Reality
an excerpt

The wipers softly screamed, as they made their way back and forth over the windscreen of the four-wheel drive jeep. They were doing their very best to keep the windscreen free of water, but the sudden downpour was turning out to be a real test, not only for the wipers, but also for the man sitting on the other side, hunched over the wheel and who was wishing now he had kept his mouth shut until later.

This wasn't how he had planned it, not how it was supposed to be at all. John had intended to break the news to her once they had arrived, maybe even given it a day or two before he told her he had found somebody else; but she had somehow seen it coming, picked something up from his manner perhaps or some gossip at the office more than likely. In any case, it didn't matter how she now knew, knowing how she knew wasn't going to change the fact she had evidently put all the pieces together in the right order and hit him with it on the long drive down. John wished she would shut up; shut up once and for all. She had been ranting on about it now for the last two hours and it amazed him she could still find new angles to come at him about it. That was one of the main reasons he needed to talk to her about this. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, that was her all right, never wrong in her own mind and always just a tad too quick to help him see the error of his own ways.

"Do you hear me? Are you even listening?" Mary shouted across at him in the dark. She couldn't see him it was so dark on his side, plus he had left the visor down in front of him again from earlier that day, something that drove her mad each time she took the jeep out.

John stole a quick look in her direction and then returned his eyes to the road in front just as fast. He had no intention of winding her up even more, she was doing a damn fine job all on her own without his input.

Lightning briefly flickered and then the sound of thunder tearing up the sky filled the inside of the jeep. For a brief second or two Mary actually became silent, as she leaned forward and looked out up at the dark rolling mass of clouds that covered the stars beyond, like a thick plump duvet. As she watched, a fork of bright purple lightning ripped a tear across that duvet of clouds above and she could distinctly hear the crackle of the electric charge in the air around her. She didn't like this at all., but then there were a few other things she didn't like or feel too happy about and she turned again towards him. John wasn't going to do this to her, not after she had given everything of hers to him; her heart, her body, her soul and this was how he returned in kind? By going behind her back and finding somebody else, somebody else she knew only too damn well. What did he take her for; some kind of fool?

Lightning flickered across the sky once again, as the jeep sped on through the night along the twisting country road. The road itself had been cut through a dense forest that still stood on either side of the road. To the right, the tree-covered hill dominated the surrounding area, while to the left, the dense forest continued on downwards at a steep angle for a few hundred feet or so, to the shallow river below. That same river snaked its way along over a wide bed of shale and gravel to the sea, where it eventually dribbled out into the ebbing tide a few miles further down at the coast.

Mary was still ranting, "What were you thinking, you fool? You know she is too young for you. She only sees your money and once she gets those perfectly manicured long nails of hers in it; well, you can kiss your true love goodbye, I should know!" She turned quickly and looked behind her and then back at him again, "What were you thinking? What did I ever do that was so bad, so hurtful to cause you to turn around and do this? Haven't I always been there for you? Tell me! Say something, be the man she thinks you are and give me something I can understand, some reason for all of this. Give me something, anything for Christ's sake!" She finally turned her head away and gazed out at her own reflection in the window at her side, lost in memories of how it used to be and wondering just what had brought them to this point.

John remained silent and continued to stare out at the road ahead, his head down, eyes blazing with emotions he would not let himself show, not here, not now. He put his foot down and the jeep sprang forward even faster into the night and the pouring rain. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they got there the better it would be for everyone. It was late and they were tired and all this upset on top of it only drained them even more. He had feelings, too, or didn't she know that? That was another of the long list of issues he had with her, it was always her, her, her. Her career, her public, her fans, her money, her TV interviews, her next best seller, always her, her, her. It hadn't always been like that, it never is when people first meet and fall in love; or maybe it was, but they just didn't see it. Those early years had been hungry, fun-filled times, when they both wanted more than they had, but all they had was each other and a vision of how it could be.

He had started up his own agency business in a dusty two-roomed office on the third floor of an old nondescript grey building, in the bustling West End of London. The heating didn't work and the cistern in the tiny toilet dripped constantly, but it was worth the high rent he was paying, its address looked good on a letterhead and that's what really mattered at the time.

In those days he had been so keen, he would take on just about anyone who could write and who showed even the slightest sign of talent. It had been a real struggle back then, and the business only employed him and his older married sister. He worked the business, while she manned the phone and sent out neatly typed letters that made them look more than they actually were in reality. But it had worked and over time he had a total of eight successful authors on his books..and the major publishers loved him. John's business may have been small, but small was good..small was just fine..small was earning them a lot of money. Doors opened now even if he happened to be just passing, whereas before they always seemed to slam shut just when he arrived.

It was around this time she had literally walked into his life. He still remembered it clearly, a dull, over-cast Tuesday in February of '86. Billy Ocean's number one hit 'When the Going Gets Tough' drifted through the air from the small stereo radio his sister kept in one of the top draws of her desk, a desk too big for a woman of such a small build. But they thought it was imposing and so it stayed. He was just putting on his jacket and getting ready to leave for a lunch-time meeting, when she strolled into the outer office, looking totally at ease and competent. She looked every bit of the large advance he would later secure for her with a 3 book deal and it would turn out to be the first of many large negotiated advances for the would-be best sellers that would go on to out-sell each other in turn.

He had talked the talk and walked the walk for her and it had paid off big time..for both of them. They suddenly became the perfect couple in the public eye; both were beautiful, intelligent and demure in their own way. When they announced their engagement a few years later, their photos graced the pages of all the leading pictorial up-market magazines, as well as making headlines in all of the daily papers. When the actual wedding day arrived, the guest list was a veritable 'Who's Who" of society from both sides of the Atlantic, with all the right people from every conceivable walk of life.

The next few years were just the right kind of magic mixture of romance and good fortune that every young couple hopes for starting out, but few are seldom blessed with in reality. Things just seemed to go their way and it looked like the good times would never end. But nothing lasts forever and every fairytale must come to an end; theirs started to turn sour as most do, when it was at its height.

The real crux of the matter was they had met just around the same time both their careers was taking off. The thought had never even crossed either of their minds at the time, but it would come to haunt them constantly these later years, wondering just who made who? Did he discover her..or did her career skyrocket his? It mattered little in the end, as in most cases the real trouble isn't real at all, the mind only thinks it is and that is often more than enough for most.

In his mind she had out-grown him, no longer needing his advice or council now she was every publisher's darling. Gone were the days when he would lead the business talk over lunch-time meetings. Gone, too, were the informal exchanges of banter whenever he walked into a office or boardroom. Now all eyes were on her, hanging on her every word.

Most of the old guys John had built his business with had long ago retired, replaced by young farts fresh out of college and eager to make their mark on the publishing world. Most of them were all brains and no personality, and as for a sense of humor, that was deemed a weakness these days, a flaw rather than a beneficial trait to have in the mix of a person's character. Times had certainly changed and changed for the worst in John's life.

In reality, things were going well for the business. John now had offices not only in London, but also states-side in New York and a branch in Sydney, Australia. The small company he had set up when he first started out had quickly flourished over the years that followed into one of the major entertainment agencies in the world, bringing with it all the benefits and trappings of success. Where before there had been just two of them in a dusty office, now he employed over a thousand people world-wide, who worked in various areas of the business, from editors to the men and women who cleaned the offices at night..John now even had his own pilot on standby around the clock.

As for Mary, better known as 'Mary Jane McBride' to her worldwide loving fans and publishers alike, she had always wanted to write professionally from an early age and had talent to back her ambition. Her father had done well for himself and owned a large builders contracting firm, thanks to which he had made many friends and business contacts over the years. A short while before she had walked into John's West End office, her father had tried to call in a few favors by approaching a friend of his who worked in the publishing world. The meeting took place on a their local golf course, as he popped the pertinent question at the fifteenth hole. When it was finished, he had lost the game and five over par, but he'd secured a promise that Mary's manuscript would end up in 'the right hands'.

Those so-called 'right hands' eventually made the biggest misjudgement of their career, when they decided after reading her work that the market wasn't right for such a "chick book". They went on to say readers were into the "blockbuster" type of bestseller and wouldn't have much interest in such work from an as of yet unestablished writer. But Mary didn't give up and continued to knock on doors herself, despite her father's pleas for her to "settle down" and "forget all this book nonsense." It was around this time that Mary crossed paths with John and shortly after she found herself under contract, while the person who had told her the market wasn't right for such a "chick book" found themselves "demoted" once it came to light they had let "Mary Jane McBride" slip through the net.

Mary's fan base grew rapidly around the world and by the time her third book hit the shelves, it was already a number one best seller. From that moment on there was no turning back. Her work expanded as she started to cover new ground in her third book, not content at showing a woman's plight in modern day, as she had done with her first two-book. She now presented the awaiting public with a tale of romance, sorrow and eventual triumph, set in the wild outback during the early founding days of Australia. The public loved it and wanted more. She followed this with a series of five more books based on the same characters from her third book, each of which went on to out-sell each other.

After that, her work returned to deal with modern issues facing the woman of today and her publishers were hard pressed to keep up with the demand. She was a star and she loved every second of it. Her fame was the only introduction she needed and it resulted in doors opening up to her in society, doors to places she hadn't even dreamt of before. Mary lunched with the famous of this world, from A-list actors, to artists and even royalty, counting Princess Diana as one of her biggest fans at the time.

As for her personal life, it was almost a mirror image of her professional one; she and John had married. They now owned property on three continents, as well as a summer home in France and a winter home in the Caribbean. On top of all of this, they were trying to have a child. In fact, a child was the only thing she lacked in her life, as did John. They had visited the best doctors in the world and both were deemed healthy and fit..it seemed like it would only be a matter of time before they were proud parents..but as time passed, with no sign of an infant arriving, they didn't give up hope. After all, they were still relatively young enough for it to all work out and so they went on with their lives, each a shining star in their own field. Who knew what the future held in store and the changes it would bring to their lives?

A soft smile appeared on Mary's face, as tears flowed silently down the face of the woman who looked back at her from the window in the jeep door beside her. She looked at herself in the dim light and was thankful the years had been kind to her in the looks department. Everything was still her own, even the color of her hair was hers and not out of a bottle. She pulled the collar of the long cashmere coat she wore up around her neck and softly dabbed her eyes with the end of the silk scarf she was wearing. It had been a gift to her from the late, great Freddie Mercury, lead singer and front man with the rock band "Queen". She smiled again, remembering him, the way he had made her laugh and she couldn't help but wonder why all men couldn't be more like he had been. For all the press had said about him, both before and after his death, he was one of few real gentlemen she had met in this world.

She turned to John again and looked at his side profile in the dark. He was still the same man she had fallen in love with back in '86 and she knew she still loved him. But what of his feelings? Did he still love her, or was this really the end of it all? Her voice, when she spoke was calm, almost quiet, "John, tell me this one thing, will you? I need the truth, OK? Do you still love me? I mean, do you still feel anything for me at all?" But John didn't answer.

John heard her clearly and he knew, despite everything about her that pissed him off, there was still love there for her, that wasn't the problem. He had simply become tired of loving a legend to whom he'd become nothing more than just another addition in a long line of collectibles. He needed more from her than that, more than shared words as they passed each other, lost in their own lives and careers. And he'd found that "something more" in one of the female junior editors who worked at the office.

It hadn't started on top of a boardroom table with him straddled over her, while she lay stretched out prone, grasping company memos tightly in her hands, with her head thrown back, neck craned upward and eyes shut tight, lost in passion. In fact, it was the lack of passion between the two of them that had lead to more, or the chance for something else to blossom. On a business level they became close, after he found he could depend on her in the office. It wasn't long before they were sharing lunchtime together, having informal meetings to discuss work related matters and on first name basis outside the office.

When it happened, it was purely by chance rather than by design. It took place in the building's elevator one Friday after lunch, as they were making their way back up to the floor where his personal office was located. He had asked her to come up with him in order to give her some files he needed her opinion on, but then the lift stalled and they found themselves alone between floors. The nervous voice of a young security guard had told them the engineer had been called and that he would be with them soon so there was no need to worry.

Then, five minutes later, John could see she was beginning to get nervous, so he tried to reassure her, telling her how safe lifts were these day, nothing like the death traps they used to be and how they now had all kinds of safety measures built into them. At that point the lift suddenly chose to drop two floors before shuddering to a halt. The sudden movement of the lift had slightly jarred them both and when they bumped together, she threw her arms around his neck and held on tight; and he didn't try to push her away.

When the lift doors opened ten minutes later on the ground floor, the engineer and security guard found the two of them looking more than a little flustered. John was tucking in the tail of his shirt and she was flattening down her pinstriped three quarter length skirt with the palms of her hands. And as luck would have it, the engineer soon made foreman and the young security guard applied for and was awarded a job as a junior editor on up on the forth floor..a job he had been turned down for in the past. Funny how things change with time.

No, it wasn't love that John felt for her, but there was certainly an attraction and she did make him feel young again. But perhaps most important of all, she made him feel wanted; something Mary had failed to do for a long time now. And so he had let it go, let it run its course, knowing he would have to pay the price one day..and that day of payment was now. As much as he felt angry about how Mary treated him and their relationship in general, he knew only too well that he had been far from saintly and he took no pride in such knowledge. Part of him wished he could turn back time and undo everything, back to the start, to the very same day they had first met, but he knew that was impossible. In reality you had to get on and make the best of a bad lot, do with it what you could and salvage something if you could. John knew in his heart he would do anything to have things as they were before, like after they were married. Not the "everything is lovely" phase all newlyweds go through, but the level you reach later when you know you can count on each other and know the other so well, that to lose them would be like losing part of your self. Yes, he had screwed things up, but not out of spite, more like retaliation due to the way he saw their relationship and his place in it. He now knew he had both been a fool and acted foolishly as a result, just as sure as he knew there would be some very difficult days ahead if they were going to give it another try. But the prize at the end of it all was worth the effort involved, along with any uncomfortable confrontations or revelations that would have to be dealt with. He still loved Mary and he knew it. He really felt bad deep down inside and wanted to say something, but knew it had to be more than something well thought out. It had to be sincere and from the heart if it were worth saying at all.

John took his eyes off the road ahead and looked at Mary, and she turned her head and looked at him. Their eyes met and he could see she had been crying silently beside him..and he knew he and he alone had been the cause of all this pain. Somewhere along the line of their lives together he had started to read the wrong things into various events, spoken words and actions, resulting in this mess they now found themselves faced with and he felt compelled to put things right. He understood now, as he sat looking at her from behind the wheel of the jeep, just how wrong he had been; how stupid and childish in his thinking. He had come so close to throwing it all away just because he had "thought" he was right, when he couldn't have been further from the truth if he had set out to try.

What happened next did so in a matter of seconds, but to John it appeared as if time had slowed down and his life was running in slow motion. He was just about to tell her how sorry he was when the night outside suddenly became day. Mary eyes turned first, followed closely by her head, as she looked out through the windscreen. John heard a loud "crack", like somebody had just broken a baseball bat right beside his ear and he heard Mary scream, "John..look out," at the same time as he, too, turned his eyes and looked out through the windscreen. He didn't see the bolt of lightning that had struck the tree, but he did see it burst into flames and come crashing down directly in front of them.

He hit the brakes with all he had and tried to guide the jeep around the brightly burning mass that lay across the road before them, but the jeep went into a tight skid on the wet surface of the road, spun off the road and shot off down into the blackness of the forest below. Branches and leaves slapped against the windscreen and a small crack appeared on John's side, that quickly grew and spread into a spider's web across their field of view. All the while, Mary screamed, as John tried to gain some semblance of control, but he needn't have bothered.

He stole a glance in at Mary and noted she was looking over at the back seat. He was going to look himself, but right then the side of Mary's head turned into the bark of a tree, followed by a blinding white light. John felt sick..John was sick. He vomited and rolled over at the base of the tree he had just slid down. The copper-like taste of blood filled his mouth and he could feel it trickling down the inside of his nose. His face felt wet and cold, but he didn't know if it was due to the rain falling on him, or due to blood coming from some facial wound. All he knew was his head hurt like nothing he had ever felt before and that his face stung like hell. His shaking right hand touched his face and he winced in pain, as a few little diamond-like bits of windscreen fell to the ground as he brought his hand away.

He tried to stand and found out as he did that he had cracked a few ribs as well. It hurt each time he tried to take a breath, but he manage to pull himself up by holding on to the very same tree he had slammed into when he was thrown from the jeep. John turned and looked down into the blackness below. He could hear the jeep still crashing it's way off into the distance and the faint scream for help coming from it. Then there came the terrible sound of crunching metal and breaking glass followed by silence.

John started to scramble down the hillside, all pain of his own forgotten now, as he half slid/half tumbled onwards and down. He fell through bushes with thorns, cut his hands on sharp rocks on the ground and was slapped in the face countless time by invisible branches in the dark. It was as though nature was trying to do all it could to stop him from getting to the bottom, but he eventually rolled out onto a small clearing on the river's grassy bank. He tried to stand up again, but this time the pain in his head was so bad he turned around and saw two jeeps turned upside down about fifty feet from where he was now. He started to stagger towards both of them, not knowing which was real and which was the illusion.

He couldn't have been more than twenty feet from the jeep, when he heard a dull "phump" sound..then a flash of bright orange followed close behind by a wave of heat, as the gas tank exploded. It has been ruptured as the jeep tumbled down the hillside and something had ignited the fumes, turning the jeep into a fireball.

John staggered as close as he could, but the heat was too much, even when he collapsed onto the riverbank and tried to crawl nearer. If he had been taking notice, he would have realized he could both feel and smell the hair on his head starting to singe from the intense heat, but his mind was elsewhere, as his eyes were locked on the site of Mary, upside-down, held in place by the seatbelt that she couldn't undo. He reached out to her with his left hand from ten feet away, as she screamed his name, pleading for him to help her, but he couldn't. There was no way for him to get to her..there was nothing he could do but watch as she was quickly consumed by the flames that engulfed the jeep. He wanted so much to turn away, but couldn't. He didn't want to see this, but gazes on, as he saw Mary's long blond hair suddenly fizzle up around her face and scalp, turning into a smoking black mess just before it too burst into flames. She screamed and wriggled helplessly, her arms beating at what was left of the shattered windscreen, smearing blood everywhere she touched. Then she was still, her arms hanging down limply, as flames danced and flickered around her, licking at what was left of her; not yet full as they feasted on her dead flesh.

"NO!" he screamed, but it came out as a low mummer, lost beneath another sound, more shrill that any that had came before, but John didn't hear it. His mind had given up and he could take no more. His eyes traveled the short distance from the burning jeep to his outstretched left arm and they came to rest on the watch he wore. It was the last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness, the face of that watch and the flames reflected on it. His eyes zoomed in and out of focus, as he tried to make out the hands on the dial and then everything turned black, as black as a sinner's soul knocking on the gates of hell.

04:02

04:03

"Who's there?"

Sean waited for a reply, but the only sounds that reached his ears came from the rain lashing against the bedroom window and the odd faint crack from the dying fire in the room beyond. He was sure he'd heard something or someone. He squinted again at the dull green glow from the watch on his wrist, its illuminated second hand sweeping round the dim dotted circumference of its face, like a brightly glowing satellite traveling through a star-studded sky. He'd read the time right the first time.

Only moments ago he'd been dreaming of some dark haired goddess he'd never had the pleasure of meeting in the flesh, but that hadn't mattered in the reality of his dream. They'd both sat in front of a roaring log fire, lost in the kind of passionate kiss that marks the start of something more, as his left hand began to snake its way up between her thighs. It ventured beneath the hem of something oh-so-short and paused for a second, when his fingers found the course contrast of her stocking tops. Then his hand was on its way again, running for home across the final furlong of flesh at the top of her thighs. His fingers were just about to cross the finish line of lace and silk to the applause of a strange crowd of onlookers, who had just appeared over in the far corner of the room; when his eyes opened suddenly and he'd lay there in the darkness, wondering what the hell was going on.

It had been a strange dream and if he'd been a follower of Jung, then maybe he would have made more sense of it...or maybe not. But reality had called and his mind had answered.

Now he heard it again, a faint sound, barely audible, but loud enough to draw his attention once more to the door and the room beyond. As he listened, his body stiffened with the realization that there really was someone out there. The noise that filtered through to his ears proved beyond any doubt it wasn't just his imagination, but something real, something or someone in the room just beyond the bedroom door. A soft whisper-like sound drifted through the night air. It had a strange rhythm to it, as though someone were saying the same word over and over again. Sean tried to make out what the word was, but couldn't. Even though he tried to focus on it, it remained a faint rhythmic hiss.

"Right, that's it. I'm coming out!"

The words were meant to warn the intruder, maybe even scare him off, but the quiver in his voice wasn't going to fool anyone, not even Sean. He pushed back the duvet and swung his feet down onto the cold floorboards, as he reached for the black toweling dressing gown that lay draped across the foot of the bed. As he pulled and tied the belt of the gown around his waist, another sound caught his attention.

"Where're you going?"

The female voice, slurred with sleep, belonged to Jenny; Sean's long-time girlfriend or significant other, depending on where you came from and what you wanted to be. Marriage was on the cards, but neither of them was in a hurry. They shared the view that there were still things to do in life before they tied their two lives together as one, but their single days were numbered and they both knew it deep down inside.

Sean half twisted his head around towards her and stole a quick glance in her direction. There, in the darkness, he could just make out the pale oval of her face and he knew she was gazing back at him.

"I heard something. I think someone's out there," he whispered.

Jenny raised herself up on an elbow, as she pushed back a few stray curly strands of black hair from her face. She yawned and shook her head and then turned to look at the bedside clock on the locker to her right.

"What...at this hour? It's after four in the morning! Who in their right mind is going to be out on a night like this? And what have we got that's worth taking anyway? Sean, get back into bed, will you? It's probably just the wind or something."

Sean stood there, wanting to dive back under the cover, but something at the back of his mind wouldn't let him. "Yeah I know; you're more than likely right, but I should check and make sure, just in case."

The quilt rustled, as Jenny turned her back to him and when she spoke again, her words were heavy with sleep, " I thought you said you checked the place out when we arrived earlier this evening?"

Sean's eyes were on the bedroom door again. "Yeah, I did, but maybe I should just double-check now." He paused just long enough to hear her sigh. "Anyway," he continued," I'm telling you, I heard something and it's not just the wind."

"Fine, please yourself...do what you want, as long as you close the door when you go out...it's freezing in here." The sound of bedsprings creaking and the rustle of the quilt again, being tugged up tight around her neck, marked the end of the conversation. Jenny muttered one last word, as she settled down in the bed, "Men".

Sean turned to the bedroom door across from him. He took a step towards it and froze, as he noticed it was slightly open. Hadn't he closed it when they'd retired earlier that night? Now, as he stared at the inch-wide streak of blackness that ran from the floor to the top of the door, the hairs on the back of his neck began to dance to the tune of the wailing wind outside. He slowly brought his right eye up to the opening and looked out into the other room. His mind whispered that the shadows beyond could be hiding a small army and he thanked his mind for being so helpful. The problem was the bluish-grey light of dawn kind of mixed everything together...another five or ten minutes and he'd be able to see everything clearly, but that could be five or ten minutes too long if there really was someone lurking out there!

He slowly reached down and grasped the brass handle in his hand. He drew in a deep breath, quickly pulled open the door and walked out into the cottage's main room. Sean's left hand slid up the wall beside him and found the light-switch. One soft click later and the room was lit by the dim ambient glow that the two lamps provided. One stood across the room on a small nest of tables to his left, under the window that looked out into the small front garden. It had a small black marble-effect base with an opaque amber fabric shade. The other stood on a tall stand behind a high-backed two-seater over in the corner to the right of the room. This one did more than just look pretty, as its shade was made of pale yellow glass sections, held in place by thin strips of lead. It gave off good light...enough to light the small central room of the cottage. His eyes glanced around the room. Nothing...everything was as it had been when they'd turned in for the night. No broken windows, picked locks or knife-brandishing, drug-crazed loonies stood waiting to take his life and Sean relaxed a little.

What was it? What had woken him from his sleep? He had always known he was a deep sleeper...Jenny had told him that, as had his mother many years ago. "Maybe it was part of the dream," his mind told him, but he knew it was something more than just a twilight passing between fact and fantasy, that stage where you are neither awake nor asleep, but mentally adrift in a place where reality has no meaning. But he was sure it had been a real sound, not just the product of his waking mind.

Sean slowly pulled the bedroom door behind him until he heard it click. Then he made his way across the room to the dying fire. He quickly crouched down and gripped the long iron poker in his right hand that hung from the tall stand beside the fire, then stood and made his way over to the door that led out to the small washroom at the back of the cottage. When Sean reached the white painted timber door he could see it was closed. He paused briefly, before he pulled the door open and stepped into the small room beyond.

The sharp smell of washing powder and detergent clawed at his nose, as he stretched out his right arm and flicked the light-switch on the wall beside him. The light-bulb that hung from the ceiling flashed on for a second and then off again, as Sean heard a faint "chink" sound. The bulb had blown and now he stood facing a room of darkness. Before his mind had a chance to say anything about what it thought it had seen in that one brief second of illumination, Sean walked into the gloom and made his way to the end of the room. Here the washing machine lived in perfect bliss with the tumble dryer, where once a week the linen basket gave birth to a pile of dirty clothes. Beyond these stood a two-inch thick solid timber door, fitted with four sturdy bolts and a lock any escapologist would have problems with on a good day.

Beyond the back-door the wind howled and the rain sounded like a million mice trying to scratch their way through to shelter. Sean felt in the dark for the handle and turned it, but the door was still locked. He turned and walked back to the doorway, pulled the door shut behind him and shuffled back across the main room, that served as the cottage's kitchen/dinning/sitting room. He passed the large pine table in the center of the room, it's top pitted and scarred from years of use, and made his way over to the window. Just beyond the small front gate stood his pride and joy, a bottle-green Range Rover, with brown tinted glass and cream leather trim. He could have bought the cottage for what he'd paid out for the Rover, but the Rover would look good in any drive; well, that's what he told himself at the time.

He watched the rain bounce six inches off the hood of the Rover for a few seconds, before his attention turned to the reflection in the rain-streaked window. The lamp on the small nest of tables at his knees lit up his face from below in a soft orange glow and he studied his image with interest. The once black hair was beginning to turn grey at the temples and the deep lines that sprang from the corner of his eyes made him look older. Plus the dim light had an aging effect and, for a moment, he thought he was looking at his father. Sean smiled again...looks were all they'd ever had in common. He'd always been the dreamer, while his father had lived life by reason and logic. There'd never been room for dreams or emotions and he'd remained as cold as the windowpane that Sean stared at, even right up to the end. A shudder rippled down his spine, as he turned from the window and thoughts of an imperfect past. Coffee was what he needed right then and he set about getting a brew underway.

A short while later, Sean settled down in one of the matching high-backed fireside chairs with a hot mug clasped between his hands. He watched in silence, as the steam slowly curled its way up through the air, twisting and turning, until it faded into the shadows that stretched across the ceiling above his head. As he watched the shadows, something caught his eye at the window...a movement of some sort...he wasn't sure, but it had looked like someone had just dashed passed the window. He stood and quickly made his way over to the window, still holding the mug of hot coffee. His mind raced, as it tried in vain to come up with an explanation for what he'd just seen...something that would give a form to the shape.

He pressed his face against the glass pane and tried to look in both directions, but he couldn't see much. He quickly turned from the window and made for the front door of the cottage, grabbing the bunch of keys that lay on the table, as he went on his way. He pulled back the bolts and fumbled with the key for a few moments, before he managed to get it into the lock, turn it and pull the door open.

As he stood on the doorstep, a gale-force wind rushed in around him, trying to rip the gown from his body and nearly knocking him backwards, as it passed. Sean pushed his body into the wind and made his way outside. The small rose bush in the center of the cottage's equally small front garden was being pulled in every direction by the gale. The raindrops were the biggest Sean had ever seen...soaking through his gown in a matter of seconds, making him wish he'd pulled on something a little heavier. He quickly looked around; saw nobody or any signs that anyone had been there in the first place. He dashed around the side of the cottage and looked around the back, but there was no one. Sean stood there in the rain, shivering from the cold and a little unsure...he knew he'd seen something...he'd been so sure, and yet there was no one out there, just the elements and a crazy crow who was trying to fly in the gale that was still raging.

Sean stood and let his mind forget about what he was doing out there in the rain for a few brief moments, as he watched. The bird appeared to fly out from near the top of one of the big old oak trees up on the hill to the rear of the cottage. It managed to get about ten feet from the tree, when the gale proved too much for it to master. As Sean watched, the crow was picked up by the gale, spun around a few times and then flung back into the same swaying tree it had left moments before.

"Idiot bird." Sean smiled.

But the smile didn't last long, as the reality of how cold he was made him shudder. He remembered the mug of hot coffee he'd left behind in the cottage and he turned, making his way back to the front door. He stumbled over the threshold and shut the door behind him, drawing the bolts and turning the key in the lock until it "clicked" home. He made straight for the wash room, where he peeled off the wet dressing gown and night clothes, dried off with a clean towel from the linen closet and changed into a pair of jogging pants and a heavy sweatshirt. Then it was time for coffee.

Sean walked over to mug he'd left on top of the bookcase, just to the left of the window. It was still hot, as he grasped it and brought it up to his lips, sipping a mouthful, as he returned his gaze once more to the world outside. Off in the distance, way out at sea, the lights of a trawler twinkled in the early light, either returning home or just setting out for the day...Sean wasn't sure which. He stared at the lights, as they bobbed up and down on the horizon, like fireflies hovering in slow motion and for one brief moment he wished he was out there on that trawler, sailing off to God only knew where. Then the thought was gone and his attention was back with his own reflection in the windowpane once more. His focus shifted from the lights in the distance to the outline of his own eyes in the glass. Suddenly an image forked through his mind, like lightening through a nighttime sky and Sean stood there, coffee mug clasped in both hands, frozen at a point just below his chin, as he wondered what the hell was going on?

The "image" was clear, and yet, he was sure he had never met the person who now haunted his mind. He focused his thoughts and tried to remember where and when they had met, but the end result was an even stronger conviction he didn't know the woman he now saw in his mind. He blinked and the coffee mug started to move up to his lips again, as though the Gods had pushed an invisible pause button and life had started to roll by as usual. Who was she and why did he feel as though they had met before? As the now warm coffee coursed its way down his throat, Sean shrugged and pushed her from his mind. He would forget her, after all, what else could he do?

The sky outside was still as violent as before, but the rain had eased off slightly and it was beginning to brighten, now that the sun had started to rise. He stared into his own eyes, as his mind began to wander again. And then he both heard and saw it at the same time. A movement so swift and sudden, he would have missed it if he had blinked. He only had time to note that the head was covered in a black veil, as it came into view from the left and stopped when its lips were almost pressing against Sean's left ear. The lips parted and the woman spoke just one word. The sound of the word was mixed with the sound made by the coffee mug, as it slipped from his hands and hit the stone floor below, sending bits flying in every direction. As his head turned, the skin on his forehead tightened and turned cold, as the hairs on his neck started to tingle. He was alone in the room.

He stood there, his body frozen like carved stone, as he listened to the wind whistle in under the front door. He turned and looked behind him, but the door leading into the washroom was still closed, just as he had left it a short while ago. There was nobody there and nowhere for them to hide had there been. Sean turned his face to the window once more and the reflection that looked back at him was a mask of pure terror. The two eyes stared wildly, the mouth gaped open in a near-perfect "O" and the whole face glowed slightly, caused by the thin layer of cold sweat that covered it. He slowly looked down at the puddle of cold coffee at his feet and the scattered bits of broken mug and found himself wondering yet again what the hell was going on?

A hand gently touched his shoulder and he spun around, taking a step backwards, away from whoever or whatever was at the other end of that hand!

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Jenny smiled at him, but he could see the question in her eyes before she asked it.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

Sean stared at her for a few moments before saying, " Every thing's fine. The mug just kind of slipped from my hand, that's all. Sorry if I woke you."

"Are you sure you're OK? You look as though you've just seen a ghost." Jenny reached out and touched his face and suddenly drew it back again. "God, Sean, you're as cold as ice! Come back to bed and let me warm you up a little." She smiled at him, as she turned and slowly walked over to the bedroom door.

Sean watched the gentle swing of her hips as she disappeared into the bedroom and he felt the passion starting to rise inside him; the "need" was starting to grow and take on a life of its own, as all thoughts of what had just happened slowly began to fade from his mind; now as he followed after her. He paused at the bedroom door and looked around once more into the room. Was he starting to lose his mind? Was she real? He didn't know which question pointed to the truth and, at that moment, he didn't care. He wouldn't waste anymore time thinking or worrying about it now. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

In a matter of moments he was in Jenny's arms and kissing her passionately, as she reached down and took hold of him with a soft, yet firm, grip. They made love with the passion and tenderness of two young virgins, until finally their two bodies collapsed on the bed in silence, lost in contentment. They remained that way for almost twenty minutes, lying there in each other's arms, slowly drifting off to sleep. Sean pulled the duvet up over them and Jenny kissed him gently on the cheek, before she turned away from him. He, too, turned his back to her and faced the door, as he lay there, waiting for sleep to come.

And, as he began to doze off, he thought of how good she had felt, as they had made love. The image of Jenny's body on top of his floated through his sleepy mind and he was vaguely aware of the smile that appeared on his face. And then she faded away and was replaced with the head of the woman veiled in black lace, who had appear to him only an hour before. Now she stared back at him with two dead, black eyes. Her lips moved slowly, as if she spoke in slow motion and the inside of her mouth seemed to be nothing more than a wet, black opening, in which glistened something he took to be her tongue. Her voice was a low hiss, like wind blowing through a reed-covered bog and it sounded almost masculine. Then, as Sean slipped into a deep and restless sleep, he heard her again whispering that word in his ear and he groaned in his sleep.

"John," was the name she called, and from somewhere deep down within, Sean struggled to answer.

Sean's sleep couldn't have been any deeper and restless, as he tossed and turned his way through what remained of those pre-day hours. Images flitted before his mind's eye, like blind bats through the dead of night. Some of the things he recognized, while others he didn't. Strange things that would have been out of place in the normal world, but somehow seemed so at home in this land of nightmares and dreamscapes. Forms floated through the air in this world; weird entities beyond description or understanding. They just "were" and Sean took little, if any, notice of them.

Up above him, the night sky was a black, undulating mass. A strange dim greenish glow seemed to light them from within every now and then, as they scurried along. It was during one of these brief moments Sean realized they were living things, shapes that were constantly changing, as they moved swiftly by overhead. As he watched, a face-like thing would form on the undersurface of a cloud, as though it were trying to gain a quick glimpse at what lay below. But then the face-like aspect of it would contort, change and vanish into itself, accompanied by a soft moan-like sound, which clung on to the chilled night air, a rapidly fading echoing, lasting for only a few seconds.

Sean tore his gaze away from those dark things up there and looked instead back at the road in front of him; as well as at the small coastal town of Acushla which sat at the end of the road, on the side of a mid-sized hill in the distance. The small windows of the buildings that dotted its streets glimmered and flickered brightly, like the light from a million stars. The road Sean now walked along was the only road into town, for the town was a cul-de-sac of sorts...a real dead end unto itself. It really was the end of the line, as nothing lay beyond its far side; only rolling fields and a deep, dense forest that still remained largely unexplored. It was as if civilization and humanity came to an abrupt end on the other side of town...and, in a way, they did.

Sean could just make out the dark outline of the forest, framed between the amber glow of the town's streetlights and the jagged horizon of the night sky beyond. It's total lack of light made it all the more obvious and somehow strangely alluring. Sean stared into its blackness, wondering what was over there, beyond the far side of town. It seemed to call out to him, pulling him towards it with each step he took, as though he were walking towards it and not the town that lay between.

The spell was broken when he suddenly became aware of movement on the road up ahead. As Sean stopped and peered into the darkness, the form of an elderly man pushing a bicycle loomed out at him. Sean flinched involuntary, stunned by just how close this guy actually was to him.

The old guy paused for a moment, bent forward and rested his arms on the handlebars, as he struggled to catch his breath. He stood just to the left of Sean, his face turned away, as he looked out across the small stretch of sandy beach that ran along the far side of the road. His eyes seemed not to notice the ebbing surf, as it ran back out to sea for the umpteenth time. They were locked on some distant point far out from shore and his gaze was intense.

Sean turned his head and tried to follow this old man's line of sight, but could see nothing out there that anyone would be fascinated by, aside from a handful of seagulls lost in their own balletic dance above the waves.

The old man suddenly turned his head to Sean and looked directly into his eyes and as their eyes locked, Sean felt a tingle ripple down his back, as if some frozen spectre had ran a finger of ice down his spine.

The smile on the old man's face was in contrast with the look in his eyes, but Sean didn't read any harm in the man. In fact, Sean could read nothing from the guy and that was what worried him. All he knew was here stood a man of about sixty years, draped in a grey duffel coat, resting against the bicycle he'd been pushing a short time ago. His eyes were the same colour as the moonlight that shone down on the illuminated the spray that washed up on the shore and then disappeared just as fast. The grey hair on his head had started to thin a good few years ago and the scraggly beard that covered his cheeks and chin was putting up a brave fight against the cold night breeze.

The old man continued to smile as he spoke. "You really don't get it, do you? You honestly haven't got a clue, have you?" and then he started to laugh. It began as a soft chuckle and swiftly grew into a full-bodied belly-tickler of a laugh.

Sean stood there, too stunned to say anything. After all, what do you say to a mad man? He was considering saying something glib and casual, just to get rid of this old boy, but before he could say anything, the old man stopped laughing and started to speak again.

"That's OK, don't you worry if you're not ready yet. You still got some time and that's for sure. Just don't forget; the boat there is ready whenever you are, just say the word," the old man said, as he tilted his head towards the beach. "You watch out now, you hear? They'll be coming soon."

"Do I know you?" asked Sean.

The old man just smiled once more, as he stood, took hold of the bicycle with both hands and mounted it. "It appears not," he said. "But I know you, and that's what really counts, isn't it? You take care now, you hear?" And with that he started to cycle off into the night.

Sean turned, still stunned, and watched him vanish into the blackness of the night, just catching the old man's parting words on the night air, as he road off, talking to himself as he went. "He really doesn't remember! He really doesn't!" This was followed by short burst of laughter, but this, too, soon faded into the night, leaving Sean alone on the road with his thoughts.

"Remember what?"

Sean opened his eyes and found himself looking at Jenny's puzzled face, as she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. Daylight flooded the bedroom, and as Sean craned his neck up and over to the left, he watched briefly as thousands of tiny dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight that cut its way through the narrow opening between the curtains.

"Remember what?" Jenny asked a second time.

Sean was still looking at the dust motes dancing to some tune of their own, when he answered her. "Remember...what are you talking about?"

Jenny frowned, "That's what you just said before you opened your eyes. I thought you were talking to me. I suppose now you'll tell me you don't even remember saying it."

Sean slowly sat up and stared at the foot of the bed for a few moments, before he looked directly at her with a sheepish grin on his face. "Nope. Sorry, it's gone. I haven't got a clue. Must have had something to do with the crazy dream I was having. A real weird one, too."

"Pity," Jenny said, as she gave him on of those smiles of hers that he loved so much. It had been her smile that had first drew his attention to her...that had made her stand out from the crowd when they has first met...but that was now a lifetime ago.

Jenny continued, "I'm just heading into the village to get the paper and a few things for dinner. Do you want to come or are you going to stay put?"

Sean's reply came wrapped in a yawn, as he lay back on the bed and said, "Hhaaw think I'll stay here...do a few bits around the place. You know, have a poke around and see what's what. Look for some buried treasure and other dull stuff like that."

"One day you're really going to shock me by growing up, do you know that?" Jenny said and then she stood and left the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her. There followed a few moments of silence and the sound of the front door slamming shut rumbled around the small cottage.

Sean just lay there with his eyes closed, listening to the birds singing outside, as they twittered and chattered to each other in the hedgerow at the back of the cottage; that same hedgerow which was in dire need of a trim. Sean sat up and swung his legs out of the bed, leant over and peaked out through the curtain at the over-grown shrubbery outside. Trimming hedges was not his idea of fun...far from it. Somehow he just knew there wouldn't be enough time for him to get round to doing it...no matter how long they were going to stay. Sean didn't have green fingers and he knew if he started to tackle that with hedge clippers there was a very real chance he would more likely come away with no fingers at all. "No. Not today, not ever," he said to himself, as he let the curtain fall back into place.

He stood and went over to the bathroom, the door to which was just next to the foot of the bed and directly opposite the window he had just been look in out. As he entered, he closed the door behind him and the sounds of water gushing and splashing filled the air for the next fifteen minutes or so. When Sean came out of the bathroom, he was shaved and groomed and looked nothing like the disheveled slob who have gone in there a quarter of an hour before. He felt fresh and full of vigour; ready to take on the world and all it could throw at him. Then he opened the bedroom door and froze on the spot, as all that newfound vigour drained from his body. He was not alone; there was somebody else in the cottage with him.

Over across the room, in one of the fireside chairs, an old grey-haired man sat. This wasn't the man from Sean's dream, but somebody entirely different. He was clean-shaven, with thinning grey hair, which was swept back over the bald spot that peaked out at the crown. There was an air of elegance to the man, something in the way he held himself as he sat there looking out the window. He looked like a retired banker, dressed in a dark blue suit, compared to the guy Sean had encountered in his dream. Sean looked towards the front door and saw it was ajar a few inches, before he confronted the man sitting across from him.

"Excuse me, but who the hell are you and what do you think you are doing?"

"Oh..please accept my apologies. My name is Christy Murphy and I used to live here many moons ago. I was passing and just couldn't help dropping in to the old place to see it once more. I tell you, if these walls could speak, they'd tell you a story or two about the goings on over the years. The ups and downs..the joys and tears..there isn't much these four walls haven't been witness to since they were put up way back."

Christy Murphy paused to get his breath and continued before Sean could say anything.

"Brought nine youngsters into the world right here in this cottage, we did and raised six of them to be men and women. The other three died in birth..but I guess that's the way of the world. You take what's given to you and be grateful for it. The wife and I slept in the front bedroom there..what's now your fancy bathroom, while the two girls had the back room, just behind your there. As for the boys, we packed all four of them upstairs there in the attic. They never minded, snug as bugs they were and many's the time I climbed those stairs to see what all the ruckus was about..but it's all nothing but memories now..all long gone. That's how it is, you see. That's all you have in the end is the memories, those; and what's in your heart."

"I see," Sean said in a somewhat calmer voice, now the shock of seeing the guy sitting there had subsided. "I hope you will forgive the way I spoke to you there, just a moment ago, to say you caught me off guard is an understatement. I'm Sean by the way," he said, as he offered his right hand to the elderly man.

As Christy shook hands with Sean he replied, "Yes, I know."

Sean was puzzled. "You know? How could you know?" he asked.

The fine features of Christy's face slowly knitted together into a smile, "You'd be surprised the things I know. I hear all sorts of things round here. There isn't a day goes by here without hearing some little tidbit of news or scandal. Like how I said, that's how it is and that's no changing that no matter how much you may want to try. What is just is and always will be in the end. Folks will always find out just what is what even if you tell them otherwise."

As Sean stood there, he found himself hanging on every word this old boy was saying. He felt as though he knew him, as if they had met before someplace else, but he also knew that was impossible, he would have remembered encountering such a character if he had. He suddenly remembered his manners and asked, "Can I get you anything, a cup of tea or coffee perhaps?"

Christy Murphy smiled, "No, thank you, I'm fine as I am, but thanks for the kind offer." Then he slowly raised himself up out of the fireside chair, brushed the knees of his trousers with his left hand a couple of time and started towards the front door.

Sean couldn't help asking the question, "So why did you sell up and move on if all this meant so much to you? Did somebody make you an offer you couldn't refuse?"

Old Christy stopped a few feet from the front door and slowly looked around the main room of the old cottage, taking in it's every nook and cranny; his eyes twinkling with both joy and sorrow from the memories he found lurking there in the small room. At last, his eyes came to rest on Sean, as he replied with a smile, "Sell? Who said anything about selling? With that he turned and walked out through the front door, saying as he went, "It has been a real pleasure to met you in the flesh, Sean. You take care now and remember, all you have in the end is your memories..and what's in your heart." And then he was gone.

Sean followed in Christy's steps over to the door and went out pulling the door shut after him. He wanted to say goodbye, but when he looked around the small front garden and the road beyond, there was no sign of Christy anywhere; he was no where to be seen. Sean hurried around the side of the cottage, heading for the garden around the back, thinking he must have gone that way, but, again, there was no sign of old Christy Murphy. Sean quickly scanned the surrounding area, thinking there had to be some logical explanation as to how and where the old guy had disappeared. He turned and looked up towards the old oak trees up on the hill behind the cottage and his blood suddenly ran cold. Up there on the hill, gazing down at him, stood the woman in black; covered from head to toe is garb made from black silk and lace.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Sean shouted.

He never received a reply. Instead, as he stood there dumbfounded, he watched her slowly fade and vanish like mist on a early morning breeze. Suddenly and all together, the crows nesting up in the branches of the old oaks burst from their roosts and flew out in all directions, screaming as they went. Within seconds, the murder of crows has gone, too, and Sean found himself standing all alone. Even though the sun was starting to break through the grey clouds up above, he didn't feel all that warm.

Sean slowly made his way back round to the front of the cottage and stood staring at the blackness of the front door. It looked for all the world, like a gaping mouth, waiting for him to step inside; like some giant predator patiently biding it's time, as it watched its prey stumble obliviously towards is certain doom.

"Get a grip!" Sean told himself, "It's just a cottage."

It wasn't that the image in his mind had stopped him from entering the cottage, but rather felt the need to get away from it for a while, even if it meant just crossing the road beyond the cottage gate and watching the waves crash upon the beach for a few minutes..anything would be welcome and more normal at this stage, compared to what his mind had been exposed to since the night before.

He pushed open the small green-pained timber gate and slowly crossed the narrow lane-like road to the dry stonewall beyond and stood with his arms resting on top of the dry stonewall that bordered the beach from the road. Seagulls and Gannets flew sorties over the same fishing grounds, each trying to outsmart the other in a bid to feed their young, but the Gannets tended to have the upper hand and would send the Seagulls shrieking off in all directions every time they dived from the heavens into the waiting waters below. It didn't take the gulls too long to figure out they were no match for the Gannets, that they were fighting a losing battle and so they soon returned to the beach, where they set about picking and poking at anything looking remotely interesting or edible.

Sean watched a few of them for a while, over to his left, just where the bubbling stream made its way down the hill and entered the sea. They played tag with the rolling surf, one second chasing it out, and the next scurrying back up the beach as the waves washed ashore. As he followed them with his eyes up along the beach, they came near to where he was standing but continued to hurry on by, their beady eyes focused now on God only knew what. Sean had no idea and turned to look away for something else to hold his attention for a while longer before he went back into the cottage again. It was then that he saw it for the first time. Why he hadn't noticed it before he didn't know, but there it was, pulled up away from the water, resting on the dry sand. The boat had been sitting there on the beach in front of him the whole time, hiding in plain site. Her bow pointed towards the dry stonewall, while her rear end or stern faced out to sea.

As soon as his eyes came to rest on the large tarp-covered bulk, he knew at once what it was. Sean stood and jumped over the wall down onto the sand below, walked over to the covered boat and pulled the tarp back. She was a twelve-foot, flat-bottomed Skiff, constructed from Red Cedar and looked like she had just been dropped off from a dealer's showroom. Sean pulled up the tarp and rolled it over the top a little, just enough for him to get a good look at her. Whoever had built her had done a real fine job, the work of a true craftsman, which was clearly obvious, all the way from her pointed bow down to the flat stern at the rear. Sean wondered if she was fitted with an outboard motor. He stuck his head in under the tarp and peered down towards the stern, sure enough, the hump of the motor's housing could be clearly seen sticking up from the boat.

Sean slowly ran the fingers of his left hand along the outer topside of her, admiring the attention to detail and over-all finish that had gone into the build. The wood felt smooth and cool to the touch beneath his fingers, as they glided over the thick coat of varnish that coated the boards. His stopped for a moment and smiled, but then the smile faltered and faded from his face, as the memories flashed through his mind from some dark place deep in his brain. She reminded him of the boat he had gone out sailing with his father that one time so many years ago. He still remembered that day, it's every detail burned into his memory, never to be forgotten no matter how much he tried.

Those memories, although clear, never flowed, like the frames of a movie up on a silver screen, but instead appeared in his mind's eye as one event after another, all connected, but each a snippet of the whole.

He remembered the surface of the lake and how it had sparkled that day in the early morning sunlight. There hadn't been a cloud in the sky, well, nothing that could be counted as a cloud to the mind of a ten-year-old boy. A few wispy strands of white was all he could see up there, as he stood on the end of the pier, rod in one hand and tackle box in the other. The dry old boards of the pier under his feet and the darkness between those boards, where water slopped and lapped against the pier's timber support posts, out of sight of the human eye.

The whisper of the oars, as they kissed the surface of the lake, then moved through the air again, dribbling droplets back to the water's surface as they went. How the camping couple and their young daughter over on the far shore of the lake to the left of the boat, had waved and shouted hello.

The way he had over-cast and leaned too far, toppling over the side. The darkness below him and the shrinking light above through the murky green that surround him. The bits of muck and stuff that floated and danced around him in the water and the large fish that swam close to his face, only to flip it's tail and disappear into the growing gloom, as if to have the last laugh at his expense.

Then the gold lettering of the boat's name, and the droplets of water that speckled on it, making the gold beneath them shine and sparkle like nothing he had ever seen before, as his face pressed hard against the side of the boat.

The name of the boat had been the "Amber Louise", so named because of the way the grain of the red wood shone through the varnish in the sunlight, as well as the name of the woman the boat owner had loved and lost many years before when he was a young man.

Sean had never set foot in a boat again after that day and he had never learnt to swim either, the memories remained too strong. For years after, his sleep was terrorized by images of that large fish. Peter Benchley's Jaws was nothing more than a sprat compared to the monster that lurked in the dark watery depths of his imagination. The incident that day, so many years ago, had impacted on Sean's life more than he cared to admit, either to himself or anyone else for that matter.

It wasn't so much that he had never learnt to swim, but more a case of he couldn't bring himself to even get into the water. It didn't matter if he was faced with the calmly lapping strands of Europe or the deep blue shoals off some Caribbean island, the impulse was always the same, to turn and run as fast and as far away as he could.

A sudden shudder ran down his spine, as he remembered that day, lost so long ago with his youth, and he stepped back from the skiff and started to pull the tarp cover back in to place over it again. He worked his way down to the bow and, just as he was about to let the last of the tarp drape down over the boat, his eyes came to rest on its name, painted there on it's side for all the world to see in elegant gold script, the words "Amber Louise". "It's can't be," Sean muttered aloud, but nobody heard; only a few gulls poked nearby and they sure weren't interested. "It can't be," he said once more, but the repeated expression of his disbelief and doubt did nothing to change the fact that it was the "Amber Louise", the same boat he had tried so hard to forget all these years and the setting of so many of his nightmares in between.

Sean stumbled and clawed his way back over the dry-stoned wall onto the road, like a blind man or a drunk; the state he was in right then it was hard to tell the difference. Once on the other side of the wall, he found himself facing the small cottage that stood waiting directly across from him on the other side of the road. It held all the usual warmth and charming allure, just like any other small shore-side cottage of its kind, and yet he was starting to believe it wasn't merely all that it appeared to be from the outside. Memories of a childhood fairytale whispered through his mind and from one of its shadowy corners came the sound of childish giggles, as Hänsel und Gretel laughed knowingly. Just like the gingerbread house they had encountered deep within the dark forest, this cottage held so much more in store.

"This is getting ridiculous," he told himself, as he started across the road, towards the little green timber gate. He opened it and walked the few short steps up to the front door, but came to a sudden stop when he realised the door was wide open. He was certain he had closed it after him when he came out before, but there it was now, standing wide open. The same image of a gaping mouth returned to haunt him and Sean sincerely whished it hadn't. Things were unsettling enough as it was, without also having to contend with his imagination's dark creations. He wondered now just who's side his over-active imagination was on, as it seemed more than eager to let creep all sorts of cheerless thoughts of late, ever since they had arrived. With these thoughts in mind, Sean crossed over the threshold and entered the cottage, leaving the door open as he did, just in case.

The sigh that rushed from his lips was loud, but not loud enough to be heard, when he saw Jenny standing there next to the table, with her back to him. She was busy unpacking the things she had bought in the village a short while before, and hadn't noticed him.

"When did you get back?" Sean asked.

Jenny turned and smiled, "Just a few minutes ago. I saw you over there on the beach, but you looked so lost in your thoughts, that I didn't want to disturb you. Why, did you miss me?"

Sean retuned the smile, as he said, "Don't I always?"

She stood facing him now, as she said, "I'm not sure, do you?" The perplexed look on her face slowly transformed into a broad grin. "Come here," she said softly, as her arms reached out for him. Sean ambled over, hugged her and gently brushed aside with his left hand those few curly strands of hair, which always seemed to spring down over her eyes. Then they kissed.

It started like all kisses do, with the meeting of lips and, in this case, the closing of their eyes. But then it changed from a mere passing kiss between two people, upped gear and shifted into something more passionate in nature, the kind of kiss you never gave your mother during the course of all the years of knowing her.

Jenny slowly pulled away, tugged at his belt and smiled. "Oh Sean, can't we mess around later? I'm not in the mood for this right now and my feet are killing me after that walk back from the village. Do you mind?"

Sean knew only too well it wasn't a request or a question, but a statement of fact and there was nothing he could do to change that now. She had made her mind up and that was it, as it always was between them; yet he didn't mind at all. "I'll settle for a mug of coffee if there's one going," was all he said in reply.

The smile on her face broadened, as she answered, "Sure. One coffee coming up."

Sean sat down at the table and settled back in the chair, his arms folded across his chest, as he watched Jenny make coffee for them both. His eyes travelled the full length of her body, from her head down to her heels and then made their way back up again, pausing a second time around the general area between the tops of her thighs and her hips. He couldn't help but smile, as he thought how good her ass looked in those jeans, not that she needed jeans, or anything else in order to look good.

Sean's attention was suddenly drawn away from Jenny's sexy form by a faint sound. He turned his head and looked towards the window and beyond, straining his ears, but he couldn't make out what it was or where it was coming from for sure. It sounded as though it were coming from somewhere far off, a faint deep throbbing noise that was slowly getting loader with each passing second. "What's that?" he asked Jenny, his head still turned to towards the window.

Jenny turned around and looked at him, before following his gaze. "What's what?" she replied, as she now made her way across the room to the window and stood there looking out.

"That sound, can you hear it? Sounds like a helicopter or something, kind of a throbbing sound off in the distance."

Jenny scanned the sky outside but couldn't see anything up there, aside from the usual gannets and gulls. "Nope, I don't see anything and I don't hear it either. Are you sure it wasn't something going by on the road outside?" she asked.

Sean closed his eyes and put his head down into his upturned hands. The sound was growing in intensity and becoming clearer each time he heard it. He now knew it wasn't the sound of a helicopter or something passing by on the road at the front of the cottage, but something inside his own head. He could see Jenny looking at him. He could see her mouth move, but her words were nothing more than a faint murmur, blocked out by the roar of the sound that filled the inside of his skull.

It sounded like a helicopter at first, but then grew into a thudding, high-pitched roar, that repeated the one word over and over inside his mind. “John..John..John..John..”

Sean closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, the pain in his head was nearly unbearable. He was vaguely aware of Jenny standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder, when he saw a blinding white light, followed by an image that flashed through his mind of a screaming woman trapped upside down in a burning car. It was she who was calling out “John” again and again. And then she was gone, along with the sound that had felt as though it were splitting his skull in two.

Jenny looked down at Sean with a shocked expression fixed on her face, “Sean, your nose, it’s bleeding.” She quickly made her way over to the bathroom and returned with a face cloth soaked in cold water. “Here,” she said, “Hold this across the bridge of your nose with one hand and pinch your nostrils shut with the other one, while keeping your head tipped forward.” Sean turned and smiled up at her, but she pushed his head down and forwards again, adding as she did, “You must keep pinching your nose until it stops bleeding and breathe through your mouth until the bleeding stops, OK?”

“Thank you,” Sean mumbled through the cold face cloth, as he fidgeted with it for a few seconds, until he got it placed just the way he wanted it. “Some holiday this is turning out to be,” he remarked casually.

“What did you say?” Jenny’s voice came from the bathroom, where she was washing her hands.

Sean repeated the statement, “I said some holiday this is turning out to be.”

As Jenny walked over to his side, she said, “What do you mean? I thought we were having a nice relaxing time here. Am I missing something here?”

Sean looked at her and paused without saying anything.

Seeing the hesitation on his face, Jenny asked, “What is it? What’s bothering you? Come on, spill!”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Sean said, as he took his hand away from his nose for a second, but it continued bleeding, so he pinched it again, before looking across the table at Jenny, who had now sat down opposite him.

“What do you mean?” she asked with interest.

Sean’s eyes floated over the table-top, as if they would find the right words to say scattered about it’s surface, but in the end he looked back at her and said it the only way he could, “I think there’s something strange about this place.”

Jenny giggled, “What?”

“Seriously,” Sean said, “Either this place is having some sort of effect on me or I’m starting to lose my mind.”

Jenny looked at him for what seemed a minutes rather than the seconds it actually was, before she said, “Way are you saying this? I mean, what’s happened to make you think like this?”

Well, there’s the nightmares for a start,” he told her, “We’ve only been here a day and I’ve had two already. Oh, and then there’s the matter of the ghost I saw in the early hours this morning, and the old guy I found sitting there by the fire, when I walked out of the bedroom this morning. Funny old guy, said he lived here before, along with his wife and children, but I guess he must have sold up and moved on when the kids had grown and flown the coop.”

Jenny couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” asked Sean, still holding the wet face cloth to the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry,” smirked Jenny, “It’s just I never took you for the sort who would get rattled over a few bad dreams, that’s all.”

Sean stared at her across the table. He wasn’t mad or insulted by her reaction, for he knew what she said was true. He usually wasn’t that sort of person, but this was somehow different and he didn’t know how or why, just that he felt there was more to it than merely a few bad dreams.

“So, what were these dreams about?” she asked.

Sean sat back in the chair and looked up at the plastered ceiling over their heads. As he took the face cloth away from his nose and peered into it’s folds, like a small schoolboy with no sense of social manners, he frowned as he began to speak. Well, there was the incident last night, you know, when I thought I heard somebody out here. Well, after I’d looked around and found nobody, I brewed some coffee and poured myself a mug.”

“The mug you later dropped,” Jenny interjected with a sly smile.

“Yeah, the very same,” Sean smiled back at her. “But I didn’t tell you just how that mug ended up on the floor, did I?”

“You said something about it slipping from your hand,” Jenny answered.

“Yeah, I did, but there is a little more to it than just that,” Sean said, before he went on to recount the events of the night before in detail, along with everything else that had happened to him up to that moment. When he had finished he looked over at her and he could tell by her face that she was taking it all seriously. “What do you think?” he asked. “Am I losing my mind or what?”

Jenny got up and went to pour them each mug of coffee. As she placed the two mugs down on the table be said, “No, not losing your mind, my love, maybe a bit over-tired is all. Tiredness can do all sorts of things to the mind, make you see things, and hear things too, and we did have one hell of a drive to get here, remember?”

“I guess so, but it all seemed so real,” Sean told her. “It felt real, if you understand what I mean.”

“I dare say it would, after all, all this stuff is coming from within your own mind, remember, so it would have a personal quality about I would think,” Jenny surmised, “Now drink your coffee.” With that, she unfolded the newspaper that lay on the table, the one she had bought in the village store earlier, and scanned the headlines, before flicking through the pages until something caught her eye.

Sean sipped the hot coffee, as he dabbed at his nose. It had stopped bleeding, now he was trying to clean up a little without setting it off again. He gently wiped around his nose and under his eyes the best he could, all the while lost in what he was doing. The pain in his head had faded somewhat, but it still lurked there, tapping at his temples from under his skin. He wondered if they had anything for a headache in the cottage and looked over at Jenny, meaning to ask her the very same thing, but all thoughts of pain killers were soon forgotten, when his eyes came to rest of the image on the front page of the newspaper.

There, on the front cover, was a quarter page photo of an upturned jeep, it’s windscreen shattered and mostly missing, the paint work on the body of the jeep burned and flaking. A few individuals stood around the wreck, two firemen and a policeman, while the surrounding area had been sealed off with rolls of blue and white plastic “Police Line - Do Not Cross” ribbons, that ran through the surrounding trees, forming a rough three-sided border, with a shallow steam running through the whole area on the forth side.

Sean leaned forward, putting both the mug and face cloth down on the table in front of him, as he read the headline over the photo out aloud, “World Famous Author Perishes In Blazing Auto.”

“Did you say something?” Jenny asked, her mind lost somewhere in the pages she was reading, but there was no reply. Now her concentration had been broken, she slowly lowered the paper and peeked over the top at Sean. When she noticed the expression on his face, the wide-open eyes, and not completely lost on her was the frown, that twisted it’s way across his brow. Something was wrong, she was certain, she knew him well enough by now without having ask.

“Look,” was all he said, as he pointed to the front page of the newspaper.

“Look at what?” Jenny asked, failing to make the connection.

“Look at the main photo and the headline over it,” Sean responded, his voice raising slightly with emotion.

Jenny turned to the front page and gazed at the photo for a few seconds, her eyes blinking at the scene of carnage that was exposed there in print for all the world to see. Then she began to read aloud the article that was printed under the photo.

“The world awoke to find the light of one of it’s most famous and beloved stars had been snuffed out while it slept last night. Best selling celebrity author and socialite, Mary Jane McBride, 48, died last night, when the vehicle in which she was traveling spun out of control, plunged 100 feet down a steep, densely wooded hillside and burst into flames upon coming to rest on a grassy clearing below.

The scene of the accident was discovered a short time after by a team of phone line engineers, who were carrying out repairs in the area as a result of the recent stormy weather. One report indicates that a downed telegraph pole may have been the cause of the accident and the reason why the accident scene was found so soon, but this has yet to be confirmed. The local police department did however confirm that Mary Jean McBride’s husband of many years was found nearby at the scene, in a critical condition. He was rushed to hospital, where staff have said John..,” Jenny stopped reading and looked over at Sean. Neither spoke and the only sound that filled the room was that of the gulls outside, as their cries drifted in, carried on the breeze that whistled in under the front door.

Tom Ripley was a man with a past he kept hidden from everyone, both those who knew him well and those just in passing. Tom had lived a double life, the kind where he would smile on the outside to those who passed him on the street, while inside he was screaming down to the very core of his being. Tom had grown used to this duality within his own being, he’s become accustomed to this dichotomy which was his life, and he had managed to get by somehow without it impacting on the world around him; well, not too much anyway.

Tom spent his days standing behind the counter of the one and only toy store in the village, watching the world slip by outside the store front that was his pride and joy. Passers-by would stop and gaze in his window, entranced by his displays and that made him feel good inside. It made him feel like he mattered. Tom didn’t have any friends in the village, they were all just faces to him that passed and politely greeted him as they went on their way. Some would engage in a certain level of chit-chat about the weather, but that was about the extent of it. He would sometime lock up the store at six in the evening and drop into the local pub on his way back to the little house he called home, just on the far side of the village, near the edge of the dark forest.

Every time it was exactly the same. He would order a bottle of cider at the bar and take it over to the nook just to the left of the fireplace, where he would sit and watch the bubbles chase each other up the length of the glass for half an hour or so, occasionally taking a sip before settling back to repeat the whole process all over again. Nobody took any notice. Nobody cared. Everybody who frequented the pub did more or less the very same as he did in any case. If there was one thing that could be said about the local bar for certain, it was that it lacked any sense of an atmosphere, warmth or charm.

Sometimes Tom would glance up at the large old clock that hung over the fireplace and each time he did, it’s hands told the same time. For some reason he could understand and one that the barman would never tell, it was wound every day even though it hadn’t worked in years; well, not in all the time Tom had been living in the village, and that was going back some.

Every evening just after 6 pm, the barman would walk over to the fireplace, pull over one of the low stools from a nearby table and stand on it. The click, click, click of the spring being wound cut through the silence of the bar like a klaxon in the dead of night. But even that sounded more like a dull clunk than the click it should have been. The sound of the clock being wound was just like everything else in the village..not exactly as it appeared to be.

As Tom stood behind the cluttered counter in his toyshop, looking out at the world passing by, he made up his mind there and then that he would give the bar a miss that evening, after all, he had a lot on his mind these last few days and it had taken it’s toll on him in more ways than one. He was determined to just go home that evening and wait for something to happen. He didn’t know for sure what it would be, just that it would happen and happen sometime soon.