Horizon: File 015 (The Waking Ally)

BEGIN REPORT

FILE 015: THE WAKING ALLY

Bloody dog walkers. Why do they hang around remote woodlands in the dead of night? Mind you they're probably wondering why a diminutive blonde is sat out in her car in the dead of night as well. Their faces told me all I needed to know about what they thought about that. So, I'm ok. No Horizon men in suits trying to take me away.

Again.

So... Simon Roper. Stark had sent me on my way with all those freaky images in my head. She told me that if I ever needed her then all I had to do is call her, but...I don't know. This was my crusade. This was my quest. I felt like Stark was too detached from Horizon. I had to dig deeper. She understood that and praised me for my dogged determination.

But as I sped off from the freaky little village of Little Ashbury, I did have to wonder what I would find with this David Harrison aka Simon Roper.

I didn't have to wait long. I called him on the number Stark had provided. The man who answered was gruff. His voice sounded as though he smoked fifty a day. Roper had been thirty-five when he had filmed Hell, so he was now in his mid-sixties. He had introduced himself as David Harrison on the phone and I had said the words that Stark had told me to speak:

"Hello, my name is Zoe Parish. Joan Stark sent me. The Shadow Man still walks the Ghostwood."

There was a pause. A rasping sigh at the other end of the line before Roper told me to drive to Lincoln and meet him at the Adam & Eve pub at 3pm that afternoon. And so, I did as I was instructed. He also told me that if he saw I was with anyone else then there would be trouble.

The Adam & Eve Tavern was an old building that had been painted over in white some time ago. It was reportedly one of the oldest pubs in the city, having been built at some point during the 1700’s.

The flat face of the front of the building rose, triangular, to a point. On it’s left side it tapered down to a smaller, extended section of the pub. Another add-on lay on its right-hand side and a drive, leading to the beer garden, ran down its right-hand side.

It was raining. And when I say raining, I really mean raining. The type that's relentless. The type you can drown in. Stood outside the pub, underneath a black umbrella, was a man in a raincoat. He had short, untidy white hair, a neatly trimmed white beard, almost-grey eyes and a deeply lined face that told me he had seen more than his fair share of heartache in his time. But it was the left side of his face that left the mark on me. The left side of his face was partially melted. Not badly, but clearly, he'd been caught in a fire at some point.

And my mind went back to his alleged trip into Hell as he extended his hand to greet me...

This was a turning point for me.

END REPORT

Copyright © 2022 by Jim Allenby

All rights reserved. This post or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a review.