Doctor Christian Ogilvie
(Mark Wynn)
5th May 1924
The Greenwich Observatory.
"I’m telling you, Ogilvie, this should be quite some display,” says the man, adjusting his binoculars on the tripod. “The shower that follows the comet should be quite impressive.”
You look up from your own equipment and raise an eyebrow. “Being once every 202 years it bloody well should be, Richard.”
Your friend for too many years, through universities and various teaching institutes, Richard Harker makes the final tweaks to his tripod. “Thank you again for arranging this. I would’ve used the roof of my office but the view of London from The Astronomical Society isn’t as good as here on the Observatory’s roof, funny enough.”
You stare out over London, dusk already settling in the darkest corners, lights beginning to burn in the winding streets. Shadows of figures could be seen gathering in the streets and parks, all eager for the show of light. The newspapers had reported the meteorite shower following Aelfred’s Comet for a couple of days now, partly to inform but mostly to stop people from worrying about the lights in the sky and bothering the police about them. A few stray trails of fire in the heavens leading the way of the main shower had already got a flurry of calls. God knows what would have happened if the public had not been warned. They might have thought they would all go blind and walking man eating plants would take over the land or something. You stare up at the comet, now nearly as bright as the moon, and try to while away the time. “Did you see Carter the Great was back in town?”
Harker grimaces. “You mean Carter the Charlatan? What’s he up to now? Not planning to be above the Thames in a wicker basket again, is he?”
“Did you read that story a while back that he was planning on stopping the comet from striking earth with the power of positive thinking or something. Think he’s trying it tonight.”
“The man’s a buffoon as are all the people who believe in him! Are people really that stupid?”
You try hard to suppress a laugh. “Well, you did tell the press that the comet was getting closer on each visit…”
Harker lets free a growl of frustration. “I said ‘Closer every 202 years’ not ‘Hitting us at speed and killing everything alive’! These papers, they ask me for all these interviews to talk about Aelfred’s Comet and then they go and make up all sorts of nonsense! Anyway, it missed, didn’t it?” He glances up at the sky. “Where’s that photographer friend of yours? He’s going to miss his shot if he doesn’t turn up-”
“I never miss my shot,” a voice utters behind you. Arthur Catt jogged up the stairwell, carrying his tripod and camera. Catt was a fine photographer and one you have used a great many times over the years; his skill in being able to take pictures of a night sky in perfect clarity being invaluable. But punctuality was not his strongest skill.
Catt gives you a wink, pausing to shake Harker’s hand and introduce himself before quickly setting up his equipment. “So what are we expecting here?”
You tell him, Harker adding in details which you know are lost on Arthur. The photographer nods slowly and points his lens at the sky. “Right you are, heavens: Show me what you can do.”
You glance at Harker, who gives a crooked grin and get back to his binoculars. As if it would start like that.
And then the sky starts to rain fire.
6th May
As you sit down for breakfast you see the newspapers are all full of stories of the meteorite shower which reached all over the United Kingdom. A number of people had a few rocks crash land in their gardens or through their houses, and the shower itself played havoc with the radio, causing interference that all but obliterated the BBC’s evening broadcast from Alexander Palace. The country as one is talking about a subject which is the corner stone of your life and to cannot help but feel a little smug. Plus no one from the papers bothered to dig up from the past your relative’s quote about “The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one…”
Your humour fades with the story on the next page about the vicious murder at the British Museum. It looks like a burglary went wrong, with the night watchman interrupting the killers and paying for it with his life in a brutal way. All the burglars got away with was an artefact that could only be worth a few hundred pounds and only to a collector. A chill goes through you at the thought of how low some people could go for a little money.
You go to the Observatory to write up you thoughts and theories on the meteorite storm, working until midday when Catt turns up with his photos of the previous night. Yet again he has taken perfect pictures. That night, yourself, Harker and Catt gather on the roof again to watch the fading storm of meteorites but a blanket of heavy clouds obscure your view and finally, about 1am, you all decide to give up for the night.
7th May
You are opening up the Observatory when the smell of burning hits you. Panic drives you in a rush, thinking if there’s a fire you could save the non-ferro meteorites display at the very least. However, the observatory isn’t burning, and inside the main telescope room you find the culprit, panic turning to joy as you do. A hole the size of your fist has been blasted through the roof, through the cupboard of star charts, and through the floor of the upper balcony. Its maker lay in a burnt hole in the carpet, still glowing with wisps of steam dancing in its light.
“Very nice!” you mutter as you pick up the meteorite with a pair of tongs. Green light spills from cracks around the rock, though you feel little heat. Wary, you place it into a safety jar and admire your find. Just wait until Harker hears about this!
The ring of the phone in your office startles you. You rush for it, eyes never leaving the jar.
“Christian? Harker here. You never guess what? My cousin Lizzie – you met her once - she has just been here with a meteorite. Apparently it crashed through her house! What? Oh no, no one was hurt. To be honest I didn’t ask. Anyway, it glows! What do you mean ‘you know’? You do? It did what? What size is it? That’s wonderful, we’ve got a matching pair, I can’t wait to crack them open and examine the cores! But that’s not the good news: it sounds like a large piece landed in Llangadfan in Wales. According to the locals the noise was like that of a bomb going off; the whole place lit up! Plus it set alight to most of the forest. No, I don’t think any small animals were hurt. No, nor any sheep. It could be a major discovery, Christian, so I’m already packing. I’ve sorted out a house there for the week. I’ve left my assistant Shannon in charge while I’m away but he knows you’ve got free reign in my office, so as usual help yourself to any of my equipment if you need it. The only bit of bad news is that Carter fellow: he came to visit me today to ask all about the meteorites. I gave him a bit of a brush off and told him to come back tomorrow, but I thought I’d better warn you in case with me away he starts to badger you. Yes, I know, I called him the same bad word behind back as well. What with him and those other odd fellows a couple of weeks ago I think the whole world is going mad! I’ll send word as soon as I find anything. Farewell chum!”
And with that Harker hangs up the phone. The question of ‘What fellows from a couple of weeks ago’ stays on your lips.
10th May
At morning breakfast again you see in the newspaper an advert which catches your eye:
“Money paid for meteorites that have fallen over the last few days. Any size or shape. Must be recent. Contact Professor R. Harker, The Astronomical Society, E.C.3”
He must have put it in before he left, you decide. You turn the page and see another advert that makes you cringe:
“Carter the Great is seeking any meteor rocks that fell in order to harness the power of the cosmos for his next great feat of daring and magic. Please send them to Mr C.T.Great, PO Box 132, Surrey.”
You nearly grind your teeth in frustration. What was this man doing? They were artefacts of the stars, not toys to use as gimmicks to further his own career! You spend the rest of the day in a bad mood.
11th May
You get to the Observatory early to start on your previous studies. Finally, your work is done and you can get to investigate the meteorite you collected. It still glows and shows no sign of dimming, much to your complete bafflement. You have heard of nothing like it before. You spend the day pouring over books and asking various colleagues about the cause yet no answer comes. You attempt to touch the rock to examine it under a microscope but receive a sharp wave of intense cold which numbs your hand senseless. It takes an hour for sensation to return; however, the confusion remains as to the reason why.
12th May
At work, you receive a call from ‘Carter the Great’ today, asking about the meteorites and why they glow. You reply with polite yet brief answers, not wanting to speak to the man any longer than necessary. He asks about Richard and where he has gone, and you tell him Wales but nothing more. He thanks you for your help, and depressingly informs you that he is now in possession of a glowing rock given to him. You act positive for him, yet secretly hope he numbed both his hands handling it. You spend another day in a bad mood.
17th May
You begin to worry about Harker. A week has passed since he went to Wales and still there was no word from him. Had he found something of importance and decided to stay on longer? If that was true Harker would have sent word to someone, if not yourself. It seemed out of character. You try phoning his assistant but get no answer. You remember Lizzie, Harker’s cousin, and manage to find her number yet she is as concerned about Richard as you are.
You meet Arthur for lunch, bringing the meteorite as Catt offers to take it home and snap some pictures through different lenses to see if there is anything emanating from rock. Plus he invites you to lunch to look over some more of his ‘arty’ pictures. You tell him about Harker but as Catt points out, what can you do? The man was in the middle of nowhere miles from communication. Still, you decide to leave it a day before taking steps to find Harker.
18th May
You take steps toward The Astronomical Society. Richard must have sent word there, if even to let Shannon know he would be away for longer. The Society had a grand title, but it was little more than an office in a block of other businesses. Having never trusted the rickety lift, you climb the stairs to the top. Each floor you pass becomes more and more a graveyard of fail business ventures until the top floor has only The Society and nothing else. You immediately feel something is wrong as you make your way down the hall to the end office, and you involuntarily start walking on your tip-toes. You knock on the door. It creaks open. The smell hits you first. Then you see it.
Shannon’s body lies sprawled across the table, his throat cut, his chest peeled open, his blood sprayed against the far wall. For a brief moment you nearly run to help him but common sense kicks in and you swallow down the rising bile. Turning, about to race for the police, you notice the blood covered ball of paper by the door frame. You stare at the ball for several moments before picking it up – it was a clue at a murder scene, yet it obviously had been handled by Shannon …or the murderer. You open it gingerly. It’s a telegram from Harker, dated the 11th, asking for more assistance in the search of the site. By the number of fingerprints in blood more than one person had read it. You suck in a hissing breath.
“Oh Christ, Harker!”
The police close down the building and question everyone, including you, until late into the night. You admit to opening the note, but push on them that Harker could be in extreme danger. Luckily, your high standing in the community already convinces the police of your innocence in the matter, and they listen to your pleas, explaining all they can do for the moment is contact the local bobbie down in Llangadfan to go and check on the professor. They seem helpful and promise to do all they can. Shaken, you take a cab home. You phone Arthur to tell him all that had occurred; call Lizzie to keep her updated with the news; then, exhausted in both body and mind, you fall into bed.
19th May
Your night’s sleep is fitful as your dreams are plagued with dark figures chasing you through a forest of unending trees. Just as they reach your throat you awake in a start. It is early morning, and you get out of bed, unwilling to risk sleeping in case of any more bad dreams. You reach the breakfast table in a haze and see the headlines on the early editions are all about Shannon’s murder. You squeeze your eyes shut trying to block out the sight of Shannon’s body but it stays in your mind in all its ripped and coloured glory. Eventually, you head for work. You had not planned to today but you need something to take your mind off the murder scene.
You’re in your cab coming home from the Observatory when you notice a black car following you. At first you think it is coincidence, but you ask the driver to take a few turns that make a complete circle yet the car is still there. You ask the cabbie to lose them, adding some money to the request. The taxi driver does so with relish. You dive down a few alleys, fear beginning to rise as you wonder about who they are. Could they be behind Harker’s silence, or Shannon’s murder? You shake your head. No, you’re over reacting. You look back. The black car is nowhere to be seen. Part of you breathes a sigh of relief and puts it down to coincidence, but the sliver of fear remains.
20th May
You wake early again, still bothered by the dark dreams. You decide to find out how the police are getting on even though you know what the answer will be – they said they would call as soon as they had any information.
The officer at the station reports no word from his man in Wales, and he listens to you again explain how Harker could be in danger from unknown agents if Shannon was killed. The officer nods in agreement and takes down notes, promising to do what he can, yet he seems only half hearted in his work this time. Confused and frustrated, you leave the police station and begin to wonder how long it would take to get to Wales.
21st May
The sleepless nights catch up with you and you wake at midday, yet you are filled with determination. You spend the rest of the day packing for Wales, booking a hotel in Llangadfan, and setting things in place for your house and job to be looked after while you are away. You also spend a couple of hours trying to contact the local police constable near Harker’s site and eventually reach him. He has no information about Richard, though much to your confusion he admits that he received the call to check up on Harker, then got orders the next day not to bother. He assumed someone had simply made an error in London. You arrange to meet him at a place he suggests called The Cann Office Public House in Llangadfan on Saturday at 1pm where he offers to take you to Harker’s site.
Once things have been done it is early evening, and a thought hits you about getting some of your tools from the Observatory: Maybe Harker was alright after all and he would still need help. You get a cab to Greenwich, eyes looking everywhere as you make your way through the foggy streets. The building feels oppressive as you enter, shadows dart and lurk. Making your way into your office, you grab your field bag and head back for the front door. You stop. The front door was barred on the inside. Slowly, you turn as you hear a rustle of cloth. From the hallway walks five figures, dressed in black robes, their faces covered. The middle one points a finger at you.
“Heathen! Where is the seed?”
“What-?” you shrug. “Who are you? What are you talking about!”
One of the shadows leans close to the one that spoke. All you hear whispered is “-the picture man must have it-”
You avoid making any sort of recognition. Arthur! What’s he got to do with anything?
“End him!” The main figure utters. He leaves, flanked by silhouettes. Then the remaining two spring at you.
You throw your field bag at one of the closing figures and run. The other man rugby tackles you, and you both go tumbling through one of the displays.
“Oh no!” you whine, “Not the solar system exhibit!” You leap up and throw yourself backwards to avoid being sliced open by a dagger. The other figure pulls out his own blade and joins the first in bearing down on you, smashing either side of him in vented anger. “Not the Orion presentation!” you think as he smashes a glass panel. You slowly back away until you knock into a cabinet. You look back. It’s the ferro-meteorites exhibit. An idea quickly forms but you are hesitant to use it. After all, like all the displays, it took time to arrange. You weigh it up versus your life, and then drive both elbows into the thin glass. The bladed shadows give a yell and charge, but you quickly snatch from the remains of the cabinet a couple of fist size rocks and throw. Both figures use their daggers to deflect the small rocks – just as you hoped.
The magnetic iron core of the rock attached like glue to the blades, dragging their hands down. In the time it takes for them to scrap off the stones you picked up the fire extinguisher and swing wildly. Both figures drop unconscious to the floor.
“Never mess with a Astronomer in his own Observatory!” you spit at the crumpled shapes, giving one of them a kick in the side for good measure. The feeling of smugness leaves as you realise the danger Catt is in. Grabbing your bag of equipment, you rush for the door and hail a cab.
It being a Friday night you know exactly where to find Arthur and pull up outside the Standford Club. Luckily the dress code is not strict and you easily make your way past the doormen. You spot Arthur quickly enough: you only had to look for the bar. He is talking to a couple of young women, and you can hear his words as you make your way closer.
“…Twins you say? And exotic dancers? And highly flexible? And you quite like sailing to that far of island of Lesbo while others watch? Well, my luck just keeps on improving- Hey, Christian! What on earth are you doing here? Anyway, this is Betty and Susan-”
“I’m Claire and this is Sarah!”
“Yeah, whatever love. Anyway, Christian, they’re flexible exotic dancers-”
“We’ve got to get out here!” you shout at him. “Now!”
Arthur stares in utter bewilderment. “Have you gone mad? Didn’t you hear the flexible bit?”
“Look, don’t ask me who or what or how or why but you, me, and I definitely know Harker, are in some real danger here!” You tell of the attack at the Observatory and the men, taking time to point out how sharp looking the daggers were. Arthur looks torn as to what to do. He looks back and forth between the ladies and you a few times. In the end you lose your patience and drag him out by the arm while he mimes to the ladies to call him.
“I’m never going to forgive you for this,” he mutters as he leads you to his car.
“Where’s the meteorite?” you ask.
"What’s that got to do with anything? It’s back at my place! What’s the plan? Go to the police?”
You pause before answering. How he found his car in fog this thick was a wonder. “I don’t know if they’re going to be of much help-”
Car headlights flicker on behind you. You make out the vague outlines of bulky silhouettes. “Christ, it’s them!”
“Get in!” screams Arthur. He roars the car into life and jumps away from the standing start, scattering pigeons and homeless folk. Tyres squeal in protest as he changes lanes. You look back. The chasing car mounts the kerb as it cuts corners to catch up with you, running over pigeons and homeless folk, vanishing and reappearing in the fog. Once, twice, three times Arthur slams the car around the streets, forcing you to grab hold of something or risk serious damage. Each time he does you glance back to see the pursuit being continued.
Arthur grabs the handbrake and slides the car around a bus, the noise setting your teeth on edge. He gives a little wave to the passengers and immediately turns down another street, taking it nearly on two wheels, and floors it. A quick look back sees the street is clear. “I think you lost them,” you mutter, breathless.
“Yeah.” He starts to slow down. “Now what the hell is this about?”
“I think it’s something to do with the meteorite-”
An impact, a scream of twisting metal, and an upside down world all happen at once. The squealing continues as your brain quickly tries to keep up with events. The car slides on its roof, sparks lighting up the darkness. And then silence as everything shudders to a stop. You hang upside down in the seat trying to gather your wits.
“Arthur?” you croaked around a thick tongue. You wipe blood away from a dozen small cuts but other than that you seem in one piece. You reach over and shake Catt. He looks at you blankly at first, then recognition fills his eyes.
“Christian. You… You all right?”
“I think so. You?”
“I think I stabbed my brain…”
“What happened? Did you hit something?”
“N-No, I don’t think- I didn’t see- Can you move?”
“More or less-”
A thunderous impact on top of the car causes the door pillars to crumple at frightening speed. The remaining parts of windscreen shatter as the car is slowly crushed. You both scream and the car is rammed again, more metal buckling under the unseen weight. You heave against the roof in a desperate effort to stop it but another hammer on the underside of the car crushes you further.
“What’s doing it!?” you shout, looking out of what remains of the window. “I can’t see-” A impact drives the rest of the sentence from you.
“There’s nothing!” Arthur yells back. “There’s nothing there! Bollocks, my leg is stuck! I can’t get out.”
Glass shatters, and you twist round to see the back screen has gone, as is your last chance to escape. Bollocks indeed…
Arthur struggles violently, throwing himself back in his seat. Suddenly there is a flash. The ruin cockpit lights up brilliantly and a deafening bellowing scream cuts through the fog air. You and Arthur look at each other in bewilderment for a couple of heartbeats before the tearing of metal above rips you back into action.
“Arthur, what was-?”
“My camera! It was in the back!” Catt twists around and digs it out from the pile of broken glass and metal where the back seat was. “Quick, find the spare bulbs!”
With all the mess and being stuck in your seat it makes it nearly impossible, but you arc your arm back and dig in. More metal screams above you as whatever it is tears again at the car. Then you find what you are looking for. “Here: two, Arthur!”
Catt nearly snatches them out of your hand and hurriedly screws in a flash bulb, his grip slipping as the car is rocked. You look out into the fog, craning your neck to look through the small gap to search for the attacker. Suddenly you see shadows in the fog and your terror climb to a new level.
“Arthur…”
“Got it!”
The flash lights up the inside of the car and the fog. The roar of pain is deafening and it nearly causes your ear drums to burst. You hear Arthur suck in a breath and catch him looking outside, colour draining from his face. With a strangled curse and shaking hands he screws in the last bulb. He pushes the button.
Nothing happens.
“Aww, shit…” Arthur murmurs and you echo the thought.
The ruin car shudders as rents appear in the floorwell above. Like a sardine can, the floor is slowly peeled back with a scream of resisting metal…
..only there is more than screaming. It’s whistling. A policeman’s whistle peeling through the fog, coming closer. It is quickly joined by others. The metal stops moving. Everything becomes quiet except for the slow drip of water from the engine. Then the light from many torches fall on the car.
It takes the fire service and police an hour to free you from the wreckage. All are amazed at how you and Arthur avoided not being seriously hurt, and all are confused at how Arthur managed to roll the car. Everyone is confounded by the damaged done to the bottom of the car. To you it almost looks eaten.
After the arrangements for the clear up have been made and statements taken by the police, you and Arthur wave down a cab to take you to Catt’s place and then your own.
“I…saw… something, Christian!” growls Arthur when he is alone with you. “There, in the fog, when I was using the flash. I’ve seen some strange stuff but that… Who’s after us? What’s after us?”
You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t why any of this is happening. But I’m willing to bet Richard is in a shed load of trouble as well. I was planning on going to Wales before; I’m definitely going now! I want answers!”
Arthur sighs loudly after several heartbeats of silence. “Make that ‘us’. I’m bloody well not staying in London!”
22nd May
Early the next morning you both set off by cab from your place to a friend of Arthur’s to borrow a car. You take turns to make the long drive to Wales, each continuously checking for any following vehicles, and by the time you reach the Cann Office Public House in Llangadfan you are quite looking forward to a drink. As you enter you immediately spot a small gathering of three sat back by the wall. You look again, recognising a face.
“Lizzie?” you venture to the woman sitting nearby. “Elizabeth Mayland, is it you?”
The lady looks up from her drink; she seems a little wary at first but then she recognises you. “Mister Ogilvie!” she says, and it almost sounds like relief. “Oh it’s good to see a friendly face! I assume you’re here to look for Richard as well?”
You nod. “I think he might be-”
“-in some trouble?” she finishes for you. “Yes, I’m beginning to see that now. We’ve had some trouble-”
“-as well,” you finish for her. You exchange looks with Arthur.
“There seems to be a lot of that going round,” he says. “I’m getting a drink. Anybody want one?”
Elizabeth introduces her friends Winston Donahue and Bill Biggs, and you point out Arthur to them. You quickly explain about the meeting you had planned with the law and invite them to join you.
The door opens again and you hope it is the policeman. But much to your surprise Charles Carter, Mr ‘The Great’ himself, walks in. He pauses as he spots you, then approaches gingerly. “Mr Ogilvie,” he nods.
You don’t shake his extended hand. “Now I’m guessing you are not here by chance,” you say coolly. “Are you really this pathetic in your attempts for publicity that you would follow me?”
Carter is already shaking his head. “Please, Mr Ogilvie, this has nothing to do with that. In fact I wish I had never heard about the meteorites! I’ve had a break in, been nearly killed, I can’t go back to my home, my life! The only connection I’ve got to all of it is the comet, and that means Harker, and that means you!”
“We’ve been attacked as well!” says Elizabeth. “By black robed men. And something else…”
“Something not very nice,” adds Winston, grimacing as he touches his shoulders.
You bit your lip. “Me and Arthur had a spot of bother with something not very nice as well.”
The door opens again and this time it is the policeman along with a shifty looking fellow. You give him a nod and a wave. “Are you Mr Ogilvie?” The policeman shakes your hand. “I’m PC Gray, we spoke on the phone.”
“Pleasure. Can we go to and find Harker now? I’ve just received news that has me doubly worried.”
“Of course.” The policeman gestures to the shifty man. “This is Thomas Moore who will be guiding us to the cottage Harker has rented. It’s in a nearby forest but it’s a bit of a maze getting there.”
“Excuse me, Officer” a voice interrupts. A man stands behind your small group. “I couldn’t help overhearing, but did you mention a small cottage in the forest?”
The policeman nods. “And who might you be, sir?”
“I’m Peter Roberts, Estate Agent.” The man motions towards a rather wealthy looking couple seated nearby. Their servants stand a discrete distance away. “I have been appointed by the estate of the late Mr Joseph Lewis to sell his land and property and the Earl and his betrothed were to view it today. However the key holder, Mr Dafydd Jones, has advised me that the chap who recently rented the property for a week has not returned the key and by all accounts may still be there. I wonder if I could have some help with directions to the cottage, and if necessary evict the trespasser-”
“Poppycock!” you shout.
“Richard’s no trespasser!” Elizabeth begins hotly but PC Gray holds up a hand for quiet.
“Now, now, let’s all stay calm.” The policeman brushes some dust off his lapels. “I’m sure this is all some big misunderstanding. Let’s sort all this mess out. Moore, lead the way.”
The shifty man mutters something under his breath which doesn’t sound too pleasant and motions for everyone to follow him. Setting off with your entourage, including a hesitant Carter, you all drive in your vehicles to the entrance of the forest before setting off on foot in search of Professor Richard Harker...
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