by Mark Vance
PART II
TUNNEL VISION
Chapter Four
Search and Discovery
“In covetousness, they will make merchandise of you.”
2nd Peter 2:1-2
Three days later, Steve is en-route to Cambridge, England, filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he arrives at the Cambridge train station around mid-morning. Transitioning to a double deck bus for the final leg of his journey, he passes the time on the short bus ride reading Ray’s Bible, before eventually disembarking at the entrance to the American Military Cemetery. He is filled with emotion as thousands of white cemetery crosses lining the property come into view. Exiting the bus and entering through the main receiving area, he pauses briefly at The Wall of the Missing, to stare at 5,125 names of American servicemen still missing in action from World War II. After a few minutes in reflection and prayer, he collects his thoughts and continues pursuing his immediate goal of locating the final resting place of the James Tyree Bomber Crew. Several more minutes pass as he strolls alone through the massive cemetery grounds, stopping to read each white marble cross before him, desperate to locate the Tyree Bomber Crew. Thirty additional minutes pass without success, until he suddenly notices the apparition of Uncle Ray standing all alone by a distant row of white crosses, motioning emphatically toward him.
He approaches the apparition of his late uncle a bit guardedly and notices that Uncle Ray is standing next to the grave of Eric Irving, the tail-gunner of the Tyree Bomber Crew. Uncle Ray smiles, greets him affectionately, and thanks him for coming, before openly declaring, “this isn’t our place, but people still remember us here.”
Gesturing at the white cross beside him, he then adds, “Eric will always be my friend. Death doesn’t change that. We all have other things to do now, but we’re together when we want to be. It’s more like play time though now when we all get together.”
Steve is caught off guard by the revelation and completely dumbfounded, unable to formulate an intelligent question as the window to another world lays open before him.
“This place is really for the families and the public. The Black Hameldon Bomber crash site belongs to my crew forever!” Uncle Ray said assertively. “You’re always welcome there, of course. We couldn’t do any of this without you. You’re helping us with this very important matter, and you and I have been comrades of a different sort almost your entire life.”
Steve nods awkwardly in response to his uncle’s statement, still too overwhelmed for meaningful conversation.
“The privileged portions of the crash report that you are looking for will be made available to you at the crash site.” Uncle Ray then stated bluntly. “Lieutenant Tyree wants to deliver the privileged portions of the crash report to you himself.”
“I see.” Steve uttered, trying to suppress any visible sign of apprehension at such an other-worldly invitation. “Can I ask you something, Uncle Ray?” he finally stammers.
“Yes, of course, Steve.” Uncle Ray replied, still offering an uninterrupted smile.
“My wife and I have formally accepted Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior.” he said emphatically, withdrawing Ray’s Bible from the small travel bag he was carrying with him. I owe a lot of my road to salvation to the study of your Bible. Your mother wanted me to have it when she learned about the relationship we’ve had since I was a child.” Sensing sudden apprehension from Uncle Ray to the presence of his Bible, Steve pauses briefly before forcing himself to continue. “I was just wondering how all of this can be happening when the Bible, this miraculous little book of yours, specifically forbids such contact?”
Uncle Ray doesn’t respond directly to the probing question and appears leery and reluctant to discuss the matter. Instead of providing an answer, he deflects attention by passing along a supposed third party greeting from Steve’s deceased grandmother, including several intimate details regarding her recent passing. Moments later, Uncle Ray flashes a halfhearted smile and offers an abbreviated salute before disappearing from sight.
A short time later at the Lacey residence in Atlanta, Kay is home alone, with the exception of two sleeping dogs laying nearby. She is at the kitchen table paying bills when her attention is suddenly drawn to the sound of strange, mournful music playing upstairs. She forces herself to ignore the auditory intrusion as well as the inexplicable fact that it is emanating from Steve’s unoccupied office. Instead, she channels her thoughts and energy into the earthly task before her, optimistic that the invasive activity will cease as suddenly as it began, if only she offers it no response. Her mental tug of war with the unexplained music continues for the next several minutes as it steadily increases in volume, until she finally completes the task before her, and with it the last bastion of mental distraction.
Devoid of busy work, she sits motionless, listening uneasily to the repetitive chorus of the song’s heartsick melody. She recognizes it as a popular Glenn Miller song from the 1940’s, but is unable to recall the title. What defies reasonable explanation is how the song can be emanating at high volume, playing over and over again in Steve’s unoccupied office. Steve is in England, investigating the Black Hameldon Bomber crash and is not expected home for several more days. She has never heard this song before on his stereo and all the stereo equipment in his office was disconnected before he left for England. Under normal circumstances, the stereo must be manually activated by engaging the overhead light switch. The music only plays in conjunction with the overhead light, which is always illuminated when the stereo is operating. The stereo is also permanently tuned to a local top-forty FM radio station which does not play 1940’s era music.
Eventually, reluctantly, she feels compelled to investigate the eerie, harmonic melody, and forces herself from the kitchen table. She prays that the activity will cease before she gets to the main staircase, a prayer that grows more fervent with each step she takes down the hallway leading to the stairs. Instead, the haunting, mournful sound grows progressively louder as she traverses the hallway and begins to approach the main staircase. Cautiously, she peers up the angled staircase, a vantage point offering only a restricted view of the hallway leading to Steve’s office. There are no lights illuminated anywhere upstairs and she is well aware that it is not possible for the stereo to operate without light switch activation. Yet, the eerie, melodic refrain continues playing at high volume. Summoning all her courage, she places her right foot on the first step of the main staircase. Abruptly, her inner spirit emphatically warns her not to proceed any further.
Retreating from the staircase and carefully backing down the hallway, the eerie music suddenly and inexplicably stops. She listens attentively for several moments, but no sound at all is heard throughout the home. Days later, when the other-worldly experience is relayed to Steve, trial and error with a variety of 1940’s era Glenn Miller music eventually identifies the song she was hearing. The actual significance of the song does not become apparent for several more days, when Steve relays the odd experience to James Tyree’s widow, Jennie. From her, they learn together that Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade was the last song that Jennie and James Tyree danced to at the Officer’s Club in Topeka, Kansas, the night before he was deployed overseas.
Later that same evening, electing to sleep on the downstairs couch until Steve returns from England, Kay is suddenly awakened by a menacing growl and the physical sensation of unseen hands trying to strangle her. Struggling to breathe, the violent attack escalates, and she is repeatedly assaulted by an evil presence that violently twists her neck and shoulders. Fighting for breath, she screams with everything her lungs can muster, an outcry that includes a rebuke in the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Instantly, the choking sensation and physical violence ceases, leaving her shaken, fearful, and feeling completely isolated, except for two rather bewildered German Shepherds.
Endeavoring for several minutes to calm the highly agitated dogs, her next thought is to warn Steve. He needs to know that something about the Black
Hameldon Bomber crash and its crew is not right. He could be walking headlong into the middle of a demonic trap, at the hands of something that is pure evil. Glancing at the clock, she calculates the time zone difference to England and assesses that it’s 9:30 in the morning there. Steve should be leaving Cambridge for the Black Hameldon Bomber crash site about this time. With the international calling card he left behind, she dials the Bed n’ Breakfast in Cambridge. After a brief exchange, the female voice on the other end of the line politely reports, “Mr. Lacey checked out approximately twenty minutes ago.”
Later that same day, Steve arrives in Black Hameldon, Moors area, England, and spends the entire day orienting himself and making preparations for his hike the next morning to the Black Hameldon Bomber crash site. When evening arrives, he begins scouring the village for an appropriate dining establishment and discovers his options are extremely limited. England isn’t renowned for its culinary delights, and he is forced to settle on a traditional looking, working class establishment called the Damion Pub.
Inside, the century old local dive, the pub is filled with an odd assortment of inebriated patrons, crowded together in a smoke filled, poorly lit, noisy atmosphere that reminded him more of a sailor’s bar than a dining establishment. He finds an open table in the corner of the pub’s modest dining area and begins perusing the greasy, abbreviated menu, when a male waiter suddenly interjects. The barrel chested, gregarious man immediately pegs him as a “Yank” and begins making small talk concerning his reason for visiting the Black Hameldon area. Steve is tight lipped and aloof, but the waiter remains persistent to the point of becoming annoying.
“I must say mate, that leather coat of yours looks like an aviator’s jacket. It could make some of this crowd uneasy, don’t you know?” he stated bluntly.
“Why would that be?” Steve replied, downplaying the odd assertion from the waiter.
“Well, … it’s the Black Hameldon Bomber … don’t you know? It’s an American bomber from the big war and they say it’s crew manifests, none too happy, if anyone gets too close to their final resting place.” the waiter offered, trying to sound as dramatic and mysterious as possible.
“Is that right?” Steve replied halfheartedly, trying unsuccessfully to dissuade the awkward conversation.
“Why … it’s been a Moors area legend for fifty years!” the man declared proudly. “You look like a pilot in that leather jacket and you’re obviously a “Yank” … maybe you’re one of the Black Hameldon Bomber Crew, come to reek havoc on all of us this evening!”
“All right, you win. I admit it. I’m one of them.” Steve said sarcastically. “Before we get too carried away though, what’s your special this evening?” he asked, trying hard to change the uncomfortable subject.
“Shepherds pie.” the waiter replied.
“I’ll have that … and a pot of black coffee, please.”
“Coming right up!?” the waiter replied, as he turned to leave.
After ordering, Steve begins surveying a Moors area map, straining to read its intricate topographical details in the pub’s poor lighting, when suddenly a haggard local patron interrupts. The man is obviously well aware that Steve is an outsider to Black Hameldon, England and probably not just an ordinary tourist. He politely asks for permission to join him at the table and Steve agrees. The strange man is moving slowly, with a pronounced limp, as he takes a seat next to him, evidently recovering from several recent injuries. On closer inspection, Steve notices layers of bandages underneath the the man’s outer garments. He also appears extremely troubled about something, pausing just long enough to introduce himself as Ian McShane and to offer Steve an awkward, albeit token handshake.
“Were you in some kind of accident?” Steve asks politely, as the strange man nods in response, but offers no details.
“How about you Yank … does your interest in the Moors area have anything to do with aviation?” he asks Steve pointedly in return.
“Well, sort of. I lost a relative in the Moors area.” Steve replied, deliberately being vague and yet doing his best to avoid antagonizing the obviously distraught man.
Ian McShane remains unmoved and unrelenting, eyeing him with an incessant, semi-psychotic fixed stare. Wasting no time he then asks, “how long has your relative been missing?”
“Perhaps I misspoke.” Steve replied. “My relative isn’t missing. He’s been deceased for quite some time.”
Ian McShane continues pressing him for additional information, contrary to supposed British etiquette and cultural privacy standards.
“Was your relative lost in the big war?” he asks pointedly, staring at Steve and deliberately gauging his reaction. In response, Steve simply nods casually and pauses several moments before adding, “it was actually at the end of the big war in Europe.”
Instead of avoiding antagonizing the man, the revelation of the timing of his late uncle’s death seems to ignite a spark. Unable to contain himself emotionally, Ian McShane exclaims dramatically, “that’s when the Black Hameldon Bomber crashed!”
Steve struggles to suppress any physical reaction to the supposed revelation, and innocently asks Ian McShane, “are you familiar with the details of the Black Hameldon Bomber crash?” In response, McShane becomes both defensive and intensely agitated. He is no longer able to keep his voice at a normal conversational level.
“I’m very familiar with it! That’s where all my injuries occurred and it was no accident! Forget what these buzzards in the pub tell you! I didn’t fall from the ridge overlooking the Black Hameldon Bomber crash! I was pushed, and then I was beaten by invisible, hellish beings that didn’t want me there. Perhaps one of them was your relative!” he charged angrily, offering an icy stare.
Steve is dumbfounded by the strange assertion and stares at McShane in silence, pondering both his sanity and the validity of his far fetched statement. Ian McShane on the other hand, remains bolstered by several hours of heavy alcohol infusion as he continues challenging him unabated.
“You didn’t come all the way from America just to collect the fifty pounds British Sterling reward! Was your relative on the Black Hameldon Bomber, or not?” he demanded, offering Steve a transfixed, emotionally disturbed stare.
Steve defers the loaded question and awkward stare down by asking for additional information …
“Tell me more about this reward you’re referring to.”
“Well … there has been a long standing dare in the area concerning the Black Hameldon Bomber. Anyone willing to hike alone to the crash site and produce a detailed photograph as evidence has always had bragging rights and a free drink waiting anywhere throughout the Moors area. A few weeks ago, a Scotsman stood right in this pub and added a fifty pounds British Sterling reward to that long standing dare. He taunted everyone in here, saying that they had dozens of American bomber crash sites in Scotland and that Scotsmen aren’t afraid of them. He challenged us, if you will.” McShane asserted, pausing momentarily to down another large alcoholic offering from the overly curious waiter.
Steve is silent, still reeling from the avalanche of odd experiences that he has had in the last twenty-four hours. He studies Ian McShane for quite some time before reluctantly admitting, “my relative was indeed on the Black Hameldon Bomber. He was the ball-turret gunner. I’m a professional pilot and I’m in the Moors area investigating the loss of the Black Hameldon Bomber. I’m here to learn the truth about what caused the crash.”
In response to the heartfelt declaration, Ian McShane slams both his fists down forcefully on the small, wooden table and menacingly exclaims, “there is no truth to be found in that God awful place … no truth! The Black Hameldon Bomber crash site is a portal to hell and if you value your life you’d be well advised to stay away from it!”
Chapter Five
Myopia
“… because the darkness is disappearing and the true light is already shining.” John 2:8
The next morning, Steve is up early, on the heels of a r
estless night. His unsettling phone conversation with Kay, following his explosive interaction with Ian McShane at the Damion Pub made any hope of a good night’s sleep elusive. He is now abundantly aware that he is being lured into something potentially quite dangerous, with little more than a ghostly invitation, predicated entirely on his implicit cooperation and decades of compliance. Electing to forego breakfast, he departs the Bed n’ Breakfast at first light, avoiding potential onlookers and invasive questions from the local news media. Curiosity regarding his presence in Black Hameldon, England skyrocketed last night at the Damion Pub, culminating in a formal request for an interview by a local newspaper reporter.
Avoiding all contact with the news media and local residents as much as possible, he winds his way through the empty streets of Black Hameldon, managing to successfully pass through the entire village unnoticed. Eventually, he arrives at the entrance to the Warton Lodge, a local hunting and fishing lodge, and the official property owners of the Black Hameldon Bomber crash site, and surrounding acreage. As part of his hike preparations the day before, he formally secured permission to access Warton Lodge property and hike the trail to the crash site. In doing so, he was shown the lodge’s detached laundry facility, which served as a temporary morgue and focal point of identification efforts following the horrific crash in 1945. The lodge manager confided in him that his staff won’t work alone in the laundry facility to this day, and that they feel as if they are constantly being watched. The manager also stated that numerous guests over the years have reported ghastly, other-worldly experiences along the hiking trail and at the crash site itself. Those experiences included hearing disembodied voices shouting for help, bone chilling screams and menacing growls, witnessing lightning strikes out of a clear blue sky, and enduring sinister physical assaults resulting in cuts, bruises, and broken bones. He implored Steve to avoid attracting further attention to the crash site of the Black Hameldon Bomber, stating repeatedly that “it would only serve to hinder the lodge’s business.”
