Time of the Demon

by Ian Taylor

  "Zero. I did local radio coming back in the car and the TV news just now."

  "What does your reporter's nose tell you?"

  "That it's definitely off."

  "Follow it for now," he advised."But tread carefully with the police."

  He disconnected. She stared thoughtfully at the empty screen. Then she rang the fireman who had given her the original tip-off.

  "Hi Baz, it's Jan from the Courier. What happened to the crashed plane? ...You were almost at the scene and then stood down? ...And the paramedics too? ...For God's sake why? ...A misidentification? ...Oh, shit, too bad." She decided it was time to lie. "No, I was sent after a different story, so I never got there at all. That's why I'm ringing you. Bit of good luck for me as it turned out, eh? ...Same to you. Keep in touch."

  Over the years her reporter's instinct for a good story had served her well and right now it was telling her that this could be a big one and, with the aid of a timely lie, she’d made it all her own. How big the story would actually become she couldn't possibly have guessed.

  2

  News items crammed the bulletin board in the Transatlantic UFO Networks (TRUFON) local office. Gregory Houseman, the thirty-five-year-old good-looking stranger Jan had spotted in the Half Moon car park, studied them carefully.

  Dan and Jake, two young UFO buffs, sat at a large table strewn with genre magazines and empty polystyrene coffee cups, hard at work on their laptops. Gregory turned to them.

  "It's all old news on here. Thought there was a flap?"

  Dan looked up. "According to a highly-placed source, we're supposed to be experiencing a surge of UFO-related activity." He raised his fingers as inverted commas. "The cops are on red alert, which means they're doing nothing."

  "So if you've got everything from LITS to CE4s, it's all too hush-hush to put up on the board," Gregory smiled with his implied jest.

  "I wish!" Jake laughed. "Nothing's happening. Some school kids said they saw Owlman in a car park in town. That's about it."

  "The Owlman?" Gregory asked wryly.

  Dan shrugged. "Who knows? Scared 'em half to death."

  "But otherwise, it's quiet," Jake admitted. "Till last night."

  "I got wind of something out at the Half Moon," Gregory advised. "But I wasn't able to get there."

  "The official line is it was some kind of misidentification." Dan pulled a sceptical face.

  Jake shrugged. "We're stumped. No one in the world of ‘officialdom’ is saying anything."

  "What's your gut instinct tell you?" Gregory persisted, watching both men for any hint of hostility. If they became suspicious of him–and suspicion was every UFO researcher's predominant emotion–he’d have to back off.

  "We're being shut out," Dan said irritably.

  "Ergo, it could be big," Jake added, nodding sagaciously.

  Gregory stepped towards the door. "I'll do some digging. Get back to you."

  "Who is that guy?" Dan asked when Gregory had gone.

  Jake shrugged. "I've seen him around. He said he's a friend of Neil's."

  "Which Neil?" Dan asked with a frown.

  Next morning Jan headed east along the main road. She passed the inn and noticed its frontage had been surrounded with official police tape. She pulled into an American-style diner, which was situated a hundred yards further along the road, on the opposite side. The diner's car park had a good view of the inn and the field behind it. She got out and scanned the area to the rear of the inn through binoculars.

  A large sign blocking the inn's car park entrance read: POLICE NOTICE NO ADMITTANCE. Three figures in full protective gear plodded around in the adjacent field. There didn't seem to be any wreckage–if there’d been any, it must have been removed. The figures appeared to be concerned with taking soil and plant samples.

  A man in a trim city suit appeared at the car park entrance and began surveying the surrounding area through field glasses. All at once, he aimed the glasses at Jan. She whipped her binoculars out of sight and turned quickly, hoping her reaction had been fast enough not to arouse suspicion. "What the hell is this?" she muttered.

  She entered the diner and took a window seat overlooking the main road. The place wasn’t busy, with no more than a dozen customers scattered among the tables. She ordered a burger and coffee, and stared from the window at the taped-off inn until the waitress returned and served her.

  "What's happened there?" Jan asked innocently. "Is it some kind of crime scene?"

  "No idea." The middle-aged waitress glanced indifferently in the direction of the inn. "It was like that when I got here this morning."

  "The inn's only open in the evenings, isn't it?" Jan asked casually.

  "They open at six. There's supposed to be a manager, but he's never there."

  "So who does the work?"

  "Couple of girls run the bar, Jess and Gina. They do sandwiches and snacks. Pretty good stuff, actually. Sometimes, if we're open, they come in to get change."

  Jan was pleased to find that the waitress was happy to talk. She wanted to find these two girls and saw her chance.

  "They local?" she asked.

  The waitress named a suburb of the city to the east. "They told me they live in that block of 'sixties' flats by the river."

  Jan sipped coffee and smiled amiably. "You make a really mean coffee."

  The waitress seemed pleased with the compliment. "Thanks."

  Jan felt she had made a positive contact. "Were you working last night?"

  The woman shook her head. "We shut at five-thirty November to February."

  With a quick smile and nod, she left Jan to her burger. Her information ruled the diner out for potential witnesses. That only left the two girls, the untrained observers.

  As Jan headed for her BMW, she spotted Gregory Houseman sitting at the wheel of an Audi Estate, studying what looked like a road map. She stared at him, but he did not return her gaze. Reaching her car, she glanced back and caught him watching. She scowled. "Get a good look, why don't you?" she asked quietly.

  After a couple of false starts Jan found the girls' flat and rang the bell. There was no response. She tried again. The door opened an inch and Jess peered through the crack.

  Jan produced her press ID. "Hi. I'm from–"

  "What do you want?" The tone was seriously hostile.

  Jan pocketed her press card and changed tack. "I'm trying to locate the manager of the Half Moon Inn. I understand you work there."

  Jess appeared relieved and opened the door a little wider. She was dressed in an old fleecy robe and looked as if she hadn't slept a wink all night. Her eyes were red and looked extremely sore. The remains of her eye make-up were smeared across her cheeks. Jan wondered if she’d been crying. But it would have required a prolonged period of distress to leave eyes as inflamed as that.

  Jess frowned. "You want Graham Turner?"

  "I do. Perhaps you have his address? Or phone number?"

  "It's a mobile number. I can never remember it." Jess sounded exhausted. She opened the door fully. "You'd better come in."

  Jan found herself in the living room, which was a typical example of 'sixties' plain functionality. The room was untidy. The furniture was cheap and had seen better days. The thin carpet was worn and stained. Lower-end furnished flat, she thought. A five-fifty a month buy-to-let.

  Memorabilia and framed photos from Mediterranean holidays stood on shelves and the windowsill. Some of them showed Jess and Gina in the company of a variety of young men, obviously Spaniards or Italians. Jan surreptitiously slipped a photo of the girls into her handbag.

  Gina, in a threadbare robe, sat on the sofa. In front of her, on the coffee table, were unwashed mugs and opened packets of biscuits. Gina also looked as if she hadn't slept and her eyes seemed more inflamed tham Jess'.

  "I'm Jess and this is Gina. This lady wants Graham's mobile number." The hostility had gone from Jess's voice, and conveyed a combination of confusion and anxiety she made no attempt to hide.
<
br />   Gina got reluctantly to her feet and went to a cupboard drawer. "I put it in here somewhere."

  "Actually," Jan hesitated, then plunged on. "It's you two I want to talk to."

  "What the hell for?" Jess was instantly suspicious. The hostility in her voice had returned.

  Jan produced her press ID. "I'm Jan Barnes from the Courier. I wanted to talk about last night."

  Both girls became angry and defensive to cover what Jan perceived as fright.

  "We've told them all we know," Jess said in furious despair. "Why don't you just leave us alone?"

  "We've nothing else to say," Gina put in bluntly.

  "They told us not to speak to anyone," Jess added, looking worried.

  "Who told you?" Jan asked, trying to sound as empathic as possible.

  Jess shrugged. "These guys."

  "What guys?" Jan probed.

  "The guys in the sharp suits." Gina sounded both hostile and uneasy.

  "They made threats. They frightened us."

  It was obvious to Jan that Jess wasn’t lying. Her voice was husky with fear. "Why on earth would they do that?"

  Both girls seemed on the brink of tears.

  "We were only trying to help," Gina wailed. "We thought someone might have been hurt."

  "Just wish we hadn't damn well bothered," Jess complained under her breath.

  Jan knew it was crucial to win the girls' confidence. But, if she was too insensitive, they might clam up altogether. "Well you've nothing to fear from me," she began, watching them closely. She felt like a trainer with a pair of skittish racehorses. "I'll do my best to help you. Just take your time and tell me what happened."

  "We said we wouldn't," Jess objected. "We've been up all night worrying about it."

  "It's not fair," Gina said angrily. "It's like we did something wrong. We'd just arrived at work and we saw this light come down in the field behind the inn. We thought it was a plane." She paused, confused. "Well, what else could it be? And Jess dialled 999."

  "And this is where it got us," Jess said bitterly.

  Jan made shorthand notes. "And it wasn't a plane or a drone?"

  "I don't know," Gina said, sounding increasingly upset. "It was just this very bright white light that came down real slow. But what was weird was there was no sound. No explosion when it hit the ground. The light just seemed to spread out a bit. But it was all silent. Really creepy."

  "You told the police all this?" Jan asked with a disarming smile.

  Jess took up the story. "We tried. But the police gave us to the guys in the sharp suits. The police said that the inn was closed. Then the suits took us into a back room and we told them what we'd seen."

  Gina looked scared. "They got very serious when we told them. They said we shouldn't tell anyone or we'd be in deep trouble. They said it was of national importance–and we should never speak of it again."

  "But we've got to talk to someone." Jess seemed genuinely offended. "We feel so alone with this. And that's not right."

  "You won't put our names in the paper or anything like that, will you?" Gina looked at Jan, her face filled with alarm.

  Jan felt sorry for the girls. It was indeed a frightening predicament. But she wanted the story. It would be obvious to the authorities who’d given her the information. After all, they were the only two witnesses. But the public had a right to know that an unexplained incident had occurred. She heard herself make a promise. "I give you my word that I won't mention you by name. I'll protect your identities."

  The girls seemed reassured. Jan sensed new emotions surfacing through the fear.

  "I've never been involved in anything like it." Jess's eyes opened wide with bloodshot recollection. "It was like a terrorist attack you see on TV. You know, blue lights and a helicopter and police."

  "And they got there so fast," Gina put in, "as if they knew it had happened before we phoned them."

  "So what are you saying?" Jan asked.

  Jess gave a long puzzled look. "It just seems incredible, but it was like they were expecting it."

  As Jan left and made for the car parked a couple of hundred yards away, she spotted Gregory Houseman watching from his Audi Estate. He drove away quickly, but she jumped in her car and pursued. She caught up five minutes later on a link road to the city's bypass. Pulling level with the Audi, she indicated left and sounded the horn. He acknowledged her with a hoot and a wave, and pulled into a lay-by. She parked in front.

  They got out and stared at each other. He smiled amiably. She frowned.

  "Impressive. Where did you learn to drive like that?"

  He was still smiling, either because his admiration was sincere, or because he was a patronising male chauvinist … undoubtedly, the latter.

  "Who are you?" she asked beligerently. "You're not a cop. I've a nose for cops and you don't smell like one."

  "Gregory Houseman, paranormal investigator. And you're Janet Barnes, roving reporter aka lead feature writer for the Evening Courier."

  He stuck out a muscular hand. She ignored it. "You're a what?"

  "I get involved in situations like this."

  "Do you now? And what kind of situation d'you think we're in?"

  "Quite an odd one. There's a lot here that doesn't add up."

  She distrusted his overfamiliar manner. He reminded her of a bogus home-insulation salesman, or a door-to-door religious nut–con man was stamped on his forehead. She had no idea what a paranormal investigator was, but whatever it was, she didn't want one anywhere near her story.

  "If you were waiting to talk to those two girls, you're wasting your time. They won't speak to anyone."

  He laughed, his expression wry. "So you spent thirty-six minutes not talking about anything? They must have had a lot they didn't want to tell you."

  She was stunned. He had effortlessly outwitted her and–judging by that widening grin—thought of her as little better than an inept amateur.

  "Don't care for the press very much," he said. "I mean the press in general. They nearly always get the facts wrong. Of course," the infuriating smile was there again, "there are always exceptions."

  She glared. "I don't get the facts wrong, Mister Houseman!"

  "Okay, I'm happy to concede that you're one of the few. And it's Greg, please."

  "Why are you mocking me?" she replied angrily. "For all you know I might be far better at my job than you are at yours! You could be a patronising failure."

  He laughed again. "I'm sure I am–at least some of the time. But I think we should talk. Compare thoughts. I think what happened last night is far bigger than egos and reputations."

  In spite of her initial dislike, she couldn't deny she was intrigued by him. It was time to eat a tiny morsel of humble pie. "If you want to talk, you can buy me a coffee," she said, still without smiling.

  They got back in their cars and drove off, the BMW leading the way and heading for the bypass. Hidden in a nearby sizable clump of densely-branched bushes, a hideous owl-like figure stared after them.

  Jan and Greg sat with coffees in the American diner, occupying a window table with a clear view of the inn and the field to the rear. The men in protective gear had gone, but the field glasses of a watcher in a first-floor window of the inn caught the early morning light. Jan and Greg both noticed.

  "I wasn't following you," he said, "I was waiting to see who would be calling on those girls. Then, you turned up."

  "I didn't get to speak to them at the incident last night," she explained with a shrug.

  "Neither did I. It was one of those situations where I thought it was far too risky to stick my head above the parapet. I didn't fancy a tête-à-tête with the kind of guys who turned up last night." He studied her a moment, his expression growing serious. "You do realise those girls will be under surveillance? Hidden camera in the stairwell most likely. That's why I didn't go in. You'll be on record now. They'll know your shoe size. Your favourite takeaway. The lot."

  She was too surprised to check her
sudden outburst. "You're joking! Who the hell's watching them?" Too late she realised she’d exposed her colossal ignorance.

  "Probably a unit of Special Branch. They get involved in things like this. There could have been military intelligence guys there too, most likely out of sight in the chopper."

  Okay, she thought, time to eat dirt. "What sort of thing is this?"

  "Not sure yet," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "But my information so far suggests it could be a pretty heavy situation."

  "They were out in that field earlier, but there doesn't seem to be any wreckage. It looked like they were taking samples of plants and soil."

  "They usually do. Any major UFO event attracts this kind of official attention."

  She stared at him, stunned. "What? A UFO?"

  "Well, it's too early for Santa Claus and his reindeer!"

  She felt inadequate. "I don't know anything about UFOs. I don't know how you think I can be of any help to you."

  "I'm not saying it was a UFO. But whatever it was, it's attracted serious official attention. And this is your patch. You know people here. You've got some clout. That could help us a lot." He offered a grin. "In exchange, I'll tell you what I know about the weird world of UFOs." He thrust out a hand. "A deal?"

  She studied him. She was distrustful of grins. All too often they disguised secret and sometimes very dodgy agendas. "I might need to go public."

  He withdrew his hand. "Best wait till you know a bit more, don't you think?"

  She didn't like to put herself at the mercy of this Gregory guy. He’d undoubtedly dump her as soon as he'd used up her helpful contacts. "How much more do I need to know?"

  He looked at her for a long moment. "We're only seeing the tip of the iceberg. If it wasn't a UFO, it's something even more sinister."

  "Are UFOs sinister?"

  "That's a big question. But the short answer is yes, I think they are."

  "How do I know I can trust you, or believe a word you say?"

  "You don't. But you could get a scoop. And I can help. Is there a deal?" His grin had vanished and he appeared grave, even a little anxious.