SEASONS E-Book

MARK BEWLEY

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

We follow four stories from the London streets, one for each Season of the year.
WINTER: Paul Cush is bored, but his son Jason keeps him busy. Sandra, his wife is drifting away, now she meets an unusual female.
SPRING: Samuel loves his walks, to escape his nagging wife. There he meets Sabastian, a charmimg youngman. But is he all he seems to be?
SUMMER: Stephen enjoys his solitude and stress free life. Then the freindly newsagent gives him a penknife that changes his life forever.
AUTUMN: Christopher likes the girls, but loves his big sister, who is obsessed with food. Then she tells him she's getting married.

Leseprobe

MARK BEWLEY

SEASONS

Take a trip through London, and discover its dark side. You may never want to visit London after this.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

CHAPTER 1

WINTER; the diary of Paul Cush:

[But flesh with the life thereof, the blood thereof, thou shalt not eat. - Genesis 4 verse 3]

1 January. - Christmas has been and gone, a nice quiet one, just Jason, Sandra and me. It’s quite ironic really because when I became a father I thought that maybe with a baby Christmas would be fun… it wasn’t… It was boring, very boring in fact. Sandra bought me this diary for Christmas. If this year is anything like last year, I don’t think I will keep one anymore. Nothing interesting ever happens to me. As I remember, I wrote one line, or maybe one word on each entry of last year’s edition. I shall try to make things sound a little more exciting in this one, despite the fact that I’m not very good at that sort of thing.

On a more positive note, it must be said that Sandra does make a lovely spread- all the trimmings, even those little sausages wrapped in bacon. No half measures with Sandra. However, I do have one small complaint- my Christmas fare was a touch too big, looking like a giant’s dinner piled up, Brussel sprouts and roast potatoes rolling off the plate. I didn’t say anything to her; I just tried to eat it all quickly before she noticed. I got away with it, thank God. It was our first Christmas at home since we got married, so I suppose she was making an extra effort. 

Sandra’s parents joined us on Boxing Day- George is always good for a laugh. He told me the filthiest joke- I can’t even write it down. The government should ban it. 

After Boxing Day we entered that inevitable limbo phase of the holidays that exists between Christmas and New Year; leftover turkey, buffet food, alcohol that has entirely lost it appeal, and those visitors who you have successfully avoided throughout the year, and before you know it New Year’s Eve is here again and another wonderful year to look forward to...!

We stayed in last night. We haven’t been out on New Year’s Eve for about 4 years, before we were married. We prefer to stay in by ourselves now, just Sandra, Jason and me.

It rained all week, it was really quite mild. That’s British weather for you. Today, however the air seemed to be full of snow. But instead we had some wintry rain. I had planned to take Jason out if it had settled. Still never mind.

2 January. - The heavens absolutely opened up with snow today. It completely covered our pleasant and green land. That was after it had been drizzling all day- I didn’t think it would snow though.  Yet when I peeked out from our bedroom window on the way up to bed, the snow had actually settled; at least three inches all over. I’ll take Jason out tomorrow then back to work the day after. I do not want to go back to work.

4 January. - Back to the office today. I hate going back to work after a nice long break, especially Christmas. There was a big meeting this afternoon; we are going to be very busy for the next few months. As if I care. I hate this bloody job, so monotonous. I am getting sick of those stupid little umbrellas for posh drinks- how ridiculous is that?

I do hope something interesting happens this year.

10 January. - I’ve been very busy at work since the New Year so I haven’t had the time or energy for Jason, or my wife- or my diary. However, the day before I returned to work after the Christmas break I finally got the chance to play with Jason in the snow, and he absolutely loved it.

I wrapped him up in his big blue puffy winter coat, the one his grandmother bought him last winter (before he was born). He could hardly move. It doesn’t really matter at the moment as he can’t walk yet; he is only 11 months old after all. Although I must say he should be walking soon.

As I held him over our whitened garden, I two-stepped him in the white stuff as if he was jumping up and down himself. He giggled and giggled, and I almost dropped him because I was laughing so much. Then… guess what?  Yes, it started to drizzle- would you believe it. The snow was all gone by tea time, and then it turned into that horrible slushy stuff. I had to bring the poor little chap back indoors. He did not like that one bit; he cried and cried for ages.

Later in the evening I spied out of the window, as I often do, to check up on the weather and the goings on in our street, I caught sight of the old couple who live directly opposite us Lucy and Patrick slip over in the mushy stuff. He fell first bringing his wife tumbled on top of him. I sniggered to myself. I shouldn’t have done, so quickly I closed the curtains.

Oh well, at least Jason experienced the snow for the first time, even if only for a little while.

11 January. - The sun shone brightly today and was really quite warm. That was until about 4’oclock when it got dark and the frost set in.

This morning while I was eating breakfast, which consisted of tea and marmite on toast, I found myself recalling the day that Jason was born, almost a year ago now. I remember feeling so sick; my stomach was all over the place. Sandra was much calmer. 

As a matter of fact, she was at ease throughout her pregnancy. Some women make such a fuss. Sandra simply took it all in her stride. She’s the same with everything.

‘It’s coming, Paul,’ she informed me out of the blue while I was watching a horror film on Television.   

‘What is?’ I asked, enthralled with my scary movie.

‘The baby you idiot! The baby is coming!’

Several minutes passed by before my slow brain registered what she was actually saying. I asked her a few more times to make sure. I won’t write here what she said when I asked her the third time. When I finally understood that my wife was about to give birth to my first child I became like a headless chicken, running around aimlessly; I was of no use what so ever.

‘Time the contractions!’ she yelled. I had something to do, anyway. I was still jittering as I pressed the start and stop button on my watch.

7 minutes…

5 minutes…

10 minutes…

2 minutes…

‘Bloody hell!’ More panic (from me).

‘Start the car, Paul!’

Funny the things you remember at times like that. Not only did I feel sick- which I remember clearly, but also on our journey to the hospital I remember passing a Rastafarian wearing dreadlocks that nearly reached the ground. He was pointing and shouting to the people who passed him on Gosswell road. I have no idea what he was yelling about. I can just see him now, his mass of roped locks flying about as he stood in front of the fish and chip shop.

I’ve never understood Rastafarians. Cousin Joseph is a Rastafarian, and I’ve never understood him. He was always into all that reggae stuff and his Jamaican, and African heritage. Not that I’m not, I’m proud of my mum. She told me all about back a yard, as she said and I took it all in. She told me the story of how she met my dad; the only Englishman who was kind to her.

I simply cannot understand reggae and all that Rasta stuff. Reggae just sounds upside down or backwards to me. That monotonous beat is so repetitive and irritating. And I can never remember the name of that man they believe in, some African king. Mum was quite the Christian and did not approve of her nephew’s weird and ‘wicked religion’.

I preferred the music dad listened to like ACDC, Iron Maiden, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Jimmy Hendrix. Now that music sounds the right way around. I could relate to that. I tried to grow my hair once, but it just frizzes up into a big messy afro, and I had no intention of growing dreadlocks. No way.

When we arrived at the hospital Sandra was breathing like mad. I was sick in the car park, I couldn’t help it, I was about to became a father. Sandra was shouting at me. 

The dank maternity ward was like something from an old horror film; there was screaming and shouting coming from all directions. There were even cobwebs on the ceiling. I was expecting a hunchback to appear at any moment. I looked at Sandra. It was the first time I saw fear in her eyes; she was so pale, paler than usual. Fortunately, a disfigured auxiliary with a speech impediment was not who we met next. A very pleasant nurse led us into a white windowless room.

‘Wait here, someone will be along in a moment,’ she said and left us there in that strange room. Sandra began to unpack, while I paced around the room trying to relax. I failed. Sandra kept telling me to stop; I was making her nervous. We were not left alone for too long before someone arrived; a man.

‘Hello, I’m Simon… your mid-wife.’

I was a little surprised at this. I thought mid-wives were always women. Didn’t seem right to me; perhaps I’m too old fashioned.

That’s made me wonder; why aren’t male mid-wives called mid- husbands? They should be a woman, that’s why!

When he had left, I mentioned this to Sandra; she just said I was being stupid.

‘I’ve got more important things to worry about, Paul; breathe, breathe; puff, puff.’

She climbed onto the bed as people started to rush about, go out, come back in then go out again and return once again. My stomach was beginning to spin like a tumble dryer. I had to sit.

‘The head’s here,’ someone said. ‘Push, Mrs Cush.’

I felt sick again. I retched up liquid, as Sandra continued with her heavy breathing.

‘Are you OK, Mr Cush?’ asked Simon. I insisted that I was and turned to comfort Sandra by holding her hand. She almost tore mine off.

The occasion became more intense. I began to feel the pressure. To her credit, Sandra was very good, she did not scream once. She just got on with the job in hand. Me, on the other hand was in a real state. Everywhere was frantic. Then the mid-wife said, ‘OK, I think he’s ready… here he comes. One more push, Mrs Cush and we are there. Well done, Mrs Cush. That’s it. Good girl, Mrs Cush, nearly there. That’s it, keep going.  Here he is…’

‘…Oh my God,’ were the last words I managed to force out before everything went black. A buxom Scottish nurse standing over me is what I recall next.

‘And where did you get to, Mr Cush?’

‘I don’t know what happened there,’ was my weak reply.

‘You are a daddy, noo, Mr Cush. There he is, a canny wee lad.’

And he was canny too- with perfect brown skin; a suitable combination of Sandra and me.

While I held him in my arms I thought of mum and dad. They would have loved him so much. It’s such a shame they didn’t live to see him. I just cradled his tiny form in my arms and stared at him for ages; I could not believe I was a dad. And he was so small and delicate. I fiddled gently with those little hands, that button for a nose, and his little feet. I didn’t know whether to kiss him or eat him. He was, and still is so gorgeous. I looked down at Sandra and she returned to me a tired, weary brave smile. I leaned down and kissed her forehead. I was so proud of her.

18 January. - Over the last few weeks, I have noticed a distance growing between Sandra and me, though I’m not sure why. At first I thought maybe it was since Jason was born, that he had taken up all her affections. But I don’t think it’s that. I have as much involvement with Jason as she does, if not more. Then I put it down to her job… or her ‘career’. But no; she only works in the afternoons now. 

I cannot ignore the fact that she always arrives home from after me, hours after I have collected Jason from her mothers’. When she does finally get home she goes straight upstairs, comes down again, pecks Jason and me on the cheek, and declares: ‘I’ll eat out- don’t worry about me.’  And she’s gone. If I ever ask her where she is going, all I get is ‘out for a drink with friends from work.’

So, we sit- just Jason and me, eating our dinner. I eat a Dona kebab or fish and chips. After dinner, I put our son upstairs to bed, or he goes to sleep on my chest, while lazily I watch children’s television or a stupid soap while my mind is spinning with thoughts and visions: where is my wife? What is my wife doing? Who is she with?

20 January. - Same old crap at work. I didn’t see Sandra until gone 9 o’clock tonight. When I went to collect Jason from his grandparents after work Brenda asked me if I would like to have tea with them; I said yes. It didn’t take long before the subject of Sandra’s recent behaviour came into our conversation.

‘I think I’m partly to blame,’ I told her. ‘I think she’s getting fed up with me. I am quite boring.’

‘No, Paul? I don’t think you’re at all to blame. You have done nothing wrong. She could do a lot worse, a lot worse. You are a good man, Paul.’

Brenda is such a good old-fashioned person, a solid down-to-earth type. I think my mum would have certainly approved of her.

‘I don’t know what she’s up to, really I don’t,’ commented George, while bouncing Jason on his knee, then returned to chuckling with his grandson as he was before contributing to the conversation. Brenda rose from her chair.

‘Well I suppose I’ll have to have a little chat with my daughter, won’t I? More tea, Paul?’

‘Yes please, Brenda.’

When Brenda had disappeared into the kitchen George came over to the dining area, peered into the kitchen doorway, faced me again and whispered. ‘Got another joke for you, mate.’

‘It’s not another dirty one is it, George? -there is a baby in the room, you know,’ I protested.

‘Well…mm…’ he mumbled. He smiled with that cheeky grin of his and continued with his joke: ‘Why do women have legs?’

‘I don’t like the sound of this one, George…I don’t know, why do woman have legs?’ With reluctance I played along, I always do. He opened his mouth to deliver the punch line. He couldn’t do it. He started to laugh before he could end the joke. Within seconds he was choking with laughter and dropped down on the floor. His wife reappeared in the midst of all this with a fresh pot of tea, in time to witness her husband splayed all over the carpet.

‘What the hell are you doing, you silly old fool? I vacuumed in there this morning.’

‘I’m playing with my grandson,’ George insisted, tears rolling down his cheek and grabbing hold of Jason in a gentle rugby tackle. His grandson let out a loud giggle.

‘You’ll do yourself a mischief one day, you will. You’re too old to be rolling about all over the floor, George.’

I tried not to laugh, but lost the fight. Brenda looked at me; she looked at her husband, he looked at Jason- we all descended into hysterics. Brenda tried to find a chair but missed, tumbling to the floor. I put out a hand to help her up- but struck my head against the corner of the dining table on my way down, joining my mother-in-law on the carpet.     

‘Ouch!’ I responded. We all ended up with tears pouring from our eyes. Not Jason; babies don’t laugh with tears. After drinking one more cup of Brenda’s delicious tea, Jason and I went home. My eyes were stinging from the excessive laughter. My head is throbbing as I write.  

My son and me arrived to an empty, cold, unwelcome house; Sandra was not home. After putting Jason to bed I sojourned into the kitchen, made myself a cup of hot coffee, sat and waited. I’m not certain how long I sat there staring at my coffee turning cold but I fell to sleep at the table. 

My face in a puddle of drool is what I remember next, so I got a cloth from the sink to clean myself. I thought I’d set off to bed. 

This is when I realized that all the lights were out except the ones in the kitchen. I now knew that my wife had come home, and gone straight to bed without waking me. I suppose she didn’t want to disturb me…She didn’t think I was worried...?

I went upstairs.      

I entered the bedroom. Sandra lay curled up in the shape of a foetus in the middle of the bed sleeping like a rock, oblivious to the world. I managed to squeeze in on my side of the bed, half hanging off, trying to write in my diary by the light of the lamp at the side of the bed.

21 January. - Sandra didn’t say a single word about last night, so neither did I. Obviously she was quite happy to leave her husband sleeping in his own saliva.

I don’t want to write this in my diary, really. But I am going to…I’ve been thinking this and have tried to put such a thought out of my mind. It will not stop spinning around in my head. I want it to go away. Now I’m going to write it down. I hope to God it’s not true: I don’t want to write this…I do not…here it is:  

I think my wife is having an affair!

CHAPTER 2

22 January. - As I write this I am watching my beautiful wife as she sleeps. She looks so peaceful, breathing slowly, her soft lips turned up into a small smile. What or who is she dreaming about? The thought of her in the arms of another man makes me want to vomit. Does she not love me anymore? I cannot get the thought out of my head. She came home a little earlier tonight but went straight to bed.

Jason called me dada today.

Feeling very tired all of a sudden-- I shall write more tomorrow.

23 January. - Last night I woke up in the middle of the night in a terrible fright, with the most unusual and disturbing sensation I have ever had. I jolted up in bed while Sandra lay snoring beside me. She did not move one inch. I felt my bare chest; my heart was beating fast and I was soaked through in dripping sweat. I checked the time from our digital alarm clock on Sandra’s side of the bed: 2:32.

I just could not go back to sleep, I was shaking with fear. So, carefully I slid out of the covers as not to disturb Sandra and went into Jason’s room. He was sound asleep. I watched him for a while, breathing slowly, he’s tiny chest rising and falling, sometimes snoring like a little old man.

I sat in the story chair watching him in his cot, wondering what he was dreaming about- big bottles of milk was my guess. After a few minutes, I had stopped shaking; now I was able to reflect on my strange experience.

It was horrible- not a dream as such, more a feeling, a presence. I felt as if I were dead and there was nothing, nothing on the other side; only darkness- eternal perpetual darkness. Yet, and this was the most upsetting part of this, I was conscious within the nothingness. There was no escape from this eternal void. Fear was a living being, an entity, a beast waiting for a victim and I was its only prey. I have never felt so scared in my whole life. My heart is still beating fast as I write. I don’t know how but eventually I dropped off to sleep in that chair.

24 January. - Yesterday I was playing ‘the chasing-game’ with Jason. The game in which I get down on the floor and slide on my belly like a snake, trying to grab him as he crawls away laughing with all gums, except for those two teeth that stick out at the front and make him look like a baby vampire.

During this session, as I called out; I’m going to get you, I’m going to get you, funny man,here I come. Jason suddenly got up and toddled off for his escape. I was so excited that I yelled to Sandra who was upstairs (she had come home straight from work tonight).

As I hurried to the foot of the staircase, still shouting up to Sandra, our doorbell rang. I opened the door to a tall black haired, fair skinned female. Actually she was nearly white, and very thin with deep brown, nearly black eyes that looked straight through me.

‘May I to speak to Sandra, please?’ she asked in an accent that sounded eastern European. And when she spoke there followed a kind of echo. I turned and called Sandra; she was already behind me.

‘Jason just walked,’ I said, trying to inform her. I knew I had chosen the wrong moment. She ignored me and she took the stranger into the kitchen while I was left to play with our born-again toddler.

As I fiddled with building bricks, I also tried to eavesdrop on the conversation between my wife and this other woman. While I continued to listen and wonder what these two women were chatting about there was silence. At that moment, I started to feel the same strange sensation as I experienced the other night. I had to grab Jason and put him on my lap for I feared for him and me. Fortunately, he was quite happy to sit there on my knee, nattering to himself in his own infant language and pinching my lips. Next the kitchen door clicked open and Sandra appeared with a mug of hot tea. She hasn’t made me a cup of tea for weeks. She handed me the hot steaming mug. In a whisper I asked her: ‘who is she?’                             

‘No-one,’ she replied in mime. How could it be no-one? I thought. She returned to the kitchen. They continued to chat for more than an hour, as I played with, and even fed Jason. After my son and I ate our tea, we played for a little while longer. Later I lay on the sofa and watched television, Jason fell asleep on my chest. The baby slept peacefully on me; my own eyes opened and closed, guiding me in and out of sleep, not quite removing me from this world. Sleep finally lost when I heard the front door slam. I was wide awake now. I rose, placing Jason gently down on the sofa just as I caught sight of Sandra’s figure returning to the kitchen. I chased after her.

‘What was all that about?’ I quizzed.                  

‘Nothing,’ she answered coyly.

‘You were talking for long enough. Is she the FRIEND you go to see while Jason and I spend the evening alone watching cartoons?’

I’m not sure if I preferred this scenario or not; I wondered, is she having an affair with thiswoman?  

‘Sometimes, yes…and don’t say that, Paul. I haven’t neglected you and Jason. Have I.?  And if you must know she invited me out for a meal.’ With a flick of her head she turned around and went into the sitting room, scooped Jason up in her arms and on to the foot of the stairs, yawned like a lioness and said: ‘I’m going to bed. Are you coming?’

I followed her up the stairs, asking more questions as I did so: ‘But who is she? Where is she from? - where’s that accent from?’

‘Why all these questions, Paul?’ she asked sounding a little exasperated.

‘I just want to know, I want to know about your friends, the people you hang around with, Sandra. You are my wife, you know.’

She paused and placed a finger on her lip; ‘she’s from eastern Europe somewhere…’

Another pause and another pensive finger.

‘Yes, that’s right: Hungary.’

‘What’s her name?’ I asked further.

‘It’s Lamia,’ she informed me with a huff, then muttered something under her breath. She talks to herself often, shopping for the week usually. I watched her closely; she really is a very beautiful woman, curly brown hair, those soft freckles, I still love her very much. I wish I could get close to her again. But we are drifting further apart. And this woman, whoever she is, does not help.

Sandra tucked Jason into bed.

25 January. - Rained today, poured down. Sandra came home early again tonight and for the first time in ages we spent a whole evening together. I don’t know why and I didn’t ask her. Maybe it was our little talk last night. I didn’t tell her I was glad to have her to myself for once; I didn’t want to spoil things.

It was a lovely evening. We watched a romantic film on television.

26 January. - Sandra and I appear to be getting on well at the moment. Had a long passionate kiss at breakfast- and I put my hand in my bowl of cornflakes. When Sandra laughed, she looked so pretty. I remember now why I fell in love with her.

1 February. - The strangest thing happened last night- that weird woman who came to our house the other night appeared to me in a dream. It felt so real and vivid; everything was so clear; her white skin was like the colour of ivory; her long jet black hair was straight and shiny. And in this vision she had two large sharp protruding canines at the front of her mouth like a rat; she was a combination of elegance and terror. She was standing at the bottom of the bed whispering my name and licking her lips, saying things like: ‘Paul. Paul, come to me, come to me, now!’ It makes me shiver at the thought. She performed a strange dance, making the most of her perfect serpentine form. Next with a disturbing move she clambered onto the bed and began to slide towards me closer and closer, running her tongue along those large teeth in the manner of a wild animal. As she approached her free breasts were visible and swaying through her silky blouse, I felt that she might eat me. It was terrifying, yet at the same time… arousing.

I awoke covered in blobs of sweat, feeling sick. Quickly I rushed into the bathroom, but couldn’t vomit; I could bring up nothing, only yellow bile. I was unable go to sleep after that; my I eyes just would not close. Sandra didn’t wake up, thank God. I was surrounded by a pure cold fear, but most upsetting of all… I enjoyed it.

4 February. - I don’t know what’s happening at the moment, that bloody Hungarian woman will not leave my damn head. Last night I slipped into a trance while watching Coronation Street on television; a strong presence surrounded me, controlling me. I was inside a dark powerful force. Then a minute later I simply awoke from it. It didn’t last very long, only leaving me with an unsettling feeling of fear. A few moments later, as Sandra was putting Jason to bed I heard a sound.  There was nothing too unusual about it- a sound of footfalls, plus strong breathing followed by a low and heavy growl. I was compelled to look outside. Carefully I pulled back the curtains and peeked outside like a nosey neighbour. 

When I saw it I closed the curtains again quickly and sat down. I could not accept what I had seen. What I did see in fact was a wolf, a large black and grey wolf, more than seven foot in length and four feet high on its all fours. It was slowly striding down the street towards our house. What is a wolf doing in the middle of London? It can’t be true, I wondered- but I saw a wolf.

I had no time to panic because our doorbell rang. Sandra got there before me. I didn’t want her to open it; no way-- There was a bloody wolf outside!

‘It’s Lamia,’ she announced with a smile. I should have felt some relief, I didn’t. Instead I felt a chill run down my spine as my fears suddenly transferred from the wolf to that woman. Slowly I looked up. She was standing there staring at me with those beady bloodshot, untrusting eyes, saying absolutely nothing. Then she seemed to float away on a vacuum of air as she followed my wife into the kitchen. Once they had closed the door behind them I picked up my Islington & Haringey Gazette. As I casually flicked through I was drawn to an article about large cats in the English countryside. I folded the paper over and read:

YOU are taking Rex out on his nightly walk in the park. It’s an early winter evening, you feel safe in the pleasant countryside. You have used the same park for years and have never seen anything out of place. This all changes when from within the darkness a large beast casually comes into view. It is the image of Mrs Smith’s moggy except twice the size. You rub your eyes in disbelief and tell yourself it’s not a lion as it leaps away back into the cold darkness.

Is this a passage from the pages of the latest best seller? - No; this is one of the many reported sightings of large cats from all over the country, from Leeds, Birmingham, Suffolk, Essex and even London. Panthers, lynx, leopards, pumas and lions have been seen here in the UK. The most common theory is that many large cats kept as pets in the 1950’s and 60’s were released into the British countryside after laws on owning these animals without a licence were changed in 1976. The animals continued to breed and mix with other indigenous wild cats of Britain, possibly creating a new species.

Among those who have been affected are farmers who have suffered the loss of livestock. One farmer in Essex, a Mr Simon East even lost a cow to what he believed was an African lion.

He explained; ‘It had just gone four o’clock in the morning one day last May when I was milking mi cows, yuh see, when I heard what sounded to me like a lion’s roar, I thought, “no way!  Not in England, it can’t be.” When I go outside I see this great sandy coloured thing on top of one mi cows; the thing looks just like a big lioness to me. It had eaten half of mi cow. When it sees me it runs off into the woods over there. For a minute or two I thought I was a gonna. Shook me up a touch, I can tell you.’

Perhaps the most unusual sighting was of that in north London, again of an African lion, a male, this time. Although unconfirmed the lion was connected to an incident that police were called to after neighbours had begun to complain of a vile odour coming from a house near Finsbury Park. The residents of the flat were a couple in their thirties. They had not been seen for several weeks. Thepolice had received many enquiries concerning an indescribable stench coming from the semi-detached house in the Seven Sisters road.

On entering the property, Inspector Mark Halls of the Islington Police claimed that the smell became increasingly potent- he and his colleagues were forced to wear masks. Inspector Halls told us, ‘This is a most terrible crime. We will put in all of our best efforts to find the culprit as soon as possible.’

When they entered the only bedroom, they discovered two mutilated bodies. It was thought at first to be an animal attack after a sighting of the large cat only weeks before. Inspector Halls added: ‘Yes, this is a possibility-we will have to inquire with zoos and other animal sanctuaries in the area. We are open to all roads of investigation. However, I personally believe we are looking for a very dangerous person, maybe an individual with mental-health issues.’

The police have urged the public not to be alarmed, but to remain calm.  

If anyone does see any such animals they are not to approach them, but to inform the authorities immediately.

I put the paper down- I felt very uneasy.  Are there lions out there?  Then I thought about that thing I saw tonight… surely that was a dog…yes I admit a big dog, but none the less a dog. And yes it was like a big wolf, but that was my eye playing tricks, I’m quite certain. I am very certain, I am absolutely certain.

I pictured the scene with that poor couple, what was it? Man or beast? Something or someone else as the police had said? - And if so…what? Who? Is it still about...? Are we all in danger...?  

Then my mind made somersaults; I was transferred to my dream and an absurd idea came to mind…no, what am I thinking...?  Am I serious...? Am I actually suggesting that Lamia appears in people’s dreams, lulls them with her deep eyes and lips then tears them to pieces and eats them? No, never, don’t be so ridiculous, Paul. What is happening to me?

I must inform the police.

My meditations were interrupted when I heard a cackle coming from the kitchen. It was Sandra. Even though I knew it was her, I had never heard her laugh that way before. I couldn’t quite believe it. I began to feel uneasy; that woman had some kind of power over my wife. I didn’t see her leave I just heard the door bang.

‘We’re going out next week, for a drink,’ Sandra announced slumping herself down beside me on the sofa.

I sat up. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said Lamia and I are going out for a drink; next Friday.’

‘Oh are you? I thought you were going out for a meal.’

‘Oh…yes…well, we are going out for a drink instead. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Yes I do actually. You haven’t seen much of Jason, lately.’

‘I haven’t gone out for weeks,’ she protested.            

‘A week actually, and you haven’t told me where you went, or what you were doing.’