in that cave.

"To this day I thank God that I had given away my matches, because it almost certainly saved my life. In the event, it was the Padre who found his, and struck a light. I can remember as if I could see it now the sudden burst of light as his Lucifer lit, and see his fat face shining like the moon. Little beads of sweat stood out on his brow and beneath his nose, and his lips moved soundlessly as if he were praying. His hands shook, and the match flickered unsteadily, but it was steady enough for me to see as something moved into the light. Something horrible. For a moment they stood facing each other - this failed priest and the thing that lived in the cave. And then it swept over him, the light went out, and the noises began. There was a brief crunching noise, followed by a moan the like of which you might expect a man who had just lost a wager to give, and then the rustling started again - in greater volume this time.
"I'm not ashamed to say I think I was paralysed with fear. I stood and shook with utter funk for what seemed like an eternity - but cannot have been for more than a few moments - before something seized hold of my arm. I instinctively flinched away, and then Fairbrothers' steady voice said 'Don't be such an ass. Run, man! Run!'
"I allowed myself to be pulled along, all the while still shaking in mortal terror. Away to our left there was a hideous snapping and popping, and I can only assume that was either Anjeete or the second bearer, as we never saw either of those poor devils again. Fairbrother dragged me through the mud and muck toward the circle of light which marked our exit, and I knew - I just knew - that behind me something was getting closer and closer as I ran, and my feet just couldn't find enough purchase on the slick floor, and then I found myself slipping and falling..."

He picked up his glass and drained it with a gulp, and a hand from behind his seat refilled it in a single action.

"With a jerk Fairbrother pulled me on and I stumbled into the light spilling from the roof, before falling onto the pile of stones. I shook my head and glanced up to see that he had turned about to look back over me, and I saw his face blanch as at the same moment something seized my ankle. I pulled with all my might but couldn't get free, and looked over my shoulder to see something that was very almost a man holding me.
"His body was deep brown, and blotched, and he was as naked and hairless as the statue. It was with horror that I realised as I looked at him that the blotches on his body were slowly moving, and the rustling noise was coming directly from him. And then there were his eyes. They were cold, and featureless, and utterly black. For a moment we stared into each other’s faces and he stared as me emotionlessly as despite all my exertions, I felt myself being dragged back into the darkness. And then Fairbrother caught him around the side of the head with the butt of his rifle, and he disintegrated.
"Quite literally, he flew into pieces, and every piece was one of the scuttling insects that had covered the floor of the cave as we walked across. Or rather, all except one piece. The large clump that had been his head landed close to my foot, and it came apart to reveal, right in the centre where you would expect a man's brain to be, the most enormous spider you have even seen.
"You might think that you have seen big spiders, in the zoo, or the museum, but you haven't. Even the huge ones which trap and eat birds in the South American Jungle were as nothing to this. A spider as big as a dinner plate, it sat, and I swear to God it was staring right at me with those selfsame dead, black eyes. And then the insects swarmed over it, and the shape of a mans face started to form from that churning mass. I kicked out at it, and it flew back into the darkness, but I knew that I hadn't bought much time. Fairbrother lifted me to my feet, and he and I climbed those ropes as if the very Devil were behind us - which who knows, perhaps he was.
"We didn't go back to the village, but instead just gathered what we had brought on our days expedition and fled, plain and simple, with just the one bearer left to us. I doubt we stopped moving for a day and a night, and certainly not before we had put fifty miles between us and that terrible place."

There was a long, long silence and then, as if a spell had been lifted, the normal sounds of the club restarted. Conversations droned, and papers rustled. I sat and stared at Frobisher until he stirred, sat up, and looked about himself. Under other circumstances he might have looked comical, looking about like an owl awakened and confused by bright light, but I was silenced by his story. One thing I was sure of - whether or not his tale was true, Frobisher believed it with all his might. He sat up sharply, and looked embarrassed as most English gentlemen would, if they had just unburdened themselves on a complete stranger, and then started to stand, beginning my pardon for having wasted my time and quietly suggesting that it might be better if he left. I told him not to talk rot, but if he was determined to get out I would at least see him a part of his way home, as he was so obviously upset.

Of course, I had another motive, as there was one last part of the story he hadn't told.

I asked as we walked down the Mall, rubbing our hands from the cold. When the Padre had lit his light, and something moved into the sphere of illumination, what was it actually that he had seen?
And Frobisher told me. He told me in an emotionless voice, in great detail. He took his time over it, ensuring as he did that there was no doubt but that I had a genuine and accurate picture in my mind of what he had seen. And then he bid me good-day, and walked away.

And do you know that whenever I think of what he said to me - what he described to me, that day on the Mall; whenever I summon up that mental picture he created for me, I don't believe I have a comfortable night in my bed for a week after.

The End.
Copyright Me 2002.