tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35959918283169332422024-03-12T18:44:44.742-07:00Twixt the Warp and the WeftGavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comBlogger1140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-45959604441591416222014-08-20T03:05:00.000-07:002014-08-20T03:05:00.454-07:00One More Thing...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF36RrFp3YlKkl7TU7nw_TWXEtMPg6LKTrW_sLNrBIZtIPmBllDTSEqVoTIjUqnoz3RVVBsG3UR00DokrrRdSF7pLhkbI_CoNDzR1N31vZwY9x8bMowyJuV47m21jvGXSbfIgEQ830HxxC/s1600/Announcement.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF36RrFp3YlKkl7TU7nw_TWXEtMPg6LKTrW_sLNrBIZtIPmBllDTSEqVoTIjUqnoz3RVVBsG3UR00DokrrRdSF7pLhkbI_CoNDzR1N31vZwY9x8bMowyJuV47m21jvGXSbfIgEQ830HxxC/s1600/Announcement.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
So that's it. The story I set out to tell, three and a half years ago (give or take), all done and dusted. It didn't quite work out as I first imagined, some parts proved too difficult to do in a serialised format, especially Episode 10, but it's close enough to what I had in mind. However, I'm not writing this to present caveats or excuses, it is what it is.<br />
<br />
No, I'm writing this to say thank you. If you're reading this, the chances are you read the whole thing, following it day by day as I plucked rubbish from my head and threw it at the...what? The page? The screen? Whatever. Thank you for sticking with it.<br />
<br />
It's been a journey: both in the real world and in the Warp, but I enjoyed writing it (and sometimes it felt like a lifeline) and I learned a lot from it.<br />
<br />
I'd love to hear what you thought of it, now that it's done. I'm going to leave the comments open here, or you can send me your musings at gavinwhite2010@gmail.com.<br />
<br />
I have started thinking about doing another one. A serial, that is. It's still in the vague thinky stages, and right now I'm about to move house, but keep your eyes peeled and I'll let you know when it's getting started.<br />
<br />
Thanks again,<br />
<br />
Gavin<br />
<br />
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<br />Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-7919511132651992382014-08-19T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-19T00:30:00.816-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 100<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
...In a place that is no place...</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
...In a castle that was never built, in a land that only appears on
imaginary maps and in unconventional minds, in a throne room never
seen, built from the shards of forgotten dreams, on a chair so
resplendent no one man could ever have built it...</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
...An angel sits, contemplating his victory with a hollow
satisfaction. His tall, thin form folded into this most unreal
chair, legs crossed, fingers laced, thumbs resting against his brow.
All the players played their part, all the pieces fit together:
decades of careful planning and subtle manipulation...a suggestion
hear, a strange dream there, all for this moment, this so-called
victory...</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
...One-nil to the good guys...</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
...Yes, he has new influence in the Warp, and yes, new allies too in
this endless conflict. But a single battle does not win a war, there
is conflict and turmoil just outside the door, he must never lose
sight of what the war was for...</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Something snaps in the depths of his mind, permanent and
irreversible. He's on his feet before he knows it, fingers snapping
above his head, minions summoned with a single click.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Out with the old, in with the new, isn't that what they say? Time to
begin a new chapter, to scheme a new scheme...and perhaps it's time
also to take a new name.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The End</div>
<br />
<div align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
(...for now...)</div>
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Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-58662704144903931452014-08-18T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-18T00:30:01.468-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 99<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Maria Thesos sits in the back of her taxi trying, as best she can,
not to fidget. Not for the first time since her journey began, she's
doubting her sanity. “Just don't think about it,” she tells
herself, “I'll be there shortly, and then I'll know.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She twists the magazine in her lap, forces herself to look out at the
beautiful English countryside speeding past. What on earth is she
doing, a hidden voice keeps asking, it's almost tourist season, her
family needs her, the business needs her. But instead she's
abandoned everything, jumped on a flight to London, a train to the
middle of nowhere, and now this taxi, all without pause or rest. She
worries that is she stops moving the doubts (“Reason” her father
called them) will take hold.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The taxi slows as it pulls in to a picturesque little village, all
quaint cottages circling a village green. The taxi cuts through the
main gathering, turning off the main road just before it reaches the
farthest edge, following a narrow lane to a dead end.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“There you go, luv,” the driver says as the car draws to a halt,
going on to name the price. She pays him with the last notes in her
purse, gathers her bags and steps out. The clean air assaults her,
fresh and floral, causing her to feel dizzy and unbalanced.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Maria, is it?” A young man's voice inquires as she struggles to
get her bearings. She turns, still disorientated, to see a smiling
gentleman walking towards her, arm outstretched to offer his hand.
“Don't worry,” he continues as they shake, “You're in the right
place.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Behind her, the taxi pulls away, abandoning her to whatever mysteries
have brought her here.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“It's a brave thing that you've done,” the man says, “Coming
here because a dream told you to. You can call me Robert, by the
way.” He takes her bag from her hand, gently cupping his hand in
the small of her back to guide her up the path. “Come on, we'll
get you introduced to the others. Then some answers to all those
questions in your head, how does that sound?”</div>
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<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-39329064842618560542014-08-17T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-17T00:30:00.953-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 98<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fiona wakes early, several minutes before the alarm is due to go off,
as has become her habit lately. A belligerent sun claws fiercely at
the blinds, outside birds sing their joy at the marvel of a new day.
Beside her, her husband snores into his pillow, sleeping the sleep of
the just and satisfied.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Let him sleep,” she thinks, “He deserves it.” Robert had
come in late the night before, or maybe it was early this morning,
muttering something about pot-holes at the museum. He'd barely
managed to undress before collapsing into a deep stupor. For a
moment Fiona wishes she could remember more, but he's woken her from
a conversation with the King of the Sandmen, a conversation she's
been eager to return to. “Never mind,” she thinks, “I'll just
ask him later.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After gently kissing his shoulder she rises, showers quickly, dresses
and heads downstairs to the kitchen. As usual she arrives to find
Raven sat at the table, a large glass of orange juice and steaming
mug of coffee before him.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Morning Boss,” he says when she enters, pushing the cup toward
her.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Good morning,” she replies, lifting the mug to her lips for a
long, satisfying slurp. “What's on our ticket today?”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“There are reports,” he says uncertainly, “Of a Popular
Misconception stalking the industrial estate.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Another mouthful of coffee. “I'm sensing a '<i>but</i>'?” she
asks, pulling her jacket over her shoulders.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“These reports,” he tells her, reaching for the back door,
“They're mainly from the wasps.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Oh,” is her only response, her heart sinking in her chest. It's
going to be a difficult day, she can tell.</div>
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Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-5446788832001554722014-08-16T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-16T00:30:00.177-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 97<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84631CNX_W86dRWTOz425Wf8pCO-ZLSGb8EZBeo0jtzdKJh7phDPUCSqDk2uyelOlpctNvQ266myTrQhWG_tGXsEpzaYi79Q8mK9tyefm852szCLXcC4x9dSU7upaPwjKELyoiQZVtByv/s1600/Epilogue.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mary closes the notebook in her lap, folds her hands and looks round
at the expectant faces crammed in to her dining room. “And the
rest,” she says finally, “Is, as they say, history.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At first she'd been disappointed by the low number of people who had
responded to their advert in the paper. Where they'd have put any
more she didn't know, but she'd hoped to see them.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Never worry, luv,” her husband had said, doing his best to
reassure her. “Better to start small, eh? Besides, Fiona's had a
new idea for recruitment, something a little more direct.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She takes a deep breath, releasing a long sigh before standing. “Of
course the Elements decided to work with the Angel, and us, to
improve the Warp,” she says, focusing on the eager faces before
her. There are others, more cynical in their demeanour, but she lets
her eyes pass over them. “And that's how this place, this bridge,
came to be opened.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One chap in front of her yawns openly, checking his watch, while
another chews idly on his pencil.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Now you've heard our story,” she continues, forcing herself not
to tut, “As fantastic and ridiculous as it sounds. The question
for you all is this: Would you like to know more? If your answer is
no,” now she looks directly at the sceptics, “Then I'd like to
thank you for your time. Make your way out through the door at the
back and you'll be back in the real world in no time at all.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She pauses. Waits. None of them makes a move.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“For the rest of you,” she smiles as Edward pushes himself to his
feet, “If you'd like to follow my husband, we'll try to give you
your first look at the Weave.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40pE4001UQOkmSDWC5gdCuNzntEybrurlixQ3hyP462QjyXeoz34DxCUtOLHmvkEhRRxVdG3HQg9KqaIaXAlKeJ3XnD3zLc0mGOdJ3dOSyXFbA6MOtB0tD3h9vfCgAp_tWWhQT1kMg9Ar/s1600/flight.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg40pE4001UQOkmSDWC5gdCuNzntEybrurlixQ3hyP462QjyXeoz34DxCUtOLHmvkEhRRxVdG3HQg9KqaIaXAlKeJ3XnD3zLc0mGOdJ3dOSyXFbA6MOtB0tD3h9vfCgAp_tWWhQT1kMg9Ar/s1600/flight.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-41130117413652899562014-08-15T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-15T00:30:00.460-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 96<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everything stopped, the whole room frozen, as if time had actually
stopped. Literally, the tick-tock of the mantlepiece clock fell
silent, motes of dust hung in the air, glistening and still.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fiona stood in the centre of the living room, arms reaching out, a
strange blue glow alive in her eyes. “I don't know what your
master had planned,” she said, “But it wont be happening today.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I glanced round the room to see who she was addressing, actually
rather surprised to find that I could move at all. I saw my husband,
rubbing his wrists, obviously feeling that same sense of shock. When
he caught my look his eyebrows arched, as if to ask “What now?”
When I looked away I caught sight of Robert, mouth open, watching his
wife with astonishment. Beyond him were Raven and Oak, both glued to
the spot, expressions fixed upon their faces.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That was when I realised our living room was also home to three other
figures, tiny and wisp like. Were these the three midgets that
combined to make Strauss? They were the right height, certainly, but
so thin they were barely there at all, with no real distinguishing
features. Locked in the moment, they were caught running toward each
other, arms outstretched, holding shiny silver gizmos.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I didn't know what might happen next, but I certainly wasn't
expecting the walls to darken, nor for the nub of that candle
abandoned on our table to spring in to flame.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“We have reached our decision,” the voice of Fire crackled and
raged, filling the room.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-5686354752066791162014-08-14T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-14T00:30:01.035-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 95<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Where are they?” Mary asked, looking round.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It was obvious, even to me, that those words weren't being spoken by
a physical mouth, of for that matter three mouths. The sound of them
was too dense, too resonant, it was as if the house itself was
speaking.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I don't know,” Raven replied, “They could be anywhere.” He,
too, looked around him, then began gently guiding us all towards the
living room. “They could be everywhere! Right now, we should be
back in there.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“We had hoped it wouldn't come to this,” the voice filled the air
once more, “But, we are afraid to say, our master was very clear in
his instructions.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Robert walked into the living room first. Mary grabbed hold of me,
she must have thought I needed some support after our mishap, and we
hobbled in together, followed by Raven and Oak.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There in front of us stood Fiona, eyes closed, arms outstretched.
She looked so strange standing there, otherworldly even, I'd have
sworn she was actually glowing.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“There can be no bridge between the Warp and the Weave,” Strauss
voice boomed, even louder. “We had hoped you might understand
that.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I felt the air move around me, we all did I think, as something
unseen raced past us.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fiona's eyes shot open, wide and bright. “Stop,” she said
calmly, and the world around us froze.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-52884183151028653112014-08-13T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-13T00:30:00.371-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 94<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Raven and I were racing up the hall in pursuit of something we hadn't
seen, when dad stumbled out of the cellar, closely followed by Oak.
I was moving too fast to avoid them, though I tried to turn away,
banging into them both, bringing us all stumbling to the ground.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Is everybody okay?” Mum asked from the end of the passage.
Raven reached down, offering me his arm to pull me up. As I got to
my feet, Dad sat upright, rubbing his head.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“That was a lucky escape,” he said, untangling his limbs from
Oak's.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I helped Dad to his feet, while Raven assisted Oak. Once we were all
upright, Dad put his hand on Oak's shoulder.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I think I would have been a goner there,” he said, “If you
hadn't reacted so quickly. Thankyou.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By that time, Mum had caught up with the four of us. “For what?”
she asked, almost accusingly.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Never mind that,” Raven said brusquely, “We need to get back
in there.” He pointed to the living room door. “Chop, chop!”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“We are sorry, M'lady,” the voice of Strauss filled the house,
too loud to be spoken by any one mouth, or even three. “We really
do not have a choice in this matter.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-31479404735221930482014-08-12T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-12T00:30:00.250-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 93<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I reached the top of the stairs just ahead of Raven. Looking down I
saw my son by the front door. He glanced round, seeing me, then
turned sharply to look closer at the wall, or at least that's how it
looked to me.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“'Scuse me, Mary,” Raven said as he pushed past me, descending
quickly to join Robert. Sad to say I'm not that spry any longer, so
I followed behind at my own pace.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“What is it lad, what did you see?” Raven asked as he joined my
boy.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Nothing,” Robert replied, almost absent mindedly, “I haven't
seen anything, but I keep hearing...” His voice trailed away to
silence.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Yes?” Raven asked, “What do you hear?”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That's when I saw a movement. I was halfway down when, just for a
second, something flashed between the two of them, moving towards the
back of the house.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“There!” I shouted, pointing, “It's going towards the kitchen!”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“What is it?” Raven shouted as they both turned together, “What
did you see?” They both set off down the hall.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I don't know,” I called back, trying to hurry down the last
steps. I reached the bottom just in time to see them collide with
Edward and Oak as they stumbled up from the cellar.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-64019814287948742442014-08-11T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-11T00:30:00.716-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 92<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I was just stood there, frozen to the spot. It all happened so
quickly: the tell tale noises, the box's movement, the start of its'
fall. I brought my hands up over my head, bracing myself for the
impact, when a strong hand grabbed me by the collar and dragged me
out of the way.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The box hit the ground with a dull thud, its' lid splitting to allow
papers to spill everywhere. I was trying to steady myself, stand up
straight, but Oak was having none of it.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“No time for standing around, old chap,” he said, his hand still
attached to my collar, pulling me out of the path of a second
tumbler, “We're not safe down here.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He kept yanking at my jacket, pulling me through the length of the
cellar as more boxes rained down, each narrowly missing me by ever
decreasing margins.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Come on,” he grunted as he almost threw me at the base of the
stairs before getting behind my back to push me forward and up. I
did my best to move as fast as I could, practically climbing up on
all fours. Behind us, everything was crashing to the ground as we
launched ourselves through the doorway to land in a tangled heap in
the hall.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-30606882283079221562014-08-10T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-10T00:30:00.366-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 91<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So I left the living room doorway to walk down the hall towards the
front door. I could still hear the soft murmur of the Angel's voice
talking to Fiona, and her muted frustrated replies, though I couldn't
tell what was being said. All my senses seemed to be alive, on fire
even, scouring every inch of that space as I approached and passed
it, looking for any available place out quarries could possibly be
hiding.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Nearing the foot of the stairs I heard some kind of kerfuffle behind
me, coming from the cellar door to be exact. I almost turned to go
back and check when the rustling noise came again, louder now and
seemingly very nearby. In front of me stood the hall table,
telephone and unopened mail sitting on top. I opened its' only
drawer warily, quickly pushing aside the random objects dumped there
for want of a better home: letter opener, a couple half used candles,
old dog lead, disused plug, tape measure.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Don't be so daft,” I laughed at myself, “They'd never fit in
there,” when I heard the rustle again, freezing me to the spot.
Next to the table was a coat rack with a variety of outdoor garments
hanging from its' hooks. I was about to investigate further when a
“<i>klump</i>” at the top of the stairs grabbed my attention.
Half turning, I saw mum's feet beginning to descend the stairs, when
I heard that rustle behind me once more.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-15114604607603584972014-08-09T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-09T00:30:00.422-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 90<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gOtxLvlftzyRe7GHl2hPMlB_CdRnHTIvCNS5-8XT-256AAnOy3DfKp7vWvZ6BpmYLbfymfxCMoUsf2rxInezBcRkwntgMvC5syPuEJW_J-tT-bfLeoKQumoatVMaISHXZGNo_hFcJuas/s1600/90.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9gOtxLvlftzyRe7GHl2hPMlB_CdRnHTIvCNS5-8XT-256AAnOy3DfKp7vWvZ6BpmYLbfymfxCMoUsf2rxInezBcRkwntgMvC5syPuEJW_J-tT-bfLeoKQumoatVMaISHXZGNo_hFcJuas/s1600/90.png" height="35" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fiona sits in her husband's parents' living room, trying to
understand what the voice of the unseen Angel is telling her. She's
vaguely aware of her husband, stood in the doorway, a tiny pair of
shoes in his hand. She knows he's looking at her, knows that he's
trying to follow their conversation. It even registers with her when
his attention is snatched away by something in the hallway, something
she might have to think about later.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But not now. Right now she needs to understand what the Angel is
telling her, because it seems important, urgent even, if she judges
it by the speaker's tone.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“That house is not the Warp,” that oily voice tells her, “No
matter how much it looks and feels like it.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“So you say,” she replies, “But I don't know what that means,
or how it helps us!”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Angel doesn't reply at once, pausing to contemplate his response.
She almost finds it funny, that silence, it's as if she can hear him
thinking.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Okay,” he says at last, “Try this: the Weave is a big house,
where almost anything is possible? Yes?”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Y-yes,” she falters, waiting for whatever comes next.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Then that house,” the Angel continues, “Is like a shed at the
bottom of the garden.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“O-kay,” she replies, still unsure.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Your shed!” There's a note of triumph in his voice. “A place
where you have total control. Now concentrate, breath, feel the shed
around you, feel it as an extension of you.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1wt_eig_MALDkVO6borPl0D01hpXAPZ-KvYHxMtPlB-FV3XmnrOYJa56z5kJFbkVMb9lnkuDipFvdDUIjKSrzLI0lr0C2dnjeVo5XfZk7TpAJsklI_L_HYre5iYiZ2_YvtwXqWHtE4U1/s1600/fiona.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1wt_eig_MALDkVO6borPl0D01hpXAPZ-KvYHxMtPlB-FV3XmnrOYJa56z5kJFbkVMb9lnkuDipFvdDUIjKSrzLI0lr0C2dnjeVo5XfZk7TpAJsklI_L_HYre5iYiZ2_YvtwXqWHtE4U1/s1600/fiona.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-22648442322646239192014-08-08T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-08T00:30:00.423-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 89<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Hmmm,” Raven grunted, looking me up and down. He grabbed my
shoulders, turned me round. I felt his hands patting my
back...hips...when he reached my legs I couldn't help but say
something.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Do you mind?” I asked, trying not to sound too offended, “Is
there something you're looking for?”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I don't know,” he replied honestly, turning me back to face him,
once more looking from head to foot. “There's something...”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Without finishing his sentence, he turned and walked into the second
bedroom. I watched him have a quick look round, then return to the
landing.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“What something?” I asked, “You're being very cryptic again.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Yes,” he said, “Sorry.” With that apology hanging in the
air, he walked into the third bedroom, barely glanced t much at all
before returning to me once more. Standing still for a moment, he
seemed to make a point of sniffing the air.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I doubt there's little point in checking the bathroom,” he said
turning toward the stairs, a new spring in his step. “Come on,”
he continued, giving me a wink, “Things are about to get
interesting.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-61157372156734111952014-08-07T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-07T10:06:34.981-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 88<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I was about to pull open that first cupboard door when a huge wave of
anxiety swept through me. What on earth were we doing down there,
searching for midgets that might look like anything? What did we
think we were going to do if we found them? What were they going to
do if we didn't? A thousand doubts raced through my mind, each
jostling for my attention, each suggesting ever greater dire
consequences. I might have stood there for hours if I hadn't heard
my wife shout from the upper floor.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Get a grip, man,” I muttered to myself, finally grabbing hold of
the handle.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Are you feeling okay, Edward?” Oak asked, ripping open a fourth
box. I have to say, he was being very methodical in his approach to
our search: lifting down a box, opening it cautiously, checking the
contents then stacking it neatly against the adjacent wall.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Fine,” I said, pulling open the door to find myself confronted
by the shiny glint of Christmas tinsel and a box full gaudy tree
decorations. “Just fine.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I paused then, sure I'd heard a tiny grunting sound somewhere above
me, followed by the sound of cardboard rubbing against cardboard.
Looking up, I saw the top box on a pile of four teetering unsteadily
above me. “Oh no,” was all I could manage before the box slipped
from its' mount and plunged towards me.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-67579677226639950182014-08-06T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-06T00:30:01.143-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 87<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I was watching my wife from the living room doorway , listening to
the conversation she and the Angel were engaged in, when I heard
mum's surprised exclamation from upstairs.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Is everything okay up there?” I shouted, which gave Fiona a bit
of a start.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Fine,” Raven responded immediately, “Everything's fine.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I'm not sh...” mum said at the same time, then went silent for a
second. “It's okay,” she said, “Keep looking.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fiona looked right at me with an expression I couldn't quite
interpret. I was sure she was going to say something when the Angel
said something else I didn't quite catch and her attention moved on.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I'm sorry,” she said, “I don't understand.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I made myself concentrate, listening closely to his reply. “This
is your world,” he said, “It will bend to your will.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He continued speaking but I didn't catch what was said, my attention
snatched away by a rustling sound coming from somewhere near the
front door.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-17316790528171375402014-08-05T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-05T00:30:00.389-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 86<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“We've found a jacket,” I shouted from the bedroom doorway, which
earned me another scowl from Raven.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Mary!” he scolded, holding his finger to his lips.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Sorry,” I whispered in reply, shrugging my shoulders meekly.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I watched as Raven searched the room: sliding open the doors of the
fitted wardrobes, pushing clothes aside, fighting his way past piles
of shoes. For a moment I almost felt embarrassed, a feeling that
disappeared when the door slid shut. He knelt on the floor, grunting
a little, to scour under the bed, then quickly examined the bedside
tables, opening and closing drawers in quick succession.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I don't know why, but I just stood there, somehow unable to pitch in
and help while also feeling slightly awkward as he searched through
our most intimate possessions. It was an odd feeling, one I still
can't explain, but I mean how would you feel watching a stranger
stick his hand in your knicker-drawer?</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Thankfully he finished in no time at all and we returned to the
landing. We were just about to enter the second bedroom when I was
sure I felt something brush past me.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“What was that?” I demanded, looking round me.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“What was what?” he asked, looking concerned.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I don't know,” I replied, still startled, rubbing my hands
together to get rid of the sensation. “I think something moved up
here.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-84893327467585923452014-08-04T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-04T00:30:01.304-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 85<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a big counter unit that stretches along one wall of our
cellar, starting at the foot of the stairs. On top of it are any
number of storage boxes: from those collapsible crates you get in the
local cheap shops, to those proper archive boxes that come from
proper stationers. The boxes are piled high, often three or four
deep, filled with the detritus of thirty years of marriage, two
children, employment histories and god knows what. The cupboards
below are full too, chock-a-block with defunct toys and games,
discarded kitchen gadgets and old clothes.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The opposite wall is piled high with old furniture and soft
furnishings: a retired dinning table and chairs, a couple of standing
lamps, retired garden games, even an old exercise bike that had never
quite achieved any level of usefulness.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I looked at it all and sighed deeply, not for the first time in my
life ruing Mary's inability to throw anything away. Oak, meanwhile,
had found a knife in his pocket and was cutting at the tape that
bound the first box. I found my breath catching in my throat as he
ripped open the first box, only to find a deadly tea service we'd
inherited from my wife's aunt.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“One down,” Oak said with a wry smile, reaching for the next.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I'll look through the cupboards,” I replied, walking to the far
end of the cellar to bend and open the first door.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-15199793217645521012014-08-03T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-03T00:30:00.421-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 84<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Walking back into the living room, tiny shoes in hand, I couldn't
help but pause and wonder for a moment if my wife had finally gone
mad. There she was, sat alone, seemingly chatting away to herself.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Yes I know that,” she was saying, a tiny bead of frustration
decorating her brow, “But what do you expect us to do? This isn't
the Weave, as well you know, we have to pay attention to little
things like physics and...”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She stopped short, obviously interrupted by her unseen Angel. All
kinds of worries filled my head then: how long would this go on for?
Would she ever recover? Would the world ever seem normal and mundane
ever again.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It was as I watched her, turbulent questions swimming through my
mind, that I began to hear the voice myself. It started as a thin
whine, the high pitched complaining of an old analogue radio being
tuned in, but the more I listened the more I could make sense of it.
I'm not sure they were words exactly, but I certainly began to
understand the message.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“That is true,” our invisible protagonist was saying, “You most
certainly are not in the Weave. But you have to remember, you're no
longer in the Warp either. The usual limitations do not apply there,
certainly not to you!”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-70743837910702796372014-08-02T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-02T00:30:00.486-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 83<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Be on your guard,” Fiona shout from the living room, “They may
have changed their appearance.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“We've found their trousers,” I shouted a triumphant reply from
the top of the stairs. Raven turned to look at me, scowling. “Well,
it's a pair of trousers,” I corrected myself, which only caused
Raven to scowl all the more.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“There were shoes in the kitchen,” Robert called from the
hallway, “Just a single pair. They were in the dishwasher!”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Raven's expression returned to a deep frown as he turned back to the
trousers. “Curious,” he said, picking them up.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Anything down there, Edward?” I called to my husband, which
elicited another harsh look from Raven.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Can we try to keep the noise down Mary,” he said as he ran the
trousers through his fingers. It didn't feel like a question. He
shoved his hands into the tiny trouser pockets. “Nothing,” he
grunted, finally casting the garment aside.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Sorry,” I apologised, following him to our bedroom, almost
walking into his back when he stopped suddenly.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Eyes and ears open,” he said curtly, pointing at the bed, “Mouth
closed.” There, in the centre of Edward's pillow, sat a tiny,
neatly folded jacket.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-68412694847394054662014-08-01T00:30:00.000-07:002014-08-01T00:30:00.028-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 82<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“The idea of our cellar...” I said slowly. Part of me
understood, while at the same time there was a part of me that just
found the idea so challenging. There was the cellar, right in front
of us. Surely it was what it was. But then, how did it get to be so
tidy, when just a few hours earlier it had been in such chaos? “I
do get it,” I told Oak, “But...”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Maybe it would be for the best,” he replied, “If you didn't
think about it too much.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For once, I found myself agreeing with him, resolving there and then
to put it out of my mind until I had time to think properly.
Preferably, I thought, with the aid of a large scotch.</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“You're right,” I said, pulling at my belt to straighten my
trousers. “Where do we begin?”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Before he could reply we heard Fiona shout from the living room
above. “Be on your guard,” she warned, “They may have changed
their appearance.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Marvellous,” Oak sighed, not quite under his breath, “We could
have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we'd just followed the usual
protocols.”</div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I couldn't help glaring at him, lost for words. “Sorry,” he
said, lifting a box from the top of the pile in front of us, “Force
of habit. We've got a lot to get through,” he continued, looking
reluctantly at the scale of the task before us, “We'd better just
start here and work our way through.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-37705721437289908392014-07-31T00:30:00.000-07:002014-07-31T00:30:00.740-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 81<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Small, shiny and, so it seemed, freshly polished shoes, just sat
there. I picked them up cautiously, with a single finger and thumb,
not really sure what I was holding.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Be on your guard,” I heard Fiona shout from the living room,
“They may have changed their appearance.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Leaving the shoes on the kitchen counter for a moment, I opened the
back door and stuck my head out into the fresh, early morning air.
The sky was still dark, a tiny sliver of something brighter struggled
to make itself felt over to the East.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Christ!” I remember thinking, “Have we been at this all
night?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I scowled at the shadows in mum and dad's back garden, unable to
decipher any detail at all, just blobs of darkness and darker still.
I briefly contemplated taking a walk round the bushes, but felt that
might be foolish without a weapon of some kind. So discretion won
the day. I returned to the kitchen, locked the door behind me,
collected the shows and returned to my wife.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-61991169251329508382014-07-30T00:30:00.000-07:002014-07-30T00:30:01.011-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 80<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wn7236fnIHU/U9fWwBv_GfI/AAAAAAAAAi8/Nye9zc6gmEI/s1600/80.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wn7236fnIHU/U9fWwBv_GfI/AAAAAAAAAi8/Nye9zc6gmEI/s1600/80.png" height="35" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fiona, finally alone in her in-laws' living room, finds a seat and
sits quietly, listening to the sounds of searching coming from
throughout the house. There's the <i>thump-thump</i> from the cellar
stairs, followed by the sounds of astonishment, as Edward and Oak
reach the basement. There's also the quick-fire clatter and banging
of her husband in the kitchen, moving from cupboard to drawer to
appliance in speedy succession. And of course, there's the more
cautious, contemplative thud of two pairs of feet ascending the
stairs as Raven and Mary reach the upper floor.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Beyond that, Fiona can hear a gentle hum, the everyday vibration of
the house itself, settling into its' new role as somewhere entirely
new: a kind of place the world has never seen before, a bridge
between what's real and what's not.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And behind all that, not actually heard at all, but still whispering
in the deepest part of her brain, the voice of the Angel. She'd
managed to tune him out for a while, but now, left in silence, his
voice is bright and clear.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Don't just look for the obvious,” he says, smooth and oily,
“They could be anywhere. They could be anything!”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1wt_eig_MALDkVO6borPl0D01hpXAPZ-KvYHxMtPlB-FV3XmnrOYJa56z5kJFbkVMb9lnkuDipFvdDUIjKSrzLI0lr0C2dnjeVo5XfZk7TpAJsklI_L_HYre5iYiZ2_YvtwXqWHtE4U1/s1600/fiona.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1wt_eig_MALDkVO6borPl0D01hpXAPZ-KvYHxMtPlB-FV3XmnrOYJa56z5kJFbkVMb9lnkuDipFvdDUIjKSrzLI0lr0C2dnjeVo5XfZk7TpAJsklI_L_HYre5iYiZ2_YvtwXqWHtE4U1/s1600/fiona.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-59004134540206349692014-07-29T00:30:00.000-07:002014-07-29T00:30:01.191-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 79<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhecwguYwEwHvMWISvLrOrFgMzZ6ekAkR816ASgDtxQrVSGHA56krv_sfJ4WP3kM3wrAXFoxCJHGKSiy42oM_96aMil6IDmHTtP5ywuqMB79F8KUo6v5FKEjMqA3MrL3bXUpoWE-W3TZDmD/s1600/Mary.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Finally, we'd almost reached the top of the stairs. Despite his
words and foreboding demeanour, I couldn't help but think Raven was
being overly cautious during that long climb. Though it had probably
seemed longer to me, each step accompanied by a pause, because my
view ahead was blocked by his broad shoulders.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One stair short of the top he came to a dead stop, looking straight
ahead. He made a noise, a kind of “Humph,” but I thought he's
said something important.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Pardon?” I asked, “What did you say?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Stay behind me,” he replied sternly, “And don't move until I
say.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As he took the final step, I saw what had caused him such alarm.
There, in the middle of the landing, very neatly folded, sat a tiny
pair of trousers. Raven stepped forward, brandishing a pencil he'd
retrieved from his pocket. I moved to follow him, receiving a stern
look for my trouble.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“No,” he said, wagging an admonishing finger, “Just stay where
you are.” I did as he commanded, watching as he carefully bent
forward to poke at the discarded garment.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-52183873335939641442014-07-28T00:30:00.000-07:002014-07-28T00:30:01.471-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 78<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7CG1ybLQ86I5NnwgYFUdALwyv9NzcxG6coY2eJA5dWb_d2SMTgTwxTskdAWua-E3AMHZofcdVxa0S5YAdxh-EWzgnb3TOtjWdHGGnMuLJ82nWsJnl6Sf1yFpEcHZZ16de9W5qB-rKw99/s1600/Edward.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At the foot of the cellar stairs Oak stopped, holding his crystal
high to cast light into every corner of the room. I was utterly
astonished by what I saw, and I had to say as much.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I don't understand,” I said, “I came down here just a few
hours ago. It was a complete mess.” I pointed to a neatly stacked
pile of boxes. “They'd all fallen over, half their contents
spilled everywhere. I was even trapped underneath that big one. How
can it be have gone back to being so tidy, so organised? Nobody else
has been down here, not as far as I know. Surely we'd have heard
them?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“You have to understand, Edward,” Oak said, lowering his arm,
“This is not your cellar.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“It's not?” I asked, a bit shocked. “Well what is it, if not
our cellar?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“It <i>is</i> your cellar,” he replied slowly, “But it is also
the <i>idea</i> of your cellar.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I think my frown must have betrayed my confusion.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“It is the cellar of this house as you imagine it,” he continued.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Yes, I know,” I told him, “But surely the mess should still be
here?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Only you actually saw it though, didn't you?” he asked. “Not
your wife, or son, his wife, or even the man who came to read the gas
metre three weeks ago? All those people have an effect on the idea
of your cellar.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3595991828316933242.post-25495263188389562162014-07-27T00:30:00.000-07:002014-07-27T00:30:00.470-07:00Episode 10 - Chapter 77<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_ND6cjaXS43W-Nu8suL12vp74RYWxmgv9sVrPaGcBaWuegXnWRLCnHu6MulCviBkY8MGMiaesMyV5VwRiM5tWLTZEBdJu9LpSrFCx4S7sgKBKhK-_fKJjVnTSy-VcWOKEsTT5DoZnauq/s1600/Robert.png" height="29" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Make sure you're thorough,” Fiona shouted as I left the living
room, “Check everywhere.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So when I got in the kitchen, that's exactly what I did. I started
with the food cupboards, since they were nearest the door, shifting
packets of cuppa soup and dusty tins of tuna, scouring every nook and
cranny for any trace of our wayward midgets. The crockery cupboards
came next, pushing piles of plates and chipped mugs from one side to
another, leaving no plate or saucer unturned. When I got to the
cupboard under the sink I had to fight my way past an avalanche of
carrier bags, only to find half empty bottles of bleach and unused
scourers. I even searched the kitchen draws, moving piles of tea
towels and rolls of cling film.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There was nothing to be found, no trace at all. I turned my
attention to the fridge, then the freezer, both of which had no
secrets to discover. Finally I came to the washing machine, its'
stainless steel drum sparkling and empty, and at last the dish
washer. Pulling open the door I saw the rack was almost empty: no
plates or cups, no glasses or bowls, but there in the centre, sat all
alone, a tiny pair of shoes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUatIzDYtWY2soZugh-G41Bn62w41_s8-gPYtoktXmgI6QgZ9tCRHaeOfiUrSE5rTDjqMBvSzfKBpCAr00eovNptxpfng5TcQxqaREqK8x93xQgUbE5hp_8kmmpcwERH4p4VVSc4YiBDD/s1600/sprig.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Gavin Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10886966831839893057noreply@blogger.com