Sir Ian Peters

by Kevin P Pearson

Chapter 5

  I suspect it was only four short weeks since Ian’s impromptu arrival. From time to time on a Saturday night I’d feel the need to drop by the local public house to sample some of the landlord’s new wares. I was very rarely drunk though. Normally I’d nurse a couple of ales for an hour or so, before retiring in time to catch the last, rather early bus home.

  This occasion was different. I’d been thinking for some time about how to harmlessly drown Ian’s voice out, if only for a short time. I was entirely unused to such close companionship and was unsure I was ready for it. I’d had a most trying week. Ian had taken great delight in interrupting my train of thoughts during important meetings, with outbursts of: “Boring!” and: “What are you still doing here Sam? This work really doesn’t suit you. Are next month’s sales forecasts really that important?”

  This visit I intended to blot Ian out as best I could, if only for a single night. After the second pint Ian stopped his usual philosophical ramblings to a certain extent. As I triumphantly finished the third it seemed he was gone at last! I then spent a most enjoyable evening conversing with the regular barflies. You can wager we soundly put the world to rights many times over.

  To that end, substantial respect is warranted to a certain young fellow by the name of David Allcock. A profounder thinker I have never met. Yes, the rather unusual surname didn’t go unnoticed to any of us at the time! I wasn’t a hundred percent certain whether that honestly was his real name, a mere spelling mistake, or simply an idle boast! Surprisingly no one was particularly forthcoming on this matter and I was too polite to ask.

  Nevertheless, without any outside help Mr Allcock managed to solve the worlds growing food supply problems. He checked all necessary boxes, capping off all pertinent questions with exceptional flourish. Incredibly clever and more than a trifle strange.

  What was stranger was David was only able to perform such magnificent feats whilst drunk. To my mind it seemed alcohol had the opposite effect on his ability to reason than the majority of us, exponentially brightening up, rather than dulling his senses. My impressions of his conversational skills without drink could only truly be trying and diffuse.

  However, I promise you - No one could match him, no one. Sorry to labour the point here, I’m just trying to inform you as clearly as possible - The man could neither read nor write. Nor could he have learned either; not in a thousand lifetimes. Edward, keep a sharp look out for these people. Look after them in any way you can, afford them every luxury, as sometimes their brains are so completely full with information, there is very little space left to look after themselves.

  Essentially ‘David’s’ are born in to this world to transform lives, not just nudge them. God given talent is as much at home in the lowliest of backwaters as it is in the most blue blooded of aristocracy. Neither takes precedence as far as I’m concerned. All in all, everyone who knew him would heartily agree David was a true enigma. Sadly, due to the sheer reserve of beer consumed, to a man we all stupidly failed to note down any of the finer points of our truly perceptive conclusions.

  What was to prove even sadder was the gentleman in question was struck blind and dumb in an avoidable industrial accident, passing on shortly afterwards. My significant point here being: He shouldn’t have been in the building in the first place. Alas, as fate would have it, David made the critical decision at the last moment to help an old friend out for the day, instead of visiting his aging grandmother, where he planned dictating a series of groundbreaking books. David really was one of those extraordinary cases you’re lucky to hear about once or twice in a lifetime, when folk cry: ‘What if?’ May his youthful spirit rest in peace.

  So, picture it if you will, it was far later than normal when I stumbled out the establishment, with a confident, cheery smile and swagger to match. A full five hours had passed since Ian last spoke. Therefore I was now free to celebrate my victory and indulge in the pleasures of my own crapulence. Along with this my conscience had soared to hitherto unknown heights of ecstasy, when my transcendental mood was interrupted most despicably with the sounds “Hey! Hey! Guess who?” at maximum volume. “You’ve certainly enjoyed yourself tonight Sam and no mistake!”

  “There’s no call for that type of behaviour. You deliberately tried to deafen me there!” I snorted violently.

  “Come, come young man! Forget that little joke! Besides, you haven’t tried to guess who it is yet. Quick, you only get three chances! Don’t dare waste them!”

  “Alright!” I cried, “Let me see. Is it a terrible, annoying, fat, bloated, warty, despicable, hideously ugly toad, who possesses very little in the way of social skills and consideration for people’s feelings, probably due to the fact he wasn’t cared for enough by his parents whatever they were and the creature in question has developed a distinctive problem with body odour?”

  “Oh no, and you were so close!” came the quick judgement, “But, I’m very sorry to report your first guess was far too long and unnecessarily intricate, therefore you forfeit your last two chances.”

  “It’s a big, big shame that,” I said sarcastically.

  “Yes, yes, isn’t it just,” Ian agreed enthusiastically. “Anyway, young fellow, I happily gave you five hours of peace just then and I have something rather important to ask. I need you to take me to a certain place, now, tonight. This very instant.”

  “I shall do no such thing. Listen very carefully. This is what is going to happen. I’m going home now to drink those three liquor miniatures I have stashed for special occasions. Whilst I realise now that my being drunk won’t stop your whining, me being asleep assuredly will.”

  “But it’s only this once, I swear!” Ian pleaded.

  “I really don’t care. And don’t waste effort trying to persuade me otherwise.” Ian’s sorry pleadings gradually turned into blasting my eardrums with alternate versions of “Ssss...aaaaa...m,” and “Sam!” for the next ten minutes.

  “Why can’t you just go yourself, you’re perfectly capable?” I asked eventually.

  “I can’t Sam, honestly. Not on this occasion. It wouldn’t be right,” came his strange reasoning. I remained resolute. My face turned alternate shades of deep purple, while my mood swiftly followed suit and grew blacker every second. Out of the peripherals of my vision, just across the deserted, dimly lit street, I noticed the large forms of two blackguards moving purposely towards me. These types obviously had evil designs on the meagre contents of my wallet. Ian’s vast over usage of my name was at its peak, so my entire face was set with such grim determination and fury that despite my lean, young frame the hapless pair quickly shrank back into the grimy, black shadows where they belonged, deciding to wait for an easier victim.

  The hour was now late, so all bus services had been long over for the night, therefore I faced a journey of six miles as the crow flies. Nearer home weather turned against me. A terribly cold wind howled eerily, whipping relentlessly at exposed skin. I almost reached our front garden when Ian’s incessant pleading stepped up a notch.

  “Please, Sam. It’s tonight only, I remembered, I know it, honestly, truly, I beg you.” This behaviour suddenly turned to an even lower fawning, finally culminating in a veritable explosion of uncontrollable sobbing of the most pitiable nature. Such a genuine outburst of emotions tore soundly at the very depths of my heart, successfully piercing my generous conscience. I relented. I had no choice to the contrary. Any decent person with but an inkling of compassion wouldn’t have hesitated to act in exactly the same manner.

  “Alright, I’ll do it. But be prepared to grant me a hefty favour in return for this kindness.”

  “You can be sure of it,” came the quick response.

  “So, exactly where do we go?”

  “You know where Sam. You’ve been there before, only you’ve forgotten. Just head directly north at your front gate, you’ll see.”

  “Yes, I think I do. You mean to have me walking around in the dark, through swampy woods and acro
ss muddy farmer’s fields whilst still under the influence of alcohol.”

  “Things are rarely as bad as they first seem Sam. Besides, I draw your attention to the striking fullness of the moon tonight. What better night to be abroad adventuring?”

  “Quite!” I mused, strangely feeling much calmer than before.

  “Never fear, as always I’ll be here to see you don’t get yourself into mischief!” Ian confessed. “And quite right too,” I agreed.

  “Precisely! Enough of this idle banter, as amusing as it is. This trip is significant to me, so please march north.” Sanity, along with its good friend reason obviously slipped by me that night, so off I trotted; a voice in my head my only guide.

  In the very early hours I was ready to give up. My tired body had been sorely abused and felt drained of physical energy, spirit and mental will power. Naturally thoughts turned towards nagging suspicions of a wild goose chase. I may well have been pointlessly dragged over devilishly high chasms packed with evil briar patches which deliberately tore through my thin clothes, leaving deep raking valleys that lit up horribly in flashes of the pale moon flitting through towering tree tops.

  In creepy shaded areas in between I stood trembling as I imagined many tiny footfalls in vegetation behind. Yes, faint resounding echoes of fresh leaves being turned over endlessly, the smallest of twigs breaking crisply and bands of unknown shadowy creatures sneaking cautiously through the forest litter, examining my footprints with the greatest of care.

  And as I tried placing these fears where they belonged, I tried in vain to avoid legions of crawling insects magically multiplying to plague levels with each passing yard. One crept daringly down the small of my spine, leaving me squirming in sheer horror. For one terrifying minute I dreamt I’d been indelibly marked by the fellow eager to provide his family a new home. Ian felt certain these particular areas were unable to be avoided, as they were key landmarks.

  So we swept onwards, slipping silently across darkened mystical meadows overflowing with strange glowing flowers, queerly shaped roots and intoxicating odours. Meandering mountain streams dressed with miniature dancing grasses hid bubbling secret entrances beneath precious carven rocks, and blackened onyx pebbles that winked temptingly lined their floor. Further still oozing mud banks sucked a foot up and reluctantly coughed out the other.

  Next I plunged through knee high brushwood, between countless primordial trees that creaked and moaned forbidden warnings in the ghostly darkness. We’d come too far now, that much I was certain of. So regardless of what may be to come we travelled onwards, all the while watched vigilantly by an infinitely curious moon.

  At random I was harried by strange whoops, hollers and piercing shrieks in the near and far distance, which I desperately hoped came from native fauna. I vividly recalled talk of a large exotic cat which had shrewdly escaped from a local menagerie. Armed with this lore, my nerves were taken that little bit further towards their limits. You can wager Ian’s blasé comments didn’t help either. “I heard they can sense prey at quite a distance you know.”

  Perhaps after ten miles Ian’s constant teasing died down a little.

  “Shush. Wait. Can you hear it?”

  “Hear what? Anyway, it’s you that keeps making all the noise.”

  “Sorry Sam. I keep forgetting how different we are. I’m talking about the hum. Anyway, its close.”

  From that moment my senses developed a curious edge and the air took on a decidedly sweeter scent. Now it shifted a little, becoming thinner, as if we’d just travelled over the highest mountains. Further on flora developed a shining, shimmering, fantastical hue, issuing an incredibly relaxing, contented sensation of happiness, deep peace and utmost tranquillity. The feeling was exquisite, unique and indescribably serene.

  I shall try to describe the strange atmosphere. Imagine a tropical summer’s day. Sun beats down relentlessly on the tarmac, which gives off a heat haze. Vapour like glistening rises up slowly from the surface, gradually dissipating once it attains a certain height. That weird night this delicate haze engulfed the whole of each organism. Each plant was gently outlined with its natural colour heightened exponentially in contrast and with myriads of shades.

  Whilst the plants peculiar mist shone, portions constantly broke off, rising up and passing through branches. At a certain height all plants vapours eventually mixed together, but if you looked close enough at a certain point you could identify each individual vapour and trace it back to its owner.

  All plant life constantly gave off this light, ethereal mist. Curiously, it gave me no concern to note that my exposed body parts also emitted this extraordinary substance, which rose ever upwards. On this singular discovery, I vividly recall feeling this was exactly as things really were, and that all life as we currently know it was subject to this occurrence. My eyes had been opened then, giving the notion that despite all forms around me continuously dispelling this matter, there seemed to be an infinite supply constantly provided by an unfathomable source.

  “Come on Sam, stop dawdling! That’s long enough,” came a cheery voice, finally breaking the ancient spell.

  “Ian, do you see it? It’s simply beautiful,” I said wondrously.

  “Of course I can see it, I have eyes! Strictly speaking you shouldn’t have been allowed to. Hum, a future gift may buy my silence. Right, forward, march! Duck! I did warn you,” he chuckled as the top of my head brushed a low branch with a small thud. Thin slithers of soft, greened bark dove past my face, melting into the moist earth.

  “Wake up there! Stop dreaming and start walking! This is no time to start wondering. This is all your own doing. If you hadn’t seen fit to drink as much beer earlier, then you’d have been far more alert by now.”

  “Yes, if you say so, then I suppose it must be true,” I lazily replied.

  “I told you before young man; sadly there isn’t quite enough time for such witty repartee,” Ian gently chided. There followed a further dreamlike voyage through a rapidly thickening wood, turning into a mad, muddy scramble over an extraordinarily steep grassy knoll. Over the other side sat two large, light ochre rocks, smothered with coloured lichen and exotic flowering plants. I fancied these silent sentries weren’t made of stone and could come alive at any time. However, they lay as deceivingly still as ever, despite repeated, random glances backwards.

  “I don’t think she’s going to be here after all,” Ian remarked to himself. We soon arrived at a point where trees grew closer together, creating a naturally leafed corridor, which was the only way forward. Reaching a dead end, acting under strict orders of unending pain and unimaginable torture, I pushed through metres of thick, solid brush. Luckily this opened into a narrow natural path, encompassed on all sides and above by dense, dripping foliage.

  Gone was the earlier sense of paranoia and growing tiredness. The only light provided came from an unknown source seemingly only a short distance ahead. Rather strangely I made my way forward with far more confidence than in the depths of the moonlit wood. I still have no explanation for this.

  Frustratingly, the pale, amber light never got any closer, and I lost all sense of time. Suddenly, with an enormous start I reached the source. Instantaneously the peculiar scene broadened out into a large clearing, containing a perfect circle of twelve extremely old beech trees. Inside this mysterious ring lay another of twelve tiny, iridescent mushrooms.

  At the foot of four of the fungus lay vague, oval impressions in the soft earth, approximately six inches in length. Tiny yellow flowers adorned the scene. The fourth oval looked new and had been smothered with rich brown dirt. It seemed dried out, dishevelled even by dappled moonlight cleverly lighting the inner circle.

  Standing low and dead centre of the circle was a small slab of rock propped up table like by three fatter ones, wound protectively with lichens and furry mosses. A tiny section of this was thinly scribed with five lines I took to be numerical or alphabetical text. They appeared to have been originally plac
ed at a forty five degree angle pointing downwards. I had no way of knowing which was the correct way to read them, whether to start from the top or bottom, so could only conclude they were of no human design.

  At the base of the first tree I heard soft scratching above, catching small, glowing, orange eyes staring down from high up. They were at a very odd angle. No body became apparent, and they vanished in a startling flash.

  Around the heights of the other trees whirled hypnotic green phosphorescent orbs, glowing, buzzing and clicking serenely. Occasionally one would collide with the bark, explode in a stunning cascade of colour, then simultaneously reform on the other side, emerging unharmed. Their beautiful forms become revitalised and more excited by this curious behaviour.

  Sensing movement below my gaze was drawn naturally to the forest floor which was scattered with thin, velvety moss. This species favoured as many shades of green as you can imagine. It’s weird, rubbery texture felt spongier to touch. And then - it moved! Slowly but surely it crept - side to side, up and down. A true living carpet of colour!

  I stood there gazing, examining, dreaming endless unanswerable questions, going over and over countless possibilities. Presently I was overcome with a distinct sentiment that I’d been politely requested to leave.

  For some reason instead of returning the way I came, I moved directly through the clearing, further into the dark woods. Instead of getting hopelessly lost (Ian had remained unusually silent throughout.) I quickly gained my bearings and as dawn slowly broke I found myself trudging over rough tracks of familiar fields, filled with recognizable sights and sounds.

  There was one short cut home I knew, but hadn’t used in a while. Turning into what was normally an empty field, I now discovered pre dawn mist had carefully concealed the large forms of a number of resting cattle. No matter I thought, striding confidently between them, intending to walk right through the middle of the herd.

  Almost immediately one rose up to face me. Usual universally recognised frantic hand gestures for warding off belligerent beasts had obviously lost their magic. Screaming wildly at the top of my voice had the opposite intended effect. The mighty bullock took these actions as a challenge for leadership, presumably because I’d had the sheer audacity to disturb his large harem. In an instant he took to its feet, propelling steaming clouds of defiance. Then the enraged animal furiously pawed dry mud beneath its powerful hooves. The combined effect successfully whipped up a whirling sandstorm that followed its master’s wishes, blurring my vision and creating an acrid, choking sensation in my mouth, along with highly suspicious smells.

  Instinctively I knew I had to act, bravely fleeing at top speed for the thin barb wire fence some twenty yards behind. If I could just reach this I could dive over to safety I thought foolishly, forgetting such a flimsy obstacle wouldn’t slow such a powerful beast. Near the boundary line I saw three of the chief’s black minions had scrambled to their feet, eager to join the fray. As I approached the point of no return, the animal slackened off its furious pace, considering its point well made. I couldn’t afford to take any further chances, quickly following the broken fence line west up the hill to safety.

  After a long diversion I reached home, managing to lift the latch and sneak upstairs without rousing suspicion from the slumbering household. Just before I drifted off to sleep in a state of exhaustion, I fancied I heard a hastily stifled lament from near the antique rocking chair in the corner of the chamber overlooking the countryside, then silence.

  Eleven fifteen am that very same day, I awoke to the sound of Ian’s slightly jaded tones quietly whispering in my ear.

  “Sam. Wake up, we need to talk about last night.”

  “Ah, so ‘twas no dream then, my legs are still burning.”

  “You know full well it wasn’t,” Ian replied with a little more energy.

  “It is vital, of the utmost importance that you tell no one of last night.”

  “Why? Surely it would be beyond the realms of all possibility for anyone to ever find such a place?”

  “Yes, of course, but nevertheless you must promise me faithfully you’ll never speak of such things till I give you leave to do so. Understand it will do neither you nor your listener any good whatsoever to hear of these events.”

  “What may become of me if I were to speak out?” I asked, becoming slightly concerned.

  “Nothing will become of you Sam. I’d have thought you’d have realised my soul was clean of such base human traits as retribution. And I do admit to being a little surprised at your concerns.”

  “Alright, I promise. You have my word.”

  “Thank you, Sam. I know you are not one to break the sanctity of a solemn pledge.”

  “Ian, what was that place?” I inquired, becoming a tad bolder. After a long pause he sighed deeply. “Somewhere I’d heard tell of for centuries. An idea most beings I know had dismissed as idle talk, similar to what humans call folklore. A concept shall we say that once I realised what I had suspected for so long was true, gave me an equal quantity of dismay and joy.”

  “So why was this particular place so special to you that you waited so long to find it?” I inquired.

  “I have seen it. It’s over now. Allow the matter to rest.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, surmising it wasn’t good form to press folk, especially in such trying emotional circumstances.