Midwinter Mystery - Chapter Seven - A Supernatural Thriller series

_{Midwinter Mystery – Chapter Seven}

 _{"Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here"}

_{Morning crept it's way in to John's small room, it's cold sobering early light finding him strewn across the bed staring up at the white uneven and cracked ceiling. The day had begun where the night had finished, having moved little since passing out a few hours earlier, only the occasional shifting of the hips to alleviate the pain in the lower back caused by the weight of his legs hanging over the side of the bed. Gently raising himself into an upright position he wiped away the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, and concentrated on restoring sound and vision for a new day. He sat motionless for a while, his thoughts slowly coalescing as he submerged under a wave of questions: why was he really here, did he even want to do his job anymore, was this all some sort of disturbing dream or a hind of midnight madness, but to these, and more, no answer came - there never was. His new world was populated by secret fears and doubts, with only the inhabitants of routine and habit offering any hope of normality or solace.}

_{He also drew a certain amount of solace from his ritual ablutions, the purification of body, in action if nothing else, with all it's various components the splash of water, the application of cool shaving cream, the scraping of steel razor against skin and the stinging kiss of cologne, which currently was supplied by a bottle of Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet Aftershave, a present from Cathy on his last birthday – he'd often find himself smiling into the mirror as he recalled her saying how much it suited him, the fragrance was discreet, sensual and dry - like his sense of humour. Cathy always had a way of making John laugh, particularly about himself, as if she somehow knew how important it was not to let him take work or life too serious.}

_{After washing away the previous evenings hangover a degree of humanity and consciousness had been restored, allowing John to turn his attention to dressing, an act hampered by the fact that most of his shirts and ties were in his other suitcase – the one still siting at the train station. He finished shaping the dark navy silk tie, with a full Windsor knot, which rested atop a crisp white shirt and then slipped into a finely pinstriped charcoal three piece suite, shoe horned on a pair of black leather slip-on shoes and grabbed up his single breasted herringbone tweed overcoat from the back of the chair as he strode confidently towards the door.}

_{A light breakfast of tea and toast, assisted by a choice of preserves awaited him downstairs courtesy of a large burly woman named Janet, the Inn's chief - see only - cook, bottle-washer, waitress, chambermaid and all round busy body. John noted her warm refined accent and was not too surprised to hear, during their brief exchange, that she wasn't exactly a 'natural native' to the area, he also admired her ability to weave in and out of the tightly packed tables of the small back room, swaying her hips around them like a human pendulum, a testimony of stature over service. Janet revealed the station's location, but couldn't shed any light on the rest of his enquiries, as she had never heard of anyone needing their help. Downing the last dregs of his brew he got up from the table and thanked her politely for the assistance, the irony of the situation, a member of the public giving directions to a policeman was not entirely wasted on him.}

_{John stepped out into the main street - as far as he could surmise – where a new morning refused to reveal any more of Mistry's identity than the previous night. A murky sun diffused sky descended upon the little village seemingly merging with the dank hanging mist that rested upon the rooftops, threatening to engulf another day. He walked through the heart of the village, under the large ominously dark tree rooted in it's center, now dead for the winter, and carried on to the other side upon which he then turned promptly left and followed the curving road around, he passed a string of terraced cottages, several passageways and two derelict houses, in truth only the first building actually merited this classification, the other on closer inspection was more a borderline civil case, or to give it's official designation... police station. The main distinguishing features for such a conclusion were the iron bars covering the downstairs windows on the outside - whether to stop somebody from getting out or to prevent anyone trying to get in was debatable – and the blue glass lantern hanging above the doorway, with the word ' POLICE' inscribed in white capital letters. A short overgrown garden path led up to the entrance and an open door, whereas normally this wouldn't be an issue for John, he decided to err on the side of caution on this occasion, after all he still didn't have any idea of what he might be walking into. ” HELLO ! HELLO ! IS ANYBODY THERE ?” he called out, but if there were then his words had fallen on deaf ears.}

_{Starting to cross the threshold he suddenly became aware how clammy his hands felt, he rubbed them dry down the sides of his trousers, as his heart began to beat faster and faster, running a hand over a fevered brow and unbuttoning his shirt collar was all he could do to manage the worsening condition. But, it was to no avail, John was already deep in the grip of a powerful force unlike anything he'd known before, one that grew stronger and stronger, rapidly surging through his body and onward to his head, overwhelming feelings of … anxiety and panic ! The tsunami like emotional wave that flooded his brain along with the disturbance to his blood pressure, caused him to almost blackout as he staggered back against the door-frame. Remaining motionless, suspended by the doorway, John found himself too weak to do anything but wait for the palpitations to subside, wait and desperately struggle with whys and wherefores and any rationalization of his state of mind, but it was impossible to control his own wild chaotic thoughts anymore.}

_{Slowly as his composure and strength of purpose returned he forced himself away from the sanctuary of the doorway and took the first few tentative steps forward into the deserted looking charge room. The main room was divided into two sections by a 4' ft counter, on John's side there were only three shabby looking table chairs sitting under a noticeboard adorned with old public service posters, advocating everything from the benefits of buying war bonds to drives for blood donors, and one wanted poster for an escaped mongrel called 'Digby'. Raising the counter-top flap he passed though it and finally entered the AWOL office, which more resembled someone's living quarters than an actual working police office, with two deep armchairs seated in front of a fireplace, a small round heavily stained coffee type table, a larger fold-down dining table and a gas stove. John noted the hint of fried bacon hanging in the air and steam escaping from a boiled kettle on the hob, all indications of recent life but no sign of a corpus delicti, it was a veritable public servant's Marie Celeste.}

_{On the opposite side to the fireplace there was another doorway, this one shut, he wondered if behind this closed door were some of the answers he was searching for. Turning the handle John cautiously pushed it open, his body tense with the anticipation for whatever lie ahead. It gave way without argument revealing a room with two iron bar cells, neither without doors, one of which appeared to be engaged already, it's resident lying seemingly dead to the world buried beneath a pile of blankets, only a pair of twitching mismatched socks protruding from out of them betraying any living presence . The 'mystery guest' had left their muddy old boots propped up against the outside of the cell and an assortment of garments hanging from a tall elaborate looking coat stand next to the bed.}

_{John approached the slumbering cadaver, shoved it carefully a few times and then withdrew to a respectable distance awaiting the expected fallout. The mass rose, undulated and collapsed several times before finally expelling it's elderly captive to the hard floor, “ Huh ! Eh ! Is it breakfast time already ?” came a confused mumble. John relaxed his guard slightly as the new arrival didn't appear to pose any immediate danger to him, and given his current state of undress, a long washed out nightshirt, a bobble hat and woolly scarf , he wasn't exactly a flight risk either. The wizened gentleman was also wearing a rather confused and dazed expression beneath a beard as thick and as grey and as it was long and wiry, he stood, well more stooped, in front of John, his mouth held ajar in awe. “ BREAKFAST TIME ! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, THE RITZ ? ” John started up. “ Come on with you, get up now, and would you please put some clothes on while I'm talking to you. It's a personal rule of mine about questioning naked people before mid-day,” he continued. The skinny man of the cloth nodded his head slightly as if acknowledging the request, then bending over grabbed the bottom of his night shirt between both hands and proceeded to lift it off over his head. “ NOT NOW, MAN ! I meant wait until I've left the room, turned my back, or something !” John interfered promptly, fearing the repercussions. “ 'OLD YOUR 'ORSES THERE YOUNG FELLA ! You can't jus' come in 'ere and start bossing people around in their sleep whenever you feels like it, y'know. There are laws for that sort o' thing... “ the old timer regained some of his spirit as hopped around the cell trying to slip his boots on, “ ...' DISTURBIN' THE PEACEFUL', that's wot it's called ! ” ” NO, IT'S NOT ! Besides, in your case it's more like ' WAKING THE DEAD' ! ” John remarked caustically, eyeing up the would-be protagonist. “ Look, let's start from the beginning shall we ? What's your name old-timer ?” ” William Wilberforce Burke the Third !” came the proud, defiant answer. ” THE THIRD ! And people say you can have too much of a good thing !” John remarked sardonically, while watching his cell mate struggling like a second rate escapologist trying to pull his trousers up - over his shoes. “ Aye, well it's a bit much, so folk around 'ere just call me … Buster !” ” BUSTER ? Huh, that does surprise me, I thought they'd have gone another way with that one. Still, a curious choice where did it come from ? ” John resignedly enquired. ” I dunno, they jus' started callin' me it one day and it kinda stuck” and with this he toppled sideways, knocking the coat stand over, which landed heavily on a nearby jug of water smashing it to bits. ” Well, I guess that solves that little mystery,” John muttered proceeding to grasp the semi-decent suspect by his upper arm and guided him into the main ofice. “ Come on, let's do things by the book, the due course of the law in action and all that ! THEN, I can find you guilty and put you back in your nice snug little cell, all official like !” John pointed to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. ” GUILTY ! ME ?” choked the old boy. ” Ahh, a confession already. Excellent ! “ ” WOT ! I'M NOT CONFESSUN TO ANYTHING ! LOOK, JUS' WHO THE HECK ARE YOU ?” the ageing jail bird squawked loudly at the end of his tether. ” Sorry, perhaps I should have formally introduced myself from the beginning. Would it help at all if I showed you my credentials ?” John offered. ” Why would I want to look at YOUR DENTURES ? “ ” CREDENTIALS, YOU DEAF FOOL ! ! AS IN PROOF OF IDENTIFICATION ! ” John drew out his wallet and presented a warrant card to Buster.. “ 'Ere, this says that you're a policeman ?” came the reaction to this shock revelation. “ Yes, that's right, and you're in a P-0-L-I-C-E station, Buster. Do you remember where you are now ?” John spoke purposely slow and deliberate to allow for the age delay. “ OF COURSE I DO ! I'M THE ….” Buster was cut dead before finishing.}

_{“ HEY, BUSTER, SHAKE A LEG THERE MATE ! Some stranger arrived in the vilage last night and people are sayin' that he's fixin' to come over 'ere this mornin' to see us ! ” a young red faced man bounded through the doorway, his arms laden with farm produce, dressed to a fashion as a police constable. He collided with the dropped down counter before running into the arms of John, “ Well, well, who do we have here then, another uninvited guest ? Does this station operate some kind of ' Open House ' policy, or is there an amnesty on waifs and strays today ?” John lifted the flap, beckoning the newcomer to join them. “ So I take it from what I've overheard, the pair of you are in cahoots with each other, and if that's so then I have only ONE QUESTION to ask ! Which one of you is going to tell me... WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THIS PLACE ?”}

_{The two suspects glanced at each other furtively, a moment of guilt and a secret shared passed between them. “ HEY, NOT SO FAST THERE, MISTER ! WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO COME IN 'ERE ALL COCKSURE OF YERSELF AND START THROWIN' QUESTIONS AROUND ? ” the chubby youth responded in an act of bravado, slyly pushing a carton of eggs along with a suspiciously wrapped piece of uncooked bacon under a pile of papers on the desktop. John briefly studied the features of this new ' rebel without a cause', noting the way his thick mop of unruly black hair flopped over the forehead, the short snub nose and the dark beady eyes. “ Well, for your information, we,” John waved an open hand in the direction of Buster, “ were already in the middle of introductions when YOU BARGED YOUR WAY IN HERE, ON US ! Still while I have the attention of you both, allow me to clarify my position.” He produced his warrant card once more and handed it over to the youth, “ I believe this should help to clear matters up. I'm Det. Inspector. John Foxe, and ... I'M IN CHARGE OF THIS POLICE STATION - SUCH AS IT IS ! NOW, I TRUST THAT ANSWERS YOUR QUESTION SATISFACTORILY ? “}

_{The pair shared the same stunned expression, caught in the aftermath of this revelation. John scoured the desktop in search of some paper and pen, to press home his advantage, “ Okay, now it's your turn. Who are you lad, and what's your business here ?” ” George Clemens, P. C. 49, Guv'nor !” he stated, puffing his chest out, to the best of his ability. “ P.C 49 ! Oh no, please tell me you're joking, you can't be an actual member of the constabulary.” John looked incredulously at the would-be-lawman. “ Wait a minute did you say your name is George ? That wouldn't be THE George, the one who runs a taxi service by any chance ? ” John asked curiously . ” Yeah ! That's me ! Wot of it ?” “ Huh ! So you're not only a taxi driver but you're a police constable too, eh ! Remind me to have a word with you sometime about the forces policy on 'moonlighting'.” ” OH NO, GUV'NOR ! I never work after midnight,” ” That's not what I meant,” the throbbing vein over John's right eye, indicated that one of his blinding migraines was close at hand. He exhaled deeply, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders and ease the mounting stress, ” Never mind, it'll keep. Right now, P.C. 49, you and I need to have a serious talk,” John became aware of a small shifting shape edging it's way closer to them. “ Look, take this chap's particulars down will you, and then .. oh, just send him on his way with a caution this time. I think he's merely a confused simple citizen, or something, ” John turned to face Buster. “ We're going to let you off with a warning for now, Buster. But if we catch you in here abusing this station's facilities again, then you will be arrested do you understand ?” ” THERE HE GOES AGAIN, TRYING TO ARREST ME ! WOT'S WRONG WITH 'IM ?” exploded Buster. ” NAH ! You can't arrest 'im, Guv'nor !” George chimed in. ” WHY EVER NOT ?” demanded John indignantly. ” COS, HE'S YOUR SERGEANT ! ” George declared. ” HIM ? NO, HE CAN'T BE ! I WAS TOLD THE SERGEANT'S NAME WAS 'KEEL' ! “ John was visibly taken back by this revelation. ” Aye, he is ! I'm one of those... wot you call … . 'acting sergeants', that's it ! ” explained Buster.}

_{John stared in disbelief at the shambolic figure standing infront of him. “An 'acting sergeant', you ? I'm not sure if that falls under farce or tragedy, “ he concluded, shaking his head in denial. “ So, where's this Sergeant Keel fellow, then ?” his perplexity with the situation reaching it's limits. “ Dunno,” answered George, shrugging his shoulders. “ Hmm, okay, well when do you expect him back,” John asked changing tack. “ Haven't a clue, ” admitted Buster. “ Why doesn't that doesn't surprise me ? I take it that neither of you are particularly familiar with the notion of 'police work' are you ?” John's hope of a fast resolution to this case was slowly, painfully, ebbing away from him. He stood still and silent, looking not so much at them but through them, rubbing his chin, pondering life's injustices before finally speaking again, ” Let me see if I fully understand my position, I'm in charge of station without bars, run by two 'Keystone Cops', and a Burke for a sergeant, is that about the size of it ? ” Without waiting for a reply John crossed over to the fireplace and collapsed into one of the armchairs, temporarily incapacitated by a form of mental fatigue. ” 'Ere, he looks a bit pasty, don't he ? “ said Buster leaning over the fallen inspector. “ D'yer think it was somethin' he ate ?” “ More likely somefink he drunk,” came George's second opinion. ” You're both wrong ! It was something I heard ...YOU TWO ! “ he murmered, leaning forward, head buried deep in his hands.}

_{George and Buster loitered nervously by the fireside awaiting John's re-emergence from his self-inflicted solitude, maintaining a respectful silence until suddenly, “ Who's up for a cup of char then ?” George offered with a clap of his hands. “ Oooh yes, and throw a couple of them biscuits in with it too ! “ Buster perked up. John raised his head, if not his spirit, and turned to look at the stove, “ If you've got any coffee back there I'll have one – black, one sugar, please.” he requested returning to the back of his chair. John watched George performing his ancient tea making ceremony, with an ancient looking tea set, while also keeping vigil on Buster as he stoked some more life into the log fire. They seemed harmless enough he thought, but could they be trusted and how much did they really know ? John decided he would have to play this one close to his chest for time being, friends or foe, he was going to have to keep his guard up around them for time being. Until he could be sure of who he could trust, he was going to have to continue being alone, an outsider looking in, conducting a man private investigation into the disappearance of Sergeant Keel.}

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Fortune Telling - A Fictional Account

    Once again Spring has sprung, blessing us with her seasonal warmth for another year – just in time before winter – and with it, a young man's thoughts turn to romance, and all the thrills and promises that accompany a new love. Unfortunately, if your NOT a young man – by general consensus that is – then you're probably turning your thoughts towards another lady – Mother Nature ! She is a far more demanding and unrelenting a mistress. With trembling knees and cold sweats – like a first date, really - I'll start to think about having to jet wash the patio, or suffer mild panic attacks with the expectation of having to mount an expedition into the darkest regions, of the lost world of flora & fauna, more commonly known as 'me back garden'.

It was with this oncoming event, that may - I confess – have influenced my decision to “accept” an invitation to a garden féte at the local vicarage. A community tradition, as British as cream teas, Morris dancers and Midsomer Murders. During my walk-a-round, I passed the familiar institutions, the “A Kiss for a Pound” stall – nice to see Jordan in steady employment for a change – and the competition for ' Best Buns.' usually judged by some pillar of the community or local celebrity – before the “rise” of Big Brother/Goggle Box “winners”

Then, suddenly, I came across the “Fortune Teller” tent, and it triggered a flashback to my youth, and my first exposure to occult practices and the powers of prediction.

It was the summer of 1980, and I was a shy, insecure, self-conscious and almost pennyless young man, just another of those  “statistical reminders of a world that didn't care.” So, with desperation as my moral compass, I sought answers with the aid of Lady Constance Ophelia Norman, and her amazing crystal ball.

Usually, searchers of the unknown and keepers of truth, go under the title of Madame or Mistress something or other, but my psychic adviser had much more nobler credentials. Which I thought must be a good omen, for surely a member of the aristocracy, would have much” better connections” when downloading the spirit world. Constance Ophelia Norman – an abundance of names for one supposedly medium person - was as the classic soul song said 'once, twice, three times a lady'. She materialized from the other side of the tent in a heady haze of mysticism and Estee Lauder, her large frame dis-placing the air as she approached me. Extending a heavily beringed hand to greet me she gave me a fixed expression accompanied with a choice of astrological readings and a non-refundable price list..

“ Which would you prefer ...the Tarot cards or the Crystal Ball ?” she enquried.

“ Oh, well, I'll take the.....ball, please. I've always been curious to see one of those in action”

“ Ah ! That's a pity. Unfortunately there was a slight accident, earlier, and I sort of... cracked it.” Constance confessed.

“ So, you mean it's broken. Too bad you didn't see that coming” I laughed nervously.

“ Hmmm, or you, for that matter” her ladyship muttered under her breath, “ but I can see just

as well with the cards, or perhaps I could interest you in a bit of palmistry, if you're feeling lucky ?” she smirked.

“ Lucky ? “my faith wavered slightly, “ I'll go with the cards thanks, lets just hope my fate doesn't come with a marked deck !” I tried to be funny – a feat that I still have as yet, to master.

“ One man's luck is another man's destiny” her ladyship countered.

“ That may as well be. But, tell me how about superstition, where does that stand in the cosmic scheme of things ?” I queried.

“ What, you mean like walking under ladders or a crossing black cat ?”

“ Ah, now black cats, I get confused about that one. If a black cat crosses your path, is that a good or bad thing ?”

“ I suppose, that all depends on just what one is doing at the time “

“ Yes, true, very true. I never thought of it that way. “ I conceded.

Her ladyship, displayed an impressive degree of manual dexterity and kept her cards very close to her chest – which was even more impressive given her stature- before splaying them out in a semi-circle on the small table, between us. Channeling the appropriate energy, she began the reading.

“ Now, ask the cards, whatever your heart most wishes them to show” she advised.

“ Gosh ! Where to start ? The future, all my hopes, dreams, desires, there are just so many questions, where shall I begin ? I mean, can they actually tell me everything, like where I'm going to ?”

“ Well, I can tell where you've been !” my guide retorted, with a look of disdain.

I decided to ignore this remark, “ O'k. How about romance. Lets asks the cards...will I ever find love ?”

“ Not in that shirt !” advantage spiritualist – I felt at this point..

“ Look here, I don't care too much for your attitude towards me. Kindly, keep your views to yourself and focus your energies on me future, if you would please !” I exploded.

Her Ladyship, looked down at the table, in silence, and then slowly turned over one of the cards.

“ Oh Lord !” the sayer gasped.

“ What is it ? Have you seen something disturbing ? ” I fearfully enquired.

“ Other than you ? " she answered holding up the card. "It's Mr Moody ! “

“ Mr Moody ? which type of card is that ? “

“ You know...' The Mister Men'... Mr Moody.... the blue one ! “

“ Is that why he's moody, because he's blue ? “

“ NO ! Of course not ! What's his colour got to do with anything ? “ she snapped.

“ You're absolutely right, we shouldn't let our colour dictate who we are -- “ at this point, I began to fear that we were about to lose ourselves in a pack of misunderstandings. So, I tried to re-animate my reading,“ Mr Moody, does this mean that I'm about to be emotionally challenged or something ? “

“You mean you're not already ? No. It means my precious grandson has been playing with MY CARDS again ! Let me see,” the mistress of fate, desperately shuffled through the rest of her mystic deck. “ Yes, it's as I feared, some of my signs are missing. I can't seem to find “ Death” anywhere ! “

“ Don't trouble yourself on my account ! “ I exclaimed.

“ Death doesn't necessary mean the end of existence on this earthly plane. It can merely be heralding in the end of one cycle and the dawning of a new era in your life. Like a change of job or a change of lover. Change...it CAN be a good thing”

“ Surely, that all depends on just WHO's doing the changing !”

“ What are you talking about ?”

“ Well, it's o.k. If I'm the ONE doing all the changing, But, what if it means that my boss is about to give me the sack or that my girlfriend's getting ready to dump me. Then, change ...really sucks !”

“ Oh, I see your point.”

“ Still, It could have been worse, I suppose” I posed philosophically.

“ How so ?”

“ It could have been Mr Blobby ! “ I pointed back towards to the cards.

“ Hmmm, quite.....especially in that shirt “

With this last remark, I sensed it was time to call it a day, and cease my quest for otherworldly guidance, and – after crossing her palm with several hours of minimum pay - headed out into the daylight once more, but no less in the dark about my destiny as before.

My future still questionable, and as much a mystery, as it is today.


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