u/PoisonedKingPress

"Want to know how I lost my sight?"

"Oh, that's too personal."

"Buy me another drink and I'll tell you."

The barman stops polishing the wine glass. "Don't you think you've had enough, Jacques?"

"I'll get you another, but you don't have to tell me."

"You don't want to know?"

"I must confess: I'm curious."

"Double when you're ready, Albert."

The barman sighs. "I thought we agreed, Jacques: not that story. Not anymore."

"He's a good kid, Albert. He listens."

"Does he have any choice?"

Albert the barman takes Jacques' hand and wraps his arthritic fingers around the glass. The blind old man takes a sip of the antiseptic-smelling liquid.

"Night just like this. No-one else in here. Rain coming down so hard you could hear it slapping into the alleyway. But warm, like tonight."

"Here we go again."

"Guy walks in, sits at the far end of the bar. Walk that says leave me alone, stink to match. Drinks the bar. Puts it away like water. Chain-smoker. Didn't trust ashtrays."

Albert snorts as he places the still-murky wine glass next to the green beer light.

"Pays cash with clean notes in smashed up fingers, worse than mine. Pulling them out of his mended overcoat, head down, smoking into his ratty old jumper. Pushing forty but looks more my age."

"Anyhow, we're just about used to his stink when a woman walks in. Way past closing time."

"She was tall with cheekbones sharp enough to cut your heartstrings. White summer dress, golden hair down to her waist. Dry as tinder."

"But you said it was raining."

"A monsoon. No umbrella, coat, nothing, but not a drop on her."

"She floats by and I pick up her scent: wild meadows, sea-salt and pine."

Albert stops cleaning, his eyes glazed with tears. "Vanilla and clementines too, I'd say. But yeah, pine. Like a forest."

"In the second or two it took her to walk past, I re-experience my first kiss, score my first goal, get my first pay packet and eat a Sunday roast with my departed mother. She walks straight up to the stranger, kisses him on the cheek and leads him out by the hand. Albert and I follow them into the rain but the road is deserted. We peer round the corner into the alleyway and see her holding him like a mother holds a newborn. Last thing I saw before the light."

"The light?"

"Brighter than anything you can imagine. Like a pillar of Heaven. Within it, a nebula."

"A nebula?"

"Each speck of stardust, the soul of everyone I've ever loved or will ever love. And then darkness," says Jacques, his wet eyes reflecting the beer light.

"Felt like I'd been waiting my whole life for that moment," Albert the barman says, running his fingers over the bottles beneath the optics. He finds the one he wants and pours himself a glass without spilling a drop.

"It was almost worth it."

"Hello."

"Housekeeping."

"Come back later."

"It's already four o'clock, sir."

"I'm naked."

"It's ok."

"I have a terrible headache. Please leave me alone."

"Checkout was at noon."

"The room is a mess."

"That's why I have to come in."

"Please don't."

"The manager will call the police."

"Just tell him I let you in."

"I can't lie to the manager."

"Fine. Come in, but don't turn on the light."

"Are you alright?"

"Migraine."

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No."

"You want me to close the window?"

"No."

"It's freezing in here."

"Let me lie here another hour, that's all I ask."

"The room is booked."

"I'll pay for another night. What's your name?"

"Beth."

"Nice to meet you, Beth. You know why I came here."

"No."

"I came here for the big check out."

"Oh."

"Couldn't go through with it."

"I'm glad."

"You don't even know me."

"About not having to clean up the mess."

"Cute."

"You want a cigar?"

"It's a no smoking room."

"We'll leave the window open."

"Five minutes, cup of tea and a smoke."

"And you'll let me work?"

"Promise."

"You'll check out?"

"Absolutely."

"Ok, then."

"You wouldn't have to clean up my mess."

"What?"

"If I jumped from the balcony."

"I meant check out at reception."

"I didn't."

"What if you land on someone?"

"God, you're right. Let me make you that tea. How do you take it?"

"One sugar, no milk."

"Let's take them on the balcony. I need that smoke."

"It's cold out here."

"Two minutes."

"Everything goes round in circles in this town."

"Or straight down."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I don't belong here."

"Where do you belong?"

"I don't know the name of the place."

"Tell me about it."

"There's nothing for me here."

"You haven't tried my California rolls."

"I hate sushi."

"I'll make you a sandwich."

"You just want to get rid of me so you can clean."

"Get down from there. I want you to come to dinner with me."

"Really?"

"Afterwards, we can sit by the fire and listen to records."

"You have a record player?"

"And everything Hendrix ever recorded."

"Wow."

"Take my hand."

"I wish I'd met you ten years ago."

"Get dressed. Come with me."

"Is that a taser?"

"Uh huh."

"You were good."

"Thanks."

"You won't use that."

"Get down from there and I won't have to."

"I'll be checking out now, Beth."

"Don't do it."

"Thanks for the talk."

So where are you two off galavanting tomorrow?

We haven’t decided yet.

I thought you said we were going to the z—

Might go to the cinema to see that new Frankenstein.

Were you going to say the zoo?

Um, I, er—

Don’t even think about it, David.

How many times have I told you?

I know, Mum. We’re going to the multiplex, miles away from the zoo. Don’t worry.

Why can’t we go to the zoo?

Keep him away from there, Lauren. I mean it.

But why?

Don’t, Lauren. It’s a can of worms. You ready to go? I’ll drive you home.

══════════════════════════════════════════════

Come on, let’s go or we’ll miss the showing.

We’re not going to the cinema: we’re going to the zoo.

Yes! Why doesn’t she want you to go to the zoo anyway?

Something to do with my grandfather. She’s superstitious.

What happened to him?

I don’t really know. She won’t tell me.

Now I’m intrigued.

All I know is that he was involved in some kind of experiment.

Wasn’t he a scientist?

Not him, my great-grandfather. Used my grandfather as a test subject when he was a kid.

You said yourself she was just being superstitious.

I dunno. I’m having second thoughts.

I was looking forward to seeing the elephants, but it’s your birthday. Do what you want.

We’ll be too late for the showing now, anyway. The zoo it is.

══════════════════════════════════════════════

Look, giraffes! Let’s go closer.

Do we have to?

What's wrong?

I’m sorry. I just … They don’t look happy to me.

Look at the cute little baby elephant rolling in the mud.

Ok, that’s nearly everything. We’ve officially been to the zoo.

Chimpanzees. The enclosure is just over there. Do you know we share—

98.5 percent of our DNA with them.

Hey, look at them all coming over. They like you. Um, maybe you ought to back away from the glass a bit.

Hooooo. Ee-ee-rah. Hooo.

Please step away from the glass, sir.

EEEEEEEE-HOOOOOOO!

They’re trying to escape! Code red in the chimp house!

David!

══════════════════════════════════════════════

My God, David. What did you do back there?

When did we get back to the car?

It’s not funny. You just got us banned for a year.

I don’t feel well.

You’re soaked through with sweat. What happened?

I don’t know. It was like a dream … I saw the zookeepers looking in on us.

Quit with the monkey sounds now. Please, David. You’re scaring me.

Lauren, I … Please don’t cry.

I’m calling your mum.

No!

Then stop messing around.

Who are you texting?

Your great-grandfather. He’ll know what to do.

Hello. Mr. Kellogg? Sorry, Dr. Kellogg. Um, I’m with your great-grandson, David. He needs your help. Yes, we are at the zoo. Yes, I'll put him on the phone now.

Hoooo-eeee-eee-ooh.

Raaaaah.

Raaaah.

Eeeeee.

Hooo-ooh. Hoo-hooo.

Oh-oh-eeeeeeee. Graaaaaaaah. Ee-ee-eeeeeeeeeeee. Hoo. Hoo.

What did he say?

He said I should have listened to my mother.

So where are you two off galavanting tomorrow?
We haven’t decided yet.
I thought you said we were going to the z—
Might go to the cinema to see that new Frankenstein.
Were you going to say the zoo?
Um, I, er—
Don’t even think about it, David.
How many times have I told you?
I know, Mum. We’re going to the multiplex, miles away from the zoo. Don’t worry.
Why can’t we go to the zoo?
Keep him away from there, Lauren. I mean it.
But why?
Don’t, Lauren. It’s a can of worms. You ready to go? I’ll drive you home.

Sorry I’m late. Mum was chewing my ear off.
It’s fine. So was mine about coursework. She says Happy Birthday.
It will be as long as I get to spend it with you.
You really do think you can charm anyone, don’t you? Come on, let’s go or we’ll miss the showing.
We’re not going to the cinema: we’re going to the zoo.
Yes! Why doesn’t she want you to go to the zoo anyway?
Something to do with my grandfather. She’s superstitious.
What happened to him?
I don’t really know. She won’t tell me.
Now I’m intrigued.
All I know is that he was involved in some kind of experiment.
Wasn’t he a scientist?
Not him, my great-grandfather.
Used my grandfather as a test subject when he was a kid.
For what?
Maybe we should go to the cinema.
It’s such a nice day.
Be a shame to spend it indoors.
What if my mum’s right? What if something happens?
You said yourself she was just being superstitious.
I dunno. I’m having second thoughts.
I was looking forward to seeing the elephants, but it’s your birthday. Do what you want.
There’s really only one thing I want to do.
Well, you can forget that.
Not while I’m driving, sugar tits. Ow!
You missed the turning for the cinema.
We’ll be too late for the showing now, anyway. The zoo it is.

Look, giraffes! Let’s go closer.
Do we have to?
What's wrong? Can’t you just enjoy your birthday?
I’m sorry. I just … They don’t look happy to me.
Look at the cute little baby elephant rolling in the mud.
Ok, that’s nearly everything. We’ve officially been to the zoo.
Chimpanzees. The enclosure is just over there. Do you know we share—
98.5 percent of our DNA with them.
Hey, look at them all coming over. They like you. Um, maybe you ought to back away from the glass a bit.
Hooooo. Ee-ee-rah. Hooo.
Please step away from the glass, sir.
EEEEEEEE-HOOOOOOO!
They’re trying to escape! Code red in the chimp house!
David!

My god, David. What did you do back there?
When did we get back to the car?
It’s not funny. You just got us banned for a year.
I don’t feel well.
You’re soaked through with sweat. What happened?
I don’t know. It was like a dream … I saw the zookeepers looking in on us.
Quit with the monkey sounds now. Please, David. You’re scaring me.
Lauren, I … Please don’t cry.
I’m calling your mum.
No!
Then stop messing around.
Who are you texting?
Your great-grandfather. He’ll know what to do.
Hello. Mr. Kellogg? Sorry, Dr. Kellogg. Um, I’m with your great-grandson, David. He needs your help. Yes, we are at the zoo. Yes, I'll put him on the phone now.
Hoooo-eeee-eee-ooh.
Raaaaah.
Raaaah.
Eeeeee.
Hooo-ooh. Hoo-hooo.
Oh-oh-eeeeeeee. Graaaaaaaah. Ee-ee-eeeeeeeeeeee. Hoo. Hoo.
What did he say? He said I should have listened to my mother.

This is the story of the spider in my room. People say you should be scared of them, but not me. I’m glad the spider came. Daddy used to catch them in a glass because he was tall, but Mummy just used to whack them with her shoe. Everyone thinks Mummy was so pretty and nice, but they never saw her whack something. Whenever she took off her shoe, she turned into a Monster.

The spider is so high up that even when I stand on my bed, I can’t reach him. At bedtime, I watch him spin a web all shiny like silver. In the night, I dream that the web falls on my face like a mask and I breathe it in, spider and all. He spins and spins inside my head, making webs to catch flies in my brain.

By morning, he’s gone back to his web near the tiny window. I don’t have much light in my room, but I can see a tiny cross on his back. Like Jesus.

In the afternoon, he catches a fly. I feel sad for it, but still can’t reach. The spider is naughty. He didn’t need to kill the fly when there are dead ones by the bars on my window. They look like raisins.

Late that night, I find spider poo on the floor. Little white splats. I feel bad for the fly a second time and wonder if I should clean him up with a piece of toilet paper. I lay back down and say a prayer for him instead.

The spider watches me from his corner with all of his shiny black eyes. Maybe he’s my guardian angel? Or will he try to eat me when he’s big enough? Hard to tell if he’s a Monster or a Nice Friend.

On Friday morning, there’s another fly in the spider’s web. Buzz buzz. Buzzzzz. I hum along while I go to the toilet. By the time I flush, the song is over and my room is quiet again. Out of the thin window, I see a grey sky and a black tree branch with red flowers growing from its fingers. Not dark and sticky red, but bright, hot and clean red. Like Mummy on the kitchen floor.

In the afternoon, the sky turns blue and the Nice Man speaks to me through the slot in my door.

‘How are you today, Katy?’

‘Fine, thank you. Is the Nasty Lady with you?’

‘Not today.’

‘Good. I hate her.’

‘I’m here to offer you forgiveness for your sins, Katy.’

‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘You killed your mother. A judge and jury found you guilty.’

‘So?’

‘You’re denying you did it?’

‘No.’

‘You must know that murder is a sin, Katy?’

‘You’re just like the rest of them. I thought you were Nice. Maybe even a Nice Friend.’

‘I’m not your enemy. I just want you to be right with—’

‘Please don’t say His name.’

‘I have to go now, Katy. I’ll be back in the morning.’

‘I won’t be here.’

‘The spider will eat me while I’m asleep. Do you see him? See how big he is now? He’s growing all the time and he’s going to need more than flies soon. Then you’ll all be sorry.’

‘I’ll be back in the morning.’

‘I’ll ask him not to eat you, Reverend. You were always a Nice Man to me. Can’t promise, though.’

The Big Door slams and everything is silent. The spider stares at me.

‘Please don’t eat the Nice Man.’

The spider doesn’t answer.

‘Please.’

While I’m watching the spider, the lights go out. His eyes grow bigger and his feet tickle when they land on my cheek. He bites me on one of the scars from my mother’s shoe and it hurts like fire leaking into my blood. It burns my veins and bones until all that’s left is ash. The spider sits on my grey eyelid and looks at what he’s done.

I see you.

Naughty spider.

In the morning, I can hear the Nasty Lady’s footsteps approaching my room. She’s going to get a shock when she sees me lying on my bed, all rainy day grey. I shrink further into the corner, hiding behind my web.

‘Prisoner 29874, it’s time.’

Her lips look fat and juicy this morning, like two caterpillars wriggling on her chin. Makes me want to bite them.

She opens the door, looks at my body and sighs before talking into her radio.

‘Code Purple. Looks like poisoning. Bring a bag. We’ll take her straight down to the freezer before the others notice.’

While the White Coats arrive, they zip me up in the bag. I’m dreaming of juicy flies, fat caterpillars and the pink soft skin of the Nasty Lady’s ankle.

When I wake up, I see the White Coats through my own nostril. Behind them stands the Nasty Lady, looking like my Mummy when her shoe would come off. It looks like she’s enjoying whatever they’re doing to me.

While the White Coats, the Warden and the Nasty Lady are distracted, I drop down on to the floor and run up her ankle. When I find a nice bit of skin, I bite her hard. She leaps in the air, throwing me under a filing cabinet.

She takes off her shoe and tries to kill me, just like Mummy used to. When she falls down, she stares at me as the White Coats thump her chest and stick her with needles. Her face scrunches up one last time before she makes a rattling sound and lets go of the shoe.

Now she looks Nice. Like Mummy with her shoe back on.

While the alarms wail, I climb through a vent to the Warden’s office, spin a pretty web under his desk and wait in the dark for his thin legs to slide underneath.

This is the story of the spider in my room. People say you should be scared of them, but not me. I’m glad the spider came. Daddy used to catch them in a glass because he was tall, but Mummy just used to whack them with her shoe. Everyone thinks Mummy was so pretty and nice, but they never saw her whack something. Whenever she took off her shoe, she turned into a Monster.

The spider is so high up that even when I stand on my bed, I can’t reach him. At bedtime, I watch him spin a web all shiny like silver. In the night, I dream that the web falls on my face like a mask and I breathe it in, spider and all. He spins and spins inside my head, making webs to catch flies in my brain.

By morning, he’s gone back to his web near the tiny window. I don’t have much light in my room, but I can see a tiny cross on his back. Like Jesus.

In the afternoon, he catches a fly. I feel sad for it, but still can’t reach. The spider is naughty. He didn’t need to kill the fly when there are dead ones by the bars on my window. They look like raisins.

Late that night, I find spider poo on the floor. Little white splats. I feel bad for the fly a second time and wonder if I should clean him up with a piece of toilet paper. I lay back down and say a prayer for him instead.

The spider watches me from his corner with all of his shiny black eyes. Maybe he’s my guardian angel? Or will he try to eat me when he’s big enough? Hard to tell if he’s a Monster or a Nice Friend.

On Friday morning, there’s another fly in the spider’s web. Buzz buzz. Buzzzzz. I hum along while I go to the toilet. By the time I flush, the song is over and my room is quiet again. Out of the thin window, I see a grey sky and a black tree branch with red flowers growing from its fingers. Not dark and sticky red, but bright, hot and clean red. Like Mummy on the kitchen floor.

In the afternoon, the sky turns blue and the Nice Man speaks to me through the slot in my door.

‘How are you today, Katy?’

‘Fine, thank you. Is the Nasty Lady with you?’

‘Not today.’

‘Good. I hate her.’

‘I’m here to offer you forgiveness for your sins, Katy.’

‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘You killed your mother. A judge and jury found you guilty.’

‘So?’

‘You’re denying you did it?’

‘No.’

‘You must know that murder is a sin, Katy?’

‘You’re just like the rest of them. I thought you were Nice. Maybe even a Nice Friend.’

‘I’m not your enemy. I just want you to be right with—’

‘Please don’t say His name.’

‘I have to go now, Katy. I’ll be back in the morning.’

‘I won’t be here.’

‘The spider will eat me while I’m asleep. Do you see him? See how big he is now? He’s growing all the time and he’s going to need more than flies soon. Then you’ll all be sorry.’

‘I’ll be back in the morning.’

‘I’ll ask him not to eat you, Reverend. You were always a Nice Man to me. Can’t promise, though.’

The Big Door slams and everything is silent. The spider stares at me.

‘Please don’t eat the Nice Man.’

The spider doesn’t answer.

‘Please.’

While I’m watching the spider, the lights go out. His eyes grow bigger and his feet tickle when they land on my cheek. He bites me on one of the scars from my mother’s shoe and it hurts like fire leaking into my blood. It burns my veins and bones until all that’s left is ash. The spider sits on my grey eyelid and looks at what he’s done.

I see you.

Naughty spider.

In the morning, I can hear the Nasty Lady’s footsteps approaching my room. She’s going to get a shock when she sees me lying on my bed, all rainy day grey. I shrink further into the corner, hiding behind my web.

‘Prisoner 29874, it’s time.’

Her lips look fat and juicy this morning, like two caterpillars wriggling on her chin. Makes me want to bite them.

She opens the door, looks at my body and sighs before talking into her radio.

‘Code Purple. Looks like poisoning. Bring a bag. We’ll take her straight down to the freezer before the others notice.’

While the White Coats arrive, they zip me up in the bag. I’m dreaming of juicy flies, fat caterpillars and the pink soft skin of the Nasty Lady’s ankle.

When I wake up, I see the White Coats through my own nostril. Behind them stands the Nasty Lady, looking like my Mummy when her shoe would come off. It looks like she’s enjoying whatever they’re doing to me.

While the White Coats, the Warden and the Nasty Lady are distracted, I drop down on to the floor and run up her ankle. When I find a nice bit of skin, I bite her hard. She leaps in the air, throwing me under a filing cabinet.

She takes off her shoe and tries to kill me, just like Mummy used to. When she falls down, she stares at me as the White Coats thump her chest and stick her with needles. Her face scrunches up one last time before she makes a rattling sound and lets go of the shoe.

Now she looks Nice. Like Mummy with her shoe back on.

While the alarms wail, I climb through a vent to the Warden’s office, spin a pretty web under his desk and wait in the dark for his thin legs to slide underneath.

Limbs gong the ribcage
But it’s too late for mercy
Prayers make good kindling
For the wooden bones
Stacked beneath
For braising flesh
Cooking lungs
Boiling hearts
In a sanguine stew
Of memories
Stories
And love
Black clouds gather
Around the obscenity
Disappointed faces look skyward
Into the rain
But these are tears unsalted
With the chloride of kindness
The potassium of cruelty
Drips into their mouths
As they rush fireward 
With wet barrels of oil
To salvage their thrill
But the devil’s fingers
Pull them in
An ashen femur breaks the lock
And the slick calves 
And wide-eyed heifers
Run for the hills
While the bulls dip their horns
In the blood of their captors
And swear red-eyed revenge
Above the thunder

Due to the unfortunate media coverage of recent events, I regret to inform you that the Bürger Burger program is no more. Consumption of cloned human meat will be banned at all ceremonies and the High Priest has insisted on a return to traditional rituals. 

Although some progressive members may be disillusioned, the ruling must be upheld. We are deploying the Cone of Silence. Those who try to leave without being debriefed will face Severe Consequences as outlined on page 33 of our manifesto.

Our experts are examining how this occurred. Preliminary findings suggest we may have broken protocol by cloning the meat of our own members in error.

Patient A, a criminal attorney from Miami and nine-year member, experienced a nibbling sensation on the back of his calves while boarding a flight from London to New York. Halfway over the Atlantic he leapt up screaming that something was biting him. A doctor on board found no trauma and described it as the worst case of cramp she had ever seen. The incident lasted fifteen minutes — roughly the time it took us to eat our steaks during the Rite of Union.

Fourteen days later Patient B, a local councillor named Mark Anglais, was rushed to hospital with sharp pains in his flank. He too felt as though he were being bitten. The story was dismissed as a vote-seeking stunt.

The tipping point was Patient C, CEO Philip Red, aboard his yacht off Malta. After the first bite of his steak he complained of intense grinding pain in his head. He threw himself overboard and into the yacht’s twin propellers.

Rigorous interrogation of our genetic engineers is underway. The leading theory is that we have a traitor in our midst. I urge you not to be alarmed by rumours that the phenomenon is mutating and now affects all who have partaken in the program. Ignore reports of members starving, committing suicide, or being locked in padded rooms. We are not eating ourselves to death. This is sensationalist scaremongering. Any members showing symptoms must contact us first so we can deploy a support team quickly, effectively, and discreetly.

Thank you for your patience. We hope to see you at the next ceremony under traditional rules.

Sam didn’t know which sea he was in. The grey sunrise held no clues and there was no land in sight. There was only the column.

The murky green water far below churned and foamed, reminding him of childhood. Stormy promenade mornings running from waves crashing over the sea wall. Sunny afternoons building sandcastles and entire civilisations out of matchsticks. Always trying to slip away from watchful eyes to find new rock pools.

Later he had gone to a sunny foreign town where he lost interest in shells. He liked the taste of suntan lotion on her lips. Ice cold beer in the cracking heat and the soft Gallic murmur of her voice. She always tasted of too many cocktails and toothpaste.

He stretched out his hands across the smooth stone of the column and leaned back. As the sun set he curled up into a foetal position, drew his coat around his body and fastened his hood against the wind and sea spray.

He woke cold, hungry and exhausted. The column had sunk during the night. The waves crashed louder now. A faint bleeping sound drifted across the water, like a marker buoy. He slithered on his belly to the edge. He was now only fifteen feet above the waves.

He shuffled back to the centre and played noughts and crosses on the concrete, thinking of Sophia. Not their beginnings, but their endings. The games they had played out in tears instead of sand and seawater. He should have forgiven her. He thought he had.

The following morning the waves were washing over the lip of the column. The sonar beep seemed to be coming from above. Thick clouds swirled in the greyness.

In the daydream Sophia sat on the edge of her bed crying, holding a photograph. The same sun broke through hospital blinds and refracted through her tears. She turned the picture over. They were smiling in it.

The daydream broke with the crack of wood on concrete. A boat had arrived. A hooded boatman stood at one end with an oar in each hand. When he removed the hood, inky black hair spilled out. It was Sophia. She smiled and offered him the oars.

As Sam stepped off the column, it sank violently behind him. He held Sophia. Beneath the black robes he felt only bones. She said nothing as he told her he loved her. She tightened her embrace. A putrid smell rose from the hood.

Sam clung tighter, certain that if he were to pull away, the face he would see would not be Sophia’s.

I could never have predicted how I would die. I always thought it would be a car crash or botched heist, maybe a war – something cinematic. Not once did it ever occur to me that I might die of fright. Too young. Too sturdy. I’d heard about it happening to other people. Turning their hair white. Affixed expressions of terror in their death masks. Hearts stopping instantly as if the life were suddenly squeezed out of them. Tabloid stuff. Horror film trope. Never happen to me, that. But it was her eyes that did it. That look she gave me. If looks could kill.

Well, they can. 

They killed me.

U comin ghost huntin, dude?

What now?

Goin Ewloe Castle w J an his missus 

Why?

To find Nora the Nun 

Who? I’m not going anywhere in this weather.

U need rain to hear the army marchin

Army?

Pick u up in 15

Twenty minutes after the texts, I’m rattling towards the Welsh border in a once-white work van. Hogie’s lounging in the driver’s seat with a rolled cigarette protruding from the ecosystem of his beard while Katelyn and J share a can of lager in the back.

‘What’s this about an army?’

‘On the way up to the castle, they say you can hear the ghost army marching through the woods.’

‘I thought you were scared of ghosts?’

Hogie glances in the rear view mirror at J and Katelyn.

‘I’m not scared of anything.’

‘So you didn’t call me after watching Supernatural Activity last week?’

‘What, I can’t call my mates for a chat?’

‘At midnight?’

‘Yeah, so?’

‘You were almost crying.’

I can hear Katelyn trying not to laugh.

‘He’s just winding you up, Katelyn. I wasn’t crying.’

‘Aw, Hogie. Nothing wrong with crying.’

As Katelyn pats his shoulder from the back seat, Hogie rolls his bloodshot eyes at me. ‘Least I didn’t pee my pants on that ledge up Tryfan.’

‘I could have died. You and your grotty old climbing ropes—’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘You just missed the turn.’

‘You and your yap, that.’

J swigs the last of his can, crumples it and leans between the front seats. ‘Boys, give it a rest.’

‘What about you, J? You scared of ghosts?’

‘Only the ones on the estate.’

We pull up in a lay-by on a country lane and follow a footpath into the wood. The rattle of the fat rain on the van’s bodywork fades and the wind whistles through the bare trees’ looming branches. Our feet rustle and squelch in the dead leaves, but none of these things sound anything like a marching army. 

‘Where’s these ghosts? Spent pure wedge on this torch. Wanna see more than trees, like.’

J drains another can of lager. 

‘You hear anything?’

‘I just hear rain. There any shelter at this castle, Hogie?’

‘It’s just ruins, man.’

‘Great.’

‘You go on ahead. I need to roll one.’

I walk ahead of J and Katelyn, who are now holding hands. Don’t wanna be the gooseberry. When I reach the top of the steps, I see a light, perfectly round and white, hovering over the stream running through the small valley below. I assume that it must be other ghost-hunters and take a drink of my beer, but in the corner of my eye, the light starts to rise. Higher than anyone could climb any of the trees until it disappears into the scratchiest extremities of the tree line.

My breath fogs in front of me as the air temperature plummets. I lower the crushed can from my lips and release my grip.

‘See that?’

Hogie emerges from a cloud of smoke, searching the darkness earnestly. ‘See what?’

‘A ball of light came out of the river and floated up into the trees.’

‘Yeah, ok.’

‘You didn’t see it?’

‘Probably just a reflection from your torch. Come on.’

The castle ruins are exactly what they say on the tin: ruined. What little remains of them looks more like fly-tipped masonry.

‘Great castle.’

‘It didn’t always look like this.’ 

Our torches converge on a plaque relating the history of the castle. After a minute or two, Katelyn yawns, releasing a cloud of breath across the text.

‘Boring.’

‘Yeah, well. This doesn’t tell you about Nora the Nun.’

‘You’re making this up as you go along, Hogie.’

‘You can look it up. She wasn’t really a nun, though.’

‘I want to go back to the van. I’m freezing.’

‘She was a princess.’

Katelyn stops shivering. ‘Really?’

‘Google it if you think I’m lying.’

‘What happened to her?’

Hogie swipes and taps at his phone. ‘After Gwenllian ferch Llywelyn’s mother died giving birth and her father was killed in battle against the English in 1283, King Edward I locked her in a Lincolnshire priory until her death 54 years later. Look, it says right here.’

‘Why did they do that?’

‘To stop her becoming a …’ Hogie swipes down. ‘A nationalist symbol: the last Welsh Princess.’

The rain stops hammering on the ruins. When we walk back out into the open air, it feels and smells crystal clear, as if we could see into the deepest recesses of the wood with our torches. Without the wind and rain, I can hear water dripping from the dead branches surrounding us. It sounds slow and thick compared to the storm.

‘Why is it so cold?’

Hogie puffs rapidly on his cigarette as his eyes scan the darkness. ‘Fine, we’ll just go back to the van if you’re all too chicken.’

He leads us down another set of steps towards a stone bridge across the small river: the exact spot where I saw the light. As we step onto the structure, the air buzzes with cold electricity and my body feels light, as if it might blow away in the breeze.

J clatters back into me as if stricken by something. It’s only my boots that stop him cracking his skull on the bridge’s stone. I look down at J’s shaven head resting on my toes and shine my torch in his eyes, but he doesn’t flinch or breathe, even when Katelyn stoops down to help him.

‘J!’

As if unpaused, J snaps out of it. The way his eyes change makes me feel like God isn’t watching over us anymore. Like we’re on our own: out on a limb. No safety net.

‘Something walked through me. It walked through me!.’

J crawled to the end of the bridge and retched into the cold, wet soil. 

‘Want a drink?’

Tears are streaming down his face. I pull him up off the ground and give him a can. With shaking hands, he opens it and drinks, but vomits it back up instantly.

‘Jesus, can you smell that?’

‘What?’

‘Smells like rotten meat.’

In the distance, I hear Hogie’s long-suffering trainers hammering their way back to the van. Where he was standing, a freshly-rolled, hastily-dropped cigarette still smokes. Ten feet away, Katelyn stares into the woods, muttering to no-one. Between J’s sobs, I pick up a few of Katelyn’s words.

‘I won’t. I swear.’

I stand beside her and look into the same spot. A naked woman stares back at me from between the trees. She has eyes like glaciers rolling unstoppably towards me, over me, subsuming me into a dark, frozen womb.

I live a cold and lonely lifetime before I even hit the ground, locked away in a stone room with a small bed and a mere slot for a window. As I get older, my skin turns grey and my hair falls out. I wake up from terrible nightmares every morning about the mother and father I never knew, the lovers and friends I never met, the simple pleasures I’ll never taste, smell, hear, see or touch. It feels more real than my waking life as I sink alone into the cold mud of time.

In the hospital, the first face I see is my mother’s. She wipes her tears away and holds my hand.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Old.’

‘The doctors said your heart stopped for nearly a minute.’

‘Felt like 50 years.’

Katelyn appears in my peripheral vision, her hair uncharacteristically ruffled and her eye make-up smeared. She fidgets with her hospital gown. 

‘Katelyn told me everything. I thought you all must have been high until I looked up Gwenllian’s story. Then I saw Katelyn’s surname on her wristband.’

Katelyn holds it up for me to read, but I know it already. I sigh under the weight of this epiphany. Any hope that it could have been a bad dream has just been crushed out of me.

‘Llywelyn.’

‘What did she say to you?’

Katelyn won’t make eye contact with anyone. Can’t say I blame her. ‘She kept calling me mother. Begged me not to forget her.’

A nurse interrupts to take my blood pressure while my mum and Katelyn retreat to the cafeteria. It’s the last time anyone mentions what happened in the woods round Ewloe Castle that night, contrary to the wishes of the princess.

Their persistent refusal to acknowledge the events of that night forces me to write this account, so please don’t forget Gwenllian. My life might just depend on it. 

And I don’t want to die again anytime soon.

I could never have predicted how I would die. I always thought it would be a car crash or botched heist, maybe a war – something cinematic. Not once did it ever occur to me that I might die of fright. Too young. Too sturdy. I’d heard about it happening to other people. Turning their hair white. Affixed expressions of terror in their death masks. Hearts stopping instantly as if the life were suddenly squeezed out of them. Tabloid stuff. Horror film trope. Never happen to me, that. But it was her eyes that did it. That look she gave me. If looks could kill.

Well, they can. 

They killed me.

U comin ghost huntin, dude?

What now?

Goin Ewloe Castle w J an his missus 

Why?

To find Nora the Nun 

Who? I’m not going anywhere in this weather.

U need rain to hear the army marchin

Army?

Pick u up in 15

Twenty minutes after the texts, I’m rattling towards the Welsh border in a once-white work van. Hogie’s lounging in the driver’s seat with a rolled cigarette protruding from the ecosystem of his beard while Katelyn and J share a can of lager in the back.

‘What’s this about an army?’

‘On the way up to the castle, they say you can hear the ghost army marching through the woods.’

‘I thought you were scared of ghosts?’

Hogie glances in the rear view mirror at J and Katelyn.

‘I’m not scared of anything.’

‘So you didn’t call me after watching Supernatural Activity last week?’

‘What, I can’t call my mates for a chat?’

‘At midnight?’

‘Yeah, so?’

‘You were almost crying.’

I can hear Katelyn trying not to laugh.

‘He’s just winding you up, Katelyn. I wasn’t crying.’

‘Aw, Hogie. Nothing wrong with crying.’

As Katelyn pats his shoulder from the back seat, Hogie rolls his bloodshot eyes at me. ‘Least I didn’t pee my pants on that ledge up Tryfan.’

‘I could have died. You and your grotty old climbing ropes—’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘You just missed the turn.’

‘You and your yap, that.’

J swigs the last of his can, crumples it and leans between the front seats. ‘Boys, give it a rest.’

‘What about you, J? You scared of ghosts?’

‘Only the ones on the estate.’

We pull up in a lay-by on a country lane and follow a footpath into the wood. The rattle of the fat rain on the van’s bodywork fades and the wind whistles through the bare trees’ looming branches. Our feet rustle and squelch in the dead leaves, but none of these things sound anything like a marching army. 

‘Where’s these ghosts? Spent pure wedge on this torch. Wanna see more than trees, like.’

J drains another can of lager. 

‘You hear anything?’

‘I just hear rain. There any shelter at this castle, Hogie?’

‘It’s just ruins, man.’

‘Great.’

‘You go on ahead. I need to roll one.’

I walk ahead of J and Katelyn, who are now holding hands. Don’t wanna be the gooseberry. When I reach the top of the steps, I see a light, perfectly round and white, hovering over the stream running through the small valley below. I assume that it must be other ghost-hunters and take a drink of my beer, but in the corner of my eye, the light starts to rise. Higher than anyone could climb any of the trees until it disappears into the scratchiest extremities of the tree line.

My breath fogs in front of me as the air temperature plummets. I lower the crushed can from my lips and release my grip.

‘See that?’

Hogie emerges from a cloud of smoke, searching the darkness earnestly. ‘See what?’

‘A ball of light came out of the river and floated up into the trees.’

‘Yeah, ok.’

‘You didn’t see it?’

‘Probably just a reflection from your torch. Come on.’

The castle ruins are exactly what they say on the tin: ruined. What little remains of them looks more like fly-tipped masonry.

‘Great castle.’

‘It didn’t always look like this.’ 

Our torches converge on a plaque relating the history of the castle. After a minute or two, Katelyn yawns, releasing a cloud of breath across the text.

‘Boring.’

‘Yeah, well. This doesn’t tell you about Nora the Nun.’

‘You’re making this up as you go along, Hogie.’

‘You can look it up. She wasn’t really a nun, though.’

‘I want to go back to the van. I’m freezing.’

‘She was a princess.’

Katelyn stops shivering. ‘Really?’

‘Google it if you think I’m lying.’

‘What happened to her?’

Hogie swipes and taps at his phone. ‘After Gwenllian ferch Llywelyn’s mother died giving birth and her father was killed in battle against the English in 1283, King Edward I locked her in a Lincolnshire priory until her death 54 years later. Look, it says right here.’

‘Why did they do that?’

‘To stop her becoming a …’ Hogie swipes down. ‘A nationalist symbol: the last Welsh Princess.’

The rain stops hammering on the ruins. When we walk back out into the open air, it feels and smells crystal clear, as if we could see into the deepest recesses of the wood with our torches. Without the wind and rain, I can hear water dripping from the dead branches surrounding us. It sounds slow and thick compared to the storm.

‘Why is it so cold?’

Hogie puffs rapidly on his cigarette as his eyes scan the darkness. ‘Fine, we’ll just go back to the van if you’re all too chicken.’

He leads us down another set of steps towards a stone bridge across the small river: the exact spot where I saw the light. As we step onto the structure, the air buzzes with cold electricity and my body feels light, as if it might blow away in the breeze.

J clatters back into me as if stricken by something. It’s only my boots that stop him cracking his skull on the bridge’s stone. I look down at J’s shaven head resting on my toes and shine my torch in his eyes, but he doesn’t flinch or breathe, even when Katelyn stoops down to help him.

‘J!’

As if unpaused, J snaps out of it. The way his eyes change makes me feel like God isn’t watching over us anymore. Like we’re on our own: out on a limb. No safety net.

‘Something walked through me. It walked through me!.’

J crawled to the end of the bridge and retched into the cold, wet soil. 

‘Want a drink?’

Tears are streaming down his face. I pull him up off the ground and give him a can. With shaking hands, he opens it and drinks, but vomits it back up instantly.

‘Jesus, can you smell that?’

‘What?’

‘Smells like rotten meat.’

In the distance, I hear Hogie’s long-suffering trainers hammering their way back to the van. Where he was standing, a freshly-rolled, hastily-dropped cigarette still smokes. Ten feet away, Katelyn stares into the woods, muttering to no-one. Between J’s sobs, I pick up a few of Katelyn’s words.

‘I won’t. I swear.’

I stand beside her and look into the same spot. A naked woman stares back at me from between the trees. She has eyes like glaciers rolling unstoppably towards me, over me, subsuming me into a dark, frozen womb.

I live a cold and lonely lifetime before I even hit the ground, locked away in a stone room with a small bed and a mere slot for a window. As I get older, my skin turns grey and my hair falls out. I wake up from terrible nightmares every morning about the mother and father I never knew, the lovers and friends I never met, the simple pleasures I’ll never taste, smell, hear, see or touch. It feels more real than my waking life as I sink alone into the cold mud of time.

In the hospital, the first face I see is my mother’s. She wipes her tears away and holds my hand.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Old.’

‘The doctors said your heart stopped for nearly a minute.’

‘Felt like 50 years.’

Katelyn appears in my peripheral vision, her hair uncharacteristically ruffled and her eye make-up smeared. She fidgets with her hospital gown. 

‘Katelyn told me everything. I thought you all must have been high until I looked up Gwenllian’s story. Then I saw Katelyn’s surname on her wristband.’

Katelyn holds it up for me to read, but I know it already. I sigh under the weight of this epiphany. Any hope that it could have been a bad dream has just been crushed out of me.

‘Llywelyn.’

‘What did she say to you?’

Katelyn won’t make eye contact with anyone. Can’t say I blame her. ‘She kept calling me mother. Begged me not to forget her.’

A nurse interrupts to take my blood pressure while my mum and Katelyn retreat to the cafeteria. It’s the last time anyone mentions what happened in the woods round Ewloe Castle that night, contrary to the wishes of the princess.

Their persistent refusal to acknowledge the events of that night forces me to write this account, so please don’t forget Gwenllian. My life might just depend on it. 

And I don’t want to die again anytime soon.

I could never have predicted how I would die. I always thought it would be a car crash or botched heist, maybe a war – something cinematic. Not once did it ever occur to me that I might die of fright. Too young. Too sturdy. I’d heard about it happening to other people. Turning their hair white. Affixed expressions of terror in their death masks. Hearts stopping instantly as if the life were suddenly squeezed out of them. Tabloid stuff. Horror film trope. Never happen to me, that. But it was her eyes that did it. That look she gave me. If looks could kill.

Well, they can. 

They killed me.

U comin ghost huntin, dude?

What now?

Goin Ewloe Castle w J an his missus 

Why?

To find Nora the Nun 

Who? I’m not going anywhere in this weather.

U need rain to hear the army marchin

Army?

Pick u up in 15

Twenty minutes after the texts, I’m rattling towards the Welsh border in a once-white work van. Hogie’s lounging in the driver’s seat with a rolled cigarette protruding from the ecosystem of his beard while Katelyn and J share a can of lager in the back.

‘What’s this about an army?’

‘On the way up to the castle, they say you can hear the ghost army marching through the woods.’

‘I thought you were scared of ghosts?’

Hogie glances in the rear view mirror at J and Katelyn.

‘I’m not scared of anything.’

‘So you didn’t call me after watching Supernatural Activity last week?’

‘What, I can’t call my mates for a chat?’

‘At midnight?’

‘Yeah, so?’

‘You were almost crying.’

I can hear Katelyn trying not to laugh.

‘He’s just winding you up, Katelyn. I wasn’t crying.’

‘Aw, Hogie. Nothing wrong with crying.’

As Katelyn pats his shoulder from the back seat, Hogie rolls his bloodshot eyes at me. ‘Least I didn’t pee my pants on that ledge up Tryfan.’

‘I could have died. You and your grotty old climbing ropes—’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘You just missed the turn.’

‘You and your yap, that.’

J swigs the last of his can, crumples it and leans between the front seats. ‘Boys, give it a rest.’

‘What about you, J? You scared of ghosts?’

‘Only the ones on the estate.’

We pull up in a lay-by on a country lane and follow a footpath into the wood. The rattle of the fat rain on the van’s bodywork fades and the wind whistles through the bare trees’ looming branches. Our feet rustle and squelch in the dead leaves, but none of these things sound anything like a marching army. 

‘Where’s these ghosts? Spent pure wedge on this torch. Wanna see more than trees, like.’

J drains another can of lager. 

‘You hear anything?’

‘I just hear rain. There any shelter at this castle, Hogie?’

‘It’s just ruins, man.’

‘Great.’

‘You go on ahead. I need to roll one.’

I walk ahead of J and Katelyn, who are now holding hands. Don’t wanna be the gooseberry. When I reach the top of the steps, I see a light, perfectly round and white, hovering over the stream running through the small valley below. I assume that it must be other ghost-hunters and take a drink of my beer, but in the corner of my eye, the light starts to rise. Higher than anyone could climb any of the trees until it disappears into the scratchiest extremities of the tree line.

My breath fogs in front of me as the air temperature plummets. I lower the crushed can from my lips and release my grip.

‘See that?’

Hogie emerges from a cloud of smoke, searching the darkness earnestly. ‘See what?’

‘A ball of light came out of the river and floated up into the trees.’

‘Yeah, ok.’

‘You didn’t see it?’

‘Probably just a reflection from your torch. Come on.’

The castle ruins are exactly what they say on the tin: ruined. What little remains of them looks more like fly-tipped masonry.

‘Great castle.’

‘It didn’t always look like this.’ 

Our torches converge on a plaque relating the history of the castle. After a minute or two, Katelyn yawns, releasing a cloud of breath across the text.

‘Boring.’

‘Yeah, well. This doesn’t tell you about Nora the Nun.’

‘You’re making this up as you go along, Hogie.’

‘You can look it up. She wasn’t really a nun, though.’

‘I want to go back to the van. I’m freezing.’

‘She was a princess.’

Katelyn stops shivering. ‘Really?’

‘Google it if you think I’m lying.’

‘What happened to her?’

Hogie swipes and taps at his phone. ‘After Gwenllian ferch Llywelyn’s mother died giving birth and her father was killed in battle against the English in 1283, King Edward I locked her in a Lincolnshire priory until her death 54 years later. Look, it says right here.’

‘Why did they do that?’

‘To stop her becoming a …’ Hogie swipes down. ‘A nationalist symbol: the last Welsh Princess.’

The rain stops hammering on the ruins. When we walk back out into the open air, it feels and smells crystal clear, as if we could see into the deepest recesses of the wood with our torches. Without the wind and rain, I can hear water dripping from the dead branches surrounding us. It sounds slow and thick compared to the storm.

‘Why is it so cold?’

Hogie puffs rapidly on his cigarette as his eyes scan the darkness. ‘Fine, we’ll just go back to the van if you’re all too chicken.’

He leads us down another set of steps towards a stone bridge across the small river: the exact spot where I saw the light. As we step onto the structure, the air buzzes with cold electricity and my body feels light, as if it might blow away in the breeze.

J clatters back into me as if stricken by something. It’s only my boots that stop him cracking his skull on the bridge’s stone. I look down at J’s shaven head resting on my toes and shine my torch in his eyes, but he doesn’t flinch or breathe, even when Katelyn stoops down to help him.

‘J!’

As if unpaused, J snaps out of it. The way his eyes change makes me feel like God isn’t watching over us anymore. Like we’re on our own: out on a limb. No safety net.

‘Something walked through me. It walked through me!.’

J crawled to the end of the bridge and retched into the cold, wet soil. 

‘Want a drink?’

Tears are streaming down his face. I pull him up off the ground and give him a can. With shaking hands, he opens it and drinks, but vomits it back up instantly.

‘Jesus, can you smell that?’

‘What?’

‘Smells like rotten meat.’

In the distance, I hear Hogie’s long-suffering trainers hammering their way back to the van. Where he was standing, a freshly-rolled, hastily-dropped cigarette still smokes. Ten feet away, Katelyn stares into the woods, muttering to no-one. Between J’s sobs, I pick up a few of Katelyn’s words.

‘I won’t. I swear.’

I stand beside her and look into the same spot. A naked woman stares back at me from between the trees. She has eyes like glaciers rolling unstoppably towards me, over me, subsuming me into a dark, frozen womb.

I live a cold and lonely lifetime before I even hit the ground, locked away in a stone room with a small bed and a mere slot for a window. As I get older, my skin turns grey and my hair falls out. I wake up from terrible nightmares every morning about the mother and father I never knew, the lovers and friends I never met, the simple pleasures I’ll never taste, smell, hear, see or touch. It feels more real than my waking life as I sink alone into the cold mud of time.

In the hospital, the first face I see is my mother’s. She wipes her tears away and holds my hand.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Old.’

‘The doctors said your heart stopped for nearly a minute.’

‘Felt like 50 years.’

Katelyn appears in my peripheral vision, her hair uncharacteristically ruffled and her eye make-up smeared. She fidgets with her hospital gown. 

‘Katelyn told me everything. I thought you all must have been high until I looked up Gwenllian’s story. Then I saw Katelyn’s surname on her wristband.’

Katelyn holds it up for me to read, but I know it already. I sigh under the weight of this epiphany. Any hope that it could have been a bad dream has just been crushed out of me.

‘Llywelyn.’

‘What did she say to you?’

Katelyn won’t make eye contact with anyone. Can’t say I blame her. ‘She kept calling me mother. Begged me not to forget her.’

A nurse interrupts to take my blood pressure while my mum and Katelyn retreat to the cafeteria. It’s the last time anyone mentions what happened in the woods round Ewloe Castle that night, contrary to the wishes of the princess.

Their persistent refusal to acknowledge the events of that night forces me to write this account, so please don’t forget Gwenllian. My life might just depend on it. 

And I don’t want to die again anytime soon.

Due to the unfortunate media coverage of recent events, I regret to inform you that, as of today, the Bürger Burger program is no more. Consumption of cloned human meat will be banned at all ceremonies and the High Priest has insisted on a return to time-tested, traditional rituals.

Although our more progressive members might be disillusioned by the news, the ruling must be upheld. Therefore, we are deploying the Cone of Silence. They who try to leave without being debriefed will face Severe Consequences, as outlined on page 33 of our manifesto.

Our experts are still examining how the phenomenon occurred, but preliminary findings indicate the possibility of our having broken Bürger Burger protocol by cloning the meat of our own members in error. Answers will take some time, but for now, we must focus on reducing the unwanted attention this has drawn to us.

The Herald reported that Patient A—a criminal attorney from Miami and a nine-year member of our organisation—experienced a nibbling sensation on the back of his calves as he boarded a flight from London to New York. Halfway over the Atlantic, he leapt up from his first class seat, screaming that something was biting him. A doctor on board examined him, but could find no evidence of any trauma. She described it as the worst case of cramp she has ever seen, at a loss for any other scientific explanation. As a footnote, she added to her report that amputees can experience similar bouts of neurological disturbance in their missing limbs, a phenomenon often referred to as phantom pain. The incident occurred at exactly the same time that we were conducting our Rite of Union and lasted fifteen minutes: roughly the same time it took us to eat our steaks.

This event would have been odd enough in isolation, but the phenomenon repeated fourteen days later when reports of Patient B emerged, this time from a regional newspaper in England. A local councillor named Mark Anglais—a three-year member—was rushed to hospital with sharp pains in his flank, yet upon examination proved to be well. Anglais told the newspaper that he felt as though he were being bitten. The testimony was soon denounced as a vote-seeking PR stunt to appeal to the Faithful in his constituency. With the local elections only three weeks away, our journalists were able to bury this story, too.

The tipping point came with Patient C, a CEO called Philip Red, who was struck by the phenomenon aboard his yacht off the coast of Malta. After being attended to by his personal doctor to no avail, he threw himself overboard and straight under the yacht’s twin propellers. As many of you know, Philip held brief tenure as a High Priest with us until forced to step down due to the pizza parlour scandal a year ago. Having been a loyal and long-serving member of our organisation, we saw to it that he received his own fresh steak to consume aboard his yacht at the agreed time of every ceremony. This time was no different. The doctor stated in his report that with the first bite of the meat, Philip complained of an intense, grinding pain in his head and demanded painkillers. The doctor responded with Philip’s preferred tonic: an intravenous shot of morphine, allowing him to eat the rest of the steak in muted agony before his suicide by propeller.

Rigorous interrogation of our genetic engineers and lab workers is already underway as I type this. The most popular theory amongst high-ranking members is that we have a traitor in our midst. 

I urge you not to be alarmed by recent rumours that the phenomenon is mutating to affect all who have partaken of the Bürger Burger program. There is no basis to the reports that members are becoming unable to eat anything without affliction by the phantom pain. Ignore fake news of members starving, committing suicide or being locked in padded rooms. We are certainly not eating ourselves to death, as some rather more hysterical members have stated. Nor divine retribution. This is nothing more than sensationalist scaremongering.

We must insist that any members showing symptoms contact us first, so that we can deploy a support team to take care of you quickly, effectively, and most importantly, discreetly.

Thank you for your enduring patience and we hope to see you at the next ceremony, which will be conducted under traditional rules in the usual venues.

The p1ke hunts
Under the st0nes
And c0des
1n the luminescent lake
Wild garlic dr1fts from the far bank
In perfumed p1xels
Diffused by the n1ght air
Until they reach the p0int of no return
Like the peregr1ne
Hungry f0r meaning
The black p1ke circles
Thr0ugh the moon
And traps the peregr1ne in its onyx eye
To barter blo0d:

“A dr0p a day
For three sc0re and ten
And you may l1ve.”

The coat upon the hook,
The mug left in the rack,
Shoes waiting in the porch,
For their owner to come back,
One day soon, I’ll move them,
To where I don’t yet know,
A corner of my mind, I suppose,
Where I can always go,
And visit with the owner,
Of these forsaken shoes,
To complain about the weather,
And grouse about the news,
Sit and watch Inspector Morse,
Drink tea with custard creams,
Funny how the little things,
Become our wildest dreams.

"Tell us what you see, Corporal."

"Same ruins as last time. White marble pillars and sand dunes."

"Air temperature?"

"I know she’s here somewhere."

"Please answer the question, Corporal."

"Uh, cool. It’s always cool."

"What else do you see?"

"Blue sky. No clouds. Apart from the two suns, nothing unusual."

"Your auditory sensors are picking up data. What do you hear?"

"I don’t hear anything. Why isn’t she here?"

"The general’s orders are not to interact under any circumstances."

"I thought he wanted more data?"

"This is reconnaissance. No engagement permitted."

"I see something. A white pyramid in the dunes. I’m going to investigate."

"Do not approach the structure. Stay where you are."

"We might not get this chance again. It’s now or never.”

"The general instructed us to unplug you if you disobeyed orders again."

"Go ahead. Good luck finding someone else to do these experiments."

"You’ll die from shock if we have to terminate suddenly."

"Do what you want. I’m going to the pyramid."

"Corporal. You must stand down."

"Don’t you want your precious data?"

"You must not touch the structure."

"Think the general will mind if I go inside?"

"Corporal."

"I’m kidding, Command. I’m about halfway there. It’s bigger than it looked from the ruins."

"Height?"

"From here, I would guess 300 metres."

"Constructed from blocks?"

"No, it’s smooth. Looks like some kind of quartz."

"Don’t go any further."

"I’m right there."

"Don’t touch it."

"Feels cold, like glass."

"We’re bringing you back."

"Wait, I hear something."

"What is it?"

"It’s her. She’s singing to me."

"Move away from the pyramid. Return to the ruins immediately."

"She’s saying my name. Calling me inside."

"The quartz has changed. I can put my hand in it. Feels like dry water."

"Return to the ruins."

"She’s leading me in. She says she wants to show me something."

"You’re not just endangering yourself, Corporal. Return to the extraction point."

"She says we are all in darkness, but the light is coming."

"Remain still. We’re working on recalibrating the extraction point."

"She’s telling me the truth. I know she is."

"You’re suffering a neurological breakdown, Corporal. Do not listen to the entity."

"She’s laughing at you. She’s never been called that before."

"Remain outside the structure."

"Too late."

"Corporal?"

"Wow. It’s a jungle in here. So many colours in the trees. Like diamond fruit."

"It’s not real. Maintain focus."

"She says that Earth is a paradise lost. That we must start anew."

"Don’t listen to it. It’s just a hallucination."

"She says you’re the hallucination."

"Run from the pyramid now."

"She says we’re the failed experiment."

"You’re leaving me no choice. I’m pulling the plug."

"She says it’s time for all of us to come home. Even you, Command."

"Abort mission. Abort mission. Counting down to termination. Five."

"I feel like I’ve always known her."

"Four."

"Always. Not just in this life."

"Three."

"Tell my wife I love her."

"Two."

"Oh, God. It’s beautiful in here, Command."

"One."

"Come and see."

Mission terminated.

 

 

 

"Tell us what you see, Corporal."

"Same ruins as last time. White marble pillars and sand dunes."

"Air temperature?"

"I know she’s here somewhere."

"Please answer the question, Corporal."

"Uh, cool. It’s always cool."

"What else do you see?"

"Blue sky. No clouds. Apart from the two suns, nothing unusual."

"Your auditory sensors are picking up data. What do you hear?"

"I don’t hear anything. Why isn’t she here?"

"The general’s orders are not to interact under any circumstances."

"I thought he wanted more data?"

"This is reconnaissance. No engagement permitted."

"I see something. A white pyramid in the dunes. I’m going to investigate."

"Do not approach the structure. Stay where you are."

"No."

"The general instructed us to unplug you if you disobeyed orders again."

"Go ahead. Good luck finding someone else to do these experiments."

"You’ll die from shock if we have to terminate suddenly."

"Do what you want. I’m going to the pyramid."

"Corporal."

"Don’t you want your precious data?"

"You must not touch the structure."

"Think the general will mind if I go inside?"

"Corporal."

"I’m kidding, Command. I’m about halfway there. It’s bigger than it looked from the ruins."

"Height?"

"From here, I would guess 300 metres."

"Constructed from blocks?"

"No, it’s smooth. Looks like some kind of quartz."

"Don’t go any further."

"I’m right there."

"Don’t touch it."

"Feels cold, like glass."

"We’re bringing you back."

"Wait, I hear something."

"What is it?"

"It’s her. She’s singing to me."

"Move away from the pyramid. Return to the ruins immediately."

"She’s saying my name. Calling me inside."

"The quartz has changed. I can put my hand in it. Feels like dry water."

"Return to the ruins."

"She’s leading me in. She says she wants to show me something."

"You’re not just endangering yourself, Corporal. Return to the extraction point."

"She says we are all in darkness, but the light is coming."

"Remain still. We’re working on recalibrating the extraction point."

"She’s telling me the truth. I know she is."

"You’re suffering a neurological breakdown, Corporal. Do not listen to the entity."

"She’s laughing at you. She’s never been called that before."

"Remain outside the structure."

"Too late."

"Corporal?"

"Wow. It’s a jungle in here. So many colours in the trees. Like diamond fruit."

"It’s not real. Maintain focus."

"She says that Earth is a paradise lost. That we must start anew."

"Don’t listen to it. It’s just a hallucination."

"She says you’re the hallucination."

"Run from the pyramid now."

"She says we’re the failed experiment."

"You’re leaving me no choice. I’m pulling the plug."

"She says it’s time for all of us to come home. Even you, Command."

"Abort mission. Abort mission. Counting down to termination. Five."

"I feel like I’ve always known her."

"Four."

"Always. Not just in this life."

"Three."

"Tell my wife I love her."

"Two."

"Oh, God. It’s beautiful in here, Command."

"One."

"Come and see."

Mission terminated.

First time in Scotland.

#ArrivingInStyle #GetToTheChopper

Island’s beautiful, but guarded like Area 51 or somethin. Check out these guys. #MP5 #HecklerKoch

En route to junket. Check out the castle. Wonder if Nosferatu’s home?

They laid on AAALLL the goodies. #Champagne #Caviar

Look who else is here! #OldBuddies #SummerBlockbusterBoys

Gotta say, the grand dame does NOT look seventy years old. Must be black magic. She’s givin a great speech. Can’t wait for screening tomorrow. #director #visionary

Any of yall know what this is? Just got back to my room n found it painted on my door. Looks like some voodoo sh*t. Maybe I was right about the dame? #Witchcraft

Ok, I’m seriously freaked out right now. The thing on the door ok, but the bathroom mirror? Moss, if you’re playin with me, Ima get you back.

What the hell you paint this with, Moss? Your own blood? Shoulda took that therapist’s number off me back in Malibu, dude. This mess is sick. #TooFar

DungerMoss Listen, man … I’m sorry about you know who back in December. Had no idea you guys were dating. I thought we were ok?

JamesLeGibbon You high, dude?

DungerMoss Lol nah just champagne. What’s the symbol?

JamesLeGibbon Have literally no idea what ur talkin bout lol

DungerMoss You didn’t paint it?

JamesLeGibbon Errrr no lmao. Ask ur agent. Probly publicity stunt for junket.

DungerMoss About the other thing

JamesLeGibbon Bruh, thats done forget it.

DungerMoss Sweet. You didn’t get any weird stuff in your room?

JamesLeGibbon I need sleep man. Champagne wiped me out.

Tryin to get to sleep and this security guy knocks on my door, tells me to get showered and put on a robe. WTF? Guess it’s part of publicity stunt like Dunger said. #TheThingsWeDo #ActorsLife

So here I am walking through the castle’s main hall in my robe. Hair still wet. This security guy is pushy as hell. #hospitality #junket

Creepy old elevator takin us waaayyy down. Startin to get some bad vibes lol. Anyone know how to fly a chopper? Need to get me off this island. Jk it’s all good. Security dude got some body odeurrrr tho lol. #SmellsLikeAZoo

They just stripped me naked. Moss, I swear, if this is a prank, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer lol.

Some PR stunt. I’m standing naked in a crypt surrounded by extras in white masks. WHOOO creepy lmao. #MustTryHarder

Ooh, the symbol. Ooh, more fake blood lol.

DungerMoss Is that you to my 12? Sniff if it is.

DungerMoss I knew it. Smelled your cheap moisturiser rofl. What the hell’s goin on? Twitch your robe if this is for the PR.

DungerMoss Prank?

DungerMoss You’re freaking me out. What’s the weird knife for? Props do that for you?

DungerMoss How you getting my msgs? Earpiece?

Yall got me haha. Not funny anymore.

Yo, somebody call the cops. Something ain’t right here. HELP. PLEASE.

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Raked thoughts blow apart,

And a hot cider voice tells me

That this autumn will be different.

Singing sepia promises,

It lays gamboge patches on my hands

Encoding the big secret,

Like feuille morte spilt in the street,

Marking time on tarmac,

Marking time on me.

Meanwhile,

Varicose saplings climb my calves,

Budding black flowers

Over the big red river,

Destined for the caverns of my heart

And barnhouses of my brain.

When this harvest is done,

The November gales carry me aflame

From the chimney to the silence,

Where all truths can be heard.

I could hope to evade

The arc of the scythe,

To see another spring,

If the farmer were careless enough

In the twilight fields.

Once the yard is in order,

To the gunpowder plot

For Miss Winterbottom’s cooking pot,

To see a scarecrow burn

Amidst the rocket smoke

And children sign contracts in magnesium rain,

Bound by sticky apples

To see in Autumn again.