Short Stories Collection (1)
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1. FOOTPRINTS
My missing colleague was a radio surveillance operator and he did 13-hour shifts of intense listening through his headset. Off-duty he would say very little apart from commenting that the constant whistling of the wind “drove him mad” … (full story available in printed form)
2. HOTEL HALSTEAD
In April 1983 I arrived at Bootle railway station in Cumbria. I was there to work at a secret weapons-testing military-base which was two miles from the train station, but not on the map, or marked by any signs. I was also to work at Eskmeals observation station …(full story available in printed form)
3. LORRY MAN
The Lorry Driver was heading south, over the Dava Moor road, towards the Cairngorms. His final destination was Madrid. He decided to travel through the night to get a head start. It was well after midnight and he had been speaking with his wife on the phone just a few minutes earlier ... (full story available in printed form)
4. HAUNTED ROAD
A new section of road was laid on the A41 to divert traffic away from a small town that was not that far away from Aylesbury. But, shortly after the building-work commenced, reports of strange happenings began to surface in the local community. The road became notorious for paranormal activity, but also for the many lives it would claim. This is a story about a haunted road …(full story available in printed form)
5. GLEN AFFRIC
Glen Affric is one of the three Great Glens that join up the West Coast with Loch Ness. If you feel hardy enough you can walk the 45 miles from Beauly right across the mountains to Kintail, then down to Cluny, then further south which takes you into Glen Affric. But maybe you don’t want to try this in winter no matter how tough you are. And give yourself three whole days to do the walk even in the summer … (full story available in printed form)
6. SMALL TOWN WEDDING
The year was 1984. Me and my mate Chas packed our Big motorbikes with camping gear and headed off from Dunfermline. I rode a Honda Goldwing, Chas strode a Honda CB900. These powerful bikes don’t hang around on the road. There were very few speed cameras in those days and so it didn’t take us that long to complete the 200 mile journey north from Dunfermline to Dingwall. Is was mid-August, and bright and warm, and so the run "up north" was enjoyable. We only had the clothes we were wearing, camping gear, and a toothbrush (each) …(full story available in printed form)
7. GOING OFF-GRID
Perhaps we should all give it a try. Because, if you do this, you will feel stuff, with no distractions. And I have led by example. I cycled all around Scotland - that is pedal power - and camped out in the wilds each night in a wee tent. I did this for four weeks, with no contact whatsoever with anyone. I had no phone with me, or radio, or any other form of communication – for a whole month. I was completely cut-off. And that is when you experience things deep in your soul … (full story available in printed form)
8. ICE
One day last year, during an extended cold snap, I set out on a mission to get some pictures of swans at the Secret Loch, a remote stretch of water that only I knew about. I suppose I risked it just a wee bit too much on this occasion … (full story available in printed form)
9. THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT
I found myself standing in this eerie graveyard at 6.15 in the morning. It was deathly silent as only a graveyard can be. Dawn was just about to break and the atmosphere was cool and misty. As I walked around I felt silky cobwebs brushing over my face and I could smell the damp earth under my feet … (full story available in printed form)
10. SEEING THE LIGHT
The distinguished couple that I met at Loch Garten were well-spoken and obviously highly-educated professionals. After all, they arrived in a Mercedes-Benz. In fact, he was a Diplomat and she was a Scientist …(full story available in printed form)
11. PARISIAN WALKWAYS
You are in Paris and surrounded by interesting architecture and beautiful people, and you have your camera with you. Your battery is fully charged and your memory card is empty. You are about to take some photos. Because that is what you came here for …(full story available in printed form)
12. THREE FRIENDS
The beautifully vulnerable and gorgeous cat lives on the street, surviving on scraps and the kindness of an old man, a street-musician, who plays his flute wonderfully for just a few coins …(full story available in printed form)
13. THE BUNKER
I worked as a scientist down in The Bunker. It was located several thousand feet under the City. To get there you walked through the doors of a traditional, harmless-looking castle, on the edge of Edinburgh - (military camouflage).
You were required to shout out your name, rank, your officer-in-charge, and your serial-number, into a voice-box on the wall. You got scanned, deloused, decontaminated, given your goon-suit, and issued with your ID card. Then you sat on a tube-transporter-unit and dialed your destination using a coded ring.
Fifteen minutes later you passed through the forty-foot-thick blast door, which locked you in for a month. Next, you descended several hundred stone steps before finally arriving at the Operations Centre deep underground.
Your purpose was to defend your country from a nuclear attack and you wouldn’t be seeing daylight for weeks. All underground corridors were coded with symbols and colours. I had a high clearance, and so was free to walk around most of them, but not the crypto areas.
Running along most of the long corridors (sixty miles in total) were wall-racks with triple bunk-beds and shelves packed with wafer-biscuits and big containers of water.
When you finally arrived at your desk you were handed a manila folder - For Your Eyes Only - it stated on the front. An authority-figure stood next to you with a hand-gun in his possession. You knew the drill. You opened the file, took note of the content, and signed a document to acknowledge that you had read, and understood, your instructions.
If you didn’t comply you knew you would be shot. You were under military law now, not common law or statute law.
The echo of my boots against the damp stone was the only sound. Level 7, Sector Gamma, the atmosphere thick with the stale tang of recycled air and unspoken dread. My ID card, cold against my gloved hand, granted me access, but not peace of mind. I, David, Scientist Grade 4, was a prisoner in my own patriotic duty.
The Bunker. A concrete leviathan slumbering beneath the innocuous façade of a Scottish castle. A place where sunlight was a forgotten memory and the only stars were the blinking LEDs of the control panels. My purpose: to monitor, analyze, and react to the unthinkable. A nuclear strike.
This month felt different. The usual hum of the machinery seemed strained, the faces of my colleagues etched with a deeper anxiety. Whispers snaked through the corridors, hushed conversations that ceased abruptly as I approached. Something was brewing. And it wasn't fucking tea-time.
My unease solidified when I found Dr. Albright, my officer-in-charge, hunched over a console in the restricted Data Analysis room. The room was bathed in the eerie glow of holographic projections, complex algorithms swirling in the air.
"David," he said, his voice raspy, "You're here. Good." He didn't meet my eyes. "We have a… situation."
The situation, as Dr. Albright revealed, was an anomaly. A series of seismic events, originating deep within the Earth's crust, but exhibiting a pattern that defied geological explanation. They were rhythmic, deliberate, almost… coded.
"We initially dismissed them as natural phenomena," Albright explained, his fingers dancing across the console, "But the frequency is increasing. And the location… it's directly beneath The Bunker."
My blood ran cold. An earthquake was one thing, but something… deliberate? "What do you think it is?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
Albright hesitated. "Officially, we're investigating a potential geological instability. Unofficially… some of us believe it's something… else."
He showed me the data. The seismic signatures were unlike anything I'd ever seen. They resonated with a strange, almost musical quality. As I delved deeper, I discovered a hidden layer within the data stream: a complex series of prime numbers.
"Someone, or something, is trying to communicate," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
Albright nodded grimly. "That's what we suspect. But who? And why?"
We worked tirelessly, deciphering the code. The prime numbers translated into coordinates, pinpointing a location within The Bunker itself – Level 9, Sector Delta. A sector that, according to the schematics, didn't exist.
The official records showed Level 8 leading directly to the bedrock. But the seismic data, the coded messages, all pointed to something more. A hidden level.
"We need to investigate," I said, my heart pounding.
Albright looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. "It's a suicide mission, David. If Level 9 exists, we have no idea what we'll find."
"We have no choice," I replied. "If something is trying to communicate with us from beneath The Bunker, we need to know what it is. Before it's too late."
We gathered a small team, armed ourselves, and descended into the depths. Level 8 was exactly as the schematics described: a dead end. A solid wall of rock. But I knew better.
I ran my hand along the cold stone, searching for a seam, a hidden switch. And then, I found it. A barely perceptible indentation, shaped like a triangle. I pressed it.
A low rumble echoed through the corridor. The stone wall groaned, and a section slid silently inward, revealing a dark, gaping passage.
We exchanged nervous glances and stepped into the unknown. The air in Level 9 was thick, heavy with an unnatural energy. The walls were lined with strange symbols, glowing with an inner light. And in the center of the chamber, pulsating with an unearthly power, was a device unlike anything I had ever seen.
It was a gateway. A doorway to something… else. And as I stared into its swirling depths, I knew that our mission to defend the country had just taken a terrifying, unimaginable turn. The nuclear threat was no longer the greatest danger. Something far more ancient, far more powerful, had awakened beneath The Bunker. And we had just opened the door.
14. NIGHTSHIFT
Working overnight in an unused wing of an Old Hospital could be creepy. As an electrician this was something I experienced a few times. Big hospitals can often have dark pasts, and they store historic memories in their bricks …(full story available in printed form)
15. WAITING ROOM
I knew that the train station waiting-room had been out of use for many decades. I pushed the door anyway and, to my surprise, it opened easily, and so I entered the dusty and musty environment. My intention was to stay overnight at the station between the last train at 11.45pm, that late evening, and the next train at 5.45am the following early morning. I was armed with an old-fashioned 120 roll-film camera which only had 10 frames to play with. I managed to get 8 pictures to ‘come out’. Not too bad … (full story available in printed form)
16. CIRCLE OF FEAR
The North-East of Scotland had always been a place for my soul to escape the city's relentless bustle. And this cycling trip was meant to be no different, a solitary connection with nature. But the tracks, barely visible beneath a carpet of fallen leaves, led me deeper than I intended that day, into woods that felt ancient and watchful.
It was the circles that grabbed my attention. Not the gentle curves of nature, but stark, unnatural geometries carved into the landscape. Imagine a giant drill bit, descending from the heavens, excising a perfect cylinder from the forest. From the top of the tree line to the ground, a hole existed, a void in the green tapestry.
The trees surrounding these circles were vibrant, bursting with life. But within the circle's perimeter, the earth was charcoal-gray, barren. It was as if the very soil had been sterilized. Moreover, an unsettling silence permeated the space, a stark contrast to the usual woodland chorus. No birds sang, no insects buzzed. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
I cautiously approached one of the circles, my bicycle abandoned on the overgrown track. The air grew heavy, tingling with an unseen pressure. And an almost imperceptible hum vibrated through my chest, a low thrum like a distant generator struggling to maintain power. It was subtle, easily dismissed, but, nevertheless, it resonated deep within me, setting my teeth on edge.
As I peered into the circle, a sense of wrongness washed over me. It wasn't just the absence of any life, but something more profound, a violation of the natural order. I reached out a hand, hesitantly, towards the edge of the circle. As my fingers neared the invisible boundary, a wave of nausea hit me, a dizzying surge that caused me to stumble back.
And that's when the anxiety hit. Not a rational fear of getting lost or encountering a wild animal, but a primal, gut-wrenching terror. It was a feeling of being closely watched, of being assessed, of being utterly insignificant in the face of something immense and unknowable. An undercurrent of menace, so potent it felt like a physical force, pressed down on me.
My mind conjured images of abduction, of cold, sterile labs, of probing eyes and unfeeling hands. The humming intensified, morphing into a high-pitched whine that seemed to burrow right into my skull. I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that I had to get away. Now.
I scrambled back to my bike, fumbling with the gears, my hands now slick with sweat. The woods seemed to close in around me, the trees morphing into grotesque figures, their branches reaching out like skeletal arms. The circles, I realized with a sickening lurch, were not isolated incidents. They were everywhere, scattered throughout the woods like malevolent stepping stones.
I pedaled furiously, my tyres struggling to grip the loose earth. The eerie inhuman humming pursued me, a relentless drone that echoed in my ears. I didn't dare look back, afraid of what I might see. I just kept pedaling, driven by a desperate need to escape the oppressive presence of the woods, to leave behind the circles and their silent, sterile emptiness.
I burst from the treeline, gasping for breath, the open sky a welcome relief. The woods remained behind me, a dark and brooding presence on the horizon. I knew I would never forget what I had seen, what I had felt. The circles were a mystery, a terrifying enigma that had burrowed into my being. And I knew, with a icy certainty, that I would never venture into those woods again. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.
17. BUYER'S MARKET
It is November 1966.
“A splendid old house, isn’t it?” the estate-agent declared persuasively. “Just the thing for a large family with good taste. Not one of those modern boxes with no room to swing a … eh, do have any pets Sir?”
Deep in his heart Danny Adams agreed that the house was magnificent, but he also knew not to let his feelings show; not if a good deal was to be made. And so Danny tried to look mean and shrewd. But his was not a poker-face and it registered his emotions like he was an actor in those old black and white silent movies. He yearned for this big house, with its cornices, attics, endless nooks and crannies, and above all, the thirty-by-forty-foot living-room that ‘featured’ a nineteen-foot ceiling and a fireplace big enough for a bonfire.
And there were also ten acres of sweeping land too, offering wonderful privacy. What a great place for the kids! With five of them, all active, outgoing, creative, and impulsive -- just like their Dad. Finding a suitable house was no simple matter. Yes, but this one, almost hidden by the towering, leafy-oaks was a prize indeed -- a lucky strike.
“It’s not bad,” Danny said cautiously, totally unaware that his soft, brown eyes shone like beacons. “But, after all, Mr Ross, the place has been locked up for over thirty years, and what with all the stories and stuff, that would scare most buyers off. Everybody isn’t as free from superstition as I am, you know.”
“There’s nothing to all that talk,” the Estate-agent assured him. “The owner just didn’t care to rent or sell. He inherited the property at a fairly young age, but never actually lived there, most probably because it was just too big for one person living alone. That seems reasonable enough. One man in a thirty-room house! Of course,” he added quickly, seeing that a question was trembling on Danny’s lips. “It does need some work doing, but that’s why the ad said it "needs some attention." We thought a handy-man would see it as a real bargain, whereas if we had to call in our regular contractors…”
Danny was, indeed, a remarkably good DIY man, having a knack for cabinet work, masonry, electrical wiring, and even plumbing. He looked forward, with pleasant anticipation, to the job of renovating the house. The family could stay in the old one, several hundred miles away, while he worked away in peace, making the house ready for them. And there was no need to even consult Angela; she knew his taste was impeccable.
The Estate-agent and Danny agree on terms. There followed a period of intense activity and the old house was put into order.
Then there is the interesting puzzle of the mirror. The enormous mirror is set into the wall above the fireplace. The huge fireplace is intricately carved and decorated.
The family move in and are enthusiastic about the house. The five children enjoy exploring its many fascinating storerooms, attics, cupboards, and crawl-spaces. They kids range in age from five to thirteen. They walk, run, jump, and climb until they know every inch of the house.
Although the mirror was very old, it gave a clear, undistorted reflection. And with his family grouped around a blazing fire, Danny talked, with verve and imagination, about the reflected world to be seen -- in part -- over the mantel-piece. The oldest boy, Jerry, who was more science-minded at thirteen, showed less interest until his father, with shrewd premeditation, raised the question: why are left and right interchanged in the reflection, but not up and down?
This puzzle kept Jerry occupied for the rest of his father’s story. But Judy, who was eight, had a complaint. “The looking-glass room is just like ours,” she pouted.
“Not really,” Danny said. “See the picture on the wall? In our room, the man’s on the left; in there, he’s on the right. Besides,“ he added quickly, aware that the distinction didn’t impress her much, “we don’t know what’s in the rest of the reflected house, through the archway and in all the other rooms. They may be altogether different from this side of the mirror. And the ones who live in them may stay out of this room which we can see. The story will be continued tomorrow,“ Danny says, “at nine-thirty. Now it’s bedtime, except for Jerry; he gets his extra half-hour.”
“Not tomorrow, dear,” Angela reminds him. “We’re going to the partner’s meeting, remember, and we won’t be back until midnight.”
Neither Danny nor his wife had any misgivings when they left the following evening. Although the house was isolated to a degree, the heavy doors locked, as did the windows. Jerry was a strong and responsible kid and he would be left in charge.
The next evening, when the parents were away, the five kids became fascinated by the big mirror. They all pulled together and held up a bedroom dresser-mirror, which they had taken of its hinges, in front of the big fire-mirror in order to see into reflected areas in the mirror-world out of normal view.
When Danny and Angela came back into the house at eleven-forty and saw the living-room, she began to scream …
Angela never stopped screaming. Two days later she died. And Danny was indicted for murder. But he believed it was a mercy-killing.
18. ALTAR EGO
The remote farmhouse, five miles from Dulnain Bridge, received an order of delivered groceries three years ago. Since then, there has been no reported activity of any kind. However, on November the 17th, three separate 999 calls were traced to this exact location; but no-one actually spoke during these recorded calls. The Authorities turned up at the address, forced the door, and entered the property. What they discovered was not easy to take in.
The interior of the house was in a serious state of neglect, with layers of dust coating the furniture and all the other surfaces. And there were cobwebs everywhere. The rooms looked as if they had not been touched in years, let alone lived in. The whole house showed no signs of life; apart from one room.
This bedroom was perfectly well kept. All neat and tidy; pristine in fact. It was the room of a young boy. His clothes and toys and possessions filled the drawers and cupboards. There was no dust here; no cobwebs. All clean.
In the centre of this bedroom was a makeshift altar; a table decorated with candles, fresh flowers, and some of the personal possessions of a young boy. There were photographs and drawings of the lad, and some handwritten letters sitting on the table.
There was also something else in the room. But this is too horrific to describe. The police officers, who attended this emergency-call, rarely speak about what they saw that day. However, they were never the same again.
19. ON REFLECTION
To create a peaceful ambience, she put on soft music and lit some fragrant candles. Gathering a blanket, Lucy sat down on the settee, and laid her head down on a cushion. Her thoughts drifted around that day’s unusual occurrences, searching for an understanding or explanation …(full story available in printed form)
20. HELP ME I'M FALLING
In the Old Days, working as a Government Scientist, I travelled around the country, often staying in temporary accommodation. This was well before mobile phones were in general use …(full story available in printed form)
1. FOOTPRINTS
My missing colleague was a radio surveillance operator and he did 13-hour shifts of intense listening through his headset. Off-duty he would say very little apart from commenting that the constant whistling of the wind “drove him mad” … (full story available in printed form)
2. HOTEL HALSTEAD
In April 1983 I arrived at Bootle railway station in Cumbria. I was there to work at a secret weapons-testing military-base which was two miles from the train station, but not on the map, or marked by any signs. I was also to work at Eskmeals observation station …(full story available in printed form)
3. LORRY MAN
The Lorry Driver was heading south, over the Dava Moor road, towards the Cairngorms. His final destination was Madrid. He decided to travel through the night to get a head start. It was well after midnight and he had been speaking with his wife on the phone just a few minutes earlier ... (full story available in printed form)
4. HAUNTED ROAD
A new section of road was laid on the A41 to divert traffic away from a small town that was not that far away from Aylesbury. But, shortly after the building-work commenced, reports of strange happenings began to surface in the local community. The road became notorious for paranormal activity, but also for the many lives it would claim. This is a story about a haunted road …(full story available in printed form)
5. GLEN AFFRIC
Glen Affric is one of the three Great Glens that join up the West Coast with Loch Ness. If you feel hardy enough you can walk the 45 miles from Beauly right across the mountains to Kintail, then down to Cluny, then further south which takes you into Glen Affric. But maybe you don’t want to try this in winter no matter how tough you are. And give yourself three whole days to do the walk even in the summer … (full story available in printed form)
6. SMALL TOWN WEDDING
The year was 1984. Me and my mate Chas packed our Big motorbikes with camping gear and headed off from Dunfermline. I rode a Honda Goldwing, Chas strode a Honda CB900. These powerful bikes don’t hang around on the road. There were very few speed cameras in those days and so it didn’t take us that long to complete the 200 mile journey north from Dunfermline to Dingwall. Is was mid-August, and bright and warm, and so the run "up north" was enjoyable. We only had the clothes we were wearing, camping gear, and a toothbrush (each) …(full story available in printed form)
7. GOING OFF-GRID
Perhaps we should all give it a try. Because, if you do this, you will feel stuff, with no distractions. And I have led by example. I cycled all around Scotland - that is pedal power - and camped out in the wilds each night in a wee tent. I did this for four weeks, with no contact whatsoever with anyone. I had no phone with me, or radio, or any other form of communication – for a whole month. I was completely cut-off. And that is when you experience things deep in your soul … (full story available in printed form)
8. ICE
One day last year, during an extended cold snap, I set out on a mission to get some pictures of swans at the Secret Loch, a remote stretch of water that only I knew about. I suppose I risked it just a wee bit too much on this occasion … (full story available in printed form)
9. THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT
I found myself standing in this eerie graveyard at 6.15 in the morning. It was deathly silent as only a graveyard can be. Dawn was just about to break and the atmosphere was cool and misty. As I walked around I felt silky cobwebs brushing over my face and I could smell the damp earth under my feet … (full story available in printed form)
10. SEEING THE LIGHT
The distinguished couple that I met at Loch Garten were well-spoken and obviously highly-educated professionals. After all, they arrived in a Mercedes-Benz. In fact, he was a Diplomat and she was a Scientist …(full story available in printed form)
11. PARISIAN WALKWAYS
You are in Paris and surrounded by interesting architecture and beautiful people, and you have your camera with you. Your battery is fully charged and your memory card is empty. You are about to take some photos. Because that is what you came here for …(full story available in printed form)
12. THREE FRIENDS
The beautifully vulnerable and gorgeous cat lives on the street, surviving on scraps and the kindness of an old man, a street-musician, who plays his flute wonderfully for just a few coins …(full story available in printed form)
13. THE BUNKER
I worked as a scientist down in The Bunker. It was located several thousand feet under the City. To get there you walked through the doors of a traditional, harmless-looking castle, on the edge of Edinburgh - (military camouflage).
You were required to shout out your name, rank, your officer-in-charge, and your serial-number, into a voice-box on the wall. You got scanned, deloused, decontaminated, given your goon-suit, and issued with your ID card. Then you sat on a tube-transporter-unit and dialed your destination using a coded ring.
Fifteen minutes later you passed through the forty-foot-thick blast door, which locked you in for a month. Next, you descended several hundred stone steps before finally arriving at the Operations Centre deep underground.
Your purpose was to defend your country from a nuclear attack and you wouldn’t be seeing daylight for weeks. All underground corridors were coded with symbols and colours. I had a high clearance, and so was free to walk around most of them, but not the crypto areas.
Running along most of the long corridors (sixty miles in total) were wall-racks with triple bunk-beds and shelves packed with wafer-biscuits and big containers of water.
When you finally arrived at your desk you were handed a manila folder - For Your Eyes Only - it stated on the front. An authority-figure stood next to you with a hand-gun in his possession. You knew the drill. You opened the file, took note of the content, and signed a document to acknowledge that you had read, and understood, your instructions.
If you didn’t comply you knew you would be shot. You were under military law now, not common law or statute law.
The echo of my boots against the damp stone was the only sound. Level 7, Sector Gamma, the atmosphere thick with the stale tang of recycled air and unspoken dread. My ID card, cold against my gloved hand, granted me access, but not peace of mind. I, David, Scientist Grade 4, was a prisoner in my own patriotic duty.
The Bunker. A concrete leviathan slumbering beneath the innocuous façade of a Scottish castle. A place where sunlight was a forgotten memory and the only stars were the blinking LEDs of the control panels. My purpose: to monitor, analyze, and react to the unthinkable. A nuclear strike.
This month felt different. The usual hum of the machinery seemed strained, the faces of my colleagues etched with a deeper anxiety. Whispers snaked through the corridors, hushed conversations that ceased abruptly as I approached. Something was brewing. And it wasn't fucking tea-time.
My unease solidified when I found Dr. Albright, my officer-in-charge, hunched over a console in the restricted Data Analysis room. The room was bathed in the eerie glow of holographic projections, complex algorithms swirling in the air.
"David," he said, his voice raspy, "You're here. Good." He didn't meet my eyes. "We have a… situation."
The situation, as Dr. Albright revealed, was an anomaly. A series of seismic events, originating deep within the Earth's crust, but exhibiting a pattern that defied geological explanation. They were rhythmic, deliberate, almost… coded.
"We initially dismissed them as natural phenomena," Albright explained, his fingers dancing across the console, "But the frequency is increasing. And the location… it's directly beneath The Bunker."
My blood ran cold. An earthquake was one thing, but something… deliberate? "What do you think it is?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
Albright hesitated. "Officially, we're investigating a potential geological instability. Unofficially… some of us believe it's something… else."
He showed me the data. The seismic signatures were unlike anything I'd ever seen. They resonated with a strange, almost musical quality. As I delved deeper, I discovered a hidden layer within the data stream: a complex series of prime numbers.
"Someone, or something, is trying to communicate," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
Albright nodded grimly. "That's what we suspect. But who? And why?"
We worked tirelessly, deciphering the code. The prime numbers translated into coordinates, pinpointing a location within The Bunker itself – Level 9, Sector Delta. A sector that, according to the schematics, didn't exist.
The official records showed Level 8 leading directly to the bedrock. But the seismic data, the coded messages, all pointed to something more. A hidden level.
"We need to investigate," I said, my heart pounding.
Albright looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. "It's a suicide mission, David. If Level 9 exists, we have no idea what we'll find."
"We have no choice," I replied. "If something is trying to communicate with us from beneath The Bunker, we need to know what it is. Before it's too late."
We gathered a small team, armed ourselves, and descended into the depths. Level 8 was exactly as the schematics described: a dead end. A solid wall of rock. But I knew better.
I ran my hand along the cold stone, searching for a seam, a hidden switch. And then, I found it. A barely perceptible indentation, shaped like a triangle. I pressed it.
A low rumble echoed through the corridor. The stone wall groaned, and a section slid silently inward, revealing a dark, gaping passage.
We exchanged nervous glances and stepped into the unknown. The air in Level 9 was thick, heavy with an unnatural energy. The walls were lined with strange symbols, glowing with an inner light. And in the center of the chamber, pulsating with an unearthly power, was a device unlike anything I had ever seen.
It was a gateway. A doorway to something… else. And as I stared into its swirling depths, I knew that our mission to defend the country had just taken a terrifying, unimaginable turn. The nuclear threat was no longer the greatest danger. Something far more ancient, far more powerful, had awakened beneath The Bunker. And we had just opened the door.
14. NIGHTSHIFT
Working overnight in an unused wing of an Old Hospital could be creepy. As an electrician this was something I experienced a few times. Big hospitals can often have dark pasts, and they store historic memories in their bricks …(full story available in printed form)
15. WAITING ROOM
I knew that the train station waiting-room had been out of use for many decades. I pushed the door anyway and, to my surprise, it opened easily, and so I entered the dusty and musty environment. My intention was to stay overnight at the station between the last train at 11.45pm, that late evening, and the next train at 5.45am the following early morning. I was armed with an old-fashioned 120 roll-film camera which only had 10 frames to play with. I managed to get 8 pictures to ‘come out’. Not too bad … (full story available in printed form)
16. CIRCLE OF FEAR
The North-East of Scotland had always been a place for my soul to escape the city's relentless bustle. And this cycling trip was meant to be no different, a solitary connection with nature. But the tracks, barely visible beneath a carpet of fallen leaves, led me deeper than I intended that day, into woods that felt ancient and watchful.
It was the circles that grabbed my attention. Not the gentle curves of nature, but stark, unnatural geometries carved into the landscape. Imagine a giant drill bit, descending from the heavens, excising a perfect cylinder from the forest. From the top of the tree line to the ground, a hole existed, a void in the green tapestry.
The trees surrounding these circles were vibrant, bursting with life. But within the circle's perimeter, the earth was charcoal-gray, barren. It was as if the very soil had been sterilized. Moreover, an unsettling silence permeated the space, a stark contrast to the usual woodland chorus. No birds sang, no insects buzzed. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
I cautiously approached one of the circles, my bicycle abandoned on the overgrown track. The air grew heavy, tingling with an unseen pressure. And an almost imperceptible hum vibrated through my chest, a low thrum like a distant generator struggling to maintain power. It was subtle, easily dismissed, but, nevertheless, it resonated deep within me, setting my teeth on edge.
As I peered into the circle, a sense of wrongness washed over me. It wasn't just the absence of any life, but something more profound, a violation of the natural order. I reached out a hand, hesitantly, towards the edge of the circle. As my fingers neared the invisible boundary, a wave of nausea hit me, a dizzying surge that caused me to stumble back.
And that's when the anxiety hit. Not a rational fear of getting lost or encountering a wild animal, but a primal, gut-wrenching terror. It was a feeling of being closely watched, of being assessed, of being utterly insignificant in the face of something immense and unknowable. An undercurrent of menace, so potent it felt like a physical force, pressed down on me.
My mind conjured images of abduction, of cold, sterile labs, of probing eyes and unfeeling hands. The humming intensified, morphing into a high-pitched whine that seemed to burrow right into my skull. I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that I had to get away. Now.
I scrambled back to my bike, fumbling with the gears, my hands now slick with sweat. The woods seemed to close in around me, the trees morphing into grotesque figures, their branches reaching out like skeletal arms. The circles, I realized with a sickening lurch, were not isolated incidents. They were everywhere, scattered throughout the woods like malevolent stepping stones.
I pedaled furiously, my tyres struggling to grip the loose earth. The eerie inhuman humming pursued me, a relentless drone that echoed in my ears. I didn't dare look back, afraid of what I might see. I just kept pedaling, driven by a desperate need to escape the oppressive presence of the woods, to leave behind the circles and their silent, sterile emptiness.
I burst from the treeline, gasping for breath, the open sky a welcome relief. The woods remained behind me, a dark and brooding presence on the horizon. I knew I would never forget what I had seen, what I had felt. The circles were a mystery, a terrifying enigma that had burrowed into my being. And I knew, with a icy certainty, that I would never venture into those woods again. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.
17. BUYER'S MARKET
It is November 1966.
“A splendid old house, isn’t it?” the estate-agent declared persuasively. “Just the thing for a large family with good taste. Not one of those modern boxes with no room to swing a … eh, do have any pets Sir?”
Deep in his heart Danny Adams agreed that the house was magnificent, but he also knew not to let his feelings show; not if a good deal was to be made. And so Danny tried to look mean and shrewd. But his was not a poker-face and it registered his emotions like he was an actor in those old black and white silent movies. He yearned for this big house, with its cornices, attics, endless nooks and crannies, and above all, the thirty-by-forty-foot living-room that ‘featured’ a nineteen-foot ceiling and a fireplace big enough for a bonfire.
And there were also ten acres of sweeping land too, offering wonderful privacy. What a great place for the kids! With five of them, all active, outgoing, creative, and impulsive -- just like their Dad. Finding a suitable house was no simple matter. Yes, but this one, almost hidden by the towering, leafy-oaks was a prize indeed -- a lucky strike.
“It’s not bad,” Danny said cautiously, totally unaware that his soft, brown eyes shone like beacons. “But, after all, Mr Ross, the place has been locked up for over thirty years, and what with all the stories and stuff, that would scare most buyers off. Everybody isn’t as free from superstition as I am, you know.”
“There’s nothing to all that talk,” the Estate-agent assured him. “The owner just didn’t care to rent or sell. He inherited the property at a fairly young age, but never actually lived there, most probably because it was just too big for one person living alone. That seems reasonable enough. One man in a thirty-room house! Of course,” he added quickly, seeing that a question was trembling on Danny’s lips. “It does need some work doing, but that’s why the ad said it "needs some attention." We thought a handy-man would see it as a real bargain, whereas if we had to call in our regular contractors…”
Danny was, indeed, a remarkably good DIY man, having a knack for cabinet work, masonry, electrical wiring, and even plumbing. He looked forward, with pleasant anticipation, to the job of renovating the house. The family could stay in the old one, several hundred miles away, while he worked away in peace, making the house ready for them. And there was no need to even consult Angela; she knew his taste was impeccable.
The Estate-agent and Danny agree on terms. There followed a period of intense activity and the old house was put into order.
Then there is the interesting puzzle of the mirror. The enormous mirror is set into the wall above the fireplace. The huge fireplace is intricately carved and decorated.
The family move in and are enthusiastic about the house. The five children enjoy exploring its many fascinating storerooms, attics, cupboards, and crawl-spaces. They kids range in age from five to thirteen. They walk, run, jump, and climb until they know every inch of the house.
Although the mirror was very old, it gave a clear, undistorted reflection. And with his family grouped around a blazing fire, Danny talked, with verve and imagination, about the reflected world to be seen -- in part -- over the mantel-piece. The oldest boy, Jerry, who was more science-minded at thirteen, showed less interest until his father, with shrewd premeditation, raised the question: why are left and right interchanged in the reflection, but not up and down?
This puzzle kept Jerry occupied for the rest of his father’s story. But Judy, who was eight, had a complaint. “The looking-glass room is just like ours,” she pouted.
“Not really,” Danny said. “See the picture on the wall? In our room, the man’s on the left; in there, he’s on the right. Besides,“ he added quickly, aware that the distinction didn’t impress her much, “we don’t know what’s in the rest of the reflected house, through the archway and in all the other rooms. They may be altogether different from this side of the mirror. And the ones who live in them may stay out of this room which we can see. The story will be continued tomorrow,“ Danny says, “at nine-thirty. Now it’s bedtime, except for Jerry; he gets his extra half-hour.”
“Not tomorrow, dear,” Angela reminds him. “We’re going to the partner’s meeting, remember, and we won’t be back until midnight.”
Neither Danny nor his wife had any misgivings when they left the following evening. Although the house was isolated to a degree, the heavy doors locked, as did the windows. Jerry was a strong and responsible kid and he would be left in charge.
The next evening, when the parents were away, the five kids became fascinated by the big mirror. They all pulled together and held up a bedroom dresser-mirror, which they had taken of its hinges, in front of the big fire-mirror in order to see into reflected areas in the mirror-world out of normal view.
When Danny and Angela came back into the house at eleven-forty and saw the living-room, she began to scream …
Angela never stopped screaming. Two days later she died. And Danny was indicted for murder. But he believed it was a mercy-killing.
18. ALTAR EGO
The remote farmhouse, five miles from Dulnain Bridge, received an order of delivered groceries three years ago. Since then, there has been no reported activity of any kind. However, on November the 17th, three separate 999 calls were traced to this exact location; but no-one actually spoke during these recorded calls. The Authorities turned up at the address, forced the door, and entered the property. What they discovered was not easy to take in.
The interior of the house was in a serious state of neglect, with layers of dust coating the furniture and all the other surfaces. And there were cobwebs everywhere. The rooms looked as if they had not been touched in years, let alone lived in. The whole house showed no signs of life; apart from one room.
This bedroom was perfectly well kept. All neat and tidy; pristine in fact. It was the room of a young boy. His clothes and toys and possessions filled the drawers and cupboards. There was no dust here; no cobwebs. All clean.
In the centre of this bedroom was a makeshift altar; a table decorated with candles, fresh flowers, and some of the personal possessions of a young boy. There were photographs and drawings of the lad, and some handwritten letters sitting on the table.
There was also something else in the room. But this is too horrific to describe. The police officers, who attended this emergency-call, rarely speak about what they saw that day. However, they were never the same again.
19. ON REFLECTION
To create a peaceful ambience, she put on soft music and lit some fragrant candles. Gathering a blanket, Lucy sat down on the settee, and laid her head down on a cushion. Her thoughts drifted around that day’s unusual occurrences, searching for an understanding or explanation …(full story available in printed form)
20. HELP ME I'M FALLING
In the Old Days, working as a Government Scientist, I travelled around the country, often staying in temporary accommodation. This was well before mobile phones were in general use …(full story available in printed form)