Last Night At The Cottage.

As arranged with Carol, I went to the cottage at 7 o’clock. Before setting off, I flattened my hair and tried to push the creases out of my Bowie T-Shirt. It’s the best one I have left.
“You’re not meeting them tonight are you?” Asked Sebastian. It was my turn to act suspicious, I suspect he was relieved though, not to have my company. Sebastian is nice man, and very well informed on the history of magic – but for the last two weeks, when forced into our own company, we’re like gargoyles baking in the sun – staring, open mouthed and silent, sucking the stories dry before they’ve been spoken. I’ve had this before, over summer holidays, when Cobb and I only saw each other for a month, and eventually had nothing to do but hit each other.

Outside the cottage I tried to hold my face in a serious manner, by thinking about the war. This didn’t work very well, since wars are kind of cool and it made me look too eager. I tried to think of something else that was important, but came up blank, so when the door opened I was staring up into a corner with my mouth loose. The man who met me was the same one that shouted me off the other day. He wore a very ironed short sleeved shirt, olive green slacks, and clean, canvas shoes. His eyes were almost black and sharp, but his face was softened by a grey beard that hung from his chin like a tidy cloud.
“You’re the witness?”
“Yes.” I said, thinking it was a good job too. Behind him was the other man, with short-back- and-sides grey hair, and a navy jumper. They looked like retired catalogue models. Inside, the cottage barely became a room before you hit the back wall. The downstairs living room with a kitchen for a wall was like a caravan with a staircase. The man inside was more welcoming though, shaking my hand and introducing himself as Gregory.
“And this is Jack.” He said. The bearded one nodded as he shut the door. “Can we offer you a drink?” Disappointingly he meant a cup of tea.
“As you might expect, we have a lot of questions.” Said Gregory. “The first of which ought to be, how much did they tell you?”
“About what? I don’t even know what they haven’t told me about.”
“They’ve told you why you’re here.” Jack barked.
“All I know is there’s a friend of theirs’ here. That’s really all.” I glanced up at the staircase, and didn’t mention the ghost story.
“So who told you about her?” Demanded Jack.
“Like I said, they’ve not told me much.”
“Not what they told you. Before that. They didn’t just pick you of the street did they.”
“Sort of.”
Jack looked at his partner, as if I was being deliberately awkward. Gregory said: “How is it you came to find out about her?”
“There’s rumours going round-”
“About a ghost, yes. But Wainwright and her committee wouldn’t have picked you for knowing that.”
“I believe in magic. I know about it.”
“And we’re expected to believe they found you by coincidence.” Jack said, almost reaching for the door from his seat.
“Carol believes it’s fate.” I said.
“Do you?”
“Not much. More like bad luck.”
Gregory laughed at this, and even Jack stopped perching in his armchair.

I was led upstairs to a landing the size of a pizza box. Gregory tidied away a stepladder up through the loft hatch – the other bedroom. A bathroom had been fitted into a cupboard on the left, and on the right was the main bedroom, getting darker now. Gregory opened the door and let me go in alone. I could see the long white hair and pale face of a woman lying in the bed, asleep. She must have been ninety.
“Go ahead.” Said Gregory. “There’s no danger, as you know.”
It was just as the ghost story described. I was beside the bed as soon as I was in the room. She was laying down the middle, breathing deeply. I could see the hairs about her mouth move to the exhale. Carol and her friends had asked me to check that she was okay, but I didn’t know what that meant if I couldn’t ask her. She was alive.
“Is she unconscious?”
“In the simplest explanation.”
“Should I feel her pulse or something?” As far as I know, unconsciousness normally means a blow to the head. I didn’t want to move her around to check for injuries, but that could be what they expected of me. Her wrists were under the blankets, and all I could see of her hands were the thin and painful fingertips. I could see the pattern of the blanket through them. I thought at first I’d imagined this, but leaning closer up to her hands, they were transparent. I could see the pillow behind her face, and the translucent fibres of her hair no longer moved to her breathing.
“What happened?”
“You know about Tuesday Midnight?” Asked Gregory.
“I’ve been told about it.”
“She was caught by it. It dragged her-”
Jack put his hand on Gregory’s shoulder, which was enough to silence him.
“So why is she…” As I watched, the fabric of the bedding tried to move back into an unoccupied space, but was then pushed back again, as she became solid and real.
“We don’t know.” Said Gregory, to my lost question. I can’t tell if this was honest, or from Jack’s restraint. At a loss to know how I was supposed to help, I came out and down. When I met Carol Wainwright later, I wasn’t sure what to tell her. She seemed peaceful. The gentlemen there say she never wakes up. Carol seemed relieved, at least. I wished, and now wish, that I’d told Sebastian about this from the start.