Month: January 2025

An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

Available on Amazon Kindle here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

…

With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction.  He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.

That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.

He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.

I kept my eyes down.  He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup.  I stepped to the other side and so did he.  It was one of those situations.  Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.

Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic.  I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone.  I shrugged and looked at my watch.  It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.

Wait, or walk?  I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station.  What the hell, I needed the exercise.

At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’.  I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light.  As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.

A yellow car stopped inches from me.

It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini.  I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.

Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car.  It was that sort of car.  I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him.  I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on.  The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.

My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter.   Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.

At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure.  I was no longer in a hurry.

At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.  A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring.  I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road.  I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.

At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar.   It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.

I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did.  There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me.  It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.

Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me.  As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.

Now my imagination was playing tricks.

It could not be the same man.  He was going in a different direction.

In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter.  I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.

I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in.  I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.

Just in case.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

newechocover5rs

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 25

A small job, really?

…

Nothing Rodby did, didn’t have an ulterior motive, and as cynical as that sounded, I had to wonder what it was.

Rodby just didn’t understand I didn’t want to go back to that life of always looking over the shoulder.  Disappearing and reinventing myself with Violetta changed my life.

Now she was no longer there, it was like that cloak of invisibility had gone.  Rodby hadn’t said as much but I knew he was going to formally ask me to return to work, citing the reason I’d be better off doing something rather than dwelling on the past.

It was hard to dispute that fact.  I needed something to do.  Just existing even in a place like Venice was not living.  And finding someone else, well, I was not sure what Violetta might think, but I knew she would not want to see me like this.

I was not sure how going to the opera as a plus one was going to make a difference, and I was trying not to play down Martha’s invitation. She didn’t share her passions with just anybody, nor would she be a cohort in one of Rodby’s recruiting schemes.

He was not so circumspect

So, I dusted off the tuxedo one more time, even though I didn’t really feel in the mood for anything. Time had not made me a size too large or smaller, despite the good life I’d had over the last few years.  Italian cooking was hardly the manna dieters went to as a first choice, but then, I was not under so much pressure to stay fit.

This was in part due to the fact I didn’t forsake the fitness regime I had adopted for many years; I just didn’t go at it so hard, and it had served me well.  The suit still fitted.

The text from Rodby arrived about ten minutes before the car was due to pick me up outside the front door.  I was hoping I would not have to get a cab, expecting I would have to get myself to the Royal Opera house

When I reached the curb, the car was waiting, the chauffeur waiting to open the door for me.  My first impression, he was more a bodyguard than a chauffeur; I could just see the earpiece connecting him to an invisible army.

As the door opened, I could see there was another person in the car, and, at first sight, I thought it might be Martha, Rodby, who detested opera, somehow getting out of going, but it was not. 

It was another woman, very elegantly dressed about my age or perhaps a few years younger though she had managed to keep what must have been, in her younger days, devastating beauty.

A princess perhaps of a foreign country, she had that classical European look.  Martha knew a lot of different people, rich, poor, aristocratic, and others like me.

I climbed in and the chauffeur closed the door.

“Welcome, said the spider to the fly.”  She said it with just a hint of a smile, discernible in the light striking her just right from a streetlamp overhead.

“Rodby didn’t tell me there was another guest, so please forgive my momentary surprise.  My name is Evan Wallace, but no doubt you already knew that.”

“I did.  It was going to be my next question.  Rodby would be very annoyed if I picked up just any man off the street. I am Countess Heidi von Burkhardt, though I do not want you to use that title tonight.  I am, today, just Heidi.”

“Then just Heidi it will be.”

The car eased its way out into the traffic quietly and smoothly.  It was so quiet I could just hear the symphony playing in the background, one I’d heard before but could put a name to.  Just yet. It would come to me.

“Rodby failed to mention you would be coming to the opera.”

“He would.  Martha’s idea, she seems to have this soft spot for you, or at least that was the impression I got when she mentioned you might be coming, and I suspect she might also be dabbling in a little matchmaking.”

It wouldn’t be the first time.  She had tried finding someone for me after Violetta died, but I told her it would be too soon.  Perhaps she had assumed enough time had passed.

“There isn’t a Count?”

“There was, but he passed some months ago.  It would not have mattered though; we had an unusual and mutually agreeable arrangement.  I spent his money, and he did, well, whatever it is Counts do.  He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask, but I suspect it killed him in the end.”

“Did you love him?”  An odd question that had popped into my mind and was out before I could stop it.

“My.  Martha did warn me you could be direct; she called it refreshingly honest.”

“Sorry, sometimes the words come out before I consider whether they’re appropriate or not.  Just ignore that question “

“No.  It’s one I asked myself after his passing, and truth be told, I did. I had such romantic notions when I was young, that I was going to find a prince and marry him.  I didn’t find the prince, but I live in a castle, with turrets and towers and dungeons.  Just no dragons, except for the housekeeper.”

She shuddered. 

Cold or memories?

“You live there?”

“I did, I haven’t been back since Gustav died, but I will have to, some inheritance matters have come up, and I’ve been summoned to Bacharach to meet with the Rechtsanwalte.  Perhaps I’ll go after the opera, literally joy followed by pain.”

The car stopped and we arrived outside the Royal Opera house.  For a few seconds, the smile had disappeared, and it was replaced with a frown, no doubt brought on by the thought of facing the German legal system.

Then, as the door opened, she changed.

No one told me she was a celebrity and there would be limelight, flashing cameras, and a host of journalists.

© Charles Heath 2022

Writing a novel in 365 days – 25/26

Days 25 and 26

We have another writing exercise, this time a thousand words about a storm, a cat, and a disease, an interesting combination.

This is what I came up with:

…

Chester first alerted me to the situation. Animals seemed to have that sixth sense.

It was the usual Tuesday. I got up late after he jumped on the bed and started patting my head with his paw and using his loudest meow right near my ear.

He usually did that when he was hungry, but this was an hour earlier than usual.

Going from the bedroom to the kitchen, I noticed that it was darker than usual for this time of year, and Chester was following me, making strange sounds.

When I reached the kitchen, I went over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall that overlooked the ocean, opened the blinds, and was met by a sight I’d never seen before.

Dark clouds stretched all the way to the horizon, and rain fell, a huge stream of whitish blue slowly coming towards us.

Below the cloud, hundreds, thousands of birds heading away from the clouds, the storm that was coming.

I turned on the radio and searched the stations until I found one that was broadcasting a weather report.
I had tried to get the television to work, but it was showing a notice that there was no signal.

That had never happened before.

Then I heard the announcer say, “People are advised to stay indoors and find a safe place. It is expected that in the next one and two hours, the coastal areas will be hit by hurricane-force winds and high seas. All those below 250 feet above sea level are requested to move to higher ground. There will be a list of alternative accommodation locations available.”

I didn’t believe what I was hearing. Chester meowed loudly, that same tortured sound he made when I was taking him to the vet for a check-up.

“I know,” I said. “We don’t have hurricanes. We’ve never had hurricanes ever.”

I heard a sudden buffeting, the wind picking up and blowing loose debris against the windows. Those windows were not going to withstand a hurricane.

“I think we’re going to have to leave.”

That statement was accompanied by a pounding on the door. Chester shrunk back. Was that an omen?

I went to the door and opened it. A fireman. “We’re directly in line with the incoming storm. This place will be a death trap. You have fifteen minutes to get anything you want to keep and get out. There’s a bus at the end of the street.”

I was going to ask a question, but he put his hand up. “Fourteen minutes. Don’t make me come back.” A severe look then he was gone.

I looked at Chester. He wasn’t happy, and neither was I. I had just taken possession of my new home three days ago, and now it looked like it might be my last.

“We have to go.”

Another guttural sound from him told me he was all of a sudden terrified, so terrified he came straight to me and almost jumped into my arms.

A second later, there was an explosion, and something hit the end window as it literally just exploded.

Time to go.

We made it to the bus, that exploding window impetus to forget about getting anything but the cat and what I had with me, and get out.

The bus didn’t wait the full fifteen minutes, but left as the last stragglers in sight ran to get on board, the last person, a teenage girl running to jump on the running board and get on before the door closed.

The wind had already reached us, and the fireman on board said the storm was moving faster than anyone anticipated.

For the last ten minutes, we sat in a traffic jam of buses heading to the underground bus station, the safest place for us to stay. People in cars were also trying to escape, but the winds had created obstacles on the road, and confusion and tempers were causing serious problems for those trying to run an orderly evacuation.

The last thing I saw before we went under was torrential rain and high winds buffeting a sign that just collapsed on a dozen cars.

For the next fourteen days, we lived in what I thought was a huge underground space, but when twenty-three thousand terrified individuals were thrown together, it was a living nightmare.

We were told that not one but a dozen storms started from the same confluence in the Atlantic Ocean, but nobody could explain why.

After the first night and the total disorganisation that came from having a calamity thrust on totally unprepared people with very little notice, and the sound of the endless e
What sounded like explosions, howling winds, and rain, combined with the relative calm of the next morning, made it no surprise that people wanted to leave.

They were told that was only the first. No one believed them and at the behest of one man who whipped everyone into a rebellion, led a group back out into the open. We didn’t know what was out there, well, we did, but we didn’t.

Most stayed. Several hours later, the wind and rain returned. Those who left never came back.

Others left at various intervals, particularly when it was calm. Some came back, and the rest didn’t. Those who came back didn’t speak. All of them were asked and speechless.

We asked the people running the shelter. They said they had no other communications except with the weather people. That’s how they knew more storms were coming.

And, after fourteen days, it was over. We woke to silence. The original twenty-three thousand had been reduced to fourteen.

Three things were clear.

The first, which might have started as a storm, didn’t end as a storm. Something else had happened, and those stultified people who’d left and returned almost empty shells of themselves had seen something they couldn’t explain or comprehend.

The second, starting from a few days ago. People were getting sick, really sick, and the hushed whispers said it was Ebola, but it was worse than that. It killed all the animals without exception.

Chester hadn’t stood a chance.

The third, while it was good to escape the confines of that underground labyrinth and away from the sick people, what was outside was far more unimaginable, even incomprehensible. Whatever the city had been before, it was no longer. It had been levelled, and all that remained was ashes, smoke, and death.

And something else. Several very large objects looked to me like spaceships. What those who went out and came back were trying to tell us was that we had been invaded by aliens from outer space.

The only question I had was who won?

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 27

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Chasing leads, maybe

“Who’s coming?” snapped Maury.

“Some nice men in white coats, to take you away to a dark and dank hole somewhere in this city where you may tell us what you know, or you might not survive the experience. You got one shot at the easy way, now it looks like it’s going to be the hard way.”

I had to admire her. She had gone all gung-ho on him and, frankly, it was a frightening side to her that you wouldn’t normally see, or even guess that she had.

“This is a big mistake, Jackson. I suggest you call Severin and get this straightened out very quickly.”

“I’m going to call him, eventually. After I find the USB and see what’s on it. What it is that you seem to be so desperate to get to first?”

“That’s a matter of national security.”

“I suspect it’s a matter that involves you and Severin. O’Connell was working for a man called Nobbin. He runs another department, it’s starting to sound like there are wheels within wheels, who’s part in all of this I’m yet to understand.”

“He’s after the USB too?”

“Of course. If it’s evidence against you, and or others conspiring to do God knows what, he probably needs to know so he can put a stop to it. Apparently, since no one has heard of you or your operation, I’ve been transferred to his department.”

“How do you know the information is not about him? It’s not unheard of for an agent to discovered irregularities against his commander.”

“Then let’s hope I find the USB first. And, just out of curiosity, why did you kill O’Connell. Wouldn’t it be a better idea to capture him and make sure he had the USB before you did anything irrational.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“That’s what most of the Nazi’s said at Nuremberg.”

There was a knock on her door.

Jan went over and opened it. It was, I thought, the wrong thing to do when we had a man as dangerous as Maury in the room.

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, I could say it was the wrong thing to do, but at the time, even I didn’t think Severin would know what was happening to his attach dog.

Apparently, he did.

The door crashed open sending Jan into a fall that saw her head hit by the swinging door. Three men with guns came bursting in, followed by a fourth, Severin.

Severin took in the room with a single sweep, then glared at me. “You need to pick a side, and soon, Jackson.”

One of the other men cut the ties and helped Maury to his feet. He also glared at me as he left with the other two. “You’ll keep,” Maury muttered as he went past, then was gone.

Severin looked at Jan, now a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Don’t play with MI5. They never see the big picture. Maury doesn’t forget, Jackson, so there will be a reckoning later. I suggest you find a way of redeeming yourself in his eyes. Perhaps it would be better if you cut ties with Nobbin and disappeared for a while. This matter is too big for a newbie like you.”

I heard a groan by the door, Jan waking.

“Just keep out of the way, Jackson. And her, if she knows what’s good for her.”

He left, closing the door behind him.

I went over to Jan and checked to see what injuries she had other than to her pride. A gash on the side of the head, with a little blood. It would give her a huge headache though.

“I’ll get a wet towel,” I said, helping her into a sitting position.

She still looked groggy.

“What happened?”

“You answered the door before finding out who was on the other side.”

“Maury?”

“Gone. He must have signaled Severin somehow that he was in trouble, or they were tracking him. Either way, they got here rather quickly to rescue him.”

“My people?”

“Not here yet.”

I left her to find a towel and run water over one end.

When I came back, she was on her phone, having got up off the floor. She still looked quite shaken.

“Yes, sir.” was all I heard of the conversation before she disconnected the call.

“Did you call off the collection team?”

“They weren’t coming. They said apparently I had rung back to say it was a false alarm.”

“And they believed that?”

“Whoever called had my special code, so yes, they did.”

Call finished, she sat down in one of the chairs and pressed the wet part of the towel against her head.

“Next time you might consider looking first before opening the door,” I said, realizing that it was not the advice she would be looking for.

“It’s a mistake I won’t make again, I can assure you,” she said. “but, we haven’t lost him yet.”

“How so?”

“I slipped a tracker onto his clothes, not one he’ll easily recognize or find, and as we speak, he’s being tracked through outer London. We’ll soon know where he’s going, and perhaps second time lucky.”

She was more resourceful than I would normally give anyone credit for.

Now it was a matter of waiting. Would he lead us to the heart of Severin’s operation? Only time would tell.

© Charles Heath 2020

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 22

I found this…


So near and yet so far.

What I found was the moon out in the late afternoon, a phenomenon that might happen on a regular basis, but this one of the few times I’ve seen it.

And it reminds me of something I was told a long time ago. Shoot for the moon. I never quite understood what the person meant, not until a long time later when I realised that I was being told nothing was impossible.

Had I ever achieved the impossible?

The thing is, each of us define what is possible and what is impossible ourselves, and is therefore different for every person. If you tell yourself it is impossible, then it requires a mind shift to get past that barrier.

But, the question still remains the same, did I achieve the impossible?

I never thought I’d write a book, or have it published. Some would say I still haven’t achieved that goal because I self published it on Amazon.

I think I achieved what I set out to do.

I never thought I’d get a university degree, but people had faith in me, and yes, I got it in the end.

I never thought, when I was younger, I would be a father, and sometimes I wonder whether it was worth it, but having grandchildren dispelled any perceived disappointment.

And what is on the impossible list now?

Not a lot. At my age, I don’t think it’s possible I will travel to the moon, nor afford to skirt the edge of space, as much as it would be amazing to look back at the planet.

I don’t think I’ll ever become a CEO, but then I don’t want to. Too much responsibility.

What’s left that is achievable?

Tracing my family history, and going back to where my ancestors came from, and, hopefully finding someone who was ‘famous’.

Writing a book in 365 days – 11/12

Days 11 and 12

It’s a writing exercise, not one I particularly like, but it’s another step – building characters

This one, a car lover, has more interest in his car than anything else. We’re looking to gauge his reactions when various events occur.

I must say, I don’t really know anyone like this.

Firstly, the car was stolen but returned a week later undamaged and a full tank of petrol.

Well, it’s certainly not a group of 12 to 14-year-olds stealing cars, they’d wrap it around a lamp post and kill everyone but the driver who would be unscathed, taken to the station, charged, let out because he’s a juvenile, and get caught the following week doing the same thing.

But that’s not the brief.

What really happened? A relative borrowed the vehicle. Who else would do such a thing?

Second, a tree falls on it and wrecks it, and the son of the car lover thinks it’s funny.

It probably is, to a certain degree. The irony of someone who so lovingly cares for it, watches it get destroyed with such ease? There’s always insurance, isn’t there?

Third, While cleaning the truck he finds a secret compartment and a note.

Yes, this is the stuff to feed a fertile imagination. My reaction, a note left by a previous lover after they made out on the back seat, advising him he’s a father. The fact he had a girlfriend, married her, and had children already, this has to be a shock.

There is a dozen other scenarios, and maybe it might fuel a story … one day.

Searching for locations: From the Presidential Suite to almost walking the plank, Auckland, New Zealand

This is something you don’t see every day of the week, or once in a lifetime, perhaps.

We arrived at the Hilton Auckland hotel somewhere between one and two in the morning after arriving from Australia by plane around midnight.

Sometimes there is a benefit in arriving late, and, of course, being a very high tier HHonors guest, where the room you book is upgraded.

This stay we got one hell of a surprise.

We got to spend the night in the Presidential Suite.

The lounge and extra bathroom.

Looking towards the private bathroom.

A bathroom fit for a King and a Queen

And the royal bed

There was a note to say that we should keep the blinds closed for privacy and that a ship would be arriving in the port, but I did not expect it to be literally fifty feet from our balcony.

aucklandhotelandship

Curious children find a curiosity

I am constantly reminded of how curious grandchildren can be when they are not asking you what it was like to live with dinosaurs!

The second eldest who is a rather clever 17-year-old considers it interesting that I’m a writer, and having just met a ‘real’ author who came to visit them at school, asked me a few questions, some of which sounded like those that had been asked of my ‘real’ counterpart.

Like, “how old were you when you first wrote a story, and what was that story about?”

I didn’t think it was when I was at school, but sometime after that, and after a lot of reading.  Perhaps it had been one of those moments when a light bulb goes on in your head, and I said to myself, I can write these stories too.

Of course, that wasn’t an answer, so she asked again, when did I start writing?

That required a little thought, and there were several triggers that gave me a date, where I lived at the time, the fact I used my mother’s old portable typewriter, and the fact I had not been long out of school.  I was, in fact, about 17.  It was 53 years ago; I’ll let you do the math!

What was it about; that I couldn’t tell her, but I said I had rescued a lot of old scribbling of mine and put them in a box to look at later when I had the time.

I guess that time had arrived.

And, yes, there was the book, the individually typed pages, some with corrections, unfinished.

The pages were brown with age.

The story, well, I read the first few pages, and it seems I’d started down the thriller path then, the story so far, an agent comes ashore from a trawler to a bleak and isolated village, perhaps on the Scottish coast.

Then there was the inevitable next question; “What was the first story you read that put you on the path to wanting to become a writer”.

That was easy, Alistair Maclean’s HMS Ulysses.  I showed her a copy of the book.

That led to, “but this is about the British Royal Navy in World War 2…”

Perhaps I didn’t answer that correctly, it was after reading about a dozen of his novels, most of which were precursors to the modern-day thriller, perhaps more along the lines of action adventures.

The next question, understandably; “What was the first book you ever finished?”

That was The Starburst Conspiracy, the manuscript of which was in the box along with another completed novel, and quite a few short stories.

Back in those days, I remembered that I had sent some of my stories off to various publishers, and had entered a number of short story competitions, all to no avail.  And for a number of years, until I because to old, used to write and enter a novel in the Vogel novel competition but never made it to the shortlist.

It’s probably why I gave up writing for a number of years, until I worked for an interesting company who had a rich history of phosphate mining in the Pacific and being given permission to look into the archives, began writing what could only be described a saga, and by the time I’d left, it was over 1200 closely typed pages long.

I showed the bulky manuscript to her, but by this time her interest had moved to something else.

For me, however, it seemed there was a lot of unfinished business.

Inspiration, maybe – Volume 1

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

lookingdownfromcoronetpeak

And the story:

It was once said that a desperate man has everything to lose.

The man I was chasing was desperate, but I, on the other hand, was more desperate to catch him.

He’d left a trail of dead people from one end of the island to the other.

The team had put in a lot of effort to locate him, and now his capture was imminent.  We were following the car he was in, from a discrete distance, and, at the appropriate time, we would catch up, pull him over, and make the arrest.

There was nowhere for him to go.

The road led to a dead-end, and the only way off the mountain was back down the road were now on.  Which was why I was somewhat surprised when we discovered where he was.

Where was he going?

“Damn,” I heard Alan mutter.  He was driving, being careful not to get too close, but not far enough away to lose sight of him.

“What?”

“I think he’s made us.”

“How?”

“Dumb bad luck, I’m guessing.  Or he expected we’d follow him up the mountain.  He’s just sped up.”

“How far away?”

“A half-mile.  We should see him higher up when we turn the next corner.”

It took an eternity to get there, and when we did, Alan was right, only he was further on than we thought.”

“Step on it.  Let’s catch him up before he gets to the top.”

Easy to say, not so easy to do.  The road was treacherous, and in places just gravel, and there were no guard rails to stop a three thousand footfall down the mountainside.

Good thing then I had the foresight to have three agents on the hill for just such a scenario.

Ten minutes later, we were in sight of the car, still moving quickly, but we were going slightly faster.  We’d catch up just short of the summit car park.

Or so we thought.

Coming quickly around another corner we almost slammed into the car we’d been chasing.

“What the hell…” Aland muttered.

I was out of the car, and over to see if he was in it, but I knew that it was only a slender possibility.  The car was empty, and no indication where he went.

Certainly not up the road.  It was relatively straightforward for the next mile, at which we would have reached the summit.  Up the mountainside from here, or down.

I looked up.  Nothing.

Alan yelled out, “He’s not going down, not that I can see, but if he did, there’s hardly a foothold and that’s a long fall.”

Then where did he go?

Then a man looking very much like our quarry came out from behind a rock embedded just a short distance up the hill.

“Sorry,” he said quite calmly.  “Had to go if you know what I mean.”

I’d lost him.

It was as simple as that.

I had been led a merry chase up the hill, and all the time he was getting away in a different direction.

I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, letting my desperation blind me to the disguise that anyone else would see through in an instant.

It was a lonely sight, looking down that road, knowing that I had to go all that way down again, only this time, without having to throw caution to the wind.

“Maybe next time,” Alan said.

“We’ll get him.  It’s just a matter of time.”

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

Find this and other stories in “Inspiration, maybe”  available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1

Searching for Locations: Waitomo caves house, North Island, New Zealand

A relatively unassuming lane leads to what could be described as a grand hotel, called Waitomo Caves Hotel.

The original hotel was built in 1908, and it was later extended in 1928.  Part of it is ‘Victorian’, based on an eastern Europe mountain chalet, and part of it is ‘Art Deco’, the concrete wing, and a feature, if it could be called that, is none of the four corners are the same.

Views from the balcony show part of the surrounding gardens
 

and the town of Waitomo in the distance.
 

In gloomy weather, it does look rather spooky, and I suspect there may be a ghost or two lurking somewhere in the buildings.
 

 
But…
 

This a a very interesting, and the words of one of my younger grand daughters, a very creepy place. It would make an excellent base for paranormal activity, and there could very well be ghosts walking the corridors of this hotel.

It has the long darkish passageways that lead in all directions and to almost hidden rooms, a creepy nighttime aspect, and the creaky woodwork.

I know when we were exploring, it was easy to lose your bearings, if not get lost, trying to find certain places, and once found, hard to find your way back.

All in all, it was one of the best stays in a very old place going through the throes of modernisation.

And looking at it from the outside at night, I’ll leave you with that thought…