Post by Catsmate on May 22, 2024 11:45:28 GMT
When Astrid Linh was sixteen she had a weird experience.
She lived in Hunstanton†, child of middle-class parents, fascinated by history almost as much as science.
Astrid worked part-time in the local Historical Society, helping visitors, (wo)manning the desk, fixing the computers, running their web presenceand being a general dogsbody.
Then her friend, and not-at-all boyfriend, Gerard Morten, started having weird dreams, as in wake-up in the middle of the night screaming nightmare type dreams.
Then he disappeared.
A teenager with ‘mental health issues’ disappearing near Halloween wasn’t exactly a police priority, but Linh was convinced that something had gone wrong. Ger had told her all about his recent visions, and while she didn’t believe in the supernatural, they worried her and she thought he might be in danger, though she couldn’t say just how. She has been having nightmares herself lately.
That’s when the weird guy arrived.
Astrid encountered him first in the Historical Society, where he purchased a one-year membership with cash, and without qualm or quibble at the price. He carried out quiet but intense research there for a few days, always very polite.
But she caught him watching her, never directly, she only saw his attention incidentally. His expression was odd, quizzical as if he saw something that puzzled her.
She’d been watched, and stared at, before but this man, Emmett Blaese he was called, or called himself, was different. Not threatening, just curious.
After four solid days of research, consuming the society’s collection on local legends, ghost sightings and the destruction of the pier, in 1939 [fire], 1957 [fire], 1978 [flood] and 2002 [fire], he thanked her for her assistance, gave her an envelope of money and departed.
Astrid followed him as he strolled down the street, seemingly lost in thought, and entered a café. Blaese joined a tall, muscular, woman with short red hair at a table and the two talked. Torn between her job and her curiosity she slipped in, got a coffee and pastry, and found a secluded table where she could watch the pair. The spent about three-quarters-of-an-hour there, deep in conversation and examination of the documents Blaese had copied or printed at the Society. She sipped her coffee and wonder what she was doing.
Eventually they seemed to come to a decision, Blaese put the papers back in his backpack and they left. Giving them a few minutes she headed back to the Society building. She got perhaps forty metres.
Swinging around the corner, off the street into a short-cut, Astrid was started to hear her name from a doorway behind her.
“Good afternoon Ms. Linh. Why are you following me?”
The pair were there, invisible from the middle of the alley, standing in the doorway. Too startled to lie convincingly she stammered a reply. Blaese didn’t reply at first, staring at her with those grey eyes, and then announced, “I think we should get some lunch and talk”, he walked back to the street. The woman didn’t speak, just smiled crookedly and gestured Astrid to follow him, before following behind.
The lunch was excellent, at a restaurant Astrid couldn’t afford to patronise often, certainly not for casual workday lunches. While they waited Blaese asked her a question, “Why not tell me about it?” and smiled.
Astrid’s brain gave a lurch and found herself pouring out the story, the dreams, Ger’s visions, his disappearance. It sounded rather silly as she listened to herself, but he took it all in, asking clarifying questions a few times.
“Hmm”, was his response when she’d finished. Then their meal came and they ate in silence.
Lingering with obvious enjoyment over the apple tart and cream Blaese spoke.
“You’re right Astrid, there is something weird going on in this town. And there has been for many years. Your friend isn’t the only person who’s disappeared recently, and I’m sorry to say I don’t think he’ll be coming back”.
She stammered out questions, wanting to know what was happening, what he knew. But he shook his head.
“I’m sorry Astrid but this isn’t your fight, your responsibility. Please don’t get involved. But it’ll be over soon”.
The woman snorted and he glared at her.
“Please excuse Cynthia, she’s something of a cynic. But I think this matter can be fixed”.
Blaese wouldn’t say more, turning the conversation to herself, her life, her ambitions and plans. She told him of her hopes, university studying history and physics. This seemed to amuse him greatly, and he congratulated her on her choice.
The pair left soon after, paying the bill and wishing her well.
Two days later there was an explosion during the night, in the woods near the old churchyard on the edge of the town, flames lighting the sky. The next day the town was full of police, and soldiers in black fatigues, the news media were full of stories and rumours, accounts of a killer preying on teenagers, and an detonation of explosives in a one of the old wartime Auxiliary Unit hideaways. The troops were clearing unexploded munitions and searching the woods.
She didn’t believe much of the story, but didn’t say much, even if it was the main topic of conversation.
Ger’s body was one of six that was recovered, badly damaged by fire. Phosphorous the authorities said, nasty stuff. Astrid cried quietly.
Nearly two years later Astrid still remembered the incident well, despite the pressure of studying. Just before her A levels she received a letter from a firm of solicitors in Norwich, with an request to attend their offices.
Her parents were puzzled but she went as requested.
The offices looked ancient, even decrepit, from the outside. Inside they looked like something from the fifties, possibly the 1850s, and very plush.
Young mister Wainwright was one of the partners, probably in his forties but acted twenty years older and offered her coffee, which she accepted. It was brought in on a silver service.
The solicitor spoke for a few minutes, outlining the situation. A client of theirs, a doctor Emmett Blaese, had arranged a trust for her education, covering university fees, living and other expenses, et cetera.
Wainwright was the first person Astrid had known that enunciated the words ‘et cetera’ that precisely, she noted to herself.
“It seems you were of great assistance to doctor Blaese during some of his researches”, Wainwright smiled at her.
“There’s also a letter”, handing her a stiff envelope and a necklace, “and this pendant”.
He gave her a few minutes to read the letter. Blaese wished her well and hoped for the best in her studies. The letter ended “And I think I’ll see you again.” Below that was a postscript:
“If the pendant glows, be careful”.
Cryptic, Astrid thought, like a supernatural teen novel.
She signed the papers that Wainwright passed to her, discussed her university choices and took her leave after shaking hands with him.
That autumn she began her studies at Cambridge.
† Though not our Hunstanton.
She lived in Hunstanton†, child of middle-class parents, fascinated by history almost as much as science.
Astrid worked part-time in the local Historical Society, helping visitors, (wo)manning the desk, fixing the computers, running their web presenceand being a general dogsbody.
Then her friend, and not-at-all boyfriend, Gerard Morten, started having weird dreams, as in wake-up in the middle of the night screaming nightmare type dreams.
Then he disappeared.
A teenager with ‘mental health issues’ disappearing near Halloween wasn’t exactly a police priority, but Linh was convinced that something had gone wrong. Ger had told her all about his recent visions, and while she didn’t believe in the supernatural, they worried her and she thought he might be in danger, though she couldn’t say just how. She has been having nightmares herself lately.
That’s when the weird guy arrived.
Astrid encountered him first in the Historical Society, where he purchased a one-year membership with cash, and without qualm or quibble at the price. He carried out quiet but intense research there for a few days, always very polite.
But she caught him watching her, never directly, she only saw his attention incidentally. His expression was odd, quizzical as if he saw something that puzzled her.
She’d been watched, and stared at, before but this man, Emmett Blaese he was called, or called himself, was different. Not threatening, just curious.
After four solid days of research, consuming the society’s collection on local legends, ghost sightings and the destruction of the pier, in 1939 [fire], 1957 [fire], 1978 [flood] and 2002 [fire], he thanked her for her assistance, gave her an envelope of money and departed.
Astrid followed him as he strolled down the street, seemingly lost in thought, and entered a café. Blaese joined a tall, muscular, woman with short red hair at a table and the two talked. Torn between her job and her curiosity she slipped in, got a coffee and pastry, and found a secluded table where she could watch the pair. The spent about three-quarters-of-an-hour there, deep in conversation and examination of the documents Blaese had copied or printed at the Society. She sipped her coffee and wonder what she was doing.
Eventually they seemed to come to a decision, Blaese put the papers back in his backpack and they left. Giving them a few minutes she headed back to the Society building. She got perhaps forty metres.
Swinging around the corner, off the street into a short-cut, Astrid was started to hear her name from a doorway behind her.
“Good afternoon Ms. Linh. Why are you following me?”
The pair were there, invisible from the middle of the alley, standing in the doorway. Too startled to lie convincingly she stammered a reply. Blaese didn’t reply at first, staring at her with those grey eyes, and then announced, “I think we should get some lunch and talk”, he walked back to the street. The woman didn’t speak, just smiled crookedly and gestured Astrid to follow him, before following behind.
The lunch was excellent, at a restaurant Astrid couldn’t afford to patronise often, certainly not for casual workday lunches. While they waited Blaese asked her a question, “Why not tell me about it?” and smiled.
Astrid’s brain gave a lurch and found herself pouring out the story, the dreams, Ger’s visions, his disappearance. It sounded rather silly as she listened to herself, but he took it all in, asking clarifying questions a few times.
“Hmm”, was his response when she’d finished. Then their meal came and they ate in silence.
Lingering with obvious enjoyment over the apple tart and cream Blaese spoke.
“You’re right Astrid, there is something weird going on in this town. And there has been for many years. Your friend isn’t the only person who’s disappeared recently, and I’m sorry to say I don’t think he’ll be coming back”.
She stammered out questions, wanting to know what was happening, what he knew. But he shook his head.
“I’m sorry Astrid but this isn’t your fight, your responsibility. Please don’t get involved. But it’ll be over soon”.
The woman snorted and he glared at her.
“Please excuse Cynthia, she’s something of a cynic. But I think this matter can be fixed”.
Blaese wouldn’t say more, turning the conversation to herself, her life, her ambitions and plans. She told him of her hopes, university studying history and physics. This seemed to amuse him greatly, and he congratulated her on her choice.
The pair left soon after, paying the bill and wishing her well.
Two days later there was an explosion during the night, in the woods near the old churchyard on the edge of the town, flames lighting the sky. The next day the town was full of police, and soldiers in black fatigues, the news media were full of stories and rumours, accounts of a killer preying on teenagers, and an detonation of explosives in a one of the old wartime Auxiliary Unit hideaways. The troops were clearing unexploded munitions and searching the woods.
She didn’t believe much of the story, but didn’t say much, even if it was the main topic of conversation.
Ger’s body was one of six that was recovered, badly damaged by fire. Phosphorous the authorities said, nasty stuff. Astrid cried quietly.
Nearly two years later Astrid still remembered the incident well, despite the pressure of studying. Just before her A levels she received a letter from a firm of solicitors in Norwich, with an request to attend their offices.
Her parents were puzzled but she went as requested.
The offices looked ancient, even decrepit, from the outside. Inside they looked like something from the fifties, possibly the 1850s, and very plush.
Young mister Wainwright was one of the partners, probably in his forties but acted twenty years older and offered her coffee, which she accepted. It was brought in on a silver service.
The solicitor spoke for a few minutes, outlining the situation. A client of theirs, a doctor Emmett Blaese, had arranged a trust for her education, covering university fees, living and other expenses, et cetera.
Wainwright was the first person Astrid had known that enunciated the words ‘et cetera’ that precisely, she noted to herself.
“It seems you were of great assistance to doctor Blaese during some of his researches”, Wainwright smiled at her.
“There’s also a letter”, handing her a stiff envelope and a necklace, “and this pendant”.
He gave her a few minutes to read the letter. Blaese wished her well and hoped for the best in her studies. The letter ended “And I think I’ll see you again.” Below that was a postscript:
“If the pendant glows, be careful”.
Cryptic, Astrid thought, like a supernatural teen novel.
She signed the papers that Wainwright passed to her, discussed her university choices and took her leave after shaking hands with him.
That autumn she began her studies at Cambridge.
† Though not our Hunstanton.