by Oliver Skye
After the police had taken statements and moved everyone behind the newly cordoned-off area, Inspector Breeze decided to contact Professor McCrackenbatten – to let him know that his shoes had been sighted.
‘Yes, Professor, I’m here at the edge of the Serpentine in Hyde Park ... no, we haven’t recovered them yet. Yet observant citizens did see a man fitting Mr Heese’s description, allegedly wearing your shoes, dive into the lake. Yes sir, we’ll have a team of divers here in about half an hour. I’ll notify you as soon as we have any information....’
The police, Health and Safety and Emergency Services soon left, realising there was nothing more they could do until police divers recovered Norman Heese’s body.
A lonely bobby, in his Hi-Viz jacket and black helmet, made a peculiar sight patrolling the water’s edge behind strips of yellow cordon tape. He had no idea he would soon witness the most bizarre sight of his life – an event that would keep him frozen on the spot, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him; an occurrence he would never forget and something he’d never tire telling his children and grandchildren about: ‘I was just standing there sure that Norman had drowned; I mean, no one dives into a cold lake and stays underwater for ten minutes and then....’
Meanwhile, back at his office, Inspector Breeze was preparing himself to phone Mildred Heese, to break the news to her that her brother had presumably drowned in the Serpentine.
* * *
Blackness!
Norman was amazed that after he’d dived in, he didn’t feel wet at all. Rather, he found himself lying on a smooth, flat surface. He’d never experienced such extreme darkness before; it was as if he could feel, touch and mould it. When putting his hands in front of his face, nothing was visible.
Surely, I should soon be awakening from this extraordinary nightmare.
Even though he could tap the surface beneath him with his knuckles, it felt somehow unreal. He couldn’t help comparing the sensation with that of previously hovering above London. Only now, he was cold, tired and frightened.
After what seemed like hours he stood up to stretch his legs, which felt cramped. He thought he should explore his surroundings and search for a chink of light. There must be light somewhere, he reasoned.
After a few feet, he came up against another smooth surface. This one was vertical, whose top he couldn’t reach, though jumping up as high as possible. While walking he dragged a hand along the surface, hoping to find an end. Finally he walked right into what felt like a wall, knocking his hat off. This wall was not smooth – it seemed to be made up of a pattern. Norman explored it with his fingers, trying to solve what the minute elevations and depressions, like circles within a circle, represented. Dejectedly he sat down cross-legged, rubbing his hands and arms because of the cold.
‘Hello, hello!’ he shouted, banging the wall, hoping to make a sound. His words and the banging felt dull and heavy, not making any kind of echo at all. Immediately his fists, instead of making contact with the hard surface, fell through a wet spongy material. He quickly drew them back, scared out of his wits. When trying again a few minutes later the wall was solid again, but with the same unreal feel to it.
For the first time he noticed the complete silence.
Sitting as still as possible, he listened for the slightest sound – apart from his own breathing, which he could barely hear.
Nothing but absolute quite.
It was as if sound had ceased to exist, switched off by some malicious hand.
‘It’s a good thing I’m not sedatephobic,’ he said glumly, relieved that he could at least hear his own voice.
Next he felt as if his hands were swelling menacingly, like giant balloons, threatening to engulf his person. The sensation reminded him of nightmares he’d had at boarding school. He could remember the dormitory turning upside down while lying in his bed. Then he’d run down the building’s halls screaming, as if chased by banshees, desperately trying to escape his own threateningly humongous hands.
When thinking the darkness and silence would entirely smother him, while trying to fight off his claustrophobia, Norman was surprised to see the shoes emitting a faint dull-green radiance that reminded him of glow-worm light. Their luminosity was sufficient to recognise that he was in some kind of a hallway – only, the walls seemed to stretch up away endlessly. He looked carefully to see if he was imagining it; but as the shoes’ gleam grew stronger, there was no end to the roofless passage as it narrowed into the distance. Looking back, the horizontal hallway also stretched out, seemingly without end.
‘This can’t be happening to me,’ Norman whispered, sitting down again. ‘All I intended to do, albeit reluctantly, was go to the shop yesterday morning as usual and sell clothes.’
In the now radiant atmosphere he looked at the shoes expectantly, wondering if he’d again hear their voices in his head. Bending his legs he manoeuvred his feet towards himself, feeling and tapping the shoes.
Still complete silence.
Why can’t I hear them counting down any longer? Suppose I can’t get to the owner of the shoes in time ... that Dear Professor? Maybe they’re about to terminate as they said ... and what if the shoes burn out on my feet!
Standing up, using the dim glow of the shoes, Norman started walking. He slid a hand along the smooth surface to alert him to any other openings or passageways. Soon he felt a ninety-degree turn to the left.
I suppose it won’t matter which way I go ... everything here feels the same ... like floating above the city earlier. I just hope I don’t end up back at that beastly opera house ... that really would be too much to bear....
After the events of the last twenty-four hours, Norman realised that he again found himself in the virtual world – in another cyber dimension. Everything had that same weird, detached, semi-real feel of his previous experiences.
A few moments later, there was another turn – this time to the right. ‘I wonder if this leads anywhere,’ he wondered aloud. ‘Perhaps it’ll take me to a virtual door of some kind ... back into the real world. Just hold on tight ... this can’t last forever!’
After what seemed like ages, and going in all kinds of directions, while bumping into numerous dead-ends, another truth dawned on him. ‘I’m in a maze!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s a perfect pitch-black labyrinth—’
The first thump seemed unreal considering the previous total silence. The second one was far louder. With each succeeding thump the entire maze shook, to the point where Norman thought his teeth were rattling in his jaws. Along with the thumping there was a snorting sound, accompanied by intermittent bellowing: ‘Ichabod ... Ichabod!’
Instinctively, Norman peered down the dimly-lit passage to see what would emerge. At the same time, he readied himself to start running in the opposite direction.
Instantly, the light of the shoes became a lot brighter.
Yet instead of seeing a figure, two hairy arms appeared through the side of the passage, grabbing down at the shoes. Above the arms, at head level, two horns were sticking through the wall.
I’m descending into cybermythology! Norman thought frantically, wondering what kind of creature it was. In his fright, he couldn’t help thinking of Theseus going into the Minotaur’s labyrinth to rescue the sacrificial youths. ‘No one’s coming in here to rescue me ... that’s for sure,’ Norman whispered, panicking. ‘I don’t have a ball of thread with me either ... or anything to tie it to if I had—’
The voices in his head were quite clear: ‘Kick off the shoes, Punctual Heese! Or see the world decline into oblivion—’
Assuming that the hairy arms thrust through the wall couldn’t see, Norman jumped over the huge hands, sprinted for a couple of feet and quickly kicked off the shoes. With a muffled bellow, the arms and horns abruptly disappeared.
Soon the darkness and silence was again complete, and the shoes nowhere to be seen.
What have I done? Norman wondered, too scared to move and breathing heavily. I’ve lost the shoes! How a
m I ever going to get out of here without them?
A little way off the shoes again burst into light – much brighter than before. Their radiance was like a hue Norman had never seen before: a translucent, brightly glowing, chrome-coloured deep wine-red that you could almost smell ... and wanted to eat ... if that were possible.
‘Ah, they’re still here,’ Norman sighed relieved, wanting to take the shoes in his hands and caress them. ‘You really are the most wonderful things ever. I can see why others so desperately want to get their hands on you. But if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you safely to your owner ... even if it kills me—’
Besides their desirable colour, Norman noticed the shoes were now hovering just above the surface of the passageway. The twin voices in Norman’s head sounded strangled and broken up. ‘We’ve thwarted ... the arch criminal. Now put ... us on and ... get out of here ... before it’s too ... late!’
Scared witless, still hearing bellowing, howling and snorts of rage echoing from various directions behind the walls, Norman sprang into action. He was only too keen to leave the maze behind him. So, running towards them and partly blocking their glare with one hand, he grabbed at the shoes.
They wouldn’t budge.
Norman held them more firmly, trying to move them.
They stubbornly remained hovering where they were.
Norman realised the only way to get them on was to step into them from above. Although they seemed to give way slightly, once his feet were inside them they still remained airborne. When he tried to walk with the shoes, they somehow seemed clamped on thin air.
Just as he was wondering how he’d ever find his way out of the maze, Norman felt himself thrust upward ... and wet all over! The surface of the water broke below eye level, whereas under his feet everything remained firm.
Curious bystanders – as well as the patrolling bobby – still standing near the lake’s edge were astounded to see a bowler-hat break the surface, a lily leaf half obscuring it. Amazed, they observed the man they’d earlier seen diving into the water, nonchalantly walking out of it towards the edge of the Serpentine.
Immediately the shoes’ countdown resumed ‘... 1078 ... 1077 ... 1076....’ while throbbing through every shade of green.
The voices in Norman’s head were clear as a bell. ‘The reason there hasn’t been much of an interruption in our countdown since you came out of the Ichabod Maze is because of the warping of time in cyberspace. Though it seemed like hours to you, you were in the maze for only nine and a half minutes....’
While walking, Norman watched the shoes rapidly transforming into their alligator-skin default setting. They were still wet; then, for just a few seconds, superheated steam rose up from them until they were completely dry.
Norman’s relief at being out of the virtual maze was immense. Despite people watching him in his soaking-wet state, he raised his arms and shouted, ‘Yippee! I’m out ... I’m out!
‘All I need now is a pot of filter coffee,’ he muttered, moving along more quickly. ‘Café Wiener Mischung, here I come ... hooray!’
What Happened Afterwards
MYSTIFIED, CAFÉ Wiener Mischung’s doorman once again held the door open for Norman Heese. He remembered doing so the previous morning. Only then the oddly-dressed gentleman was dry, and hadn’t left the establishment the way he’d arrived. Remarkably, while looking the soaking out of breath man up and down, he heard a staccato countdown coming from the vicinity of his feet: ‘... 565 ... 564 ... 563....’
Observing the smartly dressed top-hatted doorman, Norman, shivering violently, politely removed his bowler. ‘I really should come here more often,’ he said, trying to smile. ‘The coffee and confectionery are simply delectable!’
The doorman, who’d never let a drenched person into the café before, smiled back. He often came face to face with quirky celebrities. This man, however, seemed to be another breed of famous person – like someone from another world. ‘You’re ... er ... welcome, Norman ... I mean, sir,’ he stammered. ‘Wish I could get your autograph ... I’m a collector you know—’
‘Perhaps later,’ Norman said, finding it amusing that anyone would want his signature. ‘There is a rather urgent matter at hand. Have you, by any chance, seen an elderly person with a mop of white hair, moustache and glasses ... a sort of cosmic-looking gentleman? It’s really very important that I see him. The world could go up in blazes if I don’t get his shoes to him within eight minutes!’
‘Really?’ the doorman asked, wide-eyed.
Norman nodded seriously.
Cool as a cucumber Norman entered the café, striding towards the extensive glass display stuffed with every sort of confectionery imaginable. Behind it, shaking his large head, sat Wolfgang Hohlbein buried in an open tabloid. He happened to be reading about the very person who the morning before, under such strange circumstances, had shattered the peace of his coffee shop. Norman was amazed to see his own smiling face staring back at him. The front-page headline read:
CHEEKY HEESE DISHES OUT AUTOGRAPHS
Affluent patrons once again packed the café, this time with the delicate sound of Debussy tinkling in the background. Now, all talk was about Norman: was he a foreign agent or an alien invader?
‘Ella Bonsmara said he had wings and a revolving hat,’ a woman said with a voice that sounded like breaking glass.
‘I was in the audience and he looked pretty normal to me,’ a thin man wearing a spotted bow tie retorted.
‘Well, I happen to know Ella rather well,’ another woman purred. ‘The poor thing ... what an outlandish experience. I wonder if she’ll ever perform again—’
‘And I, in fact, was here yesterday morning, just before that dreadful man blew up,’ a woman wearing a hat decorated with tropical fruit remarked. ‘I heard him talking on his mobile phone ... he definitely had a foreign accent.’
‘Do you suppose he’ll ever show up again?’ a man wearing a shiny golden jacket said. ‘If he does, we’ll have to try and nab him. As far as I’m aware, he has a £25,000 price on his head....’
Norman couldn’t help smiling, even though feeling chilled to the bone. Besides the cold, he felt a glowing cloak of well-being surrounded him – to the point where he didn’t care what people thought. Looking at his old table, he noticed it was unoccupied. Both chairs lay upside down on it, while the chattering patrons often turned in its direction.
‘I say! A jolly good morning to you, proprietor,’ Norman said cheerfully, wiping some dampness from his chin. It wasn’t difficult to recognise Holby behind his paper due to his massive bulk. He was still shaking his head, his bulging eyes glued to the second and third pages. Ever so slowly, he turned towards the person who was addressing him. When he recognised the man he was reading about standing right in front of him, Holby let out a quavering roar. He may as well’ve been sitting on red-hot coals; for he jumped up with such speed Norman couldn’t believe someone his size could move so fast. ‘It’s H-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-M!’ he bellowed, pointing a fat trembling finger in Norman’s face.
Following the stunned silence – all heads turning towards them – Norman said calmly, ‘Yes, it’s me. I thought I’d pop in to pay my bill. In the meantime, please call Scotland Yard. Tell them I’m back, that I have the professor’s shoes with me, and that the prof urgently needs to get here. Also, I’d like a pot of coffee ... with a double helping of kirschtorte ... I’m really famished!’
While everyone watched, Norman – still dripping on the carpet – walked over to his old table for two and sat down.
As soon as his unwelcome guest had turned away, Holby called the police. His urgent desire was to get rid of the strange man as soon as possible. Meanwhile, patrons all had their eyes glued to Norman, thinking there might be a repetition of yesterday’s events ... or worse.
Within a minute, numerous howling police vehicles arrived. They had responded to sightings at the Serpentine, guessing Norman might be heading for Holby’s coffee shop. Rapidly officers set u
p cordons while once again evacuating the premises of its startled patrons. Holby in the meantime was running around reassuring his customers. ‘Ze madman vill be locked up soon. Please vait here outside und venn he hass gone, I am invitink you all for coffee und cakes on ze house.’
* * *
Shortly after the police had arrested Sholto Gleave, an officer drove Mildred and Jeremy home in a police car. Another police officer followed close behind in Mildred’s convertible. Jeremy’s parents joined them at 103 Canterbury Lane soon after.
Later that morning, a Scotland Yard officer notified Inspector Breeze that a damp-looking Norman Heese had just strolled into Café Wiener Mischung. ‘I wonder where he’s popped up from?’ the detective muttered. ‘I thought he’d drowned. No wonder our divers didn’t find anything. Must be another remarkable feat ... excuse the pun ... the professor’s shoes have achieved....’
The inspector quickly ordered a squad car to pick up Mildred, Jeremy, and his parents from Canterbury Lane and escort them to the coffee shop. He also gave orders not to interfere with Mr Heese until he arrived.
Soon, numerous armed police arrived at the café. The commander and Professor McCrackenbatten arrived too, only to spot Norman seated at the table he’d occupied the previous morning. Both Inspector Breeze and the commander slowly walked up to him, the professor watching from further back, hoping to get a glimpse of his shoes.
Tentatively, Holby surveyed the scene from behind the grand piano.
Arriving not long afterwards, Jeremy was itching to run up and greet his uncle; but he and Mildred hung back, hoping nothing spectacular would again happen.
When Norman saw the men approaching, he stood up. ‘Splendid ... just on time!’ he said smilingly, looking down at the shoes; then offering a hand, ‘Heese ... Norman Heese.’
