A Story
It started as many things do in life; as a problem and as such ‘A’ treated it as he would any other. Problem occurs, a solution is thought of, an action is taken, hopefully problem solved move onto the next one. This is certainly how this particular problem started but it wasn’t how it was going to end.
The Problem
‘Just keep it simple, why isn’t anything simple anymore?’ ‘A’ was getting annoyed as he always did when it came to technology. ‘I am, why don’t you go and make some more coffee, and let me sort it out?’ ‘M’ wondered why she put herself through this, she knew as soon as ‘A’ phoned explaining that his printer had stopped working and he needed a new one this is how it would be. It had started badly, as soon as she arrived with the new one, it wouldn’t fit in the space the old one had occupied. So, a compromise had to be found, a trait that ‘A’ was devoid of, it was decided to put it on an old wooden kitchen chair in the corner of the study. This involved moving the books piled on it, which obviously was the end of the world, it involved change another trait ‘A’ found inconceivable.
‘A’ went down stairs to the kitchen, it was a three story house, the front door, study and his bedroom were on the ground floor, a flight of stairs led up to the top floor which he didn’t really use any more, another set of stairs led down to the basement, with the bathroom, kitchen with a back door leading to the garden, and the living room, with a second front door leading to a small courtyard with steps leading up to the path.
It never ceased to amaze ‘A’ why ‘M’ put up with him still, since separating she could have just run for the hills, instead she still tried to do anything she could to help him? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he busied himself making the coffee, pouring himself a Gin and lime, for the stress, and boy did this technology stress him. ‘Done’ he jumped, he found it strange for someone else to be in the house ‘M’ stood behind him with a satisfied smile on her face. ‘Do you want me to show you how it works?’, ‘no its fine, I am sure I can work it out’ what ‘A’ meant was he had really had enough of it for now. He felt bad for being so dismissive after ‘M’ had put so much effort into it, but he couldn’t help himself. She drank her coffee and he drank his gin:
‘Do you want to stay for something to eat?’ ‘A’ asked,
‘No thank you I need to get back’,
‘Ok if you are sure, but you are welcome?’
‘I know, but I don’t want to be too late’
‘M’ finished her coffee and said ‘right I need to make a move, I would like to get back before it gets too dark’
‘Ok, well drive safely, give me a text when you get home’
‘Will do’
For no explicable reason whenever they parted an awkwardness came over them that was not present at any other time when they were together. ‘M’ got in her car, waved and drove off. It was just ‘A’ and the house now, he poured himself another drink and started cooking his dinner.
After dinner ‘A’ went into the living room and sat in his TV chair; he called it this as he also had a reading chair with a floor standing Anglepoise lamp. He preferred low light so the whole house was underlit, even the study, where he relied on a desk lamp to work by. His evenings tended to follow a pattern, he either read, listened to Jazz, the radio or as a last resort watched TV. Tonight, it was TV, he often found it difficult to settle after company although now he never had company unless ‘M’ visited.
The TV was worse than normal if that was possible, he didn’t settle on a particular program, he just sat there channel hopping. He must have been half dozing when suddenly he was thrust back into the present; jumping out of his chair it took him a while to comprehend what had happened there had been a very loud cracking sound. It was not unusual for the house to make noises, or indeed for bits to fall down, it had been badly damaged in the 1953 floods; which had left it running with damp, which caused brick rubble to fall down the chimney or plaster to fall from the walls. He thought the noise had come from the far side of the living room; ‘A’ walked to the corner where he thought the noise had come from. Luckily this was one part of the room that was well lit as the standard lamp was on. He could see nothing amiss, the corner was filled with a bookcase, and nothing was out of place. He went into the kitchen putting the light on and walking to the corner which would be adjacent to the living room corner, he opened cupboards and looked over the work top, again nothing was out of place. ‘A’ had a growing sense of unease which he couldn’t explain, perhaps the noise had come from upstairs? With a growing sense of trepidation, he went up the stairs, the study was directly above the living room, he switched the light on and walked in.
The light in the study was very subdued, the room was painted various shades of red including the ceiling, it had been done to give it a Victorian feel in keeping with the original large cast-iron fireplace and to retain the feel of the house. On first impression nothing seemed untoward or out of place, other than that lump of modern white plastic called a printer. That’s when he saw it, the floor board going under the chair with the printer had split, not just split but as if one end had been prised up splitting the wood. This made no sense, no one had been in the room other than himself, well and ‘M’ but why on earth would she have wanted to try to pull up floorboards? It couldn’t be anything to do with the new printer because the chair wasn’t on the broken board and there was nothing on the floor that could have fallen of the bookshelf to do the damage. This made no sense, he felt gripped with a feeling that took a while to work out, it was fear, but that was nonsense. ‘A’ couldn’t do anything about it tonight; he would look at it again in the morning. He went back down stairs to turn everything off, for the first time he could remember he felt a growing sense of unease in being in the house on his own. Bloody hell pull yourself together, there will be an explanation he thought to himself, but God knows what? He spent a fitful night, for reasons he couldn’t explain to himself he got up in the early hours and shut the bedroom door.
The next morning, he got up pulled on jogging bottoms and a hoodie, but instead of going straight down to the kitchen as he usually did, he went the couple of steps to the study, and looked in. the broken floorboard was still there, he had hoped it was just something he had dreamt, but it wasn’t it was real. He went down stairs and distractedly made tea, popping a nicotine tab in his mouth, how he wished he still smoked. He showered, went back upstairs and dressed; he was trying to think of anything he could do rather than face the broken floorboard. What’s wrong with you, it’s a floorboard just fix it, but this thought didn’t help in settling his mind. At last, he went into the study, in daylight the damage was still as inexplicable as the night before. The good news, it didn’t look to big a job to make a repair, with luck he could lift the board, turn it around and refit it. So, no new board, no painting and it wouldn’t matter about the damage because that would be under the chair, no one would even notice it. He went to the top of the house, where he kept what could be loosely described as his toolbox, and got his favourite tool, the hammer. The floorboard came up easily albeit in two pieces, he removed the old nails from the joists, turned the board round and as he was about to put it back that’s when he saw it lying between the joists, a piece of paper a single sheet of writing paper folded in half. He reached in and picked it up, it felt old, if that’s possible. He unfolded the paper, it appeared to be a letter, written with a fountainpen, it was difficult to read because the handwriting was hard to discern. There was no envelope or anything else with the letter. ‘A’ knew if he started trying to read it the floor board would never be finished, so he placed the letter on his desk and finished putting the floorboard back, now he could read the letter.
The Letter
The letter was in good condition, the only thing to indicate age was the ink had ‘bled’ into the paper making it harder to read. There were no addresses at the top, it simply said My Beloved Men... the last letter was badly blurred … Meni…Menr… no it was Mena, he was sure it was Mena. My Beloved Mena and opposite the date 26th January 1948.
My Beloved Mena 26th January 1948
I cannot bear to be without you, it has been so very long. My days drift by
In a blur, unable to think of anything other than you. My mind casts back
To that long night so many years ago, laying in that foreign field, the sights
And sounds of war filling my senses not knowing if I would live or die. My
body on fire with the most unbearable pain. Then you came to me, wrapping
me in your Love, I knew I had to live, to get back to you, my love.
Since that night I have only been able to see you from afar. I can bear it no
longer, we were destined to be together.
So, my love tonight my dream will come true, we will be reunited.
All my love
Henry
‘A’ read the letter twice, he felt drawn to the words almost mesmerised, questions flooded into his mind. Who were Mena and Henry? Why couldn’t they be together, was one or both married to others and they had an affair? What was their connection to this house? Did they succeed in becoming reunited? So many questions, ‘A’ knew he wouldn’t find peace until he answered these questions. He could almost tangibly feel the beginnings of his obsession start to grow, and he knew from experience he would not let it rest until he had found the answers. ‘A’ sat back in his chair placing the letter on his desk. To think if it hadn’t been for the broken floorboard he would never have found it. He had forgotten about the floorboard in the excitement of finding the letter. It had to be a coincidence, it had to be; how could a letter split a floorboard, it couldn’t. Stop it, he didn’t believe in any of this supernatural nonsense, it was for gullible, stupid people. It was simply coincidence, but he knew he would not rest until he got some answers.
‘A’ spent the afternoon sitting in front of his computer; typing keywords and combinations of keywords. The goal was to see if the two names in the letter had ever owned or even rented his house. He got nowhere, the websites that came up were either nothing he wanted or you needed to take out subscriptions, which he didn’t have the financial resources to do. The only thing that directly led to his address was a site that explained the houses were of very low quality and worthless; rather like the housing expert that wrote it he thought. He could feel an inner rage growing, bloody useless technology he thought, but he knew the truth was he was just no bloody good at this type of thing. ‘Bollocks to it’ he said out loud, and with that slammed the computer closed, and went down stairs to pour a very large drink.
He was on his third drink, when he had what some would call his light bulb moment. Peter, of course Peter; he had worked with him a couple of years ago and they had produced a couple of papers together. Peter didn’t really do people, his chosen way of working was via email, certainly not face to face or even by phone. He wouldn’t consider it strange to hear from ‘A’ after all this time, he was hardwired to research, the niceties of life were lost on him. The only down side was he would inundate you with information; in this case no bad thing. ‘A’ put together an email setting out the problem, but left out the bizarre way it had all began, Peter’s brain couldn’t cope with the irrational; he clicked send. Later in the evening he received a reply:
Hello,
Ok, I will see what I can find out, give me a couple of days.
Peter.
Well, he certainly hadn’t honed his personal skills since they had last communicated, but now there was at least a hope of a resolution, ‘A’ poured himself another drink.
The Reply
Peter was good to his word as always; two days later there was an email waiting in ‘A’s inbox:
Hello,
I have traced the owners of your property back to the 1800s from there to now no one with a first name or initial of Henry or Mena have ever owned or rented your property. It could be possible they were lodgers?
I looked at copies of The Standard around the date you gave me; there is no mentions of Mena, but there was a Henry. A Henry Edmond, I couldn’t down load the actual newspaper article for some reason. Apparently on the date you gave me a cap, boots and jacket were found on the beach, the id was obtained from a wallet in the jacket. No body appears to have been found so it was assumed he drowned and the body washed out to sea. It also intimated that he was a ‘strange’ man since returning from the war injured, and was often seen wandering along the sea front, talking to himself.
I looked him up, the only one I could find was a Henry Endymion, it could be a spelling mistake in the newspaper, he changed the spelling for some reason, or it’s a different person. Endymion was in the Essex Regiment and was severely wounded in the head in France in 1944. He was repatriated to England and never went back to Europe. So, it must have been severe and could have left him with a mental impediment. Unfortunately, this is the best I can get; i hope it is of some use.
Peter
As always Peter never disappoints, there was far more information than ‘A’ could ever have hoped for. The downside was there were lots of if’s and but’s, but at least he had a picture even if it was rather opaque. ‘A’ replied thanking him for all the effort he had put in, ending with promises to keep in touch, which they both knew wouldn’t be followed up. Little did ‘A’ know what an impact the email was going to have?
That night ‘A’s world was going to change forever. He switched everything off as normal and went upstairs, undressed, and got into bed. The thought of the letter and Peter’s email swirled through his mind. He wasn’t really sure what any of it meant or what he was going to do with the information, he must have drifted off to sleep.
The night was dark, and quiet; without warning the sky lit up, and the quiet was shattered by the unmistakeable sound of explosions, tracer rounds flew all above and around. Total confusion and fear filled him, he threw himself to the ground, but was totally exposed, trying to sink into the dirt. Ahead and to the right a man was engulfed in dirt and smoke, his eyes burnt and it became difficult to separate sounds. The man in front was laying on his back screaming, begging for help. The harder he tried to reach him, the harder the fire poured down. He was gripped by fear, getting the better of him, he jumped up and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction to the tree line. Dropping to the ground his back resting on a tree, covering his ears with his hands trying to shut out the sounds of battle and the screaming, the screaming going on and on, he started rocking backwards and forwards and began to cry.
‘A’ sat bolt up in bed, soaked in sweat, his muscles rigid with fear, for those few seconds not knowing what was real. He swung his legs out of bed, breathless, realising he must have been crying. He went down stairs on weak legs, and poured himself a drink, halfway through he started to feel cold as the sweat dried on his body and he realised he was naked. He was too afraid to go back to bed in case it happened again, he sat in his chair, freezing cold and drinking until the sun came up. Every night the dream kept reoccurring until he stopped going to bed, then he tried not to go to sleep, when this was impossible, he would dream again.
This carried on night after night, he was barely sleeping at all now, and wandered round in a daze. Everything that constitutes a normal life had slipped away; he had stopped showering, shaving, he lost his appetite, except for alcohol; he had taken on a haunted look, it wasn’t living, it was just existing.
He would spend the nights pacing around the house. It must have been at least two weeks since the first time; but time had stood still and ceased to have meaning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone out; he was eating anything left in the cupboards, but of more concern he was almost out of booze. One night he knew he couldn’t bear another night pacing, he decided to go out for a walk.
The Walk: 12th November 2016
‘A’ took his walking stick from the hall and left the house. It was a cold night, with a full moon, he started walking aimlessly; he found himself facing the sea, with no real recollection of getting there; ‘A’ walked down the hill to the sea. Turning right he started walking along the promenade. There was a very slight sea mist forming, not thick, just softening the edges of the land and sea. The moon looked much larger than usual, this could have been a combination of clouds and mist turning it opaque: its light reflecting off the water’s surface. Walking around a bend formed by the ruined second world war gun emplacements jutting onto the promenade, to seaward the Stone Pier pointing like a finger towards the horizon. From here he had a clear view of the bay, he had no idea what the time was but for as far as the eye could see the promenade was deserted.
In the park separated from the promenade by a long, steep sloping hill Fred was gazing out to sea. This was his regular walk with Lu, who was an ancient Border Collie; Fred always joked they had both seen better days, if anyone wanted to listen, which wasn’t often. The walks were getting shorter and taking longer; truth be told this suited him, as he was finding it harder himself. Lu wanted to take a rest, which involved her stopping dead and refusing to move. They were by the wooden railings at the edge of the hill, which gave an uninterrupted view of the promenade and sea below. Lu sat down; Fred looked down at her with unconditional love:
‘Well old girl, the hours I have spent here, played here as a kid’
‘Happy times mostly’
The old dog looked up, for all the world giving the impression she understood what he was saying.
A thought came unprompted into his mind.
‘Although I remember once, I would have been about ten or eleven, me and the other kids were playing just here, and we saw policemen down on the beach’
Lu put her head to one side, prompting him to carry on.
‘Turned out they reckoned a chap had drowned hisself’
‘He was a right old funny one, our mums and dads told us to steer clear of him. He used to wander around here talking to hisself. They reckon he was injured in the war, and weren’t right in the head.’
‘Looney, they said he was, wouldn’t get away with that now, different times, probably say he had that PTS thing, but not then’
Fred looked back towards the sea, there were three people standing on the promenade looking out to sea, two men and a woman. The one in the middle had a walking stick, and was leaning on the metal railings the other two were standing; they were dressed funny; the moon light seemed to have got brighter but because of a slight sea mist, it made it difficult to make them out clearly. Fred felt a movement on the lead, Lu still sitting had gone rigid and was shaking. She threw her head back and let out a horrible howl, louder than anything Fred had ever heard, it went on, and on:
‘Lu, Lu, Luna, what the hell, stop it, stop it, stop it you bloody dog.’
He yanked the lead, dragging Lu up, looking back towards the promenade he saw the man with the walking stick turn and hurry away towards the Stone Pier it looked from this distance as if he had walked straight through the man standing next to him. When he turned his gaze back to the man and woman they had gone; he had a clear view of the length of the promenade, they were nowhere to be seen, they had vanished. Fred was now feeling extremely unsettled, he turned, and started to walk back inland:
‘What in god’s name was that, you bloody stupid dog’
Fred had never spoken harshly to her before, but that sound had totally, yes totally terrified him.
‘Come on I need a pint’
They walked towards the club, he had been a member for years, but now it had become a place of sanctuary and people. Lu seemed even more unsteady on her legs than when they had set out on their walk. On entering the club he went to the bar, brought a pint of bitter and a bag of crisps. Lu had already curled up under their usual table in the corner. From there Fred could see the whole bar, but keep himself to himself; he took a large gulp of his pint, opened the crisps reached under the table fussed Lu’s head and dropped a crisp for her. At last, a feeling of calm began to overcome him.
‘A’ walked along the promenade, the moon appeared very large in the sky, shining brightly. As he reached the metal railings and looked out to sea, he was brought up with a start; the light from the moon reflecting onto the calm sea, appeared as a perfect path, leading from the moon all the way to the beach. Unprompted thoughts began to fill his mind, is this where they found Henry’s clothes? Had Henry stood at this very spot? Did his broken mind looking upon a view like this convince him he could walk that path? Only to be engulfed by the dark cold water, his lungs filling with the salt taste of death? ‘A’s mind was adrift in thoughts, unable to focus on any one thought, but jumping from one to the other. Visions flashed through his mind, battlefields, the wounded man, the moon, being engulfed by the dark sea; walking on a path of moonlight. The visions were torn from his mind; a ghostly, other worldly howl pierced the night. Filled with an uncontrollable fear he turned; suddenly feeling an Icy chill. He knew he had to get away, moving as fast as his leg would allow. He didn’t slow down until he got back to the road. Feeling slightly safer under the street lights, looking through the open curtains of the houses; whilst people went about their normal evening routines. As he approached his front door, he knew he had to get rid of that bloody letter. Convinced that it was the root of what was destroying his life, but how? He knew he couldn’t just destroy it; that was when he had the idea, he had a two-draw filling cabinet in his study; the bottom draw just had old bill’s which he never looked at anymore as everything was now paperless. He could lock it in there until he could think of something more permanent. He opened the front door, putting his stick back in the basket which was directly opposite the study door. He couldn’t bring himself to enter; the darkness was almost tangible; he pulled the door shut, deciding to deal with the letter in daylight. Going downstairs, into the kitchen he poured himself a very large drink, sat in his chair and waited for morning.
He must have dozed, but without dreaming; it was daylight, he knew what he had to do. Getting up and walking up the stairs he stood in front of the closed study door, taking a deep breath he opened the door and walked in. Crossing the room to the desk where he had left the letter. It wasn’t there, it had gone, a sense of panic gripped him, what the hell he thought; he began to feverishly search the study; moving everything on the top of his desk, pulling open draws, crawling on the floor, getting under the desk even looking in the filing cabinet. It wasn’t anywhere to be found, it was gone, he sat on the floor with his head in his hands a feeling of utter hopelessness, fear and despair, he was stuck in this living nightmare.
Six Weeks Later
Old Fred had finished his walk and was sitting at his usual table in the club, a half-finished pint and open bag of crisps on the table. The events of that night had been forgotten; other things had happened which erased the memory. If anyone had been watching, which they weren’t, they would have seen him take a crisp drop it on the floor and appear to fuss a dog’s head; that wasn’t there anymore.
‘A’s life whilst not returning to normal had improved, he still had nightmares of battlefields or drowning but not as regularly as they had been. He had also brought a semblance of order to the other aspects of his life. He still occasionally pulled things about looking for the letter. That morning, he had pulled the floorboard back up, where he had originally found the letter; but there was nothing there, just a layer of dust on the plasterboard which would be the ceiling of the living room below. Plasterboard; plasterboard that was modern how could a letter dated 1948 lay on a modern ceiling, the now familiar feeling of dread and confusion filled him. The rest of the day was filled with unease, ‘A’ could not settle to anything. That evening he decided to try to fill his mind with other things. TV that was the answer fill my mind with rubbish he thought, looking at what was on, rubbish was the right word. He finally settled on ‘The Sky at Night’, sitting back, the bubbly host all smiles and effervescence began to speak:
‘Good evening tonight’s show is devoted to what is sometimes called a supermoon, or more accurately a perigee full moon. This is when the moon is closest to the earth.’ She continued:
‘The latest one was 12th November 2016 which was the closest the moon has been since the 26th January 1948…...’ He stopped hearing what she was saying.
26th January 1948, that was the date of the letter; it felt like the room was closing in around him, he could feel his heart racing, muscles contracting, then fragments of what she was saying penetrated his frozen being:
…………..’Many cultures have woven the moon into their mythology and gods…...’
…………..‘Roman goddess, Luna………...’
……………‘Greek goddess, Selene, also known as Mene…………. Who fell in love with a mortal man Endymion whilst he was sleeping………...’
He couldn’t hear her words now, he sat rigidly in his chair, eyes transfixed, his mouth open with a silent scream.
The letter was never seen again……..
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