of some importance when the swollen caravan of benighted travellers met a party of Shepherds, orphans of their world, and were able to purchase several Sheep which the coachman, who had been raised on a farm, was able to slaughter and dress.
The Shepherds, being nomads by persuasion, had been wandering for some time from their Window, and told of many fearful wonders.
‘
Happy Christmas!/It’s Your First One!/Wishing You Joy/And a Lifetime of Fun!
Sweet Jesus! The dreadful Beagle!’
What more dare I write? He babbled of four giant kittens with blue bows around their necks; and a rectangle within which was a vast Pie of mincemeat, which they carried for their continued provisions. There were also several glasses, taller than a house, which – after considerable effort with ropes and the utilization of a giant sprig of Holly – were found to contain a sweet Sherry, in which the Oxford scholar unfortunately drowned.
And there was the bellowing red giant, bearded and mad, sitting on a rooftop. And other things, too dreadful to recount: men who were merely coloured shapes, and the enormous black and white Caricature of a Dog watching them balefully from the top of its Kennel, and things which even as a man of Science I would blush to record.
It seems that at the last he resolved to quit the company, and came back alone across the plain, believing that to die in the bitter hills of Wiltshire in mid-winter was a better fate for a Christian man than life in that abominable world.
No sooner had he reached it, and was crawling in extremis across the strange glittering snow, than behind him he heard once again the eldritch creaking and, upon looking around, saw the dreadful oblong slot disappear. Cold winds and snow immediately forced themselves upon it, but he felt it to be a benediction after that dreadful warm world of the brown plain. And thus, staggering in the fresh blizzard, he was found … It is now fully dark. The carol singers have gone, and I trust it is to their homes.
And now my housekeeper departs, having brought me the strange news of the day. A blackamoor on a Camel has been arrested near Avebury. In Swindon a man has been savagely pecked to death in his own garden, and all there are to be seen in the snow are the footprints of an enormous Bird. Here in Chippenham itself a traveller has reported seeing, before it leapt a tall hedge and ran across the fields, a cat larger than an Elephant. It had a blue bow about its neck. What monsters have been let into the world?
And on my desk I see my reflection in the shining, tinselly shard that the coachman had clutched in his hands. Who would cover the snow with this to make it glitter, and what fearful reason could there be?
I open the curtains, and look out upon the busy street. The local coach has come up from Bath and is outside the inn, and all is bustle and Christmas cheer, a world away from the sad ravings and pleadings of the man downstairs. It is a picture of hope, a reminder of reality, and perhaps he is, after all, no more than a man mazed by exposure, and the tales of giant Beagles and flying sledges are no more than strange jests. Except for the shard of tinsel …
‘
The tinsel on the straw! Amen! Wishing you all the best, Mum and Dad!
’
And I see the falling snow, how it glitters … And I hear the creaking. God help us, every one.
INCUBUST
T HE D RABBLE P ROJECT
, ED . R OB M EADES AND D AVID B. W AKE , B ECCON P UBLICATIONS, 1988
This appeared in 1988 in the first of what turned out to be three books in
The Drabble Project,
produced by Birmingham fans to raise money for charity and add to the gaiety of nations
.
A drabble is that once popular SF format, the short, short, short – one hundred words, not a word more or less. Every word counts. Oddly enough, I really enjoyed doing it, and even managed to fit in a footnote
.
The physics of magic is this: no magician, disguise it as he might, can achieve a result beyond his own physical
The Shepherds, being nomads by persuasion, had been wandering for some time from their Window, and told of many fearful wonders.
‘
Happy Christmas!/It’s Your First One!/Wishing You Joy/And a Lifetime of Fun!
Sweet Jesus! The dreadful Beagle!’
What more dare I write? He babbled of four giant kittens with blue bows around their necks; and a rectangle within which was a vast Pie of mincemeat, which they carried for their continued provisions. There were also several glasses, taller than a house, which – after considerable effort with ropes and the utilization of a giant sprig of Holly – were found to contain a sweet Sherry, in which the Oxford scholar unfortunately drowned.
And there was the bellowing red giant, bearded and mad, sitting on a rooftop. And other things, too dreadful to recount: men who were merely coloured shapes, and the enormous black and white Caricature of a Dog watching them balefully from the top of its Kennel, and things which even as a man of Science I would blush to record.
It seems that at the last he resolved to quit the company, and came back alone across the plain, believing that to die in the bitter hills of Wiltshire in mid-winter was a better fate for a Christian man than life in that abominable world.
No sooner had he reached it, and was crawling in extremis across the strange glittering snow, than behind him he heard once again the eldritch creaking and, upon looking around, saw the dreadful oblong slot disappear. Cold winds and snow immediately forced themselves upon it, but he felt it to be a benediction after that dreadful warm world of the brown plain. And thus, staggering in the fresh blizzard, he was found … It is now fully dark. The carol singers have gone, and I trust it is to their homes.
And now my housekeeper departs, having brought me the strange news of the day. A blackamoor on a Camel has been arrested near Avebury. In Swindon a man has been savagely pecked to death in his own garden, and all there are to be seen in the snow are the footprints of an enormous Bird. Here in Chippenham itself a traveller has reported seeing, before it leapt a tall hedge and ran across the fields, a cat larger than an Elephant. It had a blue bow about its neck. What monsters have been let into the world?
And on my desk I see my reflection in the shining, tinselly shard that the coachman had clutched in his hands. Who would cover the snow with this to make it glitter, and what fearful reason could there be?
I open the curtains, and look out upon the busy street. The local coach has come up from Bath and is outside the inn, and all is bustle and Christmas cheer, a world away from the sad ravings and pleadings of the man downstairs. It is a picture of hope, a reminder of reality, and perhaps he is, after all, no more than a man mazed by exposure, and the tales of giant Beagles and flying sledges are no more than strange jests. Except for the shard of tinsel …
‘
The tinsel on the straw! Amen! Wishing you all the best, Mum and Dad!
’
And I see the falling snow, how it glitters … And I hear the creaking. God help us, every one.
INCUBUST
T HE D RABBLE P ROJECT
, ED . R OB M EADES AND D AVID B. W AKE , B ECCON P UBLICATIONS, 1988
This appeared in 1988 in the first of what turned out to be three books in
The Drabble Project,
produced by Birmingham fans to raise money for charity and add to the gaiety of nations
.
A drabble is that once popular SF format, the short, short, short – one hundred words, not a word more or less. Every word counts. Oddly enough, I really enjoyed doing it, and even managed to fit in a footnote
.
The physics of magic is this: no magician, disguise it as he might, can achieve a result beyond his own physical
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