I Love The Unexplained
THE DREAM
Part 1
The Millenium had arrived. I celebrated by winning a scholarship to a top music academy in London. All fees would be paid but not a great deal to live on. I arrived with nowhere to stay. The girl in the college office took pity on me and gave me the address of an elderly lady in North London who had a room to let to a responsible student, preferably female but she advised me to try my luck.
I was impressed by the magnificent setting, dominated by Ally Pally, the world's first tv studio (BBC) on its hilltop location, but was less impressed by the eighty-year old lady who answered the door and kept staring at me in the strangest way. After much hesitation she invited me in. I quickly learned that she was highly intelligent and educated, and had a sense of humour that belied her age, but that often-repeated stare gave me the shivers. She led the way up to the room, commenting in advance "Its like me; small and very old". It certainly was, but when I heard her price my decision was made; it wasn't only the decor that hadn't changed in a century.
For the first month I saw little of Miss Emerson as she styled herself. Any exchange that did take place was always straight to the point and usually made me think. I was living about two miles from the nearest tube station at Finsbury Park which I invariably walked, to save money. One evening I called in at this distinctive looking pub and found myself sitting up at the bar with an old man, keen to chat. "This place was destroyed during the war. They couldn't see where they were bombing because of the blackout. So they'd wait for a full moon and then follow the Thames in, which they could see glinting in the moonlight unless we were lucky enough to have a peasouper (thick London fog). When they were finished with the Docks it was pot luck. Oct.20, 1941, 9.20 pm it was. There used to be beautiful stained glass at the entrance - it was a church once. When they rebuilt at the end of the war they didn't try to recreate that".
I continued my walk back to my bedsit, feeling unusually tired as if one of those peasoupers was slowly enveloping me. Unusually I heard my landlady calling. "Share this bottle of sherry with me". I could hardly refuse even though the fatigue was growing by the minute. I told her of my conversation and was alarmed at the effect it seemed to have. That strange stare again. She started to tell me something but checked herself. All I could make out was "The wheel has come full circle. Death is close". Then she made an effort to recover her humour: "The crypt is supposed to be underneath the lounge floor. Maybe the drinkers are getting more spirits than they paid for". I had to excuse myself and make my way to bed where I virtually collapsed into a deep sleep, fully clothed.
Part 1
The Millenium had arrived. I celebrated by winning a scholarship to a top music academy in London. All fees would be paid but not a great deal to live on. I arrived with nowhere to stay. The girl in the college office took pity on me and gave me the address of an elderly lady in North London who had a room to let to a responsible student, preferably female but she advised me to try my luck.
I was impressed by the magnificent setting, dominated by Ally Pally, the world's first tv studio (BBC) on its hilltop location, but was less impressed by the eighty-year old lady who answered the door and kept staring at me in the strangest way. After much hesitation she invited me in. I quickly learned that she was highly intelligent and educated, and had a sense of humour that belied her age, but that often-repeated stare gave me the shivers. She led the way up to the room, commenting in advance "Its like me; small and very old". It certainly was, but when I heard her price my decision was made; it wasn't only the decor that hadn't changed in a century.
For the first month I saw little of Miss Emerson as she styled herself. Any exchange that did take place was always straight to the point and usually made me think. I was living about two miles from the nearest tube station at Finsbury Park which I invariably walked, to save money. One evening I called in at this distinctive looking pub and found myself sitting up at the bar with an old man, keen to chat. "This place was destroyed during the war. They couldn't see where they were bombing because of the blackout. So they'd wait for a full moon and then follow the Thames in, which they could see glinting in the moonlight unless we were lucky enough to have a peasouper (thick London fog). When they were finished with the Docks it was pot luck. Oct.20, 1941, 9.20 pm it was. There used to be beautiful stained glass at the entrance - it was a church once. When they rebuilt at the end of the war they didn't try to recreate that".
I continued my walk back to my bedsit, feeling unusually tired as if one of those peasoupers was slowly enveloping me. Unusually I heard my landlady calling. "Share this bottle of sherry with me". I could hardly refuse even though the fatigue was growing by the minute. I told her of my conversation and was alarmed at the effect it seemed to have. That strange stare again. She started to tell me something but checked herself. All I could make out was "The wheel has come full circle. Death is close". Then she made an effort to recover her humour: "The crypt is supposed to be underneath the lounge floor. Maybe the drinkers are getting more spirits than they paid for". I had to excuse myself and make my way to bed where I virtually collapsed into a deep sleep, fully clothed.
