come home.
And he was almost certain that he was not going mad at all, not insane in any way, nor was he completely bonkers, no. Just because he had gone AWOL on the word of a dream or vision of a beautiful woman who he was certain he knew from somewhere (although he was sure he had never seen her before in his life). Just because he was suffering from delusions and déjà vu at the same time. And just because he was bivouacking in a large house in the middle of Nowhere (a little known village in South Western China, spelled, he believed ‘No’Wer’) and now appeared to be thinking in fairy tales. And all this without having a single drink. That did not mean he was going mad. He was absolutely certain of that – not all that certain actually – little bit worried about that one perhaps – maybe slightly bonkers – completely round the twist? – Absolutely certain! Not mad at all – I think.
While his bath was running, he wandered down to the library to grab a book. One caught his eye almost immediately – “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. Something to sneer at. It was almost as if somebody had known. He was not altogether surprised when, as he slid the book out, the entire bookcase panel creaked around on its axis revealing the almost mandatory secret passage. Now this would be too much for the curiosity of a normal person – who would at least have probably remembered to go and turn the bathwater off first – but Stiles was a policeman. It was practically his job to be curious, and not at all out of his tiny mind – no not a bit.
The passageway was delightfully ghoulish; the most hardened gothic investigator would not have been disappointed. It was lit with flaming torches that flickered eerily and lit up eldritch shapes in the shadows. The walls were cold and damp and gave off a greenish glow. Cobwebs fluttered in an unearthly breeze, insects scuttled under his feet, and there was a funny smell. Stiles gave a shiver of delicious fear; this was fun. At the end of the passage was a lighted archway, and through that, he found a large hall, more like a gigantic cavern really, but it was all marble and gilt. All around the edges were more archways, lit, as it were, from within. The hall itself was not lit, but it could be seen quite clearly by the lights from these alcoves, for that is what they were. In each one, Stiles noticed, was a plinth as if for a statue. Some of the plinths were still adorned by statues, but most of them had nothing on them but a pile of dust.
Stiles moved forward curiously and peered at the stone plinth below a pile of greyish dust which lay atop a broken off marble foot. It read APOLLO. He moved to the next one. The plinth again was empty apart from the pile of dust. This one read ARTEMIS. He looked around for a plinth with a statue on it, perhaps there might be some clue there as to what all this meant. He was attracted to a very elegant statue of a tall woman. The name on the plinth read HECATÉ. And beside her was another empty plinth, which proclaimed that the previous tenant had been called HADES. On the other side of him, was the deserted plinth of ZEUS, a huge one this, more than twice the size of the others and in the side of the plinth, there seemed to be a small doorway or hatch. By now Stiles was getting the idea. These were the ancient gods. As he wandered around, he saw plinths for HERA and APHRODITE, ARES and DIONYSUS and ATHENE. On the other side of the hall, he found THOR and LOKI, ODIN and FREYA. And in the middle, RA and ANUBIS and ISIS and OSIRIS. But why were they all destroyed? Well, almost all of them.
PSYCHE still stood gracefully on her plinth, as did the Muses – Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia and Urania, all together on one large plinth in a dancing circle – and the Fates and also POSEIDON, and of course HECATÉ. He was
And he was almost certain that he was not going mad at all, not insane in any way, nor was he completely bonkers, no. Just because he had gone AWOL on the word of a dream or vision of a beautiful woman who he was certain he knew from somewhere (although he was sure he had never seen her before in his life). Just because he was suffering from delusions and déjà vu at the same time. And just because he was bivouacking in a large house in the middle of Nowhere (a little known village in South Western China, spelled, he believed ‘No’Wer’) and now appeared to be thinking in fairy tales. And all this without having a single drink. That did not mean he was going mad. He was absolutely certain of that – not all that certain actually – little bit worried about that one perhaps – maybe slightly bonkers – completely round the twist? – Absolutely certain! Not mad at all – I think.
While his bath was running, he wandered down to the library to grab a book. One caught his eye almost immediately – “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. Something to sneer at. It was almost as if somebody had known. He was not altogether surprised when, as he slid the book out, the entire bookcase panel creaked around on its axis revealing the almost mandatory secret passage. Now this would be too much for the curiosity of a normal person – who would at least have probably remembered to go and turn the bathwater off first – but Stiles was a policeman. It was practically his job to be curious, and not at all out of his tiny mind – no not a bit.
The passageway was delightfully ghoulish; the most hardened gothic investigator would not have been disappointed. It was lit with flaming torches that flickered eerily and lit up eldritch shapes in the shadows. The walls were cold and damp and gave off a greenish glow. Cobwebs fluttered in an unearthly breeze, insects scuttled under his feet, and there was a funny smell. Stiles gave a shiver of delicious fear; this was fun. At the end of the passage was a lighted archway, and through that, he found a large hall, more like a gigantic cavern really, but it was all marble and gilt. All around the edges were more archways, lit, as it were, from within. The hall itself was not lit, but it could be seen quite clearly by the lights from these alcoves, for that is what they were. In each one, Stiles noticed, was a plinth as if for a statue. Some of the plinths were still adorned by statues, but most of them had nothing on them but a pile of dust.
Stiles moved forward curiously and peered at the stone plinth below a pile of greyish dust which lay atop a broken off marble foot. It read APOLLO. He moved to the next one. The plinth again was empty apart from the pile of dust. This one read ARTEMIS. He looked around for a plinth with a statue on it, perhaps there might be some clue there as to what all this meant. He was attracted to a very elegant statue of a tall woman. The name on the plinth read HECATÉ. And beside her was another empty plinth, which proclaimed that the previous tenant had been called HADES. On the other side of him, was the deserted plinth of ZEUS, a huge one this, more than twice the size of the others and in the side of the plinth, there seemed to be a small doorway or hatch. By now Stiles was getting the idea. These were the ancient gods. As he wandered around, he saw plinths for HERA and APHRODITE, ARES and DIONYSUS and ATHENE. On the other side of the hall, he found THOR and LOKI, ODIN and FREYA. And in the middle, RA and ANUBIS and ISIS and OSIRIS. But why were they all destroyed? Well, almost all of them.
PSYCHE still stood gracefully on her plinth, as did the Muses – Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia and Urania, all together on one large plinth in a dancing circle – and the Fates and also POSEIDON, and of course HECATÉ. He was
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