Robin Herbert

@peterrobin.bsky.social

3735 Followers 2853 Following

Sydney NSW | Writer| Interim President of the United States of America Bisexual | Queer| Gay | LGBTQIA+ They/them he/him Book "Music the Devil Cannot Hear" https://peterrobinherbert.wordpress.com/2025/10/23/music-the-devil-cannot-hear/

Red sunset with blue streaks of cloud and trees in silhouette

He stepped out into the street and looked at the failing sunlight, the brightening city lights. He began to cry, not sure why. He had to think. There was no reliable public transport to the wealthy eastern suburbs. Were there still taxis? He hadn't taken a taxi for over twenty years. There was a new thing now. What was it? Anyway, you needed an app for it and he didn't have one. His more immediate problem was that he couldn't stop crying. He felt helpless.
“It used to be the most exciting part of the day, didn't it? The start of an adventure.”
Gary turned around and saw Scott was the speaker.
“Now,” said Scott. “The dying light only reminds us we are at the wrong end of life, that we've nearly done our dash.. Give me a good sunrise any day.”
Gary put his arms around Scott who returned the embrace and let Gary cry. Eventually Gary was able to speak. “How are you here?”
“I was waiting for you to leave. To see you could get home alright. Sydney's public transport never made sense.”
“I thought I'd have to call Simon and get him to pick me up. He doesn't like me being pathetic.”

Heath Ledger as The Joker. "Do I really look like a guy with a plan?'

“I'm not sure that was a very appropriate story to tell in front of your grandfather,” said Lydia, “I'm sure he doesn’t want to know that you two get up to things in public toilets.”
“Sorry, Gramp,” said Callum.
“It's called sex. Not ‘things’,” said Scott. “And I'm not a wowser. Your funny old man sounds more like a considerate old man, How old is old?”
“Oh he was about your …” began Michael.
“Come to think of it,” said Callum, “not really old at all.”
Michael stifled a laugh.
“Anyway,” continued Callum quickly, “the next morning I went for a dip in the pool and he was there clearing leaves out of it. I turned to go back, but he says, ‘It's OK I'm done here.’ But then he just stood there watching me swim. I was getting uncomfortable so I swam over to him and said. ‘Can I help you?’ He just said, ‘Do people say you look like your father?’ I said no, I take after my mum and he just walked away.”
“Where was this campsite?” asked Scott.
“It's a big campsite in Maragula,” said Callum, “Thinking of going on a camping trip, Gramp?”
“Maybe,” said Scott.

Dorothy stopped for some more deep breaths.
“Why? I mean why did you do it?” asked Scott.
“Money. That was part of it. I got eighty thousand dollars altogether. That would be a quarter of a million today. Also love. And the fact that I was a bored twenty-two year old out for thrills.”
“It was thrilling?”
This brought a wry smile. “You have no idea. Not that I’m not ashamed now. But at the time. Sleeping with the second most powerful man in Australia and using him to betray my country. It was breathtaking..”
She shook her head and repeated, “You have no idea.”
“You do regret it, though. Don’t you?”
She considered this and replied in a calm tone, “Yes. I did untold damage. Not just to trade, but to treaties, military agreements. Nearly forty years later they are still dealing with it. It still gives the other country leverage over Australia.” She smiled briefly. “I did make sure that man never became Prime Minister or anything else in politics. Someone that easy to spy on would've been a disaster.”

But as he said it, Vince emerged from the door and out onto the street with a baby under his arm and a little boy walking along beside. Paramedics rushed towards him and quickly established that the baby was breathing and that the little boy, coughing violently, was OK.
The mother, in tears, rushed in but the paramedic motioned her back saying "Bub's OK, but let her get the oxygen. Plenty of time for hugs at the hospital."
The five year old boy also was given oxygen.
"Smart kid," said Vince, "he'd thrown a wet blanket over the cot and got in with the baby. He'd brought in a football and was trying to release the air near the baby's mouth."
Dave turned up, "Took your time in there, Vince, did you stop to have a crap or something?"
Then his smile disappeared, "Oh fuck Vince!"
A paramedic said "You'd better come in the ambulance too, get that looked at "
Vince lifted his hand towards his face but the paramedic grabbed his arm and said "Don't touch it!"

“Sorry we're a bit late,” said Scott, "did you two get your shopping done?”
“Yes.” said Dorothy. “They're going to do some alterations. There will be a final fitting next week.”
“Is it all white and wispy?”asked Lydia.
Dorothy laughed. “Are you the last to know I'm a fallen woman? No, it's pink. Michael wouldn't let me have a scarlet one.”
The church door was opened by a man in a grey suit. Dorothy led them in. She stopped in the vestibule and looked into the church proper. It was empty but for an old couple who were kneeling and praying in the pews. She turned to say something but stopped as Liberty dipped her fingers into the little bowl of water, made a sign of the cross, and went in. She genuflected to the altar, went to kneel next to the old couple and began to pray. Her father followed suit, then Lydia and Callum. Finally Scott went in, following the same actions until the family were lined up, praying.
Dorothy shot a comical jaw drop at Michael making him laugh and stifle it.
“Are you even allowed to get married in here if you aren't a Catholic?” he whispered.
“Yes darling. I just have to promise to bring up our children as Catholics.”

Giant dinosaur eats a cop.

Photograph of church, manipulated in Sketchbook. Effect of church on hill with distortions. No AI

“Tell them about the funny old man, Callum.”
Scott winced at the expression. He was turning seventy next week.
“That was our first night,” said Callum, “we got to the campsite late and headed for the shed with the toilets and showers. When we got inside our jaws hit the ground. They were …”
“Immaculate!” interjected Michael.
“They were like the ‘after’ shot in an advert for a cleaning product. Everything was gleaming. There wasn't even a toilet smell.”
“It was cleaner than our kitchen.”
Scott sniffed. He didn’t think that was a high bar.
“Anyway, after we had … what we had come for and washed up, Michael began to get a bit …”
“It was our honeymoon after all.”
“But just as it became obvious what we were about to do, this old guy comes out of a side room and barks out ‘Didn’t you read the sign?’”
“We jumped apart and tried to look innocent.”
“I asked him which sign he meant and he said, ‘The one that says Keep Out. Cleaning in progress’ and I say ‘You mean that one?’ pointing at the corner.”
“He mumbled out an apology,” said Micheal.
“Then he picked up the sign and walked out the door saying ‘l'll put it outside. Just put it back when you've finished.”
“Did he mean …” began Scott but everyone burst out laughing.

“All you have to do is pledge your allegiance to me and I'll do the rest.”
I didn't respond. Halyard pointed at my phone and a message came through. It was from Scott.
“Mallory is in the lounge room. Morgan is in her bedroom. I have a gun. If you don't do as Thomas Halyard says I will go and shoot Mallory.
“What do you want me to say?” I said.
“Just say after me,”
He led me through the following pledge.
“I, Merle Thornton pledge allegiance to. Thomas Halyard, also known as Harlan Thomas, and my life has no more meaning except the loyal service and unquestioning obedience to Thomas Halyard, also known as Harlan Thomas.”
As I completed the pledge I felt Halyard's spirit enter me, inhabit me, wipe out the last vestiges of my self-will and take complete control. Now I finally saw and admired his genius, his strength.
“Now repeat the whole thing again, now that you really feel it.”
I repeated it all with conviction. For what other purpose could there be but to serve Halyard? What good could there be except Halyard's good?
“Now, let's test that. Reply to Morgan’s message and tell her to kill Mallory.”
I picked up my phone and clicked on Morgan's message. I hit reply and typed “Kill your mother."

Scott stood by himself and watched with a faint smile on his face. Dorothy had sworn off alcohol to support him, but it didn't change her mood at parties.
“Your fiancée seems to have a new boyfriend.”
The voice belonged to Michael who had approached unobserved. Scott's only response was to broaden his smile then change the subject.
“How's the painting coming along?”
“You can't hurry these things. Besides, I don't want Dorothy's current notoriety to overshadow it.”
“With the election called, that may be a long time.”
“How's Dorothy handling it?”
“I don't know. She acts like she's loving the scandal. There's nothing to the rumours of course. But it has to take a toll. Here they come.”
Her arm still around him, Dorothy was guiding Gary back to Scott. As they drew close she put her other arm around his shoulder and kissed him briefly on the mouth.
“Marry me.” she said. An imperative rather than a question.
“I'll think it over,” said Gary, smiling at Scott. Dorothy removed her arm from his shoulder but left the other one on his waist.
“You'd better finish marrying me before you go off marrying other men,” said Scott, laughing.
“A hareem? Darling what a perfect idea.”

“Did you think you could sell my competitor's goods and I wouldn't know?”
Eswid began to say something but Joseph interrupted him, “Edouard! Kill this man!”
Edouard looked bewildered and said, “Me? Why my lord?”
“Because I said so, don't question me.”
“I don't have a sword.”
Joseph unsheathed his own, a large heavy broadsword. Edouard took it, rubbed the tip of his smallest finger across the edge, and took a few unimpressive practice swings.
Eswid smiled ingratiatingly. “Joseph, I deserve your anger, but don't shame me by having me killed by a …”
He didn't finish the sentence because the last swing was aimed directly and forcefully at his neck, taking his head clean off. Edouard didn't care to hear that word again. He crouched and washed the sword in the river before handing it back to Joseph.
As they walked back, Edouard said, “You seem displeased with me, my Lord.”
“Quite the opposite,” said Joseph, “It's just that I intended to let him beg a little then call you off. I didn't think you had it in you.”
Edouard's first reaction was to laugh, but he stifled it quickly. “Forgive me my Lord.”
“I lay no blame on you, Edouard, you did as I told you. I'll be more careful in future.”

The interview began on a friendly basis. Liberty was able to explain a number of her party's policies on the environment, housing and the economy. They even gave her an easy ride on trans issues and she convincingly pretended to care about everyone's views on the subject. Then the interviewer began to set the trap.
“I understand that you are to be a bridesmaid to Dorothy Carter, at her forthcoming wedding.”
This was the moment Sy had coached her for. She should say she hardly knew Dorothy. That she only agreed as a favour to her grandfather. That she doubted the wedding would even go ahead
Liberty smiled warmly and said, “Yes. I am looking forward to it. Dorothy and I have become very good friends.”
She imagined steam coming out of Sy's ears.

Tom knocked on the door and it was answered by a priest.
“Is Wat Tyler here?” asked Tom.
“He is,” answered the priest, “but he is gravely injured and this is a place of sanctuary.”
“It's all right Father,” said Tom, “we're not here to harm him, we just need to collect something of his.”
With this all four pushed through and soon they found Wat lying on a bed.
“Just prop him up for me,” said Tom. “And I wouldn't stand there if I were you.”
“Why,” asked a soldier standing in front of Wat.
“That's why,” said Tom, carving the head off with a single curved stroke from the front, releasing a spray of blood all over the man.
“I think you're supposed to start from behind, so they don't feel anything.”
“You wanted a farm hand to do it. That's how it's done on the farm.”
The group went out, past the horrified priest. “It's best this way,” said Tom, “he was just suffering for no reason. Oh, sorry about the mess.”

The next day they drove up to the Central Coast to pack up Gary's caravan and end the lease. The caravan looked older and sadder than Gary remembered it, and it already had a stale smell. He picked up his guitar, sat on the bed and tuned it. It was a battered old classical guitar but it had a good sound. He played a few bars of “Stardust”, then packed it away in its case.
“You're good.”
“Not really. A proper guitarist would be wincing. The arthritis doesn't help.”
He packed up some books and the rest he put into garbage bags.
“What brought you up here?”
“It was the sea change thing that everyone was doing then. I was burned out, so I sold my house and bought one here, near the beach. Eventually I had to sell that and get a job. It was pretty good, living up here. Now that chapter's closed.”
“Regrets?”
“No.” he said although the tone said “maybe”.

Album cover. Aqualung Jethro Tull

Daryl reached the beach but hid behind some rocks. The security man reached the beach and started looking around. Daryl kept as still and quiet as he could but felt as though every time he shifted his weight, he was giving himself away. He could see a beach level car park and there was a caravan. Perhaps there was someone in it. Daryl assessed the distance, how long it would take to cover it, then he took off running. He had reached about half way when he heard the crack of the shot. He thought it must have missed him but then he felt the pain in his side and he went down. He saw the security man striding towards him holding a handgun. He could see the mocking grin on the man's face. And something behind, running. The man reached him and pointed the gun at Daryl’s head.
“Parsifal?” said Daryl in a bewildered tone. He heard the shot, felt the pain in his head and nothing else.

“Hi Maeve. What are you…”
“Gary!” She almost shouted it. “What the hell?”
“Oh, the date. Well. You know dates.”
“Simon's mad at Cynthia. Cynthia's mad at me.”
“Oh. Good. Nobody's mad at me.”
Maeve laughed. “It's not funny. Cynthia said you ran out on him.”
“Literally ran. I hit a table and knocked someone's food on the floor.”
“What did he do?”
“Simon? Nothing. He couldn't have been nicer.”
“What then?”
“I just … I'd made a big deal about being able to pay my way.”
“And you couldn't.”
“The concert tickets were six hundred dollars. Six hundred! Each! I thought the government paid for classical music.”
“It was an internationally famous artist “
“Then I opened the menu. I had tried to imagine outrageous prices to be prepared. I just had no idea. All I had to do was explain. He had already offered to pay. But I just froze. Then I ran.”

But it didn't work this time because Tom was deliberately looking at the wrong door. They came back and one said, “Time to kick some French ballocks.”
Two of them lifted one of Tom’s legs and maneuvered him onto his front and pulled so that Tom’s legs were wide apart and his groin lifted from the ground.
“Once more, where are the girlies? Oo song lez feeya?”
Tom again shouted out the same phrase as before and the third soldier took a run up and kicked Tom hard on the balls, making Tom scream loudly but then shout out the same phrase defiantly. This went on another five times to the same result as the first.
The soldier doing the kicking said, “quicker to find it ourselves” and the others dropped their leg and Tom dropped to the ground.
“We'll take this one back to camp after we do the girlies and watch him die screaming.”

Gary climbed into the bed beside Simon and kissed him on the neck.
“I'm tired tonight,” said Simon. “I just want to go to sleep.”
“OK,” said Gary. After a moment he said, “I'm sorry. Scott's just a friend. We were just mucking about.”
“I'm not angry. I really am tired.”
“OK, goodnight,” said Gary, then after a deliberate pause, “I wonder if Scott's tired tonight.”
Simon shook with laughter, saying, “Goodnight, you clown.”

Engraving of Death

Cynthia sipped the drink that Maeve gave her.
“You must admit I was very clever.”
“Old people tend to be less choosy. You could probably put anyone with anyone beyond a certain age and they'd stick.”
“Oh no. Matchmaking is more of an art with old people. You have to give them something extra. Something they missed in their lives.”
“Gary gets financial security, Simon gets some fun.”
“Well you're trivialising an ancient and subtle art. But yes, that's more or less it.”
“Dorothy gets respectability.”
“Oh Maeve. What does Dorothy want respectability for?”
“Stability, then. What does Scott get?”
“Scott gets the thing he wants more than anything, even if he doesn’t know it yet. He gets a pin to burst his bubble.”

"Maybe you'll feel better after lunch," said Vince.
"Somewhere air conditioned."
Towards evening they drove out to a viewing point and stood and watched as the darkness of the evening drew in. A wind blew up and Nick closed his eyes and sighed with satisfaction as it cooled the sweat pervading his clothes. He opened them again and watched as Uluru changed colours and then finally faded into darkness. They went back to the ute and sat for a while until the red faded from the sky.
"That made the day worthwhile," said Nick and he turned his head to see if anyone was near then turned to kiss Vince. They stayed for a long time then Vince said "If you're sick of roughing it we can get a motel."
"Campsite," said Nick.

“Let's face it,” said Liberty, “I was never going to win. We went into this knowing that.”
“But it will reflect on the party,” said Sy. “That could impact other candidates.”
“And you're sure about it? She seems so nice.”
“Yes. There's no doubt. And they will use it against you. You can be sure of that. You're polling too well.”
“Do you want me to withdraw?”
“I didn't say that. But we have to work out how to handle it.”
“Youthful mistake. Paid for it. Deeply regrets it. So on and so forth.”
“That only works for some things. Dorothy has a reputation outside of this issue. She's promiscuous, flighty. She was the girlfriend of the head of a criminal biker gang. After the modelling work dried up, she posed for pornography, she engaged in prostitution. There is a rumour of an affair with a schoolboy. It would be hard to sell her as an upright citizen who made one mistake.”
“So?”
“It may not be a problem. If your grandfather finds out, he may want to distance himself from her. He has to think of the reputation of the organisation he leads.”
“Poor granddad. This will break his heart.”

“Your story keeps changing. That's the problem.”
“I remembered the station. Redfern. I remembered the entrance, so I tried to retrace my steps. You lived in one of those terrace houses. But they all looked the same. I could have knocked on doors. But what would I say? I couldn't remember your name. I walked up and down the road, hoping to see you or that you would see me. I went back to the pub where we met.”
“I stopped going there after that.”
“I wanted to die. I was so happy that morning. I'd finally found someone. Then …”
“I wanted to die too. For about five minutes. I found someone better soon afterwards.”
Scott didn’t hide that the blow had hit its mark. “Still … Good. I'm glad,” he said eventually, “I'm glad you moved on.”
Gary was silent.
“I couldn't believe that was the end. I thought that something must turn up. Like in the movies. But it wasn’t a movie.”

Suddenly it struck me that I was accessory to a murder. Did I really believe there are vampires? Did I really know that he was acting on Abram's orders? Nothing had been mentioned of vampires or killing. I moved around to the side and looked around. I saw a large rock and picked it up. Slowly approaching him from behind, I hit the vampire hunter on the head with the rock, and he fell. I worried that I hit him too hard, but I hurried over to the pit with the javelin before checking on him. Azrael cowered back when he saw the javelin, but I planted it vertically and he saw that I had put it there to aid him climbing out. He climbed up the pole and I helped him out of the pit.

Jamila and Nick were in the lobby of the Royal Opera House. He was wearing a full length turquoise gown with straps and bare shoulders. Jamila had dark pleat trousers, an open necked black shirt and a light grey jacket. Nick was in full makeup, Jamila had none.

Gary decided to be brave. He walked up to Scott
Hi. Enjoying the exhibit?”
Scott considered. “Not my thing.”
“Not mine either,” said Gary, putting out his hand and saying, “I'm Gary.”
Scott shook the offered hand but didn't volunteer his own name. Instead he said, “You're the funny old man who keeps some campsite toilet immaculate.”
Gary stiffened briefly. “And you're the grumpy old patriarch who can't deal with his grandson marrying a man.”
Scott acknowledged the parry with a faint, brief smile and a nod. “Michael and I get along fine. Did Maeve tell you that?”
“Some other little bird,” lied Gary.
“I suppose Maeve would have preferred the traditional ending for these things. Her young lover floating face down in a pool.”
“And yet somehow still able to narrate the story,” said Gary, earning a brief smile from Scott.
They went silent for a while, then Gary decided to be brave again. “Did I scare you straight all those years ago?”

Scott retreated to a barbeque area and stood behind a post, watching the man until he disappeared into a shed. Scott left the campsite and recrossed the road, past his car and down to the beach. He stood still, looking out to sea for a good hour.
He was woken by his reverie by a bucket of water thrown by some children who froze with shocked looks on their faces. He smiled at their mother and said, “It's OK, it was just an accident.” He went to a coffee truck. “Large flat white.”
“Can I get your name, sir?”
“I'm sorry, what?”
“Name,” said the young man rather too loudly. “For the coffee.”
“Oh. Um. Scott.”
“Are you OK?”
“Oh,” said Scott, sniffing, “Fine. Maybe just the salt from the sweat getting in my eyes.”
The young man handed Scott his coffee and said, “I hope it all works out for you.”
Scott grinned. “There's a first time for everything.”
He retraced his steps and sat down on the beach, drinking his coffee. “It could be him,” he said quietly to himself.

Despenser confessed and absolved Litster and, in a grotesque display of mock humanity, held his head so that it wouldn't hurt as he was being dragged backwards to the site of the execution. A tree with an overhanging bow stood in for the gallows. Litster was stripped naked and a few people attempted to tie the noose which turned out to be harder than it looks. Despenser tied it himself and Litster was hanged and almost immediately was cut down. Apparently he had to be conscious for the next part. A fire was being kindled and was brought before him. Tom thought that it looked too small if they were going to do what he thought they were. In the part for which there were most volunteers, Litster's stomach was cut open and his guts fell out into the fire, extinguishing it. Tom could have sworn he saw a brief incredulous laugh from Litster.

And yet I felt inappropriately light-hearted. I was helped by now having free run of all the pubs in the now-deserted town. Alan sat with me as I spent each evening drinking, although he still drank nothing but water. I recalled Duncan's remark about writing a jolly children's song about the slaughter of mankind. I decided to compose a drinking song instead, reciting out loud to my audience of one.

Shab-Niyyurath
Will give us a bath
Then dear old Yog-Sothoth
Will blow all the froth off
Cthulu's dark call
Spells doom to us all
So lets dance and guffaw
Into that hungry maw
The last chance for peace is
Now torn to small pieces
Your foe can't be beaten
So drink till you're eaten.
The curtains rung down and
The show is all over
So give your devourer
A massive hangover.

I was distracted by Alan silently shaking and I realised he was laughing. He was probably amused by the rhythm in my voice but, still, it was some comfort that the demonic anthropophagus that I was soon to become might have a sense of humour.

"Can I help?" said Simon.
"How are you at cooking meat on a barbie?" asked Vince.
"Not very good I'm afraid, I'm a vegetarian."
"Didn't realise club rules allowed vegetarians," said Jenny.
"Can you make a salad?" asked Adele.
"Yes," said Simon.
"OK, all these vegetables are yours except for the pumpkin. Attempt no salad with the pumpkin."

From a host of little snippets of news, I saw the concept of money disappear almost overnight as the big data centres failed. It didn't matter if someone had a trillion dollars because money was just patterns encoded into machines that didn't work any more and never would again. The richest people died first because they were pampered and weak. They couldn't comprehend a world where food wasn't brought to them. They didn’t run when the hungry mouths came circling. They didn’t know of a place to run to.
The lawyers and politicians were next. They couldn't survive a situation they couldn't lie their way out of. Even the small part of me that was still on the side of the human race rejoiced at that. Perhaps with the detritus cleared away and some clear air, the human race could make a dignified last stand.
If so, I won't be able to report it. My times of lucidity are growing shorter, my hair is falling out. I can feel one or two loose teeth. My reprieve is over, soon I, like many millions around the world, will be like Alan, one more of Shab-niyyurath's hungry mouths, ruthlessly hunting down and devouring a dying human race.

“Well this was going to be —--'s big moment. This would have taken —- over the shit line and in among the posh nobs where – wanted to be. You put paid to that and – was angry. Fucking angry. Brady went in and hit you hard on the face then forced some rohypnol into you, to take the fight out of you."
A strange look came on Bunter's face. Like pain or the remembering of pain.
"Then —-- prepared a syringe of heroin, — personal supply, and – went straight in. Found a vein and stuck the needle in and emptied it all into you. Then dragged you across the floor by your feet and lifted you into the van. It's like the three of us weren't there. – sped off, you must have been slammed around in the back there."
Bunter again paused with the same look.
"Then – came back. All calm. -- looked at me like daggers, though, cos I brought you to — Hey, you'd better sit here."
Bunter put his hands on Nabil's shoulder and led him to sit on a fallen tree, then sat beside him.
"Dumped me like garbage" said Nabil.
"Enough heroin to kill a horse there. Never expected to see you again. How did a skinny little kid like you were live through that?"

People started to flock to the site to pray and stand in the healing light. And The Color healed just enough people so that others would flock. The number of pilgrims grew to millions per year. Otto Shytock became a figure venerated throughout the world and it would be Shytock they turned to and gathered round when things began to go wrong.
The house I rented was serviced by a hydro-electric scheme and the internet stayed up for some weeks, tottering on the brink of failure, on abandoned data centres. Then little by little we stopped getting news until the whole world was hidden from us.

Alan managed to look pleased with himself although I doubt he understood my words. I watched videos of traffic jams reaching out into the distance. Most would never get home and the ones who did will only find that home is no refuge. Too many people had stood in the shadow of Arkham Cathedral.
The cathedral fell. The site was cleared. But each evening, in the hour before sunset, the shadow of Arkham Cathedral and its splendid stained glass window could still be seen on the ground where the warehouses used to stand. It was a miracle by any definition of the word and was quickly recognised as such by the Catholic Church who knew not what dismal gods were really being worshipped there.
I had done my part too. The Australian chapter of the Hungry Mouths charity achieved a never before seen diminishment of poverty in Australia. It also established the Australian branch of The Order and a program of financing pilgrimages to the Arkham Miracle. The same pattern occurred in most countries.

Kent, England. March 1375
“Whoa, Parsley! Hold up girl!” shouted Tom and the dappled grey mare came to a halt. Tom took his hands off the plough and clapped them together then crossed his arms across his chest and buried both hands in his armpits, bouncing a little with his knees and twisting around.
“Sorry about the cold, old girl," said Tom to the horse, “oughtn't to be so cold this close to Spring and most of the fields still to plough.”
Tom was about fourteen although tall for his age. He had a lean handsome face, already a little weathered. He wore a thick padded jacket, breeches, hose and on top a tunic with a hood and a cap to keep the hood on. He had some mittens his mother had sewn.
It was late afternoon and the Squire’s poplars made long shadows in the yellow light across the half ploughed field. The sky was a pale blue, turning a little pink at the western horizon, which was flat, almost featureless but for the Squire’s poplars and a large stone cross at the border of his garden.

I came to the Snowy Mountains for a few days skiing, a little happiness before it all started to happen. I drove to Perisher each day and it was blissful, peaceful. A perfect end.
When I drove up on the fourth day there were no lifts or tows operational. All ticket booths were shuttered, all the shops, cafes and restaurants were dark and locked. In the middle of the best ski season that Australia had experienced in years, the entire resort shut down completely and everyone went home, or tried to.
I had been keeping away from any news, in case it spoiled my enjoyment. I looked at the perfectly snow covered slopes and sighed. The ski rental shop was dark and shut up. I tried banging on the window to no avail. There was nothing for it. I took the skis and poles from the roof rack and dumped them on the roadside snow. My deposit would have been of no use anyway. When I arrived back at the house, I found Alan curled up on some blankets on the floor. I nestled beside him, took out my mobile and searched for news.
“Six dead in bizarre Snowy Mountains cannibal spree.”
“Six!” I said out loud, looking at Alan. “You've been busy.”

Lemon with gardly any juicy parts

Gilberto was right, Alan's spirits rallied and he went down to inspect the captives, prompting a chorus of pleading with the crew, to no avail. Alan began that night and the wrenching screams of terror and agony were so disturbing that the next night I kept as far away as possible and listened to loud music through headphones, with a scarf wrapped around my ears to further muffle the sound.
I heard from other crew members that Alan took one man each night and cut the ties with his claws. Then he pretended to carelessly allow him to escape and proceeded to hunt him through the corridors and holds. It always ended with those screams which seemed to go on forever.
I went with a bucket, mop, rubber gloves and face mask, to clean up after Alan, throwing the remains overboard, a task which, more than once, caused me to vomit, making even more mess to clean.
Each time this happened my distress lessened, my humanity ebbed away a little and my enthusiasm for my task increased. As we passed into Australian territorial waters I could listen to those screams with equanimity. Pleasure even.

When the boat was nearer, I could see a serious looking weapon on its foredeck, aimed at our waterline. The boat lowered an inflatable dinghy and about ten men, all armed with assault rifles, climbed aboard and the dinghy sped towards us. Someone lowered a ladder and the men from the dinghy, rifles slung on their backs, started to climb it. Some of our crew came onto deck with rifles of our own. Fearing a fire fight, I started away but Gilberto stopped me with a hand to my shoulder.
“Don't watch them,” he said, “Watch their boat.”
I looked up, almost missing it. A great grey limb or tentacle reached over the boat and pulled it underwater. As the first of the men from the dinghy reached the rail, he was met by a group of men with rifles. He looked back at the now empty sea, then reluctantly allowed his rifle to be taken and his hands bound. Soon ten men stood on deck and were led to the hold, where their legs were also bound.
“Your friend, I think,” said Gilberto with a grim smile, “will find the voyage more pleasant now, they all have a little game with him,” adding with a grin and a leer, “Maybe you'll get more rest now."

Cover for A Morris Minor on Mars with Daryl sitting on a trapeze wearing a space helmet. Archie looks on in amused exasperation

Over the next days that creature was our constant companion, sometimes keeping the distance, sometimes close so that I could see the eye, which always seemed to draw level to the place I stood at the rail. Over the weeks of the voyage, I began to feel the presence of the great animal as comforting rather than terrifying, although I guessed its name and knew it to be no friend to the human race.
When we were, as some of the crew told me, in the Indian Ocean, I saw a small vessel approach. Gilberto, a Macaoan man of about my age, approached the rail and stood next to me.
“Border Patrol?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Still not in Australian territory and, besides, the others say they have attempted no contact.”
“Pirates?”
“Probably. Or enemies who know our mission.”
“What should we do?” I asked.
He turned his head towards me with a lopsided smile. “Pity them.”

Cover for A Morris Minor on Mars. Daryl playfully swings on a trapeze wearing a space helmet whild Archie looks on in exasperated amusement

It is often stated that the phrase originated from the use of a brass tray, called a "monkey", to hold cannonballs on warships in the 16th to 18th centuries. Supposedly, in very cold temperatures the "monkey" would contract, causing the balls to fall off.[15] However, nearly all historians and etymologists consider this story to be a myth. This story has been discredited by the U.S. Department of the Navy,[16] etymologist Michael Quinion, and the Oxford English Dictionary (OED).[17]

They give five main reasons:

The OED does not record the term "monkey" or "brass monkey" being used in this way.
The purported method of storage of cannonballs ("round shot") is simply false. The shot was not stored on deck continuously on the off-chance that the ship might go into battle. Indeed, decks were kept as clear as possible.
Furthermore, such a method of storage would result in shot rolling around on deck and causing a hazard in high seas. The shot was stored on the gun or spar decks, in shot racks—wooden planks with holes bored into them, known as shot garlands in the Royal

Everybody seemed to know about Alan and me but nobody thought it scandalous.
At breakfast, I found the crew friendly, laughing and conversing with each other in various languages, translations of each joke rippling through the communal dining area. One of them showed me the table where we could load our own trays with food and take it to the table.
I spent my days reading, usually with Alan by my side. At sunrise and sunset I stood at the rail and looked out to sea, watching the colours in the sky play on the waves. It was during that time that I noticed something under the water, close to the ship. At first I thought that it was some animal, like a dolphin, and that the resemblance to an eye was just a trick of my imagination. But the more I looked the more it became clear that it was no trick. I was looking at a great green eye, the black iris of which could be no less than six feet in diameter. My guts were gripped by a fist of fear, but I couldn't look away. The creature must have been half as long again as the ship. The eye moved away and I could see a disturbance in the sea of the vast creature, then a long wave travelled towards us and I felt the ship rise and fall as the wave passed by us.

The journey was uneventful until they reached the edge of London. The troops were quartered at Vauxhall just outside the gate at London Bridge. But Richard was intent on crossing the bridge into London. “I'm not letting them keep me away from my own home.”
They crossed the bridge and went through streets where people were running, people were shouting. There were bonfires in the street, some were made of legal scrolls from the Temple, some were furniture looted from the grand houses.
“This is bad,” said Richard.
"Is it?” asked Tom. “This is how I imagine London is all the time.”

Donald Trump with a bad haircut lounging on a bed with pink floral sheets and pillow cases, wearing a shortie robe.

The crew of the boat were neither startled nor frightened by Alan's appearance. Alan bounded away and disappeared down a stairway. The crew busied themselves pulling up the anchor and preparing to get underway. Alan emerged from the hatchway and, taking my hand, led me through a series of dark passageways to a small area between two bulkheads where some canvas covers had been stacked. It was hot and noisy. I shrugged and put down my suitcase.
“Picked out our bedroom already?” I said.
During that journey, no one offered me a cabin nor asked where I was sleeping.
In the ten years since the shadow had touched me, I hadn't changed. Alan had settled into his final form: a large strong wiry frame, dark grey leathery skin on his back, softer on his belly, thick black hair , strong sharp claws and an ugly malevolent face, his menace underlined by a mouth full of razor sharp teeth and angry red eyes. A demon or an orc, perhaps. And yet, to me, still Alan.
He lay on the bed, his back arched and his legs brought up to his stomach. I pulled another canvas sheet over him, got undressed and slipped in beside him.

Powerful Owl sitting in a tree

High Anxiety "Birds" spoof scene

When the time came to leave for Australia to take charge of the new hospital and new chapter of the Hungry Mouths charity, I didn't go to the airport. Sneaking Alan onto a plane would be impossible. Rather Duncan drove me at night to a small lonely jetty where a motor boat was waiting. Alan was there too and we all boarded the boat and motored slowly out to sea. The driver didn't even seem startled by Alan. Duncan handed me a packet containing my already stamped passport and completed customs documentation. Eventually we sighted a small cargo ship at anchor and we headed for it. There was a ladder against the side of the boat and, as we came alongside, Alan scrambled deftly up it. Duncan and I hugged, then I also climbed the ladder and waved at Duncan as the boat accelerated away.
I was going to help Shytok spread the cult of Shab-Niyyurath. Willingly. Happily even. Whether I was the same person as the one who thought he could outfox Her, that is one of those useless metaphysical questions.