The Village by Stan Mason

she snarled as though I had insulted her personally. ‘Why do you ask so many questions?’
    â€˜Why is this village so different to any other in Britain?’ I cut in.
    â€˜I’ll not even attempt to answer that one,’ she snapped ‘All I can tell you is to get away from here for your own safety.,... before it’s too late!’
    Her comment was most sinister but, before I could ask her what she meant by that, she turned on her heel and walked away into the distance. I wasn’t angry at her insistence that I should leave the village. In fact it reinforced my will to remain. I could not understand why she should be so vehement about my departure.
    It was time to have my evening meal and I made my way to the cafeteria. Before I arrived there, the young McBain boy came running towards me along the path. I expected him to run past me but he stopped as he reached me and took hold of my arm firmly.
    â€˜Sir1’ he cried out in a squeaky voice. ‘You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to help all of us! You must!’
    â€˜What’s your name?’ I asked with concern. Surely there couldn’t be an emergency in Numbwinton with only me to deal with it. I looked around to check whether any of the houses were on fire but nothing led me to believe that this was so.
    â€˜It’s Robert,’ he told me, breathing heavily from the effort of running along the path. ‘You must help me!’
    â€˜You’re Robert McBain,’ I responded slowly. Bridget McBain’s son. What do you need me to help you with?’ Is it your homework?’ He suddenly went silent as though a curtain fell in front of his eyes and he became very uncertain of what he wanted to say. My words seemed to have knocked the stuffing out of him because he fell completely silent. ‘Come on, lad!’ I urged. ‘Spit it out! It’s no use bottling it up inside you!’
    He shook his head. ‘No... I can’t tell you,’ he replied as though guided by an invisible force. ‘You wouldn’t believe me. You’re a stranger in the village. You wouldn’t understand.’
    The hairs on the back of my head stood on end as anger began to rise within me. If anyone referred to me as a stranger again I would gladly throttle them.
    â€˜Try me... I might understand.’ I retorted.
    â€˜No... you wouldn’t! You’re a stranger!‘
    â€™Goddam it!’ I swore. ‘I’m a Briton with every right to be here. Every right. I was born in this country, so I’m not a stranger!’ I turned to the boy so that he was facing me directly. ‘Now tell me what your problem is or forever hold your peace! I’ll not be messed about!’
    He grimaced as if he wanted to tell me something but couldn’t find the right words, then he turned to run back along the path to his home. I followed him until I came to the McBain house and knocked on the door. Bridget answered and stared at me in surprise.
    â€˜Is there something you want?’ she asked in her cool lilting manner that sent an emotional shiver running down my spine.
    â€˜Your son, Robert, stopped me on my way to the cafeteria,’ I told her frankly. ‘He seemed very upset but he wouldn’t speak to me about it. Is he all right?’
    â€˜Yes... he’s fine,’ she responded. ‘Come inside and see for yourself.’
    I paused and then decided to take her up on the offer. There was no harm in having a cup of tea with the woman. She was so lovely to look at that it would be a pleasure to be in her company. She led me into the small lounge and sat opposite me. It was still strange to me to enter a room without a television set or a hi-fi, or a telephone and nothing electronic.
    â€˜What do you do with yourself in the evenings?’ I asked politely.
    â€˜I read, ‘ she replied. ‘There’s a wealth of good books here. On one evening each month there’s